On this day in A.D. 70:

If you had booked the Temple of Jerusalem for a wedding or a bar mitzvah, ask the High Priest for a refund. Either that, or ask the cater to set up some extra tables for a rampaging Roman army. On third thought, get the refund. The Romans destroyed the Temple. And don’t let the High Priest or your insurance agent claim that it was an act of God. After all, which God? I’d say it was Mars, although it took the War God and Rome four months to crush Jerusalem.

To commemorate this day, I will be eating spumoni ice cream. But for the Romans and their pacification policy of exiling the Judeans to Europe (where no doubt we would lose our identity), today I might look Yassir Arafat. (Worse, my wife might.) Instead we were forced to wade through some better looking gene pools. So, thanks Rome.

On This Day in 1704:

Austria gained control of Gibraltar. At least, the British claimed the captured peninsula on behalf of Archduke Karl, their candidate for the Spanish throne. Yet, the British somehow never did turn over Gibraltar; perhaps, they were waiting for the Austrian navy to show up. The British settled in and soon abandoned all pretense of acting for their Hapsburg ally. Of course, the Spanish and their French allies attempted to retake Gibraltar but they learned this lesson in military topography.  Attacking from the sea, you can take Gibraltar. Attacking from land, you can’t.

In 1713, with the signing of the Treaty of Utrecht, the Spanish ceded control of Gibraltar only on condition that “no leave shall be given under any pretence whatsoever, either to Jews or Moors, to reside or have their dwellings in the said town of Gibraltar.” The British agreed but they did not order their immigration officers to check everyone for foreskins. And once the Jews and Moors were back, the British did not ask them to leave. (Irish Catholics would have been less welcomed.) Of course, Spain declared that this was a violation of the Treaty and used it as a justification for another war. But once again the Spanish attacked by land, with predictable results.

Spain–with French support–attacked again in 1782 and this time remembered to use ships as well as a large army. Good strategy but bad timing. The British had been preoccupied trying to restore order over some dyspeptic colonies in North America, but after 1781 had signed an armistice with the rebels. Britain was now free to thrash the Spanish and the French–which is exactly what happened.

Yet Spain would try once more. In 1808, with Spanish permission, Napoleon and his forces marched into Iberia with the understanding that he take Gibraltar. But there must have been a misunderstanding; Napoleon seized Spain instead. Add a cedilla to the irony, the Spanish needed the British to drive out the French.

(And Hitler offered to march through Spain to take Gibraltar. For some reason, Franco refused.)

Of course, Spain still demands the return of Gibraltar. Britain will probably schedule that a week after it returns the Elgin Marbles.

p.s.  As if today did not have enough historical gossip, have some more:  https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2009/08/04/perhaps-the-most-incompetent-man-of-all-time-2/

Ex-Romanian dictator Ceausescu and wife exhumed

It took 21 years but Blue Cross finally decided that the bullet wounds were covered by the Ceausescu’s policy.

Several businesses have expressed interest in the Ceausescu.  Employing the late Rumanian tyrant as its chairman would certainly improve the image of BP.  And one can’t forget the natural affinity between totalitarianism and show business.  The scriptwriters for “Twilight IV” are already at work.  Mr. Ceausescu is also rumored to be a possible replacement for Charlie Sheen on “Two and a Half Men”; of course, depending on Ceausescu’s state of preservation, the show may be retitled “One and Two Half Men.”   He and his wife have been offered the leads in the road company production of “The Addams Family” but they didn’t care for that musical.  As Ceausescu explained to Larry King, “‘Carousel’ would be tempting.”

On This Day in 1403

Henry IV was very disappointed in the Percy clan. It was a powerful family in Northern England and very useful to a conniving usurper. After helping him seize the English throne and kill the rightful (if preposterously incompetent) King Richard II in 1399, however, it turned out that the Percys could not be trusted. The rapacious family actually expected every title and estate that Henry had promised them. Didn’t they understand politics? Apparently not. The Percys rose in rebellion, having suddenly realized that Henry was an usurper. The now legitimatist nobles were supporting the royal claims of the Earl of March–who happened to be related to the Percys by marriage.

Of course, Shakespeare covered this topic–in iambic pentameter–in Henry IV, part I. So you know that the rebels were led by the dashing teenage jock, “Hotspur” Percy but he was killed at the battle of Shrewsbury in a climactic duel with that reprobate teenager Prince Hal. Well, not quite….

