Things in History You Should Know: Great Vancouver

As originally published in the Meliorist.

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Britain, you may have heard, once had an impressive naval fleet and when the Europeans were taking a break from warring (which wasn’t often; they really liked a good war), Britain often put that fleet of theirs towards the purposes of filling out those maddeningly blank portions of the map. With any luck, they’d get more land. And if there’s anything Europeans loved more than warring, it was land.

George Vancouver was born in 1757 of Dutch, wealthy, but certainly not noble stock. Vancouver managed to score a coveted spot as a midshipman on James Cook’s second outing on the HMS Resolution at the age of fourteen. This is like Captain Kirk deciding that yes, he would love for you to be an officer on the Enterprise and he won’t even make you wear a red shirt and beam down to the planet’s surface.

He carried on in the navy afterwards, doing nothing really exciting. This changed after the Nootka Crisis, a little spat between Spain and Great Britain over who got to have Nootka Sound. (What, the people who lived there? Don’t be ridiculous.) Spain eventually gave up its claim over it, averting war and preventing everyone from having a good time, and so Vancouver was sent off in 1872 in his old ship, the Discovery, to go poke about in the area and do some exploring.

He did it without pissing off either the Spanish or the various native groups he came across, with the exception of an altercation up Alaska way. The bit with the Spanish is perhaps most extraordinary when you consider that they were about ready to come to blows over the region but a few short years prior.

This becomes especially clear when you look at his dealings with Bodega y Quadra, Spanish commander at Nootka Sound. He not only partied with Vancouver and his men, but he fully cooperated with his explorations. When Vancouver discovered that the area was on an impressively sized island, they were happy to write it into the charts as Quadra and Vancouver Island. I think we can all appreciate the truncation of the name in the decades afterwards.

In addition to getting along with whatever foreigners he came across, Vancouver mapped the hell out of the west coast, venturing into the Burrard Inlet and what have you. Somehow, he missed the Fraser and Columbia Rivers, despite finding a heck of a lot of other smaller rivers, but we shan’t hold that against him.

But alas, for all his accomplishments during that voyage, Vancouver managed to piss off some folk on his vessel. Important folks. Like the cousin of William Pitt, the frickin’ prime minister of Great Britain.

Thomas Pitt managed to score a berth on the Discovery despite Vancouver having a full roster of midshipmen thanks to his swanky family connections and Vancouver’s reluctance to piss off anyone of that family. Most lads who had the fortune or misfortune to get signed up with the British Navy had more sense than to fall asleep whilst on watch, break shit, do a little under the table trade with the natives and attempt to get a native girl to put out in exchange for broken barrel hoop. To be fair, being flogged a few times, placed in irons and sent back home with his tail presumably in between his legs would rankle any lad.

Vancouver and Pitt managed to get home in the same year, 1795, the former beating out the latter. Upon his own arrival, the latter set out to destroy the former, as any contrite fellow would do. This included challenging him to a duel. When Vancouver brushed him off, Pitt took the perfectly sensible action of stalking then assaulting him on the streets of London. Vancouver was legally prohibited from fighting back, but happily, he had his brother with him and said brother happily defended him until Pitt was restrained.

Years and years of traversing the world’s oceans, braving storm and scurvy on a filth-ridden wooden vessel crammed with men who haven’t bathed since time immemorial, isn’t typically good for one’s constitution. Thus it was that poor George Vancouver, his reputation in tatters, found himself on his deathbed in 1798, aged merely 41 years. It might have comforted him to know that Pitt, the little twerp, outlived him by but six years.

As for the Canadian city which bears his name? The area was once again visited by a European in 1808, in the person of Simon Fraser who managed to both find that damned river and cross the whole continent overland. Actual settlement by Europeans within what are now Vancouver city limits didn’t begin until the 1860s, thanks to the Coast Salish peoples who already lived there.

And the city itself wasn’t incorporated until 1886, after those fat cats in Ottawa decided it would be a lovely terminus point for the Canadian Pacific Railway. It had actually been known as Granville and popularly Gastown before that, but the name was changed in order to avoid association for the drunken debauchery for which Gastown was known. ‘Vancouver’ was deemed acceptable because of the nearby and better-known Vancouver Island.

Now it hosts sporting events. Huzzah.

Death of Montcalm, Revised Edition

Those who follow Kate Beaton's Hark! A Vagrant comics may remember this strip concerning the death of General Montcalm.

