Kings Fall Apart: Or, It's Not Always Good to be King, Mr Trump

TRUMP has been trying to make himself the first King of the USA since a revolting people gave George III the boot in 1776. Laying aside the argument that the Donald is a much worse leader than the last king, the King of Orange should think twice about being on a throne, however golden. George III, a Far Better Man Than Trump

The history of monarchy in the British Isles, which I know best, should not inspire a desire to play Macbeth and Don a crown. Few kings or queens have been able to enjoy their reigns, short or long. Only one British king has been called "The Merry Monarch," Charles II, and even he faced a sea of troubles, partly of his own making. 

Charles II did manage to last twenty-five years and die in bed with his crown on his head, a fate denied many other monarchs. The last Anglo-Saxon king, Harold, was killed in battle against the 1066 Norman Invasion led by Duke William of Normandy. Tradition holds that an arrow landed in Harold's eye. He had been king for only a few months. 

William I, Harold's Conqueror, did much better time-wise. But he had to deal with an Anglo-Saxon populace which did not welcome being ruled by a king who rewarded his French-speaking warriors with their lands. He dealt with the opposition by killing lots of peasants and destroying their homes. His corpulent body exploded when he was being forced into a too small tomb, emitting a foul smell and showering those nearby with unmentionables.

William II, the Conqueror's eldest son, had a nasty and short reign, cut short by an arrow again. On this occasion, the archer may have been an assassin hired by his brother Henry, who succeeded as king. Henry I he had a fairly lengthy reign. Legend has it that he died from eating a surfeit of lampreys. It is more probable that  a stroke killed him. Or maybe he died of worry about the succession.

Henry had no male successor, only a daughter, Matilda. He named her as his heir, but when he died, the alpha males among his barons decided they could not stomach being ruled by a woman, and chose his nephew Stephen as king. Those familiar with the US election of 2024, when Americans chose Trump over Kamala Harris, will understand. 

The result was nearly twenty years of fighting between the supporters of Stephen and those of Matilda. The Anarchy, as this period is called, was not a good time for anybody, except for some robber barons. Peasants, as always, paid a heavy price. 

In the end, the two sides reached a deal: Stephen would remain king, but on his death, the throne would pass to Matilda's son Henry of Anjou. When Henry II became king in 1154, he started a line of kings known as the Angevins or Plantagenets. Henry also inherited a large part of France, directly, or through his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine. He was always moving about to keep control his large and diverse territories. He faced many rebellions among his nobles and vassals. The rebels eventually included his sons and Eleanor. 

Two of his sons became king after him. Richard and John, of Ivanhoe and Robin Hood fame. That's all fantasy, but so is Richard's "Lion-Heart" reputation. He is the only king to have a statue outside of Parliament, for some unfathomable reason. Richard spent a mere six months of his ten year reign in England, and like Trump, treated the country like a cash cow. He massacred thousands of Muslims, Jews, and even Christians while Crusading for Christ in the oddly named Holy Land. He also died when struck by an arrow, while besieging a rebel castle. Gangrene set in, and that did for him.

Richard I had no children. Enter his brother John, the only English king of that name. Let's see why. (NB: This is not John)

End of Part I.

 

The Real War on Christmas was waged by Christians

Ho! Ho! Ho! It's that jolly time of year again! That hilarious time in the USA when FOX News, Republicans, and rightwing Evangelicals profess outrage at the "War on Christmas." A fake outrage, of course, trotted out at years' end for political and cultural reasons, like keeping the poor in their place working for peanuts. Not to mention keeping up donations to TV evangelists with huge mansions. 

Today's War on Christmas is a Phony War. But a real war on Christmas once took place. It was several centuries ago in the UK, with spillovers into Puritan America. And guess what? It was waged by Christians. They were called Presbyterians in Scotland and Puritans in England and New England. 

In England, the Puritans were on the winning side of of the Civil War between Parliament and Charles I in the 1640s. They famously closed the London theaters as dens of immorality. They also abolished the celebration of Christmas as a "pagan celebration." They ordered that it be kept as a day of "fasting and humiliation." No singing, no dancing, no merriment at all. Try that today. 

