Twenty-years ago this week the hated Berlin Wall was breached.(1) East Berliners climbed upon the concrete barrier and chipped away with hammers and axes taking chunks out of the wall that had divided the East from West Berlin, brother from sister, mother from son. Almost in a blink of an eye the entire country of which East Berlin was the capital disappeared, and with it a major bastion of communism. What is not widely known – with apologies to Spike Milligan(2) – is the story of ‘Berlin Wall: My Part In Its Downfall’. In 1982 I was a student working as an intern with the company, as Fate would have it, which has been my employer for the last twenty-seven years. Barely in my twenties I availed myself of the opportunity to buy an InterRail card that entitled students under 26 years old to travel the railways of Europe for 30-days basically free. With my pass tucked in my pocket, I packed my rucksack and headed off on an adventure. First stop was Brussels, the capital of the emerging European Union, though it was still called by its less aluring title European Economic Community. I was fortunate to have a friend who had settled there and rented a flat. From Belgium I travelled to The Netherlands and spent a happy time exploring the Rijksmuseum, Ann Frankhuis and other sites in Amsterdam, the modern port of Rotterdam, the touristic Delft among other places; then on through Germany via Bremen and Hamburg to Denmark. There I stayed in one of Europe’s best youth hostels in Copenhagen, saw the mermaid, and took the train to see the Viking ships at Roskilde. Heading south I went to Celle and Hannover and it was there that I met my friend from Brussels who had been joined by his brother from Athens. We had set ourselves a bold mission – to go and visit the Deutsche Demokratische Republik (DDR) – East Germany.(3) In 1982 the Cold War was still years from thawing. Visiting the DDR seemed almost to be an act of provocation to my idealistic travel companion. We went in his car bearing its ‘EUR’ number plate which indicated the owner was an employee of the European Commission and, clearing passport control, we crossed over the border heading east to Berlin. Traffic had to follow a narrow corridor formed by a motorway and was not permitted to make any detours. We arrived in West Berlin and were amazed by the bright lights and round the clock lifestyle of the city. I recall we attended a performance of Mozart’s Die Zauberflötte and the Queen of the Night’s exquisite voice, which hit the high notes precisely each time (I am sure her voice still ricochets in the attic of the opera house there). We arrived in the city of lights and were amazed that it lived up to its reputation as a city that never slept. Next day we went to the Brandenburger Tor and saw through its columned archway the figures of people looking back at us. These were the faces of the enemy, my friend pointed out! Dividing the city was the high concrete wall, die Mauer, and we took a trip to a section that had an observation platform. It was early evening and I recall looking across the expanse of no-man’s land with its mercury lamps, traps and armed guards peering back at us from drab green-grey Trabis. “Behold the Workers’ Paradise”, I recall an Canadian standing beside me saying sarcastically. From the platform it was clear that there were few bright lights in the Hauptstadt der DDR: when the sun set, good communists went home to rest ready to face the next day with renewed fervour for the creed of Lenin. It was then that my friend convinced me that we had to cross over to the other side and see this Workers’ Paradise for ourselves. So next morning we drove to 'Checkpoint Charlie'. On the Allied side w e were encouraged to leave items that might be considered contraband or subversive by the East Germans, which included newspapers and cassette tapes. My bold friend, however, was intent on playing his part in shaking the state. In his glove compartment he had a copy of that great organ of counter-communism, Time magazine. This he did not want to remove. So the barrier was lifted and we crossed through No-Man’s Land. The red carpet had been kept firmly in its protective brown paper wrapping that day and our welcoming reception was a brooding guard in a drab grey uniform that looked like army surplus from 1945. He inspected the car and quickly found the Time magazine and other items he did not like. We were called in turn to be interviewed – I hesitate to use the word 'interrogated' – by the man in his plain drab office. My friend was jubilant, but I was anxious. I had not read any books by John Le Carre but I felt inspired to write my own at that moment. We were finally ‘released’ and permitted to enter the country. First stop: a petrol station. The DDR needed hard currency and for visitors enticed them with cheap petrol, with which we filled our tank. Already I had the sense that Berlin was stranded in a time warp. Its brown grey buildings seemed unchanged since the Russians had taken it street by street in the closing weeks of the Third Reich. We went to the main square and noticed that the public buildings were still pock marked by shrapnel and shells. It was as if the government wanted to constantly remind its citizens of the war. There was a monument to the victims of Nazism guarded by tall, skinny, but emotionless East German soldiers in their oddly flared helmets and jack boots. I watched as visiting off-duty American soldiers studied their adversaries cockily: West meets East, I thought, the enemy looks into his opponents’ eyes: but what does he see? We ate a not very good lunch at the Volkskammer, a stark modern building quite out of place with its surroundings. I recall drinking a glass of flat, dark and sickly sweet Club Cola while listening to a pianist who, curiously, was playing an electronic organ made by a well-known Japanese manufacturer. We went to the see the astonishing collection of ancient sculptures on display at the 'Pergamon Museum'. What stands out in my memory is not the Pergamon Altar, but my friend looking at his change. The DDR used aluminium for its low denominations and to a westerner, it seemed almost like toy money. Contemptuously my friend threw his handful of next-to-worthless coins up in the air. They cascaded across the polished floor with a tinny sound. The few visitors to the museum looked on in horror - as did I. . We also attended an exhibition that presented the life and times of the Prussian leader Frederick the Great whose palace, Sans-Souci, had been surprisingly renovated by the authorities. A man heard us talking and engaged us in conversation. I recall that, even allowing for my O-level German, I understood him describing how the DDR was confidently rediscovering its pre-20th century history, and how Socialism was not far removed from National Socialism – lofty concepts to comprehend in a language that I had learned only by studying the life of the fictitious Familie Ehlers. For myself, I was ever fearful for the presence of the Stasi, the state secret police: I really did not want to be trapped in this awful city for the rest of my life, and urged that we go. The Deutsche Mark had to be exchanged into the local Ost-Mark currency at some preposterous rate, and you were not permitted to take the money out of the country. The trouble was there were few places we could spend it. Fortunately for us, nearby was a shop for tourists - the only shop for tourists. It was while standing in the shop browsing, ironically enough, at imported western goods, that I became aware of a presence. Standing beside was a lanky boy in his teens wearing demin jeans and a jacket. I was struck by his mop of blond hair and spotty face. He had seen me carrying a German-English dictionary – and he wanted it. It was a special dictionary, about seven inches long by half an inch that opened like a fan. Its ‘pages’ were blades that were printed both sides and which could be separated but pushed back together to be tucked into a pocket. The boy looked