Naturally, one of her followers, Aaron Kaplan, has taken comic!Montcalm's painting suggestion into account. Behold.

That is all. Is your day brighter? I hope it is.

Things in History You Should Know: Pierre Trudeau

Originally published in the dead tree version of the Meliorist, this article was deemed too hot for the internet... until now!

(Or rather, it was right before the winter break and all the staff were too drunk to care. You got to get through those essays somehow.)

December 9, 2009: Pierre Trudeau

Screw it. For what’s very probably my last article for this esteemed chronicle of news – hurrah for imminent graduation! – I’m going to piss off as many Albertans as possible. Because I will move away, and you will not find me.

That’s right. It’s Pierre Trudeau time. And I will start off by saying this: he was a better than average prime minister. If you wish to argue with me on this point, attempt to name a Tory PM that was better than him. Mulroney? Harper? Thor forbid, Diefenbaker? Sorry, Macdonald and Borden were the only awesome ones. So what did this chap do, in his multitude of years in office (1968-1979, 1980-1984, apologies to Joe Clark) to merit my relatively high opinion of him? Dude, I will tell you.

He made the world give two shits who the Canadian prime minister was. This was likely aided by Richard Nixon being the US president during a respectable chunk of his tenure, an ugly sort of man in every possible way. But even if Nixon had been a worthwhile human being, Trudeau had him bang to rights on the charm and wit front. Which is why John Lennon chose to hang out with him. (Nixon did get to talk football with Hunter S. Thompson, though.)

He rocked as Minister of Justice, which was what Lester Pearson, our nicest PM, made him in 1967. What on earth did he do in that position? Well, I’ll tell you! He legalized contraception and homosexuality, and shoved a foot in the door for the eventual legalization of abortion by making it legal to perform the act if the mother’s life was in danger. Oh, and he made it illegal for you to drive if you had one too many. All of this came from the massive Bill C-150, which also placed restrictions on harassing phone calls, gun ownership, and animal cruelty. Separate from all this, he further enabled one to leave one’s loveless sham of a marriage, should one please.

He was kind of bad ass. This was a man who just sat there calmly while separatists chucked bottles and rocks at him on the very eve of his first election as Prime Minister and leader of the Liberal Party, while everyone went and hid like the sensible people children that they were. His successors in the party tended to exercise this trait as well, with Turner saving Diefenbaker from drowning and Chretien’s development of the Shawinigan Shake. Ignatieff must learn from these exalted examples if he is ever to become PM.

He introduced official bilingualism. Yes, this is a virtue. Whether we like to admit it or not, historically speaking, French language rights in this country – not just in Quebec, mind you – have been kicked repeatedly in the teeth. Frankly, having that bit of extra text on your cereal box or having that additional bit of a requirement if you intend to enter certain sectors of the federal bureaucracy is not an overwhelming sacrifice to redress this.

He engineered the patriation of the Constitution. It is a rather ridiculous thing that for 165 years after Confederation, we did not have the ability to tinker with our own constitution. Nay, we had to go all the way to the British Parliament and ask nicely, perhaps bringing along a tasteful gift basket with a nice selection of tea and biscuits. Regardless of the political circus that surrounded the process (Night of the Long Knives, anyone?), it was something that needed to be done if we were ever going to become independent from Britain on paper as well as in fact.

His newfangled constitution included the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. Diefenbaker’s Bill of Rights of 1960, while well-intentioned, was toothless. True, it caused the dawn of judicial activism in Canada, bringing forth such terrible thing as full abortion rights and same-sex marriage and Native land claims. (Note: the word ‘terrible’ in the last sentence is sarcastic. I can hear your hands wringing, campus Right to Lifers.) Plus, it has been argued that such activism limits democracy in this fair country. However, I would argue that human rights should not be subject to the whims of the electorate because if history has shown us anything, it’s that the electorate haven’t been too great on that count. Pity about that notwithstanding clause, though.

Oh yes, National Energy Program – the implementation of this is a legitimate gripe, no matter how well-meaning it was, although it may have sheltered Canada as a whole from the worst effects of the global recession that was all the rage at the time. And there was the whole ‘invoking the War Measure Act’ thing with the FLQ Crisis. Still, my filthy lefty self can’t help but appreciate Trudeau, ginormous faults and all.

And as a final, I’d like to say this: the brands of small ‘c’ and big ‘c’ conservatism to be found in this province are rubbish, the tar sands are rubbish too, ‘feminism’ is not a cuss word, and your wind is far too apt to cause shenanigans (such as making me feel like frickin’ Shackleton whilst out walking last weekend). But what the hell, Alberta beef is still delicious.

