Wears the Soap?

No, I haven’t failed to spellcheck – it’s an old joke…

I’m an RSS subscriber to Retronaut, which if you haven’t come across it already, is a wonderful depository for old photos of all kinds. I recommend it heartily, even if sometimes there are a lack of references for those of us interested enough to find out more. A recent update included some bizarre images of supposed devices designed to curb masturbation, like this one;

No, it’s not part of a steampunk Gonzo costume…

Like the sole commenter at time of writing, I was rather sceptical that these were genuine, and if they were, that strapping them to people was really a ‘thing’ that was done with any regularity. They remind me of the spurious torture implements that were either made up entirely or fancifully replicated in order to titillate and shock Victorian sensibilities (a post on that subject coming up when I can find time to write it).

However, these pics also came from the V&A and Wellcome Trust, both august and scholarly heritage institutions, which gave me pause for thought. I also found more contextual images on the Wellcome’s website, showing people actually wearing the devices, and with original captions describing them as ‘counter-onanism’ contraptions. So I thought I’d dig deeper, and found the amusingly-titled ‘Masturbation: The History of a Great Terror’ by Jean Stengers and Anne Van Neck. This makes clear that such devices were widely known about at the time, and that there was even something of a medical controversy about them – some doctors advocating their use, others decrying it. So whilst you might not have been clapped straight into one of these the first time you were caught choking the proverbial chicken (or for that matter, polishing the bean), this does indeed seem to have been a real practice. The above-linked source also details the other methods used to prevent masturbation, and explains the general attitude that it was somehow a harmful practice. Of course, we still don’t quite know the scale of usage of these devices, and it seems likely that only the most well-off parents would consider purchasing them.

We’ve come a long way since then. But then again, we still eat Cornflakes…

(More about this chap at my link above and at Cracked.com)

Sanity Clause

OK, this one actually IS relevant to the season. This is a fascinating piece on the ‘links’ between shamanism, drug-taking, and the modern figure of Santa Claus. Not because of the hypothesis itself, which is pretty tenuous to say the least, but for the fact that it’s actually self-debunking. It starts out making specious connections between the (pre)historic reality of spiritual leaders taking drugs to (amongst other things) experience flight, and the folkloric/fictional activities of St. Nicholas and his derivatives. But the last third or so makes pretty clear that there’s no evidence for any of it, and those who actually work in the relevant historical fields aren’t convinced. Ronald Hutton’s comments should carry particular weight. Even the editor has left a qualifying ‘may’ in the title. Thus, no journalistic standards have been compromised, and yet I wonder whether most readers won’t still come away with the impression that Santa = Shaman.

Whilst part of me wants to rant about this, actually I wonder if this isn’t a clever way for everyone to enjoy this story. My own work on the vampire killing kits ended up being reported in a similar way, and despite my best efforts, many would still have failed to pick up the message I’ve been trying to convey (they’re not ‘real’, but they’re still worthy of interest). But the comments on the above article demonstrate a good deal of incredulity and some actual scepticism, so people are thinking critically about this kind of bold historical claim.

 

 

You’re Pulling My Leg

‘I say, would you mind awfully attaching some

urchins to my breeches?’

Guided tours of heritage sites can be a bountiful source of BS history. A friend and I have even come up with a game called ‘Hence the Expression’, where we’ll compete to dream up with the most fanciful origin possible for a given word or phrase. Unfortunately the real tour guides are sometimes beyond parody. A favourite of mine involved the claim that big dining tables historically had reversible surfaces in order that the household dogs could ‘clean’ the table with their tongues between courses. See what I mean?

Another slightly more plausible example is that sometimes given for the expression ‘hangers on’ (and to a lesser extent, ‘pulling one’s leg’); that it derives from the individuals paid by a criminal’s family to pull down on them during their hanging, and thereby minimise their suffering. I last heard this during a tour of Lincoln Castle, where it’s a bit of a staple claim, even appearing on the wall of the cafe. Tastefully, it specifies that ‘hangers on’ were children.

