History Archives - Page 19 of 22 - Los Cuadernos de Julia

History and Blogging

I have only recently joined BlogCatalog, which the majority of you may already have discovered and exploited ages ago. So far I have been finding a lot of interesting blogs and discussions there. In particular, they’re inviting all BlogCatalog people to join Bloggers Against Abuse on September 27th. The conditions are simple:

On Sept. 27th, blog about putting an end to some sort of Abuse (you decide what kind of abuse to blog about).

To read more, follow this link.

And on Oct. 15th we’re invited to take part in the Blog Action Day. Bloggers from all over the world, in whatever language they write, are invited to blog about environment. Go to the Blog Action Day’s homepage to read about how you can participate.

You have obviously noticed the title of this post. The organisers of both days offer to their potential participants an opportunity to make history as a kind of incentive for joining the cause. Looking back, we had One Day in History project which accumulated blog entries from all over Britain; we had a similar project with emails. As far as various blog action days go, my favourite is still the last year’s Global Orgasm Day.

I very much like the fact that the blogging community is realising more and more that with every bit of writing they put on the web they’re making history. On one of the discussion boards on BlogCatalog I suggested that a couple of years down the line we’ll be using blogs as historical sources for all sorts of studies. I didn’t expand on this in that thread, but let’s consider for a minute an average blog. It combines writing with photos from Flickr, music from Last.fm, and videos from YouTube. All four – the written word, photos, audio, and video – are historical sources. So, not only will we soon stumble upon “The History of Blogging” in our nearest bookshop, but we will also begin to find links to blog posts in the academic and semi-academic studies.

And when this happens, the issue of privacy will probably be forgotten completely. For, if a leading academic approaches a blogger asking to use their musings about national economy, a recent war, or sex, in their research, will the blogger’s vanity be too weak to withstand a temptation of being quoted in a thick book? However much time we’ve begun to spend in the virtual world, being able to hold in your hands a tangible record of your stardom is still something we all crave.

Update:

I’ve had a comment from Pelf at The Giving Hands. This young woman who is a biologist and veterinarian (apart from many other things from A to Z she’s been in her life) has started a blog to write specifically on the issues of saving and protecting the environment. Her own blogging challenge has been to blog about environment for the whole month, from Sept 15th to October 15th. As she is inviting us to read and comment on her blog, I found this post about green gifts particularly interesting. A few of my colleagues at work are getting married next year, so I might start thinking of something “green” for them. Read 10 ways to green your gifts.

Me, Cardinal Wolsey, and Martin Luther King

It could hardly get any better than this – to stumble upon a post about Moscow in 1664 in a blog written by Cardinal Wolsey. The fact that it’s twenty minutes past eleven at night would make me doubt things, but no, this is true: while the life of Henry VIII is being adapted and re-adapted for the screen, his Humble Servant is blogging away “on Tudor history, medieval history, early-modern history and anything else that takes his fancy”.

All jokes aside, Cardinal Wolsey’s Today in History is a really interesting blog, which I haven’t read before. Having spent several years studying mid-Tudor history and specialising in the history of Edward VI’s reign, I was glad to find this post about child kings.

Thanks a lot to Cardinal Wolsey who got me started on remembering my Medieval and Early Modern History studies. I finally feel it is appropriate to tell the story that happened in Moscow in 2003. As you might know, in Russia we have predominantly oral exams, which involve learning a lot of facts, dates, names, definitions, etc., by heart. The exam is taken by a senior academic, who is often assisted by a junior member of staff. So, in my first (and by far the only) year of Ph.D. in History I assisted three or four times, and the final time it was during the summer exam session at the Early Modern History exam.

This 2nd year student had two questions: one on socio-economic history of England in the 16th c., another on the history of German Reformation. He knew his first question badly, and answering it to the senior examiner would have made no difference, as the main examiner was my supervisor, herself an English scholar.

We dragged through this first question, and then I finally “released” him from this turmoil and suggested he’d start answering his second question.

The student evidently thought that German Reformation was an easy question, and that since I was an English scholar I was therefore not a German scholar, so it wouldn’t be too difficult to impress me with some generic phrases. And thus, sitting opposite me at the desk, he almost struck a pose, and pronounced the first sentence that was supposed to start a memorable answer:

– Reformation in Germany was begun by Martin Luther King.

