tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-97087322024-03-07T08:53:32.946-05:00Fading History<br>"Stat rosa pristina nomine; nomina nuda tenemus." <br>
-De contemptu mundi by Bernard of Morlay<br>
<br>
(Yesterday's rose endures in its name; we hold empty names.)<br>Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-3331194430985537902014-07-26T11:58:00.000-04:002019-11-27T14:01:21.585-05:00Pop's Last Post<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4rIEbEE7wcQXDMcCun5VBOYcJ-ErSi58bp6BbtikEHtQm4qsd8TcKHE_Gezw7wrFLOP_LThKvoyUylzrFkXBk7mQedEfPurCxoYpB84kNzd6x1KWp8UyFzuFKNPOzqFjIMFrP/s1600/PopDadMe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4rIEbEE7wcQXDMcCun5VBOYcJ-ErSi58bp6BbtikEHtQm4qsd8TcKHE_Gezw7wrFLOP_LThKvoyUylzrFkXBk7mQedEfPurCxoYpB84kNzd6x1KWp8UyFzuFKNPOzqFjIMFrP/s1600/PopDadMe.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I was in my grandfather’s hospital room in the late 1970’s
when a doctor came in to go over his medical history. My grandfather, who was
both pleasant and a bit stoic, answered the questions matter-of-factly, but in
a thick Yorkshire brogue which I secretly loved to hear. The initial question
was very basic, but the answer surprised us all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“When was the last time you saw a doctor?” the young intern
asked.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“1917” was Pop’s reply.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The intern looked to us with raised eyebrows. Clearly he
felt this was a mistake, and that my ninety something patriarch was not of
sound mind. But Pop was still quite sharp, and we indicated that the doctor
should continue to ask him the questions.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“And what were you hospitalized for?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“My leg”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“What was wrong with your leg at the time?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“It had a piece of the Kaiser's shrapnel in it”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“And you’ve never been to a hospital since?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“No.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">That was it, no story, no bragging, no lecturing this youngster
about never needing doctors, no reminiscing about the war. Get on with it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Of course, as a young boy, the scene stuck out in my mind. I
was determined to find out more about Pop’s wartime experiences. But, with his advanced
age, one hospitalization led to another, and in due time we said goodbye to Pop
and lost him from this world.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Last week, while going through family papers, I came across
Pop’s war diary from the First World War. His words were succinct, as usual,
but here is his story, as best I can relate.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My grandfather, George Herbert Ramsden, was born in the city
of Wath-on-Dearne, in the West Riding of Yorkshire, England, in 1885. He spent
most of his early life in Bingley, where he was indentured in an apprenticeship
to learn the painting trade. His father was a cook, who ran a fish and chip
shop. As a young man, he and his friends would stroll the lanes of Bingley in
the evening,</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYOROh40UAuaOubFTldjY5hc43QsmC6Fd6G4PlW8xyc5LFtkDXhtlP0pK0l5FQFPZqkCV89J_eYUNQD0Jm9DiTGzNcMQO6CdrqEiffAzNYYHEV5isZcaXyzesZUjM3FjOtadA/s1600/GHRPassport.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdYOROh40UAuaOubFTldjY5hc43QsmC6Fd6G4PlW8xyc5LFtkDXhtlP0pK0l5FQFPZqkCV89J_eYUNQD0Jm9DiTGzNcMQO6CdrqEiffAzNYYHEV5isZcaXyzesZUjM3FjOtadA/s1600/GHRPassport.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> singing songs to the girls who strolled the same lanes. It was
there that he met Rose Ann Oldfield, a collier’s daughter. After courting for
some time, he proposed to her one day at Druid’s altar, an old stone formation looking
out over the moors. On the day they were married, he was so excited when he saw
her appear at the back of the church that he ran to her and walked her down the
aisle himself.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600"
o:spt="75" o:preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f"
stroked="f">
<v:stroke joinstyle="miter"/>
<v:formulas>
<v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"/>
<v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"/>
</v:formulas>
<v:path o:extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" o:connecttype="rect"/>
<o:lock v:ext="edit" aspectratio="t"/>
</v:shapetype><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_1" o:spid="_x0000_s1030" type="#_x0000_t75"
style='position:absolute;margin-left:148.6pt;margin-top:40.05pt;width:199.8pt;
height:131.45pt;z-index:251670528;visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square;
mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;mso-wrap-distance-left:9pt;
mso-wrap-distance-top:0;mso-wrap-distance-right:9pt;
mso-wrap-distance-bottom:0;mso-position-horizontal:right;
mso-position-horizontal-relative:margin;mso-position-vertical:absolute;
mso-position-vertical-relative:text;mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;
mso-width-relative:margin;mso-height-relative:margin'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\dramsden\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.jpg"
o:title=""/>
<w:wrap type="square" anchorx="margin"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Rose had several
relatives who had emigrated from England to the United States and were living
outside of Boston, Massachusetts. The two decided to join them and look for
opportunity there, so in the early 1900’s they crossed the Atlantic and began a
new life in America. They had a daughter, Irene, in 1911. A few years later, in
1914, fighting broke out in Europe and England joined France and Belgium in
fighting Kaiser Wilhelm and the German Army on the Western Front.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Despite the fact that my grandfather was now 30 years old,
with a young family, successfully settled in a new country, his sense of duty
was calling him back to England. And even though the Germans declared a
submarine blockade around England, sinking every ship they found, George, Rose
& Irene set sail back to their homeland. The journey was uneventful, save for
a friendship that the family (especially 4 year old Irene) developed with the
Captain. When the trip was over the Ramsden family settled back in Yorkshire,
but the Captain and the ship were both lost to the German submarines on their
return trip to America.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_29" o:spid="_x0000_s1029"
type="#_x0000_t75" style='position:absolute;margin-left:184.2pt;margin-top:94.35pt;
width:235.4pt;height:171.55pt;z-index:-251646976;visibility:visible;
mso-wrap-style:square;mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;
mso-wrap-distance-left:9pt;mso-wrap-distance-top:0;mso-wrap-distance-right:9pt;
mso-wrap-distance-bottom:0;mso-position-horizontal:right;
mso-position-horizontal-relative:margin;mso-position-vertical:absolute;
mso-position-vertical-relative:text;mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;
mso-width-relative:margin;mso-height-relative:margin'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\dramsden\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image003.jpg"
o:title=""/>
<w:wrap type="tight" anchorx="margin"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Back in England Pop
enlisted in the Army and became a member of the Black Watch. The Black Watch
were a Scottish regiment, known as “the Ladies from Hell” because they would proudly
wear their kilts into battle. In due time he was trained as a machine gunner
and sent across the channel with his regiment to join the troops in Northern
France. They moved across France and Belgium with full packs, to places like Camiers,
Marquay, Arras, Fampoux, St. Julien, St. Omer, St. Momelin, Poperindge and finally
Ypres. At Ypres the English troops had trouble pronouncing the city’s name
properly, so they took to calling it “Wipers”.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVCMLfjOqZETW6iM1PFRIYljG9qHQLjCxX1ZEIdU4qK5d2-Jv7DTAg2Ew9RpoD3j1jRA-WzCVLgn7s1WihBOYh3XMlta8Ax3cr4KOGTJJBOsA9ZQqMnbEp5-SkqafTol5s9rlZ/s1600/australian-official-photo-australian-war-memorial-injury-site-at-paschendale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVCMLfjOqZETW6iM1PFRIYljG9qHQLjCxX1ZEIdU4qK5d2-Jv7DTAg2Ew9RpoD3j1jRA-WzCVLgn7s1WihBOYh3XMlta8Ax3cr4KOGTJJBOsA9ZQqMnbEp5-SkqafTol5s9rlZ/s1600/australian-official-photo-australian-war-memorial-injury-site-at-paschendale.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";">In Ypres Pop was put to work as a runner, possibly because
of his maturity. Runners were charged with hand delivering orders from Brigade
headquarters out to the commanders on the front lines, whose positions could
change daily with no regular means to communicate the changes. This was not
always an easy job, in a country full of mazes of trenches and barbed wire,
pillboxes and shelled out forests. One day he was delivering a message in a new
section of countryside and he became disoriented. The lane he was on forked,
and he was too close to the German front lines to risk going the wrong way. He
paused for a time, in doubt over what to do, but as he rested there a cat
suddenly emerged out of the lonely landscape and, looking back at him, walked
away down one of the paths. Pop chose to follow the cat, and it led him safely
to the allied lines.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">At night he slept in “the tunnels” as he called them. These
were huge expanses of underground tunnels dug by volunteer Sappers recruited
from the coal mines of Wales and Yorkshire. They housed the English troops deep
underground, out of danger from German artillery, and gave the miners an
additional launching point to tunnel under the German lines and plant
explosives. Even today the farms in that countryside are dotted with craters
that testify to the “clay-kickers” who carried out such destructive and
demoralizing operations against the enemy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz1TTZMHPaZQTgvuKF7l5InF5JYTsC0a0-VwTLFlGiLhk8U-9bvZuJKUtr5oV63qgXkY-SVSEEDfq0WYyKRErjhts_0emznbbn2tsBkLTsdwW7CwdN-z8m0I3yjkUDYZE2d-ZA/s1600/CanalYpres.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz1TTZMHPaZQTgvuKF7l5InF5JYTsC0a0-VwTLFlGiLhk8U-9bvZuJKUtr5oV63qgXkY-SVSEEDfq0WYyKRErjhts_0emznbbn2tsBkLTsdwW7CwdN-z8m0I3yjkUDYZE2d-ZA/s1600/CanalYpres.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_3" o:spid="_x0000_s1028"
type="#_x0000_t75" style='position:absolute;margin-left:0;margin-top:.85pt;
width:249.8pt;height:130.15pt;z-index:251664384;visibility:visible;
mso-wrap-style:square;mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;
mso-wrap-distance-left:9pt;mso-wrap-distance-top:0;mso-wrap-distance-right:9pt;
mso-wrap-distance-bottom:0;mso-position-horizontal:left;
mso-position-horizontal-relative:margin;mso-position-vertical:absolute;
mso-position-vertical-relative:text;mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;
mso-width-relative:page;mso-height-relative:page'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\dramsden\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image005.jpg"
o:title=""/>
<w:wrap type="square" anchorx="margin"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "calibri";">In July of 1917, Pop
was stationed just north of Ypres on the Yser canal bank, just in front of
Pilckem Ridge. He regularly ran messages to the front, while the English Army
began gearing up for a major offensive. Daily artillery activity increased
shelling of the German lines, and the Germans responded with barrages of their
own. On July 2<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">nd</span></sup> his diary relates heavy shelling of their positions
towards morning. During this period, he also acted as a guide, joined work
parties in repairing the trenches, and both wrote and received a number of
letters from home.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">On July 31, 1917, Pop awoke and was ordered to Headquarters,
where he was given a message to deliver to Major C.C.L. Barlow of the
Lincolnshire Regiment. His diary tells the story quite clearly:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_19" o:spid="_x0000_s1027"
type="#_x0000_t75" style='position:absolute;margin-left:266.05pt;margin-top:1.5pt;
width:183.4pt;height:263.3pt;z-index:251665408;visibility:visible;
mso-wrap-style:square;mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;
mso-wrap-distance-left:9pt;mso-wrap-distance-top:0;mso-wrap-distance-right:9pt;
mso-wrap-distance-bottom:0;mso-position-horizontal:absolute;
mso-position-horizontal-relative:margin;mso-position-vertical:absolute;
mso-position-vertical-relative:text;mso-width-percent:0;mso-height-percent:0;
mso-width-relative:page;mso-height-relative:page'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\dramsden\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image007.png"
o:title=""/>
<w:wrap type="square" anchorx="margin"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxgCQxK-P4CKCaAG2GhbqN1UbwZKyc84CaM3vAoPVPzhtNPEltb8npdrYGK4RdkeUH4jGbrXLhFPd13CuRfYfEJYNgZIb0BonmhySnrJGZflnkDG5OwGsrQKaPPI3j6uFzY9QI/s1600/DiaryJul31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxgCQxK-P4CKCaAG2GhbqN1UbwZKyc84CaM3vAoPVPzhtNPEltb8npdrYGK4RdkeUH4jGbrXLhFPd13CuRfYfEJYNgZIb0BonmhySnrJGZflnkDG5OwGsrQKaPPI3j6uFzY9QI/s1600/DiaryJul31.jpg" width="222" /></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Stayed in tunnel until 6 a.m. Sent with message to Major Barlow to our