In New England, transplanted Puritans did the same. They kept the ban in place until the 1850s. The war ended for good after President Ulysses S. Grant declared Christmas a federal holiday in the 1870s.

It may seem odd for Christians to ban Christmas, but the Puritans found no biblical justification for celebrating the birth of Christ. Nobody knew when he was born anyway (we still don't). The Puritans also associated Christmas revels with sinful, ungodly pagan rites and behavior, not to mention Papists (Catholics). 

A wit once defined a Puritan as a person who was angry because somewhere, somebody was having a good time. That is a bit simplistic and unfair to Puritans as a whole, but the accusation fit some of them.

The Scots had preceded the English in the War on Christmas, as in so many aspects of British life. After the Presbyterian Church of Scotland came to dominate Scottish religious life in the late 16th century, they abolished the celebration of Christmas. John Knox, the Calvinist preacher who led the Scottish Reformation, was a dour sort who darkened Scottish culture for centuries. 

Scotland's Christmas ceased to be a holiday of feasting, fun, and folly (if it ever was). It became just another dark, dank, and dreary winter day -- like a Scottish Sunday until recently. 

During the Civil War, Scots Presbyterians allied with like-minded English Puritans. They also made common cause in the war on Christmas. 

[Image: Parliamentary soldiers enforcing the ban on celebrating Christmas, c. 1640s, William Barns Wollen, 1900] 

In England, the Restoration of the Monarchy under Charles II ("The Merry Monarch") in 1660 also led to a restoration of traditional Christmas celebrations. They were still light years away from the materialistic orgies of today. That required the influence of grasping, greedy American capitalism.  

In Scotland, the restoration of Christmas took much longer than in England. Presbyterian leaders continued to stifle enthusiasm for Christmas enjoyment for a couple of centuries. The difference shows in the holiday hierarchy of Scotland, compared to England, and most other civilized countries.

In Scotland, Christmas comes in a distant second to Hogmanay (New Years' Eve) as a real blowout. Think about it. The canny Scots simply transferred their serious celebrating from a sacred day to a secular one. Touché, Puritans! Freud would have understood. 

If you want to witness Scots letting their hair down these days, go to Edinburgh during Hogmanay! Or, just visit any Scots pub on a Saturday night. 

Scotland's elevation of New Year spread to the rest of the globe by the 20th century. For what do we sing at midnight on 1 January? "Auld Lang Syne" by Scotland's national poet, Robert (Rabbie) Burns, of course!

PS. If you go to the USA these days, be careful not to say "Happy Holidays!" or "Seasons Greetings!" And do not write "Merry Xmas" on your cards or gifts either. You may be accused of making war on Christmas, or even of Satanism. Or, even worse, of being a liberal. 

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Sweet William, Stinking Billy, and the Battle of Culloden

William Augustus, Duke of Cumberland (1721-1765), is unique in British history. He had two flowers named after him. One is called "Sweet William," the other, "Stinking Billy." The names reflect a sharp division of opinion about his suppression of the Jacobite Rebellion in 1746. [Image: Cumberland, by Joshua Reynolds, 1750s]

The Rebellion began the previous year when his cousin Charles Edward Stuart landed on the West Coast of Scotland with a small band of supporters. He had come from France to claim the British throne for his father James, known in history as the Old Pretender, or James "III". 

Charles' grandfather, James II, had been deposed by the Glorious Revolution of 1688. Afterwards, the Catholic Stuarts had been banned from the royal succession and supplanted by their closest Protestant relatives, the German Hanoverians. In 1745, the second of this line, George II, occupied the throne. [Image: Charles Edward Stuart, by Ramsay, 1745)

Charles' undertaking was extremely risky. Britain and France were at war, but the French government had given him little support beyond good luck. Charles landed with a small group of supporters and raised the Stuart standard at Glenfinnan, at the head of Loch Shiel. A  monument there commemorates the landing.

The iconic Glenfinnan viaduct nearby carries the trains of the West Highland Railway, including a steam excursion train called the Jacobite Express. Fans of Harry Potter will be familiar with the scene.

