In the 1700s and 1800s, clocks and pocketwatches were not the most reliable machines in the world. The problem was that there were very few reliable time-standards that existed in those days, against which to correctly adjust your timepieces.
Your watch isn’t telling the right time. But the problem is, you don’t know if the clock in the living room is telling the right time, either! How do you set the right time, when you don’t know what it is?
The only way to be sure of the right time was by celestial observation – tracking the movement of the stars was the only surefire way of knowing that a clock was EXACTLY on time. The problem is, to do this, you need an observatory! And obviously, not everybody can have a full-on observatory in their living room.
In 1836, John Henry Belville, who worked at the famous Royal Observatory at Greenwich, near London, got the idea to “sell” time.
Using his highly-accurate chronometer pocketwatch, Mr. Belville would wind it up, set it to the correct time, as dictated by the Observatory master-clock, and head into London. He would then visit the people who had paid to subscribe to his service, and they could borrow his watch to adjust their own timepieces.
Ruth Belville, the Greenwich Time Lady, at the Royal Observatory, at Greenwich.
The Belvilles continued this service for over 100 years, until 1940!! By that time, the service had been taken over by John’s daughter, Ruth Belville, using the exact same pocketwatch that her father had used.
Every morning, Ruth would check her father’s watch, and head into town.
Ruth finally retired in 1940, and died three years later in 1943, at the age of 89!!
The pocketwatch used by the Belville family was a keywind model manufactured by watchmaker John Arnold in 1794!
Arnold the pocketwatch
Originally crafted with a solid gold case in 18kt, Mr. Belville changed it out to a sterling-silver case, fearing that a solid gold watch-case would make him a target of muggings and robbery as he walked around London.
Upon her retirement as the “Greenwich Time-Lady” in 1940, Ruth donated her father’s antique pocketwatch to London’s Worshipful Company of Clockmakers – the city’s official guild for watchmakers and clockmakers.
The watch – nicknamed “Arnold” after John Arnold, the man who created it, has remained with the Clockmakers’ Company ever since!
“It’s heavy!…What is it?” “The uh…stuff that dreams are made of”
“The Maltese Falcon” (1941)
THE MACGUFFIN
If you’ve studied creative writing or filmmaking in any decent capacity, then you’ve probably come across this term at least once in your life.
The MacGuffin.
But what is it? Where does it come from? What does it mean? Let’s find out…
The term was coined by screenwriter, and Alfred Hitchcock collaborator, Angus MacPhail sometime in the 1930s, meaning that the term “MacGuffin” has now been in use for nearly 100 years, across plays, novels, TV shows, and films. It pops up in all kinds of adaptations, and all sorts of storylines. It is not central to any specific type of genre, and can be found in almost anything, from adventure to mystery, action to spy-thrillers.
But what is a “MacGuffin”?
A “MacGuffin”, as defined by Alfred Hitchcock himself, was…
“…the mechanical element that usually crops up in any story…”
That is to say – it is a plot-device. An element of the story that drives the narrative forward, and which is the focus of the attention of all the main characters – the one thing that they’re chasing after during some (if not all) of the film.
As Hitchcock said:
“…in [criminal] stories it is almost always the necklace and in spy stories it is almost always the papers…”
A MacGuffin is something which drives the narrative (and characters) forward, but which, in-and-of-itself, holds no real significance, and which loses more and more of that significance the further the story progresses, whereupon, by the end of the narrative, the MacGuffin has become (or very nearly becomes) completely irrelevant. Indeed, the MacGuffin could even be destroyed (and some MacGuffins are) at, or near the end of the film or novel, and this doesn’t even effect the plot, since, as mentioned – the MacGuffin has been of decreasing significance to the plot since the moment of its introduction.
The true test of a MacGuffin is whether it passes this test of insignificance. If the MacGuffin could be replaced by something totally different, and if it could be destroyed or changed, without affecting the plot of the story itself, it is a MacGuffin.
