Winston Churchill: Part 3 - Blood, Toil, Tears and Sweat

So the World War is over and all of Europe is abuzz about this Hitler fella. Many of the Brits thought he was a bright young chap, and the kind of person they could get behind - the Nazis could be a good friend of the British. One politician praised Hitler, even going as far as comparing him to George Washington. Most people were more scared of the Bolsheviks at the time, even going as far to think that the Nazis and Fascism might stand to hold off the reds to some degree. As we have it in the 1930s, Britain seems to be growing ever fonder towards Hitler; Churchill is seen as a man prone to mistakes who had gotten his party kicked out of leadership, and then scuttled back to the Conservatives. It made him appear as an opportunist, and judging by some of his decisions and history, perhaps a bit of a warmonger.

Churchill's smile could light up a room.

It speaks to his character that he could bounce back the way he did. He was frequently controversial, but he was incorruptible and believed in his values. Say what you want about Churchill, but when he was in on something, he was in wholeheartedly. He was also one of few that distrusted the Nazis many years before they went full crazy.

Fast forward to World War II, and it would seem the world had turned topsy-turvy from what many of the citizenship (as well as a number of high ranking politicians) would have imagined. Hitler is destroying Europe, and things are looking bleak. I mean, really, really spectacularly bleak. Neville Chamberlain, then Prime Minister, had grossly underestimated Hitler's power. Appeasement of the Nazis was not only on the table but seemed a very reasonable course of action. The press was lobbying for talks with the Nazis, and the beleaguered forces of Britain would find it difficult to find the resolve to state that yes, they wished to continue fighting on what seemed like steadily diminishing odds. Think about what that would mean - appeasement would likely lead to disarmament, meaning Britain would be effectively taken out of the war. Who is to say how history would have changed had that occurred?

Chamberlain, acknowledging that he is not fit to lead Britain through those trying times, steps down. He advises the king on appointing Churchill, whom at that time was the Lord of the Admiralty as he had been in the first war, and back in those days, the word of the king was something that meant a heck of a lot more than it does now. Shortly after, Britain is on the brink of giving in to the might of the Nazi war machine, and Churchill takes the reins on May 10th, 1940. On the 18th, Churchill gives an impassioned speech to inspire the troops and politicians alike in fighting on, containing this powerful quote: "If this long island story of ours is to end at last, let it end only when each one of us lies choking in his own blood upon the ground." Holy crap, I think that just made me want to go to war for Britain. Well, in a video game maybe... and as a Canadian fighting with the British... but still, it's a great line.

One cannot overestimate the gravity of that decision for the British people. Within a year, thirty-thousand British were dead, mostly by the hands of the Germans. The stress must have been so strong one can hardly imagine, but war energized him, reportedly looking healthier and more alive than in decades. That spirit gave him the ability to make another unthinkably difficult choice in July of the same year; this one with the handling of a French harbour. In July of 1940, France was essentially Nazi territory, and the Germans were rapidly approaching their shipyards. The French ships were state of the art, top class vessels that could very well turn the tide of a war if they fell into the wrong hands. Churchill demanded that they either sail the ships out or scuttle them (pop a hole in the bottom of the boat) rather than risk them being used in helping their enemy. It was a dreadfully tense situation, and French reinforcements were coming and would find a number of British ships with their weapon sights locked-on to their own boats. Churchill urged the French, but they wouldn't listen; they didn't believe the Nazis would be able to overtake the harbour and steal their ships before they sailed them out. Churchill didn't want to take the chance, and time was of the essence.

The horrible tragedy that launched the Milton Bradley game.

The British fired upon the harbour, killing 1,297 Frenchmen, damaged five ships, and sinking a battleship. The French saw it as nothing short of a betrayal, and it's easy to understand why. It remains to this day a controversial move. If anything, it shows that Britain was in it to the last, would fight to the end, and any other cliched statements that are now used predominantly in sports movies.

Amidst all the war preparations and strategizing, he had to rally the public and the soldiers through his speeches. Fortunately, Churchill had to be one of the greatest speakers of all time. Both his willingness and history of being up close and personal in battle adds authenticity to when he calls for Britain to stand tall. Take this speech for instance:

Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end. We shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be. We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender, and if, which I do not for a moment believe, this island or a large part of it were subjugated and starving, then our Empire beyond the seas, armed and guarded by the British Fleet, would carry on the struggle, until, in God's good time, the New World, with all its power and might, steps forth to the rescue and the liberation of the old. 

Chief Clancy Wig- I mean, Winston Churchill
during an air raid.

I'm not typically one for quoting whole paragraphs, but it's really something else. Plus, it leads me into the next section of Churchill's ambitions: to bring America into the war (and maybe work on reducing run-on sentences in his speeches). Churchill met with Franklin Roosevelt countless times during his run as P.M.. He had a strong relationship with F.D.R., which meant that the U.S. helped provide the British with close military help if not direct aid in manpower. Of course, it was Pearl Harbour that brought more than just American weapons to the European theatre, ultimately turning the tide against the Germans, but in the times leading up to the attack it was Churchill that had them shipping weapons.

Right when the Allies won the war (spoiler) Churchill lost his seat as Prime Minister. From there, he continued warning against the Russian powers (turns out he called that one too) before once again being elected as Prime Minister.

Winston Churchill died in 1965, leaving quite the legacy. He had been of critical importance in both world wars, served twice as P.M., won the Nobel prize, and fought in armed combat personally on multiple occasions. I don't think we've seen another politician quite like him. I don't think we ever will.

Winston Churchill: Part 2 - Missteps in the Great War

His quotation "Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak. Courage
is also what it takes to sit down and listen" must have been a
real hit with the ladies.

When people speak of the greatness of Winston Churchill they probably gloss over World War I with a cough, muttering "he had some exploits then, too." His intentions (for most of his mistakes at least) were well meaning, but through bad luck, bad admirals, or flat out bad decisions, Churchill bumbled through the war with a number of errors under his belt - and his political career surely felt the brunt of it. It may not have been all terrible, though, so lets get the good out of the way first. It won't take long.

Trench warfare has got to rank high on the list for the worst things humanity has done to itself. Soldiers are human cannon fodder, rife with disease and shell shocked into delirium, with their generals having little more of a plan for them beyond running straight into the line of sight of the enemy for the purposes of gaining a scant few yards of territory. Churchill knew of the savagery of trench warfare, and hoped to break open holes in the front with a new and innovative idea. A fan of the use of technology to spill oil rather than blood (at least not British blood, that is) he helped to pioneer area bombing and was a strong supporter of the use of mustard gas. Surprisingly, his greatest contribution was coming up with the idea for the tank, if not the exact design. He took his chance at having a team put together the plans for caterpillar tanks, equipped with treads rather than wheels to traverse the rough terrain of the front. I shouldn't have to tell you that it was not only a major success, but it changed the face of warfare for years to come. The technology also may have been a crucial component to Hitler's Blitzkrieg tactics later on, but... hey, you can't blame him for that. As a bit of trivia, the name "tank" came from the way they hid the planning stage from the Germans. It was meant to sound like an operation in which the British were sending water tanks to beleaguered soldiers, and the name tank just stuck.