Charles sent out a call to the Highland Clans to join him in restoring his family to power. Thousands of Highlanders, many of them Catholic, but not all, rallied to his cause. After all, the Stuarts were a Scots dynasty. Charles's makeshift army quickly seized Edinburgh and defeated a Hanoverian army sent by King George II. 

The Jacobites marched on into England, meeting little resistance. They reached Derby, less than 150 miles from London. Panic gripped the capital. 

Derby turned out to be the high tide of the Jacobite advance. Although the Hanoverians were unpopular, few Englishmen (or Lowland Scots) had joined Charles' army. He wavered, then ordered a retreat to Scotland. 

George II sent an army in pursuit. He selected his son William, Duke of Cumberland to command it. On April 16, 1746 Cumberland's soldiers caught up with the Jacobite army at Culloden Moor, near Inverness. The ranks of William's army contained many Scots, mostly Lowlanders, but some Highlanders as well. In fact, there were more Scots in Cumberland's army than in that of Prince Charles. For Scots, this was a civil war. 

The mostly Highland army Charles led had been thinned by desertion and losses. His men were hungry, exhausted, and greatly outnumbered. Their artillery lacked proper ordinance. Nevertheless, he ordered an attack. What followed was more of a massacre than a battle, with waves of Highlanders cut to pieces by Hanoverian artillery, musket fire, and bayonets.  

Basking in victory, William made the move that brought him infamy, and not only in Scotland. Asked by his officers what they should do with the remnants of the enemy army, he wrote on the back of a playing card, "No Quarter." 

The victorious English and Lowland soldiers butchered hundreds of surrendering and fleeing clansmen. Others were hunted down over the following weeks and months and killed, often along with family members. More were captured and taken to Edinburgh or London, many to be executed for treason. 

When news of the victory reached London, a flower was named for him. It is called "Sweet William" (Dianthus). 

Political opponents of the government in England had a different reaction. Learning of the widespread massacres, they began to call William "Butcher Cumberland."

Scottish Jacobites also named a flower after Duke William. They relabeled the common ragwort "Stinking Billy." Generally regarded as a weed, it has a strong smell and is poisonous to horses. 

Culloden was the only success of William's otherwise undistinguished military career. From the late 1750s, he devoted himself to horse racing and politics. In 1765 he became Prime Minister, but died a few months later, aged 44. 

Charles Edward Stuart fled after the battle and spent months in hiding before returning to France. After his father died in 1766, he became known as the "Young Pretender." He died in Rome in 1788 having engaged in numerous affairs, an alcoholic. He had no legitimate children, and his wife had left him, claiming that he had abused her. Thus ended the Stuart line.

Nineteenth-century Romantics dubbed Charles "Bonnie Prince Charlie."  He became the subject of several songs, including the "Skye Boat Song" and "The Bonnie Moorhen." Inexplicably, some Scots continue to revere him, although he led the country into disaster and then abandoned it to a life of wining and dining on the Continent. 

Culloden was the last battle fought on British soil. 

 

Henry VIII's Lost Palace: Nonsuch

In 1538, Henry VIII began construction of a large palace on some 700 acres of royal land between Cheam and Ewell in Surrey. (Image: portrait after Hans Holbein the Younger)

Henry built the palace to celebrate the birth of a male heir, the future Edward VI. In his long quest for this son, he had broken with the Church of Rome, divorced one wife, and beheaded another. His third wife, Jane Seymour, died giving birth to Edward.

His dynasty now secure (he thought) he wanted to celebrate, show off his wealth and power, and add another hunting lodge to his collection. But not just another lodge. A lodge fit for a great king, as he saw himself. 

Henry named the palace Nonsuch, he said, because there would be nothing else like it. A foreign visitor is said to have written "This which no equal has in art or fame, Britons deservedly do Nonsuch name." It sounds like Henry may have paid him to write that. Building the Palace consumed a vast proportion of the royal budget. It was not completely finished when Henry died in 1547. 

The land is now a public park named for the palace. A visitor to Nonsuch Park today would find little evidence that a massive, ornate Tudor palace once stood there. All that is left is part of the foundations. 

