The Old Dog and Duck

by Albert Jack

  The Nag’s Head sounds like a straightforward enough pub name, but there are three very different theories about its origin. The first can be traced to the golden age of piracy in the Caribbean (from about 1650 to the 1720s). Returning home laden with booty, a pirate ship would wait out at sea under cover of darkness until a sign from the shore indicated that it was safe to land. Meanwhile, on the shore an accomplice would fix a lantern around the neck of an old horse and walk the ‘nag’ along the cliff top or highest point as a signal to the ship that the coast was clear. The sight of the bobbing lantern, known as the ‘nag’s head’, would have been welcomed by returning pirates as a sign that their long, perilous voyage was over and the drinking could, at last, begin. The coastal town of Nags Head, a resort in Dare County, North Carolina, is built on land characterized by high sand dunes that can be seen far out to sea. Its name stands as a proud reflection of the old pirating practice.

  The second theory is more directly related to pubs, and to pub signs in particular. The word ‘nag’, for a horse, is believed to have evolved from the Dutch word negge, meaning a small horse or pony. The word is usually applied to a horse that is old or in poor health but it originally meant a horse for riding, as opposed to one for pulling a cart or carriage. Travellers often needed to change horses in the course of a long trip and could hire them from country inns and taverns. Such a place with a horse for hire is likely to have displayed a horse’s (nag’s) head on a sign outside, informing travellers they could change their mounts there. The expression ‘straight from the horse’s mouth’ comes from a horse’s age being easily determined by looking at its teeth. If you were considering hiring a horse and needed to confirm that it wasn’t likely to fall down dead a mile down the road, rather than relying on the say-so of the possibly dodgy innkeeper, you would open the animal’s mouth and check the teeth. Hence you could tell at once, straight from the horse’s mouth, whether the animal was in good enough shape.

  The third, and my favourite, explanation comes from the other meaning of ‘nag’, someone who constantly carps and criticizes. Traditionally a pub’s clientele was mostly male, the men often using the inn as a refuge from the busy tongues of their wives (see also THE QUIET WOMAN). More than one Nag’s Head pub sign has been jokingly daubed with a macabre painting of a woman’s head, her mouth still open in complaint, to show its customers (and their wives) that nagging really isn’t welcome there.

  The Nell Gwyn

  ENGLAND’S FAVOURITE ROYAL MISTRESS

  If anyone was going to epitomize the spirit of Restoration England it was Nell Gwyn (1650–87). Deserted by her father, a Royalist captain, Nell worked from an early age, selling oranges and lemons to theatre audiences in Drury Lane, and soon became known for her humour, infectious high spirits and occasional misbehaviour.

  By 1665 Nell had been encouraged by her first lover, the forty-year-old actor Charles Hart, to appear on stage in John Dryden’s Indian Emperor, but it was her role in the comedies of James Howard the following year that drew the attention of London society with Samuel Pepys commenting ‘pretty, witty Nell’ on the first occasion he saw her. Pepys recorded her wit on another occasion, following a petty argument between the young actress and a friend:

  Here Mrs Pierce tells me… that Nelly and Beck Marshall, falling out the other day, the latter called the other my Lord Buckhurst’s whore. Nell answered then, ‘I was but one man’s whore, though I was brought up in a bawdy-house… and you are whore to three or four, though a Presbyter’s praying daughter!’

  While it’s not clear exactly when Nell and Charles II became lovers, it is recorded that the sixteen-year-old and her mother followed the king and his court to Oxford to avoid the Great Plague, which was then sweeping London. While still a teenager, she fell pregnant with the king’s seventh son. The baby, the future Duke of St Albans, was born soon after her twentieth birthday. This established Nell as the king’s principal lover, but, by then, her growing popularity as an actress and dancer was also endearing her to the public.

  Uninterested in status (Nell never fought for the king’s attention among his other courtesans), the young actress embodied the spirit of the new England emerging from Cromwell’s austere Puritan rule and was seen to be a true child of the modern, more liberated times. She also remained faithful to the king throughout his life and to his memory beyond it. On his deathbed Charles desperately appealed to his younger brother, and heir, James II: ‘Let not poor Nelly starve.’ James honoured his brother’s wishes and Nell was generously provided for by the crown until her death in London in November 1687.

