An Easter Miracle

Happy Easter.

For practising Christians, the biggest miracle of all was the Resurrection of Christ. Miracles and miraculous events have become part of human culture and feature in every community, whether real or imagined. Here’s an Easter miracle you might like.

Christians have long celebrated Easter with a big feast, long before they celebrated Christmas. It was to mark the end of the period of fasting called Lent. For one medieval Irish abbot the Easter feast led to a truly life-changing miracle.

We only know about this abbot from one source, the “Book of Fermoy”, or “Leabhar Fhear Mai” in Irish Gaelic. This is a collection of poems, genealogies, histories and fables written in Ireland during the mid-15th century. The book gets its name from the home of the Roche family who feature many times throughout the book.

The story of the abbot appears about halfway through the book, sandwiched between an account of the Roman Emperors and a retelling of the Old Testament story of Enoch and Elias. It’s a short story, but will need a bit of explaining to comprehend its relevance.

The story goes like this (and I’ll keep referring to the character as abbot and not abbess, which I’ll explain later):

The protagonist of the tale is a young man who was the Abbot of Drimnagh near Dublin. One day, as preparations were being made for the Easter celebrations, he wanders out to a nearby hill to rest. He puts his sword down beside him and falls asleep. When he wakes the abbot is startled to find that she has become a beautiful woman. Even her sword has changed. It is now a distaff, a spindle for spinning, the occupation traditionally associated with unmarried women (hence an unmarried woman is often called a spinster).

Before she has fully come to terms with her change, and ugly old crone approaches her. The crone listens to the abbot’s story, and she says it is not safe for a young woman like her to be out on the hill as night approaches. Wild animals will attack her. The abbot decides she cannot return to her abbey and seeks shelter in the neighbouring monastery at Crumlin.

On entering the grounds she meets a handsome young man, the monastery’s chief administrator, who immediately falls in love with the abbot. The abbot offers no objection, and very soon the couple are married. Yes, abbots could get married in those days. In fact, this transgender abbot is already married, which will be revealed later.

This unusual couple are married for seven years and they have seven children. Then, as their eighth Easter together approaches, the young monastery administrator is invited to the celebrations in Drimnagh Abbey. The man gathers his entourage together and, with his wife, travels over the hill to Drimnagh.

On top of the hill the abbot feels very sleepy and persuades her husband and the entourage to continue, and she’ll follow them later. She then falls asleep.

A short while later the abbot awakes. Another shock awaits, as he realises he has turned back into a man. Instead of being relieved he is quite distressed. How can he explain himself to his husband and their children? How is he going to explain his seven year absence from his abbey?

Fortunately, the monks at the abbey accept his explanation and he steps back into his role as abbot without question. But what about his husband? Also, what about his own wife? When the abbot explains his long absence to her, his wife can’t understand what he means, because as far as she is concerned he’s only been away for one hour!

The abbot tries to explain to his husband what has happened. His husband seems to accept the situation. He remembers all of their seven years together, and that the abbot is the mother of their children. Again, fortunately, an amicable resolution is achieved, and they agree to let the abbot raise three of their children.

And that’s the end of the story. Firstly, the reason why I chose not to refer to the abbot as an abbess during her transition is to do with monastic governance. Some male monastic institutions could be headed by a woman, usually if there it also includes a separate community of nuns. This would be set out in the institution’s foundation charter. The fact that this character changed into a woman does not negate the terms of his abbey’s foundation charter. Only the head of the monastic order could stop her from being called an abbot, which didn’t happen in this story.

It is clear that this story was not historical but apocryphal. It’s what medieval literature termed a “fool story”. “Fool” in this context means “humble” and refers to what we would call a fable. Some historians think it may be based on real events. The abbot’s children may refer to seven pieces of land a real abbot owned, and that it deals with the division of that land into three and four parts between two monasteries. But, we’ll never know.

However, there are other elements which illustrate early medieval monastic practice. Medieval abbots didn’t have to be celibate. They could marry. There were hereditary abbots in Celtic Christianity who were usually lay members of the religious institution, quite often local aristocracy (perhaps descended from the original founder). One famous hereditary abbot is King Duncan I of the Scots (murdered by Macbeth in Shakespeare’s play) who was the hereditary Abbot of Dunkeld.

The story also contains several examples of medieval fairy lore. Hills have often been regarded as magical locations, particularly in Celtic mythology where they are often said to be the homes of fairies. The ugly old crone is the tale is also a common disguise for a fairy, as is indicated by her meeting the abbot on the fairy hill.

There have been a lot of commentaries of this story in recent years which centre on the transgender element and gender identity. Although these may have some validity in the mind of the commentator, modern transgender and identity attitudes shouldn’t be applied to ones that didn’t exist when the story was written. The medieval audience would no more understand the concept of transgender than they would about chocolate or digital technology. There are many stories of magical gender transformation in legends around the world. I’ve written about some of them on this blog. Unlike modern transgender issues, not one of them is the result of a personal choice to change gender (or species) without any supernatural means.

Another common folk motif is time distortion. Even though the abbot’s wife and the monks only think he’s been away for an hour, he and his husband remember seven years together. This time distortion is a common feature of tales involving people falling asleep on a fairy hill.

So, did you like this fable of a medieval Easter miracle? There’s still a lot in it which is difficult for historians to explain, but perhaps they shouldn’t try too hard. Like modern literature and media, the story meant something to the people who wrote it and the people who first heard it. There are clues in there which historians have yet to find, but in the end it’s simply a story. It doesn’t need to be fully explained to be enjoyed.

Homohoax: Pranking Penguins

There can be no better day than today – April Fools day – to present another Homohoax, one of the many hoaxes, pranks, fakes, imposters, conspiracy theories and confidence tricks perpetrated by or upon the lgbt community.

One of my favourite all-time April Fool jokes was the one the BBC pulled off in 2008. They made a short film promoting a non-existent documentary about flying penguins migrating from Antarctica to Australia. With this in mind I thought I’d write about a hoax involving both penguins and Australia.

The homohoax is known as the Ern Malley Hoax, and was carried out in Australia in 1944 by James McAuley (1917-1976) and Harold Stewart (1916-1995), the latter being regarded today, on the internet at least, as Australia’s first gay poet, although he was not out publicly in his lifetime

Let’s begin with the penguins.

There was an art movement in Australia in the 1940s called Angry Penguins, which took its name from the title a journal edited by a modernist surrealist poet called Max Harris (1921-1995). The name “Angry Penguins” came from a line in one of his poems, "as drunks, the angry penguins of the night". Other modernist poets and artists allied themselves to the movement and they became known collectively as the Angry Penguins.

The Angry Penguins were anything but conservative and traditional. Harold Stewart and James McAuley, however, were definitely conservative, and they hated modernism.

Harold Stewart was born and raised in Sydney, Australia. His father was a health inspector with a keen interest in Asia, an interest that he would pass on to his son. Harold showed early promise as a poet when he was a teenager at school. James McAuley was at the same school, and both received the school’s poetry prize, McAuley in1933 and Stewart in 1935

In school Stewart also became aware of his homosexuality, though the prevailing social conventions at the time were very homophobic and he remained in the closet for the rest of his life. It was only revealed in public in 1996, the year after he died. Stewart's school poetry had homoerotic subject matters, which subsequently helped to earn his the title of Australis’ first gay poet. Most of his friends were probably unaware of his sexuality.

After leaving school Stewart studied teaching at Sydney University but found it quite dull, and he abandoned his studies to become a poet. He spent hours in the public library, reading and copying poems, searching for his own poetic identity. He also met with friends around Sydney to recite and discuss their poems with each other.

