Yesterday, 15 June is the Danish National Day, in memory of the battle for Lyndanisse in Estonia in 1219, when the Dannebrog - the flag of Denmark - according to tradition, fell from the sky.
It is also the day when 1920 North-Schleswig was officialy re-united with Denmark - following a plebiscite in Schleswig - since a combined Prussian and Austro-Hungarian army beat the Danish army in 1864.

17 June 1775, the Battle of Bunker Hill [though it actually took place on Breed Hill]




Nathaniel Philbrick has a new book about it;

http://www.smithsonianmag.com/history-archaeology/The-True-Story-of-the-Battle-of-Bunker-Hill-204119581.html

17 June 1940, the worst maritime loss in British history takes place off St Nazaire when the transport ship, Lancastria is sunk by Luftwaffe aircraft. The number killed has never been established, with estimates of between 4,000 and 6,500, for no-one knows just how many were aboard when she sank.

18 June 1815, the Battle of Waterloo marks the end of Napoleon.



Sergeant Ewart of the Royal Scots Greys captures the Eagle of the 45th Regiment of the Line.

Reading online about Dr Who, 40 years ago today Roger Delgado (the Master) was killed in a car crash while on location in Turkey.

20 June 1627, Murat Reis, a former Dutchman turned Barbary Corsair leads a series of attacks on Iceland which last a month;

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

Exactly 4 years later, Murat Reis attacks Baltimore in Ireland;

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

20 June 1900. After refusing to leave the Legation buildings when ordered to do so by the Imperial  Government the previous day, the siege of the International Legations begins.
The besieging forces consist, at first, of members of the Society of Righteous and Harmonious Fists, known in the West as Boxers, later joined by Imperial Chinese forces.

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

The siege was lifted after 55 days by combined forces from Britain, America, France, Germany, Russia, Italy and Japan.

21 June 1854, Charles Davis Lucas on board HMS Hecla, taking part in the bombardment of Bomarsund in the Aland Islands during the Crimean War, throws a live shell overboard. This act was the first to be attributed to win a Victoria Cross.

http://www.victoriacrosssociety.com/sample_articles.htm

22 June 1893 - The battleship HMS Victoria, flagship of the Mediterranean Fleet, was rammed and sunk by HMS Camperdown while the fleet was conducting its annual summer exercises off Tripoli in Lebanon. The disaster resulted in the largest peacetime loss of life in the history of the Royal Navy.

The Commander of the Mediterranean Fleet was Vice-Admiral Sir George Tryon who was considered to be one of the most outstanding naval officers of his generation. Unfortunately he was also a domineering individual who expected his commands to be obeyed to the letter. So, when he ordered his fleet to perform a turning manoeuvre that would inevitably lead to a collision, nobody dared question it until it was too late.

The fleet comprised eleven battleships and armoured cruisers. Steaming off the coast in two parallel columns 1,200 yards apart, Tryon intended each column to make a U-turn towards each other so as to make two columns close together and sailing in the opposite direction. His Staff Commander pointed out that the ships would need to be at least 1,600 yards apart to complete the manoeuvre successfully because of the large turning circle of the battleships. Tryon at first acquiesced, but then, with the two columns still steaming in parallel lines 1,200 yards apart, he gave the order to commence turning. Flags were duly hoisted to signal the Admiral’s orders to the fleet. Tryon was an expert in fleet handling and was fond of ordering unorthodox formations to keep his officers on their toes, so if any of his subordinates thought the orders strange they trusted him to know what he was doing and expected him to issue a new order at any minute.

Tryon's second-in-command was Rear-Admiral Markham in HMS Camperdown which was leading the second column of ships steaming in a line parallel to Victoria's column. Doubting the wisdom of the order, he began to semaphore that he had not understood the signal. However, the impatient Tryon signalled "What are you waiting for?" – a public rebuke that stung Markham into immediate action. So the two halves of the fleet duly began to turn in towards each other at the normal rate of turn.

