by John Lloyd
But these aren’t strict rules. Pronunciation evolves and changes all the time as result of social pressures, such as the need to be understood, or the desire to fit in. One researcher noted that a native of the northern city of Zaragoza managed four different pronunciations of the city’s name in the space of a few minutes.
Who was the first King of England?
Alfred the Great’s grandson.
King Aethelstan (924–39) was the first true King of all England. His grandfather, Alfred the Great, was only King of Wessex, even though he did refer to himself rather optimistically as ‘King of the English’.
When Alfred came to the throne, England was still made up of five separate kingdoms. During Alfred’s life, Cornwall came under his control but Mercia, Northumbria and East Anglia fell to Viking invaders.
After a period hiding in the Somerset levels (where he didn’t burn any cakes), Alfred fought back against the Danes, eventually restoring his old kingdom. But in the treaty he made following his defeat of the Viking warlord Guthrum at Edington in 878, he chose to give half the country (everything east of a line from London to Chester) to the enemy. This was known as the Danelaw. In return, Guthrum agreed to convert to Christianity.
Alfred was keen to ensure that any future Scandinavian raiders wouldn’t find it quite so easy and set about creating a network of defended towns to protect his territory.
It worked. By his grandson’s reign, Wessex’s control of England was complete. At the battle of Brunanburh in 937, Aethelstan defeated the Kings of Scotland, Strathclyde and Dublin to establish the Anglo-Saxon kingdom of England.
No one is sure where ‘Brunanburh’ is: Tinsley Wood near Sheffield seems the best guess.
The last King of ‘England’ – that is, the last King to rule England and nothing else – was Harold Godwinson or Harold II. William, his successor, was already Duke of Normandy, and the English crown controlled substantial portions of France until Calais was finally surrendered in 1558.
What did they call the man who won the battle of Hastings?
Many things, not all of them nice, but absolutely nobody called him ‘William’.
‘William’ is an English invention, one of the unforeseen consequences of the Conquest. It was the product of a collision between Norman French, which had no ‘W’ and Anglo-Saxon, which had a ‘W’ but no equivalent name. The Conqueror’s Norman French companions would have called him ‘Guillaume’ and written it in Latin, Guillelmus (as it appears on his tomb in Caen). The English compromise – they had to call the new boss something – was to pronounce and spell his name with a Germanic ‘W’ – Willelm. You can see the shiny new name (complete with W) on the Bayeux tapestry, completed ten years later.
What is astonishing is that, in less than fifty years, William, a name that in 1066 had never been used anywhere in the world, became the most popular boy’s name in England. By the year 1230, an estimated one in seven Englishmen was called William. The top fourteen names in England, in fact, were all Norman and accounted for three-quarters of all names recorded.
Despite the brutal harrying of the North, the murder or expulsion of almost the entire Saxon ruling class and the imposition of the so-called Norman yoke, the English people seemed quite happy to identify themselves with their oppressors. So, out went Aelfwine, Earconbert, Hengist, Swidhelm and Yffi and in came John, Hugo, Richard and Robert, which must be counted as something to thank the Normans for …
Though the Conqueror was illegitimate, and nicknamed Guillaume le Bâtard in French, the Saxons wouldn’t have called him a bastard (the word comes from the French bâtard, another Norman import unknown in England before the Conquest). They would have called him a cifesboren or a hornungsunu, both of which roughly translate as ‘son of a whore’.
William remained one of the top ten boys’ names in Britain until the 1950s, where it went into a decline only to re-emerge in 2004, probably as a result of the popularity of Prince William. The royal connection still seems to matter. William was the eighth most popular boy’s name in 2007 and Harry the fifth (Charles, however, has fallen to 52 and Philip languishes at 270).
Neither Tony or Gordon make the top 100; David is currently in at 64; but the William the Conqueror Prize for fastest climber is Jayden, the thirty-second most popular boy’s name in the UK in 2007, up from 68 in 2006. That’s 2,548 new Jaydens, all of them, it seems, inspired by the naming of Britney Spears’s youngest son, born in September 2006.
Who fought at the battle of Culloden?
Essentially, it was Scotland v. Scotland.
There were more Scots in the army that defeated Bonnie Prince Charlie in 1746 than there were in his own army.
As well as three battalions of Lowland Scots, the Hanoverian army under General Cumberland included a well-trained battalion of Highland Scots from Clan Munro, a big contingent of the Highland Clan Campbell’s militia, and a large number of Highland foot soldiers from Clans MacKay, Ross, Gunn and Grant, fighting under English officers.
Three-quarters of the Jacobite army were Highlanders, the rest were Lowland Scots, with a small contingent of troops from France and Ireland. Jacobite mythology has reinterpreted the battle as a Scotland versus England affair, but it was, for the most part, Scotland versus Scotland.
The Jacobite Rebellion of 1745 started with some early success for the Highlanders at the battle of Prestonpans, near Edinburgh, followed by an invasion of England which took them as far as Derby. With the bulk of the British army fighting the French in Flanders, this caused a panic in London, and contingency plans to evacuate the King to Hanover were drawn up.