During World War II, Stewart and McAuley worked in Army Intelligence (in the Directorate of Research and Civil Affairs) in Melbourne. In 1943, while in the army barracks, in just one day, they created the Ern Malley Hoax, a fictitious poet and entire body of work. The poems were deliberately written to be bad, exaggerating the modernist symbolism to the point of ridicule. They actually just wrote down the first thing that came into their heads, whether it made sense or not. They also had a pile of reference books, dictionaries and phrase books from which they lifted words and phrases at random. At the end of the day Stewart and McAulay had written 17 poems and a complete fake biography of Ern Malley.

So, what did Stewart and McAuley come up with for their biography of Ern Malley?

Ernest “Ern” Lalor Malley was born in England on 14th March 1918. His father died when Ern was 2, and his mother migrated to Sydney, Australia, with her two children Ern and Ethel. At the age of 17 Ern moved to Melbourne and had several jobs. In the early 1940s he was diagnosed with Graves' disease. Although not necessarily fatal, this is a serious autoimmune disease that particularly affects the thyroid gland which enlarges and produces hormones causing skin, heart, and muscle problems and, in the most well-known effect, the bulging of eyes. Malley refused treatment and he returned to Sydney to live with his sister in March 1943. He died a few months later on 23 July.

After Ern’s death, Ethel found some poems he had written. She wrote to Max Harris and asked for his opinion of them. Ethel was, of course, actually Stewart and McAuley. Harris was excited. He showed them to his Angry Penguin friends, and they fell for the hoax hook, line and sinker, just as Stewart and McAulay had hoped. They all agreed that Malley was a genius. Harris decided to rush out a special edition of the “Angry Penguins” journal and commissioned noted Australian artist Sidney Nolan to paint the cover illustration based on one of Malley's poems.

While the modernist poets praised Malley and his poems, the University of Adelaide’s student newspaper ridiculed the poems, suggesting that Harris had written them as a hoax. Then the Adelaide Daily Mail expressed the same opinion. The next week the “Sunday Sun” ran a front page story correctly alleging that the Malley poems had been written by McAuley and Stewart.

Then things turned serious. The police impounded the special “Angry Penguins” issue and prosecuted Harris for publishing obscene material. Several distinguished expert witnesses were called to defend Harris, but he was found guilty. His fine by today’s standard was pretty light - £5.

Understandably, the whole Malley hoax effected the course of the modernist and surrealist movement in Australia. Support of the Australian modernist and surrealist movement took a blow, and the “Angry Penguins” journal lost readership and soon went out of business. However, Max Harris later took advantage of the affair, and in the mid-1950s he published another literary magazine called “Ern Malley's Journal”. He was always adamant that Malley’s poems, even though he knew they were fake, still had merit and he republished them in 1961. He wrote, "Sometimes the myth is greater than its creators." His opinion was influential. Even today, over 70 years later, the Malley poems are regarded as legitimate surrealist poems. They have inspired many other poems and artists. In fact, the artist Sidney Nolan said the Malley poems inspired him to create his “Ned Kelly” series of paintings.

In 1974 there was an exhibition of Sidney Nolan’s art called "Ern Malley and Paradise Garden" at the Art Gallery of South Australia's Adelaide Festival Exhibitions. More recently an exhibition called "Ern Malley: The Hoax and Beyond" was mounted at the Heide Museum of Modern Art in 2009. The “Washington Post” has gone so far as to call the Ern Malley Hoax as the greatest literary hoax in the 20th century (I would challenge this – the Hitler Diaries had a more global effect).

After the hoax, Stewart worked in a Melbourne bookshop and collected many Eastern books, as his late father’s interest in Asia began to become a bigger part his own life. He began to study and pursue Japanese Buddhism and haiku poetry.

He first visited Japan in 1961. He was almost ordained as a Jōdo Shinshū priest in 1963 but changed his mind at the last minute. From 1966 Stewart became a permanent resident in Japan, becoming an expert on the history, culture and art of Kyoto. He wrote a series of poems with prose commentaries on Kyoto’s history in 1981. Earlier, in the 1960s, he published two translations of haiku poetry which proved popular.

Harold Stewart died in Kyoto on 7th August 1995 after a short illness. His body was cremated and his ashes scattered in the Higashiyama mountains.

One of the ironic twists is that the Ern Malley poems have become the most well-known poems by Harold Stewart, more so than the poems he wrote under his own name. I wonder if that qualifies as a hoax that backfired.

Advent 3: A Swedish Spirit Of Christmas

Most people are aware that the familiar character of Santa Claus got a big boost in popularity after the publication of the poem “A Visit From St. Nicholas”, popularly known by its opening line “Twas the night before Christmas”. More than anything else, this poem cemented the idea that St. Nicholas and Santa Claus are the same character, even though they’re not.

Actually, this Christmas is special for two special reasons. You’ll have to wait until next Sunday for one reason, but the other is that this year is the 200th anniversary of the publication of “A Visit From St. Nicholas” on 23rd December 1823.

In the many nations where Santa Claus and St. Nicholas are not really part of their heritage, there are other gift-givers, as I’ve highlighted a few times in various past Advent series. One of these other gift-givers is the Scandinavian tomte (mentioned briefly last week in relation to modern St. Lucy Day processions).

The Christmas tomte evolved from ancient (probably pagan) house spirits, and every home had/has one. These spirits are known across Scandinavia under various alternative names – in Sweden the name is tomte, but they also use tomtenisse and jultomte (the latter literally means “Yule/Christmas tomte). They often appear like elves at Christmas celebrations helping out Santa or joining in the St. Lucy processions. Modern representations of the gift-giving version follow the 19th century image that resembles a garden gnome. (A big digression here, but the animator who drew the dwarves for the Disney classic “Snow White” was Swedish, so probably based them on the tomte).

Just as Santa Claus became more popular after the publication of “A Visit From St. Nicholas”, so the tomte became popular in Scandinavia through a poem. The poem was called “Tomten”, which is also known by its opening line. The poem was written by a gay folklorist and writer called Viktor Rydberg (1828-1895) and was first published in a weekly newspaper called “Ny Illustrrerad Tidning” (New Illustrated Newspaper) on 19th February 1881. The tomte was illustrated on the front cover (pictured above).

To say “Tomten” is a poem for children would not be entirely accurate, though it is now a family favourite in Sweden at Christmas time. In the poem the tomte is presented as a lone figure on a cold, snowy night, standing by a barn door. He shakes off thoughts about a difficult question he is pondering so he can do his rounds of the farmstead, checking that all doors are closed, and that the farm animals and equipment are safe and secure.

Lastly, he checks that the farm owner and his family are warm in their beds. As he does so he finds that the difficult question comes back into his mind. He has been looking after this family for many generations, but he wonders where all the older generations disappear to. He ponders on the passing of life.

The poem has been labelled an existential comment on the meaning of life and death and the passing of time. I’m sure we all think about how things change in our personal life, and the people who are no longer with us at Christmas. This could be why the adults who read it felt how it resonated with their own thoughts of loved ones missing at Christmas.

Despite the poem “Tomten” becoming such a Christmas favourite, it wasn’t set during that celebration. It was just set during winter. However, Rydberg has quite a strong association with Christmas apart from this poem. Back in 2018 I included him in my Advent series when I mentioned his support for the suggested year of Christ’s birth. Rydberg had already written a Christmas story the previous year called (in English) “Little Vigg’s Adventure on Christmas Eve”. I won’t go into “Little Vigg” today, but I’ll try to include it in next year’s Advent series.