I made my best effort not to take a notice. Alas, the student heard what he said. He shrank and mumbled with a confused smile:

– I mean, simply Martin Luther.

One of my former teachers told me recently he thought this was a joke. It was, of course – except that it was true.

A Short History of the Evolution of the Email

My favourite seminar at the Moscow State University was in Modern History, not exactly because I enjoy the time period, but because we had a fantastic tutor who made us read Rousseau, and Montesquieu, and Toynbee, and Febvre, and Jaspers, and engaged us in sometimes high-flown philisophical discussions.

He also had a great sense of humour. Once we were comparing the gone and present civilisations. The question was, whether or not those medieval people, forever stinking and superstitious, were less happy than modern people, who have got things that medieval people wouldn’t even think of. The answer was, of course, that medieval people simply didn’t know about the things that we’ve got, so they were neither less, nor more happy. Had they been transported into our time, tried out different things, and then went back to their time, then they would probably be very unhappy.

Today, however, I saw this video on YouTube, and it made me contemplate on how far the world would have gone, had the 15th c. folks really had Macs in their sacks. In the 15th c. they’d retype their emails many times before entrusting a Mac to a messenger. In the 16th c. they’d discover the spell-checker and possibly some drawing programs. The latter would become extremely useful in the 17th c., during the Thirty Years War (1618-1648), as it would allow to draw the schemes of the enemy’s headquarters and positions on the battlefields, as well as the enemy’s portraits. They still wouldn’t know how to save these things, which is exactly the reason why this early electronic history of mankind is not available, not even in cache.

However, because of war, people would realise how costly it may be to send a Mac with a messenger, so they’d create logins. (I anticipate some archaeological discoveries or the mentions in the 17th c. manuscripts of the destroyed white metallic boxes that didn’t seem to contain any information and had been broken in parts in the hope of uncovering the information). The logins and passwords would be sent, as previously, with pigeons.

In the 18th c., inspired by the great surge in development of natural and social sciences, as well as by the new literary genres, people would further experiment with their Macs. They’d learn to use Word, to write their novels and dramas; they’d use Excel to manipulate the complex economic figures (as you might know, Adam Smith was undoubtedly familiar with Excel functions); and the antiquarians would master the use of Access, to catalogue their stupendous collections.

Moreover, in the 18th c. they’d not be content with using just a Mac (which, some people say, is rubbish at RSS applications), so they’d invent a PC. At this time, because of the all-pervasive influence of computers, they’d briefly get back to writing letters on paper. But soon the Revolution would strike, and they’d realise that sending a paper letter may cost one their life. A messenger was now much more dangerous a mercenary than ever before, and it was vital to find the means to avoid using him to send the information. So people would go back to emails, and this time they’d finally discover the “send” button. The 19th c. would thus have started.

But the email users still had to discover many things. By coming across the “send” button, they would be able to avoid the use of messengers, but they still couldn’t protect themselves from being framed. That’s until they’d discover the way to archive private information and to delete sent and received messages. But this would only happen under the influence of the world wars.

In the 20th c., during the wars, it would become clear that it was impossible to spend time typing every word at full, so the electronic shorthand would have been developed. The wars having been finished, shorthand wouldn’t disappear but instead would become an inherent part of email writing. The email users would appreciate the enormous possibilities of punctuation at communicating moods and emotions: 0), ^_^, :-(((, ;-). As there was no longer any real danger in keeping hold of one’s correspondence, people would be deleting sent and received emails less and less often, and already in the new millenium many email applications would offer their users the unlimited mailboxes, and even an option of searching their growing email archives.

But as technology doesn’t stop, neither does email. We’d enter the 21st c. with a huge array of means to deploy emails, which would include sending them via a mobile phone. And if you’d ever had any reservations about the human ability to progress, this short story of the evolution of the email (had it been true) would have proved you wrong once and for all.

Carmarthen Cameos – 9: Childhood Memories of Dinefwr

When I sat down to narrate my journey and stay in Carmarthenshire in June, I wasn’t sure how this would go. As I said in the very first post under Carmarthen Cameos label, I didn’t know how to approach Carmarthen. It would seem occasionally that medieval ballads and lullabies were still heard across Carmarthenshire, and my visit to Llandeilo and Dinefwr only confirmed to me that there are still places very near to us that haven’t lost their original charm.

