Relevant history | Author Suzanne Adair

The Fadoodlin’ Etymology of Sex

Posted on August 14, 2018 by suzanneadairAugust 14, 2018

Relevant History welcomes internationally renowned author Ellen Notbohm, whose work has informed, inspired and delighted millions in more than twenty languages. In addition to her award-winning novel The River by Starlight and her perennially popular books on autism, her articles and columns on such diverse subjects as history, genealogy, baseball, writing and community affairs have appeared in major publications and captured audiences on every continent. Ellen is an avid genealogist, knitter, beachcomber, and thrift store hound who has never knowingly walked by a used bookstore without going in and dropping coin. To learn more about her and her books, visit her web site, and follow her on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, and Pinterest.

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The question comes up at every reading and book club: how and where did you research? And the answer is a historical fiction echo of Johnny Cash: I’ve been everywhere, man. My research for The River by Starlight and its based-on-real-life protagonists Annie and Adam Fielding sent me across eleven states and four provinces, through the doors of seventeen libraries and archives, and cyber-consulting twenty-seven more. I thought of it as a treasure hunt, unearthing vital statistics, school, military, prison, cemetery, land, court, census, immigration, naturalization, and theological records. Voter registration. Business licenses. Insurance policies. County and state fair entries.

For historical fiction authors, our drive for accuracy in the smallest details can border on obsessive. But after ten years in hot pursuit of those details, the resource that honed my manuscript’s voice to its finest edge of historical authenticity was a human, not a repository: an eagle-eyed editor with an exuberant love of etymology.

For scenes taking place between 1910 and 1921, I’d already caught early-draft anachronisms like surreal and radar. But my editor caught upwards of a dozen more. Who knew that no one shushed anyone until 1925, that place mats and drop cloths weren’t called such until 1928, that “dust mop” didn’t come along until 1953? That little girls didn’t wear their hair in a “ponytail” and jokes didn’t have a “punch line” until 1916. Jeepers! Whoops—that interjection wasn’t around until 1927.

Blue language: some things old, something things new
But most amusing was how many of her etymological catches had to do with that universally intriguing and bestselling subject: sex. And it offered a fascinating dichotomy: as we delved into the origins of blue language (an expression dating to 1840), we learned that words we think of as contemporary may go back centuries, while words we think of as vintage are in fact relatively contemporary.

Our etymological sex education started when Adam, in a 1911 scene, needed a sarcastic simile to express his contented state of mind to a bartender. “I’m happier than a baby in a barrel of tits,” he explains, which my editor flagged for revision: Teats was in use as early as the 13th century, titties dates back to 1746, but tits didn’t come into usage until 1928. Later in the story, another character’s reference to diddies was revised to diddeys, per Merriam-Webster.

On rolls the story to where, in the face of relentless physical and mental health issues with Annie’s pregnancies in the 1910s, the couple is advised to consider using rubbers. “The condom sense of this word dates only to the 1930s,” said my editor, suggesting maybe I should revert to condom (1706). I hauled out my (highly entertaining) file of early condom advertisements, and noted that while all the packages used the terms rubber prophylactics or protectives, none used the word condom. Further research revealed that the, um, contents of a condom were the origin of one of today’s favorite insults, scumbag (1939). We settled on rubber sheath (1861).

Later still, Annie finds her virtue questioned by a mental hospital patient who hurls the insult, “Slattern!” (1630s). Not one to go quietly, Annie returns a fusillade of loose-woman epithets. Up went the editor’s flag. Seems that harlot (ca 1200), strumpet (ca 1300), trollop (1610s), hussy (1650s), and floozy (1902) were appropriate to the 1918 scene, but tramp met with the delete button because its meaning “promiscuous woman” dates only to 1922.

Surely things would mellow out for our heroine as she overcomes extreme adversity, settles into a placid spell, and can enjoy some long-overdue tender lovemaking. But no. Said my intrepid editor, “While this word has been around since the fifteenth century, its original sense was of courtship. As a euphemism for ‘have sex,’ it is attested only from c. 1950.” Disgruntled Author changed it to coupling (late 1300s), muttering that it sounds too much like hardware.

Charting word usage through time
Frequency of usage is also a factor in historical authenticity. Tools like Google Ngram use charts to visually depict word usage over centuries. Here we can see just how much that usage of the f-bomb, that ultimate in sexually-charged verbs, now turned everyday adjective, has increased—by a whopping (1620s) 23,000% since 1950. Before that it had nearly flatlined since 1820 or so, hence it pops up only once in dialogue in The River by Starlight—as an unintended double entendre, with great impact bestowed by its rarity.

But our free-wheeling contemporary use of the f-word doesn’t hold a fadoodlin’ (1611) candle to our bawdy ancestors, who in the mid-1600s used it at twice the rate we do today.

Hubba-hubba (1944)!

Resources:
o Online Etymology
o Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary (11th edition), Merriam-Webster Unabridged (website)
o A Dictionary of Slang and Colloquial English, Abridged from the Seven-volume Work, Entitled: Slang and Its Analogues (Farmer & Henley, 1905)
o Dictionary of American Regional English (Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1985)

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A big thanks to Ellen Notbohm. She’ll give away a trade paperback copy of The River by Starlight to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET. Delivery is available in the U.S. only.

Did you like what you read? Learn about downloads, discounts, and special offers from Relevant History authors and Suzanne Adair. Subscribe to Suzanne’s free newsletter.

Unlocking the Secrets of Historic American Cities with Sanborn Fire Insurance Maps

Posted on July 31, 2018 by suzanneadairJuly 31, 2018

Relevant History welcomes Ana Brazil, author of the historical mystery Fanny Newcomb and the Irish Channel Ripper (Sand Hill Review Press) and winner of the Independent Book Publishers Association 2018 Gold Medal for Historical Fiction. Ana explored the historic houses of Virginia as a teenager, earned her Master’s degree in American history from Florida State University, and traveled her way through Mississippi as an architectural historian. She also spent one very long, very hot summer in New Orleans researching content for her Master’s thesis. Ana, her husband, and her dog Traveller live in the beautiful Oakland foothills. To learn more about her and her books, visit her web site, and follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and Pinterest.

