29th February

Make the most of this one - any History that happens today won't happen again for another four years (except the repeats on the Discovery and History channels). As Disraeli once described the 1867 Reform Act, it was 'a leap year in the dark' (don't worry - nobody knew what he was talking about at the time, either).

So, on this day in 1960, Hugh Hefner opened the Playboy Club in Chicago and introduced the w0rld to gorgeous, scantily clad waitresses posing as rabbits. Strictly no hanky-panky however - you can look, but you can't touch. Hefner was brought up a strict Methodist and started his career on a shoestring with Playboy magazine (about as racy as Hello is today, but mind-bogglingly naughty in its day). So could we say that Hughie is a porn-again Christian?
No.

In other news ...

A birthday back in 1792 on this day has prompted an idea for a brilliant TV show. Gioacchino Rossini, composer and chef, was born on 29 February (so, of course, he was four on his first birthday - see Gilbert and  Sullivan's Pirates of Penzance for a mathematical explanation). One of the excellent pieces Rossini composed was the William Tell Overture, you know, the one the Lone Ranger used to gallop to on Saturday evening tv back in the '50s - duddle dum, duddle dum, duddle dum dum dum - you know the one. For my younger follower, it is the Dove for Men advert.

Well, combining Rossini's talents, how about a cookery programme (now, there's a novelty) in which a series of terrified, gormless hopefuls have to rustle up, say, Tournedos Rossini at the speed of the Overture? That way, all cookery programmes would last only a few minutes and we can watch something worthwhile.

28th February

On this day in 1874 Arthur Orton was found guilty of perjury in a trial that had lasted for 260 days (the longest in legal history after that of Warren Hastings, Governor General of India). Orton swore he was the rightful claimant to a small fortune belonging to the Tichborne family and that he was himself Roger Tichborne, the missing heir. The only problem was that Roger was eight stone wringing wet and Arthur had a far more realistic claim to be the fattest man in England.
Don't tell me they were all playing the anti-plump card as early as 1874!

In other news ...
Today in 1973 members of the Lakota nation - that's Sioux if you, like me, were brought up on Western B movies - occupied the village of Wounded Knee in South Dakota in a gesture against the continuing bad treatment of native Americans - that's Indians if you're a Western fan or Christopher Columbus. In the original 'battle' of Wounded Knee in 1890, the 7th Cavalry, still smarting over the thrashing they got on the Big Horn fourteen years earlier, opened their Gatling guns on unarmed men, women and children led by their chief Big Foot. This was described in the American press as a battle; the defeat of an arrogant idiot called George Custer was described as a massacre,
Go, as modern Americans say, figure.

27th February

Henry Wadsworth, he Longfellow,
Born this day in Eighteen Seven,
Wrote a poem, mighty catchy,
Even if the rhymes were patchy
Wrote it longhand, this Longfellow
Because they had yet to invent a personal computer.

In other news ...
On this day in 1933 a serious fire gutted the Reichstag, Berlin's parliament building. 'God grant,' said the new chancellor, Adolf Hitler, 'that this is the work of the Communists.' (actually, it was the work of the Nazis). 'You [a foreign correspondent to whom he was to speak] are witnessing the beginning of a great new epoch in German history. This fire is the beginning.'
It was - the Nazis followed up burning books, then people.

26th February

Today in 1791 the Bank of England issued the first ever pound note. It was nearly four feet square and didn't fold up very well into anybody's purse or wallet. So, two centuries later, they came up with a £1 coin instead. A number of points to consider here before we put our proposals to the IMF.

• Paper money was so new in the 1790s that use of it led to a run on the banks. Imagine - bankers being beaten up in the streets; oh, the joy of it!
• The 'gold' coin that replaced it was briefly called a Thatcher, because it was 'bold, brassy and thinks it's a sovereign'.
• The £1 coin was too small for anybody to write on it 'I promise to pay the bearer the sum of £1' or to carry the all-important signature of the Governor of the Bank of England.
• The current economic crisis has now been going on for so long that 48% (that's over half) of Eight Zed Pee have never seen a £1 coin, although they tell each other stories when they gather round the family dog for warmth of an evening about that great Eldorado that used to exist down the back of the sofa, long since mined out and used to buy essentials like a warmer dog and stamps to go on the begging letters.

Golden days.

In other news ...