agitated. He offered me his pen knife. My friend was excited. “Give it to him,” he urged. “Go on!” I was terrified I was being watched by the Stasi. The boy persisted and would not go away. My friend kept saying “it will help bring down communism”. I relented and gave the boy my dictionary. In an instant he disappeared. My friend was very pleased and congratulated me on my good judgement. Secretly I was terrified that I might not be let out of the country that night. In the evening we bought tickets to see Beethoven’s Fidelio at the historic StaatsOper. Historic because it was an old opera house, but also because Adolf Hitler had attended performances here. Our German marks bought us the best seats in the house and a programme each. I recall trying to read its explanation of the opera. It told how Beethoven’s work showed the corruption of capitalism and the heroism of the proletariat – it was amazing that the classical period German composer should have had the foresight to anticipate the values upon which the DDR was built: sehr klug. The performance was magical, but I recall that it was the voice of the lead singer visiting from West Berlin that had the best voice. It was dark and wet when we left East Berlin and returned to the bright lights of the city’s decadent sister. As we drove back next day through the southwestern part of the country along Hitler’s almost traffic-less Autobahn in its now pot-hole ridden state, I wondered about that blond boy who had my dictionary. Eventually we reached the border with the Bundesrepublik and I gave a sigh of relief. As we put the miles between us and the DDR, I felt increasingly sure that in some small way my act of subversion would lead to the overthrow of the enemy state, that I had struck a blow for the West and thrust an, albeit, very small dagger into the thorax of the heartless communist state. Seven years later, in 1989, that result came. The rest, as they say, is history. References
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| Posted by Lindsay Powell at | | | |
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Last week I wrote about an interview I did with author Steven Pressfield over twitter. This week twitter brought a story from The News of Portsmouth, England. "Whatever happened to all the Neros?" (1) revealed that the curator at the Roman Palace at Fishbourne (2) and eminent professors from Bournemouth University are going to scan and reconstruct the portrait bust of a young man they usually associate with the British King Togidubnus, which was found at the site in 1964. The new hypothesis is that the bust is in fact the young Nero before he became the terrible and decadent tyrant. If the identification is right, this makes it one of the few in the world of Nero at that tender age.
At first reading I took the story at face value. Then I saw a smaller inset picture and I realised the academics have made a simple, but understandable mistake - and one that turns the new hypothesis on its head (pun not intended). I know because I am writing a biography of Nero Claudius Drusus, so I wrote to Elise Brewerton the writer of the article at The News thus:
I am writing from Austin, Texas where your story* reached me via twitter.
I know Fishbourne from the time I lived in the UK and having performed there as a visiting Ermine Street Guard member. I am also familiar with the broken portrait bust. The suggested identification of the bust as Nero is intriguing, but I must question its comparison with the bust referred to in the article and the inset picture captioned as "The head of Nero in Musee de Louvre, Paris". It most likely isn't.
The bust in the Louvre is identified as Nero Claudius Drusus (often better known as Drusus the Elder). The bust is made of Parian marble, dated to ca. 9 BC–2 AD and came from Athens:
Iam writing a biography of the life and exploits of Drusus the Elder and his wars of conquest in Germania (12BCE-9BCE) for publication by Pen and Sword Books Ltd. I have been confused myself more than once by the recurrence of the same name. There were several men bearing the name Nero Claudius Drusus within three generations: to avoid confusion, theyare labelled by historians Drusus I (or the Elder), son of Tiberius Claudius Nero and Livia Drusilla; Drusus II or Julius Caesar Drusus, son of Drusus the Elder's brother Tiberius (and the future emperor) and Vispania Agrippina; Drusus III (known as Germanicus on account of his father's victories in Germania), son of Drusus the Elder and Antonia Minor (Marcus Antonius' daughter). The full name of the boy Nero who became emperor was Nero Claudius Caesar Drusus Germanicus. It is very easy to be confused!
I fear that Dr Rob Symmons, curator of archaeology at Fishbourne, may be confused by the name. It would be a pity for the distinguished team of Dr Symmons and Bournemouth University lecturers Dr Miles Russell and Harry Manley to run scans on the Fishbourne head and recreate the damaged parts of the face, testing the theory that it could in fact be the emperor, when the bust they are comparing it against is a completely different Roman.
Finally, just to correct a typo: the Iron Age British client "King Togidubnes" is correctly spelled Togidubnus or Togidumnus (he used to be called Cogidubnus).
It may all be in the head and I am willing to be proved wrong, but I think that this one time I am right.
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| Posted by Lindsay Powell at | | | |
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Twitter confuses a lot of people. I mean what can you possibly say of any significance in 140 characters? I have to confess I’m really not that interested in whether you are brushing your teeth or drinking a cup of coffee right at this moment. Yet, having published my first tweet in June at the Writer’s League of Texas Agents’ Conference (1), I have published no fewer than 630 of the missives, which suggests I have found a use for it. I mostly post URLs to news stories and opeds that deal with archaeology, ancient history and related events and it seems that others like that formula since I have in excess of 150 followers. Among them are bloggers, students, business people and at least four published authors.
I am particularly proud that one of my followers is Steven Pressfield (2). He is a fascinating and accomplished author who appears frequently on The History Channel whenever the subject is the Spartans or the Three Hundred at Thermopylae. Mr Pressfield is the author of several must-read books, including The Legend of Bagger Vance (which was made into a movie), Gates of Fire (the literal translation of the Greek place name Thermopylae), The Virtues of War (about Alexander the Great) and Killing Rommel (a copy of which I bought on my last trip to the UK). He draws on his experience of soldiering, copy writing and other odder jobs in other walks of life. His style of storytelling is gritty, realistic and memorable. It is a style many, including myself, try to emulate.
His most recent book is his autobiographical The War of Art. In it he explains his philosophy of writing which is defined by a warlike state of mind. It was his ideas in The War of Art that led to him being invited to take part in a live twitter ‘litchat’ (3) last Friday. What's a 'litchat'? Imagine a crowd of fans with a celebrity at the stage door asking questions using text messaging, and you get an idea of the format. What follows is an edited version of the questions and answers Mr Pressfield and I exchanged (with apologies to the others who were present).
I joined the conversation a few minutes after it had started so it took me a moment to get the MO. People were asking about his The War of Art and his ideas about writing using a 'hashtag' to connect to the discussion. That cracked, I considered how professional interviewers Melvyn Bragg and Charlie Rose would begin a conversation with a celebrity. It came to me. I dived in with my question on pragmatics – after all, Mr Pressfield had been in the USMC.