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I’ve always been attracted to cities. Not humongous, out-of-control, no-place-to-walk-or-breathe-in cities, but gentler, gracious, and smile-when-you-meet-new-people cities. Southern cities like Tallahassee, Vicksburg, and New Orleans.

When I wrote my debut historical mystery Fanny Newcomb and the Irish Channel Ripper, I worked hard to make sure that I presented the historical environment of 1889 New Orleans correctly. I walked around the Irish Channel neighborhood, photographed all kinds of buildings, toured St. Alphonsus and St. Mary Catholic Churches, and, of course, shopped as much as possible in the boutiques of historic Magazine Street!

I wanted to make sure that I described the buildings, banquettes, electric streetlights (yes, they existed), and streets traveled by the mule-driven streetcars as accurately as possible.

I also dug into the newspapers, city directories, and city “booster” materials from the period. And as a final way to understand the physical environment of 1889 New Orleans—to make sure that I didn’t locate a house of prostitution where a church existed, or sink Charity Hospital into a drainage canal—I explored the city through the Sanborn Fire Insurance maps (aka “Sanborn maps”).

What are Sanborn maps?
I’m so glad that you asked! From 1866 to the mid-1960’s, the Sanborn Map Publishing Company of New York City created complex footprint maps of approximately 13,000 American cities. Fire insurance companies used these maps to estimate the fire risks for individual buildings and decide how much to charge the building owners for fire insurance.

I was introduced to Sanborn maps when I worked as an architectural historian for the Mississippi Department of Archives. My job was to evaluate and nominate historic buildings and places for inclusion in the National Register of Historic Places. The Sanborn maps were vitally helpful.

Although Sanborn maps are a treasure trove for architectural historians, historians, and historical novelists, that’s not where their value ends. If you’re an archaeologist, genealogist, realtor, public works employee, or geographer, you can use these maps to unlock the secrets of your city, neighborhood, block, or building.

All you need is a key
Every group of city maps had a “key” similar to the one in this image. Once you understood the key, you could understand everything about the buildings on the map.

As this example of New Orleans’ French Opera House shows, the maps displayed the footprints of building (to scale), building materials used (red=brick, yellow=frame, blue=stone), existing firewall information, locations of available water reservoirs, other buildings in the area, and whether the building had a watchman. Just to name a few of the map attributes.

This information—about how people lived, worked, and entertained themselves—cannot be found anywhere else! And these are the types of details that I love to use when creating my historical fiction.

When I began writing Fanny Newcomb and the French Quarter Laudanum Lover—the (in-progress) second book in my Fanny Newcomb trilogy—I wanted to understand more about New Orleans’ historic French Quarter. Specifically, I wanted to know where the Italian restaurants, drug stores, tobacco manufacturers, and “female boarding” houses (an oft-used Sanborn map euphemism for houses of prostitution) were located in the late 1880’s.

This image displays what I call the “big view,” which shows some of areas that were surveyed by the Sanborn Company. The “42” in pink refers to Page 42 of the book and is the location of part of the French Quarter from Jackson Square and St. Louis Cathedral to Canal Street.

Here is a close-up image of part of Page 42 showing Jackson Square on the bottom center and St. Louis Cathedral above it. Most of the buildings and green spaces shown in this map still exist, although their uses have changed. But look at some of these 19th century uses!

Cooper shop
Carpenter
Snuff and fine cut tobacco factory
State arsenal
Gun & locksmith
Paints & oils

All of these building uses contribute to the flavor of New Orleans 1889. It would have been impossible to understand “the business of Jackson Square” without a Sanborn map.

Although I did find a tobacco manufacturer in this area, there were no Italian restaurants or drug stores. And—mostly likely because of the Cathedral, Courts, and Police Station in the vicinity—there were no female boarding houses in this area of the French Quarter. Although there were many, many female boarding houses just blocks away from Jackson Square.

I hope this short tour through late 19th century New Orleans illuminates the importance of historic Sanborn maps, how fun they are to look at, and how much they can tell you about your chosen locale! To make your foray into Sanborn maps as easy as possible, the Library of Congress—owner of the largest collection of Sanborn maps—has made their maps available online. In addition, many university libraries throughout the United States own sets of Sanborn maps (bound in books which can weigh up to 30 pounds!) and—once you put on a pair of white gloves—you can research directly in those books.

One more bit of good news: in the late 18th century, insurance companies began mapping the buildings of London, and other countries also have their share of “Sanborn-equivalent” city maps. But since Gilded Age New Orleans is my city, I’ll have to let another Relevant History blogger share the secrets of other city maps with you.

Note: All Sanborn map screenshots in this post are courtesy of the Library of Congress.

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A big thanks to Ana Brazil! She’ll give away a 13 oz. can of New Orleans’ Cafe du Monde’s French Roast Coffee and a Kindle ebook copy of Fanny Newcomb and the Irish Channel Ripper to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET. Delivery is available in the U.S. only.

Did you like what you read? Learn about downloads, discounts, and special offers from Relevant History authors and Suzanne Adair. Subscribe to Suzanne’s free newsletter.

Those Dastardly Smuggling Gangs

Posted on July 3, 2018 by suzanneadairJuly 3, 2018

Relevant History welcomes back Helen Hollick, who lives in Devon, England and has been published for many years with her Arthurian Trilogy and the 1066 era. She became a ‘USA Today’ bestseller with her novel about Queen Emma, The Forever Queen (UK: A Hollow Crown.) She also writes the “Sea Witch Voyages,” pirate-based adventures with a touch of fantasy. Her non-fiction book about pirates and smugglers will be published in 2019. To learn more about her and her books, visit her web site, blog, and historical fiction review blog, and follow her on Twitter.

