Footnotes on Friday

by

Just like clockwork

When I was a child, we used to go every December to Wellington to see the windows at Kircaldy and Stains, the big department store, where each window contained a different animated scene, which we had to follow in order, as they told a story. It was a different story each year, and to me as a child, they were beautiful, exciting, and an important part of Christmas. More recently, I took my grandchildren to see the same windows in the same shop. (My children did not grow up in Wellingon.)

The department store closed in 2016 after 152 years, but some of the automata live on at the Wellington Museum.

I’ve had simpler automata as toys. A monkey that played a drum when wound up. A ballerina that danced when a jewelery case was opened. Automata have always fascinated me.

Perhaps that’s why I have made the hero of the book I’ve just sent to beta the creator of clockwork automata. They were a sensation when they first appeared in the 17th century, and remained popular with wealthy collected and intrigued patrons throughout the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries. And, as I’ve just indicated, into the 20th, though from the Victorian age on, they tended to be powered rather than clockwork.

The history of mechanical figures goes back into legend and through various accounts of the last 2,500 years. Stories of moving statues, mechanical men, and automated birds who sang pop up in accounts from Ancient Greece and Biblical Judea, Persian and China, the Ottoman Empire, and other places. But we are concerned with Europe in the 18th and 19th century, where they were a sensation with wealthy collectors and influential patrons. Many even went on tour. The History of the Automaton Mechanical Miracles describes three by Pierre Jaquet-Drois, built between 1768 and 1774:

Each figure is 28 inches tall and performs a range of realistic actions. The draughtsman draws four different pictures, including a portrait of Vaucanson’s royal patron, Louis XV. The musician plays upon an organ, while the writer — made of more than 6,000 separate components — can be programmed to pen any message of 40 characters or fewer, making him in the eyes of many the true progenitor of the modern computerised android.

The three automata toured Europe for many decades, advertising the firm that built them, which prospered.

France remained a centre for automata building, moving to powered automata in the second half of the 19th century. Germany and Switzerland also had their great makers.

Clocktower automata like the one in my book are also know as glockenspiel, though the name refers to the instrument that makes the sound rather that the figures. As my hero says, it is made of bells or small pieces of metal struck be hammers. Not the one in Stratford in New Zealand, which is a town not far from where I’m writing this blog post. The town website says:

Since 1999, the clock tower has been entertaining passersby with a short Shakespearean performance four times a day.

Following the striking of the tower bells at 10 a.m., 1 p.m., 3 p.m. and 7 p.m., carved figures of Romeo and Juliet emerge from doors within the tower. As they do so, a recording begins of some of the most famous lines from the Balcony Scene, backed by some suitably Elizabethan music. Six different figures emerge in total (three of Romeo and three of Juliet) during the five-minute mechanized performance, with the last set standing hand in hand. The music plays throughout, with various lines from the play.

The music, along with the lines from the play, is piped out from a modern(ish) sound system. It is not played using a traditional carillon system of bells as found in more authentic towers of this type.

by

The origins of the Rom

I was looking up the name Egyptian, as applied to Romani travellers, and came across some recent research that set my off on a bit of a chase.

Egyptian and its derivative, gypsy, are seen by many Romani as insulting terms. My friend Anna, who is proud of her Rom heritage, tells me it is an outsider’s name, based on a false myth, and used to ‘other’ the Rom people from the time they spread through Europe in the early modern era.

Scientists have assumed India as the Romani place of origin for a while, based on language and a brief look at genetic patterns. In a new study of thirteen different groups from different parts of Europe, full genome sequencing has confirmed the assumption, and told us more.

The original population left northwestern India some 1,500 years ago, moving to the Balkans. They left in a single group from a place in what is today Punjab, and travelled through Central Asian and the middle East, losing close to half their number, and finally settling in what is now Bulgaria. There they stayed, until the early twelfth century, when they were on the move again, this time out into Europe in several directions. They reached Spain in the 15th century and England in the 16th.

