Britishspeak

There but for the grace of god...

2012-01-23T23:51:00.003-07:00

Morris dancing is mentioned in one of William Shakespeare's plays. That means it's old. Not to be confused with mumming.

I didn't know this. Maybe you didn't either.

2012-01-15T00:03:00.001-07:00

Between 18,000 and 25,000 land mines remain scattered about in the Falklands from the 1982 war. Further clearance work to remove some of those was to be done in 2011, but not sure if it was.

Virtually all of the surface area of the islands is used for sheep pasture. There is a penguin population, and many beautiful rare birds.

The article I was reading states that no long-term studies have been done as to the adverse affect humans living there have had on the rather pristine land.

Native grasses and other vegetation is heavily impacted adversely by the overgrazing of sheep.

Reindeer have been introduced.

Cats and rats and grey foxes have been introduced, having a detrimental affect on the breeding of the birds, which now mostly just live on the outer islands as a result.

Grey foxes. Rats. Feral cats. Overgrazing. I guess that about covers my opinion as to whether humans have had an adverse affect on the Falklands, despite the lack of long-term research. (I vote "yes".)

2008 population estimate is 3,140. That works out to about 7.96 land mines per human.

Wikileaks. Or not.

2012-01-13T00:32:00.001-07:00

Not too long ago there was a commotion about sensitive government information being leaked to newspapers and radical blogs for publication. Much of this embarrassed the U.S. Government. The following was purported to be written to then president-elect Barrack Obama, 10 days before he was sworn in as President, briefing him on certain aspects of U.S. - UK relations. This confidential briefing summary to Obama is apparently from PISS. I can't/won't tell you where I got it, but I will leave its validity to your judgement. Seems pretty authentic to me, based on spelling mistakes.

========

Seax Flitch

2012-01-11T00:11:00.009-07:00

Essex is a ceremonial and non-metropolitan county in the East of England.

It is a home county.

Ceremonial counties are areas of England to which are appointed a Lord Lieutenant.

Home counties are counties which border London.

The office of Lord Lieutenant can be considered viceregal but is certainly not equivalent to Governor-General. A very spiffy uniform is usually authorized, however. He or she has no official duties between parades that I could find.

The county's coat of arms contains three Saxon seax knives on a red background.

Essex was once a kingdom, but was subsumed into the Kingdom of England and later became ~~just~~ a county thereof.

Essex is home to the Dunmow Flitch Trials.

Famous people who were born in Essex include Dame Maggie Smith and Jamie Oliver, though at different times. Winston Churchill slept there once.

The motto of the county council is: "Essex Wonks".

That is all.

Correction: "Essex Works".

For extra credit, say the following really fast three times: The sixth sick sheik sucked on seven Saxon seax.

If anyone knows any other interesting things about Essex, or if you have any cute Essex anecdotes, please put them in comments. On soubriquet's blog, though.

Last great hope for ex-pat community

2012-01-08T14:25:00.002-07:00

The British ex-pat community in the USA is a fickle group, at least when it comes to American politics. Most displaced Brits unexplainedly seem to be bedrock Republicans. But simply being Republican for them is not enough; their candidate must be female as well, it seems. I have no idea why this is so. Perhaps it is just a carryover from their childhood memories of their beloved Lady Thatcher. Of course, living now in the USA, their initial darling was the long-suffering Sarah Palin. Imagine, if you can, the sighs of hopelessness when the Teaparty First Lady said "Thanks, but no thanks," and tea no longer included Sarah.

The sorrow of the faithful was somewhat abated when Michelle Bachmann entered the arena (at least the sorrow of the time-strapped ex-pat soccer moms in the Midwest.) Now imagine, if you can, the lamentations and gnashing of teeth in the heartland when Mighty-Mum Michelle bit the big one in Iowa. No, you probably can't quite grasp their angst, or even why the uprooted Brits loved Michelle in the first place.

To those of you who despair at having only the Bouncingly Benign Barrack family left to support, I would remind you that all is not lost on the ex-pat Republican front: Newt Gingrich is still in the running.

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More Emergence

2012-01-04T22:30:00.002-07:00

Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland is an example of a complex emergent structure created by natural processes. [Wikipedia: "Emergence"]

Wishes for the new year

2012-01-01T00:03:00.006-07:00

I would like to live in a world at peace, and in a world free of want - at least freedom from want for the basic necessities of life.

If that is impossible, I would like to live in a country, at least, which is at peace with the rest of the world and whose citizens enjoy those basic necessities of life. Add to that a large measure of personal freedom; I would want my government to be as unlike the government of North Korea as possible, for example. But may we see the errors of our ways.

If that is impossible, then let me, at least, live in a state and community which proactively care about the wellbeing of the people who live there and earnestly work to make things better.

If that is impossilbe, then let me, my own self, at least, keep the dream for these things alive in my own heart, and strive daily to do what I can to make them come true for those around me.

I wish you all a happy new year, a year which comes closer to these goals than the year before. Thank you for your company and your friendship.

Que la luz de la esperanza alumbre sus dias.

Boxing Day

2011-12-29T09:24:00.004-07:00

Boxing Day has come and gone.

Battles of the Great War

2011-12-16T11:45:00.013-07:00

The siege of Kut.

The Iraq War "ended" yesterday, they say. This is a story about another war in Iraq.

The siege of Kut occurred between 7 December 1915 and 29 April 1916. Nasty war things seem to have a habit of starting on December 7.

Historians will note that the battle of Gallipoli was still in progress at this time, a bit to the north. [Update: actually, the Allies were retreating from Gallipoli during December as well.]

The largest city in Syria is not Damascas; it is Aleppo. That's Italian for Alep, a different story.

In Iraq, retreating British Empire forces (mainly the Indian Army 6th Division under Major General Charles Townshend) stopped in Kut (south of Baghdad) instead of continuing on down the (Tigris) river to Basra. Basra is often where the British fight when they fight in Iraq. Why Townshend stopped at Kut, isn't quite clear. Something about a loop in the river made him think he could make a stand against the Turks.

Well, the Turks surrounded Kut and laid siege. Supplies from Basra were quite far away and not likely to be forthcoming anyway. So. What to do?

Townshend sent what cavalry he had out, so they could escape before the siege line was completely closed.

It wasn't long before General Townshend decided he would prefer to leave now, too, and asked his commander to send relief. However, Townshend's superior sees value in not doing that, liking the idea of having that many Turks tied up in a siege, so he tells Townshend that he should just hold on. History tells us that Townshend sent word to his commander that he wished he could do that, but he only had food and supplies enough to last one month. So, relief is sent.

Some say Townshend REALLY had enough food and supplies for four months (if he cut back on rations.) I was double-checking the dates on Wikipedia, and, at the end of the account, it says "It is not clear why Townshend reported he had only enough food for one month when he actually had food for more than four months..."

May I take a stab at answering this mystery? My theory is that Townshend decided he would rather live to see old age rather than be tortured to death over a lengthy period of time by the Turks.

Looking at pictures of the survivors of the siege, I would say Townshend was telling the truth about only having food to last one month.

Sadly, however, the relief effort was unsuccessful and the British Forces (including the relief forces) were forced to surrender.

They put up a courageous fight. They were starving by then.

The prisoners were marched to Aleppo.

Lawrence of Arabia was there, somewhere, they say.

Remembering, of course, but...

2011-12-07T11:50:00.001-07:00

...but also being thankful that it is possible for things to change for the better.

Creeping Cockney Crud Contaminates Antipatter, Scottie. Beam me up.

2011-12-05T00:18:00.002-07:00

"Cockney Creep Puts Paid to the Patter" claimed a not-so-recent headline of The Herald which, I'm guessing, is a conservative Glaschu-upon-Clyde newspaper. At first blush, I assumed some caddish Eastender had wandered far off his turf and had simply brought his creepiness with him, but no, it is rather that The Herald is simply not as fond of using hyphens between combined words as Americans are wont to do, and thus their intended meaning is very different indeed from their actual headline. [Note to Americans who have stumbled across this post, while the words might bear a small resemblance to English, it really isn't.]

When you realize that "Cockney Creep" was really intended as "Cockney-Creep" it will be more apparent that The Herald means to speak here of language adulterations and not rhyming rapists from the Southland. [Note #2 to stumble-upon Americans: "Puts Paid" is something you should just let go of and not try to understand. You will never have occasion to use the term, so no sense learning it.]

What this ado is all about is similar to the ado (adieu?) the French always seem to be making about not letting English (and ESPECIALLY Americanisms, alors) creep into the purity of the French language. Only in Glasgow, the attempt is to keep out OTHER English from THEIR patter, see? You might say (and someone once did) that this is much ado over nothing, but these 'wegians are dead-serious about preserving the purity and primacy of their particular personalized patter. So don't laugh.

At the heart of the problem, it seems, is an old TV sitcom called "The EastEnders" and similar, says The Herald, itself quoting scholarly in-depth linguistic studies done by some university or other, naturally at your taxpaying expense. It seems that by simply watching this foul television product, the impressionistic youth-upon-Clyde have taken to saying things like "Hullawrerr, China" instead of saying the accepted "Wotcher, mite?"

I guess you had to be there.

Well, they claim these are both English, and that one of them is wrong. They claim the creeping slime of the East End is fouling the pure Scots accent of young people living in Glasgow. They do.

Incidentally, have you ever experienced the pleasure of hearing them speak that which they are trying to protect? The pure patter, I mean. Not Scots. Not English. Something from Star Trek's Rigel 7, Scottie.

How Gilbert Died

2011-12-02T00:21:00.000-07:00

How Gilbert Died

There's never a stone at the sleeper's head,
There's never a fence beside,
And the wandering stock on the grave may tread
Unnoticed and undenied,
But the smallest child on the Watershed
Can tell you how Gilbert died.

For he rode at dusk, with his comrade Dunn
To the hut at the Stockman's Ford,
In the waning light of the sinking sun
They peered with a fierce accord.
They were outlaws both -- and on each man's head
Was a thousand pounds reward.

They had taken toll of the country round,
And the troopers came behind
With a black that tracked like a human hound
In the scrub and the ranges blind:
He could run the trail where a white man's eye
No sign of a track could find.

He had hunted them out of the One Tree Hill
And over the Old Man Plain,
But they wheeled their tracks with a wild beast's skill,
And they made for the range again.
Then away to the hut where their grandsire dwelt,
They rode with a loosened rein.

And their grandsire gave them a greeting bold:
`Come in and rest in peace,
No safer place does the country hold --
With the night pursuit must cease,
And we'll drink success to the roving boys,
And to hell with the black police.'

But they went to death when they entered there,
In the hut at the Stockman's Ford,
For their grandsire's words were as false as fair --
They were doomed to the hangman's cord.
He had sold them both to the black police
For the sake of the big reward.

In the depth of night there are forms that glide
As stealthy as serpents creep,
And around the hut where the outlaws hide
They plant in the shadows deep,
And they wait till the first faint flush of dawn
Shall waken their prey from sleep.

But Gilbert wakes while the night is dark --
A restless sleeper, aye,
He has heard the sound of a sheep-dog's bark,
And his horse's warning neigh,
And he says to his mate, `There are hawks abroad,
And it's time that we went away.'

Their rifles stood at the stretcher head,
Their bridles lay to hand,
They wakened the old man out of his bed,
When they heard the sharp command:
`In the name of the Queen lay down your arms,
Now, Dunn and Gilbert, stand!'

Then Gilbert reached for his rifle true
That close at his hand he kept,
He pointed it straight at the voice and drew,
But never a flash outleapt,
For the water ran from the rifle breech --
It was drenched while the outlaws slept.

Then he dropped the piece with a bitter oath,
And he turned to his comrade Dunn:
`We are sold,' he said, `we are dead men both,
But there may be a chance for one;
I'll stop and I'll fight with the pistol here,
You take to your heels and run.'

So Dunn crept out on his hands and knees
In the dim, half-dawning light,
And he made his way to a patch of trees,
And vanished among the night,
And the trackers hunted his tracks all day,
But they never could trace his flight.

But Gilbert walked from the open door
In a confident style and rash;
He heard at his side the rifles roar,
And he heard the bullets crash.
But he laughed as he lifted his pistol-hand,
And he fired at the rifle flash.

Then out of the shadows the troopers aimed
At his voice and the pistol sound,
With the rifle flashes the darkness flamed,
He staggered and spun around,
And they riddled his body with rifle balls
As it lay on the blood-soaked ground.

—Banjo Paterson [the picture is Banjo]

Stone the Crows

2011-11-28T19:06:00.003-07:00

Stone the Crows, Aussie Version

"Stone the Flamin crows" he cried, "The country's gone to hell,

the 'cobbers' are all 'cobras' now, a sorry tale to tell,

The Cuff'n'Collar boys have won, and sold the family farm,

the Orcs have overrun the Shire, and caused all kinds of harm.

Now its Porches for the city spivs, and no Fair Go for All,

the battlers do it very tough, their backs against the wall.

There are two kinds of aussies now, comfort and survival

where everyone was once a mate, now everyman's a rival

Money doesn't talk, it screams, and drowns all other voices

the people are seduced by greed, and see no other choices.

Nothing now is sacred, there are no dreams they cherish

yet proverbs clearly warns 'without vision, the people perish'

Some love a sunburnt country, this dry and wide brown land

but the True-Blue culture's fading, if we don't take a stand.

Some say that only Owners have the right to speech that's free,

I say a Fair Go is FOR ALL, and that means you and me!

- A Fair Dinkum True-Blue

Talking the Talk: "Never encircle a prince on a hill"

2011-11-24T13:49:00.006-07:00

Here are some "British" sayings. Idioms. Proverbs. Something.

[Note: at first I googled for "English" proverbs. Because that's what I wanted to post about. The results came back 90% American. I guess "English" is a language to google and not a country or a people. I had to google "British proverbs" to get google to give me some English proverbs. Note the clear racism here, Adullamite.]

Anyway, first I will give the idiom or saying and then I will tell you what I think it means. Finally, I may give you what it actually means. Or you may give me the correct answer in a comment.

[Note to visitors: you don't have to comment about this stuff; you can comment about frozen pumpkins if you want to. Or Moravia. That's it, tell us where Moravia is. Just thank you for coming.]

If I do decide to give the correct answers at the bottom of this post, I promise not to mention 1887 PM Robert Salisbury.

1. "Bob's your uncle."

This means your father has a brother named Robert.

2. "Keep your pecker up."

This is traditionally what the English say when they feed pigeons in the park.

3. "Big girl's blouse."

A comment made by old men on a park bench about passing lasses: "Oi mate, she has to wear a big girl's blouse, eh?" And then they both chortle.

4. "Burning the candle at both ends."

Needs more light than a candle gives off.

5. "His eyes are bigger than his belly."

The bloke has humongous eyes.

6. "Sleep tight."

Go to sleep drunk.

7. "Gordon Bennett."

Beats me.

8. "Stone the crows."

Beats me.

9. "Talk the hind legs off a donkey."

This probably means he talks a lot.

10. "Do you want a brew?"

This means, "Do you want a beer?"

11. "As queer a a nine bob note."

This means nothing.

12. "Popped his clogs."

Stunned his mullet? (It sounded Australian, but Australian for croak is cork it, no? Maybe "cark it.")

13. There was only 12 and I always need 13 for my lists, so I will put one down here that I already know: "Bugger this for a game of soldiers."

It means (roughly) to lure a group of manly military personnel into a gay bar.

[Final note: I've decided not to put the real meanings down here after all.]

Irish Curses

2011-11-04T00:05:00.001-06:00

I'm in a foul mood today and don't want to be consoled; only dark thoughts for me today, if you please. Herewith some creative Irish curses to brighten your day.

---------

May you be afflicted with the itch and have no nails to scratch with.

Lord, confound this surly sister, blight her brow with blotch and blister, cramp her larynx lung and liver, in her guts a galling give her.

May his pipe never smoke, may his teapot be broke, and to add to the joke may his kettle not boil may he lay in the bed 'till the moment he's dead may he always be fed on lob-scouse and fish oil, may he swell with the gout, may his grinders fall out, may he roar, bawl and shout, with the horrid toothache. May his temples wear horns, and all his toes corns... (this one goes on and on, but that's enough of it for now.)

May you have to stand a long time on weak legs.

Another stone on our grave, you miserable wretch.

May you suffer an unquenchable thirst. May warts and chapped hands always be with you.

Let the cat eat you and the devil eat the cat.

May you be dead before morning. May you not live tomorrow. May your friends have a fine day for your burying.

May the curse of Mary Malone and her nine blind illegitimate children chase you so far over the hills of damnation that the Lord himself can't find you with a telescope.

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Perking up now.

Big Boom Theory

2011-10-27T21:26:00.010-06:00

In 1868 Captain Alexander Moncrief of the Edinburgh Artillery invented the disappearing artillery gun carriage which was a great advance in naval artillery. In the photograph, the date of 21/4/68 is visible on part of the mechanism.

Highwayman's Lair

2011-10-11T08:38:00.010-06:00

Hounslow is a London borough. Hounslow Heath is a public open space of about 200 acres. It is all that remains of the original 4000 acres or so that was once open land there.

I was reading that in the olden days, I'm guessing 1600's and 1700's, there was a place there known as Highwayman's Lair. This was, I think, probably not a motel or tourist attraction, but rather something quite different. More "Hole in the Wall Gang" -like, I'd reckon.

Back before the Great War, Heathrow was a ... row... of cottages located on the NW edge of the historic Highwayman's Lair of Hounslow Heath. Just to get your bearings, Highwayman's Lair was located approximately where terminal #3 is today. Or at least Heathrow was. From recent photographs, it appears they have torn down the row of cottages and heaved them handily into the hoary heath hereabouts. If there are residual panhandlers, they may be descendants of the original highwaymen. It could happen! Today I picture them living with their belongings stuffed in plastic bags hogging two rows of seats in the gate waiting areas. Or perhaps not. I don't see why not, though.

As a side note, in case you are tempted to go out there thinking you can catch a flight, this blog's official research scientist, A., whom I trust without question on all matters pertaining to, ummmm, blog research, has advised me that Heathrow has been converted from an airport into a madhouse. So, think "Amsterdam" unless you live in Kansas.

An extra bit of information - a reward for reading this post - that I just read not 10 minutes ago was that apparently Shakespeare named one of his plays after the original Heathrow. At least, the article I read called it a Hamlet. So I assumed. And now you know too.

Well, I don't know much about London, except that one doesn't need to wear a watch downtown, but I assume where Heathrow is now would have been quite far out from the city then. And if it was quite far out from the city THEN, by god it is probably quite far out from the city NOW. There must have been a main road there, though, so the highwaymen could ply their trade, and lucrative enough to have enough money left over to construct a lair. One assumes rather poorer airport security back in the 1600's.

Now, this is just an idle thought, but it seems to me that if there were so many of them that they had their own watering hole, lair, whatever, that this might have been a tip-off to police. This was pre-bobby era but surely they had SOMEthing back then. Or maybe you just had to bring your own guards. Probably the redcoats came out with their Brown Besses later on and maybe cleaned them out from time to time. The highwaymen, I mean, not the Besses. One pictures "nests" in the lair to clean out.