Fats Domino was born today in 1928. What were Mr and Mrs Domino thinking, calling their enormously talented little boy Fats? that would be child abuse today, which is why I find it so odd that people who call their kids Bucket, Playstation and Chunnel get away with it.

25th February

The French Impressionist painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir was born today in 1841. He is quoted as saying, 'I never think I have finished a nude until I think I could pinch it.'
Other people of course have been trying to pinch Renoirs for years.

In other news ...
432 years ago today Pope Pius V got his chasuble in a twist and excommunicated Elizabeth I. Calling her 'the Jezebel of England', he effectively put out a contract on the queen, saying it was perfectly understandable if good Catholics decided to kill her. Can I just remind you, Seven Queue Gee that Pius (the name means holy) was the head of a Christian church that believed in love, charity, forgiveness and generally being nice.
What had Elizabeth done to upset his Munificence? She'd been born out of wedlock - that's a place in Shropshire, Seven Oh Jay - what are the Geography Department teaching you these days?

24th February

You know it's the fashion nowadays for some parents to name their kids after the place they were conceived - Brooklyn Beckham, Chelsea United, Washington Irving for example. Well, on this day in 1920, Nancy Astor went one further. This was the day that a woman (other than Victoria) spoke for the first time in the Houses of Parliament. I'm not commemorating the day here, but her husband's name - Waldorf Astor - conceived, no doubt, in the hotel (or salad) of the same name. I can only assume that this is the origin of the name of my bete noire in Year Nine, Premier Travelodge Johnson.

In other news ...
Five hundred and thirty years ago today (give or take eleven days) Pope Gregory XIII introduced the Gregorian calendar to replace the Julian one. All very confusing, in which days are lost or gained based on a book (the Old Testament) that makes no chronological sense at all. Logic? 365 days a year ... er ... okay. Christmas? Let's make it 25 December, because that's the Roman Feast of Saturnalia. Easter? The first Sunday after the full moon following the vernal equinox (March 21 or thereabouts). Add in the fact that the full moon doesn't necessarily have to be full and the other fact that Easter eggs are in the shops on Boxing Day and a dog's breakfast is the only possible outcome.
Someone should really have said to His Holiness back in 1582, 'Chill out, you've got a Counter-Reformation to sort out. Prioritize, Greg!'
But at least teachers - always known for some reason in this context as 'bloody teachers' - get a few weeks holiday, so don't let's knock it.

23rd February

It's one of those great photographs that have become legend - GIs erecting the stars and stripes on battle-torn Iwo-Jima on this day in 1945. Dear old Clint Eastwood in his recent film has blown the gaffe on this incident. and if you've seen the sequence of stills taken just before and after that one, they're very average, In the first one, the GIs are having difficulty lifting the flag in the high wind. In the later ones, job done, they're standing around having a fag! Eastwood revealed that the actual scene took place when there were no cameras around so it had to be re-staged for the Press later.
Darn!

In other news ...
Next time you're in the West End, find a quiet little Mews near Hyde Park called Cato Street. At one end of it, there's a house which was once a stable. It was here, on this day in 1820 that the revolutionary Arthur Thistlewood and his co-conspirators were caught making grenades before going to Lord Harrowby's house in nearby Grosvenor Square to blow up the entire Cabinet who were having dinner there.
The whole plot had been rumbled weeks earlier and the conspirators were arrested in the hayloft by the Bow Street Runners (precursors of Mrs Carpenter-Maxwell's profession) in which one of them was killed.
Had it come off, it would have been the boldest and most devastating political coup in British history. Except that Arthur Thistlewood was probably mad as a tree and seems to have had no real plan as to what to do had the plot worked.
If you fancy finding out more about this least known English revolution - although possibly Home Rule for Leighford, an early attempt by Mrs Troubridge to kickstart her attempt on world domination is even less well known - visit the mighty Amazon and search Cato Street in books to find the only modern retelling of the sorry tale by redoubtable author MJ Trow. I'm sure more confident men would put what is apparently known as a 'link' but surely you know me better than that!

22nd February

Let's hear it for the Women of Mumbles Head - or at least, somewhere nearby. 212 years ago today, a French Frigate landed at Fishguard in Pembrokeshire.I should perhaps remind you of the following -

1. We were at war with France at the time.
2. The frigate's captain thought Wales was Ireland.
3. He was supposed to be linking up with a rebellion that had already failed weeks before. 