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We see the smugglers of yesteryear portrayed in fiction, movies and TV dramas as small groups of local fisher-folk from picturesque coastal villages intent on making an extra penny to keep their starving families alive. Or we have the nasty ruffian out to bully his vulnerable young nephew into breaking the law by smuggling a keg of brandy, using a somewhat leaky old boat. Images which are true to a point. But only to a point.

The Trade, the Big Money Makers were far from this romantic view of the seventeenth- and eighteenth-century smuggler. The gangs were vicious thugs, organised by efficient leaders who were the Mafia equivalent of their day.

These ‘smuggling companies’ operated along the south-east coasts of England. Not the fictional image of a rugged Cornish cove as in Poldark—the West Country did have its smugglers but they operated in a very different style.

Members of these gangs were not always seamen but landsmen based along the roads leading to London and the larger towns. Seamen brought the cargo in, the gangs collected and dispersed it. If there was trouble from the Revenue Men, the gangs were ready for them. They were comprised of up fifty men, although for larger ‘runs’ this could increase to two or three hundred men if gangs united. The Revenue, by comparison, were ill-informed, undermanned, under-armed and under-paid men. They rarely had any hope of intervening, let alone putting a stop to these formidable opponents, especially when a run had bodyguards wielding stout ash poles for protection. (Think Robin Hood and Little John’s quarterstaff.)

When smuggling began to deplete the purses of the government and the wealthy, something had to be done. By the 1780s the militia and customs men were equipped with better firearms, better ships, and more reliable ‘intelligence,’ which meant they were able to thwart gangs and seize contraband. But the gangs were a tough lot. Well-armed, rough, ruthless men who ensured potential informers kept quiet. Permanently.

The gangs
Several of the gangs had interesting nicknames: ‘Yorkshire George,’ ‘The Miller,’ ‘Old Joll,’ ‘Towzer,’ ‘Flushing Jack’ and ‘Nasty Face.’ These nicknames were used among smugglers and highwaymen not as terms of friendship but to hide a true identity.

The Colonel of Bridport Gang from Dorset were led by ‘The Colonel.’ One contraband cargo was nearly intercepted by the revenue and had to be sunk in the sea to hide it. Alas, it drifted ashore not far from West Bay, to the delight of the locals who claimed the cargo. The Colonel’s gang were successful and never caught. They supplied the Bridport and Lyme Bay taverns with French liquor.

The Groombridge Gang were named for a village west of Tunbridge Wells and were active from about 1730. The Groombridge Gang was first mentioned in a 1733 legal document when thirty men were bringing a cargo of tea inland using fifty horses. Militiamen challenged them but, outnumbered, were disarmed and marched for four hours at gunpoint until the cargo was delivered,, when the militiamen were set free unharmed, but on oath not to renew their interfering. An oath which was not kept!

The North Kent Gang worked from Ramsgate to the River Medway. In 1820 their violent methods increased when blockade-men discovered them bringing in contraband. A fight followed with one officer seriously injured, but the gang got away with the cargo. During the spring of 1821, forty gang members gathered at Herne Bay to land a cargo, protected by twenty men armed with bats and pistols. Unfortunately, these batsmen had enjoyed too much pre-run ‘hospitality’ at a nearby inn. Led by Midshipman Snow, the blockade-men appeared drawn by the noise the drunken smugglers were making. Eighteen smugglers were arrested. Four were hanged, with the others transported to Tasmania.

The two worst gangs
The Northover Gang were from Dorset and named for their leaders. In December 1822 preventative-men, Forward and Tollerway, were on patrol and discovered the smugglers, three of whom dropped the kegs they were carrying and fled. Tollerway guarded the abandoned contraband while Forward seized more kegs after firing his pistol to summon help, but the gang surrounded him. Tollerway ran to give assistance, and fighting broke out. The gang leader, James Northover Junior, was subsequently arrested when assistance arrived and was sentenced to fourteen months in gaol. He served time twice more, and then impressed into the Royal Navy in 1827 for another offence.

The Hawkhurst Gang. Hawkhurst is ten miles inland from the Kent and East Sussex coast. Between 1735–1749, the gang became known as the most feared in all England. They smuggled in silk, brandy and tobacco with up to five-hundred men able to assist when required. The gang joined the Wingham Gang in 1746 to bring ashore twelve tons of tea (a lot of tea!) but attacked their partners and made off with the tea and several valuable horses. Despite the benefits of smuggling, villagers grew fed-up with the increasing violence, and a retaliation was made in April 1747. Confident of their influence, the gang marched into the village not expecting to meet an army of people determined to stop the bullying. One of the gang’s hierarchy, George Kingsmill, was shot dead and is buried in Goudhurst churchyard. His brother, Thomas, was hanged at Tyburn in London with his body returned to Kent to rot on the gallows. Does his ghost linger there I wonder?

*****

A big thanks to Helen Hollick!

Did you like what you read? Learn about downloads, discounts, and special offers from Relevant History authors and Suzanne Adair. Subscribe to Suzanne’s free newsletter.

A Masked Pimpernel: Alexander Peden, Devout Preacher and Religious Rebel

Posted on June 19, 2018 by suzanneadairJune 19, 2018

Relevant History welcomes back Anna Belfrage, who, had she been allowed to choose, would have become a time-traveller. As this was impossible, she became a financial professional with two absorbing interests: history and writing. Anna has authored the acclaimed time … Continue reading →

The History of Wine in Los Angeles

Posted on June 5, 2018 by suzanneadairJune 5, 2018

Relevant History welcomes back Anne Louise Bannon, who wrote her first novel at age fifteen. Her journalistic work has appeared in Ladies’ Home Journal, The Los Angeles Times, Wines and Vines, and in newspapers across the country. She created the OddBallGrape.com wine education blog with her husband, Michael Holland, and is the co-author of Howdunit: Book of Poisons, with Serita Stevens, as well as author of the “Freddie and Kathy” mystery series, set in the 1920s, and the “Operation Quickline” series and Tyger, Tyger. She and her husband live in Southern California with an assortment of critters. For more information about her and her books, visit her web site, and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

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The fun thing about my latest novel, Death of the Zanjero, is that it really couldn’t take place anywhere but in Los Angeles, California, or at any time but in the 19th century. Okay, I could have pushed it to the early 20th century, but by then, the odds were not good that the body of the Zanjero (or water overseer) would come floating up as the sluice gate opened to a rancho’s zanja (irrigation ditch). Lots of places, even as far away as New Mexico, had zanjas for irrigation and zanjeros overseeing them. But they didn’t have the wine industry that Los Angeles did—one that predates wineries in Livermore and the Napa Valley.