Hotspur once had been a teenager; it is a prerequisite when you are 38 years old. That was his age at the battle of Shrewsbury. In fact, he was two years older than Henry IV. Prince Hal actually was a teenager–16–but he did not kill Hotspur. That deed was accomplished by an anonymous archer whose arrow determined the outcome of the battle. Up to Hotspur’s unlucky catch, his forces seemed to be winning; not a knockout decision but ahead on corpse totals. However with the death of their leader, the rebels abandoned the field and Henry IV retained the throne.

But that was Percy luck. Even the competent commanders in the family tended to get killed; and you can imagine the actuarial tables for the inept ones. Here is a brief recitation. Hotspur’s father was killed fighting against the Lancastrians. Hotspur’s son was killed fighting for the Lancastrians. (Changing sides did not improve the family luck.) Hotspur’s grandson was killed fighting for the Lancastrians. Hotspur’s great-grandson was killed in a rent riot. (Now that has to be embarrassing, killed by your disgruntled tenants.)

By some fluke, Hotspur’s great-great grandson died of natural causes at the age of 50. (16th century medicine was as deadly as the warfare.) Of the great-great-great grandsons, one may have died of natural causes; but being a Catholic once engaged to Anne Boleyn, he was definitely on Henry VIII’s “To-Do List.” And his brother was decapitated–as was his son! The 8th Earl of Northumberland–the great-great-great-great-great grandson–was mysteriously shot while in the Tower of London. (It must have been a suicide!)

You have to wonder why the British royals did not simply strip the Percys of their titles and properties, reducing them to fishmongers in Newcastle. Perhaps the Percys offered the Renaissance equivalent of a fox hunt: just catch and kill them. You could also wonder why the Percys did not choose a safer social niche. They must have felt a certain glamor to it all. Whether riddled with arrows or in the midst of their decapitation, they would have gasped “What, and give up show business?”

Several years ago the New York Times had an article on the Duchess of Northumberland. Being egalitarian/vulgar Americans, we would call her Mrs. Percy. After six hundred years, that is definitely job security.

Sarah Palin Invents New Word: Refudiate

Refudiate (verb) post-coherent English:  To revive the principles and policies of Elmer Fudd.

Elmer Fudd (1940–) Republican icon.  Speech therapist for George W. Bush.  Spokesman for the National Rifle Association.  Physical prototype and sperm donor of the Neo-Conservative movement.

Revered, along with Yosemite Sam,  as the token humans of Merrie Melodies cartoons, Fudd heroically fought the carrot-stealing socialism of a pushy New York rabbit as well as the uppity behavior of a black duck.  Off screen, he displayed the same patriotic zeal and was a friendly witness at the HUAC hearings.  (Pepe Le Pew had to work in Europe for years.)

Although now semi-retired–he only sits on 47 corporate boards– Fudd remains an idol of the American Right.  There is talk that a well-known Conservative think tank will be renamed the Hoover and Fudd Institute.   And when planning the capture of Osama bin Laden, Donald Rumsfeld always considered “What would Elmer Fudd do?”

July 17, 1453:  The Last Battle of the Hundred Years’ War

Joan of Arc did not win the Hundred Years War.  She simply broke England’s winning streak.  The psychotic, transvestite peasant  (1412-1431) saved Orleans and the Loire Valley; but half of France–including Paris–remained the eastern shires of Britain.  You know that her winning streak didn’t last either, and the war would continue for another 22 years.  Yet Joan left a legacy that would lead her country to victory:  “Don’t be chivalrous; be French!”

For the first 90 years or so of the War–at Crecy, Poitiers and Agincourt–the French army demonstrated all the dramatic valor and magnificent etiquette demanded in chivalry.  If the English dared you to a make full-frontal assault, uphill, how could a true knight refuse?  War was just a very large duel.  However, as the French never seemed to learn, a duel between their armor and English arrows had a very predictable outcome.  The French lost battles and most of their country, but not their sense of propriety.

Of course, Joan couldn’t understand such sensitive refinement.  Her conduct toward the English would be rude and underhanded: in short, instinctively French.  The peasant had no regard for English convenience.  If the English invited a frontal assault, she had neither the honor or courtesy to oblige them.

(In the first half of the Hundred Years War, France’s only successful commander also displayed such an appalling breech of chivalry.  Bertrand du Guesclin (1320-1380)  had the excuse of being Breton rather than real French.  Resorting to ambushes and surprise attacks, du Guesclin was practically a brigand.  He also regained northern France.  Early in his career he had tried the French form of warfare, which explains how he was captured twice by the English.  Since he wasn’t a French noble, he did learn from his mistakes.)