In one of history's great blunders, King Charles II gave Nonsuch Palace to his mistress, The Duchess of Cleveland, in 1670. With his permission, she had it demolished twelve years later, selling off parts of it to pay off gambling debts. 

Only a few paintings and drawings exist to give us an idea of what Nonsuch Palace looked like. The first image below is a watercolor done in the late 1560s. The others are paintings from around 1600.

About ten years ago, Ben Taggart created a model of what Nonsuch Palace is believed to have looked like. His model was based on the work of an archaeologist begun in 1959.

Although the Palace is long gone, a large house can be visited in Nonsuch Park. It is called Nonsuch Mansion, and is sometimes mistakenly labeled in photos as "Nonsuch Palace"

The Mansion was built between 1731 and 1743 by Joseph Thompson. 

Samuel Farmer bought the house in 1799 and employed Jeffrey Wyattville to enlarge and rebuild it in the Tudor Gothic style. It incorporates some details and a block of stone from Henry VIII's demolished Palace. The stone is inscribed "1543 Henry VIII in the 35th year of his reign." (English translation from Latin). 

In 1937 the Farmer family sold Nonsuch Mansion to the local authorities of Sutton Borough and the Borough of Epsom and Ewell. It is normally open to visitors and has been used as a wedding venue. In this abnormal year of the Covid-19 pandemic it has been serving as a vaccination center for the local area. 

The Brexiteer's Guide to English Ancestry

Hey, Brexiteers! Mes amis! You don't have to have a DNA test to prove what a True Born Englishman you are! All you need to do is read a poem by Daniel Defoe, an Englishman of oops, Flemish descent.

"A Brexit victory's a contradiction, In speech an irony, in fact a fiction." (Apologies and thanks to Daniel Defoe,1660-1731)

Brexit is real now, sort of. Devout Brexiteers proclaim, in near holy terms, that the UK has finally achieved "independence." By the "UK", however, they really mean England. 

Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland must reconcile themselves to being dragged about by the whims of English nationalists. British companies are in the same boat. The immense costs of Brexit for those trading to Europe are becoming distressingly clear. 

Narrow English nationalists are the big winners for now. It remains to be seen what they have actually won. In fact, Brexit is a triumph of extreme nationalism, aided by ignorance and lies, over economic rationality. 

Much of the pro-Brexit vote in 2016 stemmed from xenophobia, a hatred of foreigners. In this case, "tyrannical" foreigners in Brussels. Of course, not all who voted for Brexit were motivated by by xenophobia. Yet the rhetoric of hard Brexiteers is often based on the assumption that people who are "Not English" are somehow "lesser breeds," not to be trusted and certainly not listened to.

England found itself in a similar situation more than 300 years ago. The thrones of Britain were occupied by a foreigner, the Dutch prince William of Orange. He and his wife Mary had become joint sovereigns in 1689 following the Glorious Revolution, in which he and the Dutch military had played the pivotal role. (Image: William III, of Orange)

 

Despite being hailed as the savior of English Protestantism, William III (II in Scotland) was never much liked in England or in Scotland. In Northern Ireland, of course, he is still idolized by people who remain imprisoned in a time warp, the eponymous "Orangemen." 

William became thoroughly unpopular in England after Mary died of smallpox in 1694. People not only disliked him but the Dutch soldiers, politicians, and merchants who followed him to London in particular. They were the target of numerous vitriolic pamphlets and poems. 

In 1701, Daniel Defoe took up his pen to defend the Dutch king and his countrymen. He did so in a long satirical poem that was highly successful in its time. "The True-Born Englishman" is not read much today. Perhaps it should be, at least some of it. 

Defoe was a prolific writer, mostly of political pamphlets at this time. Later he made his name as the author of Robinson Crusoe (1719) and other novels. (Image: Defoe)

The target of Defoe's satire was not Englishness per se, but anti-Dutch xenophobia. To clear up any misunderstanding about that he added an explanatory preface two years later. In it he declared "that an Englishman, of all men, ought not to despise Foreigners as such ... since what they are today, we were yesterday, and tomorrow they will be like us." 