That said, his men were mean, armed and determined to carry out a bit of rape and pillage which have been soldiers' R&R for centuries. Along the beach they saw people advancing with red coats and black headgear and said (to themselves and each other) 'Merde! C'est l'Infanterie de l'Angleterre!' (S**t! British squaddies!). They were wrong in fact because these were Welsh fishwives in their traditional red shawls and black hats. They were far more terrifying than the regular army and the French ran for it. The Pembrokeshire Yeomanry (that's part time cavalry to you, Eight Tee Tea) waited until the coast was clear (literally) then galloped up with lots of cries of 'Huzzah!' and had the battle honour 'Fishguard' put on their accoutrements (that's bits and bobs to you, Twelve Aitch Why).

In other news ...
Jethro Tull died today in 1741. Nothing whatever to do with the 'music' industry, this was the guy who brought you such literary classics as Horse-Howing Husbandry (he was a stickler for alliteration) and Essay on the Principles of Tillage and Vegetation. Tull was not just a theorist, however; his horse-hoe really worked, as did his seed drill which planted seeds in neat rows, making a nonsense of the parable of the sower and ensuring that every seed planted actually grew. What was the response of farm labourers whose work was cut dramatically and whose families could now eat properly? They went on the rampage and smashed up Tull's machinery.

Ingrates!

21st February

To all friends of the Alamo, Davy Crockett, Jim Bowie etc, can I remind you that Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna was born on this day in 1794.
If you're not a friend of the above or have never heard of them (shame on you, Seven Are Why) the Alamo was a mission in San Antonio de Bexar, Texas which was defended by a handful of volunteers including Crockett, Bowie etc against General Santa Anna's army in 1836.
Outnumbered and outgunned, the garrison was overrun after 13 days and every man killed. Santa Anna had set his people free from the autocratic rule of Spain only to proclaim himself dictator.
If only people would use their sense. What else can you expect from someone whose first names are Tony the Wolf?

In other news ...
The French playwright Moliere was buried 338 years ago today - or rather, tonight, because the whole thing was carried out secretly in the wee small hours and without a priest in attendance. Moliere was one of that select band of actors/artistes who have died on stage (see Tommy Cooper, Sid James) but he made enemies in the Church and at the court of Louis XIV.
Nowadays if playwrights are unpopular, people just don't go to see their stuff (*see ......., .........., ...............,).

*censored because of the laws of libel in this great country of ours.

20th February

As you know I am not of the driving persuasion, preferring my trusty old velocipede White Surrey for the school run. but my good lady wife is constantly fretting should a warning light appear on the car's dashboard. 'What's that? What's that?' she screams (as if I have an answer). Spare a thought, then, for John Glenn, who noticed a similar light on his dashboard on 20 February 1962. The only problem was that he was circling the earth at the time in his Friendship-7 capsule and couldn't get through to the AA (or AAA as he would doubtless call it). The flashing light meant that his heat shield was loose and the craft could have disintegrated as it hurtled back into the earth's atmosphere.
Luckily for Glenn all it actually meant was that Friendship 7 was due for its annual service, so no harm done.
Phew!

In other news ...
The French philosopher Voltaire was born on this day in 1694. He upset a lot of Englishmen in his book, Candide in which he explains the execution of Admiral John Byng by saying that the English shoot an admiral every now and again to encourage the others. He saw himself as a campaigner against injustice and a champion of freedom. Everybody else saw him as a slimy cynic. But then, if you're a chap christened Francois Marie Arouet, you've got every right to be cynical.

19th February

What is it with Iceland? Not content with sparking off a Cod War on this day in 1976, they've done nothing but annoy people ever since. They extended their fishing grounds from 3 nautical miles to twelve in 1958 and to 50 in 1972. This was presumably because they'd caught all their fish and wanted somebody else's. They then sank two trawlers and rammed HMS Andromeda. This was only the start, however. More recently they've grounded aircraft all over the world with their volcanic smog, upset international finances with a banking collapse and given us a High Street shop that sells nothing but frozen food.
What have we got in return? Bjork.
I rest my case.

In other news ...
A brilliant new gadget appeared in the skies over Paris 91 years ago today. It was a very light (220 lbs) aircraft with a 25 horsepower engine that drove two large rotating blades. It got off the ground all right and hovered, but landing was a bit of a b***h and no one could predict which direction it was going to go in.
The idea was sound, though - thank God somebody came up with a better name than the one its inventor hoped would take off - the Oehmichencopter.

