"The Lord helps those as helps themselves, my friend. Before any of this happens, we do a little unofficial exhumation of our own."
January 24, 1624
Two years and two months. That was how long it has taken me to travel from Christendom to Ethiopia. The port of Massawa is actually in Turkish hands, and we shall not disembark here. Instead, we will send messages through to the Emperor and continue our journey to the port of Beilul, where the King of the Afars is one of His Imperial Majesty's vassals.
Holy Mother Church first became aware of the potential of this country from the letters of Father Pedro Páez, a missionary and a Jesuit like myself. Since the Year of Our Lord 1603 he has worked in that wild country, and he has finally reached a position where the Emperor himself has expressed an interest in turning his country to the True Faith. He richly deserved to enjoy the fruits of his labours. But Father Páez is old now, and in failing health. Indeed, he may be dead already - he has not been heard from for quite a while. And so the Holy Father has given it to me, a theologian rather than a missionary, to complete what Father Páez began and convert the Ethiopians. Alfonso Mendes, Patriarch of Ethiopia!
I am not a naive man. The piety of kings and emperors always comes at a price. Emperor Susenyos wants to ally himself with Spain and Portugal against the overwhelming power of the Turks. He is also ambitious. He wants to extend his empire across Africa until it reaches the Atlantic. In this, the Church concurs. With a powerful Christian ally across the width of Africa, we could, if not eliminate the slave trade, at least curb its excesses. Also, it will prevent the Muslims from spreading further South from their desert stronghold.
I console myself that for all the tribulations I am about to face, my task will not be like those of my brethren who are converting wild tribesmen in the jungles of the Americas. For all their warlike tastes, the Ethiopians are already Christians, of a sort. Heresies abound, of the sort our own Inquisition took two centuries to eliminate. But with the support of the Emperor, eliminate them I shall. If it is the Lord's will. Amen.
January 25, 1890
Around the world in eighty days? The first thing you think of, of course, is Jules Verne's 1873 thought experiment disguised as a novel. It remains well worth reading today. The hero, Phileas Fogg, actually pulls off this feat in 79 days, but temporarily forgets about the effect of the International Date Line. He wouldn't be the first or last traveller to have that problem!
In 1989, Michael Palin set out to replicate Mr Fogg's feat for a BBC television series. One can suspect a setup here, but Palin matched Fogg's time almost to the hour: 79 days and seven hours. Let's be charitable and assume that it was on the level.
Of course, in 1989 it might have been possible to go around the world in 80 hours (Concorde was still operational). In fact, it might still be possible. There are Internet discussions speculating on the best routing. But Palin did not allow himself to use aeroplanes and that made things far more difficult. Trains and cars may be faster, in some parts of the world, anyway, but regularly scheduled ocean liners are a thing of the past. But at least we haven't slipped back since Fogg's time.
Or have we? On November 14, 1889, two young women left on round-the-world trips. Nellie Bly went East. Elizabeth Bisland went West. Both were sponsored by magazines and their trips were done in an unprecedented blaze of publicity. It had become a race.
There were shenanigans. There were underhanded tactics by the race organizers. Bly won when she landed at New York on January 25, 1890. But what was really interesting was that both ladies got in well under Phileas Fogg's 80-day limit. Bly made the trip in 72 days, Bisland in 76.
A few months later, George Francis Train did it in 67 days. In 1913 John Henry Mears shattered the record by circumnavigating the globe in 36 days! But there was a hydroplane involved in that attempt, even if only for a short stint.
Still, measuring ourselves against Jules Verne's fictitious goal is getting a little old. Compared to people who actually did it, our transport systems seem to be slipping behind.
January 26, 1808
It has been speculated that I was offered the post of Governor of New South Wales because I had previous experience with treasonous subordinates. Stuff and nonsense! That episode of my life was thoroughly investigated by the admiralty and I was completely exonerated. I am as well qualified for the post as any of my three predecessors.