So lets get to the bad, now that we're feeling a little better about ol' Winny.

The first mistakes in his WWI campaign were fairly minimal. Antwerp, one of a few critical ports, was sure to fall into German hands. Churchill sent a number of British troops to help defend it as it could not do so on its own. What went wrong is, in a nutshell, they lost. They couldn't hold on, and the Germans eventually took Antwerp - but - they held on long enough to secure some of the other ports that would likely have been lost if it were not for the time that Antwerp bought them. So... as far as blunders go, he's off to a rough start but nothing really all that bad. In fact, you can argue he's coming out slightly better than even.

Big Berta howitzers were in the German's arsenal at Antwerp.
Churchill foolishly brought the American-made Little Debbie.

What really goes wrong is his decision to attack through the Dardanelles, a strait near the Mediterranean. His plan was to attack Constantinople and take the Ottoman Empire out of the war (it's easy to forget that the Ottoman Empire was actually in World War I, as the name sounds so middle-ages). In doing so, they could free up some allied-leaning countries to their side and flank the Germans, forcing them to fight on two fronts. Wording it that way it sounds like a solid plan. In reality, however, 180,000 died by the time the operation ended, many falling to disease, without getting near Constantinople. It has remained a sore spot on Britain's Commonwealth as a tremendous number of soldiers died there. They lost their lives, he lost his job.

The Ottoman generals that were victorious in the
Dardanelles. Each man's surname is now a product line
of ottomans at Ikea.

Churchill later rejoins the government as the Minister of Munitions, and this time he sets his sights on those pesky Russians. His plan was to squash communism and the Bolsheviks whom he thought were a major threat - which, in retrospect, seems pretty spot on. To summarize it, he lost. Again. But - he came very close to victory, nearly reaching Moscow, which would have turned the tides of history who knows where. It may have saved countless Russians from living in tyranny for, well, pretty much then until now, depending how you see Putin.

So World War I ends, but Churchill in 1922 still has some ammunition left in his rifles and he feels it just wouldn't be right to let them go to waste. He gets word that the Turks may be threatening some garrisons over near - where else? - the Dardanelles. He wanted to step in and show them who's boss, perhaps winning back some of the pride he lost in his first defeat there that nearly ended his career, but the British people for some difficult to pin down reason had grown rather tired of warfare. The Liberal party in which he joined after leaving the Conservatives collapsed and he lost his seat.  His career in shambles, one can only assume this spells the end for Winston, one of the greatest political minds in history.

Right? Right?

Better check in next time and see.

Winston Churchill: Part 1 - The Man Himself

"Yes, mother, I am quite dapper"
says Winston, aged 7.

Winston Churchill was a politician that in no possible circumstance could exist today. His bravery and constant desire to be close to the line of fire would have his bodyguards shaking in their boots; his strong views would cause the party in which he belonged panic (let alone the fact that he switched from the Conservatives to the Liberals and then back again, which by all means should be political suicide enough); and his quick but often abrasive wit would surely get him in trouble time and time again, causing what would now be a massive political scandal on a bi-weekly basis. My personal favourite quote has Churchill being accused of being a little under the influence. "Winston, you are drunk", she said. He replies, "Madam, you are ugly, and I will be sober in the morning." (Note - a number of his quotes have changed albeit slightly over the years, so you may have heard it slightly differently.) It has to be the best political "burn" since the countless quips of the Spartans. In all fairness to the presumedly ugly woman, he probably was drunk at the time as he had a propensity to be drinking and smoking at every waking hour, adding to his mystique in that one wonders how he survived past thirty with his lifestyle and habits. So in a nutshell - he's as quick with his words as he is rushing into a fight. Somewhere along the way he would find the time to win the Nobel Prize in literature. But that's the understanding of wartime Churchill - let's start with how he got there.

The Churchill family home. I bet they film Downton Abbey
here.

Churchill wasn't a product of a rough neighbourhood that led him to be so astoundingly courageous in the many wars in which he participated. In fact, quite the opposite - he was born into wealth and class, and darn near became the Duke of Marlborough (I assume that's prestigious). His father was a renowned politician, and his family dynasty includes one of Britain's great military heroes that fought with the French - and seeing as how no one likes the French, that must have helped a lot. That doesn't mean he had an easy life, though. His father Randolph was as bristly in personality as colossal Victorian era British moustaches are in feel, always disapproving of Winston and being astonishingly open of his disappointment in his son. He just wasn't what one would call a loving father; in one letter to his Winston, he instructs him to refrain from calling him such an affectionate term as Papa and to use the more formal word, father.

Sheesh.

Winston frequently sought the approval from his father he so sorely lacked. He followed in his footsteps, becoming a wealthy reporter in South Africa (just like his father) and became a politician that was skilled in the art of rabble-rousing (switching parties, just like Randolph). What is strange is Winston seemed like a pretty good kid, and if anything it was Randolph that fell short. He died when Winston just hit his twenties from syphilis, which, just as it does now, has certain connotations that ruined his political career and caused him a great deal of shame. Winston felt Randolph deserved better, and sought to restore the family name. (Spoiler - he succeeds.)

Churchill in full military regalia. Amazingly,
he has retained his ability to stay dapper.

Around the time of his father's death, Winston began his lengthy and prestigious military career. Starting in Cuba at age twenty as a British officer and front lines reporter, he then moved on to India, Sudan and the Boer War, before the big two. During these battles Churchill seemed to almost have a suicidal level of daring, charging into battle and taking a strange level of enjoyment in bullets whizzing past his head time and time again. In his life, he would be shot at on four separate continents, which seems like something only a handful of people could say, let alone arguably the most famous Prime Minister in British history. He revelled in war, feeling a great deal of excitement - somehow. This plays well into his later years, frequently requesting to be closer to the front lines and occasionally succeeding in doing so in spite of being in positions where he could very reasonably stay on the sidelines without anyone batting an eye.

In the coming blogs, we'll see Churchill fight the Germans, become a Prime Minister, then fight Nazi Germans, and provide so many great quotations that you could fill an entire junior high classroom with his motivational statements alone. You might want to omit the times he commented on people "working like blacks" or the time he declared he had "no interest in the quarrels of the yellow peoples" and instead focus on things like "attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference."

Shackleton's Endurance: Part 3 - Seeking Rescue

OK, I believe a recap is in order. The situation began poorly with Shackleton's expedition getting stranded in ice just short of land out on the Weddell Sea. It then progressed to serious as the boat was crushed, leaving them only with lifeboats and 1914-era determination. From there, it moved to desperate, in which they had to abandon the majority of their gear and kill their dogs in an attempt to keep light while moving north. What came next pushed the situation up to grave, as the ice floes they were hoping to float back north through good luck/magic/1914-era determination were beginning to crack, forcing them to their boats. Here's where it goes from grave, to... I'm out of synonyms, but something significantly worse than grave.