The English were themselves foreigners, invaders who eventually assimilated into one nation. The Dutch newcomers would assimilate as well, given the chance, Defoe implied. 

The English, far from being racially pure, were in reality a mongrel race. The "English" were a people forged from the union of Celtic Britons, Romans, Scots, Picts, "Anglo-Saxons," and Danes. Somewhat oddly, Defoe left out the Normans, here wearing the latest in 12th century fashion.

Defoe pulled no punches. The "union" he meant was sexual. Englishness originated "in eager rapes, and furious lust." The "rank daughters" of the land "Receiv'd all nations with promiscuous lust." The "nauseous brood" that resulted contained the "well extracted blood of Englishmen." 

In reality, the "True-Born Englishman" did not exist: "A true-born Englishman's a contradiction, In speech an irony, in fact a fiction."

Defoe understood the biological and cultural reality of Englishness 300 years ago. Why do so many people today continue to champion a view so much at variance with history and biology? They should check the ancestry of their leader, True-Born Boris.

Further Reading: Daniel Defoe, The True-Born Englishman (London, 1701 and later editions)

  

POLIMERICKS from Brexitstan: Updated

My guardian angel sent me these political limericks (polimericks) to keep me sane while enduring the Tory Brexdemic. The angel instructed me to share them with the world. Listen, my children, and you shall hear of the shameless liars who kicked your rear. 

There once was a PM lackaday!
Who said, Parliament's in my way.
He hatched a cunning plan
And didn't give a damn
The law must simply give way.

There once was a Theresa named May
Who said, Brexit's the work of a day.
The EU will give up
As soon as I gear up.
Now she's feeling a sense of Dis-May.

There once was a Scotsman name Haggis
Who said Brexit is going to shag us.
I voted Remainer,
Now I'm a Complainer.
Out of Europe England has drug us.

There once was a Boris named Johnson
Who said, Brexit has been by me be won. 
I'm your greatest PM,
A wonderful gem
Such a damn brilliant son of a gun.

There was a young man from the City
Who said, life was formerly pretty.
I once was a banker
I'm now just a wanker.
Brexit has made everything shitty. 

Three Cheers for Boris and the Tories: Lies! Corruption! Sewage! 

Polimericks, c. 2019-22

The Prime Minister is Assassinated! London, May 1812

On the afternoon of May 11, 1812, the British Prime Minister, Spencer Perceval, was walking through the lobby of the House of Commons when a man approached him and shot him point blank in the chest. Perceval supposedly cried "Murder" and "Oh, my God" before collapsing to the floor. He was pronounced dead a short time later. He remains the only British Prime Minister to have been assassinated.

   


Authorities initially feared that the shooting was the beginning of an uprising of radical elements. Unrest was widespread. Food prices were high. Britain had been at war with France since 1793 and simultaneously undergoing the traumas of early industrialization. Perceval was highly unpopular. People in some places cheered when they heard of his death. 

It soon became clear that the assassin had acted alone, out of a sense of grievance against Perceval and his government. John Bellingham (not Ballingham as in the image above) was a Liverpool merchant who believed that he had been unjustly imprisoned in Russia after his business had gone bankrupt. He had repeatedly petitioned the government for compensation, but his petitions had been ignored.  (Below: Contemporary image of Bellingham)

Bellingham was charged with wilful murder, tried, convicted, and hanged within a week. To some people he was a hero: a public subscription was raised to benefit his widow, testimony to the unpopularity of Perceval and the Tory government. Others thought he was insane. 

Among them was Bellingham's defense team. But they had only one day to prepare his defense. The lead defense counsel, Peter Alley, entered a plea of insanity and requested a delay to call witnesses, medical experts and people who knew Bellingham personally. The court denied his requests and the trial proceeded. It seems that the government was eager for revenge and to set an example.  

Bellingham himself rejected his counsel's insanity plea. He defended his action as the inevitable result of the government's refusal to compensate him for his losses in Russia. It did not take long for the jury to convict him. (below: Bellingham pleading his case)

Was Bellingham insane? We will probably never be able to answer that question. But one thing I think we can be sure of: his chances of being declared insane would have been much greater if he had failed to kill Perceval or killed someone of lesser importance.
People who had tried and failed to assassinate George III and later, Queen Victoria were declared insane and sent to asylums. Another example comes from a case similar to that of Bellingham's.