What cannot be denied is that the New South Wales Corps is the most corrupt, venal, dastardly collection of scoundrels ever to put on uniform, and that Major Johnston is the greatest scoundrel of them all, for all that he is the puppet of a civilian named Macarthur. The local populace, convict and free men alike, openly refer to them as the Rum Corps. They enrich themselves by controlling the flow of grog within the colony, backed by the force of their muskets, not that they show any sign of knowing how to hold them.
I can assure you that I have dealt with these miscreants. To commence. I dismissed a number of the corpsmen's civilian supporters from their positions. I put an end to the importation of illegal stills and placed the importation of spirits under a government monopoly, as according to my instructions from the Secretary of State for War and the Colonies.
In all this, I was simply carrying out my orders. Next, I called Macarthur to account for the matter of a bond he had given to ensure that his shipping would not be used for the flight of convicts from the Colony. Would you believe the beggar simply refused to appear? I had him arrested, of course. At his trial, he claimed that Atkins, the Judge-Advocate, was his debtor and could not preside. The six jurors, all corpsmen, agreed and threw the case out!
Clearly, this was mutiny most foul and planned beforehand. Did they think, I, of all people, would not recognise it as such? This morning I have therefore issued a warrant of arrest for Major Johnston, the scoundrel-in-chief. It is time to get these varlets back under proper military discipline once and for all. My only regret is that I cannot have them keelhauled.
Sincerely,
William Bligh, Governor.
January 27, 1832
"Excuse me, can you tell me what is happening here?"
The purple polar bear swivelled and looked at Charles through its milky white eyes. "Good grief! Charles! I almost thought you weren't going to make it."
"Make what, precisely?"
Why, your birth, of course. Splendid thing, a birth. Try never to miss one, myself."
"Well, if 'tis not too much trouble, Master Bear ..."
"No trouble at all, my dear Charles."
"... Thank you ... Could you explain to me how I almost managed to be late for my own birth when I stand here, a gown man? Don't you sense a tiny little contradiction between those statements?"
For a moment, the purple polar bear stared at Charles with its mouth open. The fangs, at least were the same stained, yellow tones as those of the regular white polar bears Charles vaguely remembered. For a fleeting, anxious moment he wondered if the creature had recalled its predatory heritage. Then the bear exploded into a series of loud guffaws.
"What! So you think time actually moves in THAT direction? Oh, goodness, they are certainly sending YOU to the right place."
As uncomfortable as it was having a ten-foot polar bear, purple or not, laughing down into his face, it was certainly preferable to having the same bear gobbling him up. Charles felt something tugging at his sleeve. He looked down and saw a ten-year old girl in a pretty blue dress smiling up at him.
"I just came to say au revoir", she said.
"We shall meet again, then?", Charles asked her.
"Of course, you lovely, silly man. We already did." And with that, she skipped across the field, waving, and was soon lost to sight.
"To business, then, Reverend", the bear said.
"I'm to be a parson?" Charles asked him.
"Everybody needs to earn their daily bread one way or another. Fame will come in another way, though. Remember, translate your name into Latin, reverse the order, then translat
e it back into English. Now, how to get you there? Chariot, no ... Spaceship, no ... Aha, just jump right down here!"
Charles Lutwidge Dodgson jumped down the rabbit-hole. He was already starting to feel like a Lewis Carroll.
January 28, 1911
I like speed. I also like confounding people's expectations. A century ago, people thought a boat made entirely of metal could never float. Ten years ago, people thought a craft heavier than air could never fly. Both assumptions were proven wrong, by others. How could I best them? I combined the two!
I started out in motorcycles. In 1907 I constructed a v8-engined motorcycle that took me to 136.36 miles per hour. That record still stands for any vehicle, though not for long, I fear. For motorcycles, it should be good for a few years yet.
But it was always the air that beckoned me. I supplied my engines to anyone aiming to build a plane, and that is how I came to be a pilot.
And today comes the culmination of my work so far. Glenn Curtiss, dubbed the Fastest Man in the World by journalists looking for a headline, will set off from a flying boat, an aeroplane that takes off from any large body of still water. I like to call it a hydroaeroplane, but for some reason no-one else seems to like that term.
