I notice this morning a short item about a museum in Athy about explorer Ernest Shackleton, who was born in Kilkea which is near Athy. There was a museum there before, but it has been much expanded and renovated. I must make an expedition there one day to see it, as Athy is in County Kildare only about 60km to the south of Maynooth.
Seeing this article reminded me that some months ago I watched a documentary series called Shackleton: Death or Glory. It’s not a new series, but I hadn’t seen it before, and found it gripping and inspiring. You can see the entire series (3 episodes) on Youtube here. The idea was to reproduce the situation that Shackleton and his crew faced in 1916 when they had to abandon their expedition to cross Antarctica when their ship, Endurance, was trapped in the ice. The courage and leadership he showed in saving all their lives is awe-inspiring.
To cut a long and amazing story short, in 1914 Shackleton led an expedition to cross Antarctica on foot for the first time. But disaster struck before even reaching the continent. His ship Endurance was trapped in sea ice and he and his 27 men were marooned. Realising that the ship would be crushed, he ordered the crew to take everything they could, including the (three) lifeboats. They made a camp on the ice and stayed there several months, but it was clear they could not remain there indefinitely, so they set off with their provisions in the lifeboats towards Elephant Island, a perilous journey of almost 300 km, through freezing water thick with blocks of ice.
Elephant Island was safer that the ice shelf from which they had escaped but it was nowhere near any trade route so chance of being rescued by a passing ship was zero. The outlook was grim. A slow death from starvation and exposure seemed inevitable.
Shackleton could see only one (remote) possibility of rescue, which was to take one of the boats and try to find help. That meant travelling across the open sea to South Georgia, a journey of some 1500 km. Not just any sea, mind you: the notoriously stormy and treacherous South Atlantice. It was a very tall order but in his diary he calmy recorded his thought process, which was basically that if they all stayed put they would certainly die and if the rescue party perished those left behind would be no worse off. He had to take the chance.
Shackelton picked five men and set off in one of the lifeboats – a 22ft wooden vessel – across the merciless ocean, in an apparently desperate attempt to reach the only possible help at the Stromness Whaling station in South Georgia. The rest of the crew – 22 men – were left on Elephant Island.
Almost unbelievably, Shackleton and his five men survived 16 days at sea and made the crossing. But his gruelling mission didn’t end there, because they arrived on the wrong side of the island of South Georgia. The boat and two of the crew were in poor shape by then so they could not continue by sea. Shackleton, taking two men with him, had to traverse about 40km of an unchartered mountain range, without any mountaineering equipment in order to reach the safety of Stromness. Shackleton successfully raised the alarm, but the story was still far from over. The first thing Shackleton had to do was collect the two men he had left on the other side of South Georgia. All six were safe.
Now he had to think about the other 22 still at Elephant Island. In search of more appropriate ships, Shackleton went first to the Falkland Islands and then to Chile. Several rescue attempts failed, because of the pack ice and, once because of a fire onboard. Eventually he persuaded the Chilean Navy to lend him a steam tug, the Yelcho, which made it to Elephant Island. The men there were in poor shape, hungry and demoralised, almost but they were all alive. Against all the odds, Shackleton, saved every single one of his men from what must have seemed like certain death.
Aside from his physical courage and endurance, two characteristics exemplify the quality of Ernest Shackleton’s leadership: one is that he would never ask any of his men to do anything he wouldn’t do himself, and the other is that he put the wellbeing of his men at the centre of all his decisions. Can you say those things about your “Leader”?
These days we hear a lot of talk, in various contexts, about leadership but most of the people who claim to show leadership don’t know the meaning of the word. Next time you hear some useless twit claiming to be a leader, think about Ernest Shackleton and judge them by his standards.
While writing yesterday’s post about the evolution of languages, and the importance of genetic information in reconstructing the story thereof, I was reminded of a post I wrote a while ago about the peculiarities of my own genome, a listing of which I have on a CD-ROM at home. There’s not as much data involved as you might think: it’s effectively only about 800 MB.
Anyway, to cut a long story short, it turns out that I have the CCR5-Δ32 genetic mutation. Not only that, I have it twice over, in that I have two copies (homozygotes). I must therefore have inherited it from both parents. This mutation confers virtually complete immunity from HIV-1 infection.