Later editions of both “Little Vigg” and “Tomte” were illustrated by Jenny Nyström (1854-1940). She and Rydberg became close friends. Jenny’s illustrations of the tomte in this and many illustrations and greetings cards, helped to create a standard image of the tomte in much the same way that J. C. Leyendecker did for the modern Santa Claus.

Today, the tomte is everywhere in Sweden. As well as being incorporated into St. Lucy Day processions on 13th December, he appears several weeks before that, giving out presents on the day before Advent. This year that fell on 2nd December. This date is called Lilla Jul, or Little Christmas, and is celebrated mainly by Swedish-speaking Finns. On this day tomte leave little gifts for children.

The popularity of the tomte, in all its names and forms, has spread beyond Scandinavia. In the shops in the UK this year the shelves are stuffed full of “gonks” dressed as tomte as Christmas toys and decorations, replacing the elves that were everywhere last year.Between them, Viktor Rydberg and J. C. Leyendecker, with their tomte and Santa Claus, have made the yuletide gay, as the song goes, in a bigger way than it was before.

(Not Quite) 80 Gays Around the World: 3) Atlantis, Bigfoot and Awards

Previously on "80 Gays": A retelling of the myth of 3) Ganymede was written by 4) Felice Picano (b.1944), member of the Violet Quill Club with 5) Edmund White (b.1940), 6) Christopher Cox (1949-1990), 7) George Whitmore (1945-1989), 8) Andrew Holleran (b.1944), 9) Robert Ferro (1941-1988), and 10) Michael Grumley (1942-1988).

9) Robert Ferro and 10) Michael Grumley met in 1967 when they were both studying creative writing at the University of Iowa. Michael Grumley was an Iowa native though had studied at several universities before landing back. Although a member of the Violet Quill, which was primarily concerned with writing gay fiction, Michael had a secondary interest outside the lgbt+ community.

The 1960s and 1970s saw an explosion of interest in esoteric topics such as ancient astronauts, mystic faiths, and the paranormal. While not having any extreme beliefs himself, Michael became a notable contributor in two of the more popular subjects – Atlantis and Bigfoot.

Michael Grumley only collaborated with his partner Robert Ferro on one work, “Atlantis: The Autobiography of a Search”, published in 1970. Officially marketed as non-fiction there are some critics who regard the book as being semi-fact.

What is contained in “Atlantis: The Autobiography of a Search” is the odyssey taken by the Ferro-Grumleys (as the couple were called from their Iowa university days) from Italy to the Bahamas, following a trail of clues and prophecies that led them to the Bimini Road, an underwater ridge of natural rock which has been clamed as the road to Atlantis. There may be elements of literary license and elaboration on the Ferro-Grumley’s part, but their book has become part of the Atlantis mythos itself.

Robert Ferro didn’t collaborate on Grumley’s 1975 book “The Are Giants in the Earth” about Bigfoot, the American forest-dwelling Yeti. Several years ago I included Michael Grumley in my piece “Queer Cryptids”. “There Are Giants in the Earth” expands Grumley’s take on Atlantis to include other ideas such as a hollow earth and lost races of humanity.I shall be returning to these ideas in another episode of “80 Gays” later this year. Although I am highly sceptical of such ideas I am fascinated by them and how they develop, or can develop, if you let your imagination run free. For instance, by combining some ideas in “There are Giants in the Earth” with others from a book entitled “Santa Claus: the Last of the Wild Men” by Phyllis Siefker, I can make a claim that Santa Claus is not based on St. Nicholas but is actually based on a Scandinavian Bigfoot called a Stallo.

Despite being such an enigmatic and elusive creature, Bigfoot ranks as one of the most internationally well-known cryptids. It’s no wonder books about him become best-sellers. When it comes to fiction cryptids provide ready-made fantasy creatures (the Harry Potter books rely primarily on established cryptids). One recent novel about Bigfoot gave a new spin on the creature. The novel is called “Pamela Wants To Cuddle”, and is written by 11) Samantha Leigh Allen.

Spoiler alert: The following paragraphs contain plot details about “Pamela Wants To Cuddle”. If you are currently reading it, or intend to, I advise you to skip to the last paragraph below so that your enjoyment of the novel won’t be spoilt.

Samantha has worked primarily as a transgender journalist, writing for such publications as The Daily Beast, The New York Times, Rolling Stone, Out, and CNN, amongst others. She has a PhD in Women’s Gender, and Sexuality Studies, and wrote “Real Queer America: LGBT Stories From Red States” in 2019.

Just before that Samantha thought about writing a novel. From a germ of an idea grew a novel that has been described as “bizarre” and “bonkers”. In effect, what she came up with was a slasher-movie/dating-show combination.

“Patricia Wants To Cuddle” is set in Washington state, USA, where stories of Bigfoot, or Sasquatch, seem to be common. The Patricia of the novel’s title is a female Bigfoot. Like all creatures who live in the wild, Patricia is very protective of her territory, so when a television cast and crew arrive to film a dating show Patricia “despatches” these intruders, one by one, in her own inimitable style. It’s all very tongue in cheek and satirical, like “Slumber Party Massacre”, the slasher novel by Rita Mae Brown (number 57 in that first “80 Gays” series). But “Patricia Wants To Cuddle” has one last twist, which I’m not going to reveal.

Let’s get back to Michael Grumley and Robert Ferro. After the deaths of both partners from AIDS in 1988 their estates were used to set up the Ferro-Grumley Foundation. In 1990 the foundation created the Ferro-Grumley Award, an annual prize given to the best lgbt+ fiction of the year. Three fellow Violet Quill members have won this award – 4) Felice Picano in 1996,8) Andrew Holleran in 1997, and 5) Edmund White in 2001. The winning author received $1,000 and a two-week residency at the Art Workshop International in Assisi, Italy, which was founded by 12) Bea Kreloff (1925-2016) and 13) Edith Isaac-Rose (1929-2018).

Next time on “80 Gays”: We turn our attention to art in Italy.

(Not Quite) 80 Gays Around the World: 2) The Violet Quill

Previously: The Roman Emperor 1) Hadrian (76-138) commemorated the death of his lover 2) Antinous (c.111-c.130) by creating a constellation to show him as the new 3) Ganymede, the boy lover of the god Zeus written about by the author 4) Felice Picano b.1944).

“An Asian Minor: The True Story of Ganymede” is 4) Felice Picano’s novel which retells the mythical love story by introducing other Greek gods, such as Ares and Hermes, as Ganymede’s previous lovers. The book, which was first published in 1981 by the publishing house Picano had founded, Seahorse Press.

At the time Picano was a member (probably the least known today, but the most well-known at the time) of a group of gay writers calling themselves The Violet Quill Club. There were seven members, who met in New York City during 1980 and 1981 to share and critique their writings. The club included several writers who became well-known in the niche world of US gay literary history.

Before I go further with the Violet Quill I must say that during my research for this “Gays Around the World” series I kept coming across floral connections. Violet was the first. This wasn’t intentional or deliberate. As you follow this series you’ll understand what I mean. Now, back to the Violet Quill Club.

The group was informal and had no set constitution. In fact, they only met 8 times as the Violet Quill, though all of the members met and socialised often outside the meetings.

Perhaps the most well-known member to the few who read gay literature is 5) Edmund White (b.1940). I suppose his most famous work wasn’t written during the short Violet Quill period. It was called “The Joy of Gay Sex”. Published in 1977 and co-authored by his psychotherapist, “The Joy of Gay Sex” didn’t really tell the gay community what the majority already knew and do, but it did give them the feeling, now that their activities were described in print, that what they were doing wasn’t “dirty”, as society at the time often told them it was. A sequel called “The New Joy of Gay Sex” was published in 1993, co-written by Felice Picano.