However, my impressions were largely my own, and I didn’t intend to make them particularly entertaining or objective. I must admit, though, going to Dinefwr Castle was like fulfilling a child’s dream for me. That post on Dinefwr attracted some comments, but little did I know that a couple of months later I would receive a letter from Jeremy Thomas, who grew up in Llandeilo in the 60s and 70s and now lives in the States. The letter in which he narrated his memories of Dinefwr is the one that you’d write about something that suddenly visited you and is very precious. It also documents that part of history of Dinefwr and Llandeilo area which is only known to someone who lived there, and, with Jeremy’s permission, you can now read what it was like to be a kid in Llandeilo:

“Your words brought back the memories of the many weekends of my youth when my cohorts and I would trespass on the castle grounds.

Yes, trespass. In those days the castle was not open to the public at all. There were no signposts, no pathways, and no history lessons. The castle was as raw as if it had been left untouched for centuries. To get there we would pretend we were entering guarded territory (back then the threat came in the shape of the dreaded local farmers). We’d scale the hillsides and thrash through the wooded areas to get to our reward–a veritable time-wrap.

The novelty never wore off. Each and every time inside the castle we would be transported to medieval times–an eerie but irresistible connection to the voices and bodies of the past. We all had ancestors going back centuries in the Llandeilo area, so the connection was plausibly familial.

At the end of the day we would always scare the living daylights out of each other, making up ghost stories as we sat in one tower room that I remember still had a parquet-type floor. I don’t know if you saw that same tower room, but I used to think it was some fair maiden’s boudoir.

There were never any other people at the castle which made the experience so personal. With dusk upon us and with our imagination running wild, the flight back to Llandeilo was always at full speed. I remember once getting in trouble with one of my friend’s mothers for having frightened my poor pal out of his skin with one of my ghost stories.”

I didn’t see the floor, but if I am totally honest, I didn’t even look on the ground where I walked. The walls and the views from them were so much more captivating for me. And considering that to walk up the hill to the castle is quite a feat, it probably doesn’t see too many visitors, in spite of being open to the public.

Jeremy also mentions the church (that I also missed), “Llandyfeusant, tucked under one of the hillsides on the way to the castle. We would also stop off there when we were kids to get our adrenaline flowing (it was always too dark on the way back, of course). The church hadn’t seen a service for decades back then and was always cloaked in such a creepy silence. Some of the tombstones were even open so you can just imagine what dares we subjected each other to. Life went along at a steady pace in those days and the days were definitely longer.“

I must admit, reading Jeremy’s story almost made me jealous. As a child, I lived in the capital city of concrete, brick and glass, and I had no such luxury of visiting a derelict church with half-open tombs, or of sitting in a cold medieval castle, pressing my back against the 13th-14th c. stones, listening to the movement of bats’ wings and to the scary tales of my friends. I had to exploit the books and my imagination to fulfil the void, but, God knows, I wish I had spent at least a couple of days in Llandeilo, visiting Dinefwr. Thanks to Jeremy, however, I did just that.

If you have your own memories of visiting Dinefwr, or any other castle, especially when you were a child, and don’t mind sharing your stories with us, please leave a comment.

– D([“mb”,”\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>\u003cbr\>\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>It feels so far away now.\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>\u003cbr\>\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>Like you, I am a linguist. I have lived in Russia (as Soviet Union), Geneva, Seville and France. I have been in the States for seventeen years now, but my family still lives in and around Llandeilo.\n\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>\u003cbr\>\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>Sincerely,\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>\u003cbr\>\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>Jeremy Thomas\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>\u003cbr\>\u003c/div\>\u003cdiv\>\u003cbr clear\u003d\”all\”\>\u003cbr\>– \n\u003cbr\>Jeremy Thomas | Partner / Director of Account Planning | Collaborate | work: 415.651.1218 cell: 415.425.2802\n\u003c/div\>\n”,0] ); D([“mi”,10,2,”11499b57fd73fa05″,0,”0″,”Julia Shuvalova”,”Julia”,”julia.shuvalova@gmail.com”,[[[“jeremyt”,”jeremyt@collaboratesf.com”,”11499b57fd73fa05″] ] ,[] ,[] ] ,”24-Aug (4 days ago)”,[“jeremyt@collaboratesf.com”] ,[] ,[] ,[] ,”24-Aug-2007 22:09″,”Re: Dinefwr musings”,”Hi Jeremy, I hope you are OK. I’m very sorry for not replying earlier, I’m af…”,[] ,1,,,”24 August 2007_22:09″,”On 24/08/07, Julia Shuvalova \u003cjulia.shuvalova@gmail.com\> wrote:”,”On 24/08/07, \u003cb class\u003dgmail_sendername\>Julia Shuvalova\u003c/b\> wrote:”,”gmail.com”,,,””,””,0,,”\u003c4d7733f50708241409y43d05bc1o7749d12e370bdbc3@mail.gmail.com\>”,0,,0,”In reply to \”Dinefwr musings\””,0] ); //