The above graphic shows that more than 10% of the population in Northern Europe has this mutation in just one allele (i.e. they are heterozygotic). To get an estimate of how many have the form on two alleles (i.e. homozygotic) form you can just square that number, so around 1% or more.
It is thought that the CCR5-Δ32 mutation occurred in a single individual in Scandinavia around 1,000 years ago. When I wrote that post I tacitly assumed that it had propagated passively, i.e. without any particular selection, to the modern era. That it reached 10% of the population starting from just one individual surprised me, but I let it pass.
More recently, I came across a paper about how advances in genetics have impacted epidemiological studies. In the abstract it shows that my assumption was probably incorrect.
Algorithms of molecular evolutionary theory suggested that the CCR5-Δ32 mutation occurred but once in the last millennium and rose by strong selective pressure relatively recently to a ~10% allele frequency in Europeans.
It goes on to say this:
Several lines of evidence support the hypothesis that CCR5-Δ32 was selected due to its protective influence to resist Yersinia pestis, the agent of the Black Death/bubonic plague of the 14th century.
I didn’t mention in yesterday’s post that evidence of the plague bacillus is found in a significant number of prehistoric human remains and this almost certainly played a role in the ebb and flow of populations. In the context of CCR5-∆32, however it seems that it may have been advantageous to carry it long before the arrival of HIV/AIDS. That might account for it reaching the relatively high level that it did.
Among the downsides, however, as the article explains, are an increased risk for encephalomyelitis and death when infected with the West Nile virus. Hopefully further cohort studies of people with this mutation will help elucidate its effect on other diseases.
By the way, in contrast to most people I know, I have still never had Covid-19…
I interrupted the sequence of novels I’ve been reading recently to absorb a non-fiction book, Proto by Laura Spinney (left). I find linguistics a fascinating subject and when I saw a review of this recently and couldn’t resist. I’m glad I bought it because it’s absolutely fascinating. It is the story – or at least a very plausible account of the story of the lost ancestor of the Indo-European languages, the methods that have been used to reconstruct “Proto”, and why it was the spark that generated so many other languages across Europe, Eurasia and India.
The topic is very complex and I won’t attempt to describe it all in depth here; each chapter could be a book in itself because each family of languages within the Indo-European group – including lost ones such as Tocharian – has its own fascinating story. There are chapters focussing on the origins of language itself, the possibilities surround Proto (a language that was never written and probably exists in many dialects), Anatolian, Tocharian, Celtic, Germanic and Italic, the Indo-Iranian group (based on Sanskrit), Baltic and Slavic, and Albanian, Armenian and Greek. The last of these is fascinating because it used a method of writing borrowed from a non-Indo-European source that became the origin of the European alphabet.
The story of which all these are subplots begins around the Black Sea shortly after end of the last Ice Age. In this area there lived mesolithic hunter-gatherers who had survived the ice who interacted with farmers moving up from the direction of modern day Syria. Their languages would have merged in some way to allow them to describe things that their neighbours had that they didn’t. Hunter-gatherers would not have words for, e.g., ploughing or barley while farmers would have fewer words for spears and other hunting equipment. Into this mix, the argument goes, came a third group, a fully nomadic culture called the Yamnaya people. These people and their successors subsequently underwent vast migrations from the steppes across the continent and were responsible for spreading the Proto-Indo-European languages. That’s a hypothesis, not a proven fact, but it is plausible and has a reasonable amount of evidence in its favour.
Recent progress in this field has been driven not only by linguists but also by archaeologists and geneticists, with each aspect of this triangulation vital. It was reading about archaeology in this book that prompted me to write a post about the Nebra Sky Disc. There are some fascinating snippets from palaeogenetics, too. Full DNA sequences are now known for about 10,000 individuals who lived in prehistoric times.
One extraordinary find involves two burials of individuals who both lived about 5,000 years ago. Their DNA profiles match so well that they were probably second cousins or first cousins once removed. The thing is that one of them was buried in the Don Valley, north-east of Rostov in modern-day Russian, while the other was found 3,000 km away in the Altai mountains. Assuming they were both buried where they died, the implications for the distance over which people could move in a lifetime are remarkable.
