At 11:02 on the morning of August 9, 1945 an American B-29 bomber dropped an atomic weapon on the Japanese port of Nagasaki. That city was not the original target, but smoke and clouds over Kokura would have prevented an assessment of the damage that would have been inflicted by this experimental bomb, so the pilot diverted his plane to the secondary objective. The result was an explosion that obliterated the city centre, killed tens of thousands immediately, and doomed more tens of thousands to die later from burns or radiation sickness. The casualty list was overwhelmingly civilian, including Korean slave labour, as well as a small number of Allied prisoners of war.
Ironically, Nagasaki was the most Christian city in Japan and the one, historically, most open to foreign influence. Throughout the more than 200 years of self-imposed isolation from the rest of the world, Nagasaki had been the only port at which European vessels were allowed to land. The area in which the secret Christian congregations had lived during those years was hardest hit by the bomb. The 19th-century Catholic cathedral (see above) was the largest in east Asia.
Debate continues over the necessity and morality of the atomic warfare waged against Japan, but it is difficult to escape the conclusion that these horrific weapons saved millions of lives that would otherwise have been lost to a continued naval blockade, a Soviet-American invasion, or the continuation of firebombing. Malcolm Gladwell’s latest book The Bomber Mafia discusses the effect of the urban bombing strategy carried out by Curtis LeMay.
I am old enough to remember when athletes were publicly revered, when their personal peccadillos were largely overlooked by the media, and their pictures were featured more often on the sports pages than in police mug shots. There was one heavyweight boxing champion of the world and every schoolboy knew his name. Every fan knew who held the world mark for the mile run and the hundred-yard dash. We thrilled when Roger Bannister broke the 4-minute barrier and when Sebastian Coe, Steve Ovett, and John Walker duelled in track meets around the world. Babe Ruth had long held the record for most home runs hit in a season and in a career and the toppling of these numbers by Roger Maris and Hank Aaron were the concern of every newspaper, radio station, and television channel. Then along came drugs and mega millions and everything went sour.
Track and field was once the focus of global attention but the drug accusations that brought down Ben Johnson and which dogged the careers of Florence Henderson, Carl Lewis and that generation of American stars sent the sport into a decline from which t has not recovered. Who holds the world 1500 metre record? Who is the world record holder in the women’s high jump. I used to know.
What the late 80s did to track and field, the late 1990s and early 2000s did for baseball. Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa and Barry Bonds, sporting wonderfully bulked-up torsos, all smashed the home run records that had stood for years. McGwire admitted to using steroids but denied that it had aided his batting; Sosa was caught with a corked bat; Bonds was caught up in legal problems involving use of steroids but never copped to employing them. On this day in 2007 Bonds broke the Sultan of Swat’s career total. The Commissioner of Baseball was not in attendance, perhaps subtly signalling that there was a shadow over the achievement, but Bonds was the recipient of congratulations by President Bush.
No major league team was interested in signing Bonds after that season and neither he, McGwire, nor Sosa have been voted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. The ball which Bonds hit to set the record is inthe Hall of Fame but if you examine the picture above, you will note that it is marked with a huge asterisk.
In 1848 when the crowned heads of Europe were shaken by a continent-wide series of revolutions, the Tsar of Russia sent troops to help the Austrian emperor put down rebels in Vienna. When the Austrian foreign minister was asked if this would produce feelings of good will between his country and Russia, the prime minister, Prince Felix Schwarzenberg, replied, “Austria will astound the world with the magnitude of its ingratitude.”
Gratitude is a rare sentiments among nations. As Lord Russell, a 19th-century British politician said, “Britain has no permanent friends, only eternal interests.
I was thinking of gratitude when examining this graph from 2020 which charted the results of a survey asking members of the British public which European countries they would be willing to aid in a financial crisis, and also asked Europeans if their country should help out a beleaguered Britain. It shows that the UK would assist any of its former EU partners but that most of Europe would turn their backs on Britain.
There are all kinds of conclusions one might draw. For example, the only four countries willing to help Britain have never been invaded by the British, but then again neither have hostile Finland, Hungary and Lithuania. Greeks might harbour resentment over British participation in their civil war in 1944-45, Spain might be sulking over Gibraltar, Germans might be remembering the firebombing of Dresden and Hamburg, and the French have never shown gratitude to anyone, anywhere, at any time.