Memento Ossis (Remember the Bones)

As many a blog reader will agree, you never know what you find in blogosphere. Just like in any sphere, really. Blogosphere is your web Cosmos, and the last thing I read about our galaxy was that, unfortunately, Uranus was no diamond quarry. Neither is Neptune.

Thankfully, in our Blogalaxy there are some sparkling stones, and on this occasion I’m speaking of a post in Jezblog. Jez, as he says about himself on Flickr, is a “good freelance translator” and a “bad photographer”. I can’t doubt the former, but I do think he’s slightly too modest about his camera skills. At least, when he visited the Sedlec Ossuary in Czech Republic, he’d taken some stunning photos.

Ossuaries date back to the time before our era, but the examples of this somewhat morbid art that we see today across Europe have come into existence since the Middle Ages. Sedlec Ossuary that Jez has documented for his blog and Flickr photoset was created in 1870 by František Rint at the request of the Schwarzenberg family. One of the compositions that Rint had made was the family’s coat-of-arms. Below, on the left, is Jez’s photo of it; and right next to it is the original coat-of-arms. Rint’s interpretation lacks neither wit, nor creativity. Other examples of his artistic vision come from Jez (left) and the ossuary’s official site, http://www.kostnice.cz/.

Sedlec Ossuary in Kutna Hora is not the only European site of this kind. The most famous is, perhaps, the Portuguese Capela dos Ossos in Evora. Built in the 16th c. by a Franciscan monk, the chapel has the following inscription above its entrance: “We bones that are here, for you bones we wait” (“Nós ossos que aqui estamos pelos vossos esperamos”).

I notice that the mendicant brothers were particularly apt at spreading the word about life’s being transitory in this peculiar “bony language”. Another ossuary was created by the Capuchin monks in Rome, in the church of Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini. The Order of Friars Minor of Capuchin, a deviation of the Franciscan Order, was established in the 16th c. in Italy. The church of Santa Maria della Concezione dei Cappuccini has also got the website, with a special section highlighting The Crypt.

The most recent ossuary is the Douaumont Ossuary in Verdun, which commemmorates the unthinkable cruelty and catastrophic human losses during the battle of Verdun in the First World War. Inaugurated in 1932, the ossuary (on the right) is the resting place for the staggering number of unidentified French and German soldiers.

Links:

Jez’s Kostnice Ossuary set on Flickr

Pictures of Capela dos Ossos at Sacred-Destinations.com

Carmarthen Cameos – 8 (Dinefwr Castle, Llandeilo)

As you read in the previous post, I’ve only visited three medieval castles, in spite of having studied Medieval History for a while. As you could also gather, I found that both Conwy Castle and Carmarthen Castle have lost to a certain degree the air that we expect castles to possess. They may be impressive, but hardly awe-inspiring. However, this was very different in the case of Dinefwr Castle (pronounced as ‘Dee-ne-foo-r‘), and I can’t help but to try and replicate my journey in this post.

To go to Dinefwr Castle, you take a bus from the stop outside St Peter’s Church. For about 40 minutes you are going past the sumptuous hills, breathtaking views of the fields and the cattle, but occasionally, as you may see on the photo on the right, there will be a small hill, on top of which – a castle’s ruins. When inquiring at the tourist centre about castles in the close distance from Carmarthen, I’ve been told there were three: Dinefwr Castle at Llandeilo, Dryslwyn Castle at Dryslwyn, and Carreg Cennen Castle at Trapp. I’ve chosen to go to Dinefwr Castle, and this proved to be the right choice. As a matter of fact, the booklet I’ve been given says that you’re charged for admission to Dinefwr. This is not true: if you’re only going to the castle, it’s free. If you also want to go to Newton Hall, to have a cup of tea, and to buy some souvenirs, then indeed you have to pay for admission.