Twenty-two of the men from the expedition. Also pictured:
regret; mild disappointment.

They set sail for Elephant Island, not so much a refuge as it was a checkpoint in getting back to safety. It was uninhabited, rarely visited, and didn't provide much in the way of shelter or food. It was, however, a place relatively within striking distance of land and civilization rather than ice. They took to their three lifeboats, not particularly well equipped for the harsh conditions they were in but better than anything else they had at their disposal. They would row between the ice floes during the day, and by night they would hop upon them and try their best to get some sleep in spite of being wet, cold, and exceptionally hungry. The rowing was brutal beyond reason; their hands freezing to the point of frostbite was a regular occurrence, and the men were running short on energy as it was. Bear in mind they had little more than seal and penguin to eat, save for small rations of bread that would have to be given out with the thought in mind that they were rapidly depleting their stores. 

Even when they weren't rowing (they would work in shifts) it was little better. Much of the time was spent pulling buckets of water out of the boat as it filled up with water, which was a problem for two rather obvious reasons; boats filling up with water traditionally don't fare well, and the water was frigid in temperature and froze their feet. The water would sometimes come up to their knees, and their boots, with lining losing their integrity over time, would no longer provide much warmth. The men would have to constantly wiggle their toes, which was extremely painful but much preferable to losing that feeling as that would possibly be the last time they would have sensation in them at all. Even cramping was a serious problem as they had precious little room to move about for day after day on the water. In addition to all of this, they feared killer whales that would occasionally flip an ice floe to feast on penguins or seals. As if the frozen waters beneath them didn't provide an element of fear, an animal with a violent adjective in its very name might come looking for them.

The lifeboats they used to sail around the icebergs.
I wouldn't trust it at the wave pool at the water-park

While camping on the floes for the night provided somewhat of a temporary reprieve, the sheets of ice would also be susceptible to cracking. One did just that right where the men were sleeping. He was saved, but only after being dropped into the water and frozen to the point where hypothermia might very well kill him. Keep in mind he only had the one change of clothes as they were forced to lighten the load earlier in the expedition, which meant he had to constantly keep moving in spite of his clothes rapidly crystallizing with the ice freezing all around him. Of course, his response to all the incredible pain was saying the "only thing I regret is my bloody tobacco's down there in the drink". At this point I'm doubting these men were real, and are instead just early depictions of '80s action heroes. New Expendables 4 hero Ernest Shackleton anyone?!

The men wave goodbye to Shackleton and the others
as their lives depend on their success as well. Also pictured:
desperation, sadness.

After just short of a week in the boats, the men touched land for the first time in a year and four months. They had reached Elephant Island, far from a prize as it was small, cold and desolate. It was also going to be their home for the next while, at least for most of the men. Shackleton, however, knew they couldn't stay with the limited resources they had. He decided he would sail back with six of his men to South Georgia, their starting point of the expedition, and hope to find civilization once more. His plan was to take a twenty-two foot long boat, sail eight hundred miles, and do it all in the world's most treacherous ocean. 

So what of the other men? They would stay behind as Shackleton would make a break for it, surviving in constant blizzards in a makeshift tent that was brutally cold literally all the time. One man during the boat trip to Elephant Island suffered through frostbite on his feet to the point they had to be amputated - on the island itself, right then and there, with whatever tools the doctors had and with chloroform as the anesthetic. Another man developed a massive abscess on his buttocks due to the seemingly endless amount of sitting in the cramped space on the boat. Of course, it had to be drained. Unfortunately for him (and for the other men, perhaps especially for the other men) he couldn't be separated from the group due to the cold. They had to sleep near a man that just had his butt drained of "two pints of foul smelling liquid". All the while they had no means of knowing if Shackleton would ever return at all. All they could do was wait, hope, sleep, pray and smell abhorrent things.

Shackleton was faring no better. The six men would work 'round the clock in four hour shifts, hoping to sleep but finding little of it. It was a tremendous task just to simply keep the boat afloat in spite of nature trying her best to bring it down. They were so close to death that the men would sometimes have to check a pulse just to... double check, so to speak. Strong winds and crashing waves almost caused their deaths time and time again. Worse yet, seawater spilled into their fresh water supply, furthering their difficulties as if they didn't have enough already. After fourteen harrowing days, they finally reached South Georgia - with the last day being in sight of land but the conditions being too treacherous to move ashore. When they finally reached the shore, they realized another problem - a rather significant one. There was a nearly impassable mountain range in between them and the whaling communities they sought for rescue. At this point it feels like a season ending cliffhanger for a T.V. show - they had just done something that should have been impossible, and now they're heading headlong into something somehow more difficult than before.

The South Georgia interior had until then never been crossed. It was a perilous land of glaciers and mountain peaks and a number of other things that are meant to be climbed only by those with years of preparation, know-how, and equipment... and even then, perhaps not. These were men that had just survived seventeen days at sea, were horribly frostbitten, exhausted, and carrying with them little more than a rope and an axe. Their journey wasn't even straight forward; it full of backtracking and dead ends as they carried no map and harboured no knowledge of the area. On their first night, they were caught high on a mountain which would surely kill them by morning if they had stayed. Their solution - and if this were an '80s action show, this is where it's criticized for abandoning realism - was to recklessly slide down the mountain, hoping they wouldn't hit anything that would kill them. Apparently, when they reached as far as they could go, they laughed it off and carried on. It was the first fun they had had in months.

This is the mountain range they had to cross. Shackleton,
upon seeing it, was quoted as saying "no biggie."

After a thirty-six hour trek, Shackleton and crew arrived at a whaling camp and spoke with the head of the organization there. The man at first didn't recognize him, so filthy and worse for wear. Upon realizing who it was - bear in mind he was surely thought to be dead - the man broke into tears. Shortly after, the rescue boats were on their way. Not a single man died in spite of it all. The mountain range they crossed would not be conquered for another three decades.

Upon return, Shackleton was met with a country consumed by war, and because of that he was met with little fanfare. A number of the men went on to enlist, one being killed at sea just six weeks after signing up, many others receiving injuries. Shackleton would later attempt one last expedition but would pass away from a heart attack during the trip. In a sense, it's a sad ending to an incredible man, but at the very least he died doing what he loved. How in the world he would wish to go back to exploring after that experience will remain a mystery. 

