Richard Peters -in the Sai Kung Country Park

J.R.R. Tolkien and the effects of being a Catholic

Humphrey Carpenter's 1977 authorized biography, Tolkien, has been a fascinating read. His emphasis on the reflection of the man's life within his written work is probably spot-on: it is, after all, family approved. What comes distinctly through in his evaluation of the great man's life is his devotion to Roman Catholicism.  But to say that he was a bit of a catholic is to say the sun is simply a bit of a source of heat; Tolkien's identity was fiercely catholic, his life was moulded in reaction to popular English sentiments against it, he saw his writings as an embodiment of true catholic identity and integrity.

John Ronald Reuel Tolkien's early years in South Africa were abruptly curtailed by his father's sudden death. His mother sought solace with her family back in Birmingham. Later, together with her sister, she found a spiritual satisfaction in Roman Catholicism switching allegiance from the family's traditional Baptist, Methodist, and Unitarian traditions. The family's reaction was unfortunately bigoted and they set about disinheriting her. This fact alone must have created such bitterness in the loyal and loving Tolkien boys and they faithfully remained forever within the adopted tradition. When John met and fell in love with his future wife Edith, their future plans had to begin with her catholic conversion and a full catholic wedding.

Tolkien, however, adopted more than just a method of worship, an understanding of creed and a taking of catechism. He adopted a world view that recognised the universality of Catholicism (with a big 'C') that had its' unalterable and unquestionable foundations in truth. This view did not accept any variation of catholic identity, such as those found within Anglican or Lutheran assumptions (which he considered plainly erroneous and irritating) and his personal relationship with C.S. Lewis was often tempered by the latter's rejection of Tolkien's reasoning and denomination (he was a Protestant Ulsterman, for God's sake!). In short, Tolkien intellectualised his catholic faith, it coloured his mind, tempered his relationships and filled his written works. 

But before you whip out a pencil to begin underlining passages of The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings that you reconsider reveal Popish propaganda, you'll have to understand that Tolkien never really wrote about his catholic faith, directly or by allegory. Indeed, he didn't like allegory.  When his publisher Stanley Unwin suggested an allegory between the Lord of the Rings with the German Nibelungenlied, he wrote, 'Both rings were round, and there the resemblance ceased... Do not let Raynor [Unwin] suspect "Allegory". There is a "moral", I suppose, in any tale worth telling. But that is not the same thing. Even the struggle between darkness and light... is for me just a particular phase of history, one example of its pattern, perhaps, but not The Pattern; and the actors are individuals -they each, of course, contain universals, or they would not live at all, but they never represent them as such.' This, of course, emerged from a deeply romantic view steeped in a love of pre-Shakespearean literature and in so much Anglo-Saxon and High German subject matter -his professional wordsmithing life. 

Let's face it, Tolkien was a bit of an old fuddy-duddy. He lived a very conservative (one could argue 'reactionary') lifestyle in suburban houses with no TV, marking schoolboys essays for cash during the family holidays at seaside resorts, mowing the lawn, cycling to mass in the morning and sinking into a mass of disorganised paperwork in his office at home. Literary success didn't change him -he continued to undertake many of these mundane activities and on regular shopping trips and at lunch would count the pennies. His inner thoughts were, however, as high and developed as any could be -his philological mind was, quite simply, astounding.

As a writer, John Tolkien took his time. A perfectionist, he had to draft, review, reorganise and re-write nearly every word he wrote, to the point where his colleagues and publishers were clearly infuriated. He was fastidious about detail, seeing the life of characters not only in their nuanced and natural dialogues or through accurate narrations and descriptions, but in the undeniable truth of the existence in their world, even down to the accuracy of the maps and history of place names. In this he was a universalist -a catholic. He appreciated detailed enquiries from fans and saw in them a justification for his care. It can also be inferred that although there is never a direct referrence to religion per se, his writings are permeated with it; the old world and the new, the champions and villains, those with integrity and those in perfidy, the powers and counter-powers  -even in the elves, dragons and wizards. One could argue that The Lord of the Rings is one of the most moral of all moral tales. 

This biography is the worthy description of a quiet life, but also of a extraordinary mind. Even though it is plain that Tolkien must have been a difficult man, one cannot help extending much respect, if not a little love, towards him.