I am not alone in this endeavour. The French are hard at work on the same idea, and while they are being secretive about it, they may have gotten one in the air already. The British are sure to be working on one as well.
But while it is gratifying to be the first, it is even more important to be the first to get it right, the first to deliver a flying machine that the Navy will want, that can be used for postal delivery, and so on. There can be no question that the flying boat is the future of aviation.
Dig a long ditch along the line of the prevailing wind. Fill it with water, no matter if it is salty. That's all it takes to create a landing stage for a flying boat. If there is a mishap, then the landing is at least considerably softer than if the plane were to land on hard-packed ground.
So you can see why I need to do this. It is the future beckoning.
January 29, 1845
You know the problems with humans? Their language is too complicated. And they don't listen very well.
Take this case I have right now. I had to take a rather simple message to this poet. So I flew to his residence and tapped on the shutter. After a rather long time he let me in and I perched on a piece of neo-classical sculpture and started to deliver the message.
On and on he goes, asking me for my name, asking if I will desert him as everybody else has. Oh, man. This guy really raises self-pity to an art form. Very well, your girl died. I'm sorry and all that, but hey, you think you're the first one that ever happened to? I saw my mama taken by a badger when I was just a week-old chick. So just get a grip on yourself and man up, okay? Your sweet Lenore isn't coming back and yes, I do have a message for you but if you actually listened to it, you would know it wasn't from her or from any angels.
I mean, really, how dumb do you have to be when a straightforward commercial message is beyond you? Neb the grocer is a patient man. He spent three months training me to present this message.
I understood the concept immediately, of course. Humans don't like to admit it, but we ravens really are the most intelligent life-form on the planet. But human language hurts my throat, so I played dumb all that time, before I condescended to do this little chore for him. The way things are going, I don't think the experiment will be repeated. I feel sorry for Neb. He is a friend, even if he is only human. And he is just trying to get ahead in life.
All right, once more, but if the young idiot doesn't get it this time, I'm flying out of here. All this human-talk is making my larynx feel like it's been hammered by an angry woodpecker. Give me a good squawk any time. One last time, and let's try to get the consonants neatly separated:
"Neb for more"
January 30, 1948
"Excuse me," Mohandas said. "I seem to have been waiting here for rather a long time. By my reckoning several hundreds of millions people who arrived after me have already been served and sent on their way. I even thought I glimpsed the man who killed me."
The Presence - Mohandas had never quite managed to work out if there was just one omnipresent Presence or if there were several indistinguishable ones - turned towards him. "Ah, yes, Mr Gandhi. I apologise for the delay, but you must recognise that yours is a complicated case".
"Is this about the girls? I never touched them! It was a test of my vows of celibacy and I would have stopped it long before it got out of hand."
The Presence waved what passed for a hand. "We know that. Of course we do, we know everything."
"Well, what then? If I was evil, just send me to Hell and get it over with. Why keep me in this ... nothingness?"
"Evil?" Presences don't laugh, but this one would have liked to. "I'm sorry, of course you have no idea what's happening down there. You are recognised the world over as the most thoroughly Good person in the last century or two. There are others. Mother Teresa, say. But she's spoken for - solidly Catholic. I hear that the hallelujah choruses from the Christian heaven are still echoing around the galaxy. Or the Dalai Lama - he's going in for reincarnation a few more times and then poof! Off into Nirvana ."
"And then there's you. Every afterlife worth mentioning wants you. You made it clear while you were alive that you regarded yourself as a Hindu, a Christian and a Muslim."
"That's why I got shot."
"True. But now Christian preachers are quoting you every Sunday. Mostly the lefties, but still. Some Hindus are openly worshipping you as a god. The Muslims, not so much, but even they know who you were. People are making movies about you. More English schoolchildren recognise your name than Churchill's! Even the atheists are inspired by you!"
"So, I'm sorry, Mr Gandhi, but your destination is all tied up in the celestial courts. This could take an eternity."