front line. Found him at Hindenburg Farm. Went back to Brig H.Q. Sent back to
Section got nearly there when struck by shrapnel in the knee. Wound dressed in
shell hole again at canal bank. Night at 47 C.C.S.</span></i><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">47 C.C.S. was the Casualty Clearing Station. The next day he
was moved by train to Camiers, where he was treated in a hospital for a few days
and then put on a hospital ship and sent back to England for his recovery at
Oxford. The wound probably saved his life, for what he did not know was that
July 31, 1917 was the very first day of the Battle of Passchendaele, also known
as the 3<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">rd</span></sup> Battle of Ypres.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The engagement lasted more than four months, until early
November. The unimaginable battlefield conditions are legendary. After
English artillery softened the German positions with over one million artillery rounds, record
rainfall hit the region and turned the battlefield into a mass of mud and
flooded shell holes. Men and horses became stuck in the mire and literally
drowned in the mud. Meanwhile, wave after wave of men perished in a futile
effort to gain mere yards of territory. The first wave of English troops to
attack were driven back by the Germans, suffering 70% casualties. By November
when the battle ended, nearly 250,000 English troops had perished on the
battlefield along with approximately 400,000 Germans. Major Barlow, who
received Pop’s message from H.Q. that morning, lived until November but died
just days before the battle was over, though his remains were never able to be
recovered. He is memorialized in a cemetery in Belgium.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpH-AB-mN9HzOJRmxRhAINGQ0oPG3XvnMD2eq3ui8zsHyw_iNxjGBNnQO0TnPUsgVvtWqOrKaGM3Xe_PfE3NNRO6tsra1mDIIs2DkiV-70WdKgG_K35C6RbCbiU9ZpPan1o32O/s1600/UGSP00953.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpH-AB-mN9HzOJRmxRhAINGQ0oPG3XvnMD2eq3ui8zsHyw_iNxjGBNnQO0TnPUsgVvtWqOrKaGM3Xe_PfE3NNRO6tsra1mDIIs2DkiV-70WdKgG_K35C6RbCbiU9ZpPan1o32O/s1600/UGSP00953.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">To this day the
Belgians honor the fallen who came to defend them in a daily ceremony that has
been conducted without fail from July of 1928 until this day (with the only
exception being during the Second World War, when they were under German
occupation, again). The solemn ceremony, called “the Last Post”, is conducted
at the Menin Gate in Ypres at dusk each day. Traffic is stopped while a bugle plays the tune that would
sound the end of the day to English lines.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Pop was lucky to have made it out of the war alive, and
though his story possesses no standout heroics, learning it helped me to understand
the true sacrifice of his generation, which even now is fading from our
collective memory. This week will mark the 100<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> anniversary of the
outbreak of the war to end all wars. It also marks the 98<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> anniversary
of the battle of Passchendaele, and of my grandfather’s 1917 trip to the
hospital. Peace.</span></div>
Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-21842980881642552902014-04-16T22:59:00.000-04:002014-04-16T23:02:05.645-04:00Good Friday<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidcf7rOZB8AD4KwRHmg__7UR57vW0UkHUiXhdmUemSPjJwIMQzo0Ce_O2bgrKX_KmFpdxk8RgVqWrYXHtFWWvMc3jNA4x2rt96xDG7_AHo_4D1XR_ntHJRQs3NZ7vX3mcqOu5IUA/s640/Jean-Le%CC%81onGe%CC%81ro%CC%91me_100.jpg" height="220" width="400" /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The death and resurrection of Jesus Christ is the central
mystery of the Christian faith, celebrated annually upon Easter and honored as
the feast of victory for the King. But what, exactly, is Easter to modern Christians and what
exactly was it to the band of souls who gathered around the man Jesus Christ
and chose to believe that he was something greater. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Most explanation of Easter focuses on the resurrection, its
spiritual victory over death and the grace which it grants Christians through
the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. But the victory of Easter morning is not as bright
without the darkness of Good Friday, whose absence of light is often ignored.
It is a solemn and a sobering day. It is not a day of celebration, and yet
there is much in it which is crucial to the faith, and at risk of being lost in
a casual oversight of its significance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It is, I think, fair to say that in two-thousand years’ time
those who continue the Christian tradition have grown separated from the emotions
shared at the crucifixion by Jesus’ followers. The experience of that week,
that day, and of the Sabbath which followed is inconceivable to those who have
the benefit of historical perspective. Be it two thousand years later or just three
days later, the emotional significance of this experience is markedly different
from that period immediately following the crucifixion. For at that moment
there was no resurrection, no lily covered altar or performances of Handel’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Messiah</i>. More than likely, there was a
vacuous sense of despair as the apostles and followers of the Nazarene
carpenter were initiated with him into the death of hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Initiation is an interesting word, deriving from the </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Latin" title="Latin"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Latin</span></span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">, <i>initium, </i><span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">which means</span> "entrance" or
"beginning," literally "a going in." As Christians, our
initiation into the faith typically involves the ritual of baptism, which Paul
teaches us is symbolic of our ritual death and rebirth. Many of us undertake
this initiation as infants, and whatever that child may feel, we can be certain
that the physical and emotional experience of the baptism has long vanished by
the time the Christian initiate has reached adulthood. Is there any value to
the experience of initiation, or is it just a task to be checked off of a list,
a “must do” in order to enter the kingdom of heaven?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Greek philosophers on whose teaching so much of our
western culture has been based would argue that initiation is a vital part of
religious awakening. In the mystery schools of Greece, Egypt and Syria
initiation often involved the concept of a grotto, or cave, in which man
symbolically entered the underworld, imitating the death and rebirth of their
gods. Initiation came to represent a death of the former self and a rebirth
into one’s new self, which is so very similar to the Christian concept of being
born again, and indeed the fundamental symbolism of Easter itself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That the disciples saw this parallel is doubtful, on the
Friday afternoon when their hopes were taken from them. It is more likely that the
disciples felt anger at the crowds who turned so quickly on the one they had
only days before welcomed into Jerusalem, shouting “Hosannah!”. It is likely
the disciples feared the crowd, feared the turning tide of emotion and the
officials who wielded it like a weapon. We know Peter did, from the tale of his
rejection of Jesus three times on the night in which he was betrayed. The
specter of death had not yet arrived on the scene, and Peter was already so
afraid that he denied knowing Jesus when accused by a servant girl. And which
of us would have done better?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Worse yet, though, must have been the fear that they had
somehow been wrong. These men and women who followed Jesus had given up
everything, from their families to their livelihood and their reputations to
follow a man who challenged them to “let the dead bury their own dead”. He
challenged them to join with him in life, and to abandon the world to the dead
whom inhabit it. In so doing he set them apart, like initiates, into a divine
knowledge which reclassified the material world, their friends and relatives as
already lost, and more importantly set the disciples apart as those who were
somehow in the know, set apart and above this world, both now and forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And yet, here was their leader, no longer the unstoppable
wonder-working rebel, fearlessly pointing out the flaws of the religious
establishment. Here he was, in the now, a prisoner of the establishment: dirty,
beaten, bleeding and all but broken. He was mocked and abused and seemingly powerless
to stop it. And then, after hours nailed to the cross, as some in the
superstitious crowd thought he might be calling on Elijah, came instead the
heartbreaking words: “eloi eloi lama sabachthani”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Though John states that Jesus’ last words were “it is done”,
the Gospel of Matthew states that his final words instead quoted Psalm 22,
crying “Eloi eloi lama sabachthani” which means, “My God, my God, why hast thou
forsaken me!”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">These are difficult words. We are told that Jesus foretold
his death and resurrection. But at that final moment, the moment of crisis, he
was not filled with prescient and calming wisdom. He was instead filled with
despair, a frightening loss of hope. If, at the edge of the next world, the
all-knowing son of God loses all hope then all hope is truly lost. How do we
make sense of this?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Perhaps the answer is glimpsed in the mystery schools of the
pagan religions which one might say prefigured the death of Christ. For the
Greeks understood that the ritual act of Theurgy, or becoming one with God,
meant a death to God. Without total separation there is no vacuum, no darkness
to set apart the light. To prepare oneself for union there must be separation,
and for the ritual death and sacrifice of Jesus to achieve unity with the
father it had to involve complete separation from him. No safety net, no
understanding of the greater plan, no hope. And that is what the statement relays,
a total loss of hope.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One can only imagine the horror of those who stood watching,
or heard the report later, that his last words were full of despair and a very
human hopelessness. What went through the minds of Peter, or John as he stood
with Jesus’ mother and watched the very tangible spectacle before him. Dear
God, what have I done? Was everything we believed in vain? Was I wrong to
follow him? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And we can hear the devil’s advocate on their shoulder, like
some worldly-wise and all too rational advisor: “He is dead, and you will die
too. Let the dead bury their own dead. Bury the man you called Christ, it is getting
dark.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Good Friday is not a day of celebration; it is a day of
sobering doubt and darkness. It is a day to feel the cracks in the foundation
of your faith; a day to fear both the world around you and within you. For
today we must forget what the Magdalene found on Sunday morning in the garden. Forget
the comfort of your self-righteous belief, and walk today in the valley of the
shadow of death. Feel what it is to despair, to doubt, and to truly walk alone
in a meaningless and harsh world. Go home, lock your doors, and experience the
terror of your mistake. Fear your neighbors, the spark of unrest and the electric hum of the mob. Fear your own misplaced passion and its foolish naïveté. Today, I challenge you to enter the grotto, the
underworld of death, and to do so with no hope of salvation. Understand what it
is today to die so that, God willing, we may be born again. And let us all hope
that at the end of all things love will not suffer a vacuum.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-38899739641337909182013-11-25T19:00:00.001-05:002013-11-30T19:02:00.248-05:00Arcade Fire and the Gnostic Afterlife<div style="text-align: left;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="228" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/EcKinnMXuKg" width="404"></iframe>
</div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Arcade Fire’s recently released <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Reflektor</i> album is receiving critical praise, and as usual their
music is being delivered to the public through a variety of entertainment
mediums. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From the digital album to an
SNL appearance, PBS audio concert, 30 minute short TV special, award show spots
and music videos in multiple formats from traditional to the interactive. Case
in point: with the single <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Afterlife,</i> music
fans can enjoy several video versions of the song. These include a live
performance directed by Spike Jonze, a video version using footage from Marcel
Camus’ “Black Orpheus”, and an official video written and directed by Emily Kai
Bock.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Bock, a Canadian filmmaker
who released her video </span>as part of the Creators Project, has received
high praise for the short film, featuring a Hispanic father and
two sons who are suffering through the loss of their family matriarch.