Yes, you read that right. California’s wine industry actually began in Los Angeles. There were older vineyards in Arizona and other Spanish outposts. That’s because they needed wine to celebrate Mass, and making your own was somewhat easier than importing it from Spain. And, in the late 18th century, when Father Junipero Serra and company started trekking up Alta California, leaving the twenty-one missions behind, it only made sense to plant olives and grapes.

Spanish wines
I have heard it said that the reason the padres mostly planted a supposedly inferior variety that we know today as the mission grape was that the government in Spain didn’t want New World wines competing with theirs. That does not entirely make sense to me, but the mission grape was certainly plentiful, and the padres used it to make a fortified wine that resembled Jerez, or sherry. The version they made in what became Los Angeles was one they called angelica.

Now, Los Angeles was founded in 1781, and that’s presumably when the first vineyards were planted. But what really got the industry part of the pueblo going is when the appropriately-named Jean Louis Vignes, a Frenchman, first brought French varieties, such as cabernet sauvignon and others, and decided that an area just to the west of the river (now downtown Los Angeles) would be perfect for growing them. He later sold his business to his nephews, the Sainsevain brothers. Another man, Matthew Keller, planted out a good bit of what is now Malibu. By the 1840s, San Francisco and Napa were importing grapes and wines from Los Angeles. Not much changed when the Americans took over in 1850 and California became a U.S. state.

How this affects my novel
I ended up setting Death of the Zanjero in 1870 because I did not want to deal with the Civil War (although the city remained a hotbed of Confederate sympathizers). I chose winemaking as a profession for my main character, Maddie Wilcox, because my husband and I are passionate about wine and we both found the wine history of our local area fascinating. Around that time, about 3,000 acres were planted with vineyards, and upwards of 5,000 acres, if you count the Anaheim Colony, which was part of Los Angeles County at the time and later became Orange County.

It wasn’t the biggest crop by any means. In 1880, there were 10,000 acres of the notoriously hard to grow wheat across the county, 60,000 acres of corn, and 90,000 acres of barley. Oranges, which were to play a much larger role in how our community grew, were there, but not in any significant force. According to the same 1880 history of the county that I got the above numbers from, there were around 34,000 oranges trees in all of the county, with roughly 200 trees per acre, that makes 170 acres of what would become our signature crop.

The end of the vineyards
So, what happened? The railroads. In the middle of the 1870s, Henry Huntington and his pals started building steam engine railroads that connected Los Angeles to the rest of the country. This did two things. One, it opened up the market for oranges because you could finally ship them cross-country to the more heavily populated east before the fruit spoiled. Two, it brought people to Los Angeles. In 1870, there were roughly 5,700 people in the city of Los Angeles. In 1880, the town’s population doubled and grew at an even faster rate until by 1920, it had increased tenfold to 577,000. That’s only fifty years.

Also, in the mid-1870s, over-production caused the price of grapes to bottom out, and then the area was hit with Pierce’s Disease, which thrashed a goodly chunk of the vines. With people moving in, land became more valuable for housing than grapes. Oranges were still relatively hard to get in other parts of the country because they couldn’t be grown just anywhere, so that made them more valuable to plant. Wine grapes, not so much.

There are still wineries in Los Angeles. In fact, one of the state’s oldest, continuously running wineries, San Antonio Winery, is based here. Malibu has its own American Viticulture Area designation for its vineyards and several wineries, although that’s a very recent thing, and none of the old vineyards exist. There are even more wineries moving into the area. It’s a nice return to a formerly proud tradition—and one that made that a very fun background for a novel about a corrupt official getting murdered and the widow who finds herself trying to find whodunit.

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A big thanks to Anne Louise Bannon. She’ll give away a paperback or ebook copy of Death of the Zanjero to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET. Delivery of the ebook is available worldwide. Delivery of the paperback is available within the U.S. only. Special option for a U.S. winner: In lieu of a book, and if you qualify age- and state-wise, Anne will send you a half-bottle of angelica, a delightful sherry-style wine, made from possibly the oldest vines in the state of California.

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Did you like what you read? Learn about downloads, discounts, and special offers from Relevant History authors and Suzanne Adair. Subscribe to Suzanne’s free newsletter.

The Colonial Origins of Ethnographic Museums

Posted on February 20, 2018 by suzanneadairFebruary 20, 2018

Relevant History welcomes back Jennifer S. Alderson, who was born in San Francisco, raised in Seattle, and currently lives in Amsterdam. Her love of travel, art, and culture inspires her mystery series, the Adventures of Zelda Richardson. Her background in journalism, multimedia development, and art history enriches her novels. In Down and Out in Kathmandu, Zelda gets entangled with a gang of diamond smugglers. The Lover’s Portrait is a suspenseful “whodunit?” about Nazi-looted artwork that transports readers to wartime and present-day Amsterdam. Art, religion, and anthropology collide in Rituals of the Dead, a thrilling artifact mystery set in Papua New Guinea and the Netherlands. For more information about her and her books, visit her web site, and follow her on Facebook, Twitter, and Goodreads.

