Keeping count of the Karls

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I am making my unintentional continuation of the royal theme on this blog a tribute to the 60^th anniversary of the Queen’s accession to the throne. A less regally-focused service will resume tomorrow!

Call them traditional or unimaginative, but royal dynasties enjoy using their favourite names – think of all the French kings called Louis (18), Edwards in England (8) and Alfonsos in Spain (13).

This would cause terrible confusion for historians if it wasn’t for the system of ordinal(or regnal) numbers. These are the numbers that are placed after a monarch’s regnal name at a stroke distinguishing them from their identically named predecessors and descendants.

The system should be straightforward and self explanatory – for example George V was the fifth King of England called George. So Karl IX of Sweden, son of King Gustav I, was the ninth King of Sweden called Karl, right? And his brother, Eric XIV, was obviously the 14^th King of Sweden called Eric.

Unfortunately not. Both monarchs were influenced by Johannes Magnus’s ‘Historia de omnibus gothorum sueonumque regibus’ (History of all Kings of Goths and Swedes). Johannes catalogued the Swedish monarchy from the dawn of time but drew heavily on his own fertile imagination to fashion ‘facts’ from the murky and undocumented past.

In setting down his categorical collection of rulers, he invented at least six Erics and six Karls. His work was so influential that King Gustav’s sons both styled themselves with ordinal numbers far higher than the real number of predecessors sharing their regnal name.

      

As a result Karl IX was probably the fourth Karl to occupy the throne of Sweden, whilst only eight or so Erics preceded Eric XIV’s reign.

Run for your life

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You are being chased through a thick pursued by horrific creatures – half man and half goat. Your heart is racing as you run, stumbling over roots and bushes, thorns ripping at your clothes and branches whipping at your face and hands.

Behind you, the forest echoes with the blood curdling yelps and cries of the pursuing host. They are faster than you, more nimble in the forest, darting through the trees until they surround you. You fall, collapsing in blind panic as the unearthly beings close in.

And so, in slightly roundabout way, we get to the etymological origin for the word ‘panic’. In modern English, panic has come to mean a feeling of sudden terror, a wild and unreasoning state of fear. The ancient Greeks had a far more specific meaning for the word – it started life as a description of the terror induced by the god Pan.

The god Pan was the Greek god of wild places, nature, deep and dense forests, inaccessible mountain passes and valleys. He was thought to frequent wild hilltops, deserted caves and remote, lonely places. The terror inducing sounds and echoes that fired already nervous minds and the fears experienced in such places came to be attributed directly to the patron god.

Over time, Pan was forgotten along with the rest of the ancient pantheon. Although he was replaced with new gods, his terrifying legacy would live on in the word panic.

This is one of the many splendid nuggets I came across reading the rather wonderfulEtymologicon, by Mark Forsyth (of the Inky Fool blog).

Why is there a ‘b’ in subtle?

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Why is there a ‘b’ in subtle? And, for that matter, why is there a ‘b’ in debt, doubt orplumber? The letter ‘b’ is not the only seemingly redundant silent letter in English – why is there a ‘p’ in receipt, a ‘c’ in indict or a ‘s’ in isle or aisle.

A sensible guess might suggest that the pronunciation has shifted over the years, leaving the silent letter exposed like a rocky outcrop revealed by a receding tide. Or perhaps it reflects the etymological origins of the word and was retained regardless of its later redundancy.

Few would guess that the redundant and silent letters were later additions, or that their insertion was as a result of intellectual snobbery on the part of middle age and Renaissance scholars.

All of the words listed above entered English from Old French. I will use the example of debt, but the derivation for the others is set out at the end of the post. Debt comes to English from the Old French dette or dete. In both Old French and Middle English, the word had no letter ‘b’ and is completely absent from the pronunciation in both languages.

So where did it come from? Scholars from the middle ages and into the Renaissance started to fully immerse themselves in classical texts and languages. They worked out the ultimate Latin roots of many words, and wanted the Latin original to be made obvious in their ‘modern’ spellings.

Thus the Latin debitum (think of debit) gave its ‘b’ to debt. This happened in both English and French, but Modern French purged itself of redundant letters. The English language, lacking so effective an exfoliant as the Académie française, never lost these letters. As a result they remain, petrified remnants demonstrating the strange and twisting history of language development.