A quick note with respect to my title above; although ‘hangers on’ remains the subject of this post, I have come across a few instances of this explanation being given for the expression ‘to pull one’s leg’.

To start with, I should concede that the basic premise is sound; people did occasionally attempt to hasten the death of the convicted, although as the linked source points out, it wasn’t usually desired by the authorities. This simply provides a convincing basis for a story like this, it does NOT make it true. It also does not provide evidence for the veritable trade in ‘hangers on’ implied by the claim.

Interestingly, the phrase does appear in my favourite period slang dictionary (1699), but not in its own right:

‘Burre, a Hanger on or Dependent.’

We can presume, therefore, that it was a common phrase in the standard English of the day, and that there was no need to spell out either its meaning or origin. In fact we can trace it back as far as 1549, in Hugh Latimer’s ‘Sermons’:

‘But your Majesty hath divers of your chaplains, well learned men, and of good knowledge: and yet ye have some that be bad enough, hangers-on of the court; I mean not those.’
(p.66-67)

The term doesn’t appear in any dictionary, slang or otherwise. Indeed, why would it? The etymology here is surely self-explanatory. A ‘hanger-on’ is a sycophant who almost literally ‘hangs-on’ to the coat-tails of a well-off and/or well-known person. Just as a parasitical animal physically hangs on to its host. There’s no need to associate ‘hang’ in the sense of ‘attach’ to ‘hang’ in terms of the form of execution. Possible irony aside, there’s also no connection between the supposed origin and the meaning of the saying – a metaphorical hanger on attaches himself to the great and good; a literal one to the lowest of the low.

Not only that, but the French-derived synonym ‘dependant’ happens to also mean to ‘hang down’ or ‘hang on’, as in ‘pendant’ (as noted here), backing up the idea that ‘hanger-on’ is purely descriptive.

As usual, I’ve had a bash at finding early references, and the furthest I can push this one back is a piece of fiction that although set in the 1750s, was published very recently – in 2001.

‘the friends and relatives and hired ‘hangers-on’ hauling on the feet to hurry death. . . ‘
(‘Slammerkin’ by Emma Donoghue, p.76)

The first non-fiction cite is a throwaway line, given without reference, in a local history book ‘Sentenced to Cross the Raging Sea’ (2004).

‘…it was customary to accelerate the business of hanging by means of the poor victims having their ‘leg pulled’ by a ‘hanger on.’
(p.97)

Everything else post-dates these appearances in print. How the idea spread is anyone’s guess; I tend to think that these trite origin stories started as jokes, like oral email forwards. They provide easy to understand, evocative and memorable ‘bites’ of history, particularly where they relate to the dark side of the past and allow us to feel superior to our barbarous forebears. The problem is that they’re often bollocks. So, the next time a tour guide or some bloke down the pub tells you where a particular saying came from, question it: The more convenient and appealing it sounds, the less likely it is to be true!

Eye-Eye, Cap’n!

Perusing the most interesting Lifehacker blog yesterday, I came across mention of a suggestion that pirates’ eye-patches were used to preserve night vision when moving between the deck and interior of a ship. It’s one I’ve heard before, and Wikipedia refers to it in more general, nautical terms. The first listed source is the Encyclopaedia Britannica, though I can’t find any entry entitled ‘Eye Eye Matey’. The redundant section immediately below references the Mythbusters episode where they tried it out, and found it to be plausible enough. As that last link shows though, there is no actual historical precedent for the idea.

This led me to consider where the pirate/eye-patch thing did in fact come from.

Here I will direct readers to the rather good Athenaeum Electronica blog, which has covered this very issue in some detail. I broadly agree with their concluson that our modern and specific association with pirates most likely originates with the classic 1950 movie version of ‘Treasure Island’, as depictions of patched-up pirates are few and far between prior to that.