*****

Since I finished writing Rituals of the Dead, I have noticed an influx in news reports about the restitution of ethnic artifacts—a topic central to my latest mystery. So we are clear, I am not referring to antiquities such as the Parthenon Marbles (or Elgin Marbles, depending on your nationality). I’m talking about shrunken heads, painted shields, feathered headdresses, carved ancestor sculptures, ritual masks, and the like. The same objects currently filling western museums dedicated to anthropology and ethnography.

At first, I thought it was a side effect of my research; I was simply noticing these kinds of articles more often. After all, I’d just spent months pouring over accounts of anthropologists, missionaries, and colonial administers who brought Asmat artwork—specifically bis poles—back home from Papua New Guinea and donated or sold them to Dutch ethnographic museums.

“African heritage cannot be the prisoner of French museums”
However, I now believe this recent increase in news coverage has everything to do with a promise French President Emmanuel Macron made on 28 November 2017 while in Burkina Faso. He announced the restitution of African artifacts was a priority, stating, “I cannot accept that a large part of the cultural patrimony of several African countries is in France. There are historical explanations for this, but there is no valid, durable, or unconditional justification for it. Africa’s patrimony must be celebrated in Paris but also in Dakar, Lagos, and Cotonou.”

He later reiterated his statement by tweeting, “African heritage cannot be the prisoner of French museums.” Many believe this pledge was in response to Benin’s request for the return of thousands of “colonial treasures” taken at the turn of the century. A French court of law denied Benin’s claim.

Macron’s remarks shine a spotlight on the origins of western ethnographic museum collections and have re-invigorated calls for restitution. Almost all of these cases concern objects collected for western museums from colonized nations in Africa, South America and Oceania between 1900 and 1970.

Exotic representations of “the other”
These artifacts were acquired as representations of the indigenous group’s “otherness.” Anything and everything was shipped back home—ancestor statues (such as bis poles), shrunken heads, decorated skulls, kitchen utensils, weapons, shields, musical instruments, sleeping mats, bowls, and even door frames. The weirder, the better.

These objects were desired by both museums and private collectors. Public displays emphasized the primitive nature of the indigenous groups’ artistic expression or spiritual beliefs. These exhibitions were also a way of asserting western superiority over these regions and peoples, used to justify their colonization and the (often forced) conversion to Christianity of those living within these colonies. In pretty much every case of colonization, the church was there from the beginning, busy converting locals in the belief they were saving their souls, while helping them adjust to western culture, customs, and technological advancements. Papua New Guinea was no exception.

My summary probably seems harsh to you because society has progressed and our attitudes have thankfully changed.

Decolonization and western ethnographic museums
Decolonization in the 1960s and 1970s resulted in a new call for equal rights by indigenous peoples—within their own lands and abroad. It also meant that some of these “exotic” peoples were now immigrating to the colonial motherland. In the Netherlands, their presence dictated a change in the ways these people were represented in the country’s ethnographic museums.

Many of these museums’ showpieces were removed from public displays and hidden away in their depots. New exhibitions were created which focused on geographical and statistical information, as a way of introducing these post-colonial nations to western viewers. They were often neutral displays, heavily dependent on photographs to illustrate aspects of daily life, such as the ways homes were constructed, fields were sown and the types of clothes locals wore.

Only in the last decade or so have these older artifacts been brought back out of storage. However, they are no longer displayed as examples of a people’s “exotic otherness,” but as sublime examples of their cultural and artistic traditions.

Reasserting cultural identity
One of the side effects of the conversion to Christianity was the disappearance of these indigenous groups’ artistic traditions. Sometimes they were voluntarily given up by peoples no longer interested in keeping the “old ways” alive. In other cases, such as Papua New Guinea, their traditions and rituals were banned by Christian missionaries and colonial governments, as part of the pacification process.

Nowadays, the objects collected in the 1900s and displayed in western museums are often the finest examples of an artistic tradition that has died out in its country of origin. Pride of culture has led many recently-formed nations and indigenous groups to try and revive these traditions, as a way of reasserting their cultural identity. Their desire to see these historically-significant artifacts returned has also grown stronger.

An increasing number of countries in Africa, South America and Oceania are submitting claims on these precious examples of their ancestors’ craftsmanship and artistry. So far, the response has been mixed. More often than not, their claims have been denied.

In light of Macron’s promise, how western museums respond to these new restitution claims will be telling. How deeply-seated are feelings of colonial pride in the present generation? And are western museums willing to give up the best pieces in their ethnographic collections and risk becoming obsolete to help these former colonies establish their own cultural institutions?

Author’s note: This is a brief introduction to an extraordinarily complex topic. It is based on research I conducted while working as a collection researcher for the Tropenmuseum, writing my master’s thesis, and my novel Rituals of the Dead.

References to French President Macron’s promise to return African art:
La Monde Afrique
https://hyperallergic.com/414996/emmanuel-macron-restitution-african-art/
https://www.nytimes.com/2017/11/29/arts/emmanuel-macron-africa.html
https://news.artnet.com/art-world/french-president-promises-restitution-african-heritage-ouagadougou-university-speech-1162199

*****

A big thanks to Jennifer Alderson. She’ll give away either an eARC of Rituals of the Dead (release date 6 April 2018) or an ebook of The Lover’s Portrait—winner’s choice—to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET. Delivery is available worldwide.

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Did you like what you read? Learn about downloads, discounts, and special offers from Relevant History authors and Suzanne Adair. Subscribe to Suzanne’s free newsletter.

Shell Shocked!

Posted on February 6, 2018 by suzanneadairFebruary 6, 2018

Relevant History welcomes back Donis Casey, author of ten Alafair Tucker Mysteries from Poisoned Pen Press. Her award-winning historical mystery series, featuring the sleuthing mother of ten children who will do anything, legal or not, for her kids, is set in Oklahoma during the booming 1910s. While researching her own genealogy, Donis discovered so many ripping tales of murder, dastardly deeds, and general mayhem that she said to herself, “Donis, you should write a series.” Donis is a former teacher, academic librarian, and entrepreneur who lives in Tempe, AZ. For more information about her and her books, visit her web site, and follow her on Facebook and Goodreads.