“How do you structure your working day?” I asked boldly, not expecting an answer.
It came just moments later. “Just like a job: four hours, usually in the AM.”
I was taken aback.
Asked how he approached his writing, Mr Pressfield replied “I write ‘em first, then do the research.”
I liked that answer – and said so. “That's a great approach,” I remarked. “It frees creativity, then [you can] nitpick with the fact checking: I must do that.” (The limit of 140 characters in a tweet means you have to write cryptically like a headline writer.) Feeling more comfortable with the format, I saw my chance to ask another question.
“What other periods of history or events fascinate you?”
“Most of my stuff is set in ancient Greece,” he said, “but my newest is WWII. I love history of all periods.”
“I was just wondering if your recent blogs hinted at a novel set in one of the contemporary military campaigns.”
“Very astute, Lindsay!” he said, which was a pleasant surprise. “My next is a war story set "fifteen minutes into the future.” (There’s the scoop – and you read it here first.)
One of the audience asked about his style of writing and Mr Pressfield explained “going deep is the only way, at least to me. Losing yourself in it.”
I had read about that phenomenon. “Losing oneself in one’s work is called ‘flow’ by author Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi (howzat for a name!).” It is the feeling you get when working on a task and it is so absorbing you lose all track of time.
He was asked who were men of the past he would want to meet and replied “Thucydides or Plato, my all-time faves.” I chipped in suggesting Tacitus or Suetonius, to which Mr Pressfield replied “ah, the Romans. They're next!”
“I certainly hope so,” I piped. “(Romans are my time period), so many stories to tell.”
Returning to the craft of writing and the black art of getting published I asked “what role do you see for literary agents going forward? Do you have one?”
“They're even more important today,” he said. “I have a great one: Sterling Lord. I’m a big partisan for agents.” “Partisan”: it was an interesting choice of words.
My own experience has been mixed and I felt compelled to say “but for aspiring writers, they can represent another barrier to being published. For mine (non-fiction) I went direct.”
“That's true,” he said. “Sometimes it’s harder getting an agent than finding a publisher. Congrats to you, Lindsay!”
I was chuffed by the compliment from the Maestro. “You are very kind. I appreciate the compliment  ” Feeling emboldened, but with nothing more than curiosity behind my question, I asked, “would you ever consider a collaborative work, or are you happier writing solo?”
My question went unanswered in the flurry of last minute questions. It was 5pm.
“Hey, thanks, everybody ... gotta sign off now,” he said. “This was fun. Hope it helped a little. Excellent questions!” And then it was over.
He said he was heading for the library.
It had been a wonderful moment of connection: an established master of his craft and his fans, all chatting in 140 characters or less, no exceptions.
Thank you for being an inspiration to me, Mr Pressfield! Maybe one day we can collaborate on something together…?
Follow Steven Pressfield on twitter at @SPressfield. You can follow me on twitter at @Lindsay_Powell and read about my book at www.Lindsay-Powell.com
References
- http://blog.lindsay-powell.com/2009/07/04/books-past-present-but-future.aspx
- http://home.stevenpressfield.com/index.asp and
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| Posted by Lindsay Powell at | | | |
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Reform is in the air – or at least talk of it.
As the summer fades from memory and the autumnal rains and winds blow in, the arguments continue to rage across the world for change. There's hardly an aspect of life, private or public, that's not affected:
- Reform of the health care system led to heated tempers and absurd accusations across the US;
- Reform of the political system came in the wake of the MPs’ expenses scandal in the UK;
- Reform of the financial system dominated talks among the G20 countries to prevent another global meltdown;
- Reform of military strategy in Afghanistan as casualties mounted among nations contributing combatants, especially Germany and Italy.
And that mother of all challenges, which still eludes us: reform of global energy usage and carbon emissions before the icecaps melt completely and the ocean's water flood our low lands.
The problem is not everyone agrees with the diagnosis of the problem under consideration and just as few agree on the reform(s) needed. There is, of course, that pesky issue of vested interest that all too frequently gets in the way. Invariably, reform means taking away resources or privileges someone else has prior claim to or taken for their own. And when it comes down to it, old habits die hard. Do you really want to cycle to work or give up that vacation trip to Maui to reduce your carbon footprint?
All reformers, regardless or place or era, have encountered obstacles to change. It seems that in the great sweep of human history there is always someone who wants to stand in the way, to rain on the populist’s parade. Readers of my blog know I take a long view of the affairs of mankind, drawing on examples from history, especially of Greece and Rome, for comparisons with our own time. Ancient Athens had Theseus(1), Solon(2) and Kleisthenes(3). Sparta had Lykourgos(4). Rome had a great many reformers: the Gracchi brothers(5), Appius Claudius Caecus(6), Marcus Livius Drusus(7), Julius Caesar(8) and Caesar Augustus(9). Gaius and Tiberius Gracchus and Caesar saw their lives cut short on account of their ambitious reforms.
Closer to our own time, there have been formidable individuals willing to seek change. Take Thomas Paine(10), for instance. A couple of weeks ago I was standing as a groundling in Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre in London. I had tickets for the opening night of A New World by Trevor Griffiths(11). This entertaining play charted the life of a Norfolk-born schoolteacher who turned out to be one of the world’s great thinkers and reformers. He was a key figure in the American War of Independence and French Revolution. His talent was to formulate ideas and express them in words common people could understand. As the author of Common Sense (1776) and The American Crisis (1776-83) he helped propel the movement to oust the British from the Thirteen Colonies. He was feted by Benjamin Franklin (who he had first met in 1774) and Thomas Jefferson.
Of course, the American Revolution succeeded and produced a new world republican form of government, but one that Paine did not always support. His Rights of Man attacked monarchies and hereditary government. His Age of Reason of 1794 argued against organised religion. His Agrarian Justice of 1795 argued for a minimum wage. Yet he died in obscurity in 1809 and only six attended his funeral in New York. (At least he was not assassinated). While he has since become a hero of the United States he remains in the country of his birth a traitor (12).
All this proves to show that change is easier to say than do. History shows that it usually takes many attempts over decades to affect real and lasting change: abolition of slavery in Britain and the US; acceptance of racial equality; granting of votes for women; and decriminalising consenting gay sex – and there’s so much more yet in need of reform. Reformers often articulate change that is popular, but in enacting the reform they often find they are walking a lonely path. It takes an individual of great courage and immense personal resources to go the journey – a hero, in fact. But in the end great ideas that mean change for good do take hold.
