Category Archives: History

History, Poetry, Security

Viking Treasure: Big Load of Beer

Leave a comment

I just read a Viking galdralag poem called Havamal:

Byr’i betri
berrat ma’r brautu at
en s’ mannvit mikit;
vegnest verra
vegra hann velli at
en s’ ofdrykkja ols.

Interesting how the meter works. The ThinkQuest site provides the above text, and then this version in English:

Burden better
bears none abroad with him
than a cool discretion;
with worser food
will fare you never
than a big load of beer.

Something seems lost in translation.

Speaking of lost, have you heard about the treasure chest discovered in Old York? A father and son with metal detection equipment unearthed a well-preserved cache of silver and such.

The ancient objects come from as far afield as Afghanistan in the East and Ireland in the West, as well as Russia, Scandinavia and continental Europe.

The hoard contains 617 silver coins and 65 other objects, including a gold arm-ring and a gilt silver vessel.

[…]

It was probably buried for safety by a wealthy Viking leader during the unrest following the conquest of the Viking kingdom of Northumbria in AD927.

I wonder about the “leader” concept suggested in the article. Not a King? Regia Anglorum gives some stirring details of the conflict in the area:

England was being ruled at that time by King Athelstan, grandson of Alfred the Great, who took the throne in 925 at the age of thirty. Athelstan was not a soft king: he was a warrior in the tradition of his grandfather, father and aunt, and was determined to have an English kingdom that reached to the borders of Strathclyde. His ambitions worried the northern kings, but, when he met Sihtric at York, Athelstan gave away his sister in marriage to the king of York, in return for the Scandinavian becoming Christian. It seemed as though the Clan Ivarr was secure in its throne.

That security lasted until 927, when Sihtric died and Guthfrith took over. Athelstan invaded Northumbria and expelled Guthfrith and Olaf, Sihtric’s son. He entered York, demolished the Scandinavian fortifications, and distributed the loot he found there to his army.

Impressive how long the leader’s lead container was able to preserve the goods. Good thing Athelstan’s men did not find all the loot in their day.

While we may want to celebrate the discovery of precious metallic goods from ancient times, beer recipes or even ingredient farming methods may be the real treasure still waiting to be recovered.

History, Poetry, Security

Chinese regulate dancing to avert “young love”

Leave a comment

Here is an amusing story that reminds me of the American movie Footloose. Crazy kids doing crazy expressive and touchy things can not be trusted to avert the disaster commonly known as falling-in-love. Xinhua’s English news feed provides details:

Parents with traditional values are alarmed at the prospect of boys and girls dancing hand in hand, believing the risk of their children falling in love and losing track of exam results would increase.

“Four students will be grouped together to perform the waltz and they will change partners regularly as soon as one song finishes. This way, the risk of young love will be lowered,” said Yang Guiren, an official in charge of art and physical education with the MOE [Ministry of Education].

Never mind Footloose, this reminds me of square dancing classes I was required to attend in grade school for “physical education”. All of these schemes sound positively ridiculous as everyone knows kids fall in love regardless of what they are doing. Glances through bulletproof glass, or even just secret messages ferreted through secured chambers by note or IM are the very nature of the resilience of young love. Instead, I would argue, MORE exposure to each other in regular doses is the surest cure for youthful adoration.

Is there a LARRY and CURLY to go along with the Chinese MOE? Will they ban poetry next to prohibit the messaging of young love?

Consider, for example, Chinese poems based on the story of the Magpie Bridge. Here is one by Qin Guan, translated by Professor Kylie Hsu:

Among the beautiful clouds,
Over the heavenly river,
Crosses the weaving maiden.
A night of rendezvous,
Across the autumn sky,
Surpasses joy on earth.
Moments of tender love and dream,
So sad to leave the magpie bridge.
Eternal love between us two,
Shall withstand the time apart.

The part of the Magpie Bridge story that seems suspect to me is the weaver “enjoyed her marriage so much”. Perhaps if the Heavenly Mother had left the bridge alone, the weaver would soon have settled back to earth to find her weaving more rewarding and increased productivity. Am I being too cynical?

History, Security

Nixon called Fred Thompson “dumb as hell”

Leave a comment

The Associated Press has published some interesting history on one of the Republicans who may be a 2008 presidential hopeful:

President Nixon and his top aides viewed the fellow Republican as a willing, if not too bright, ally, according to White House tapes.

[…]

Nixon was disappointed with the selection of Thompson, whom he called “dumb as hell.” The president did not think Thompson was skilled enough to interrogate unfriendly witnesses and would be outsmarted by the committee’s Democratic counsel.

[…]

“Oh shit, that kid,” Nixon said when told by his chief of staff, H.R. Haldeman, of Thompson’s appointment on Feb. 22, 1973.

“Well, we’re stuck with him,” Haldeman said.

In a meeting later that day in the Old Executive Office Building, Baker assured Nixon that Thompson was up to the task. “He’s tough. He’s six feet five inches, a big mean fella,” the senator told Nixon.

Physical presence noted.

Nixon expressed concern that Thompson was not “very smart.”

“Not extremely so,” Buzhardt agreed.

“But he’s friendly,” Nixon said.

“But he’s friendly,” Buzhardt agreed. “We are hoping, though, to work with Thompson and prepare him, if Dean does appear next week, to do a very thorough cross-examination.”

Five days later, Buzhardt reported to Nixon that he had primed Thompson for the Dean cross-examination.

“I found Thompson most cooperative, feeling more Republican every day,” Buzhardt said. “Uh, perfectly prepared to assist in really doing a cross-examination.”

Later in the same conversation, Buzhardt said Thompson was “willing to go, you know, pretty much the distance now. And he said he realized his responsibility was going to have be as a Republican increasingly.”

What is it with all these Nixon-era discredited insiders running for office in America? Is there some kind of weird organization of conservative corporate moguls from that era who are now trying to prove a point by pretending the world has not changed? It’s like a flash-back to Soviet-era politics where the Politicheskoye Buro (political bureau or politburo) was in control of who gets to be a candidate and what they can think, regardless of what was going on in the world around them. Clearly Thompson did bidding for Nixon, although Nixon clearly didn’t care for the guy. Would not surprise me if he was told to pick Cheney to be his Vice President too, or maybe Rumsfeld, or…someone else who worked for Nixon.

I guess one thing has actually changed, the Nixon-era gang appear to playing games with public records (the modern equivalent of tapes) to limit their liability from future discovery.

Energy, History, Poetry, Sailing, Security

Dover Beach

Leave a comment

by Matthew Arnold (1822-1888)

The sea is calm to-night.
The tide is full, the moon lies fair
Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand;
Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
Come to the window, sweet is the night-air!
Only, from the long line of spray
Where the sea meets the moon-blanched land,
Listen! you hear the grating roar
Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling,
At their return, up the high strand,
Begin, and cease, and then again begin,
With tremulous cadence slow, and bring
The eternal note of sadness in.

Sophocles long ago
Heard it on the A gaean, and it brought
Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow
Of human misery; we
Find also in the sound a thought,
Hearing it by this distant northern sea.

The Sea of Faith
Was once, too, at the full, and round earth’s shore
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To one another! for the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

Why do the pessimists always seem to get it so right?