All word references from the Oxford English Dictionary, third edition (September 2006); online version (December 2011)

As a postscript to the above, plumber arrives from the Latin root plumbum, meaning lead. A plumbārius in classical Latin is a worker in lead, and Roman pipes were invariably fashioned from lead. Nowadays, regardless of whether the pipes are lead, iron, copper or plastic, they are all attended to by plumbers.

Back and forth in Berwick

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Berwick is a small town on the Northumbrian coast occupying the northern shore of the River Tweed. Today it lies 2.5 miles south of the Scottish border and is a peaceful tourist town and local administrative and service centre.

This peaceful existence belies its turbulent past as the epicentre of Anglo-Scottish struggles. Wars, sieges, conquest and raids were Berwick’s lot for centuries. It is estimated that the town changed hands 13 times up to 1482 when it finally reverted to English control.

And, whilst it might have been under English control, it was not technically a part of England until the Reform Act of 1885 specified its inclusion. Until then, it was either mentioned specifically in legislation (as Great Britain, Ireland and Berwick Upon Tweed) or deemed to be included in England under the Wales and Berwick Act 1746.

A wonderful apocryphal story emerged that, as a result of these constitutional quirks, Berwick is still at war with Russia. The story suggests that Britain went to war in the name of Victoria, Queen of Great Britain, Ireland, Berwick-upon-Tweed and all British Dominions. The Treaty of Paris in 1856 ended the war, but made no mention of Berwick. This officially resulted in Berwick (population 11,000) being pitted against the Russian Empire and subsequently the USSR.

Unfortunately, and like so many of the best historical ‘facts’, this is not true. It was so famous a story that it was investigated by the BBC’s Nationwide programme, and they found that Berwick was not mentioned on either the declaration of war or the peace treaty, and that the Wales and Berwick Act 1746 ensured any reference to England included Berwick. 

Arise, the Royal Borough of Greenwich

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I forced my reluctant, bone-chilled body out into a frozen London night to head over to Woolwich. What induced me to leave my warm flat to head all the way over the river to zone 4? Fireworks. Pure and simple – I love fireworks.

Maybe it is because I didn’t get to go to many bonfire nights as a kid or maybe I just love the magic of the night sky erupting in a blaze of light and a cacophony of bangs. Whatever the reason, it was the lure of pyrotechnics that drew me to wintery Woolwich.

A second reason, almost as potent as the lure of fireworks, also explains why the display was being held. It was to celebrate the London Borough of Greenwich beinggranted royal status and becoming the Royal Borough of Greenwich. It kicked off a weekend of events that will culminate in another grand display in Greenwich’s royal park on Sunday.

Three sets of civic honours are being dished out to mark the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee. The grant of royal status for Greenwich allows it to join an elite group of royal boroughs. There are officially only three others – the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, the Royal Borough of Kingston upon Thames and the Royal Borough of Windsor and Maidenhead.

Three of the four are in Greater London and all four are in the south east of England. The rest of the country may see royal favour in the other two civic honours competitions. One town will become a city and one city’s mayoralty will be elevated to a Lord Mayoralty.

Amongst the places bidding for city status are Reading, Luton, Milton Keynes, Stockport, Middlesbrough, Bolton, Gateshead, Dudley and Perth. Two London boroughs are aiming to become Greater London’s third city – Tower Hamlets and Croydon.

The Lord Mayoralty is being sought by 12 cities, including Cambridge, Derby, Lancaster, Salford and Southampton. If Salford is successful, the mayor of Salford will be the equal of his Mancunian neighbour across the Irwell.

Surviving the revolution

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Monarchy was for centuries the standard form of government in Europe. At the turn of the twentieth century only Switzerland and France had no sovereign as their head of state.

Whilst Switzerland had a long and proud tradition of local democracy, France vacillated between republican ideals and monarchical longings, alternating between presidents and kings of either Bourbon or Bonaparte extraction.

In the aftermath of the Second World War only a fraction of Europe’s royal houses were firmly entrenched on the throne. The First World War had seen the death of monarchy across Germany, Austria-Hungary, the Ottoman and Russian Empires. The Spanish ‘empire’ limped into the 1930s and the Second World War finished off the Italian and Bulgarian monarchies.