Christopher Rosen, writing in the Huffington Post, even declared that “<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Arcade Fire's ‘Afterlife’ video is better
than a lot of this year's <em><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">feature</span></em> films.”
Most reviews refer to the work as melancholy, emotional and struggling to make
sense of personal loss. But, though true, these observations are just touching
the surface of this piece of art, and the trinity of films in general.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Beneath the
exoteric tale of family loss and coping lies a deeper philosophical theme which
runs through many of Arcade Fire’s other works, as well. The esoteric ideas
behind this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Afterlife </i>film explore a gnostic
philosophy. These ideas clash against the backdrop of a traditional Latino family
with Roman Catholic beliefs. This is a theme Win Butler often adopts, creating
tension by exploring the contentious relationship between gnostic ideas and
those promoted by Catholic and Evangelical Christians.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Just as the film “Black
Orpheus” borrows from the classical orphic mystery school, telling a mythic
story in which the male-female relationship bridges into the underworld that is
the afterlife, Arcade Fire explore the same themes in Emily Kai Bock’s work.
Except, in Bock’s work, the tension is developed through displaying the void
created by a male-dominated system which eliminates the role of the feminine
divinity. </span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5-mhuh2A0hQLkvXKdPdDCTU5NHkISs4IqiwwlkGWLaAkgc2M95r2ayxUzeI_wZMnci9kaJzGFX5y79nANVm6h2zLEujMMCQeXyItCGFL_p_Nwp6u8wA0CChP-ud8ucQtvqidf/s1600/Sons.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="82" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5-mhuh2A0hQLkvXKdPdDCTU5NHkISs4IqiwwlkGWLaAkgc2M95r2ayxUzeI_wZMnci9kaJzGFX5y79nANVm6h2zLEujMMCQeXyItCGFL_p_Nwp6u8wA0CChP-ud8ucQtvqidf/s200/Sons.jpg" width="200" /></a><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In Bock’s film,
the father represents a version of the Gnostic demiurge, a male
creator/provider. He is flawed without his female counterpart, and is not adequately able
to provide for the family. It is this lack of the
divine female influence that is the root of the family’s troubles, but the father
is at a loss, unable to supply the feminine aspects of parenthood to his children and even failing in his own paternal role without the help of his soul-mate. His stern and controlling
nature is hanging on to what he knows, but blind to his faults. He denies his
eldest son’s request to go out into the world because he is overprotective and tired. In reality, the eldest son will suffer the same fate if bound to this hopeless, isolated existence. As the son sneaks off to enter the world, we are briefly shown a portrait of this him next to a portrait of
Jesus, setting up a comparison of the sons and of the fathers as well. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ6Sdh-tR_DSg4iRXxyKnLSE5Yok51__HIlxgKBlYMK2PihNg-5lagMGwpZCKgRWt-WUhHj31eG2eBVvnRRhPXnfDBmqcjt3VEIS-4cA_gWRPv7tC4f-0NU5-Oa4w7Ff_3ZUZu/s1600/SonPool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="82" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ6Sdh-tR_DSg4iRXxyKnLSE5Yok51__HIlxgKBlYMK2PihNg-5lagMGwpZCKgRWt-WUhHj31eG2eBVvnRRhPXnfDBmqcjt3VEIS-4cA_gWRPv7tC4f-0NU5-Oa4w7Ff_3ZUZu/s200/SonPool.jpg" width="200" /></a><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In a dream the
eldest son visits a housing complex and passes by three women, at least one of whom
eyes him as a potential lover. But he passes them by without engaging them and
instead focuses his attention on a baptism being performed in a pool
behind a locked gate. He, too, is suffering because of his denial of the real sensual
female presence around him and his fixation on a pure Christianized idea of the
female that lies beyond his reach. By remaining pure and focusing on the
promised afterlife, he is denying himself the female presence he so desperately
needs in this life now that his mother is gone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzLCFyVxro3xoQoXVS2gsyrABCg5VYGkIyw1c7reekmKU9xX2hXsQ5qzpu09hqrpM6gt8ycmKTNWaJt_2fzaqvEIv-PsnysCr4yILs_8cnw8jtXdjqYnyIlTfgrzj-6_HSbfHK/s1600/SonWash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="85" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzLCFyVxro3xoQoXVS2gsyrABCg5VYGkIyw1c7reekmKU9xX2hXsQ5qzpu09hqrpM6gt8ycmKTNWaJt_2fzaqvEIv-PsnysCr4yILs_8cnw8jtXdjqYnyIlTfgrzj-6_HSbfHK/s200/SonWash.jpg" width="200" /></a><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The younger son,
too, dreams of a female figure but she is a burly matronly woman, dispassionately
engaged in cleaning bed sheets in a Laundromat. There is no love, only
antiseptic purification, and the boy is horrified to find that he too is being
callously locked in a machine to be washed, as well.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Both boys are touched
in their dreams by the comfort of their real mother, who is gone from the world
they know. They clearly need her and she longs to be with them, but this
reunification is impossible in their world. It is clear that in three different
aspects, maiden, mother and wife, the female figure is missing and desperately
needed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgug3NNDn_LJJ8p8Ql04Zi7Fm32vPr0b8bFNkfjkOoslRzj8C7v9jz1Ugx9GdzRJKoqFOgXf1tE3jswDRhvmNY443Ja6WblXKf7apn9rwi3CG8cxKPAvxlLkpeainLhV9LxUf1x/s1600/FallinLight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgug3NNDn_LJJ8p8Ql04Zi7Fm32vPr0b8bFNkfjkOoslRzj8C7v9jz1Ugx9GdzRJKoqFOgXf1tE3jswDRhvmNY443Ja6WblXKf7apn9rwi3CG8cxKPAvxlLkpeainLhV9LxUf1x/s200/FallinLight.jpg" width="160" /></a><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ultimately, the
father makes a midnight dream journey through the streets and into the
underworld to reach her. He passes a lamp which leans across the street and quietly
falls to the ground behind him, symbolizing the female light of the gnostic
Sophia falling to the material realm of earth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He then journeys
through the material world, represented by the mining facility filled with
mountains of earth, and ultimately descends into the underworld through the
cellars of the factory. In the basement he finds his love, dressed in mourning
clothes, and upon embracing her is able to see shafts of light coming from heaven
above. But alas, it is just a dream.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2DhKdjOjWnC4UwROoJQc8HvZ4lfF1RWb4JuKqFOnOGx3q4wRTSh3avh6jPBqhUPb619fCJjU6o438OM8SH3gjEWCpIXQu6Sb9JIh3gOWqzfNmtQYHga_37DFa965tFjWq-ttU/s1600/Father.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="84" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2DhKdjOjWnC4UwROoJQc8HvZ4lfF1RWb4JuKqFOnOGx3q4wRTSh3avh6jPBqhUPb619fCJjU6o438OM8SH3gjEWCpIXQu6Sb9JIh3gOWqzfNmtQYHga_37DFa965tFjWq-ttU/s200/Father.jpg" width="200" /></a><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the final moments of the film we are
left with the despondency of the three men together on the couch, bathed only
in the electronic light of the television. It is a lonely, desperate film,
populated by characters who do not understand the root of their own problems,
but who feel it deeply in their subconscious.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">Curiously, the melancholy
extreme of </span>Emily Kai Bock’s film<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"> <span lang="EN">is counter-balanced by the exuberant joy displayed in the Spike Jonze performance.