Farewell, all! I head now for hillier climes.

No doubt!

There are two particular words that annoy the teeth out of me when they're placed together in a history book. Take a wild guess what they are!

All too often, these innocent words are forced into duty by unscrupulous authors to bolster their argument without anything so tawdry as 'evidence'. Take Private Demons: The Tragic Personal Life of John A. Macdonald by Patricia Phenix. (My copy is in a box, unfortunately, so my ranting is from memory.) The book does not use citations - fair enough, for quite a number of popular histories don't. They should, but they don't.

Perhaps because of this, Phenix is particularly fond of the words 'no doubt.' Through them, she can make all sorts of assertations. You know, like Macdonald chose his wives on basis of their supposed resemblance to his mother, that he was carrying on an affair with Mrs. Grimason and his second wife Agnes found it oh so difficult to maintain civility with her because of this. She doesn't even bother to off-handedly quote some diary entry or letter or what have you.

Why does this bother me so much? Because it is indicative of an author who is so in love with their notion that they absolutely must put it in their book. But evidence is missing; what to do? They simply put those two words in front of the sentence and voila, it is proven. False aura of authority attained, no citations needed.

Note that this isn't half so annoying if the author can back it up with either a citation or a relevant quotation. Nevertheless, it must be one hell of an example of either to justify 'no doubt' or 'doubtless,' for they imply that no further argument can be made. The author is right, you are wrong, suck it.

Ah, hell! Whatever. No doubt this just ticks me off because the uncertainty that forever lodged itself in my psychological make-up when I found out Santa wasn't real. That has to be it.

The Lion in Winter

My charming mother recommended that I in turn recommend The Lion in Winter (1968) for those interested in a cinematic depiction of Henry II and his dysfunctional family. It stars Katharine Hepburn and Peter O'Toole as Eleanor and Henry and my word, is that a young Anthony Hopkins as an equally young Richard the Lionheart? Why, I do believe it is!

There is also a version done in 2003 which stars Patrick Stewart and Glenn Close. I cannot attest to its quality, having not seen it, but dude. Patrick Stewart.

To top off the Henry II movie smorgasbord, I inform you of Becket (1964), which I have also not seen. But it managed to net a few Oscar nominations for best acting and the award for best screenplay, so what the hell. It stars Peter O'Toole as Henry (what, again?) and Richard Burton as Thomas Becket.

But yes. See the first on the list, definitely, if you don't have an unnatural prejudice against old movies.

Things in History You Should Know: Henry II

As originally appeared in the latest issue of the Meliorist, the University of Lethbridge's student newspaper. I like to write articles for them. It is fun.

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It occurs to me that I spend far less time than I should writing about history’s greatest dysfunctional family. No, not the Tudors; the Tudors inherited their dysfunction from these guys. I speak of the Plantagenets and particularly the first of the bunch, Henry II (of England, that is. Not France, Castile, Navarre, or the Holy Roman Empire. They weren’t particularly creative with names back then.).

Henry was the eldest son of Empress Matilda, who you may remember from another article. If not, here’s a refresher: her pops, Henry I, managed to only have one surviving child who was also the child of his wife. He makes her his heir. Cool! He dies and the English barons are all like, we don’t want no lady cooties on our throne, so we’ll make her cousin king instead. Civil war ensues! Matilda ultimately loses and goes back to the continent. We’ll get back to this.

So young Henry Plantagenet was nineteen years old in 1152. Five years ago, he was helping his dear mother invade England, but now he was slumming it in the French court. Louis VII reigned over it; Eleanor of Aquitaine was his queen. Their relationship? On the rocks. That’s what happens to a couple when they go crusading with one another and even the fear of losing each other at sea and the bloody Pope stepping in to patch things up didn’t help. Furthermore, Eleanor had the unmitigated audacity to have a second daughter instead of a son, like she was supposed to. Women! The Pope knew a lost cause when he saw it and annulled the marriage, on the grounds that they were distant cousins.

Eleanor didn’t long suffer as a single woman, because hey, there was this strapping young lad running about. He was twelve years younger than her, had lots of land, and had claims to a lot more land. What was there not to like? The two got hitched just two months after the annulment, making Eleanor the only woman in history to have been both a queen of England and France (there were others, like Elizabeth I, who claimed to be queen of both. That was very wishful thinking).