Let’s just hope that all that talk of reform today isn’t just hot air – and that we have the mettle to change.
A New World plays at Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre, London until October 9, 2009.
References
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theseus
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Solon and http://www.crf-usa.org/bill-of-rights-in-action/bria-22-3-a-solon-put-athens-on-the-road-to-democracy.html
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cleisthenes
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lycurgus_of_Sparta
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claudius_Caecus
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gracchi
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marcus_Livius_Drusus_(tribune)
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Julius_Caesar
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Augustus
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomas_paine
- http://www.shakespeares-globe.org/theatre/annualtheatreseason/anewworld/
- http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/8089115.stm
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I am in England for the summer and for me that means a trip
to the British Museum and at least one performance at Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre.
In these two buildings the whole of human experience spanning four thousand
years can be seen and heard. It is a heady journey through love, loss, joy,
despair, jealousy and friendship, to name but a few.
Readers of my blog will know that I am a regular visitor to
the British Museum. They have been running a series of truly excellent
exhibitions charting the lives and achievements of great men and cultures as
different as ancient Babylon, China and Rome.(1) This season the curators are offering visitors Garden and
Cosmos, a rare chance to see paintings in the royal collection of the
Mehrangarh Museum Trust, Jodhpur – remarkably, none of which have been
displayed in Europe before.(2) To study them was a revelation. These were
commissioned by the Maharaja Bakhat Singh (1725-52), Viljai Singh (1752-93) and
Man Singh (1803-43), just at the time the British were expanding their
influence (interference?) in the Rajastan region of India. The paintings in
brilliant reds, oranges, blues as well as tin and gold, were painted using
brushes of squirrel tails. The details are exquisitely fine and detailed, the
effect lustrous and vibrant, full of joy and energy. They depict royal life in
the gardens of the fort of Nagaur and the maharajahs enjoying a supremely
comfortable life surrounded by large numbers of women servants and wives. Life
was clearly fun if you were a maharajah.
However, the exhibition also revealed the deeper belief
system of the maharajahs and the Naths through their art. To a westerner, like
me, this exposition was a revelation. I knew little of the Hindu faith and
nothing of the Naths, the yogis and their gurus. I confess I read the
accompanying notes and understood some, and while the complexity of the stories
and beliefs perplexed me, yet I came away with a great respect for the ancient
Hindu tradition, the roots of which extend to between 2000 and 1500BCE during
the Vedic age of India.(3) I was particularly taken by extracts cited from the Shiva
Purana, one of the purāṇas dedicated to the Hindu deity Shiva.(4)
During the same visit to the Museum, I went to the Egyptian
gallery to see the gallery opened just this year to showcase the wall paintings
of Nebamun.(5) As the official press release states
The paintings are some of the most
famous images of Egyptian art, and come from the now lost tomb-chapel of
Nebamun, an accountant in the Temple of Amun at Karnak who died c. 1350 BC, a
generation or so before Tutankhamun. They show him at work and at leisure -
surveying his estates and hunting in the marshes.(6)
The paintings show a real zest for life, a delight in Nature
and all its diversity. For a wealthy man, as Nebamun clearly was, his life was
as rich as the Indian Maharajahs of three thousand years later. Money might not
buy a man happiness, but in any given age it can afford him the greatest
conveniences. Yet I was struck by the similarities, despite the millennia
separating them, of the sophistication of their belief systems.
I was also struck by the insightful words translated from a
fragment of a papyrus called The Teaching of the Vizier Ptahotep, from in a private library at Thebes dated to
1950BCE. The ‘Teachings’ contain a message of humility for those aspiring
professionals who feel they are destined for greatness. The document reads,
Do not be proud because you are
wise,
but consult with the ignorant as
well as the wise!
The limits of art are
unattainable;
no artist is fully equipped with
his mastery.
Fine speech is more precious than
malachite,
but can be found with
maid-servants at the millstones.
Across the River Thames in the reconstructed ‘wooden O’ a
performance of Helen by the truly great
Greek playwright Euripides was going on.(7) Greek tragedies and comedies are
not performed these days, so it was a chance to catch this one for a mere £5 as
a groundling standing for the duration of the play. Written in 412BCE, this
tragic-comedy reunited Helen with her husband Menelaus who has been away for 17
years fighting the Trojans. It transpired that the Helen they were fighting for
was a ghost created by a jealous goddess and she was in Egypt the whole time.
When it dawns on him that the loss of lives of hundreds of Greek soldiers’
lives at Troy was all for nought, the messenger exclaims:
Now indeed I see how worthless the
seers' doings are, and how full of falsehood; there was no health in the blaze
of sacrifice after all, or in the cry of winged birds; even to think that birds
can help mankind is certainly foolish. …Then why do we consult prophets? We
ought to sacrifice to the gods and ask a blessing, but leave divination alone;
for this was invented otherwise, as a bait for a livelihood, and no man grows
rich by sacrifices if he is idle. But sound judgment and discernment are the
best of seers.(8)
It is a comment that could be applied equally well to
pundits and forecasters today.
If there is any message that resounds through the millennia
it is surely this one. It is from the Harpist’s Song, written on papyrus dated to about 1400BCE, and its
message applies to all people everywhere and in every age:
Follow your heart while you’re
alive.
Put perfume on your head,
Clothe yourself with fine linen…
Make holiday and don’t tire of it!
‘Garden & Cosmos’ is at the British Museum until 11th
October 2009; ‘Helen’ plays at the Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre until 23rd
August.
References
- http://blog.lindsay-powell.com/2008/08/20/bestriding-the-world.aspx
- http://www.britishmuseum.org/whats_on/all_current_exhibitions/indian_summer/garden_and_cosmos.aspx
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hindu
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shiva_Purana
and http://www.godandguru.com/shiv-puran/index.html
- http://www.britishmuseum.org/explore/galleries/ancient_egypt/room_61_tomb-chapel_nebamun.aspx
- http://www.britishmuseum.org/the_museum/news_and_press_releases/press_releases/2008/nebamun_gallery.aspx
- http://shakespeares-globe.com/theatre/annualtheatreseason/helen/
- http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/cgi-bin/ptext?doc=Perseus:text:1999.01.0100;query=card=#26;layout=;loc=698
(lines 745-755)
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| Posted by Lindsay Powell at | | | |
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On my late evening walk around my neighbourhood this evening I listened - as I habitually do - to the Guardian Daily podcast. It is a digest of mostly anglo-centric news, but it keeps me connected with the 'old world'. It is reassuring that the problems faced by my fellow countrymen there are mirrored by my new compatriots here in Texas.
