Prognostications and Pouting

Terra Australis Templar

2011-10-20T22:17:00.000+11:00

Evening and salutations to my growing hoard of devoted readers (all several of them), let me compliment you on your excellent selection of this blog to peruse from amongst the myriad wordings hovering expectantly in the ether.

I have recently been brushing up on my research on the discoverers of Australia. This is of course a fascinating subject and one I hope to pursue in depth when thousands of my books sell. At this point I would like to remind you that two red Ned Tudor Mystery novels The Liberties of London and The Queen’s Oranges are currently available for an extremely modest price on Amazon.

But enough of this shameless self promotion, back to the theme of this discussion.

Who did discover Australia?

Egyptians, Phoenicians, Hebrews, very lost Vikings and of course the Portuguese, space alien blood drinking lizards (opps wrong story!) take your pick. Or not.
Now I remember learning in school four odd decades ago about our historical discoverers especially in the year 1970 when all Australians celebrated the two hundredth anniversary of the Captain Cook expedition. We even minted a special fifty cent piece, which I sure I can find if I diligently searched through my dusty archived childhood coin collection. But that is a digression, in the meantime on to more contentious issues. What if the first European discoverers were actually none of these, what if it was someone completely unexpected and for the kind of reason that only a historical reality that reads like a wry fantasy provides. Well I welcome you to my new soon to be released novel Terra Australis Templar.

So found a pyramid in Queensland, a mysterious shipwreck in the sand or hieroglyphics on cliff face? No doubt Peter Wilks a British medieval history lecturer and reluctant ‘guest’ of Australia’s sunny shores will be given the task to solve the mystery. That’s if he can survive a potent mix of Australian terrors including academic Stalinism, too close acquaintance with crocodiles, treachery plus a myriad of fanged, clawed and gun toting denizens of the Antipodes. Luckily he has Lampie, his attractive and deeply cynical Aussie guide who continually struggles to keep Peter on track… or at least in one piece.
This is a new series of stories of archaeological adventure with a hefty splash of mystery, humour, skulduggery and historical speculation. They follow the mis-adventures of Peter Wilks, a modern day remittance man from Britain, who finds himself deeply mired in historical controversy, archaeology and the sordid politics that infests the halls of Australian academia.
Prologue

The sky was a kind of intense hammer blue that spanned all overhead, making the horizon retreat well back over the turquoise waters, breaking with a leisurely splash on the sparkling white sand. The sun was still high enough in the heaven to give the barest hint of the coming flood of burnt orange sunset, while to the north the advancing bank of dark clouds fringed the scene lending the dramatic tension of a coming storm. It was the sort of vista that’d have one of those east coast landscape photographers whimpering with ecstasy, if only they could capture the moment.

To the lean built man hunched over the narrow trench cautiously scooping away trowels of sandy brown soil, the allure of the coming sunset was irrelevant. So absorbed in his work, he hadn’t notice that the shifting sun had passed the limited shelter of the canvas tarp, crisping the already tanned skin of his left arm below a rolled up faded blue shirt sleeve and bleaching out his wild red hair that escaped the restraint of a battered ‘diggers’ hat.
Another figure slowly paced up the low hill into view. It was almost as lean as the patient excavator, though the approach through the low brush of the sandy hill would have excited a different photographer. The long elegant taper of firm smooth thigh hit the edge of the tan shorts hinting at an interesting continuation of the curved sweep. While further up beneath the gaping desert ‘camo’ jacket shadowed swellings barely restrained by an open necked t-shirt, flashed into view with each step. To finish the profile long blond hair was tied back in a slowly bouncing pony tail, enhancing the landscape with alluring potential. The scene was just made for a front cover of ‘Fish and Game’. All she needed was the rifle artfully slung over her shoulder and ‘huntin’ enthusiasts would have been clambering over each other to get a copy. Damn that, if any advertising exec had glimpsed the image he’d have signed her up in a trice to flog a new model of 4x 4 that every accountant needed to brave the perilous wilds of suburban driving.
Instead the opportunity was lost as she sauntered over to the flapping awning, idly waving off a host of flies with the sort of casual elegance that a cosmetics director would have traded his secretary for.

“Y’ finished yet Sid? Uncle Bill’s got us a fresh barra to grill over the fire and Rob and Bluey have packed all the gear ready for the next site.” The lean figure pushed himself up from the trench and sat back on his haunches, brushing a dusty hand across his face.
“No I bloody well haven’t! Who said those two could pack up anyway?” The reply may have sounded petulant, though the long blonde plait only twitched impatiently, lazily flicking a cascade of gold in the afternoon light. A dozen shampoo commercial directors missed the chance of an award winning ad.

“I told em’. Got a problem with that?” Blonde pony tail began to recite what appeared to be a well rehearsed script, ticking each point off with her fingers. “Well Sid, first is the site at Champagny Island that the museum wanted us to check. Second there’s those caves up past Brecknock Harbour for Lavost Explorations. Remember them Sid? The guys that actually pay us? Then we promised to be back in Broome by next week, so you want all that and me as pilot, we have to pack now and head off before dawn to catch the tide.”
Hazel eyes under the battered digger’s hat creased in sudden annoyance and a free hand swatted at a hovering insect. “Well Lampie that’s changed, we stay here!” The answer was short and abrupt as the dusty man named Sid returned his attention to the open trench.
Lampie gave a slow shake of her head as if she was used to Sid’s sudden petulance and this was just one more in the daily flow.
“Oh and get ’em to bring up the lights and the generator!” Sid was still staring at the dirt in his trench and casually threw the command back over his shoulder.
Lampie crossed her arms and stared intently at the fly covered shirt of the excavator, as if painting a target for immediate use. “You sure about that? We’re running pretty low on fuel and its a long way back to Derby.”
If Sid had bothered to turn around, he may have recognized the implied subtext of the question. A more observant man would have instantly translated that foot tapping stance as ‘you really don’t want to piss me off!’
“What? Yeah. One at each end‘ll do fine, angled into the trench ’d be great.” The last conversation must have strayed somewhere else, cos Sid had missed it all.
Lampie dropped the subtle approach and growled out a reply.
“Get em yourself, arsehole! I said we had to leave or y’ can paddle off with the frekin’ sea turtles!”
“And Lampie, unpack the cameras and set em up to view the excavation, I want this discovery on film!”
Like a pair of trains hurtling towards each other at breakneck speed, this conversation was looking like a collision and at each switch, Sid, oblivious to the threat, pulled the wrong lever. Lampie was clearly unimpressed and her demeanor screamed the unsubtle signs of incipient mutiny, the sort that would see the obsessed Sid tumbled into his ditch with a casual but deliberate kick, soon followed by his lights and any number of extra objects that’d serve to fill the hole. Then import of his last comment froze the coming boot.
“Dis-covery?”
Discovery was an interesting word, so full of promise and portent. Discovery was in fact a very overused claim. To any advertising agency it was automatically tagged to the latest model of SUV, proclaiming its rugged supremacy, even if it got bogged in a light dewfall. All of them in Sid’s crew were hoping to hear that magically stimulating word after working up and down this coast for years. At its reverberation Lampie dropping her foot, then shoved in next to her grubby supervisor and peered into the open trench.
“What have you found Sid?”
Her companion lent over the open pit and scratched at a nondescript bit of soil with his trowel. A distinct ring sounded from the steel.

Hazel eyes widened in interest. “What is it?”
Sid, with the battered hat, shook his head and gave a crooked smile. “We won’t know until we get the lights an all. Ask Uncle Bill to bring tucker up here. I need to keep on this.”
Lampie straightened up and unselfconsciously brushed the loose sand off her knees, before bounding down the slope towards the small array of tents surrounding the fire. Sid pleased at her eager interest, took his attention off the trench for a brief moment and watched the vanishing figure, letting out a brief regretful sigh before returning his excavation.
The sun had fulfilled its earlier promise and the sky to the west was layered in bands of vivid colour, blood red to fiery orange and the narrowing arc of light blue to the spreading dark purple of night and its spray of stars in the east. The trembling whine of the small generator filled the coming darkness on the hill, as it struggled to supply power to the flood lights. The rest of the small party after setting up the required equipment, had stuck around to help, while the aroma of freshly grilled fish served to create an impromptu barbeque atmosphere. Low voices casually swapped improbable tales as they bent over the exposed discovery, deftly sweeping away the surrounding sandy soil at Sid’s exacting direction. The view through the camera on a tripod seemed inadequate to Lampie and every few minutes she eagerly bobbed her head around to peer into the trench.
It was a few hours into the full night before they’d finished digging out the hidden object, and probably a full ten minutes in stunned silence as they contemplated their find. It was rectangular in shape, probably wooden and covered in heavy bands of severely corroded iron. Any east coast archeologist would have traded his doctorate to make a find like this and as they looked at the chest shaped find, images of elaborately dressed pirates, bottles of rum and noisy parrots paraded through their imaginations. Well except for the assistant called Bluey. For some reason he just thought of fish and more bizarrely, of leather shorts. Of all of them, it wasn’t Sid who made the first tentative move to touch the chest.
“Put your hand near that Rob, an’ I’ll have it off at the elbow.” It was only a quiet suggestion from Sid, but Rob pulled his hand back faster than if it had been in a fire.
“But Sid mate!” He wailed with a distinct tremble.
“Its…its got to be a treasure chest, you know with piles of loot and gold!” Rob was a big fella, and he wasn’t used to shirking a challenge. It’d been said in Broome that when he’d caught some swanky tourist trying to cheat him over a friendly game, he’d pushed a pool table through the wall of a pub. The tourist had been airlifted to Perth, that night. The idiot’d been between the table and the wall. Despite that reputation Rob eased his bulk an extra pace away from Sid.
Even in the limited illumination of the flood lights, the others could see that Sid was serious. His right hand had closed menacingly around the haft of a shovel, while his eyes had acquired a hardened sheen, just like the one most favoured by murderous psychopaths in horror flicks before they meaningfully dismembered a few of the extras.
“We’re not scavengers like bloody Fenton! We’re archeologists. This dig’ll be handled properly, not plundered!”
The two assistants, Rob and his smaller friend Bluey gave each other a quizzical look, and Bluey, still lost in dreams of scaly delight and lacking his friend’s survival instinct blurted out a surprised comment.
“Since fuckin’ when? I thou…”

The rest was smothered by Rob’s hairy paw, as he grabbed his mate and hauled him back from the trench. The third figure of Uncle Bill stepped back into the shielding darkness, away from the glare of light and vanished.
Lampie switched off the camera and cautiously stepped forward, laying a firm hand on Sid’s shoulder. Only a blind fool wouldn’t feel the tension quivering beneath the thin cloth. “Ahh Sid, could you an’ me have a bit of a chat for a mo’?”
The leaner man slowly straightened up. He wasn’t much taller than Lampie, nor muscled like his two nervous assistants, more whipcord thin, no fat, just corded muscle and sinew like the old man ‘reds’ that bounded across the interior. He gave a brief glare of warning at the rest of his company before following her into the surrounding night. Twenty paces out past the glare of light, he joined her sitting on a low outcrop of rock set away from the thrumming noise of the generator, but in full view of the illuminated trench.

“I know being out here a while can get to anyone Sid. But have you gone freckin’ crackers? What was that shit?” You had Rob scared enough to piss himself!”
Sid may have frowned, it was impossible to see, but he did take a long slow inward breath before answering. “Lampie, how long have we known each other?”
If there was light, blonde pony tail could have been seen to tilt her head reflectively and give a long curious look at her companion. She fervently hoped this wasn’t going to be another one of those weird wandering ‘talks’ that had recently became his habit. “Its been four years Sid, two down in Perth and the rest up here. Why?”
The battered digger’s hat gave a slow unseen nod. “Yeah that’s right. Four years, seems longer. Well, after all that time scouring this God forsaken coast, fighting off mosquitoes, Irukandji and salties, all to scratch around for rusted relics and wreck leavings in the freckin’ heat. Just so some wanker in lounge loafers can gawk at it and say how much bloody better he is with his laptop and mobile! Now I think we got a real chance! Lampie this could be it!” The unsuppressed eagerness made his voice quiver as the words rushed out.
“What! I thought you liked it here?” There was an edge of anger to that question. What the hell did he think they were supposed to do? Was Sid turning into another pampered tosser from Perth?
“Yeah, well yeah. It kinda grows on you but I can’t go back to Sydney without something, well decent or maybe astounding.”
“What the freakin Hell! Why would you want to go back there? You got someone back there? Should I tell Elaine?” Sid was beginning to piss her off. He more or less said he didn’t like it up here and was just doing it to go back east. She clenched her fist in preparation. Once they got back she was sure Elaine would understand Sid’s bruised condition, he was clearly going mental!
Sid gave an embarrassed chuckle and even in the minimal light from the rising moon could be seen to give his face a nervous rub. “No, no. After Elaine, any city girl is going to seem well, insipid.”
That was a close save. Lampie ratcheted down her growing anger. Maybe Sid was just going through male menopause or something.
“No. Sometime soon, I’ve got to go back east and clear up some history, if not this year then damn soon.”
It was Lampie’s turn to slowly nod her head in agreement. Yeah that’d be right. So many ended up here in the Kimberleys due to ‘history’. Some were tightlipped and taciturn like Sid, others after a few drinks broke out into drunken rages smashing up the pub. That kind of made sense. Sid frequently joked that it was easier to come out here than join the French Foreign Legion. She didn’t think much about it, having been born in the rugged north west. The four years in Perth had nearly driven her screaming mad. A few weeks or a month may have been a novelty but two endless semesters a year! Uni field work just couldn’t make up for that much purgatory. It was too long and too many people with their heads stuffed full of stupid rules set by petty minded idiots. But that was her ‘history’ and without Sid’s help she wouldn’t have lasted. Well that and heaps of walks and meditation, actually buckets of walks and meditation and borrowing Helen’s yacht for two weeks. Well to be strictly accurate, it was her uncle’s yacht and closer to a month would not be stretching the truth too far.
Anyway, Sid was usually fun to work with and the jobs challenging and not many round here tolerated her ‘quirks’, certainly not those tossers down in Perth. Sid didn’t freak out that often. Mostly when he got drunk he told outrageous stories of his time back east, swore vividly for five minutes straight about some bloke called Ekland. Then in mid stride he’d collapse on the flooring and proceed to snore loudly until a pounding headache sent him moaning into Elaine’s capable arms. So compared to a few rounds here, Sid was good company.
So she owed him a chance to explain his freckin’ fragile temper. This last week had been the worst ever. He’d snapped at everyone, even at Uncle Bill and only those tired of life would piss off the old Wandijani cook, a man with the reputation of transforming even the most unpalatable local creature or wild plant into a mouthwateringly savoury meal.
“Okay what’s up? How’s this fit in with our commission from the museum, Lavost or our little sideline?”
Sid shifted uncomfortably. First he tugged at the brim of his hat, then gave his face another rub. Finally he made a move to grab a packet of smokes from his pocket. Damn, he must be upset. He gave them up a few years back after he got ‘rescued’ by Elaine. Finally he dropped his head in surrender.
“Lampie, I’m getting spooked by what I’m finding. There’s too much that doesn’t add up, or rather quite a bit that does and none of our employers are going to like it!”
Lampie shook her head trying to figure out what Sid was on about. This site had only marginally gained her attention. While it was mildly interesting as a beach, nothing had screamed out to her, no legends, from the local Wandijani as a warning or any of the usual signs for sacred places. The preliminary research was pretty sketchy as far as she’d seen, no eyewitness reports or visible remains, so it was as empty as she’d expected. In fact, it was so lean and unpromising, she couldn’t figure out why Sid had been so insistent on an inspection. Then within minutes of landing on the white sandy beach he had lost the plot, freaking out big time. First he’d done the preliminary site walk on his own, a bit irregular but they’d all shrugged and let him have his way while they set up camp. Then after that, he’d shut up tighter than a clam about anything and set out strict instructions on where to do the trial trenches. That was when Bluey had discovered the first graves. After that Sid just got weirder right up to now.

‘So it’s different. Makes a change to shell middens and ballast stones. Why bother? It’s nothing special.” It was her turn for an invisible dismissive shrug. It paid not to get one’s hopes up on this job. Any wild thoughts about his strangeness and the chest were shoved back into the deepest recesses of her consciousness. Obsession with the phantom glimmer of riches had killed too many along this coast.
“You saw that chest we uncovered. What do you think it is, or where it’s from?”
“Come on Sid you know I avoided those units cos they were dead boring under Richards. All we got to look at were his collection of rescued early twentieth century trash! At a guess it’s a chest, mid ninetieth century, so what! There’s a dozen in the Broome antique stores. Give me an area and I’ll find your site, then I’ll draw it. If it’s a wreck, I’ll dive it. As for identifying junk, that’s your work.”

Sid had pushed past the nervous stage and was now quivering with excitement almost bouncing off the rock. She was wondering if maybe tying him up for a while might help, when he turned and grabbed her arm thrusting his face closer. “Its older than that Lampie. Real old I reckon, around the sixteen hundreds!”
She could see the moonlight glint off his eyes. A Wandijani karadji man would have warned of possession by spirits and backed off chanting and conjuring protection. She didn’t have that option, instead dropping her right hand until it touched the hilt of her knife. Not that she meant to slice up Sid, but precaution wouldn’t hurt.
Another piece of useful knowledge bubbled up, ‘when faced with a madman be sympathetic and engage them in quiet conversation, no loud noises or sudden movements’ God knows where that came from probably one of her father’s strange Victorian era books. Oh well she made her voice pleasantly chatty.

“Really Sid! How’d you know it isn’t something salvaged from the Manfred, that went down near here, or maybe the Calliance. She kept on dropping bits all along this coast till she finally sank. We’ve found dozens of caches stashed from Darwin to Broome. Why’s this any different?”
Even in the dark night, Lampie could see the vigorous shaking of his head in the dim moonlight. Being so close gave her a clarity she didn’t need. Sid shook his head in denial like a damp dog. “No I thought that too, as I trowelled off the first layer, but along with those graves we found, I was getting pretty certain!”
“Why? They looked pretty standard dead guys in the ground to me.” That’s right, she thought, keep it calm and Sid will let go before I break his wrist.
“The decomposition was too far advanced even for here. If they were buried in the last hundred or so years we’d have fragments of cloth, maybe boot leather, nails and metal buttons. They didn’t have any of that and the orientation is strictly east-west. I could go on about the other irregularities but I reckon you’d find that a bit boring, like Richards’ tutorials.”

“Yeah, got that right!” Another bit of usually useless knowledge came to the fore, ‘engage the troubled person in talking about something they like, a happy reminiscence perhaps.’
“Tell me Sid, what’s the evidence for your supposition?” She tried to imitate the low rumble of Richards, her former lecturer and bane of her existence at uni. Sid kinda respected him, well, most of the time.
“It’s the chest. The ironwork is a lot older than a few hundred years – the simple pattern of the ironwork, excessive corrosion, the remnants of leather as a water proof cover and I think the timber is oak.”
It was incredible. She didn’t know Sid had such a depth of knowledge. Some of her amazement must have got through. Sid let go and gave an embarrassed chuckle as he waved his hand apologetically.

“Arrh, I had a mate back in the east, you see, he loved old ironwork. Used to build replicas of all sorts of things from beds to armour. The man was a walking encyclopedia on the Middle Ages and knights and such. He was one of those eccentric Brits we used to keep on getting sent out from the UK. Not near as bad as some.”
That memory caused him to pause and moonlight sparkled off his teeth with the smile or grimace of times past. “Poor Pete, he was a bit lost out here. He’d go on and on about how we didn’t have any real history worth digging up and moan about how recent all the stuff was here. Well a few months with him yakking away and it kinda rubbed off.”

The conversation dropped into a considered silence as implications and fantasies combined and percolated upwards to the conscious mind. Perhaps, just perhaps Sid wasn’t barking mad and gold glittered in the distance.
“Soo, Rob was right. It’s a treasure chest like the Batavia?” There she’d said it and now the Goddess of Fate would snatch their chance away.
“Yeah. Well y’know the laws of chance mean that even Rob has to be right sometimes.” That came out with a quavery laugh.
Sid was so twitchy it was beginning to make her nervous. It was a pretty wild possibility and took a bit of getting used to. They both lapsed into a speculative silence for a few more minutes. She’d covered enough of the basic history units to know about the wreck of the Dutch ship the Batavia, in the early 1600s. The grisly story of mutiny, murder and treasure were enough to gain the attention of even the most bored student.

“Okay, so who’s chest is it?” That question just oozed reticence. Despite the allure of a box of gold and gems, she was still reluctant to concede it wasn’t another of the usual run of stashed ship’s fittings buried by some wreck stripper.
Sid took off his hat and fiddled with the brim. “I was trying to figure that out while we were uncovering it. The list is pretty long – anybody from the Dutch to the Portuguese or maybe Spanish.”
She still suppressed a sudden surge of hope. All of those tended to carry handy chests of silver or gold coins. “What about that English pirate, Dampier? He cruised around here. I remember he tried to take one of the Manila treasure galleons.” She couldn’t help it, it just slipped out.
“I thought you said you skipped the history units? That’s why I had to arrange those special practicals for you.” Sid sounded distinctly suspicious, as if he’d caught her out stealing from the cookie jar. Well, actually he had.
“Not when they included pirates. Even Richards couldn’t make those boring! Anyway let’s go find your treasure.”

Lampie stood up and gave a stretch, but Sid jumped quickly to his feet and grabbed her arm again. Not a good move. Her other hand shot up and locked around his wrist. Ignoring the discomfort he maintained his grip. “Lampie, we got to take this really cautiously. There are a shit load of scavengers out there who‘d be onto us quicker than a saltie after a tourist, if they heard even a hint of what could be here! This could be bloody dangerous!”
“Okay, okay we’ll take it carefully, like you say.” Lampie slowing nodded her agreement and twisted out of Sid’s grip. He was definitely still hiding something, but about what?

With the discussion at a seeming end, they both returned to the floodlit trench and Sid began the painstaking task of getting into the chest. Lampie continued to monitor the camera, while Bluey and Rob took turns to check on the generator and occasionally Uncle Bill would front up and pass around strongly aromatic cups of steaming tea.
The first red streaks of dawn shot across the eastern sky, washing out the darker purple of the Kimberleys night though the crescent disc of the moon seemed reluctant to surrender the heavens. To a collective low gasp the lid was slowly eased upwards and all of them crowded around the opened chest. Then after a long moment of puzzled inspection, they all spoke at one.
“Where’re the dubblins? If this is a pirate chest there’d be golden dubblins.
“What about the jewels, an’ pearls, an’ piles of silver?”
“It’s doubloons Bluey. Now shut up.”
“Yurkch. That’s a funny way ta stow a blokes’ sconce boss.”
“I don’t think so... Now be quiet.”
“Urrh, yuk! Christ, Sid! What the hell is this box of junk? We spent so much effort digging up broken crockery and that? I told ya this was another wrecker’s stash!”

“Every body SHUDDUPP!!!!”
Silence dropped suddenly, just in time for the morning chorus of birds to start up. Sid slowly stood up, finger stiffly outstretched, pointing at the three objects in the box. After his bellow, the rest of the company dropped back in surprise. But now they clustered around closer, and leaned in over the open chest to see what Sid was so upset about.
“You see that! You all see them laid out like that. Do you know what it means?”

They seemed to glow with their own pearly sheen from the dawn light, washed in red from one side and a dark silvery tint from the other. Lampie pushed forward and had the best view of their discovery, though she still didn’t understand why Sid was trembling from head to toe. Perhaps he’d finally lost the plot. It happened to some of them out here. They went raving mad and tried to talk to a saltie or thought they were jellyfish.
She made surreptitious hand signals to the rest of the crew and spoke in a quiet soothing voice. “No Sidney. Could you please tell us?”
Sid took a long deep breath and dropped his quivering hand. “It means we’re so deep in the shit, we’re going to need snorkels to get out of this!”
And that was when, Lampie remembered later, the problems really started.

Hope you enjoyed this sample dear friends the whole novel will be out soon on Amazon Kindle
Regards Greg

Will the Real King Arthur Please Step Out of the Shadows?

2011-07-16T16:47:00.000+10:00

Greetings Houselings I hoped you liked the tribute to our American cousins for their 4th July Celebration in the last issue of this blog. Since then we’ve had Bastille Day and another dramatic revolution in Society that some are linking to the Arab Spring. On the events in Britain I will put my thoughts in order and give you a considered opinion in the next few days. In the meantime I was given the chance to check out a piece of historical non fiction on a subject very dear to the hearts of most if not all fantasy and historical fiction readers King Arthur. Now I remember racing home from school to watch on a very fuzzy Black and white TV the series Arthur of the Britons starring Olivier Tobias and one of my favourite British larger than life actors Brian Blessed. It was after the gruelling privations of school a real highlight. One I suppose pushed me in the direction of historical research and reconstruction archaeology that I’ve have doggedly perused ever since.

Now I now it was a made for TV production but even then it did impress me with the efforts it took to remove the ‘knightly fantasy’ of Arthur. Apart from being a damned good piece of entertainment it was as close as any TV production could be to including cutting edge archaeological and historical interpretations. Since then as we’ve seen standards have dropped a bit though one or two productions still make an effort to shrug off Hollywood History.
However it is items in the realm of print that I want to talk about. There is a definite Arthurian industry, that regularly churns out all manner of learned works that claim to either make Arthur a space alien, a purely mythological figure and of course many in the Victorian vein of the fantasy knight that he wasn’t. Thus it is refreshing to come across a book that doesn’t make extravagant claims, instead going back to look at the text and name evidence as free as possible from modern contamination. To me August Hunt’s book fulfils all the requirements of fine and rigours scholarship and research, he has present his evidence and given exhaustive reasoning for his interpretation. Now as any student of history knows the Truth of the past changes with time as new information comes to light, I suspect that it will be so with August’s book. It is not the definitive work on Arthur, but it is a damned important stepping stone on our path to understand the cloudy period of Sub Roman Britain and I hope will lead to further real efforts in research and archaeology.

The only problem I found with this was one of frustration…I immediately wanted to see the next stage of his research!
THE ARTHUR OF HISTORY: A REINTERPRETATION OF THE EVIDENCE by August Hunt

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

How to categorize this book well that isn't so simple, there are almost books without number claiming all manner of attributes and origins to that most famous and mysterious of British heroes Arthur-Dux Bellorum or High King of Britain. He has been presented in so many different forms a Celtic King reasserting a lost independence, the last of the Romans in an isolated outpost of a crumbled Empire or even Mallory's and Geoffrey of Monmouth's great chivalric hero. Through all this fiction it is very difficult to tell.

As a historian and reconstruction archaeologist I know that you have to look hard for evidence to base your work on and I must say that August Hunt has certainly done that. His research cutting through mythology and ignoring pet theories is based on original place names, reasonable translations and interpretations of the earliest records is to be commended. He presents a very compelling argument to place Arthur and his great battles in the north where the remnant of the old Roman field army most probably still held sway. He examines each phrase of the account of battles and give I feel a very reasoned suggestion as to their validity and location based on the textual and where possible archaeological evidence. Having studied the Arthurian conundrum for decades and been weaned as a teen on Morris' The Age of Arthur, I appreciate fine scholarship and this is it. I have no hesitation in recommending this book to any serious student of Sub Roman Britain as a valuable addition to the Arthurian discussion. Now considering this book a few days after I went through it I found that August's studies opened up a lot more questions. I can only hope that he will find the time to explore them.
Regards Greg

View all my reviews

The American Revolution- What was it and Why?