However, I think there’s more to it than that, something that the great post linked above has missed by limiting his research to pirates specifically. The one-eyed, peg-legged sailor is actually an older trope, used to imply the rough and dangerous life of a naval seaman or officer; see the early C19th cartoon reproduced here, this 1851 fictional description of veterans at the Greenwich Hospital (complete with ‘iron hooks’!), or this 1828-dated fictional use of a ‘factitious leg and black eye patch’. Whilst these injuries may not have been as ubiquitous in reality as the stereotype implied, they would have been fairly common amongst veterans of all services, and sadly are again common today thanks to the Afghan and Iraq wars. And sailors could still find work with a missing eye, as Samuel Johnson’s diary shows. The skillset of a seaman was far more valuable to a ship’s captain than his depth perception. In any case, direct injury wasn’t the only threat to one’s eye; disease too was a serious problem.

I would also note that the line between historical pirates and other sailors was less clear in the past, what with the prize money system and letters of marque. Today’s sailors have nothing in common with their piratical counterparts.

This being so, consider this Punch illustration from 1896:

Perhaps it was intended to reference the fairly-recently (1883) published ‘Treasure Island’, but given the inclusion of a sailor’s hat, I have a feeling that it’s really a continuation of the ‘disabled seaman/old sea dog’ trope that’s still going today, independent of (or perhaps interdependent with) things piratical. After all, Robert Louis Stevenson didn’t just create the idea from whole cloth. He designed Long John Silver’s appearance to be familiar to the audience – not necessarily as a pirate, but as a grizzled sailor.

I realise International Talk Like a Pirate Day is a way off, but be sure to include an eye-patch in your Pirate Regalia…

Vampire of Venice

Count Duckula receives the terrible news about his Italian cousin

Another more traditionally blog-sized post this time – a longer ramble is pending! This time though, I’m looking at sensational evidence of medieval European vampires! Or so the media are saying. See also the video here – and note right off the bat that the the “stake in the heart” is a popular myth, is not only wrong, but hugely ironic, since the stake is well documented as being one of the few features of the folklore that has survived into the fiction also.

I have no beef with the basic thesis, but as ever, the media spin is misleading. Firstly, the theory that vampire folklore comes from near-universal misunderstanding of the process of decomposition is NOT new. In fact, there’s a whole book on it, written by Paul Barber in the 90s. I heartily (ha) recommend it in fact. It outlines a great deal of evidence for both “profane” burial of potential vampires, and exhumation and “killing” of suspected ones. This brings me to my second problem – Barber’s best evidence ties historical descriptions with archaeological evidence. His historical evidence on its own is also compelling. But he only mentions archaeological anomalies – strange items in graves as tentative support for a broader application of his theory – not to say that these were definitely also vampires (or other undead corpse-related creatures). Whereas these guys are using one find to claim exactly that. In fact there are all sorts of reasons for things like decapitation, sickles on the chest, stones in the mouth etc – some may be intended to stop vampires from rising, but many others have no such proven link and may just demonstrate of contempt for the deceased – no superstition necessary. For example,  a burial in Greece where a wife’s head was removed and placed in the lap of her husband seems unlikely to be related to vampires and more so to moral trangression – adultery perhaps (if not wanton descretation – always an option). A large object jammed into the mouth might reflect punishment for gossiping or badmouthing – not everyone in a mass grave at a time of plague will have died of said disease – such crises make individual burial difficult to achieve whatever one’s cause of death (save those with the highest social status).Then there’s outright criminal punishment – from Roman executions to medieval hanging, drawing and quartering, to the anatomist’s table in the modern-era. It’s all about denying socially accepted burial rites to someone who has done something wrong. Though it might overlap, “vampire” prevention and cure is about fear of the dead rather than punishment of the living. Which does this case represent? Again, far from clear. Yet another possibility, very relevant in this case, is some sort of prophylactic against the disease itself – sure, this woman was the only one in her mass plague pit grave to be so dealt with – yet lots of individuals in this Anglo-Saxon cemetery had stones in their mouths. A whole pit of vampires? Unlikely. Disease victims? More plausible. Or once again, were they punished criminals, or morally deficient in some way? We can’t really know. Nor can we with this Venice “Vampire”.