Maltesers Besieged by Turkish Delight

Sometimes one may hear a book review and instantly hurry out to get a copy only for it to dustily languish on the shelves. At other times an unlikely title may unexpectedly fall into the lap and be voraciously consumed. Such was The Great Siege:Malta 1565 by Ernie Bradford, a fiery tale of the 1565 Ottoman attempt to conquer Malta and defeat the chivalrous Knights of St John. Voltaire may have quipped that "nothing is more well known than the siege of Malta", but I was as ignorant as an ignoramus too stupid to know it was St Ignoramus's Day.


A splendid romp, this little penguin edition was owned by me poor old Ma –Gawd only knows why: perhaps it was her intention, but as far as I know she never visited Malta. The writer, Ernie Bradford (who looked a bit like me Dad), had a bit of an adventurous life himself, seeing action in the Med during the war, then sailing it and completing the odd book now and then. He truly nailed his colours to the mast, on several occasions declaring Muslims 'the enemy' and the Templar Kinghts to be the good stout legendary fellows that saw 'em off! My other gripe is that his sources are all English, French, and Italian. Thus, apart from a few menacing quips from the Sultan (""Janisarries forward!" Mustapha Ordered." is about the limit), we are left deaf to 50% of the story other than by western-orientated proxy.


Leaving all these pragmatics aside, the 1961-written saga follows the extraordinary and quite miraculous defence of the main harbour of the island against a huge seaborne invasionary force of possibly as many as 40,000 Turks, Algerians and Janissaries. The 8,000 defenders that held out for more than three months during the summer of 1565 is as much a testament to religious zealotry as it is to superhuman endurance, for their fanatical adherence to fundamentalist Catholicism combined with spectacular leadership of the ultra-heroic Jean Parisot de Valetta made this encounter truly cosmic in scope –what was a stake was nothing other than the existence of Christendom and the future of the West!


Malta as part of the Kingdom of Sicily had at the time been in the care of the Kings of Aragon and thus the majority of concerns were more about protecting growing Imperial Spanish interests than protection from piratical corsairs. As a piece of the European chessboard it may, of itself, have not been a source of power, but it came to be a symbol that enabled much in terms of Iberian expansion and pride. All eyes were raised towards this terrible siege; if Malta fell then the Christians would have no base to raid the rich Ottoman shipping lines across northern Africa, Malta would become the springboard for the inevitable Ottoman re-conquest of Sicily, the Mediterranean would become an Ottoman lake and Western civilization would be doooomed... Even protestant Queen Elizabeth I declared Malta a "bulwark of the faith" (whatever that is).


One has to remember that patriotism, the nation state and all that jingoistic nonsense did not quite exist in the same manner as understood at the end of the 19th century or even today. In retrospect these religious wars, fought for potentate or sultan, appear to us barbaric and pointless –few of us share their world views (thank God! -that's a little jokel, btw). But perhaps under the surface, as evinced by the author, age-old allegiances appear to span the centuries. Should the time come, would we answer the call to man the barricades or storm the castle walls?


de Valette fought with distinction against the Turks when their island paradise of Rhodes was captured. In 1557 he was elected the leader of the Order of St John on their new island fortress of Malta. A dashing polyglot (and there aren't many of them!), he had previously been captured and learned Turkish as a galley slave. In his 70s by the time of the siege, he held the island by careful planning as much as by excellent strategy and his men did not suffer the withering bouts of disease or plague that the encamped Turkish forces fared. Never caught off-guard, he was a cunning leader who clearly knew how to guide men's hearts when the walls were breached and the odds became near-overwhelming. He commanded such respect that he could order men to their deaths and they would willingly go. Thus the isolated fortress of St Elmo held out for many weeks longer than expected and cost thousands of Turkish casualties in its storming, but despite its’ eventual loss significantly turned the tide of the war. Eventually the Turks beheaded the last defenders, tied their bodies to crucifixes and floated them across the bay. In response la Valetta had the Turkish prisoners decapitated and shot their heads back into the captured fortress by cannon. It was that kind of conflict.


