Clubbing

15 Wednesday Jan 2025

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Welcome, as always, dear readers.

So many earlier events are tied to this scene:

“The great shadow descended like a falling cloud…Upon it sat a shape, black-mantled, huge and threatening.”

It’s Eowyn about to challenge the Witch King of Angmar, the chief of the Nazgul, mounted upon his really disgusting creature.  Behind it lie:

1. the Black Riders

(the Gaffer and a Nazgul—perfectly captured by Denis Gordeev)

2. a sword taken from the barrow where the Barrow Wight almost makes an early end to the story

(a sketch for a painting by Matthew Stewart.  You can see more of his work here:  https://mattstewartartblog.blogspot.com/ )

3. Merry swearing fealty to Theoden

(a statue group from a Dutch site called “Odd World”:  https://www.oddworld.be/the-lord-of-rings-merry-and-theoden-miniatuur-beeld-1_prod11508.html

4. Eowyn, in despair over her unrequited love for Aragorn, disguising herself as “Dernhelm”, and taking Merry with her to Minas Tirith

(another Matthew Stewart)

5. one of those disgusting creatures

(Alan Lee)

And I’m sure that you can think of more, as it’s a wonderfully rich dramatic scene, including Tolkien at his archaizing best (William Morris would be very pleased with him):

“Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of carrion!”

As you can imagine, there are numerous illustrations of it—from the Hildebrandts

to Alan Lee

to Ted Nasmith

to Denis Gordeev—

In each case, it’s interesting to see what moment in the scene each artist has chosen.  What caught my eye this time, however, wasn’t a person or creature or even the action, but an object:

“…the Lord of the Nazgul.  To the air he had returned, summoning his steed ere the darkness failed, and now he was come again, bringing ruin, turning hope to despair, and victory to death.  A great black mace he wielded.”

If you knew nothing about weaponry, you’d know that, at least, it’s a weapon, if, for no other reason,from its effect:

“With a cry of hatred that stung the very ears like venom he let fall his mace.  Her shield was shivered in many pieces, and her arm was broken…”  (The Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter 6, “The Battle of the Pelennor Fields”)

If you look up “mace” in Wikipedia, you find a wide variety of possibilities, however, everything from a spice

to a kind of tear gas

to a Star Wars character

(I’m afraid that I don’t have an artist for this, but how could I resist such a wonderful depiction?)

and more—which you can investigate here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mace –but it’s the weapon which I was interested in.

We have earlier seen Nazgul armed with swords:

“There were five tall figures:  two standing on the lip of the dell, three advancing.  In their white faces burned keen and merciless eyes; under their mantles were long grey robes; upon their grey hairs were helms of silver; in their haggard hands were swords of steel.”  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 11, “A Knife in the Dark”)

(Weathertop by Alan Lee)

And, of course, at least one dagger—the Morgul Knife which wounds Frodo.

The mace, however, is new—but, in fact, very old.  It’s a kind of club, originally probably nothing more than the sort of thing which Herakles carries.

(a rather sea-sick looking Herakles, sailing in the cup of Helios)

When it comes to violence, however, people are endlessly inventive and, by the time of the Egyptians, we find polished stone heads

which, when attached to a stick, became a favorite early bashing weapon.

(from the so-called “Narmer palette”—31st century BC—this is an interesting find from 1894 from the ancient Egyptian site of Nekhen—you can read more about it here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hierakonpolis )

Tolkien’s model, however, would have come from a much later, probably medieval, period and the fact that it’s black might indicate that it’s made of iron.  Of course there’s one medieval wooden club which JRRT would have known—

This is Odo, the bishop of Bayeux, in Normandy, the half-brother of Duke William, at the battle of Hastings.  Apparently, as an ecclesiastic, he felt unable to wield a sword or spear, like other Normans, and so he has armed himself with what might be thought of (although not by its victims) as a more “peaceable” weapon.

But this is, shall we say, unusual, and there were a wide variety of types to choose from—here’s a selection, along with other medieval weapons–

(by the Funckens, Liliane and Fred, from a very lively 3-volume set on medieval and Renaissance clothing, armor, and weaponry)

Various artists have made different choices, modeling their work on actual maces, or spinning off into fantasy, but perhaps we can do what Tolkien did with the Rohirrim, when he suggested that their armor would look like the mail of the Normans in the Bayeux Tapestry.  (see letter to Rhona Beare, 14 October, 1958, Letters, 401).  I haven’t spotted a Norman actually using a mace, but there appears to be an image of one here, between the charging Normans and the defending Anglo-Saxons, on the left (thrown by one of the latter?)–

It’s a bit small for Tolkien’s description, but, blow it up a bit for scale (after all, the Nazgul towers over Eowyn) and perhaps the one labeled “German 16” below would be a rough match?

Ironically, it’s Merry’s ancient sword which saves Eowyn, but, before that, that mace, combined with the force of the Nazgul’s swing, smashes Eowyn’s shield (probably made of overlapping layers of wood, perhaps with a metal covering?) and would have smashed her as well, reminding me of a remark supposedly made by the early 20th-century US President, Theodore Roosevelt, “Speak softly—and carry a big stick”!

Thanks, for reading, as always.

Stay well,

Dare I say stick around

Because, as always, there’s

MTCIDC?

O

Bacon and Eggs, Etc.

08 Wednesday Jan 2025

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Dear readers, welcome, as always.

When Tolkien admitted that he was a hobbit, he defined them—and himself—in part in this way:

“…I like gardens, trees and unmechanized farmlands; I smoke a pipe, and like good plain food (unrefrigerated), but detest French cooking… “ (from a letter to Deborah Webster, 25 October, 1958, Letters, 411)

This follows, of course, his description in “Concerning Hobbits” in the Prologue to The Lord of the Rings:

“Their faces were as a rule good-natured rather than beautiful, broad, bright-eyed, red-cheeked, with mouths apt to laughter, and to eating and drinking.  And laugh they did, and eat, and drink, often and heartily, being fond of simple jests at all times, and of six meals a day (when they could get them).”

And this is an extension of the description in the first chapter, “An Unexpected Party”, of The Hobbit:

“[they] have long clever brown fingers, good-natured faces, and laugh deep fruity laughs (especially after dinner, which they have twice a day when they can get it).”

This propensity for the consumption of comestibles—and for the reporting of and description of eating and all that might go with it—is more, in The Hobbit, than simply a fond look at a foible, however.  In fact, it is a theme which seems, at times to dominate the book—and we see this practically on the first page of the novel, not only in that mention of multiple dinners, but even in the fact that hobbit laughs are “fruity”.

The opening setting itself announces the theme:  “Bilbo Baggins was standing at his door after breakfast…” and soon Bilbo is resisting Gandalf’s proposal of an adventure by saying “Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things!  Make you late for dinner!”  (The Hobbit, Chapter 1, “An Unexpected Party”)

(the Hildebrandts)

There follows the rattled Bilbo’s invitation to Gandalf to come to tea (after which he consoles himself with “a cake or two and a drink of something”), and then the party from the chapter title, which includes not only a major depletion of Bilbo’s pantry (or pantries, as the narrator has already informed us that Bilbo’s house has “lots of these”), but even a kind of heroic catalogue of what’s called for and which Bilbo seems able to supply including:  tea, beer, seed-cake, coffee, scones, ale, porter, red wine, raspberry jam, apple-tart, mince-pies, cheese, pork-pie, salad, eggs, chicken, and pickles (and a single biscuit—that is, cookie, for Bilbo).