In addition, the “vampire” as we know it – blood-sucking corpse – is just one phenomenon blamed historically for everything from failing crops and plague, to “new” hair and fingernails, bloating, blood around the mouth etc (in corpses). Depending upon location and period (and the whims of the superstitious idiots performing the desecration) the affected corpse could have been that of a potential ghost, witch, werewolf, succubus, or whatever. This is actually part of Barber’s thesis – that most of these folkloric beings have a common origin in the decomposing corpse. On the one hand therefore, this strengthens the idea that the brick in the mouth might relate to this fear of the dead, but on the other, it makes a nonsense of claiming a “vampire” specifically, unless this really was a prevalent scapegoat belief in that time, in that place (more evidence, please!). There could even have been some other superstition or religious belief involved, not to do with the dead returning – for example as a vessel for the departing soul (as with stones in corpses’ mouths in Guatemala). The vampire idea is more likely than this latter by virtue of the time and space issue – but my point is that there are any number of other explanations for which the evidence is lost.

There’s also some contradictory info here. The anthropologist himself (see the video above, though this may be a translation issue) appears to claim (though this may be a translation issue) that the woman was killed by the brick (implying that this was done whilst alive), whereas one academic is quoted as saying;

“Maybe a priest or a gravedigger put the brick in her mouth, which is what was normally done in such cases”

Much more plausible, although I’ve yet to find any historical evidence for either claim. If we’re talking prophylactic – done whilst dead, or upon exhumation later on, it’s plausible, don’t get me wrong, but if you’re going to sound as certain as these guys, you need corroboration. Otherwise every anomalous burial feature can be attributed to whichever pet paranormal being is your bag.

So for these reasons, and although the basic idea here is sound – it’s impossible to say that the people who did this thought the woman was, or might become, a “vampire”. It’s just as likely that she was someone on the margins of society who had her corpse desecrated. There is overlap here, since suicides were often staked a la the eastern European vampire – but where there is a superstitious component to these acts, it’s to keep the spirit or ghost in place, not to prevent bloodsucking corpses. On the plus side, at least this story helps popularise Barber’s definitive (in my opinion) explanation for the original vampire (and other “revenant”) folklore, at a time when most still conflate the folklore (the “real” beliefs) with the later fiction of Carmilla, Dracula etc. I just wish the press releases given to the media could be couched in less definitive terms, because this kind of faux certainty undermines public confidence in the humanities, just as the constant “x thing gives you cancer/protects you from cancer” nonsense undermines science.

What if the Hokey Cokey IS what it’s all about?

What if the Hokey Cokey IS what it’s all about? Catholics in Scotland seem to think it might be. These days the long-running religious struggle in the British Isles between Catholicism and Protestantism is often (thankfully) played out through (arguably) less violent means – football, or soccer to you Americans.

It is this battleground that underlies a recent political storm over, believe it or not, the Hokey Cokey. Some Catholics (namely one Cardinal Keith O’Brien as well as politician Michael Matheson) are claiming that it originated as a slight against the Eucharist – the symbolic cannibalism of Christ. There’s a good summary of the story here, and the specific claim appears in the Times article here;

“…the ditty was composed by Puritans during the 18th century to mock the language and actions used by priests at Latin Mass”

Is it, though? One exasperated commenter to the Scotsman newspaper points out that the song we all know today was not written in the 18th century, nor even the 19th. And the writer was a Catholic himself, a man called Jimmy Kennedy. It was released in 1942 and became a big hit amongst those of the Cockney persuasion.

However, as you will see from the above link, the old “you put your left X in, your left X out” routine was already well established by 1883, and that was in America (Games and Songs of Children by William Newell). In fact Jimmy Kennedy’s song was copyrighted as the “Cokey Cokey”, and was clearly based upon something already extant. Newell’s book itself points out that in England, the same song went by the name “Hinkumbooby”. The same goes for Scotland, as this book shows. There are similarities here – a silly dance involving a ring and bodily appendages, with a nonsense key-word. It may even go deeper than this, however. The original tune, pre-Kennedy, was “Lillibullero” – an overt pisstake of Catholicism by Protestants dating to the mid-17th century.  It has a longer history of aggression than even that, being adapted by the Orange Order as “The Protestant Boys” and used to abuse Catholics during the Troubles. Things really get interesting when you realise the prominence of the “hinkumbooby” variant of the song and dance amongst the Shakers of the US. Shakers being a radical Protestant sect formed in reaction against perceived Catholic persecution, escaping to America in the 18th century. It makes sense that a traditionally anti-Catholic rhyme would remain in currency in a culture like this, even if its significance might well be lost over time.

