Ancient History (March 24, 2010)

Hello all,
You're in luck--this week wasn't nearly as interesting or eventful as its predecessor--cross your fingers and hope that I manage to keep it concise.
First of all, for those of you with Facebook profiles, I feel like I should apologize for not keeping remotely current on uploading photographs to my profile. I've always had problems with the photo-uploading utility when I access my profile using Internet Explorer, and it just so happens that Internet Explorer is the browser of choice for York St. John. Thus I'm restricted to uploading a mere five photos at a time, on a good day, and my "good days" have been few and far between. Suffice to say that this makes the readings I've done about the Luddites' demonstrations during the industrial revolution all the more potent.
Monday slipped by in a flurry of trying to bring my thoughts to bear on an essay I was assigned to write for my history class on Empires--an objective no less concise and no less daunting than: "What was the secret of the Roman Empire"? Admittedly I had been putting the assignment off for a while; I had taken the initiative to get a couple of books from the library beforehand, but with such a broad topic, it was daunting to know where to begin. However, I did have some idea where to begin, having studied the Romans relatively recently in my Calvin history and art history classes. With the imagery of the ruins of Pompeii in mind, as well as anecdotes we had covered in class, I hit upon pragmatism, self-preservation, and dynamic leadership as three crucial elements of Roman conquest...just a drop of water in the ocean, I know, but for the purposes of the assignment, I figured these three would do.
Tuesday morning brought British Culture class, as usual. For the first half, the class divided into groups and each person displayed their "commonplace books"--a kind of mandatory scrapbook assignment we have, which is intended to emulate journals which were in vogue in Europe starting in the 1600s--to the rest of their group members. My commonplace book is comprised of printouts of these weekly emails, augmented with papers and brochures, all compiled in plastic display sheets in a ring binder. We've been exchanging anecdotes from our commonplace books in weeks past, which is really neat, because that way the little tidbits that individuals discover in their encounters with the culture are diffused throughout the whole group. During the second half of class, the different focus groups gave their presentations for the tapestry, describing the class systems in place during the Edwardian Era, the suffrage movement for women at the time, and turbulence surrounding Welsh and Irish affairs at the time. Part of one demonstration had a student submitting Prof. Ward to a "How Snobbish Are You?" test online--I think we were all relieved when the test results were tabulated and we found that, although Prof. Ward exhibited the pernicious vestiges of snobbery, he was not beyond reclamation. Doubtless I have now aroused an eagerness on your part to evaluate your own snob index--here's the link for the quiz: http://www.pbs.org/manorhouse/quiz/game.html
I spent Tuesday evening spinning a web of words about the Roman empire...not too exciting.
In the Wednesday morning Empires class, we turned our backs on Rome and began talking about the British empire. This class kind of brought to a variety of thoughts and realizations that I had been mulling over to a head. All my reading of literature and education of history had formed in my mind this image of the British empire as something grand, impregnable, and reproach--certainly with anomalies at certain times and places, but no major ones. As we began to look at roots of the British empire, my views started to aquire a different shade. First of all, my notions of British impregnability have been shaken by learning just how precarious British history has been, from the invasion by the Romans to attacks by Vikings and the Norman Conquest. The notion of the invincible British Empire was formed relatively late in English history, and in many ways was a response to England's history of subjugation to other powers; as such, it has been widely propogated in the Western hemisphere, where England has traditionally exerted such strong cultural influence. And even at the height of the British empire, the British homeland was still beset by all manner of domestic problems, and the image of the empire was soiled by defeats and humanitarian abuses that were largely suppressed. I look forward to the rest of the class for the semester.
Thursday and Friday passed pretty uneventfully. I turned in my essay and took it easy for most of those two days, hanging out in my room, watching a movie or two online, and dinking around with my ukulele (I can now stumble my way through a rough phrase of "Wipeout'). Also, a prolonged game of Battleship that had been raging back and forth online between one of my readers and me came to a denouement--I regret to report a defeat on my part, but in negotiations with my opponent, it seems that another battle is brewing, so I have a chance to redeem myself. On Friday evening, I joined the rest of the Calvin students for another social evening at our professor's house, enjoying a birthday cake prepared in observation of three birthdays of our groupmembers occuring within the span of a week or so. It was rainy that evening, and once back to my flat, I streamed a jazz radio station on my laptop, brewed some tea, and savored the gloom as best I could.