  The Nelson

  THE FLAWED HERO WHO WAS PLACED ON A PEDESTAL BY THE ESTABLISHMENT

  The statue of Nelson that stands, flanked by stone lions, in the centre of Trafalgar Square is an interesting testament to how the Victorians commemorated their war heroes. The column itself is so tall that it is hard to make out the details of the figure. Far too grand and imposing, Nelson’s Column conveys little of the humanity that made the man so special and popular with the general public, demonstrating, quite literally, the danger of placing individuals on high pedestals – the truth quickly becomes obscured. Like so many British heroes immortalized in the names of pubs, Horatio Nelson (1758–1805) was in reality a highly complicated figure who seemed to have taken the adage ‘all’s fair in love and war’ as his motto. His enormous courage and daring helped saved Britain from Napoleon, but this was offset by a flamboyant love life and complete disregard for public opinion, which caused huge scandal.

  When Nelson was twelve, his uncle Maurice, sensing his ability, persuaded him to go to sea. Although plagued with a seasickness, which never left him, Nelson didn’t allow that to hold him back. Like his hero Francis Drake and his best friend Cuthbert Collingwood (see THE ADMIRAL COLLINGWOOD and THE GOLDEN HIND), he rapidly climbed the ranks, rising to the position of captain by the age of twenty. During those early years, as well as becoming popular for the emphasis he placed on the health and safety of his men, Nelson earned a reputation for his ambitious naval tactics and personal bravery. But once the American War of Independence was over, in 1783, the young captain found himself unemployed and so returned with his new wife, Fanny, to Norfolk, where he spent several frustrating years battling illness and contemplating his future.

  But his fortunes changed with the outbreak of the French Revolutionary Wars in 1792. The Royal Navy moved quickly to re-establish their naval power by recalling many talented young commanders, including Horatio Nelson, who was immediately posted to the Mediterranean. There he took part in several minor skirmishes against the French, before capturing the island of Corsica, Napoleon’s birthplace. It was during the Battle of Calvi, in 1794, that Nelson lost the sight of his right eye after a French cannonball hit a sandbag, sending a shower of tiny stones into his face. Although Nelson is often depicted in pub signs as wearing an eye patch, that’s part of the Nelson myth; he actually never did so, as his eyeball sustained no obvious damage and there was no disfigurement to hide apart from as small scar on his forehead.

  Three years later, in 1797, Nelson shot to fame at the Battle of Cape St Vincent when the English fleet, led by Admiral Sir John Jervis on his flagship HMS Victory, defeated a much larger Spanish fleet off the Portuguese coast. Despite disobeying orders, breaking away from the line of warships to engage with the Spanish, Nelson contributed directly to the victory by capturing two enemy vessels out of the four that surrendered. Misfortune then followed at the Battle of Santa Cruz de Tenerife later that year, when, during the early exchanges, he was hit in the arm by a musket ball, shattering the bones in several places. Such was his devotion to duty, however, that Nelson ordered the ship’s surgeon to remove the damaged arm and was back in command within the hour, issuing new orders to his captains. The following year saw victory again: Nelson led the fleet against French forces at the Battle of the Nile, obliterating the fleet that was anchored at Alexandria and isolating Napoleon’s troops in Egypt.

  Sa
iling to Naples after the battle, Nelson stayed with Sir William Hamilton, the British envoy, and his beautiful and much younger wife, Emma, daughter of a Cheshire blacksmith and a former courtesan. It was her hero-worship of her illustrious guest that laid the foundation for their famous love affair. Nelson was by no means handsome – his adventures had prematurely aged him: he had lost an eye, an arm and most of his teeth, and he was afflicted by coughing spells. Despite this, Emma Hamilton reportedly flung herself upon him in admiration, calling out, ‘Oh God, is it possible?’, before fainting against him.