In fact, by creating three versions of videos for the song, Arcade Fire achieved
some symmetry. In the center lies the version taken from clips of “Black
Orpheus”, with both male and female elements struggling passionately with love
and against their own mortality. To the right of this is Bock’s
male-dominated version, unable to come to grips with its lack of feminine
influence and mired in despondency. On the left lies the Spike Jonze version, which showcases a woman who, free from her male companion, dances joyfully on
a stage amongst a bevy of young girls. In the end, perhaps the band is trying
to tell us that unity and balance is the only path to happiness in this life,
and perhaps in the next one as well.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: left;">
</div>
Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-11637905763433444912007-06-23T20:45:00.000-04:002007-06-23T21:09:00.980-04:00Standing on the Shoulders of GiantsContext is important. The word sounds a bit academic, but the concept it represents is incredibly strong. Considering something in its proper context can dramatically affect the meaning conveyed. We may not often think of our work as taking place within a certain historical context. Perhaps we see the concept at work in other aspects of our life, oftentimes without realizing it. Nevertheless, it is there, affecting our experiences and those we pass on to others. <br /><br /><a ref="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ3lh4swo98o_89BGhEFJf1GRCY7uS9mGEngVoDgfLeHMzdJlMTK4Qw6QDtX8SRC2TOtnm-Mi9R2RMs4NySxPO3zGSRWBnTQdqvxl1ctYtwd7uzJv_I-Zzvljfzd4cnPVD3bc-/s1600-h/Buckner+Error.bmp"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ3lh4swo98o_89BGhEFJf1GRCY7uS9mGEngVoDgfLeHMzdJlMTK4Qw6QDtX8SRC2TOtnm-Mi9R2RMs4NySxPO3zGSRWBnTQdqvxl1ctYtwd7uzJv_I-Zzvljfzd4cnPVD3bc-/s320/Buckner+Error.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5079427076948587842" /></a>Consider a few examples of context: a team wins a baseball game. Your child’s team wins a little league game. He or she catches the game winning ball. Bill Buckner makes a game losing error. The Red Sox win the 2004 World Series, defeating the 86 year-long curse of the Bambino. Each variable that leads up to an event or a moment in time contributes different levels of meaning to it, some more or less than others. <br /><br />We recently changed the naming convention of our conference rooms at my company. “Why <em>Turing</em>?” I have been asked by some. “Why did the names change at all?” “What was wrong with <em>Michelangelo</em>?” <br /><br />The answer is historical context. Nothing was wrong with our old names, but they really didn’t contribute towards or derive from anything that we do. My company is a manufacturer of services within the technology industry. When we look at the term “technology” we probably think about what is going on today and tomorrow at the bleeding edge of internet applications, personal gadgetry and electronic entertainment. But we are less likely to look over our shoulder, at the individuals whose contributions to the fields of science, mathematics and computing led to this era of exponential growth in technological achievement. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpITtLxxVYOT2j3pM3k-JoLQHEErxghYH3UgchwoGnsLzUFavDzo4vHIcG_abWPdqTR0jnxQ3rmQFftmjAftWG6jCzFvT3Fx6b5eRSvcCmKta88lPUBXC7oP6ZY98NOrdih0IC/s1600-h/Enigma.bmp"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpITtLxxVYOT2j3pM3k-JoLQHEErxghYH3UgchwoGnsLzUFavDzo4vHIcG_abWPdqTR0jnxQ3rmQFftmjAftWG6jCzFvT3Fx6b5eRSvcCmKta88lPUBXC7oP6ZY98NOrdih0IC/s320/Enigma.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5079431071268173138" /></a>Our choice of names for the places where ideas are exchanged derives from a desire to understand and appreciate the context within which our business exists. Before BGP, Unified Communications and Vista there were super-computers, Enigma, Turing machines and punch-card tabulators. And before that there were the revolutionary concepts of physics, mathematics, geometry and the natural sciences which paved the way for those of us who follow. <br /><br />History testifies that for hundreds of years, the sciences of the western hemisphere languished in the intellectually stagnant era commonly (and aptly) called the Dark Ages. Although Arab studies of mathematics and science reached a zenith of intellectual development at this time, Europe did not participate until the 15th century, when the fall of Constantinople and the opening of new trade routes brought a flood of new ideas, new cultures and new economic opportunities into the trade cities of Italy. With this long overdue arrival of the Renaissance, a new period characterized by innovation and the growth of scientific thought began to emerge. <br /><br />This is where we begin to see the individual contributions of great minds to the growth of western science. The men who stood out made great strides, often at the expense of their reputations, their freedom and at times, their lives. The best, though, challenged the process and the accepted knowledge not out of the yearning for indiscriminant rebellion, but rather out of a quest to better understand the truths behind the mysteries of the world, and a desire to do something positive with the knowledge they might gain. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_dzzyo35HVDKbhVZp0BULZ-b4JqYot_q-Kw8p8S2WuomahCE0oR5H5-2kBcLf-fYZhA6Ss1aEcUWMv_nJ3WfcefIZtXE7ODABEhKSJQitVXyVjFvFVNwzjz5U_JrJ4DIFTFs/s1600-h/Sir+Isaac+Netwon.bmp"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_dzzyo35HVDKbhVZp0BULZ-b4JqYot_q-Kw8p8S2WuomahCE0oR5H5-2kBcLf-fYZhA6Ss1aEcUWMv_nJ3WfcefIZtXE7ODABEhKSJQitVXyVjFvFVNwzjz5U_JrJ4DIFTFs/s320/Sir+Isaac+Netwon.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5079426166415521074" /></a>As a result, we see men like Copernicus, Galileo, and DaVinci challenging the intellectual culture around them with ideas which ultimately proved to be groundbreaking in the course of human development. Moreover, they were followed by contributions from minds like Sir Isaac Newton, who is famous for the statement “if I have seen further, it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.” Newton understood the tradition within which he operated, and the debt owed to his predecessors. <br /><br />In our own century, Albert Einstein perhaps best typifies this sense of incredible talent, built upon the countless achievements of others before him and driven on by his own unique personal genius. Moreover, in our own specific industry, we must count the name of Alan Turing, the British logician, mathematician and cryptographer. Known as the father of modern computing and famed for his WWII decrypting contribution at Bletchley Park, his studies built upon both Newton and Einstein’s work in physics and mathematics, ultimately leading to the concept of theoretical machines capable of performing any given mathematical computation. Turing Machines are a central concept in modern computing theory, whose abstract properties lend many insights into both computer science and complexity theory. <br /><br />We do not operate in a vacuum, and the work we do does not end when we are gone. Though we may not ever become the topics of university lectures, which of us would ever strive for obscurity? The contributions we make will extend beyond our lives, and any greatness we achieve in our own right may enable others to reach new heights of their own. We are a business, but we are also learning organization with a remarkable desire to propel self-development, taking what is good and making it great. We should never settle for mediocrity, and we should never forget the shoulders on which we stand.Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-45651411844294356952007-05-04T23:00:00.000-04:002007-05-04T23:21:11.820-04:00Rosslyn Chapel Stone Mystery Decoded<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXE06N9H58Iq_1p7L2XhDLkxPMvhUQTep3RB4iG6GSxQCSfyvvqm4aw0QCZzqAugqNpeaoCUJhfbOfAXx09hnXQdOueyVXXUDmrfPJfI0H1A0SocmTJYn2PSRVhDGhm-H1FdYJ/s1600-h/rosslyn+music+code.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXE06N9H58Iq_1p7L2XhDLkxPMvhUQTep3RB4iG6GSxQCSfyvvqm4aw0QCZzqAugqNpeaoCUJhfbOfAXx09hnXQdOueyVXXUDmrfPJfI0H1A0SocmTJYn2PSRVhDGhm-H1FdYJ/s320/rosslyn+music+code.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060907754191989714" /></a>Check out the story below and play the video. It's well worth your time if you are as hip as most readers of this blog. For the uninitiated, Rosslyn Chapel is one is one of the most unique medeival churches in the British Isles, decorated with a host of cryptic stone symbols and architectural anomolies, and which is held dear by the Knights Templar and Freemasons alike. This is an unexusable oversimplification of hte site, but I will sum it all up with the additional statement that it is held to be one of several possible resting places of the Holy Grail.<br /> <br />ASSOCIATED PRESS- The stone carved angel, bottom, and cubes that lead a team of code-breakers to claim to have found music hidden for 500 years in the intricate carvings, are seen at Rosslyn Chapel, in the village of Roslin, near Edinburgh, Scotland Wednesday May 2, 2007. Father and son team Thomas and Stuart Mitchell say they deciphered a musical code hewn into stone cubes on the ribs supporting the ceiling of Rosslyn Chapel. The music has been recorded, and will get its official premiere in the chapel May 18. Rosslyn Chapel is where author Dan Brown set the climax of the best-selling book 'The Da Vinci Code.' (AP Photo/Gordon Frazer) <br /><object width="425" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cy2Dg-ncWoY"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cy2Dg-ncWoY" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"></embed></object>Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1166939281434728572006-12-23T23:42:00.000-05:002006-12-24T00:48:01.500-05:00Return of the Magi<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/1731/719/1600/303737/magi.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/1731/719/320/179837/magi.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Christmas is here and once again I make my annual pilgrimmage to the works of T.S. Eliot to seek out <em>The Journey of the Magi</em>. I notice that last year I stated that I was beginning to understand it. This year I know more, but am less certain that I have any real understanding.<br /><br />A quick search of Wikipedia reveals <em>"The poem is, instead of a celebration of the wonders of the journey, largely a complaint about a journey that was painful, tedious, and seemingly pointless...The magus seems generally unimpressed by the infant, and yet he realizes that the incarnation has changed everything...The birth of the Christ was the death of his world of magic, astrology, and paganism. The speaker, recalling his journey in old age, says that after that birth his world had died, and he had little left to do but wait for his own end...His narrator in this poem is a witness to historical change who seeks to rise above his historical moment, a man who, despite material wealth and prestige, has lost his spiritual bearings."</em><br /><br />All perfectly reasonable, but lacking something. The great rennaissance Magi, such as Ficino, Mirandola and Agrippa, saw the biblical Magi as symbolic of a proper place for Natural magic & astrology within acceptable Christian doctrine. The three sage's wisdom brought them to seek out and pay tribute to the Christ child, thus legitimizing their practices in the proper context. Nevertheless, this was a dangerous path in the eyes of the church, and those who walked upon it often faced the perils of human judgement. One only need reference the trial and execution of Giordano Bruno to understand the stakes at hand. And yet, the tradition persisted in the esoteric underworld, through the Rosicrucian furor and beyond, through the ultimate divorce of magic and science and into the uncertain vogue of the 19th century theosophists and occultists, as well as today's new age mysticism.<br /><br />If the Wiki's analysis is lacking something, it is the framing of Eliot's poem within the magical mystery tradition which he and his writing seems to explore. He was not alone in this regard. Charles Williams and his fellow Inklings & associates, each in varied but thematically connected ways, managed to reflect the possibilities of a Christian magical theology, hidden from the profane, but once known, forever changing the way one views this world. There is a hint of this in Eliot's Journey, like a watery reflection of the night sky, with one bright star in the west winking through the ripples. Intentional? I'll leave it to the reader to decide.