Once you understand this definition, it’s amazing how many MacGuffins you will find in all kinds of filmic and literary creations. Famous examples of MacGuffins include the Horcruxes, or the Philosopher’s Stone from “Harry Potter“, the Ring from “Lord of the Rings“, the Necklace from “Titanic“, the Letters of Transit in “Casablanca“, the stolen money in “PSYCHO“, the unopened parcel in “Castaway“, and countless other examples, far too numerous to mention.
At the beginning of each story, these items (or even people, or other things – a MacGuffin isn’t necessarily an object) all sound frightfully important, and all the main characters want these items, but by the end of it all…they’ve lost all significance…and if you replaced them with something else, or even if you destroyed them, the basic plot of the story wouldn’t have changed one bit.
For all we care, Frodo could’ve been trying to burn a donut in Mount Doom, and the plot of the story would not have changed, because the end-result is the same. Therefore, the Ring is a MacGuffin.
This brings up another Hitchcock quote:
“…a MacGuffin is actually nothing at all…”
Which is true – a MacGuffin could be anything, and nothing, all at once. All that matters is that the characters in the film or novel WANT IT!! (my prrreeecious!!), that it drives the plot forward, that it becomes insignificant, and keeps you, the audience, guessing. Not because you want to know what it is (some of the best MacGuffins are never revealed – for example – we’re never shown what’s inside the briefcase in “Pulp Fiction”), but because you want to see what happens next in the character-arcs and plot development as they chase the MacGuffin.
Where Does “MacGuffin” come From?
The very word “MacGuffin” is, in a way, a MacGuffin itself. We don’t know what it is, nor what it means, where it comes from, or what it signifies. The term is most closely associated with famed thriller director Alfred Hitchcock, but while he used it often in his films, he did not originate the term, crediting his friend McPhail. McPhail is the first-known person to use the word “MacGuffin”, but it is not recorded when, where, or how this came to be. And, in the sense of a true MacGuffin, it’s not really significant, since even if we changed the origins, how a MacGuffin is used today is still exactly the same as it was back in the 40s and 50s when Hitchcock was using it.
A more recent example of a MacGuffin in modern times is the elusive “Rabbit’s Foot” in Mission Impossible III. They spend the whole film chasing after it, but by the end of the film, whatever it really was has lost all significance to the plot. On top of that, none of the characters even know what it is, or really, why it’s important. They just know that they have to have it. It is a MacGuffin.
Possibly the most famous “MacGuffin” in history, and one which beautifully illustrates just exactly what a MacGuffin is, is the black falcon statuette from the 1941 film “The Maltese Falcon“.
All the characters are desperately seeking the statuette, to attain it, to save it, protect it, to grow rich off of it…whatever their motivations may be…but when they finally attain it, they realise that actually, it’s nothing more than a worthless knockoff! A forgery made of lead, and has thusly, lost all significance to the characters, while the quest for the Falcon has driven the entire film. At this stage, you realise that the Falcon could’ve been anything at all, and the basic plot of the film would not have changed. Again – they could’ve been chasing a donut…
As the weather changes and as things start to get colder, wetter, windier and rainier down here in the Merry old Land of Oz…it’s time for a change in footwear.
Away with the huaraches, the sandals, and the loafers or whatever…and out with the boots to slosh through the rain and sludge that inevitably comes with winter weather.
And also, out with the constant struggle to PULL YOUR GODDAMN BOOTS ON! Right?? Oh lord above…
If you’re a fan of “Chelsea”-style boots – of either the suede, or leather variety, or of slip-on boots in general, then this is a struggle you’re probably far too painfully familiar with. No doubt you’ve twisted your ankle or snapped a shoehorn or two, just trying to leave the house in the morning while pulling your boots on – but what’s the alternative?
Well – the alternative is a neat little Victorian-era invention known as a boot-hook, or boot-pull.
Most pairs of boots will come with a little leather or cloth tab or loop at the back of the boot, above the heel. If they’re large enough, you can just shove your fingers in there and pull your boots on and you’re done. Easy.