The original, which was revised and expanded in 2006, was partially dedicated to Edmund White’s partner at the time it was first published, and a fellow Violet Quill member, 6) Christopher Cox (1949-1990). Cox was not a prolific writer like White and other Violet Quill members. After the group split up, and after he split up from White, Cox went into publishing and ended up as editor of Ballantine Books. Like several other Violet Quill members, Christopher Cox died from AIDS-related causes.

Just 17 months before Cox’s death was that of 7) George Whitmore (1945-1989). Prior to the Violet Quill Whitmore was a contributing editor and hen literary critic on the lgbt+ newspaper The Advocate. Like most of the Quill members Whitmore wrote extensively about life during the early AIDS epidemic. His personal life made news in 1988 when he successfully sued a New York dentist for refusing to treat him because of his HIV+ status. The dentist was forced to close down due to the fine imposed upon him.

The last meeting of the Violet Quill club occurred as a result of Whitmore’s reading of his work “Getting Rid of Robert”. Specifically, it was the reaction of 8) Andrew Holleran (b.1944) that led to a realisation that the Violet Quill club had, perhaps, strayed too far from its original purpose, to offer constructive criticism and not ridicule. A lot of tension had developed among the seven men as one couple after another split up and paired with another member, and the writers began using this as inspiration for their works.

Andrew Holleran is, with Felice Picano and Edmund White, the most prolific members of the club. Like all of the members he wrote about the privileged gay scene, culture and opportunities in a big city, something which most US gay men had no access to in the 1980s.

And now we come to the final two members of the Violet Quill, and they are the couple who will lead us further on our trip with “Gays Around the World”, where we will encounter more floral connections and a war. The couple in question are 9) Robert Ferro (1941-1988) and 10) Michael Grumley (1942-1988).

Star-Gayzing: Cervantes is a Real Star

In the past I’ve written a lot about minor planets (or asteroids, as they are also known) that are named after members of the lgbt+ community. I’ll be publishing another list in June. Some of the major and dwarf planets have names with lgbt+ associations (Jupiter/Zeus and Ganymede, for example). Further afield there are billions of stars waiting for us to give a name to.

For about 30 years astronomers have been discovering that a lot of stars have planets orbiting them. These are called exoplanets. Like every other object in the night sky that is discovered, whether they are stars, planets, asteroids or comets, they are given reference designations made up of letters and numbers. Not many of them have been given names, so today I’d like to concentrate on one of those stars and its exoplanets that have lgbt+ connections. This is the star system with the astronomical designation of Mu Arae.

First of all, where is Mu Arae? Its one of the stars in the little known constellation of Ara the Altar. This is a constellation immediately below the “tail” of Scorpius and can be seen in both the northern and southern hemispheres. It appears in the traditional sky lore of communities as far afield as the Mediterranean, China and Australia. None of Ara’s stars are particularly bright, and it doesn’t help that the Milky Way cuts straight behind it. In the star map below I have circled Mu Arae in red.

Now that we know where Mu Arae is, what is its new name? After a highly successful campaign the star was given the proper name Cervantes in 2015, after the great Spanish poet and author Miguel de Cervantes (1547-1616).

In the late 20th century there was a lot of questioning into Cervantes’ sexuality, largely based on his writings inspired by his experience in 16th century Algiers and its atmosphere of sexual freedom. Decades later there is still no definitive consensus among historians. I have an open mind on the subject.

Even if the sexuality of Cervantes is open to debate, that of the astrophysicist who led the campaign to have Mu Area named after him is not. His name is Javier Armentia (b.1962), and he is the Director of the Pamplona Planetarium in northern Spain. He is also a leading populariser of science, a broadcaster, and a member of 500 Queer Scientists.

The campaign to name Mu Arae (which will also retain this scientific designation) after Cervantes was a joint venture between the Pamplona Planetarium, the Cervantes Institute, and the Spanish Astronomy Society. The campaign was called Estrella Cervantes.

Two events prompted the Estrella Cervantes campaign. First was the International Astronomical Union’s (IAU) NameExoWorld project in 2015. This was aimed at encouraging public organisations to submit names for a selection of the many discovered exoplanets and their stars. The second was a double anniversary. The year 2015 was the 400th anniversary of the publication of the second part of Cervantes’ famous work “Don Quixote” (to give it its most common name), and it was also the approaching 400th anniversary of the death of Cervantes in 1616.

The Estrella Cervantes project appealed for support and votes. On 15th December 2015 the campaign was successful and the IAU officially announced that the star Mu Arae was to be given the name Cervantes. But that’s not all. We’re also talking about exoplanets. So what did the project proposed for the names of the four known planets orbiting Cervantes? They proposed names of characters from Cervantes’ work. Consequently, the IAU also officially announced that the names Dulcinea, Roxinante, Quijote and Sancho were to be given to the four planets.

There are many more stars and exoplanets that have been named over the past eight years. Many more are being discovered. A few years ago I wrote about three lgbt+ astronomers who are searching for them. Who knows what other famous lgbt+ names will end up out there in the future.

Extraordinary Life: The Japanese da Vinci - Part 2

After a really horrible first quarter of the year in which I have been battling illness, I really must apologise and catch up on my planned schedule. Last summer I wrote about the samurai who has been called the Japanese Leonardo da Vinci, Hiraga Gennai (1728-1870). The parallels between them aren’t exact but the sheer scope of Hiraga’s activity is more than enough to justify the comparison.

In that first article we left Hiraga relinquishing his feudal duties and abandoning any responsibilities to any feudal lord. He had the independence to pursue his own interests. A chronological survey of his life would see us jumping from one discipline to another. Individual surveys of each will reveal a better picture of Hiraga’s genius.

Let’s begin with the main focus of Part 1, which was Hiraga’s use of marketing. Product promotion isn’t something that was created in recent decades. The spread of the printing press across the globe from the 14th century helped to spread advertising and promotion more widely than any previous method. In Japan the development of printing during the first part of the Edo Period (1603-1868) saw a big increase in marketing, especially after paper prices began to drop.

The three main methods of advertising were product sponsorship of events, distribution of printed leaflets, and promotion of products during seasonal festivals. In fact, this is very much what we still see today. Hiraga used all of these methods. The third method was highlighted in Part 1 with his suggestion of promoting eels during the Midsummer Day of the Ox. This influenced others to sell their products and services in similar ways.

Among the other products Hiraga had a major hand in promoting was tooth powder, but he was also instrumental in the development of regional expositions of local products. He arranged several expositions from 1757, sending out invitations to potential exhibitors, writing and printing catalogues and promotional material and publicising them across a wide area. These expos increased national awareness in natural sciences such as pharmacology, agriculture and mining.

Hiraga’s interest in mining led to the setting up of several mining projects. Even though these eventually failed they did lead to the creation of the Arakawa River which greatly helped in the shipping of coal. One alarming mining project was finding a way to turn asbestos deposits into fire-resistant cloth.

Most of Hiraga’s accomplishments were influenced by his contact with Dutch merchants. The Dutch and Chinese were the only foreign merchants allowed into Japan and from them Hiraga learnt of the arts and sciences not known in Japan. Hiraga’s insatiable quest for knowledge drew him to the Dutch like a magnet. This made him a pioneer in Dutch studies in Japan, which is known as Rangaku.

Everything Hiraga learnt about European advances in science and technology came through observation and experimentation rather than formal tutoring. One of the devices he came across during his contact with Dutch merchants was a broken static electric generator. By disassembling it and working out how each part worked Hiraga managed to get the generator working again. It took him several years and the result caused a sensation. He gave public demonstrations of it working and gave electrotherapy to patients. Copies were made and other people began to use them in market places.