Arrrrr! "Why join the navy when you can be a pirate?" —Steve Jobs.

Which reminds me of one of my favorite Highwayman-Brown Bess-Ghostly Galleon poems, but don't worry, I have no intention of inflicting it upon you right now.

This started out to be a post about how Heathrow got it's name, but that got pretty evident rather early on, and as soon as I started reading about highwaymen, it was so much more interesting than airports that I followed up and found out that there were more lairs about. Like "Peak". Do you know of that? It's a good way for me to learn your geography, too - though little of it is likely to be retained.

Today they say the Peak District is very safe indeed. Right. All the tourist brochures say that. Now, again, I don't know as much of your geography as I should, but there is a dot on the map that looks to be to the north of London. Admittedly, so is Scotland - but I mean just a LITTLE north of London.

Have you ever heard of Baslow and Wigley? Me neither, but somewhere in between the two is a pub called The Highwayman. They say this is on the eastern end of the Peak District, but that is an embarrassment to me as well. I'm not sure what that is all about. Peak of what? How can a district be peaked? Ah, well. I'm counting on Expat Mum to tweak my peak knowledge, but this place may be after her time. I don't mean after her time as in dead, but rather after her time as in it may have been built after she left England. Fled England. Whatever. It won't be a total loss, even so, because she will come and read this post if there is a link in it to her blog. So there's that.

The brochure says there was a Peak Panic. I'm assuming levity. This was back even earlier than I thought, like 1500's and 1600's. So apparently highway robbery is hardly something new in England. My own levity bubbles to the surface here. Well. The mystique is shattered somewhat by them calling that scary road the A619, which, I'm almost sure, it wasn't called that in the 1500's. But it is a long and winding road (are you a Beatle's fan, dear reader?) and the brochure author says the road triggers (conjures up, I'm thinking he means) images of innocent travelers (only he called them travellers) being robbed and then butchered on the highway. And, being who I am, I immediately think that if you are going to butcher them later anyway, why not do it right at the very beginning and then just rob the unresisting bodies? So I'm guess he is telling a TALL one about the butcheries. This is not Scotland-in-famine we are talking about, after all.

Later he called them "innocent civilians" which doesn't make sense unless the brochure writer is a Major General or something. Perhaps he is.

"The roads linking Chesterfield with both Manchester and Derby represented veritable goldmines for the outlaws of yesteryear." Couldn't prove it by me; I am still struggling with Buzlow and Wiggerley... BUT then this ersatz (a SoubyWord) military brochure narrator bastid goes on to say:

"Difficult to believe now, but 300 years or so ago the Peak District resembled the wild west." [Sorry Toni. Definitely NOT after your time.]

Hey! Hey hey hey hey! Unless you are talking about the Pirates of Penzance, let's leave the "wild west" out of this! We've done nothing to deserve comparison to your pussy highwaymen! I was going to try to work in the word "besmirch" here, but the time for it came and went and here I am two sentences later and unable.

So where is this Derby Manchester place anyway? Do they have a football team? If so, is it called The Highwaymen?

Animal House; supermarket cucumber scene; with Otter and Mrs. Dean Wormer; Mrs. Dean Wormer: "Doubtful."

Well, then, maybe Manchester DOES have a soccer team today. If so, it is probably called the 'Coonians. The 'Coonites. The 'Coonsters. Or similar. Oh, Toto, I seem to have wandered off the highwayman highway again.

There is SO much information in the Peak Panic brochure that I could barely read it all. Could barely TRY to read it all. But there was a mention of highwayman punishment called Gibbeting and you KNOW how Max loves your odd-yet-fair punishments! So I am going off now to study this, hoping it was in addition to execution, which most of yours were.

I am tempted to talk about a gang of highwaymen headed by a guy named Pym who ruled them from a stone chair, but if I did I would have to talk about yet another town in the area called Braxton, and, frankly, the story sounded too much like a ripoff of Peter Pan combined with Lord of the Flies, and I am, sincerely and respectfully, your obedient servant, etc. etc. totally confused already. No, "Buxton," I mean. No help there, though.

I am starting to think that dot on the map is a heaphell more north of London that it looks though.

Prince Harry arrives in U.S. for helicopter training

2011-10-08T03:04:00.002-06:00

Prince Harry, pictured above, top, is shown getting off an airplane in California Saturday. His brother, Prince William, is in front.

Disclaimer: This post was composed from information which ~~was stolen from~~ appeared in the British Newspaper called "Mail Online." I don't know if this is a reputable online newspaper or if it is one of those Rupert rags. I get your newspapers mixed up. So this piece may be a lie, I just want you to know that. That's disclaimer number one. Disclaimer number two is the date. The date on the front page of the issue I ~~stole~~ acquired this information from is "8th October 2011." However, in the past, this online newspaper has been known to rerun stories that are years and years older than the date they put on the page. So this post may be both a lie and an OLD lie. That's disclaimer number two. Those of you who "could care less"* about disclaimers can just read the below post and not bother reading what you just read above.

*("I could care less" was just for that snooty insulting guy in Adullamite's recent post.)

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HRH Prince Harry of Wales arrived in California today [the Mail called it "America"] for helicopter training. Not sure why, exactly. The newspaper only said that he would be training in brutal conditions which duplicate what he will be experiencing in his second tour of duty in Afghanistan. This event (exposing himself in Afghanistan for a second time) is apparently coming up soon. And, judging by the Prince's appalling physical condition in the photograph above, it needs to happen soon before he is unable to walk. Apparently, like the U.S. Army, you folks no longer have fitness standards or age limits for your soldiers. A second tour in Afghanistan? Are you kidding me? Look, I don't want to get out of line here, but why doesn't someone just shoot the poor lad in the leg or something so he can collect that purple heart he needs for his RR (Royal Resume) and be done with it? Sorry, "CV." That way he can just retire and go back to being a regular royal playboy? Ok, maybe not in the leg. Maybe a finger or something. And while I am digressing, am I the only one who thinks both of these boys have aged horribly since the wedding? And I'm not even going to talk about William's hair. I mean fer chrissakes. Just take a look at that picture again. Am I right?

Well, am I wrong in thinking Mr. Wales was a tank driver or something before? I'm almost positive he wasn't flying helicopters before. That was William. Or was it fighter jets? No, that was Randy Andy in the Falklands. At any rate, Prince Harry is getting training for two months in California at a place called El Centro near the Mexican border (haha, like there's really a border there) according to the Mail Online. On Apache helicopters which the prince has proclaimed "awesome." I think it was Apaches. The Mail called them "choppers." Awesome choppers. Near the Mexican border. Newbie royal pilot. Right.

The Mail Online continues: "Crimson Eagle" [honest to god, that's what they are naming this thing] will take place in locations that replicate the brutal terrain of Afghanistan - over soaring mountains and vast desert with temperatures that reach well in excess of 110 degrees."

Oh, for crying out loud! Is that really how you Brits picture California? In November? Truly?

Incidentally, Prince Harry is a Captain now. Seems like only yesterday he was a second lieutenant or third subaltern or whatever your ranks are. I wonder if having a name like Wales gets one promoted on the fast track? If he shows up in Afghanistan in January leading a whole squadron of "awesome choppers" and is then a full colonel, I would start to be suspicious about favoritism. I don't know what William is. Lord Admiral-something by now, probably.

Wait! Wait wait wait wait. I didn't upload the full picture. Hang on a minute. Here 'tis:

There you go. That's better. So William isn't with him after all. Say, do you notice how that guy at the top in the yellow vest is checking out the RA (Royal Arse)? I guess you guys don't have a don't-ask-don't-tell policy any more either. Better not bend over to pick up the soap in the shower, Harry. Just sayin'. Where was I?

Oh, yes. The Mail Online goes on to say that Captain Wales will become one of an elite few to have expertise in the £46 million a pop 2-man helicopter, of which Britain (not the UK, mind you) is the proud owner of 67. Assuming Captain Wales passes the training course, says the Mail Online. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Right. Gosh, I wonder if he will pass the course?

Well, jeeze Louise, if you folks have 67 of them (what, you didn't have enough money to buy an even 75 of them from us? Even after what's his name sold your Navy?) that means you have, at a minimum, 134 pilots already trained (assuming you would want to have the capability of flying them all at one time) so that hardly makes Captain Wales all that elite. If I may say.

Then again, it isn't all that likely that all 67 of them will actually work at the same time if you bought the parts from us. So maybe he is in an elite field after all. Here is a picture of some "Awesome Apache Choppers" or at least the front ends of some:

And here is a picture of what I assume is Captain Wales' barracks mum:

Never let it be said that British newspapers run gratuitous sex pictures that have nothing to do with the story being told.

"It has long been known," the Mail Online continues breathlessly, "that the prince is keen to return to combat after his first deployment in 2007 (when he was young and fit?) was cut short after ten weeks, much to his disappointment, because of security fears.

"If he is deployed next year his main tasks will be to provide air cover for ground troops and to seek and destroy Taliban positions."

But that sounds about right, doesn't it? About £104 million per Taliban killed? Something like that? Money well invested. I am slowly learning the fine art of British sarcasm.

Unbelievable that the word "Taliban" sets off my spellchecker. How old IS my computer, anyway?

A dragon by any other name would... smell as sweet?

2011-10-04T03:15:00.006-06:00

Dragon:

A dragon is a mythological beast, says the dictionary. I say dragons are real. There are many types of dragons. I won't speak of the different types here except to say they can be differentiated by color (red, green, blue, black, white) and by what they breathe out (fire, acid, lightning bolts, poisonous gas, frost.) Be wary if you meet up with a dragon and do not assume you can intimidate him by playing dead or acting crazy. That would be my advice.

Wyvern:

A wyvern only has two legs. Two legs and a barbed tail. Since it has wings, bat-like wings, it really makes more sense that it would not have arms too. It has a barbed tail and a dragon's head. Or a head similar to a dragon's. I used to think that it is a Wyvern that appears on the Welsh flag until I became more attentive one time. No, your standard Welsh flag has a red dragon (Y Ddraig Goch) giving a friendly high-five. High-three, if you want to be more accurate.

Griffin, Griffen, Griffon:

More people than you might expect think these flying beasts are one and the same with just different vowels. It is a mistake to think this. A Griffin is primarily used in crossword puzzles, and the definition is always "fabulous animal." It has a lion's body and an eagle's head and wings.

Breaking on the Wheel, Preparations for Halloween

2011-09-26T01:44:00.000-06:00

With Bonfire Night looming (beckoning?) in the not-too-distant future, the thoughts naturally turn lovingly to executions past, both botched and well-done. Although Guy Fawkes wasn't broken on the wheel, he is nonetheless an annual reminder of the more exciting public sport of yesteryear.

I promise not to abuse this occasion to once again showcase my BritishSpeak-gained odd vocabulary which every year (and only once each year, it seems) allows me to say words like recusant and undercroft. Woops.

Guy (Gui if you prefer) was only intended to be strangle-hanged, drawn and quartered, and head-piked, but, as you all know, cheated the spectators by swan-diving off the scaffold head first onto the cobblestones. History doesn't tell us if they had a backup act waiting in the wings or not. I certainly hope so. They DID go ahead and pike his now-misshapen (one assumes) head, but it just wasn't the same. When scheduled entertainment doesn't go off as planned, it casts a pall over the audience from which it is really hard for the promoters of the event to recover.

I will certainly do another post on Guy Gui come November 5 (I think that's the date) but I promise not to use those words again. It does warm me bonfire-roasted cockles to feel the warmth of your admiration, though.

No, breaking on the wheel was more exciting than simply lifting a bloke up on his toes by his neck and watching the odd facial contortions. My mind goes back in time and I imagine myself getting a peasant day off and working my way up to the front row, admonishing my neighbors to shut their damn gobs so I can hear the gurgling and wheezings emitting from the toe-lifted unfortunate on the stage. As it were.

But - Oh! - to attend a Wheel Breaking!

The offender (could be a heretic, I suppose) was placed on his or her back and bound to a sturdy wagon wheel in a Da Vinci Vitruvian Man-like pose (one imagines) and, while the probably unwashed madding crowd presses in and the popcorn and little wheel souvenir venders hawk their wares, the wheel of fortune is spun and the lucky contestant in the black hood begins to break the slowly passing bones with a large hammer or iron bar.

Later refinements had the unfortunate man or woman bound, perhaps nailed - who knows? - to one of those X-shaped (St. Andrews) crosses which was then laid upon the sturdy horizontal wheel. This had the effect (in case you haven't guessed the purpose) of raising the body up a few inches so as to get a cleaner break of the limbs. Hideous screams were encouraged.

At about this point in my reverie, my mind is always interrupted by someone on the BBC being interviewed and disparaging the barbarity of Texas' inhumane overdose executions. Then my mind fades back from the BBC to the screams of the revolving wheel method used not terribly long ago in England. Or maybe France. Being a simple American, no thoughts of hypocrisy enter my mind. Only the twisted features of the wheel-man flicker from Da Vinci's man to, say, Roman Polanski's.

They say after a while, the legs and arms would get mushy enough (I always have a mental image of the sign down the street from my house advertising "boneless chicken" for some reason) to "weave" or "braid" them through the wheel spokes, thus giving enough support so that the whole thing, wheel-cross-pulverized living thing, can be hoisted up onto a pole where it will be left for passers by to admire and birds to peck away at. The moaning continues for days.

Unless.

Unless one gets a "favor" or "grace" from the church, for a small donation one assumes, in which case the hammer-wielder would strike the strikee in the chest or even head in a final blow which mercifully kills him/her. This was considered a charity and was not for just anyone who is wheeled. Incidentally, always on the lookout to make this blog as educational as possible when opportunities arise, I would share with you that this final blow was called the coup de grace (grace, get it?) and is where that phrase came from. This is true. This would have been in France, of course. In England, there were no anti-pecking endings that I could discover in my scholarly pursuit of truth.

Let me see. What else?

No, that's about all. Unless my friend Sobriquet (Soubriquet when in the UK) can add some variations from his vast store of .... ummmmm.... variations.

Breaking on the Wheel

2011-09-24T19:37:00.003-06:00

Capital punishment in Great Britain. I don't know about Ireland, but Great Britain really had capital punishment figured out, let me tell you.

Did you know that at one time (in 1810) there were 222 crimes that carried the death penalty in England? One for stealing as little as 25 pence. Ouch. The early methods were very inventive indeed. None of the peaceful overdosing on drugs like Texas and Florida. Nosiree. Besides the Elizabethan favorites of roasting of one's entrails, and drawing and quartering, and the quite popular public strangulation hangings-draw and quarter-head on a pike combo, let me tell you of one of my personal favorites, Breaking on the Wheel.

Next time.

Thinkya verry much

2011-09-24T17:48:00.007-06:00

Thank you all for your help and suggestions on the previous post. Some were mostly likely correct and the rest were entertaining, at least. I guess I am going to go with my initial instinct and say it means "to give up," which was pretty much what A. and Expat Mum said. I remember having to slap the mat when in pain in wrestling days. And I remember the ref slapping the mat when a wrestler was officially pinned (never me, though) and I remember in Judo in the military being told to clap your hands if you were choking or felt a joint being dislocated (often you weren't near the mat to slap it.) Usually I just made pitiful whimpering sounds instead of clapping my hands, as I recall. Especially during garotte training day.

None of this tells me for sure why a retired Australian building contractor would say he had to tap the mat and have someone else design his website. But close enough.

Aussie Speak?

2011-09-19T12:12:00.003-06:00

Anyone out there familiar enough with Australian slang to know what "tap the mat" means? Something like "give up" in wrestling? Like you don't know something and need help? Is that it?

Crikey I hope it's not dirty. :(

Willard: 6 Degrees (or more) of Separation

2011-09-16T00:09:00.003-06:00

Willard loved rats.

Willard collected rats, bred rats, cared for rats, trained rats. And, in the end, the rats cared for Willard. What a movie.

Another good movie (I am allowed to be subjective here) was Animal House.

Animal house featured a girl by the name of Mandy.

Mandy was also the nickname of another girl, Mandy Rice-Davies.

You don't remember Mandy Rice-Davies, but she was best friends with another girl named Christine Keeler.

You probably don't remember Christine Keeler, either. Mandy and Christine were a couple of ~~whores~~ opportunistic young ladies who became famous in 1963 for being associated with low-life men who associate with ~~whores~~ opportunistic young ladies, which is to say peers and politicians. Nothing new in that, of course.

John Profumo happened to be War Minister in 1963. Lord Astor was a lord in 1963. Both, it is said, sat backwards in chairs containing said Christine Keeler, friend of the other opportunistic young lady, the Randy Mice-Davies. But I think it was just Lord Astor's house that the chair sat in and he didn't himself sit in it, and only the War Minister fired off a salvo. After all he, Lord Astor, was a lord for gosh sakes. So he (El Lordo) only provided the ~~thrusting~~ trysting place for the politician. He wasn't actually in/on her/it. So the legend goes.

Well, it was a hell of a thing in 1963 and if you were alive back than and living in Great Britain, you probably clicked your tongue in amazement and shook your head in disgust and went out and bought all the supermarket tabloids.

John Profumo sat next to the queen during some tribute to PM Margaret Thatcher a long time ago. Some wag (probably a writer for the Guardian) wondered aloud/in writing which one Ol' John lusted after most. I'm guessing both. I don't know, though.

Here is a picture of John Profumo late in life (when he still was alive, I mean) sitting with a smirk on his face, obviously inwardly reminiscing about what a good year 1963 was. But then, his lapel tells us it was Remembrance day, so he was entitled.

Before he died, John totally lost control of his hair and generally the will to appear well-groomed in public.

Incidentally, during the scandal, PM Harold McMillian decided to retire due to ill health. (He was sick of being humiliated.)

Getting back to my theme (I have a theme to this post) of 6 degrees of separation, Randy Mandy, during the height of her notoriety, used to compare herself to Lady Emma Hamilton.

Emma, Lady Hamilton was, as you all know, and you know you do, was the mistress of Lord Nelson. Those of you who follow this blog long-term, know that I am a big fan of Nelson, due partially to the number of his names and titles, but primarily because I covet his hats. I am a hat and helmet kind of guy. Note the empty sleeve pinned to his chest.

Well, by gosh, Emma Hamilton had time on her hands (Lord Nelson was a sailor, you'll recall) and so she became the ~~whore~~ muse of the famous painter George Romney. Or maybe truly just a muse; I had better not jump to conclusions in the early 19th century besmirching department.

[Painting of the famous painter George Romney taking a dump]

As it happens, ANOTHER George Romney (what are the odds!) was the Governor of Michigan in 1963 (again that year!) He had been president of American Motors in Detroit (no such thing anymore. American Motors, I mean, not Detroit) and later ran for the Republican Presidential nomination but lost to Richard Nixon (or Barry Goldwater or whoever was running for Republican nominee that year,) dropped out and threw his support behind Nixon. As you do. Nixon rewarded ex-Governor Romney by giving him the lofty federal position of Assistant Secretary for African Affairs. I'm embarrassed to admit to you that I don't know how he fared in that fine position or if he lived or died. Assumed died somewhere along the line.

