Thomas More, family portraits, and The Princes in the Tower

Thomas More and his family, as represented in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London.  It's a miniature, isn't it wonderful?

Here it is again, (scroll down to item 3 on the page). With it on this page you can see the sketch, item 2, by Holbein, on which it is based, and a related picture, item 1, which you can see better in my next link.  This version is held at Nostell Priory in Yorkshire (National Trust).

And here is another related picture in the National Portrait Gallery, London.

First off, isn't it wonderful that
(a) these pictures have been handed down through the centuries, and not destroyed, by ignorance, malice or neglect.
(b) public-spirited people, into whose hands they came, bequeathed them to the nation - both the galleries acknowledge the name of the donor. 
(c) they are available for us to look at in public galleries and at the National Trust.
(d) they are available for us to look at online.

Next, all the pictures are linked, by a fascinating conspiracy theory. This was originally aired by one Jack Leslau, (sadly, now deceased).  It has regained currency as a consequence of the revival of interest in Richard III, after the discovery and conclusive proof of identity of his skeleton, followed by his stately reburial in March last year.

Of course, interest in Richard III has never gone away, largely due to the many mysteries surrounding his brief reign.  The greatest is the mystery of what happened to the Princes in the Tower.

It would test your patience to read the full conspiracy theory here; if you wish, you can follow the link to Jack's own lengthy exposition.  To sum up in a sentence, Jack believes that the Princes were kept safe in the home of Thomas More, and that the paintings offer clues to the discerning that prove this to be the case.

It's easy to get confused, but on this wonderful free site, the BBC, no less, shows you both the Lockey paintings right next to each other so that you can see the differences.

In essence, the second of them includes later generations of the More family, who could not all have been alive at the same time.  It seems to be meant as a sort of family tree seen from the perspective of the 1590's.  The first of the two, the painting Jack Leslau uses for his argument, only shows the members of the family as they would have been around the time Holbein made his sketch, ie about 1527. In his view, the young man standing holding a scroll on the far right is Richard, Duke of York, who disappeared aged 10 in 1483.

The young man is identified in the painting as John Harris, secretary to Thomas More.  Leslau, however, believes that he is meant to represent John Clement, who married More's adopted daughter, Margaret Giggs, (the lady standing on the far left of the Nostell portrait) and was hence a member of the family.  Although actually, says Leslau, he really wasn't John Clement at all, but Richard Plantagenet.  So three layers of ambiguity.  What is certain is that he doesn't appear in Holbein's original sketch.  Can't argue with that.  So there is a mystery there, although it may not be what is suggested.

It's also possible to pursue the link between Sir Thomas More and John Clement by looking at the first page of More's famous book, "Utopia".  The first edition, published in Latin in 1518, has a woodcut of Thomas More, his friend Peter Gillis, the fictional character Hythloday, and John Clement on the title page. This can be seen here .

On the left is a picture of John Clement, indicated "Io Clemens".  It's interesting to compare this image with that in the Holbein picture.

It's all a great testimony to the value of history, of documents and art, and permanence, and display.  And the power of the imagination, to draw out links from tenuous observations, and draw conclusions.

The Aftermath

So, it's over at last.  We've taken down the tree, put the decorations back in the loft, and emptied the chip pan.

We only had, what was it, three arguments during this morning's procedures.  And we've agreed on proposals for re-decorating upstairs in the coming months.  As you can see below, this bedroom, decorated in primary colours to our younger daughter's specification when she was eight (she's now 28) needs to be first on the list.

After they'd gone


I've cleaned the house three times, changed the beds, and we have hosted four large, festive meals totalling 33 people.

There was one major incident when our younger daughter told our elder that she "Hates Mum", provoking elder to give back her present and declare that she did not want to have anything more to do with her sister.  I think we've managed to overcome this.

I got through hosting the New Year's Eve dinner party for eight by devoting a whole day to skivvying, helping with all preparations (hub did the cooking), and by not drinking any alcohol at all.  You will see why this was necessary when I tell you that his menu plan included the following:

Two starters, for one of which he insisted on making his own mayonnaise from raw eggs.  For the other he made vegetable stock by boiling a saucepan full of fresh veg which then had to be thrown out.  (Stock cubes and mayo from a jar are anathema).

Three puddings, nothing simple like fruit salad.  Apricot frangipane tart (he made his own pastry and his own frangipane, you could just grate marzipan).  Cheesecake, (again, he made his own sponge base, you could use mashed up biscuit crumbs in butter).  And Delia's ginger sponge puddings, which involve three steps, make the sponge, grill it, and cover it with a creamy ginger sauce.

The main course I have left until last, as reading it might cause a loss of will to live. 
Pea puree (with fresh mint). Asparagus.  Lemon sauce (made by melting butter and zesting fresh lemons).  And the centrepiece - salmon fishcakes.