The truth of that judgement about the French was borne out to me again this week on reading Canada Between Vichy and Free France, 1940-45 by Olivier Courteaux, the story of my country’s relations with the rival governments of France during the Second World War. Nationalists in Quebec were enamoured of Mussolini before the War and took a shine to the Pétainist Vichy regime after the collapse of France in 1940. Prime Minister Mackenzie King had to balance that (and Quebec’s opposition to Canadian participation in the war) with English Canada’s desire to fight the fascists and support the Free French. On several occasions King took the side of the notoriously prickly de Gaulle against British and American interests and at war’s end de Gaulle praised Canada for always being in his corner. The general famously showed his gratitude by trying to break up Canada and his 1967 Montreal speech in which he called for an in dependent Quebec.
Lorenzo Valla was born in 1405. As a young man he showed signs of the two distinguishing features of his personality: intellectual brilliance and a talent for making enemies. By the age of 25 he was a professor of eloquence at the University of Pavia where he wrote works praising the Epicurean philosophers for putting pleasure as the chief good in human life. His attacks on judges and judicial thinking got him run out of Pavia and after a bit of wandering (common to humanists) he settled at the court of Alfonso of Aragon, King of Naples in 1433. His free-thinking ways got him into trouble there too. He denied that the Apostles’ Creed was written, line-by-line by the apostles, criticized the orthodoxy of St Augustine and mocked monasticism. Not surprisingly, he was hauled up on charges of heresy – only the intervention of Alfonso saved him.
In Naples he also wrote “De elegantia linguae latinae”, which first placed the study of Latin on a scientific basis. The Humanists who preceded him had formed their Latin style rather empirically, and consequently had admitted many constructions peculiar to popular Latin – errors which Valla pointed out. Though Valla had refrained from personalities, all the literary writers considered his work a provocation, and hurled invectives against the author. This controversy is one of the most unpleasant pages in the history of the Italian Renaissance. The fiercest aggressor was Poggio Bracciolini, who did not confine himself to pointing out errors of style in Valla’s works, but accused him of the most degrading vices. Valla’s no less acidic answers are collected in his “Invectivarum libri sex”. Poggio’s invectives created a bad impression at Rome; as Valla still hoped to obtain a position in the Curia, he wrote an “Apologia ad Eugenio IV”, excusing himself for his faults and promising amendment.
Alfonso’s quarrels with the papacy of Eugenius IV provided a safe atmosphere in which to write the piece for which he is best known today — the “Declamazione contro la donazione di Costantino”. In it he demonstrated by humanist scholarship that the famous “Donation of Constantine” which purported to be a 4th-century grant of western Europe to the papacy by the emperor Constantine the Great was a forgery. Though it attacked an invaluable papal political tool, Valla’s work found favour with a new pope (who was himself a humanist) and he was employed until his death by the papacy. Astonishingly, Valla is buried inside papal territory in the church of St John in Lateran, the Cathedral for Rome, sometimes called the mother of all churches – founded by Constantine during the time of Pope Sylvester.
William Penn, born in London in 1644, was the son of a prominent English admiral. He became a convert to Quakerism, a sect which in the 17th century was infamous for its threats to conventional society and theology. Chambers’ Book of Days gives an account of his life and accomplishments.
His father had bequeathed him a claim on the government of £16,000 for arrears of pay and cash advanced to the navy. Penn very well knew that such a sum was irrecoverable from Charles II; he had long dreamed of founding a colony where peace and righteousness might dwell together; and he decided to compound his debt for a tract of country in North America. The block of land he selected lay to the north of the Catholic province of Maryland, owned by Lord Baltimore; its length was nearly 300 miles, its width about 160, and its area little less than the whole of England. Objections were raised; but Charles was only too glad to get rid of a debt on such easy terms. At the council, where the charter was granted, Penn stood in the royal presence, it is said, with his hat on. The king thereupon took off his; at which Penn observed, ‘Friend Charles, why dost thou not keep on thy hat?’ to which his majesty replied, laughing: ‘It is the custom of this place for only one person to remain covered at a time.’ The name which Penn had fixed on for his province was New Wales; but Secretary Blathwayte, a Welshman, objected to have the Quaker-country called after his land. He then proposed Sylvania, and to this the king added Penn, in honour of the admiral.