Another result of Hiraga’s contact with the Dutch was influenced by his knowledge of mineralogy and chemistry. As I mentioned above he developed mining techniques and he located a particularly good source of clay for producing high quality pottery. He persuaded the government to help him set up kilns and workshops, aimed at reducing the reliance on obtaining pottery from China or Holland. With influences from Dutch pottery Hiraga developed a new style that combined both Dutch and Japanese elements. This style became very popular and is now named after him – Gennai ware.

Hiraga’s knowledge of geology also led him to investigate the use of minerals in the production of paints and dyes. You’ll not be surprised to learn that Hiraga was an accomplished painter. Unfortunately, very little of his work survives, and there’s only one of his oil paintings known to exist today.

If you’ve read Part 1 of this Extraordinary Life you’ll probably be intrigued by a particular comment I made and are eager to know more. It was about Hiraga writing a book about farting whose title translates into English as “The Theory of Farting”. The title makes it sound like the book is a serious study of the subject, but is actually a satirical novel (Hiraga loved writing satire, which was a popular genre in his lifetime). The “Theory” is more of a discussion than a novel, not unlike ancient Greek philosophical works. The author describes his encounter with a street performer who could fart tunes and animal noises. A fellow spectator is appalled at the performance but the author goes into a speech on how farting is superior to any other art form. The performer is self taught, not a product of a school where he was taught to copy previous artists using established instruments and techniques. Hiraga is taking a dig at the artistic establishment, even though he was part of it himself. It reminds me of a performer called Methane Man who had a similar farting act and appeared on “Britain’s Got Talent”.

Hiraga was not just a satirist. He could turn his hand to other literary forms. His pioneering use of marketing was utilised in the catalogues he wrote for his many trade expositions; he write scientific books; and he write poetry. Hiraga’s homosexuality played a role in other works, such as a guide book on male prostitutes and passages on gay sex in his novels. One of his novels I am really interested to read is “Furyu shidoken”, Hiraga’s version of “Gulliver’s Travel”. The stories are not exact in content because it’s unlikely that Hiraga had actually seen a copy of “Gulliver’s Travels”. He may have heard snippets about the novel from his Dutch contacts and used these as inspiration for his own novel.

With the extraordinary variety of disciplines Hiraga Gennai took up it is highly appropriate to compare him with Leonado da Vinci. However, unlike da Vinci, Hiraga’s life ended on a down note. Several accounts of his final year vary in the detail but agree on the final outcome. In 1779 Hiraga was arrested for murder (of a carpenter or one of his disciples). Hiraga was imprisoned and died in jail at the end of the year.

Many scholarly works on Hiraga Gennai repeat the word “extraordinary” when describing his works, deeds and legacy. Like so much of east Asian history, comparatively very little is known in the west. While Hiraga may be unknown to the majority outside Japan in his native country, even in modern anime, his name is well known and familiar.

William and John: Part 5) Robin Hood

 “Robin Hood and his Merry Men Entertaining Richard the Lionheart” by Daniel Maclise (1806-1870). This painting was always on display at Nottingham Castle in my time there.

When I worked at Nottingham Castle the last weekend in October was the annual Robin Hood Pageant. The grounds were filled with craftsmen, re-enactors and jousting contests. Sadly, the last pageant at the castle was in 2018. To remind me of those happy days I’ll continue telling the lives of Sir John Clanvowe and Sir William Neville. In the previous article Sir William had been appointed Constable of Nottingham Castle.

You can’t think about Nottingham Castle without thinking of Robin Hood. I believe Sir John Clanvowe wrote the ballad “The Geste of Robyn Hode”, printed posthumously between 1493 and 1534 (“geste” means “adventure”). It contains a remarkable amount of similarities to people, places and events in the lives of Sir John, Sir William, and William's wife Elizabeth le Waleys.

I wrote a small e-book called “Robin Hood – Out of the Greenwood: His Gay Origins Revealed” in which I go into much more detail about my theory. You can purchase it from Amazon here. There is only room for a very brief explanation of my theory on this blog.

The earliest reference to Robin Hood as a subject of ballads is in "Piers Plowman, a poem written around 1377. One line says: “But I know rhymes of Robin Hood and Randolf, Earl of Chester", indicating that “rhymes”, or ballads, about Robin Hood were well known. Unfortunately no-one wrote those ballads down, meaning everything we know about Robin Hood the outlaw hero was written after 1377. Before then, many legal documents record Robin’s as a common alias adopted by criminals. "Piers Plowman" is the first time Robin is associated to ballads.

The other man mentioned with Robin in "Piers Plowman" was a real person, Randolf de Blundeville, 6th Earl of Chester (b.1170). By 1216 Randolf was the greatest magnate in all England and virtual ruler of Cheshire. He also appears in another ballad, probably written in 1260, named after another folk hero, "Fulke le Fitz Waryn". Its plot bears more than a passing resemblance to "The Geste of Robyn Hode”. The synopsis of both are interchangeable and goes like this -

The outlaw hero has a right-hand man called John who waylays travellers in a forest and brings them back to the camp for a meal with the hero. They pay for the meal with their valuables. One of the hero’s companions assumes a false identity in the presence of the hero’s archenemy. The disguised companion lures the archenemy into the forest where the hero kills him. The king hears about the outlaw hero and comes to deal with him in person. The king’s men injure one of the hero’s companions who begs to be killed. The hero seeks refuge with a friendly knight. The king can’t find anyone willing to help him find the hero, but eventually he finds and pardons the outlaw.

Historians are convinced that “The Geste of Robyn Hode” (which I’ll just refer to as “The Geste” from now on) was influenced by “Fulke le Fitz Warine”. The real Fulk FitzWarin was a popular folk hero in the county where Sir John Clanvowe was born and raised. I believe he based “The Geste” on “Fulke le Fitz Waryn” and moved the action from his home county to Nottinghamshire.

Elizabeth le Waleys, the wife of Sir John’s partner Sir William Neville, (explained here) was step-niece to King Robert the Bruce of Scotland whose ancestor Prince David of Scotland was married to the sister of Randolf, Earl of Chester.

The few surviving ballads about Robin Hood date from the 1400s. Scholars of language and grammar use in “The Geste” suggest it was originally written before 1400. The same grammar is used in "Piers Plowman" and Sir John Clanvowe’s own poem "The Boke of Cupide" throughout, suggesting it was written in their lifetime. The language in "The Geste” is also consistent with Sir John's Lollard writing (explained here) - another clue linking Sir John to “The Geste”.

"The Geste" is composed of four interwoven plotlines. The first and last are set in Barnsdale Forest, Yorkshire. The plotlines in the middle takes place in a forest in Nottinghamshire. Sherwood is never mentioned, it is only implied by us today because it is the only forest in Nottinghamshire. A manuscript from around 1410 contains the line "Robin Hood in Sherwood stood." However, another document of 1429 says "Robin Hood in Barnsdale stood”. Both are used in a similar fashion to someone today saying “Is the Pope Catholic?” meaning something is blatantly obvious. This suggests the locations were interchangeable. There’s much rivalry today between Nottinghamshire and Yorkshire over which county Robin Hood comes from. The answer is, both. The forests were a short distance from each other, and the main road from London to York runs through both.

The author of “The Geste” shows a geographical knowledge of specific locations in both areas. Sir William Neville’s wife Elizabeth owned several manors in Barnsdale, and William himself was Constable of Nottingham Castle. Sir John Clanvowe would have known both areas well, and my theory is that he used this knowledge of both areas to write “The Geste”.

