On this day, 75 years ago, 'Snowwhite' was screened for the first time in Los Angeles.

On this day in history… albeit only a year ago, the BBC evicted us from their domain, and look what a mess they’re in now…. And it’s not finished yet…

normanhurst wrote:

On this day in history… albeit only a year ago, the BBC

It seems that the final post on the History Hub was a one-line post by Cass:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/mbhistory/NF2233809?thread=8286652&latest=1#p111254901

His first, I imagine.

December 23rd 1888 - Van Gogh is asked to lend an ear but the request loses something in translation ...

On this day in history 1914..., a German plane drops bombs on Dover England… The bi-plane which dropped a bomb on Tommy Terson's cabbage-patch in Dover on Christmas Eve 1914 represented the first attack on mainland Britain for centuries.

Three things surprise me about that Norman:

Firstly that Germany was technically able and sufficiently motivated to make a successful heavier-than-air aircraft attack on Britain as early as 1914.

Secondly that they felt it advisable to make the attack at all, presumably done purely for propaganda reasons it being Christmas eve – but the war was only 4 months old and I didn’t think it had quite got bogged down into the really bitter conflict it was to become.

Thirdly, while I am not refuting your statement that it "represented the first attack on mainland Britain for centuries", I am surprised if that is really true. If one discounts terrorist attacks (such as Fenian bombs) I cannot actually recall any others, except maybe the French "landing" at Fishguard, Wales during the Napoleonic Wars and even there I'm not sure any shots were ever fired.

But is it really the first attack for centuries? Were no ports, or coastal towns ever bombarded or even just shot at during any of the 18th century Anglo-French Wars? As I say I can't actually think of any examples - I'm just surprised that's all.

EDIT :

The Channel Islands were certainly attacked and in 1781 the French landed a sizeable force on Jersey. After several skirmishes and some bitter street fighting in St Helier, the invasion was eventually repulsed by the Jersey milita and British garirison troops. But then of course the Channel Islands are not really Britain. And you did say "mainland" Britain too.

Sure meles… I was as surprised as you, and I thought any bombing would have been from a dirigible airship. All I can say is… we live and learn.
1 http://www.dover-kent.co.uk/history/ww1c_bombing.htm
2 http://1914-1918.invisionzone.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=121574
3 http://www.doverwarmemorialproject.org.uk/Casualties/Civilians/WW1/Injuries%20in%20Dover.htm
4 but this one contradicts the others with a date of the 21st December 1914 http://maltonians.maltonschool.org/HistoryWeb/wars/ww1/bombing.html

How’s it going in your mountain retreat… still basking in the sunshine out on the veranda, or like us poor souls drawn up close to a fire roaring up the chimney? Have a happy one… and whatever takes your fancy from behind the bar…

Cheer’s mate…

Meles… for your added interest…. (maybe)
I saw a small memorial stone in Hartlepool commemorating this raid and the first British soldier to be killed in this action… I took a photo of it for more or less the same reasons you have already stated… wanting to check it out later, but I see in the link below, the same photo is represented…

‘The raid on Scarborough, Hartlepool and Whitby, which took place on 16 December 1914, was an attack by the Imperial German Navy on the British seaport towns of Scarborough, Hartlepool, West Hartlepool, and Whitby. The attack resulted in 137 fatalities and 592 casualties, many of which were civilians. The attack resulted in public outrage towards the German navy for an attack against civilians, and against the Royal Navy for its failure to prevent the raid.’


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raid_on_Scarborough,_Hartlepool_and_Whitby

Meles meles wrote:

I cannot actually recall any others, except maybe the French "landing" at Fishguard, Wales during the Napoleonic Wars and even there I'm not sure any shots were ever fired.

There was also the famous 'invasion of Britain' by John Paul Jones and the USS Ranger on Whitehaven in Cumberland during the War of American Independence. The 'attack', however, was really just a 'raid' and even that was more famous than actual resulting in the partial burning of one coal-ship in the harbour.

Still one coal-ship in harbour is a bit more significant than a few WW1 cabbages in Tommy Terson's garden in Dover, no?