Not until the last moments did the captains of the two lead ships attempt to tighten their turns to avoid a collision. When it was clear that the two lead ships were about to collide Tryon still had to be asked three times for permission to put the propellers into reverse before the order was given. But by then it was too late. Camperdown’s ram pierced Victoria’s starboard side, making a massive hole in the bows about 4m below the waterline. This might not have been disasterous had not Camperdown, now with her engines going full astern, immediately pulled apart from Victoria which effectively unplugged the hole. The sea rushed in before the crew had been able to close the watertight bulkhead doors. Indeed since it was high summer, all ports, doors and hatches throughout the ship had been left wide open to give some ventillation. Furthermore Victoria's design, with a pair of enormously heavy 16" guns on a foredeck with a very low freeboard meant she would become unstable very rapidly if the bow sections flooded ... which was now happening.

The other ships in the fleet immediately began to lower their boats to give assistance, but Tryon countermanded this not realising how seriously Victoria was damaged and he ordered the ship to be steered towards the shore in an effort to beach her. But she listed ever more to starboard until suddenly, just 13 minutes after the collision, she capsized and sank head-first into the sea, with her propellers still turning. Tyron remained at his post on the bridge as the ship sank and the order to abandon ship came too late for many of the crew to save themselves ... 357 crew went down with him.

Back in Britain there followed a very acrimonious court-martial and official enquiry, both somewhat hampered by the need, for security reasons, to cover up any details as to why such a modern battleship had capsized and sunk so quickly. Several independent witnesses on the bridge attested that Tyron had said, "It's all my fault", as his ship sank, and the court martial found that the collision, "was due to an order given by Admiral Tryon". But being a famous commander, as well as now being a dead one, he was never directly accused of incompetance. It was hesitently suggested that Tyron might have been ill, or even that he was suffering from the onset of dementia, and that maybe this had clouded his judgement, but generally the British press and public preferred to preserve untarnished their image of the noble admiral going down with his ship. Similarly the other officers could not be directly accused of negligence in being slow to react to the unfolding disaster since they were all clearly following the explicit orders of the commander of the fleet and, "it would be fatal to the interests of the service to say that they were to blame for carrying out the directions of the Commander-in-Chief present in person." However Rear-Admiral Markham and the captain of the Camperdown were both quietly removed from their commands and put on half pay for not acting quicker when they realised that a collision was imminent.

Despite such attempted cover-ups, the disaster remained a huge shock and embarrassment for Britain and the Royal Navy ... and the cause of much gleeful schadenfreude amongst the other "Great Powers".



　
Given the almost tragi-comic nature of the disaster it is perhaps fitting that William MacGonagall, that great Victorian bard, managed to pen a few words about it:

Alas! Now o’er Britannia there hangs a gloom,
Because over 400 British Tars have met with a watery tomb;
Who served aboard the "Victoria," the biggest ship in the navy,
And one of the finest battleships that ever sailed the sea.

And commanded by Sir George Tyron, a noble hero bold,
And his name on his tombstone should be written in letters of gold;
For he was skilful in naval tactics, few men could with him cope,
And he was considered to be the nation’s hope.

’Twas on Thursday, the twenty-second of June,
And off the coast of Syria, and in the afternoon,
And in the year of our Lord eighteen ninety-three,
That the ill-fated "Victoria" sank to the bottom of the sea.

The "Victoria" sank in fifteen minutes after she was rammed,
In eighty fathoms of water, which was smoothly calmed;
The monster war vessel capsized bottom uppermost,
And, alas, lies buried in the sea totally lost.

The "Victoria" was the flagship of the Mediterranean Fleet,
And was struck by the "Camperdown" when too close they did meet,
While practising the naval and useful art of war,
How to wheel and discharge their shot at the enemy afar.

　
.....  and so on for another nine, painful, verses.


PS:   One crew member that did manage to escape from the striken ship was John Jellicoe, later commander-in-chief of the Grand Fleet at the Battle of Jutland.

PPS: The wreck of HMS Victoria was only discovered in 2004, in 140 metres of water 8 km off the Lebanese coast. Unusually she is not lying on the bottom but standing vertically upright with her bows and about half her length buried in the soft silt of the seafloor but with her stern pointing straight up towards the surface. She clearly had struck the bottom at considerable speed, apparently a conseqence of the immense weight of the forward guns and the fact that she was still under power with her propellors turning at full speed as she went down.

