One cannot read almost anything historic about England – and certainly not anything medieval – without speedily encountering two principle features: heraldry and war. The two – conjoined with exotic terms of feudal rank – seem to identify the very fibre of the community, both top and bottom. One appeals to my artistic side; the other, not in the least. In fact combative superlatives are just another perversion of masculinity in my view. I shall for example never understand the appeal of pugilists who devote themselves to bashing one another’s brains.
According to Polydore Vergil’s Anglica Historia, written in 1512–1513, 166 years after the event, the origin was a trivial mishap at a court function. King Edward III was dancing with Joan of Kent, his first cousin and daughter-in-law, at a ball held in Calais to celebrate the fall of the city after the Battle of Crécy. Her garter slipped down to her ankle, causing those around her to laugh at her humiliation. Edward placed the garter around his own leg, saying: “Honi soit qui mal y pense. Tel qui s’en rit aujourd’hui, s’honorera de la porter.” “Shame on anyone who thinks evil of it. Whoever is laughing at this [thing] today will later be proud to wear it.”
This account – no doubt apocryphal – is the product of three elements; British history, heraldry and a Shakespearean subplot (or dare I say serendipity as is my wont). Allow me to explain.
When I awoke early this morning my first application of moment was to call DERAND Motorsports to confirm if and when someone from their office might attend my residence to replace/repair my lately purchased (defective) Pronto electric tricycle. To my transport of delight, I was told Sean would be here after noon today. For over a week I had been pressuring DERAND to rectify the dilemma but my attempts were regularly thwarted by illness, competing commercial obligations – and of course my distance from the centre of the universe.
The second event of magnitude this morning was an entirely unexpected – but a very well received – email from my longstanding prep school colleague Nicholas. He had thoughtfully sent me a link to a book entitled The Woodvilles – The Wars of the Roses and England’s Most Infamous Family by Susan Higginbotham. Nicholas and I have been predominantly out of touch with one another since our youth. He suffered a terrible car accident in the interim. And like so many others whom I know he raised a family. It is only recently that we two have been gently reunited – though how frankly I am unable to recall.
The third feature of serendipity is what clouds the whole. The main defect of my trike – pointedly noticed by my partner much to my initial chagrin – was the wobbly rear wheels (which DERAND subsequently informed us was the failure to have correctly seated the tires within the rims). Fortuitously this afternoon when sharing this flaw with Sean of DERAND there was another noticeable defect; namely, a connectivity issue in the electrical system. The electronic dashboard had an Error message and features of it did not work as they should.
Accordingly – as I awaited advice of the midday arrival of Sean – I leapt to Nicholas’ literary recommendation which in turn prompted me to investigate the background of a famous badge of heraldry. Nicholas knew I enjoyed reading the history of England. His parents came from England; and he grew up in a staid British environment. What Nicholas didn’t know however is that very often it is not the history of England which is of particular interest to me (being as it is so often primarily an account of wars; vide, Thomas Babington Macaulay). Rather it is the language in which the narrative is written; or the various underlying themes which govern the tale. Macaulay wrote (and he wrote beautifully in my opinion) about the year 1848; Higginbotham published in 2013. Naturally the difference in expression between the two is astronomic. The one is ponderous; the other is fluid. I have a burgeoning interest in the mode of writing. I also confess the inclination of writers of a particular era to favour one or the other paradigm or vernacular. As one might expect of Macaulay the colonial characteristic of England’s history was not overlooked. Similarly Higginbotham’s bent for female operatives is not to be dismissed (I am ashamed to say I left off at George Sand for my familiarity with those traits).
Amantine Lucile Aurore Dupin de Francueil (French: 1 July 1804 – 8 June 1876), best known by her pen name George Sand was a French novelist, memoirist and journalist. Being more renowned than either Victor Hugo or Honoré de Balzac in England in the 1830s and 1840s, Sand is recognised as one of the most notable writers of the European Romantic era.
Like her great-grandmother, Louise Dupin, whom she admired, George Sand advocated for women’s rights and passion, criticized the institution of marriage, and fought against the prejudices of a conservative society. She was considered scandalous because of her turbulent love life, her adoption of masculine clothing, and her masculine pseudonym.
Were it not for the discovery of the improperly seated tires, I would unwittingly have endured the connectivity issues. This is important because, upon replacement of the trike with a new one, the ride experience completely changed for the better. Not only were the wheels aligned; the gears (for manual propulsion) worked more smoothly; plus I now had a visible odometer. Overall the feel of the trike was completely different and improved.
I refuse to “knock on wood” in these circumstances because I find the superstition to be pure sophistry. Instead, as I sit at my desk composing these words, I am eager to take to the streets again tomorrow on my trike beneath the forecast sunny skies. Somehow in what has been quite honestly a disturbing week (as I sought to rise above the petty complaints and obstructions of life), things have once again come full circle and returned to Middle-C. The bad has signalled the good; the voice from the past has enlivened the present; issues of feminism and masculinity have been addressed; and crowning it all is the majesty of armorial shields conjoint with the Wars of the Roses et al.