But I'd forgotten the German naval shelling of Scarborough and Whitby. And of course there was also the incident when the Hull fishing fleet was attacked by the Russian Baltic Fleet during the Russo-Japanese War (21 October 1904, the Russians mistook the british fishing boats for a squadron of Japanese torpedo boats ... in the North Sea?! Duh!) ... but again in this case British ships were attacked rather than the British mainland, and of course Britain and Russia weren't even at war at the time!

EDIT :

Oh and I forgot to add, re the German east coast raid, I have an old pictorial history/news book inherited from my grand-parents which, if I remember correctly, has photos of the damage from that attack and also from the earlier Russian fiasco. The book is called, "The Pageant of the Century" ..... published in 1933 it was intended to be the first volume in a series of three, the planned series rather over-optimistically aiming to be a complete photographic record of the 20 century.

I'll see if I can dig it out and post some of the photos.

On this day in history 25th December 1066… William the Conqueror, the first Norman King of England, was crowned at Westminster Abbey. To press his claim to the English crown, William had invaded England in October 1066, leading his army to victory over the English forces of King Harold Godwinson at the Battle of Hastings.

on this day in 2011 a twinke of an idea was born, the result no doubt of a lot of hard work. with a heave and a push... Res Historica was born... happy first birthday and many more to come... many thanks to Nordmann.

No Norm, Res may have been born a year ago but as we all, I hope, know, it must have been conceived some time before that. Was Katy host the angel who imparted to nordmann the Good News that he was up the duff? If a virgin birth is produced by a male is it still parthenogenesis or does it have a special name? Should I stop drinking now?

I should make that the last red and then change to the Irn-Bru.

Despite Res etc. being born of the Immaculate Conception… even I know there must have been a gestation period… I like the idea of Katy host being the angle that imparted or impregnated Nordmann and got him in the Christmas pudding club.

Sounds a better prospect than Andrew host, in any case.

Actually the mulling over period was what lasted longest. Gestation was a few hours, most of which was used to design the banner with Microsoft Paint (no expense spared on this site!).

You must be very pleased with the results… I’m sure we all are; don’t think it’s not appreciated.

On this day in history 26-12-1943 The German battleship Scharnhorst is sunk by British ships in an Arctic fight.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nP0Wx_d1QO4

Here's one which surprised me:

1906 - World's first feature film, an Australian made epic, The Story of the Kelly Gang, was screened in Melbourne.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Story_of_the_Kelly_Gang

December 26th 1860. The first ever football (soccer) game played between two clubs - Sheffield FC and Hallam FC - took place at Hallam's Sandygate Lane pitch (the oldest football ground in the world). As pioneers in the foundation of the FA and in formulating its rules as time progressed Sheffield FC players also hold the distinction of having taken the first ever corner kick, first ever throw-in, first ever free kick, used the first ever crossbar and, though disputed by Hallam, the first ever "floodlights" (braziers lit at intervals around the field).

Founded in 1857 the club spent three years playing what were essentially demonstration matches between its own members, showing an increasingly enthusiastic audience that the rules devised initially by Nathaniel Creswick and William Prest could indeed transform what had been a mob free-for-all in which the ball was almost incidental into a structured, exciting and eminently feasible option for young working class men seeking a sporting alternative to athletics. Nearby Hallam was the first town to respond in kind and so, on a cold Boxing Day afternoon in 1860, the world's first two football clubs (as yet with no official name for their sport) clashed for the first time in a derby rivalry that exists to this day.

For the record - Sheffield won 2-0.

One part of the game that Sheffield and their new local rivals pioneered was "butting" the ball, not a technique mentioned in the FA's first rules written in 1863. In 1866 however Sheffield FC played their first inter-city encounter, a match against London FC in Battersea. Initially their "butting" had the London opposition and spectators in paroxysms of laughter. By the second half however the smiles had been wiped from opposition faces and the London lads were obliged to give themselves a crash-course in the technique just to avoid losing by a landslide. Heading the ball was hastily appended to the FA rules.



An early Sheffield FC line-up


In 1885 when professionalism entered the sport Sheffield and Hallam's stars waned significantly, their amateur status meaning they could never again compete at the top level. Hallam are currently mid-table in the Baris Northern Counties East League Division One, while Sheffield share a similar position in the Evo-Stik Northern Premier League Division One South.