Another fascinating genetic snippet applies to Irish, a Celtic language. The Celtic languages derive from a proto-Celtic source that probably arose about 1000 BC. Around 2450 BC one of the cultures preceding the Celts arrived in Britain and Ireland, now called the Bell Beaker People because of their taste in pottery. The genetic record shows that the DNA of the Beaker folk replaced about 90% of the previous local gene pool, and all of the Y chromosomes; for some reason men of the earlier culture stopped fathering children. A similar change happened in Ireland, about 200 years later.One possible inference is that there was a violent conquest involving the erasure of the male population, but we don’t know for sure that it was sudden and catastrophic.
Whatever language the Beaker people brought with them was not Celtic (though it may have been Indo-European). The fascinating conundrum is that when Celtic languages arrived in Ireland whoever brought them left not a trace in the genetic record. This is unlike any of the similar changes in language use throughout European pre-history. Either the population responsible has not been identified or the language was spread through communication (e.g. for trade) rather than settlement. Irish may be a Celtic language, but there is little evidence of significant numbers of Celts settling here and bringing it with them.
Some time ago I wrote a post about the Celtic languages, which you might want to look at if you’re interested in this topic. A lot of that post I now realize to be very simplistic, but to add one other snippet I should mention that the name of Turkish football team Galatasaray translates to “Palace of the Celts” after the Celtic-speaking people who settled in Anatolia; these were the Galatians to whom Paul addressed his Epistle.
I thoroughly recommend this fascinating book. It made me want to find out more about so many things. It also gacve me additional motivation to pursue an idea I had a while ago to do a Masters in Linguistics wehn I retire from physics…
This remarkable object is made of bronze, is around 30 cm diameter and weighs about 2.2 kg. It has a blue-green patina and is inlaid with gold symbols, usually interpreted as the full moon, a lunar crescent, and stars, including a cluster of seven stars, thought to represent the Pleiades. The gold arc on the right probably represents the Sun’s path between the solstices; the angle subtended by the arc (82°) is the correct angle sunrise at the summer and winter solstices and at the latitude of the discovery site (Mittelberg, near Nebra, in Germany); there was probably another such arc on the other side of the disk (now lost). Remarkably, the tin used in making the bronze from which it is formed has been traced by metallurgical analysis to Cornwall.
The Nebra disc has been dated to c. 1800–1600 BCE (Bronze Age) which makes it the oldest (certain) depiction of celestial phenomena known from anywhere in the world. In November 2021, a replica of the Nebra Sky Disc was taken by German astronaut Matthias Maurer to the International Space Station.
Tidying a few things up ahead of the start of term I discovered this old clipping, yellowed with age, and decided to scan it before it disintegrates entirely:
It is from the (then) Manchester Guardian which is now known as the Grauniad. The article is dated 1st October 1921, which implies that the talk must have been on the afternoon of Friday 30th September 1921. However, the University of Manchester website states that the talk was on June 9th 1921. During his visit, Einstein was awarded an Honorary Doctorate of Science by the University of Manchester, which is recorded here as having been presented on June 8th, so it appears the Guardian piece was published some time after the event. As usual, Einstein gave his lecture – to a packed house – entirely in German, as he did when he lectured in Nottingham almost a decade later.
Einstein was already famous by 1921 – largely thanks to the 1919 Eclipse results (see, e.g., here) – but it was still before he won his Nobel Prize (in 1922).
Anyway, the text down the right-hand side of the Guardian piece can be found here; it’s well worth reading!
On September 4th, when I posted a piece about the forthcoming Presidential Election in Ireland, I forgot to mention that just two days earlier was the 50th anniversary of the funeral of Éamon de Valera, founder of Fianna Fáil (one of the two largest political parties in Ireland) and architect of the Irish constitution, who died on 29th August 1975 at the age of 92. Here’s some coverage at the time by (British) Movietone News, the commentary is rather generous to him:
De Valera (nickname `Dev’) is an enigmatic figure, who was a Commandant in the Irish Republican Army during the 1916 Easter Rising, but despite being captured he somehow evaded execution by the British. There’s no evidence, incidentally, that he escaped the firing squad because he was born in America. Dev subsequently became Taoiseach (Prime Minister) and then President (Head of State) of the Irish Republic.
Eamon de Valera, photographed sometime during the 1920s.