The chapter ends with one last burst of food-talk as Bilbo offers bed and breakfast to the dwarves (as a way of seeing them off) and Thorin orders breakfast as if Bilbo were running an inn:

“But I agree about bed and breakfast.  I like six eggs with my ham, when starting on a journey:  fried not poached, and mind you don’t break ‘em.”

(Eggs and ham—those eggs will appear again, but with bacon, when Bilbo, more than once, yearns for them.  This is from a rather mouth-watering website called “The English Kitchen”, which you can visit here:  https://www.theenglishkitchen.co/2020/04/proper-ham-eggs.html  And, as, when you search for a useful image of ham and eggs, you suddenly find yourself surrounded by images of Dr. Seuss’ wonderful Green Eggs and Ham, you can it read here:  https://ia601502.us.archive.org/20/items/green-eggs-and-ham_202211/GreenEggs%20Ham.pdf )

And Bilbo goes off the bed annoyed not only at Thorin, but at all of the other dwarves, who have made similar orders.

After that opening, it’s not surprising that Chapter 2 begins with a still-annoyed Bilbo, faced with a mountain of dirty dishes, the remains of a breakfast he didn’t fix, but, cleaning up, he enjoys his own first breakfast and is starting on a second one when Gandalf appears and Bilbo is suddenly off on the adventure which takes up the rest of the book.

Food soon appears again as one of their ponies “got into the river before they could catch him…and all the baggage that he carried was washed away off him.  Of course it was mostly food, and there was mighty little left for supper, and less for breakfast.”  (Chapter 2)

But then the eating theme takes a different and disturbing turn:  trolls

(JRRT)

who, though currently munching mutton, have “…et a village and a half between yer, since we come down from the mountains” and soon, like amateur chefs on “The Great Goblin Bake Off”, are discussing how to prepare dwarf—will it be roasting?  boiling?  before the judge, one Gandalf, decides the argument by tricking them into being exposed to the sun and turned to stone.

(JRRT)

This is, in its way, a mirror to the original eating idea, in which the protagonists who do the consuming are at risk of becoming a potential article for consumption and we’ll see this repeated more than once with:

1. the goblins (Chapter 4):  “For goblins eat horses and ponies and donkeys (and other much more dreadful things), and they are always hungry.”

(Alan Lee)

2. Gollum (Chapter 5):  “He was looking out of his pale lamp-eyes for blind fish, which he grabbed with his long fingers as quick as thinking.  Goblin he thought good, when he could get it…” and there’s the possibility that Bilbo might be on the menu—if he loses the riddle contest.

(Alan Lee)

3. the spiders (Chapter 8):  “  ‘What nasty thick skins they [the dwarves] have to be sure, but I’ll wager there is good juice inside.’ ‘Aye, they’ll make fine eating, when they’ve hung a bit…’ ”

(and another Alan Lee)

4. and, of course, Smaug (Chapter 12):  “ ‘Let me tell you I ate six ponies last night and I shall catch and eat all the others before long…I know the smell (and taste) of dwarf…Girion Lord of Dale is dead, and I have eaten his people like a wolf among sheep…’ “

(JRRT)

On the other side (the eating, not eaten), however, there are:

1. supper with the Rivendell elves (Chapter 3)

(JRRT)

2. rabbit, hare, and sheep with the eagles (Chapter 6)

(JRRT)

3. meals with Beorn (Chapter 7)

(Ted Nasmith)

4. starving in Mirkwood while being tantalized by elvish feasts (Chapter 8)

(another elf king, in an illustration by A.W. Bayes, 1831-1909)

5. prison rations in the dungeons of Thranduil, the king of the forest elves (Chapter 9)—as well as food stolen by Bilbo

(a generic dungeon as, so far, I haven’t discovered a useful illustration of the original situation)

6. feasts in Lake-town (Chapter 10)

(JRRT)

7. a gourmet diet of snails (Chapter 11)

(Alan Lee)

8. and even the threat of siege and starvation (Chapter 15)—

(Alan Lee)

Given that so much of the text is handed over to eating and drinking, it’s surprising that the conclusion of the story doesn’t have Gandalf returning (with Balin) to tea some years later—

(Alan Lee)

could it be that even that academic hobbit is finally full?

As always, thanks for reading.

Stay well,

One slice of cake should do, I think, don’t you? Or maybe two?

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

Hybrids

01 Wednesday Jan 2025

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As always, dear readers, welcome.

The title of this piece might suggest electric cars, and it definitely will mention several different wheeled vehicles, but it is actually what I hope is a little study in something Tolkien does wonderfully well:  taking different elements from different times and cultures and so blending them that they become believable new wholes.

Although I don’t always agree with elements in Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings, one thing has always given me pleasure:  the Rohirrim, whether en masse

or a small grouping.

And this is true for Edoras

as well as for Meduseld.

And yet they appear to be a kind of combination of peoples:  on the one hand, Tolkien imagined them to be Anglo-Saxons,

(Peter Dennis)

a people who primarily fought on foot, as at their last two major battles, Stamford Bridge,

(Victor Ambrus—who worked for years with the popular British archeology series, Time Team—which is available on YouTube and much recommended)

where they defeated another infantry force, the Vikings, and Hastings,

(Artist?)

in which they were overwhelmed at the battle’s conclusion by Norman cavalry.

(From the wonderful “Bayeux Tapestry”—actually the “Bayeux Embroidery”—if you’d like to see the whole thing, look here:  https://www.bayeuxmuseum.com/en/the-bayeux-tapestry/discover-the-bayeux-tapestry/explore-online/  To my knowledge, there’s nothing like it from the Middle Ages for depicting a specific series of events in the medieval world.)

On the other hand, the Rohirrim were mounted, more like those Normans who defeated the Anglo-Saxons,

although the language they speak is, basically, a form of Old English, the language of the Anglo-Saxons.  Tolkien imagined them, in fact, as looking like the Normans, as well, describing them in a letter to Rhona Beare:

“The styles of the Bayeux Tapestry (made in England) fit them well enough, if one remembers that the kind of tennis-nets [the] soldiers seem to have on are only a clumsy conventional sign for chain-mail of small rings.”  (letter to Rhona Beare, 14 October, 1958, Letters, 401)

That is, their armor actually can look like this—

(By Angus McBride—and ironic, as, for all that McBride must have painted dozens of figures in chain mail, he once confessed in an interview that it was his least favorite part of illustrating, as the mail took so long to do.)

It’s also interesting to think about them as a people.  Anglo-Saxons were descended from a combination of locals (Romano-British) and various groups of west-Germanic tribesmen who had either been early post-Roman invaders of Britain or Germanic tribesmen brought to Britain to protect the locals from those invaders and who had become colonizers in turn.

But who were the Rohirrim and where did they come from?

“Eorl the Young was lord of the Men of Eotheod.  That land lay near the sources of Anduin, between the furthest ranges of the Misty Mountains and the northernmost parts of Mirkwood.”

(JRRT)

They had not always lived there, however:

“The Eotheod [from Old English, “Horsefolk”] had moved to those regions in the days of King Earnil II [TA 1945-2043] from lands in the vales of Anduin between the Carrock and the Gladden, and they were in origin close akin to the Beornings and the men of the west-eaves of the forest.  The forefathers of Eorl claimed descent from kings in Rhovanion, whose realm lay beyond Mirkwood before the invasions of the Wainriders…They loved best the plains and delighted in horses and in all feats of horsemanship…” (The Lord of the Rings, Appendix A II “The House of Eorl”)

The combination of “They loved best the plains and delighted in horses” makes perfect sense when one thinks about comparative history in our Middle-earth.  Consider the Eurasian Steppe, stretching from western China all the way to the Hungarian puszta.