17th February

The Chiricahua Apache chief Geronimo died on this day in 1909. He fought the US cavalry for years in Arizona and New Mexico, breaking out of a reservation in 1876 and hitting the White Eyes for ten years in brilliant guerrilla raids. After that, he lived the American dream. He may look a fierce old so-and-so in the photographs, glowering at the camera and brandishing his Sharp's rifle but as well as being a great general, he was a pretty s**t hot entrepreneur, selling Apache memorabilia and signing them with his name.
incidentally, there is no truth in the rumour that he died during a sexual debauch by leaping off a wardrobe onto an unsuspecting lady, shouting 'Geronimo!'.
That was Rain-in-the-Face.

In other news ...
In 1972 the German Volkswagen outsold the US Ford Model T with sales of over 15 million. I've always found this rather odd - that a Nazi car with the engine in the wrong place should have been designed by a man who gave his name to an altogether more upmarket car with the engine in the right place.
You couldn't make it up, could you? Although Holocaust deniers do.

On a personal note, the Detective Inspector dislocated her elbow this week, sliding on an inadequately stowed vole innard in the garage. She and Metternich have kissed and made up, but my additional housewifely duties have caused a slight hiatus in the blog - normal service has been resumed, as you can see, but the cooking and housework will be in the capable hands of Mrs Troubridge from Monday when I return to school after half term, so I warn you in advance that some entries may be a little dyspeptic.

16th February

There were near riots today in 1939 when a new item of ladies' doo-dahs went on sale for the first time in the USof A. They were stockings, which had been around for centuries, but they were made of a new synthetic stuff called nylon. Stronger and sheerer than silk (and you don't need worms to make it) it's cheap and cheerful and much easier to wash and dry. it was patented two years earlier by the Du Pont Company and invented by W H Carothers who died soon afterwards. i don't mean any disrespect to Mr Carothers when I say that this was probably just as well or we'd have dodgy men sneaking into ladies' lingerie departments of big stores and asking for 'a pair of Carothers, please.' Doesn't sound quite right, does it?

In other news ...
The first cheque was signed 353 years ago in England when Nicholas Vanacker wrote one to a creditor. The idea was to dispense with coinage as a letters of credit and to try and compete with the sophisticated Lombard banking system. Messrs Barclays announced just yesterday that Mr Vanacker's cheque should clear within the next five working days.

15th February

Today, 448 years ago, Mrs Galilei gave birth to a healthy bouncing baby boy. She and Mr Galilei spent hours thinking of what to call him - Rainbow, Moon Unit, Zabaglione - but in the end plumped for something nearer to home and called him Galileo. How's that for the power of the imagination?
Incidentally, he was born in 1564, the same year as William Shakespeare and Christopher Marlowe, but they never met Spooky, isn't it?

In other news ...
Somebody else born today (in 1748 in fact) was Jeremy Bentham, the radical philosopher who gave the world Utilitarianism. This basically means the greatest happiness of the greatest number when applied to politics, although the phrase itself was Joseph Priestley's and Bentham pinched it. He invented a sort of clapometer to measure happiness - the Felicifi Calculus - but since he didn't know about, for example, sadism or masochism, his results were always going to be flawed.
He also founded University College London - the working man's college - and in his will insisted he be able to continue to watch over the students. I'm not sure if he's still there, but I remember seeing the great man in a glass case at the end of the main corridor. He's sitting on a chair with his thigh bones poking out of his worn breeches. His head is a wax copy, but the real one is in the hat box between his feet. The cleaners of course will tell you that every night, he gets up and has a stroll around the old place.
Yeah, as Nine Pee Pee would have it, right.

14th February

Don't you just love saints' days? There are so many of them that nobody worked at all during the Middle Ages and the Industrial Revolution happened first in Britain because we didn't have any at all. Except St Valentine's Day. Now this is all rather odd because there are two possible Valentines after whom the day is named. one was an early Christian priest put to death in the reign of Claudius the Goth (you couldn't miss him - black hair, purple makeup, didn't like sunlight). The other one was the Bishop of Turin, executed in Rome in a similar clampdown against what was, after all, a heretical sect. neither of these men had anything to do with Love, Hearts, Cupid or nauseatingly schmaltzy greetings cards, so work it out for yourselves. It may be that the 14th of February was seen as the start of the mating season, but this is a Family Blog so we won't pursue that.