George and Lenore Romney, looking down over Detroit from their lofty perch in their mansion in Bloomfield Hills, had a son. His name was (still is) Willard Romney. One of his parents (don't know which, or, really, if) probably took pity on Willard and said, "Will you look at the size of those hands! Let's nickname him Mitt!" And so it came to pass. Or for some other reason.

Above referenced baby-grown-to-manhood Mitt Romney became the 70th Governor of Massachusetts. Why not Michigan? Well, it starts with an M so that's close enough. Again, this is just my own reasoning. Before becoming a famous politician (as the sons of famous politicians are wont to do) Mitt became a Mormon missionary. To the Philippines? No, to France. I have no information on how many conversions he was able to make, or even if he learned to speak French, but afterwards he went to college and graduated from BYU in Utah. A Mormon who goes to BYU? Unbelievable! Well, they do. Then he earned his Juris Doctor degree from Harvard and also a Masters of Business Administration from Harvard. You know, it is starting to dawn on me how he ended up in Massachusetts.

Of course, with an education like that, one MUST become a politician, right? So (as a Republican) he ran for Senator of Massachusetts against 100-year Democrat incumbent Ted Kennedy. (Guess whether he won or not.) Hmmmmmm. But Kennedy was dead by then, wasn't he? Guess not. So then he (Romney, not Kennedy) ran for governor of Massachusetts. Still a Republican, he apparently was able to act enough like a Democrat to fool the voters and win and became governor. Of course, that is only conjecture. Lower than conjecture: Relax Max conjecure. But how the hell else can a Republican win high office in Massachusetts? I ask you.

---------

Now, Willard is on the prowl again, and will probably be Obama's opponent in the next Presidential election. He's the frontrunner now. (For the Republicans, I mean.) Who knows what the next year will bring. Maybe Mitt has a Mandy in his closet.

I knew you would be impressed with all this in-depth research just for a blog post.

Rats and politicians and all.

Word origins: Bobbies

2011-09-09T00:31:00.007-06:00

London Metropolitan Police got their nickname "bobbie" after Robert Peel, who is credited with conceptualizing the idea of the modern police department structure. He was instrumental in setting up the force in the early 19th century, as well as reforming the police system in Ireland.

The Right Honorable Sir Robert Peel was a very important figure in the United Kingdom in the first half of the 19th century, and famous for many other things besides police organization as well.

Without looking up his official biography, who can tell

1. What county he was from? (Hint: not the one where the above statue is located.)

2. Some of the offices he held in his lifetime?

3. Some of his many accomplishments?

5. What the corn laws were?

6. Were Irish police also called bobbies?

7. His early political mentor?

8. (extra points for extreme trivia) He was first elected at age 21 as MP from the rotten borough of Cashel, Tipperary. What is a "rotten" borough? Do you know how many votes there were in that borough when Peel was elected?

Cannabalism in Scotland: the legend of Sawney Bean

2011-08-29T19:54:00.002-06:00

The soccer team that once crashed on the mountaintop in South America. The American Donner Party. Dickens' Sweeny Todd.

The fine art of chowing down on one's fellows.

Well, it seems in 15th century Scotland, one Alexander Bean (or "Beane") was executed for "mass murder" when he and his 48-member clan took a fancy to human pancreas and the like, precursing Hannibal Lecter, and put the bite on over 1000 people. (Other clans, of course.)

His father, an educated INTP, I think, was a ditch digger and part-time hedge trimmer who tried to pass the family trade, shovel and all, down to his son, but Alexander (Called "Sawney" for some inexplicable reason fathomable only to Scots) would have no truck with honest labor; not with so many delectable upright rump roasts walking around, free for the frying. As it were.

Now, your normal everyday ne'er-do-well who has just turned down a steady hedge trimming gig would probably just look for some other line of work. But Sawney? Goes to his state of mind, your honor.

To this day, the hedges of Scotland are only sporadically and crookedly trimmed. I'm sure you've noticed, though probably you haven't made the connection between this and chewing one's fellow-traveler's fingernails and more. If you get my drift.

Incest? Those Scots had a a patent on it. Jesus. Well, there were only 48 people in the whole clan, so that DOES make one's eye wander to one's sister. Sawney, though, hooked up with an outsider - a vicious woman, they say - who shared his inclinations. And I'm not talking about ditch-digging inclinations.

Most young couples would be looking to build a modest home and start a family, but these two beauties found them a cave on the coast. The cave was fine enough as caves go, some 200 yards deep. Fine enough if you overlook the fact the entrance disappeared at high tide. They had to make allowances for that in their Daily Planners. The cave is still there today. Well, duh.

As you probably know, quirky Relax Max is the kind of little doggie who always reads between the lines, so I was wondering how the interior of that cave smelled (smelt to you) when one was trapped inside on a hot summer's day at high tide with a pile of human feet and viscera. Did I mention she was a vicious woman?

History tells us, if you are one of the 8 or 10 people in the world who believes Scots oral history, that the lovely couple's many children and grandchildren were "the products of incest and lawlessness." Even Relax Max can't quite conjure up how one has children by "lawlessness" (or doesn't want to even try to conjure it up) but the incest part is another duh.

"Lacking the gumption for honest labor, the clan thrived by laying careful ambushes at night to rob and murder individuals and small groups. The bodies were brought back to the cave where they were dismembered and cannibalized. "Leftovers" were pickled. Discarded body parts would wash up on nearby beaches." — Wikipedia

So we can deduce from this they didn't have regular trash pickup in those days.

Pardon me while I retch on my keyboard.

Ok, I'm back now.

You will note in the picture at the top of this post that the woman in the background is carrying legs into the cave. In case you missed the details.

You may be wondering why the neighbors didn't notice the parts on the beach or the stench in the air - at least Max wondered - but the Scots tend to mind their own business unless situations become intolerable.

The situation did become intolerable.

Not ones to bother with serious criminal investigations, the local townspeople first lynched several innocents. (History doesn't tell us whether these unfortunates were simply left hung out for the birds to peck, or whether the clan munched them. Max, of course, thinks of things like that.)

To make a long story short... well, I suppose it is already too late for that, but nevertheless... King James VI of Scotland finally got wind of the carnage and sent down 400 searchers and a bunch of bloodhounds. It didn't take the bloodhounds long to find the stinking cave the neighbors had missed, which, the narrative says, was "rife" with human remains. Rife. Holy Macaroni, how does one SLEEP in such a cave?

Relax Max is always reluctant to mention King James VI of Scotland, because there is an unwritten law (or maybe it IS written) that one must always obligatorily add "Later King James I of England" to the mix. I don't know why. It just has to be done, and I've done it.

The clan was captured and taken (in chains - Wikipedia states the obvious) to Jail in Edinburgh, then later transferred to Leith or Glasgow where they were executed without trial. Never one to complain, Relax Max nevertheless cannot help but wonder if you are going to execute people without trial (Even Florida and Texas give trials) then why not just off the crud right next to the cave and be done with it? Let the bloodhounds have a go at them? I suppose there would be more of an audience in Glasgow, though.

But a nice show it was, well worthy of any admission that may have been charged. May I describe it to you? Yes? Then I shall.

The men had their genitalia cut off, hands and feet cut off, and left to bleed to death. The women and children were given the pleasure of watching this, then they were burned to death. (James was Catholic, remember.)

Ayrshire is noted for its dark folklore, so none of this may be true. Let's hope.

---------

Have you ever tasted "Vienna Sausages" - those little mushy weiner-like things in little cans at your grocer's, next to the deviled ham? Those are reportedly what pickled pancreas tastes like.

Just saying. Max likes to finish the job properly.

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To Americans, smelt is just a little fish.

============

In accordance with the rules set forth by the Oxford Croquet Union and international dog of mystery, Relax Max, readers are reminded that any blog post over 1 year old may be republished in the event said Max can't be arsed with thinking up original stories that contain something British in them within a reasonable amount of time.

By the same stated above rules, certain commentors to the original post are immune to obligatory recomments to THIS post, although, frankly, Soubriquet's original comment was witty enough to make me read it almost halfway through. Something about finger food in Ayershire. Go read it.

DISCLAIMER: I know James VI & I was not Catholic. I know he wasn't around when this story says he possibly was in the 15th century. Blame Wikipedia and their sucky fact-checking.

A Stranger In My Own Land

2011-08-22T23:51:00.007-06:00

Where have all the Scot folk gone

Where have awe the Scots folk gone?
hiv the white settlers moved them on?
It seems to me there's interference,
a subtle kind o` Highland Clearance.

Scotland's changing, as Scotland must,
like a phoenix rising fi the dust.
Are we too busy building other nations?
and forgetting all oor Scot's relations.

It's hard tae find the true Scottish Scots,
atween awe the English Argonauts.
In a shop when you mak a query,
they caw you luv instead o dearie.

The castle man said ahlo Guv, ah hid ma doot!
fur that castle wis built tae keep him oot.
How cin ye imagine the Scottish splendor?
wi that English accent over yonder.

The barman's in an awfy gitter.
he gies them heavy when they ask fur bitter.
Ind och fir heevens sake,
it's cawed a Loch , NO A Lake!

We gie a cuddle, no a hug.
that's no an ear, that's yur lug.
keep yur highbrowcooking tips.
Scotland's veg is deep fried chips.

Them up in Edinburgh shid get of their erse,
ind tak their car oot o reverse
Ah cin see it's awe startin,
soon wul hae an English Tartan.

It is time tae stop the procrastination,
ind build a truly Scottish Nation.
A new beginning, an Historic Dawn.
Where have all the Scots folk gone?

"Every man dies; not every man lives"—William Wallace, Braveheart

Some British sports stadia with corporate sponsor names

2011-08-15T00:34:00.003-06:00

For some time now it has become the fashion to sell advertising on city-owned* property in order to generate some revenue for these services and facilities so that the area taxpayers don't have to foot the bill. This is especially true of sports arenas which cost millions and millions of pounds to construct, maintain, and operate. It is likely several cities would not be able to construct a fancy stadium on their own to rent to various sports franchises, so the big bucks from corporate sponsors are a godsend to these cities who also reap tax revenue from the money the fans spend at games and shopping. Be sure to salute the corporate sponsor of your favorite football or cricket or rugby major league team the next time you pass by the stadium or attend a game. It's your tax dollars that are being saved!

*Not all stadia are owned their cities or counties, of course, though it is almost always the case in the U.S. now.

2011-08-14T19:34:00.001-06:00

Last Scots post for a while

2011-08-10T00:47:00.002-06:00

Here is a website that contains many happy, sad, pathetic, and uplifting stories. The following story falls under the "pathetic" category. (I have read other versions of this story, but I like this version. It is too old to not be in the public domain.)

"Many years ago John Macduff and his young bride left Scotland on a sailing vessel for America, there to seek his fortune. After tarrying a few weeks in New York, they went West, where they were successful in accumulating a good competence. By and by his wife's health began to fail. The anxious husband said that he feared she was homesick.

" 'John,' she replied, 'I am wearying for my ain countrie, will ye no' tak' me to the sea, that I may see the ships sailing to the homeland once more?'"

"Her husband's heart was moved with compassion. In a few weeks he sold their Western home and took his wife East to a pleasant little cottage by the sea, whose further shores broke on the rocks that line the coast of Scotland. She would often sit and gaze wistfully at the ships sailing from the bay, one after another disappearing below the horizon on their way to her ain countrie. Although she uttered no complaint, it was evident that she was slowly pining away. John was afraid that she would die in a foreign land; and as an effort to save her he sold his New England home, and took her back across the ocean. She speedily recovered by the keen mountain air, the sight of purple heather, nodding bluebells, and hedge-rows white with fragrant hawthorn blossoms in bonnie Scotland, her own dear native land. To her it was home. And there is no sweeter word in any language than 'home.' "

Now that's pathetic, no? I can hardly see through the tears as I type this even now. Part of Max - the callous, cynical part of Max - wonders idly whether she might not have died in the foreign land even if she had been happy there, and whether perhaps ol' John might have foreseen that before he drug her off to America from her dear highland hame. But that is not germane.

Anyway, after reading this account (supposedly) a young woman wrote the words to a famous hymn entitled "My Ain Countrie." Here is the first verse (since you are already in a sad state from reading the above, and since I need to stick some more Scottish stuff in this post.)

"I am far frae my hame, an' I'm weary aften whiles,

For the lang'd-for hame-bringin', an' my Father's welcome smiles;

An' I'll ne'er be fu' content until my e'en do see

The gowden gates o' heaven, an' my ain countrie."

Please, don't stop reading here. This post will start getting interesting shortly, k?

The above pathetic story reminded me right away of Lizzie Borden. I'm sure she popped right into your mind too, as you sniffled and blew your nose repeatedly reading the above patheticness. You remember Lizzie: "I think there may have been an old ax down in the cellar if I'm not mistaken." That Lizzie.

Well, cutting to the chase, no pun intended or even noticed until now, Lizzie was acquitted of hacking up her pa and her step-mother and lived until she was sixty-something in the same town of Falls-something Massachusetts, living well on her pa's money and its subsequent investments. Actually the story of her life after the murders is quite interesting, and you can read it, if you want, right HERE on one of my favorite "inquiring minds need to know this stuff" websites, "FindADeath dot com." But the thing that interested me (enough to make me do this post, anyway) was the fact that one of the things on Lizzie's list of funeral requests to be done after she had shuffled off this mortal coil was to have the above song sung. (Inside a locked empty house, too!)

She had several other last requests on her list too (which you can read in its entirety at the above-linked findadeath site - I read for about a half hour there) but the fact that she wanted this song sung after she died (the first and last verses, anyway) got me to wondering if she was Scottish? I had never heard that before, and maybe she wasn't. Maybe she was just a heartless gold-digging murderess who liked to hear words sung which she couldn't understand the meaning of.

And yet...

R.I.P. Nancy Wake

2011-08-09T15:58:00.004-06:00

Buried on page 9 of my small local newspaper yesterday was a short story of the passing of Nancy Wake. She was living in Australia at the time of her death on Sunday. She was 98. Rest in peace. What times those were. Viva la résistance!

Separated by a Common Language. Truly.

2011-08-07T13:00:00.006-06:00

Of all the accents and speech patterns from Great Britain, by far the most difficult for the American ear to pick up is surely Scots.

English and Scots are "sister languages" they say (or so I read) in that they started out more or less together but went their separate ways over the years. That means that some words are exactly the same; some words are a little different; and some words are totally and completely alien-sounding.

An American listening to Scots, or someone speaking English with a Scots accent, is never quite up to speed. It SOUNDS like the person is speaking English, but... no. Not the kind of English (most) Americans can pick up without a lot of repetition. In fact, I think you have to live in the region for a while to start picking it up.

To make matters worse, there are variations in words and speech patterns all over Scotland. Edinburgh is different than Glasgow and Southwest is definitely different from Shetland or Orkney. Here is a short example from Caithness. This you will hear in Dounreay and John o' Groats. Try to pick it up.

Here's Edinburgh. I got this pretty easily, although it took me a while to pick up the father's trade of "joiner." At least I think that's what's being said.

Here's Glasgow (1) and Glasgow (2). I couldn't pick this up at all. I felt I was basically listening to English... and yet...

Speaking Scots is NOT the same as speaking English with a Scots accent, though.

What is Scots?

Sliders and bashers for YOU!

2011-08-07T00:16:00.001-06:00

Here are the official answers to the Scots words of the last post. Just visit Adullamite's fine fair and balanced unbiased blog for those and many more. I really enjoyed them. You will too.

I also picked up a few from his blog that he didn't give the answers to. Maybe you can help.

1. Hibernatin' supporter

2. Good Snog (like there is such a thing as a bad snog. Ok, I knew this one)

3. Tunnock's snowball

4. Wheelie buns

5. Old Firm fan

6. Gormless

Finally, a free one from me to you: Puggled is knackered.

As in, "I am plum sick and knackered of the British always telling the same hilarious (to them) joke about the American tourist lady who got off the bus and proclaimed loudly about how sore her fanny was from the long ride." Woudja just stoppit with that one?

Scotswords Contest

2011-08-05T00:11:00.002-06:00

As a public service I am going to attempt to translate the following list of Scottish words, phrases, and exclamations into American. Do you speak Scotslang well enough to tell what they mean in that brand of English? (Or whatever it is.) I'm pretty sure you can't, so that's why I am showing the official American translation under each word.

At the bottom, you must try to fill in the correct answers a Scot would give for these same words. A link to the site where you can find the answers, tomorrow. (If I link to it right now, you will just go look it up, and I want you to guess first.) There are more than these, but I will wait and see if I get any comments before I run the rest of them.

1. Bag off

A contest between two supermarket employees.

2. Basher

One who bashes.

3. Bogging

What poor spelling writers are doing online.

4. Bucket

A basket. 2 points. A field goal.

5. Choob

What Bill Cosby's childhood friend Fat Albert does with his food.

6. Clarty

What university students in the South eventually come to.

7. Bam

A loud noise.

8. Dreep

The last sound a bam makes when you punch 'im in the throat.

9. Dreich

What stable hands scrape off their shoes.

10. Eejit

Where hillbillys think Pharohs used to rule.

11. Filly

What you say to the bartender when you bring him your empty glass.

12. Slider

A kind of baseball pitch.

13. The back o' ten

A picture of the U.S. Treasury building.

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Please enter your guesses for the Scots translation below:

1. "Bag off" really means: _________

2. "Basher" really means: _________

3. "Bogging" really means: _________

4. "Bucket" really means: _________

5. "Choob" really means: _________

6. "Clarty" really means: _________

7. "Bam" really means: _________

8. "Dreep" really means: _________

9. "Dreich" really means: _________

10. "Eejit" really means: _________

11. "Filly" really means: _________

12. "Slider" really means: _________

13. "The back o' ten" really means: _________

Some people take their croquet seriously

2011-08-02T12:30:00.004-06:00

If you kill a frog (accidentally, of course) does that mean you croak it?

Okay, I know -- the game is called cro KAY. I was just trying to break the ice here with an amazingly funny original joke. I am always being complimented on my fine sense of humor. Subtle and nuanced humor.

The people who take croquet seriously (they play while sober and in the rain and probably own their own mallets like the rest of the world own their own cue sticks) play something called Oxford Croquet. It's like polo, only without the ponies. Well, I suppose you could use ponies. The rules don't prohibit them that I can find.

The most favorite game of the Oxford Croquet crowd is called "Ricochet." I guess everything has to end in "et" if you breathe the rarified air of elite croquet.

I thought I would share the rules with you as I read them, in case you ever get the urge to play croquet by the rules.

1. "Ricochet is played between sides. One side plays with black and blue balls, and the other side plays with red and yellow balls."

Well, that just spoils it for me right there. Americans don't go in for those kind of British perverted games. I think I just lost interest.