2011-07-03T15:00:00.000+10:00

Welcome my friends and fellow Houselings! Since it is has been such a along time since the doctor has given you any pearls of wisdom, I think that considering it is the 4th of July it merits a special post.

Since 1776 an awful lot of misconceptions and legends have grown up around both the Declaration of Independence and the Founding Fathers of the United States. More than a few are demolished by Bill Bryson in his excellent light hearted work Made in America. A piece that should be required reading for anyone in High School and beyond if only to show that history and myths are damned amusing and their origins are quite bizarre.

Instead today I am going to shift the focus away from the suggested seat of Liberty America and look at a single event in the Bear pit of the House of Commons at British Parliament in 1765. Charles Townsend the Chancellor of the Exchequer spoke in the House for the enabling of the Stamp Act to assign taxation of items in use by the American Colonies. While no one likes taxes at anytime the basis of this one was perfectly reasonable, the monies raised were to be used to defray the costs of protecting the American Colonies. Simple and straight forward, however after that bout of commonsense the rest of the process was a disaster. Which the eminent and highly readable historian Barbara Tuchman succinctly points out in her March of Folly. If human arrogance, misunderstanding, stupidity, misconception, ego and snobbishness could put an oar in to make a poor idea into a catastrophe it did.

But there were more than enough men of backbone and character who stood up against this piece of absolute stupidity. Pitt the Elder, the architect of victory over France, the great orator Edmund Burke, General Conway and the man who first encapsulated the American Colonials situation Colonel Isaac Barré (see painting to left). This respected soldier fought with Wolfe and was with him at the time of his death on the Plains of Abraham the culminating victory of the Seven Year War that ended French control of the Canadas.

What Colonel Barré said in answer to Townsends’ slur on the Colonies was this, accord to a transcription posted immediately to the colonies (quoted from A New Age Now Begins – Page Smith)

“They planted by you care? No, your oppressions planted them in America. They fled from your tyranny to a then uncultivated and unhospitable country –where they exposed themselves to almost all their hardships of which human nature is liable, and among other to a cruel and savage foe…And yet actuated by principles of true English Liberty, they met all hardships with pleasure, compared with those suffered in their own country, from hands of those who should have been their friends.”

“They nourished by your indulgence? They grew by your neglect of em: as soon as you began to care about em, that care was exercised in sending persons to rule over em, in one department or another, who were perhaps the deputies of deputies to some member in this House- sent to spy out their liberty, to misrepresent their actions and to prey upon em: men whose behaviour on many occasions has caused the blood of those Sons of Liberty to recoil within them…

“They protected by your arm? They have nobly taken up arms in you defence, have exerted a valour amidst their constant and laborious industry for the defence of a country whose frontier was drenched in blood. Its interior parts have yielded all its little savings to your emolument. And believe me, remember I this day told you so, that same Spirit of Freedom which actuates that people at first will accompany them still- But prudence forbids me to explain myself further. God knows I do not at this time speak from motives of party heat; what I deliver are the genuine sentiments of my heart.

So folks, here we are all those noble sentiments and ringing word that moved the Thirteen Colonies first uttered here by an Englishman in Parliament endeavouring to protect your Rights and Liberties.

The Grand Union flag of the Thirteen Colonies

I think that at this time of division and the active promotion of hate and rancour within our legislative assemblies and without, perhaps we too should listen to the wisdom of Colonel Barré a man who spoke for commonsense, thought and temperance. A man who freely admitted that the current system had serious flaws and that if they were not solved it could lead to calamity. At this point I feel that it is also worthy while noting that all through the trauma of the American Revolution support for the colonies across all classes of Britain remained high. This also continued into the dreadful time of the Civil War when apart from a frothy sympathy for the South from the Upper classes the British Government was not going to go to war on behalf of States upholding the institution of Slavery. Sorry all you die hard Southern supporters, King Cotton was always a myth. So to our American Kin on this auspicious day I suggest you look hard at the realties of this occasion and think long and deeply about what those Founding Fathers and their English supporters would think of what you have done with their gift since then? Reinvigorated or squandered?

Regards from the good doctor and don’t forget keep taking them pills!

Happy 4th of July

2011-07-03T02:06:00.000+10:00

Well, my friends and fellow Houselings the wheel of the year has turned and once more we find ourselves approaching a particualt time of signifigance for our American counsins. Ye it is indeed almost the 4th of July Holiday. Now apart from a wonderful mid summer break I am sure most people around the world and even here in the Antipodes have an inkling about its true origins. Yes as the common film versions of history tell us it was all about those loathsome British and their redcoated soldiers oppressing and murdering honest hardworking colonials at the orders of a distant an uncaring king. And as some would have it the right to bear arms. But we won't get into that right now. While films like the Patriot can partially convey an more modernist slanted impression, the reality was far more complex. For one support in Britain for the Colonial cause was extremely strong and the King's war in the Americas actually faced far more opposition than the US involvement in Vietnam. Officers refused to serve and resigned their commissions, gentlemen refused to pay taxes or subscriptions, papers like The Northern Briton by John Wilkes slammed the King's policies in Parliament. While at Westminster Burke, Conway, Colonel Isaac Barre and the old lion of Parliament Pitt the Elder spoke eloquently and passionate day after day in support of the rights of the colonists. It is this later point of the of the divisions created in the British Commonwealth that made the Revolution and Declaration of Independence such a tragedy of the time, it was in every way a Civil War both in the Amercian Colonies and in Britain. To make sense of all this and brign to life the multifaceted characters of the time none is better at telling the tale than Page Smith in-

A New Age Now Begins by Page Smith

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Page Smith’s multivolume history of the United States is a phenomenal work in several large books packed with details and eyewitness reports from all sides of the both the small and larger events that shaped the path of the modern United States. Now I am not an American and as a descendant of British colonists in Australia I admit to possessing a distinctly different view of American history to others. That being said I found Page Smith presentation of the Americas of the pre Revolution and the progress of the Revolution deeply absorbing, in fact fascinating. Page Smith is quite prepared to present both side’s opinions, attitudes and angst. In doing so I feel that he brings the out the real humanity of firstly the British officers like Howe trying to solve or suppress the Rebellion. A gentleman, who found to his distress that duty and loyalty had to go before personal sympathy. The incomprehension of a King who couldn’t understand the motivations of his citizens, or the endless confusion and misunderstanding created by the Atlantic time lag and his orders.

Then we have the colonials who had grievances both real and manufactured. Whom felt pushed into an action they didn’t want to take and then under the most amazing leadership, that spanned the arc from inept to magnificent struggled to gain their interpretation of liberty and government. In all of this Page Smith takes you through month by month and in the case of moments of destiny or defeat almost minute by minute. In all this, he unlike other’s does not descend into jingoism, or hero worship. All the characters of this historical pageant are alive, some hopelessly flawed but still brave, some perceptive and farsighted but hindered by chance or support.

In the end this is not a dry recitation of revisionist history, it is alive and Page Smith as any good historian takes you to the heart of the events. I have no hesitation in recommending these first two volumes to any student of history.

Most of all it lays open the massive support the American colonists always enjoyed in Britain from all levels of society from the commoners to Parliament a fact that needs to be emphasised.
In closing a little clip from Barry Lyndon the Redcoats marching to the tune of the British Grenadiers

From the Good Doctor have a great and safe 4th of July!

View all my reviews

At Last, its Alive-The Liberties of London is Published

2011-05-09T00:49:00.000+10:00

The Liberties of London by Gregory House

The good doctor bids you all a good day, and hopes all his devoted readers and their family's are in perfect health. Ahem, not requiring any purgatives, emitcs or perhaps drawing a measure of blood. Excellent, so today I am the bearer of good news, my novella The Liberties of London the first of perhaps a dozen Red Ned Mysteries has been released on both Amazon Kindle and Smashwords (please check the links at the bottom of the article) It has been a long time in promise but here it is. This very reasonably priced novella (99c) complete with map and the first three chapters of the Queen's Oranges is the perfect company for any discerning reader of historical fiction or the Tudor devotee. I'm not going to give too much away but a sample of the first three chapters is on my other blog. So if your curious hop over there and have a look, or you can download a sample from Amazon or Smashwords.

So parting words from the Good Doctor, read a book, keep well and keep taking the damned pill!

Red Ned Tudor Mysteries, Apprentice Lawyer and Aspiring Rogue

A series of stories following the life and mis adventures of Edward (Red Ned) Bedwell, a young apprentice lawyer at Gray’s Inn and reluctant investigator who experiences first hand the tumult and intrigue during the reigns of the Tudor monarchs from Henry VIII to Queen Elizabeth I. A foot slogger’s view of the dangerous and deadly rivalries, ambitions and human foibles of the Tudor Court. His Sovereign Majesty the King may command and Councillor Cromwell will instruct, but it is poor Ned who has to deal with the inevitable consequences that lead to treachery and murder. In this Ned is mostly aided by the solid friendship of Rob Black, an artificer in iron and bronze. However it also includes the not necessarily appreciated but usually correct hectoring of his sister Mistress Meg Black, an apprentice Apothecary and suspected heretic. With this ill sorted team Ned has to balance solving his master’s instructions with retaining his honour, keeping secrets and somehow climb up the greasy pole of advancement in the Tudor Age.

View all my reviews

Available from Amazon Kindle

http://www.amazon.com/Liberties-London-Tudor-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B004ZGWQW0/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=A24IB90LPZJ0BS&s=digital-text&qid=1304839689&sr=1-1

and Smashwords

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/54926

Since I’m the author of this novella I naturally think its pretty good, however it is for you the reader to make you own judgement. Download a sample, see what you think, if you like it or have a comment please let me know.

Regards Gregory House

The Need for Anzac Day

2011-04-24T20:14:00.000+10:00

Lest We Forget

Good day all. I hope this latest missive finds you in good health, having enjoyed a pleasant Easter in whatever fashion you found most appropriate. Tomorrow is April 25, and I hope that all my readers will remember to take some time out and remember all those killed or wounded in either this nation’s service or from where every you happen to be reading this.

My memories’ of this day are usually as one of the cadets during the parade that my school held every ANZAC Day. Full military uniform including the Macpherson kilt (school tartan) then marching around with a lee- enfield rifle on the shoulder being led by the pipe band. However that was just the usual pageantry and ceremony leading up to the culminating memorial service. Then every time they read the memorial address the colour and trapping of the preceding dissolve into meaningless confetti and I’m transported back to a hospital bed by a window in what must have been a Veterans ward and my few conversations with my Grandfather Harry James House, a veteran of the Great War. He was in pain and almost completely blind from the shrapnel wound he’d received long decades before at Pozieres. Now I was just a young child and, I suppose I didn’t know any better, or maybe it was just the insatiable curiosity of the young. So of course I asked him about the Great War. To my father’s surprise ‘Pop’ spoke for about fifteen minutes on what he’d seen and what had happened. That, in my father’s experience, was the longest conversation he’d ever heard about the events that had so affected the House clan. Harry House, in all the long years since had never spoken about the horror and suffering he must have seen daily, and the loss of friends and mates. It was something remembered ‘personally’ a long running grief.

Now every year on this day, all over Australia, New Zealand and those places around the world where Anzac blood was shed so profusely, there will be memorial services. To those of you unfamiliar with the whole Anzac idea, it is for us Antipodeans, a combination of 4th of July and the French Bastille Day wrapped up with Memorial Day (USA) and Remembrance Day. The reason this day trumps all others in the calendar of national days is that for us Down-Under, it was the first occasion our fledgling nations made an appearance on the world stage. It is perhaps unfortunate that this representation of emergent national character was expressed so dramatically on the bloody field of conflict. However that is frequently the case amongst us flawed humans and our imperfect social organisation. What is also ironic is that the day and the campaign we revere so highly was, in the end a defeat. At this point I could get all jingoistic and proclaim martial pride and valour- you know awards, tributes, the jingling of medals and other clutter. Or like the great Australian war historian, CW Bean, I could state that Australians were natural soldiers.

Bean is substantially correct, in that the life experience of Australians at that time made them intelligent, versatile and competent soldiers. Then add the British training regimen and you got men who turned out to be very good soldiers, with the added benefit of having an ingrained habit of initiative. But hardened veterans and bullet proof super heroes they weren’t. Instead the lads, that early on the morning of 25th of April 1915, stormed ashore at the beaches of Gallipoli, were as fragile and as flawed as the rest of us. But that didn’t stop them as they surged up those steep rugged cliffs to do their bit for Australia, New Zealand and their shared allegiance for the British Empire. Now that’s the simple facts. A more difficult one for us to understand in these cynical times of propaganda and ‘media management’ was that the Anzac’s who served in the Great War, amongst the mud, blood and death, were all volunteers. Even more impressive is that almost every family in the nation provided one or more to serve. Either husbands and fathers or sons and nephews, that kind of commitment is almost unprecedented. What motives brought them there were more complex than commonly repeated slogans on a poster.

Some historians have since claimed that the First AIF (Australian Imperial Force) were naively duped into serving a foreign war. Others maintain that it was boredom and the possibility of adventure and drew them into the fearful maw of war. No doubt these were contributing factors. However in the main it was patriotism, a sense of duty and a belief that it was the ‘right thing’ to do. While human nature is somewhat repetitive in its actions, this doesn’t look like the usual surge for colonial expansion. As I said in these ‘modern’ cynical times where motivation for conflict is usually rendered down to money or oil or both, these men travelled half way around the world not bent on conquest, or plunder or to seize someone else’s natural resources. No, it was in response to the unprovoked declaration of war by an alliance of non-democratic nations bent on using a political assassination for an excuse to launch a long prepared military campaign for aggrandisement and conquest.

Or so it stands my opinion. These men individually made a conscious decision to step forward either for us, for their beliefs or for their mates. Then in amongst the turmoil of Gallipoli and the dreadful conditions of the Western Front they stuck it out through fearful bombardments, incompetent leadership, poor rations and the chilling chatter of the machine gun. Like the above painting of the doomed charge of the Australian Light Horse at the Nek, war doesn't look very glorious to me and I'm not sure modernist revisionism adequately explains these men's motivations.
So I say past the politics, recriminations, the economic persiflage of stock market derivatives and blatant self interest:

LEST WE FORGET

For more information visit

http://www.anzacsite.gov.au/

Regards Greg

The Fukushima Conundrum and Mistakes from the Past

2011-03-20T14:27:00.000+11:00

Greetings my well regarded readers, all several of you, I hope that you are in your own way contributing towards assisting the people in those areas devastated by political intransigence, current war, natural disaster and technological malfeasance. If not may I humbly suggest giving to either the International Red Cross or a similar reputable organisation if you can. For many parts of the globe it has been an exceedingly grim month and has reminded us that as humans, it really does pay to look realistically to the past as a way of preventing foreseeable errors of the future. The current meltdown at the TEPCO reactors at Fukushima is I think a prime example of ignoring past lessons, because they were perhaps too unpalatable to accept.

Here I wish to speak out about our history with nuclear power generation. Unlike some I do not claim to speak with qualifications in nuclear science or research. While I have frequently contributed information to articles about the problems of nuclear power, I speak from a position of having studied how humans, both individuals and organisations, interact with complex areas of technology.

Now as we know the reality of nuclear potential was made clear to the world on the 6th of August 1945 when the B-29 Superfortess Enola Gay dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima. As many historians and philosophers have repeated since then, on that day the world changed. The following wiki article has a reasonable report and links of the event http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Enola_Gay

Since then the morality, ethics and rational of nuclear warfare have been endlessly argued, from MAD (Mutually Assured Destruction) to the tactical employment of nuclear weapons on the battlefield ie ‘small’ nuclear rockets and artillery shells. Having trained for this nuclear battlefield in the Reserves some decades ago I can honestly say I’d have a better chance of survival going Over the Top at Passchendaele or the Somme. The 1960’s British film The War Game gives a very accurate and chilling view of the consequences that I was trained for in the late 1970’s. Since it is going to come up in any discussion of nuclear power I will deal with use of the nuclear bomb in the Second World War.

1. The intended target was originally Hitler’s Germany in response to the information the Allies had gained on the Nazi nuclear program and their use of the V1 and V2 rockets. Now there is a scary thought.

2. The operation of the strategic policy of the Imperial Japanese Army for the Home Islands protection ordered a last man-last bullet defence, plus the extensive use of Kamikaze operations. It succeeded, but not in the way it was intended. Instead it convinced the US political administration and Allied military command that any ground invasion of the Japanese Home Islands would have cost millions of lives, both Allied and Japanese. Thus other means of ending the war were to be seriously considered.

3. Politically, socially, culturally and historically the Japanese military elite could not admit or accept that they had lost the war. According to the evidence their efforts at negotiation were half hearted, evasive and disjointed, while their admissions of reality were at best based wholly on an out-moded mythology and ideology. One that refused to accept the current strategic and tactical facts of consistent defeat in military and technological areas. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Downfall

4. Sadly I also have to say that on the Allied side human nature played all too great a part in the deployment of the nuclear bomb on Hiroshima. After all that effort and expense both the military and political administration wanted to see what they’d got. That wonderful human attribute of curiosity, it has been both a blessing and curse. I will present a rather bleak assessment of the human propensity to poke the hornet’s nest. In light of the strange 1950’s-80’s definitions of a ‘winnable war’, it is perhaps better that it was first used earlier rather than much more devastatingly later during the tensions of the Cold War.

Technology, Mistakes and Human Nature

Now having very briefly reviewed the warfare aspect of nuclear technology, we will examine the current situation. While the nuclear industry constantly stresses the yawning gulf between the peaceful and military employment of the atom, in public perception that separation is irrelevant.

The promotional films of the peaceful atom in the 1950’s are now viewed as blatantly false propaganda, anyone with any doubts should check out the documentary Atomic Café on YouTube.

Now for decades advocates of the nuclear industry have said repeatedly it is a viable perfectly safe technology for power generation. This message is as of the other day still being proclaimed by experts like William Tucker. In a perfect world this may be so, however the entire flaw in this argument is a simple word ‘perfect’. Such as in the following; perfect construction, perfect engineering, perfect maintenance, perfect operation, perfect supervision and perfect preparation for disaster. In this ‘perfect environment’ developed by perfect humans we obviously can’t have shoddy construction dictated by ‘rigid five year plans’, tight budgets or corrupt contractors. There can be no provision for faulty spare parts, incorrect engineering specifications or sloppy fabrication. Of course all nuclear engineers and technicians are fully trained with the best tools, equipment and communication. Then all operators aren’t suffering from overwork, illness, imposition of unrealistically tight deadlines and an idiot for a supervisor. Of course all these difficulties can be compounded by poor initial design and flawed concepts. For the final clincher we are always accurately able to predict all geophysical movements and their effects. If only this were so.
In all of the past nuclear reactor incidents we have had a selection of all of the above real life ‘imperfections’ as a quick example of some incidents will show.

Windscale, Sellafield Reactor

The Windscale or Sellafield disaster had at its core a very flawed design for cooling and operation of a reactor. It used air flow to maintain the reactor temperature and baffles in the chimney to trap any radioactive particles. The wiki article explains enough design, operation and engineering problems to give any person nightmares. Major nuclear contamination was only avoided by a combination of luck and bravery.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Windscale_fire

Three Mile Island

After the event operators in the control room admitted that all the switches and dials looked the same. In a crisis it was not easy to identify which was the most important readings to respond to. In fact one switch had an empty coke can over it to indicate this was a vital control. In the end an inquiry found that a contributing factor of the disaster was a single stuck valve and human error. The clean up coast was cited as one billion US dollars. Dare I say design didn’t allow for human operators, or the provision of faulty parts in a free market system?
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three_Mile_Island_accident

Chernobyl

Simply put the ‘five year plan’ ideology rewarded results on paper and in physical form. The effectiveness and reliability of the finished project where ‘never’ put to question. Any significant criticism or critical review was a one way ticket to Siberia. So this reactor as many other Soviet period projects suffered from ongoing flaws from the start. This was compounded during the crisis by the kind of planning and supervision that relied upon the ideology that soviet engineers and equipment was perfect and that reporting failure or problems was a poor career choice.

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

Fukushima
Even in the face saving culture of Japan, where reporting problems and errors to those higher up in the hierarchy is a public admission of shame, as well as being socially unacceptable, Tepco is in a class of its own. The revelation a few years ago that one or more of its workers were in the habit of transporting radioactive water in a bucket, was to say the least concerning, let alone the other more serious problems that Tepco didn’t want to talk about.

Acceptable Risk and Real Maths
Only today on the BBC a professor of risk management at Cambridge has stated that we are essentially hyperventilating over a minor problem and cites a reel of statistics for radon and background radiation and the results of Hiroshima and Nagasaki to prove his point, as to the overwhelming safety of nuclear energy. All I can say to this is a very famous quote from the ninetieth century British prime minster Benjamin Disraeli ‘There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics.

I am afraid the elastic science of risk assessment was frequently used to justify the ‘acceptable casualty’ rates for any nuclear exchange by the military hierarchy on both sides of the Cold War. Carl Sagan amongst other ‘real scientists’ proved this was an deadly earth threatening misconception. Unfortunately the soft and uniquely flexible maths of statistical analysis tends to fail when put up against the hard solid physics of the half life of radioactive isotopes. Especially plutonium.

Reactor in an Earthquake zone? No Worries!

Then there are the manifest errors of building a reactor in a known frequently active fault zone with large tsunamis within living memory. Hard maths and even our now dated knowledge of geology in the 1980’s told us that a severe earthquake was bound to affect the Fukushima site within the span of a current human lifetime. So given that and that the cooling system failed, the ‘design parameters’ for earthquake proofing were seriously flawed. Another problem that has occupied recent media attention is the pool containing spent fuel rods, as is becoming apparent it poses a serious risk that goes beyond ‘risk assessment’ since it contains far more fuel rods than are supposed to be present.

As an example of the effects of this ‘regulatory omission’ I believe a quick visit to the following blog would be beneficial:

http://byelizabethcat.blogspot.com/2011/03/memories-of-chernobyl.html

The Fukushima Heroes
Currently the safety of a large enough area of Japan and its population is reliant on a very small crew of workers and volunteers. I fear they will suffer similar ‘casualties’ to those at Chernobyl. I somehow doubt that they will be comforted by the statistical improbability of their dying of radiation sickness. Or that their actions will not contribute to the overall protection of any significant proportion of the people of Japan.

This is a simple equation and no amount of supposed scientific malfeasance or management chicanery is going to change the steady tick of radioactive decay. As I said earlier it is an imperfect world, so it is the height of folly to rely upon a range of modern management and technical myths based upon an impossible perfection.
Regards from the good doctor and may all our prayers go towards those physically dealing with this real world crisis.

New Blog for Tudor Mystery Series

2011-03-09T19:10:00.000+11:00

To all my dear fans and devoted readers, it is with both pleasure and trepidation that the good doctor announces a splitting of his blog. The publishing of his first two Tudor novels is imminent. On Prognostications and Pouting (pleasurable reading for the discerning devotee) we’ve had the search for a cover, which included the diverting headless bimbos theme. An introduction to the Tudors part 1 (A Modern Family) and a number of snippets from the first two Tudor novels, The Cardinals Angels and The Queens Oranges scattered amongst the blog posts. So my loyal readers considering that I’m also about to continue my posts on the two world wars along with more reports on the onward march of EBooks. I believe it is time to create a Tudor period blog, where aficionados of our favourite early modern royal dynasty can in the comfort of their own parlours view the foibles, politics and dynastic bloodletting of Henry VIII’s Court and the Reformation. All this from the viewpoint of the lowly and reluctant Red Ned Bedwell apprentice lawyer at Grays Inn and his rather forthright ahh ‘associate’ Meg Black apprentice apothecary, heretical book smuggler and occasional barber surgeon. Along with her brother Rob and the grim faced family retainer Rodger Hawkins, they find themselves entangled in the deadly schemes of the powerful.

Thus to survive Ned Bedwell has to become a Pursuivant, the Tudor equivalent of a detective. Now Ned’s no stranger to many of the doubtful pastimes of the Liberties of London and notorious Southwark. Where he has a reputation as ‘Red Ned’ victor of Canting Michael’s deadly baiting pits at Paris Gardens. However he needs more than street cunning and luck at the dicing table to manoeuvre his way through the perilous pitfalls and plots of Tudor murder, treachery and intrigue. Luckily Ned has the feisty Meg Black to ‘advise’ him, that’s if he can trust her or she isn’t running some secret heretical scheme that could also get them all hung or burnt at the stake.

So go to the new blog site http://rednedtudormysteries.blogspot.com/
and feel free to read the prologue of The Cardinal’s Angels. Also within the month I will have a Red Ned short story The Liberties of London ready to roll out, the front cover, prologue and first chapter will be previewed on this site.

The Tudors, A Quick Guide for the Perplexed Part 1

2011-02-13T20:13:00.001+11:00

The Tudors: A Modern Family

Greetings my well regarded readers. Forgive the delay since my previous missive. It has been frantically busy here in the Antipodes. The summer holidays, as damp and cyclone and flooding afflicted as they were have ended. Now we have that special time of year when the 2011 school year starts. All the eager Houslings have been reequipped, clothed and reshoed ready for their first week, and by all that is holy, wasn’t that an incredibly expensive experience. For the privilege of free education at a State school it seems that the House clan has to cough up thousands in text books, computers and “compulsory” fees which are apparently really ‘non compulsory’ except that you have to pay them, or the Houslings are barred from accessing the computers or the library and so on. Anyway the woes of ‘modern’ education could fill a thousand blogs so we’ll leave that complaint for much later.

As my devoted readers will have noticed the epublishing debate rages on I include a link from the LA Times that may prove informative and amusing.

http://www.latimes.com/business/la-fi-gatekeepers-20101226,0,1203901,ful/l.story

Which concisely points out a simple fact ignored by many publishers- the reading public are actually the ones who work out whether a book or writer is worthwhile. As has been stated in other media, a growing number of published authors are waiting for their contracts to run out so that they can place their older work straight out in the e-book market. For e-publishers this shift is also welcome news, since they’re relying on niche markets and simple forms of advertising as well as social media to promote their work. To indie writers and especially your humble servant the good doctor its a viable and cost effective opportunity to get our stories straight to the reader, without going through the grovelling, marketing and accounting hoops of the publishing industry.

Which as far as I’m concerned is excellent, since their usual prognostications have as much validity as that famous quip from Decca to the Beatles in 1962–‘we don’t like their sound and guitar music is on the way out’. Or of course the ever popular Chairman of IBM’s prediction in 1943- ‘I think there is a world markets for five computers’. Oh dear how wrong they were.

So I suppose its entirely reasonable to understand how the publishing industry totally missed the surge in Tudor interest.

I mean its such a boring dreary period. Absolutely nothing happened, no dramatic love triangles (Henry, Katherine and Anne) no illicit affairs (Henry’s mistresses all several of them) no bloody revenge of spurned wives from the grave (Katherine to Anne as on historian has suggested no zombies though) a complete lack of tragedy and pathos (the death of Jane Seymour and the official murder of Anne). And its not as if there’s any link with a few modern social crises such as growing radical religious division (protestants v’s catholics) or even the abuses of government or elitists hierarchies (Oh dear, where to start the list, the church, the Act of Supremacy, stacking Parliament).