When you enter Dinefwr Park for the first time, you walk for a while without having a slightest idea of where to go. It is, I may argue, the perfect state of mind when you’re about to encounter something as impressive as a real medieval castle. You begin to comprehend both the importance and the difficulty of the journey, when you catch a first glimpse of the castle (left). Still, the beautiful landscape that surrounds you makes you forget at once all the misfortunes of walking up the hill (right).

While on this excruciating journey, I’ve been thinking what it was like for people of previous centuries. I had a denim bag, and I wore jeans, a shirt, and a pair of rather comfortable moccasins. But I had neither hat, nor sunglasses, and I had to walk in the raging sunshine, which cost me the sunburnt forehead. If it was a rainy or stormy day, I wouldn’t even think of going to the castle, but previously the inhabitants of and the visitors to Dinefwr wouldn’t always have my choice. And so, what would this walk be for peasants with their carts, and baskets, and cattle; or for knights in armour, on horses; or for lords and vassals, with their court? With this thought in mind I finally reached the castle.

Dinefwr Castle not only survived en masse until today, it was well cared after in the 17th and 18th cc. – so well in fact, that some of the castle’s stones were used for its renovation. Some of the interior details of the 13th c. northern chamber block are well preserved, as you can see on the left. On the right image, you see the restored wall-walk and the 13th c. tower, viewed from the circular keep (you can see on the image above; it dates to around 1230s). Below you can see the northern part of the castle, which comprises the 13th c. tower, the 14th c. hall, and the 13th c. chamber block.

At Dinefwr you can’t help but also begin to contemplate on what it was like to live in a castle. A tourist notice at the castle’s entrance warns you against the bats. I haven’t seen any, but I surely heard the wings’ beating. If that was indeed a bat, I’m glad I haven’t seen it, otherwise my screams would be heard all over Carmarthenshire. Imagine if I were a fair maiden, inherently fearful of those creatures. As you can see, the castle’s windows are large, but the entrances are often not, which makes one remember that medieval people weren’t especially tall. The views from those windows, however, make you realise just how important was a castle as a fortress; how far it was possible to see from the window or from the wall; and how strong and deft were medieval archers.

Finally, at Dinefwr I was able to do something which I was thinking of doing for a while. I do like spiral staircases, but all of you who’d ever been on a medieval staircase would’ve noticed how narrow the stairs were. David Dimbleby recently showcased both the purpose of spiral staircases and the art of using them, when imitating the fighting with a sword in How We Built Britain. What we need to realise is that it wouldn’t be Mr Dimbleby (in comfortable shoes and with no sword) who would be exercising the martial technique, but the knights who would look and dress like those two on the left image. And so I thought: exactly how wide are those stairs? The widest part turned out to be of the size of my foot, and I wear size 3/4 UK (36/37 EUR). This also allows one to wonder at the size of medieval people’s feet.

Going from the castle was quicker, as I took a different route. The walking got tougher, however, and my soles were sorer and sorer, and the hot ground was only making things worse. Little did I know that all this time a Red Kite was soaring in rounds near the entrance to Dinefwr Park. When the next day after visiting the castle I went to the tourist centre in Carmarthen, I saw a book on the stand, with exactly this bird on the cover. ‘I saw it yesterday at Dinefwr!’ I exclaimed. ‘Oh, it must’ve been your luck’, an assistant, a young lovely woman, replied. ‘People come to Carmarthen especially to see it, but it’s a rarity’.

Seems like it was the reward for my journey in the footsteps of medieval Welshmen.

Links and credits:

Dinefwr Castle

Dinefwr Park and Castle (Flickr set)

The colour image of fighting knights is taken from the Knighthood, Chivalry and Tournaments Resource Library

Carmarthen Cameos – 7 (Carmarthen Castle)

I’ve always been fascinated with the medieval period, although now I am aware that before I actually went to study it, I had this romantic view of the Middle Ages that many of us share: magical castles, the Belles Dames, lovelorn knights, valiant kings, you name it. Until I began to read thick history books, I never gave a thought of how the Middle Ages sounded or smelt. As far as smell goes, the Middle Ages often stunk. But this is not a nice thing to contemplate, is it?