But the Jacobites failed to recruit supporters in England, and the planned French invasion was postponed. Despite a brilliantly executed retreat by Lord George Murray, the army that entered the field of battle at Culloden were starving, exhausted by weeks of marching, and poorly armed. Only a quarter of them had swords.
They fought bravely, but in just over an hour 1,250 of them lay dead. The Hanoverian army lost just fifty-two men. The Duke of Cumberland – known to Scots as ‘the Butcher’ ever since – executed all the prisoners and wounded on the battlefield, and rode into Inverness waving his bloody sword.
More than 3,000 Jacobite sympathisers were arrested in the aftermath, most of them being imprisoned or transported to the colonies. One in twenty were selected at random for ‘show’ executions. The Highland way of life never recovered. The Clan system was destroyed and the wearing of Highland dress made illegal.
Modern Jacobites still maintain that the true line of succession to the British throne runs through the Stuarts and their descendants. They acclaim Duke Franz of Bavaria as Francis II, King of England, Scotland, France and Ireland. He keeps a dignified silence on the issue.
RONNI It’s so weird that these national heroes are … are not from the place that they’re supposed to be. William Wallace was from, erm, Kenya. His mother was Masai. No, not really.
STEPHEN [bends his head to the desk in laughter] Just for a second, I was going, ‘Wow!’
Which was the last country invaded by Scotland?
Panama.
One of the last acts of Scotland, before the 1707 Act of Union joined it to England and Wales to form Great Britain, was an ill-fated attempt to colonise the isthmus of Darién.
The scheme was dreamt up by William Paterson, the founder of the Bank of England. He saw an opportunity to establish a trading post in Central America which could act as link between the riches of the Pacific and the trading nations of Western Europe.
The English quickly ruled themselves out as partners. They were at war with France at the time, and did not want to risk angering the Spanish (who had claims on Panama). When the government heard of the scheme, it barred Englishmen from investing. Paterson decided to gather all his funding north of the border. Such was the Scot’s enthusiasm that he raised £400,000 in six months, a vast sum equal to a third of the total collective assets of the nation. Almost every Scotsman who could put his
name to £5 invested.
In 1698, the first fleet of five ships set sail from Leith, arriving in November. They were woefully underprepared and ill-informed. The land they had hoped to turn into New Caledonia was an un-farmable, mosquito-infested swamp. The Indians had no use for the crates of wigs, mirrors and combs they had hoped to trade. The English colonies in the region were barred from trading with them and the Spanish were implacably hostile.
Within six months, 200 of the 1,200 settlers had died of malaria and other tropical diseases and the death rate had reached ten a day. As well as the backbreaking work of trying to drain a swamp, all their supplies had spoiled and by the beginning of the summer they were each trying to live on a pound of maggot-infested flour a week. The news of an imminent Spanish attack was the final straw. Only 300 people made it back to Scotland.
The Darién Venture was an unmitigated disaster for Scotland. It shattered morale and left the economy almost £250,000 in debt. Seven years later, the country was forced to sign the Act of Union with England. The popular consensus was that the English had refused to help in order to humiliate Scotland and make union inevitable. Much of the support for the Jacobite cause over the next forty years can be traced back to the horrors and shattered aspirations of Scotland’s lost colony.
As for Darién, it remains a pretty inhospitable place covered with dense jungle. Even the Pan-American highway, which will eventually connect Alaska in the north to Argentina in the south, is forced to break for the Darién Gap.
Where do Panama hats come from?
Ecuador.
They first appeared in Europe and North America in the early nineteenth century where they were called ‘panama’ hats because they were exported through shippers based in Panama.
In England, they were chosen as perfect summer headgear by the royal family, and quickly became indispensable accessories for sporting and outdoor social occasions. When Queen Victoria died in 1901, the black band was added in her honour.
In the Americas, the hats were standard issue for the men digging the Panama Canal. President Theodore Roosevelt visited the site in 1906 and was photographed wearing one. The panama’s fame was assured.
The hat’s origins are ancient: ceramic figures wearing curious headpieces have been discovered on the Ecuadorian coast and date back to 4000 BC. Some archaeologists believe that the weaving skills needed to make a panama were acquired through contact with the Polynesian people of the Pacific, famous for their woven flax. The first Spaniards were so unnerved by the material’s translucent quality that they believed it was vampire skin.
The modern hats date back to the sixteenth century and are made from the woven fibres of the ten-foot-tall panama-hat palm, the jipijapa or toquilla (its scientific name is Carludovica palmata). They are mostly produced in the town of Cuenca, although the finest examples come from the towns of Montecristi and Biblian.
The time it takes to make a panama hat varies enormously. The toquilla can be harvested only five days a month, during the moon’s final quarter, when the palm fibre holds less water, making it lighter and easier to weave. A skilled weaver can extract a fibre that is as fine as silk. A low-grade hat can be knocked out in a matter of hours, whereas a top quality, or superfino, hat can take five months to finish and sell for £1,000.