The armed services don't seem to have quite taken on board ideas of thinking for yourself. You'd like to think this wouldn't happen nowadays because someone would object more strongly, but I don't think that is the case, still.

I will have mentioned both these very high profile NZ murders before, but I don't think I had realised they happened on the same day.

June 22, 1954: Juliet Hulme and Pauline Parker murdered Pauline's mother, ostensibly because Pauline wasn't allowed to go on holiday with the Hulmes.  They were just 15 and had formed a very close (lesbian?) relationship portrayed in Peter Jackson's Heavenly Creatures.  They were sentence and out in about five years, and haven't been in trouble since, both settling in Britain.  Juliet is crime writer Anne Perry.

June 22 1970: a toddler is found alone (though fed by - whom? a woman has been seen from a distance) in a bloodstained home and her parents' bodies found 7 weeks later in the Waikato River.  Still causing ructions today because someone was wrongly convicted of the murders, after police planted evidence.  The man in charge died recently and was called 'a person of total integrity' which hasn't gone down so well with Arthur Thomas, the man who spent 9 years in prison before being pardoned. No one else has been charged with this offence, though it has been suggested it was the woman's father (now dead).

Caro wrote:

The armed services don't seem to have quite taken on board ideas of thinking for yourself. You'd like to think this wouldn't happen nowadays because someone would object more strongly, but I don't think that is the case, still.

The business with Admiral Tyron and HMS Victoria is particularly interesting in that respect. In the latter half of the nineteenth century the Royal Navy was the largest most powerful fleet in the world, equal in strength to any two other navies combined. Yet they hadn't had to fight any real naval actions virtually since the end of the Napoleonic wars. From my understanding of things, Admiral Tyron was actually very concerend about this complacancy that he saw was becoming entrenched in the senior service. He seems to have tried to foster initiative amongst his officers, hence his constantly testing them with sometimes bizarre and rapidly changing orders. The trouble was that when his officers showed any initiative in response to his actions, he criticised them because they didn't come to the "correct" solution, that is the solution exactly in accord with his way of doing things. It seems that while he felt he was trying to promote initiative, he was actually stifling it, with sometimes tragic results.

24th June, 1509.

The coronation of Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon. Westminster Abbey.

How's this for a bad omen? The day before, during the Queen's eve of coronation progress from the Tower, just as the splendid procession reached the Cardinal's Hat tavern in Cornhill, the sky darkened and the heavens opened. The sudden rain was so heavy that the silk canopy borne over Catherine collapsed and she was drenched. In all her dripping finery she had to take shelter "under the hovel of the drapers' stalls". The midsummer storm passed quickly enough, and Thomas More made light of the incident in a little poem he wrote,  but others saw it - says David Starkey -  "as a darker augury".

1314 - The Battle of Bannockburn took place somewhere near Stirling castle. I say 'somewhere' advisedly having spent the last two days test pitting on one of the proposed sites, in the Carse down by the burn. Another team were working on the higher ground nearby. 
Are we any closer to finding the battle site? Hmmm, it might be that the paucity of relevant finds (some green glazed pot and a bit of a buckle) suggests that those sites were not involved but, as they say, absence of evidence..... so it's still very much up for grabs.
Either way, I feel as if I'd been fighting myself, everything aches.

25 June 1950, North Korean forces invade South Korea, starting the three year long Korean War (technically North and South Korea are still at war)

28th June 1491 Elizabeth of York, wife of Henry VII, gives birth to her third child and second son at the royal palace at Greenwich. The little Tudor prince is baptised by Richard Fox, Bishop of Exeter, in the church of the Observant Franciscans whose religious community was based at Greenwich. They call him Henry.

The same Franciscan conventuary that he closed in 1538, confiscating its land and giving it to a Seymour, and whose prior he had burnt alive in Smithfield in the same year.

The grounds along with Henry's birthplace next door, "The Palace of Placentia", became part of the naval college. The exact location of the priory is now the recital room of the Trinity Laban Conservatoire of Music and Dance in the King Charles Court part of the complex.

How odd - I have just been reading about Greenwich and the Palace of Placentia for nothing more than a game elsewhere.