Not so hot EVERYWHERE on earth right now

2011-08-01T15:50:00.002-06:00

This photo just in from a friend of this blog in South Africa, entitled "Snow, Eastern Cape, July 25, 2011."

Just to remind all the complainers of the heat in the U.S. right now, that some of the rest of the world is in the dead of winter and would like to have some of your heat.

I know. Doesn't help.

Political parties in the United Kingdom

2011-07-29T00:25:00.005-06:00

The Parliament of the United Kingdom consists of the Sovereign and the House of Lords, and the House of Commons. Both Houses meet in the Palace of Westminster.

The House of Commons is a democratically elected body comprised of 650 members (since 2010.) These 650 seats are filled by the following political parties:

1. Conservative and Unionist Party (referred to simply as the Conservative Party): 306 seats

2. labour Party: 258 seats

3. Liberal Democrats: 57 seats

4. Democratic Unionist Party: 8 seats

5. Scottish National Party: 6 seats

6. Sinn Fein: 4 seats (unseated, as they choose not to swear allegiance to the crown)

7. Plaid Cymru: 3 seats

8. Social Democratic and Labour Party: 3 seats

9. Alliance Party of Northern Ireland: 1 seat

10. Green Party of England and Wales: 1 seat

There are six other major organized parties which currently hold no seats. There are many other registered parties. The number changes often.

The above information comes from Wikipedia. The totals come out to only 647, but that's what they show.

There are a total of 419 registered parties in the UK as of 10 June, 2011.

This info only pertains to the parliament of the UK. Individual countries also have a parliament or an assembly, often with additional parties than those shown above.

Organized chaos? Not really. Not organized at all.

[Next: what these parties stand for, or say they stand for.]

Advice to Brits visiting America

2011-07-26T16:49:00.007-06:00

There seems to be lots of books with advice to Americans visiting the UK, but not so many for those going the other direction on holiday, so this is intended to fill that void.

Disclaimer: you will find many blogs by expat Brits living in America, but all their advice is wrong, so take that as a warning for you to stay away from those expat sites and just read this authentic one. After all, if they were THAT intelligent, they would still be living in the UK, right?

Note: These tips are for short-term visitors. You’ll only find advice that is helpful for holiday goers and not stuff about how to get a driver’s license or register to vote.

Well, I guess that’s about all for now.

Wait. I forgot part of the post.

1. We use different money here. No Francs or whatever you use in the UK. On the bright side, our money has no value anymore, so there’s no need to worry about exchange rates.

2. We don’t speak your language.

3. Americans change lanes a lot. Watch your ass.

4. Don’t take the train. Jesus.

5. Expect to hear the words “excuse me?” a lot when you speak to us, and not because we want to get through. Not only do we not speak your language, we don’t understand it, either.

6. America is not dangerous.

7. You will love our beer.

8. Avoid eye contact with panhandlers. On second thought, try to just choose a destination other than New York. Chicago is nice. They don’t have panhandlers in Chicago. They have “street newspaper venders” in Chicago. Hint: buy one or they’ll spit on you. Kidding. Just kidding. And you can take the train in Chicago, so you’ll feel right at home. Only they call it the El. That’s because... well, you don’t need to know all that.

9. If you MUST choose to land in New York, don’t ask directions to Chicago. They won’t have a clue. Anything west of the Hudson is just blurry fiction to them. They won’t understand you anyway. And you DAMN sure won’t understand THEM.

10. The Golden Gate Bridge is not in Chicago.

11. It is unlikely you will meet President Obama during your visit. I know. Bummer.

12. If in New York, resist the temptation to talk about cricket with the person standing in line next to you. If in New York, resist the temptation to talk to the person standing in line next to you.

13. Two words: Gray Line.

14. Choice Hotels. Alamo Car Rentals.

15. Everything is farther than you thought it would be. Except in Massachusetts and like that.

Actually, I don’t know why more Brits don’t visit here. It really isn’t that bad. (Not to steal the New Jersey license plate state slogan: “Not as Bad as You’ve Heard”.) I recommend visiting in the spring or fall. Unless you are visiting Miami, then July is the best time.

If you see a cop behind you with his red lights on, don’t pull over right away, because it may not be you he wants to pull over. Take your time and be sure. A mile or so. Then stop on the shoulder, wait for him to get out and approach you, then move ahead 100 yards or so. This is a courtesy unique to America, and they will appreciate it. You may be sure. Never let them see your hands as they approach your car. Bend down sideways in your seat if possible. Then sit up straight quickly. And I hope you are lucky enough to get to play, too. It will be something for you to talk about when you get home.

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If you REALLY have serious questions, I promise to answer seriously. Just ask. Otherwise I don’t know what real advice to give you. I know I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea of what to do if I visited the UK. I’ve heard you are not all that keen on guns but beyond that, I’m not sure. And you use passports and stuff, right?

Update: Contrary to the picture at the top of this post, there is no bridge to the U.S.A. I mean not from where YOU are. At least I don't think there is.

Update #2: I was ~~lying~~ kidding when I told you not to go visit ex-pat blogs. They know a LOT more about America than Americans ever will.

George Harrison's attacker to be released today

2011-07-25T15:17:00.004-06:00

July 25, 2011

Michael Abram repeatedly stabbed the late Beatle and also attacked his wife Olivia, back in December of 1999, after breaking into their Henley-on-Thames mansion.

Abram had been ordered to be confined to a secure hospital "without time restriction." However, apparently less than two years is enough, as he has been certified fit to mingle with Londoners again today, less than two years after he was sentenced. In all fairness, it did take forever before his trial started.

The conditions of his release and the reasoning behind the board's decision will be kept secret. Why? Just so you the public won't know, I guess. It wouldn't do to have the guy's future burger employment jeopardized just because you don't want to mingle with him.

[Source: The Mail Online. A dirty Murdock enterprise or a clean honest organ which rises above the filthy Murdock crowd? I dunno. I'm sure you'll tell me which.]

People in glass houses

2011-07-21T00:27:00.002-06:00

Sadly, the indignant barking and growling going on now in your House of Commons is spilling over into our tv news. I was willing to let this subject be, as long as you kept it confined to the UK, but it is now affecting (not impacting) my personal life, so let me ~~explain~~ remind you of a few facts of life in an effort to calm your blood pressure a bit.

First, let me say the obvious: what they did was despicable. wire tapping, hacking, lying, betraying their offices, intruding on the lives of people who already had suffered enough, and the rest. The lot of them. Now, the list of reminders:

1. All politicians are lying, cheating, dastardly, bribe-taking, sell-their-souls scumbags. Beware when you see them on tv pointing fingers and being all holy. And stuff.

2. There are no exceptions to number one, above. None.

3. All news organizations have one goal and that is to make money. They will lie, cheat, wire-tap, bribe, lie again, intrude, betray confidences, hurt the innocent, and fill in what they don't know with more lies. Beware when you see a newspaper spouting off about what low-lifes their competition is.

4. There are no exceptions to rule number three, above. All have sinned and come short of the glory of .... I don't know.... Randolph Hearst. ::Rosebud::

5. All moguls are out to make Billions and Billions of dollars (or Euros or £££s or whatever you prefer) on the backs of whomever it takes for them to make money. Moguls have a personality which combines the traits of politicians, news organizations, bottom-feeders (lawyers) and will do whatever it takes to make more money.

6. Politicians will attack like a rabid dog any opponent who has made an embarrassing public error. They will be relentless. Never mind they were just as dirty last month.

7. News organizations will do whatever it takes to make themselves look good in order to trash and hopefully run a competitor out of business.

8. One of the most hilarious things you will ever see in your life is to watch a mogul dragged before people he doesn't respect and despises and be called publicly to account for his dastardly actions. Sometimes the same actions the stone-throwers were doing themselves last month. (Hint: an honest neutral special prosecutor needs to be appointed to get to the bottom of this, chips fall where they may, and stop letting the pot people keep calling the kettle people black.)

9. The people have a very short attention span. After the intitial mud-slinging and Rupert bashing excitement are over, they will likely just walk away and go back to watching football at their favorite pub...

So, the holier-than-thou detractors who seek short term possible re-election points by being on tv shouting insults at the PM on the evening news, and the wonderful remaining lilly-white pure newspapers who condemn the vile Rupert style of "journalism" which they themselves so vehemently abhor, had better strike while the iron is hot and before the next public scandal supplants the present opportunity to demonstrate their virtue. You may be sure there will be one.

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There but for the grace of God....

There is absolutely no financial difference between Rupert Murdock and myself except that he has a lot of money and I have next to none. And, except for a completely different set of values and morals, we could be twins.

I can assure you that at this time next year, Rupert will be again hobnobbing with the politicians and the rich and famous, thinking up new scams to increase the circulation of his new newspaper that he will have replaced this one with. This because he is contrite, you see. ::tears welling up again::

And me? I will still be eating beans out of can and blogging.

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In the next post in this spot I will analyze some of the bloggings of outrage on some of the higher class British blogs I frequent. You may be sure I will be my usual respectful self.

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Chill Wills, in "Giant": "People, people, people."

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Nobody cuts deeper or more on target than Nate Beeler.

Top 10 favorite british words for July

2011-07-15T00:16:00.004-06:00

10. Dodgy

9. Shirty

8. Chuffed

7. Peckish

6. Stroppy

5. Dogsbody

4. Shambolic

3. Wonky

2. Bollocks (I have always liked this word ever since the first day I started this blog. For some reason. I just like saying it.)

1. Hard cheese

"Peckish seagulls are causing carnage by ripping open rubbish sacks before binmen can collect them." (And take them to the tip? One assumes.) Oh, to be a binman. I could write an ode to a binman. I once owned a book called Alleyman. Very different than Alley Oop, I'll tell you.

And the carnage of the gulls (another movie title candidate if ever there was one) makes me shirty, though the thought of them getting enough to eat chuffs me to no end.

Americans usually use the word obstreperous rather than saying stroppy. At least the ones wearing the dodgy bow ties do. In fact, I think stroppy is just a bastardization of obstreperous. The British are good bastardizers. With words, I mean.

Dogsbody. Ain't it the truth. Me through and through. Me'n Adullamite. Dogsbody comes from sailors of old who were fed Pease porridge. Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold... etc. Well that's dried peas boiled in a bag. Maybe a gull-carnaged bag, for all I know. You have to understand Cockney rhyming slang to get the connection. I ain't and I don't. Are there still Cockneys in existence? Truly?

Aussies would call a stunned mullet shambolic, I suppose. The dictionary used Amy Winehouse's recent concert attempt as an example of it. Like if you finally see the flashing red lights behind you and the cops try to make you take a test on the side of the road and you just turn into Leon Spinks and go "Friggy Diggy" I guess that would be borderline shambolic.

"Bit of hard cheese, those pesky aneurisms," he said as his friend slumped.

Wonky? This whole post is borderline wonky.

Thank you Merriam-Webster dot com.

Y Wladfa

2011-07-13T12:09:00.005-06:00

The Welsh language is spoken throughout Wales, in nearby parts of England, and in the Chubut province of Argentina.

Before the Spanish came to America, indigenous nomadic people settled early on in the New World, as far south as southern Argentina and Chile. Magellan called this area Patagonia. It's gorgeous - especially the Chubut River Valley.

Welsh emigration to the Chubut Province began in about 1865 in response to the Argentine government's invitation to western Europeans to settle the sparsely populated areas outside Buenos Aires. By 1875, there were 34 settlements of various western European ethnicities.

There are now over 50,000 Patagonians of Welsh descent. Only about 1500 actually still speak Welsh. The Welsh colony in Patagonia is called Y Wladfa.

Picts, Celts, Scots, Highlands, Lowlands, Clans

2011-07-07T11:15:00.001-06:00

Often, when I try to learn of Scotland from books, I end up being less than totally educated because the authors often use certain words and terms in the assumption their readers know what such simple words mean.

In the movie "As Good as it Gets," Jack Nicolson's character is told that one of his greatest assets is his willingness to be humiliated. In that same spirit, I will tell you that I don't mind if my questions seem stupid to you, as long as I get the answers.

I will start with words I hear and read a lot but never feel I QUITE understand:

Pict

Celt

Scot

Gaelic

Celtic

Scots (language)

Caledonia

Highlands

Lowlands

Scots-Irish

Ulster Scots

Ulster Plantation

I'll start by telling you what I THINK I know about the words, and maybe then you can correct me and make my understanding a bit more complete.

1. Pict, Celt, Scot. I think these are people. I think "Scot" now means "someone (native) who lives in Scotland." But I think Scot was just one of several peoples earlier on. I think "Pict" is a very early group of people who lived in what is now Scotland, or part of it, and some Scots may have descended from them. Maybe a LOT of Scots descended from them. I'm not sure about that. I think the Picts came from (northern?) Europe, probably across an ancient land bridge. I don't really know what happened to them. When I form a mental picture of Picts in my mind, I see an early primitive culture. Maybe more advanced than "cavemen" but pretty primitive. If they were really advanced, then please tell me. Celt: I think the Celts were a larger group of people who lived not only in Scotland, but throughout their "empire" or "Lands of the Celts" such as Cornwall and Ireland. Tell me where else. I know of a Celtic Cross. Not sure if there was a Celtic Doublecross or not. I don't know if they were a conquering "tribe" of people or what. Were they powerful? Did they take what they wanted in their segment of history? They left a lot behind them, from what I read of them. Scot: once and for all I want to know what the Scots were early on and what that term means today. I think they were one of the early kingdoms. Are they the only ones that live in Scotland today? The others died out or absorbed? What?

2. Gaelic, Celtic, Scots. These are languages. Or they may be ONE language, I don't know. I think I know that Gaelic and Celtic are the same thing, or, at least, the language the Celts spoke became known as Gaelic. And I think Gaelic is also another word for "Irish" - the "native language" of the Irish. But I have heard the name "Scots" used as a separate language, and I have heard of "Scots-Gaelic" which starts to confuse me. What languages, once and for all, are spoken in Scotland?

3. Caledonia. I think this is just what the Romans called what is now Scotland, but I have never been absolutely sure. Maybe a smaller or larger area. Maybe just the highlands. Maybe the word is really "Caladonian" as in adjective; maybe no such thing as "Caledonia." Help.

4. Highlands and Lowlands. This is not as straightforward as you think, at least not to an American. At first, I thought of those areas as mountainous or flatlands. Don't laugh. One book I read defines Highlands as "That land not included in the Lowlands." Well, Jesus H. Christ. Really? So you see what I am up against, Jacobite-wise and Clans-wise and other-wise. Then, I began to think of them as simply upper and lower geographical areas: the lowlands to the south, closest to England, and the highlands farther north. Get it? - high and low on the map. I suppose this is still my present mental image. No one seems to want to define the terms for Americans. It seems to be inside knowledge that only the British are allowed to understand. Well, by God, I know it must have something to do with Clans, and I know it must have something to do with culture and way of life, and I know it must have something to do with ancestry, and I know it must have something to do with loyalties - at least loyalty to Stuarts or not.

5. Clans. I think of these as sort of "tribes" or extended families. They might squabble amongst other family memebers, but they would be united against outsiders. I don't know if there were Clans only in the Highlands, or if in the Lowlands as well. I don't even know if you are supposed to capitalize the word. I think I know they can be determined partly by the traditional clothes they wear. Like, if they wear Armani-designed clothes, they are Lowlanders. Kidding. I mean the different clans' (not capitalized looks ok) "tartans." While they might look the same to an American eye, I have read that the patterns are different (and maybe colors) enough where knowledgeable people can tell what clan they are from just by looking at the pattern of the tartan. Well, that is FAR beyond the scope of what I need to learn, but I would at least want to know if it is true that different clans wear different patterns of fabric.

6. Ulster Scots. I only think of the word "Ulster" when I think of Ireland, not Scotland. So maybe this is a group of people who live in Scotland who came from Ireland? A part of Ireland? Actually I am not 100% sure what Ulster in Ireland means, either. Northern Ireland? Something to do with religion, right? Are those the descendants of William of Orange followers I read about earlier? No? Ok.

7. Ulster Plantation. Vaguely, I think this is a place in America where a lot of Slave-Scots emigrated. Then they went West. I don't know. Just talking. Maybe Ulster Plantation is code for Boston. Probably not.

That's enough for now. Even I have my limits on asking stupid questions.

Update: Ok, Wikipedia says Ulster Plantation was a plantation in Ulster. Grrrr.

But that sounds reasonable. And it says Ulster is an Irish province. I thought they called them counties. So I am going in circles. I still think Ulster is all of Northern Ireland. It was once a big plantation?

Well, it turns out that PICT is a type of early Macintosh picture file format. So I was wrong about that too.

"The 45": The Jabobite Rising of 1745

2011-07-05T00:09:00.005-06:00

Charles Edward Louis John Casimir Sylvester Maria Stuart (I will call him Todd LeRoy for brevity) was the grandson of the last Stuart King of England and Scotland, James II and VII. His father was the Old Pretender, the would-be James III and VIII, and Todd LeRoy was the Young Pretender. That's pretty straightforward. He wanted to be Charles III.

To bring you up-to-date, Jacobite-wise, if you haven't been following this saga, the Stuarts were shut out of the throne because they were Catholic. The Hanovers, German but Protestant, were now in power. Many people in Scotland (and elsewhere) believed the Stuarts should be on the throne, and their supporters rebelled from time to time, especially when the kings of the south changed and reminded them. You should know by now that Jacobus is Latin for James, so I am not going to tell you that again.

There were several Jacobite Risings through the years, but we are about to come to a close on that.

In July of 1745, Charles (Todd LeRoy, if you prefer) and 7 friends sailed to Scotland to retake the throne. He had 2 ships. He had hoped for help from the French Fleet, but there was a storm and they had to turn back. Right. Charles landed at Eriskay on July 23. His father was still alive, but Charles had his agency (the Old Pretender had named Charles regent. Or regent-pretender, if you are a stickler for the truth) to act to recover the throne.

Two old ships and 7 friends. That oughtta do it.

The Hanovers, never completely asleep at any time, smelled the French fleet and the Royal Navy restationed itself in the channel. Not on the Sands, one assumes. So, when the French regrouped after the "terrible storm" (wink wink nudge nudge) they decided to just stay in France. After all, Bonnie Todd had 7 guys with him.

Isn't it one of the amazing coincidences of history that whenever there was an attempt by the Stuarts to come back from France with a French army, they always ran into a storm? Could be July, could be December, didn't matter. I guess only an American would think about things like that. Jesus, it's only about 20 miles or so. C'mon.

But, of course, Charles expected support from the Clans again, and he wasn't disappointed. The Clans did rally (both Catholic and Protestant, btw) and when they marched on Edinburgh, they were let in. That is to say Edinburgh "surrendered."

Charlie and the Clans then defeated the only British army in Scotland at the battle of Prestonpans. The losing commander was John Cope.

I have been astounded at the knowledge of the followers of this blog with regard to old songs of the Risings, and poetry, so I feel REALLY obligated to print some song lyrics here, just to try and keep up with them.