Then again its was such a different world and of course they didn’t have the benefit of the internet or social media. Instead the early printing presses that ran almost 24/7 pumping out books, pamphlets and ballads all striving to put new ideas into public circulation. Not that the flood of new literature or radically fast communication had anything to do with the sudden burgeoning of ideas and changes in society. So as I said it’s no wonder that the publishing industry has consigned the Tudors to the status of a lowly niche market, inhabited by readers of historical romance and history devotees nutters. (oops Uber editor’s correction that should have been devotees, after all would our dearly beloved publishing industry ever label any of their readers as nutters?

So be it, as you’ve no doubt read in my prior posts, the Tudor era is where I’ll be launching my first series of books. As I’ve briefly outlined above this fascinating period of British history is packed full of bloodshed, treachery, manipulative scheming politicians, overt sexual tensions, a dominating monarch and a simmering religious feud that threatened to erupt into civil war. This has recently been made even more accessible by the history programs of David Starkey on Henry VIII and his Wives as well as the kind of accurate cross between a soap opera and history for television series The Tudors http://www.cbc.ca/tudors/

Leading on from that I was checking up with my ‘unbiased’ reviewer this afternoon regarding my Tudor novel I’d recently sent him to proof read. He quite gratifyingly said it was really good and a lot of fun to read. Naturally I thought this was fantastic news. Imagine at this stage a series of energetic cartwheels and popping champagne corks. Then after my brief moment of euphoria, he uttered those dreaded words feared by any writer- ‘however’. It amazing how a simple word like ‘however’ can strike you with bone shaking dread. His use of it was luckily only as a member of the very general reading audience, thus not quite so chilling. He found it a little confusing sorting out the characters and their motives. Considering the twists, turns, reversals and abrupt terminations of the Tudor family affairs that is perfectly understandable, so as a rough guide to the perplexed here is the potted version of Tudor characters

Historical Characters

Henry VIII: King of England and Ireland, though he also longs for a chance to renew a hereditary claim to the French crown, which is why it’s stored amongst the royal titles in case of need. Henry has a serious problem due to the ravages of disease and the lottery of genetics. He is the last legitimate male Tudor. Apart from him, there is only one daughter Mary and a scattering of nieces and nephews via his two sisters. What’s worse is that he knows that if he has a ‘sudden accident’, his wife Katherine will immediately arrange a marriage of his daughter Mary to her cousins, the Hapsburgs. This possibility doesn’t improve the notoriously fickle royal humour, since Henry views her family as inherently manipulative and untrustworthy. So as the biological clock ticks away Henry desperately needs an annulment of his first marriage so that he can marry again and gain a son as heir. Simple isn’t it.

Katherine of Aragon: Queen of England and aunt of the Hapsburg Emperor Charles V, who happens to be master of half of Europe as well as the limitless riches of the New World. Katherine has a serious problem. She could only provide one living child for the English throne, a daughter Mary. By 1528 she is past child bearing age and she knows Henry is desperate for a male heir. However that can only happen if she is out of the way. This presents a difficulty since Katherine likes being queen and she wants her daughter to be queen. The solution is simple- she gains her Hapsburg nephew’s support and stymies Henry’s efforts for a legal papal divorce. In this endeavour Katherine is not alone, she has a number of both public and secret English backers in positions of power and influence. Some are men of principle and honour, while others seek to gain from a continuation of the current dynastic problem, or profit from the dispute. One more factor that is frequently ascribed to her motives, is a very deep Castilian desire for revenge. No one casts aside the daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain!

Anne Boleyn: the beloved mistress of King Henry and the essential reason for the annulment commission. Her sister is rumoured to have had a son to Henry so in royal eyes the odds of a male heir are good. Anne however, wants the legal recognition of a marriage for advancement and protection. Thus the complicated legal and biblical wrangling and negotiations to and fro with the Pope that lasts for years. It’s also been said around the court that Anne is both the driving force behind Henry and keen on the heretical ideas of Luther. If her potential husband has to break with Rome, then she won’t shed a tear over it. Whether she or Henry made the first move to ramp up the affair is now irrelevant. In the bitter factional rivalry of the Tudor court it has become a do or die effort. Anne is very aware of the penalty for faltering or failure- a quick river trip to the Tower.

Thomas Wolsey: Cardinal legate, Archbishop of York and the Lord Chancellor of England. The supreme administrator of the kingdom and right hand of the king. He has gained this position by solving all the king’s problems and increasing his master’s status amongst the powers of Europe. However, as an upstart commoner he is loathed by the nobility, while as the instigator of high taxes and for his supreme arrogance, he is actively hated by the commoners. With the advent of Anne Boleyn Wolsey’s power begins to slip and the Cardinal is caught in a quandary. If he pushes Anne’s cause she gains power. If he doesn’t, he loses the trust and support of the King and falls. In the end he plays a dangerous game of prevarication and delay, hoping for change of mood in his fickle royal master or until he can find a substitute for that damn Boleyn woman. Or alternately a shift in the power balance in Europe makes ‘Lady Anne’ vulnerable.

Here endeth part 1 I will conclude this blog with a promo from the up coming Cardinal’s Angels that will be released on Smashwords and Amazon very soon.

The Cardinal’s Angels

A novel of Murder, Treason and Heresy in Henry VIII’s England

This set of stories follows the life and adventures of Edward (Red Ned) Bedwell, a young apprentice lawyer at Gray’s Inn and reluctant investigator who experiences first hand the tumult and intrigue during the reigns of the Tudor monarchs from Henry VIII to Queen Elizabeth I. As a comparison it is similar to the Lindsay Davis Falco novels set in ancient Rome and like other historical mystery novels examines the rivalries, ambitions and human foibles that frequently led to treachery and murder.

It is the year 1529, and the kingdom is embroiled in the factional politics of ‘the King’s Great Matter’, Henry VIII’s divorce from Katherine of Aragon. While celebrating the successful ‘sting’ of Canting Michael the gang lord of Southwark at the bear baiting ring, Ned finds himself dragged into a tavern brawl over honour. Later in the notorious ‘Clink Goal’ he awakes with only a blurry recollection and finds himself accused of murdering a royal official, a servant of Cardinal Wolsey, the Lord Chancellor of England, a dangerous man to cross. To save himself from the charge of treason and secure the support of his unwilling uncle, Ned has to search out the real culprits and their motives for murder. In the back streets of London he acquires some very reluctant allies – Meg Black an apprentice apothecary and her brother Rob, who find themselves caught up as witnesses to the deadly brawl. Their combined skills, inventiveness and trust are put to the test as the hunt by competing lords of the kingdom intensifies. What is so important that the retainers of the Dukes of Norfolk, and Suffolk as well as those of the spurned Queen Katherine are so keen to kill for? Is it the mystery of the Cardinal’s Angels, golden coins of the realm found hidden within church candles or a set of cryptic letters in the slain man’s purse? What could be worth more than gold and why is Dr Agryppa, the astrologer, so keen to help Ned, and if so would he risk his soul in accepting the bargain?

If that isn’t complicated enough, Ned over heard a discussion between Meg Black and her business partner regarding his permanent ‘removal’ in case ‘he’ discovered their secret trade?

As the good doctor says keep taking the pills!

Prognostications and Pouting: Ebooks! The Horror ! The Horror!

2011-01-23T20:16:00.000+11:00

Prognostications and Pouting: Ebooks! The Horror ! The Horror!: "A Fevered Imagination, Ebooks! The Horror ! The Horror! Good day my well regarded viewers, devoted House-ophiles all. I hope this..."

Ebooks! The Horror ! The Horror!

2011-01-23T20:11:00.000+11:00

A Fevered Imagination, Ebooks! The Horror ! The Horror!

Good day my well regarded viewers, devoted House-ophiles all. I hope this latest missive finds you all in excellent health. No need for consultation from the good doctor? No physick or bleeding required, hmm? Excellent just remember the balancing of the four humours is an important part of your chosen physician’s duties, making sure that one doesn’t suffer from any excesses of black bile that could trigger an angry or choleric disposition. What’s that you say? Well let the good doctor give you an example from real life. Last week we had a light hearted discussion of the potential advantages of e-publishing. A simple piece, of course packed full of, ahem, wisdom and foresight. Unfortunately it seems to have prompted all manner of ragingly rabid articles from the publishing industry in both the press and on the blogging scene. All warned in stern tones of calamity, both dire and dreadful, if agents and publishers loose control of the literature market. Now, they are the perfect example of what I’m talking about.

My diagnosis is as follows;

An excess of choler ‘made light by its very strong heat has been drawn inexorably upwards in fumes and bodily steams until it has reached the moist atmosphere of the brain. Once there its mellifluous strength has overthrown the natural order of that noble organ and caused a madness of frenzy and delirium. Based on my reading of the Secreta Secretorum

Now as for treatment, mayhap ice baths to bring down the inflamed choler. Perhaps if that doesn’t help, the application of an electrical stimulus to the tender portions may drive off the evil vapours. If even that fails, then I fear they are in God’s hands since we have reached the limits of physical medicine. After that only prayer and scourging can bring them back from the haunts of Bedlam.

What was that? Are you implying that the use of cattle prods is a tad harsh, unbefitting of the status of a master of physick? I fear that if anything we are being too gentle in our treatments. Let me give you a further example of the depth of their current mania. One Antipodean ‘self styled editor’s blog in a recent entry openly gloated with unrestrained joy over rejected applications some hundred years old. Satisfaction is gained in many diverse practices and we must learn to be broad minded. It takes all types I suppose. But then they wistfully remarked how satisfying it still was, to crush those undeserving worms who dare question ‘their’ literary judgement. I mean to say they must be right, after all dozens of agents and publishers justifiably knocked back that minor no talent non-entity JK Rowling, and well her books hardly made a ripple in modern culture did they? At this point the good doctor’s uber editor has included the following. This household of Houslings now possesses not one set of JK Rowling books but two, as second son decided he wanted his own copies.

Though that is a minor symptom of the delirium, I have found others more severe as this snippet from a relatively recent publishing conference will show;

“…today’s book publishers have some significant advantages as they compete for their places of prominence in the niched world that is evolving. The book publishers’ royalty relationship with authors is a key strength. It means that authors will collaborate by blogging or posting articles without necessarily demanding compensation.” Mike Shatzkin Publishing the Story of the Future Seminar 2007

Now that segment speaks of a real problem with delusions of grandeur, a true brain fever of the worst sort, similar to the one that afflicted my Lord Essex in his rebellion against her Sovereign Majesty Queen Elizabeth. Perhaps it is best expressed by a more modern concept- megalomania. I’m sure all my readers know the sort of difficulties that affliction can cause-lots of cannon fodder driven forward by ‘incentives’.

Now onto the next symptom of the malady, from the choleric vapours permeating the brain, to the inability to distinguish reality;

On their blog another local and ‘anonymous’ ‘publishing’ identity has displayed a confusion when it comes to simple numbers.

if you buy a Kindle for $189 and your first e-book is $20, you're essentially paying $209 to buy that e-book. Extract from anonymous blogger 20/01/11
If I remember correctly, Kindle was reduced to $139 sometime around August 2010 and a quick search on Amazon’s Kindle ebook list gives prices from 99c to an average $8.00. As for this strange logic, if you applied that to the purchase of a new car then your drive home from the showroom is $25,000 plus a tank of fuel ($35) equalling a ten kilometre trip worth $25,035. Terribly expensive isn’t it?
The same blogger unfortunately continues their mental confusion with the following;

and thousands of e-books available, will covers for each individual book matter any more? Perhaps not. Rather, the author's brand may have more significance as a visual cue. Just like the old wax seal on an envelope, the author's personal brand will identify their e-books as a product… Extract from anonymous blogger 20/01/11

Apparently in ‘their’ regard, the reader has no more wit than a sheep who can be easily led by a glowing brand name. So the supposition of this particular delusion is that brand name surpasses quality. Even more disturbing is the suggestion that covers, the eye candy and memory mnemonics of all modern books, magazines, games and the linchpin of the internet graphics surge, will be in the e-revolution, superfluous. I ask you, is this the discourse of a sane and rational person?

What was that you said?

Oh, of course I’ll reattach the electrodes!

Ehh… up the voltage? Certainly, after all it is essential to expel that vile humour. The screams you say, a bit LOUD? Don’t worry it’s just temporary until the laudanum kicks in. Anyway pain is good for healing process!

In the meantime the good doctor asks you to consider whether agents and publishers have been those stout gatekeepers of literary quality, as they querulously maintain. I’m sure, as discerning consumers and intelligent people you haven’t rushed out to buy a book because a marketer has said, in blaring tones that it’s the latest must read! Or have you ever looked at an over promoted book in absolute disbelief at its lack of a story, plot, editing or even coherence. Or perhaps thought quietly to your self that perhaps a drunken snail on a keyboard could do better? Well the good doctor respects the reading public and I’m certain you’ll all act responsibly and not foam and rave like those poor deluded fools we’ve been prescribing. Just remember as they rattle their chains and moan they deserve our pity.

What? Another serve of shock therapy? If you insist, I only do this for the greater good.

As the good doctor say keep taking the pills!

And watch out for the first two Red Ned Tudor murder mysteries Cardinal’s Angels and the Queen’s Oranges they’re coming out soon on Smashwords and Amazon!

To Epublish or not Epublish, that is the Question?

2011-01-14T16:28:00.000+11:00

Epublishing a Chance for Writers?

Greetings my well regarded readers, all several of you, I hope that this New Year celebration and holiday has left you relaxed and refreshed rather than frazzled and stressed out. If the later then a good firkin of methaglyn will definitely restore the balance of the humours and good cheer. I thought today we’d discuss a vexing subject of our literary times; whether it is nobler to published in print or suffer the slings and arrows of epublishing.
As many of you will have seen before Christmas and since there has been an absolute hysteria from both the publishing and retailing industries regarding the proliferation of ebooks and their electronic readers plus the growing impact of online purchases. Here in the Antipodes it has even prompted large retailing chains to howl indignantly over the apparent unfair GST (Goods and Sales Tax) status of on line purchase. Apparently their extremely expensive marketing consultants completely missed the steady growth of companies like Amazon or Ebay and the increasing strength of the Aussie dollar over this last decade.

One wonders how every one else appeared to pick up this trend while senior executives and consultants missed it, are they perhaps they’re still living in a pre digital pre internet world? Though maybe that’s not so surprising, this same collection of highly qualified and experienced commerce experts also totally missed the six months or more of warnings of the Great Economic Meltdown so perhaps we should allow them some latitude in relation to the internet.
After all the siren song of voodoo economics is so hard to give up.

There done that, vented my spleen now on to e-publishing.

On my way up to my old friend Nick’s funeral I spent quite a few hours with many of my old school friends, and as expected we swapped stories about families and current pursuits. All of a sudden I found that I had to condense four plus years of trying to get published the traditional way and going along the new e-publish path into a very short explanation, and to be honest it wasn’t that easy. I found that a lot of myths had grown up around the getting published process, ones that now I examine them are very difficult to accept.
Now in a very light hearted and satirical fashion the good doctor covered the perils and processes of publishing in a prior blog (see Publishing Gregory House), so just regard this as part 2.

Publishing, The Sequel!

The Query Tread Mill

Long accepted practice has the aspiring author send off a two hundred word or so grovelling query letter outlining their brilliant literary masterpiece along with a brief outline of qualifications, suitability and marketability to an agent or publishing house. On the surface this is a sound practical process and has been so for over a hundred years. It is meant as a sorting mechanism to winnow out the literary wheat from the chaff, however real life proves more quirky.

Most agents and publishers make it very plain in their web pages (those that have them, which is by no means all) that your query will be handled in due course ranging in time from weeks to months. After that little flash of truth you’re then informed that during this lengthy process of deliberation if during that time you get tired of waiting for a reply and decide to send your query to anyone else. The original recipients will trash your query and put a big black mark next to your name.
Alright lets do the maths lets say you’ve narrowed down twenty A grade ‘potentials’ and give each a two month turnaround (this is an average period, some claim one month turnaround other three or longer). That’s three and one third years!
Excuse me? Let me get this right, you want ‘me’ to put my business proposal on hold for how long? Until you’ve deigned to notify me if my proposal has even been ‘reviewed’ before I can send it to someone else? I mean, is this for real? Isn’t that a touch monopolistic as well as incredibly un-business like and impractical? Not to mention woefully Dickensian?

Quality Assured?

Over the Aethernet one apocryphal tale does the rounds, a well known author as a test sent off hundreds of query letters based on an already popular and published work. The result was dismal, not only did they gain few replies, most of those hadn’t twigged to the apparently obvious clues. Oh dear human nature strikes again!
The other point in queries that always concerns me is that while query letters make time management sense, I’m not sure the ability to churn out a two hundred word bite is necessarily the same as that required for a one or two hundred thousand word novel.
To give a comparable real world example, it would be like judging a student’s year long efforts solely on a two paragraph submission. As if any teacher could get away with that! Opps, bad example but you get the drift.

Editing?

Some of the complaints from the publishing industry have focused with a ferociously rabid righteous indignation on the expected drop in editing and story quality with the anticipated flood of e-published books surging tsunami like into the market. If they are to be believed the rampant barbarian hordes of almost illiteracy are howling at the gates, battering rams swinging, slavering with eagerness to defile the chaste virgins of literature. Well maybe not quite like that, but that’s not far off the level of hysteria as currently portrayed. The advent of the personal computer over twenty years ago was heralded as the dawn of the new age of literary expansion, more talented writers would be able to produce a greater volume and diversity of stories. So it has proved, however we are now told most of them are functionally illiterate without the guiding hand and steady editing pencil of the experienced agent and publisher.

Having taught high school and university level courses there is a shadow of truth there, but perhaps no more than in any generation of complaints about education quality. Now I strongly agree that editing is the key to any successful writing, god knows I’d be in a pickle without my uber-editor Jocelyn to rearrange the commas or sort out the phrases and adjectival clauses. However I find the strident proclamations of the publishing industry as bastions of writing and language to be somewhat hollow.

Several books of my recent acquaintance proved to be the denizens of strange and unusual realms of grammar, one book of a popular adventure genre had a three page sentence before the first full stop. While a recently highly praised and awarded literati winner swapped around tenses more frequently than serves in a ping pong match. This may be postmodern démodé but it made the story impossible to figure out who was saying what to whom and why. That of course is the extreme or maybe not. Perhaps I’m being too picky, but after spending twenty plus dollars I like a story to be:

a) Interesting
b) Well written
c) Coherent
d) Entertaining or scary, or gut wrenching, or full of pathos, or even thoughtful
e) Edited, in that the main characters retains their own names throughout the story
f) Or we do not display the Tudor attitude to spelling (a very ‘individual’ approach)

After twenty dollars plus I have found there is rarely a guarantee of quality, so as for being guardians of the public weal of language and quality products I would have to rate them as a dismal failure.

Publicity, Marketing and… Distance

Traditional agents and publishers frequently promise to handle all the publicity and marketing of your literary creation. Well that’d be fine if only you could trust they’d do a good job, I mean I only have to mention the plethora of headless bimbo covers of previous blogs. Oh dear sorry about that, the sarcasm gear slipped into overdrive again. Damn that dicky clutch! What I meant to say was that publishers and agents will ‘encourage’ you to do book signings and engage in marketing and promotions as well as set up a website and of course social media is a must! Hang on we’ve got a slight problem there. Isn’t that exactly what I have to do as an e-publisher? Well what do you know it actually is! And I don’t get charged a marketing percentage or agent’s fee and its all tax deductable to me, wow amazing! Why didn’t I think of this before?

As an Aussie I understand the tyranny of distance. It’s a damn vast place with a thousand kilometres between each major city. So travelling around for me isn’t unusual. Authors are frequently told they have to get out and market their work via book signings and media events. Now this may be easy for those living in Capital cites like London or the New England to Richmond Va. region or even L.A (sometimes). However if you don’t, like a very large number of aspiring authors, then distance is your enemy in so many ways. One of the greatest obstacles is surprisingly prejudice based on region. Unfortunately a significant number of urbanites, their life circumscribed by concrete and pavement, frequently regard your queries and submissions as coming from deepest Hicksville or Uppercumbucka West and sneeringly automatically bin them. Sorry seen it.

The solution of course is simple, use the internet. The action however is another matter requiring intelligence, forethought and dedication.

Money !!!

Now we enter the sordid world or finance where the purity of art is soiled by grubby commercial considerations. Ain’t it wonderful! Now in the current market the author, that’s the person who slaved away for months to produce the work is the least compensated, garnering usually a lot less than twenty percent of the ‘net’ profit more often fifteen or ten. Now lots of publishing companies will huff affrontedly over that ‘figure’ claiming the high cost of printing, distribution, marketing and publishing expenses. In some case they may even have justification, however according to ‘modern’ accounting practices whether the author’s work sells or not they still make money on it. Now we arrive at e-publishing placing a book in the electronic market place does not involve either distribution, or printing. So the question is how can a publisher still claim such a high percentage? Personally I’ll cut out all those expensive and superfluous middle men and go with Smashwords, who guarantee that around 80% of the sale price goes to the authors. Thanks Mark Crocker for returning power to the authors keep up the good work!

So we’ve had a very satirical cruise through all the reasons why I’m going for e-publishing. I must add that the publishing world is not all bad. Out there in publisher land there has to be some decent hardworking agents and publishers. However their impact on the market has unfortunately been minimal. I, like many other authors, am now exercising my ‘free market’ rights and going digital, so hope to see you soon on an ebook reader of your choice!

As the good doctor says keep taking the pills!

In Memoriam Nick Sams

2011-01-05T20:08:00.001+11:00

Vale Nick

To all my readers I wish you a happy and safe New Year in the hope that it will be an improvement on the last. Traditionally the New Year break or the twelve days of Christmas and the older Roman Saturnalia was a pause in the yearly cycle. Up north its when the Yule tide log is ceremonially burned as symbol of the returning power of the sun, as those enduring a northern winter begin to count the days until the cold departs. Always it has been a time of renewal and new hope, when pledges are made for the coming seasons and the old year is recalled in both happy memory and regret. All of us around the world celebrated, mostly with family and community
-- some of you I’m sure saw the wonderful fireworks from Sydney Harbour Bridge. That was always my favourite New Years spot and a pleasant inspiring sight to carry into the next year.

For the good Doctor it is the same, on this New Years Eve he managed to catch up with a dozen old school friends and their families, who’d travelled in some cases thousands of miles to share the pledging of troths and swap old stories and new. In a few instance I hadn’t seen these dear friends for far too many years. The usual excuses of life and drama that we often come up with always feel so inadequate when you greet them after such a long break. However with the lads of the KDD fellowship Knox Drinking and Driving society 1978, though here I must pause and add in real honesty that never in all those years did they undertake those pursuits at the same time. Not ever! But I digress, apart from the fact that they were good honest friends at school, one of their endearing traits is their welcome and friendship is always extended to any new members of the fellowship either by marriage, association or just visitors.

Their other unfailing trait is that no matter how long the time lag, distance or irregularity of contact, when you do finally coincide, it is as if you’d only been away a few weeks. The wry smile, the hug, the joyful welcome its always there and always the same.

Now I know dear friends and readers that the Doctor has usually given forth in a lightly satirical tone regarding some the common misconceptions and mistruths of modern life and history to entertain and enlighten. Though you no doubt understood that the articles on the Great War where very much from the heart.

In this missive I am forced to put aside the common banter and talk about loss. In my study of history I often came across references to the ravages of plague famine and war and the toll that had upon the Medieval or Tudor family. Frequently it has been lightly glossed over, by dare I say older usually single male academics with the dismissive tone of ‘well they lost so many all the time, no doubt they where used to it, grief and loss was different in those days’.

At that point the tome usually hits the wall. I find the offhanded dismissive-ness deeply offensive and insulting as if inferring that our ancestors weren’t capable of human emotion. If I recall my prehistory correctly some years ago a grave was discovered containing flowers and red ochre pigment sprinkled over the body. Quite clearly it pointed to respect, love and grieving. That was a hundred or so thousand years ago. To be blunt despite some of our more destructive habits that one human trait at least has remained constant. We genuinely mourn our departed, because we loved and regarded them, so their loss hurts us deeply.

So at this stage in the discussion I have to admit to my own loss and it isn’t damned academic.

At New Years Eve, I once more met up with a very old friend Nick Sams. We had talked on and off over the years and swapped greetings via the KDD network but for sixteen odd years we actually hadn’t shaken hands or exchanged personal G’days or met our associated partners and children.

Well as I said above, it was as if it had only been weeks not years. So as you’d expect we caught up and our partners got on and the kids enjoyed each other’s company as only they can. Thus finally we departed after many pleasant hours enfolded in the love and community that is the KDD and the New Year looked a damned sight better for their company, fellowship and regard.

I find that at this stage of my life I do not possess that common rose tinted view of my past or of the shared time at school, or to be honest of my then fellow adolescents. Some of them where right little shits and it wouldn’t surprise me to find a few have fled the country over dubious financial schemes or regularly engage in questionable moral decisions. Unfortunately that’s part of the human condition. But it does have a balance, those people at the other end of the spectrum, who are despite all the travails of life, are basically ‘good men’. As I said I’m somewhat cursed with honesty so this isn’t idle flattery or gratuitous praise, the KDD has more than its fair share of good men (and women) who’ve stood beside others in difficult times because it was the right thing to do and not because it was popular or expedient. But because it’s what you do; real duty, honour and humanity.

After all that wind up now for the loss. My friend Nick Sams died suddenly this week on Jan 3 while walking with one of his school friends. Duncan Mc and other bystanders present acted immediately and got him off to hospital. Unfortunately the damage to the heart was far more severe and that evening, well you get the drift.

Now I didn’t know Nick near well enough over the past few years, but I do remember him at school as if it were last week. His friendly mischievous grin is all so easy to recall. I remember him even better because he actually was genuinely friendly. I cannot recall a single instance of petty meanness or spite so common of adolescent lads in an exclusive school. If you needed a hand he was always there. In all the reports of his actions since then I haven’t heard he’d strayed from the essence of that personable lad it was good to be with. Now I’m not saying he was a saint, but from what I saw NYE he still had that glowing sparkle of care, love and humanity that made me proud be enfolded in his continuing regard.

As Mark Anthony said of Caesar

I come to bury Caesar not to praise him, the good that men do is oft interned with their bones, while the evil lives on.

Well damn it! It wasn’t so for Nick Sams I cannot grieve for him as Sarah and his girls do and our compassion really does go out to you in this sudden tragedy.

But each of us can help no matter where we are, we can remember Nick; his smile, his laugh, his helping hand. For instance the work on the whirly gig last New Years Day, where the ready camaraderie of the KDD was there to help out. As for others if you knew him, his memory is enhanced by a smile and a tear.

Bye Nick

Ever since I've known him he's always been the friendliest and hospitable friend, and so keen to be one of us. He loved his family dearly and after being with him, I always left happy and with a smile on my face. ‘Stuart’.

Nick’s sense of inner good humour always shone through. ‘Cathy’

I find myself at the conclusion of reading your proposed blog, sad at our loss, thinking deeply of Sarah and her two. Where will our “league of extraordinary gentlemen" be without him? We are now so much poorer. ‘Cameron’

In other words, for David and I, it was a normal, wonderful day with old school buddies, and there were no signs of anything wrong, right till the end.