All we can be sure of is that in Chicago in 1929 the day was celebrated by Al Capone shooting seven of 'Bugs' Moran's heavies in a garage on the North Side. Three of the five executioners wore police uniforms, though whether they were real cops or just Capone's people in fancy dress was open to doubt. Since half of Chicago's  finest were under investigation for corruption at the time, you just couldn't be sure.

In other news ...
Richard II died today in 1400. I've always felt rather sorry for this guy. He was high-handed, didn't like the Irish and popularized the use of a) forks b) handkerchiefs and c) riding sidesaddle - for ladies of course; nothing 'funny' about Richard II. He also had a cool heraldic badge - the White Hart (that's a deer to you, Seven Emm Eff) now famous as a pub sign throughout the civilized world. He was almost certainly murdered in Pontefract Castle (or Pomfret, as Shakespeare called it, thereby proving that England's greatest playwright was also dyslexic) on the orders of Henry IV (who later, as you'd expect, denied it).

13th February

The massacre at Glencoe took place today in freezing conditions back in 1692. The Macdonald of that Ilk and 36 of his men were hacked to death by their house guests the Campbells. The official reason was that the Macdonalds had not signed an oath of allegiance to William III. In fact, they had, but severe precipitation in the Highlands had caused a delay.
Now there are a number of interesting historical observations to be made about all this:
a) If you invite 129 armed Scotsmen to spend the night with you, don't go to sleep.
b) If you intend to have a massacre, you've got to do a bit better than 37 casualties. Typical of the Scots to skimp on the crowd scenes, as the satirical magazine Punch once said.
c) This is the first recorded example of Be Nice to Oldies Week. The orders sent to the Campbell of that Ilk was that everybody under 70 was to be put to the sword. Everybody else could get their winter fuel allowance, bus passes and a Saga holiday in the Trossachs.

In other news ...
Back in 1971, Spiro T Agnew, the American Vice President, hit three spectators with a golf ball while playing in the Bob Hope Desert Classic Tournament. Now, I wasn't there, so I'm entitled to enquire firstly, did these three volunteer, lining up for the privilege of being whacked by the Vice President? Sounds like a fine Good Ol' Boy custom. I would also like to know whether Mr Agnew took three swings with three balls and get lucky each time or was this a brilliant ricochet shot, that bounced off a palm tree, the three spectators one by one and then plop accurately into the hole?
If you have the answer, please keep it to yourself - and that goes double if you are one of the victims. After being struck on the head by a golf ball, I have grave doubts as to whether anything you say could be even slightly accurate.

12th February

John Donne - pronounced Dun - the Dean of St Paul's, died today in 1631. After Shakespeare, Dickens, Wilde, Shaw, Marlowe, Sheridan and Enid Blyton, he is the most quoted writer in history. As I often say to Ten Aitch Dee, 'Never send to know for whom the school bell tolls; it may fall on thee.' My good lady, the Detective Inspector and I have a small and harmless hobby, of listening for John Donne quotes in unlikely situations. We think we have heard the ultimate now, so may have to rethink how we spend our leisure time. Out and about recently, Nolan, whose bladder is the size of a carrier bag when at home but a walnut when driving anywhere, needed a pee. We stopped at a peculiarly greasy cafe on the side of the road and because we are very polite people, bought something to eat and drink rather than just widdling and running. This may be why we have to stop so often of course - Nolan always seems to take in far more liquid than he gets rid of on these little pauses in our journey. Note to self - think about joining the thousands of people who let their kids wee on the hard shoulder ... Where was I? Yes, well, in this cafe there was suddenly a deafening crash as a tray full of crockery hit the deck and in the ringing silence which followed one voice, in a strong (and in a dark alley very menacing) Glaswegian voice said simply, 'No man is an island' and suddenly everybody rushed to help. Humanity is alive and well and driving a lorry somewhere in England.

In other news ...
Back in 1831, J W Goodrich of Boston (Mass) invented the rubber galosh. Now, I'm quite intrigued by this. Did Mr Goodrich invent one galosh, intending it to become a international sport - 'Premier League Galoshing'? Or did he perhaps only have one leg (as Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, may they rest in peace, would have it, was he a unidexter) thereby not needing to waste yet more time on as second galosh? Was he actually working on a revolutionary cloning technique at the same time so that he need ever only invent one galosh?
And when it comes right down to it, what is a galosh anyway? I am, frankly, at a galosh to explain it.