<br /><br />T. S. Eliot. <em>The Journey of The Magi:</em><br /><br />A cold coming we had of it, <br />Just the worst time of the year <br />For a journey, and such a long journey: <br />The ways deep and the weather sharp, <br />The very dead of winter.' <br />And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory, <br />Lying down in the melting snow. <br />There were times we regretted <br />The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces, <br />And the silken girls bringing sherbet. <br />Then the camel men cursing and grumbling <br />And running away, and wanting their liquor and women, <br />And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters, <br />And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly <br />And the villages dirty and charging high prices: <br />A hard time we had of it. <br />At the end we preferred to travel all night, <br />Sleeping in snatches, <br />With the voices singing in our ears, saying <br />That this was all folly. <br /><br />Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley, <br />Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation; <br />With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness, <br />And three trees on the low sky, <br />And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow. <br />Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel, <br />Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver, <br />And feet kicking the empty wine-skins. <br />But there was no information, and so we continued <br />And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon <br />Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory. <br /><br />All this was a long time ago, I remember, <br />And I would do it again, but set down <br />This set down <br />This: were we led all that way for <br />Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly, <br />We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death, <br />But had thought they were different; this Birth was <br />Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death. <br />We returned to our places, these Kingdoms, <br />But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation, <br />With an alien people clutching their gods. <br />I should be glad of another death.<br /><br /><br /><em>Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, saying, "Where is He who has been born King of the Jews? For we have seen His star in the East and have come to worship Him..." The star which they had seen in the East went before them, till it came and stood over where the young Child was.<br /><br />[Matthew 2:1–10]</em>Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1154496789999098132006-08-02T01:16:00.000-04:002006-08-02T01:35:41.346-04:00Possession<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/Voltaire.2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/400/Voltaire.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I began this essay and am not sure that I am done with it, even with my own thoughts on its point. I'll post it anyway, though, in the hope that another's thoughts may render me more eloquent...<br /><br />In 1983 Paul Hewson, better known as Bono, coined the lyric “And the battle's just begun, to claim the victory Jesus won”. It was a line intended to shame both the Protestant and Catholic sides of the religious struggle in Northern Ireland, through its simplicity and its truth. In its naked, common-sense approach, however, the line also extends past its Christian context and symbolizes the crux of so many of the world’s religious conflicts: Possession.<br /><br />There is something magic about ownership. It is a primal urge, born out of the fear of loss, and ultimately of the potentially tenuous nature of survival. If we do not obtain food, clothing, or shelter we will perish. How much more pressing is the drive to hold the key to eternal life, to extend one’s existence and lessen the fear of the great unknown?<br /><br />On a physical level, the things we must produce for survival in this world have been translated into the language of commerce. Money is no more than a symbol of work, or of possessions. It is the great middleman which separates our physical toil from the fruit of our labors, allowing us to instead reap whatever reward we desire. It is an enabler, a middle-man, and, like the internet today, an accelerator of anonymity. If I hold money, who is to question how I made it? Did I work hard? Do I deserve its weight in the luxuries of trade? No proper merchant would question it.<br /><br />In the Western Judeo-Christian tradition, money is really the loophole to the biblical curse: to atone for his sins Adam must work the land all his days, but not if he invests well or wins the lottery. In the undercurrent of logic here we begin to comprehend how some could see the dark attraction of a life of piracy on the high seas. Without God or country, and with money in your pocket, the yoke is broken.<br /><br />It is, to some extent, this logic which Voltaire put into play in his examination of English religious tolerance in the reformation. Expounding on the subject in his <em>Philosophical letters on the English</em>, Voltaire points out the fact that the English do not embrace each other’s differing sects, but they do have a more developed economic system which justifies tolerance. While France still tried to recover from centuries of bitter religious warfare between its own populace, the English were learning to live with one another and to accept the more liberal ideas of human rights and the freedom of ideas. The concept that ideas could not be forcefully imposed upon a people was a major step, and it was driven, according to Voltaire, by economic progress best represented by the London Stock exchange. Voltaire writes:<br /><br /><em>"Go into the Exchange in London, that place more venerable than many a court, and you will see representatives of all the nations assembled there for the profit of mankind. There the Jew, the Mahometan, and the Christian deal with one another as if they were of the same religion, and reserve the name of infidel for those who go bankrupt."</em><br /><br />While it serves a stabilizing role on both a political and a social level, the possession of money and a reliable means of commerce is hardly a source of spiritual satisfaction to the individual. Though he has himself abandoned the church, Umberto Eco relays this point well in his essay, <em>On God and Dan Brown</em>, when he states: <br /><br /><em>“…if you believe in money alone, then sooner or later, you discover money's great limitation: it is unable to justify the fact that you are a mortal animal. Indeed, the more you try escape that fact, the more you are forced to realise that your possessions can't make sense of your death. It is the role of religion to provide that justification. Religions are systems of belief that enable human beings to justify their existence and which reconcile us to death.”</em><br /><br />So man is left, ultimately, to struggle for that greatest of possessions – faith. And faith is really the ability to be confident. It is a confidence that one is right, a confidence one possesses knowledge of all the mysteries, and likewise a confidence that one must live by the tenets of that faith to be saved by it. Why is it, then, that men so often jeopardize the high ideals of faith during the pursuit of religious ends? <br /><br />Inevitably, we must come to accept the fact that all human institutions are plagued by the same corruption: the human element. Our greed, pride, passion, self-absorption, lack of confidence, you name it – it will creep its way into the most noble of causes, and it has for hundreds of years. All our works are tainted. And that which fosters those flaws is so often the emotion which drove our earliest quests for survival: fear. Fear, and the instinctive reaction to conquer that fear through Possession.Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1142884090752610402006-03-20T14:41:00.000-05:002006-03-26T00:03:43.723-05:00Mixing Memory & Desire: An Arundel TombWe distort history everyday in our own lives, let alone in our distant comprehension of the lives of others. Memory, imagination, desire, fear and other emotions each taint the reality of the past, reforming it in our image. <br /><br />Modern grail theory references occult knowledge which is based in hidden lore of mystery schools, passed down over hundreds of years through oral tradition. I am reminded of the children's game where we all stand in a line and repeat a whispered message, finding it drastically altered when it reaches the far end. I am also reminded of this poem by Philip Larkin, <em>An Arundel Tomb</em>:<br /><br />Side by side, their faces blurred,<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/arundeltomb.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/400/arundeltomb.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />The earl and countess lie in stone,<br />Their proper habits vaguely shown<br />As jointed armour, stiffened pleat,<br />And that faint hint of the absurd -<br />The little dogs under their feet.<br /><br />Such plainness of the pre-baroque<br />Hardly involves the eye, until<br />It meets his left-hand gauntlet, still<br />Clasped empty in the other; and<br />One sees, with a sharp tender shock,<br />His hand withdrawn, holding her hand.<br /><br />They would not think to lie so long.<br />Such faithfulness in effigy<br />Was just a detail friends would see:<br />A sculptor’s sweet commissioned grace<br />Thrown off in helping to prolong<br />The Latin names around the base.<br /><br />They would not guess how early in<br />Their supine stationary voyage<br />The air would change to soundless damage,<br />Turn the old tenantry away;<br />How soon succeeding eyes begin<br />To look, not read. Rigidly they<br /><br />Persisted, linked, through lengths and breadths<br />Of time. Snow fell, undated. Light<br />Each summer thronged the grass. A bright<br />Litter of birdcalls strewed the same<br />Bone-littered ground. And up the paths<br />The endless altered people came,<br /><br />Washing at their identity.<br />Now, helpless in the hollow of<br />An unarmorial age, a trough<br />Of smoke in slow suspended skeins<br />Above their scrap of history,<br />Only an attitude remains:<br /><br />Time has transfigured them into<br />Untruth. The stone fidelity<br />They hardly meant has come to be<br />Their final blazon, and to prove<br />Our almost-instinct almost true:<br />What will survive of us is love.<br /><br />— Philip Larkin (1922 - 85)<br /><br />It is a marvelous examination of the idea that we often impress our own emotions onto our interpretation of history. When the facts are washed away by the years, we interpret what remains as we would like to see it. The great thing here is that Larkin's poem is itself tainted by the very point he makes. While it is true that the couple may not have been in love and the beauty that remains may be no more than the beauty imbued upon the pair through art, it may also be true that the love portrayed on the tomb was real, and Larkin has projected his own romantic pessimism onto it in his poem.<br /><br />Perhaps the same may be said for the grail: many wish to claim possession of its mysteries. But whom of us know the truth, beyond the shadow left us by history? And if we convince ourselves that we do know, what have we known besides ourselves and our desires. They are projected out, only to be reflected back to us dimly, shadows rippling in the wine, winking at the brim of the chalice.Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1135276612106591432005-12-22T13:30:00.000-05:002005-12-22T13:36:52.133-05:00Journey of the Magi<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/JOURNEY-OF-THE-MAGI-SASSETTA.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/320/JOURNEY-OF-THE-MAGI-SASSETTA.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Merry Christmas to all. This is a poem by T. S. Eliot which I have read for years, each time Christmas rolls around. I have begun to form thoughts on its significance, but I will not taint the reader with them. Enjoy the holidays.<br /><br />T. S. Eliot's "Journey of The Magi"<br /><br />A cold coming we had of it, <br />Just the worst time of the year <br />For a journey, and such a long journey: <br />The ways deep and the weather sharp, <br />The very dead of winter.' <br />And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory, <br />Lying down in the melting snow. <br />There were times we regretted <br />The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces, <br />And the silken girls bringing sherbet. <br />Then the camel men cursing and grumbling <br />And running away, and wanting their liquor and women, <br />And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters, <br />And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly <br />And the villages dirty and charging high prices: <br />A hard time we had of it. <br />At the end we preferred to travel all night, <br />Sleeping in snatches, <br />With the voices singing in our ears, saying <br />That this was all folly. <br /><br />Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley, <br />Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation; <br />With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness, <br />And three trees on the low sky, <br />And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow. <br />Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel, <br />Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver, <br />And feet kicking the empty wine-skins. <br />But there was no information, and so we continued <br />And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon <br />Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory. <br /><br />All this was a long time ago, I remember, <br />And I would do it again, but set down <br />This set down <br />This: were we led all that way for <br />Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly, <br />We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death, <br />But had thought they were different; this Birth was <br />Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death. <br />We returned to our places, these Kingdoms, <br />But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation, <br />With an alien people clutching their gods. <br />I should be glad of another death.