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The information for this blog came from two excellent sources. One, Endurance: Shackleton's Incredible Voyage by Alfred Lansing, is an absolute must read for those who like to read about thrilling adventures without actually having to partake in them. The other is an excellent documentary (voiced by Liam Neeson!) called The Endurance: Shackleton's Legendary Antarctic Expedition for those of you who would like to read about thrilling adventures without actually having to partake in them, but opt for the movie instead. You can watch it here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oyQRHHHXntc

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Shackleton's Endurance: Part 1 - Setting Sail

Ernest Shackleton hails from a time when men were men; they smoked from pipes, their beards were thick and full, and the idea of going on a harrowing expedition with only a moderate chance of survival sounds just like their very British cup of tea. This was the time where man sought to have no land left unconquered, and who better to do that than the English? They were at the forefront of the age of grand discoveries and romanticized travels full of danger and heroism, with all the fame, riches and glory that come with such adventures. Unfortunately for them, the south pole had already been reached by a Norwegian, and one that beat out Shackleton as he was trying to do just that. Now it was his time to shine, late in his exploring life and with hopes of one last shot at expedition redemption, he sought to traverse Antarctica by land from one side to the other. The result was a voyage so mentally and physically taxing that many of the men, tough as nails

A young Ernest Shackleton: he put the "boat" in
"Dreamboats of the Great Age of Antarctic
Expeditions".

as they were, refused to discuss it with their friends or family; a few would not allow their children to ever read their diaries of their journey until after they had passed.

Why Shackleton decided to attempt this is beyond me. I guess it's just in the blood of people back then, as now people are much more satisfied with living their lives while simultaneously keeping tremendous physical pain and stress to a minimum. Back then it just wasn't as big of a deal - which is why when Shackleton called for good men to assist him in his task and be on the ship that sailed towards the frozen continent he had a great number of responses. Five thousand men sent word that they wished to join him for adventure, glory, and all the fun that frostbite has to offer. But how could he have convinced them to join, considering the danger and the horrible conditions they would have to endure? Well, his ad was this, copied verbatim. Despite what you may believe, I'm not making this up. "Men wanted for hazardous journey. Small wages, bitter cold, long months of complete darkness, constant danger, safe return doubtful. Honour and recognition in case of success."

How men read that and thought "where do I sign up?" is so beyond me I lack the words to describe it.

The crew chopping away at the ice hoping to
free the boat to move forward. I, uh, don't
have high hopes for how that will turn out.

Seven months of preparation found them ready to depart in 1914 with twenty-seven men and sixty-nine Canadian sled dogs ready at his side. Unfortunately, 1914 was known for another rather large event, and Shackleton felt it was his duty to offer his services in the war. He contacted the British navy if he should send his ships to battle instead of exploration, who replied with the single word "proceed". It wasn't that they were war-dodging - one man even wrote in his journal that he would "hope to be home in nineteen months and go straight to the front." He then commented on how it's a "glorious age we live in". I'm legitimately confused if he meant for the second half to be sarcastic or if men back then were so unspeakably brave as to be genuinely pleased at the opportunity to fight in a war only after risking their lives on an expedition to a continent in which no human should be.  Regardless of how he or the men felt about missing their... opportunity?... to enter the war, Shackleton was ready to depart. He had named his ship the Endurance, after his family motto: "By endurance we conquer". On December 5th, 1914 they headed south from South Georgia, an island whaling community far to the east of the southernmost point of South America. Fortunately for us, there are plenty of photographs and footage from their expedition as a large amount of the funding for the expedition came from investors paying for the right to sell the documentation they took during the trip.

It wasn't long before they hit the Weddell Sea - a half-frozen body of water which is essentially a massive, constantly shifting ice field. Historian Thomas R. Henry describes the testimony of men who have travelled the sea as "berg-filled waters, the most treacherous and dismal region on earth". They made it far through the sea, travelling in between ice bergs and breaking through the thinner sheets of ice, but in February the temperature dropped rapidly and suddenly - somewhat of an unlucky and unexpected occurrence - that froze the very water around the ship. The men attacked it with picks and shovels and tried to press on through it, but to no avail. The ship had become trapped between two massive ice floes, large bodies of ice that are not attached to any land. Just like that, they were stuck. In Antarctica. On a floating body of ice. With no means of rescue or return. They would have to wait until Spring to move again, which was seven months from then. The unfortunate explorers were stopped just one day sail from land - but this is just the beginning of their problems. They have the warmth of a ship, food at the ready in their stores, and one of their most prominent enemies at this time was boredom. Things were about to get worse - and by a grand, terrible margin.

Remind me again why anyone would want to do this?

Alexander the Great: Part 1 - A Champion is Born

This is Philip II. Apparently. All these
old face statues look identical to me.

Alexander the Great was one of the greatest conquerors who has ever lived. Beginning in Greece, his empire stretched south through Egypt, back up north towards Afghanistan, Iran, and a number of middle eastern countries you hear about on the news but can't quite match on a map, and finally so far east as to reach India to quarrel with elephants. Alexander was the original rock star - well, minus the music. He became rich beyond reason, had as many women (and men) as he pleased, fought in the front lines of his army despite being their ruler, and drank to the point of such wild excess that he died barely into his thirties. As any man, he also had a number of faults - excluding the whores and drink, which at the time was seemingly as taboo as sneezing is today. Violent, angry, cruel, and ambitious at the cost of countless lives of others, Alexander wasn't necessarily "great" in the traditional sense. He was great in scope and size; great in the way that the sky and ocean are great. He was larger than life, so much so that he was quite convinced he was a god. In fact, there were quite a few that would readily agree with him.

Of course all of this didn't happen in a day. Alexander was born in 356 B.C. into a position of royalty, son of Philip II and the heir to the throne of Macedon, a land in northern Greece. Philip was in the process of moving south to consolidate his power across all of Greece, and by the time Alexander was twenty years old (when I was twenty I was playing World of Warcraft - also, still today) and ready to take the thrown, he would have all of Greece under his rule - somewhat. Sparta and Athens, historically the strongest Greek cities, resisted the takeover but not so strongly as to openly revolt. They were mostly in a "fine, rule here, but don't try to boss us around" situation. He left it to Alexander to deal with that problem.

In spite of his status as royalty, Alexander wasn't given a free ride, far from a spoiled child with everything handed to him. He was made strong by a denial of luxury, and to some degree necessities. It made him strong, resistant to pain and familiar with starvation and thirst, characteristics that would play strongly into the roles later in his life. (Come to think of it, it probably didn't help with his streak of cruelty.) That isn't to say he wasn't given advantages, however; from the age of five he was trained to be a warrior, but also taught in math and sciences. He was taught by none other than Aristotle, thought to be one of the greatest minds of all time - right up there with Alex Trebek (rumour has it no one tells him the answers, he just knows if they're right or wrong). All of this created a powerful man; trained to fight by what we can assume are the best Macedon had to offer, and taught by one of the Greeks' finest. He embodied the core of ancient Greek culture; full of logic and reason, but ultimately violent and cruel.

Alexander on the left and Hephaestion on the right. How could
Alexander ever resist those luscious curls?