But what if those tabs are really small, or what if you have huge fingers? What if you just can’t get a grip on those tabs, and instead, they stare up at you, mocking you for your incompetence and lack of lateral thinking?
Well – in situations like that – you use boot-pulls!
Boot pulls come in all lengths, shapes, sizes and styles. They can be brand-new, they can be plastic, they can be antique, like mine, they can be fixed, or they can even be compact, folding models.
Regardless of style or age, boot-pulls are typically between 6-12 inches long, and usually have a grab-handle at the top, which you can hook your fingers around. Under that is a shaft, with a flat, angular hook at the bottom.
Why flat? So that the pull-tabs on your boots get even pressure put on them when you pull. A curved hook would compress all that force into one point and damage your boot tabs…plus, a curved hook is harder to slide into the tab-loop.
They also come with flat, blunt hook-tips, so that they can slide easily in and out of your boot-tabs without cutting, snagging or pulling on them accidentally. Once you’ve mastered using them, you’ll be able to pull your boots on with no problems at all. Simply slip your foot into your boot, feed the hook through the tab or loop at the back, and pull firmly upwards. It may take you one or two attempts to get the hook through the hole, but once you’ve done it, all you need is a firm tug to get your boots on.
Apart from just making boots faster to pull on when you’re getting dressed boot-pulls are great for people who might have back or leg issues which prevent them from bending over, kneeling, or reaching behind them with ease. If you have any of those issues, and hate wearing laced-up shoes, you might consider changing to boots and buying a set of boot-pulls for yourself.
Where to Buy Boot Pulls?
Boot-pulls can be found easily online on sites like eBay and such-like. My set is an antique pair with round, bone handles. I bought them at the local flea-market about four years ago, for like $20.00. You can also find antique sets on antique dealers’ sites, or on eBay, with handles made of wood, or bone. They can either be bought for next to nothing, or can cost several hundred dollars. Of course, how much you want to spend is up to you. I once saw a single hook for sale for about $450.00!! I love my boots, but not that much!
Prince Christian of Schleswig-Holstein – and his magnificent beard! – was a Danish-born, German prince who had the good fortune to marry into the British royal family, his wife being one of Queen Victoria’s daughters – Princess Helena.
Queen Victoria was extremely fond of Prince Christian, and when he asked to marry Princess Helena, Queen Victoria gave her consent – on the condition that the married couple resided in England, so that she could see them whenever she wanted to.
Prince Christian and his wife, Princess Helena
To make the transition easier, the queen gave the prince and his wife (and their growing family) the use of Frogmore Cottage on the Sandringham Estate. She also invited them to live in Buckingham Palace whenever they visited London.
In December, 1891, Prince Christian was out pheasant-shooting at Osbourne House, the queen’s island retreat on the Isle of Wight, with his wife’s brother, Prince Arthur, Duke of Connaught. While firing at game, pellets from the duke’s shotgun ricocheted off a tree, striking Prince Christian in the face, and taking out his left eye!
Queen Victoria was horrified when she heard of the accident, and Arthur was wracked with guilt over what had happened. People living in the vicinity of Osbourne were also shocked – Prince Christian was a popular figure, and much liked by the locals.
The queen’s doctor was called, and after a careful examination, it was determined that – apart from losing his left eye – Prince Christian was in perfectly good health, and would survive the accidental gunshot wound to the head. Fearing that the eye might become infected, the surgeons and doctors attending the prince asked if he would like to have the now useless eye removed. He decided that he did.
Queen Victoria was appalled, but eventually gave her consent for the operation to go ahead – on the condition that nobody ever mentioned it to her ever again! The prince was knocked out with chloroform and the operation duly carried out. Once it was over, a London optometrist was commissioned to manufacture a glass eye for the prince.
The prince liked it.
He liked it very much!
He liked it TOO much!!
Prince Christian liked his glass eye so much that he started ordering extra eyes! He was fascinated by them, and developed a very dark sense of humour about his missing eye, and started a new hobby of ordering custom-made glass eyes.