The study also found that, while Western genes have entered Romani blood lines wherever the travellers have moved (in fact, they have more European genes than South Asian), such mixing with local populations has happened more in some places, and in some times, than others. The chart below is taken from the research paper, and shows particular shared gene sequences by place of origin and length– a) for Europe and b) for South Asia.

https://bmcgenomdata.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s12863-017-0547-x#Fig7

Of course, I then had to look for the story. They left India as the late classical period ended in a series of wars and invasions. They began to leave the Balkans when the Byzantine Empire took over Bulgaria, during a century of disruption and chaos. They reached Spain and Northern Europe at about the time that the Ottomans took over from the Byzantines. So many stories, waiting to be told!

by

The dangerous years

Once again, I’ve found myself researching a common childhood killer that, in our Western world, has had its fangs drawn by the twin powers of vaccination and antibiotics.

Diptheria, previously known as the Boulogne sore throat, malignant croup, was described by the Greeks 2500 years ago. In the year I’m writing about, 1825, it has just acquired the name by which we know it today, but effective prevention and treatment were still a century or more away. All my characters could do was keep their patient calm and hope that the ghastly false membrane growing from one tonsil to her uvula would not close the throat entirely, and that the child’s heart and kidneys did not become affected by the toxins the bacteria produces.

Sitting with my hero and heroine as they watched and worried, I once again gave thanks for the era and the country in which I raised my children.  Some forty years ago, one of my daughters had scarlet fever as a complication of mumps. When I told our doctor her temperature and that she was rambling in and out of consciousness, he put snow chains on his car and drove up the hill to give her an introvenous shot of antibiotic. Within half an hour, she was sitting up complaining that she wasn’t allowed to play with her brothers and sisters out in the snow. It’s an experience I have never forgotten.

We live in a time and a country of miracles. In Regency England slums, overcrowding and poor nutrition meant that diptheria, scarlet fever, influenza, mumps, small pox, and other epidemic illnesses spread easily and killed frequently, but a wealthy home was no protection. Children died in numbers that we, who expect to raise our children to adulthood, find it hard to comprehend. One third of children born in the early 1800s did not reach their fifth birthday.

On the whole,  I sanitise this world for my readers. My sick child survives, unharmed. I don’t make a habit of marching through my characters’ nurseries with a scythe. I am

by

Those pesky titles!

I made a thing, for those of you who wonder about titles. Those of you who already know, tell me if you see any errors!

 

Except for those few rare women who inherited a title in their own right, or those with a courtesy title who married “down”, women took their husband’s title as well as his name.

Please feel free to download and share the images:

Titles for men: https://judeknightauthor.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/11/1-1.png

Titles for women: https://judeknightauthor.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/11/2-1.png

 

by

Travel times

 

Once upon a time, in the UK and Europe, villages used to be about three or four miles apart. That meant a villager could walk to the next village in about an hour, see to business or a friendly visit, and walk home again, all in half a day. Market towns tended to be about nine to twelve miles apart. Someone on foot could reach the nearest market town from their village in about an hour and a half, making it possible to set out before dawn to sell produce, and still get home before dark. Or, if shopping was the goal, the round trip could still be done in three hours.

A person with a horse and cart wouldn’t get there any faster, but would take a bit longer.

For the rich, carriages and riding horseback or in horselitters might shorten travel times, but the state of the roads meant that thirty miles a day was an excellent speed, and only possible in flat country. Goods and people were commonly transported by river or sea if they had to go any further than a few miles, but most people didn’t travel more than ten miles from their home in their lifetimes.

The stage coach was introduced to Britain in the 17th Century. Over time, better road technology, a larger road network and better carriages brought about a huge reduction in travel times. By 1750, it was possible to travel from London to York in three to four days. By the 1820s, the same trip would take a little over a day. Ordinary people still didn’t travel all that much, unless they were wealthy or it was part of their job, or they were seeking work. It was expensive, uncomfortable, and time consuming. Until the next technological development.