Johnnie Cope

Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar
Sayin "Charlie meet me an' ye daur
An' I'll learn ye the airt o' war
If ye'll meet me in the morning."
Chorus
O Hey! Johnnie Cope are ye waukin' yet?
Or are your drums a-beating yet?
If ye were waukin' I wad wait
Tae gang tae the coals in the morning.
When Charlie looked the letter upon
He drew his sword and scabbard from
Come, follow me, my merry men
And we'll meet Johnnie Cope in the morning. (Chorus)
Now Johnnie, be as good as your word
Come, let us try baith fire and sword
And dinna flee like a frichted bird
That's chased frae its nest i' the morning. (Chorus)
When Johnnie Cope he heard o' this
He thocht it wouldna be amiss
Tae hae a horse in readiness
Tae flee awa in the morning. (Chorus)
Fye now, Johnnie, get up an' rin
The Highland bagpipes mak' a din
It's better tae sleep in a hale skin
For it will be a bluidie morning. (Chorus)
When Johnnie Cope tae Dunbar cam
They speired at him, "Where's a' your men?"
"The de'il confound me gin I ken
For I left them a' in the morning." (Chorus)
Now Johnnie, troth ye werena blate
Tae come wi' news o' your ain defeat
And leave your men in sic a strait
Sae early in the morning. (Chorus)
In faith, quo Johnnie, I got sic flegs
Wi' their claymores an' philabegs
Gin I face them again, de'il brak my legs
So I wish you a' good morning. (Chorus)

Some of you are doubtless skeptical or werena blate or whatever and think I probably wrote those words myself, just to fit in with the rest of you, but I did not. I dinna. Had it been me, I would probably have just rapped something like Johnny getcher gun getcher gun gun Johnny getcher gun... but of course it would sound much better than what I just said.

By November, Charles was getting serious. His army by then numbered 6,000. He entered England. He took Carlisle. East of Eden (not really. That's just the name of one of the rivers that confluxate there) and stopped at the famous Swarkestone Bridge there in Derbyshire. It wasn't famous then, but it is now because that's where he stopped and went back to Scotland.

The decision to stop in Derby wasn't Charles' idea. Nosiree. He wanted to go all the way to Londontown(e) and degermanize it, but his chicken councilors forced the retracement upon him. Had Bonnie Prince Charlie had his way, I tell you, Americans would still be speaking English today. And wearing kilts and skirling with the best of them. There wouldna been no George III to go mad or anything else. But some of you already know that didn't happen alas.

Instead, history tells us the Duke of Cumberland, representing his father, King George II, caught up with Charles at Culloden and suddenly it was put up or shut up time for the Young Pretender. When one faces a vastly superior force, what should one do? Charge, of course. Charlie ordered his boys to charge and the Redcoats' muskets cut them to pieces. Followed by grapeshot from what must have seemed like two million leveled-downed cannon for dessert. Clearly, England and the Hanovers had had about enough of the Jacobites.

Cumberland's troops committed a fair number of atrocities, as one does, as they hunted down the Jacobite stragglers, and that, coupled with the aforementioned extra-large portions of grapeshot, earned the Duke the title of "Butcher of Culloden." From the Highlanders, at least. Scots say that is true, English say it is only loser-whine.

When you order a hopeless charge in open swampy territory, it takes almost unbelievable arrogance to believe you were betrayed by your brave troops, but Charlie believed that and used it as an excuse to eventually abandon the Jacobite cause. For a while he ran hither and yon upon the moors of Scotland, never very far ahead of his pursuers. His followers finally helped him escape the country aboard a French ship. With few exceptions, Bonnie Prince Charlie spent most of the rest of his life in exile. The cause of the Stuarts had come to an end.

On a brighter note, the womanizing Charlie DID manage to add another mistress to his harem during the brief "45" conflict - Clementina Walkinshaw. He took her with him to France where such things were not only accepted, but encouraged. Perhaps even scored.

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Okay, I will admit the following is an American simplification. But here's how I see it: You had all these wars and bloodshed and all the fighting and killing and in the end the Hanovers won out anyway. My question: Why in the world didn't one of them, James II or anyone after him, just one day stand up and say, "Hey - I've decided to become a Protestant, by golly! You win. I can live without the Pope. I still believe in Jesus. I'm not going to go to hell if I convert. I'm just going to start attending another church this Sunday." He could even have stayed Catholic in his heart if he wanted.** I guess I am just not as religious as they were back then. More blood in the name of religion.

I know. Too easy.

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Incidentally, the National Anthem of the United Kingdom was written in 1745 during these battles. Composed by Thomas Augustine Arne (his other big hit was the ever-popular "Rule Britannia" - a little short for my taste) and first sung in 1745 during the Jacobite "invasion" of England. It wasn't the official national anthem yet, of course. And some of the grossly anti-Scots lyrics were later deleted, but the tune was the same as now.

Ok, ok, here is what was deleted:

Lord, grant that Marshal Wade,
May by thy mighty aid,
Victory bring.
May he sedition hush and like a torrent rush,
Rebellious Scots to crush,
God save the King

Here is the current authorized version, best as I can find:

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN

God save our gracious Queen,
Long live our noble Queen,
God save the Queen!
Send her victorious,
Happy and Glorious,
Long to reign over us;
God save the Queen!

O Lord our God arise,
Scatter her enemies
And make them fall;
Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks,
On Thee our hopes we fix,
Oh, save us all!

Thy choicest gifts in store
On her be pleased to pour;
Long may she reign;
May she defend our laws,
And ever give us cause
To sing with heart and voice,
God save the Queen!

Not in this land alone,
But be God's mercies known,
From shore to shore!
Lord make the nations see,
That men should brothers be,
And form one family,
The wide world over

From every latent foe,
From the assassins blow,
God save the Queen!
O'er her thine arm extend,
For Britain's sake defend,
Our mother, prince, and friend,
God save the Queen!

Or THIS, minus the last verse:

God save our gracious Queen,
Long live our noble Queen,
God save the Queen:
Send her victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us:
God save the Queen.

Thy choicest gifts in store,
On her be pleased to pour;
Long may she reign:
May she defend our laws,
And ever give us cause
To sing with heart and voice
God save the Queen.

O Lord, our God, arise,
Scatter thine enemies,
And make them fall:
Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks,
On thee our hopes we fix:
God save us all.

Not in this land alone,
But be God's mercies known,
From shore to shore!
Lord make the nations see,
That men should brothers be,
And form one family,
The wide world over.

From every latent foe,
From the assassins blow,
God save the Queen!
O'er her thine arm extend,
For Britain's sake defend,
Our mother, prince, and friend,
God save the Queen!

Lord grant that Marshall Wade
May by thy mighty aid
Victory bring.
May he sedition hush,
And like a torrent rush,
Rebellious Scots to crush.
God save the Queen!

---------

I suppose it would be safest just to learn the first verse and sing it over and over. That's what I'm going to do.

---------

**Oddly, Charles DID offer to do just that - rule as a Protestant. It has been said on some pretty good authority and with some pretty high up witnesses that he returned to London in 1750 incognito (Charles was good at disguises and fake names, but that's another story) and conformed to Protestantism by receiving Anglican communion. Dunno. A little late.

---------

Below is a picture of "princess" Marie-Victoire, Charles' "secret" granddaughter. How do you have a secret granddaughter? Wouldn't your son or daughter-in-law have to know about her? Well, she looks harmless enough. I keep finding more things to add to this post but must stop now.

Update: I have found out the story of the secret granddaughter now. I was going to post the interesting story here as an update, but none of you commented, so I'm not going to tell you.

Jacobite Rebellion, 1715

2011-07-01T00:21:00.005-06:00

After Queen Anne died and the Hanovers took over what had become the British throne, despite the fact that Anne had many closer blood relatives with the Stuarts than the Hanovers, the Jacobites again took up the Stuart cause. The fact that George I didn't speak English didn't help, of course. At least they say he didn't speak English. And so, shortly thereafter, the Scots again came arising.

This "Rising" was called "The Fifteen" because it took place in 1715. That summer, the latest James Stuart, "The Old Pretender," (there would later be a "Young Pretender") put out the word to the Earl of Mar to raise the Clans. He did. In early September, Mar declared, again, that James (who was wanting to be James III and VIII by virtue of the fact he was the only surviving legitimate son of James II and VII, whose desertion/abdication was conveniently now being forgotten by the Jacobites) was the true and lawful sovereign. He (Mar) dusted off the old Scottish standard and prepared to go a-German-hunting. His clans-army grew to about 8,000 men and he captured Perth. If you can call visiting a friendly house "capture." The fighting was all in Scotland, though, with the aim (I deduce) of taking over Scotland and negating the Act of Union. For starters.

However, Perth alone did not Scotland make, and a fair number of clans were by now loyal to the established government down south, so Jacobite traction was a bit slow. Planned simultaneous Risings in Wales, Devon (rhymes with heaven) and Cornwall sort of fizzled out - mostly on account of the fact that George began arresting all the local Jacobites down there. But, in the north of England, a Northumberland man named Thomas Forster raised about 300 horse soldiers for the Stuart cause. On the other side, those in that general area who were loyal to George became known as "Geordies" and are still called that today, although few of those Geordies and Geordettes know why, I'd wager. Maybe they will read this post and find out they aren't called that just because of the way they speak. I digress.

Mar was loath to venture from the safety of Perth, and very little headway was made. A battle here, a skirmish there. In December, Ol' James himself arrived in Scotland, supposing (I'm guessing) that his mere presence would make the clans go wild with adoration and begin fighting in earnest. But the Old Pretender was a bit tetched in the head by then, I think - although they called it "deep melancholy" which probably sounds better, and, in the end, he wasn't that keen on dying in the Scotland winter of December 1715. Turning to one of his pretend ministers he coughed something to the effect of, "You really need to get me the hell out of here now," and so it was. This is my personal vision. Wikipedia's is more drawn out and hard to understand whereas mine could just as well have been the way it happened. Although, being Catholic, he probably would have said heck instead of hell. Moving on.

Accordingly, off to France sailed the would be James III and VIII, not personally to ever fight another day. But from his loins had come a "Young Pretender" so, even as the Firth of Forth slowly got smaller in James' rear view mirror, the die-hard Jacobites vowed, as they disbanded, being deserted by their would-be king, who wanted to show them just how much he cared for them, that they would encourage their sons and grandsons to rise to the cause sometime in the future. Why? I'm starting to lose track.

Those future Risings will be the subject of our next post. I have a feeling you already have guessed how this all turns out. (Hint: the current ruler of the UK is still descended from Electress Sophia. Of Hanover.)

Hating America

2011-06-29T00:30:00.002-06:00

America-bashing has been a popular world sport for the past... I don't know... couple of decades or so. Maybe longer. Most Americans couldn't care less but the 18% of Americans who live on the far left (and think they are 99%) are driven absolutely CRAZY that they are not universally loved. I'm one of the ones who don't really care (because I don't know what I could do about it anyway) but there are some interesting stats out there as to where the primary venom is coming from:

#1 anti-american bloggers and commentators are from Canada;

#2 are from the United Kingdom;

#3 are from Australia (but closing in on the UK fast);

#4 are Germans, believe it or not (they like to call Americans warmongers and racists. Go figure.)

France is not in the top echelons of the Hate America and all things American crowd. I am embarrassed to admit I just assumed France would be right up there. I'm sorry, France.

I had intended to reprint some of the more inventive invective in this post, but I will spare you. Instead, I summarized and aggregated for you below. There really aren't that many variations or reasons people hate America; they are just phrased differently. The main ones, repeated over and over, appear to be:

1. Americans' patriotism and flag-waving is sickening to the world.

2. Americans are fat, stupid, arrogant, and uneducated and don't have "free" health care like the rest of the world does.

3. Americans don't know enough to drive on the left side of the road (Honest! That's one of the reasons we are hated! - not by Canadians, though.)

4. Americans eat fast food. Their fast food franchises pollute the civilized world.

5. Americans don't know shit about hockey or real football.

6. Americans can't even find Australia on a map.

7. Americans don't know how to hold elections. They elected George Bush. George Bush wasn't really elected. Americans elected George Bush twice. The American way to elect presidents is stupid.

8. Only a few Americans have passports. Americans don't travel abroad very much. Americans don't know ANYTHING about Europe or Australia, think Canadians live in igloos and ride polar bears.

9. American beer is cat piss.

10. Americans are bullies who drag the good countries into their wars with them.

These are not meant to be true or false; they are only summaries from various blog comments and posts. Some are probably true and some are probably false. They are only meant to be a list of repeating reasons of why people in other countries HATE America, when asked why.

Some of them would be hilarious if they weren't serious about what they were saying. For example, one guy went on and on about about the deficiencies of the American school system and how stupid almost all Americans are, and his entire rant was full of misspelled words and bad grammar. A German guy said we should be ashamed for attacking our neighbors. He didn't specify. Poland? Czechoslovakia? France? Russia?

A purpose of this post is just to remind you that there is still hatred out there, and that it is not all coming from America. If ANY of the things I read were to have the name of any other country substituted for "America," you would think it was shockingly racist and unfair.

I started this post by saying I was among the majority of Americans who don't care. After some soul-searching, I find I truly don't care (at least not in such a way that it makes me tremble in anguish or lose sleep.) So that part was true. (I have had many debates with people in the blogosphere from other countries who try to explain to me why I SHOULD care. Usually these people also try to explain to me why Obama should be king forever. Foreigners know a HELL of a lot more about American politics than Americans know about foreign politics, I'll say that.)

Does anyone have any favorites I didn't mention?

I'm not trying to embarrass anybody. I really want your comments about this subject. We know each other well enough that you can speak plainly here if you feel like speaking to this. I just want you to think twice in the future before you enter into any generalized conversations about how crappy Americans are. I am guilty of generalizing about certain groups as well, and I promise to start trying not to do it anymore.

Yes, that includes the far left, the far right, Muslims, liberals and anyone else I have mouthed off about in this blog in the past. I even promise to keep my opinions about marmite to myself.

The Glorious Revolution: for the Scots, not so much.

2011-06-27T01:42:00.003-06:00

The Jacobite Risings went on over a period of almost 60 years, from 1688 to 1746. They were a series of battles, or revolts, or rebellions, whose aim was to try to restore the House of Stuart to the thrones of England and Scotland (later, Great Britain.) Not successful in the end, but interesting. Their most famous pretender, James III and VIII, sailed from Dunkirk in 1708 for the Firth of Forth to invade with the help of 6,000 French in 30 ships. They were thwarted by the Royal Navy and harassed all the way back to Dunkirk. That attempt was rather disappointing, if you are of the Scottish or Irish persuasion.

Confused? Losing interest? Let's try it from a different angle.

Elizabeth I

James I and VI

Charles I

Republic (Cromwells)

Restoration of Stuart with Charles II (The current Prince of Wales will be, probably, Charles III. The Charles' don't have that great a record and one wonders why his Mum named him that, but maybe he will choose to be King Arthur instead. His call.)

Charles II

James II (Fled England 1688 and thus is considered to have abdicated)

The Glorious Revolution

The Glorious Revolution of 1688 saw William III of Orange, Netherlands, installed as William III of England and Ireland. Ruling Scotland, he was William II. He ruled jointly from 1689 with Mary II, protestant daughter of the above abdicated James II and VII. She died in 1694. The period of their joint reign is known as William and Mary.

Ex-James II made one serious attempt to recover the throne for the Stuarts in 1689, landing in Ireland. He was defeated by the forces of William at the Battle of the Boyne the next year and returned to France where he set up a pretender court, sponsored by his cousin the Sun King (Louis XIV), and "ruled" from there. The Orange Institution of Northern Ireland was begun in honor of William's victory at the Boyne, and continues to this day.

Anne

Anne ascended to the throne upon the death of William III in 1702. His joint regent, Queen Mary, was her sister. She was (of course) also a daughter of the former James II and VII. Anne was, technically, the last Queen of England and the last Queen of Scots. Her short reign ended in 1714. The Act of Union occurred in 1707, so she reigned as British Queen from 1707. She died without an heir and was the last monarch descended from the House of Stuart.

Anne was a good eater, and enjoyed her rich food. Terrible gout was her reward. She suffered a stroke shortly before her death and was rendered unable to speak. She was 49. She died of erysipelas (she was almost certainly diabetic) and was buried in the Henry VII Chapel of Westminster Abbey. Her body was so swollen and large that it was borne in a vast, almost square, coffin. (Wikipedia)

The Hanovers arrive from Germany.

George I was the second cousin of Queen Anne.

George was Anne's closest protestant relative.

The Jacobites attempted to replace George with their Catholic Stuart candidate (Anne had over 50 relatives who were closer by blood than George was, but they were all Catholic. Catholics are forbidden to inherit the British throne as of 1701.)

The Jacobite's candidate was Anne's Catholic half-brother, the pretender James III and VIII.

George II

George III

George II ruled until 1760. The Jacobite attempts to overthrow the Hanovers effectively had ended by 1746. The Jacobite Risings continued and intensified after the installation of George I, however.

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Next: some of the Jacobite battles; the Clans. Another important Scottish-American.

Prelude to the Glorious Revolution

2011-06-25T14:06:00.007-06:00

"The Highland Charge" was interesting to watch. It was the custom of those brave lads to set aside their plaid kilts before battle, fire a volley, then run full tilt at the enemy with broadswords, wearing only their shirts. And a big smile, I suppose.

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It would be hard to put an estimate on the number of email requests I have received from Americans, mostly from the Midwest, asking me - practically begging, actually - to make a series of posts that would, once and for all, finally explain the ins and outs of the Jacobite Risings which were semi-rife starting in the latter part of the 17th century in Great Britain and Ireland. Those in Iowa primarily were interested in the Orange William gentleman.

In response to this evident thirst for something to mentally chew on during the regular corn-growing season in breadbasketville, you are now reading the first of what will probably be a dozen or so posts on the fascinating subject. Boy, is it ever.

I am also going to try to pull this off without once mentioning the name Guy Fawkes (oops!) or using the words recusant or undercroft. (Dang!)

I suppose I should first mention that Jacobus is Latin for James. I don't know if that clears anything up or not, but I feel it is important. I am foggy as to whether Latin in Scotland at the time was important because James II (and VII) was Catholic, or whether it was just a carryover from ancient Roman occupation. Be that as it may...

The demise of the childless Elizabeth in 1603 pretty much bit it, historically speaking, for the Tudors. Well, bit it except for the fact that Henry VIII had an older sister, I guess. Thus did come forth the Stuarts upon the scene, descending from the north. Everyone loved them.

First, of course, you had your James I and VI, who was, lo, the great-grandson of the aforementioned esteemed elder Tudoress. This, in case you are keeping score already, was known as the Union of the Crowns. Thus did it come to pass in 1604 that the King of Scotland became also the King of England and Ireland. As was usual for British monarchs of the age, he also called himself King of France (though of course he wasn't) mostly just to anger the French in general and keep them agitated.

The above is only for historical review and really doesn't actually constitute any red meat with regards to the Jacobite Risings, yet seems almost necessary if you are to place James II and VII in proper historical context. I hate to admit it, but some Iowans OFTEN have that trouble. You know who you are. Oddly, they know instinctively, however, that Jacobean refers to James I and VI, while JacoBITES refers to James II and, ah, VII.