He soon amassed quite a collection, and would chop and change which glass eye he would wear each day, simply by popping one eye out of his head, and popping in another, as, and when, he pleased, according to his mood.
During dinners with friends, he would order his manservant to bring out his collection (which he kept in a special display-case) so that he could show them off to his guests! To entertain them (or gross them out!), he would regale his guests by giving lengthy explanations of the reasons why each particular eye had been added to his collection.
He joked that his favourite one was the bloodshot eye that he had specially made so that he could wear it whenever he caught a cold! Want to Read More? There’s more information here:
Japanese troops invade the capital of Nationalist China, sweeping before them the feeble defenses thrown up by the forces of the Chinese nationalist army. On the banks of the Yangtze River, the U.S.S. Panay is moored. A river gunboat and part of the US Navy’s Asiatic Fleet, it is tasked with protecting American interests along the Yangtze.
When the Japanese invade Nanking, the Panay is commanded at once to evacuate the city and make steam for Shanghai. The order goes out for all American civilians in Nanking, and all staff working at the U.S. Embassy in Nanking to evacuate immediately, to go to the waterfront, board the Panay, and prepare to leave at once.
The U.S.S. Panay on the Yangtze River in China
December 12th, 1937; as the vessel prepares to depart, the Panay has on board five officers, 54 members of the crew, ten civilians, including newsreel cameramen and reporters, and four staff of the U.S. Embassy – Nanking. American flags are stretched across the vessel to mark it as a neutral ship. Before it can even make headway, the Panay is attacked by thirteen Japanese aircraft, bombing the ship and strafing the decks.
The crew man the lifeboats but the ship sinks so fast that everybody is forced into the water, to swim to the banks. Japanese aircraft strafe the water, shooting unarmed civilians and noncombatants. In total, five are killed, and 48 are wounded. The Japanese claimed that they did not spot the American flags, and paid compensation to the U.S. government for loss of the Panay and the deaths of those on board.
The sinking of the U.S.S. Panay near Nanking, China
The Panay was one of the last ships out of Nanking, and one of the last hopes for Chinese civilians attempting to flee the Japanese. On the 13th of December began the Rape of Nanking, which saw the deaths of 300,000 Chinese men, women, children, POWs, and any other foreign nationals still stuck in the city when the vessel sank.
During WWII, the famous piano-manufacturer, Steinway & Sons, was forced to give up its tons of seasoned timber for the American war-effort. The aged lumber was to be used to manufacture rifle-stocks, and lightweight glider-aircraft for use during large-scale allied troop-landings in Europe.
Once the war in Europe started going the way of the Allies, the army approached Steinway again and asked them to start building pianos once more – despite the fact that all their best timber-stocks had already been spent on the war-effort!
Victory Verticals being tuned
The army wanted Steinway to produce a lightweight piano which could be air-dropped into Europe so that soldiers, and liberated civilians, could have a cheap but cheerful way to entertain themselves, produce music, and raise morale!
The result was the army-green Steinway & Sons “Victory Vertical” upright piano.
Victory Vertical packed for shipping
Just over 2,400 Victory Verticals were manufactured, and shipped to Europe and either flown or trucked inland and air-dropped over liberated population-centers.
The piano had to be small enough to be packed easily aboard cargo-ships, light enough to be transported by air, robust enough to survive a parachute landing, and capable of being moved around easily by two or three men, since specialist moving-equipment was unlikely to be available where these pianos would end up.
While it does sound incredible, advertising materials and publicity documents published by Steinway during WWII attest to the fact that – yes, Victory Verticals really were airdropped from bombers during the war, where they were rescued by Allied troops and liberated civilians, and put to use.
American soldiers having a singalong around a Steinway Victory Vertical
Due to the small numbers produced, few Victory Verticals exist today, and they’re an almost forgotten chapter of Steinway…and world war…history.