At the battle of Patay, Joan’s culminating triumph in the Loire Valley, the French attacked before the English were ready.  Beyond this shameless breach of etiquette was the further humiliation that a smaller French force had triumphed over a larger English army.  Now it was the English commander, the Earl of Shrewsbury, being held for ransom and of course the French overcharged for him.

While Joan ended up the victim of French gratitude (the English might have exchanged her for the Earl of Shrewsbury), she remained a model for military conduct.  Province by province, the French harassed, cheated and annoyed the English out of France.  Paris was regained in 1435.  Northern France was liberated by 1450, and the Earl of Shrewsbury was captured again.  Normandy was won when an English army was caught while crossing a river; try working a longbow while standing waist-deep in water.  By 1451, the French had conquered Gascony, the southwestern province that the English had held since Eleanor of Aquitaine.  The war seemed to be over, with the English only retaining the token enclave of Calais.

But the English could not believe that they had really lost.  Hadn’t they won all the really prestigious battles?  (All those lost skirmishes hardly counted.)  Furthermore, even if they had no right to the Loire Valley, and only a distant claim to Normandy, the English felt that Gascony was rightfully theirs.  Ironically, the Gascons agreed.  After three centuries of English rule, they felt loyalty to London and the Plantagenets, not to Paris and the Valois.  So, when an English army landed at Bordeaux in 1452, Gascony rose against the French and welcomed their British liberators.

The English commander was–can you believe it–the Earl of Shrewsbury.  He had regained his freedom with another ransom and with the added vow that he would never wear armor to fight France.  The French might have assumed his permanent pacifism; however, the Earl had become as conniving as the French.  He could still fight the French; he just couldn’t wear armor.  Shrewsbury had 6000 men and Gascon sympathy to hold the province against the full force of France.  The French response began with a 10,000 man siege of  the Gascon town of Castillon.  Shrewsbury rushed to the town’s defense.  Believing that he had caught the French by surprise, he attacked even without waiting for all his troops to arrive.  Leading only his advance guard, Shrewsbury was outnumbered six to one, but didn’t he have the element of surprise?    Not really, since the French had assembled their artillery and archers behind a fortified encampment to meet the English charge.  The rest of the English army arrived in time to be overrun by the French cavalry.  More than half of the English force was either killed or captured, and Shrewsbury learned a fatal disadvantage in fighting without armor.

Castillon was the last battle of the Hundred Years War, and Gascony learned to become French.

Henry VIII and I share a wedding anniversary. Of course, everyone could say that. In my case, the date of Henry’s marrage to Katherine Parr coincides with my marriage to Karen.

We should also consider my other remarkable similarities to Mr. Tudor. Both Henry and I are equally plausible as the head of the Church of England. Henry had syphillis; I certainly tried to–but during the Sexual Revolution I must have been classified as 4-F. Henry had a brother-in-law beheaded; that is on my to-do list.

But how can we compare Katherine Parr and Karen Finerman? They are equally entitled to your pity.

Happy Anniversary to my noble martyr and lovely wife.

and now more about the other bride…

 Katherine Parr Borough Neville Tudor Seymour

In choosing Katherine Parr as his sixth wife, Henry VIII made a very sensible choice. By 1543 Henry’s libido was a subject of nostalgia. Her family was established but staid English gentry: no social-climbing Boleyns or power-mad Howards. And her resume was impeccable: she was a virtuous, affable woman who made of a career of being a wife.

Henry was her third husband. In her first marriage, she was a bride at 15 and a childless widow at 19. Apparently infertile and definitely unlucky, the widow was not considered a great catch, But her family found someone. At 21, she was married off to a man twice her age; he basically needed a nurse. (She was his third wife, and his first two marriages had produced an adequate number of children.) At 31, she was a widow again, but with a comfortable income. (Her stepchildren didn’t quibble over her allowance; she really was a nice person.)

Now the wealthy widow was being pursued by a handsome adventurer, Thomas Seymour. Seymour was the brother of the late Queen Jane Seymour and had stayed in the favor of his mercurial royal brother-in-law. However, that same brother-in-law also wanted a wife. Having the soul of a pimp, Thomas encouraged Henry’s interest in Katherine Parr; after all, she would be an even richer widow as Mrs. Tudor. So Katherine once again was a married nurse, dealing with the obese, gout-strickened Henry. However she wasn’t that good a nurse; Henry died four years later in 1547.

Now Katherine could finally have a handsome virile husband. And Mrs. Thomas Seymour died as the result of it in 1548: childbirth.