Well, sir, long story short, James I and VI, normally uninterested in women to the extreme, finally had it called to his attention that women were necessary if an heir was to be produced and so he married a 14-year-old Dane named Ann who got shiprwrecked in a storm on the way to Britain and ended up in Norway, whereupon her beloved James, whom she had not yet had the pleasure of meeting, came to collect her in person with 300 or so of his buddies. My God, but it was romantic.

To quote the Brothers Four and the lyrics to Eddystone Light, "From this union there came three, a porgy and a porpoise and the other was me." (Yo ho ho, etc.) Actually it WASN'T me but was, rather, he who was to become Charles I after the porgy and the porpoise died ahead of him. Well, to be absolutely honest, Charles I died as well, but not before becoming king and trying to rule without Parliament and bringing on the English Civil War wherein Charles REALLY lost his head. And that's a fact.

After the republicans had mucked about for a bit, kings were reinstalled and you had your Charles II (and XXVVII??) and James II. And VII. Sigh. THEN came the Jacobite (rhymes with "take a bite") Risings.

Please don't be angry that I make you wait until the next post before talking about Scottish clans. You may be sure it will be worth the wait. Not to tease you needlessly, but if there is time I will also tell of the War of Jenkins' Ear.

South Fork Remembered

2011-06-12T07:14:00.028-06:00

Here are some pictures taken a few years ago of what the South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club area looks like today. Please click to enlarge the pictures.

You can visit the National Park Service website for the Johnstown Flood Visitor's Center HERE.

All photos copyright Tom Osburn

Mr. Carnegie, a final note.

2011-06-09T05:46:00.009-06:00

The South Fork Fishing & Hunting Club was established in 1879 by a group of wealthy industrialists and financiers of the Pittsburgh area for the purpose of providing a place of rest and relaxation for themselves and their families away from the dirt and clamor of the city. The dog-eat-dog world of big money is often tiring.

The place included a fairly large lake and about 160 acres of other land, upon which they built a large 47-room clubhouse with a dining room seating 150 and, eventually, 14 "cottages" for those of themselves who didn't want to rub elbows with or sleep near mere regular millionaires. The "cottages" were something more than that, as you might imagine.

There were many sailboats and small craft and their attendant boathouses. There were even a couple of steam yachts. There were 61 of these men in all, involved in what, to them, must have been a trivial fancy. Among these moneyed elite were Henry Clay Frick, Andrew Mellon, Philander Knox and our hero Andrew Carnegie. Birds of a feather.

I just love the name Philander. I wonder if he did? Silly me.

The lake was really a reservoir, a man-made lake made possible by an earthen dam built in the 1850s to imprison the waters of the Little Conemaugh River. The lake was quite large, and maintenance of the damn dam was of low priority: A previous owner had even removed the drain pipes to sell for scrap. The waters of the lake were perilously close to the top of the dam. It has been known to rain in western Pennsylvania.

Were the current wealthy owners concerned? If so, they hid their concern well. First they scraped a few feet off the top of the dam to make the road across it wide enough so two carriages could pass. Then they put screens over the overflow tubes to keep the expensive stocked game-fish from escaping out of the lake. I'm sure they tipped their top hats to one another as their carriages passed over the top of the lowered dam, but the screens trapped not only fish but debris as well. Soon the water was only a few inches below the top of the dam.

Did I mention it was known to rain in western Pennsylvania?
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Johnstown, Pennsylvania, was/is located about 14 miles downstream from the hunting club. "Downstream" is key: Yes, there was still a river under that lake. In late May of 1889 it began to rain. And rain. And rain. The streams were overflowing and the streets of Johnstown were getting streams of their own. Merchants and homeowners began moving their stock and belongings up to the second floors of the buildings in preparation for the rising water.

And it rained and rained and rained.

The story is too long to tell in detail in a simple blog post. Besides, the Johnstown flood is already well known, in a list of American disasters like the Chicago Fire and the San Francisco Earthquake. Many books have been written about the Johnstown Flood, including a famous one in the 1960s by one of my literary historian heroes, David McCullough.

As the rising water began spilling over the top of the dam at South Fork, observers who happened to be out standing in the pouring rain said the dam, as if in slow motion, just sort of "moved away", and water with the force of Niagara Falls rushed into the pretty little steep-sided valley and began a 14-mile journey of hellish destruction to Johnstown.

The filthy evil wave of roiling debris and death was 35-40 feet high and was moving at about 40 miles an hour when it struck the city. By then it contained farmhouses and animals and barbed wire and all the debris from smaller towns along the way, and even a few locomotives. It stuck the big stone bridge in downtown Johnstown and paused, swelled, and slowly subsided as the bridge held. The pile of debris at the bridge in the center of town was enormous and contained everything imaginable, including much oil. The pile covered thirty acres, they say. That night it caught on fire.

Ah, well. The story is old and you have probably heard it before:

1600 homes destroyed. 4 square miles of the center of Johnstown completely destroyed. The great Cambria Iron Works was no more. 2209 people dead (before 9/11, the largest civilian toll of any American disaster.) 99 entire families wiped out, including 396 children. 750 bodies weren't able to be identified. Bodies were found as far away down river as Cincinnati. Bodies were still being discovered as late as 1911. Clara Barton's new American Red Cross got it's first trial, and performed magnificently. The South Fork Fishing and Hunting Club donated 1000 blankets.

Andrew Carnegie built them a new library.

Amen.

Wee Andra Carnegie

2011-06-06T00:30:00.002-06:00

William Carnegie moved his little family from Dunfermline to Allegheny, Pennsylvania in 1848, borrowing the money for the emigration. Andrew was 13 years old. His first job was as a bobbin boy in in a cotton mill, child labor being the norm back then. He was making $1.20 a week. His next job was as a telegram messenger boy, which doubled his salary. Andrew became interested in the telegraph business and eventually became an operator. This led to him being employed with the Pennsylvania Railroad three years later as a telegraph operator at $4 a week. He soon worked his way up to a superintendent's position with the railroad.

Those were days of graft and corruption, and, under the tutelage of his boss, soon learned the wonders of insider stock trading. Andrew began building an investment nest egg. As the years went by, Carnegie made a lot of money with his friends at the railroad in investments and kickbacks, which was the way it was done back in those days. And perhaps still today.

Carnegie was wealthy before he even got into the steel business. He returned to Dunfermline several times, dropping a lot of money there each time. In 1879, he built them large swimming baths (I think that means a swimming pool) and in 1884 gave $40,000 towards a free lending library. He began to pick up several influential British friends, including Prime Minister Gladstone. I'm sure it was due to his pleasing personality and had nothing to do with money. Oddly, he supported the anti-monarchy, pro-republican movement at that time, and bought up several newspapers to push his views. I guess nothing came of it. Victoria was probably not one of his British friends, I'm guessing.

In 1881, Carnegie returned to Dunfermline with his elderly mother who laid the corner stone for the Carnegie Library he was in the process of donating. Elderly but strong, apparently. Then he went home and wrote a book about Americans and Britain. Stole my idea. His was published. Actually he wrote quite a few books.

Mainly, though, Andrew Carnegie built a steel empire which he eventually sold to J.P. Morgan as part of the mammoth combination called U.S. Steel, for about $485 million dollars, give or take. That's $485 million turn-of-the-century dollars. That's about $11 billion in today's weak dollars. At 66 years of age, Andrew contemplated retirement. He spent the rest of his years as a philanthropist. I think that means stamp collector. His specialty was libraries and church organs.

He eventually died, without leaving Max any money. But I want to go back to the late 1880s and tell another story about him first. It has nothing to do with Picts. Just wait.

Pittsburgh Steel, part dà dhà

2011-06-04T08:39:00.007-06:00

The realm of the Picts was divided into several provinces, or sub-kingdoms, one of which was known as "Fib". By A.D. 1160 or thereabouts, it was being spelled "Fif". Today it is known as Fife, and a more beautiful ex-Pict sub-kindom you would be hard-pressed to find.

Fife is no longer a Scottish county, but is rather something called a "lieutenancy area". I won't make an attempt at that; Scottish lieutenancies and local government regions are well beyond the scope of your average American's need to know, and, let's face it, desire to know. Suffice to say that this gorgeous bit of green Scottish heaven is tucked away by the sea, between the Firth of Tay and the Firth of Forth. Try to say THAT fast three times when you are drunk, laddie! I have heard rumors, however, that Fife is up for a captaincy soon, or even a majorcy in the near future.

The picturesque city of St. Andrews is perched there near the sea. In addition to the magnificent ruins of St. Andrews Cathedral, pictured above, it is rumored that some other folk have taken up the game of golf in nearby environs. Since I have already done the People-of-St.-Andrews-love-Bobby-Jones golf post elsewhere in this blog, I won't get sidetracked about golf here. However, there is MUCH rich history and interesting stories to be found in Fife, and I may revisit it for that purpose sometime in the future.

In November of 1835, a boy was born in Dunfermline (one of the three districts of Fife) to a weaver and his wife. It is the story of this little boy that this little series of posts is really about. He was to become America's second-wealthiest man behind only John D. Rockerfeller.

Pittsburgh: A Man of Steel, Part One

2011-06-02T00:05:00.001-06:00

The word "Medieval" refers to the Middle Ages, that period of European history which falls roughly between the fall of the western Roman Empire (A.D. 500) and the fall of Constantinople in 1453. Some scholars would place the beginning of this era as A.D. 1100, and refer to the earlier part of it (between the fall of the Romans to A.D. 1100) as the Dark Ages. The end of the Middle Ages would, in turn, witness the birth of the Renaissance.

Be that as it may — who could quibble over a few hundred years in a place with such a long history — the fall of the Romans in the West gave rise to the emergence of separate kingdoms and monarchs, as well as an increased power of the Roman Catholic Church.

In Scotland, in the early Middle Ages, between the fall of the Romans and the Kingdom of Alba in A.D. 900, two of the most important of the emerging (4) petty kingdoms were those of the Picts and the Scots..

The Vikings arrived in the eighth century, and established colonies along the coasts and islands. In the ninth century, the Picts and the Scots combined under the House of Alpin to form the basis of the Kingdom of Scotland.

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The picture above is of the Monymusk Reliquary which dates to the 8th century A.D. It resides in the Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh. It was used for saintly assistance by Scots in battle, much as the Ark of the Covenant was used in battle by the early Hebrews. The Reliquary is now empty.

Huge Rooster Beats Off Hungry Fox

2011-06-01T04:02:00.002-06:00

Tidbits gathered from BBC News:

Suffolk County Council formally elects Mark Bee leader.

"In April, Mr. Bee beat off competition from... "

Scotty McCreery wins American Idol.

"... beating off competition... "

Aussie woman, 89, beats off bandit with handbag.

"Used a handbag to beat off a knife-carrying... "

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Is it possible the term "beating off" means something different in British than in American?

To put it another way, would you REALLY beat off three guys to save your girl?

On this date

2011-05-31T00:01:00.004-06:00

On this date 100 years ago, May 31, 1911, the RMS Titanic was launched.

Coincidentally, also on May 31, the last survivor of the Titanic disaster died. (Millvina Dean, 2009.)

Believe it or don't item:

Millvina's brother Bertram, also a Titanic survivor, died at age 81 in 1992, on 15 April -- 80 years to the day that the Titanic struck the iceberg.

oooooooooEEEEEEEEEoooooooo...

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You can read her story here if you want.

Getting the expat quiz behind us...

2011-05-15T17:57:00.005-06:00

I wanted to leave the quiz from yesterday up another day, but the incredible response keeps crashing my ISP's server, so I'd better put a stop to this. Sigh.

I did get two responses from actual expats, although neither was an expat living in the USA. And only one tried to even answer the questions. Well, he didn't actually TRY. Double sigh.

1. 1776. July 4, 1776

2. Los Angeles

3. Russia, Mexico, Canada

4. This is getting old and will be retired. The capital of Florida is pronounced Talla-HASS-ee.

5. New Mexico (#47) and Arizona (#48)

6. New Orleans

7. Abraham Lincoln

8. Denali (also known as Mt. McKinley)

9. San Antonio

10. Never

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1781 was an important year. It was the year Great Britain agreed we could be independent (much more important than 1776, I think.) 1787 was important too: The year we got out present constitution. And of course, 1993. The year RM was born.

Bog off. And I mean that only in the best way possible.

Update: Bugger this for a game of soldiers.

Quiz for British expats living in the USA

2011-05-14T08:00:00.001-06:00

Some of these questions are fairly easy, some too easy.

You are on your honor to answer these from your head without Googling.

1. What year did the U.S. declare itself independent from Great Britain?

2. What is the second largest city in the U.S.?

3. Name the three countries that share a geographical border with the U.S.

4. Is the capital city of Florida pronounced MY ami or MEE ami?

5. Alaska and Hawaii are the two most recent additions to the USA (in 1959.) Before that, the two most recent additions entered together in 1912. Can you name those two?

6. What is the largest port in the U.S.?

7. Who was the President of the U.S. during the War Between the States?

8. What is the name of the highest mountain in the U.S.?

9. In what city is the Alamo located?

Answers in next post

I think here we only need to have a saloon...

2011-05-10T09:48:00.007-06:00

I have been informed that having a cathedral is what makes a city a city in the UK. Or at least in England. I didn't know that. So Grimsby is a town. Heh. Godless bunch that they are. :)

And I note with Sherlock Holmes-like sharpness that Leeds has at least two main one-way streets. Nothing escapes me.

But then, Grimsby is today primarily an Amish enclave, I think. Having driven out the Vikings long ago.

Now there was an interesting war. I must blog about that one day.

2011 Run for the Roses

2011-05-07T00:38:00.005-06:00

Horse racing has been popular in the British Isles since... well, since there have been horses, but racing has been organized there since at least the Middle Ages.

In the 1680s, someone got the bright idea of breeding large English mares with the fast and agile Arabian stallions. The result was the Thoroughbred breed of today, used almost exclusively for racing.

The word thoroughbred is a word often used to denote something, usually a horse, of high quality. However. technically, Thoroughbred is an actual breed of horse.

All Thoroughbred horses on the face of the earth today trace their lineage back to only three British stallions (brought from the Middle East): Byerley Turk (1680s); Darley Arabian (1704); and Godolphin Arabian (1729.) A descendent of one of these three horses will win the Kentucky Derby today.

With the late scratch of Uncle Mo, the favorite will probably be Dialed In. My pick is a medium long shot (probably 10-1) by the name of Midnight Interlude. He only has 4 races under his belt, and lost the first two. And... no horse has ever won the Kentucky Derby in the last 128 years who didn't race at all as a 2-year-old, but long shots sometimes come in, right? Or maybe not. None of the horses in the field have ever done a mile and a quarter before, but this big boy will eat it up. I say.

As usual, the field is huge - so maybe the favorites will be blocked out of it. You never can tell. I don't particularly like horse races which start 20 horses. Midnight Interlude has drawn the number 15 slot, which has produced only 3 Derby winners over the years. He can do it. Think positive.

Fun fact: The British mispronounce the word derby. :)

Princes Margaret liked to attend the Kentucky Derby. The queen herself attended in 2007.

The 137th running of the Kentucky Derby will unfold at Churchill Downs late this afternoon. Distance: mile and a quarter. Track record: 1:59.40 (Secretariat in 1973.) Weather: 60% chance of thunderstorms. Lady's hats: second to none in outlandishness, not even second to the royal wedding.

If you're wondering where he disappeared to after the wedding, he's over here.

2011-05-04T00:06:00.002-06:00

"She loves me... she loves me NOT! She loves me..."

Resuming his public duties, the Prince of Wales visited a small urban farm in Washington D.C. Tuesday, which grows produce for low-income residents.

Some of the photos that accompany this post did not have adequate captions, so I was forced to make a few captions up, based on what I felt was going on in the picture. This captioning was done at considerable time and effort on my part, so I hope you appreciate it.

Farm Executive Diretor Pertula George, left, shares a smile with the Prince of Wales.

Ok, perhaps the word "left" isn't needed.

The farm sits on the baseball diamond of a razed elementary school in a low-income community near Howard University. Volunteers from the community (probably not congressmen) work the farm and receive fruit and vegetables in return. This is not to be confused with Michelle's vegetable garden on the lawn at the White House.

"Please hold these flowers for me while I plant a tree."

"Just hold 'em while I plant the fricken tree!"

The Prince of Wales plants a tree

An enthusiastic gardner himself, and a longtime supporter of sustainable agriculture, the prince showed interest in the farm's drip irrigation system and spent some time with some of the youngsters who are volunteers. At one point, he picked up a piece of spinach and popped it into his mouth. At least I think it was spinach.

Some youthful 4-H ers destroy some fruit for the prince's amusement. They are from simple farming stock who live in a cave under Capitol Hill, and were unsure how to properly entertain royalty.

"Take that, munchkin."

Prince Charles didn't make a speech on the windy, muggy day, but did mingle with the crowd a bit and shake some hands.

"No. Over here. He's just my bodyguard."

Prince Charles mingles fearlessly with the rush hour crowd. I sure as hell wouldn't.

The mayor of the District of Columbia, Vincent Gray, did give a speech, though. Of course. He greeted Charles and described the prince as a "visionary" on environmental issues who was bringing well-deserved attention to the work done on the little farm. A quick LexisNexis search reveals this was the first time that particular word has been used to describe His Royal Highness.

Prince Charles also visited the U.S. Supreme court not far away. No, I'm not sure why. His mother visited the court in 1951 before she became queen. I wouldn't look at that as some sort of omen, though. My guess is that it probably just has clean rest rooms.

"So you're a Supreme Court Justice, Eh? How boring is that! Say... are these hitching posts?"

"So... the loo is up there by those big marble columns?"

The Prince of Wales (left) leaves the U.S. Supreme Court building, accompanied by Justice Breyer. Or one of them. It's not justice Thomas. I don't know who the lady on the right is. Maybe the interpreter.

Windsor Gothic

2011-05-02T17:22:00.006-06:00

In a totally unexpected move which reportedly shocked even the royal household, the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge announced today that they would be moving out of London and taking up residence in a modest cottage in a rural area between Grimsby and Wee Grimsby as of this coming Friday.

The couple admitted the cottage was definitely a "fixer-upper" and will require a bit of a lifestyle adjustment from Clarence House, but vowed to have it looking like new before summer is over.

"You won't recognize the place after we've splashed a new coat of white paint on it," beamed the new bride. "My husband is no stranger to hard work," she added.

Speaking of work, when we asked what they intended to live on, they seemed unsure at the moment. Though an experienced military pilot, the prince admitted he had turned up nothing requiring bombing or strafing skills in the Greater Grimsby area. In fact, it appeared Grimsby didn't have much of a military at all, to speak of.

The bride has peripheral experience in the party supply business, and they are now looking at shop space with that in mind, until something else comes along. We wish them all the best and admire their pluck.

The newlyweds do have an automobile, however. "It isn't exactly ours, the young Duke admitted with a wink and a nudge, "but we are optimistic they won't miss it."