He also had a few, shall we say, interesting parts of his personal life that may disrupt the manly-man 300 (or 300: Rise of an Empire!) archetype we would naturally assume he was. What might surprise you is he was quite bisexual - leaning towards the male persuasion if anything. He was particularly enamoured with Hephaestion, a man whom he deemly loved and followed him on all of his adventures until his death. This wasn't really an issue back then. There wasn't a stigma around homosexuality until around 400 A.D. when the Christians came and told them that they just weren't doing it right. Many men - particularly military men - saw their wives as breeders, a means to further their family name and not much else. Now, some of you may be thinking "wow, this is surprisingly socially progressive! This is awesome! Why can't we just be more like the ancient Greeks, and be that accepting?".  Well. They didn't just like men. They were quite fond of... well, young men. So uh... lets just forget about that. He did have multiple wives and countless whores too, by the way.

As for his non-sexual partners...

Aristotle tutoring Alexander. This is proof
that school has been boring students
for millennia. 

Alexander and his father were vastly different. Philip had the ability to withhold his anger, and prefered subtlety and tricks to gain power over his adversaries. Alexander held no such control; he preferred brute force and decisive action. While they both drank heavily, it would set the younger in a violent rage directed at his friends (you'll hear more about this later), but the father at his enemies. In a sense, it worked for the two of them; you would likely not want to be about brute force when your empire is still at least relatively small, but Alexander could afford that risk when he already has a large enemy at his beck and call. I would guess that Philip's style helped him to consolidate his power in Greece, while Alexander's ambition and force helped to take that and further an empire. What a team, right?

Well, not quite. Their relationship was rocky. His father married Cleopatra (not that Cleopatra) which upset him as he became worried about his rights to succession. There was already the typical stress of impatience, as Alexander felt he was ready for the main role but the boss didn't feel like stepping down. Making the problem worse, Cleopatra went and popped out a second kid that was a male. What followed was a large Maury-esque family feud, in which Philip may have implied Alexander wasn't up for succession anymore. It caused quite the rift. Philip then went east to Asia minor to begin a conquerin', where he was assassinated - which is either an incredible coincidence or Alexander had a hand in it. In all fairness a scorned lover of Philip stabbed him, so it might have actually been a coincidence, but it's also likely Alexander may have paid him to do what he already had reason to do regardless. 

Either way. Philip is dead, and in comes Alexander. Taking the reins at the tender age of twenty, he stood poised to strike into Asia against the long-running enemy of the Greeks - Persia. Awaiting him were vast deserts, countless battles, and an army led by Darius, the King of Kings.

Uh oh.

Spartacus: Part 1 - Rebellion

Spartacus is one of those names that's immediately associated with rebellion, much like Che Guevara. Only the latter, however, has his face plastered on t-shirts worn by people who don't really know who he is or what he's done. Not that I do... but at least my shirts are just H&M sale section garbage and therefore only carry the political stance of "I'm cheap".

I first got involved in the whole story of Spartacus from the Starz television series of the same name in which his story is filled with all the blood, gore, and almost-but-not-quite pornographic scenes that testosterone fueled T.V. has come to thrive on (oh what a glorious age we live in!) I quite enjoyed the show in all its 300 rip-off splendor, but I wondered just how close to the true history it was. Queue "Spartacus" by Aldo Schiavone; a book about a topic I'm interested in and a page length that suits my short attention span (thank you for keeping it under 200 pages, Schiavone). 

Now. some background.

A gladius, the weapon which spawned the word "gladiator".
In modern times, the company "Glad" was named after
 the weapon for the spikey things they have on their
 cling wrap packaging to cut the plastic. Both should
be used with caution around unprotected fingers.

The Roman Empire during the time of Spartacus was growing in power due to the constant warfare, hostile takeovers and general disregard for human life that so embodied their culture - a cornerstone of proper imperialists. Gladiatorial combat came to prominence largely due to this lifestyle; the Romans would storm into Gaul, Thrace, and otherwise, enslave them, and use the prisoners of war to fight it out for the amusement of the general populace. Picking strong slaves was a lucrative business - gladiators victorious in the arena could pull in some serious coin for their owners. It also served the purpose of showing that if slaves could face pain and death with all the bravery of Hercules (not that Greek wuss, Heracles), then for a Roman it should be a paltry task. That, and the Romans were quite simply a fan of mixing violence and sport. I can't fault 'em for that one. 

Spartacus didn't have the clear-cut upbringing of a simple slave, however. It's decidedly more complicated, and the nature of ancient history such as it is, rarely entirely certain with numerous conflicting accounts. What seems likely at the basest level was that Spartacus was actually a soldier in the Roman army. He was a Thracian, and Thrace was a tributary of Rome, and thus had many of their soldiers in their employ - our would-be revolutionary being one of them. Known for being intelligent and courageous beyond his status as a non-Roman, being a member of the cavalry (likely) which was a relatively highly ranked and respected position, and having a female companion that was likely a priestess, Spartacus was well on his way to being commander material. This allowed him to see the Roman military tactics, military technology, and general goings-on of the soldiers, doubtlessly giving him plenty of useful information to use in the days ahead. The Romans learned their command tactics through experience and observation, so in many ways Spartacus wouldn't have been too far behind from their chosen battle commanders. 

Spartacus had a propensity to ponder in the
nude, and was thus immortalized in a
statue doing so.

So what we have here is a man who, for a foreigner, was of a high station, a powerful fighter rising in the military ranks, and having a priestess companion that symbolizes his high social status (who in the T.V. show was a total babe, so add that to the mix). But then he suddenly deserted, at least suddenly in terms of the recorded history of it. Take this all with a grain of salt, as this is all what likely happened, but it seems that Spartacus was in a troop that was meant to storm the lands of the Maidi tribe of Thracians, of whom he belongs. Likely feeling some sort of reservation about slaughtering and enslaving his own people (what a do-gooder) he joined the rebels and fought using guerrilla tactics against them - but only until his eventual capture. 

The slave traders likely picked him up fairly quickly and sent him to Rome to be sold. A strong, young fighter, he would be chosen for a gladiator and sell for a high price. As far as slaves go, this wasn't actually all that bad - you would want to keep your gladiators happy and healthy, with good meals to ensure they're fighting at their best, countless hours to train, and the privilege to keep his lady-friend. 

Regardless, Spartacus got fed up and revolted against one Gnaeus Lentulus Batiatus, the leader of the camp in which the gladiators were being trained. This was incredibly risky - they had to break into the kitchen to steal knives and other potentially violent kitchen tools, and unite the slaves of a variety of ethnic backgrounds and charge the guards. About two hundred or so rose up and easily dispatched the guards, likely caught relatively unawares, and the fugitives were on their way to freedom. Soon after, stumbling on a wonderful bit of luck, they happened upon a wagon carrying a number of gladiator arms destined for Pompeii which they decided to... "commandeer." The nearby garrison of Roman soldiers (bear in mind these were still gladiators, and the Romans were not so stupid as to leave them completely unguarded) went to dispatch them quickly, in what would be the first of a number of severe and damaging underestimations of the strength of Spartacus and company. Upon defeating them, they took their weapons and armour, no longer equipped with the shoddy and barbaric weapons of the arena, but instead with Roman military grade technology. This was a great moment for the slaves, as the weapons served as giving them legitimacy; no longer simple gladiators and brawlers, but a real military force.