There’s no question in my mind that de Valera is the most significant Irish politician of the 20th Century, which is not to say I fid him an agreeable figure at all and his legacy isn’t particularly positive. Nevertheless, his funeral was perhaps as significant event for the Irish as that of Winston Churchill had been for the British just a decade earlier.
Over the past couple of weeks RTÉ television broadcast a two-part documentary called Dev: Rise and Rule; the second part was on last night. It is quite nicely made, but disappointingly superficial and lacking in any real historical insight. The suggestion that it would “decode” Dev was unfulfilled. This is a pity because RTÉ often does good documentaries.
Anyway, this gives me an excuse to mention again, Dev’s connection with Maynooth. De Valera was a mathematics graduate, and for a short time (1912-13) he was Head of the Department of Mathematics and Mathematical Physics at St Patrick’s College, Maynooth, which was then a recognised college of the National University of Ireland. The Department became incorporated in Maynooth University when it was created in 1997. Mathematical Physics is no longer a part of the Mathematics Department at Maynooth, having first become a Department in its own right, then changing its name to the Department of Theoretical Physics and then, just last year, being subsumed within a new Department of Physics.
De Valera missed out on a Professorship in Mathematical Physics at University College Cork in 1913. He joined the the Irish Volunteers, when it was established the same year. And the rest is history. I wonder how differently things would have turned out had he got the job in Cork?
Quinto expeditionum anno nave prima transgressus1 ignotas ad id tempus gentis crebris simul ac prosperis proeliis domuit; eamque partem2 Britanniae quae Hiberniam aspicit copiis instruxit...
The first question relates to transgessus meaning “crossed”. Where did he cross? I remembered all the way back to school days reading some of this, and found the following in Vol. 1 of the Latin textbook we used back then (Wilding’s Latin Course for Schools). On page 68 of that tome we find the following as part of an exercise to translate from Latin to English:
Agricola copias Clanoventae, ubi ora Britanniae ad Hiberniam spectat...
Clanoventae is a Roman name for the town of Ravenglass, near the Cumbrian coast. At the time I took this to be a direct quote from Tacitus, but it isn’t. Obviously Wilding made that bit up! There is evidence of substantial Roman activity at Ravenglass, but none that this was the place he placed the troops intended for a possible invasion of Ireland. Moreover, the actual quote from Tacitus makes it clear that he “crossed” with ships, but that doesn’t seem right when you look at the location (marked with the red thingy):
It’s quite a long way to “cross” from there to modern-day Scotland, and in any case what you would see from there is first and foremost the Isle of Man. From there he could definitely see both Britain and Ireland, but as far as I know there’s little or non direct evidence of Roman activity there, though the Romans did know it through trading interactions. They called it Insula Manavia. Tacitus does not use place names very often – there are only half-a-dozen – in the entire book about Agricola but it seems to me he would not have confused it with Hibernia.
Putting my school textbook away and turning to other commentaries, I didn’t find any real consensus but the best bet is that what Agricola crossed was the Solway Firth, and where he crossed from could well have been Maryport, also a well-known Roman military site (called Alauna). There is no direct evidence for that either, though, and the earliest directly dated evidence of significant activity there is much later, around 122AD. Agricola’s incursion to Scotland was around 81 AD.
If Agricola did cross the Solway Firth he and his army would have landed in what is now Dumfries and Galloway. Most commentaries now believe that the place from which he could see Ireland would be the Rhinns of Galloway, the hammer-shaped peninsula to the West of Stranraer. Now that isn’t the part of Scotland closest to Ireland – that would be the Mull of Kintyre, much further North – but it is pretty close, and it certainly does face across the Irish Sea with nothing in the way.
There is also plenty of evidence of Roman activity near Stranraer, including a settlement and fort in a place known to them as Rerigonium. There are also traces of a Roman road. That is important because, to the Romans, roads were primarily military structures, meant to facilitate the movement of troops and supplies quickly. Had the Romans ever invaded Ireland they would have built an extensive network of roads, as they did in England.
It seems to me that Rerigonium would have been a good choice of place to launch the putative invasion. Loch Ryan would have provided a natural harbour for the ships that would take troops the short distance to Ireland and it’s not difficult to imagine a Roman legion embarking there.
P.S. When I was a lad there were regular ferries from Stranraer to Belfast and back, but now they operate to and from Cairnryan, about 6 miles further up Loch Ryan.