In today’s transmission the plight of one of the smallest members of our world was discussed. On both sides of the so-called ‘Pond’ the bee is dying. It is only when the key place the bee holds in the ecology of the world is truly undersood that one realizes that to preface the small winged critter with the word ‘humble’ is to do it a great disservice. It is not just that the bee makes honey. Bees “are worth saving”, writes Alison Benjamin in The Guardian,
“because a third of everything we eat relies on pollination by them. The consequences of losing our apian workers will be dire: food shortages and sky-high prices for many fruits, nuts and vegetables, as well as dairy and meat products, as most livestock is reared on honeybee-pollinated feed.” (1)
So, without this hardworking insect our ability to feed the human family is doubtful. There is no man-made technological substitute for the industrious flitting between blossoms that cross-pollinates the plants we rely on to eat.
The bee has been the source of wonder for millennia. Readers of my blog know that I like to see the present through the prism of history and often find that the ancients had a wisdom on affairs that we would do well to rediscover today. Suffice it to say, the ancient world had a high regard for the bee and knew its true value. Beekeeping was, for instance, the hobby of the Roman upper class. It was documented by the Roman writers Columella, Gaius Julius Hyginus, Pliny the Elder, Varro and Virgil.(2) The Greeks knew there was profit to be made in bees and the Ionian moneyers of Ephesos used the bee as the emblem of their city on their coins.
Why the bee is dying out is the subject of intensive research the world over.(3) It could be poisoning from pesticides, the stress of declining natural habitats, or a deadly virus - scientists are trying to establish the cause and find a cure. But if the bee loses this fight the consequences for mankind are dire. The bee needs our help.
So to the reason I mentioned the Guardian Daily podcast. If you would like to play a part in reviving the bee population, you can do so in your own backyard. A group called Omlet has devised a beginner’s apiary kit that aspiring beekeepers can use to help improve the odds for the bee.(4) One aspiring apiarist is quoted in the UK’s Independent,
“Every beginner thinks bees mean stings and that it's pretty daunting to open a hive with up to 60,000 specimens inside. But keeping bees is both easier and harder than people expect. You quickly learn that bees are quite happy for you to poke around inside their homes, so long as you use slow, purposeful movements. Everything seems right with the world if the bees are going about their business the way they ought to.”(5)
You will benefit from fresh honey from your own garden - and rediscover the joy of a hobby cherished by the Roman aristocracy.
Let's hear it for the bees and their human keepers.
References
- http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2009/aug/05/endangered-honeybee-colonies
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beekeeping; read Pliny the Elder's charming observations at http://books.google.com/books?id=Kd1kthiPcvcC&pg=PA38&lpg=PA38&dq=bees+pliny+the+elder&source=bl&ots=ALjWDsZYjG&sig=nFyc_bCHXe5ShSxYMTqoZH0Dnmk&hl=en&ei=7lR6SvvNCJP2NaD-peYC&sa=X&oi=book_result&ct=result&resnum=2#v=onepage&q=&f=false; see also Sandrine Nouvel’s blog on the subject of Roman interest in bees and beekeeping at http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/1715889/the_roman_and_the_bee_the_art_of_beekeeping.html?cat=37 and http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/1727628/the_roman_and_the_bee_land_of_wax_and.html?cat=37; there was a conference on beekeeping in the Graeco-Roman world in 2000, http://sphakia.classics.ox.ac.uk/beeconf/index.html
- http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/bees/
- http://www.omlet.co.uk/homepage/homepage.php
- http://www.independent.co.uk/environment/nature/the-bee-business-an-amateur-apiary-revolution-1752307.html
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| Posted by Lindsay Powell at | | | |
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Once the world looked up at the moon and stars with awe.
This week in the USA we were celebrating 40 years since the landing of man on the moon.(1) In 1969 I was not yet ten years old. My mother asked me recently if I could remember where I was at the moment when Neil Armstrong first stepped on the moon's surface. I thought I recalled seeing the whole event on our black-and-white television set at home, except that my mother recalled watching it through the window of a caravan (trailer) when we were on vacation. My mother is probably right and I have likely confused it with a later moon landing. It seemed there were a so many landings when I grew up that they became almost commonplace events on TV. Yet the last mission was Apollo 17 in 1972 – only three years after the first walk on the moon. Apollo 17 broke several records set by previous flights, including longest manned lunar landing flight; the longest total lunar surface extravehicular activities; the largest lunar sample return; and the longest time in lunar orbit. Alas by then, public interest in the moon programme had already waned, as Time Magazine reported in September 1970.(2)
As American television celebrated achievements of years past, in Asia, people looked to the heavens in the present with a mix of fear and awe as the longest lunar eclipse of the 21st century occurred.(3) The path of the eclipse began in India and crossed through Nepal, Bangladesh, Bhutan, Myanmar (Burma) and China. After leaving mainland Asia, the path crossed over Japan's Ryukyu Islands and curved southeast through the Pacific Ocean. This was the longest total solar eclipse that will occur during the 21st century. Totality, as the moment when the moon covers the sun is called, lasted for up to 6 minutes and 39 seconds. “It will not be surpassed in duration until June 13, 2132,” advises the NASA website. I am confident I will not be around to witness it.
The ‘mechanics’ of solar and lunar eclipses are well understood, but this does not in any way diminish the impressive spectacle.(4) I witnessed one several years ago when visiting San Francisco. Around midday or early afternoon, I walked out on the balcony of my hotel overlooking Union Square wondering why the sky darkened and the temperature had cooled. It was only the first eclipse I have witnessed in my lifetime. The other was when I was in restaurant in Taos, New Mexico. What was interesting this week was to learn about was the different responses of ordinary people in the countries witnessing the eclipse. In some cultures, eclipses are considered bad omens.(5) Among the common people there was genuine fear about what might happen.(6) Chants and prayers accompanied the darkening sky in China and India, countries which, in a curious clash of ancient tradition and modern progress, now have their own space exploration programmes.(7)
In the west we seem to have lost the sense of wonder and awe from looking at the heavens. Perhaps our scientific investigations of the planet and stars through manned and unmanned missions have diminished our sense of wonder. It was not always so. In ancient Europe, eclipses, meteor showers and comets were considered messages from the gods that mortal men should heed.(8) Comets were commonly viewed as omens, both good and bad, because of their unusual shape and sudden appearance. A comet appearing in 44BCE shortly after Julius Caesar was murdered was thought to be his soul returning. In 10CE a solar eclipse was interpreted to foretell the death of Emperor Augustus.