In 1985 the Conran Foundation nominated the panama hat as one of the ‘100 best designs ever’ for an exhibition at the V&A.
Ecuador is named after the Spanish word for ‘equator’. As well as hats, it is the world’s largest exporter of bananas and balsa wood for model aircraft.
Can you name an Irish saint?
St Patrick (c.385–461) is the patron saint of Ireland but he wasn’t born there, nor was he of Irish stock.
He was a Briton, from the north or west of the country. His birthplace is traditionally given as Bannavem or Bannaventa Taberniae. This has long been thought to be a lost settlement near the Severn or in Pembrokeshire, but a recent and convincing suggestion is the village of Banwell in Somerset.
While still a teenager Patrick was abducted and taken to Ireland as a slave. After six years he escaped to the Continent, where he became a monk. Eventually, following a vision, he returned to Ireland to Christianise it.
Ireland isn’t short of home-grown saintly talent, however.
St Brendan (?486–?578) was from County Kerry. Born near Tralee, he was ordained a priest in 512. A famous traveller, he is believed by many to have reached America centuries before Columbus, who didn’t.
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St Columba (521–97) was born into the Irish nobility. After many years wandering round Ireland, preaching and founding monasteries, at the age of forty-two he settled on Iona from where he and his monks converted the Picts to Christianity.
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St Kevin (?498–618) was also born of noble Irish parents and destined for the priesthood. Instead he became a hermit. A blackbird famously laid an egg in his outstretched hand and he kept perfectly still until the baby bird hatched.
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St Malachy (?1094–1148) was appointed abbot of Bangor, County Down and bishop of Connor by the age of 30, and became archbishop of Armagh. According to legend, he had a vision of all the popes. If his prophecy is correct, the present pope, Benedict XVI, will be the last but one.
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St Oliver Plunket (1629–81) was born in County Meath, educated by the Jesuits in Rome and appointed archbishop of Armagh and primate of all Ireland in 1669. In 1678 an English conspirator, Titus Oates, implicated him in a plot to kill Charles II. Plunket was found guilty of treason and hanged at Tyburn, mercifully dying before he could be drawn (disembowelled) and quartered.
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St Bridget (?453–?523), the abbess of the first Irish women’s community which she founded at Kildare, was noted for the miracle of transforming her used bathwater into beer for visiting clerics.
STEPHEN St Bridget. Do you know what her great miracle was? […]She could transform her used bath-water into beer. A very Irish sort of miracle.
DARA That one … that one wasn’t taught to us in primary school in Ireland, actually.
What nationality was the Duke of Wellington?
Irish.
Despite his reputation as one of England’s greatest generals, Arthur Wellesley, the 1st Duke of Wellington, was unarguably an Irishman.
He was born in Dublin in 1769 into the Wesley family, whose seat was Dangan Castle, near Trim in County Meath. He later married into one of Ireland’s most notable families, the Longfords, and served in the Irish parliament in 1790.
If further proof were needed of his nationality, there is also his decision to play for the All Ireland team in the first recorded game of cricket played in Ireland in August 1792. Their opponents were a team from the local British garrison in Dublin. The Duke notched up a distinctively unimpressive total of six runs from his two innings.
The Duke’s grandfather, the 1st Baron Mornington, was called Richard Colley, but assumed the surname of Wesley after inheriting the estates of a distant relative. While the Colleys had been in Ireland for several centuries, the Wesleys were wealthier and could claim that their ancestor had arrived in Ireland as Henry II’s standard-bearer. In 1798, the Duke and his family changed their names to Wellesley, just because it sounded grander.
Debate about the Duke’s Irishness was widespread during his lifetime. It is often claimed that he repudiated his link to Ireland by saying that ‘A man can be born in a stable, and yet not be an animal.’ However, there is no evidence he ever said this: it probably originated as scurrilous court gossip.
Wellington remained as proud of his connections with Ireland as the Irish were of him; a monument 62.5 metres high (205 feet) stands in Phoenix Park in memory of his achievements.
The other quote that he famously didn’t say was: ‘The Battle of Waterloo was won on the playing fields of Eton.’ It was first attributed to the Duke four years after he died in a work of Catholic propaganda by the French historian, Count de Mont
alembert.
It’s worth pointing out that when Wellington briefly – and unsuccessfully – attended Eton, the school had no playing fields and he was a pupil noted for his lack of enthusiasm for, or talent at, games.
Who was Britain’s first Prime Minister?
a) Sir Robert Walpole
b) William Pitt the Elder
c) The Duke of Wellington
d) Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman
Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman. The expression ‘Prime Minister’ was first officially used in 1905 just five days after he became one. Before then the term had been one of abuse.
Sir Robert Walpole, generally recognised as the first de facto Prime Minister, never used the word: he and his successors were ‘First Lords of the Treasury’. This included Campbell-Bannerman until 10 December 1905, when – in the first official use – a Royal Warrant placed the ‘Prime Minister’ in order of precedence after the Archbishop of York.