July 5 has been something of a day for popular culture beginnings:

1946:  Bikinis were modelled for the first time in Paris, named after Bikini in the (correct) expectation they would become 'highly explosive'.

1954: Elvis Presley's first commercial recording session takes place at Sun Records in memphis, recording That's All Right Mama.

Also rather a lot of Wimbledom men's wins, including, 1975, Athur Ashe becoming the first black man to win and in 1980 Bjorn Borg winning it for a 5th time consecutively. (And here was me thinking the present situation with men's tennis had started to become a little repetitive with things divided between four people.)

July 12th 1962 - this band of scamps arrive to play their first ever gig at the Marquee Club, 165 Oxford Street, London.

I'm surprised Temp hasn't got in before me ...

12 July 1543  - Henry VIII marries his sixth and last wife, Catherine Parr, at Hampton Court Palace.

Despite all the pre-nuptial wrangling I still wonder what exactly was going through both of their minds when the officiating priest, Archbishop Thomas Cranmer, got to the bit about: "... for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, for so long as ye both shall live .... ?". 

Catherine of course did out live Henry, and married again just six months after his death, but she still didn't get to have a long happy life.

I always feel she deserved better, but that's history for you! Or maybe perhaps one could say she simply got her just desserts for being an intelligent, learned, female champion of the protestant reformation cause. Either way, unlike some of her predecessors, she did seem to make her own choices about her destiny and was mostly following her own conscience when she actually said, "I do!".

The one that got away, Anne of Cleves, reportedly commented: "A fine burden Madame Katherine has taken upon herself!"

I've always liked Katherine Parr very much. Like you, MM, I've always felt she "deserved better". Ironically enough, she was probably happier with fat, grumpy Henry (apart from that one unfortunate blip when he nearly sent her to the Tower) than she was with that rat, Thomas Seymour. She certainly knew how to handle Henry: when she had gone on and on about theological issues and driven him to distraction, she was sensible enough to dissolve into floods of tears and to apologise, asking how could a "poor, silly woman, so much inferior in all aspects of nature" presume to argue with the Supreme Head of Everything on religious matters? Henry promptly forgave her and all was well again.

Katherine wisely never asked Henry for his opinions on her little book, "Lamentations of a Sinner" (great title), even though it flattered Henry, whom she called "our Moses": it was full of openly Protestant ideas that Henry vehemently rejected. She'd have been in big trouble had he ever seen it.

Temperance wrote:

"Lamentations of a Sinner" (great title) .... 

 .... hmmmm, not really a very catchy title though was it? And one just knew that the sins Katherine was going to describe were never going to be juicy, scandalous ones. Now maybe if she'd called it something like, "Fifty Shades of Black", she might have had a best-seller. 

Meles meles wrote:

Temperance wrote:

"Lamentations of a Sinner" (great title) .... 

 .... hmmmm, not really a very catchy title though was it? And one just new that the sins Katherine was going to describe were never going to be juicy, scandalous ones. Now maybe if she'd called it something like, "Fifty Shades of Black", she might have had a best-seller. 

Oh, KP was no unattractive, miserable, pious, old frump, MM: she took great pains with her appearance, and her letters to Thomas Seymour reveal that she was, as one commentator has put it, "deeply, brazenly, sexily in love." Much good it did her. But there were definitely two sides to this lady.

As indeed there were with Margaret of Navarre (sister of Francis I), another 16th century female author. Margaret was capable of perpetrating "The Mirror of a Sinful Soul" (another delightfully lugubrious title  ), an incredibly long and boring religious poem, but she also penned several merry and extremely improper tales in her "Heptameron".

But we stray off topic...

PS Must just add that "Lamentations" *was* a best-seller (honest), but it wasn't published until after Henry's death.

Indeed Temp I knew (and with a "k" this time) that "Lamentations of a Sinner" did become a best-seller .... but it's still hardly a sexy title. It sounds more like a series of musical motets written by Thomas Tallis - although he at least would have had the good sense to put the title into Latin: "Lamentations peccatoris", or something like that. Not sure I've got the correct declension of "to sin", but hey ho.