This is an immense belt of grassland,

some 5000 miles (8000km) wide,

and has been the homeland of numerous horsefolk throughout history, from the Scythians

to the Sarmatians

to the Huns

(Angus McBride)

to the Mongols.

(another McBride)

All of these peoples have used the Steppe to graze their herds of horses, sometimes moving west for grazing, sometimes moving west when pressured by others further east, and sometimes as predators, like the Huns, moving west to seek new plunder.

(I haven’t been able to identify an artist for this–it has the look of late-Victorian.)

In two of these cases, whole peoples might be on the move and this is perhaps where Tolkien has gotten part of his description of those Wainriders he mentions:

“The Wainriders were a people, or a confederacy of many peoples, that came from the East; but they were stronger and better armed than any that had appeared before.  They journeyed in great wains, and their chieftains fought in chariots…” 

So, we can imagine that the Eotheod, pressured by the Wainriders, were forced west, as one steppe people is pushed westward by another to the east. 

But Tolkien gives us another—or perhaps additional–possibility:

“Stirred up, as was afterwards seen, by the emissaries of Sauron, they made a sudden assault on Gondor…The people of eastern and southern Rhovanion were enslaved; and the frontiers of Gondor were for that time withdrawn to the Anduin and the Emyn Muil.” (The Lord of the Rings, Appendix A, IV “Gondor and the Heirs of Anarion”)

The Wainriders, then, might be both steppe peoples moving westwards, but also predators, like the Huns, or like the Mongols, who were both predators and empire-builders, and here we might see Mongols with their characteristic ger (a large round tent)—on a wagon—perhaps like the Wainriders?

(Wayne Reynolds)

Although there is no mention in our text of the Rohirrim migrating with wagons, it’s clear from parallels in our world that the peoples who crossed the Eurasian Steppe appear to have used them regularly.  But here, like the Rohirrim, we have another odd juxtaposition.  The Rohirrim are Anglo-Saxons on horseback:  cavalry, which was true for all of those migrants across the Steppe in our world.  Chariots, however, although Tolkien says that the Wainrider chiefs fought in them (of which fact this is the only mention) were not part of those other horsefolks’ arsenals.  Where did they come from?

The answer, I think, lies in the period of British history before the Anglo-Saxons and almost before the Romans, among the earlier Celtic settlers of England.  Julius Caesar encountered chariots there and described their use:

Genus hoc est ex essedis pugnae. Primo per omnes partes perequitant et tela coiciunt atque ipso terrore equorum et strepitu rotarum ordines plerumque perturbant, et cum se inter equitum turmas insinuaverunt, ex essedis desiliunt et pedibus proeliantur. 2 Aurigae interim paulatim ex proelio excedunt atque ita currus conlocant ut, si illi a multitudine hostium premantur, expeditum ad quos receptum habeant. 3 Ita mobilitatem equitum, stabilitatem peditum in proeliis praestant, ac tantum usu cotidiano et exercitatione efficiunt uti in declivi ac praecipiti loco incitatos equos sustinere et brevi moderari ac flectere et per temonem percurrere et in iugo insistere et se inde in currus citissime recipere consuerint.

“This is the kind of fighting from chariots.  At first, they ride around in all directions and throw spears and often, by the very frightfulness of the horses and the roar of the wheels, they shake the ranks [of the enemy] and, when they have slipped themselves among the troops of [enemy] cavalry, they leap from the chariots and fight on foot.  Meanwhile, the charioteers move out a little way from the fighting and so place their vehicles that, if they [the dismounted fighters] should be pressed by a large number of the enemy, they may have an easy retreat to them.  Thus, they provide the mobility of cavalry [as well as] the steadiness of infantry in [their] battles and they accomplish so much by daily practice and exercise that they are accustomed to control their stirred-up horses on a sloping and steep place and rein [them] in quickly and to turn [them] and to run along the yoke pole and to stand on the yoke and from there to take themselves back into the vehicles extremely speedily.”  (Caesar, De Bello Gallico, Book IV, Chapter 33—my translation)

(Angus McBride)

Tolkien may have remembered this from his schooldays, when he would first have encountered the text—and he might have found those wagons there, too, although slightly later.  When, in 60-61AD, the Iceni queen, Boudica, led a revolt against Roman rule,

(Peter Dennis)

in the final battle, when the tribesmen advanced towards the Roman formation, as Tacitus (c.56-c.120AD) tells us, their families watched from their wagons, placed behind the battle line (De Vita et Moribus Iulii Agricolae, Chapter 34).  And, as a prelude to the battle, Boudica had ridden among the ranks in a chariot (Chapter 35).

(another Peter Dennis—in fact, if you’d like to know more about this amazing woman, who, for a brief time, had been a real threat to the Romans, you might invest in: 

And so, as in combining Anglo-Saxon and Norman to create the Rohirrim, Tolkien may have taken Steppe people, added Celtic Britons, and produced the Wainriders. 

Thanks, as always for reading.

Stay well,

Remember that a horse will drink, on average, between 5 and 10 gallons (19-38 litres) of water a day,

And remember, as well, that there’s always

MTCIDC

O

The Toys of Dale

25 Wednesday Dec 2024

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Welcome, as always, dear readers.

From his letters, it’s clear that Tolkien had very mixed feelings about Christmas. 

To his son, Christopher, far away in the RAF, he writes:

“Today is the ‘last day for posting in time for Christmas’, and though I resent the way in which this feast of peace and joy is made into a labour (not to say a nightmare of shabby commercialism)…”

and continues:

“…The shops, by the way, pass belief here this year.  There is stuff that a barbarian would be ashamed of, bits of shapeless wood and paper smeared with paint, and would certainly not be such fools as to purchase, selling for idiotic prices like 18/6 [18 shillings, 6 pence, when 1 shilling, 3 pence would buy a quart of milk—see:  https://www.sunnyavenue.co.uk/insight/how-much-is-a-shilling-worth-today ).  Surely this Xmas Gift business is a form of dementia, when it allows itself to be cheated so transparently.”  (letter to Christopher Tolkien, 10 December, 1944, Letters, 149-150)

He has, however, already qualified this a bit by calling Christmas a “feast of peace and joy”, with a further proviso some years later in a letter to his son Michael:

“Well here comes Christmas!  That astonishing thing that no ‘commercialism’ can in fact defile—unless you let it.” (letter to Michael Tolkien, 19 December, 1962, Letters, 457)

I have no idea what “bits of shapeless wood and paper smeared with paint” might actually be, but, as Tolkien has clearly been shopping and there are children in the family, I imagine that it was some crude, mass-produced toy, which might also suffer from wartime shortages of raw materials.  Perhaps something like this?

Born in 1893, Tolkien had grown up in a world of increasingly-sophisticated children’s playthings, from Marklin’s beautifully-engineered toy trains

to William Britain’s popular toy soldiers

for boys and elaborate dolls,

elegant tea sets,

and doll houses for girls, among other toys.

As one of two sons of a mother barely scraping by,

it’s unlikely that he, or his younger brother, Hilary, could ever have more than glimpsed such things in a toy shop window,

and had to be contented with the lesser toys of the age—clay rather than stone marbles,

a wooden hoop, rather than a steel one,

or, in a moment of splurging on his mother’s part, perhaps a pop gun—one is mentioned in The Hobbit where, in Chapter 1, Gandalf refers to Bilbo opening his door like one—for more on that and other such weapons in fiction, see “Pop!” 13 December, 2017 here:  https://doubtfulsea.com//?s=popgun&search=Go

In the Third Age of Middle-earth, we might expect to be surprised and puzzled by Gandalf’s remark, as there are no guns to be seen there and here we can’t use the plausible explanation for other anachronisms in the text, that it’s the narrator telling the story in the 1930s, as it’s Gandalf who says it, not the exterior—and much more modern—narrator.