The Knights of Malta, who had the distinction of defending the island, came from all over Christendom. Their religious vocation combined with militaristic zeal meant that their origin in defending the pilgrims to Jerusalem was a thing of the medieval past. Answerable only to the pope, by the mid-16th century, many courts of Europe admired their prowess, but also saw them as rich adventurers slightly beyond their grasp and therefore a potential worry. The Order only admitted those of noble birth, although others could join without holding position. From our vantage point it seems ridiculous that such an organisation with such an admission system could ever exist.


The ferocious and fearless Janissaries, the term meant new soldiers ('Yeniçeri' in Turkish), were, as Bradford writes, 'one of the most extraordinary inventions of the Ottoman Empire. It is fair to call them an 'Invention', for they were unlike any type of soldier known to history... none of them were Turkish by birth. All were children of Christian parents who lived within the confines of the Ottoman Empire.' Family prestige, good pay and handsome rewards for loyalty were in the offing. Once converted, these formidable warriors were usually the deciding force of a battle, rushing in to breaches of siege walls, storming battlements and generally doing derring-dos.


I knew very little of this seminal age before picking up this nice little outing. The conflict that it describes is of the Baron Münchhausen-moustaches-and-funny-headgear sort and may have looked more glamorous than anything since.  Certainly before the deafening booms of the first bronze cannons tirade over the richly-coloured pennants and flapping standards, a panoply of eastern musical instruments accompanied the steady and intimidating march of the bejewelled and plumed Turkish troops towards the front. It was a time of clouds of sulphurous black powder, of gleaming billowing robes, of suits of highly-polished armour glinting in the sun, of massive slave-rowed galleys carving their ways through transparent azure waters.


The people of Malta were so thankful to la Valetta for saving their island that in his honour they named the new city built overlooking the harbour. The Knights set themselves up as the protectors of the Christian sea highways in the Med and tried to limit the corsair activity (by becoming piratical themselves). To this day the order of St John is the oldest surviving order of chivalry –the Sovereign Military Order of Malta being recognised by 104 countries and the United Nations. It still has an active role as helpers of the sick, of war and famine and we know it foremost through the St John Ambulance.


Above all, this little book opened the eyes to feats of astonishing bravery on both sides. It left its mark, served as a reminder of the ongoing clash of civilizations and isa jolly good read, to boot!

'Oui!' to 1000 Years of Annoying the French

I have always loved France –close enough to home to be accessible, far enough away to be different, holidays there were fun and full of the nicest things possible; cheeses, wines, meats, restaurants, boulangeries, beaches, interesting and helpful locals –well, maybe not the last one. One year we were holidaying in Languedoc,went to la plage and set about frolicking in the sea, tanning on the sands and trying not to peer too long at the topless French ladies –fwoarr! With a keen eye for a quick franc, the local supermarket had set up a stall in the car park for waffeur-thin steak et frites and we happily queued. Grabbing my newly fried frites, I proceeded to cover them all in lovely French tomato ketchup only to summarily squirt the biggest massive splurge of said red sauce all over the poor seller’s crotch (much to his severe annoyance): the container having just been refilled, the nozzle pointed away from my lovely chips.

Such an unfortunate incident, I think, properly illustrates our trans-marche relationship. More often than not, les anglais have squirted their tomato ketchups (and worse) onto the noble Gallic crotches (and other tender parts) and this has led to war. And just as jobbing steak frites sellers have cursed the holidaying rosbifs, so the kings, emperors and presidents of the nation of franks have cursed their cousins across the water: the last 1000 years have been punctuated with at times incredibly violent international relations. But we are the best of friends now, n’est-ce pas?

Stephen Clarke has made this slightly weighty (517 pages) romp through history about as entertaining as a English-type who lives and works in France could. What’s catchy is the way in which each well-known Franco-British historical scene is set up with the usual accompanying myths and legends only to have them re-examined and re-explained from the perspective of our divergent yet mutual histories. Beginning with the wicked exploits of William the Conqueror (who was not French actually, but Norman –about as French as the next Dane) and concluding at the right royal diplomatic faux pas of 2008 meted out on Nicolas Sarkozy which involved showing him lots of pictures of Waterloo (the battle, not the station), the book is a joy to read. It’s obvious that he’s used up his two years compiling these stories in lots of reading. Each chapter, however, has that I’ve-just-read-a-few-books-about-this-topic-therefore-I-will-write-about-it feel to it and the book occasionally seems a little formulaic.