We will all, I'm sure, have our own special memories of Nick. And I'm sure, he will live in our memories, very vividly! ‘Duncan Mc’

Farewell to one of a kind gentleman who blessed us with his enthusiasm for life. He will be sorely missed by us all. Our love and thoughts are with Sarah Megan and Kate

‘Duncan M’

I will never forget both the care Nick showed as I struggled to have a child then the delight when we knew Mitch was to arrive on his birthday. Nick even brought us both home from the hospital. So very sad that Mitch will not have the opportunity to share more birthdays with Nick and in later years, share a beer. ‘Chris B’

He will always be in my thoughts. I remember most his pleasure in others – his focus on others. His openness, friendliness, kindness.

For my 40^th birthday, Nick, Andrew and myself did a little pub crawl. The idea was to sample an ale or two from each of the boutique/micro breweries in the CBD of Sydney. We went by train, of course. On the way, Nick introduced me to a “Triple J” – being Jack Daniels, Jim Beam and Johnny Walker, plus air. Just to get us started, you see. I remember a night of just good friends, good talk and good ale. Thank you Nick, for that great night.

I remember Nick coping with loss of employment – obviously hurting, but not letting it destroy his basic optimism. His willingness and preparedness to do anything, try anything. A doer, not a complainer. We talked a lot in those days – those difficult days.

Throughout it all, his basic goodness, his generous nature did not change. The Nick I knew in High School is the Nick I really enjoyed catching up with at New Year’s Eve.

Vale Nick. ‘Angus’

The following is from Duncan and he gives us a very vivid picture of his time with Nick on his last day with us.

Can I just tell you all briefly about my last day with Nick (and David M) , especially coz is was so, so normal, right till the end of the afternoon.

It was one of those typical last days we had guests staying with us, so what were we all going to do? And possibly more typical, the girls went shopping and to the beach, and the boys... well there was Nick, David and myself, and Nick came up with this idea: "how about go-karting?" There wasn't much convincing needed for David and I, so off we went about 1pm. Way over the other side of Melbourne, but that was fine, David had to be dropped off at Melbourne Airport to go back to Sydney, and the airport wasn't that far from the kart track. We were only on the track for 10 minutes, but the 3 of had a ball! The chat in the car during all those km's was terrific.

We dropped off David at the airport. Nick and I headed home from the airport about 3:30pm via a sculpture on the side of the freeway on the way back. I had to point it out to Nick after Robyn had spoken to him about it. As we approached the city, I suggested a cup of coffee at Port Melbourne. He readily agreed. Although after a few minutes, I thought to ask: "would you prefer a drink at a bar?" Nick said, no, coffee's

good !

The two of had a really great chat right thru the arvo, as he and I always did, I'm sure just like he did with you all. Coffee at the Port Melbourne cafe was terrific. A pleasant little french patisserie on Bay Street. We sat inside, chatted more and watched the world go by. Very, very relaxing. As usual, Nick was great company.

And still, as thru the whole day so far, Nick was very much the lovable Nick we all knew and loved. Nothing was any different.

We headed home from Port Melbourne at about 4:30pm and again had 25 minutes to chat with Nick on the way home. We had planned a BBQ for Nick & Sarah's last night at our place. So we needed to stop at a supermarket on the way home just for a few small things. So we stopped at Sandringham Coles.

It wasn't until then, just as we got out of the car at Coles, that Nick complained of what he said was "heart burn". But it only put a slight frown on his face. We walked the 25 metres to the entrance of Coles, and there, he wanted to sit down. From there, he basically started show signs of collapsing.

It wasn't long before we had an ambulance there, and Sarah was there in minutes via Robyn's car, in time to go with Nick to the hospital. All the time at Coles, bar about 10 seconds when he seemed to blackout, he was awake, and quite "with it". Even while on the ambo's stretcher, easily recognised Sarah from 20 metres away, and called out her name and waved to her before she got to him.

In other words, for David and I, it was a normal, wonderful day with old school buddies, and there were no signs of anything wrong, right till the end.

We will all, I'm sure, have our own special memories of Nick. And I'm sure, he will live in our memories, very vividly !

Thanks Duncan I realise how difficult that was to compose and get down. In parting as my name sake Dr Gregory House would no doubt say;

“You’re not immortal y'know, the human body is surprisingly frail and vulnerable. So god damn it, take care of it!”

"Oh yes and take the pills!"

At last, the Most Glorious Cover!!

2010-12-30T23:20:00.001+11:00

A Cover! A Cover! My Kingdom for a Cover!

Part 3

Good day my well regarded viewers, I hope this missive finds you all in excellent health, now in the midst of the twelve day yuletide festival! I hope that the huge Christmas Day feast has left you satisfied and replete. Rather than as some of my patients who were in urgent need of a purgative to cure from the pain of excessive indulgence? I know it almost did me in and our Christmas repast erred on the lighter side of dinning. If not for the swift recourse to my handy medicinal cabinet and a cinnamon and ginger hippocras. I too would have succumbed to a groaning stomach. I cannot recommend it highly enough a wonderfully efficacious restorative! I have included a simple recipe from the popular The Booke of Kervinge and Sewing (London: 1508) Tudor period tome on housekeeping.

Take ginger, pepper, graines, canell, sinamon, sugar and tornsole, than looke ye have five or sixe bags for your ipocras to run in, and a pearch that your renners may ren on, than must ye have sixe peuter basins to stand under your bags, than look your spice be ready, and your ginger well pared or if it be beaten to pouder, than looke your stalkes of sinamon be well coloured and sweete: canell is not so gentle in operation, sinamon, is hotte and dry, graines of paradice be hot and moist, ginger, grains, long pepper ben hot and moist, sinamon, canell and redde wine colouring.

Now knowe yee the proportions of your ipocras, than beate your pouders, eache by them selfe, and put them in bladders and hange your bagges sure that no bagge tough other, but let each basinge touch other, let the first basin be of a gallon, and each of the other a pottell, than put in your basin a gallon of red Wine, put these to your pouders, and stire them well, than put them into the firste bage, and let it ren, than put them in the second bagge, than take a peece in your hand and assay if it be stronge of Ginger, and alay it with sinamon, and if it be strong of sinamon, alay it with sugar, and look ye let it ren through sixe renners, and your ipocras into a close Vessel and keep the receit, for it will serve for sewers, than serve your souvraign with wafers and ipocras.

Yummm!!!!

Book Covers ... Our road to artistry?
The background
distilling the true essence

Now after the slightly alcoholic digression back to the burning matter of the day, Book Covers! As I have mentioned in the last two blog articles we did an extensive search for Tudor period fiction book covers for inspiration. The results were not impressive except for a small handful of designs. I have received a few comments and criticisms regarding the last two articles (thank you my well regarded readers) and have taken their suggestions on board. (and we didn’t make any of them walk the plank!)

So I submitted the results to the design team and we spent several days going over the options. The cover had to fulfil six essential criteria:

1. Fit the Tudor Period

2. Identify the story as fiction

3. Be attractive as a design

4. Look professional

5. Get the attention of browsers

6. Not look like a headless bimbo

When broken down into simple components the whole enormous task looks easier, well it did to me. Though I must admit to starting out with a distinct advantage; several years of design experience, so that I understood the elements of the process which I will outline step by step

Step the First

Review the research;

Okay the easiest part is cancel out the losers; the horde from headless bimbodom get axed! Now I must
admit to being picky so as a committee

(Jocelyn the Uber editor and Alexander the artist extraordinaire ) we sat down and went through the remaining hundred odd images. We cancelled out strictly historical option like portraits since we felt they referred too specifically to individual Tudor characters. In the end the winners were representational or composition covers such as those for Sacred Treason and CJ Sansom’s novels. Overall the committee felt they looked very impressive and pretty speccy. So those were to serve as the basis for our design.

Step the Second

What elements to use?
The story background

The basis of the Cardinal’s Angels (without giving the whole story away) is the trials and tribulations of apprentice lawyer and sometime rogue Red Ned Bedwell and his pursuit of golden angels. The Angels in question in part refer to one of the gold coins of the realm of Henry VIII stamped with the figure of St Michael on one face. In his efforts to secure a convenient fortune Ned stumbles across murder, possible heresy, threatened betrayal and potential treason. All this mayhem and strife because of a set of letters and a secret consignment of gold. Now Ned could listen to the alluring whisper of the angels as his daemon counsels or heed the urging of his better angel to follow the path of honour and friendship. For a Tudor lad on the make it’s a difficult choice and either one could led to a lingering death on the scaffold.

Step the Third

The Design components

With all the above and more now being slotted into the design brief, the ‘committee’ set to work. As per the decision in stage one ,we’d use a version of the composition style of cover, including simple and readily identified elements from the story. That was the easiest decision. Afterwards we engaged in as they say robust debate and discussion. The next victim for the block was, the use of any Tudor figures in costume. In the first draft I suggested a dagger since it’s in the murder and other sections of the story. The committee voted otherwise. Thud! It was chopped. I then sensibly pushed for the inclusion of a leather satchel since it was a key item in the story progress. Ah no, a quick walk to the scaffold and it was all over, once more the committee in their collective wisdom crushed the suggestion cruelly underfoot. Finally we were left with four main style elements; falling coins, A Tudor Rose seal, the incriminating letter and the title in Tudor period text. At that point I yielded to the powers of reason and democracy as well as the salient fact that the too much detail would be lost in a thumbnail image.
Though I can claim one victory, all the covers will have a background based on that of a Tudor period fabric or painting.

Step the Fourth

Bringing it together
Thus we arrive at the individual components for a cracking good cover, once more I skimmed through the Internet searching out examples and came across the following

The Fishpool Hoard

(http://www.britishmuseum.org/explore/online_tours/britain/our_top_ten_british_treasures/the_fishpool_hoard.aspxsome)

A collection of twelve hundred odd gold coins buried during the abortive rebellion against the Yorkist King Edward IV in 1464.

To bring the coins up to date I found an image of a gold angel of Henry VIII. I chose the yellower colour to indicate an earlier coin of pre debasing vintage, since the later ones had a redder tinge from the copper alloy. Our talented and obliging artist Alexander quickly rendered the face with the figure of St Michael (thus the reason why they’re called angels) into a sketch and the design was away.

The next item on the list was the letter, more valuable and dangerous than gold. The committee wanted three messages in this part of the cover, the first was its official nature thus the red seal. Originally we thought a facsimile of the Lord Chancellor’s seal would do the trick, however it proved to be rather obscure and didn’t scream Tudor power to modern eyes so we went for the traditional Tudor Rose. As you can see it was similar to the concept in Sacred Treason, though this one is broken symbolising (we hope) the breach of royal trust by Cardinal Wolsey and Ned’s daring an act of treason to escape the noose. It also has a bloodstained tear caused by a dagger thrust slashing through the latin script, once more the implied message of murder and official treason. As a basis for this image we looked at some of Holbein’s paintings and found the mother lode.
Letters from Holbeins Gisze painting

For the upside down latin script that you can see on the outside of the letter, we sourced a very famous piece of Tudor writing as an example of lettering style to copy. Princess Elizabeth’s ‘Tide Letter’, which she wrote out supposedly on a Thames wharf while waiting to be conveyed to the Tower. It was addressed to her sister Queen Mary pleading her innocence and begging not to be arrested for treason. Some historians believe this delay saved Elizabeth’s life, since Mary began to reconsider the hasty action as Elizabeth’s supporters petitioned for mercy.

Thus began the refining process to turn our ideas into a similar rain of golden coins.

The title is simple, Alexander used a Tudor font and imported it into Photoshop then embossed it used a matching parchment colour and finally added shadows.

For the author’s name (mine of course) we chose a more subdued Garamond font and a smaller text size that I hope portrays dignity, modesty and style. As well as placing it at the bottom of the image to balance out the title and frame the cover. I assume it will maintain that position until I reach Clive Cussler levels of fame, then straight to the top!

To give depth to the background once more we looked to Holbein and reworked a section of the backing curtain from the Ambassadors as you can see it brings the script, letter and coins forward in space.

The second last version

On reflection it needed a little extra to make the title stand out so Alexander added more shadows to give some extra depth and not have the pile of coins suspended in space. So far this is the final version any suggestions of comments please let us know

The final version!

Before NYE we should also be able to attach a YouTube film and voice over of the entire process.

The finished novel will be available from Smashwords early in the new year, soon to be followed by book two the Queen’s Oranges a tale involving murder, smuggling, heresy, oranges and gunpowder.

http://www.smashwords.com/

Just search for the Cardinal’s Angels and download the sample chapters.

As the good doctor says keep taking the pills!

And Happy Waeshael and keep safe for New Year’s Eve!!!

Post Additions

In response to suggestion from my loyal and extremely intelligent fans the design committee has burnt the midnight oil and slaved away at two more versions of the cover

The first has an addition of a cardinal's red cloth background sourced from Wolsey's portrait behind the book title. Then some gradient fading down the bottom beind the author name to obscure the base of the green curtain fabric. the coins have also gained more of a shimmer as they fall and reflect the light. I'm afraid the that the light gold colour has to stay to reflect the pure rather then redder debased coins.

After further reflection the design committee felt that the tudor text was too heavy for the title as well as difficult to read in thmubnail. So we swapped it with a clearer medieval text and thus have this the latest and who knows maybe the last version.

Let us know what you think?

Fiction, Its Great to be Published, now buy it Please?

2010-12-24T00:44:00.000+11:00

Fiction, Its Published; now buy it, Please?

Or A Cover! A Cover! My Kingdom for a Cover! Part 2

Good day my well regarded viewers, I hope this missive finds you all in excellent health, just a few days short of the yuletide festival. To those of my dear readers in the northern climes it’s in this local a balmy 20 degrees Celsius, way above freezing and the nearest snow is on a mountain peak fifty kilometres away. Sorry just had to rub that in, Aussie humour and all that. Though I doubt we’ll be Yuletiding on the beach with prawns and lobsters. Instead we’re adopting a more continental approach, spicy Italian sausages with the humble mashed potato (courtesy of our good friend and business associate Sir Walter Raleigh) blended with mozzarella, parmesan, cheddar, smoked capsicums, fresh basil, lightly fried shallots and bacon.

Yumm Dessert!

Then the meal topped off subtley wise with homemade lemon ice cream or white chocolate gelato and a healthy tankard of Badger’s vintage ale. Yummmm! I must remember to ensure that the medical chest is packed full of the overindulgence remedies, the ones made completely without dried and powdered leeches. Not so efficacious in any way!
Now after that little gastronomic festive digression back to the wonderful world of book covers!

Book Covers ... Quality vs Quantity

Now in the last instalment we had a very humorous look at headless bimbos courtesy of that doyen of dastardly deviousness Richard III. Wasn’t he perfect as an example of how an image can shape perceptions? As I will be outlining in I think book six of the Red Ned series we’ll be exploring the moment in time when King Richard Plantagenet was transformed from the unfortunate loser in a family inheritance dispute to the hunchbacked red handed slayer of children and widows the equal of Stalin.
So Richard didn’t kill the princes in the Tower, but he looks so mean and evil?

Its the image thing, it worked for Shakespeare so how can it work for you? Now as we know the publishing industry employs a legion of high trained and skilled graphics artists and consultants. All paid top dollar to produce the best designs for covers and advertising required to promote their valued and respected authors.
Whoooaa!!!
Sorry my apologies I really must stop wolfing down those chocolate coated coffee beans! I get too carried away.

Rosebud???

Opphs slipped again! Sorry, back to the land of reality. Publishing is, as the board of directors frequently tell the shareholders a business, as such it is in theory out to make a profit and in many ways is indistinguishable from any other profit driven company.
Thus all the rigmarole surrounding the publishing of your book is supposed to be based on sound business practises and principles. Or so goes the theory in a perfect universe as defined by modern MBA textbooks, real life however is not so crystal clear. Skilled, efficient staff and perceptive managers are as rare in publishing as in any other business, while incompetence and stupidity is spread around in generous measure like everywhere else. So unless you’re an author with a name like Cussler or Rowling you’ll get little chance to influence the way your work is ‘marketed’. In fact on most writer forums that single issue of presentation is the most common complaint, closely followed by slow payments. Well we’re interested in only a small section of this cover discussion, the wonderful world of Tudor fiction!

Tudor Covers

The Tudor Genre stretches quite a way, from the end of the Wars of the Roses to the Stewart assumption of the English crown by James VI of Scotland in 1603. Within one hundred and twenty odd years we have a vast diversity and wealth of paintings, woodblock prints, drawings, architecture, costumes and fabrics. So why I have to ask is the book cover art so dreadful? The cover can be the window into the soul of the story which is a cute paraphrase of Elizabeth’s ‘a window into the soul of her subjects’ quote regarding spaying and treason. So leaving out the large selection of headless bimbo’s we looked at in part one, what do I believe is a good cover to serve as an inspiration for my design The Cardinals Angels?

Amazon is your Friend?

You’d think that search for book covers in the digital age is an easy task. Not so, the Amazon site is very useful except that it lacks a detailed search engine which leaves you trawling through thousands of hits. I can be very enlightening if you have several hours.

Google is your Friend?

You’d think so with image search, but no. However they’ve reconfigured it makes every search a clumsy lucky dip that brings up the strangest collection of images. I mean to say how can typing in ‘Tudor Book Cover’ bring up an image of two scantily clad young girls and a well endowed darkish gentleman with a goat? The imagination boggles!

Quality Tudor Images!

As per the specification for the headless bimbos the following selection is based on attractive, relevant and engaging covers in other words good quality Tudor eye candy!

Contestant 1
The first off the list is the just released The Marlowe Conspiracy by MG Scarsbrook.
As you can see the cover is based on an Elizabethan period painting the original is believed to be of Marlowe and is in Corpus Christi College Cambridge. It has been shifted across to half obscure and possibly the background darkened. With red evocative text it does more than hint at Marlowe’s occupation as a spy and intelligencer. I feel this image invites you to open it up and indulge in Marlowe’s dangerous secrets, ones that may have led to his eventual murder in Deptford. Thus I’d score this one highly.

Contestant 2
Heartstone by CJ Sansom, now at this stage I must lay my cards on the table, with a slight digression I had just completed five straight non stop weeks of writing The Cardinals Angels, first draft and laid out the synopsis of the next ten books when I did a general Amazon search for more Tudor resources. All of a sudden up pops Sansom’s book about a Tudor lawyer serving Cromwell and I felt so gutted. Damn someone’s already used my entire story and they got it published! ARRGH!! To be honest I only brought myself to read Dissolution three weeks ago (five years after first draft) and breathed quiet sigh of relief, his work and character is very different from mine and though both are set in the same period they work at opposite ends of the social spectrum. I do not want to be charged with plagiarism after battling against it

Back to Heartstone I have seen two different versions of this cover the fist one pictures here is a simple close up shot of the cast Tudor Rose on top of a bronze cannon. The second version has the rose painted, which tended to be common for display. Both images are effective since Sansom’s character is as the title says off to war. On the whole it is a good cover that engages the viewer’s curiosity though a slightly more perspective view along the barrel may have given it more depth. I would score this one moderately highly. I have also included three other of Sansom’s good quality covers as a general idea of the style and design that will be employed for a successful author.

Contestant 3ish
This collection of images is off a set of Tudor period novels, I know nothing about their story line or author but they appealed to me as good quality compositions probably for the young adult ranged market. Nothing specatular, but competently done with simple elements of the storyline. grouped together In my opinion reasonably good for what they are.

Contestant 4
The Serpents Garden I know absolutely nothing about this author or her novels, what drew me to include it was its compositional style which I found interesting and a good balance of period images and design. Rather than demand attention it invites the reader to discover the meaning behind the collection of diverse pictures. I’d score this one in the moderate range.

Contestant 5
The Tudor Secret I CW Gortner once more I know absolutely nothing about this author or their novels, I included it since they didn’t quite cut off the heads and at least made an effort at Tudor costumes and an attempt at image improving, however I’m not sure it works. I leave rating of this one to my viewers

Contestant 6
Sacred Treason by James Forrester As I walked past the shelves of my local library this one positively leapt out demanding to be read. The red wax Tudor seal really draws the eye and the burnished gold script at the top is quite alluring giving off hints of reflected precious metal in candle light. The red brown of the cover evokes old leather books while the faded lettering behind the seal hints of hidden secrets and ciphers. Of all of the covers this one impressed me the most, it is both alluring and intriguing. To be honest it pressed all the buttons for a great Tudor fiction cover. In my opinion this is the winner and in part 3 you’ll see why.

As the good doctor says keep taking the pills!
And Happy Waeshael !!!

A Cover! My Kingdom for a Cover!

2010-12-20T23:05:00.000+11:00

Fiction, Its Great to be Published, now for the Sales!!

Or A Cover! A Cover! My Kingdom for a Cover!

Good day my well regarded viewers, I hope this missive finds you all in excellent health, partying along like its well, yuletide! Just remember always consult your honoured and reputable physician before indulging in the myriad of mountebank hangover cures. Unlike some charlatans and hedge witches I do not prescribe eye of newt or wing of bat! Certainly not, as every qualified doctor knows only the refined and distilled essence of the bull musk ox will restore and promote the natural vigour!
Now having dispensed more Tudor medicinal wisdom onto the theme of the day
So you’re published? And?

Publishing ... the Myths

All right you have finally done it, achieved that pinnacle of fame and fortune as we discussed in the last post. Every thing is sweet, life is as they say a bed of roses. Your book is on the shelves and the ravening reading public is out there buying up for Christmas and… your book stays on the shelves. Actually well into post new year, and worse news, its still on the shelves! Finally months later a container load of your book covers is shipped back to the publisher. Then disaster at the height of your writing peak three quarters of the way through your sequel you get that dreaded envelope from the publisher. Dear Sir/Madman/ Miss…Due to an unforseen dip in the market and the poor sales response of your debut novel our company is no longer able to retain you on our list ….yours unfaithfully wishing you the best… at a later date and so
The translation is- your toast, piss off, don’t call us because we won’t call you!

What!!! How??? Why???

I mean, I know it was a debut work but it couldn’t have been that bad… could it? Your self esteem plummets, you look at the delete key with ominous foreboding, the great work of years has failed, crashed to ruin. It must be your writing a little voice whispers in your mind. You’re a miserable failure, go on admit it, the voice continues to hiss seductively, go on give up you’ll never make!

STOP RIGHT THERE!!!

You did the work, you put in the effort, all those thousands of words weren’t randomly typed by an infinite number of monkeys you know! Then the editing and the twenty five, read it twenty five redrafting sessions, to get it all sparkling and mint just as the publisher requested. You even did the book signing tours and cajoled all your friends and family to buy and promote the book. Don’t forget the keeping up with modern technology, there were those fifty social sites and Facebook you joined in order to get that networking thing happening. So what if you downloaded a stack of viruses, it was worth it!
At this point in the self analysis you should have got past the ‘my work stinks’ stage and started looking around for scapegoats and be ratcheting through all sorts of bizarre and unlikely candidates. Perhaps after exhausting all other possibilities including the cute black kitten that walked across your path the day your book went on sale, you may finally decide to look at a few previously taboo subjects.

I’ll give you one…

BOOK COVERS!!

Now I know that in our younger days and at school, our teachers and our parents always hammered us about not judging a book by its cover. I recall Mr Markarroff in his heavy Russian accent and overhanging threatening eyebrows wagging a horny finger at me and saying ‘Kiddies zat ist a gud book read it, enjoy it, don’t worry about the cover its just fluff for ze ignorant!’
Of course we all nodded and agreed, with a universal ‘Yes Sir’ if you answered in the negative, oh well, you’d get to appreciate Mr Markarroff’s facility with the backswing caning technique.
However in some respects that old sage is correct, until you flick open the cover and have a bit of a read it is almost impossible to tell if a novel is any good or suits your mood or taste.
However in reality that is stage three in the purchasing process which is as you realise three vital steps away from the most important initial temptation.
Let’s face it, we live in a visual world saturated by advertising, it is coming at you all day every day thousands of images pleading enticing and cajoling you to give in to temptation buy me! No me… and so on.
To compete in the savage environment of book retail where it is red in tooth and claw your work has to stand out. It has to proclaim its individuality, in fact its inalienable superiority to the rest of the herd. For it is a KING!

Or

Your publisher in their infinite wisdom and experience could wack on a blurred photo of a headless bimbo in a vaguely Tudor period dress.
This particular trend has been explored at the Goodreads webpage http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/9749.Tudor_History_Lovers
in the Tudor History Lovers section, with much speculation as to why? One possibility was so that the purchaser subconsciously projects their own face into the image in a narcissistic fashion, somewhat like the teen sword and magic fantasies. Maybe so, however I suspect a less esoteric reason; blurred photos are cheap, easy, don’t require any complicated graphics and can be used for anything.

So I want to epublish my book The Cardinal’s Angels a Red Ned Tudor mystery what how do I go about it? For a start I cranked away hours in the internet ether searching for cover inspirations. After all why re invent the wheel. To be honest the results were disappointing swathes of headless Tudorish bimbos and abysmal cover art of the odd building or may be a Tudor royal. Even the latest versions of PF Chisholm’s fine Robert Cary books were less than impressive, in fact almost dreadful. Out of the whole trawl only a few stood out Sacred Treason by James Forrester and The Marlowe Conspiracy by MG Scarsbrook. (We will deal with those in part 2)

As an example I have picked up this ‘short’ selection;

Headless Bimbo 1.

The cover for The Tudor Rose a novel of Elizabeth of York. All right, now before we continue I am stating on the record that I have not read this book so I can make no judgements about its contents.
The truncated cover is alone under scrutiny.
First why cut her head off is it just the normal fashion habit? Ahh perhaps not, Jocelyn my design critic immediately pointed out that this portrait was wildly off uit is in fact of Eleanor of Toledo who married Cosmio de’ Medici duke of Tuscany and was painted in 1545 by the famous artist Bronzino. How this Spanish lady of the Renaissance corresponds with Elizabeth of York 1466-1503 the ‘mother’ of Henry VIII is a mystery to me and probably to anyone else with a brain. Sixty years and half a continent is a bit of an error, its not as if we lack portraits of this English queen who united the rival houses of York and Lancaster. So what the …?

Roll the drums Taaaaa da!!!

Headless Bimbo 2
This is the cover for the War of the Roses novel The Stolen Crown by historical author Susan Higginbotham, I must admit I do follow her blog Medieval Woman which is very well arranged and full of a lot of top quality historical information, though I have not read any of her books. Now once more we are not judging the novel. It is the cover. Once more my artistic consultant steps in, her opinion is the cover is from a late eighteenth century painting probably French rococo in style.
What pray tell does this have to do with the character Katherine Woodville the sister in law of Edward IV? Anyone got any descent suggestions apart from blatant stupidity? My partner Jocelyn was particular aghast since she felt this was a very slapdash and lackadaisical way to treat the work of an accomplished author.

Now Taaaaa da!!!

Headless Bimbo 3

Lucky last, At the King’s Command. Oh dear that corseted heaving bosom! Oh I feel faint I think I’d better have a few scotches and have a very cool shower! Well its Tudor I think, because it says its part of the Tudor Rose Trilogy. Apart from that it looks like a thousand other nondescript bodice rippers, which it may well be. However if that’s its market then it is maybe an adequate cover, though pretty shoddy in style and composition.

That about all I can handle of this, now since the Festive season approaches I’ll split this into a three part blog. Part two will be a few days and discuss some better examples of covers and part three will showcase the design process for The Cardinals Angels. Who knows maybe in the New Year we could do Vampire Vikings!!!