About a month ago I posted an item about the National Famine Way, at the end of which I signalled my future intention to walk the 165 km 6-day route from Strokestown to Dublin. I was subsequently contacted by a number of people warning me that I might not be up to it. They didn’t put me off, but I have come up with a plan. This week – on Wednesday in fact – I will have the injections I get every six months or so to control the arthritis in my knees. Thus fortified, I intend next week to do a trial run walk consisting of the last stage of the Famine Way, from Maynooth to Dublin, along the Royal Canal. That’s about 27km and will take most of a day. I’ll stop on the way for lunch and when I get to the end I can get the train back to Maynooth. And if I run walk into difficulties I can stop at one of the intermediate stations and return from there; the canal runs right alongside the railway line for most of the way. If all goes to plan I’ll take time off next year to do the whole trip from Strokestown.
Meanwhile here’s a picture of one the poignant bronze sculptures of children’s shoes placed along the way. This one is at Maynooth harbour; there are 8 others on the way to Dublin.
To learn more about these shoes, see here, and here’s a video telling the story
Some years ago I came across a blog post relating to the discovery of a fortified settlement at Drumanagh (near Dublin) where Roman coins and goods have been found. It might have been a Roman military site, but in my mind it could equally well have been a Celtic settlement and the finds might have been loot from elsewhere.
I do find it a bit hard to believe that no Romans ever set foot in Ireland, though, and Drumanagh may well have been some sort of trading post or temporary fort for a reconnaissance mission. If that site is Roman, and that was all there was, then it didn’t amount to a full invasion and there’s certainly nothing like the roads or other infrastructure that’s so common in England and Wales.
I thought about this when at the weekend I was “reorganising” my bookshelves (by which I mean changing from one form of disorganization to another), when I came across some old Latin textbooks that included excerpts from the book De vita et moribus Iulii Agricolae which was written by Publius Cornelius Tacitus (Tacitus to you). The Agricola of the title was Gnaeus Julius Agricola, Roman Governor of Britain from around AD 77 until 85. He also happened to be the father-in-law of Tacitus, which probably accounts for the sycophantic tone of some of the writing.
The availability of this book is interesting in itself because only a solitary codicil survived the Roman Era. It eventually became a very popular source in old-fashioned British grammar schools at which Latin was compulsory, as it was at the one I went to, partly because it related to Britain and partly because of the author’s very concise and direct prose which makes much of it quite easy to translate. We didn’t read the whole book at school, but excerpts cropped up regularly to illustrate various grammatical constructions and introduce new vocabulary.
You can find the full Latin text here and an English translation here. I tried Google translate on some passages and it was terrible.
Anyway, as an exercise to my erudite readers I here include sections 23 to 26 which describe part of Agricola’s adventures in Scotland, followed by some comments. Before doing so it is worth mentioning a bit of the context. Agricola’s military campaigns at this time were often carried out in the first instance by water. Scotland was very much bandit country and slogging through the terrain on foot would have led to multiple ambushes and pitched battles.
[23] Quarta aestas obtinendis quae percucurrerat insumpta; ac si virtus exercituum et Romani nominis gloria pateretur, inventus in ipsa Britannia terminus. Namque Clota et Bodotria diversi maris aestibus per inmensum revectae, angusto terrarum spatio dirimuntur: quod tum praesidiis firmabatur atque omnis propior sinus tenebatur, summotis velut in aliam insulam hostibus.
[24] Quinto expeditionum anno nave prima transgressus ignotas ad id tempus gentis crebris simul ac prosperis proeliis domuit; eamque partem Britanniae quae Hiberniam aspicit copiis instruxit, in spem magis quam ob formidinem, si quidem Hibernia medio inter Britanniam atque Hispaniam sita et Gallico quoque mari opportuna valentissimam imperii partem magnis in vicem usibus miscuerit. Spatium eius, si Britanniae comparetur, angustius nostri maris insulas superat. Solum caelumque et ingenia cultusque hominum haud multum a Britannia differunt; [in] melius aditus portusque per commercia et negotiatores cogniti. Agricola expulsum seditione domestica unum ex regulis gentis exceperat ac specie amicitiae in occasionem retinebat. Saepe ex eo audivi legione una et modicis auxiliis debellari obtinerique Hiberniam posse; idque etiam adversus Britanniam profuturum, si Romana ubique arma et velut e conspectu libertas tolleretur.