Then came the railways

The growth of the railway network, after the first successful passenger line in 1826, was remarkable. And all of a sudden, third class rail carriage put a once-in-a-lifetime trip at the seaside into the reach of even working-class people, while those with slightly more means might even take an annual holiday. Take a look at the growth of the network in just twelve years, between 1840 and 1852.

And here’s what it did to travel times, even with slow mid-19th century steam trains.

Cars and planes

With the coming of the automobile, the focus turned back to roads, with travel times shrinking again, and still more with airplanes. Here in the 21st century, it’s hard to put ourselves into the footsteps of our ancestors, for whom a trip to the shops meant a three hour walk.

 

by

Not just Bow Street — the other police offices

There’s a bit of a fashion for Bow Street runners in Regency romance. I thought I’d have one myself, come to arrest my hero on a false charge of murder. Except when I looked into it, I found out they weren’t necessarily from Bow Street, and they weren’t called runners.

Bow Street Magistrate’s Court was the prototype, of course. Henry Fielding and his brother established the Runners. (They preferred to be called Principal Officers, since they thought ‘runners’ made them sound like servants.)

The model was successful, and in 1792, more than forty years after Fielding started his experiment, the government passed the Middlesex Justices Act. This established seven more police offices. Each had three paid magistrates and up to six paid officers or constables.

So in Westminster, there were Bow Street, Great Marlborough Street, and Queen’s Square. I picked Great Marlborough Street, which was closest to the townhouse where my hero was staying. Police offices in the rest of London were Worship Street in Shorditch, Lambeth Street in Whitchapel, Union Hall in Southwark, and also Shadwell and Hatton Garden. In 1798, the Thames Police Office (the river police) was opened in Wapping. There had been a couple of changes by the time of my story, in 1813, but good to know!

My hero’s powerful friends payed for him to have a private room instead of being in the police cells, where he countered two attempts to murder him. Corruption was a significant issue with some police offices, so a bribe to look the other way was not unlikely. He appeared before the three magistrates in a preliminary hearing a few days after he was arrested, and the case was dismissed when the person he was meant to have murdered stood up in court, alive and well. Other cases heard that day might have received an immediate judgement and penalty for a minor crime, or been bound over to appear at a full court hearing before a judge and possibly a jury.

They were different times, but already shifting in a direction that is more familiar to us today.

Note: when the Great Marlborough police office closed in 1839, as the Metropolitan Police took over all policing duties, the building continued in service as a Magistrate’s Court. A case against John Lennon for exhibiting sexually explicit material was heard in this court in the 1970s. It is now a boutique hotel, and the courtroom itself is an Asian Fusion restaurant.

by

Hackneys and Hansom Cabs

It’s amazing what you can find down a rabbit hole! I went looking for public conveyances in 1826 in Paris, and discovered the light two-wheeled carriage, pulled by one horse, called the cabriolet de place. It looked very familiar, so I sent my heroine home in one, and did some more digging.

In the 17th, 18th and early 19th century, the way to get around London (if you had the fare and didn’t have a coach of your own) was a Hackney Coach. These were generally old carriages that had once belonged to private owners. Drawn by a pair of horses, they could carry several passengers. But they were known to be dirty and smelly, since they went everywhere with all sorts of passengers.

The owners of these hackney coaches–there were 300 licences in Central London–had a monopoly on private transport in that area. When a carriage maker called David Davies decided to introduce the French innovation under the shortened name cab, the syndicate of hackney coach owners objected.

However, two gentlemen managed to get nine licenses, and the cabs proved to be very popular. The tarrif was reasonable, and the young and more daring were delighted to give the new, lighter, and more agile form of transportation a go. Apparently the cab drivers delighted in passing their heavier and more cumbersome rivals!

Despite the opposition, 1831 saw 150 licenses for cabbies, and in1832, all restrictions were lifted.