Today, monarchical systems of government in Europe are limited to the UK, Benelux, Scandinavia, Spain and the microstates. But what happened to the survivors and descendents of former ruling families? What happened to the families that survived the revolution?

Otto von Habsburg, former Crown Prince of Austria-Hungary

The most prominent survivor of former royals was Otto von Habsburg. The Habsburgs were perhaps the leading European royal family. Austria-Hungary may not have been the richest, largest or most powerful European state, but it excelled in pomp, ceremony and protocol.

The Habsburgs were the preeminent European family, routinely Holy Roman Emperors and Archdukes of Austria, Kings of Hungary, Spain and Bohemia.  Habsburgs had been Emperors of Mexico, a King of England and Charles V could claim to be a ‘world emperor’.

By the turn of the twentieth century the Habsburgs had consolidated their position as Emperors of the Dual-Kingdom of Austria-Hungary. All this would turn to dust in the aftermath of the First World War.

As a co-belligerent of the defeated Axis Powers, Austria-Hungary faced the settlement of the Peace of Versailles. The multi-ethnic, complex and disparate empire would suffer most for President Wilson’s concept of self-determination.

Of this single state, the countries of Austria, Hungary, Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia would be created (which now, following further breakups, number at least seven countries). Left-over Imperial lands would be added to Romania, Italy, Poland and Ukraine.

Otto von Habsburg’s dignified and creative response to the vicissitudes of history ensured he would not become a bitter revanchist or dreaming monarchist. Instead, he used the heft of his family name to work hard for peace, human rights and a unified Europe.

He opposed the Nazi-led Anschluss of Germany and Austria and so riled the regime that Otto was sentenced to death in absentia and rendered stateless by Hitler’s personal revocation of his citizenship.

He served as a Member of the European Parliament (for the Christian Social Union in Bavaria) and led opposition to the communists (organising the Pan-European Picnic on the Hungarian-Austrian border in August 1989).

His death in July 2011 was greeted with widespread mourning throughout the former Habsburg lands. Despite Austria’s strongly republican constitution, Otto was given a funeral strongly reminiscent of imperial state funerals. The imperial overtones were supported by the service being presided by Cardinal Christoph Schönborn of Vienna, who was assisted by seven bishops from the various nations of Austria-Hungary.

Simeon Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, former Tsar of Bulgaria

Tsar Simeon II briefly succeeded Tsar Boris III as Tsar of Bulgaria in 1943. He reigned until 1946, when the country’s monarchy was overthrown by a Soviet-backed referendum. He would spend the next 44 years in exile, first in Egypt and then in Spain. The collapse of communism in Bulgaria in 1990 saw the new authorities grant Simeon a Bulgarian passport.

After a long delay he finally returned to Bulgaria in 1996, 50 years after the abolition of the monarchy. So far, this was a fairly typical experience of eastern Europe’s former ruling families. Simeon would make history, however, by returning once more to Bulgaria in 2001 and forming a political party (the National Movement Simeon II).

He went on to win the election in June 2001 and became Prime Minister of Bulgaria on 24 July 2001. His transformation from hereditary ruler to elected leader ensured his story was unique amongst Europe’s former monarchs.

House of Romanov, Emperors and Autocrats of All the Russians

The brutality and chaos of the Russian Revolution of 1917, the confused and bloody execution of the Royal Family at Yekaterinburg and the sheer size of the extended House of Romanov ensured that survivors and descendents of Tsar Nicholas II were scattered to the far corners of the earth.

Many found comfort in the close family connections in Britain whilst others put the old world firmly behind them by embarking on new lives in America and Australia. Prince Michael Andreevich did both – growing up in Windsor before emigrating to Australia to work as an aviation engineer in Sydney.

Prince Vasili Alexandrovich Romanov also experienced life in Britain before emigrating to the USA in the late 1920s. His career was varied, spanning work as a cabin boy, shipyard worker, stockbroker, winemaker and a chicken farmer in northern California.

Prince Nicholas Romanov embarked on a business career before running a large farm in Tuscany, breeding cattle and producing wine. He also indulged in a particular favourite pastime of Romanovs – serial infighting and feuding over rights of succession to a non-existent throne and dead titles.