In the early 1840s, Daniel McNaughten*, a Glasgow woodturner, became convinced that the Tory government was persecuting him and sending spies to harass him. Like Bellingham, he blamed the Prime Minister, in this case, Sir Robert Peel. 

In January McNaughten went to London, apparently intending to shoot Peel. Instead he shot Peel's secretary Edward Drummond in the back while Drummond was walking down Whitehall. It was widely believed that McNaughten mistook Drummond for Peel, but that is not entirely clear. 

At first, Drummond was expected to recover from his wound. But he died of "complications" a few days later, possibly due to medical incompetence. Like Bellingham, McNaughten was charged with wilful murder. But there the similarities end. 

McNaughten's father contributed a large sum of money to his son's defense and secured excellent counsel. (Where got the money is a mystery. A woodturner like his son, he is unlikely to have possessed such fuds himself.) Defense counsel requested a delay to prepare their case and the court granted it this time. The trial did not begin until March 3. 

The defense, led by one of the top barristers in England, Alexander Cockburn, called a number of expert medical winesses. including several leading alienists (psychiatrists). They testified that McNaughten was insane, that his delusions regarding the government had deprived him of "all restraint over his actions." In other words, he was not responsible for what he did. (Below: Drawing of McNaughten at the time of his trail)

The prosecution agreed that McNaughten was delusional, but argued that he was nevertheless responsible for his actions. The jury accepted the defense argument and found McNaughten not guilty on grounds of insanity. He was sent to Bethlem Hospital, part of which functioned as the state asylum for criminal lunatics. In 1864 he was transferred to the newly opened Broadmoor Asylum for the Criminally Insane, where he died a year later. (Photo of McNaughten taken at Bethlem, 1856)

The verdict at McNaughten's trial sparked widespread outrage. Most of the public, including the Queen, believed that McNaughten had escaped a well-deserved hangman's noose. McNaughten himself never denied killing Drummond, which he justified as the result of Tory persecution, not delusions. He had been involved in radical politics and there may have been some truth to his claims of persecution.

The furor over the verdict led to a demand that the rules for an insanity plea be clearly defined. The result was the McNaughten Rules, which state that 

"To establish a defence on the grounds of insanity it must be clearly proved that, at the time of committing the act. the party accused was labouring under such a defect of reason from disease of the mind, as not to know the nature and quality of the act he was doing or if he did know it, that he did not know that what he was doing was wrong."   

The McNaughten Rules were subsequently adopted in England and Wales, much of the British Empire, and the United States. In England and Wales the rules were largely superseded by the adoption in 1957 of the Scottish concept of diminshed responsibility.

Ironically, if the McNaughten Rules had been in force at McNaughten's trial, he would have been found guilty and hanged.

*McNaughten's name in historical records is variously spelled as McNaughtan, M'Naughten, M'Naghten, and more.

Further reading: 

Andro Linklater, Why Spencer Perceval Had to Die: The Assassination of A British Prime Minister (London, 2013)

David C. Hanraham, The Assassination of the Prime Minister: John Bellingham and the Murder of Spencer Perceval (London, 2011)

Richard Moran, Knowing Right from Wrong: The Insanity Defense of Daniel McNaughtan (New York, 1981)

Gin Crazes: Georgian England and Beyond

If you search the internet for "Gin Craze" these days you will probably find information about two such crazes. One is the current craze for craft, artisan, and boutique gins with alll sorts of added flavorings, including asparagus. 

The number of gin distilleries in the UK increased from 152 to 315 between 2013 and 2018. In 2016 a gin hotel opened, run by the Portobello Road Distillery, where over indulgers can spend the night. That may be a first for modern London, but perhaps not for an earlier age, as we will see. "Gin craze sees number of UK distilleries double in five years."