Henry celebrated his nuptials by crossing to England the next year, with 3000 of his closest friends, to visit family. His mother’s cousin, King Stephen, was so pleased by the visit that he made him his heir. (Stephen’s son thought this gift a bit too much, but who cares? He soon died.) Stephen further increased his thoughtfulness by kindly passing away in 1154. Henry became king, Eleanor became queen, Matilda was so proud. Everything was peaches and cream for the royal couple from there on out.

Or rather, everything progressively went further and further to pot.

First, let’s talk about his accomplishments. Bear in mind that the medieval definition of “accomplishments” didn’t much allow for being nice to your neighbour and other now-established norms of civilized behaviour. You may recall a landmass – an isle, if you will – just to the west of Britain. It is called Ireland and I hear it’s very lovely. Henry stuck his nose in the business of the Irish when Diarmat Mac Murchada, King of Leinster, came to him asking for help getting his kingdom back. Henry and his Norman lords agreed and did so, out of the goodness of their hearts (this included Richard de Clare, nicknamed “Strongbow.” You may recognize him from your cider. He had a battlefield marriage with Diarmat’s daughter – how sweet!)
King Henry called on Ireland again shortly afterwards, in 1171. He declared himself Lord of Ireland. The Irish were displeased, but the English so enjoyed lording it over them that they kept at it for over seven hundred years. He also beat back a Scottish invasion and most importantly of all, did some serious, hardcore reforming of the legal system. This included the introduction of an embryo version of trial by jury – basically, a “justice in eyre” would come to town and call twenty-four free men together to let him know about any crimes committed in the area and they’d figure out who did them. The accused would have the option of trial by combat, but if they won, they’d still be subject to banishment. Also, getting your nearest and dearest to swear in court that they really, really believed you didn’t do it (a practice called compurgation) didn’t work anymore. Believe it or not, this was all an improvement and it also helped lay the groundwork for the common law we’re subject to today. This led to a problem.

See, Henry wanted this to apply to the clergy as well. Ecclesiastical courts were generally slacker than secular courts, after all – a fact which amazingly, some clergy would abuse. Entirely coincidentally, he wanted to increase his power of the church in England, rather than do what the Pope said all the time. So he made his best dude, Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury. Becket immediately went all holy on him and started obstructing his attempts at reform. This made Henry angry. Like, “shouting ‘who will rid me of this turbulent priest!’ in front of some way too eager knights” angry.

Those knights, thinking they were being very helpful, went to Canterbury Cathedral and found Becket. Becket refused to flee. The knights proceeded to murder him in a most grisly and excessive fashion.

Well, so much for the “church” plank of his legal reform. Some hardcore penance also had to be done, but everyone took a dim view of Henry’s role in the affair thereafter.
Another problem that Henry had, one that was to recur for many of his descendents, was an excess of sons. Yep, Eleanor, despite the age difference and despite her so peevishly having only daughters with Louis, managed to produce with Henry three daughters and five sons. Five! That was so many that Henry didn’t have enough lands to divvy up between all of them – poor John got squat (hence the nickname “Lackland”) until that whole bit with Ireland.

The eldest son, William, helpfully died before he could get up to too much trouble. But the remaining four (Henry, Richard, Geoffrey, and John, and yes, that’s THE Richard and John) spent much of their time from 1172 to Henry’s death in 1189 engaging in some rather epic teenage rebellion and warring against each other. Further exacerbating matters was Queen Eleanor helping out her favourite, Richard, against her husband, leading to the royal couple’s estrangement and Eleanor’s house arrest.

When Henry perished, two of the Devil’s brood (the younger Henry and Geoffrey) beat him to the punch, but that didn’t change the fact that he was alone and friendless when he did so. Such a shame. It sucks to be the king.

Greetings, all!

Behold, the inaugural post!

I like history. I like history a lot. It's for that reason that I got my history degree, as opposed to the incredible career prospects I was promised when I signed up for it.

Furthermore, I like writing about history, teaching others about it, and many other things besides. This includes, but is not limited to: composing very unscholarly articles my university's student newspaper, drunkenly extolling the awesomosity of John A. Macdonald on the appropriate holidays, ranting about sloppily written histories (and praising the good ones when they appear), and being far more obsessed with the field than is really necessary for any living being.

This, therefore, is my outlet. Links of interest will be posted (including my Meliorist articles), along with reviews of both books and movies, and whatever else I feel is relevant. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I'll be.