Here’s a few of Clarke's important historical observations:

·      William the Conqueror died whilst fighting the French

·      Joan of Arc was tried and sentenced by the French

·      The Burghers of Calais were not executed by the English (or even at all)

·      Mary Queen of Scots was, to all intents and purposes, a French princess

·      France lost America because of a cow

·      The English invented champagne

·      The guillotine was invented in Halifax

·      The stormed Bastille contained only 7 prisoners –four forgers, two lunatics and one count accused of helping his sister run away from her husband

·      Napoleon nearly became an English mariner

·      The French did not invent croissants, baguettes or steaks grillés

·      The innocent sounding WWI song, ‘Parley-vouz’, is about patriotic French Mademoiselles who serviced British soldiers hundreds at a time

·      de Gaulle took part in the D-Day landings 8 days later with only 177 French soldiers

In short, the French view the past through Tricolore-tinted glasses, but then don’t we all with our histoires? The English love and admire French style and elegance and early morning hot chocolate croissants from le boulangerie du village, the French love and admire English pop culture, cool Britannia and decent packets of biscuits.

Stephen Clarke’s other book, A Year in the Merde, plods the well-worn track of The Innocents Abroad, a Mark Twain novel, has become an international best-seller, printed in France as God Save La France. He has said of living in Paris, "I love France because here you are working for a living and not vice versa". Ah, the wisdom of it.

We get on now because it’s in our interests. But, as Stephen Clarke says in a France 24 interview, our mutual past has a habit of rearing itself up and interrupting the best of intentions with troublesome recollections. So it is that each Frenchy that descends onto the platform of Waterloo Station is unhappily reminded of Napoleonic defeat and national chagrin.

Ah well –plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose…

Lionheart and Lackland: Richard and John

‘Lionheart and Lackland’, Frank McLynn’s excellent 2006 output, is both a chronological biography and useful comparison of the two kings of England, the brothers Richard I and John. It may at first seem that their crusading medieval epoch is a world so very far removed from ours and their positions so very elevated as to make any analysis of their lives a meaningless exercise. McLynn, however, describes their behaviour as reflective of their humanity and is therefore psychologically perceptive and relevant. As biographies of English kings go, this double outing seeks not only to outline their activities (surely a challenge after so great a time and when much of the documentation takes the form of glowing/withering biographies), but also to identify their behaviours and motives. Despite the centuries, one cannot help cheering on Good King Richard and theatrically booing Bad King John.

Richard I

Richard I was a hero’s hero. Leading quite literally from the front, he carved his will through utilizing the best of the military arts of his day. His father Henry II the fiery red-haired grandson of William the Conqueror was often considered so ill-tempered and an unquiet member of any church congregation that many folk thought him the progeny of Satan and his family the devil’s brood. He had married the exquisitely beautiful Eleanor of Aquitaine: Richard was the third of their eight children. From Henry Richard inherited his extraordinary energy and determination as well as his temper and pugnacious political will. From his mother the love of arts, travel and fine living. The two men collided early on (which is hardly surprising considering that Henry had his beloved mother imprisoned and seduced Richard’s betrothed, Alys) and waged common war with his brothers in the Revolt against King Henry. Finally outmanoeuvred, the young Richard capitulated, being at that time the weaker, and begged for and received forgiveness on his knees.

At the time of his father’s death in 1189 Richard was again at war with his father, this time in cohorts with the Philip II King of France. Now King not only of England but also of vast Angevin Empire that stretched from the Scottish borders to the Pyrenees, Richard took to task with relish and quickly –that is, to raise the considerable finances necessary to organise his Crusade. This activity seems to us quaint at best, barbaric at worst, but to the medieval mind crusading was the pinnacle of all human endeavour, a thoroughly meritorious act –even without fault, seen in much the same way we might view campaigning against racism or working for the United Nations.

On his way he captured Sicily and Cypress (the latter in a week) and arrived in Acre in the nick of time to save from collapse the desperate Christian siege –itself besieged. And now comes his most damning criticism: His allies, realising themselves in his shadow, quickly departed back home leaving him with 2,700 Saracen prisoners. Not able to feed them or secure their release, he beheaded them all. Even by the standards of 1191 that was a war crime.