So if Sheffield won, they must have scored the first ever goal in a match between two clubs as well?

Quote :

the Evo-Stik Northern Premier League Division One South.

That's not to be sniffed at.




Sorry, sorry, cracker over dose.

A sea voyage with profound repercussions began from Plymouth, Devon, on 27th December 1831.

Originally scheduled for September that year, delays in fitting out, then with admiralty bureaucracy and finally due to drunkenness on the crew's part over the christmas meant that it was a wintry embarkation for a young man making his first ever ocean voyage that day. And nor was this the maiden voyage this recently graduated student had anticipated. Originally the plan had been to travel with some classmates to Tenerife, then one of the more accessible areas to England for studying tropical fauna and flora, but some string-pulling by senior relatives such as Josiah Wedgewood, the pottery baron, had secured him a position as "gentleman companion" on board the now much delayed second voyage of HMS Beagle under captain Robert Fitzroy.

If Charles Darwin praised the good fortune which had secured him his position then Fitzroy must surely have regretted his own. Having commanded the ship on its first voyage after the suicide of its original captain and then repaying the faith placed in him by ably steering the ship through travails ranging from severe weather to piracy, Fitzroy had hoped to utilise the renown he'd gained on his return to England to embark on a political career and, hopefully, devote his remaining time and resources to his first love - meteorology. A failed candidature as MP for Ipswich in 1831 however was followed by news that his second wish - to head up a missionary expedition to Africa - had also been vetoed. It was a disappointed Fitzroy who reluctantly but gratefully accepted captaincy of The Beagle for the second time, a position gained for him by his "kind uncle" the Duke of Grafton.

Darwin had no specific function on board the ship - as "companion" to the captain his primary role over the scheduled two years was to provide Fitzroy with friendly and interesting conversation at dinner - but from the outset both men understood that the young graduate could pursue his scientific interests, which after all overlapped significantly with the captain's own commission. However as two years stretched into a third, then a fourth, and even a fifth year the relationship between the two "companions" became strained at times, to put it mildly, mainly thanks to Fitzroy's increasingly volatile and erratic mood swings. To both men's credit however they retained and even enhanced their respective professional competencies throughout the voyage.



Fitzroy came home with an established reputation for command which first secured him the unenviable position of Governor of New Zealand, taking office during the Maori War and with little or no backing from his Whitehall masters. Though unsuccessful in resolving that dispute he returned with no disgrace attached to his name and became superintendent in charge of the Navy's Woolwich dockyards. It was to be as an innovative and respected meteorologist however that he was to leave his greatest mark on history (everyday terms such as "weather forecast" and even "gale warning" were first coined by Fitzroy).

Darwin came home with literally hundreds of thousands of notes and observations on the flora, fauna and geology of the southern hemisphere that he had meticulously recorded during his five years at sea. These were to later form the foundation of his scientific theory on the origin of species, an occasion which led to the two, now elderly, men's last meeting - at the Oxford debate in 1860 during which Darwin's revolutionary theory was first publicly discussed. Fitzroy, a member of the huge audience packed into the chamber was reported to have stood up and "lifting an immense Bible first with both and afterwards with one hand over his head, solemnly implored the audience to believe God rather than man". He was shouted down and left the room - and public life - behind him, beginning an abject spiral into depression, poverty and self-perceived ignominy which would culminate five years later in his tragic suicide.

Charles Darwin's reputation on the other hand requires no reiteration.

Fitzroy wasn't popular with the European settlers in NZ, especially after the Wairau Affray when he sided with Maori who had killed 30 Europeans while suffering 6 losses themselves. He said the settlers brought it on themselves buying the land illegally. This didn't go down so well at the time, but reads quite well these days. (Thought, of course, if you were one of the people terrified of being tomahawked you might feel quite differently.)

1901: The Commonwealth of Australia is inaugurated: New Zealand was invited to join, but declined, for which most of us are very grateful, even if we might have been financially better off.

And in 1170: Thomas Becket killed in Canterbury Cathedral.