Even then there were even people who dreamed about men setting foot on the moon. Lucian, the Roman author from Samosata in Syria, wrote in the second century CE what could be the oldest surviving sci-fi novel, a ‘true story’ about his trip to the moon:
Lucian and a company of adventuring heroes sailing westward through the Pillars of Hercules (the Straits of Gibraltar) are blown off course by a strong wind, and after 79 days come to an island. This island is home to a river of wine filled with fish, and bears a marker indicating that Herakles and Dionysos have traveled to this point.
Shortly after leaving the island, they are lifted up by a giant waterspout and deposited on the Moon. There they find themselves embroiled in a full-scale war between the king of the Moon and the king of the Sun, involving armies which boast such exotica as stalk-and-mushroom men, acorn-dogs ("dog-faced men fighting on winged acorns"), and cloud-centaurs.(9)
It would so easily form the storyline of a mini-series on the SyFy channel!
Sci-fi literature is alive and well. Space and space travel still fuels our imagination, but today we go to the cinema to find our space themed thrills, as the recent box office success of Star Trek movie proved - the franchise has thankfully been renewed for new generation. Perhaps the roller coaster ride of special effects has jaded our appreciation of the real cosmos.
Or perhaps it is because we cannot actually see much of the sky. Street lighting makes it harder to see the stars.(10) When you find a place in the country where there is no 'light pollution', as the phenomenon has been called, the view can be astonishing. You connect again with the sense of awe our ancestors felt when they turned their eyes upward. When I was visiting Whistler in British Columbia a few years ago walking back to my hostel at night I looked up into the sky and was amazed by the celestial scene. Pinpoints of light scattered across the great arc of black sky as far as the eye could see, photons that had travelled for eons across millions and millions of light years. I had no idea there were so many stars! A few years later a friend set up her telescope and pointed it towards Saturn. For the first time I saw the majesty of the rings of the planet with my own eyes instead of as a photograph in a book. It was a moment I still remember.
So go out into your backyard tonight, let your eyes adjust to the darkness and gaze in wonder at the night sky.(11) Feel the awe.
References
- http://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/apollo/40th/index.html
- http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,902767,00.html
- http://www.nasa.gov/topics/solarsystem/features/eclipse/index.html
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eclipse
- http://hubpages.com/hub/Superstitions-About-Celestial-Bodies
- http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/as_asia_eclipse;_ylt=AsT1IttwiXpvioYbKWxCSomCfNdF
- http://www.ecnmag.com/news-Scientists-Save-India-Moon-Mission-071709.aspx
- http://www.biblicalchronology.com/evidence.htm
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/True_History For the full text of the story see http://www.sacred-texts.com/cla/luc/wl2/wl211.htm
- http://www.darksky.org/
- http://www.pbs.org/seeinginthedark/explore-the-sky/your-sky-tonight.html
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| Posted by Lindsay Powell at | | | |
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This time last week I was sat on a hard seat (you know the bum-numbingly rigid tubular style beloved of hotel managers, presumably because they stack so neatly?). I was willing to suffer the discomfort because it was the annual Writers’ League of Texas Agents’ Conference (1). I have been a member of WLT for a couple of years but it was my first time at WLTCON. I was surprised to find that of the 300-or-so attendees about half were newbies like myself. Creative writing, it seems, is alive and well in the Lone Star State.
Over the next two days we learned a lot about the publishing industry. An estimated 275,000 books are published every year in the USA alone. Nearly one in two Americans read a book last year, according to Bowker’s 2008 PubTrack Consumer Survey (2). Amazingly 80% of books are bought and read by women.
One view is that the industry has lost the plot and is in self-destruct mode, sacrificing quality of product for the cult of celebrity, where high profile personalities are paid huge sums of cash to write flimsy stories that mostly do not live up to the blurb on the glossy dust jacket (3).
Another view is that the industry is in flux, a period of dynamic change, brought on by distribution and technology change. The Big A (that’s amazon.com) and the Big B (that’s Barnes & Noble) and more recently the Big C (you guessed, Costco) are locked in to a slug fest over who can wrest the most dollars from the book buying public looking for titles on the NYT bestseller list. Bigger retailers have led to concentration among the publishers (goodbye Bantam and Collins, hello Random House and HarperCollins).
Enter electronic books (amazon’s Kindle, Sony’s Reader and book apps for Apple’s iPhone) that could potentially upset the apple cart, and there are a lot of unhappy literary agents and book editors. Having just a month previously visited the Society for Information Displays (SID) 2009 expo in San Antonio where the great and good of digital display technologies showed their latest wares, I was well aware of the advances in platforms (4). You want 3D TV? It exists. You want ultra-thin, low power displays? Yup, got ‘em. A driver’s licence with a full 360 degree image of your head? I’m not so sure I’m keen on that application (do I want to see the back of my head?) but working prototypes exist.
Cambridge, Mass.-based E-Ink, the company that makes the ‘imaging film’ for the Kindle (and yes the screen is made in the USA with American know-how) is making larger active matrix screens and now has prototype product capable of delivering both colour and moving images (5). Imagine ‘how-to books’ in full-colour with moving video as well as 2D photography, with bookmarkable and searchable text. It’s coming and not necessarily from a bookstore near you – more like your wi-fi or 3G connection. Which, of course, is why book retailers are worried.
For many self-publishing is a viable way to get into print. For others it is the only way to get into print. Even here, print-on-demand (POD) such as lulu.com, has evolved enabling, for example, teachers to print course high quality books in small print runs for their classes. The writer retains copyright, but all the production, marketing and promotional activities have to be driven by the author. Having spoken with a few newly published authors, even with the full weight of a large publishing house behind them, much of the marketing – arranging book signings, radio and TV appearances, website – falls to them anyway. For first book author maybe the difference between self- and traditional publishing is not so different. It still requires the author to get out and sell books.
Adding up all the forms of delivering books to readers, one estimate is that annually some 500,000 new titles are published.