[25] Ceterum aestate, qua sextum officii annum incohabat, amplexus civitates trans Bodotriam sitas, quia motus universarum ultra gentium et infesta hostilis exercitus itinera timebantur, portus classe exploravit; quae ab Agricola primum adsumpta in partem virium sequebatur egregia specie, cum simul terra, simul mari bellum impelleretur, ac saepe isdem castris pedes equesque et nauticus miles mixti copiis et laetitia sua quisque facta, suos casus attollerent, ac modo silvarum ac montium profunda, modo tempestatum ac fluctuum adversa, hinc terra et hostis, hinc victus Oceanus militari iactantia compararentur. Britannos quoque, ut ex captivis audiebatur, visa classis obstupefaciebat, tamquam aperto maris sui secreto ultimum victis perfugium clauderetur. Ad manus et arma conversi Caledoniam incolentes populi magno paratu, maiore fama, uti mos est de ignotis, oppugnare ultro castellum adorti, metum ut provocantes addiderant; regrediendumque citra Bodotriam et cedendum potius quam pellerentur ignavi specie prudentium admonebant, cum interim cognoscit hostis pluribus agminibus inrupturos. Ac ne superante numero et peritia locorum circumiretur, diviso et ipso in tris partes exercitu incessit.
[26] Quod ubi cognitum hosti, mutato repente consilio universi nonam legionem ut maxime invalidam nocte adgressi, inter somnum ac trepidationem caesis vigilibus inrupere. Iamque in ipsis castris pugnabatur, cum Agricola iter hostium ab exploratoribus edoctus et vestigiis insecutus, velocissimos equitum peditumque adsultare tergis pugnantium iubet, mox ab universis adici clamorem; et propinqua luce fulsere signa. Ita ancipiti malo territi Britanni; et nonanis rediit animus, ac securi pro salute de gloria certabant. Ultro quin etiam erupere, et fuit atrox in ipsis portarum angustiis proelium, donec pulsi hostes, utroque exercitu certante, his, ut tulisse opem, illis, ne eguisse auxilio viderentur. Quod nisi paludes et silvae fugientis texissent, debellatum illa victoria foret.
In [23], around 80 AD, we find that Agricola saw advantage in conquering Scotland as far as the Firth of Clyde (Clota) and Firth of Forth (Bodotria) because the tide would bring his ships a long way inland and they were separated by only a narrow stretch of land. He claims he would have gone further had he had the resources needed to do so.
[24] is the interesting one in light of the introduction to this piece . The fifth year of campaigning would have been 81 AD, long before the construction of Hadrian’s Wall. It says that Agricola crossed in his flagship (literally in the first ship, naveprima). It then goes to say that he garrisoned that part of Britain which faces Hibernia (i.e. Ireland) not out of fear but in hopes of further action. This is because he felt that Ireland offered a strategic connection between the provinces of Britain and Spain.
Some people think that the garrison Agricola formed for his putative future action, ostensibly an invasion of Ireland, was at Ravenglass in modern-day Cumbria, rather than Scotland, but it might have been further North; nobody really knows. My reading of the text is that he crossed the Firth of Clyde to the Mull of Kintyre. I remember as a kid seeing Ireland from the Mull of Kintyre and was told that on a clear day you could see as far as the mountains in Donegal from there.
Tacitus goes on to say that (my emphasis):
Ireland is smaller in size when compared to Britain, but larger than the islands of the Mediterranean. The soil, the climate and the character and manners of its inhabitants differ little from those of Britain, while its approaches and harbours are better known through trade and commerce. We also learn that Agricola has a friendly Irish chieftain in tow, who has been turfed out of his own land.
Agricola had given sanctuary to a minor chieftain driven from home by faction, and held him, under the cloak of friendship, until occasion demanded. My father-in-law often said that with one legion and a contingent of auxiliaries Ireland could be conquered and held; and that it would be useful as regards Britain also, since Roman troops would be everywhere, and the prospect of independence would fade from view.
So Agricola felt that people of Hibernia and Britain were similar and the effect of conquering the former would be to snuff out any hopes of independence in the latter. Either the planned invasion never happened, or Agricola tried it, got his fingers burnt and Tacitus chose to omit it from his account. This seems unlikely because Agricola had enough on his plate dealing with the Scottish campaign without diverting a legion to Ireland.