It’s difficult to imagine Robin Hood without King Richard the Lionheart and his brother, the evil Prince John. One read of "The Geste" and you are struck by the absence of both. The only king mentioned is Edward. Before 1400 there were only three kings called Edward – a father, son, and grandson - who reigned beween 1272 and 1377. But which King Edward is featured in “The Geste”?

Edward II was the most frequent to visit Nottingham and is the most widely accepted candidate by modern historians. One visit of note was in 1323-4 when he came in pursuit of outlaws whom he later pardons, as King Edward does in “The Geste”. One of those pardoned was Sir Richard le Waleys, Elizabeth le Waleys’ grandfather.

One interesting fact is the presence of a real man named Robin Hood in documents relating to this visit. Robin is one of Edward's porters, but about six months later he leaves the king's service. In "The Geste" Robin Hood joins the king's service after being pardoned and leaves a year later. Was this Robin Hood the man who was turned into an outlaw hero by ballad writers, and was the man whose “rhymes” became widely known by the time “Piers Plowman” was written in around 1377?

This is just an outline of some of my research. Historians of medieval literature agree that “The Geste” was written by a competent author, someone writing in the late 1300s whose work was considered worthy of saving and printing in the 1490s. None of the known English writers or poets of the late 1300s can be connected to “The Geste” in as many different ways as Sir John Clanvowe, either directly or through his partner Sir William Neville and William’s wife Elizabeth.

In the next part of “William and John“, published some time next year, I’ll continue to look at the Robin Hood connection and some of the famous characters in “The Geste” and reveal more family ties to Sir John, Sir William and Elizabeth, including Little John and the Sheriff of Nottingham.

Pardon His Sexuality

Last December I mentioned that I studied Geoffrey Chaucer’s “The Canterbury Tales” at college. I still dip into it now and again, always reading it in its original Middle English. Chaucer is often called the father of English Poetry. He was one of the first poets to write in English rather than in French which was the written language of the English court at the time, or Latin, the written language of the Church. Even further back in this blog I revealed that it was Chaucer and a gay friend, the poet Sir John de Clanvowe, who created St. Valentine’s Day.

“The Canterbury Tales” consist of a series of tall tales and allegorical stories told by a group of pilgrims on their way from London to Canterbury. The characters were all caricatures of familiar stereotypes of Chaucer’s time, though some of their occupations are obscure to say the least. The Knight, the Miller and the Friar present no problem (because Chaucer doesn’t give them personal names I’ll use a capital first letter when referring to the pilgrim and a lower-case first letter when referring to their profession). But what did the Franklin, Manciple, or Reeve do? Today we’ll look at two of the pilgrims and discover how Chaucer presented their sexuality and gender.

First, the Pardoner. In the medieval Church bishops appointed men to go from church to church issuing pardons or indulgencies. These were documents recording a person’s admission and repentance of sin. By the time of “The Canterbury Tales” many pardoners were selling fake indulgencies and keeping the money for themselves. Some also sold fake religious relics, such as a chicken bone they claimed was a saint’s finger. Another duty of the pardoners was to collect alms and money for charity. Chaucer tells us that his Pardoner money for the Hospital of Blessed Mary of Rounceval at Charing Cross in London (long since demolished to widen the road at one end of Northumberland Avenue at Trafalgar Square). This hospital was at the centre of a scandal involving the theft of alms money by the hospital proctors. Chaucer is making it clear that the Pardoner is not to be trusted.

Chaucer introduces his pilgrims in the General Prologue. After mentioning that the Pardoner is a friend of the Summoner (more about him later) Chaucer describes the Pardoner as follows (in my translation):

“This Pardoner had hair as yellow as wax,
But smooth it hung like a clump of flax;

Hanging in small strands these locks he had,

And over his shoulders they over-spread,

But in long, thin strands one by one.

As for a hood, to look more attractive, he wore none,

For it was packed in his knapsack all the while.

He thought he rode wearing the latest style

With flowing hair, except for a cap his head was bare,

Such staring eyes he had, like a hare.

A pilgrim badge was sewn into his cap.

He carried a small pouch in a large pocket

Full of pardons from Rome.

He had a voice as high-pitched as a goat.

He had no beard, nor will he ever have,

As smooth as he had just have a shave.

I believe he was gelding or a mare.”

To medieval readers this physical description gave them no reason to question the Pardoner’s gender or sexual identity. His hair, voice and beardless chin all indicated to them that this pilgrim was a eunuch or an effeminate man, what we might describe in our modern labels as intersex or homosexual.Over the past hundred years scholars have analysed the Pardoner’s gender and sexuality. The biggest clue given by Chaucer is the final line, “I believe he was a gelding or a mare”. A gelding is a castrated horse, and a mare is a female horse, of course, clearly indicating a eunuch and effeminate man. The popular medical opinions at that time suggested eunuchs were cunning and devious which when added to the corruption attributed to his profession makes the Pardoner come across as a very unpleasant character.

Once scholars had looked at the Pardoner’s gender and sexuality they began looking at his relationship with another pilgrim, the Summoner, also a church official. As the name suggests a summoner issues summons to people called to appear before church courts (usually for things like adultery or heresy). Like pardoners, summoners often took bribes and had a very corrupt image. As far as Chaucer’s Summoner is concerned there couldn’t be a character of a more opposite physical appearance to the Pardoner. It seems strange that these two characters could ever become friends.

he Summoner is described in the General Prologue immediately before the Pardoner as follows (again my own translation):

A Summoner was with us in that place

Who had a fiery-red and cherubic face,

All pimpled he was, and his eyes were narrow,

As horny and lecherous as is a sparrow.

With black scabby eyebrows and straggly beard

His face was one that children feared.

There was no mercury, lead compound or sulphur,

Borax, white lead tincture or cream of tartar,

No ointment that could cleanse or bite

To rid him of his pustules white,

Nor of the boils on his cheeks.”

Not a man pleasing to look at. Chaucer also says that he ate a lot of garlic, onions and leeks washed down with red wine. It is in this inebriated state that the Summoner seems to spend all of this time on the road to Canterbury. I should explain here the brief reference to a sparrow. The idea that sparrows were lecherous is centuries old and no-one really knows why the birds have gained this reputation. Thankfully this reputation has disappeared since Chaucer’s time.

So, why would an academic think that the unpleasant, smelly Summoner would be the sexual partner of the Pardoner, for that is what they have suggested? The answer lies in the lines which come a little afterwards when the Pardoner is introduced. Again, here’s my translation of the Middle English text:

“With him rode a gentle Pardoner

Of Rouncival, his friend and companion,

Who had come straight from Rome.

Very loudly he sang “Come hither, my love, to me!”

The Summoner provided him with a strong bass line,

There wasn’t a trumpet that can make half the sound.”

These two pilgrims are singing a love song, and that’s what prompts some scholars to think they are partners. Added to this are the words “stif burdoun” in the original text which I, following others, have translated as “strong bass line”.

One theory put forward is that “stif burdoun” (“stif” is the same as “stiff”) is slang for a sexual act based purely, it seems to me, on the interpretation of “stif” and how you interpret the Summoner giving it to the Pardoner. Modern usage of “stiff” in relation to sexual acts is commonplace, and this presents an obvious interpretation. This theory is tenuous in my view.

Added to this tenuous interpretation is the meaning of the word “burdoun”. This was indeed an old word for a bass accompaniment to a song in medieval times. But it was also one of the medieval variant spellings of “burden”, meaning a donkey or ass. Donkeys, asses and horses have always been popularly regarded as being particularly well-endowed, so the interpretation of “stif burdoun” as “stiff donkey” could be seen by some to imply a sexual act.

