Butts of Well-Aged Wine

Butt. Yes you can say it without sniggering.

A butt is an obsolete unit of liquid measurement in Britain.  A butt is 126 wine gallons. Wine gallons? yes it is a thing, and explains another of those bizarre American differences. The American gallon is based on the old wine gallon measurement.

It sometimes seems that what ever measurement standard the rest of the world choses, America has to be different. So an American gallon is different from an imperial gallon: another reason why American recipes can be difficult to follow successfully. (that and "stick of butter". What kind of a measurement unit is a stick? Tablespoons of butter for something that normally comes in solid form is bad enough! ...mini rant over) Anyway an American gallon is based on cubic inches (231 cubic inches) while an imperial gallon is rounded to 4.54 litres. This means that an American gallon at a nominal 3.785l is considerably less than an imperial gallon. One of the reasons for that the Americans stuck with the old gallon measure is that the British imperial system was not adopted until 1825, by which time America had ceased to be a colony.

Butt may be archaic as a measurement, but it lives on in the names of British pubs, as does tun. A tun is equivalent to two butts. So we have pubs such as The Three Tuns in Henley,

or the Half Butt in Essex

Oh, and for another blindingly obvious fact (that I only recently realised) a quart is a quarter of a gallon.

Tomorrow I am going to continue the theme with old wines and Shakespeare. Then on Saturday I am looking forward  celebrating Christmas Eve with more recent vintage wine and Shakespeare,. But more of that anon.

Wine Gums, Hock and Rhenish.

Important fact at the outset: wine gums don't actually contain wine. But this British brand does have the names of wine (and spirit) varieties impressed into them, as well as having an assortment of shapes. Kiwi wine gums are just one shape, a squat cylinder, in a variety of colours/flavours. Now I have some inkling of how wine gums came by their misleading name.

Seeing the name on one of the wines got the wheels of my brain turning clunkily. I knew Hock was a generic name for white wine, probably from some past literary exposure. That or exposure to poor generic white wine in New Zealand of the 1970's. But why? Turns out Hock comes from Hochheim, from Hochheim am Main. Hochheim was the centre of the wine export to Britain for German wines from the 17 century. So Hock became a common term for German white wine. If it is used nowadays, it usually implies low quality white wine.

A similar and even more antiquated name for white wine from Germany is Rhenish. We see it cropping up in Shakespeare in Hamlet:

"as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down, The Kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out The triumph of his pledge" and in The Merchant of Venice: "There is more difference between thy flesh and hers than between jet and ivory; more between your bloods than there is between red wine and Rhenish." I had never made the connection that Rhenish wine refers to wine from the Rhine area: specifically Rheinhessen, the area between Worms and Bingen. Must go back and sample more wine: I wonder if it used to drunk from Westerwald stoneware?

Wealds and Wolds

As I was writing yesterday's post I noticed the wald of Westerwald is German for forest. Of course I knew that : Schwartzwald Kirschentorte means Black Forest Cherry Cake. As I said to my sister Jane before I travelled to Germany: " I know a few German words: from cookery and Opera" to which she wryly replied "that will be very useful in everyday conversation!"

Any way, I am currently living close to Harrow Weald and I have been wondering about the meaning of weald, but hadn't yet got around to looking it up. There is also the Weald of Kent which one of my clients referred as his vantage point when watching V-1 flying bombs falling on London as a boy.

Time to look it up: turns out that weald comes from West Saxon, and means the same as "wold" which is the Anglian form. So yes, from the same root as the German "wald"  Harrow Weald was once part of the ancient Forest of Middlesex.

Westerwald connections in the most unlikely place

My photo storage program kindly reminded me that its two years since I first met up with my German cousins in Pottum. How is this connected with a restored chamberpot from the lost palace of Greenwich?

Greenwich Visitors Centre 2016

The caption suggests it (#3) is from mid 18th century

Pottum is my great great grandmother's Susannah Schamp's hometown. She left Germany in a time of great political and social turmoil, 1847, for the uncertain life of a folk musician in England. In a tale stranger than fiction she ended up the pillar of respectability in an Australian goldrush town. But that is a story for another day.