Ps you like the Richard III theme? I thought that was particualy apt considering the general headless-ness, after all no gets Lancastrians headless as fast as Richard III. Anyway as you can see in image advertising what could be a more effective example?

As the good doctor says ‘Keep taking the Pills!’

Prognostications and Pouting: Whether it is nobler to be Gregory House or suffer the...!

2010-12-16T12:27:00.000+11:00

Prognostications and Pouting: Whether it is nobler to be Gregory House or suffer the...!

Publishing Gregory House

2010-12-12T15:27:00.000+11:00

Fiction, Oh to be Published!!

Good day my well regarded viewers, I hope this missive finds you all in excellent health, no need for the application of the, ahem… long syringe? Just remember as I prescribed to my good friend Lord Black Adder (who it appears actually existed and was a noted Tudor period pirate) take two leeches and pop them under the tongue until they dissolve. Since this is the happy joyous Yule tide season, you’ve no doubt noticed the excessive amounts of advertising that has been hitting the airwaves or clogging up the letter boxes. I though in keeping with the jolly theme we’d take a slight excursion from the series of book reviews and look at another aspect somewhat similar.

What do you have to do to get published?

The Novel... the Myths

Okay I suppose it is assumed that you have written a wonderful novel, the best ever, a piece to rival Clive Cussler or JK Rowling. Its going to be acclaimed through out the known world and beyond, earning you the author the laurel wreath of victory and enough zeros in your bank account to give any bank manager happily skipping heart palpitations.
Then of course to acquire this status you have to have slogged your way through years of creative writing courses, then a Master of Literature followed by a host of expression or character workshops, theme sessions and endless critiques groups. You slave away poring over hundreds of books dissecting, probing exploring and subjecting each paragraph to minute post modern interpretation. What did the author mean by ‘so I looked at life like a bucket of rotting fish’ on page fifty five paragraph three? Was it some kind of post Hegelian metaphor about the fragility of human existence? Or was it a parable of the recycling of the greater Jungian soul? Oh god I didn’t get it! No, no, no! I’ll have to read it again for the seventy fifth time now from a Freudian viewpoint!

Then after all that dissection, analysing, post modern deconstruction, re-scaffolding and re-interpretation you’re now ready to start your very own literati achievement! You’ve gone the plot outline, the character interaction maps, selected the points of view, the moral positions of the major narrators and their flaws, decided on the protagonist and obstacles, assembled the groundlings, reviewed the narrative flow (the story line for those lucky enough to forgo university).

Ta Da! So we’re all ready to undergo the self doubt and flagellation during months of writing, more months of correction and editing until…

At the end you have a highly polished articulate piece of work that positively gleams in the morning light. A true piece of writing craftsmanship, nay artistry! A vertiable Michaelangelo of fiction! Glowing in all its fine purity and excellence, a literary masterpiece surpassing Nabokov, there on its pedestal for all to behold!

Or you could bonk a publisher and get a contract.

Oh dear, slap me! I didn’t just advocate sleeping your way into publishing? How could I? That’s…that’s, well that’s just hopelessly immoral, impossible! No I could never do that! I have standards to maintain! Oh you depraved individual, how could you suggest such a vile, abhorrent and cheap road to success!
I mean, its like totally disgusting, Barfville even!!!
Well, arrghh, Puke!
Aaaah…oh, I see… well in that case…sorry to bother you but, you wouldn’t have their phone number would you?

Oh dear my fiction gear slipped a cog, sorry about that, I got carried away. That couldn’t be the way some authors got published, well could it? I mean its so fantasy, so unreal I mean after all you’ve never actually seen anyone get what they want by, I mean bending over or perhaps wearing a really really short skirt, have you?

Sorry drive shaft on the friction gear had a serious conniption, scratch all the above I never meant to say that. After those generous and forthright souls in the publishing industry are all every man Jack (or Jill) decent, hardworking, moral, thorough, honest, perceptive and highly experienced individuals. Over all they’ve hardly made a single error of judgement like knocking back JK Rowling several times or the grievous errors committed by their close kin in the music business. For instance that record label executive saying to the early Beatles ‘sorry lads groups with guitars are on the way out, not interested’.
Such dramatic mistakes could never happen in these modern professionally managed enlightened times could they?

As proof I just give you a quick example from the Amazon list.

THEY CAME FROM THE NORTH AND THE CITY FELL.

It is a time for warriors, a time for heroes. Kell's axe howls out for blood. The land of Falanor has been invaded by an albino army, the Army of Iron. A small group set off to warn the king: Kell, a magnificent and brutal hero; his granddaughter, Nienna and her friend, Katrina; and Saark, the ex-Sword Champion of King Leanoric, disgraced after his affair with the Queen.

Fighting their way south, betrayal follows battle, battle follows deviation, and they are attacked from all quarters by deadly warriors, monstrous harvesters who drain blood from their victims to feed their masters. As Falanor comes under heavy attack and invasion, only then does Nienna begin to learn the truth about grandfather Kell -- that he is anything but a hero. Ferocious fantasy from a real-life hardman come to claim the post-Gemmell world.

Yep that’s right, that stunningly magnificent piece of literary work got both an agent and a publisher. Who says talent doesn’t shine through!

Getting published??

This is the quest of every aspiring writer to gain the universal
validation of being officially published. It is what drives us on through penury, mounting frustration and of course bouts of published envy regarding those obviously less talented who’ve snagged a contract. It is the Holy Grail of your long hours of creative slogging! You ask how can I a humble scribbler gain that pinnacle of success? In the previous section we’ve scotched that vile and scurrilous rumour of bonking your way to literati-dom. So now we’ll examine the officially sanctified route to publishing.
According to the established practice an aspiring writer sends off a flurry of query letters to agents and publishers plus the first two or three chapters as well as possibly a synopsis or chapter outline. All right, fair enough on the face of it. That gives them a reasonable chance to view your great work and in theory discuss whether or not to accept you as a client ie do you fit into their business profile or does your work present an opportunity. Now I have noticed that a lot is made of the literati aspect ie the struggling artist routine, encouraging new talent and so forth. In fact what you are doing is presenting a business proposal.

That is the unvarnished truth of the matter. Your work is worthwhile because it will sell and fits a market niche. I suppose that why a recent book search on Vampires on Amazon brought up hundreds of pages of results. Since the success of Twilight and Buffy/Angel vampires sell.
Thus I just had an excellent idea, I can marry my knowledge of History with Vampires and swords!

Vampire Vikings!!!!

Hrolf and his war band have a deep and abiding hunger that drives them to the green shores of England, and its not a lust for Saxon dangeld or church treasure. No instead they crave the sweet blood of virgin nuns! How can thane Edwin and his men withstand the fearsome assault of the berserker undead! Can holy water, crosses and good Saxon steel stop the vampire worshipers of Odin?

See that’s perfect now, all I have to do is write the first three chapters and send it off!
Fame and wealth here I come!

Oh by the way I decided to short cut the agent-publisher route and harness the power of the Internet, I will be releasing my novel ‘Red Ned and the Cardinals Angels’ as an e-book on Smashwords http://www.smashwords.com/ before Christmas. Right now we’re pushing through with the last major edit (Jocelyn, Uber Editor) and the cover design (Alexander, graphics artist extraordinaire). Over the next couple of days I will be putting up a blog of how we worked through the many needs of a book’s cover art. In the mean time I will let everyone know when the book comes out and my growing horde of devotees can spread the word!
Oh by the way I can absolutely guarantee this novel does not contain any vampires or bloodsuckers at all! Just a damned good Tudor period mystery/adventure, involving murder, cryptic letters, hidden gold, deadly political factions and good old fashioned treason. Not forgetting of course Red Ned Bedwell, a young lad who only wanted enough golden angels to escape his uncle and party in the taverns of Southwark for a month.

Who know by Christmas I could afford to buy a bottle of champagne? It’s amazing what you can get for seven dollars!

As the good doctor says ‘Keep taking the Pills!’

Arrows of Fury a Review

2010-12-05T22:10:00.000+11:00

Fiction, review Historical or Hysterical?

Arrows of Fury
Roman Hamian archers

Good day my well regarded viewers, I hope this missive finds you all in excellent health, no need for the application of an emetic? As promised we are continuing our series of book reviews. Just to remind you of the three standards that will be assessed. The first is the quality of the story is it well written? Secondly then, is it engaging with good characters and an absorbing plotline that pulls you in? Thirdly, how does it rate on the hysterical or historical metre?
As usual Each book will start of with the commercial review description on the Amazon website. We will also be see how close those are to the mark. As before these reviews will be without fear or favour and is my personal opinion based on my research and my perception of the novel. If anyone wants to challenge my review please feel free to leave a comment or send an email.

Editorial Reviews (Amazon)
Review
'With Wounds of Honour Anthony Riches has produced a terrific first novel that focuses on the soldiers of the Roman Empire in great detail. He vibrantly portrays the life in an auxiliary unit.' -- Canberra Times on WOUNDS OF HONOUR 20091001
Product Description
The Battle of the Lost Eagle saved Hadrian's Wall, but the new Roman governor of Britannia must stamp out the rebellion of the northern tribes or risk losing the province. Rampaging south with sword and flame under the command of their murderous chieftain Calgus, they have stretched his forces to the limit. For Marcus - now simply Centurion Corvus of the 1st Tungrian cohort - the campaign has become doubly dangerous. As reinforcements flood into Britannia he is surrounded by new officers with no reason to protect him from the emperor's henchmen. Death could result from a careless word as easily as from an enemy spear Worse, one of them is close on his heels. While Marcus is training two centuries of Syrian archers to survive a barbarian charge and then take the fight back to their enemy, the new prefect of the 2nd Tungrians has discovered his secret. Only a miracle can save Marcus and the men who protect him from disgrace and death ...Anthony Riches once again brings meticulous research together with brilliant storytelling to capture the authentic feel of what life was like for the Roman Army in a brutal war with a remorseless enemy.
See all Editorial Reviews

The Novel and Description

Hadrian's Wall
I would have to say that the production description is correct, the character Marcus does go through all these challenges. The reader is very much taken on a journey with his cohort of Tungrian auxiliaries marching north of the Hadrian’s Wall fighting off the Caledonia tribesmen with the prospect of sudden death dogging his foot steps. Unlike Manfredi’s Last Legion this review perfectly matches the story it would seem that the reviewer actually read the novel and did enjoy it. That I must admit is a pleasant surprise.

The Story… Quality?
Roman auxiliaries
http://primaryhomeworkhelp.co.uk/romans/auxiliaries.html

Looking for an equivalent series I would have to say it was similar to the Napoleonic Sharpe series, lots of a sword and shield action, reasonable descriptions of combat and little in the way of complex plot. Now I am not mentioning this as a criticism it’s a good light hearted action read and Riches on the whole carries the story well. I have mentioned a couple of difficulties later on, but those are technical issues. The story is definitely set in the mid Imperial period and does display some very good research which lends real veracity to the story. Since this is book two I did feel a little lost due to not having read the first, but it did successfully carry the continuity from a previous story.
For me does it live up to the standard set by Lindsay Davis in the Falco novels or Rosemary Sutcliffe? Well honestly in accuracy mostly, in plot no it’s a different beastie, less complex more a fun sword and sandal than in depth analysis of Roman characters, events and motives. Still good value never the less.

The Historical or Hysterical?

caledonii warrior
I would have to rate this novel reasonably high on the historical level, unlike Manfredi’s pathetic work. Anthony Riches makes it very plain in the foreword that he has corresponded and spoken to world renowned experts in Roman military studies and archaeology messers. Bishop and Coulston amongst others. I personally can vouch for their research and knowledge. Well over a decade ago I used their reports and academic journals for reconstruction archaeology of roman armour and weapons, as have dozens of re enactment groups across the world. It receives top marks for Historical effort in a novel. http://www.ltscotland.org.uk/scotlandshistory/caledonianspictsromans/caledoniipicts/index.asp

The Story… Problems

Centurion
http://iron-mitten.blogspot.com/2009_12_01_archive.html
a stunning blog and worth a visit!
All right I’ve given this novel more than a few ticks in story quality, and historical accuracy, now however I get to play critic. Despite my early recommendations there were a few aspects of this novel that I found annoying, mostly small though a couple I felt affect the overall quality taking the shine off an other wise excellent book. Now I know I am a picky reader and my wife usually raises her eyebrow at some of my nitpicking so that possible peccadillo is freely admitted. We’ll start with the minor ones and work upwards.
In the officer ranks of the Legion we have Legate, centurion and tribune all well and good, then for some reason it swaps to First Spear instead of Primus Pilus, and tent leader rather than Decurion. Also the simple numbering for the centuries and cohorts instead of roman numerals is off putting. Then on to the names of the forts all roman names have been translated and anglised so I found that the references were extremely confusing. The editor should have insisted on consistency with the Roman theme. The affection of ‘air your iron’ and ‘up boards’ for draw swords and raise shields is I assume just for dramatic effect and serves for slang, I can see why it was used, it just got a little annoying to see it all the time.
Now onto my first main beef, there was no dramatis persona, I know I should have read the first novel but that is not always possible. It is extremely and I mean extremely confusing to identify and keep track of characters in this story since it launches straight into the action. This would have been easy to rectify and should have been suggested by the agent or the editor.

A famous 'Barbarian' Suicide Squad (Life of Brian)
My last difficulty with the story is the characterisations, the Romans are always professional, mostly upright except for the obvious exception and intelligent and skilled. While the barbarians are sneaky, devious, barbaric, treacherous and stupid, except when a barbarian is forced to change sides, then they automatically assume roman qualities previously lacking. Given the overall good quality of the story I did find those aspects disappointing and felt they dragged down the satisfaction level since they could have been so easily rectified.
In the end I would read another of Riches stories, I found it a promising style in the same lighter vein as the Napoleonic Sharpe series

Historical Fact
celtic warriors
http://www.angelfire.com/mac/calach/agricola.html

Okay, its just a story- however as I have said
before the author makes a real effort to place his characters in their proper historical context and he succeeds with flying colours. What I really did find amazing was the proper references to Roman surgical tools and procedures. That single piece of the story was my particular favourite.
To any Roman period aficionados I can recommend this as a good read.

As the good doctor says ‘Keep taking the Pills!’

The Last Legion a review

2010-11-28T22:08:00.000+11:00

Fiction review, Historical or Hysterical?

Good day my well regarded viewers, I hope this missive finds you all in excellent health, no need for the application of leeches? As promised we are now embarking on a rollercoaster ride of book reviews. Just to remind you I will be assessing these works on three criteria. The first is the quality of the story is it well written? Secondly then is it engaging with good characters and an absorbing plotline that pulls you in? Thirdly, how does it rate on the hysterical or historical metre?
Oh yes I just remembered another important factor to check out, the Reviews description on the Amazon website. Is it an accurate description and assessment? Perhaps since that’s what most buyers base their purchase on we will have a look at that revealing statement to start. Please note this qualifier, these reviews will be without fear or favour and is my personal opinion based on my research and my perception of the novel.

The Last Legion by Valerio Manfredi

“Ancient Rome, Roman history, gladiators. This novel has them all. So it comes as no surprise to learn that Dino De Laurentiis, producer of Gladiator, wants to make the film of this historical epic by the author of the bestselling Alexander Trilogy. Set in the twilight years of the Roman Empire, a band of British Roman soldiers try to save the decadent crumbling Empire by rescuing Romulus Augustus, the young son of the last Emperor, and installing him as the figurehead of a rejuvenated Empire. But it all comes to nothing and they return to Britain where further adventures await them. Stirring, atmospheric and factually accurate historical fiction (the author is an archaeologist and historian) that certainly makes the most of the current interest in Roman adventures, Hollywood style. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title”.
http://www.amazon.com/Last-Legion-Valerio-Massimo-Manfredi/dp/0330447297/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpi_5

The Novel or the Film

Ahh… cough cough! I must admit I watched the film at the same time as reading the book and well, what can I say? Hollywood History did not disappoint, it was truly dismal and plumbed new levels of Rotten Tomato-ness. Unfortunately it had top line actors like Ben Kingsley and Colin Firth who really really tried to pull the pathetic script up to standard. I can only hope they were well rewarded for their efforts. However that is straying away from the book and all I can honestly say of this fantasy Sword and Sandal piece is that it is a considerable improvement on the novel.
As for the accuracy of the above blurb, it kind of describes the book, well at least two sentences do. Dino de Laurentis did produce the film and they do rescue Romulus Augustus. However after that ahhh… no, the claim that the author is an archaeologist and historian has no internet discoverable basis in fact. Now I do understand that a number of publishers and authors want to boost their profile and credentials and have been known to err on the side of ‘creativity’. That is a standard tactic of advertising. Be that as it may, I have found no proof that the awards listed as given to the author actually exist. At least one can be proved to false (Hemingway Award) while another appears to be of dubious credibility (American Biographic Association). As to the professional credentials of archaeology I have found no evidence for any site reports or literature in that name. I also have other doubts about that but I will cover them in the third section.

The Story… Quality?

Need I say anything? Those beastly Barbarians!

Despite the above criticisms many a poorly reviewed story has proved to be hidden gold. The real quality of a story is in the way it grabs the reader and carries them along with the plot, engaging and sympathising with the characters. Well if that is what a good story does, in this case that is not so. I am not sure whether the translation has let the novel down and I will be charitable and allow that this may be the case. The story starts with a sudden attack on three of the main characters, we do not yet know or understand. From there it limps along lightly skimming across plot and character justifications and events, except when it is decided to linger on the odd blood thirsty detail of battle, rape or murder.

'A Barbarian Warrior'
The key antagonist is Wulfila the bloodthirsty and incompetent lieutenant of Odoacer the usurper of the remnants of the Western Empire. Wulfila, despite his overwhelming bestial obsessions and limited cognitive abilities seems to possess an uncanny knack of always tracking down the fugitives in an otherwise empty European landscape.
As for the heroes good romans all, except for the druidic merlin type character who steps striaght out of popular fantasy. As you would expect they are beset by problems and set backs, difficulties almost insurmountable especially the Xenia-ish Livia. Still they soldier on, though the excuse for heading to Britannia deserted by Rome for some twenty to sixty years is less than lame. All the characters are conflicted as expected in such a story, each with deep dark secrets that I found no interest in discovering. However I found them all without exception flat and two dimensional and the coincidences were more farcical than interesting. The Barbarians are extremely barbaric and suicidally dim, while the Romans on the other hand were upright skilled and trustworthy, well most of them, but you can easily pick the traitors. In short I’m glad I only borrowed this from the library and didn’t waste any money on it, it goes back tomorrow!

Historical or Hysterical?
Britannia Reenactment group Later Roman Legionaires
http://www.durolitum.co.uk/aboutus.html
This novel truly plums the depths of Hysterical. Its grip on history is tenuously linked to a scattering of Late Roman titles, a basic grasp of Late Roman geography and a shaky knowledge of the time of Romulus Augustus and Odoacer. As for Post Roman Britain the subject of the last quarter of the novel and search for the Legion of the Dragon the whole point of the journey to Britannia, it is obvious that whatever research was used is over forty years out of date if not more. Any reference to the recent wealth of archaeological discoveries or revised discussions of the Post Roman British culture and society is superficial where it is mentioned. Vortigen the Romano-British tyrant and his hired Saxons make an appearance and are the focus of the last threat along with the ever persistent Wulfila. However the British landscape is, like the Western Empire essentially empty apart from a few Celts and the gone native Legion of the Dragon.

New Legions... Old Legions
The Ermine Street Guard re enactment group
of early Imperial Roman Legionaires
As for the idea that not one, but two separate legions were re-trained and equipped in the manner of those of the time Augustus or Hadrian some hundreds of years before, oh dear, that was really effective. Wasn’t the Nova Invicta easily wiped out in Northern Italy during the introduction by the savage barbarians it was supposed to defeat? That concept is farcical beyond belief and even surpasses the usual extravagant whims of fantasy. The Late Roman field army was not degenerate or lacking in ability as is suggested. It had successfully evolved to deal with the ‘barbarian threat’; it was well trained, professional and flexible. The fact that the Western Roman Army did in the end succumbed, had more to do with the ‘ignorant barbarians’ upgrading with Roman equipment and organisation as fast as possible. The story concept is akin to creating army of Spanish Conquistadors as a sound move to face the threat of a Napoleonic army because that what our ancestors used to conquer the empire. After all didn’t they both have gunpowder and cannons? I am sure I don’t have to paint that picture. At least in the author’s note at the end he admits this mostly come from his imagination.

Historical Fact

Colin Firth trying to look Late Romanish
Okay, its just a story- you can’t expect too much accuracy. After all wouldn’t that bog down the narrative? Well the author is the one who makes extensive claims as to historical accuracy. If he’d stated it was a fantasy then it wouldn’t be reviewed as Hysterical fiction. Good use of historically accurate information never hurt other authors like Lindsay Davis and her Falco novels set in Imperial Rome or Stephen Saylor’s Gordanus the Finder series. As for fantasy Guy Gavril Kay seamlessly integrates the Late Roman/Byzantine period into his richly evocative Sarantine novels, proving that use of appropriate detail gives a story depth that easily transports the reader’s imagination to those distant times.
This novel has so many gaping historical holes relating to the Late Roman period it would take too long in this article to recite. As it is, I find it extremely difficult to credit the author’s claims of historical professionalism. Especially since he refers to well known translated historical texts in the end note, occasionally a name or phrase will crop up in the story then it disappears providing little relevance of the times or society.

Odoacer's warriors according to
archaeology
Even worse the correct information is readily available either on the internet or from libraries, hundreds of books and sources and not all of them academic tomes. Quite a few are even written with young students in mind. This one at Amazon is quite reasonable and easy to understand.

The Fall of the Roman Empire: A New History of Rome and the Barbarians by P. J. Heather (Jun 11, 2007)

So in short I was deeply unsatisfied by the premise, the quality and the accuracy of this story and I will not be reading any further works by this author.
For an amusing review of the film I suggest you check out this site;
http://foywonder.livejournal.com/93710.html

As the good Doctor Says keep taking the pills!

2010-11-25T14:09:00.000+11:00

Fiction, whether it is nobler to be Historical or Hysterical?

Good day my well regarded viewers, I hope this missive finds you all in excellent health, with all the four humours balanced and that you are not suffering from any excess of black bile? I have for now concluded the series on the First World War, we will return to it in due course but while I was composing that set of articles another thought crossed my mind in relation to our view of history.

What is History?

(the first historian)
That simple question could set us off on a thousand page splurge, and still not settle the discussion. In short I believe that history is the commonly or sometimes not so commonly agreed set of ‘stories’ about our collective and personal past. This collective recorded memory tends to be created by historians from their research, and the interpretation of evidence from individuals, records, material remains and scientific data. An American thinker on the influence of cities on our current culture, Lewis Mumford (who I think is pretty damned good!) suggested that it was the ability to accumulate and record life experiences and knowledge into an accessible reservoir that gave us the impetus to advance civilisation. While the famous astronomer Carl Sagan (who is also pretty damned good!) in his series stunning Cosmos refers constantly to the Library of Alexandria as our first impetus for science and famous discoveries. Those are just two outstanding men who talk about the impact of past stories, so for now let us accept their interpretation of what history is; certified or sanctified stories.

(reconstruction of the Library of Alexandria)
It is these stories that shape who we are, what we do and to a greater extent than you would think, how we act. In fact another word for stories could be education. For what is education but giving knowledge by way of stories and examples? When you think about it every action you take is relaying a story of your deeds or actions to another, be it a report or a phone conversation or even a bill. Each of those preserved memories carries their own burden of a perceived record of the past. Some are easily believable like a weather report or the sad and sorry state of your bank balance, others like the presentation of a Telco or Electricity supply salesman lack a stamp of credibility.

History is ...Stories?

(Excavation of Troy)
Thus by a simple process we come to stories and when those tales are further distant in the past or lack a certifiable basis we call them myths and legends. In the eyes of some, that label dismisses those ancient tales as no more credible than fables or, even dare I say it fiction. At this point I have to bring up one interesting fact of history, a supposed crackpot German who was obsessed by one ancient heroic tale from our past spent his entire life searching for clues. In the end he found it, his name was Heinrich Schliemann, as you have no doubt guessed the ancient heroic tale was the Iliad and the city he found was the lost Troy of Homer. Actually he found several levels of the city and is now considered to have labelled the wrong level, but that is nitpicking.

Old Stories...The Best Stories!

(A Victorian King Arthur)
In every age we have looked back to the past and frequently re-interpreted the actions of heroic ancestors. For example the Victorians fell for King Arthur even more than the Tudors. Thus we have volumes of fiction and speculation on Arthur and his knights, as well as the impetus for the gothic revival. Another example is way the eighteen and nineteenth century western societies tried to link themselves with ancient Greece and Republican Rome by building enormous classical facades on all important structures like museums and art galleries. These both are very physical representations of the effect of stories on our culture.

Historical….Fiction?
(Victorian style knight and lady)
Now if you’re concerned that this is going to be a technical and philosophical essay on history and literature don’t worry. We’ve finished the slightly heavy introduction and now on the meat of the matter Historical Fiction or as sometime you may have considered Hysterical Fiction. As you may have gathered from my previous posts I have a ‘thing about history’, I freely admit it. The way some history is ‘rewritten’ for ideological, racial or ‘commercial’ purposes really gets me riled. I find it extremely offensive and essentially no better than blatant lying and propaganda. Now to be honest, whether it’s due to growing crustiness or a weariness of seeing so much lazy stupidity my short fused intolerance has carried across to historical fiction.

(Viking ship ala Victorian romantics)
Now I quite enjoy reading that genre and if I recall aright my first seriously read novel was The Road to Miklagard by Henry Treece about a Viking raid gone awry that had survivors being enslaved and ending up in Byzantium (called Miklagard by the Norse). It was great, amazing fantastic, full of drama, a well paced story and interesting detail. After that I was hooked and as soon as possible went through all the Treece historical based novels, then followed Stephanie Plowman’s To Spare the Conquered about the Boadicea revolt and finally perhaps the greatest children’s historical fiction writer Rosemary Sutcliffe with her classic Eagle of the Ninth series. My wife Jocelyn has also reminded me of Cynthia Harnett and her Load of the Unicorn story about Caxton’s printing press in Tudor England. Apparently the author was so concerned about getting the details in her story right she actually paced out the distances between period buildings she used. Now I can understand that!

(Victorian style knighting)
At this point I have to mention Geoffrey Trease and his novels such as Popinjay Stair, apparently he was one of the first to drop the false Victorian style ye olde knight and ho varlet crap from his writing, while still retaining the common slang and terms of the time. I suppose I must have subsumed that at an early age, which is why the ‘my lord and lady’ stuff’ sets me off. I’m afraid the Hollywood Chivalry reeks of pretentious insincerity and plastic armour.

In my early teens I moved into more serous historical fiction and discovered Ronald Welch, Richard Farrington and RF Tapsell and of course CS Forester’s classic Hornblower series. These were and still are wonderful books well written, rich in detail and texture as well as a hefty dose of spice and adventure, lots of Buckle to Swash! The characters were human, engaging and believable. Best of all the authors hadn’t scrimped on the accurate historical detail to get the theme and modes as close as possible. They believed that their audience were intelligent people and didn’t like being condescended to with fanciful Victorianesque periodisms.