But I bet Madame Parr, clever educated lady that she was, would've known the genetive of "peccaret".

And we are indeed rather straying off topic .... but as his enormity has said more than once, the "On this day" thread does generally find its own way back on topic ... eventually.

Lamentations peccatoris sounds like you've done too many repetitions on that awful machine in the gym! (Oh, that's pectoris, isn't it, as in angina?)

The genitive of sinner is peccatoris if it's a male, peccatricis if it's a female ( just looked it up), so I think "Lamentations of a Sinner" by KP would be "Lamentationes Peccatricis", but I wouldn't put money on it.

But apparently there is no real word for "sin" in Latin - they didn't do sin. "Peccatum"  just means wrongdoing, or a bit of naughtiness.  

PS Who was that chap in India who sent a telegram with just the word "Peccavi"? Meant I have sinned and referred to an Indian city?

General Napier, in 1841,  supossedly sent the succinct telegram "Peccavi", ie "I have sinned", when he had captured the city of Sindh, in India. Alas I suspect this is, if not apocryphal, then at least somewhat exaggerated to suit the circumstances. But it's still a nice story.

Temperance wrote:

But apparently there is no real word for "sin" in Latin - they didn't do sin. 

 Really!   Good God! So what's the Roman Catholic church constantly going on about then?!?

Is sin, really just a bit of naughtiness?

Meles meles wrote:

Temperance wrote:

But apparently there is no real word for "sin" in Latin - they didn't do sin. 

 Really!   Good God! So what's the Roman Catholic church constantly going on about then?!?

Is sin, really just a bit of naughtiness?

Just seen that you've added a bit onto your original post, MM.

I meant the Romans didn't do sin, just wrongdoing or crimes against the gods (I think). Crime is different from sin, isn't it? Sin. Do you know, I have no idea who first came up with the idea of "sin" - I suppose it was part of the ancient Jewish faith. Then again, perhaps the early Christians invented the whole idea. I expect Tim will know. I'm not a Roman Catholic, but I think they still do venial sin and mortal sin.

But it's nearly midnight; I've just come in; and I'm off to bed. Sin must wait until tomorrow!

Temperance wrote:

I meant the Romans didn't do sin, just wrongdoing or crimes against the gods (I think). Crime is different from sin, isn't it?

I thought breaking any of the ten commandments are sins, whereas crime is breaking civil law. Yet sometimes both laws can co-incide, theft and murder are both crimes and sins are they not?

Islanddawn wrote:

Temperance wrote:

I meant the Romans didn't do sin, just wrongdoing or crimes against the gods (I think). Crime is different from sin, isn't it?

I thought breaking any of the ten commandments are sins, whereas crime is breaking civil law. Yet sometimes both laws can co-incide, theft and murder are both crimes and sins are they not?

Yes, of course, but the point I was trying to make was that the whole idea of "sin" - as in "Remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird" (not a RSPCB injunction by the way, and both kill  and mockingbird have metaphorical as well as literal meanings) - was alien to the Romans. You could break a civil law - obviously a crime - or you could offend the gods, but the Christian concept of "sin" was something they simply did not have a word for. I think the early Christians used the Latin "peccare" for want of a more precise word. (Don't know about Greek word used in the New Testament).  But, as I said last night, I'm not sure at all about any of this. Lord, it's far too early for such stuff - I need some tea.

We also need an "On this day" entry for July 14th - quick - or we are all going to be in big trouble with El Supremo.

And there are deadly sins (seven of 'em) and original sin. And cardinal sins too although I think those are the same as the deadly sins.

Wasn't Cardinal Sin, the Archbishop of Manila assassinated in 2005, a superb title for a Catholic Archishop?
And in fact now I've looked him up, his name was actually Jaime Sin .... which in French sounds like "I like sin"! Perhaps he wasn't in the right vocation after all.

But to get back on topic:

14 July 1789 - French citizens storm the Bastille fortress, hence today is Bastille Day. So now, altogether:

"Allons enfants de la Patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrivé!"


..... and so on...

Meles meles wrote:

Wasn't Cardinal Sin, the Archbishop of Manila, assassinated in 2005, a superb title for a Catholic Archishop? And in fact now I've looked him up, his name was actually Jaime Sin .... which in French sounds like "I like sin"! Perhaps he wasn't in the right vocation.