So, I’ve been studying Medieval and Early Modern History since 1998, but I haven’t travelled much. The first medieval town I’ve ever visited was Tallinn, and it was in 2002. And it was in the summer of 2002 that I came to England for the first time and went to my first ever castle at Conwy. Five years later, this June I visited Carmarthen Castle and Dinefwr Castle. Like it happens with London that I tend to go there in spring, so it happened that all medieval castles where I went are in Wales.

Carmarthen Castle, which seems to be the oldest of the two, stands rather inconspicuously, providing the background for the Nott Monument. It was mentioned in the sources as early as the 11th c., played an important role in the rivalry between Wales and England in the 12-13th cc., was used as a prison in the 18th and 19th cc., and is now surrounded by the Council offices, houses, shops, and the endless tail of cars on the road reminds you of the fact that time has changed.

There is enough left of the castle to observe some architectural details, in particular, the window frames (left), the stonework and planning (right), but the overall impression will still be diminished. The castle looks delicate in size and not at all awe-inspiring.

The same paradox I noted when I was at Conwy Castle five years ago. I vividly remember a souvenir shop at Conwy, where the visitors to the castle flocked in the endless stream. It was a lovely castle, and for a medievalist it was fairly easy to reconstruct Conwy’s past. And, of course, its stupendous bridge, especially when viewed from the towers, dazzles you with both design and colour. Yet cars, houses and yachts that surround Conwy Castle, steal a lot of its independence. Add to this the car park at the castle, and you will understand why to me Conwy seemed tamed. In this, it was a perfect reminder of the ambiguity of Time, which often erases grand monuments until only a feeble silhouette is left.

This is very true about Carmarthen Castle. Due to the way Carmarthen expanded and to how the castle was used after the Middle Ages had ended, it appears to have been absorbed by the town, its people and its visitors. It has become a part of the town’s ensemble to the extent when one is probably capable of going past it without even noticing it. Yet you can still contemplate, looking from the top of the tower, on how good was the castle’s observation capacity (left).

Links:

Read more about Carmarthen Castle at CastleWales.com.

More photos of Carmarthen Castle in a Flickr’s set.

Carmarthen Cameos-4 (Moridunum, the Roman amphitheatre)

Can you imagine going to London and not stumbling into dozens of souvenir shops and kiosks? Can you imagine London not trying to make a fortune on the City’s memorabilia: replicas of the Tower, Sherlock Holmes’s caps, etc? Or Manchester not selling fridge magnets with the Old Trafford or the Town Hall images? If not this regular tourist’s merchandise, then what about books, guides, walks, diverse and sundry brochures?

There are a few arts&crafts shops in Carmarthen, but if you’re looking for thimbles, towels, books, Welsh love spoons, etc, you’ll have to walk a fairly long way from the train station to the Carmarthen Tourist Information Centre in 11, Lammas St – and don’t be surprised if you don’t notice it first, or don’t realise that this is you souvenir-searching destination. Finding it will not only solve the problem of souvenir-buying, but can also help to find out, for instance, how many castles there are in the reachable distance from Carmarthen (not including Carmarthen Castle, which wall you see immediately upon walking out of the train station). The staff is friendly and helpful, which doubles the pleasure of visiting the shop.

However, if you’re looking for the Roman amphitheatre, Moridunum, which is one of the seven remaining in England, you may be somewhat disappointed. The amphitheatre is now surrounded by houses, which may be the reason why there is no pole with an arrow pointing towards this precious piece of history. You really need to trust your gut feeling when, walking in Priory St past the raised ground, you think for a second that the amphitheatre may be on top of or behind that hill. It is indeed there, but personally, I walked past it. If you’re a prospective visitor to Carmarthen, I’ll give you a hint: when you approach the mentioned raised ground, take an asphalt walk that runs from the pavement to the top of this small hill. If in doubt, there’s another hint: a telephone booth marks the spot where the asphalt walk parts with the pavement.

Amphitheatres were very popular in Ancient Rome – so much so that the Romans had been erecting these elliptical structures in all their colonies. Moridunum was built during Roman presence in Carmarthen, which was between AD 75 and AD 120. The arena measures 46 by 27 meters, which makes Carmarthen’s amphitheatre almost twice as small as the Colosseum.
Today, of the original structure we can clearly see at least two entrances. Several steps have survived, which, one may take a guess, were used by the visitors to walk to their seats. The relief of the stalls is well seen.