Unfortunately for them, Rome didn't treat deserters too kindly. They got word far more quickly than one would imagine they would, and sent three-thousand (!!!) men after them - these ones properly trained, more prepared soldiers. Spartacus, picking up runaway slaves and other men along the way, had his numbers rise to a still relatively meager few hundred.

Rome thought it would be over quickly.

The Battle of Marathon: Part 1 - Astyages and Media

This is pretty typical for the Persians
in 300.

You know, you have to feel for Persia. The 300 movies - the original and Rise of an Empire - don't really give them a fair shake. Their armies are ruled by Xerxes, a gold-speedo wearing god-villain whose sole purpose seems to be to make the viewer feel uncomfortable, and in the later, they're led by Eva Green, whose sole purpose is to reveal as much as possible while still technically wearing armour. Their soldiers are not referred to as cannon fodder strictly because cannons have not yet been invented. It makes you wonder how these men seemingly made of paper and a battle plan that consists of hopefully drowning their opponents by flooding the battlefield with their blood ever came to be a force that would ever possibly defeat the Spartans and Athenians that are seemingly made of stone. Perhaps they just thought paper covers rock?

Persia's rise to power is actually pretty dang interesting, filled with violence, betrayals, and possible baby-eating. Therefore it seems fair to give a bit of background on the combatants in the Battle of Marathon before we get to all the fighting.

First, a bit of geography here. Greece is across the Aegean Sea from four important territories; Lydia, Persia, Media and Ionia. Lydia became super rich (largely due to the fact that they likely created the first coin) and powerful enough that Greece was paying tribute to it. Media and Persia were closely linked ethnically, culturally and geographically, but Persia was smaller and somewhat of an underdog. Ionia was a Greek controlled city state but on the same side of the Aegean as the rest of them. That's the basics of what you need to know to understand all this.

This is a depiction of Astyages' dream. I'd be
a paranoid freak-show if I dreamt crap like this too.

However, none of those places yet matter without a little character development. The king of Media, Astyages, is where this all begins (sort of). He was more than a little paranoid, certainly a fair lot cruel, and definitely not opposed to the occasional murder. He also dreamed in what must be rather nightmarish fashion, as he foresaw a his daughter leading to his eventual death and downfall while she rises up and takes the throne. His dream-seers (or interpreters, fortune tellers, what have you) told him that it could be the husband of his daughter, so he got her to pretty much just go out and marry a wimp. Problem solved on that front. However, she had a son, and that son may just prove to be the usurper after all. The reasonable progression of thought here for Astyages was it would be easiest to bump off the usurper if he had not yet mastered the art of crawling yet, and ordered a commander of his army, Harpagos, to kill the child. Yes - Astyages ordered the death of a baby because he felt threatened.

Harpagos, likely having some sort of, well, pretty darn reasonable qualms with murdering infants, tricked Astyages. He found a few Persians who just had their infant die and convinced them to do the old switcharoo. Yes, he switched out the babies and took the dead one to present to Astyages - and it worked. The name of the saved baby and son of the daughter of Astyages was Cyrus - born into a world where he narrowly avoids his murder and prophesied to go take the throne from his gramps. It's like a thousand year old episode of Maury. 

Herodotus; the guy just looks like
a historian.

Here's where it gets a little less PG-13 and falls more into the horror genre. Astages got word of the trick Harpagos played on him and invited him for dinner where he (I warn you, this is not for the faint of heart) chopped up Harpagos' son and fed it to him. (As a side-note, Astyages had those dream-readers impaled.) I believe it's safe to say that Astyages is the villain of this story. At this point it seems fair to remind everyone that all of these stories have to be taken with a grain of salt. Astyages reined from 585-550 BC. They weren't exactly recording all this. The majority of the information comes from archaeological evidence and the reports of Herodotus, a Greek historian. There's only so much value you can put on the accuracy, but unfortunately, it's what we've got. To his credit, plenty of the physical evidence left behind, as little as there may be, seems to match up fairly well with his reports.


So here's where we stand thus far; Cyrus is now separate from Media and surviving the wrath of Astyages. Harpagos is most certainly down in the dumps. Astyages is working through his severe psychological issues that have led to his war on infancy. Stay tuned for part two - the revenge of Cyrus!

Terry Fox

There are few things in life so inarguably good that no one person dares to question it. In spite of it all, there are people who - believe it or not - don't like the taste of chocolate, my mother being one of them. I'm sure there are some sick freaks out there that don't like fields of lilacs - likely the allergic or those riddled with agoraphobia. There are even some that dare say Electric Six isn't the greatest band from the late nineties to now, despite the appearances of Surge Joebot, Frank Lloyd Bonaventure and Dr. Blacklips Hoffman throughout their history. Terry Fox, however, is one of such precious few exceptions to this rule. If you have an ounce of Canadian blood in you, his name alone should cause it to stand at attention and salute.

Repeating the basic life story as a beginner summary seems somewhat pointless here considering the vast majority of my admittedly small audience would be Canadian, already familiar with his life. Nevertheless, I'll give you the basics. Fox was diagnosed with cancer at a young age, and decided to run across Canada with one leg to raise money for research against the disease under the name the Marathon of Hope. His determination, selflessness and sheer force of will has been an inspiration, and a point of pride for Canadians as a whole.

Fox struggled with boredom

on his runs as the iPod has not yet

been invented.

Terry Fox's early life reads something akin to a low-budget family channel movie; a child described as short, weak and an overall terrible sportsman shows up to every practice, first to arrive and last to leave. In spite of a lack of inherent physical ability, he becomes a solid basketball player through little more than sheer determination and good ol' fashioned hard work, becoming the captain of his high school team by his grade twelve year. It makes you wonder if this is one of those mythologized aspects of someone's life that is said post-mortem in order to further a message - in this case Terry's unbreakable spirit. The whole story is so gosh darn inspirational you must think he had a perpetual tape of "Gonna Fly Now" playing in his head, living his life through a series of montages.

Fox began to notice a severe pain in his knee (which he had dismissed for quite some time in order to continue playing basketball) which turned out to be cancerous. At the age of eighteen, he had his right leg amputated. Recovering in a ward with a number of children, all struck by cancer themselves, Terry came to the terrible realization that they lacked hope. He then set out to give those children something to root for, deciding he would run across Canada, battered by cancer, his heart damaged by chemotherapy and equipped with a prosthetic leg that forced him to run with a limp that is certainly familiar to the entirety of the country. With the help of a close childhood friend, he began his run with the hope of raising money along the way.