The other craze, which comes up in searches far more frequently, has a much longer pedigree. This is the original Gin Craze that  swept over England, especially London, in the early 18th century. Gin, or geneva, as it was often called, was a new drink in the British Isles. It was introduced by Dutch producers and drinkers who arrived after their ruler, Willliam of Orange, became king of England in 1689, as William III (1689-1702). 

The government under William and his successor, Queen Anne (1702-1714), promoted gin as an alternative to brandy, a French import. During most of this period, Britain was at war with France. (Image: William III)

The new spirit caught on quickly, especially in London and among the lower orders. Producers and sellers touted gin as a medicine that could cure gout and indigestion. But it soon became popular for other reasons. One is that it was untaxed and therefore cheaper than beer and other drinks such as brandy. No license was required to distill or sell gin, unlike other alcoholic drinks.

Another reason is that gin promised a quick route from misery to oblivion, an obvious attraction to the wretched masses of London's slums. "Drunk for a penny, dead drunk for twopence. Clean straw for nothing," as William Hogarth put it. The straw indicates a possible connection with today's gin hotel. The intoxicated could  sleep off their inebriation on the straw. Perhaps not an ideal accommodation for today's gin tourist.

Gin shops proliferated rapidly in the poorer parts of the capital. According to an estimate in the 1730s, one London house in five contained a gin shop. By the 1740s, consumption of gin in London had reached astounding levels, on average more than two pints per person per week. The gin they drank was roughly twice as strong as that sold today. 

Many people denounced the situation, among them novelist and magistrate Henry Fielding and artist William Hogarth. They blamed gin for an upsurge in mortality, poverty, and crime. 

In 1751 Fielding, founder of the Bow Street Runners, argued that if consumption was not curbed, there would soon be "few of the common people left to drink it." Fielding claimed that "gin alone" was responsible for a large proportion of theft and robbery in his jurisdiction.

Hogarth agreed. In the same year, he tackled the gin problem in his classic engravings "Gin Lane" and "Beer Street." "Gin Lane" highlights the destructive effects of excessive gin drinking on London's populace. Desolation and death reign everywhere in this grim work, centered on the intoxicated woman whose child is falling from her arms, probably to its death. This part of the scene recalls another nickname for gin, "Mother's Ruin." Fighting, theft, and suicide are hallmarks of this neighborhood. Buildings are falling down, shops decrepit. Only the pawnbroker and undertaker are prospering.

"Beer Street" is the complete opposite. Here, everyone is prospering except the pawnbroker, whose services are unneeded and whose shop is decrepit. Crime and violence are absent. Happiness, robust health, and good cheer reign. 

The government's response to the gin craze was to tax the production and sale of gin heavily, thereby raising its price, as well as the Crown's revenue. Parliament passed a series of gin acts between the 1720s and 1750s. The Gin Act of 1736 introduced prohibitive licensing fees. It inspired the cartoon below, which celebrates the "funeral of  Madame Geneva." Her death, as it turns out, was greatly exaggerated.

Enforcement of the act relied on paid informers, who were often victims of crowd violence, the so-called "Gin Riots." Producers and sellers largly ignored the law, and consumption continued to rise. Critics claimed that the illegal gin was improperly distilled and often poisoned.

The 1736 act was repealed in 1743 and replaced by a more moderate, more workable law in 1751. Consumption dropped after 1743, and more in the 1750s, probably more for economic reasons than legislative ones. 

In the early 19th century gin enjoyed a major renaissance with the opening of "gin palaces," establishments much more attractive than the dingy gin shops of the previous century.  One of these "palaces" is pictured below. The unknown artist portrays it as a convivial enough place, but the drunks and young children indicate cause for concern. 

Gin drinking reached near its 18th century levels again and aroused renewed condemnation. The renowned caricaturist George Cruikshank produced the cartoon below in 1829, "The Gin Shop." Once again, gin was equated with destruction. At the left, Death chortles cheerlily that he will "have them all dead drunk presently. They have nearly had their last glass." 

The various gins in the shop are stored in coffins. Signs indicate that gin is the road to the workhouse, financial and physcical ruin. Parents have brought their children to the shop, and the mother is forcing her infant to drink gin. The "woman" serving the gin is actually a skeleton wearing a mask. 