<br /><br /><br /><em>Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, saying, "Where is He who has been born King of the Jews? For we have seen His star in the East and have come to worship Him..." The star which they had seen in the East went before them, till it came and stood over where the young Child was.<br /><br />[Matthew 2:1–10]</em>Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1129346080226698442005-10-14T22:47:00.000-04:002005-10-14T23:54:15.556-04:00Illuminated Manuscripts<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/chemise.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/320/chemise.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>I have been researching a number of medieval texts recently, only to discover the forgotten beauty of illuminated manuscripts. In these days of Word and Photoshop,<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/mehs_6.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/400/mehs_6.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a> it's hard to imagine the medeival scribe slowly creating the text on every page of a book by hand, let alone engaging in the artwork that decorated the manuscripts.<br /><br />The image on the right is Augustinus. La Cité de Dieu. Paris, early fifteenth century. It consists of a miniature with God on his heavenly throne, surrounded by cherubs; in the four corners the four church fathers. In the lower margin the weapon and emblem of Philips van Kleef (1456-1528), who owned the manuscript before it came into possession of the library of Oranje-Nassau, the later library of the stadholder. <br /><br />Libraries throughout history have done their best to preserve this artwork. In recent years they have begun to publish many of the images on the internet thus opening up their accessability considerably. These images are from the National Library of the Netherlands, or <a href="http://www.kb.nl/index-en.html">Koninklijkeurg Bibliotheek</a>.<br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/mehs_7.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/320/mehs_7.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>On the left is Nederlandse Historiebijbel. Utrecht, 1443. , The text was copied by Gherard Wessels van Deventer. It depicts the beginning of the text of the 150 Psalms with a miniature: David severs the giant Goliath's head; and an initial: David playing harp. In the margin a Morish dance is pictured, the so called Moriskendance. <br /><br />Finally, this last image is from a Psalter ca. 1470. This particular page depicts Psalm 52, illuminated with an initial with praying David. There are many more like these to be found out on the internet. I expect to post again on one in particular: the enigmatic Voynich Manuscript now kept at Yale University. Until then, cheers!<br /> <br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/mehs_8.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/400/mehs_8.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1122518084325491162005-07-27T22:23:00.000-04:002005-07-27T23:10:49.706-04:00Ballard's Lost City Project<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/HerculesLaunchingOffBrown.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/400/HerculesLaunchingOffBrown.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Here's a REALLY neat series of links. My company recently assisted in the data communications work for the Ballard Lost City Project at the University of Rhode Island. Dr. Robert D. Ballard is Director of the Institute for Archaeological Oceanography at URI's Graduate School of Oceanography, and is the man who discovered the <em>Titanic</em>. <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/BallardDusk.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/200/BallardDusk.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />This summer he is running a project in the middle of the Atlantic to study thermal vents at the ocean's floor. Live video is being sent back for the project's duration, which runs from July 24 to Aug 2nd. Follow any of these links to see some really incredible footage, sent live from the bottom of the Atlantic into space and then across the internet to you:<br /><br /><a href="http://lostcity.jason.org/">http://lostcity.jason.org/</a> <br /><br /><a href="http://www.immersionpresents.org/">http://www.immersionpresents.org/</a> <br /><br />Here is a description of the project from the Jason website:<br /><br /><em>The scientists and researchers will study the Lost City hydrothermal field (LCHF) and surrounding region using the NOAA ship Ronald H. Brown and the Institute for Exploration’s remotely operated vehicles (ROVs) Argus and Hercules. This program brings together the excitement of investigating a submarine hot spring system like no other yet seen <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/Stern1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/200/Stern1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a> within the world’s oceans, and new technology that allows shore-based scientists nearly 5,000 miles away to conduct “seagoing” research in real-time via the underwater robotic systems and satellite transmissions. The ROVs are supported by a state-of-the-art shipboard control system and ship-to-shore satellite telecommunication system that will send live video, audio, and scientific data to shore-based command centers that will be used by geologists, chemists and biologists associated with the expedition. Through live transmission, this expedition will bring never-before-seen views of this remarkable submarine ecosystem to researchers, educators, and the public.</em><br /><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/Lava.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/400/Lava.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1122346161663324672005-07-25T22:24:00.000-04:002005-07-25T23:21:00.420-04:00A Cotuit Treasure Hunt<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/sampson%27s%20island%20cotuit2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/400/sampson%27s%20island%20cotuit2.JPG" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />I went kayaking this weekend for the first time this season. Some friends invited me out to Sampson's Island, also known as Dead Neck, in Cotuit. I took two of my sons and we met up with our guides in the small but affluent cape village. It was a very beautiful day, aside from a fairly strong wind coming in from the north. I was intrigued by the island, which is a long, sandbar-like mass which shelters Oyster Harbor from Vineyard Sound. Today the island is a bird sanctuary, and at times it has areas roped off to protect the piping plovers who nest there. The island was inhabited at one point in its colonial history by Hannah Screecham, an old woman said to be a witch. Hannah purportedly consorted with pirates who would visit the place, and is rumored to have hidden treasure for William Kidd and Blackbeard. One Kidd legend says that she was killed and buried with the treasure and today haunts those who come looking for it.<br /><br />We came looking with a JW Fishers Pulse 8x metal detector, but it didn't take old Hannah to convince us that hunting for fiddler crabs (which infest the place) and horseshoe crabs would be more fruitful- and fun. In our exploration we met up with a local artist who knew one of our guides. In the ensuing conversation it turns out that the artist went to school with Barry Clifford, the treasure hunter who discovered the sunken pirate wreck <em>Whydah</em> off of Wellfleet. We got the inside scoop on Clifford's youthful days. It sounded like he may have a bit of pirate blood in him, as well.<br /><br />With no treasure to show we turned around and headed back. The wind had picked up considerably and I struggled to keep on course. Midway back I realized that I would have to steer nearly head-on into the wind. By keeping the bow angled just slightly to the northwest I was able to let the combination of the wind and tide ferry us west, across to the public access beach where we put in. The water was warm and it was refreshing to get out and pull my two passengers across one stubborn sandbar. I hated to get back in and go back to paddling against the wind, but my crew was getting anxious and there really was no choice. We made it back safe and sound, a little wiser about the ways of fiddler crabs and a little sore in the shoulder. It was a great little adventure, though, and I look forward to going back sometime.<br /><br />The Hannah Screecham legend sounds interesting, and worthy of more study. The Kidd connection is certainly incorrect, even without the fantastic ghost story. Most old tales do have a grain of truth in them, however, and I'm eager to learn more. There is a short publication on Hannah at the Cotuit Library, which I may try to get a hold of. If I do, I'll publish more details regarding the witch of Dead Neck and the tales of pirate treasure that surround her. In the meantime, if anyone out there knows more about the story I would love to hear from you.Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1121570290147297982005-07-16T22:54:00.000-04:002005-07-18T15:10:14.103-04:00Iootash!I went to the library today to pick up a book on the Corte-Real's and their early exploration of North America, when I discovered that the library was closed on Saturdays. <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/cemetery_royal_wampanoag.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/320/cemetery_royal_wampanoag.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>I had three of the kids with me, and they wanted to do something special, so we took a drive to the Royal Wampanoag Cemetery. I had driven past it before, but never stopped to visit.<br /><br />We stopped the car and got out. It's a nice area, with a lakeside view. I knew that some of the headstones would bear no engravings, but did not realize that none of them had any markings. In fact, most of them were just stones, anywhere from six inches around to the size of a basketball. A few were more european, upright headstones, but still there was no mark upon them. <br /><br />You might not realize that it was a cemetery at all, save for the sign by the roadside and the signs that others came here to keep the place sacred. Around each marker, whatever the size, were placed small white stones, pinecones, handmade items of a significance that was lost on me, and feathers. My children are part Wampanoag, or so the family history goes, so I explained the meaning of the place and they decided to pay their respects with pinecones. It made them happy, and it made me happy, and we were respectful of the place.<br /><br />I try to keep them aware of their tie to the Wampanoag culture. Last Thanksgiving we went to Plymouth in the morning to find something to do before dinner. It was raining off and on, but when we got there the weather wasn't too bad. The Wampanoags had a tent setup to celebrate the signing of the first peace treaty (as opposed to celebrating Thanksgiving, a dubious holiday at best, in their eyes) with the Europeans. It was also meant to educate people as to their culture and their stance on Thanksgiving. We walked over and were welcomed warmly. As we walked through the tent some of the kids told me they were thirsty, and a squaw overheard and invited us all to have cranberry juice together. It was very kind, and the kids really enjoyed the whole experience.<br /><br />So, later this afternoon we took another ride. This time we went over to Anawan Rock. It's on the side of Rte 44 in Rehoboth. It marks the location where Chief Anawan, the presiding Chief of the Wampanoags after Philip's death in the war of 1676, was finally captured by Benjamin Church and his men. It consists of a large, sedimentary conglomerate stone hill with a cliff on one side. <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/anawonsign.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/320/anawonsign.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>Anawan had built his camp under the shelter of the cliff. Church and his men snuck up the hill and looked down the small drop on Anawan's camp and what remained of the Wampanoag warriors. The surrender was quick and sorrowful. Almost all of the tribe that were left were taken and either killed or sold into slavery, although some "praying Indians" remained in reservation areas. The war took a huge toll on the early settlers of New England, but it ultimately all but wiped out the Wampanoag tribe.<br /><br />Today, legend states that visitors to the area may witness wisps of smoke rising up from the swamp, representing the long extinguished fires of Anawan's braves. Moreover, it is said that you may hear cries of <em>"Iootash!" </em>in the distance, which is the Wampanoag phrase for <em>"stand and fight!"