Now I come to write this the word classic keeps on cropping up and I find that both reassuring and disturbing. It appears that once a book earns the immortal catchphrase as a ‘classic’ it is usually then shuffled off to serve as a victim of ‘literary analysis’ by poor students, who there after are all too happy to bury it thanks to extreme aversion therapy.
I know that’s what it did to me perhaps ruining several years of possible writing. I can’t even hear the phrase Catch-22 without shuddering in remembered apprehension, as the rush of distant memories of HSC finals bursts the built up dams of mental scarring.
Anyway back to hysterical, opps I mean historical fiction, well no I think it’s about time to stop pussy footing around and plunge into an area I regard as loathsome and an abomination!

Modern Hysterical Fiction!!!
(Guess???)
I belong to a medieval discussion list that includes a very diverse range of people from top range historical authors to university professors, serious researchers and re enactors, as well as those generally interested. So to use a usefully appropriate phrase it’s a broad church. However one aspect they act as one, the piss poor state of modern hysterical fiction. I will give you just one example, about a year or so ago one of the list members raised one intriguing recent novel. I am afraid I can’t remember the title just the howls of indignation and disbelief. The theme of the story ran something like this; Eleanor of Acquitaine the mother of Richard the Lionhearted of Third Crusade fame apparently had endowered a convent to produce a very special kind of nun. No expense was spared for their theologically rigorous training in Christian doctrine. In the end emerged ‘Benedictine Ninja Nun Assassins’ ready to slay any who stood in the way of their mistress’s plans. Move over Shaolin Masters, the Assassins of Almut and the Ninjas of feudal Japan!
Oh dear the internet ether did sizzle! One list member throwing out a lifeline queried whether it had been misidentified, wasn’t it actually fantasy? The reply almost shamefacedly sidled into view; Arrrh no, not as such, it’s labelled as historical fiction, sorry…

(Need I say anything?)
That is only one much abbreviated discussion on a minor book, when it came to Ken Follets Pillars of Earth the flood gates really opened for weeks. The point of this new theme is twofold. First since we absorb so much of our knowledge of the past from stories, and the vast majority of people read fiction rather than factual histories, it really is important for all of us to try and get it right, rather soak up the fiction as fact of the Benedictine Ninja Nun Assassins. Secondly I will be starting a weekly review of historical fiction and contrasting it with a piece of hysterical fiction in the same period check them out and see what you think I am I being fair or unfairly biased.

As the good doctor says keep taking the pills!

2010-11-11T10:50:00.000+11:00

History Rememberance Day and Myths Part 4

Good day all, I hope this latest missive finds you in good health! Today is November 11, and I hope that all my readers will remember to pause for a minutes silence at 11 am this morning.

Considering that it is now Remembrance Day I have left off discussion of the nuts and bolts as it were of the Great War. Now I feel it is time to talk about just two aspects of that awful conflict. What it was about and was it worth it?
Those two are very difficult to bring up now almost a hundred years later. I do however still clearly remember the few conversations I had with my Grandfather Harry House, he was lying in a hospital bed by a window in what must have been a Veterans ward. He was almost blind from the shrapnel wound he’d received long decades before. Now I was just a young child and, I suppose I didn’t know any better, or maybe it was just the insatiable curiosity of the young. So of course I asked him about the War. To my father’s surprise ‘Pop’ spoke for about fifteen minutes on what he’d seen and what had happened. That in my father’s experience was the longest conversation he’d ever heard about the event that had so affected the House clan. Harry House in all the long years since had never spoken about the horror and suffering he must have seen daily, and the loss of friends and mates. It was something remembered ‘personally’ a long running grief.

Now this is in a way, my own personal section, I did not serve in any great conflict though I did serve in the Army reserves, and apparently until a few years ago was still liable to be called up if we had a national crisis. I have however over the years spoken to quite a few veterans of both World Wars and I have also studied letters, journals, memoirs, official reports and histories about those conflicts. I can try and be dispassionate and just explain dryly the impartial forces of history, that unseeing and unfeeling smashed over so many families. Other historians can do that, I however cannot. Those losses in the trenches are to me very real, the agony of being evacuated from Gallipoli in the last month as a dysentery case and months of convalescence for Harry House does effect how I examine the past.

As I said above I have read through a large number of books and first hand accounts of the Great War and I now find that my beliefs on this disaster have changed. No, not about the slaughter of millions, but rather the individual and collective responsibility for that tragedy. It has hardened my resolve that we must maintain the deep and a biding debt of memory that we owe to those who believed they were doing their duty and protecting their families and country.

The Losses

Some twenty years ago I read a very strange book on the First World War, looking back I can see it as revisionist history of the worst kind. The historian tried to pass over that the losses on the Western Front probably weren’t that bad and when taken as an averaged proportion of the population were not as severe as many other writers and historians had made out. I actually had to pause a moment and look intently at the book and it was an act of supreme restraint not to give it the pitch and slam it against the wall, if I recall aright the work was a justification of General Haig and his strategies at The Somme and other similar blood baths. I tried to figure out how any imbecile could get away with that piece of drivel and felt so angry. Only recently have I come to realise that in the past decades General Haig who since has gained the appellation of ‘Butcher’ Haig was poorly served by this revisionist idiot. Though Haig does bear some responsibility as the commander of the British forces on the Western Front, he was as much a victim of technology and circumstance as the lowest soldier in the trenches. He wasn’t some unfeeling monster who coldly and thoughtless sent thousands to certain death ‘Over the Top’. Those commanders did exist and unfortunately there were quite a few on both sides.

Back to the first point of that revisionist the losses were not so great when put against the total size of manpower and population figures. Well I remember reading more than one eyewitness account on both sides of men who’d volunteered with all their fellow classmates or other lads in the town, factory or village. I must mention that these personal memoirs number in their hundreds and all of them have in common one fact. Due to injury or illness or chance these men avoided one or more of the battles that their unit was involved in. Later they record, with what must be a mix of horror and guilty relief that by the end of the campaign, they are the lone survivor of all their companions.

Another example is the loss of the British battle cruisers at the Battle of Jutland, the Princess Royal and the Queen Mary, (photo) they both exploded instantly on being hit by shells. The cause was most probably technical and operational defects, and thus two thousand men went to the bottom of the North Sea. There were no survivors, and the action happened within minutes of the opening of the battle. Unfortunately that was all too often the story of the Great War, the technological application of destruction far out weighted the brave fragility of men.

The Justification

That is just a small sample of the losses, the question we always ask at the end of a conflict is, was it worth it? Well to Harry House, for whatever the pain and suffering you and your companions went through, I fear that we had little choice. It may sound like a phrase of arrant jingoism and utilising the tone of unregarding sniffy superiority of the sort that I loath. However I sit here, somewhat poor in worldly wealth, writing about this and my children go to school in essentially a peaceful relatively safe country. I think despite our current very minor complaints we have a good life, thanks to them.

That was not the intention of the German elite. It is a fundamental truth borne out by historical records and archives, that the German General Staff and the highest echelons of government both before and during the First World War was actively trying for the complete subjugation of Europe. In an act of further insanity, by 1917 in the darkest and grimmest days of the war, they were already planning on a second and later stage of the conflict that would cripple Britain, secure Belgium and knock out any threat from America. All this was irrespective of the millions of men lost by then on both sides, as well as the employment of any justifiable weapon or tactic so long as it gave them victory. So to all those post modern revisionists I ask this question. Exactly where in this disaster, is the responsibility to a people, or a nation that is entrusted in the care of those who govern?

So to Harry House, it is to my profound sorrow that you had to experience that awful horror and I can only offer you two pieces of consolation. If the Great War had happened several years later, as was originally planned then it would have been worse. The second is your family does now understand what you went through, and we do appreciate your sacrifice.

Regards Greg House and family

History, Rememberance Day and Myths Part 3

2010-11-10T14:58:00.000+11:00

History, Remembrance Day and Myths Part 3
Good day all, I hope this latest missive finds you in good health! As I mentioned in my last post the whole First World War concept can’t be handled in just few hundred words. Its very title states quite plainly that it was a conflict that encompassed the world. How the tragedy and enormity of four years of grinding conflict can be reduced to a Twitter bitlet escapes belief and reason. As in the previous posts I have divided this up into smaller sections covering a few of the more persistent and blatant myths.

The Strategy in the West

Realistically the war has to be divided into several fronts. To many historians the Western front in France and Belgium is regarded as the most important. In a number of aspects this was true, despite the enormity of the Eastern front with Russia and the limitless numbers of the Russian Army. Numbers aside, the German High Command always considered that on the Western Front lay their greatest peril. In their mind the threat was the modern military and technological capacity of France and Britain. This simple fact was borne out by the urgent imperativeness of the Schlieffen Plan.

The Plan

This single operational directive served as a blinker on any and all changing strategic or political events, as it was issued by the ‘Moses’ of the German army, Chief of Staff, General von Schlieffen. As a pronouncement from the supreme German strategic thinker it was as immutable as the ‘Ten Commandments’. Time and again theoretical strategic wargames hammered home the fact that without following its strictly laid out timetable Germany faced the dread certainty of a long two front war and a slow but inevitable defeat.
It seemed impossible for either the political or military leaders of the German Empire to understand that while the railway timetables of The Plan could be finessed to almost perfection. Once the troops de-trained they were reduced to the foot slogging reality of old fashion Napoleonic manoeuvre. This simple fact was not going to be erased whether they followed the original purity of The Plan or even the von Moltke modified form. Either way, its rigid path led them straight into a strategic and political dead end for three simple reasons.

The Plan vs Reality

Firstly, while communication had improved with the telegraph, the telephone and some early wireless transmitters, these modern devices were only available to relatively static corps or army group headquarters. From there getting a message to the cutting edge of the offensive wasn’t so simple. The order or request was written out and given to a messenger on horseback, thus slowing down communication to no better than that at Agincourt in 1415.

Rail or Foot

Secondly, as stated before once off the trains the infantry were reduced to the old marching pace of the Roman legions, and stamina or fitness aside there is only so long they could march and fight at their fastest pace. Any obstruction, confusion or delay threw the schedule off track and as for changes caused by unforeseen action or movement of the enemy, they wrought havoc with the inflexibility of The Plan.

Surprise!

Thirdly The Plan dismissed any action by the British army (British Expeditionary Force or BEF) since in German eyes it was so small and its inclusion in any defence preparations by the French would be irrelevant to the outcome.

In a strict numerical sense the extra five divisions of the BEF didn’t add significantly to the French defence, nor was the ‘Miracle of Mons’ the dominant triumph as declared by generations of British jingoistic writers. The stubborn defence of the Albert Canal at Mons hardly made a dent in the timetable of The Plan. However the unexpected presence of the BEF did upset the mental balance of von Moltke who now wavered, even more beset by doubt- the British shouldn’t have been there! In fact German intelligence didn’t even know they had crossed the Channel. Couple that surprise with the unanticipated retreat of the French Army of Lorraine from the grand trap, and von Moltke’s plans and certainties crumbled. Thus the German General Staff had to leap into the blind future and improvise.

The Trenches

The presence of the trench lines snaking from the Belgian coast by Ostend, all the way to the border of Switzerland, is the single most memorable detail of the Great War. However, despite the fact that it dominated every strategic, tactical, political and industrial facet of the war, it was never meant to happen. On both sides it was initially meant as a brief defensive feature, to last only until the war of offensive manoeuvre was resumed. It took eighteen months of blood drenched offensives for both sides to realise that they had created a monster- an insatiable beast that sucked them dry of men and materials with only yards of churned and chopped up landscape as a reward. Then, once that new reality of the modern battlefield had sunk into the military conscious, all thoughts turned to breaking the stalemate.

The Impasse of ability

In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the military training of all the European powers was essentially the same, as was their equipment. A lot has been made of minor increases in the number of machine guns per battalion which in theory gave one unit more firepower than another. At the outset of the war, I believe that this made little difference in the general level of slaughter. Another debated factor is the qualities and quantities of artillery, its design and employment. At the start of the war the advantage clearly lay with the German army. Now weapons and men are only two sides in the triangle of military efficiency, the third is leadership.
In Europe it was freely acknowledged that the training of the German general staff was way above that of either the French or Russians. While aspiring nations always bought British warships, they also employed German military missions to whip their fledgling armies into shape. So it was accepted that the Germans had the edge in organisation and efficiency. In balance it was the smaller British and French senior military staff who had gained the most battle experience in their nation’s many larger and smaller colonial wars. This factor probably helped them muddle through their initial organisational confusion and disarray. It is also said that generals always plan the next war based on the last. In some respects this was true but there is clear evidence that senior officers on both sides tried to adapt to the new tactical and strategic circumstances.

It was an industrial war that employed the most up to date technology of destruction. In the end the carnage did produce men of ability able to understand and employ the modern technical advances. However it was a bloody and expensive training ground. The other problem is the whole ‘lions led by donkeys’ mythology that has since sprung up to ‘explain’ the dramatic losses and waste. Unfortunately for our national psyches this simplistic rational is inadequate. Idiots and fools did abound on both sides, no one having the monopoly on this ‘resource’ and they pervaded all levels in this war as in others. However we cannot condemn the generals for not being the modern equivalents of Wellington or Napoleon.

The New Technology

The First World War has the dubious distinction of being the first modern war to actively embody technological progress as its driving force. A number of historians have claimed this title for the American Civil War with some justification, since it introduced ironclad warships equipped with the revolutionary revolving turrets, railways for the fast transport of troops and supplies and telegraph for almost instant communication. They were the first heralds of the increasing input of steam age technology in warfare. Those were but a precursor

Artillery

Artillery was the greatest cause of carnage and destruction. It could collapse trenches (as happened to my grandfather) and barrages could wipe out exposed infantry. As was soon discovered, but not always remembered, adequate artillery preparation of quality, quantity and accurate targeting produced success. In offensive actions it protected the advancing troops and pounded the enemy trenches and fortifications. While in defence it shredded assaults and halted the movement of reinforcements and supplies.
There is also another difficulty to absorb. While the artillery of the First World War was strides ahead of the old bronze smooth bore 12 pounders of Waterloo or Gettysburg in range, technology and targeting, its task was still beyond its capacity. The average target was usually a narrow trench a few yards wide or belts of barbed wire. Despite the best technical advances of modern science such as sound locators with flash targeting, or more accurate map grids and the use of aerial observation. Perfect accuracy was impossible. An area had to be saturated with days of bombardment to give the best chance possible for hitting the required targets. Unfortunately poor weather or error ruined any observations and the infantry only discovered the problem when they became caught up on the wire, or hammered by untouched machine gun nests.

The Machine Gun

The machine gun has gone down as the most famous killer of the First World War. While its capacity for slaughter was immense, its infamous part in the war was to hinder movement and greatly increase the ability of defence. As a technological and industrial innovation, it heralded the new aspects of modern warfare. The weapon could and did fire non stop for hours, so long as it had a crew and they could keep it cooled, clean and supplied with ammunition. It was not until the invention of the Lewis gun or Browning automatic rifle a mobile weapon and it was essentially used as a defensive weapon to halt the advance of infantry.

When used in conjunction with barbed wire it created ‘killing zones’ where survival was only possible, for, as one officer put it ‘bullet proof soldiers’. In short once a machine gun opened up on your advance you hit the ground if you wanted to live and stayed there until one of two eventualities. First and most hopefully another unit worked its way around the flank and silenced the machine gun. To give an idea of how suicidally dangerous this was, most Victoria Crosses and Military Crosses were awarded for destroying machine gun nests or the fortified bunkers which housed them. The other eventuality if you didn’t move was worse than the threat of the bullets. The enemy would target your unit with a barrage, and exposed and tangled up amongst barbed wire or trapped in the waste of No Mans Land you were as good as dead.

The Cavalry

In too many books and articles the existence of large cavalry divisions on the Western front has been portrayed as the ultimate in backward thinking of the First World War generals- old walrus moustached men obviously trapped in the time warp of great Napoleonic charges with flashing sabres and lances and colourful gaudy uniforms, lost in the glories of the immortal Charge of the Light Brigade at Balaclava or running down the Sudanese at Omdurman. No doubt for many officers in all armies this was true, and I understand it is a frequent accusation levelled at General Haig. Once more the reality is not so simple.
Infantry and artillery were required to break the trenches stalemate to allow the cavalry to ‘exploit the gap’ and ‘rapidly’ flank the static enemy divisions in the trench lines. This was the theory behind most of the blood drenched assaults from the Somme to the Third Ypres. As unpalatable and repugnant as that slaughter is to us now it didn’t change the physical mechanics of movement in 1914-1918. Cavalry moved at twice the speed of infantry, if you wanted to outpace the enemy reinforcements heading for a break in the line only cavalry had the speed. However the great problem was that after the kind of bombardment required to breach the trench fortifications and the wasteland it created, cavalry could not move fast enough to gain the advantage.

The Problems of Attack

This created an almost insurmountable tactical and strategic conundrum for commanders on both sides of the Western front. A narrow targeted offensive of a thousand yards width and fifteen hundred yards depth could succeed with minimal cost in casualties and could be well covered by artillery. By late 1916 the British army had developed this offensive and titled it ‘Bite and Hold’. However it left too narrow a gap of pulverised terrain that could be easily targeted by barrage or counter attack and of course, slowed down the ‘break through’ movement by men and horses to a crawl. The other difficulty that many commanders found unpalatable about the concept of ‘Bite and Hold’, was exactly how many men was an acceptable cost for that much ground, and worst of all, where did it lead?
The other option was the wide based offensive, such as the Battle of the Somme where a twelve mile long stretch was targeted for a multi army sized assault. It would, if it succeeded provide the space for a break through, smashing open the enemies line with lots of room for manoeuvre and too wide a gap to be closed by counter attack or artillery barrage. That was the plan for the Somme. As plans went it looked good on paper. However no plan is ever perfect and the Battle of the Somme vomited into the harsh light of reality the limits of technology, leadership and communication.
At this point I think is a good place to pause and reflect on a few issues. First the Great War has been frequently described as a modern war. This simple statement is true, in a large number of respects. Such as the latest improvements in what we understand as modern technology, like communication and logistics. Its soldiers wore modern basic field uniforms that are easily recognisable today, and the principal weapons of machine gun, rifle, mortar, grenade and artillery are still in use. All this familiarity for what is now a conflict almost a hundred years old. However this familiarity is deceptive and is a mirage. The attitudes, strategy and tactics of the First World War are embedded in the ninetieth century. Celebrated commanders of that era like Stonewall Jackson and Ulysses S Grant would have fitted in perfectly as First World War generals, while the soldiers of 1864 vintage would have found life in the trenches a familiar routine.

The technology of battle had now surpassed the capacity of the commanders to control and though communication was in theory instantaneous, in the battle zone it was frequently no faster than a man’s ability to safely crawl from shell hole to crater, maybe ten yards an hour. The battlefield was now, for the first time in history beyond the immediate influence of any higher commander, as they now found themselves reduced to impotent blinded spectators groping for information and direction.
These and other limiting factors we will explore in part 4

2010-11-08T20:08:00.000+11:00

History Remembrance Day and Myths Part 2
Good day all, I hope this latest missive finds you in good health? Since November is now with us I thought we’d continue our examination of one of the most important days in that month’s calendar and now that the Melbourne Cup, has finished it time to go on to the second part of our series on the Great War. Once more we will be disposing of a number of misconceptions and myths regarding that terrible conflict.

First; The Plans

In the last part of the Industrial Steam Age the manner of warfare had as most historians agree changed dramatically, the first signs of this transformation had appeared in the American Civil War of 1861-1864. I have covered part of this surge of development in my prior article on WMD’s through the ages, in regard to the naval developments with the first modern ironclad warships; the USS Monitor and the CSS Merrimac/Virginia. While these threatened the naval balance of power the greatest leap forward was in communication. It was the first war where the respective commanders in chief could receive real time intelligence and reports via telegraph. So the reports of success or failure could be managed with reinforcements rushed close to the area by the other wonder of the age, the railway.

The Railway

The steam train and railway had an extremely important impact on all facets of ninetieth century society, it provided an almost unlimited mobility to freight and people. By rail they could be transported to the ever increasing boundaries of the network, distance that previously took weeks by river or rutted dirt track could be covered in days. To the modern military observers of that conflict this new advance in logistics and movement set them theorising on the possibilities. An army need no longer be restricted by poor weather or slow down its campaign to forage for supplies. So long as a rail line was nearby an army was liberated from the previous limitations of manoeuvre that had dogged every commander from Caesar to Napoleon. We will explore the ramifications of this development in the next section, in the meantime there was one more crucial factor of the Civil War that had set the European military a thinking; conscription and mobilisation.

Mobilisation

This idea of rapidly creating a national army by conscription was not new, the revolutionary armies of the France proved that they could stand off and defeat the professional armies of Austria, Prussia and Britain. That linked with the growing manufacturing capacity of the early Industrial Age kept up a ready supply of uniforms, weapons and gunpowder. However as stated before the harnessing of the latest technologies had given these instant armies a new speed and greater punch. Now in contrast to the usual image of generals always planning for the last war, the European high commands pondered the opportunities now available and how best to use them. Surprisingly none was more radical and innovative than the Prussian/German army, famous for its rigid traditions and adherence to hierarchy.

AJP Taylor and the German Railway Timetables

When I was in high school decades ago studying modern history, we had to deal with the path to World War One and the Weimar Republic in some detail. A major part of that was an analysis of AJP Taylor’s then recent book War by Timetable (1969). The prominent and in some cases notorious British historian maintained that the need for a speedy mobilisation and transport by all the competing European powers increased the chance of war. He viewed it as an early and failed form of MAD (Mutually Assured Destruction) that rather than serving as a brake to potential conflict closed diplomatic solutions as competing timetables locked into place. In some respects this was a reasonable view of events when seen from the distance of fifty years. However all historians are limited by two factors, first the social and political flavour of the period they are writing in. Second access to information, in 1961 German historian Fritz Fischer released his decade’s long study of the archives of Imperial Germany in his book Germany’s Aims in the First World War. It came up with the then controversial proof that the Imperial German government had been actively planning for a war to secure colonies and a ‘rightful’ dominance in Europe. Since then his conclusions have not been successfully refuted. It also throws doubt on Taylor’s Timetables argument as a thinly veiled criticism of the Nuclear confrontation of the US and Russia. Other historians maintained that it was the alliance treaties that separated Europe into two polar blocs, each a rival to the other and that created the tensions pushing each into the war. I do not think it was that simple, individual nations and their leaders in each alliance were frequently more influenced by their own distinct political and economic agendas. Those I believe were more crucial in the decision to join the war, than any amorphous external association.
Now having got that complex section of rival theories out of the way we will examine very briefly and simply the concepts of the various participants’ plans.

France

The French plans shifted and changed depending on which school of military thought had control the French general staff, the GQG. From the crushing defeats of 1870 to the early twentieth century they were purely defensive in nature, with only a few flutters of adventurism. All plans emphasised fortifications and blocking positions by the French army, Verdun as a gateway fortress was in held particular significance. By the early twentieth century this defensive attitude was treated with scorn by a number of French writers, claiming that it admitted to an inherent ‘cringing inferiority’ to the Germans.
With the resurgence of France as a colonial power this apparent subservience was pushed aside as the French military looked to a past before the disaster of 1870 and rediscovered the Furor Gallicae. The spirit of élan vital of the Revolution of 1789 and then translated that into the new military doctrine. According to this theory the French are by disposition a valorous race and always perform best in the attack. Therefore the best defence for France was attack!
This new strategic and tactical idea was given the title of Plan Seventeen and shifted focus to a much more aggressive stance, advocating a full on assault into the contested territory of Alsace–Lorraine. Thus for GQG this new plan married two key aims of French military aspiration and national policy. The first objective was to regain the lost provinces and the second to halt or break up the predicted German offensive that they knew was being planned.
The main aspect of this plan while proclaiming the essential need for offensive al a bayonet! was still in essence a defensive reaction, it would only swing into play if Germany threatened.
If the difficulty was with Britain, as during the brief flurry of the ‘Fashoda’ incident, the plans were vague. Targets such as Gibraltar and Malta were suggested, as was commerce raiding. However the traditional historical dominance of the Royal Navy and speed of British ship construction made any French advantages fleeting. As for military retaliation, that could only occur where colonial territories abutted since the channel was still a barrier. Realistically since the British could at will strangle French trade or severe the links to North Africa, any nationalistic anti-British rancour tended to be limited to blasts in the popular press or brief public protests. On another level the increasing ties of social interaction, culture and trade between London and Paris smoothed over these minor disputes.

Britain

It was a common belief in Britain that they could scorn the affairs of Europe since the barrier of the Channel was an effective shield, however that didn’t create a consciousness of isolationist as did the expanse of the Atlantic for the United States. The British government understood that like it or not geography and history made the island kingdom a long term player in the affairs of Europe. The barrier of the surrounding seas was not such a bulwark from foes, it could and had been a frequent highway for invasion. The French historian Braudel would say their foreign policies were shaped by environmental determinism. The key being the dominant weather patterns, first the Gulf Stream carried the Armada from Spain to the south coast of Cornwall then along to the Dover straits. While the currents of the North Sea provided a different peril as it washed from Norway along Denmark then past the Low countries of Nederland and Belgium. N.A.M. Rodger a distinguished naval historian in his amazing three volume history of the Royal Navy repeatedly pointed out the vulnerability of that cross channel stretch from Ostend to Dunkirk. It was the tender spot of British international politics and whom ever held it was a potential enemy.
This simple fact rather than any humanitarian or neighbourly concern is what prompted Britain after the Napoleonic Wars to unconditionally guarantee the independence of first the Nederlands than then Belgium. Every European nation was warned that if they threatened that ‘neutrality’ then the might of Britain would be used against them. That aside the other factor that caused immediate British concern was the development of a fleet that could threaten their naval dominance. Which is exactly the course that Kaiser Wilhelm and his naval advocate Admiral Tirpitz embarked upon.
As for active plans, in case of threat they didn’t actively call upon the army as did most of Europe. The largest part of the British forces where spread throughout the empire, especially in India. Anyway in time of peril it wasn’t the army that Britain traditionally tended to call upon, it was the senior service, the Royal Navy. Before 1910 Britain felt safe and secure behind the steel walls and massive guns of the Royal Navy’s Dreadnoughts and Battle cruisers. So a large standing army or mass mobilisation was not required, thus their home forces were but a fraction of those on the continent. Essentially up to the day war was declared British plans were nebulous, the only certainty was the Admiralty plan. The Royal Navy would immediately mobilise then head for the safe harbour of Scapa Flow which also blocked the northern exit of the North Sea. There was also an iron clad guarantee that the Royal Navy would defend the French section of the Channel. Though, that agreement was probably more motivated by self interest than any real concern for France.

Germany

Germany was obsessed with two strategic problems, the first was the resurgence of France and their rising nationalism that proclaimed the ‘regaining of Alsace-Lorraine’ as a ultimate French ideal. The second was the massive Russian empire on its eastern border, and the teaming hordes of savage Cossacks that populated the overly fertile paranoia of the German imagination. Despite the efforts of Bismarck to separate the two potential ‘enemies’ Kaiser Wilhelm’s rash posturing and threats drew them together in an unlikely alliance. Even worse was to come, Wilhelm’s desire to emulate the Royal Navy created the twentieth century’s first arms race as he commanded that Germany equal Britain in the construction of Dreadnought Battleships. Unwillingly and reluctantly Britain was pushed into an alliance with the centuries old enemy, France and as a consequence the despised Tsarist Russia. Germany’s answer to this two front threat was the Schlieffen plan, which commanded an invasion of France via Belgium. In fact in response to a possible threat from Russia the plan was the same, invade France. Britain’s inclusion as a possible foe, rather than cause a pause or rethink of diplomacy and strategy just consolidated the iron hard resolve of Invade France!