Over the next year, however, his derring-dos more than proved his mettle as commander and as a supreme strategist leading sorties, organising successful sieges and defeating Saladin. It culminated in the march to the walls of Jerusalem. But the city was a step too far and he wisely withdrew, came to gracious terms with Saladin and set out for his European dominions.

On his way back he was unluckily shipwrecked, continued by foot and was captured and held for ransom by the Austrians. There appears to be no substance behind the famous story about the minstrel Blondel going from castle to castle singing a verse of one of Richard’s songs hoping to hear the second and thereby discovering his imprisoned king’s whereabouts.

The ransom paid, Richard returned to duty. His first act was to bring his errant rebellious brother John to heel, fight King Philip of France and build a massive impregnable castle to prevent him from invading Normandy. This he encompassed within two years, but he was not to enjoy the fruit of his labours for long. Whilst besieging a minor castle in 1199 he was famously shot in the shoulder by a crossbow and died within days from gangrene. A rather ignominious end: had he lived, Richard would no doubt have made an even bigger impact on European history than he did.

 

 

 

 

 

John

The youngest of the devil’s brood, John was rather spoilt by his father Henry. On reaching maturity he viewed almost every occasion as an opportunity for rebellion, treachery, lying, cheating, murdering, raping and pillaging. He was subject to bouts of hyperactivity and then, usually at the most critical juncture, to mournful incapacity. In modern parlance, he was bi-polar. Without any of his brother’s charms or leadership qualities, he sought to govern by force, threats, blackmail and obfuscation.

Once Richard was dead John took over and enjoyed all the trappings of kingship without responsibility and failed to demonstrate any of the necessary leadership qualities that would have drawn his kinsmen to his illustrious brother. He expected fealty and respect as a matter of course, unquestioning obedience and forbearing when he was clearly in error. His largess was always spiked and his ever-greedy hands were constantly turning the fiscal screws on his subjects tighter and tighter.

His most infamous action was to murder his nephew and pretender to the Continental part of the Angevin empire, Arthur of Brittany –some said by his own hands. It was rumoured he threw his weighted body into the Seine.

Despite Richard’s consolidation in terms of strategic castle building, John ineptly lost Normandy to Philip. He spent the rest of his reign seeking ways to get back at the king, building confederacies and pacts with the enemies that surrounded France’s . But no matter how hard he struggled, his inadequacy came to the fore. He clearly wasn’t the great general his brother was.

He disputed with both church and barons and when he couldn’t get his way took it out on both institutions, stripping churches of all their possessions or removing individual barons from their estates, setting up and selling sinecures. The Pope appeared to listen to John’s poisoned letters and forgave him. The English barons, however, were less magnanimous. When John’s war with France began to falter they rebelled and his response was to quit the Continent. He famously met them at Runnymede, but as he signed the Magna Carta which set out their demands for universal justice and peace he was simultaneously writing to the Pope pleading that his signature be considered done under duress.  He further rampaged across the rebellious baronial lands killing and murdering all who offered resistance and setting fire to anything.

It was during this time that the barons pleaded with King Philip to allow his son Louis to become King of England. He landed and John fled, believing in the might of his many castles. Preferring to hide rather than fight, John thought to wait it out. Indeed, support for Louis was on the wane. But on his way around the marshland called The Wash that separated Norfolk and Lincolnshire John’s baggage train was lost to the high tide and quicksand: within were the Crown Jewels and much of his wealth. This so upset an already ill monarch (he had dysentery) that he became worse. He could barely move and within days he was dead. John, however, did nothing in his life better than the leaving of it. His young son Henry became one of the strongest, most long-lived and ablest kings England had.

If one can criticize the book, it is that within there are few maps included (and we are discussing an empire, crusades and civil wars here) are those given are so lacking in detail as to be practically useless: it might be better to read this book with an eye on a good website to fill the gaps. McLynn’s imaginative and loquacious narrative certainly had me wanting to know more about these characters, but I do wonder about some of his more telling personal insights. As a body of work it certainly holds good comparison with other works on the subject. His other book '1066: The Year of Three Battles' is also an excellent account of the events before and after the most momentous date, taking a broader sweep of the usually neglected Norwegian side of that story. One might also be drawn to Alison Weir's 'Eleanor Of Aquitaine: By the Wrath of God, Queen of England' which made me fall in love with this subject in the first place.