Through the magic of the internet I linked up with Annegret Held, an author living in Frankfurt, but originally from Pottum. Annegret has since written a novel inspired by this era, "Armut ist ein brennend Hemd" which translates as "Hunger is a Burning Shirt". She and my distant Schamp relatives were my hosts on my visit in December 2014. I was there for the village Christmas party, and I felt like an honoured guest. I even received the crest of the village from the deputy mayor in an informal ceremony by the lake the next morning.

At Pottum, with Annegret, the deputy mayor, and the Schamp family

One of the gifts the Schamps gave me was a teacup and saucer in Westerwald pottery. They told me the Westerwald area is known for a particular style of pottery, blue patterned on a grey ground. It is stoneware fired at a very high temperature, and the cobalt blue glaze is the only colour that will endure that temperature. Later they took me a place selling regional produce and I was able to buy a mould, also in westerwald ware, for making another regional speciality, Westerwälder Eierkäse. (these are safely packed away in New Zealand, so pictures will have to wait: be patient!)

So how surprised was I to recognise a westerwald chamberpot on display when I visited the Greenwich Visitor Centre. The Greenwich complex of buildings are marvellous and historic, but they are built over an older palace site. The original medieval palace was rebuilt by Henry VII and named the Palace of Placentia. It became a favourite royal residence, and three Tudor rulers were born here: Henry VIII, Mary I and Elizabeth I.  Placentia was in a state of disrepair by the time of the Restoration, and none of the original palace now remains. The chamberpot on display was discovered with other treasures when drains were being laid in 2005.

Apparently stoneware from Westerwald was imported to England in great quantities in the past, particularly as tankards and chamberpots, and frequently shards are found in the mud of the Thames. I found more information on this Mudlarking blog. I also plan to visit the Museum of London, another free London museum, which has a special feature on this pottery.

More WWI memorials on my list

One of my sons has requested a DNA analysis for his Christmas present: he is interested in optimising his health and diet based on his genetic profile. It’s a bonus for me too, family history-wise. In advance of getting his results I thought it was time to revisit his father’s side of the family tree. This has lain untouched for many a year, as I was daunted by the challenges of genealogical research in Ireland. All those similar names and so many holes in the records (I believe it’s true the archival stacks were used as barriers during the Easter rising)

But time can still be the genealogist’s friend, as more and more records, both public and private become digitised and available through the magic of the internet.

And sure enough, there is a wealth of records available since the last time I looked.

I found one of his father’s great uncles served in the British Army during the so-called Great War. (also erroneously called “the War to End all Wars”) His name was James Greenlee, born in Belfast in 1887. His immediately elder sister, Annie went on to marry Arthur Power, and become my sons’ Great grandparents.

In the 1901 census the Greenlee family were living in Upper Newtonards Rd and James, aged 14 was working as a rope maker, while his father William was a hemp dresser. Ten years later James was newly-wed, living with his wife Mary in Manderson St and working as an iron driller. Belfast was a major centre for ship building, and ropemaking and iron working were part of the industrial package. The Power family later settled in Dee St, which is also in the heart of this shipbuilding area, now named the Titanic quarter, after its most famous ship. Robert Power (Bob) my son’s grandfather worked at Harland and Wolff and was part of the team to build HMS Belfast, now permanently berthed in London.

But back to James. Like so many young men from throughout the Empire, he enlisted to fight in WWI. James was an Irish Guardsman. Irish Guards wear the iconic dress uniform of red tunic and bearskin (never call it a busby, I was once cautioned by a Coldstream Guard.) The uniform is differenced from other Foot Guards by the chest buttons arranged in groups of four, and a blue plume in the bearskin.

You will be familiar with the officer’s dress uniform: Prince William was married in that uniform, as he is Colonel of the Regiment.

One of the coolest things I learned about the Irish Guards was their mascot: a real live Irish Wolfhound!

Now that is a real dog!