Fox reminds us that no matter what we're
doing, we can always do it with a heck
of a lot more effort.

The beginnings of his race, starting in St. John's, began with minimal media attention and a feeling of futility that would easily have stopped many of those in his position. He travelled through town after town, but lacking public knowledge and organization, he raised very little money - or "scrilla" as my younger readers may be more familiar with. The greatest disappointment in earnings came from (surprise surprise) Quebec, where I can assume a general distaste for contributing to causes not associated with foolish pledges for separatism caused hardly a penny to come Terry's way. You could only imagine the discouragement in the whole ordeal - training tremendously for this event, earning little, and moving a marathon a day with one leg and finding precious little to show for it. People would ask him what he was doing and offering rides (really just a way of showing him they had no idea who he was or what he was doing) and once or twice someone tried to run him off the road, making the person who attempted the act collectively remembered by Canadians as "that nameless lowlife".

Fortunately, the tide was about to change through the addition of a public relations guy that would move ahead of Terry, hit his destinations and raise some awareness with the help of local news stations and this new fangled technology, the television. Suddenly, and seemingly very quickly, Terry Fox became a renowned name. Donations came in much more freely, there would be people waiting to greet him, invitations to join events, he was told to give speeches, advertisers wanted a piece of him... he was the talk of the country. In a sense, it's what he wanted - the more publicity and public knowledge, the more money that would come rolling in for the cause he was championing. There was, however, a difficulty associated with all this in the form of quite simply the great strain of having to deal with the limelight of sudden celebrity, mixed with the ever present fact that he was still running a tremendous amount daily, surely enough to tire the average man out before the meetings and general public had a chance to even see him. While it weighed heavily on him, and there were times when he genuinely wished he could simply go home, the emotionally ravaged and physically exhausted Terry Fox pressed on.

Terry Fox's entire route. I am suddenly very embarrassed
thinking how proud of myself I am when I run 5km. 

To make matters worse, a newspaper ran a story accusing Terry of driving rather than running through Quebec. Fox became irate, got him on the phone and broke down and cried, yelling at the author and asking him why he would write such an article. The writer was a man named Doug Collins, and naturally I was inclined to feel a deep, seething hatred for the man seeing as how he made damaging accusations against a Canadian hero... but then I read he's a World War II veteran and suddenly my feelings are mixed. Gosh darn it, couldn't he have just been a Nazi or something so I could feel black and white emotions towards him?

While the Marathon of Hope had suddenly come to the nation's attention at a tremendously grand scale, his cancer had come back in full force. Spreading to his lungs, with a tumour the size of a lemon in one and a golf ball in another (but likely neither sour nor labeled as a Titleist) grew and were showing no signs of leaving. In one of the most emotionally charged speeches you're going to see, Terry was forced to abandon his attempt due to the complications from the disease. In recognition for his lion level of courage and a whale's level of heart (they probably have huge hearts), he was the youngest ever to receive the Order of Canada, one of the most prestigious awards a Canadian citizen can achieve.

Terry Fox passed away on June 28th, 1981, but his legacy continues. The Terry Fox Foundation has raised $600 million for cancer research, there is a mountain named in his honour, there are countless statues, streets and buildings in his name, and teachers everywhere rejoice in having the joys of cancelling a half-day of school for the annual Terry Fox Run.

Terry Fox is what every Canadian should aspire to be.

________________________________
The information for this blog was largely taken from ESPN's 30 for 30 on Terry Fox, titled Into the Wind.
________________________________

Famous Historical Figures Say the Darndest Things!

1. "I'm running on one leg. It may not look like I'm running fast, but I'm going as hard as I can."  He is, by definition, a trooper - at least in the Urban Dictionary version.
2. "It took cancer to realize that being self-centred is not the way to live. The answer is to try and help others." Quotes like that helped him beat out Trudeau for CBC's list of the greatest Canadians.
3. "Even if I don't finish, we need others to continue. It's got to keep going without me." 

The Hundred Years' War: Part 4 - Joan of Arc

When I was nineteen years old, I had just finished high school, was busy coasting through the first year of university, and my most important struggle was balancing just enough time to pass my courses while devoting as much time as possible to World of Warcraft. Joan of Arc at the age of nineteen had the somewhat more significant worries of convincing a king her visions of saints were real, rallying the beleaguered forces of France to an unlikely victory, and eventually trying to find a way to avoid being burned at the stake for heresy. Fortunately, now at age 23, I can safely say I've caught up in notoriety as I have now found that balance of video game time and schoolwork.

In case you hadn't read the previous entires, at the point in history when Joan of Arc was born, France was in a tremendous amount of trouble. The Hundred Years' War was drawing to a close with Britain controlling much of northern France and tightening the noose around the southern half. Orleans was one of the last bastions of French power, and if that city were to fall it would have been quite likely the food in France would be changing from baguettes to crumpets.

Joan of Arc, hardly concerned with
her terrible case of helmet-hair.

Fortunately, the saviour of the French people (saving them from generations of terrible English bread) came in an unlikely form - a twelve year old girl who hears voices. Honestly, the whole story sounds so ridiculous if it were a television show instead of cold, historical fact it would be deemed so unbearably ludicrous no one would have any interest. Well, I suppose Joan of Arcadia was created, but from what I can tell from IMDB she didn't lead any armies into battle, and the series finale contained one less stake burning than you would expect.

Joan began to see visions of saints - Catherine, Margaret and Michael, specifically - who told her she was the only one able to drive the English out of French territory. The dreams must have been convincing as she actually bothered to act on them; I feel with most dreams, you wake up and forget the majority of it and wonder what the heck garden gnomes had to do with any of it. Believing them to be true, she tried to manage safe passage to the soon-to-be French king, but was initially denied. What finally won the army over to let her see the dauphin was an accurate prediction on a British assault. Likely fearing they have nothing to lose if they brought her over, and their eternal souls at stake if they were to deny the will of God if the girl was telling the truth, Joan was on her way to the court of the dauphin.

Somehow she managed to impress the French court. The government gave her armour, and her horse, sword and banner came through donations provided to her through other means. The reason why the French went along with this seemingly asinine plan was they simply may have exhausted all of their non-ridiculous options. With Orleans under siege and pretty much everything going to crap around them, they must have been in the mood for a long-shot.

When appearing on the battlefield, she quickly changed the course of the siege. France had been defending for an exceptionally long time, pretty well allowing the British to step in and begin to attack the city. In all fairness, Orleans was exceptionally well defended, and would have proved to be an incredibly difficult city to overtake. However, defence was not in the cards for Joan's plan, and she decided to take the fight to the British. She hit the outlying areas and small encampments of British that were surrounding the city, effectively stopping the siege itself after only a few days time. The beginning stages of the military campaign of Joan of Arc were off to a resoundingly strong start.