For this, you have to peel, boil and mash potatoes,  and bake the salmon in an aromatic bath in the oven.  Then you flake the salmon and mix with shallots and a few other flavourings.  Form into balls, dip them in raw egg, then breadcrumbs (home-made, naturally), and finally fry in a deep-fat fryer.
I spotted hubby hovering over the supposedly automatic fryer with the basket in one hand and a jam thermometer in the other, constantly monitoring their progress.

So, an eight-stage process, which ended this morning with us throwing out all the oil from the chip pan (after two arguments provoked by the difficulties), and me saying, with deep feeling, "I really, really hope you never make that dish again."

Chip Pan Dismantled in Disarray, a Defective Robot.

In his book, Gary Rhodes describes his recipe with the words, "This is simple to make."

Fortunately the neighbours seemed to really enjoy the party.  They blew whistles, balloons and pea-shooters with abandon, helped by plenty of wine.  The meal ended with indoor fireworks.

 

 

Hub had gone to the office earlier to fetch a fire extinguisher, but it was not needed.   Thank goodness.  Now we can relax.

Surviving Christmas - the figures.

These are the rules I established for my own survival four years ago, (see post below in Dec 2011).

1. Cut everything you eat by 50%
2. Cut everything you say by 50%
3. Remember that everything can be mended. (But this was subject to doubt).


A new rule has emerged over the last year:

4. AVOID ALL ALCOHOL

I have found that even a few sips of champagne loosen my tongue to such an extent that I become the party bore (and that's if I avoid indiscreet remarks).

A couple of weeks before Christmas, we opened a bottle of cheap fizz, and two hours later I was attacking my husband over an argument about coats hanging up in the hall.  I tried to hit him, but fortunately we both burst out laughing and got over it.

Yesterday I studiously kept off the wine at lunch, and was amused to see that even hub's sister, (never known her to lose her patience while on our premises, in over thirty years) was a trifle testy with hub during the following exchange:

General conflab:  "You can't serve pannacotta to vegetarians because of the gelatine".
Hub:                      "But there is such a thing as vegetarian gelatine."
Hub's sister:           "What's that?"
Hub:                       "Vegetarian gelatine".
Sister:    testily       "I KNOW.  But what IS it?"

A bit later on, the same wine provoked my mother-in-law, who usually knows better than to offer advice on how we should run our home, to declare that we should put some pictures up in the  dining room.

Me (to hub):          "Can we discuss this at another time, please."
                               (Code for, this is going to be a big one, as you well know.)

Hub:                      Rolls eyes and sighs, acknowledging the above code.

Mother-in-law:      (Speaking of her best friend, who's 95) - "Well, Barbara's second husband wouldn't have pictures and as soon as he died, Barbara put up pictures."

Me:                         (heroically biting back words to the effect that if waiting for me to die is too long, I'm quite happy to get divorced and we can have pictures or no pictures in our individual houses).   Managing to say nothing. "Mmmmm".

Mother-in-law:      (casting eyes to the ceiling as if to say, - what my son has had to put up with all these years!)   "Well no pictures is no good.  It looks like you've just moved in."

Me:                        (Still silent, thinking, thank god I didn't have any alcohol,)  "Mmmmm."

Today I had to go and hide in a locked bathroom for several minutes to calm down after I was overruled by my husband, who had that manic glint in his eye which appears after a beer followed by champagne.  He insisted on opening a second bottle of the fizz, and downed both his own glasses, plus my mother-in-law's, while pouring a third for my daughter's partner who would be driving 125 miles later in the afternoon (and had also had a beer).  I had to take deep breaths and put my head between my knees, and keep telling myself, "It's not about you" until I was sufficiently calm to go and hide in the kitchen while doing the washing up.

Second rule is also subject to revision.   It is now "Cut everything you say by 80%.

Black Mail

Blackness encroaches

Windows 10.

Every link I've tried to post (even to commercial journalism reviews) has been refused.  I find this sinister.

My first inkling of Windows 10 was a nasty, sinister little black box which kept popping up on my laptop and blocking my access to various things until I bowed to pressure and clicked on it.  Then it started downloading Windows 10.  I realised I could stop it by clicking the red "X" so kept doing this.

A further sinister development was literally Black Mail.  Unable to get its way with me by bullying  little black boxes the next step was big black boxes -  the whole screen going black when I opened my email screen.  It was (and is) very annoying.

After discussing with personnel at John Lewis, (supplier of my laptop) I decided to download Windows 10. It was horrible.  First it took hours.  Second it removed permanently some security devices built into the laptop (after asking permission, which of course one gives to continue with the process).

Third, it completely changed the look of my email, and the way it signs off (taking its own decisions without consulting me).