January 31
It is the end of our first month together (not the last, I hope). If you think "Oh, he's sneaking in another mini-essay because there's nothing to write about", you're wrong. I thought we might reflect on what we're doing here. Well, I'll reflect, you can just genuflect.
Actually, January 31 saw many interesting events. At this exact moment, there are two people on Earth who could legally sign my death warrant. Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands is one of them. She wouldn't. She's a sweet old lady, as queens go. Still, it doesn't hurt to wish her a happy birthday, does it?
The month of January is named after Janus, the Roman god of doorways. Also the god of new beginnings. Janus had two faces on his head, making him the prototype for a certain DC Comics villain who shall remain nameless, since I'm skirting too close to the edge of Fair Use as it is. The Romans named a month after Janus and then abandoned him after the sexier Greek goods became available. Seems a bit unfair. Jupiter hung on by pretending to be Zeus, Venus posed as Aphrodite and so on. Poor Janus couldn't find an equivalent Greek god to adopt and so survives only in the name of a month.
We didn't have to call it January. The old Franks simply called it the Winter-Month, which is a little prosaic. But the Saxons named it "Wolf-Month". Now there's a name a writer could play with! "It was on Friday the thirteenth in Wolf-Month that year that they came to take grandma away." In Finnish, the word for January means "Heart of Winter", but also "Oak Tree". I can see a Finnish poet doing something with that.
In fact, it is a little depressing to let your cursor glide down the list of languages you've never heard of on Wikipedia's January page and see how many languages have just tamely adopted the Latin term, with just a few spelling adjustments. The Kreyòl ayisyen for "January" is "Janvye". Now you know.
Hey, 366 words coming up fast. I enjoyed this little reflection. We'll do it again some time.
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Day References for January
January 1: New Year's Day – for some …
January 2, 1860: Jean Joseph Le Verrier announces the existence of a hypo
thetical planet inside the orbit of Mercury. Astronomers worldwide try to verify its existence.
January 3, 1957: The Hamilton Watch Company releases the first electric wristwatch to market. Picture Credit: Hamilton Ventura Watch by Deutsches Uhrenmuseum. Creative Commons-licensed 2011. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hamilton_Ventura.jpg
January 4, 2004: The NASA rover Spirit lands on the surface of Mars.
January 5, 2005: Astronomers discover the Trans-Uranian Object Xena, later renamed Eris.
January 7, 1999: Contact is lost with the Japanese robot spacecraft Sakigake. Picture Credit: Sakigake by Nasa. Public Domain. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sakigake.gif
January 8, 1889: Herman Hollerith is awarded a patent for the mechanical tabulator that uses punched cards to enumerate census data. A later version will be adaptable to different operations without needing to be rebuilt, a key moment in the development of the programmable computer.
January 9, 1839: The French Academy of Sciences announces the first commercially successful photographic process, the daguerrotype. The two inventors are given state pensions for life and the process is placed in the public domain instead of being patented. Picture Credit: Boulevard du Temple by Louis Daguerre. Public Domain. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Boulevard_du_Temple_by_Daguerre.jpg
January 10, 1927: Fritz Lang's ground-breaking science fiction film Metropolis premieres. Picture Credit: Metropolis, artist unknown. Public Domain. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Poster_-_Metropolis_01.jpg
January 12, 1966: Batman makes his first TV appearance. Picture Credit: Adam West as Batman, by ABC Television. Public Domain. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Adam_West_Batman_1965.JPG
January 13, 1957: The first commercial Frisbee is brought to market. For the first year it is known as the "Pluto platter".
January 14, 1967: The Human Be-In attracts between twenty and thirty thousand hippies to San Francisco and signals the start of the Summer of Love.
January 15, 1493: Christopher Columbus departs from the island of Hispaniola to return to Europe. Picture Credit: Santa Maria replica by Adrian Michael. Creative Commons-licensed 2006. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Santa_Mar%C3%ADa_de_la_Inmaculada_Concepción_(motorized_replica).jpg