*****

The Alafair Tucker Mystery series started in 1912 with The Old Buzzard Had It Coming and has moved forward years or months with each book. The tenth book in the series, Forty Dead Men, takes place early in 1919, shortly after the end of World War I and at the end of the Great Influenza epidemic.

My grandparents were all in their early twenties during WWI, but none of them ever told me anything about their lives while the war was on. Neither of my grandfathers went. I fear I grew up thinking that the distant European war didn’t have much of an effect on folks buried deep in the hills of Arkansas and Oklahoma.

Was I ever wrong.

History books and articles are good for giving a writer an overview of a time period, but what I am really interested in writing about is what the people who lived through an event thought about it at the time. One great thing about writing historical fiction is that when you do your research, you discover that what really happened is often more amazing than anything you could make up.

I am particularly proud of Forty Dead Men, which deals with the psychological effects of warfare on a veteran of the First World War. They called it “shell shock” back then. Now we call it post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

Surviving the horrors of war
Soldiers have been psychologically affected by the horrors of war since the beginning of human history, and every society has dealt with it in different ways. But the modern technological advances in weaponry during WWI brought the problem to a whole new level. Imagine being trapped for weeks on end in a wet, stinking, muddy trench being bombarded day and night, hour after hour, nowhere to go, completely at the mercy of fate. If a shell fell on your position, you were toast, and there was nothing you could do to protect yourself. Then again, at regular intervals, some officer behind the lines would order you and your mates to go over the top and get mowed down by machine gun fire, and if, like a sane person, you didn’t do it, you were liable to be shot by your own officers.

Shell shock became a real problem. Before the U.S. entered the war, British doctors thought shell shock was a physical thing caused by exposure to exploding shells. But it didn’t take long before that notion was proved wrong. “Shell shock” happened to men who had never come under fire. The symptoms of shell shock were extraordinarily varied. Hysteria, paralysis, blindness, deafness, loss of the ability to speak or control one’s limbs were the most common among enlisted soldiers. Officers had fewer physical and more psychological symptoms like nightmares, insomnia, depression and disorientation. Still, four times as many officers suffered breakdowns than regular soldiers. That was because they tended to repress their emotions in order to set an example for their men. Sometimes officers were so ashamed of their fear that they flung themselves into impossibly dangerous positions just to keep face before their men.

Living with shell shock
There really wasn’t much help for these wounded soldiers. Some doctors tried electric shock therapy, hypnosis, solitary confinement, even shaming. According to the U.S. Veterans’ Administration, soldiers often received only a few days’ rest before returning to the war zone. I saw a comment online that was written by a grandson of a British WWI vet, who wrote that his grandfather recovered from his physical wounds and became a productive member of society. But he “medicated his emotional wounds with alcohol and extra-martial affairs. Even in his advanced age, he could not be in the kitchen when the kettle was whistling.”

My fictional veteran, Alafair’s eldest son, Gee Dub Tucker, was an officer with a front line unit who suffered a head wound during a bombardment, but was loaned to a British unit only a few days after his concussion. He was assigned to act as a sharpshooter. Nowadays we call them snipers.

What Gee Dub witnessed, and even more so, what he did while he was in France, haunts him after his return to the family farm in Oklahoma. He seems normal to his family. Except for his mother, who sees that something is terribly wrong with him. The restless veteran has taken to roaming the quiet hills around his family farm. One rainy day while out riding he spies a woman trudging along the country road. Holly Johnson reveals she’s forged her way from Maine to Oklahoma in hopes of finding the soldier she married before he shipped to France. At the war’s end, he disappeared without a trace. Gee Dub is glad to have a project and tries to help Holly, but ends up the prime suspect when Holly’s husband turns up dead. Alafair will not let that stand. As one reviewer noted, “she’ll do anything to protect her kin…No one can resist her—at least, not for long.”

*****

A big thanks to Donis Casey. She’ll give away a signed, hardbound copy of Forty Dead Men to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET. Delivery is available within the U.S. and Canada only.

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Oney Judge, a Brave Girl Who Escaped the Washingtons

Posted on January 23, 2018 by suzanneadairJanuary 23, 2018

Relevant History welcomes Diana Rubino and Piper Huguley, authors of Oney: My Escape From Slavery.

Diana’s passion for history and travel has taken her to every locale of her stories, set in Medieval and Renaissance England, Egypt, the Mediterranean, colonial Virginia, New England, and New York. Her urban fantasy Fakin’ It won the Romantic Times Top Pick award. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, the Richard III Society and the Aaron Burr Association. When not writing, she runs CostPro, Inc., an engineering business, with her husband Chris. For more information about her and her books, visit her web site, and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

Piper Huguley is a two-time Golden Heart® finalist and author of the “Home to Milford College” series, which follows the building of a college from its founding in 1866. Book #1, The Preacher’s Promise, was named a Top Ten Historical Romance in Publishers Weekly and received Honorable Mention in the Writers Digest Contest of Self-Published e-books. Her new series “Born to Win Men” starts with A Champion’s Heart. She lives in Atlanta with her husband and son. For more information about her and her books, visit her web site, and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

*****

When I began researching Oney: My Escape From Slavery, I read numerous books about slavery and the Washingtons in particular, because Oney was Martha Washington’s slave. I learned many facts about George and Martha Washington that are not taught in school. Because she was a mulatto, and light-skinned, Oney was allowed to work in the “big house” as Martha’s housemaid.

The Washingtons considered themselves generous with their slaves, but in our modern view, we would consider them extremely stingy. They rationed their slaves’ food and clothing. Martha took Oney on shopping trips, to the theater, and to visit her lady friends. She dressed Oney in the same finery as her granddaughters, though Oney, an expert seamstress, sewed it all. Oney had many more clothes than the one petticoat, two shifts, one jacket and pair of stockings a year the field women got. (The men were given one pair of homespun breeches a year.) Oney enjoyed sweets, while the field slaves got their weekly rations—a few pounds of pork, usually poor cured salt herrings, and a handful of Indian corn. George weighed each grain and morsel so nobody got more than their share.