Fourth all my favourites disappeared. After discussing with helpful John Lewis, I found out that I could download each one individually (it would take days) or I could upload as an extra the Microsoft Explorer browser, which will then show one's favourites bar as before.   I tried this and it worked, but seemed to negate the whole purpose of upgrading to the new MS "Edge" browser.

Fifth, it placed very heavy emphasis on apps, games, videos and music,  None of which do I use on my laptop, and I mean none.  I am not a teenager.  I am old, and I like being old.  I don't want apps, games, videos or music.  And how does anyone ever get any work done with all this stuff popping up unasked all the time?

Sixth, and worst of all, the new "Edge" browser is not compatible with Norton, which I have paid good money for, and which I trust.  Surprising myself, I worked out how to revert to Explorer as the default browser, (not as an optional tab as per paragraph five above).  This definitely negated the purpose of upgrading, and resulted in a very poor, jumpy, wobbly screen presence. 

Finally, I called dear John Lewis yet again (they should be running the NHS, they are so responsive and helpful!).  They talked me through the process of uninstalling Windows 10 and reverting to Windows 7.1.  Things are not as good as they were before (I think Windows is upset, and taking it out on me).  My laptop runs more slowly, and the black screen still appears on my mail account, but generally I am where I was before and much happier.

I think if this sort of thing goes on, I might transfer my custom to Apple.  Or my Kindle, which I am told works on "Android", not Windows.  I hate the way Windows, by exerting relentless pressure,  tries to take over my life, my choices, and my data. 

No time like the present

Is this the naffest gift ever?



Why is it that unasked for gifts, from people who are not one's friends, are so awful?
Because they are bought without thought, from an online menu, ready wrapped, with a pre-printed unsigned tag.  This one came from a commercial organisation, and ticks all those boxes.

What are the gifts that mean most?  A carefully selected book, even if it is from a charity shop.  A hand-made item of any sort, even if it is from a charity shop.  A candle, some hand-cream. 

What would I like most for a gift?  Peace, charity, goodwill, friends, and the gift of keeping my mouth shut more of the time.

What are the other gifts I should be glad of possessing? 

As I steam into my sixties, I am uncomfortably aware that life is not going to go on for ever.

So the wonderful quote on the exterior wall of the British Library, as you approach from St Pancras Station, is apt:

"Today is a Gift, That's Why They Call it the Present".

Unintended Consequences

German Stamps from The Period of Hyper Inflation during the 1920's 

Hyperinflation

It cost 60,000 Marks to send a letter from Hamburg to Bradford

Turning out cupboards and drawers as part of a house-cleaning exercise, I found my late father-in-law's stamp albums.  "Grandpa", as he is still affectionately known in this house, was a classic, if geeky, little boy.  He loved steam engines, stamp collections and chess, passions which have descended to later generations, hence the presence in our house of these memorabilia.

The memories of school history lessons came into my mind.  This was like holding history in my hands, dangerous, frightening history.

This period of hyper-inflation, following on the devastation of the First World War, undermined the stability of German society.  People could not afford to buy food.  Middle-class families saw their entire savings wiped out.

It was into the vacuum of confidence and security thus created, that Hitler stepped.  He found an "enemy" to blame. The Jews.

Chucking Out Books

Deselected

It hurts to chuck out books.  I've got to do it, though.  Horrified to discover that some of the pile above have not been opened for over 30 years, since we moved to this house in fact.

 

I put them into piles -

 

1. dustbin  - Items so out of date that not even a charity shop would want them - old guide-books and maps - the type of thing which you would now use the internet to research.  But not proper books.

 

2. charity shop which has gift-aid card - the better quality hardbacks which it might be worth the time and trouble of recovering gift-aid.

 

3. charity shop which virtually gives books away (no sorting - 49 pence universal pricing and on top of that two for the price of one) - poor quality paper-backs not worth spending time over.

 

4. charity shop which sorts books and has sections for classics and antiquarian -  penguin classics, those silver-grey spines dating from the 1970's, once much-loved, but not read since, well, the 1970's.

 

5. fellow book-lover.  I gave him 3 classic, little-known works, of dry irony.  Caveat - "do throw them away if you don't want them!"  Fellow book-lover physically shuddered, throwing up his hands in protest at the very idea.  He is ten years younger than me, and has not yet reached the stage of having to get rid of his books.

 

6. garage pending pile.  Pending what?  - Pending probable abandonment by taking trip to charity shop not listed above. My friend, who helped there, said that this shop regularly sends van-loads of books to be pulped.  It cannot be me that takes the decision to throw them out.  If that is the fate that awaits.  This pile includes those orange Penguins, which are three novels by DH Lawrence. I could never read them again.  Horrible, sexist, over-emotional stuff.  They are real books, though.  It's like taking a dog to the vet for the last time.  Dogs know. Do books know?