Grand Duchess Maria Vladimirovna is even more active on this front, actively campaigning for a restoration of the monarchy in Russia.

Manuel Braganza-Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, King of Portugal

King Manuel II of Portugal had a brief two year reign following the assassination of his father and elder brother in 1908. The assassination was a clear indication that all was not well in royal Portugal and in October 1910 a republican revolution erupted on to the streets of Lisbon.

Manuel was forced into exile, taking what would become a familiar path for deposed monarchs to end up in England. He was able to maintain a suitable household in Fulwell Park, Twickenham and spent his time researching Portuguese history and taking up good causes in connection with his Portuguese and Catholic background.

He had no children, and had decreed that the house of Braganza-Saxe-Coburg would die with him. Along with him would go any claim to the thrones of either Portugal or Brazil. This did not, of course, happen – there were enough separate branches of the royal family to produce claimants, and Dom Duarte Nuno emerged as the candidate with the strongest claim.

His son, Duarte Pio, Duke of Braganza, works as an agricultural development consultant and was a strong and vocal support for East Timorese independence.

Constantine – the King without a surname (former King of Greece of the House of Schleswig-Holstein-Sonderburg-Glücksburg)

Constantine was King Constantine II of Greece from 1964 until 1973. His position following the abolition of the monarchy has been one of the most confused of any former king. He spent a portion of his reign in exile in Italy, and remained in Rome after the monarchy was abolished.

A referendum was held in 1974 on whether Greece should restore the monarchy or remain a republic, and the country overwhelmingly voted to retain the republic (with only 31% supporting a return of the monarchy).

Following the referendum, the Greek state and its former King have had stormy relationship. He was strongly discouraged from returning to Greece – on the death of his mother he was allowed to spend a few hours for her funeral at the former Royal Palace at Tatoi.

Legal wrangling engulfed his property holdings, and, in 1994, Constantine was stripped of both his Greek property and citizenship. He sued in the European Court of Human Rights for property worth over €550 million. His victory was bitter sweet – he was awarded only €4 million and the Greek government paid this out of its natural disasters fund, obliging the former king to pay the sum over to charities.

Perhaps the biggest anomaly is Constantine’s insistence that his family has no surname. Until 1994, his Greek passport identified him as Constantine, former King of the Hellenes. He currently travels on a Danish diplomatic passport with the name Constantino de Grecia. Greeks opposed to the monarchy refer to him as Mr Degrecias or Mr Glücksburg (in reference to the royal house).

His eldest son and heir apparent, Pavlos, is an experienced bluewater yachtsman and currently crews on the multi-record-breaking monohull Mari-Cha IV.

Wytch farm is the richest of them all

Where is Western Europe’s largest onshore oil field? Perhaps secreted under one of Norway’s fjords, under one of the Shetland Islands or close to the vast coal fields of northern France and Belgium?

Most people wouldn’t guess the Isle of Purbeck in Dorset, but this is the home of 480 million barrels of recoverable reserves of crude oil. The oil field stretches east from Purbeck into Poole Harbour and then out into the English Channel to finish just south of the popular seaside resort of Bournemouth.

This was one of the best finds in the third series of the BBC’s Great British Railway Journeys, presented by Michael Portillo. Portillo, who had spent many weeks at Conservative Party Conferences in Bournemouth, was clearly surprised and delighted at this discovery.

The area had long been mined for oil bearing shale rock, but was only prospected for crude oil in the 1950s. The result was Wytch Farm and a mini-oil boom. It was a rich find, with production peaking at 110,000 barrels per day in 1997, and, even today, some 50,000 barrels of oil are extracted every day.

By the 1960s there was the unlikely juxtaposition of an array of nodding donkeys laying just a couple of miles north of the ancient and ruined Corfe Castle. Structures that are more associated with Texan oil finds were happily working away in the remote Dorset countryside.

So unlikely is the location that great care was taken to disguise this vast industrial complex. The metalwork is painted in a reddish-brown to blend with the coniferous forest that was planted all around. The site is sunk a few metres below the surrounding countryside, and , as far as possible, low lying buildings were preferred to the towering structures more familiar to the oil and chemical industries.

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