White sandy beaches, beautiful food, tropical weather and endless sunshine. Just some of the tropes that come to mind when people think of the islands of Hawaii. In fact, Hawaii has been associated so much with tropical getaways, relaxing summer holidays, or a particular day in 1941, that most people have completely forgotten (or never learned) that long before any Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor – Hawaii used to be a country!
That’s right – its own country, with its own flag, own national anthem, own government, and even its own monarchy!
The Kingdom of Hawaii was proclaimed in 1795 when Kamehameha the Great, the first ruler of a united Hawaii, declared the official union of the islands!
Actually this isn’t true – not all of the islands were unified – but the ones which were not eventually decided by majority rule, to join the union anyway.
The Kingdom of Hawaii lasted for not quite a hundred years, from 1795 to 1893. In that time it had eight rulers. Seven kings, and one queen, all native-born Hawaiians. It was to be the last independent ruler of Hawaii – and the island nation’s first, last, and only queen regnant, who would have, arguably, the greatest impact upon Hawaiian culture and history.
King Kalakaua, the last King of Hawaii, and Queen Lili’uolakani’s older brother
Queen Lili’uokalani, who also went by the Christian name of Lydia – was born in Hawaii on the 2nd of September, 1838. Due to the early deaths of the previous monarchs, including that of her older brother, the popular King Kalakaua – who we can thank for bringing back the tradition of hula-dancing to Hawaii – Queen Lili’uokalani ascended the throne in 1891. Her time on the Hawaiian throne was brief, just two years before the monarchy was forcibly overthrown – but even before her short reign, Lili’uokalani was to have a big impact on Hawaii – largely thanks to her brother.
King Kalakaua was the first Hawaiian monarch to travel widely around the world. In his absence, his sister, then-Princess Lili’uokalani officially ruled Hawaii as Princess Regent. She was responsible for saving much of traditional Hawaiian culture.
She documented many traditional Hawaiian customs, dances, songs, and even pieces of music, which previously had only existed orally, passed from generation-to-generation without ever being written down. She helped to contain the spread of a smallpox epidemic among the Hawaiian islands, and, when she finally became queen upon the untimely death of her brother, she rewrote the Hawaiian constitution in an attempt to give more power to her native people.
Lili’uokalani – Queen of the Hawaiian Islands
But of all Queen Lili’uokalani’s lasting legacies, probably her most famous one of all – was a song.
Written in 1878, and supposedly inspired by the sight of two lovers bidding farewell to each other, then Princess Lili’uokalani penned a song which was to become the most famous piece of music ever written on Hawaiian soil. A song so famous that even now, over 140 years after its composition, just a few bars of its melody immediately conjours up images of coconuts, palm trees, white sandy beaches and tropical paradises.
A song called “Aloha Oe“. Also known as “Farewell to Thee“, after its English title.
Ever heard of it?
You might not know the title, but you’ll certainly know the tune. It’s been used in countless TV shows, films, short-cartoons and animated series, and has been a popular choice for recording-artists for well over 100 years. It’s been covered by everybody from Bing Crosby in the 1930s to Elvis Presley in the 1960s!
Queen Lili’uokalani’s original handwritten manuscript for the song – including all musical notation, and full lyrics in native Hawaiian, and English – are still held by the Hawaiian State Archives.
The song proved so popular and so famous that, when Queen Lili’uokalani died in 1917, the thousands of people who turned out to watch her funeral procession all sang “Aloha Oe” as her casket was borne past, as a tribute to their island nation’s last queen.
A recent discussion with some friends brought up this little historical tidbit, and it made me wonder how many people know…or don’t know…about this curious historical oddity.
Almost without exception, every pair of jeans, ever since they were invented in the 1870s by Levi Strauss, and almost every pair of slacks or chinos produced ever since, has featured a small pocket sewn into the right-front pocket. It’s not very big, and if you’re lucky, you’ll manage to get three or four fingers into it before it gets too tight to fit anything else in there!
But what is it?