The fine country thus secured became the resort of large numbers of Quakers, who, to their desire for the free profession of their faith, united a spirit of enterprise; and very quickly Pennsylvania rose to high importance among the American plantations. Its political constitution was drawn up by Penn, aided by Algernon Sidney, on extreme democratic principles. Perfect toleration to all sects was accorded. ‘Whoever is right,’ Penn used to say, ‘the persecutor must be wrong.’ The world thought him a visionary; but his resolution to treat the Indians as friends, and not as vermin to be extirpated, seemed that of a madman. So far as he could prevent, no instrument of war was allowed to appear in Pennsylvania. He met the Indians, spoke kindly to them, promised to pay a fair price for whatever land he and his friends might occupy, and assured them of his good-will. If offences should unhappily arise, a jury of six Indians and six Englishmen should decide upon them.
The Indians met Penn in his own spirit. No oaths, no seals, no official mummeries were used; the treaty was ratified on both sides with a yea, yea—the only one, says Voltaire, “that the world has known, never sworn to, and never broken.” A strong evidence of Penn’s sagacity is the fact, that not one drop of Quaker blood was ever shed by an Indian; and forty years elapsed from the date of the treaty, ere a red man was slain by a white in Pennsylvania. The murder was an atrocious one, but the Indians themselves prayed that the murderer’s life might be spared. It was spared; but he died in a very short time, and they then said, the Great Spirit had avenged their brother.
It will be thought that Penn made a capital bargain, in the purchase of Pennsylvania for £16,000; but in his lifetime, he drew little but trouble from his investment. The settlers withheld his dues, disobeyed his orders, and invaded his rights; and he was kept in constant disquiet by intrigues for the nullification of his charter. Distracted by these cares, he left his English property to the care of a steward, who plundered him mercilessly; and his later years were saddened with severe pecuniary distress. He was twice married, and in both cases to admirable women. His eldest son, a promising youth, he lost just as he verged on manhood; and a second son, by riotous living, brought himself to an early grave, trying Penn’s fatherly heart with many sorrows. Multiplied afflictions did not, however, sour his noble nature, nor weaken his settled faith in truth and goodness.
Penn’s intimacy with James II exposed him, in his own day, to much suspicion, which yet survives. It ought to be remembered, that Admiral Penn and James were friends; that the admiral, at death, consigned his son William to his guardianship; and that between James and his ward there sprung up feelings apparently amounting to affection. While James was king, Penn sometimes visited him daily, and persuaded him to acts of clemency, otherwise unattainable. Penn scorned as a Quaker, James hated as a Catholic, could sympathise as brothers in adversity. Penn, by nature, was kindly, and abounding in that charity which thinketh no evil; and taking the worst view of James’s character, it is in nowise surprising that Penn should have been the victim of his duplicity. It is well known that rogues could do little mischief, if it were not so easy to make good men their tools.
There was very little of that asceticism about Penn which is thought to belong to—at least early —Quakerism. The furniture of his houses was equal in ornament and comfort to that of any gentleman of his time. His table abounded in every real luxury. He was fond of fine horses, and had a passion for boating. The ladies of his household dressed like gentlewomen—wore caps and buckles, silk gowns and golden ornaments. Penn had no less than four wigs in America, all purchased the same year, at a cost of nearly £20. To innocent dances and country fairs he not only made no objection, but patronised them with his own and his family’s presence.
William Penn, after a lingering illness of three or four years, in which his mind suffered, but not painfully, died at Ruscombe on the 30th July 1718, and was buried at the secluded village of Jordans, in Buckinghamshire. No stone marks the spot, although many a pilgrim visits the grave.
The Thermidorian Reaction which claimed the life of Maximilien Robespierre on this day in 1794 also ended the earthly existence of someone equally repellent, Louis Antoine de Saint-Just.
Saint-Just, born in1767, came from the rural minor nobility and led an aimless life as a youth, dabbling in legal studies and poetry, but the outbreak of Revolution in 1789 gave him a cause to live passionately for. From his home town he corresponded with politicians such as Robespierre and Camille Desmoulin and in 1791 he was elected as the youngest member of the national assembly. There he forgot his earlier ideas of a constitutional monarchy and a distaste for violence, aligning himself with the radical Jacobin Club.
In November 1792 he called for the execution of Louis XVI; “I see no middle ground: this man must reign or die! He oppressed a free nation; he declared himself its enemy; he abused the laws: he must die to assure the repose of the people.” Having helped send the king to the guillotine, Saint-Just then took aim at moderate politicians, He supported the deaths of members of the Girondin faction and was behind the infamous “Law of Suspects” which removed many legal protections for an accused and ushered in the Terror. One was deemed guilty if thought to be insufficiently enthusiastic for the Revolution.