  Their relationship caused a scandal both in the Mediterranean and later in London, when Nelson returned to England in the company of the Hamiltons. Nelson was given a hero’s welcome; he attended court and attended a number of banquets and balls held in his honour. Madly in love with Emma, he grew increasingly cold towards Fanny, hating even to be in the same room as her. When she issued an ultimatum, asking him to choose between herself and Emma, Nelson chose Emma.

  His affair was now public knowledge; and Emma gave birth to their daughter, Horatia, on 31 January 1801. By the autumn Nelson had bought a small ramshackle house on the outskirts of Wimbledon. There he lived openly with Emma, Sir William and Emma’s mother, in a ménage à quatre that fascinated the public. The newspapers reported on their every move, looking to Emma to set fashions in dress, home decoration and even dinner party menus.

  Despite his disabilities, Nelson remained in active service (the navy was desperate to separate its hero from his scandalous lifestyle) and later that year he found himself in action at Copenhagen, where he won another victory, this time over the Danes. A well-known phrase in English owes its existence to Nelson’s actions during the battle. Nelson’s boss and the commander of the British fleet, Admiral Sir Hyde Parker, was watching Nelson’s attack on the Danish navy. At one point, however, Parker felt that the fleet was taking unnecessary risks and bearing unacceptable losses, so he ordered Nelson, via a series of flags, to disengage. When Nelson’s officers pointed out the message, he deliberately raised a telescope to his blind eye and replied: ‘I do not see any signal.’ Nelson then returned his attention to the battle and soundly defeated the Danes. On his return to London, he was made a viscount and put in overall command of the Channel fleet, which was to lead to his defining moment at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. The newspapers reported that the famous sailor had ‘turned his blind eye’ to his orders and won a resounding victory, an expression still in use today.

  However, it was four years later, at Trafalgar, off the coast of Spain, that Nelson found lasting fame, leading his fleet into the battle that remains for ever associated with his name, along with the immortal phrase ‘England expects that every man will do his duty’. Very early in the battle, he was struck by a bullet that tore through his spine, and he died three hours later. His old friend Collingwood valiantly took over command and led the fleet to victory, but all the acclaim was for Nelson. Preserved in a barrel of brandy lashed to the mast of HMS Victory, the body of Vice Admiral Horatio Nelson, 1st Viscount Nelson, 1st Duke of Bronté, KB was brought home for a lavish state funeral and laid to rest at St Paul’s Cathedral in London.

  Following his death, the government was already trying to recreate him in the mould of the hero they wanted him to be, and his dying wish that Emma Hamilton should be looked after was ignored, to such an extent that she was even denied permission to attend his funeral and all money and titles were awarded to his legitimate family. NELL GWYN would have been furious at Emma Hamilton’s mistreatment. The famous statue erected in 1843 at the top of its 151-foot column presents the official, expurgated version of England’s greatest sailor. But it is the scarred, human Nelson that people took to their hearts and whose image adorns pub signs throughout the English-speaking world.

  The Oddfellows’ Arms

  THE ANCIENT SOCIETY WITH A BIG INFLUENCE ON MODERN INSTITUTIONS

  Fraternal, mutual or friendly societies (see also THE FORESTERS’ ARMS) can be traced back as far as 586 BC when the Babylonians conquered the House of David and ransacked Jerusalem, killing many Israelites and deporting the rest into captivity. This, by the way, was when all the trouble started between Jerusalem’s Jewish inhabitants and their Arab neighbours: Nebuchadnezzar II, the ruler of Babylon, has a lot to answer for.

  Those Israelites who managed to escape formed into a brotherhood affording mutual security and support. After thirty years in exile, the Israelites were invited by the Persian King Cyrus the Great to return and rebuild Jerusalem and their temples, but the mutual societies continued to thrive even in this period of peace. Their bonds grew so strong, they easily survived the fall of Jerusalem to the Roman Empire in AD 70. Those spared slaughter were taken to Rome by Emperor Vespasian and most would later serve in the Roman army all over Europe, taking with them the secret codes and customs of their brotherhood, and ensuring that any two members could privately identify themselves anywhere they met.