PS - I fully expect, dear Blog Follower, that galosh will now replace Stephen Fry's Garboldisham as the silliest word in the English language.

11th February

Isn't it funny what a difference four centuries make? Today in 1858 a 14 year old girl, Bernadette Soubirous, claimed to have seen the Virgin Mary eighteen times in a grotto at Lourdes in the Pyrenees. The Pope sent emissaries to check her out and even today the place is a holy shrine where believers go to soak up its spirituality.
Back in 1431, when another French teenager, Jeanne d'Arc, claimed to hear voices from God, the Papacy accused her of heresy and the English burned her at the stake.
That's what I like to see; consistency.

In other news ...
An elderly aunt of mine was outraged today back in 1975 when Margaret Thatcher became the leader of the Conservative party. I was, frankly, surprised. Aunt Mathilde (not her real name) had been a suffragette, a flapper and a bra burner in her long and distinguished feminist career and I'd have thought she'd have been delighted to find the crusty old Tories (of all people) electing a woman to the top job. It was several weeks before I discovered why. Aunt Mathilde's eyesight wasn't what it had been and she's misread an editorial in one of the dailies. It said that Margaret Thatcher was a 'woman of strong conviction' but Auntie had read it as 'a woman with a string of convictions.'
Should've gone to Specsavers.

10th February

There was a touch of overkill 445 years ago today when a handful of miffed Scotsmen blew up Lord Darnley's house in Kirk o' Field, Edinburgh. Not content to blow him apart with gunpowder, the conspirators had strangled him too and left his body in the garden. Some said 'Serves him right' because he had orchestrated the murder, months earlier, of his wife's Italian secretary, David Riccio (I should perhaps point out at this juncture that his wife was Mary, Queen of Scots and she may have been having a bit on how is your father with Riccio). The secretary was stabbed to death in front of her.
It all makes Alex Salmond and the SNP look rather tame, doesn't it?

In other news ...
The great American comedian Jimmy Durante was born on this day in 1893. A wise-cracking, fast-talking Vaudeville star, Durante was famous for his huge nose, known affectionately as his Schnoz. He's been gone for a while now of course, but my impeccable rendering of 'Goodnight, Mrs Calabash, wherever you are,' still has young Nolan rolling in the aisles.

9th February

It was 9th February 1964 when 73 million viewers watched the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show. They proceeded to take the good ol' USA by storm, although I've never quite understood why. At the time, girls of all ages were swooning over the mop top four in Europe and I must say that even in the Maxwell household, not exactly a cutting edge sort of place musically, rang to the sounds of their music. When somebody asked John Lennon how he had found America, he replied, 'It's easy, you turn left at Greenland.'
Now, who did he pinch that from?

In other news ...
The Boxer Rebellion kicked off today in 1899 with pamphlets telling everybody how much the Chinese hated Europeans. The Boxers were actually called the Fists of Righteous Harmony and they were the forerunners of all those terrible Kung Fu/Martial Arts films of the 70s and 80s. European churches apparently, got in the way of Heaven; Christianity was disrespectful to the ancient Gods; and worst of all, Europeans' (barbarians') eyes were so disgustingly blue.
Nothing for the Commission for Racial Equality to get its knickers in a twist there, then.

And in yet other news ... I have to include this third item because today in 1865 Mrs Patrick Campbell was born. She was the first Eliza Doolittle in Pygmalion and had a bit of a fling with George Bernard Shaw (she was obviously very short sighted). What I've never understood about her is a) what happened to Mr Patrick Campbell or b) why were her parents so cruel as to call her Patrick in the first place?

8th February

'A dead woman bites not' said Lord Grey with astonishing perspicacity. He was talking about Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, a pleasant enough woman who was never known to have bitten anybody, even when alive. She was beheaded on this day in 1587 at the castle of Fotheringay (now a ruin) on the reluctant orders of her cousin, Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England. The two never met, despite that scene in the film where Vanessa Redgrave and Glenda Jackson have a go at each other with riding crops) and Elizabeth instantly regretted having it done.
What did it achieve? Nothing. The Stuarts got the throne of England after all, giving rise to Ramsay MacDonald, Tony Blair, Gordon Brown and the West Lothian Question.
Who knew?