</em>. We neither saw the smoke nor heard the cries, this time, though it was not for lack of trying. If you have an interest in hearing the language, which is all but forgotten now, visit the online <a href="http://www.amphilsoc.org/library/sounds/">American Philosophical Library</a>. There is a recording of a Wampanoag version of The Lord's Prayer, spoken by Chief Wild Horse at Betty's Neck in 1961. It is a dialect of Algonquin, and the recording is both interesting and beautiful to hear. Still, I would have rather heard an <em>"Iootash!".</em>Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1121387692596870732005-07-14T20:25:00.000-04:002005-07-14T20:42:43.183-04:00RMS Republic - Exclusive Salvage Rights!<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/rms%20republic.jpg"><img style="float:center; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/400/rms%20republic.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />This news broke last week. The RMS Republic sunk roughly 50 miles south of Nantucket and is rumored to have been carrying a shipment of newly minted American Gold Eagle coins valued in today's market at between $400 million and $1.6 billion, as well as a $265,000 U.S. Navy payroll that was intended to be delivered to the Atlantic Fleet at Gibraltar. Exclusive salvage rights have just been granted to Martin Bearle, formerly of Martha's Vineyard, who originally found the wreck in about 250 feet of water back in 1981. For more details, read the AP article quoted below in Boston.com News:<br /><br /><blockquote>Judge grants treasure hunter right to salvage sunken ship<br />By Michael Kunzelman, Associated Press Writer | July 8, 2005<br /><br />BOSTON --Martin Bayerle sets sail from Long Island next week to resume his quest for sunken treasure, driven by rumors that a cache of gold coins was aboard the RMS Republic luxury liner when it sank in the North Atlantic nearly a century ago.<br /><br />When he returns to the Republic's wreckage this time, Bayerle will have a court order that gives him the exclusive rights to salvage the ship through 2008.<br /><br />On Friday, a federal judge in Boston issued a preliminary injunction that bars anyone from interfering with Bayerle's efforts to recover a cache of gold from the wreckage of the RMS Republic, which sank 50 miles south of Nantucket in January 1909.<br /><br />Bayerle has found hundreds of artifacts in the wreckage, but he is still looking for the elusive coins. Bayerle said there are persistent rumors that the ship was carrying a five-ton shipment of gold coins that would have had a face value of $3 million in 1909.<br /><br />"That has never been proven, but there is a lot of circumstantial evidence to suggest the cargo is on board the wreck," said Bayerle's attorney, Timothy Barrow.<br /><br />Barrow said the coins, if they are there, could be worth at least $400 million, or more than $1.6 billion if they are in good condition.<br /><br />Bayerle, formerly of Martha's Vineyard, is scheduled to leave New York on Tuesday to resume his salvage operation. However, he acknowledges it could be several years before he reaches the part of the wreck where he believes the coins are located.<br /><br />"We have identified the target areas," he said. "Now we need to get to the target areas."</blockquote><br /><br />Best of luck to Mr. Bayerle and his crew!Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1119928745252762182005-06-27T22:24:00.000-04:002005-06-30T19:34:48.453-04:00The Works of Edward Rowe SnowAll my life I have been interested in history, especially local history from America's colonial period. Living in Southeastern Massachusetts is probably a big reason for the development of this fascination. <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/Edward%20Rowe%20Snow1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/320/Edward%20Rowe%20Snow.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>I remember going to the Mayflower as a kid, and taking school trips to the Constitution. Between field trips, family trips and hanging out in Charlestown with the Greene family, I was always surrounded by stories and physical reminders of New England's colonial past. Of course, besides the obvious interest of the revolutionary war, I was also intrigued by local tales of pirates and Indians. There is plenty of history in Massachusetts; some stands out clearly and some is less obvious. Some exists largely because of marketing and tourism, and other pieces of our past hang on despite our ignorance, fading slowly into obscurity. To anyone who is intrigued by history, especially that which inhabits the places we see everyday, I highly recommend the writings of Edward Rowe Snow.<br /><br />Snow, a native of Winthrop, Massachusetts, is famous for his books on maritime history, lighthouses along the Atlantic coast, New England legends, treasure hunting and piracy. His historical works have a flair for the dramatic that makes them immensely readable. Their topics, from the curious to the grisly, are told in a style that invokes innocent memories of ghost stories and adventure without incorporating the mundane shock value and sensationalism that many modern writers employ. Many of his works have recently been reissued as centenary editions, put together by Jeremy D'Entremont with some additional contributing material by Snow's daughter, Dolly Bicknell.<br /><br />I first came across Edward Rowe Snow when researching Massachusetts Indian lore at my local public library. Indian history had always been a big interest of mine when I was younger. I remember writing one of my first book reports in school on King Philip's War. The topic truly intrigued me and I spent many days of my youth engrossed in Wampanoag history. When I heard that a place called King Philip's cave was nearby to my childhood home I begged my aunt to take me. We parked in an idle bank parking lot and walked up a short path through the woods. The trail did not lead to the Batcave I envisioned but instead to more of a rough, rocky outcropping. It was a little disappointing. The area had become a party spot for high school and college kids and was now littered with broken fragments of glass and other sundry bits of trash. Nevertheless, the thought that Philip had hid here, consulted with other Sachems, and snuck away to avoid the approaching guns of Benjamin Church's rangers kept me rapt with attention the whole time. <br /><br /><br />Several years ago I was looking for sources of local Indian history when I discovered my first Edward Rowe Snow book. <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/Snow%20Mysteries%20%26%20Adventures%20Along%20the%20Atlantic%20Coast.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/320/Snow%20Mysteries%20%26%20Adventures%20Along%20the%20Atlantic%20Coast.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>I think it was <em>Mysteries and Adventures Along the Atlantic Coast</em>. Snow's genuine interest in his subject, his penchant for storytelling and the rooting of his tales in local places and lore got me hooked. I soon read many more of his books and became obsessed with the vanishing art of treasurehunting. I spent many a late night reading books that hadn't been checked out of their shelves in years and visited many libraries and museums I would have otherwise had no call to see. I still recall the first day that I held a three-hundred year old treasure map in my hands, wondering about the shaky brown script and the thoughts that sparked those words, so many years ago. Perhaps the biggest debt I owe Mr. Snow, beyond the palpable joy of adventure, is the pleasure of meeting so many helpful people who, like Mr. Snow, truly enjoyed their work. From librarians to authors and arhivists, I met and corresponded with fantastic people who enjoy taking the time to help anyone with an interest in their field. <br /><br />I am still hunting to this day and have never found so much as a single piece of eight, but I have learned so much about the rich history of New England that I feel truly enlightened by the experience. <a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/1600/Snow%20Pirates%20and%20Buccaneers%20of%20the%20Atlantic%20Coast.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1731/719/320/Snow%20Pirates%20and%20Buccaneers%20of%20the%20Atlantic%20Coast.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>If you get a chance, pick up one of Snow's many books and let me know your favorite tale. In the future I will refer to a few of Snow's works that captured my interest and which hold special significance for those of us who live in Southeast Massachusetts. Perhaps we can discuss your picks as well. In the meantime, here are some photos of old jacket covers that adorned several of Snow's works. I highly recommend them for your own enjoyment and for a collection of great stories your kids can enjoy, as well.Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1117771301038034182005-06-03T00:01:00.000-04:002005-06-03T00:01:41.043-04:00<a href='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/202/2720/1024/TripoliBattle.jpg'><img border='0' style='border:1px solid #000000; margin:2px' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/202/2720/320/TripoliBattle.jpg'></a><br />Naval Engagement in Tripoli PortCornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1117771001891390442005-06-02T23:33:00.000-04:002005-06-03T00:03:19.460-04:00New Book by Richard ZacksDid anyone catch the Imus interview with author Richard Zacks this week? He was promoting his latest book, <a href="http://www.hyperionbooks.com/titlepage.asp?ISBN=1401300030"><em>The Pirate Coast: Thomas Jefferson, the First Marines, and the Secret Mission of 1805</em></a>. I caught the radio appearance by chance while on my way to work. It caught my attention because I had corresponded with the author briefly during some of my research and found him to be a very helpful and amiable guy. In his last communication he indicated that he had the new book coming out and would soon be out plugging it.<br /><br />Zacks' last book, <em>The Pirate Hunter: The True Story of Captain Kidd</em>, was critically acclaimed and truly a masterful work of detailed research. The newest book is the story of the development of the US Marines and their first major covert engagement, at a time when our country was still in its fledgling stages. Here is a promotional quote from Hyperion's website:<br /><br /><em>A real-life thriller from acclaimed historian and author of The Pirate Hunter, Richard Zacks -- the true story of the unheralded American who brought the Barbary Pirates to their knees. <br /><br />In an attempt to stop the legendary Barbary Pirates of North Africa from hijacking American ships, William Eaton set out in 1805 on a secret mission to overthrow the government of Tripoli. The operation was sanctioned by President Thomas Jefferson, but at the last moment he grew wary of "intermeddling" in a foreign government, and Eaton set off without proper national support.<br /><br />Short on supplies, given very little money and only a few men, Eaton and his mission seemed doomed from the start. But against all odds, he improbably triumphed, recruiting a band of European mercenaries in Alexandria, along with some Arab cavalry and Bedouin fighters, and leading them on a march across the Libyan Desert. Once in Tripoli, the ragtag army defeated the local troops and successfully captured Derne, laying the groundwork for the demise of the Barbary Pirates. The success of the event is immortalized in the Marines' Hymn, but Jefferson never allowed Eaton the fame he craved. Now, Richard Zacks brings this important story from our nation's history to life.</em><br /><br />I highly recommend <em>The Pirate Hunter </em>and look forward to reviewing <em>The Pirate Coast </em>soon. I'm sure there are some interesting comparisons to make between the international politics of Jefferson's time and those of our current period. In the meantime, let me know if aany of you have read Zacks' latest, or any of his other works.Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1107947170709428082005-02-09T06:06:00.000-05:002005-02-10T22:00:52.686-05:00<a href='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/202/2720/1024/pieces8.1.jpg'><img border='0' style='border:1px solid #000000; margin:2px' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/202/2720/400/pieces8.1.jpg'></a><br />Treasure Recovered from the WhydahCornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1107918935402326852005-02-08T21:56:00.000-05:002005-02-09T08:30:39.626-05:00A Cape Cod Tale: "Black" Sam Bellamy & the WhydahThere is a lot of history that slowly passes as the short, dramatic and easy to remember versions take hold. As a result, there is truth everywhere that is fading away. Some is lost to urban sprawl, and some to books no longer read. Some to MTV and short attention spans, other relics are washed away by years of storms, sinking back into the wet sand to rot with time.When we think of pirates we most often think of the images and environs that movies, children’s books and video games have left us. Pirates of the Caribbean: looting and pillaging in far off tropical climes, burying hordes of treasure and carousing off into the vanishing mists of legend. Many of those legends are rooted in fact, but there is more meat to the stories than the icons leave us, and so much truth around the periphery that has been lost.