  Or perhaps he was! Didn't he say, "Welcome to the house of Sin" once to some important visitors?

Thank you for getting us back on topic, MM. Vive la Revolution and all that.

Must water my pots now. Another scorching day coming up.

I was planning to have something French for dinner and our Listener duly produced a recipe but as ever it was coq au vin.  There must be other French dishes but they don't seem to be the ones featured in magazines.  Anyway we had a roast of pork out and though my husband said we could porc au vin I didn't think it would work. So we have had a very fattening, unhealthy and delicious meal of pork, pork crackling, roast potatoes, gravy, apple sauce, and a mixture of carrots, peans, broad beans and one very large brussels sprout (the top part of the plant).  Preceded by leek and potato soup which doesn't seem particularly French either.  Maybe tomorrow night.  On the plus side of health, the shop didn't have any cream today so the soup only got some milk.  And I had diet tonic water to drink.

Caro wrote:

I was planning to have something French for dinner  ..... (but) leek and potato soup ... doesn't seem particularly French either. 

Just call it Soupe Vichyssoise .... et voila, c'est à la Française!

Actually, although the French with true gallic chauvinism and arrogance think their cuisine is the greatest in the world, most French dishes have almost exact mirrors in England ... and indeed many other countries. Even the humble shepherd's pie (minced meat with mashed potato topping) has an exact French equivalent going by the very French sounding name, Hachis Parmentier.

Which neatly brings me back to the events of 1789 .....

Antoine-Augustin Parmentier was a French army pharmacist, nutritionalist and vocal promoter of the potato as a food source for humans. His first major success in this direction was in getting the Paris Faculty of Medicine to finally declare potatoes edible in 1772 (up until this time it was indeed illegal to grow potatoes in France as they were believed to cause leprosy amongst other diseases). But despite all his efforts to encourage the growing and human consumption of potatoes to relieve repeated famines, the French population continued to regard spuds with considerable suscpicion and would only use them as animal feed. Louis XVI and Marie-Antoinette were great supporters of Parmentier's efforts (although the royal couple drew the line at actually eating potatoes themselves) and although she didn't say it, she might more plausibly have said: "let them eat potatoes", when there was no bread available. Potatoes only finally became generally accepted by Parisian citizens during the siege of the Paris Commune in 1795 when potatoes were first grown on a large scale in the city's parks and gardens in a desperate attempt to alleviate the famine caused by the siege.

So vivre la pomme de terre!

Temperance wrote:

(Don't know about Greek word used in the New Testament).  But, as I said last night, I'm not sure at all about any of this. Lord, it's far too early for such stuff - I need some tea.

We also need an "On this day" entry for July 14th - quick - or we are all going to be in big trouble with El Supremo.

The Greek word 'hamartia' αμαρτια is usually translated as sin in the NT Temp. In Classical Greek it means to 'miss the mark or target'.

Don't know if it is of any interest but here is the etymology of the word crime

http://www.etymonline.com/index.php?search=war+crime

And the word sin

http://etymonline.com/?term=sin

Edit. This is probably best on the word Etymology thread, of course.

That's really interesting, ID. I first came across the word "hamartia" when I was studying the theory of tragedy. "Hamartia" was the word Aristotle famously used in the Poetics for the "fatal flaw" which causes a tragic hero's (or heroine's) downfall. I had absolutely no idea it was also used in the NT for "sin".

That's given me much to ponder on. Thank you!

EDIT: Several other words used in the NT for what has been covered by the catch-all phrase of "sin". But this is not the thread...

July 15th 1799 a young French engineer-lieutenant (second class) Pierre-Francois Bouchard, while rebuilding Fort Julien in the Egyptian coastal town of Rashid (which for some reason westerners pronounce "Rosetta"), finds in the debris a stone with inscriptions upon it. He immediately realises its significance and shows his discovery to General Manou, who in turn informs Napoleon Bonaparte.