On Saturday we boarded a bus once more to visit some sites in Yorkshire not far from the town. Our first destination was the ruins of Rievaulx Abbey. Rievaulx Abbey was founded in 1132 by twelve Cistercian monks, and as the first Cistercian abbey in the north of England, it served as a base for missions in the north and up into Scotland. The monks raised sheep and sold the wool, and also mined ore nearby to generate their livelihood; and Rievaulx Abbey became not only one of the best-known abbeys in the north, but also one of the wealthiest abbeys in England. Eventually it was destroyed during Henry VIII's dissolution of the monasteries.
Set in the countryside against a hilly backdrop of bare trees, the abbey ruins were impressive. It was an overcast morning, and a light misting rain made the setting all the more placid. I wandered around some of the foundations of the buildings associated with the abbey, all that is left of them, and admired the extant structure of the abbey itself, which was much better preserved than the Whitby Abbey.
After about an hour at Rievaulx, we took the brief ride to the nearby town of Helmsley to view the ruins of a castle that had stood there at one time. Construction on Helmsley Castle began in 1120 by a local nobleman and continued for the next 200 years or so. It changed hands several times throughout the next 400 years and was besieged during the English Civil War, after which Parliament ordered that it be partially destroyed. All that remains of the castle today is one side of a tower, the foundations of the walls, a couple of the front battlements, and one extant hall; these remains are now managed by English Heritage, a department of the British government tasked with historical preservation. Although there wasn't much left of the castle itself, the moat was well preserved, and approaching the castle I got a real feel for just how defensible a position a castle could be. It was neat to poke around, but by that time, my shoes were soaked through, and the chill and damp were starting to get to me. After thoroughly checking the place out, I joined six other students and we walked into Helmsley, where we got some food; then three of us stepped into a secondhand book store, where we amused ourselves by reading the inscriptions in several old books that had been given to previous owners as Sunday school rewards and the like. After whiling away some time in another shop or two, we boarded the bus and returned to York. Back in my flat, I busied myself with folding laundry, taking care of small chores, and Skyping with Karin.
I slept in a bit on Sunday morning before going into town somewhat early for breakfast and some errands. The breakfast was successful, as I grabbed a fruit pasty from a bakery for the third day in a row, but it hadn't occurred to me that no shops would be open at that time on a Sunday morning. So I wandered around a bit, pausing on the old walls to admire the sunny morning until an elderly gentleman walking along the wall advised me that I would get a better view from atop the central tower of York Minster. I agree with him, and then headed that way for Sung Eucharist. En route, I was stopped by a large grizzled man who was shuffling laboriously down the street, hunched over his walker. He asked me where I was from, and while he cited something vague about having worked building oil pipelines in Texas, mysterious reference to Vancouver, and some connection to J.P. Morgan, in an accent so thick it could barely be understood, his unkempt appearance and shabby clothes didn't corroborate his story at all. He insisted that he was a representative of some charitable relief organization (producing a crumpled postcard of said organization as a sort of validation), and offered me some of his "artwork" in return for a donation. The artwork in question was a crumpled pile of what appeared to be finger paintings perched atop his walker, and while I knew at the time that I was undoubtedly subsidizing nothing more than an evening pint for that gentleman, I gave him a donation and collected a piece of artwork, just for the novelty of the experience. Looking back, I feel silly for indulging in this novelty, and I'm not going to reveal what I gave this gentleman for his scrap of paper; suffice to say it will look lovely displayed in my commonplace book. He then asked me where I was having lunch, but I simply told him I didn't know, perceiving that he wished to prolong this relationship in which he only stood to gain.
I arrived at the Minster right as the service was starting and found a seat near the back next to my friend Sam. The service was beautiful, as usual, although the very beginning and end were interrupted by a couple of noisy toddlers who got a kick out of beating their plastic ponies on the seats of the wooden chairs. After the service Sam and I spent an hour or so at a nearby Starbucks, where he gave me advice on what to see in London next week. At one point he whipped out a pen and drew a personalized map of central London for me, noting the relative positions of all the must-see destinations. He was also gracious enough to offer me free lodging in Cambridge, which is where he hails from.
After coffee with Sam, I returned to my flat and spent the next three or four hours in a frenzy of booking hostels for my Easter break. I had hoped to travel on the continent throughout break, but having failed to plan sufficiently in advance or coordinate plans with anyone, I didn't feel ready to travel solo in Europe. Instead, I'll be visiting a handful of cities in the southeast of England, not too far from London. It should be fun, and I'm looking forward to it. Sunday evening ended pleasantly with conversations with my parents and Karin.
I had intended to send out this email at that time, but time had kind of escaped me for the past couple days.
I hope this message finds all of you well! I ask for your prayers as I set out on my Easter Break for the next couple weeks, and I'll be sure to keep everyone updated on all my comings and goings throughout that time.
I miss you all, and think of you frequently.
Sincerely,
John Morton