Whether it is medieval double entendre or a modern misinterpretation there’s nothing else to link the Pardoner and the Summoner sexually. As for the idea that they are singing a love song to each other, all I can say is that I have lived in a city centre from over 20 years and have often been out and about in the pubs and clubs on a Friday and Saturday night. Without exception there has been groups or couples of men staggering around the streets singing popular modern love songs. They are singing together, not to each other. This is also my interpretation of the song of the Pardoner and the Summoner.

To end this rather lengthy entry, here’s a video of the Pardoner’s Tale from the animated series of “The Canterbury Tales” produced a couple of decades ago. It’s in modern English, though I can’t say it’s a completely accurate translation. What is accurate is the visual portrayals of the Pardoner and the Summoner.

Advent 4: Scrooge

One of the constant elements of a 21st century Christmas is the classic ghost story “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens. Ever since it was first published in 1843 it has become a feature of the British Christmas.

Many adaptations have been produced over the years, though the original version remains at the top of the list. Even in the 21st century public readings of the original story are popular, and no more so than those performed in the UK by the gay actor Simon Callow (b.1949). Because of the popularity of his readings of “A Christmas Carol” Simon even got to play Dickens in two episodes of “Doctor Who”. The first was in the 2005 episode “The Unquiet Dead” which, even though being set on Christmas Eve 1869, was actually broadcast in April. I often watch it again with all the other Doctor Who Christmas Specials. Simon’s second Doctor Who appearance was a cameo part in the episode “The Wedding of River Song” (2011).

Film versions of “A Christmas Carol” are many and varied. They range from the 1938 version with Reginald Owen as Scrooge to the contemporary setting of “Scrooged” starring Bill Murray (my favourite modern retelling of the story). Many more contemporary version abound, usually appallingly bad and made by the Hallmark channel. One of the best and most often screened version is the more traditional “Scrooge” (called “A Christmas Carol” in the US) made in 1951 with the wonderful Alistair Sim as Ebenezer Scrooge.

The film was directed by Brian Desmond Hurst (1895-1986), an openly gay Irishman who is virtually forgotten today but who directed several other popular British films like “Dangerous Moonlight” and “Tom Brown’s Schooldays”.

Brian’s background reads like a typical Charles Dickens novel. He was born into Victorian poverty and baptised Hans Moore Hawthorn Hurst. He was the seventh child of a poor metalworker in the Belfast shipyards. Brian’s mother died in childbirth three years later and his father remarried. Brian’s new stepmother had a daughter from a previous marriage and she made no attempt to show favour to her daughter and the subsequent three children she had with Brian’s father.

Brian’s father was often unemployed and moved around the shipyards of Northern Ireland to find work. The strain of supporting his large family led to bouts of alcoholism. One of the last jobs Brian’s father was involved with was the construction of the Titanic.

Brian joined the 10th (Irish) Division of the 6th Royal Irish Rifles during World War I. During that war he changed his first name from Hans to Brian to sound less German and more Irish. Brian’s first major posting was to Gallipoli, where half of his battalion were killed in the battle.

After the war Brian lived in Canada, partly to escape the “Irish Troubles”, as the militant independence campaigns were called. In Toronto he studied journalism. There he dropped his middle names, Moore Hawthorn, in favour of Desmond, another traditional Irish name.

So, as Brian Desmond Hurst he went to the US and managed to work as a scenery designer for the great Hollywood film director John Ford (himself of Irish parentage). Through Ford Brian gained experience in the cinematic processes and the two remained life-long friends.

Back in the UK Brian began making short films. He tried to get backing to found an Irish film industry but was unsuccessful. During World War II Brian was recruited by the British government to make short propaganda films. One of several feature-length films he made during this period was “Dangerous Moonlight” (1941), one of the most popular British films of that period. Brian’s own favourite war-time film was “This is the Glory” (1946), a documentary-style reconstruction of the Battle of Arnhem. It was the highest grossing war film until the mid-1950s.

By now Brian was a highly sought after director and he continued to produce popular films, and in 1951 he directed “Scrooge”. This was just one of a series of film adaptations of Dickens’ novels that were being made by various British studios and directors.

Brian Hurst’s “Scrooge” wasn’t an exact adaptation of the story. Scrooge’s life story was expanded, and there is a feel of film noir about it. Perhaps the great success of the film, and the only thing that most British people remember, is the portrayal of Scrooge by one of the UK’s best loved character actors, Alistair Sim.

The success of “Scrooge” has overshadowed Brian Hurst’s other work, though I don’t think he had any problem with that. In the 1950s and 60s the British film industry was turning away from the type of film Brian made and he gradually turned somewhat reclusive. Towards the end of his life he enjoyed a resurgence of interest in himself and is films. The British Film Institute celebrated his 80th birthday in 1975 and several plaques were erected in his name in both England and Ireland. A sort-of biography was published after his death called “The Empress of Ireland”. He is gradually making his way back to the top tier of the best British and Irish film directors of all time.

Brian Hurst’s “Scrooge” is being broadcast on British television several times on different channels this Christmas, even several times on the same channel. If you see it advertised where you live have a look at it, if you haven’t seen it before.

All that’s left for me to say is Merry Christmas, but before I go I’ll let you know that my next article on New Year’s Eve will feature, at last, my list of lgbt Olympians, which now stands at 427 names.

Advent 3: Sir Gawain and the Green Knight

One of the illustrations by Oscar Senonez from “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight” in “A Visit from St. Nicholas and other Merry Tales”, 2019 (originally published in “Storytime”, February 2015).

One of my favourite Christmas stories is “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight”, a poem written in the 14th century. Obviously, being that old means it wasn’t written in modern English. It was written in Middle English. Thankfully, I studied Middle English for two years during my “A” Level English course at college and fell in love with it. The course involved reading and studying Chaucer’s “The Canterbury Tales” in its original language. Since then, any piece of Middle English has appealed to me and “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight” was a poem I was desperate to read in its original language.

In 1999 I bought a paperback edition of “Sir Gawain” in Middle English and over ten years I read it every Christmas. I haven’t read it for a number of years because I couldn’t find the time, but this year there’s plenty of time to read it again because I’m on furlough from work.

As I mentioned last Sunday “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight” is an early surviving example of the tradition of setting a supernatural or ghost story at Christmas. With the growth of queer theory that developed in the 1960s “Sir Gawain” has become subjected to analysis. This has been especially so since the 1990s.

More often than not I’ve read an academic paper on the queer interpretation of the poem and laughed out loud at its contrived and over-analysed pomposity. The majority of the authors are not medieval scholars. I don’t have any academic qualifications or letters after my name but, as I’ve already said, I did study the Middle English language literature for those two years in college. After that I spent eight years studying medieval culture when I was a historical re-enactor and tour guide at Gainsborough Old Hall. Then I studied medieval literature in detail for six years during my research into Sir John Clanvowe, the gay poet who may have written the most famous ballad about Robin Hood. I think I have sufficient knowledge in medieval history and culture to criticise those queer theorists with some authority.

Having given my personal opinion, why do I disagree with the queer theories of “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight”? Let’s look at the section of the poem which all the queer theorists concentrate on. It’s a section in the second half when Sir Gawain has reached the castle of Sir Bertilak.

Sir Bertilak goes out hunting on three successive days. Each morning he declares to Sir Gawain that whatever animal he kills on the hunt he will give to him in exchange for anything his wife gives Sir Gawain in his absence. This sounds like a strange request to our modern ears, but in medieval literature this sort of pact is common. Medieval poems are full of these temptation challenges.