Saint-Just won a shining revolution as a représentant en mission, (the equivalent of a Soviet commissar), to bolster the morale and effectiveness of troops at the front. Shooting some officers perked up military performance considerably and Saint-Just returned to Paris in early 1794 where he was elected head of the National Convention. He turned the apparatus of the Terror on the Hébertists for being too radical and on Georges Danton and his followers for being too moderate.
Here are a few of Saint-Just’s more sanguinary pronouncements:
“The vessel of the Revolution can arrive in port only on a sea reddened with torrents of blood.”
“A nation generates itself only upon heaps of corpses”
“Those who make revolutions by halves do nothing but dig their own tombs.”
“You have to punish not only the traitors, but even those who are indifferent; you have to punish whoever is passive in the republic, and who does nothing for it.”
By the summer of 1794 many French politicians felt that, unless checked, Robespierre, Saint-Just and the Committee of Public Safety, might also endanger them. Thus they engineered a coup and saved their own nests by sending Saint-Just and twenty-one of their erstwhile leaders to the axe.
Few have expressed the mistaken anthropology of the Enlightenment as well as did Saint-Just in a speech to the National Convention in April, 1793:
Man was born for peace and liberty, and became miserable and cruel only through the action of insidious and oppressive laws. And I believe therefore that if man be given laws which harmonize with the dictates of nature and of his heart he will cease to be unhappy and corrupt.
This notion, that humanity is born good and requires only a bit of social tinkering to be made happy and free, is at the heart of every -ism of the last two centuries and leads from the taking of the Bastille to the gulags, Auschwitz, the Cultural Revolution, and Critical Race Theory.
Baseball is a game with many rules, some written, some unspoken. One of those rules (Rule 1.10c) deals with the use of adhesive permissible on the handle of a bat. A grip-enhancer, such as pine tar, cannot be applied farther than 18 inches from the bottom of the bat. Any malefactor found to be using such an implement was (according to the regulations in effect in 1983) to be deemed out and ejected from the contest.
On July 24, 1983, the New York Yankees were playing the Kansas City Royals at Yankee Stadium. In the top of the ninth inning, the Bronx Bombers were leading 4-3 with two out, one on, and famed stopper Goose Gossage and his bizarre moustache on the mound. Up strode George Brett, a prodigiously gifted hitter and tobacco chewer. The two future Hall of Famers performed the ritual glare before Brett fouled off the first pitch and then smote the second into the right field stands for a two-run home run and a 5–4 lead.
Enter now the Yankee skipper Billy Martin – like fabled Odysseus, a man of many wiles. He drew the attention of the umpires to Brett’s bat and the officials determined that the pine tar extended a fatal 6″ too high. Brett was ruled out, his home run was cancelled, and the Yankees declared the winner.
Upon hearing this decision, Brett launched himself from the dugout and begged to differ so vigorously that he had to be physically restrained from raising his objections on umpire Tim McClelland’s person. Great was the snickering of the Yankees and deep was the woe of the Royals as the players exited the field. Yet our tale is not ended.
The Royals appealed the decision to American League president Lee McPhail. In a ruling as arbitrary as any made by a medieval pope, MacPhail decided that the penalties prescribed by 1.10c were null and void — the extensive use of pine tar was an aesthetic violation (it would mark the ball) and not one that gave an unfair competitive advantage. The game was to be resumed from the point of Brett’s home run. The Yankees protested with law suits, injunctions were issued, but the courts ruled that the rescheduled contest should be held on August 18.
Martin’s shrewdness was again in evidence. Before the first pitch was thrown, the ball was tossed to first base on the theory that Brett had not tagged the bag on July 24. The umpire ruled him safe. The ball was then thrown to second base on the theory that U.L. Washington, the base runner on when Brett hit his homer, had not not touched there. Again the ruling was safe — though neither call was given by an umpire who had been officiating in the original game. Martin, with the good sportsmanship that marked his entire career, naturally protested, but the pin-striped helmsman was stunned when the umpire crew chief pulled out a notarized affidavit, signed by all four umpires from July 24, vowing that Brett had touched every base.
The Royals went on to win the game 5-4 with the Yankees declaring that they were playing under protest. The bat is now in the Hall of Fame and the penalties of the pine tar rule have been changed.
The English language owes much to American wordsmith Raymond Chandler who elevated the private eye into a cultural icon. Chandler was born in Nebraska to Maurice Chandler, an alcoholic father who soon abandoned his family, and Florence Dart, a devoted mother who had young Raymond educated at ritzy Dulwich College in England.