And as I am not one to miss the opportunity to show a video of men in uniform playing brass instruments, or men in kilts playing bagpipes, here is a video of the Irish Guards with their pipes and drums. Yes, Irish kilts are a thing!

https://youtu.be/yAP2m5FAVZE?t=1m

The Irish Guards served on the Western Front for the duration of the First World War, suffering heavy losses. One of those men was James. He left behind a young wife, Mary: I am not sure if they had children. He is buried at Bleuet Farm west of Ieper (Ypres) and his name is engraved there and on a memorial tablet in St Patricks Church, Belfast. I don’t know yet the details of his death, but his digitised army will can be viewed online, and shows damage that looks suspiciously like blood stains. The date of his death was 26 July 1917. It gives you pause to think.

In 2017 I will be visiting the battlefields of Northern France and Flanders, and James’ name will be on the list of those I remember.

Patron Saint of Dogs

Garth, 2016 watercolour by Barbara Lewis

Motivated by a youtube video, Christine Tarrant suggested we should have birthday party for Garth when I am back in NZ (February-March 2017). Chris and my son Richard are looking after my dog Garth while I am on my extended gap year. We call Garth the wonder dog, (and Garthalicious, Garthicus and a few other names too saccharine to be owned to!) and he is definitely worthy of a story or two, and definitely a write-up in a veterinarian journal. But that's a story for another day.

I decided to research to find a suitable day. As Garth is a rescue dog, we don't even know his age for sure, let alone his real birthday. Although thinking about it, next March will be the tenth anniversary of welcoming Garth into our lives as a fully grown but still knawing dog.

The first thing I looked for was a patron saint of dogs. I guess St Francis would work as a general animal lover too. His feast day is 4 October. But yes, there is a specific patron saint for dogs: St Rochus, Roch, Rocco or Rock, depending on your language preference. I bet you have never heard of him. I didn't think I had either, until I remembered that Rochusgasse was one of the stops I used on the Vienna underground. Of course the church the street is named for the church dedicated to St Rochus, patron saint of dogs and ... invoked against the plague. Traditionally he is portrayed displaying the plague buboe on his thigh, along with the dog who brought him bread (must be a retriever) when he was cast out for his infection. His feast day is August 16, appropriately enough in the dog days of a European summer. But not a useful date for me either with my tickets booked to return to UK by end of March.

St Roque by Francisco Ribalta

The Viennese church I am familiar with from the street was built in 1643 by Holy Roman Emperor Ferdinand III in gratitude for the preservation of Vienna from the plague. Unfortunately the intercession of St Rochus was not so effective in 1679 and 1713 when Vienna suffered devastating epidemics.

So far I have not come up with a suitable date that falls in the appropriate time, but whatever day we choose it will be a great party... now to think about themed cocktails for the guests. Suggestions welcomed.

Next direction to be inspired by Monmouth

Following up to yesterday’s post, it’s hard to know which avenue to explore first. I could tell you about the ancient forester rights for the Forest of Dean, and how these were eroded in the aftermath of the Napoleonic Wars by the navy’s need for oak. I could talk about the Dean Forest Riots and punishment by transportation to van Dieman’s Land. I could discuss the social changes that drove whole families to move away from their places of origin. We could take a little diversion to the whims of Regency aristocracy and the work of the Kymin Club. More on Horatio Nelson and naval battles. Life in service at a “big house” and the estates of the Dukes of Beaufort. Jumping back in time a whole lot more I could digress to Henry V and other famous people of Monmouth, Agincourt and Welsh archers, Shakespeare and forging national identity, knitting in the 14^th century.

And of course, more personal family history: the Barnetts in Le Bons Bay including the hellfire Welsh preacher (I wish we had audio recordings! Imagine that accent!), the Evans in Wairarapa, and initial responses to DNA testing. Oh and of course I want to find out more about Edward Barnett and his family.

Believe it or not, all these disparate subjects are linked to yesterday’s post! Wow, and I managed to mention Shakespeare and Nelson in the course of conversation again. Why not comment and help me decide which area to pick first!