But I would suggest another explanation—which also appears in The Hobbit.  Speaking of the long-lost world of the dwarves’ Lonely Mountain and the town of Dale at its foot, Thorin says:

“Altogether those were good days for us, and the poorest of us had money to spend, and to lend, and leisure to make beautiful things just for the fun of it, not to speak of the most marvelous and magical toys, the like of which is not to be found in the world now-a-days.  So my grandfather’s halls became full of armour and jewels and carvings and cups, and the toy market of Dale was the wonder of the North.”  (The Hobbit, Chapter One, “An Unexpected Party”)

Perhaps, even before the appearance of gunpowder weapons (foreshadowed both by Saruman’s attack on Helm’s Deep and Sauron’s on the Causeway Forts in The Lord of the Rings), then, the dwarvish and human craftsmen of the region had created something which, in their time, used air to propel its missile, rather than this? 

But what about other “most marvelous and magical” toys?

The Third Age in Middle-earth is, at base, a medieval world, the kind of place Tolkien, as a boy, would have seen through the eyes of illustrators like Howard Pyle (1853-1911)

(from his The Story of King Arthur and his Knights, 1903, which you can read here:   https://archive.org/details/storykingarthur02pylegoog/page/n15/mode/2up )

and the writings of authors like his favorite, William Morris (1834-1896).

(You can read this here:  https://gutenberg.org/cache/epub/169/pg169-images.html )

Toys like that Marklin train above, therefore, wouldn’t have been available,

but, as Tolkien shows us a clock on the right-hand wall of the entryway at Bag End,

and, as mechanical toys were certainly for sale in the later Victorian world,

perhaps we can imagine something like this on sale in the Dale toy market?

or this?

always remembering that, although these might seem crude to us, they are antiques and worn from being once much-loved and much-played with, and, in medieval Middle-earth, anything which moved without being pushed or pulled would be magical!

Thanks for reading, as always.

Stay well,

Remember what JRRT said about keeping Christmas magical,

And remember, as well, that there’s

MTCIDC

O

PS

There are many sites for early mechanical toys, some informational, some for collectors, and some both at once.  Here’s one which is fun to read and has a practical side:  https://www.unclealstoys.com/origin-of-wind-up-toys-discovering-the-fascinating-history/

Underheard

18 Wednesday Dec 2024

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As always, dear readers, welcome.

If you read this blog regularly, you probably imagine that, as a small child, I lived in a constant state of puzzlement—and I did.  In part, this came from the fact that, before I could read and write, and sometimes after that, I lived in an oral world, where so much of my life was spent hearing things, rather than seeing them in print—and that could lead to interesting results.

For instance, there’s a patriotic song I was taught, probably in kindergarten, which begins:

“My country, ‘tis of thee,

Sweet land of liberty,

Of thee I sing.” 

From the oddly convoluted grammar, you might suspect that it was written to an already-existing tune—and you’d be right:  it’s set to “God Save the King”.  (You can read about its history here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/My_Country,_%27Tis_of_Thee  If you think that the use of a tune about a king as the basis for a song for a republic is surprising, just consider:  these words date from 1831, but there’s a 1786 song to the same tune entitled “God Save Great Washington”—only 3 years after the founding of a country which had fought for 8 years to escape the very king the original song had been written for.  

Here’s a verse from that:  

“God save great Washington,
His worth from eve’ry tongue,
Demands applause;
Ye tuneful pow’rs combine,
And each true Whig now join
Whose heart did ne’r resign
The glorious cause.” 

About the same level as “My Country, ‘tis of thee”, I would say.  This is quoted from a usually very useful source:  https://mudcat.org/thread.cfm?threadid=39759  but the work cited there says that the lyric is from The Philadelphia Continental Journal for 7 April, 1786, and, as far as I can determine, there was no such journal in Philadelphia at that time.  Perhaps this is a mistake for the Boston-based Continental Journal and Weekly Advertiser, which ran from 1776 to 1787?  For a list of 18th-century Philadelphia newspapers, see:  https://brainly.infogalactic.com/info/List_of_newspapers_in_Pennsylvania_in_the_18th_century#Philadelphia )

And this is where orality comes in.  Hearing a teacher sing this while we stumbled along behind her, I thought that what she sang was “My country, dizzily…” which, even (or perhaps especially) to a small child, was somewhat enigmatic.   You can imagine, then, what would be the case had I then tried to teach it to another child, or even an adult.

If you’ve ever played the game called “Whisper Down the Lane” or “Telephone”, you’ve seen what happens when someone initially says something which is then passed down a chain of listeners—you can read more about it at WikiHow here:  https://www.wikihow.com/Play-the-Telephone-Game  from which this illustration comes.

As the original message passes from mouth to ear to mouth, words change and it’s sometimes quite surprising when, if you had spoken that initial message, you heard the last person in the chain repeat what she or he heard.

It’s also a very good illustration of the effect of oral tradition on songs.

For example, in Child Ballad #200, (formally, The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, edited by Francis James Child), with a variety of titles including “The Wraggle Taggle Gypsies, O”.  The basic story is that a fine lady is enticed to go off with some Gypsies (a term no longer used, “Romani People” being currently employed, but, in discussing the ballad, I’m going to stick to the older term as that’s what’s in the text) and, in many variants, the idea is that the Gypsies have (literally) enchanted her, the word  used being “glamer/glamour/glamourie/-ye”, a Scots and perhaps even then archaic word for magic/magic spell.  Except for variant G, which, instead of the Gypsies casting their glamour/glamourie over her, has:  “They called their grandmother over.”

In an introductory note, Child writes that he collected it from the Roxburghe Ballads, a selection first published in 1847 (for more on this and its somewhat dubious history, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roxburghe_Ballads   and for more on the original collection, see:  https://ebba.english.ucsb.edu/page/roxburghe ), and which is derived from a mass of popular sheet music of the 17th and 18th centuries. 

I suppose one could say that “grandmother” simply shows that the word “glamour/glamourie”, from Scots, was simply misunderstood by whoever was behind variant G, but, remembering “My country dizzily”, I would suggest that it’s just as likely that someone misheard the word—and a new character was added to the ballad.  (For the ballad and its variants in Child’s edition, see:   https://archive.org/details/englishandscopt104chiluoft/page/60/mode/2up )

And this is certainly true for another ballad example, in which another character sprang suddenly into being.  This is from Child #181, “The Bonnie Earl of Moray” in which the narrator sings:

 “Ye Highlands and ye Lawlands,

Oh where have you been?

They have slain the Earl o’ Moray

And layd him on the green.”

and from which came that character—Lady Mon de Green (also written Lady Mondegreen).  And what’s interesting here for me is that this has become a general term for a misheard lyric, a “mondegreen”, but invented not by a linguist, but by a humorist, Sylvia Wright (1917-1981), and published in an article in Harper’s Magazine in 1954.    (See:  “The death of Lady Mondegreen” in November’s issue)  Wright explained that she, as a child, had—you guessed it—misheard that line in “The Bonnie Earl of Moray”—so you can see that childhood (mine, Wright’s) and orality can have the same effect.  (For much more—and I mean much– on the subject, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mondegreen )

But one more example—fitting for the season and what we might call a mondegreen with intent—in fact an entire song:

“Deck us all with Boston Charlie,
Walla Walla, Wash., an’ Kalamazoo!
Nora’s freezin’ on the trolley,
Swaller dollar cauliflower alley-garoo!