On the first day when Sir Bertilak is out hunting his wife slips into Sir Gawain’s room and tries to seduce him. All Gawain allows her to do is give him a kiss on his cheek. When Bertilak returns he gives Gawain the deer he has hunted down and Gawain gives him a kiss on the cheek. Bertilak is not alarmed by this.

The same thing happens on the next two days. Gawain receives two kisses on the second day and three on the third, and he gives them to Bertilak in exchange for a boar and a fox. However, as well as the kiss on day three Bertilak’s wife gives Gawain a green sash which she says will act as a talisman against the Green Knight he is to face in the coming days. Gawain doesn’t tell Sir Bertilak about this gift.

I won’t spoil the ending of the story as you may want to read it yourself – there’s lots of modern translations around. In fact I was surprised to see the story contained in a children’s book called “A Visit from St. Nicholas and other Merry Tales”, retold by Maxine Berry, on sale in the Pond Shop (Dollar Store) earlier this month (yes, I bought a copy, I couldn’t resist!).

What queer theorists always suggest is that there’s a latent homosexual, or at least a homosocial, motive behind it. This shows an obvious lack of research and understanding of medieval attitudes towards intimacy and knightly expectation. Like a lot of people today, they aren’t capable of separating a kiss from sex.

Kissing was, and still is (social distancing permitting) a common feature in Christian worship. Medieval chivalry was based upon it and knights would kiss their sovereign, on either the cheek or the hand, when they received their knighthood. The kiss of Christian love is also still common in some churches. Queer theorists fall into the 19th century trap of thinking that a kiss can only be sexual, they have no understanding of the social history of kissing.

Queer theorists also comment on long descriptions which the poem gives to the physical attributes of both Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Again, they suggest that there is some form of sexual or homosocial reason for this. These descriptions only serve emphasise their ability to be a perfect knight. Being a knight was not for wimps and the lazy. Gawain was a young man, and the poem is telling its readers that he is as strong and as able as any experienced knight to carry out his quest. Similarly, the physical description of the Green Knight only serves to indicate this power and strength, not as an appeal to the medieval reader’s sexual desire. I wonder what those queer theorists would think about sports commentators remarking on the physique and prowess of athletes. Are those commentators disguising a homosexual meaning?

Calling upon my extensive knowledge of the medieval period, its poetry, its culture, its chivalric ideals and Christian attitudes I find nothing in any queer theory of “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight” that is valid or based on fact.

But I’ll leave you to make your own decision. “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight” is a marvellous adventure story. I never tire of reading it and I recommend you buy a copy and read it yourself, there’s plenty of modern translations out there. Perhaps, like the Amelia Edwards Christmas ghost stories I wrote about last week, Sir Gawain will become popular again and rival “A Christmas Carol”. Speaking of which, “A Christmas Carol” is the final piece of literature I’ll write about next Sunday, the last Sunday in Advent.

Advent 2: Christmas Ghosts

In October I wrote about Amelia Edwards’ role in the foundation of the science of Egyptology. Before she became an Egyptologist Amelia was a best-selling popular novelist. The most popular were her ghost stories.

When it comes to Christmas ghosts stories our mind turns automatically to Charles Dickens and “A Christmas Carol”, published in 1843 (more of that in two weeks’ time). “A Christmas Carol” probably popularised the telling of ghostly or supernatural stories at Christmastime though in some form the tradition goes back hundreds of years. One of the most popular pre-19th century stories is the 14th century “Sir Gawain and the Green Knight” (more of that next Sunday).

Perhaps the most famous Christmas ghost, Marley’s ghost from “A Christmas Carol” as portrayed with great gusto (and pain!) by the gay actor Sir Alec Guinness in “Scrooge”.

Amelia Edwards knew Charles Dickens and she was a regular contributor to the weekly magazine “Household Words” which he founded and edited. Amelia’s ghost stories appeared in the successor to that magazine called “All The Year Round”, again edited by Dickens, and later by his son, which ran from 1859 to 1895.

Early in each year Dickens would invite a handful of authors to write a story of the Christmas issue of “All The Year Round”. He gave them a general idea of the overall theme of the issue and he would write the bulk of it himself, often with Wilkie Collins, and write pieces linking his work with those submitted by the other authors.

Amelia Edwards wrote about two dozen ghost stories and they have been reprinted in various anthologies ever since. The ones she wrote for the “All The Year Round” Christmas issues are the ones I’ll write about today.

SPOILER ALERT: If you want to read the stories yourself, and they’re all available in print or online, skip to the last paragraph below if you don’t want to know what happens in each story.

The first ghost story appeared in the Christmas 1860 issue which had the overall title of “A Message From The Sea”. Amelia’s contribution was part of chapter three, “The Club”. There was no individual title for her section though it was later called “Oswald Penrewen’s Story” when reprinted in anthologies.

“Oswald Penrewen’s Story” is pretty tame by modern standards, or even compared against “A Christmas Carol”. It tells of a traveller in Switzerland who meets a music-box seller. The seller says he is to be married soon and can’t wait to get back home, so he decides to take a short-cut over the mountains. The next day the traveller hears the sound of a music-box drifting down from the mountains. Feeling fearful for the seller’s safety he and some acquaintances go up into the hills and discover the music-box seller’s body at the bottom of a cliff. I told you it was tame.

Amelia’s next Christmas story appeared in the issue published on 12th December 1861. This issue was entitled “Tom Tiddler’s Ground”. Amelia’s story, “Picking Up Terrible Company”, is more of a murder story than a ghost story, so I’ll leave it and move on to 1863.

The Christmas 1863 issue of “All The Year Round” is regarded as the most popular work Charles Dickens produced after “A Christmas Carol”. It was titled “Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings”. Amelia Edward’s contribution was called “How the Third Floor Knew The Potteries”.

The story tells of a young man called Ben who works as a night watchman at a pottery furnace. Every night his boss, George, tells him of his suspicions about a new employee, a French porcelain painter, who is making advances on his fiancée. A few weeks later George disappears. Then, one night while he is guarding the furnaces, Ben sees George, who walks towards one of the furnaces – then vanishes. The next morning the furnace is emptied and George’s bones are found inside.

The popularity of the “Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings” issue led to the 1864 Christmas issue being a direct sequel, “Mrs. Lirriper’s Legacy”. Amelia’s contribution was “Another Past Lodger Relates His Own Ghost Story”. This is the tale of a man trying to get home in a snowstorm by catching a ride on a mail coach (which would accept passengers). He is told of a disaster that befell the coach nine years earlier when it crashed killing all passengers. Gradually the man realises his fellow passengers are very gaunt and pale. The coach then crashes in the same spot as it did nine years earlier and the passengers disappear. The man survives to tell the tale by falling into a snowdrift.

Amelia’ final Christmas ghost story for “All The Year Round” appeared in the 1865 issue. This had a railway theme and was called “Mugby Junction”. For “Doctor Who” fans, this is the issue in which “The Signal Man” appears. In the episode “The Unquiet Dead” the Doctor tells Dickens it his favourite ghost story.

Amelia’s story is called “No. 5 Branch Line: The Engineer”, later published as simply “The Engineer’s Story”. This is a tale of rivalry between two friends, Ben and Mat. While working as railway engineers in Italy they both fall for the same local girl. The friends argue and Ben stabs Mat. Ben then blames the girl for making him kill his friend and tries to take revenge by driving a train on which she is a passenger over a broken track and into a raging river. At the last minute Mat’s ghost appears and stops the train just in time.

All of these stories, and Amelia’s other ghost stories, are still in print or online. Whatever and wherever you are this Christmas I hope you find time to read some of Amelia Edwards’ ghost stories. Let’s try to turn them into a popular Christmas tradition as big as “A Christmas Carol”.