A lot of people like to call this the “fifth pocket” and believe that it was an afterthought added to jeans by the L.Strauss company when they were designing their first pairs in the late 1800s. But actually, nothing could be further from the truth.
The mysterious inner pocket on the right side of a pair of jeans was an intentional add-on, and it was placed there from the very start to serve a very particular function – It’s a watch-pocket, for storing your pocketwatch!
The pocketwatch goes into the pocket, and the chain or fob clips to the nearest belt-loop for security.
The Mysterious Fifth Pocket
What, then, you might ask – is this mysterious “fifth pocket” that everybody keeps talking about? Does it even exist? If the watch-pocket or fob-pocket isn’t the fifth pocket, then which one is?
There is a fifth pocket, and it does exist. But it isn’t the little one on the right where your pocketwatch lives.
Nope – actually, it’s round the back! The “fifth pocket” mentioned so often in association with jeans refers to the rear hip-pocket, sewn on the left-hand side! Prior to 1901, Strauss jeans were not sold with this feature, and it was this pocket – and not the watch-pocket – which was sewn onto jeans later on as an afterthought, to balance out the number of pockets available for use.
The Function of the Fob Pocket
So if your friends ever ask you – what is the fifth pocket – you can tell them – it’s not the little pocket on the front – it’s the big one at the back! And that little pocket on the front isn’t for keys…condoms…pepper-spray…coins…or anything like that. It’s for your pocketwatch!
Sources:
Webpages about the function and history of their pockets, from the official Levi Strauss website:
Politics is a noisy business. Senators, congressmen, MPs, lords and representatives hammering out speeches, deals, new laws and arguing over everything from taxes to immigration.
To keep the peace, the house’s presiding officer needs an instrument with which to call people to order – traditionally, this was a gavel – a ceremonial hammer which produced a loud enough noise to be heard over all the arguing and debates.
In the U.S. Senate, this gavel, which dates back to 1789, and which was first used by John Adams, was an hourglass-shaped piece of ivory, sans handle, which was in use by the senate for over 100 years…until an unfortunate day in 1954.
The original U.S. Senate Gavel being used by Vice President John Garner, in 1938
By the 1940s, the gavel, by then in use for over 100 years, was starting to show its age. Repeated hammering had caused the edges to weaken and the ivory to chip. In an effort to prolong the gavel’s use, the decision was made in 1952 to carry out some repairs, and two sterling silver plates were riveted to the flat top and base of the gavel to protect the ivory and absorb the shock of it striking the lecturn during use.
And this might’ve been enough, if not for Richard Nixon.
Yes, that Nixon.
In 1954, Nixon, during a heated senate debate about atomic energy, slammed the gavel down so hard that, despite the silver reinforcements, the gavel cracked down the side!
Whoops.
In a second, a priceless historical artifact had been irreparably damaged!
The shattered-off piece of ivory was found, and carefully glued and screwed back into place, but the damage was done. Embarrassed, Nixon and his colleagues tried to find a new piece of ivory to make another gavel! The problem was that they couldn’t find any chunks of ivory large enough to replace the original gavel.
The Senate’s two ivory gavels. The original 18th century one on the left, and the 20th century replacement one on the right. You can see the screw and the cracked-off piece of ivory on the left, on the original gavel
Famous for its elephants, and ivory carving, the government of the newly independent Republic of India volunteered to make the Senate a new gavel. Hourglass-shaped, made of ivory, and to the exact dimensions of the original 18th century gavel, the new gavel was delivered to the Senate on the 17th of November, 1954 by Sarvepalli Radhakrishna, the first vice-president of India, as a token of friendship between the two nations.
The Senate Gavels in their presentation & storage box
On the day of delivery, Nixon thanked the Indian vice-president for India’s gift to the Senate, and said that the gavel would be used in place of the original, which had started to “come apart” from “overuse”.
He tactfully omitted the fact that it was HIS overuse that had caused the gavel to come apart in the first place!
That gavel, and its older brother, are still in use in the U.S. Senate today.