Don’t we know archaic barrel
Lullaby Lilla Boy, Louisville Lou?
Trolley Molly don’t love Harold,
Boola boola Pensacoola hullabaloo!

Bark us all bow-wows of folly,
Polly wolly cracker ‘n’ too-da-loo!
Donkey Bonny brays a carol,
Antelope Cantaloupe, ‘lope with you!

Hunky Dory’s pop is lolly,
Gaggin’ on the wagon, Willy, folly go through!
Chollie’s collie barks at Barrow,
Harum scarum five alarm bung-a-loo!

Dunk us all in bowls of barley,
Hinky dinky dink an’ polly voo!
Chilly Filly’s name is Chollie,
Chollie Filly’s jolly chilly view halloo!

Bark us all bow-wows of folly,
Double-bubble, toyland trouble! Woof, woof, woof!
Tizzy seas on melon collie!
Dibble-dabble, scribble-scrabble! Goof, goof, goof!”

As this is a well-known Christmas carol, I won’t supply either the original, or a translation (and how would you translate “Chollie’s collie barks at Barrow”?  or would you even want to?)  It is the work of the cartoonist/satirist Walt Kelly (1913-1973)

Kelly was the creator of the comic strip “Pogo” and it’s the characters from there who bring us this willfully misheard wonder—

You can listen to it here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SL0lPcNwRqQ and, with the lyrics above, join in.

As ever, thanks for reading.

Stay well,

Try to mishear something every day—it makes life…surprising,

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

Spinning a Tale

11 Wednesday Dec 2024

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As ever, dear readers, welcome.

“Cependant les fées commencèrent à faire leurs dons à la princesse. La plus jeune lui donna pour don qu’elle serait la plus belle personne du monde ; celle d’après, qu’elle aurait de l’esprit comme un ange ; la troisième, qu’elle aurait une grâce admirable à tout ce qu’elle ferait ; la quatrième, qu’elle danserait parfaitement bien ; la cinquième, qu’elle chanterait comme un rossignol ; et la sixième, qu’elle jouerait de toutes sortes d’instruments dans la dernière perfection. Le rang de la vieille fée étant venu, elle dit, en branlant la tête encore plus de dépit que de vieillesse, que la princesse se percerait la main d’un fuseau, et qu’elle en mourrait.”

“Nevertheless the fairies began to make their gifts to the princess.  The youngest gave her as a gift that she would be the most beautiful person in the world.  The next, that she would have the soul of an angel.  The third, that she would have an admirable grace in everything which she would do.  The fourth that she would play all manner of instruments to the utmost perfection.  The turn of the old fairy being come, she said, shaking her head more in spite than from age, that the princess would pierce her hand on a spindle and that she would die of it.”  (My translation, as with all of the text in this posting, based upon Feron’s 1902 edition of the Les Contes de Perrault which you can read here:  https://fr.wikisource.org/wiki/Contes_de_Perrault_(%C3%A9d._1902)/La_Belle_au_Bois_dormant )

You know this story—although you may know it by its English name, “Sleeping Beauty” and not by its original name “La Belle au Bois Dormant”—the “Beautiful Girl in the Sleeping Forest”—although that translation is wonderfully—and a little testily–argued over here:  https://forum.wordreference.com/threads/la-belle-au-bois-dormant.3158165/  For all that people joust over whether that present participle/adjective, “dormant” can modify “Belle”, I prefer the idea that, as Beauty has fallen asleep, so the whole world around her has joined in the enchantment, as the story says—and so even the woods are drowsing till the prince arrives.)

 This story first appeared in Charles Perrault’s (1628-1703)

 1697 collection Histoires ou Contes du Temps passé, avec des moralites—“Stories or Tales of Past Time, with Morals”, which sounds pretty dry—until you reach the subtitle:  Les Contes de ma Mere L’Oye—“The Tales of My Mother Goose” and suddenly we’ve passed into another Time Past entirely.

(As you can see, an early edition—1742—but not a first)

I’ve always loved the story, but, when I was small, there was one thing which I didn’t understand—  what was a “fuseau”—a “spindle”?

In my last posting, we had been briefly in Sam Gamgee’s uncle Andy’s rope walk

where we had been talking about how rope

 is made, with likening the twisting of the fibers

 to that of making thread.

(If you’d like to know more about making rope, have a look at this very informative WikiHow feature: https://www.wikihow.com/Make-Rope )

The simplest way to do this is to use a drop spindle—and here’s that “fuseau”–which allows gravity to do much of the work for you—

(Here’s the whole spindle)

(And here’s a WikiHow on spinning thread—which includes both a drop spindle and a spinning wheel:  https://www.wikihow.com/Spin-Wool  And there’s a YouTube video imbedded to make the process clearer.)

This is only a later part of the process of making cloth, which begins, of course, with shearing a sheep.

Then the fleece needs to be cleaned and the fibers need to be organized, with a pair of carding combs—

but here’s the whole process, in an 18th-century setting.

It’s a very labor-intensive process, as you can imagine, and you can see why the Industrial Revolution had, among its earliest inventions, the “Spinning Jenny”, which allowed one person to use a simple machine to produce numerous spools of thread at the same time, where a previous spinster (meaning someone who spins, not an unmarried woman, necessarily) could only produce one spool at a time and, at the time, it was said that it took five spinsters to keep a weaver busy.

(There was no “Jenny” by the way—it’s really “ginny”—18th-century Northeast English for “engine”—that is, in period technology, “machine”.)

In the story:

“Le roi, pour tâcher d’éviter le malheur annoncé par la vieille, fit publier aussitôt un édit par lequel il défendait à toutes personnes de filer au fuseau, ni d’avoir des fuseaux chez soi, sur peine de vie.”

“The king, to try to avoid the curse pronounced by the old fairy, immediately had an edict published by which he forbade anyone from spinning with a spindle, nor to have spindles in the home, on pain of death.” 

But, inevitably—this is a fairy tale, after all—when she is 15 or 16, the princess, exploring a family country house, discovers a room in which an old woman is using a spindle (and, surprisingly, unlike that which our suspicious modern minds would expect, the old woman is an innocent, as the text says that she simply hadn’t heard of the king’s proclamation) and, piercing her hand, the princess simply falls victim to the curse—and the counter-spell which puts her to sleep.

Why a spindle?  I’m sure that there are all sorts of Freudian explanations for this, but what I imagine Perrault—or whoever may have told the tale which he had once heard—if there ever was a real “ma Mere L’Oye”—thought was that, in the world of royalty, where clothes magically appeared in the hands of your servants,

(a much later image, but you get the idea)

a spindle might have seemed like a pretty—and novel—toy, as the princess exclaims, seeing the old woman at work:

“ ‘Ah ! que cela est joli !’ reprit la princesse ; ‘comment faites-vous ? donnez-moi que je voie si j’en ferais bien autant.’ “

“ ‘How pretty that is!…’How do you do it?  Give it to me so that I may see if I may do it as well.’ “

And, reaching for it, as she’s a little “etourdie”—“scatterbrained” (or, more gently, “thoughtless”)—

“elle s’en perça la main et tomba évanouie.”—“she pierced her hand and fainted.”

Now as the youngest fairy, who has hidden behind a curtain, sensing trouble when the old fairy appears, has decreed, a century will pass, and the country house and all in and around it—including the forest which surrounds it– will sleep.