Quote :

It was to be as an innovative and respected meteorologist however that he was to leave his greatest mark on history

And he is now commemorated every night, after 'Sailing By'.

French mathematician Urbain Jean Joseph Le Verrier "discovers" the planet Vulcan on January 2nd 1860 by calculating anomalies in Mercury's orbit. His findings support a previous "sighting" of the planet - a small one inside Mercury's orbit, hence its fiery name - by astronomer Edmond Modeste Lescarbault, who in turn was merely corroborating other famous sightings, most notably by the German astronomers Gruithuisen and Pastorff. Within months of Le Verier's published findings - for which he received the Legion d'honneur - further sightings of the planet's transit across the sun were being reported by amateur and professional astronomers alike.



Between 1860 and 1915 therefore the world (with the exception of some occasional kill-joy astronomers) was quite happy to include Vulcan in diagrams of the known solar system. Speculation about its mass, the nature of its surface, and even what life forms might be found on it, was as rife in academic journals as it was in "penny dreadfuls" and pulp fiction. As late as 1914 the respected Scottish heliometrist David Gill felt obliged to include Vulcan in his final contribution to the famous "Carte du Ciel" before his death.

Then along came Einstein - or more particularly his Theory of Relativity. This new approach to assessing gravitational effect not only explained Mercury's previously mysterious erratic orbit but also predicted it much more accurately without the need for a Vulcan in the equation at all. In fact Vulcan, had it existed, would have actually upset what Einstein had just so wonderfully and accurately predicted about the nature of the universe itself. There was no middle ground. Either Einstein and the entire universe or little Vulcan had to go. Until Gene Rodenberry's "Star Trek" therefore, the planet disappeared completely from our collective consciousness, and thanks to Gene only reappeared as a fictional planet rather over-reliant on logic in a solar system far, far away.

For a while at least. Le Verrier may have died in 1877 convinced he had added another celestial orb to our solar system, an error that left his many honours and his reputation posthumously tarnished, and many astronomers might later have experienced quite a bit of egg on face when Einstein's theory was published, but in recent years the quest for Vulcan has taken on a new lease of life. Not as a planet this time, but as a hitherto unmapped asteroid belt. Refinements to Einstein's calculations, it appears, have opened a door back into Le Verrier's original deductions and found that what lay amongst his equations and deductions based on physical mechanics might not have been so skewey after all.

Live long and prosper!

January 3rd 954, and Alberic II of Spoleto lies on his deathbed. Son of the infamous Marozia and either her first husband Alberic I or her lover Pope Sergius III, half (or maybe full) brother to the late Pope John XI (one of the Saeculum Obscurum's "pornocratic" bishops of Rome), and the man who once incited a Roman mob to depose his stepfather King Hugh of Italy and slap his mother in prison on their wedding day (they were aiming to have him blinded), Alberic must now decide between further outrage or repentance for his sins before he meets his maker later in the day. Being Alberic he opts for the former of course and decides to nominate his son Octavianus for the top job in the Papal See before promptly snuffing it.

The deathwish of a regent, especially one whose family practically owns the Vatican (as well as bankrolling most of Italy's different ruling dynasties), is duly honoured and when the vacancy next arises in December 955 Octavianus (who is now somewhere between 18 and 25 years of age) dons the mantle of Pope John XII and begins a nine year reign of disastrous military ventures, profiteering, licentiousness and sexual promiscuity in which the Vatican becomes widely referred to amongst diplomats as "Octavian's Brothel" and, thanks to Octavian also being Princeps of Rome with the power to collect taxes, the Papal See goes from bankruptcy to the single richest corporation in the world - a wealth which it has scrupulously guarded ever since.



The "official" portrait of young John. Either he's been intentionally aged
in the picture for respectability purposes or else let this be a lesson to
all 25-year-olds with a high libido and a fondness for the hard stuff!

January 7th seems to have been a time for a variety of firsts.