He served with a Canadian regiment during World War I but had difficulty finding his way in peacetime. Chandler had problems with alcohol, mommy issues, and holding a steady job. It was not until he was in his 40s that Chandler found his true métier, writing hard-boiled detective novels, a genre which he raised from pulp fiction to literary art. Gems like The Big Sleep, Farewell My Lovely, and The Long Goodbye were turned into films. [By all means revel in the cinematic delights of the first two mentioned, graced by Dick Powell and Humphrey Bogart — but, at all costs, avoid Robert Altman’s unforgivable 1973 desecration of the latter.]
Here are some great Chandler lines:
Even on Central Avenue, not the quietest dressed street in the world, he looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food.
It was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick a hole in a stained-glass window.
Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.
It was about eleven o’clock in the morning, mid October, with the sun not shining and a look of hard wet rain in the clearness of the foothills. I was wearing my powder-blue suit, with dark blue shirt, tie and display handkerchief, black brogues, black wool socks with dark blue clocks on them. I was neat, clean, shaved and sober, and I didn’t care who knew it.
And his definition of the sort of hero the genre required, outlined in “The Simple Art of Murder”: Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid.
By the summer of 1944 it was evident to all but Adolf Hitler that Germany was soon going to lose the war. The western Allies were ashore in great numbers in Normandy and were headed for Paris. In Italy, Rome had fallen. At sea, the Atlantic had been scoured of U-boats and Germany’s few remaining capital ships dared not leave port. The Vaterland’s cities were being incinerated night (RAF) and day (USAAF) while the relentless push of the Red Army was driving the Wehrmacht and its allies back toward Berlin.
The doom that awaited those who bore responsibility for starting the war and the revenge that would be wrought on Germany was clear to the officer elite. Some hoped that a new government, cleansed of Nazis, might be able to get better terms than Unconditional Surrender and some may even have thought of an Anglo-American-German alliance against the Soviet Union. A group of officers, dominated by those with aristocratic or Christian connections, planned to kill Hitler in his Prussian Wolf’s Lair (as close as he ever got to the Eastern Front) on July 20. Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg, head of the Home Army, was to place a bomb in the conference room near the Führer, and then radio his fellow plotters in Berlin when the assassination had been successfully carried out.
Unfortunately, Stauffenberg had suffered the loss of an eye, one hand and fingers on he other and from a war injury and he was unable to prime all the explosives in the case. Moreover, an aide had nudged the bomb farther under a thick oak table which shielded Hitler from the blast. Worse yet, Stauffenberg thought that Hitler had been killed in the explosion and told the Berlin cabal to carry out their coup. Within hours the truth was known, and the conspirators were either dead (the lucky ones) or arrested to await torture and execution. The war would continue.
The best short book on the subject is “Countdown to Valkyrie by Nigel Jones. Ben Pastor’s Night of Falling Stars is an entertaining fictional account. Of Tom Cruise’s portrayal of Stauffenberg in Valkyrie, it is best not to speak.
When, in August 1939, the USSR and Nazi Germany signed the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact, agreeing to a 10-year peace, Communists in the West were startled. They were no longer to say bad things about Hitler and, in the next month, when the invasion of Poland by the armies of both Hitler and Stalin started World War Two, party loyalists were instructed to oppose, sabotage, and obstruct the military efforts of Britain and France. In the United States, leftists such as Peter Seeger and Woody Guthrie, urged America to stay out of the conflict, calling President Roosevelt a war-monger.
Things changed in the summer of 1941 when Germany broke the pact and invaded the Soviet Union. Communists in the UK and USA now enthusiastically backed the war effort and soon began to clamour for a “Second Front in Europe” to ease the pressure on the Red Army. When this failed to take shape soon enough, leftists claimed that the capitalist West was happy to see the USSR suffer horrific losses.
The failure of the Dieppe raid in 1942, where the largely Canadian invading force was pinned down and butchered scarcely having got off the beaches, convinced planners that taking a port was not the way to go. Amphibious attacks were undertaken in North Africa, Sicily, and Italy, with mixed results and many lessons learned. It was not until June 1944 that the western Allies felt ready to launch Operation Overland and land on five Normandy beaches.
The call for a “Second Front” was always a code phrase for “more help for Russia.” Britain was fighting on a number of fronts in the North Atlantic, the Mediterranean, Asia, and in the air over Germany, and when the USA joined they too waged war from Alaska to New Guinea in the Pacific and in Europe.