In other news ...
The Boy Scouts of America was founded today in 1910, along the lines of the British movement of two years earlier set up by Colonel Robert Baden Powell, the hero of Mafeking. Isn't it a pity that his book Scouting for Boys is so widely misunderstood today and the mafeking is strictly contrary to EU regulations.
On the other hand, the Colonel's penchant for wearing rather fetching day dresses is widely accepted now on both sides of the Atlantic, drag though it is.

7th February

This was the birthday 142 years ago today, of the psychoanalyst Alfred Adler. His mother was Irene, with whom Sherlock Holmes had a 'thing' and of course his dad was Larry, the harmonica player. Alfred himself came up with the idea of the inferiority complex, but he didn't want to make a fuss about it.

In other news ...
On this day in 1886 a carpenter called George Walker found gold in the Transvaal in South Africa whilst building a cottage. The Boers (Dutch farmers who had settled there years earlier) were concerned that thousands of trouble-making foreigners would swarm into the area which I would imagine was exactly the same thing that the Zulus had feared when the Boers had arrived.

6th February

Kit Marlowe was born today in 1564 in the parish of St George in Canterbury. His dad was a tanner and shoemaker and Kit was a bright boy who sang beautifully, studied the Classics at the King's School and went on to Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, where he started to write naughty poetry (based on Ovid) and do a bit of spying on the side for Sir Francis Walsingham, the 'M' of his day. How did it all turn out? Well, you'll have to read a brilliant new detective series written by MJ Trow and published by Severn House in their new Creme de la Crime imprint and available on Amazon and all good bookshops. There are two of these must-reads out already - Dark Entry and Silent Court - with a third, Witchhammer, out this spring. It's the sort of stuff I would like to have written myself, if I only had the time.

In other news ...
Joseph Priestley died today in 1804. He discovered (not invented, despite the contentions of Seven Eff Pea) oxygen and was a Radical politician whose house was burnt down by a right-wing mob who didn't care for his views on the French Revolution - which he believed was the best thing since sliced bread ... which he also didn't invent.
In later years, he used his initials JB and became a successful writer (only joking, Seven Eff Pea).

5th February

George Orwell's Big Brother hit Mayfair today in 1958. Robot-like machines called Parking Meters were installed on pavements to make life just that bit more unbearable for motorists and the Greater London Council just that bit richer. The Americans had been doing this in some cities since 1935 but that's no excuse. This was soon followed of course by Traffic Wardens who were called Little Hitlers for obvious reasons (they all had small toothbrush moustaches and had failed to get into Art College).
Clobbering the motorist has been a national (and especially a London) sport ever since.

In other news ...
The year before parking meters, Bill Haley and the Comets arrived in London to the delight of squealing fans and to the horror of the Establishment. If you ever see footage of this Rock 'n' Roll invasion, check out (as you young people say) the extraordinary banality of it all. Bill looks well over fifty, is an unsexy chubby bloke in a shiny grey suit and has what my mother's generation called a 'kiss curl' on his forehead. Benjamin Disraeli had one too, but his band - the Conservative Party - had nothing like the success of Bill Haley.
A pre-Rock 'n' Roll generation were perfectly happy with hit numbers like 'Won't you go home, Bill Haley, won't you go home?' They don't write 'em like that any more.

I feel at this point that I need to set a record straight. When the Year Sevens arrive at Leighford High School every September, bright eyed and bushy tailed before the enthusiasm gets knocked out of them, I let them guess my age. Although not a man with a mathematical bent, as my friend can attest, I have kept a rough running total and every now and again work out my actual age against my Year Seven Age. There is probably some formula, like AA* x YSA** + fo**** = YACF*****/infinity which would help me work it out, but basically I am around 563, according to Year Seven. Not bad, but no cigar. Not even behind the bike sheds.

* Actual Age
** Year Seven Age
**** number of times I get sworn at by Year Seven
***** Years at Chalk Face.

4th February

There was outrage today in Vienna back in 1928 because of the naughty stage act of Josephine Baker. The forerunner in many ways of Rihanna and Lady Gaga by way of Madonna, 'Hot Jazz' Josephine upset Viennese Nazis because of her skimpy banana skin costume. Apparently, it upset them because it was indecency in public. Actually of course it showed far too much of her dark skin for their liking and must have upset their delicate Aryan sensibilities.