Not so long ago, the only way to get a book published was to go to a printer and pay him to print copies. Visitors to Williamsburg, Virginia or Ironbridge, Shropshire can see working presses (6). The process is fascinating to watch, from the typesetting, the setting up of the press, the inking of the plates and applying the platen. The resulting books are wonderful. You can feel the impression of the cast type with your fingers. Pages are stitched together. These are the works of craftspeople in a pre-industrial time. It’s very different to high-speed laser printers or large lithographic printing machines, which are the products of our industrial age (7).
Yet Gutenberg’s invention of moveable type is only 570-years old (8). That technology breakthrough enabled small businesses to print bibles, almanacs, political pamphlets and later newspapers for local communities and create new industries, trades and professions. Only with the invention of the railways did distribution of regional and national newspapers become viable.
Before Gutenberg, an author had to pay a copyist to produce duplicates from a master copy. A writer such as Tacitus or Pliny the Elder would go to a copyist workshop and his team of scribes would laboriously copy out each volume word for word, line by line (9). Buyers of books could chose expensive versions on the highest quality papyrus or parchment with added colour, to undecorated versions on lower grade ‘paperstock’ according to their budget. The great library of Alexandria was stocked with books copied from the great writers (10). Every ship docking at Alexandria was required to lend the authorities its collection of books so that they could be transcribed (often, sneakily, the owner received the copy while the Library retained the original). This method of book publication continued with the monks at the Christian monasteries, to whom the world owes a debt of gratitude for passing on the written heritage of the pagan classical world. We can read Tacitus and Pliny the Elder in the original or in translation today thanks to publishers of books.
But the Internet has changed everything. As it has done with news, so it is now democratizing the book industry. If an author cannot get a book deal with a traditional publisher, the Internet is a channel through which he or she can reach the reading public. Even if the author does secure a publishing contract, the Internet will still play a key role in launching and promoting the book. So-called ‘viral marketing’ (the electronic version of ‘word-of-mouth’ through websites, blogs and now Twitter) can spread word of a new book as fast as its user community’s fingers can type. The Internet makes possible delivery of books in a variety of formats, from the printed book brought to your front door, to a myriad of digital formats for a variety of devices. Some buyers – like myself – will buy books in multiple formats depending on our lifestyles: the hardback (hard cover) for the library and the paperback (soft cover) or e-book for the vacation or business trip.So I have Tacitus and Pliny the Elder in both Loeb Editions and Penguin Books (which I paid for) and can access other classical authors online from my Mac (free of charge) or iPhone or even carry some of them in my pocket care of the app Stanza (some gratis and some at minor cost).
So is the printed book the new buggy whip in a world of digital devices? I think the printed book still has a bright future. Even in a recession, the US publishing industry saw only a modest decline in 2008, according to Bowker – there was even growth in one segment, ‘on demand’ publishing (11). The printed book is portable, never needs recharging, can be personalized with annotations, filed on a bookshelf in a library, and in its twilight years be recycled by loaning it to friends or donating to a charity shop. I would not be willing to loan my Kindle or iPhone. The new devices enable readers to carry complete libraries of books with them and update them for the latest editions in a way the printed book cannot.
Perhaps, for the time being, readers have it made. They can get content in many formats and much of it free. In the Internet Age, how the book industry will make money is the key issue. But then again, that is not a question unique to publishers.
If you read books, what do you think? Twitter me [at]Lindsay_Powell
References
- http://www.writersleague.org/events/2009-conf.htm
- http://www.bowker.com/index.php/press-releases/564-nearly-one-in-two-americans-read-a-book-last-year-according-to-bowkers-2008-pubtrack-consumer-survey
- http://www.statesman.com/blogs/content/shared-gen/blogs/austin/books/entries/2009/06/28/writers_league_of_texas_agents.html
- http://www.sid.org/
- http://www.eink.com/
- http://www.history.org/Almanack/life/trades/tradepri.cfm and http://www.ironbridge.museum/our_attractions/blists_hill_victorian_town/Canal_Street/index.asp
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Laser_printing and en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lithography
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johannes_Gutenberg
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Copyists
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Library_of_alexandria
- http://www.bowker.com/index.php/press-releases/563-bowker-reports-us-book-production-declines-3-in-2008-but-qon-demandq-publishing-more-than-doubles
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A news story was reported this week that an instrument that had not been heard for at least 200 years was played for a modern audience (1). The lituus was an instrument of some antiquity even before the Romans adopted it and gave it the name we know it by.
The lituus is essentially a straight 8.5 feet (2.7m) long trumpet without keys. It was used during Roman religious rites and triumphal processions. The last composer to write for the lituus was none other than J.S. Bach whose motet ‘O Jesus Christ, meins Lebens Licht’ featured the instrument. How did it sound? The BBC report described it as “piercing trumpet-like sound”. Go to their website and listen to the sound and judge for yourself (1). It turns out there is an art, no there is a science, to making a lituus. Particularly clever was the development of software by engineers at the University of Edinburgh to assist in the recreation of the instrument in a case of ancient world meets bleeding edge of the modern world.
As a teenager I was greatly interested in the ‘authentic music’ movement promoted in the 1970s/80s by The Deller Consort and Switzerland’s Schola Cantorum Basiliensis; and later by Austria’s Nikolaus Harnoncourt and the Concentus Musicus Wien; France’s Pierre Malgoire and the magnificently named La Grande Ecurie et le Chambre du Roi; and Britain’s Christopher Hogwood and The Academy of Ancient Music. ‘Ancient music’ in this case was any piece after 1600 (that’s ‘AD’ in case you are wondering). Using restored original instruments or faithful reproductions, violins were strung with gut rather than steel wires, brass was played without the aid of keys and woodwind that was mostly made of wood to create sounds the composer would have expected to hear it. Instead of heavy metal or pop, my teenage ears thrilled to the sound of the ‘Mannheim Steamroller’. The authentic music movement has since become mainstream and even some established orchestras playing on modern instruments make a virtue of doing so with ‘period’ technique.
Reconstructing truly ancient music, that is to say of the ancient Greeks and Romans, is a more recent endeavour. Part of the problem is that music was not written down with the notation – the staves, crotchets, quavers – in universal use today. However, observant students spotted on some surviving stone inscriptions and papyri marks associated with alphabetic characters. They interpreted these to be musical notation and applying an understanding of ancient world musical theory, attempts have been made to play the music. Pioneering that rediscovery in sound are Ensemble De Organographia (2), Madrid Atrium Musicae (3) and Synaulia (4) and their CDs are available and well worth listening to. These bands have reconstructed a wide variety of ancient instruments, since most are now extinct, including the double-oboe, kithara, and even the hydraulus, which is a steam-powered organ (it was often played in Roman amphitheatres while gladiators duked it out in the arena). The sounds of the ancient Greeks seem evocative of the Middle East or eastern European folkloric music, but with an unfamiliar haunting tone and rhythm. Sadly only one tiny fragment of a few notes of music survives from the entire Roman period.