How, three years later, it "fell" into British hands is a murky tale indeed, and in fact was even just as murky at the time - conflicting versions of how it was "liberated" from French hands being reported by military and scholarly personnel involved in the escapade. Since it was intended as a present for King George III this might explain the conflicting claims - but in any case "Farmer George", whose interest in cracking hieroglyphics was approximately equal to his interest in universal franchise, had it sent immediately to the care of the British Museum, where it has remained on more or less constant exhibition ever since.

According to what I heard in the radio this morning, 24th July 1824 was when the first opinion poll was taken - on the outcome of the US presidential election.

The reporter didn't tell who the competitors were or whether the forecast was right.

According to wiki, it ended as a draw among Andrew Jackson, John Quincy Adams, and William Crawford.
When none of the candidates received a majority in the electoral vote, the House of Representatives decided in favour of Adams.

25 July 1909, Louis Bleriot makes the first cross-Channel aeroplane flight.

28th July, 1540.

One wedding and an execution.

Henry VIII married Katherine Howard at Oatlands Palace and, on the same day, Thomas Cromwell ended the amazing journey that had seen his metamorphosis from Putney guttersnipe to Earl of Essex, the second most powerful man in the kingdom. He was beheaded on Tower Hill.

Contrary to popular belief, Cromwell was no apostate: he died declaring himself to be a good Protestant - well a Protestant anyway. Here's John Schofield, who, like Hilary Mantel, believes that Cromwell was actually a reasonably good egg  :

Cromwell then committed his soul to Christ, calling on his mercy and stating his faith in the resurrection and justification by faith alone:


“I see and acknowledge that there is in myself no hope of salvation, but all my confidence, hope and trust is in thy most merciful goodness. I have no merits or good works which I may allege before thee.”

And with this attack on “the work righteousness of medieval religion” and a declaration of his Lutheran beliefs, Thomas Cromwell ended his speech, knelt at the block and was beheaded.


Mmm. Much as I respect both Schofield and the brilliant Mantel,  I still trust Holbein's portrait more. Would you buy a second-hand car from this man?

I wouldn't buy a car from him but I'd take his advice on which one to buy and from whom to buy it. And most certainly let him do the haggling.

ferval wrote:

I wouldn't buy a car from him but I'd take his advice on which one to buy and from whom to buy it. And most certainly let him do the haggling.

Fair point, oh paranoid one.

The one man who had the guts to oppose Cromwell, on the other hand, would have you buy a bike - and threaten you with hellfire if you dared cancel your subscription to Greenpeace. Lord, the intensity in those eyes - and, although I hate to admit it, the mouth is cruel. But...

EDIT: A very odd analogy, I know, but I was harangued for much of last night by an utterly sincere but rather daunting conservationist.  Consequently, I've been turning over in my mind for several hours now the dangers - and temptations - of idealistic fanaticism. I am doomed to hellfire, it seems, despite my valiant efforts always to recycle my Tetra Paks.

Idealists v. pragmatists.

Here's a little rhyme attributed quite wrongly to John Dudley, a brutal realist if ever there was one, but who, like Cromwell, nevertheless ended up - rather ironically -  sans tete. Mind you, by no means could More, despite his Utopian vision, be described as "mild". Idealist - yes, definitely, but such people can - it must be admitted -  be far more dangerous than the "brutal Realists".

I continue to puzzle over it all:

Observe: 'tis the mild Idealists
Who plan our social Revolutions
Then come the brutal Realists
And turn them into - Executions!

And, first and foremost on their lists,
Appear the mild Idealists!

EDIT: Oh groan - I've just been told I don't understand the difference between realism and pragmatism. Which I probably don't. I give up. I'm going in the garden now to pull up with exteme vigour - prejudice even - some particularly stubborn weeds.

Another one who lost his head this day (and again many would have said he got his just desserts) was Maximilien de Robespierre, a member of the euphemistically entitled, 'Revolutionary Committee of Public Safety', and a major architect of the 'Reign of Terror'. Having been instrumental in sending thousands to the guillotine he duly followed his victims and was beheaded without trial in the Place de la Révolution on 28th July 1794 (or 10 Thermidor An II, according to the Revolutionay Calender).



Ironically, prior to the revolution when he was a member of the Estates-General under Louis XVI he had been considered very liberal and had actively lobbied for the abolishment of the death penalty.