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Stay well,

Avoid antagonizing elderly fairies,

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

PS

In this season of Tchaikovsky’s “Nutcracker”, don’t forget that he also wrote a “Sleeping Beauty” ballet, which has its own wonderful music, which you can hear—and see–here:   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w7qLg1lOfrw

Learning the Ropes

04 Wednesday Dec 2024

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As always, dear readers, welcome.

“At last they were brought to a halt.  The ridge took a sharper bend northward and was gashed by a deeper ravine.  On the farther side it reared up again, many fathoms at a single leap; a great grey cliff loomed before them, cut sheer down as if by a knife stroke.  They could go no further forwards, and must turn now either west or east.  But west would lead them only into more labour and delay, back towards the heart of the hills; east would take them to the outer precipice.” 

Frodo and Sam have been traveling away from the Anduin and their friends, headed for Mordor, even as Sam has said,

“ ‘What a fix!…That’s the one place in all the lands we’ve ever heard of that we don’t want to see any closer, and that’s the place we’re trying to get to!’ “

And now they’re in the area called Emyn Muil (translated by Paul Stack as “Drear Hills”—see: https://eldamo.org/index.html )

(This appears to be from Karen Wynn Fonstad’s The Atlas of Middle Earth, an invaluable book.)

which, to me, has always seemed volcanic, like this—

and Peter Jackson must have had a similar idea, as this part of his second film was set in the land near Mt. Ruapeha, an active volcano on New Zealand’s North Island—

Confronted by that ravine, Frodo has tried climbing down, only “…to come down with a jolt to his feet on a wider ledge not many yards lower down.”  Sam, helpless, shouts that he’ll come down, until Frodo replies:  “Wait!  You can’t do anything without a rope.”

 An approaching storm has darkened the air around them, but Frodo’s words bring a sudden light to him: 

“Rope!…Well, if I don’t deserve to be hung on the end of one as a warning to numbskulls!  You’re nowt but a ninnyhammer, Sam Gamgee:  that’s what the Gaffer said to me often enough, it being a word of his.  Rope!” 

And not ordinary rope, but Elvish rope:

“ ‘Maybe you remember them putting the ropes in the boats, as we started off in the Elvish country,’ “ says Sam.  “ ‘I took a fancy to it, and I stowed a coil in my pack… ‘It may be a help in many needs’ he said:  Haldir, or one of those folk.  And he spoke right.’ “

And so Sam “unslung his pack and rummaged in it.  There indeed at the bottom was a coil of the silken-grey rope made by the folk of Lorien.”

With it, Frodo is quickly up beside Sam and soon, using the rope, they reach the bottom of the ravine.

(Donato Giancola—you can see more of his impressive work here:  https://donatoarts.com/  Don’t forget to check out the dragons.)

But there’s a further problem:

“But Sam did not answer:  he was staring back up the cliff.  ‘Ninnyhammers!’ he said.  ‘Noodles!  My beautiful rope!  There it is tied to a stump and we’re at the bottom.  Just as nice a little stair for that stinking Gollum as we could leave.’ “

And then—

“ [Sam] looked up and gave one last pull to the rope as if in farewell.

To the complete surprise of both the hobbits it came loose.  Sam fell over, and the long grey coils slithered silently down on top of him.”

Frodo, of course, mocks Sam, who, hurt, replies:

“ ‘I may not be much good at climbing, Mr. Frodo…but I do know something about rope and about knots.  It’s in the family as you might say.  Why, my grand-dad, and my uncle Andy after him, him that was the Gaffer’s eldest brother, he had a rope-walk over by Tightfield many a year.’ “ (all of the above from The Two Towers, Book Four, Chapter 1, “The Taming of Smeagol”)

When you read the title of this posting, you’ll probably smile and say, “That means understanding how something works”, and you’d be right.  Imagine, however, that the expression began with someone press-ganged (forcibly drafted) into the British Navy during the Napoleonic era.

The Royal Navy’s pressgangs tried to kidnap actual sailors, usually from commercial vessels, but, to make up numbers, practically any male of over a certain age might do.

Once aboard (and incapable of escaping), the new crew member might be assigned any number of different duties, from cook

(Long John Silver, from Stevenson’s Treasure Island, was originally a cook)

to gunner,

but a major job was in handling the complicated power which made the ship move:  the sails and what controlled the sails, the rigging.  Many sailors were specifically trained to deal with the sails, but, in emergencies, it could even mean “all hands to the rigging!”  (To learn more about how complex this process is, see this 1848 The Art of Rigging:  https://archive.org/details/artrigging00steegoog/page/n4/mode/2up  based upon David Steel’s 1794 2-volume work.)

An 18th-century naval frigate (smaller war ship), like this one, HMS Pomone,

required, as you can imagine, a vast amount of rope for its rigging, and the biggest ships, like HMS Victory,

needed the equivalent of over 30 miles (48km+) of the stuff, so “learning the ropes” was clearly never an easy job for a beginning  (and, if pressganged, probably very reluctant) sailor! 

To provide that rope, there were what Sam’s grandfather and uncle had—ropewalks—and long walks they could be, like this one, from the Chatham dockyards in England.

To make rope, one began with the fibers of the hemp plant

and twisted and stretched them just as is done with wool to make woolen thread. 

The difference is that rope is commonly much longer than thread, as is the case with the ropes needed for HMS Victory’s rigging and so ropewalks had to be long enough to produce long lines.  (It’s a complicated process so, for more on this, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ropewalk )

It might seem puzzling, looking at that ropewalk, and thinking about HMS Victory, why hobbits, who certainly weren’t sailors (think:  Frodo’s parents died in what must have been a rowboat accident on the Brandywine—see The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 1, “A Long-Expected Party” for gossip on the subject) would have a ropewalk, but we might ask the same question of the elves of Lorien, which was far from the sea, even though elves did take ship at the Grey Havens,

Departure at the Grey Havens, by Ted Nasmith

(Ted Nasmith)

to sail westwards.  The answer might be, as Sam and Frodo found out, in Haldir’s words, “It may be a help in many needs” and even if one needs and uses rope, it isn’t necessary for most people to require Victory’s 30 miles of the stuff. 

But then there’s that other question:  if Sam was as familiar with rope as he claimed, and an expert at knot-tying, why did that elvish rope come tumbling down on his head after supporting the two hobbits on their climb?

Thanks for reading, as always.

Stay well,

Considering solving knotty rope problems as Alexander did, with the Gordian knot,

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

You’ve Got Mail

27 Wednesday Nov 2024

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Dear readers, welcome, as ever.

Although that title has been used formerly elsewhere,

this posting isn’t about a romcom, but, instead, comes from a comment by Tolkien in a letter to Rhona Beare:

“The Rohirrim were not ‘medieval’ in our sense.  The styles of the Bayeux Tapestry (made in England) fit them well enough, if one remembers that the kind of tennis-nets [the] soldiers seem to have on are only a clumsy conventional sign for chain-mail of small rings.”  (Letter to Rhona Beare, 14 October, 1958, Letters, 401.)

“Tennis-nets”?

Let’s start off with the Bayeux Tapestry.

In fact, it’s not a tapestry at all.  Here’s a tapestry—

(3rd quarter 15th-century tapestry from “Pays-Bas meridionnaux”—“southern lowlands”—that is, the Netherlands, modern Belgium, and even northernmost France at the time this tapestry was made)

Tapestries are woven on looms. 