The picture above shows the hansom cab, the first of which was designed in 1834 by Mr Joseph Hansom, with the passengers mounting in front. Later innovators moved the cabbie to the back and added a window in the door, leaving Hansom’s design behind, but his name lingered on.

by

History shapes us

We were at Whanganui hospital today for a routine procedure. While I waited, I examined the photos on the wall with some interest, for family lore tells me that a failure by the government to pay for the building work my great grandfather did on one of the buildings led to the bankruptcy that, in turn, led to my grandfather returning to live with his parents and to raise his seven children in the family home. The building pictured above are gone, now. Replaced with a more modern hospital–and a very efficient one, too, we found. But the old family story lingers.

In other news today, Charles III appears to have hinted that he’s open to having the remains of children, buried in the royal vaults after being exhumed from the environs of the Tower of London, tested to see if their DNA supports the oft repeated suspicion that they are the Princes in the Tower, the two sons of Edward IV. Shakespeare tells us they were horribly murdered on the command of their uncle, Richard III, because they stood between him and the throne. The story has flaws, since he already had the throne, having convinced Parliament that their father was secretly married to someone else when he wed their mother.

I’m a #RichardIIIwasframed person myself, but I’ll watch for the results of the testing with interest. Is a long standing historical injustice about to be addressed? If so, which one?

Speaking of Charles III, quite a number of voices have been raised calling for redress from the new King for colonial oppressions. It seems a bit misplaced to me, given that the Kings and Queens of England have had little real power for several hundred years. But that’s the down side of being a walking talking symbol, I suppose.

Which reminds me that it was only in 2015 that the British government finished paying off the debt incurred to compensate British slave owners for freeing their slaves. That’s right, folks. Nearly two centuries of debt to pay people to stop owning other people. I get that it was a political decision, required to get the necessary support to stop an outrage. But how about compensation for the slaves, and their descendants?

All of which goes to today’s point. History matters. Perhaps, with enough time, past injustices become merely something interesting to study, but when the impacts are still echoing in the lives of people alive today, we ignore such injustices at our peril.

by

A storied kingdom

When I began to write Paradise Regained, prequel to my Return of the Mountain King series, I didn’t have much of a clue about the location. The plot required that my hero and heroine live in Central Asia, somewhere along the Silk Roads, but boy, did I need to research.

Half a dozen books, scores of academic research papers, and quite a bit of Sufi medieval poetry later, I’d nailed down the place and the time, and become fascinated with the tumultuous and ever intriguing history of Iran.

1794 in the Western calendar was a tumultuous year in Iran, which we in the West persisted in calling Persia, after the practice of the ancient Greeks. The short-lived Zand dynasty took its last gasp that year, to be superseded by a rival clan, the Qajars.

The rivalry for supremacy in Iran was brutal. The founder of the new dynasty was known as the eunuch monarch. Āghā Moḥammad Qajar was castrated when young to prevent him from becoming a political rival to the then reigning Afsharid dynasty.

Instead, what was then seen as disqualifying someone from supreme leadership seemed to inspire Āghā Moḥammad to greater efforts. He was a political hostage for much of his young adulthood, but escaped when Karīm Khan Zand died, and spent ten years fighting his own relatives to unite his clan.  By 1886, he was the head of the tribe that controlled northern Iran.  He spent the next eight years at war with the last of the Zand kings, finally capturing the ruler and having him killed in 1794.

He was crowned as shāhanshāh (king of kings) in 1796, but was assassinated the following year. The story goes that he grew annoyed when two of his servants argued loudly in his hearing. He ordered them executed, but since it was the evening of the holy day, he commanded them back to their duties until the next day.

You can’t say he lacked confidence, but in this case it lead him astray.

During the night, the servants stabbed their master, and took the crown jewels to a powerful prince who offered them his protection.

Nonetheless, the Shah was succeeded by his nephew, and his dynasty ruled Iran until 1929.

***
All of this formed the background to a minor plotline in Paradise Regained. The father of my heroine is a minor Zand khan, that is, ruler of what we would now call a province. In the turmoil that followed the death of the king, he flees to his daughter’s mountain kingdom in the Kopet Dag mountains, through which runs the border between Iran and Turkmenistan. He is closely pursued by Qajar troops, who settle outside the gates.