The Washingtons were a bit stingy with calling slaves by their proper names—a handful of slaves were called Old Wench, Old Nanny, and Young Fellow. They gave Sambo the nickname Sammy. Oney’s given name was Ona, Latin for “unity” or “harmony.”

It was illegal for slaves to be literate, but Martha allowed Oney to learn to read and write. She learned from Hercules, the cook, who escaped just before Oney did, also never to return.

George boasted that he never separated families, as did many heartless slave owners, and never beat his slaves. But to punish some of them, he sold them to plantation owners in the West Indies, where labor was especially brutal under the scorching sun. It’s well known that he wore dentures, reported to be made from ivory, wood, and hippopotamus. In fact, some of the false teeth came from animals, and he bought some of them from his slaves. He had a French dentist extract them.

Martha called teenaged Oney her “favorite servant.” Oney and Martha both longed for freedom, but in very different ways. While Martha hated being confined to the president’s house, forced to entertain politicians and diplomats, Oney hated being property, forced to wait on her owner day and night.

As Martha hosted her tea parties and levees, she became close friends with several forward-thinking women, such as Abigail Adams and Judith Murray, feminists of the time. Their radical ideas rubbed off on Martha—education and job training for women to be self-supporting instead of depending on husbands. By the end of George’s term, she experienced a steep character arc. She even changed her attitude toward slavery.

When Oney escaped at age twenty, at the end of George’s final term, Martha was very resentful: “She was more like a child to me than a servant.” The Washingtons knew that she’d escaped to Portsmouth, New Hampshire and made several attempts to recapture her. But in a sudden act of lenience, Martha gave up on Oney and let her remain free. During her husband’s presidency, Martha complained, “I am more like a state prisoner,” so perhaps she put herself in Oney’s place and realized she deserved liberty, too.

*****

A big thanks to Diana Rubino and Piper Huguley. They’ll give away an ebook copy (Kindle format only) of Oney: My Escape From Slavery to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET. Delivery is available worldwide.

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The Past: Not So Much of a Foreign Country?

Posted on December 12, 2017 by suzanneadairDecember 12, 2017

Relevant History welcomes back Annie Whitehead: an author, a historian, and a member of the Royal Historical Society. Her first two novels are set in tenth-century Mercia, chronicling the lives of Æthelflæd, Lady of the Mercians, who ruled a country in all but name, and Earl Alvar, who served King Edgar and his son Æthelred the Unready who were both embroiled in murderous scandals. Her third novel, Cometh the Hour, also set in Mercia, tells the story of seventh-century King Penda and his feud with the Northumbrian kings. She is currently working on a history of Mercia for Amberley Publishing, to be released in 2018. For more information about her and her books, visit her web site and blog, and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

*****

Research for my history of the ancient kingdom of Mercia has seen me studying various primary and secondary sources covering a period of four and a half centuries, ending with 1066 and beginning with the pre-Christian seventh century. Sometimes, I’ve only had one written record from which to glean evidence; these people lived long ago, and far away, in a place we wouldn’t recognise.

Imagine then, my delight, when I read what at first glance seems a rather turgid tome: William of Malmesbury’s Deeds of the Bishops of England.

It’s true that back then, people thought, spoke, and prayed differently. But among the tales of saintly bishops, and miraculous goings-on, I found some nuggets which prove the adage plus ca change, plus c’est la même chose (the more things change, the more they stay the same).

William of Malmesbury was born around 1095, of an English mother and a Norman father. He is probably best remembered for his Deeds of the Bishops and the Deeds of the Kings of England, and one does not have to be a scholar to guess the nature of these books.

And yet…This is how William ends his Deeds of the Bishops: ‘It has also been a black year for weather. Every month has had thunder and lightning. It has rained almost every day without stopping. Even the summer months were wet and muddy.’ Now, maybe you’re reading this in the USA, but let me tell you, walk down any street in England today, or any day, winter or summer, and you’ll hear someone saying almost exactly the same thing.

Elsewhere, when William writes of the bishops in Northumbria, he says: ‘The whole speech of the Northumbrians, especially that of the men of York, grates so harshly upon the ear that it is completely unintelligible to us southerners. The reason for this is their proximity to barbaric tribes and their distance from the kings of the land who, whether English as once or Norman as now, are known to stay more often in the south than the north.’ Again, speak to anyone in England and they will have an opinion on the north/south divide. Southerners complain about uncouth northerners, while northerners bewail the London-centric government and clamour for their own high-speed rail links and ‘Northern Powerhouse’.

In 1005, Bishop Ælfheah of Winchester was famously, brutally, murdered by the forces of King Cnut. Some sources say he was stoned to death, some that he was pelted with ox bones. William writes about Ælfheah at length, describing how the good bishop drove away a plague, and by God’s grace was able to put out, with the sign of a cross, a raging inferno which was threatening to destroy a village. Fanciful? A little, perhaps, to our cynical, twenty-first-century minds.

But William also tells us that one night, Bishop Ælfheah saw a drunk monk being battered by demons sent by God to punish him. ‘After Ælfheah told the others about this in the morning, it is not surprising that his drinking companions turned teetotal.’ Who among us doesn’t have a story about someone—maybe ourselves—swearing off the drink after a heavy night, with the words, ‘Never again’?

Miracles, saintly acts, devotional prayers. A different language, sensibilities, culture and set of beliefs, and a ‘lack’ of technology. All these things are to be expected when we begin to examine the past.

William’s little asides remind us that in some respects, human nature does not change. And it is useful to remember, as we go about our studies, that these are not simply names from a bygone age, but that they were real people, with real lives.