In other news ...
Back in 1861 the greatest nation on earth (according to some definitions) almost destroyed itself by an illegal opt-out clause. On this day, seven of the soon-to-be United States met in Montgomery, Alabama (curiously, named after a British general who hadn't been born yet) and agreed to set up the Confederate States of America. Apart from causing the deaths of more Americans than in any of their conflicts before or since, it produced some worthless currency, rather nice French grey uniforms, a plethora of Southern Belles, some great marching tunes and one of the worst films ever made - Gone With the Wind.

Thanks, guys.

And by the way, the list of girl (and rather mature lady, in the case of Madonna) singers above is courtesy of the boys of Eleven Emm Oh. So please be reassured that the sentence represents their tastes, not mine! I am more an Enya or Hayley Westenra kind of chap.

3rd February

Old time-honoured Gaunt, father of Henry IV, popped his sollerets today in 1399. I've always felt a bit sorry for this guy, what with the peasants being revolting enough to tear down his palace at the Savoy in 1381 and nobody being able to pronounce his name properly - it was actually Ghent, of course. Richard II also gave him a hard time and even when Gaunt's little boy became Henry IV, his reign was plagued by wars and rebellions. Which just goes to show that money, land, palaces, titles and getting a starring role in Shakespeare can't buy you happiness.

In other news ...
Thirty three years ago today, Yasser Arafat became leader of the PLO. A Head of Music at Leighford, now moved on to higher things - I believe he busks in Notting Hill most Saturdays - could never understand why so many people did as they were told by the erstwhile conductor of the Plymouth Light Orchestra.

It is looking as though Nolan might be going to be musical, one of those strange genetic quirks that sometimes happens. I for example can tell two tunes apart, if someone stands in front of me and shouts the name of one of them very loudly and repeatedly, while smacking me round the head. My good lady can tell all kinds of tunes one from another and can sing after a fashion. I wish instead of singing she would stop the shouty person coming into the house while I am trying to listen to music, though. But Nolan has the voice of an angel and is being taught the recorder by Mrs Troubridge; fortunately for Metternich's temper, the lessons take place chez Troubridge.

2nd February

New Amsterdam became New York today in 1665. The British drove out the Dutch settlers who had bought Manhattan from the Native Americans for a broken mirror and a pack of hula hoops and were led by their thoroughly unpleasant chain-smoking Governor Peter Stuyvesant (he of the silver leg - what a terrible birth defect). Stuyvesant was a rabid Puritan who imprisoned people for playing tennis (actually, not a bad idea) and no one was sorry to see him go.
Song lyric writers of course are particularly grateful. Imagine getting your tongue and guitar chords around 'New Amsterdam, New Amsterdam' - so good they renamed it.

In other news ...
One of the all-time survivors of History was born 258 years ago today. His name was Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Perigord and as you've probably guessed, he was of the French persuasion. As an aristocrat, he became adviser to Louis XVI, he of the less-than-happy encounter with Madame Guillotine, but bounced back to become adviser to the Revolutionary Government. When Napoleon Bonaparte seized power, who should be at his elbow but Talleyrand and when the Emperor was defeated at Waterloo, b****r me, he's there again, giving sound and sensible advice to his successor, Louis XVIII.
I don't know if you've noticed the occasional PR presentation by Barack Obama from the White House, but there's a little old boy with a wig and breeches in the background who I can't help but think looks a little familiar ...

1st February

American heart throb Clark Gable was born today in 1901, the same day, coincidentally, that Queen Victoria died. Conspiracy theorists are sure there is a plot involved somewhere, but as I write, they are not sure what - give them time, they'll come up with something eventually.
It may be that I'm too male and too young to appreciate Gable, but I never quite took to him. Those huge ears, that silly moustache and an essential inability to act, should have precluded him from Hollywood stardom. Apparently, he had bad breath as well, but that was really just an issue between him and his leading lady. Incidentally, did you know that his famous last line of Gone With The Wind (the most over-rated film in history apart from, arguably, The Sound of Music) was originally 'Frankly, my dear, I don't really care.'
Well done to whoever insisted on changing that - although it didn't amount to a hill of beans as regards improving the film.

In other news ...
Seventy years ago today, Vidkun Quisling became Prime Minister of Norway under German occupation. So detested was he, at home and abroad, that his name became synonymous with treachery and traitorous behaviour. So, if you really want to offend someone, all you have to do is say 'You Vidkun,' and watch them react with horror.