Russia

Tsarist Russia had undergone a troubled and tumultuous transition to the twentieth century. Its Baltic and Pacific fleets were destroyed by the new and more modern Japanese navy in 1905. While the Russian possessions in China, Port Arthur, had been seized by victorious Japan and the Tsar had avoided mass rebellion by the narrowest of margins. In spite of those military and political disasters the fabled might of Russia with its potential millions of solders was a spectre that haunted both the German and Austro-Hungarian empires. Perhaps it was a folk nightmare from the Napoleonic Wars or even a distant memory of the Mongol onslaught. In sheer numbers it was a real fact to contemporary military planners of all nations. However the Great Russian Empire was struggling to modernise in both industry and armaments and endless hordes of warm bodies didn’t count if they marched without artillery and machine guns. The Russian plan wavered between two extremes the first was to use space like they did in 1812 and wait for the distance and vastness of Russia to wear down the enemy. While the second advocated a steamroller like offensive moving inexorably forward unstoppable until it reached either Berlin or Vienna. That of course was the plan whether the Russian army, its communications or logistics was capable of this feat was another matter.

Austro-Hungarian Empire

Ostensibly the wronged party in the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand their plans called for mobilisation in the eastern provinces’ to defend against Russia and an overwhelming assault on Serbia. As it turned out the offensive to smash the Serbs collapsed and was driven back across the border, while the responses to the Russians had mixed results alternating between modest victory and crushing defeat.

Ottoman Empire
At the outbreak of hostilities between Germany, Austria-Hungary and France, Russia and Britain the Ottoman Empire did not immediately seek to honour it prior treaty as a Central Power. It had not recovered from the losses it suffered in the First and Second Balkan War or its war with Italy that lost Libya and the Dodecanese islands. The Turks were desperately trying to modernise and had commissioned two Dreadnought battleships from British shipyards, while their army endeavoured to upgrade training and equipment via the German military mission. The new government of the Young Turks was deeply divided by faction and interest. Half swaying towards the traditional protection of Britain from the peril of Russian ambitions, while the others waivered in the direction of Germany.
In the end it was an accident of lost opportunity, arrogance, imperatives of naval defence and the actions of two German cruisers that forced the Turks to join the Central Powers. To gain the full flavour of the bizarre story all I can suggest is read Guns of August by Barbara Tuchman or Castles of Steel by Massie both are superb in outline the paths to war.

Italy

Italy had signed the treaty with the Central Powers or as then called the Triple Alliance. Though, when push came to shove, they used the aggression of Germany in Belgium and the invasion of France to claim exception from the ‘defensive’ pact. According to their plan the combined fleets were to rendezvous at Messina and wrestle control of the Mediterranean from the French. At the outbreak of war the inclusion of the British Royal Navy in that equation brought a sobering dose of reality. A glance at any map shows that Italy, except for its northern border is all coastline and several of its largest cites are coastal ports such as Venice, Genoa Naples and Messina. This geographic fact along with the prospect of losing access to vital wheat imports from Russia and fuel imports from Romania outweighed the dubious attractions of the German Austro-Hungarian alliance.

The Results and the Treaties

As can be seen from a brief review of the various plans some were extremely aggressive others more defensive in intent. However they were in July to August 1914 only plans, concepts outlined on paper and though practiced in military exercises not chiselled in stone as holy writ, except in the guilty imaginations of some military commanders. As transpired in the furnace of battle they did warp and change to fit perceived threats and opportunities. In the decades since a number of historians have stressed the connection between the two treaty blocs (the Entente Cordiale and the Central Powers) and how these two opposing arrangements somehow pushed each group straight down the path to Total War. In this discussion I have not emphasised this stance since as far as I can see the evidence that has emerged since then tends to indicate that this wasn’t the case. The rigid hierarchy of treaties and plans did not march lock step into war.
There was no absolute certainty that France would act militarily against Germany in line with its treaty with Russia. While the Tsarist Empire due to distance and insufficient transport had to mobilise as early as possible. Though that action itself was no guarantee it would invade the Austro Hungarian to defend the Serbs. Across the channel affairs were even more nebulous. Britain had made naval protection agreements with the French as well as a secret agreement to send military forces to France in case of invasion. In the later case the British government waivered on whether they should stick to the secret treaty or hold off. This hesitancy lasted up to the news that Germany had invaded Belgium, then old instincts kicked in, the German High Seas Fleet could not be allowed to gain a foothold on the Dover straits.
As can be seen one single nation had the capacity to halt the course for the war, Germany. Unfortunately as we have seen in part one it had neither the intention nor the leadership. Now in part two it is plain that its aggressive war plan took little account of diplomatic shifts or included even the slightest grasp of political or strategic reality. It embraced the opportunity for war and according to the predictions of The Plan its victory over France was assured, its dominance of Europe guaranteed. Whether war with France, or invasion of Belgium and antagonising of Britain was justified was dismissed as irrelevant.

By all until part 3

As the good doctor says; ‘Take the damned pills!’

History, Remberance Day and Myths

2010-11-01T12:36:00.000+11:00

History Remembrance Day and Myths

Good day all, I hope this latest missive finds you in good health? Since November is fast approaching I thought we’d examine one of the most important days in that month’s calendar and no I don’t mean the Melbourne Cup, the horse race that stops a nation. If that’s what you where expecting then I suggest you go to a racing website.

Like many Australians I have a family connection to the Great War, My paternal grandfather Harry House served in the First AIF as a pioneer. He landed at Gallipoli two weeks in and was evacuated suffering from severe dysentery a few weeks before the withdrawal. After recuperating he joined his battalion in France in time for the AIF assault on Pozieres, were he went down seriously injured in an artillery barrage. I remember meeting him three times as a lad, once in a veteran’s hospital, he was by then completely blind having lost one eye in the explosion. He however was relatively fortunate, on my wife’s side her family lost Cecil McIntyre, died aged twenty three in the sleet and mud of Armentieres. (See photo below)

While his brother Sidney McIntyre was promoted to captain via battlefield commission and awarded the Military Cross. I think two more relatives may have been seriously wounded but haven’t had the time to track down their records. That I may add is just the First World War, as for the later conflict I will deal with them in time for ANZAC Day.

Since we are getting close to the one hundredth anniversary of the start of the First World War I believe it is important to look at and explode as it were a number of myths and misconceptions that have grown up around that terrible war. Having recently reviewed my sons’ history textbooks I found that they were full of the most basic mistakes and erroneous assumptions that appeared to ignore a lot of the modern research of the past thirty years. Even worse I found myths and suppositions had magically transformed into solid historical fact. For me that was too much to accept. Considering that history shapes us and our world every day I found that sloppiness disturbing. I am not after a jingoistic or nationalist version or as they call it a black armband revisionism.

One of the fondest habits of historians is reviewing the past, it is an essential part of their nature and/or profession. So it should came as no surprise that our view on the tragedy of the First World War has changed, due to the discovery of new information or the reconstruct of the jigsaw puzzle of the past. Unfortunately with the gems also come the dross and a growing tendency to misrepresent the past. Some books I personally have found to be pathetically puerile while others like Dreadnought shine searchlight like on our common history.

I do not want to white wash the errors and play up the glories, my research and the conversations with veterans tells me it was grim past imagining. Having talked to them I feel it is my responsibility to give to my children the opportunity to look at their past in as clear a rational light as possible, to see the triumphs and errors of their ancestors and hopefully learn from them. In this series of articles I am trying for impartiality, though I suspect that evidence and upbringing sway me against the blind forces of history theory.

First; The Cause
Yes we all know that a young Serb nationalist was coincidentally in the right place at the right time to assassinate Archduke Ferdinand the heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire. That simple fact is covered adequately in most recent recountings in print and in moderately accurate TV programs. After that dramatic event the whole situation becomes very murky as competing agendas and ambitions come into play. The Serbian Black Hand society who arranged the assassination attempts had links back to the head of the Serbian Secret Service. This gentleman had his own plans and had organised matters in the fond hope that the Balkan parts of the Austro-Hungarian Empire would spontaneously revolt leaving the area ripe for Serbian intervention. Whether the Serbian government officially knew of this is difficult to tell, however they appeared ill prepared to capitalise on the event. Nor had they engaged the pre-emptive support of Russia, the usual patron of Slavs in European and Balkan affairs.

First let us disregarding the theories of Illuminati and secret cabals of armaments moguls or others who apparently we are informed conspired to bring about a war that would lead to a New World Order. That is just absolute nonsense. It may work in the unreal world of thriller novels or fantasy adventures but such long term commitment, organisation, communication, dedication and secrecy is impossible in any secret society that includes humans. The First World War was started by a perfectly human collection of sins and foibles by those in positions of absolute authority. At this stage I will point out that while the forces of Imperialism, Nationalism and Militarism had a lot to do with the creation of the political tensions and cultural backgrounds for the conflict they did not in themselves create the irresistible tidal flow that swept away all the old nations and their ruling hierarchies. It was the action of individuals that utilised these forces for their own needs, ambitions or self interest.

Now as we have recently seen the Balkans is a mess of conflicting and competing nations and ethnic minorities. Its very geography makes this so, with regions carved up by mountain ranges and river valleys. A modern French historian Ferdinand Braudel spells this out in great detail in his book The Mediterranean, after a few chapters you begin to see how environmental determinism really did shape the conflicts and ethos of the Balkan tribes and kingdoms and especially why they naturally reached out to the surrounding great powers for alliance and aid in their disputes with their neighbours. The unfortunate fact of Realpolitik was that that these great powers included the Russian Empire and the Austro-Hungarian Empire, both bitter rivals themselves in the Balkans. So bringing the interest of larger patrons did little to calm any situation and made the most minor inter-clan banditry across a border into a ready excuse for an all encompassing war. (Bulgarians charging Turks 1912)

Added to this set of tensions was the last surge of colonial expansion, from 1880-1912 the European powers were in a race to snap up the last unclaimed patches of territory or acquire parts of crumbling empires. Britain gained Egypt and the Sudan thus protecting their route to India, France acquired Morocco as a ‘protectorate’ and in the disintegration of the crumbling of the old Ottoman Empire Germany made a dangerous bid for the Western Sahara, prompting the Agadir Crisis. This was seen as a threatening and aggressive act made deliberately provocative by the sabre rattling of Kaiser Wilhelm. The crisis set both Britain and France on edge and coupled with the increase of the German High Seas fleet created real fears of German military expansion and aggression.

Any good political squabble always throws up opportunities, and the Italians in 1911 used the both the growing Balkans crisis and the fragile situation in North Africa to launch an invasion of Ottoman Libya. It had mixed results and teetered on the brink of disaster thanks in part to the military leadership of Mustapha Kemal (Ataturk). When the Italians latter seized the Aegean islands of the Dodecanese the weakness of the Ottomans encouraged Bulgaria, Serbia and Greece to attack the Ottoman European possessions in the First Balkan War. After the success of the first round the victors then savaged each other in the Second Balkan War in a battle for the spoils.

Accepting that the Balkans and North Africa were a vulnerable flashpoints, especially so after the recent bloody round of internecine Balkan warfare. The great powers of Europe had tried to set up a congress of consultation in an effort to defuse rivalries and tensions. Now, you know what they say men of good will gathering together can solve any problem. However that does depend on everyone wanting a continuation of peace to start with. By 1914 that was not the case.
At this stage we can introduce the ‘blind forces of history’ concept and get it out of the way. Some historians love to talk about inevitability and the inexorable sweep of social, economic or political tides. In this they claim the actions of an individual to alter the flow of ‘history’ are irrelevant as it is it path is predetermined. I.e. the war was caused by the surge of rising German economic and industrial growth versus the stagnant French or waning British. It looks good in print as a title header doesn’t it? Quite a few historians have made their reputations on claims like that. The problems is that if that was the factor then all Germany had to do was wait a decade or less and they’d be wealthy enough to buy out the French economy or out compete British mercantile trade. That wasn’t the case, while economic historians love figures and market forces it is leaders of governments and military commanders who dictate their use.

On this line of leadership now is the time to introduce the key figure of the First World War; Kaiser Wilhelm of the house of Hohenzollern, emperor of Germany and grandson of Queen Victoria. If any real blame for that dreadful conflict lies with any single person, then I would have to say it had to be Wilhelm. He held a position of supreme authority and power as the monarch of the strongest military nation in Europe. While Germany in theory had a constitutional monarchical government in the representational Reichstag, its form did not match substance. Wilhelm had complete control over all facets of the military, including promotions and funding, he most importantly had an iron grip on the upper echelons of government, all officials were subject to his appointment. In the entire German Empire there was no person or organisation who could legitimately say no to Wilhelm without being accused of treason.

In a benevolent ruler such overwhelming powers tend to be ignored in the general peace and prosperity, while in a tyrant they are emphasised as justification for rebellion and overthrow. It is a pity that Wilhelm didn’t fit either of these extremes or his rule would have been less fraught with disaster. Instead he was prey to more perilous foibles and ambitions. Wilhelm the man, was driven by obsessions, he loved military uniforms and the grandeur of parades. In that theme he also believed himself to be the supreme warlord and military genius, often taking charge of the General Staff exercises where he always ‘won’. Worst of all he had such a massive inferiority complex that it would have kept a battalion of Freudian psychologists employed for decades. As an example he deeply resented that he hadn’t been born Prince of Wales regarding his Uncle Edward and Cousin George as unfit and ill suited to inherit the British Empire. It was a grudge and canker that gripped the Kaiser’s soul. Wilhelm also suffered a number of other dangerous delusions, first that he was brilliant and clever and secondly that he was possessed of a political acuity that would rival Machiavelli.(Bismark)

That was not the case Wilhelm was easy to manipulate by stronger more ruthless figures like Bismarck, Bethmann-Hollweg and Tirpitz. Each of those encouraged his fantasies to further their own ambitions. This I suspect is the true source of the First World War. Bismarck encouraged military distractions to keep Wilhelm away from government. Tirpitz promised him a navy to rival that of Britain’s causing fear and apprehension were there had once been friendship. Finally Bethman-Hollweg prompted the Kaisers’ grandiose and bellicose proclamations threatening war on those who stood in the way of ‘Germany’s place in the sun’.(chancellor Bethman-Hollweg)

So we move away from blind forces to individuals. Gavrilo Princep shoots Archduke Ferdinand, his uncle emperor Franz Ferdinand asks Wilhelm for support in punishing Serbia for the terrorist crime and active subversion. Wilhelm seeing an opportunity to grandstand issues his infamous ‘blank check’ to the Austro-Hungarian Empire and chancellor Bethmann-Hollweg backs it to hilt as well as suggesting to Wilhelm, he take his summer cruise, so as to look ‘innocent’ during the crisis, giving his chancellor sole control of the situation. At this point the German General Staff usefully advise that if war is to come, this year would be best before the Russian rearmament is completed. Thus the great European wide war moved a step closer. The Austro-Hungarian chancellor seizes hold of the ‘blank check’ as a lifeline to a drowning man. Conrad von Hotzendorf believed passionately that a short sharp shock was the only solution to the strains and stresses of growing national identity by the empires’ disparate regions, threatening the imminent dissolution of the dual monarchy. For him it proved a god sent opportunity to crush the upstart Serbia.
At the this moment of growing crisis in international affairs two major players had already determined on the course of war, for what now can be seen as personal motives. It could even be said that between this small group of individuals and their advisors a conspiracy had sprung up to lull the concerns of a worried Europe shocked by the assassination, but otherwise unprepared for war. Well unprepared except for their respective plans of mobilisation and strategy.
At this stage trembling on the brink of cataclysm we end part one.

As the good doctor says; ‘Take the damned pills!’

2010-09-14T12:01:00.000+10:00

History, Weapons of Mass Destruction and the Balance of Terror
Good day all I hope this day finds all my readers in good health. Hopefully the course of leeches I prescribed did the trick? Excellent! Always a sound remedy for those of a choleric disposition, and preferable to the practice of cupping or drawing several ounces of blood with a knife and basin. Those more severe methods have always left me slightly uneasy as to their real efficacy for the treatment of illness. To expel black bile and rebalance the body’s natural humours I have rather tended to rely on purgatives or emetics as more immediate remedies. Anyway Medieval and Tudor medicine was very keen on the idea of resorting to what we would consider rigorous procedures to return the patient to the body’s natural harmony or symmetry. In fact one of the main themes of the Renaissance was the struggle between those keen on maintaining the existing ‘Natural Order’ and those who agitated that a newer updated version of the ‘Natural Order’ be incorporated.
As an example of the turmoil this clash caused we can look at the actions of the Tudors monarchs. Henry VIII in particular was naturally pretty heavy on the maintaining of the Natural Order, in both the physical and spiritual bodies of the kingdom. Especially, since their position at the top of the late medieval hierarchy was gained by conspiracy, treachery and the bloody violent overthrow of the legitimate monarch. After that example of the rewards of betrayal it behoved Tudor monarchs to behave quite severely towards similarly ambitious nobles by the simple expedient of beheading any rivals that happened to pop up. Now apart from the draconian laws and punishments pertaining to Treason, Heresy and Praemunire (we’ll cover that last one in a separate article later, in the meantime just think of it as a useful catchall that picks up any opponents the other two missed), the Tudor state had one more important tool of legitimacy, that had English nobles pause in thought;

The Cannon.

Where as in the medieval period the knight was seen as the potent symbol of the religious, political and military hierarchy, by the later 1400s advances in technology had altered the reality behind this steel clad image. While the chivalric and romantic ideals of the knight were venerated in song, story and sculpture by the aristocracy, the reality was somewhat different. The knight still held an honoured, essential and even exalted position on the field of battle. However his participation in combat no longer guaranteed victory as a weapon of war, unless it was in the capacity of a unit captain or senior commander. That battle winning accolade now belonged to a new mistress of the battlefield, the triumph of the artisans and alchemists craft; the cannon; the Tudor version of Weapon of Mass Destruction. As an example of this I am inserting a section from one of my novels (The Queens Oranges) that best explains the new reality of this modern engine of war and their impacts as Renaissance WMD’s;

Red Ned and the Queens Oranges chapter 6 Modern Engines of War © 2010

…It was certainly a widening of Ned’s knowledge, the more he heard regarding the great bronze beast that the three of them affectionately patted, the more awe struck and fascinated he became. These modern devices; the Basilisks, Demi cannons and Culverins were the King’s means to smite and lay waste his foes. If however they were his arms, then the blood and sinews that powered these weapons was the vital black powder, the success of the alchemists craft the ‘Fue d’Artifice’ or “made fire’. It was the ability to balancing the conflicting art, craft, alchemy and perhaps magic that made these two men so valuable to the king’s service. For when carefully measured and weighed the charges, if used with skill could propel missiles that would destroy the greatest walls or alter the fate of nations in battle. Without this blend of skill and the harnessed wrath of the black powder these great weapons of destruction were just mute impotent lumps of bronze and iron.
As an example of their impact on the turn of Lady Fortuna’s wheel Henryk recounted one famous incident. It was at the battle of Ravenna over twenty years ago between the Spaniards and the Lombard League. A single shot from a culverin ploughed into the Spanish line killed thirty men and wounded many more. The horror and shock of the missile’s devastation caused the Spanish companies of horse to precipitously charge in desperation, losing the battle. Ned could understand why the common soldiers feared and venerated their Gonnes, it was a bit like have a savage demon on a loose tether. If the other side had one so did you, possession was essential, no matter the risks or expense.
From the older brother he had a story that warned of the perils of use, King James II of Scotland was besieging the English held castle of Roxburgh when the barrel of his great siege Gonne exploded killing him. Ned had looked doubtfully at the culverin he was leaning on until Henryk assured him that the incident had happened years ago and cannon rarely exploded like that now. That had set Ned’s fears at ease, then Hubrecht gave a low chuckle and add that bronze was still preferred over iron since it tended to bulge before exploding, but. The douche gonner had concluded his reasoning with the sort of shrug and wave of hands in the universal gesture of uncertainty of Lady Fortuna’s favour and Ned’s reassurance evaporated.

After those tales Ned could understand the recent rants from the friars screaming of the coming destruction. Blood and Fire of the Apocalypse! Any city under siege from modern engines of war would witness their own dress rehearsal for St John the Evangelist’s prophetic words. It was no surprise that after the first roar of the Gonnes most towns surrendered. Casting a more knowledgeable look at the iron and bronze instruments, the wonder was that in battle men didn’t break and run at the first salvo. It must take a special kind of resolve to stand and watch the belching gouts of smoke and flame as they lashed towards their ranks.

The Tudor WMD

The weapon of mass destruction is not a recent concept, kingdoms and empires have worked through a number of different variations usually revolving around siege engines or the ultimate warship. The Tudor dynasty was in this respect no different to those of the past or its contemporaries in Europe. At the time the cannon represented the best balance of siege breaking ability and battlefield awesomeness. Even better for those monarchs keen on a centralised government and taxation, the manufacture and maintenance of cannons was an extremely expensive business, almost as expensive as firing them. In this modern age of mass production and general wealth it is easy to lose perspective on the period costs of the simple necessities of war like gunpowder. Once more I quote from the Queen’s Oranges;

“What does it cost for a barrel of powder?” That produced a fierce discussion with much waving of arms, whether those gestures defined sizes, measures or what Ned was unsure but the brothers finally came to an agreement. As before Rob Black was delegated as spokesman, his friend looking both shocked and surprised as he turned to deliver their deliberation.
“Ahh Ned, I’m a bit unclear they… we had to try and translate their usual weights and prices into our equivalents, but they think a barrel of about a hundredweight based on the price at Ghent last month is worth eighty English pounds.”
“What, a barrel! Are you sure?” Ned tried hard to keep the surprise out of his voice, Rob looked puzzled for a moment before rejoining the huddle of experts. Further mutters and expansive gesture signalled the efforts of translation until Rob finally straightened up and walked over with a slightly puzzled smile.
“Yes Ned, they’re certain eighty English pounds it is! The measures and weights was a bit of trouble, since they had to rework douche and imperial standards into London pounds since a good half to two thirds of the powder is bought overseas. Then there was difficulty in the exchange rate for Rhenish florins.” A pair of beard faced nodded in agreement to Rob’s explanation.
“Sweet Jesu, war is an expensive business!” To Ned this shed a new light on the cost of the cannon’s roar at city celebrations, at sixteen hundred silver shillings or two hundred and sixty gold angels a barrel, it was very clear why the King would want to restrict their use to only supremely important royal announcements. He wondered just how much powder was used per Gonne, no doubt these two brothers would know down to the nearest peck, but he’d seen a possible answer for the vanished Ben Robinson.

So in Tudor currency terms two hundred and eighty gold coins a barrel and to put that in even starker perspective the Tower was said at that time (1530) to hold six thousand barrels of gunpowder. Even if we cut that figure down to a more reasonable four thousand the value would be one million one hundred and twenty thousand golden angels just for the gunpowder. To give an idea of contemporary value one barrel of gunpowder is worth around eighty Tudor pounds sterling, to be classed as a gentleman you required an annual income of twenty pounds sterling. As they say war is a very expensive pastime only pursued by Princes. So if you want to either defend the realm or stake your families claim on someone else’s territory chests over brimming with gold and silver are a prerequisite.
So as you can see the old days of raising the banner of rebellion if you didn’t like the monarch or disagreed with their religious inclination, while still possible and indeed in Europe was common. The action though usually overbrimming with zeal and commitment often suffered from a few glaring defects. If the rebels didn’t have access to gold, gonnes and gonnepowder the chance of victory on the battle field or siege was pretty remote.

And where you may ask did the Tudor monarchs keep most of their modern Engines of War?
In the Tower of London, the most heavily armed and secure ‘palace’ in all of Britain. Directly under the watchful eye of the most senior royal officials and just a short boat ride down river from Whitehall, the centre of Tudor administration. In fact the only successful rebellion in the Tudor period was that of Princess Mary Tudor against Lady Jane Grey, Edward VII’s proclaimed Protestant successor. It is worth mentioning that Princess Mary according to some reports and chronicles ‘acquired’ a large number of cannons and armaments from some of the great Tudor warships coincidentally lying off Harwich. Considering what we know from the wreck of the Mary Rose removing and remounting its great gonnes for transport would have taken a large shipyard like Greenwich and some time.

Also these miraculous cannons were unlikely to be from some local noble’s own stock since to possess any cannon required a royal licence. No Tudor monarch was keen on letting such potent weapons stray out of royal supervision. So is it possible that Mary Tudor was lent some ready made WMD’s by her Hapsburg uncle Emperor Charles V from across the channel in Bruges? That could be a point to investigate at a later date.
It is also worth noting that Tudor WMDs weren’t pulled out at the merest whim, it required a lot of effort and expense to see that they were deployed with adequate support. The widowed husband of Mary, Philip of Spain in a later effort to unseat his former sister in law Elizabeth used a sizable fleet the Armada to transport his WMDs in 1588. Despite the brave words of her Majesty’s Tilbury speech it is just as well that Howard, Drake and the English fleet drove off the Armada. Since it was commonly considered that once it had landed its WMD’s and supported by the Duke of Parma’s veteran pike and muskets would have demolished the English defences within days.

Up dating WMD’s

The basic gonnepowder cannon reigned supreme, for hundreds of years, it was the queen of battles and arbiter of nations from late medieval to the later part of the ninetieth century, essentially unchanged as a weapon. Then during that explosion of invention that was the Victorian steam age it experienced a serious technological upgrade, more than quadrupling its range and capacity for destruction and creating the first of the twentieth century’s WMD’s;

The Dreadnought WMD

There was nothing new in fitting cannons to ships. The utility of a gonne powder ballistic weapon in ship to ship and then ship to shore battle was soon realised as an improvement on the previous catapults and ballista’s. Its initial integration in naval warfare was fitful, as the technology of cannons clashed with the requirements of a timber maritime vessel. Since they were propelled by oars or sail the placement of heavy iron or bronze cannons could and did impair their need to stay balanced and afloat in difficult conditions. The proof of this conflict was the loss of both the Mary Rose and the Vasa both of which sunk due to improperly closed lower gunports when the vessels were heeled over by a sudden wind.

It has been suggested by some marine historians that the Elizabethan ship designers and cannon manufacturers were the first Europeans to fully integrate the race galleon as a primary gun platform naval vessel, rather than being a standard vessel with cannons added. In time this idea of a full time dedicated naval gun platform took hold amongst the western nation states as they competed for control of resources, prestige and trade. Thus we come to the British three decker ship of the line like the HMS Victory a purpose designed and constructed battle ship with one hundred and twelve cannons the most powerful weapon of its day. As mighty and graceful as these vessels were, the advances in both iron and steel technologies during the industrial revolution transformed them into relics of former glory. The modern face of battle by 1860 was a steel hulled warship such as HMS Warrior.

And Britannia still ruled the waves until the American Civil War. The clash of the USS Monitor and the CSS Virginia on the 9th march 1862 proved that technology and innovation under the pressure cooker of conflict could move very fast.

This speed of improvement turned out to be very expensive for modern nations aspiring to the ultimate in battle wear accessories like an up to date fleet. Also important in seizing and protecting those overseas colonies required for the status of empire. This competition reached its technological, financial and design apogee in the construction of HMS Dreadnought in 1906.