Brit Finds $5M in Roman Coins With Metal Detector

July 8)   A British treasure hunter has stumbled upon the country’s biggest-ever find of Roman coins buried in a field in southwest England.

Using a metal detector, Dave Crisp found a hoard of more than 52,000 coins buried in an enormous pot in county Somerset. The bronze and silver coins date from the third century and include some minted by self-proclaimed Emperor Carausius.

The stash has been valued at around $5 million and weighs more than 350 pounds, The Associated Press reported.

“I have made many finds over the years, but this is my first major coin hoard,” Crisp told the BBC.

Crisp was first alerted to the stash when he found a tiny coin buried about a foot deep. The more he dug, the more coins he unearthed. After pulling up a dozen of them, he called in the experts.

It took staff at the British Museum a full month to wash the coins and three more months to catalog them, according to The Guardian.

It isn’t clear how the huge quantity of coins got into the field. A Roman road runs near the site, but there is no evidence of any Roman villa or settlement there. Archaeologists believe they may represent the life savings of an entire community and may have been buried as part of a religious ceremony.

The find may change the way the British view their Roman heritage, putting greater emphasis on the story of Carausius. Carausius was a Roman naval officer who was declared an outlaw when Emperor Maximian suspected he was making deals with pirates.

Carausius fled to Britain in 286 and declared himself emperor, ruling over Britain and part of France for seven years before being killed by his finance minister.

“”This find presents us with an opportunity to put Carausius on the map,” Roger Bland, a coins expert from the British Museum, told AP. “Schoolchildren across the country have been studying Roman Britain for decades, but are never taught about Carausius our lost British emperor.”

Actually, Carausius could have had a revived popularity after the 1988 premiere of “The Lair of the White Worm.”  The Roman usurper was mentioned, if not depicted, as being the lover of a snake goddess–played by Amanda Donahoe–who was still devouring men, in so many ways, some 1700 years later.  The story was based on a novel by Bram Stoker, who evidently was trying to avoid being a one-hit wonder.  (He failed.)  British director Ken Russell adapted the story–which is to say that he made it unrecognizable, inexplicable and way beyond kinky.  Stoker never imagined a crucified Jesus being attacked by a large white snake; that was one of Mr. Russell’s more sedate images.

Unfortunately, aside from that casual name-dropping, Carausius has never been depicted in film or television.  So, you can’t envision him within six degrees of Kevin Bacon.  Well, you are wrong.  Carausius was defying the Emperor Maximian, who at least appeared in the sword & sandal B-grade feature “Constantine and the Cross”.  Maximian was portrayed by Tino Carraro.  No, you’ve never seen him in a Sergio Leone western; Carraro wasn’t that good.  Maximian was the father-in-law of Constantine who was played by Cornel Wilde.  (So, the first Christian Emperor looked like a Hungarian Jew.)  Wilde took the Lira and the income from other awful films to finance an excellent movie called “The Naked Prey”.  He was its producer, director and star.  In the film, Wilde is a scout of a hunting party that is massacred by African tribesman.  Wilde’s character avoids summary execution but is turned loose to be hunted by a group of warriors; their leader was played by a Ken Gampu.  Mr. Gampu, a South African actor, would subsequently avoid the temptation to massacre Kevin Bacon in “The Air Up There.”

So, that is Carausius, Maximian, Tino Carraro, Cornel Wilde, Ken Gampu and Kevin Bacon:  five degrees and 1700 years.

p.s.  Here is the story of an even more interesting treasure hoard:  https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2010/04/17/the-rakes-progress-or-the-road-to-rune/

p.p.s.  Dour, dismal but spiritually-correct birthday, John Calvin:  https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2009/07/10/the-joys-of-misery-and-the-embarrassment-of-evolution/

July 1, 1916:  A Stroll in the Country

The plan of Field Marshall Douglas Haig had an undeniable logic. A week-long bombardment–1,500,000 shells of heavy artillery–along a 20-mile front in northern France would obliterate any German defenses. Then, 150,000 British soldiers would simply occupy the valley, leaving the exposed remnants of the German lines prey to three divisions of cavalry. And tally-ho Berlin! The British soldiers were told to take along their full kits–70 pounds of equipment and supplies–because this operation was really more of a relocation than an attack. Battalions were even ordered to move in formation: eight lines of troops, five yards apart. It would be good practice for so many raw recruits. That splendid procession occurred on this day–July 1–1916.