1610: the first three moons of Jupiter discovered by Galileo Galilei.
1714: the typewriter is first patented by Henry Mill.
1785: the first flight across the English Channel is carried out in a balloon.
1797: the modern Italian flag is first used.
1914: the first steamboat passes through the Panama Canal.
1927: the Harlem Globetrotters basketball team play their first game in Illinois.
1929: comic strips Buck Rogers and Tarzan first appear.
1931: Guy Menzies makes the first non-stop solo trans-Tasman flight. He crash-landed almost 12 years after take-off in a West Coast beach, about two hours from where I used to live. Menzies had fudged his plans as his parents would not have approved (nor perhaps would the authorities). His landing was greeted with amazement by the inhabitants of the little town of Hari Hari where he came down. A Historic Places site http://www.historic.org.nz/TheRegister/RegisterSearch/RegisterResults.aspx?RID=7637 says: A quite overwhelming welcome that was accorded Menzies from Harihari to Hokitika and back after his landing is still reflected in local people's pride in their connection with this historic event, one of the most remarkable in the area's history. It would be fair to say that the aviator has greater fame in Harihari than in his own country where Kingsford-Smith is a national hero and Menzies is comparatively unknown.

I don't know how Menzies pronounced his name but here he is called Menzeez. NZers barely recognise the pronunciation Mingeez.

1934: Flash Gordon first published.
1944: Production of first American jet fighter announced.
1949: First photo of genes takenat the University of Southern California.

January 9th 1959, and the world is first acquainted with ...

On this day, a dreadful day in history… 9th January 1799 Income tax was introduced into Britain by William Pitt the Younger, to raise funds for the Napoleonic War. The rate was two shillings in the pound.

The Napoleonic Wars ended following Napoleon's final defeat at Waterloo on 18 June 1815 and the Second Treaty of Paris, but we are still lumbered with that damned tax.

Another one for yesterday - January 9th 1863 - the first stretch of the London Underground was opened.

Good BBC video here:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-20968919

The 14th January 1900 saw the premiere of Puccini's "Tosca" in Rome. As operas go there are few quite as tragic for the cast - all four leading characters die a violent (though very musical) death in ACT III.

This aria is always sung with that extra little bit of passion by all sopranos who feel a tad hard-done-by in life, bless 'em (mind you, that's nearly all of them), as Tosca wonders aloud what the f**k she's done wrong in life that god should be on her case with such a vengeance!



I lived for art, I lived for love,
I never harmed a living soul!
With a discreet hand
I relieved all misfortunes I encountered.
Always with sincere faith
my prayer
rose to the holy tabernacles.
Always with sincere faith
I decorated the altars with flowers.
In this hour of grief,
why, why, Lord,
why do you reward me thus?
I donated jewels to the Madonna's mantle,
and offered songs to the stars and heaven,
which thus shone with more beauty.
In this hour of grief,
why, why, Lord,
ah, why do you reward me thus?

A sentiment shared obviously by this tattoo victim ...

I'm sure it wasn't meant to, but that has actually given me a good laugh this morning, nordmann.

Thanks for the translation.

Poor Tosca, but anyone born north of the Watford Gap is tempted to say, "Ah, come on, love, it's not that bad. There's others worse off than you."


http://www.amazon.com/Great-Operatic-Disasters-Hugh-Vickers/dp/0312346344#reader_0312346344

Tosca on the trampoline is on page 12. Unfortunately pages 14-15 are incomplete, but Vickers recounts how at the San Francisco Opera in 1961, the hastily recruited and under-rehearsed firing squad marched onto the stage and actually executed the wrong person. They shot Tosca instead of Cavaradossi.

Seems like this day… 15th January was special over the years…
1535 Henry VIII assumed the title 'Supreme Head of the Church'.

1559 Elizabeth I was crowned Queen of England at the age of 26. She was the daughter of Henry VIII's second wife, Anne Boleyn and the last monarch of the Tudor dynasty.

1759 The opening of the British Museum, at Montague House, London. Access often depended on who you were and who you knew. Permission had to be given by the librarian and only 10 people an hour were allowed in. Its permanent collection numbers some eight million works and is amongst the finest, most comprehensive, and largest in existence. It illustrates and documents the story of human culture from its beginnings to the present day.