People losing their heads everywhere:

August 12th, 1895:  Minnie Dean, who lived about 15 minutes from where I grew up, became the only woman to be executed in New Zealand (though she wasn't actually beheaded but hanged).  She was convicted of baby killing, though possibly manslaughter might have been a fairer charge.  She was a baby farmer, or what would be termed a professional foster parent, taking in babies whose mothers couldn't cope.  Financial problems got a little out of hand, I think, and babies died.  One was found dead in a suitcase on a train when she alighted.  This is not a good look. 

And a sad day with plenty of dead people happened in South American on 13 August, 1521 when Hernando Cortes captured Tenochtitlan, completing the defeat of the Aztec empire. 

I'd like to see Thomas Cromwell's portrait face on - you can't really see his eyes here.  He doesn't look like the sort of person who would be a car dealer.  But I don't see anything particularly untrustworthy here; firm and solid, unwavering perhaps, ruthless maybe.  But judging people's character on the basis of one photo or picture is fraught with the possibility of getting it wrong.  It's surprising how many criminals look quite soft and gentle.  (Not in the official police photos of courswe where they must photoshop people to get them looking so menacing.)

Caro wrote:

I'd like to see Thomas Cromwell's portrait face on - you can't really see his eyes here.  He doesn't look like the sort of person who would be a car dealer.  But I don't see anything particularly untrustworthy here; firm and solid, unwavering perhaps, ruthless maybe.  But judging people's character on the basis of one photo or picture is fraught with the possibility of getting it wrong.  It's surprising how many criminals look quite soft and gentle.  (Not in the official police photos of courswe where they must photoshop people to get them looking so menacing.)

"You've made me look like a murderer," Mantel's hero says to Holbein when he views his portrait. Holbein always got it right. Pity Henry VIII didn't see what the artist saw when he looked at Anne of Cleves. She was a good woman. Her personal hygiene problems could have been easily sorted out: bad character is not so easily rectified.

Anne of Cleves had a lucky escape!  Though how keen she was to stay in England afterwards I don't know.  But anything I know (by which I mean 'have forgotten') about Anne comes from Mavis Cheek's novel Amenable Women. I suppose Catherine Howard's life would have been longer if Henry had taken to Anne more.

I haven't got the Mantel quote right. Here it is:

He turns to the painting.' I fear Mark was right.'

'Who is Mark?'

'A silly little boy who runs after George Boleyn. I once heard him say I looked like a murderer.'

Gregory says, 'Did you not know?'

Oddly enough, Caro, Anne got on quite well with the Howard girl - they are even recorded as dancing together after Kat became Henry's queen and Anne became his honorary sister. I think Anne felt very sorry for the foolish child. It was clever clogs Katherine Parr she couldn't stand!

On this day in history Sep 3, 1967, Sweden turned from driving on the left to the right.

Rumour has it, that they were going to do it in two stages, the first day only lorries and buses, then the second everybody would get into the mood.

Apparently everybody immediately changed along with the first bus or lorry, though ...

How could they have the buses and lorries on one side of the road and the cars on another?

4th September 1939: Great Britain, Australia and New Zealand (and Canada?) declare war on Germany.  For NZ it was actually still the 3rd September, but officially considered to have been declared at the same time as Britain.  For the first time NZ formally declared war on its own behalf, not joining automatically as part of being Britain.

Caro

How could have the buses and lorries on one side of the road and the cars on another?

...
 
Sorry Caro, my attempt at making a joke obviously failed.

Caro wrote:

4th September 1939: Great Britain, Australia and New Zealand (and Canada?) declare war on Germany.  For NZ it was actually still the 3rd September, but officially considered to have been declared at the same time as Britain.  For the first time NZ formally declared war on its own behalf, not joining automatically as part of being Britain.

Was September 4th 1939 (a Monday) the date for the official declaration to be handed to the German embassy? Chamberlain broadcast his  "... and that consequently this country is at war with Germany", speech at a bit after 11:00 on Sunday 3rd:




George VI also broadcast to the nation and empire on the 3rd:




PS .... I got your joke Nielsen