The place of Roman amphitheatres in British history and literature may be somewhat complex. Because of its round (or elliptical) form, an amphitheatre in Caerleon was thought to be the very Round Table where King Arthur and his knights had met. The excavations held in the 1920s unveiled some of the structure, which allowed to cast doubts on Caerleon’s connection with King Arthur.

Yet the real purpose of amphitheatres needs not refute a connection with Arthurian legend. If we agree with those historians who date King Arthur back to Roman Britain, then he and his court could well have been using an amphitheatre as their meeting point. In cases like this one, we shouldn’t depend either on words, or on the later interpretations. This is all the more relevant because one of interpretations of the name ‘Carmarthen’ is ‘Fort of Myrddin’ (or Merlin), which means that the Knights of the Round Table could stop by at Moridunum. We’re dealing with legends, after all, so let’s keep our minds open and allow for a possibility that Carmarthen and Moridunum amphitheatre may once have been marked by the presence of King Arthur and his faithful companions.

In spite of its place in history and legend, these days the amphitheatre looks forgotten. It’s impossible to say, how many people are actually visiting the spot, and the Wikipedia article is just as precise as short. Meanwhile, the amphitheatre continues to serve its purpose. Battles are still held, only this time it’s the battle against the Time. The amphitheatre may be bravely withstanding oblivion, but the old armchair, left to die in the arena, could not emphasise the passage of time more.

Links:

Historical sketch about Moridunum and Carmarthen in the Roman period at Roman Britain

An interesting survey on the archaeology of Romano-British South West Wales (A Research Framework for the Archaeology of Wales)

If you’re interested in Rome, its history, architecture, culture, and, in particular, Roman amphitheatres, there is no better site to visit than The Colosseum. Created by Andrea Pepe, The Colosseum offers a colossal (excuse the pun) amount of information about one of the most remarkable monuments of Ancient History. The site traces the history of the Colosseum through the centuries and of the Games that were held there. It also looks at the process of building, including various schemes and descriptions of building materials.
The b/w photo of Caerleon amphitheatre is the courtesy of Data Wales.

Carmarthen Cameos-3 (St Peter’s Church)

Every day, as I go to work by bus, I pass St John’s Church which stands exactly at the A666 roundabout. When I first visited Manchester in 2002, St John’s amazed me with the bright slogans displayed on the gate facing the traffic. In the years since then I’ve seen a plenty of these, and the most remarkable one was around Christmas time, saying something like “It’s Christ’s Birthday!” I remember it struck me as a very lay slogan.

The secularisation of the Church continues, as far as the use of the WWW space is concerned. Churches across England have more or less readily embraced the Internet. Manchester Cathedral has a website, as does St Mary’s The Hidden Gem. St Peter’s Church in Carmarthen, which stands at the junction of King St, Spilman St and Priory St, has got its own website at http://www.stpeterscarmarthen.org.

But first, a few pictures of the streets that lead to St Peters. You can approach it from Spilman St (left), but this, I dare say, is not the most picturesque passage. You’d better go to the church via the “profane” King St. If you stand at the junction of King St and Queens St, facing The Spread Eagle restaurant, on your right you see the entrance into Nott Sq, where the Carmarthen Castle is located (right).

Since we’re going to St Peter’s, we’ll turn our backs to Nott Sq for now and walk up King St. On our way we’ll see houses of different colours (left), Myrddin Bakery, a few charity and retailers’ shops, a post office and a dispensing chemist (right), soon after which you’ll virtually stumble into St Peter’s. Those who have been to Tallinn may compare this stumbling-in to the one that occurs when you discover Oleviste (St Olaf’s Church) between Pikk St and Lai St.

A s we read on St Peter’s website, the present building’s main three parts belong to the 14th, 15th, and 16th c. Priory St where the church stands used to be the main road of the Roman town of Moridunum. The first written record of St Peter’s belongs to the very beginning of the 12th c.

Until the 19th c. St Peter’s was the parish church for the whole of Carmarthen, and the tombs also highlight its prominence in the history of the town. The oldest monument in the church is the 13th c. tomb slab, which suggests that St Peter’s was rebuilt, possibly on the same site, by the 14th c., to which one of the present parts dates back. Although I haven’t been inside the church, it seems that it hadn’t suffered much during the Reformation.