These recreations remind us that unlike our digital world where music is ‘on demand’ care of iPods, DVDs and radio, not so very long ago, people made their own music. The Victorians gathered around the piano or fiddle, while Greeks and Romans plucked the lyre or played the panpipes. These same contemporary digital audio technologies are, with careful scholarship and talented musicianship, allowing modern ears to hear again a blast from the very distant past and enjoy a moment’s intimacy with our ancient ancestors.
References
- http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/sci/tech/8075223.stm
- http://www.amazon.com/Music-Ancient-Greeks-Ensemble-Organographia/dp/B000003KWE/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=music&qid=1243916959&sr=1-1
- http://www.amazon.com/Musique-Grece-Antique-Greek/dp/B00004TVG7/ref=sr_1_7?ie=UTF8&s=music&qid=1243916959&sr=1-7
- http://www.amazon.com/Music-Ancient-Rome-Synaulia/dp/B00000B8MP/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=music&qid=1243917134&sr=1-1
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I was out and about in Austin today and a licence plate on the back of a shiny black Cadillac caught my eye. It was one those plates with the Purple Heart screen-printed on it. The plate was personalized and bore the legend ‘ITHURT’. Wounded soldiers, it seems, have a warped sense of humour.
It reminded me that June 6 is the anniversary of the D-Day Landings in Normandy during World War II. Sixty-five years have passed since that momentous event. The statistics of that event are still staggering:
The operation was the largest single-day amphibious invasion of all time, with 160,000 troops landing on June 6, 1944. 195,700 Allied naval and merchant navy personnel in over 5,000 ships were involved. The landings took place along a 50-mile (80 km) stretch of the Normandy coast divided into five sectors: Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno and Sword. (1)
The cost in lives was high – an estimated 10,000 casualties – but it was less than the planners had feared it could be. Without the meticulous planning the casualties could, would, have been much higher.
In researching my book, EAGLES OVER GERMANIA, set in the time of another war against Germans (the one fought between Romans and the ancient peoples north of the Rhine between 12-9BCE) I was struck by the amazing level of thought even the ancient planners had invested in their invasion.
Some of the amazing ‘not widely known’ factoids to emerge from my research include:
- The
Romans’ preparations for their sea and invasion took two years, from
14-13BCE: the Allies’ preparations for the D-Day Landings also took two
years, 1943-44CE (5).
- One of the codenames used for the D-Day
Landings, better known as Operation Overlord, was Operation Neptune (1,
5). Neptunus was the Roman god of the sea. (What the Roman planners
called their military operation is not known).
- The name German comes from the Latin germanus
meaning ‘of the same parents’ or ‘blood relative’ (6). These peoples
were actually not one, but several separate nations or tribes who bore
their own unique names and identities, such as the Cherusker,
Markomannen and Sugambrer: they did not call themselves ‘Germanen’. It
seems the name ‘Germani’ was popularized by the Roman Julius Caesar in
his Commentaries on the Gallic War.
The Commander-in-Chief of the Roman forces was Caesar Augustus, but he delegated prosecution of the bella Germaniae to his youngest stepson, the 24-year old Nero Claudius Drusus (known to history as Drusus the Elder). In preparing for the war, he oversaw a massive build out of military infrastructure and assembly of supplies with the help of 30,000-40,000 troops. For the time they truly were massive.
During the years 14-13BCE, Drusus established fortresses (some built to house two legions) along the Rhine at Xanten (Vetera), Neuss (Novaesium) and Mainz (Moguntiacum) with smaller forts in between, such as Moers Asberg (Asciburgium), Bonn (Bonna), and possibly Koblenz (Castellum apud Confluentes), Bingen am Rhein (Bingium) and Speyer.
These ‘winter camps’, as the Romans called them, were linked by metalled military roads to allow men and materiel to move quickly between the locations.
A fleet of ships was constructed to ferry troops, animals and equipment into the war zone in Magna Germania. From Tacitus’ account of Germanicus’ later amphibious campaign, we know they used flat-bottomed barges to carry the animals and multi-oared transports (liburnae, naves longae, 2) to carry the troops – about one thousand vessels in all. The remains of a hull of a Roman barge were recently found at Woerden, The Netherlands and dated to a hundred years after The German Wars (3). It measured 100 Roman feet (approximately 30 metres) in length and required a crew of at least twelve rowers to power it.
A canal (Fossa Drusiana) was also constructed from the Rhine to the Gelderse IJssel or Vecht rivers – scholars continue to debate the precise location of the structure – to provide access to Lake Flevo (Zuider Zee). This construction would save the Roman fleet from making a dangerous detour out from the Rhine to the North Sea. A mole or dam was created at Herwen (Carvium) to regulate the flow of water between the rivers and the inland sea.
This investment attests to the considerable care taken in preparing for this Roman D-Day-like campaign. Whose were the brains behind the plan? It possibly hints at the genius of Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa at work (4). He was an admiral and, after all, the architect of Augustus’ naval victories at Actium, Mylae and Naulochus. He also knew about massive civil engineering constructions, being the architect of great buildings and public works, such as the Pantheon, and the overseer to repairs to the Aqua Marcia and water supply network in Rome. He had also been governor of Gaul twice and had been only the second Roman of status to cross the Rhine since Julius Caesar. Agrippa had an unusually deep familiarity with his Germanic adversary and their terrain.
How the subsequent war went you can read in my article, ‘Bella Germaniae: The German Wars of Drusus the Elder and Tiberius’ in the Ancient Warfare Magazine Special Issue available now direct from the publisher or selected newsagents (7). Treat yourself to a copy of this limited edition Teutoburg second millenium issue: order your copy today at Ancient Warfare Special 1
References
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/D-day
- Tacitus in Annals, II.6, gives a vivid description of the vessels: see en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Annals_(Tacitus)/Book_2#6 and en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_Navy
- http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/3226785/
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agrippa
- http://www.history.army.mil/books/wwii/100-11/ch1.htm
- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Germanus but see also germanitas http://catholic.archives.nd.edu/cgi-bin/lookup.pl?stem=germani&ending=
- http://www.ancient-warfare.com/cms/shop/ancient-warfare-magazine/single-issues/ancient-warfare-special-1-pre-order.html
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