Only a few hours to go now

2011-04-25T16:04:00.003-06:00

I am beginning to hyperventilate.

Sinclair's Bay

2011-04-19T22:45:00.002-06:00

When I think of the top 10 beaches in the world that the travel magazines tout, I usually think of the Caribbean, the South Pacific, or, at least, the French Riviera. Not this one.

White sands and blue seas and 16th century castles. Plovers, dunlins, porpoises and your occasional Orca. (I know what the latter two are.)

I'm ashamed to admit I wouldn't have ever thought that number nine in the world is down there at the bottom of these cliffs, only 8 miles South of John O'Groats.

What a view from your back castle-porch, eh?

A few minutes with the lord of curmudgeoness

2011-04-17T18:37:00.000-06:00

Andy is 92 now. He's been with CBS News now since 1949, and curmudgeoning on 60 Minutes since 1978, though no longer every week. He closes the show with "A Few Minutes with Andy Rooney" bellyaching about something less than earthshaking, but I like him. He's as liberal as they come, but I still like him. He was against WWII because he was/is a pacifist, but still was in a bomber dropping bombs on Germany. (His account of that is shown below.) One of the main reasons I like Andy is because his eyebrows look like he could fly off if he wanted to just wriggle them a little faster. Or maybe it is because he is 92 and still alive and I know I will never know what that feels like.

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

ANDY ROONEY:

How it Feels to Bomb Germany...

Originally published in The Stars and Stripes, European Edition, Sunday, February 27, 1943.

A U.S. BOMBER STATION, Feb. 26 — From the nose of Lt. Bill Casey's Banshee, I saw American Fortresses and Liberators drop a load of destruction on Wilhelmshaven today.

We flew to Germany in the last group of a Fortress formation and Banshee was in the trailing squadron.

Soon after dawn the bombers thundered down the runway. Lt. Casey's windshield was splattered with mud on the way. It really was a blind take-off.

Like a pickup football team on a Saturday morning, we grew in strength as we flew, until all England seemed to be covered with bombers.

Everything was quiet — almost monotonous — for an hour after we left the English coast.

Sees First Enemy Plane

Then the trouble began.

Peeling out of the sun came shining silver German fighter planes, diving at one bomber in the formation and disappearing below the cloudbanks as quickly as they had come. They seemed tiny, hardly a machine of destruction, and an impossible target.

My first glimpse of a German fighter came when the navigator, 2nd Lt. William H. Owens, of Tullahoma, Tenn., nearly knocked me into the lap of 2nd Lt. Malcolm A. Phillips Jr., the bombardier, whose home is in Coffeyville, Kan. Owens swung around at what appeared to be an Me109 as it whipped down through the clouds on our left.

From that time until three and one-half hours later, when we were half way home, no one had to look far to see a German fighter. They were all over and they were all kinds of planes — Me109s, Ju88s and Me110s. There were no FW190s, by far the best plane Jerry has to fight the Forts. Their absence strengthened Allied contentions that Germany is desperately short of fighter planes.

From a vantage point in the pilot's cabin Lt. Casey and his co-pilot, 1st Lt. Kelly G. Ross, were calmly giving information over the inter-com.

"Here comes one at 2 o'clock, Elliot. Get the son-of-a-bitch."

T/Sgt. Wilson C. Elliot, of Detroit, Lt. Casey's top turret man, is the only man from the original Banshee crew left.

Before we were very deep into Germany deadly black puffs began to appear around us. It seemed as though they were "air mines" that were touched off as we came to them. A puff would appear to our right and then in quick succession a row of five more black splotches flowered out, each one closer as they caught up to us.

Lt. Casey zigged, and the puffs appeared in the tracks of our zag. He was one jump ahead of the flak. All but once he was one jump ahead.

Thought Plane's Nose Torn Off

Lt. Phillips was leaning far forward in the nose, between his guns and bomb-sight, when suddenly the whole nose seemed to break out of the ship. My first impression was that they had given up the flak and had thrown the gun at us.

Lt. Phillips sat back on his heels and covered his eyes with his hands. Splinters of flexiglass formed coating over his helmet. It was a minute before he recovered from the shock to open his eyes and find that he could see and was unhurt.

What appeared to be the nose being ripped off actually was only a small hole the size of a man's fist.

The formation was perfect, and the German sky dotted with Forts in front of us and Liberators behind us was comforting. Below, the land seemed to be farmland for the most part. Even that was divided into aggravatingly square plots. It looked German and unfriendly. You had the feeling you would have known it was Germany even if you hadn't attended the briefing.

German flak didn't seem to bother German fighter planes. They poured in even when their own flak was thickest.

Approaching the bombing run, the doors of the ships in front of us could be seen swinging open, and not far above us the yawning bomb bay of a Fort revealed more bombs, hanging by some mechanical hairpin, waiting for the bombardier to push the tiny button that sends them to the target.

Lt. Owens was having trouble with his oxygen and Lt. Phillips' fingers were nearly frozen. I was healthy but helpless. Finally the valve of the navigator's air intake froze completely and the next thing his head had dropped to the top of his caliber .50, and his face was an unlovely greyish purple. Both of them had work to do in the nose. I was strictly cargo. The oxygen on my side was okay. We fitted the mask to Lt. Owens' face, revived him and I started back for the pilot's cockpit.

By the time I struggled back without oxygen, with a backload of equipment that would make Santa Claus look sick, I was almost out. Lt. Casey almost yawned at what I was sure was a major crisis in my life.

He fixed me up with oxygen and the remainder of my brief first glimpse at the war was from the pit behind the pilot.

As we started the bombing run I was up in the nose of the ship, standing over to the right trying to keep out of the way of the navigator and bombardier. I had a camera, and that was probably the greatest underestimation, or something or other, of the Germans anyone ever made. I definitely did not feel like taking pictures. I made an effort once or twice and I got a couple of pictures of a small bunch of six little ships down on the water, but it's elementary that you have to be able to hold a camera still to take pictures.

We were well into the run and the flak was puffing to the right and left. The boys said it was not nearly as intensive as over St. Nazaire, but there was more of it, spread out in different places, they said.

Fighter planes were always there while we were making our run. They come in so fast it's hard to tell where they're coming from, but frequently you could see a vapor trail start to form, like a cloud standing on end. You knew that was a fighter starting a run.

As the bombardier crouched low over his sight, I was just in back of him, trying to take a picture of the bombs falling from the plane ahead. They dropped theirs, and I guess we must have the next second but I couldn't feel it.

Behind the tail gunner, T/Sgt. Parley D. Small, of Packwood, Iowa, reported that he had seen a Liberator go down with one engine flaming. Although on fire he said it was under control for a crash landing. Small himself picked off one German plane as it tried to tie a stream of machine-gun bullets on our tail. He described the end of another German fighter.

Jerry Stopped Cold

"It looked like a piece of cardboard that had been thrown out of a plane," he said. "It came up under the belly of a B24 and someone let him have it right on the nose. He stopped dead and fell away. The plane didn't seem to be burning. It must have killed the pilot."

As Nazi planes kept nipping at the formation, far away from the coast of Germany, they probably picked us up from the French coast. It is improbable that German-based fighters followed the USAAF bombers that far, even though many of them seemed to be twin-engined planes.

Almost half way home, three Ju88s could be seen diving at a B24 that had fallen out of formation and was in distress.

After 20 minutes without sign of Jerry, things began to look more pleasant

Song of Triumph

Lt. Casey and the crew began to sing over the intercom. Casey had the bends and was squirming in his seat — but smiling and singing. Next to him, Lt. Ross had to do most of the flying on the way home. Finally England was sighted and believe me, whatever you think, it is one of the most beautiful islands in all the world.

Corrections

2011-04-16T13:28:00.003-06:00

My last couple of posts have drawn some criticism as to the accuracy of the maps. I have made the suggested changes accordingly. I hope the new map is more satisfactory. Region posts resume on Monday. Thank you.

"Ear all, see all, say nowt. Eat all, sup all, pay nowt. And if tha does owt fer nowt, allus do it for thissen."

2011-04-15T00:12:00.000-06:00

It was my original intention to try to familiarize myself with the main regions of England before I ventured out into the wonderful cities and lovely villages, but I got sidetracked. Some might say I was sucked in by the bright lights of Grimsby. I now return to my original project of exploring regions, and will show more restraint in the future. Once one has experienced the blood-rush exhilaration of Grimsby, though, I'm sure Liverpool and London would have been letdowns anyway. I'm going to trot back up to the Northeast region, also known as Yorkshire and Humberside (the GOOD side of the Hummer, it has been hinted) and continue my original exploration.

[With your permission, I will also sprinkle in some Yorkshire-Speak, along with approximate translations, here and there at inappropriate times in this post, just for a bit of flavor.]

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"A more jammy so and so ah nivver met." (That person is inordinately lucky)

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Yorkshire is simply grand! Oh, my! Indeed, those of you who envision only pudding and terriers are in for a pleasant surprise indeed.

First of all, I present technical specifications, and some very interesting factoids, for the vast masses of Americans reading this and taking notes:

1. Hugicity. Yorkshire is the largest county in England. It is so large, in fact, that it has, over the years, been broken up into more bite-sized morsels by an envious London government who undoubtedly had begun to fear overthrow by the behemoth of the north. Some assert this willy-nilly chopping up of a once-proud giant was done with the consent of the residents, but, really, who's to know? Anyway, none of this is in Wikipedia, so bear with me as I venture into uncharted extrawikipedian waters here. If ONLY I had had someone who has actually BEEN there as a guide. Make no mistake, though, Yorkshire has continued to retain it's identity as an unique cultural region. Except, perhaps, for food, language and politics.

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"A reet ding dong." (A big argument)

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2. Pastoralacity. Yorkshire is probably the greenest part of England. The green belt. The Yorkshire Dales. The castles and ruins. Even many of its cities have dedicated green areas they preserve. Compared to Yorkshire, I get the impression the rest of England is a faded dull bronze. It brings to my movie-oriented American mind visions of Dorothy on the Yellow Brick road and seeing Green Oz in the distance. Shiver me timbers, but I'd love to visit Yorkshire! Too bad Obama put the quaeetus to me passport. Arrrrr! But instead of regaling you with the parts of the movie Yorkshire reminds me of, green-wise if not Kansas-wise, I'll just tell you an apt little story I remember our teacher telling our class in 4th grade....

As I recall, there was this yellow toad wandering around in the forest kinda ticked off because he doesn't want to be yellow. Life would be easier if he were green like the other toads. He'd sure be less visible to predators for one thing. Anyway... This yellow toad bumps into a fairy godmother. He begs her: "Fairy godmother, please make me green like the other toads. I am tired of being so visible to predators and suchlike." The fairy godmother whips out her magic wand and says, "Toadra-capokus! You're green!" The toad looks down and sees that he is green except for his package, which is still yellow. He says to the fairy godmother: "Wait a minute! My pecker's still yellow!" To this the fairy godmother replies: "I don't do johnsons. You will have to go see The Wizard of Oz for that." The toad thanks her and hops off on his way. There is a purple bear wandering about the very same woods. As luck would have it, he also encounters the very same fairy godmother. He implores her: "Fairy godmother, please make me brown like all the other bears. None of the lady bears want to be seen with me on account that the hunters can spot me from a mile off." She, being a nice fairy godmother, takes out her magic wand and says:"Bearus-cadabra! You're brown!" The bear looks down and sees that he is, in fact, brown with the exception of the ole twig and berries. They remain purple. He says: "My Wang is still purple!" She says: "I don't do units, you will have to go see The Wizard of Oz for that." To this the bear replies: "Well that's just dandy, but how the hell do I find The Wizard of Oz?" The fairy godmother answers: "That's easy... Just follow the yellowdick toad!"

I had a very interesting 4th grade teacher. She also taught us to sing ancient civil war songs like "Tenting tonight on the old campground" and "Columbia the gem of the ocean" and made us learn our multiplication tables up to 12 instead of only 9. But that was in the old days before American children started being denied a proper education for reasons that would be un-pc to go into, and which are unrelated to Yorkshire anyway.

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"As 'appy as a pig in't'trough." (Sublimely happy)

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3. Coalacity. Yorkshire, I'm told, (and you must understand when I say "Yorkshire" I am speaking of "Yorkshire and Humberside" as a region, and am not meaning to leave any non-Yorkshire Hummers out; it is just awkward to say all those words every time I mention the region) used to produce a really lot of coal to feed the heavy industries of Northern England. I'm guessing that would be pre-Margaret Thatcher if you are talking about heavy industry and lots of jobs in the north of England. The book didn't say. It only said they don't produce coal that much anymore. Coal has reverted to ever more pastoral green-ness, and the main industries today in the vast region are the production of textiles and engineers. Textiles are mostly grown in the south, while engineers are grown mostly in West Yorkshire. The main cities in West Yorkshire are Bradford and Leeds. The hardy people in this region of the region are rugged individualistic folk, whose rugged individualism often finds expression in a tough style of humor. Yo.

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"Ee'd eat t'oven if t'were buttered." (He seems hungry)

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4. Languagacity. The language of Yorkshire ranges (due to its size) from partly understandable in the south, to completely incomprehensible in the north. One would be wise to hire a Scots interpreter as a guide, just in case. This would be mandatory if you are from West Texas.

5. Recreationacity. One can go hiking along the beautiful seashore. North Yorkshire Moors National Park, Gorgeous beaches. Marvelous rocks. Dinosaurs all dead in most areas. Further inland, don't forget the picturesque villages and breathtaking beauty of Yorkshire Dales, whose streams empty into the Humber. Not much competitive football or cricket or rugby in Yorkshire, that I could find mention of. Turning southward you enter the cradle of cutlery, and well worth the visit. An entire future post is devoted to Sheffield, though, so we'll keep the eating aids discussion to a minimum here.

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"Thas getten reyt bogbellied." (You have put on weight)

6. Historicalacity. History buffs will literally cream with delight in Yorkshire. Roman stuff of all sorts oozing out the ears, still lying on the ground for the taking (if no one seems to be watching.) Constantine the Great. Heady stuff. And that ruler's wife who ran off with his armor-bearer and then became ruler herself. I can hardly sit still as I type this. Then there was the War of the Roses, but I've received complaints about already writing too much about King Dick III in other posts, so I will just remind you that the York in Yorkshire is for the House of York which was a grand city of old to which the word "shire" denotes the land mass ascribed to same city. This was all also before Margaret Thatcher, I hasten to add. A white rose on a blue background. (Not Thatcher. The Standard of the House of York, I mean.)

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I realize that many of you will feel disappointment at the shortness of this post, and, indeed, there is MUCH more that could be told of this beautiful region of England. But to try to tell of all the wonder and lore of Yorkshire and Humberside would fill many books.

The movies always say it best, so I will leave you with the words of the great past California Governor, Conan the Barbarian: "To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of their women."

Perhaps not as apt as I had hoped.

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"So, it's come to this, 'asit? Ah'm not wanted any longer? Ah worked for thi dad. thi grandad and 'is dad an' all. Ah tell thi what lad, if Ah'd known this job weren't going to be permanent, Ah'd nivver 'ahe tekken it on." (So, it's come to this, has it? I'm not wanted any longer? I worked for your dad, your grandad and his dad also. I'll tell you what lad, if I had known this job was not going to be permanent, I would have never taken it on.)

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I wish to acknowledge and thank these two websites, especially the latter, and encourage you to visit both of them.

UK songs reaching #1 at some point in 1969

2011-04-14T22:01:00.005-06:00

Listen to a sample here

"The Great Grimsby" by F. Scott Maxgerald

2011-04-13T13:05:00.019-06:00

~~This is one of those posts that started out to prove I know what I'm talking about, but soon fall flat on my face. Later on in the post, I will try to pick myself up and recover my dignity.~~ This is one of those kinds of posts I mentioned before, where I try to write down what I learned in my studies and hope you will pitch in and correct any faulty information.

There are eight traditional regions in England which derive from their geography and history. One of these eight official/unofficial non-political regions of England is called the Northeast region. It is also called Yorkshire and Humberside. Why not just "Northeast", you ask? Well, because (greater) Yorkshire is what pretty much makes up this region in the Northeast, and Yorkshire is next to a river called The Hummer. Humber. Sorry. Or perhaps "Northeast is just not descriptive enough or long enough.

Not to worry though, (I sense your worry) because in this post I am only going to talk about a place called Grimsby. I know, I know - the British ALWAYS use two names. And, if there is a nearby river, you may be sure the city is located ON the river. Often UPON the water. But that is cool. Try to move past it.

Now, there is just one tiny problem. The city of Grimsby, though on the Humber Estuary, is apparently not really in the Northwest Region (Or Yorkshire and Humberside, if you prefer, and you probably do.) "Humberside" apparently means only one side of the Humber. Sigh. Why do you make this so difficult.

Moving on. As I said, or should have said, one of these eight official/unofficial non-political regions of England is called the East Midlands region. Lincolnshire is in the East Midlands region. Grimsby is in Lincolnshire. So far so good.

Grimsby is no exception to the mandatory Two Names rule: it used to be called GREAT Grimsby. This was, one supposes, to clarify it from Small Grimsby (Wee Grimsby? Lesser Grimsby?) which was a smaller town a few miles to the south, and which (I must assume, since no REAL reason was given) people were always going to Teeny Grimsby and thinking they were in Great Grimsby, but they really weren't. I know what you are thinking, and I agree. If the English would simply use one name per city, this alternative naming system would not be necessary.

Before I forget it, there is another reason I am introducing Grimsby today, which has to do with the once-American frozen food company called Bird's Eye. This, along with the rumor that folks have been known to catch a fish or two in that area. But these things will be discussed (if not actually made clear) in a later post. MUCH later, probably.

Due to that uncertainty, please don't hold your breath on the frozen fish story.

Onward and upward. I want you to know how Grimsby got its name, so you can feel connected.

ODIN! ODIN!! ODIN!!!

None of you probably remember a movie called "The Vikings". Perhaps just as well. It was a story about Vikings who sailed to England and captured a prince's bride-to-be to use. ummm. To use as a hostage, I mean. As Vikings do.

The head guy was Kirk Douglas (of course, since he owned the production company) and his nemesis was Tony Curtis who got his hand chopped off by the English for letting Ragna die with a sword in his hand, when the English just wanted him to die and not go to Valhalla. As English are wont to do. Ragna (played by the venerable Ernest Borgnine) was the Viking King and was the father of Kirk Douglas' character. Which was quite a cinemagraphic trick, seeing as how Kirk is two years older than Ernie in real life. Ernest is in his nineties now, so Kirk is, like, maybe, a thousand. Tony's real life wife, the original Psycho shower lady, mother of Jamie Lee, played the captured/used royal bride-to-be (sans big blue sapphire ring) and, christ I can't think of her name right now. Lee. Leigh. Vivian Lee? No. Lee something. JANET LEIGH!!! Maybe that's where Jamie got her middle name -- Janet and Tony couldn't spell. You think? Anyway...