<br />
<br />New England, for example, was once a flourishing region of pirate activity. Privateers and worse sailed from ports like Salem, Boston, Newport, Providence and New York. Rhode Island was reknown for it’s rather loose rules when it came to discouraging the trade. Newport’s own Captain Thomas Tew was one of the more famous pirates of the Madagascar theatre, until his old shipmates convinced to him ship out on the account once more for old time’s sake. He lost his belly to a well placed Arab cannon shot and died on the quarterdeck, bleeding. He is said to have left treasure buried in the Narragansett Bay area, perhaps in Newport, Sakonnet Point, or out on Hope Island, but none has ever been found.
<br />
<br />Cape Cod, too, has it’s buccaneering past. How much of it will be lost forever we will never know, but there is still evidence if you know where to look. One colorful tale associated with the cape is that of Captain Samuel Bellamy. Bellamy was born in England and came to Cape Cod in 1715. Here he fell in love with Maria Hallett, a local girl whose attraction may, in fact, have lured him to his death. He left for the Caribbean to excavate for treasure from Spanish Galleons sunk in a hurricane, but his venture was unsuccessful and he ultimately turned pirate. “Black” Sam Bellamy’s crew took over fifty ships in the course of a year. One of his greatest prizes was the capture of the Whydah, a slave ship rich in gold dust, ivory tusks and other treasure from Africa. The Whydah, a three masted galley of three hundred tons burthen, with eighteen cannon and a crew of fifty, became Captain Bellamy’s flagship.
<br />
<br />In the spring of 1717 Bellamy’s band of cutthroats came north, past the colonies in Bermuda, Virginia, Maryland and New York. It is not known what brought Bellamy back north from the Caribbean. He is said to have begun work on a fort at the Machias River in Maine, in an attempt to create a place for a free society of Pirates, much as the Isle Sainte Marie off of Madagascar is said to have been. Although the idea is intriguing, those with a more romantic flair lean toward the idea that it was his love for Maria Hallett that brought Bellamy north to his doom on the shores of Cape Cod. On their way to New England, the pirates continued to prey on shipping. One unfortunate but bold Boston sailor, a Captain Beer, had his sloop taken off of Block Island. He related the tale that Bellamy and his crew took all of his goods, then decided they could not risk giving him back his ship. Bellamy’s speech to the captain is chronicled in Captain Charles Johnson’s A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pirates, and testifies to the rebellious freedom that drew many to the life of a pirate rogue:
<br />
<br /><em>"I am sorry they won't let you have your sloop again, for I scorn to do any one a mischief, when it is not to my advantage; damn the sloop, we must sink her, and she might be of use to you. Though you are a sneaking puppy, and so are all those who will submit to be governed by laws which rich men have made for their own security; for the cowardly whelps have not the courage otherwise to defend what they get by knavery; but damn ye altogether: damn them for a pack of crafty rascals, and you, who serve them, for a parcel of hen-hearted numbskulls. They vilify us, the scoundrels do, when there is only this difference, they rob the poor under the cover of law, forsooth, and we plunder the rich under the protection of our own courage. Had you not better make then one of us, than sneak after these villains for employment?" </em>
<br />When the captain replied that his conscience would not let him break the laws of God and man, the pirate Bellamy continued:
<br /><em>"You are a devilish conscience rascal, I am a free prince, and I have as much authority to make war on the whole world, as he who has a hundred sail of ships at sea, and an army of 100,000 men in the field; and this my conscience me: but there is no arguing with such snivelling puppies, who allow superiors to kick them about deck at pleasure."</em>
<br />
<br />During the voyage north Bellamy had secured a small fleet of three ships: the Whydah, a snow under the command of pirate captain Montgomery, and a small merchant pink laden with Madeira wine. Drunk from the capture of a merchant vessel laden with wine, the crew ran into a gale as they tried to pass north from Nantucket Shoals up around the eastern arm of Cape Cod. The northeaster ultimately drove the ships onto the shoals off of the coast of Wellfleet, near what is today Marconi Beach. All save two of the souls on board the Whydah perished in the surf as the ship was broken up by the seas. One, Thomas Davis, had been forced into the crew when his ship was taken earlier that year. Much of what we now know about Bellamy we know through his accounts. The other was a Nauset Indian named John Julian, who had washed up on the beaches of his homeland. That evening, Davis and Julian sought help at the home of local Wellfleet residents, who with their neighbors scavenged up as much of the ocean’s bounty as they could. In the morning, when other local Cape Codders arrived, they found bodies and coins scattered all over the beach.
<br />
<br />In the years that have followed many people have found the occasional artifact washed up on the shore. But, it was not until Barry Clifford, a local treasure hunter, discovered the remains of the wreck of the Whydah in 1985 that the true scope of Bellamy’s treasure was known. Clifford’s discoveries continue to this day, and can be viewed at the <a href="http://www.whydah.com/">Expedition Whydah Museum </a>in Provincetown, MA. This is one of only two pirate wrecks ever found in modern times, and the artifacts tell the story of what pirate life was truly like.
<br />
<br />So, if you find yourself yearning for the sea and a bit of adventure, take a drive out on route 6 to Marconi Beach in Wellfleet. Perhaps, if a storm has just come through, you’ll find an old coin or some musket shot washed up on the beach. And, if your appetite is only slightly satisfied by the waves of the Atlantic, ceaselessly rolling over the graves of Bellamy and his men, head on north to Provincetown Wharf and the Whydah museum to get a glimpse of real history before it fades…
<br />
<br />Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1107947273814376892005-02-08T06:07:00.000-05:002005-02-10T22:01:36.103-05:00<a href='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/202/2720/1024/bell.1.jpg'><img border='0' style='border:1px solid #000000; margin:2px' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/202/2720/400/bell.1.jpg'></a><br />The Ship's Bell of the WhydahCornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1106190459893827542005-01-20T22:07:00.000-05:002005-01-21T22:37:36.100-05:00<a href='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/202/2720/1024/Kidd%20Articles%20of%20Agreement.jpg'><img border='0' style='border:1px solid #000000; margin:2px' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/202/2720/400/Kidd%20Articles%20of%20Agreement.jpg'></a><br />Captain Kidd Articles of Agreement <a href='http://www.hello.com/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbh.gif' alt='Posted by Hello' border='0' style='border:0px;padding:0px;background:transparent;' align='absmiddle'></a>Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1103853740617671712005-01-20T21:02:00.000-05:002005-01-21T22:38:00.503-05:00<a href='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/202/2720/640/kidd-sarah4.jpg'><img border='0' style='border:1px solid #000000; margin:2px' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/img/202/2720/320/kidd-sarah4.jpg'></a><br />Sarah Kidd's Petition <a href='http://www.hello.com/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbh.gif' alt='Posted by Hello' border='0' style='border:0px;padding:0px;background:transparent;' align='absmiddle'></a>Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9708732.post-1106192965396325802005-01-19T22:50:00.000-05:002005-01-24T12:16:40.596-05:00Primary SourcesThere is nothing quite like doing primary source research, as long as the topic is interesting. I obtained these documents from two fantastic sources, the Massachusetts State Archives and the London Public Records Office. If you like this stuff it is worth a visit to browse through the microfilm of forgotten letters and manuscripts, knowing that some have not been read in hundreds of years, nor were they ever meant to be. There is a lot of interesting historical information in these documents, snapshots of how people lived and worked and engaged in commerce. There is also an interesting look into the common thread of human emotion and experience that crosses the boundaries of the years and the cultures.
<br />
<br />In the Sarah Kidd letter, from the Mass State Archives, Captain Kidd's wife pleads for the return of money which was taken from her when her husband was imprisoned. She was one of the wealthiest women in Manhattan and had just been transformed into a prisoner's wife and a single mother. Living off of dwindling funds and the good graces of those around her in Boston, Sarah tried in vain to secure her husband's release by various entreaties to government officials as well as discourse with ex-pirates Andrew Knott of Boston and Thomas Paine of Conanicut (Jamestown), Rhode Island. Kidd would not be released to his wife and daughter but would instead, as the victim of politics, underhanded business partners, a mutinous crew and his own poor choices, be hung in London following his trial in 1701.
<br />
<br />In Kidd's Articles of Agreement, found in the London PRO, we see the ship's rules set forth in an agreement between crew and captain, back when Kidd was rounding up men for his government sponsored quest to hunt pirates. Note the bonuses for lost limbs and injuries, as well as the penalty for being drunk during battle. An arm or leg were worth several hundred pieces of eight, but failure to perform in an engagement meant no share. The ships manned by pirates and privateers were, in many ways, some of the first democratic institutions in the new world. Their society and it's rules were a stark contrast to the harsh and potentially tyrannical discipline maintained in the Royal Navy. Pirates shared loot relatively evenly, one share each with two or three shares going to ship's officers, surgeons & carpenters. Moreover, a key element of rule on a pirate ship was often the democratic election of the captain. As a privateer, Kidd bore more authority than an elected captain, but he still required the will of the ship's company for certain elements of discipline. In many ways Kidd was at the mercy of the majority, and it backfired on him in the end.
<br />
<br />Joseph Palmer, whose signature is at the lower right hand corner of these articles, turned on Kidd upon his arrest and was a key witness against Kidd in his trial.Cornelius Quickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02451668785817121237noreply@blogger.com0