However, the procession was not quite as splendid as expected. While the British artillery had rained 1,500,000 shells on the German defenses, some logistical misunderstanding resulted in the use of shrapnel instead of high explosives. That would have been fatal to any number of German sunbathers who chose to ignore the bombardment, but it had negligible effect on the trenchworks. Furthermore, the British underestimated the quality of German engineering. They assumed that the German trenchworks were just as shoddy as the British. (On the contrary, if you like the engineering of German cars, you would really love their trenches.) So, in fact, the German fortifications were still largely extant and bristling with the finest quality machine guns. The British bombardment had only succeeded in eliminating the element of surprise.

So began the first day on the Somme.

General Haig expected 150,000 men–in three waves–to advance up to three miles, overrunning two lines of German fortifications. However, only 100,000 men participated in the attack. In some sectors, the second and third waves could not move past the dead and wounded of the first wave. Some regiments had casualties of ninety percent; in effect, they ceased to exist. Despite the odds and obstacles, moving under fire with the weight of a full kit, British troops succeeded in taking some sectors of the Germans’ first line of trenches. Some British soldiers even reached the second line of trenches; the lucky ones were captured.

General Haig expected the attack to continue the next day. The division commanders told him that it was impossible; the generals did not even know how many men they had left. It took three days to get an accurate account of the losses. Of the 100,000 men who made the attack on July 1, 20,000 were dead and 40,000 wounded. This proved to be the worst day in the history of the British army. By contrast, the German losses seemed almost frivolous: 8,000 dead and wounded, 2,000 captured.

And this was just the first day on the Somme. The slaughter would continue through November. At the cost of 620,000 casualties the Allies would gain five miles, and they never achieved the breakthrough that would end the war. But if this was a Pyrrhic victory, the Germans still had little reason to celebrate. Their casualties amounted to 450,000.

Douglas Haig was not courtmartialed, demoted or transferred as military attache to Brazil. He remained the Field Marshall of the British forces, After the war, he was made an earl and received an award of 100,000 sterling. (He did not need the money; the Haig family had a very successful distillery.) History’s judgment, however, has been less generous: “the butcher of the Somme”.

BP CEO at yacht race during spill

The oil giant’s head takes a break from disaster to enjoy a British yachting contest

By Associated Press

BP chief executive Tony Hayward, often criticized for being tone-deaf to U.S. concerns about the worst oil spill in American history, took time off Saturday to attend a glitzy yacht race off England’s Isle of Wight.

Spokeswoman Sheila Williams said Hayward took a break from overseeing BP efforts to stem the undersea gusher in Gulf of Mexico to watch his boat “Bob” participate in the J.P. Morgan Asset Management Round the Island Race.

The one-day yacht race is one of the world’s largest, attracting hundreds of boats and thousands of sailors.

In a statement, BP described Hayward’s day off as “a rare moment of private time” and said that “no matter where he is, he is always in touch with what is happening within BP” and can direct recovery operations if required.

The corporate spokesman continued, “None of the yachts hit an oil rig here.  Why doesn’t the media report that?”  When the media were so rude as to note that are no oil rigs near the Isle of Wight, the spokesman said “That only proves BP and Mr. Haywood’s dedicated, caring commitment to the environment.  And no whales or walruses were hurt either.  Yes, Mrs. Hayward did accidently drop her pug Wrinkletto from the yacht, but Wrinky was rescued and is fine.  Of course, you media should blame yourself; all that stress made Mrs. Hayward and Wrinky nervous.

“Why can’t the media cover the positive aspects of this story.  Isn’t ‘Bob’ a friendly, folksy name for a yacht?    It just shows you the kind of person Mr. Haywood really is.  His polo ponies are named Fred and Ethel.”

p.s.  Happy Summer Solstice: https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2009/06/21/the-ptomaine-entree-2/

Apparently the identify of BP is almost as murky as the waters of Gulf of Mexico.  For some inexplicable reason, reporters have referred to the gushing oil philanthropist as British Petroleum.  However, that is not merely wrong but slanderous.  As company spokesman Sir Reginald “Binky” Dabwattle insisted, “This is bloody well not a British company.  None of our products were used in the Hundred Years War–except for basting Joan of Arc.  We gladly would have sold axle grease to both sides at Waterloo, but that wog Bonaparte never asked.  Really, BP does not mean British.  It stands for something completely different, and a focus group is working on that right now.” 

Bulgarian Petroleum would be a possibility.  The Balkan country might be grateful for any attention.

Or the company could dispense with the initials and choose a name with a more illustrious, noble image.  How about Philip Morris?  No one is using it now.

And let’s not forget the historic significance of this day: https://finermanworks.com/your_rda_of_irony/2009/06/15/king-johns-involuntary-gift-to-us-2/