Whatever weight all this lends to the Catholic claim, the specifics are still somewhat speculative, ie the limb movements and words themselves being a direct perversion of a certain Catholic ritual. An SNP minister has pointed out the similarity of the phrase itself “Hokey Cokey ” (and the variant Hokey Pokey) to “Hocus Pocus”.This is a well-known phrase for nonsense, which is innocent enough on the face of it. One variant of the rhyme includes another nursery rhyme, “looby loo“, which also appears to talk about acting crazy or silly in some way. Crucially though, “hocus pocus” specifically (rather like “mumbo jumbo” refers to magical or superstitious nonsense – exactly what the older Christian rituals came to be seen as by Protestants. The icing on the cake etymologically  (and perhaps too conveniently) is the “hocus pocus” – hoc est corpus connection. This is what is being claimed today, and it likely originates with Tillotson back in 1684 in his criticism of the ritual of Transubstantiation. I have my instinctive reservations about this, and I see they are shared. I look at it this way – at best, Tillotson got it right, and hocus pocus really was a mocking of Catholic ritual. At worst, he made it up, but the claim is itself ancient enough to carry weight – to get Protestants using it against Catholics. Not that this is even necessary – the common-currency usage to mean “magical nonsense” would be enough to support the “hokey pokey” connection given the other evidence presented here. The subsequent mutation to “hokey pokey” is likewise not too great a stretch, though one should never rely upon similarities like this. “Notes and Queries” has more on the phrase.

Some argue that  “hinkumbooby”, “hokey cokey”, and hokey pokey”, are corruptions of one another, which could reinforce the “hocus pocus”  connection. You’d want to be sure of your dates for this to truly dovetail however, and I am not. The variants seem to have existed concurrently on both sides of the Atlantic. The other evidence is enough for me to give this claim a Mythbusters-style “plausible” verdict though.

Regardless of the historical reality (or otherwise), as with any so-called “hate crime”, context is key. In the playground, innocence robs the rhyme of any such power (if it ever had it). In the football terrace environment of rivalry, aggression and animosity, it’s easy to see how even a chant whose meaning has been forgotten (or never existed!), can become a powerful insult. This makes the etymology stuff somewhat of a red herring. If Rangers fans are singing the hokey cokey in order to poke fun at Catholicism,  then that’s the meaning of the song – regardless of past meanings it has carried. and  regardless of how much more heinous it might seem to some if it really were a perversion of Catholic phrases. Which brings us to whole problem with the idea of a “hate crime” – second-guessing what other people know, think, and intend, when the language being used is ambiguous. I won’t touch that one with a ten-foot pole, however!

The irony here of course, whether or not my assessment is correct, is that by pointing out this origin story for the rhyme, the Catholics are actually drawing attention to it,  potentially bestowing it with more context and therefore “hate” power than it could ever have had intrinsically. It’s obvious that the vast majority of people, even at Rangers v Celtic matches, wouldn’t have known about this origin/interpretation. The “nonsensification” effect of repetition is seen in playgrounds across the world, where new rhymes with topical, even political themes are rapidly mutated, Chinese-whispers style, into meaningless verse. Without this reminder, and with the widespread usage of the rhyme as a bit of fun nonsense, the hokey-cokey might just finally have lost its power to offend. The cynical might even suggest that elements on both sides relish the conflict, and making publicity out of it is simply stirring the pot. Hope for some measure of (further) reconcilation is not lost however, as according to the Times, fans on both sides of the divide are planning, on Dec 27th at Ibrox, to taunt those crying “hate-crime” with a rousing joint chorus of the “Hokey Cokey”. Puts the whole thing in perspective, doesn’t it? Unless this is just another “Christmas Truce” (and there’s an article for another day!).