1797 The first top hat was worn by John Hetherington, a London haberdasher. He was fined £50 the first time he wore his new creation, 'for causing a disturbance'.

1790 Fletcher Christian, eight fellow mutineers from the ship Bounty, six Tahitian men, and 12 women, landed on the remote Pacific island of Pitcairn following the mutiny led by Christian.They stripped the Bounty of all that could be floated ashore before setting it on fire.

It was special in Rome in 69CE too. This was the day that Otho, despite being regarded universally as too effeminate by far, despite being broke, despite having only 23 of the Praetorian Guard in his pay, despite never having held military command or very high political office, despite being totally ignorant of the fact that the whole of Germania under Vitellius was about to descend on Rome, despite having been a mate of Nero who was still largely reviled by the population, despite having a silly name for the role of emperor ("th" in Latin was derided as a lisp sound), elected to assassinate Galba and thereby become not only the second emperor in "the year of the four emperors" but the one of the four who most surprised everyone with his ability, his sense of honour and his military leadership.

He ended his own reign after three months with a Cato-style "honourable" suicide, a measure which he took to avert civil war though which in immediate hindsight turned out to be too honourable for its own (or Rome's) good. Vitellius dragged the place into civil war anyway.

Had he not taken one small military setback at Vitellius's hands so much to heart and - as his armies were well aware they could do - had gone on to defeat his rival and consolidate his rule, there is every indication that Otho might yet have gone on to become one of Rome's greatest emperors. At 37 years of age he could well have returned the state to its early Augustine stability and promise. Unlike most of his rivals there was no history of lunacy in the family either.

All looked rosy - until "honour" came into the picture. Ironic, given what happened next ...

January 17th 1861 - a Yorkshire plumber called Thomas Crapper opens for business in Marlborough Road, Chelsea, having just completed his apprenticeship under his brother George, a master plumber working nearby. An auspicious day for personal hygiene - Crapper was to become synonymous with the sudden rise in popularity of the device which Time magazine once listed as the third most important invention of all time - the flush toilet.



Which is why this might be a suitable date also to dispel some myths regarding Crapper and the device with which he is most associated - debunk the crapology about Crapper, as it were. For a start it must be said that Thomas did indeed make a significant contribution to the improvement of plumbing, a field in which some great strides were being taken in the second half of the 19th century. In all he applied for and succeeded in taking out nine patents - all of which can be viewed at the British Museum. What one will immediately notice is the one that isn't there, and for good reason.

The flush toilet had been around for a long time. John Harrington produced the first practical one in 1596 and the first patented version is ascribed to a Mr George Jennings in 1792. By the time Crapper set up business most well-heeled householders in London could aspire to one, though as yet no one had quite figured out how to ensure that the cistern filled with the precise amount of water required for the next flush. Most used a manual pump to lift the water into the cistern and simply stopped when it began to overflow, fine if one wanted to combine a shower with one's other bathroom activities but otherwise something of an irritation to most.

Enter Crapper to the rescue, or more accurately his right-hand man Albert Gimlin. Gimlin's ball-cock (patented by Crapper) provided the key to designing safer, more functional and better designed "water closets". An even greater stride forward was made in 1898 when Gimlin himself patented the "Silent Valveless Water Waste Preventer", a symphonic discharge system giving just as good a flush with half the amount of water as before. Now at last the WC could be fashioned to a size which would fit almost anywhere - the bathroom need no longer be the size of a bedroom to house all the mod-cons of the day (WC, bath, bucket).



Crapper himself retired while still relatively young, his partners electing to keep the name on the firm, which at last flushed its final jobbie oceanwards in 1966. US servicemen are credited with popularising the association between the name on the toilet bowls they encountered en route to the Western Front 1n 1917 with their contributions therein, though etymologists are still in a quandary as to how old that term might actually be.

Backward reference or not it is one of life's glorious serendipitations that has given us Crapper and his crap machine, even if poor Thomas is really being credited out of turn. Yet all the same - "going for a Gim on the Gimlin" just doesn't have the same ring to it, does it?

January 18th, 1486. Henry VII at last gets round to marrying Elizabeth of York.