On the day of its launching it became the most expensive, advanced and powerful weapon in the world. With its massive 12 inch guns it could lob an armour piercing shell 18 kilometres. For speed she could travel at 21.4 knots or around 40 kilometres per hour and her armour was the latest steel compound and at its thickest was 11 inches. This was the ultimate in Steam Period WMD. No other world class navy or shore battery could stand up to its salvos and she was specifically designed to sink any ship or combination of ships afloat. As for potential destructive power there was nothing to surpass it until the much later American and Japanese super battleships.
The Dreadnought class of warship was regarded as such a serious threat that international treaties were negotiated to limit its spread and balance out the number of battleships per nation, thus providing the world with the first balance of terror for the twentieth century. It is perhaps rather sad and disappointing for us a hundred years later that our WMD’s do not look so majestic or stately and out weigh HMS Dreadnought in destructiveness by a factor of thousands if not tens of thousands.

The thread of this story began with Tudor medicine then onto the Tudor status quo and how it was maintained by law and Tudor period military technology with a few brief excursions into historical fiction. Then we had a very quick coverage leading up to the awesome weapons of the 1900’s the Dreadnought. From the cannon to the battleship all of these fitted into the classification of WMD’s. All of them were meant to be seen as instruments of threat, or defence of the realm. As symbols they mostly they just sat around reminding people of what could happen if…
Such is the currency of deterrence. However in these modern and enlightened times WMD’s are hidden objects of terror and suspicion capable of annihilating entire cities.

In that case isn’t it good that we have outgrown religious fanaticism and bigotry? Aren’t we lucky to longer have the Tudor habits of a nation serving the whims of an individual monarch? Aren’t we fortunate that our realms employ WMD’s at the will and discretion of the people rather than to salvage the reputation and claims of our forefathers? Aren’t we just so damn’d superior to our ancestors!!!

Bye all and don't forget take the dammned Pills!!!

2010-08-28T17:05:00.000+10:00

By Baal, it’s a Kangaroo!
Or Cultural Diffusion and how we learnt to build Pyramids!

Once more a happy greeting to my multitudes of readers, I hope both of you are well, for me it has been not so, the scourge of a virus producing cluster migraines laid me low and whimpering for eight days straight. By Jove I wish they still had laudanum dispensed over the counter! I could have done with a stint of indulging in the Black Drop Habit like those romantic poets in Ken Russel’s surreal film Gothic. Anyway In an effort to distract from the blinding headache I slowly worked on part two of the ancient discoverers of Australia.
This time around it is the Phoenicians’ turn, now first we have to ask who were the Phoenicians and why would they be connected with Australia? Give Wiki a quick check (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phoenicia)and you’ll find a passable explanation of their origins society and influence, without getting into the overly academic. In short they where a city state civilisation based on the Levantine coast from Acre (now in Israel) north to encompass all of modern Lebanon. Their most famous or according to roman writers’ infamous successor was the Phoenician colony of Carthage which to Rome’s dismay dominated the western Mediterranean. Now according to historians we owe the Phoenicians a great deal, the phonetic alphabet for one. They also established a Mediterranean wide trading system that sourced tin from Britain, gold and iron from Spain and shipped wine to Egypt. On the whole they were the bustling middlemen of the ancient world, evidence also exists for linking them with trading ports along the Red Sea and across to India. According to the Greek historian Herodotus; Pharaoh Necho II around 600 BC launched an expedition manned by Phoenicians down the east coast of Africa to circumvent the continent. It took three years and is currently being re enacted (http://phoenicia.org.uk/ ) in a rebuilt replica of a Phoenician trading vessel based on the results of maritime archaeology. Herodotus seems to have considered this an amazing event well worthy of noting (vol 1 book IV section 42) and it if it happened it did prove the Phoenicians capable of long distance voyaging. Though Herodotus himself expressed amazement at the report and used it as a lead in for the feats of the Persian king of kings Darius the Great. The Persian monarch no doubt was looking for more lands to conquer and launched two similar expeditions to explore the eastern Indian Ocean from India to Eastern Africa and one to chart the west coast of Africa.
The results must have been unsatisfactory since there is no record of follow up voyages. This is the main written basis (apart from various exaggerated interpretations of biblical text) for Phoenicians wandering over to the Antipodes. The oft quoted land of Punt as a source of gold has been interpreted as to mean any patch of turf from the Red Sea to the Pacific Ocean. In truth those brief mentions are a bit lean to base anything on. Now we do have archaeological evidence to back up the written accounts of Phoenicians regularly trading with Britain and the lands around the North Sea and down the western coast of Africa, possibly as far as Guinea. So long distance voyages were a fact of life, however in this age of easy ocean spanning travel we need to examine this a little deeper.
According to most written and archaeological accounts sea travel was essentially a coastal affair with the vessel pulling into shore as often as possible to resupply with food and water. The slightly later Greeks when travelling in triremes always beached their ships over night unless engaged in a longer crossing like from Sicily to Tunis. This coastal habit has been frequently mentioned by historians of the Mediterranean like Braudel. He felt that environmental determinism, ie how the land and environment shaped a people was essential to understanding their history and interactions. In this theory he believed that the capacity and technology for deep-ocean going travel encompassing a week or more out of sight of land was more common to fringe ocean dwellers along the Atlantic, where it was an essential survival skill for fishing and trade. There may be something in this since the oar driven trireme was the dominant vessel for warfare in the Mediterranean, from the Phoenicians up to the Venetians and Turks in the sixteenth century. However attempts to use this style of vessel in any but the calmest Atlantic weather usually resulted in them sinking. I bring up this little fact on ship capacity and technology to knock the first supposition on its head. There isn’t anyway short of teleportation that a Phoenician trireme was going to cross the Indian Ocean or the Timor Sea. Its survival from storms, disease or lack of water put the odds more in the range of winning lotto.

Now on to the Phoenician workhorse; a sail equipped cargo craft.
I am proud to admit our ancestors were no dumb bunnies, they came up with some very impressive solutions to a whole range of seaborne technical problems. Such as stitching and laminating hull planks to increase flexibility, thus reducing stresses from the battering of waves. The use of adjustable timber nails to fit and wedge the internal ribs and a sail capable of tacking into the wind. What an amazing feat, all this without the aid of Atlanteans or descended Spacemen! Either of which would be hard pressed to tie a bowline knot, let alone design a rugged sea going vessel and all its rigging. What the Egyptians were to pyramids the Phoenicians were to nautical engineering, if anyone could design and build seagoing vessels then it would have to be them. But you ask how does this justification of Phoenician naval magnificence sit with them not getting to Australia? Well considering their well founded sea travelling reputation they are the favoured choice for any pet theories on cross oceanic cultural fertilization. In plain language they’re supposed to have taught both the Mesoamericans and the Khymer to build pyramids. Now that’s really strange since there isn’t a single pyramid in all of Phoenicia!

Cultural Diffusion or how we learnt to build Pyramids!

Thus as expected we come back to pyramids, we just can’t seem to get away from them. These monumental structures have been touted as an apparently mysterious unifying feature amongst some prominent ancient cultures spanning two millennia. You’ll be shocked to hear that to a large number of ‘alternate’ experts the creation of these ceremonial or memorial edifices was only possible due to the guidance of benevolent aliens. Or far ranging seafarers, stocked with a cargo load of easily translated arcane scrolls, take your pick. Perhaps the universal concept of a dwelling could also be due to a similar cultural diffusion, there has to be a speculative book in that, I can just imagine the title now; Ancient Atlantean Mysteries and the Secrets Origins of the Modern House! With a title like that you could sell to both the Post-Modern set and the New Age Alternates, add in a genuine ‘Atlantean layout compass’ and bingo you’ve got the Feng Shui market as well.

Back to our friends the Phoenicians, for the amazing and instantaneous transfer of knowledge as maintained in the more luridly titled books it is somehow naturally assumed that every cargo vessel blown across an ocean to a remote and uncivilised shore naturally included an astronomer, engineer and stone mason. All of whom are experts in Egyptian building technology. Though strangely these ‘Phoenician’ passenger manifests are always lacking bronze or iron workers and carpenters, a singular omission. These passengers must have been blessed by the gods to survive weeks of drinking their own urine and been granted miraculous foresight to stock up on extra provisions.

Atlantean Cultural Diffusion, or not?

I suppose that’s how the Atlanteans disseminated their accumulated millenniums of ancient knowledge, passed down by wise and benevolent higher beings. I mean its pretty obvious they anticipated the island destroying cataclysm. Didn’t they? You can just picture it the high priest loftily announced that the sacred texts needed a refreshing jaunt around the harbour with the entire priesthood in a few very well provisioned vessels. Don’t worry about the earthquakes or lava spewing volcano, it’ll be fine, bye see you next month. Yeh right, as if that didn’t arouse the odd suspicion amongst the populus! Let’s ignore the fact that knowledge of engineering and astronomy belonged only to a minute fraction of a percent of the population, say one in four thousand. Anyway what escaping ship isn't complete with out its ravishing blonde princess?

Phoenicians- weather, sailing vessels and distance

So back to our Phoenicians who according to a number of experts in Australia not only discovered the sunburnt country but set up the ancient equivalent of a Rio Tinto mine and export facility in Queensland, located either at Sarina, Cooktown or Gympie, depending on whose internet version you find.
Now having raised those myths we will first deal with the possibility of Phoenicians discovering Australia.
The monsoonal weather system that sweeps the Indian Ocean dictates the sailing season in the entire South East Asian region, when it is in its east to west phase the passage to India and Arabia from the Spice Islands is fast and relatively safe. As the weather pattern swaps the converse is true, any ship’s captain reliant on the winds and who has knowledge of these phenomena will utilise this natural cycle, either for profit or survival. However this means that sea journeys in the East Africa to south East Asian arc have to be undertaken as annual expeditions. Which means travelling from the Red Sea to say the island of Timor could take an entire sailing season at the least. You have to remember that pre steam ship travelling was not fast, a good day’s sailing gave you fifty to seventy five miles with a following wind. If we accept the supposed claim of Phoenicians on the east coast of Australia then from a Timor base they would have had to sail a further fourteen hundred miles via the southern coast of New Guinea to reach the Torres Strait and then over a thousand miles south through the Great Barrier Reef to reach Sarina. That’s forty to fifty days straight passage without stopping for food, water or repairs. Considering they are also sailing along the extremely dangerous Barrier Reef. . . Well lets face it the odds of survival are not ones any sane person would bet on.
Okay that’s the distance and weather matters dealt with, now on to the chance of Phoenician discovery, if they reached the Timor islands region then it is only a three hundred miles to the northern tip of Australia. So if our intrepid ancient explorers had made it to the Spice Islands it was only a short step to Terra Australis!

By Baal it’s a Kangaroo!

Extract Captain Hanno’s log of the Baal’s Pride out from Byblos via Punt
Worshipful prince Hasdrubal lord of our city, may the goddess Arstarte smile upon you! As instructed I am dictating this record to Hamicar our third scribe, it is now two moons since we left the Aromatic Islands to the north on their report of a large land in the Southern Ocean. It is truly vast, greater in extent than the lands of the Pharaoh, we have sailed for all of that time along the coast of a great land. I tremble to report that so far we have discovered little in the way of trade opportunities or treasures. On our journey to the west the land is rocky with gigantic stone cliffs covered in trees, so broken and perilous was the passage that we lost one of our vessels to hidden reefs. Further south we could only find a land like unto the barren coast of Libya extending for many days sail, in desperate want of water we headed once more north.

Worshipful prince, I humbly report that this land is inhabited by tribes of Nubians similar to those on the coast south of Punt. We have landed and tried many times to engage them in trade, they speak no language any of our crew has heard nor are they always friendly, some times they have driven us away with spears and cast whirling bent sticks. The coast here is also inhabited by fierce monsters like unto the Nile crocodile but larger, several of our men have fallen victim to their savage attack. Searching for food and game has been difficult, though there is plentiful fish.

Worshipful prince, it has been a moon’s sail towards the rising sun and still we have found no towns or cities, the Nubians here have no metal, cloth or pottery, not even villages. It is my misfortune to report that we have not seen any sign of gold, tin or precious gems, due to the ferocity of these southern Nile crocodiles it has been impossible for our assayer to test for gold dust in the rivers. I also beg leave to report that a poisonous serpent has slain the assayer when he was exploring inland. The men with him did report a strange animal, it has the appearance of a gazelle but lacks horns instead it has a long tail and it stands on two legs and moves in great bounds by beating its tail on the ground.

Worshipful prince, I have had to abandon the expedition. In the furtherest east we came upon a great reef extending south for many days sail and at frequent peril of grounding the crew clamoured to return to our home waters for they are frightened by the numerous fearsome and perilous beasts. There may still be treasures and trade as yet undiscovered but we can find no sign of them and none of the Nubians can tell us what lies there.

Tyranny of Distance and The Reality of Improbability

So as you can see the Tyranny of Distance strikes again for Australia! As well as the simple fact that Phoenicians are merchants and traders like the Portuguese in the 16th century. Both societies required a port and goods to trade laid on, they don’t have the time or the resources to build extensive facilities. After all its always easier to seize some one else’s like the Portuguese did to Malacca when they arrived in the Spice Islands. The other fact that explodes the myth of Phoenicians in the Sunburnt Land is profit. As I said above they are primarily traders, and ships the essential transport vehicle of commerce are expensive. This being an accepted fact it is highly unlikely they’d send a fleet thousands of sea miles into the unknown with what would have to be hundreds of valuable skilled workers and supplies relying on dozens of supply ports along the way. As we have seen with the early modern exploitation of the Spice route by the Portuguese, Spanish and Dutch, long distance expeditions are frighteningly expensive. Losses were always high, several ships may depart on any venture, but that’s not how many return. Frequently a single leaky worm riddled vessel limps back to port crew decimated by scurvy and tropical diseases as it ties up to the docks all the investors pray that its packed to gunwales with gold, diamonds or spices. The alternative is too horrible to contemplate looming financial disaster and ruin.

When looked at the whole Phoenician –Australia situation as a simple cost –risk benefit analysis the prospect of their venturing this way diminishes dramatically. More telling is the local ready source of markets and resources, in other words follow the money! If gold and slaves are there for the picking on the East African coast and spices, gems and Lapis lazuli can be easily traded in India, then why risk the perils of distant and dangerous Terra Australis? Unless of course you have a few convicts to offload?

Naw, Punt salt mines are closer.

Bye all and as the doctor says – take the damned pills!

2010-07-09T23:29:00.000+10:00

Who Discovered Australia!
Ancient discoverers of Australia
Or there’s a pyramid in my back paddock!

Evening and salutations to my growing hoard of devoted readers (both of them). Let me compliment you on your excellent selection of this blog to peruse from amongst the myriad wordings hovering expectantly in the ether.
I have recently been brushing up on my research on the discoverers of Australia. This is of course a fascinating subject and one I hope to pursue in depth when I get published.
To any publishers and agents out there, this is a not so subtle hint that there are bucks to be made getting my good self into print – ps look at 1421, more on that later. But enough of that shameless self promotion, back to the theme of this discussion.

Who did discover Australia?

Captain Cook!!!?

Now I remember learning in school four odd decades ago, about our historical discoverers, especially in the year 1970 when all Australians celebrated the two hundredth anniversary of the Captain Cook expedition. We even minted a special fifty cent piece, which I sure I can find if I diligently searched through my dusty archived childhood coin collection. But that is a digression – we will cover the true place and achievements of Captain Cook at little later. In the meantime on to more contentious issues. Who exactly can reasonably be credited with the first discovery of the southern continent?

Ptolemy's map a 1467 version
The most reliable and decipherable ancient sources are various ancient Greek and Roman writers on geography. Herodotus, Ptolemy and Strabo are the most quoted. In their books they speculated on the existence of a Terra Australis (Great Southern Land), though at this distance in time it is difficult to judge whether their information was based on actual reports from passing traders, or on myth and sailors hearsay. Other writers, especially up to the Middle Ages, tended to be less specific and more fanciful in their speculations, including the more common reports of tribes of strange men with heads in the centre of their chests or of walking trees. Then when it came to discussing the condition of the great oceans, their reports always included a selection of ship devouring kraken, floating islands and luscious, and with any luck, lascivious mermaids. While this provides great background for many fantasy novels, it couldn’t in any way be regarded as accurate, though the curious part of these accounts is that sometimes the shadow of something substantial can be discerned through the fog of dragons. However they should never be taken as fact or used as hard evidence to claim earlier discoveries.
At this point I realise that this discussion is going to take a few sessions so let’s look at this as part 1.

The Ancient Discoverers of Australia. Or there’s a Pyramid in my back paddock!

Ancient Egyptian mine and temple in the Sinai

Here we shall examine and hopefully put to rest a few myths.
Firstly the Egyptians.
According to the internet, some self proclaimed experts reckoned that the continent of Australia was positively crawling with Bronze Age Egyptians who stripped the gold, silver and gems from this great southern mineral repository. Some of these distinguished gentlemen have even written books about their fabulous discoveries. Dozens of ruins, hundreds of idols and thousands of inscriptions. Most startling of all, apparently we have up to seven pyramids scattered across the country side. And we didn’t even realise it!
I mean, you can just picture it.

Ancient Egyptian priests

Go back three thousand years. Two Egyptian priests are strolling through the rugged Australian bush, dressed in pleated linen kilts, nattily corn rowed wigs and besplendidly kohled eyelids clambering over remote and inaccessible cliffs. Then all of a sudden they halt and one turns to his companion and points meaningfully at an uncleared patch of scrub in front of them. “Well, damn me Imhotep, isn’t this a spiffing place to wack up a pyramid, what?”
“I say Sekhmet, by Thoth, I think you’ve got it! Just look at this place! If I refer to my handy astronomical scroll, I believe we’ll find it corresponds perfectly with all the ley lines and heavenly constellations.”
By Crikey, won’t the Pharaoh be pleased – another pyramid!” chortles the first priest.
“What’s that make it Imhotep – seven?”
His companion sadly shakes his head. “No Sekhmet old chap, six by my count.”
The first priest is visibly staggered by the news. “Hows that Imhotep? I could’ve have sworn we’ve built seven.”

The Plans? Damned Architects!!!
“No, no Sekhmet. You really can’t count the one we built in that tidal estuary in Pharaohland up north by the gold mine. It did sink after all!”
“Oh well, I suppose six it is then.” replies Imhotep reluctantly, before rallying to the task. “When do you want to start this one?”
However all is not so rosy – Sekhmet is still shaking his head. “Well old chap, I’m sorry to say we can’t possibly manage it till some time next solar cycle.”
“What! That outrageous! Why not?” Imhotep is aghast at this dreadful revelation.
His friend patiently explains the complex issues surrounding the imminent non construction. “Well you see old chap, we just don’t have the navvies for it.”
This simple explanation doesn’t cut the mustard with Imhotep who waves urgently back towards the rising dust cloud of their last construction site.
“But we’ve got thousands of the blighters lounging around. Surely we can spare a few hundred to get it started?”
His passionate gestures fail to move a frowning Sekhmet. “Fraid not old bean. What with the gold mines, the roads, the temples, the port construction, the food transport and this abysmally hot weather we just can’t spare them.”

building !!!
Imhotep stamps his foot, coincidentally crushing one of those large black spiders that infest this region. This cannot be! The will of the Lord of the Nile cannot be hindered by paltry excuses. Then he has a sudden flash of inspiration. “What about those dark chappies? The local indigenous? Can’t we round up a thousand or so of them?
“Sorry tried that. Damned surly bunch these natives. Can’t get a decent days slaving out of them. A taste of the lash and they scarper off back into the bush.” Sekhmet gave the kind of shrug that spoke of hours of fruitless flogging.
Imhotep, clearly frustrated, was not going to let this lie. “Well damn me, we’ll just have to requisition another thousand slaves from Punt.” He was not going to be dissuaded from his appointed task by mere details. It was a sacred duty – pyramids must be built!

Hauling !!!
Sekhmet was of a different frame of mind, more practical for a start. Almost hesitantly he raised one more minor flaw in the divine plan.
“Ahh, my dear fellow, I fear we may have a few difficulties with that. No ships.”
“What! We had fifty yesterday! They can’t have disappeared overnight!”
“You see, those Phoenician wallahs who do the transport have jacked up and want to double the insurance rate. Something about vast reefs and lurking kraken and all that kind of rot.”
As expected Imhotep splutters into a new round of the argument.
And so on, and so forth…
I think we’ll leave the rest of the discussion to the imagination.

Ziggurat Mesopotamia

Back to our ancient discoverers. For some deeply felt reason, our ancestors had this driving urge to build upwards. In Egypt it was pyramids, in Britain artificial mounds like Avesbury, while in the Fertile Crescent it was ziggurats. All of these were great feats of construction, engineering and design. As their descendents and inheritors, we should feel justifiably proud of these achievements, all built, I may add, completely without the help of any grey, blue or slightly pinkish aliens. Now this cultural devotion also extended to different styles of religious temple complexes. Whether those were based on astronomical calculations or lunar and solar events is still up for debate. However both these kinds of projects required a great deal of social and cultural organisation for a long period of time, possibly spanning centuries. Hang on you say, isn’t this straying from the ancient discoverers of Australia theme? Well yes and no. This short segment is to provide the background for our area of discussion and now we venture into the realms of the present.

Need I say anything?
I am sure most of you have had some experience of building, whether its having worked in the construction industry, a DIY project or at least walked past a building site, and even glanced at a piccie of one in any number of home improvement magazines. Apart from our probable common ancestry on the plains of Africa, it is a unifying factor for modern humanity – we like to build, and we like to build allot! However, as you have probably noticed, this construction drive is a terribly messy practice and every job acquires piles of discarded rubbish, including excess concrete, broken tiles, bent nails, the carpenters’ McDonalds snack containers and even the odd Snickers wrappers. Now this mess can’t just lie around, ruining the landscape so a significant word (so long as it includes the words ‘no payment’) to the site manager and all this detritus magically disappears overnight. There simple – happy satisfied clients,that is so long as they don’t want to plant roses or any other toxin sensitive flowering shrub in the front garden, or the side lawn or excavated by the back fence and so on.

Archaeologist's 'McDonalds wrapper'
Now being that we are all afflicted by certain common traits of human nature, what makes you think the ancient Egyptians were any more scrupulous in tidying up? This is a fact of history and a rich haul for archaeologists, since ancient middens and rubbish heaps are their modern day treasure troves. Thus broken pots, as well as the discarded lunch wrappers of yesteryear have been the foundation of many careers. The careful excavation of their contents have told us that Egyptian pyramid and tomb workers liked beer, dates, fish, wheat porridge and it seems making snide remarks about the overseer and the client (via messages scratched on bits of pot). This sifting of acres and acres of accumulated rubbish left over from the pyramids and tombs has kept historians, archaeologists and Egyptologists from all the major universities, antiquarian societies and museums, busy for a hundred and fifty years, organising digs every season. Even distant institutions like Macquarie University in Sydney have had an ongoing site for the past thirty years. Believe it or not, even after all this frenzied activity there are still thousands of sites unexplored or unsurveyed.

Egyptian tomb
Okay I think we have set the scene. Building temples and other ancient structures, even for a few generations, generates a lot of waste. So much that anyone with a modicum of training or at least a few archaeological reference books on pottery styles, should be capable of identifying their location. In fact it is pottery and the decendant of a famous explorer of Australia, Mathew Flinders Petrie, (the irrepressable Mathew Flinders of circumnavigating Australia fame, was his grandfather) who come up with a simple way of cataloguing pottery by style and placement at the dig site to give an accurate date to excavated layers. That’s why Time Team go birko when they find any pottery shards. Yoo hoo – instant dating!

Ahem... where are the mummies???
Thus we finally come to Australia and its plethora of pyramids and temples and those who identified them. How did they do that you ask? Well it appears that one expert in particular is responsible for large number of claims, he also runs an “Archaeological” Research Centre. This gentleman has single handedly found dozens of relics and remnants. In fact it seems that every time he goes for a walk in the bush anywhere in the country he literally trips over the stuff just begging to be found – stone tools, megalithic temples, acres of carved inscription, wouldn’t you know, the place is just lousy with it. Amazing! Absolutely incredible! Astounding and several more words to that effect. A brief survey of his website (type in Yowie, UFO and Egyptians in the Google boxes and see what comes up) and online ‘research’ journal will give you the general idea. However in all his discoveries our gentleman appears a bit hard up on the kind of physical evidence usually accepted as valid. Unfortunately all he has to offer are a few freshly carved rough stone heads and a scattering of Egyptian touristy style scarabs. Now at this stage my discerning reader will of course ask, well what about the pots? What pots? Why the ones used by the dozen everyday for water or beer or cooking. The ones they dig up by the bucket full on any archaeological site. The ones that prove beyond a doubt that someone lived and worked there, in short – builders rubbish. Well unfortunately there aren’t any at all, so we must assume that the visiting Egyptians went completely native scorning the use of any pottery items in favour of grass baskets.

Grave goods abscent from OZ
Now what did they put in those grass baskets, any wheat or grains? Perhaps some dates, certainly not beer or wine since they didn’t have pots. Now we come to another difficulty. They couldn’t have eaten any of their usual foods since we haven’t found any remnant grains, date palms, oxen, donkeys or camels (except for the ones we introduced in the 1860s). That means the Egyptians would have had to slaughter the native wildlife by the tens of thousand to feed all these workers busy building the pyramids, ports and temples. Of course that would leave evidence of massive kill and cooking sites and either flint, copper or bronze arrow and spear heads by the kilo. Unless they all ate fish. However those aboriginal shell middens we’ve been excavating for decades would have coughed up a hefty layer of non-native items.
So scratch the physical evidence.

I could resist it an 'instant' UFO crop circle at Silbury

Thus we come to the last reason to discount any ancient Egyptian discoverers. Why would they come here, the most furtherest corner of the globe (apart from Antarctica)? Why gold we are told! What, did they run out of gold in Punt (believed to be on the East African coast)? I don’t think so. The Arab traders were still pulling it out in the 1500’s with no signs of running out. Maybe it was spices? Ahh no – we didn’t have any. That was India and the Spice Islands to the north. Perhaps it was our superb exotic timber? Probably not, once more there were until recently thousands of square miles of teak, ebony, rosewood and cinnabar in Africa and Asia. Someone else mentioned tin, the essential ingredient in bronze as a justification. It’s a pity then that the trade routes to Britain and India were closer and the natives were happy enough to do all the hard work like mining and refining.

A phoenican-egyptian stone figure allegedly 'discovered' in OZ

Finally we come to the supposed physical objects. A quick stroll through the Internet archives and message boards gives a very good indication of the same pieces of carving, scarabs and coins recycled as proof of ancient Egyptians. Now I hate to be so cynical towards my fellow man but don’t you find it a tad strange that these items are always discovered in complete isolation or found at the bottom of an improbably deep hole conveniently dug for a well or foundation. I mean if this was a NCIS investigation and a friend’s life depended on its credibility, would you believe the presented evidence? (As a general rule when faking hieroglyphs don’t use modern steel tools or cut through a hundred year old lichen – do a search for the Gosford glyphs and see what I mean)
So in conclusion I would have to rule out the ancient Egyptians as discoverers of Australia. So if you do think you’ve found a pyramid in the back paddock, I’d do a bit of serious checking before announcing it to the world.

Bye all and as the doctor says – take the damned pills!