*****

A big thanks to Annie Whitehead. She’ll give away a paperback copy of Cometh the Hour to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET. Delivery is available worldwide.

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The People of the Salish Sea and Hudson’s Bay Company

Posted on November 28, 2017 by suzanneadairNovember 28, 2017

Relevant History welcomes back award-winning author J.L. Oakley, who writes historical fiction that spans the mid-19th century to WW II with characters standing up for something in their own time and place. A UH Manoa graduate, she has always wanted to write about Hawaiians in the Pacific NW. When not writing in noisy cafes and researching history, she demonstrates 19th-century folkways at English Camp on San Juan Island. For more information about her and her books, visit her web site, and follow her on Facebook and Twitter.

*****

Set between Vancouver Island, British Columbia and Washington, San Juan Island is one of the most beautiful places in the Pacific Northwest. With wide-open prairies on the southwest side, rolling valleys and forests in the interior and the northern end, and endless coves and secret harbors dotting its shores, the island is a magical place reached only by ferry or small airplane. On any given day you can spot the black and white forms of killer whales or orca as they hunt salmon and seal in Haro Strait or see eagles, dolphins, and seals in and around of the rest of archipela known as the San Juan Islands.

Before settlement by whites in the 1850s, San Juan Island was the home to the Coast Salish nation, Lummi of Bellingham, WA. The Songhees from modern day Victoria came over to fish the huge streams of salmon on their way to the Fraser River. For centuries, the peoples of the Salish Sea came ashore at South Beach to catch and smoke salmon and trade.

Then the Hudson’s Bay Company (HBC) arrived in Victoria on Vancouver Island in 1843. Not long after, they set up a salt station on the southern end of San Juan Island. In 1851, they claimed the island and created Belle Vue Farm up above South Beach. There the company farm ran sheep. To herd the flocks, they brought in company employees, Hawaiians or Kanakas, as they were called in the 19th century.

Readers might be surprised to learn that Hawaiians were living and working on the west coast of the United States before the Americans really set foot in the Oregon Territories, but Hawaiians first saw these shores in 1793 when George Vancouver brought some ali’i over from the Sandwich Islands. Twenty years later, Hawaiians were an integral part of the workforce for the Hudson’s Bay Company on the Columbia River in 1824. Their presence there is well documented at the Fort Vancouver National Park and Fort Langley (1827) in British Columbia.

Hawaiians on San Juan Island
A graduate of University of Hawaii Manoa, I have always wanted to write about Hawaiians in the NW. My first inkling of their presence came from a Honolulu Star article; Hawaiians were on Salt Spring Island in British Columbia. When I moved to Washington State years ago, I wanted to know more about the history of the area. At the library, I came across the annuals of the Washington State Historical Society. In its first volume (1904), I found the journals of the HBC Fort Nisqually. In several of the entries, the trader named actual workers, one spelled “Cowie.” I knew I was onto something. Cowie had to be the Hawaiian name, Kaui. I soon found out I was right. On a trip to San Juan Island several years later, I discovered the landmark, Kanaka Bay. Here Hawaiians lived with their Hawaiian and native wives in a place known as Kanaka Town. I was thrilled to know that Hawaiians were so close to my home.

My latest historical novel, Mist-chi-mas: A Novel of Captivity, seemed like a good place to start writing about Hawaiians in the Pacific NW. To create the Hawaiian characters for Mist-chi-mas—Alani and Moki Kapuna and Kaui Kalama and his Coast Salish wife, Sally and their son Kapihi—I turned to the archives at Fort Vancouver National Park. “The Village,” an international community of HBC workers was established outside the Fort Vancouver’s walls in the late 1820s. The archives has records of the “Three Kanaka Bachelors” who lived in one of the huts. Extensive materials were also available at Fort Langley in British Columbia. At the San Juan Island National Historical Park, Kanakas performed many tasks, chiefly as shepherds. Kanakas are noted in the journals kept at Belle Vue Farm on San Juan Island:

(June) Monday 12th
Forenoon calm & clear afternoon blowing fresh from S:W: —
–an Express from Nisqually handed me by Governor Mason – Page, two Millbanks & two Kanakas.

(July) Saturday 1st
Fine clear day
Sent Nahua & all the Inds off for shells to burn for lime – oxen hauling wood for do. – killed a wedder for ration.

Leaving San Juan Island
The island and its surrounding islands were left out of the Oregon Treaty of 1846. As there was no international water boundary, both Britain and the United States claimed it. In 1859, an HBC pig from Belle Vue Farm was shot by an American settler (squatter in HBC’s eyes). This led to the infamous Pig War in 1859. Captain George E. Pickett of Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg fame was sent down from Fort Bellingham to hold American interests at the lower of the island. The Royal Navy sent over a top commander with a state of the art vessel to protect British interests. Other than the pig, no one died, and a formal agreement was made up to have both militaries jointly occupy the island until the water boundary could be decided by an international committee. They did so for twelve years. In 1872, the islands were awarded to the United States. The Royal Marines left immediately. As the Hawaiians were considered British citizens, they left as well, many returning to Victoria or Salt Spring Island in British Columbia.

The story of Kanakas is often overlooked or simply not known, but they gave much to the founding of Washington State and British Columbia. Visitors to Friday Harbor, for example, are always surprised to learn that this lively tourist destination got its name came from Peter Friday, a Kanaka shepherd whose hut was perched just above the harbor. Sailors seeking a safe, deep harbor looked for the smoke coming out of his cabin’s chimney. Friday’s Harbor, it was called then.

I hope that Mist-chi-mas will encourage readers to learn more about the Kanakas and other ethnic groups who are an integral part of Pacific Northwest history and whose contributions should be recognized and honored.

Mahsie, tillicum.

*****

A big thanks to J.L. Oakley. She’ll give away an ebook copy of Mist-chi-mas to someone who contributes a comment on my blog this week. I’ll choose the winner from among those who comment by Friday at 6 p.m. ET. Delivery is available worldwide.

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