The Croyland Chronicler noted the event:

"...after the victory of the said king Henry the Seventh, and the ceremonies of his anointing an coronation, on the last day but one of the following month, by the hand of the most reverend father, Thomas, cardinal archbishop of Canterbury, and in due conformity with the ancient custom, the marriage was celebrated, which from the first had been hoped for, between him and the lady Elizabeth, the eldest daughter of king Edward the Fourth. This was duly solemnized, at the instance and urgent entreaty of all three of the estates of the realm, in the presence of the Church, on the eighteenth day of the month of January, in the year of our Lord, according to the computation of the Roman Church, 1486; a dispensation having been first obtained from the Apostolic See on the account of the fourth degree of consanguinity, within which the king and queen were related to each other."

Friday the 21st January 1966 was a dark day for countless adolescent (and some not so adolescent) girls the world over. George "the cute one" tied the knot with model Pattie Boyd in Epsom Registry Office - apparently on the advice of Brian Epstein who feared what would happen if they had done so more publicly in a more traditional venue, much to Pattie's intense disappointment. Mary Quant provided most of the clobber, Paul McCartney stepped up as best man (Ringo and John were on holiday so couldn't attend), and the whole thing was done and dusted by 08.30am.

Today Boyd is a respected photographer. In recent years she has mounted a well received touring exhibition related to the infamous "love triangle" which developed between herself, Harrison and Eric Clapton, and her book on the subject topped the New York Times Best Sellers List on the day of its publication in 2007.

January 21st 1611 - the Venetian ambassador in London, Marco Antonio Correr, wrote this in a letter to his doge master:

"Just when it was hoped that the Lady Arabella was about to enjoy the royal clemency, she, in spite of many arguments advanced in defence of her marriage and many humble excuses made to the King, was unanimously by the whole Council ordered to set out, within twenty days, for Durham, thirty miles from the Scottish border, where she was to live in the keeping of the Bishop. It is thought that the King will send her even further, and by putting her out of the kingdom he will secure himself against disaffection settling round her. Her husband is confined to the Tower for life and more closely guarded than heretofore; this has thrown him into extreme affliction; nor are there wanting those who bewail his unhappiness."

Arbella (the more usual spelling) Stuart's crime had been, at the age of 35, to secretly marry the young Lord Beauchamp, William Seymour, without her cousin James I's consent. Her real crime of course was to have been once considered a viable successor to Elizabeth I, and her marriage into a family which also held vicarious claim to such a right now greatly perturbed the powers-that-be, still nervously protecting her second cousin's tenure on the English throne. Both she and William had therefore been incarcerated, she in Lambeth and he in the Tower of London - the sudden nasty turn described by Marco being the result of the king's men having found out that she had kept up a secret correspondence with her husband.



Arbella managed to wriggle out of the Durham exile by feigning illness and the couple used this delay to plot their escape. At an appointed time she then slipped away, dressed as a man, to Lee in Kent to await her husband who, it had been planned, would bribe his way out of captivity. Tragically William was crucially delayed by a day in this endeavour and when he arrived in Lee his wife, fearing capture, had already left. Their plan had envisaged this possibility so William wasted no time in hiring an alternative ship to Calais, their next rendezvous point if Lee didn't work out.

Alas upon arriving there was no sign of his beloved wife. Arbella's luck had run out earlier on her own short crossing of The Channel. A chance encounter with a royal ship during bad weather en route had led to their boarding and her arrest. Returned to London she was imprisoned in the very cell from which her husband had escaped three days earlier. There, four years later, she died of malnutrition - having essentially gone on hunger strike in the end.

William overcame his grief and married twice more in life. His own career was to span two more reigns before and after the interregnum, a time in which he risked and lost all his estate and titles by staying loyal to the son of the man who had so destroyed his first love. Upon the Restoration he got much of these back and died at the age of 72 as Duke of Somerset in Essex House, London, in 1660.