Anyway, the second emphasized section explains that Ireland’s ports were well known through trade and commerce, so one can infer that Romans were familiar enough to have landed there to trade, etc. I think Drumanagh was probably just one of many such stations.
In [25], a year later. Agricola is already campaigning beyond the Firth of Forth using a combination of naval and land-based forces. The Britons were wrong-footed by the Romans’ use of the sea, but mounted attacks against Roman forts. At the end of this section, Agricola, hearing that his force is about to be attacked, divides his army into three divisions and advances.
I included [26] because it mentions the Ninth Legion (in the accusative case, nonam legionem) because they are being attacked. The Ninth Legion has been the source of much speculation as the “Lost Legion”, as it disappears entirely from the historical record after about 120 AD. This unit was in the thick of the action, many times and was almost wiped out in 61 AD during the rebellion of Boudica and in other rebellions. According to Tacitus it was one of the three parts of Agricola’s army in 83 AD, though it was described as “especially weak” (maxime invalidem), and was in trouble there too, but was eventually rescued by the other two divisions. It doesn’t explain why the Ninth was the most weakened. Had it suffered more casualties than the rest of Agricola’s army or was it just not as well trained? Was part of it left as the garrison described in [24]? Could it have participated in an abortive invasion of Ireland the year before, got badly mauled in the process, and hadn’t recovered to full strength?
Bearing in mind that Tacitus wanted to portrary Agricola in a positive light, perhaps the complete rescue of the Ninth described in the text was exaggerated and its already weakened state was worsened still further by this battle? It wasn’t here that the Lost Legion was lost, however, as it cropped up elsewhere in Britain until at least 108 AD, twenty-five years later, and perhaps as late as 120 AD elsewhere on the continent. I’m not a historian but it seems to me that a plausible explanation of the fate of the Ninth Legion is that it was broken up into detachments and gradually dispersed, rather than being wiped out in one calamitous battle.
The last episode of Simon Schama‘s BBC TV series A History of Britain, called “The Two Winstons”, follows the story of the Second World War and its immediate aftermath through the eyes of two very different Englishmen, George Orwell and Winston Churchill. Near the end of the programme Schama talks about the year 1948, when a very sick Orwell wrote his last major novel, Nineteen Eighty-Four. I’ve reconstructed this section from the subtitles on my DVD of the series.
It starts with a direct quote from 1984
In our world there will be no love but the love of Big Brother, no laughter but that of triumph. No art, no science, no literature, no enjoyment, but always and only, Winston, there will be the thrill of power. If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face forever.
It continues with the voice of Simon Schama as narrator
To clear his head of the static hum of postwar London, Orwell went as far away as he could without actually leaving Britain, to the very edge of the kingdom – the Hebridean island of Jura. No electricity, no telephone, post twice a week, maybe.
And it was here, in the remotest cottage he could find, typing in bed with the machine on his knees, knowing he hadn’t long to live, that Orwell concentrated on what mattered most to him, and to Britain – the fate of freedom in the age of superpowers. As Churchill issued his grim warnings, Orwell created a common or garden plain man’s Winston – Winston Smith. The year was 1948.
When we think of 1984, most of us think of the tyranny of drabness and mass obedience ruled by Big Brother, a world of doublespeak where war is peace and lies are truth. But Orwell’s last masterpiece is most powerful and most lyrical when it describes Winston’s resistance to dictatorship, a guerrilla action fought, not with guns and barricades, but by literally taking liberties, a walk in the country, an act of love, the singing of an old nursery rhyme.
Winston Smith did all these forbidden things, prompted by a dim memory of a time when they were absolutely normal. The last refuge of freedom against Big Brother is memory. The greatest horror of 1984 is the dictator’s attempt to wipe out history.
I thought of the last sentence when I read about Donald Trump’s plan to rewrite American history for the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, but that’s just one example amid the rise of authoritarian regimes around the world. In the context of the TV programme, Schama was making a case for the importance of history as a discipline, but there is something else important to say: we should not forget the past but, perhaps even more importantly, neither should we forget about the future we wanted to see. The present is not the future I hoped for when I was younger, even in 1984, but the story isn’t over yet.
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In the Dark 