  This concept of mutual support first surfaced in Britain around AD 100 among Roman soldiers who made regular financial donations into a ‘pot’ that was held by the most senior centurion. If any of their number was forced to retire due to injury, a donation would be made from the pot to help him along his way. In other Roman-held European countries, particularly France and Spain, the fellowships spread throughout the rank and file in various forms and were firmly established by the time the great empire fell during the fifth century.

  Seven hundred years later, the first formal order is believed to have been established in the City of London by Jean de Neuville and five other French knights. But the evolution of the Oddfellows in Britain can be more clearly traced in the development of the guilds of craftsmen, which began taking shape in London during the thirteenth century. The guilds changed the lives of working men as, for the first time, they now had strength in numbers and were able to influence an economy previously dominated by the monarch and the nobility.

  The master guilds grew powerful and wealthy as tradesmen looked after each other and the families of those out of work or no longer capable of working, in an early form of trade unionization; but during the fifteenth century they began protecting their power and wealth by restricting membership, effectively establishing the sort of elite society they had originally banded together to oppose.

  In opposition to this move, the less experienced or newly qualified tradesmen decided to form their own fellowships and rival guilds. However, they found themselves short on numbers as many smaller towns simply didn’t have enough members of the same trade who were not already part of an established guild to join together in any meaningful way. The solution to this was to open their fellowship to all trades, so that any craftsman with an odd assortment of skills could join, and the Order of Odd Fellows (subsequently rendered ‘Oddfellows’) was set up.

  It’s not known exactly when the order was set up as monarchs, governments and local authorities were fearful of the working classes organizing themselves for their mutual benefit, so societies preferred secrecy and no official records were ever kept. However, Geoffrey Chaucer does describe a group of guildsmen belonging to a single guild of multiple trades in the prologue to The Canterbury Tales, published around the time of the writer’s death in 1400.

  Throughout the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the Oddfellows continued to grow in number and in wealth, leading to an influence that began to be feared by the nobility, who started to regard them as a genuine threat. Although their primary intention was to protect each other against oppression and injustice, the Oddfellows also featured prominently throughout the Catholic Church and when Henry VIII broke with Rome and began the Dissolution of the Monasteries, he also ordered, in 1545, that the property and wealth of the guilds were to be confiscated. The guilds began to unravel but the Oddfellows, who did not rely on a particular trade for their membership, survived the royal oppression and, like the Freemasons (see THE GOAT AND COMPASS), expanded throughout the country, holding their secret mee
tings in a series of lodges they had established in many major towns. Today any pub or hotel called the Oddfellows or the Oddfellows’ Arms is likely to have been the venue of their meetings all those years ago.

  The Oddfellows also survived the Statute of Apprentices, passed by Elizabeth I in 1563, that removed the responsibility for regulating apprenticeships from guilds, thus reducing their influence even further, but still the Oddfellows survived and continued to grow, mainly by focusing their efforts on charity and religion. Then, late in the eighteenth century, with the French Revolution in full flow and heads beginning to roll, the government passed a series of laws making membership of guilds such as the Oddfellows a criminal offence, such was its concern about a French-style uprising of the working man. This was the point at which the Oddfellows began destroying all documents and records of members and introduced a system of secret codes by which members would recognize each other. An unusual handshake or a whispered codeword were the signs, and membership became restricted to personal friends and the families of existing members, ensuring government agents could not infiltrate their ranks.

  It was around this time, with the onset of the Industrial Revolution, that the modern trade-union movement began to surface, incorporating virtually every principle of the Oddfellows during its own development. During the middle of the nineteenth century, the issue of secret societies again came to the government’s attention thanks to a letter from a landowner complaining to the prime minister, Lord Melbourne, that his workers were members of an illegal secret union. Melbourne acted swiftly and ordered the arrest of six men, who were subsequently tried and convicted of swearing a secret oath as members of the Friendly Society of Agricultural Labourers. The men, who famously became known as the Tolpuddle Martyrs, were sentenced to transportation to Australia for a period of seven years, their fate provoking outrage among the British public. Let’s be honest, it was barbaric. After all, who would want to spend seven years in Australia if hanging was still an option.