Joan of Arc bringing the dauphin to Reims. She's... in the centre I think.

The dauphin, Charles VII, realized that if Joan of Arc were to lead the military movements, or at the very least be the face of the resistance, it was soon to become a religiously charged war seeing as the visions of Joan's youth were the reason for her taking over. Background checks (I don't know how these were done - I don't think they had computers) were done on Joan's character, which she passed with flying colours. The worry was if she was to succeed, but was not morally sound, the crowning of the king would be as if it was given to him by the devil - false visions from someone of a low moral standing. They had to ensure she was good or else she would be branded a heretic or sorceress, but not the cool kind of spell-casting sorceress in RPG video games.

As for the actual military leadership of Joan of Arc? Well, it's a little up for debate: she never actually had direct command, and she played more of an advisor role more than anything else. She was likely just a standard bearer, carrying around a sword but not one to really charge into battle and lay waste to a bunch of snarling Brits. That being said, she wasn't entirely out of the fighting either; she took an arrow around the neck and shoulder but returned to the fight shortly after. Later she would take another wound, this one a crossbow bolt to the leg, but power through it once again.

Her capture while trying to pass the dreaded Burgundian wallpapered pass.

Regardless of how strong of a role she played, she brought a strong morale boost to the people of France, a gleaming beacon of hope on an otherwise disparaging battlefield. Showing her boldness once again, she planned to charge the English ranks and cut a gap in their defences allowing the French dauphin to march towards Reims for his coronation. This caught the English off-guard, as they expected her to go pretty much anywhere but, and the result was a slaughter of the English and a resounding French victory.

This would be the last great victory for Joan of Arc, as she was captured by the Burgundians (one half of the French civil war that sided with the British) in a battle sometime after. In spite of rescue and escape attempts (she tried jumping seventy feet from the tower she was kept in) she was put on trial for heresy. Now, it sounds a little silly to say she didn't get a fair trial - I mean, she's about as far as friendly to the British as she could be - but the whole thing is actually kind of a mess. She was tried for heresy - that means it was a trial that was taken care of by the church, and should have no secular interference. However, because of the degree of importance in British affairs, there were threats-a-plenty, tampering of evidence, and the jury was all English (presumedly put in place by a medieval-era Johnnie Cochran). Obviously, she was convicted and burned at the stake, showing that if you claim to hear the voices of saints and be under orders of God, you best be able to prove it.

She was later deemed innocent after a retrial (her ashes ecstatic at the verdict) and went on to become a saint. Now, France has to deal with the fact that one of their greatest military leaders was a teenage girl.

Spanish Series: Part 2 - El Cid

Only the most awesome of the Spanish
were depicted with swords on horseback.

This will be a continuation on the Reconquista, the first volume of the Spanish Series. Here's the highlights; the powerful Islamic nations, branching from the Middle East all the way to the west coast of Africa are starting to make some headway in Europe through the Iberian Peninsula. It's like a game of risk; territories are taken, people are angry to the point of fighting, and it takes course over about eight hundred years; the only difference is the warring parties didn't start out as friends. Anyways, I digress; what you need to know is the Muslims were taking land in Spain, and the Christians were pissed and were going to fight like all heck to take it back. And that's where our friend Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar comes in - more commonly known as El Cid. 

The strange part about El Cid is he ends up being a champion of both the Muslims and the Christians, despite the fact that he fought for both sides at some point during the Reconquista. He's a national hero of Spain now, and he at one point fought for the Muslim takeover of the place. How the heck did this happen? It's like some backwards nation where you kill members of the government and all of a sudden become hailed as one of the greatest members of the country, living or dead. Oh, wait, that's exactly what happened with Louis Riel. Well, ignore the "backwards" part and put it in the "apparently common?" category. 

El Cid's sword: if life were a video game, it would
be a legendary item.

Anyways, his story: he was the commander of Castile (one of the mini-kingdoms that was in place before Spain became a country) under the rulership of Sancho II (possibly better than Sancho I, but who's to say?). This was all well and good for a time. He came to be known as somewhat of a military tactician, defeating a fair few armies in his day. Things were going well for him - but not for Sancho. Sancho was the oldest of three brothers vying for power - oldest is a good thing of course, as that means you typically have the most of it. Unfortunately, his brothers weren't that cool with this, and it caused a lot of infighting. El Cid fought on his behalf to defeat his brothers, most notably Alfonso, as well as some Muslim kingdoms in the meantime (this is where he earned the title "El Campeador" - the Champion - for the one on one defeat of a knight). This was all well and good, until something particularly bad happened.

Sancho died.

That meant that all the power goes to the next oldest brother - Alfonso - and with that all of the military might - which means El Cid. Talk about awkward; the guy was busy mounting forces to kill the guys he's now supposed to be working side by side with. Naturally, it became a little too tough to reconcile and El Cid was promptly exiled. So here's El Cid, this military commander who has pretty well pissed off everyone by killing Alfonso's men, the Moors, and... well that pretty much covers everyone you can upset. So he went to option two - the Moors! Fortunately for him, they took him in...

The other stature of El Cid (that I can find
on the internet). In this one, he is also
depicted as awesome.

...and he promptly started to crush the armies of Alfonso. Working with the Muslims, he earned the title "El Cid" which means "the Lord". So on one side he's the Lord, and the other, the Champion. It's like they're fighting over who can give the guy the cooler nickname. Historically, it seems like the Muslims won that battle. Anyways, he's busy defeating Alfonso who takes note of the fact that his armies are being decimated and decides maybe getting rid of El Cid was an error - it certainly was.

El Cid then returns, makes peace, and decides to create an army of his own full of both Muslims and Christians and takes over Valencia. He was still politically affiliated with Alfonso, but he was almost entirely independent. Unfortunately, he managed to find another enemy (this time the Berbers, the previously Muslim-allied inhabitants of North Africa) and he eventually died during the siege. 

Now, despite my extensive wikipedia-ing, I can't for the life of me figure out exactly why he's such a hero that he is. Yes, he was an absolute champ on the battlefield, but... for the most part he was pretty soldier of fortune-like. That's a characteristic that doesn't typically land you in the "big book of good guys" very often, so that leaves me, admittedly, a little confused. Perhaps I should watch the 1961 historical epic El Cid starring Charlton Heston. That, or not do any of that.

Famous Historical Figures Do the Darndest Things!

1. El Cid went all video-game style and decided to name his swords and horse - Tizona and Babieca, respectively. Babieca apparently has a tomb. Something about the fact that that horse will undoubtedly be remembered for centuries longer than my name bothers me somewhat. 
2. There is a legend of El Cid where his corpse, shortly after his death during the siege on Valencia, was placed on his horse with full battle regalia. This was meant to inspire the troops... somehow. Eventually, it was adapted into a film called Weekend at Bernie's.