The plaque with a short history of Moridunum stands on the corner across the road opposite St Peter’s, next to Carmarthen’s library. The church garden seems to be a popular lunch place for citizens and dogs alike, and the trees provide a good shade on a hot summer afternoon for those who’re waiting for a bus. Exactly opposite the church is Oriel Myrddin Gallery. The ground floor display offers a fresh look at modern arts and crafts, including unconventional bags and multicolour notepads.

My Trips to Bolton -3 (Bolton’s Hidden Gem, St Andrews Court)

As you probably know from my previous posts, I like visiting Bolton. In fact, I have been visiting it regularly since my first visit to Manchester in 2002. Back then I didn’t go farther than Bolton Market Hall which dates back to 1855 (left, courtesy of Bolton Revisited). The inside of the building may remind you of a train station. Back in 1855 it was said to be ‘the largest covered market in the kingdom’. Thanks to the townsfolk petition in the recent years, the Market Hall has been spared closure and is currently being renovated. I loved visiting Morelli’s Cappuccino on the terrace, where they brew one of the best cappuccinos I’ve ever drunk, complete with a chocolate heart on top of the foam. Morelli’s are still running, but these days they’ve moved to the ground floor, which admittedly has taken away some of the beauty of the pastime there.

Last time I went to Bolton was this Saturday, and, upon leaving the bus, I crossed the road and walked down the street, and then I turned right, into a quaint cobbled street. I knew exactly where I was going, but the route I took was not the usual one. I had some free time before my appointment, thus I wasn’t afraid of getting lost in the unknown quarter of the town.

As I was walking down this cobbled street (which name I don’t even know), I was looking here and there, and suddenly there was this little quite street on my left, and there I saw this building. I couldn’t stop by, but I gave myself a word to return to this street on my way back.

The building houses St Andrews Court, adjacent to Crompton Shopping Centre. If you mentally project the view in this picture to the right, there will be Crompton car park, and the old building faces the entrance to the parking place. But it is so easy to never look into the street where St Andrews Court is located and so to pass it by that we can certainly call it Bolton’s Hidden Gem, as a parallel to Manchester’s St Mary The Hidden Gem.

The building boasts a very unusual tower, which was what attracted my attention to it in the first place. Although from the first glance St Andrews Court looks to be located in an old church’s building, on second thoughts it is unlikely. The tower looks nothing like a bell tower, not only because it doesn’t actually have a bell, but also because it is very small. And secondly, the back of the building has got this peculiar stained glass window. If you look at the picture, in the third from the bottom row of symbols you will see a horseshoe on the left, and the initial ‘A’ on the right. I’m struggling for the meaning of the middle image, but perhaps it is a fishing net? At any rate, my second guessing is that the building may be a guildhall.

What is most interesting is that I am also struggling to find information about St Andrews Court on the web. I know that if I bury my head into books on local history at Bolton Library or even Manchester City Library, I will find some information. But despite the fact that several local history portals are currently present online, hardly any of them mentions the original purpose of the building where St Andrews Court is now located.

Nevertheless, the place has got this magical aura, and I don’t think it has to do anything with the fact that I have only just discovered it, that I know little about it, and that for these reasons it appears to be mysterious and unique. On the left you can see the picture of a walk between the court’s building and the edifice next to it (it’s made of red brick and these days has got a blue-and-white visor above the shop window). The walk is apparently called Bowker’s Row (the image is a courtesy of Bolton.org.uk), and to me it looks like an entrance to a rabbit hole.

Needless to say, if you have any more information on St Andrews Court, feel free to share it with us via the comments.

Links:

My Trips to Bolton-1
My Trips to Bolton-2 (Ye Olde Man and Scythe)
Bolton Revisited
Our Treasures – ‘a gateway to the hidden treasures of Bolton and Bury Art Galleries and Museums’
St Mary’s The Hidden Gem – a website dedicated to Manchester’s St Mary’s Church, affectionately nicknamed The Hiddem Gem. ‘St. Mary’s (The Hidden Gem) was founded in 1794 in the centre of what was then, the poorest quarter of Manchester . It is now thought to be the oldest post- Reformation Catholic church founded as a church in any major centre of population in England. The Relief act allowing Catholic churches to be built again as churches was passed in 1791. The building of St. Mary’s was begun in 1792. This makes St Mary’s the Catholic mother-church of the whole of Greater Manchester‘