Cruikshank reiterated the point in other works, such as the one below, "The Battle of A-Gin-Court," (1838). In obvious reference to one of England's greatest medieval victories in the Hundred Year War, Agincourt, Cruikshank emphasizes the message that gin is bringing about the disintegration of a once great nation.

Cruikshank certainly convinced himself. He became a teetotaler in the 1840s. Gin consumption fell with the growing strength of the Temperance Movement during the Victorian Age, but the advent of the gin and quinine tonic as an antidote to malaria in Britain's tropical possessions helped keep the gin industry alive. Today's gin craze is helping it to thrive again, for good or ill. 

Further Reading: 

Jessica Warner, Craze: Gin and Debauchery in an Age of Reason. (London, 2003)

Patrick Dillon, The Much Lamented Death of Madame Geneva: The Eighteenth Century Gin Craze. (London, 2003)

Sawney Bean, Iconic Scotsman, Renowned Philosopher, Cannibal

OK, I made up the philosopher bit just to get your attention. But the rest is absolutely true. England has Robin Hood and King Arthur. Scotland has the Loch Ness Monster and Sawney Bean. No one doubts that the Monster of the dark, deep loch exists. Many historians doubt that Bean existed, but then historians love to question our most cherished beliefs. 

The fact is we have pictures of Bean, so that should settle the matter. Have you ever seen such a clear picture of the Loch Ness Monster as the ones of Bean above and below? I'm sure you haven't. (Images courtesy of FOX news)

If he did exist, Bean lived precisely sometime between the 13th and the 16th century, and exactly somewhere in a cave in Scotland. What is known for absolute certainty is that Bean was the leader of a clan of 48 people who lived by kidnapping people, robbing them of their clothes and other material possessions, and then having them for supper. Not as guests. Bean was a Cannibal and that och aye, rhymes with Hannibal. 

We know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Bean's vicious gang ate over 1000 people and was routed by an army of 400 led by King James I of Scotland, and then executed but not eaten. Some versions say it was King James I of England who beat the Beans. As every schoolboy knows, he was King James VI of Scotland first, before Queen Elizabeth, not the present Elizabeth, but the first one, died without any issue (a kid). (Image: King James, number uncertain.)

As far as we know, that King James, whatever his true number, did not actually eat Queen Elizabeth to gain the throne, but history records that he did enjoy eating English food. After decades of haggis, neeps, and kippers, it's hardly surprising. Stories rapidly circulated that he was particularly fond of bangers and mash, which is actually a euphemism for (censored). 

But I digress. This article is about Mr. Bean. No, not that Mr. Bean. The source of the Sawney Bean story, it appears, is something called The Newgate Calendar, a London publication that related the stories of famous criminals. This has led some thin-skinned Scots to claim that the English made up the story of Sawney to denigrate Scots. (See SNP)

I do not believe this for a minute. My reasoning is that most of the criminals chronicled in the Newgate Calendar were English. If Bean didn't exist, he must have been invented by the Scottish Tourist Board. (Image of Thistle)

What we can properly accuse the English of is appropriating Bean as an icon of Scottish barbarity. In the 18th century, many English folk were troubled to find that by some devious plot, Scotland had craftily managed to unite with England in something called Great Britain.

This union would have been great indeed if all the Scots had left to fight against the French and Indians. But perversely, only some of them did. Others discovered the High Road to London, the Scotsman's favorite prospect. Hordes of starving kilted bagpipers descended upon the capital. Naturally, the good people of England and Nigel Farage did not like this, as the following image reveals:

The biggest problem with these Scots, it seems, was that they lacked proper toilet habits. This complaint was lodged with abundant clarity in a popular cartoon called Sawney in the Boghouse, which I post below, courtesy of Acme Toilet Cleaners.

Needless to say, this sort of thing did not contribute to amicable relations between the North Britons and their southern brethren, as this English cartoon  of 1792 shows. 

Fortunately, relations have improved immensely since then. Other good news: lots of people are making money of the Bean story these days. I hope to be one of them.