The part of the movie that is relevant to this post (if only to a LESSER degree) is the part when the Vikings get REALLY pissed at Tony Curtis and bury him in the sand at the edge of the water with only his head sticking out and the tide is starting to come in. Remember? Like, "If you are telling the truth, you won't drown, and if you are lying, well, at least you will never be thirsty again." It's night and the clouds are moving past the moon and Tony is very upset because the tide is getting higher and higher around his chin. And finally, in his despair, he cries out to ODIN! again and again. "ODIN! ODIN!! ODIN!!!. Well, by golly -- wouldn't you know it -- just as the water reaches Tony's nose, Odin finishes his supper and hears Tony's cries. Odin blows his breath on the water and blows the tide back. So everyone who comes in the morning knows Tony was telling the truth after all.

Grimsby was settled by Danish Vikings about 800 A.D. or thereabouts (not important to this post, but I think somewhere in that era, though others may have settled it earlier due to it's strategic position. Romans, probably. It's ALWAYS the Romans.) And "Grims" was the head Viking's name that settled it. So it was named after him. "by" is old Danish for "village." In modern Danish it means "town". So the meaning has changed a lot over the years as the Danish language has evolved. The 'GREATER" part we've already discussed. Probably more than we should have. So there you go: Greater Grims-by. Cool, no? Wait, there's more.

Some say (and this is a stone solid fact because I read it in Wikipedia) that this Grims feller was really.................... ODIN!!!!! They do! They DO say that! See, Odin used to like to come down and walk the earth among mortals. On Friday nights, I think. (That part wasn't in Wikipedia, so I'm assuming.)

I've not even got STARTED on this English regions thing, so if you miss my next post, you will be so distraught you'll probably go bury yourself in the sand.

Is England a country?

2011-04-11T23:56:00.004-06:00

I alternate on this blog between finding out "British things," sharing my findings with fellow Americans, and feeding my British friends various tidbits about the U.S. which they think they already know but often don't, really. Mostly, I discover British facts and customs (much more than just language differences now) and write about what I think I've learned. I do that so you will correct my misunderstandings.

Is England a country, then? Of course it is. So are the other three. I'm still a little hazy about your dependencies or protectorates or whatever you call them. The islands. Anyway, I speak of this subject today because it is somewhat confusing to Americans. First of all, Americans know that your country is called The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland., or U.K. for short. Some of them do, anyway.

So.... if the name of your country is the United Kingdom, then how does England (and the others) get to be a country too? The answer, I think, lies in a history of distinct identities and cultures, the things that make up the definition of a country. Somewhere in my reading I have seen them called "home countries," but that doesn't really enlighten me. I am willing to accept that they all have their own unique identities which make them countries in their own right, not to mention they all were, at one time, in fact, separate countries. That makes the U.K. a Union of countries. E pluribus unum. Pluribus being four in this case.

I'm not trying to draw comparisons to the U.S. and the several states. I know better than to do that. Your countries have preserved their unique identities much more than the states have. So I would no more do that than I would compare cricket to... well, you know.

What I really wanted to talk about, though, and will do so in the next post on this blog, are the distinct regions of England. There are eight commonly-recognized regions in England, and I want to find out more about them and report back next time. These regions are not political entities, but rather areas which cling to their own customs and cultures (and sometimes languages.) They are mostly identified by the points of the compass, though different sources sometimes give the regions different names. More on this interesting subject next time.

I do. Oh, I do. I do I do I do I do I do.

2011-04-11T10:46:00.001-06:00

It's true, it's true! Relax Max is SIMPLY FASCINATED by it all. Here's the deal — you folks can continue worshiping at the shrine of Barack Obama (of unknown origins, says The Donald) and I will pursue the headier delights of the upcoming (impending?) marriage of (be still, my heart) KATE. How could you claim to be utterly disinterested? I think you're all lying. Following is the fruit of the past week's tabloid dishes.

1. Kate prefers to be called Catherine.

2. Kate is related to both George Washington and George S. Patton.

3. Kate is the oldest bride in history.

4. Kate has been assigned 4 bodyguards from Scotland Yard to protect her clock.

5. Kate was a Brownie.

6. Is a morbidly moping Brad Pitt sleeping with an Angelina Jolie look-alike?

7. Teen unable to close mouth after yawning in class.

8. Kate is 6 years older than Prince William.

8a. Prince Charles is 20 years younger than Kate.

9. Kate set a high jump record in school. Dunno, that's what it said.

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Explanations and clarifications found necessary due to publication before proofreading:

(These are probably not in order. Makes it more interesting that way.)

1. Title of post is from an ABBA song. I'm thinking 1 or 2 of you might not get that without this prompt. It is also a double-entendre meant to refer to the weddi.... ah, never mind.

2. If you go all the way to 8th cousins, 11 times removed, I guess I am related to George Washington, too.

3. Make that the oldest "royal" bride in history. I find that hard to believe, though they do tend to rob the cradle more often than not. But she's only 29. Really? Could she REALLY be the oldest woman ever to marry a royal? I'm guess there is another caveat the tabloid left out.

4. Make that "protect her AROUND THE clock."

5. Not a faerie. A little girl scout. Pre- girl scout. Whatever.

6. Clicked on wrong link and got those ones about Brad and yawn.

7. Make that "she is 6 MONTHS older than Prince William."

8. In dog years.

Next post: "Inattentive future queen gets hand bitten by

deranged woman." See the actual video of the human

bulldog in action. Not for the squeamish.

Werewolves of London, Part Doo

2011-04-01T23:27:00.001-06:00

[CAUTION, ROYAL WEDDING ALERT!]

SET YER ALARMS!!!

Warning: this post is not for those with weak stomachs.

Da Fox channel has just announced that it will begin boredcasting the at 4 a.m. on April 29. Not for nothing, but I say they are ALREADY broadcasting about it if they are running promos.

I don't know about you, but I am a sucker for this sort of thing. I still have VHS tapes of Diana's wedding where she forgot what the guy's name was. Ah, well. Just ONE TOO MANY names, I guess. Does anyone know what William's full name is? Bet there's an Albert in there somers.

Is it true they are auctioning off the FABULOUS BLUE SAPHIRE RING on eBAY for Japan relief? I hope that isn't just another april FOOL'S joke that's going around. I would feel pretty stupid if it is.

And I HATE to feel stupid.

Werewolves of London

2011-04-01T00:08:00.006-06:00

Did you know there are over 1,000 medieval castles in England? God only knows how many in the whole of the U.K.

Do you know how many ghosts inhabit these castles? ::Shudder::

I don't know how many. But they say the MOST prolifically haunted castle in England (or all of Britain, for that matter) is Northumberland's Chillingham Castle.

Aptly named, no? (I mean the Chilling part.)

Chillingham is the home of the infamous "Blue Boy," who wanders Chillingham's nooks and crevices and makes scary noises 'round about midnight down the castle's passageways. (Castles have passageways, not halls.)

Chillingham also offers self-catering apartments, the brochure says. I don't know what that is.

Another is Old Wardour Castle in the south of England. West of England. Southwest of England. Wiltshire. (Wiltshire was named after the main street in downtown Los Angeles. Just a little trivia. Wait. That's "Wilshire". Never mind.) There is a lake nearby. The Kevin Costner version of Robin Hood was filmed there. That's pretty scary. By all that's holy, though, don't let the sun go down on you (like Elton John says) at Old Wardour! Lady Blanche Arundell is the ghost in residence at Wardour Castle. After a month-long seige, Oliver Cromwell imprisoned her, then executed her. (Seldom is it the other way around.) She walks from the castle to the lake at sunset. And rarely eats. (My assumption.)

Dartmoor National Park, or close to it, in that little bit of heaven, Devon, is Berry Pomeroy Castle. (I will spare you my Ronnie Dove imitation of "Little Bit of Heaven.") It is the haunted home of ... ummmm... (wait for it) Berry Pomery. Pomeroy Castle is a ruin, though. The brochure says "romantic" ruin. Sorry. Plenty of ghosties there, but the featured attraction is The White Lady. oooooEEEEEEooooo. Kinda un-pc to call someone just the White Lady in this day and age, don't you think? She hangs out in the dungeons. So YOU stay up in the kitchen or out on the ruined patio, if you know what's good fer ye. Arrrrh! Many think - and you may, too - that The White Lady (ooooEEEEEoooo) is really the spirit of Margaret ~~Thatcher~~ Pomeroy, whose sister imprisoned her in the dungeon until she starved to death. (Margaret, not her sister.) Wonder where Berry was at the time? Anyway, you'd think Maggs would haunt out in the kitchen since she starved to death.

The brochure says "slowly" starved to death. But that is probably always the way of starvation, and unnecessary to point out.

Happy haunting.

April Fool. Not. All of the above is true and unembellished.

Ahhhh-Hoooooooo!

Is there a place...

2011-03-23T19:45:00.000-06:00

Is there a place on God's Green Earth which is more beautiful than Scotland?

I think not.

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The period between 1720 and 1790 was known as the Scottish Enlightenment. During that period, in practically every area of human inquiry, Scotland led the world.

Thinkers such as Adam Smith and David Hume (and countless others) influenced our modern world immeasurably.

Economics. Medicine. The Arts. Architecture. Law. Language. Chemistry. Astronomy. Logic. Agronomy. Ethics. Philosophy. Mathmatics.

Joseph Black was the first to isolate Carbon Dioxide. James Watt invented the steam engine. Robert Burns and Sir Walter Scott left us stories and poetry like no others. William Smellie edited the first edition of Encyclopedia Britannica.

Voltaire: "We look to Scotland for all our ideas of civilization."

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After the Enlightment? What else did Scotland produce?

Alexander Graham Bell invented the telephone. James Blyth invented the first apparatus (a windmill) to generate electricity from wind. Dugald Clark designed the first two-stroke engine, and Robert Davidson built the first electric locomotive. James Goodfellow invented the ATM. Charles Macintosh invented waterproof fabrics. John McAdam revolutionized the way we pave roads. Robert Watson-Watt got a patent for something called radio detection and ranging — RADAR.

I can't say the Scots invented whisky, but they invented GOOD whisky.

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Finally, who can identify the photograph at the top of this post? The university site in Minnesota where I stole the photo, didn't identify it by place. Is it so obvious that it needs no explanation? Not to me.

R.I.P. Elizabeth Taylor

2011-03-23T12:14:00.004-06:00

Movie icon Elizabeth Taylor dead at 79.

February 27, 1932 - March 23, 2011.

Funny, I always assumed she was British.

[Born in England, but of American parents.]

The Boulton-Paul Defiant

2011-03-22T00:04:00.001-06:00

During the Battle of Britain, the Hawker Hurricane got the most German kills and the more glamorous Spitfire was tops in the PR department, but there was another significant player in the skies over Britain during those tense times. That other player was the Boulton-Paul "Defiant".

The Defiant started out as a good idea in theory (it had a top-mounted turret with 4 .303 machine guns that could fire rearward so as to wipe out German fighters attacking from the rear.) It wasn't so good, however, if they attacked from the front or top or bottom or anywhere except from the rear, so the Germans caught on pretty quickly and the Defiant soon began being thought of as mostly a failure.

This was far from true, however. It simply was being used in the wrong place at the wrong time. Later, it started being used at night against German aircraft during the London Blitz, with devastating results. Ok, maybe not "devastating." But it did it's part. Moral: don't call a duckling ugly until it matures.

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See a film about the Defiant's manufacture, and also see it in action here.

Also on that page (if you go to watch the movie) is a more complete description of this fighter aircraft and its specifications, printed as a comment to the movie.

Flash: France attacks Libya like a rabid pit bull

2011-03-18T14:47:00.005-06:00

News Flash:

France goes to war!

France is leading the charge against ~~Dubya LibbyYa~~ Mo. Cuz Mo was winning, that's why. And 'Bama was still just sitting there thinking about it.

Thought you'd never see those words in print, right? France fights? Think again, oh doubting one. French jets are probably already in the air protecting those... um... who need protecting. Flying side by side with the British, enforcing the U.N. resolutions.

Just so there's no mistake, the U.N. resolutions against a brutal dictator in Libya who is killing and mistreating his people are righteous and high-minded, and should be enforced immediately, whereas the U.N. resolutions against another brutal dictator in Iraq who was killing and mistreating his people was wrong and misguided and the U.S. were low-life scumballs for enforcing that resolution. They were only after Iraq's oil. France et al is NOT after Libya's oil.

Sigh. Expect the U.S. to be not far behind. Once 'Bama sees he is not alone, he will soon start spending more money hand over fist on a third war, following the war-savvy French Foreign Legion in North Africa.

But, WAIT! you say; all of these Muslim countries HATE us! Why would we want to DO this?

I know. Because they are simply misunderstood. Deep in their hearts, they crave democracy, just like Dubya said. Like Iraq craved democracy. Like Afghanistan craved democracy. These folks just crave a different BRAND of democracy, doncha know. Like the Muslim Brotherhood brand of democracy and the Shariah law brand of democracy and the Iran Mullahs' brand of democracy. Yearning to breath free, as it were. By Allah, we want to ELECT our dictators!

What SHOULD we do? Christ, why do we always have to DO anything? As Ron Paul said a few weeks ago at the presidential straw polling, when Egypt was just starting up: "What should we do? I think we should do a lot less and a lot sooner."

For once in my life I am with Russia and China. Don't do anything. Let them fight it out among themselves. When will we learn? When will AMERICA learn? What country whom we have sided with in time of need loves us? Not Iraq. Not Afghanistan. And certainly not France.

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News Flash. 20 minutes later:

"France surrenders to Libya."

Whew.

Much ado over nothing.

A chance meeting 54 years ago. First and last.

2011-03-15T07:32:00.000-06:00

"There was a guy up on the stage wearing a checked shirt, looking pretty good, singing a song I loved, the Del-Vikings' Come Go With Me. He was filling in with blues lines, I thought that was good, and he was singing well." —Paul McCartney, in the audience that day, on his first impressions of the guy he would meet later that day.

John had to wear glasses from a young age, and he hated it back then. He was legally blind without them, but left them off anyway whenever he possibly could. He despised his "National Health" glasses, and came up with these Buddy Holly imitations which he didn't wear very long, either.

Last photo of song writing team Lennon-McCartney.

This stuff came from: "Discover the power of your voice and become a translater in the U.S. Army."

Separated at birth parts 71 and 72

2011-03-13T14:27:00.003-06:00

These three gentlemen (or two gentlemen and one public self-abuser) seem to have more than a passing resemblance, at least in the eyes. They are of 3 generations, so don't technically qualify for separated-at-birth status, but perhaps somehow related. Peter was born in Hungary, but you never know.

I am struck, as I'm sure you are as well, that these fellows frequently displayed the resigned countenance of one who is about to be buggered.

Britishspeak

There but for the grace of god...

I didn't know this. Maybe you didn't either.

Wikileaks. Or not.

Seax Flitch

Last great hope for ex-pat community

More Emergence

Wishes for the new year

Boxing Day

Battles of the Great War

Remembering, of course, but...

Creeping Cockney Crud Contaminates Antipatter, Scottie. Beam me up.

How Gilbert Died

How Gilbert Died

Stone the Crows

Talking the Talk: "Never encircle a prince on a hill"

Irish Curses

Big Boom Theory

Highwayman's Lair

Prince Harry arrives in U.S. for helicopter training

A dragon by any other name would... smell as sweet?

Breaking on the Wheel, Preparations for Halloween

Breaking on the Wheel

Thinkya verry much

Aussie Speak?

Willard: 6 Degrees (or more) of Separation

Word origins: Bobbies

Cannabalism in Scotland: the legend of Sawney Bean

A Stranger In My Own Land

Some British sports stadia with corporate sponsor names

Last Scots post for a while

R.I.P. Nancy Wake

Separated by a Common Language. Truly.

Sliders and bashers for YOU!

Scotswords Contest

Some people take their croquet seriously

Not so hot EVERYWHERE on earth right now

Political parties in the United Kingdom

Advice to Brits visiting America

George Harrison's attacker to be released today

People in glass houses

Top 10 favorite british words for July

Y Wladfa

Picts, Celts, Scots, Highlands, Lowlands, Clans

"The 45": The Jabobite Rising of 1745

Johnnie Cope

Lord, grant that Marshal Wade,May by thy mighty aid,Victory bring.May he sedition hush and like a torrent rush,Rebellious Scots to crush,God save the King

GOD SAVE THE QUEEN

God save our gracious Queen,Long live our noble Queen,God save the Queen!Send her victorious,Happy and Glorious,Long to reign over us;God save the Queen!

O Lord our God arise,Scatter her enemiesAnd make them fall;Confound their politics,Frustrate their knavish tricks,On Thee our hopes we fix,Oh, save us all!

Thy choicest gifts in storeOn her be pleased to pour;Long may she reign;May she defend our laws,And ever give us causeTo sing with heart and voice,God save the Queen!

Not in this land alone,But be God's mercies known,From shore to shore!Lord make the nations see,That men should brothers be,And form one family,The wide world over

From every latent foe,From the assassins blow,God save the Queen!O'er her thine arm extend,For Britain's sake defend,Our mother, prince, and friend,God save the Queen!

Jacobite Rebellion, 1715

Hating America

The Glorious Revolution: for the Scots, not so much.

Prelude to the Glorious Revolution

South Fork Remembered

Mr. Carnegie, a final note.

Wee Andra Carnegie

Pittsburgh Steel, part dà dhà

Pittsburgh: A Man of Steel, Part One

Huge Rooster Beats Off Hungry Fox

On this date

Getting the expat quiz behind us...

Quiz for British expats living in the USA

I think here we only need to have a saloon...

2011 Run for the Roses

If you're wondering where he disappeared to after the wedding, he's over here.

Windsor Gothic

Only a few hours to go now

Sinclair's Bay

A few minutes with the lord of curmudgeoness

Corrections

"Ear all, see all, say nowt. Eat all, sup all, pay nowt. And if tha does owt fer nowt, allus do it for thissen."

UK songs reaching #1 at some point in 1969

"The Great Grimsby" by F. Scott Maxgerald

Is England a country?

I do. Oh, I do. I do I do I do I do I do.

Werewolves of London, Part Doo

Lord, grant that Marshal Wade,
May by thy mighty aid,
Victory bring.
May he sedition hush and like a torrent rush,
Rebellious Scots to crush,
God save the King

God save our gracious Queen,
Long live our noble Queen,
God save the Queen!
Send her victorious,
Happy and Glorious,
Long to reign over us;
God save the Queen!

O Lord our God arise,
Scatter her enemies
And make them fall;
Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks,
On Thee our hopes we fix,
Oh, save us all!

Thy choicest gifts in store
On her be pleased to pour;
Long may she reign;
May she defend our laws,
And ever give us cause
To sing with heart and voice,
God save the Queen!

Not in this land alone,
But be God's mercies known,
From shore to shore!
Lord make the nations see,
That men should brothers be,
And form one family,
The wide world over

From every latent foe,
From the assassins blow,
God save the Queen!
O'er her thine arm extend,
For Britain's sake defend,
Our mother, prince, and friend,
God save the Queen!