January 24th 1875, Paris. Camille Saint-Saëns' innovative Danse Macabre premiered to a mixed reception from its Parisian audience. At the time the most controversial aspect to it was the prominent use of a xylophone, then almost unheard of in a full orchestra, though its association by critics with a politically pessimistic view of France's future in the wake of the Franco-Prussian War led to it being heckled and jeered in later performances that year. Saint-Saëns himself was fiercely patriotic, descending into outright xenophobia in later life, but his fiercely anti-German attitude was apparently belied by his strong friendship with Franz Liszt and the respect he garnered from prominent German composers such as Schumann and Wagner.

Today his operas and symphonic compositions are largely forgotten. A "composer's composer", his work was for many years unfairly considered technically flawless but lacking in subtlety and passion - a charge flatly contradicted by this piece, now probably his most familiar work thanks in no small part to its adoption as the theme music for the TV programme "Jonathan Creek". It is a "tonal poem", with violin replacing the original song, and recounts the old French superstition of Satan appearing on All Souls Night to entice corpses from their graves with his fiddle and making them dance in the graveyards. Saint-Saëns had intended it as a veiled warning to French society should it lapse into complacency and defeatism, and the ominousness it still never fails to impart is testament to Camille's absolute skill in capturing mood beautifully, economically and powerfully.

So I looked him up. Clearly a gifted man with many interests, I wonder if such a spread of interests leads to tempered reputation? Cn the 'universal mind' ever rise to universal admiration? Did Lonardo spoil it for evryone else thereafter?

Deleted.

24th January 1908 - the first Boy Scout troop is organised by Robert Baden-Powell.

28th January 1813 - the publication of "Pride and Prejudice".

28th January 1813 (a little later in the day) - first use of the term "chick lit" by a cynical publisher.

Phere really is need somewhere on this site for members to and have a peeve.

“It is only a novel... or, in short, only some work in which the greatest powers of the mind are displayed, in which the most thorough knowledge of human nature, the happiest delineation of its varieties, the liveliest effusions of wit and humour, are conveyed to the world in the best-chosen language ('Northanger Abbey')".


Nordmann, my little - I long here to use here a Catigern-esque term of "endearment", but I durstn't - how much Jane Austen have you actually read? You cannot possibly believe a novel like "Mansfield Park" to be "chick-lit".

EDIT: I was so cross I got my inverted commas in a tangle.

Austen lovers are nearly as humourless as Austin owners when it comes to the pointing out of the bleedin' obvious.

Anyway, for what it's worth I have done a bit of online research to ascertain how many males have actually read Janey's stuff. I'm up to two ...

Well I have to admit, to my shame, that I too have never read 'Pride and Prejudice' either.

But I think that his Enormousness, Nordmann PBHN, likes to say these provocative things just to wind you all up ... and maybe also to boost the website hit-rate. (Though I'm sure if this site got inundated with latin poetry, his Magnificence PBUH, would not be best pleased).

However I do feel I really must read some of Ms Austin .... My sister was and still is a great fan, but Austin's novels did rather pass me by. Oh the lottery, the gamble, the sheer fickleness of a 70's state-school, co-ed, streamed, yet comprehensive education .... and surely that in itself is an oxymoron (although actually I think we all, teachers and pupils, did very well, I certainly have very few complaints at all). So while my, all male, classmates were encouaged to read Biggles (if they could) ... and I was coached in, and indeed enjoyed, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Dickens and Hardy ... only the girls' classes were allowed to read Austin's P&P.

Sex, either unavailable, or available but forbidden, or even just passionately longed for yet unrequited ... was obviously thought far, far too explosive and dangerous for adolescent boys. Hence my continuing ignorance of 'Pride and Prejudice'.

Is it His Enormousness, MM? I thought it was His Enormity. Actually, on reflection, I think Enormousness does sound better.

Here's another (male) P&P fan.





Isn't it a lovely car? I'd love an A30. We used to have one when I was little.

But we are off-topic and will get wrapped!

So, what else happened on January 28th?

Little Eddie takes over in 1547 after Bluff Hal copped it?

Well, more accurately, Henry died this day but Seymour made sure no-one knew about it until he could get his maws on little Eddie and have him safely succeed in the Tower of London (where there was little chance of either Eddie or himself being caught and lynched) on 1st February.

A joyous day all round, except for all non-Seymourians (roughly 99.99% of the population if they were to be believed just a few years later)