The Bayeux Tapestry is actually a 230-foot long by 20 inch high (70.1m. by 50.8cm) embroidery, in which a piece of cloth has a design plotted on the cloth and the design then stitched on—like this—

Whether it was made in England, as Tolkien very confidently asserts, or in Normandy is a question over which scholars tussle, but the subject is definitely Norman, as it depicts the conquest of southern Anglo-Saxon England by the Normans in 1066, including a little propaganda suggesting that the Anglo-Saxon king, Harold Godwinson, had violated a sacred oath in not handing the throne over to William, the Duke of Normandy, but, instead, taking it for himself (Harold is the one on the right, with the droopy mustache, William on the left, on the throne).

Those “tennis-nets”, which do, in fact, look a little like tennis nets,

are, as JRRT says, chain mail, which, in this image, both Anglo-Saxons (on foot on the left) and Norman (mounted, on the right) are wearing.  For a modern reconstruction—

(by Gerry Embleton, one of my favorite contemporary English military artists)

Seen up close, the mail can look like tiny fragments of chain, linked together—

Before there was plate armor of the kind you might see in a museum or in some films with medieval themes,

there were other methods to protect the body, including various kinds of lamellar (scale) armor—little overlapping plates sewn onto a backing—

and even overlapping metal strips strung together (the Roman lorica segmentata)—

the ancient Celts, who were wonderful metal-workers, had devised chain-mail

(Angus McBride)

which the Romans, ever on the lookout for better military technology, then adopted.

(Angus Mcbride again—and I really like the little sketch on the lower left-hand corner, giving you just a hint of how the artist worked).

Even when plate began to appear, mail was still used under certain sections of it, to allow for flexibility,

and foot soldiers might continue to wear it, as full plate was expensive.

(another Gerry Embleton)

What JRRT is imagining is that the Rohirrim would, basically, look like 11th-century Normans.

(one more Gerry Embleton)

And this is what we’re to visualize when it comes to that “mithril shirt” which, once upon a time, Thorin had given to Bilbo—

“ ‘Mr. Baggins!’ he cried.  ‘Here is the first payment of your reward!  Cast off your old coat and put on this!’

With that he put on Bilbo a small coat of mail, wrought for some young elf-prince long ago.  It was of silver-steel, which the elves call mithril…” (The Hobbit, Chapter 13, “Not At Home”)

(Alan Lee)

And, when an orc attacks Frodo in the Chamber of Records in Moria,

(Angus McBride again)

It’s no wonder that Frodo, to his friends’ surprise says, “ ‘I am all right…I can walk.  Put me down!”

since he is wearing that mithril coat passed on to him by Bilbo in Rivendell, although, when Gandalf mentions mithril and Bilbo’s coat in particular—

“ ‘I wonder what has become of it?  Gathering dust still in Michel Delving Mathom-house, I suppose.’”

And Gimli adds,

“ ‘What?…A corselet of Moria-silver?  That was a kingly gift!’ “

And Gandalf replies,

“ ‘Yes…I never told him, but its worth was greater than the value of the whole Shire and everything in it.’”

 it’s Frodo who is surprised—

“…he felt staggered to think that he had been walking about with the price of the Shire under his jacket.” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 4, “A Journey in the Dark”)

Should you want to own a chain mail shirt of your own,

you can find one on line, but it’s not mithril, of course, nor made for a young elf-prince, but, at $87.00 (US), you can acquire one for far less than the price of the Shire.  Perhaps for Christmas?

Thanks, as ever, for reading.

Stay well,

Happy Thanksgiving, if you’re in a place where people celebrate it as a formal holiday, although I hope that they’re thankful all year round,

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

Drums (but no guns)

20 Wednesday Nov 2024

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Dear readers, welcome, as always.

JRRT was well aware of anachronisms and, in his 1966 revision of The Hobbit, he replaced certain items.  Certain ones remained, however, including:

“…In that last hour Beorn himself had appeared—no one knew how or from where.  He came alone, and in bear’s shape; and he seemed to have grown almost to giant-size in his wrath.

The roar of his voice was like drums and guns…”  (The Hobbit, Chapter 18, “The Return Journey”)

This is the narrator speaking and it has been argued, quite plausibly, to my mind, that he’s someone speaking in the 1930s, telling a tale to his children, and therefore is perfectly justified in using things which are normal in his own time period, as out of place as they might be in Bilbo’s world.  (Although Gandalf is known for his fireworks,

meaning that gunpowder is available, and, as we know from explosions at Helm’s Deep and the Causeways Forts, Saruman and Sauron both appear to use some sort of explosive.)

(This is by the brilliant Grant Davis, a Lego wizard—you can read something about him here:  https://www.georgefox.edu/journalonline/summer19/feature/building-blocks.html )

Drums, however, are a different matter and, when it comes to Tolkien, I always immediately think of

“…We cannot get out.  The end comes, and then drums, drums in the deep.”  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 5, “The Bridge at Khazad-dum”)

Gandalf has been reading to the Fellowship from a ruined diary of the reoccupation of Moria by the dwarves

as they sit in what was once the Chamber of Records, having no idea that, very soon, they could be duplicating the same doomed words as orcs attack them.

(Angus McBride)

“Gandalf had hardly spoken these words, when there came a great noise:  a rolling Boom that seemed to come from depths far below, and to tremble in the stone at their feet.  They sprang towards the door in alarm.  Doom, doom it rolled again, as if huge hands were turning the very caverns of Moria into a vast drum.  Then there came an echoing blast:  a great horn was blown in the hall, and answering horns and harsh cries were heard farther off.  There was a hurrying sound of many feet.

‘They are coming!’ cried Legolas.

‘We cannot get out,’ said Gimli.

‘Trapped!’ cried Gandalf.  ‘Why did I delay?  Here we are, caught, just as they were before.  But I was not here then.  We will see what—‘

Doom, doom came the drum-beat and the walls shook.”

And this booming sound will pursue the company all the way to the Bridge of Khazad-dum itself.

(Alan Lee)

We never see this drum, but I’ve always wondered what it and other drums used by the orcs and other opponents of the Fellowship and their friends might have looked like and, if possible, sounded like.

Certainly whatever the orcs are using here must be rather large to penetrate the stone walls of Moria.

My first choice might be o-daiko, a Japanese drum which can be as big as six feet in diameter

and I’ve seen mention of one which is almost ten feet.  It is played with two large, thick wooden sticks, called bachi,

and has been used for everything from folk festivals to war to theatre.  By itself, it has a deep boom, but played in groups…

You can read about it here:   https://instrumentsoftheworld.com/instrument/131-Odaiko.html  and hear and watch three drummers here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C7HL5wYqAbU  (And perhaps I should add some sort of warning here:  they’re not only loud, but frenzied and, well, the sound can carry you away…)

And what about the Haradrim?  Here’s how they are depicted in the Jackson films—

(They are wearing, to me, a very odd helmet/mask, making them look a little like mechanical pandas—which is, I admit, a pretty terrifying thought!)

(By the wonderfully creative Patrick Lawrence.  You can see more of his work here:  https://pwlawrence.com/ )

but I’ve always pictured them as more like the Ottoman Turks, the sort who came to dominate southeastern Europe from the 14th century on, captured Constantinople in 1453,

and almost captured Vienna twice—in 1529 and again in 1683.

Their terror weapon—besides their fearsome reputation—was their music, often called mehter in the West. 

Drums, cymbals, wind and brass instruments combined to make a very fierce sound—as you can hear here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktBSoeSmMio  and you can read more about them here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ottoman_military_band )

And I’d add to all of this booming racket one more sound from the enemy:

“For Anduin, from the bend at the Harlond, so flowed that from the City men could look down it lengthwise for some leagues, and the far sighted could see any ships that approached.  And looking thither they cried in dismay; for black against the glittering stream they beheld a fleet borne up on the wind:  dromonds, and ships of great draught with many oars, and with black sails bellying in the breeze.”  (The Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter 6, “The Battle of the Pelennor Fields”)

Here’s a dromond (this is a version of the word dromon, “runner”, the name of the standard Byzantine warship)

and you’ll notice that it is an oared vessel, as are those which JRRT describes  as“ships of great draught”.  To coordinate the oars, a basic tempo must be kept and that would mean, traditionally, a drum—and a fairly large one, too, to carry the rhythm across the ship, rather like the cartoons we always see of Roman galleys, like this from the French comic Asterix—

You can see/hear a classic rowing scene here (from the 1959 Ben Hur):  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ax7wcShvrus

So, as advertised in the title of this posting, no guns, but certainly lots of drums—perhaps Howard Shore would consider a second edition of his score?

Thanks, as ever, for reading.

Stay well,

If rammed, be sure to have your life jacket handy (and plan to save the Roman admiral, as Ben Hur does),

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

PS

I couldn’t resist adding this image—surely the Haradrim from the far south would have had camels—and kettle drums?

(not sure of the artist–perhaps Richard Hook?)

Watery Connections?

13 Wednesday Nov 2024

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As ever, dear readers, welcome.

Dennis, the politicized peasant,

 has something to say:

“ARTHUR: I am your king!

WOMAN: Well, I didn’t vote for you.

ARTHUR: You don’t vote for kings.

WOMAN: Well, how did you become King, then?

ARTHUR: The Lady of the Lake,…

[angels sing]

…her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water signifying by Divine Providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur.

[singing stops]

That is why I am your king!

DENNIS: Listen. Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.

ARTHUR: Be quiet!

DENNIS: Well, but you can’t expect to wield supreme executive power just ’cause some watery tart threw a sword at you!”  (Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Scene 3, “Repression is Nine Tenths of the Law?”  which you can read here:  http://www.montypython.50webs.com/scripts/Holy_Grail/Scene3.htm  

In case you are wondering what “samite” is, see

and:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samite

The Pythons, by the way, look to be mocking lines from “The Passing of Arthur”, a poem in Tennyson’s long series of Arthurian poems Idylls of the King here, where the dying Arthur commands his one surviving knight, Sir Bedivere, to toss his sword, Excalibur, into the local lake.  Bedivere is tempted not to, but, on his third try, he does so and

“So flashed and fell the brand Excalibur:
But ere he dipt the surface, rose an arm
Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful,
And caught him by the hilt, and brandished him
Three times, and drew him under in the mere.”

For the whole of the poem see:  https://d.lib.rochester.edu/camelot/text/tennyson-passing-of-arthur   Arthur had received the sword from this same Lady in “The Coming of Arthur”, which you can read here:  https://d.lib.rochester.edu/camelot/text/tennyson-coming-of-arthur  These are both drawn from the excellent Arthurian website which, if you don’t know it and are interested in Arthur, you need to:  https://d.lib.rochester.edu/camelot-project  There’s some confusion about Arthur and his swords, which you can read about here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Excalibur )

“Strange women lying in ponds” is the Pythons’ way of mentioning a rather common phenomenon we see in various forms both in folklore and in literature which is influenced by it, everything from classical water nymphs, naiads,

to mermaids

to the Rhinemaidens (Rheintoechter—“Rhine Daughters”) who appear in the “Ring Cycle”, Der Ring des Nibelungen, the 4-part series of Germanic mythological operas of Richard Wagner (1813-1883).

(Here chatting with the trickster god, Loge, an illustration by Arthur Rackham, 1867-1939.  You can see all of his illustrations to Wagner’s story here:  https://archive.org/details/rhinegoldvalkyri00wagn )

They are the guardians of the mysterious, but powerful “Rheingold”

which the dwarf, Alberich,

steals from them and fashions into a ring containing all the power of the original gold, which would enable its possessor to rule the world.

With another Ring in mind, there is, I would suggest, a bit more than a faint resemblance here between Wagner’s story and Tolkien’s, although Tolkien, seemingly fairly knowledgeable about Wagner’s work from early in his school days (see Carpenter Tolkien, 52) was very clear about just how faint that resemblance was as far as he was concerned:

“Both rings were round, and there the resemblance ceases.”  (from a letter to Allen & Unwin, 23 February, 1961, Letters, 436)

But might there be at least a little more similarity than that?

One fact is obvious:  Tolkien’s is a circlet which embodies tremendous power, just as the Nibelungen ring does, although that power wasn’t in the material from which it was made, but in the maker, Sauron. 

Alberich’s ring, like Sauron’s, has not remained with him, coming first into the possession of the god Wotan, and then into the possession of a dragon, Fafner (formerly a giant), then into that of his killer,  Siegfried (who also happens to be Wotan’s grandson), and then into that of the Valkyrie, Bruennhilde, Siegfried’s lover, who, leaping onto Siegfried’s funeral pyre, leaves the Ring to be collected from her ashes by the Rhinemaidens while, meanwhile, there is a cataclysm in the background and Valhalla, the home of the gods, is destroyed, along with the gods—“die Goetterdaemmerung”—literally “the gods’ dusk”. 

That ring isn’t destroyed, but we can certainly note that combination of the ring changing hands and huge destruction associated with that act—

“And even as he spoke the earth rocked beneath their feet.  Then rising swiftly up, far above the Towers of the Black Gate, high above the mountains, a vast soaring darkness sprang into the sky, flickering with fire.  The earth groaned and quaked.  The Towers of the Teeth swayed, tottered and fell down; the mighty rampart crumbled; the Black Gate was hurled in ruin; and from far away, now dim, now growing, now mounting to the clouds, there came a drumming rumble, a roar, a long echoing roll of ruinous noise.”  (The Return of the King, Book Six, Chapter 4, “The Field of Cormallen”)

(Ted Nasmith)

As well, coming back to the beginning of this posting, there is also a water association.  In fact, two:

1. after the defeat of Sauron at the foot of Orodruin, in which Isildur took the Ring from Sauron:

“…It fell into the Great River, Anduin, and vanished.  For Isildur was marching north along the east bank of the River, and near the Gladden Fields he was waylaid by the Orcs of the Mountains, and almost all his folk were slain.  He leaped into the waters, but the Ring slipped from his finger as he swam, and there the Orcs saw him and killed him with arrows…And there in the dark pools amid the Gladden Fields…the Ring passed out of knowledge and legend…”

2. but, many years later, two “akin to the fathers of the fathers of the Stoors”

“…took a boat and went down to the Gladden Fields…There Smeagol got out and went nosing about the banks but Deagol sat in the boat and fished.  Suddenly a great fish took his hook, and before he knew where he was, he was dragged out and down into the water, to the bottom.  Then he let go of his line, for he thought he saw something shining in the river-bed; and holding his breath he grabbed at it.

Then up he came spluttering, with weeds in his hair and a handful of mud; and he swam to the bank.  And behold!  when he washed the mud away, there in his hand lay a beautiful golden ring…” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 2, “The Shadow of the Past”)

To steal the Rhinegold from the Rhinemaidens, Alberich the dwarf has dived into the Rhine.

His son, Hagen, trying to regain the ring, is dragged into the river and drowned by them, even as they keep the ring.

Might we imagine, then, that the death of Gollum and all which precedes it is—perhaps—somehow a bit more related to Wagner’s story than JRRT was comfortable with?

(Ted Nasmith)

As ever, thanks for reading.

Stay well,

Stay dry,

And remember that there’s always

MTCIDC

O