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The Legend Of Wooden Doves In Early Lombard Burial Grounds

By
thehistorianshut
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As told by the Lombard historian, Paul the Deacon (c. 720-799), his Lombard ancestors had a funerary custom in which they set up post beams, topped with wooden dove figurines, at burial grounds that housed the bodies of Lombard dead. Although the dove-topped poles sound like potential grave markers, there may not have been any bodies buried in the specific plots on which the beams were planted. Paul the Deacon’s description seems to infer that the dove-topped posts were family memorials set up for loved ones whose bodies could not be brought back to the family burial grounds. The doves on top of the memorial poles reportedly pointed in the direction of the place where the absent loved one had died and was buried. If, for example, a Lombard from Trento in northern Italy had been killed and buried while fighting foes in southern Italy, then the dead warrior’s family in Trento would allegedly put up a memorial beam over an empty grave in their family or community graveyard and on the beam would be a wooden dove with its beak pointed in the direction of the battlefield where the warrior was buried. Commenting on one such graveyard filled with dove-topped beams, Paul the Deacon stated:

“[P]oles, that is beams, had stood there upright which were wont to be planted according to the custom of the Langobards [or Lombards] for the following reason: if any one were killed in any place either in war or in any other way, his relatives fixed a pole within their burial ground upon the top of which they placed a dove made of wood that was turned in that direction where their beloved had expired so that it might be known in what place he who had died was sleeping” (Paul the Deacon, History of the Lombards, V.34).

The Lombards evidently brought this custom with them when they invaded Italy during the reign of King Alboin (r. 560s-572). Reverence and respect for the custom, however, had begun to dwindle by the reign of King Perctarit of the Lombards (r. 671-688). During his reign, Perctarit’s wife, Rodelinda, reportedly built a church—the church of the Holy Mother of God—on top of a burial site that had many such dove-topped poles. Despite the church having a formal name, its was said to have been pointedly nicknamed “the Church At the Poles.”

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Section of an ancient Etruscan pin with a dove finial, dated c. 6th century BCE, [Public Domain / Open Access] via Creative Commons and the Getty Museum.jpg).

 

Sources:

  • History of the Lombards by Paul the Deacon, translated by William Dudley Foulke (c. 1904). University of Pennsylvania Press, 1907, 1974, 2003.

The Farewell Of Telemachus And Eucharis, Painted by Jacques-Louis David (c. 1748 – 1825)

By
thehistorianshut
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This painting, by the French artist Jacques-Louis David (c. 1748 – 1825), was inspired by stories about the ancient Greek mythological figure, Telemachus—the son of the famous hero, Odysseus. Telemachus, of course, is represented as the young man draped in blue cloth, wielding a spear. Beside him, resting on his shoulder, is a character named Eucharis. As the story goes, she was a nymph said to have been in the entourage of the goddess, Calypso. Curiously, despite the ancient Greek characters involved in this scene, the particular story that inspired Jacques-Louis David’s painting was anything but ancient. The idea for this scene did not come from Homer’s ancient epics, and no encounter between Telemachus and Eucharis was recorded in any other ancient Greek or Roman myths or legends. Instead, the painting brings to life an episode from a much later book called The Adventures of Telemachus, published in 1699 by Archbishop François de Salignac de La Mothe-Fénelon of Cambrai (or simply François Fénelon).

In his intriguing Odyssey spinoff, François Fénelon expanded on and added to the escapades and experiences that Telemachus might have undergone while he waited for his father to return home from the Trojan War. As told in the book, Telemachus and another character named Mentor (who was Athena in disguise), eventually were shipwrecked on Calypso’s Island. During their stay there, Aphrodite (or Venus) unleashed mischievous Eros (or Cupid) on the mythical isle, and he spread his amorous influence throughout the nymph-filled settlement. In particular, the love-god made both Calypso and Eucharis fall hopelessly in love with Telemachus. There could only be one winner in the competition for the young man’s attention, and, causing Calypso much jealousy and fury, it was ultimately Eucharis whose affections caused Telemachus’ own heart to flutter in reciprocal attraction. Athena, meanwhile, disapproved of the whole situation, and she battled with the love-god behind the scenes to free Telemachus from the hormone-infused island. In the end, Athena was able to provoke Calypso into demanding that the shipwrecked strangers leave the island on a newly built ship. Despite Jacques-Louis David’s painting, there was no time for smitten Telemachus and Eucharis to say a farewell, for Calypso angrily marched her entourage of nymphs away from the shore, while Athena similarly dragged Telemachus to the ships. On Calypso’s exit and Eucharis’ reluctant obedience to her ruling goddess, François Fénelon wrote:

“Like a priestess of Bacchus, who fills the air and makes the lofty mountains of Thrace ring with her howlings, she [Calypso] runs across the woods with a dart in her hand, calling her nymphs, and threatening to kill all who refused to follow her. They, terrified at this menace, run in crowds around her. Eucharis herself advanced, with tearful eyes, looking afar at Telemachus, to whom she no longer durst to speak” (François Fénelon, The Adventures of Telemachus, Book 7).

A similar passage was written about Telemachus, who also locked eyes with distant Eucharis as the two ill-fated lovers were pulled apart by their leaders. François Fénelon wrote:

“Telemachus followed with reluctance, continuously looking behind him, and gazing at Eucharis who was going away from him. Not being able to see her face, he viewed her lovely plaited hair, and her flowing vestments and noble gait, and would gladly have kissed the very prints of her feet. Nay, when he had lost sight of her, he still listened, imagining that he heard her voice, though absent, he saw her; her image was painted and living as it were before his eyes” (François Fénelon, The Adventures of Telemachus, Book 7).

Such, then, is the story behind Jacques-Louis David’s painting. It shows a scene of Telemachus and Eucharis together before they were ultimately forced apart by higher powers. As Telemachus was pushed toward the ships, he begged Athena, saying, “I am resolved to follow you; but I have not yet taken my leave of Eucharis…Permit me at least to say to her, O nymph, the cruel Gods, the Gods jealous of my happiness, constrain me to depart, but they shall sooner put a period to my life, than blot you out of my memory” (The Adventures of Telemachus, Book 7). A farewell was not permitted by Athena in the book, but Jacques-Louis David fulfilled Telemachus’ wish in the painting above.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

The Electrifying Myth Of Salmoneus

By
thehistorianshut
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Salmoneus was a figure of ancient Greek myth, whose peculiar ancient tale was preserved by writers such as Diodorus Siculus (1st century BCE), Virgil (c. 70-19 BCE), and Pseudo-Apollodorus (1st-2nd century). As the ancient myths tell, Salmoneus was an ancient king who ruled a kingdom on the western coast of the Peloponnese region of Greece. All labels derived from his name, with Salmoneus reigning from a city called Salmone and administering a larger Kingdom of Salmonia. If Salmoneus sounds like a megalomaniac, rest assured that this presumption is correct, for arrogance and egotism were indeed central elements to his character. According to the tales, Salmoneus’ presumptiveness became so inflated that he began to imitate the high-god, Zeus. He was said to have been quite elaborate in this charade, going so far as to use ridiculous schemes to poorly re-create the sounds and sights of thunder and lighting. Worst of all, however, was Salmoneus’ decision to reroute all his peoples’ religious offerings, diverting the items away from temples and shrines of the gods to be instead delivered to himself. These actions outraged Zeus, who ultimately decided to unleash a barrage of lightning on Salmoneus. The quantity of white-hot lighting was enough to not only obliterate the megalomaniac king, but to also erase the whole kingdom of Salmonia from the earth. On this wild tale, Pseudo-Apollodorus wrote:

“[Salmoneus] claimed that he himself was Zeus, and depriving the god of his sacrifices, he ordered that they should be offered to himself instead. And he dragged dried animal skins and bronze kettles behind his chariot, saying that he was making thunder; and he hurled flaming torches into the sky, saying that he was making lighting. Zeus struck him down with a thunderbolt, and destroyed the city that he had founded, with all its inhabitants” (Apollodorus, Library, 1.9.7).

Such is the odd myth of Salmoneus. Poets, such as Homer and Virgil, wrote brief descriptions of Salmoneus and his immediate family being in the realm of the dead. Salmoneus’ daughter, Tyro, resided in honor there, holding a prominent position in the entourage of Persephone, the queen of the dead. Her father, however, was contrastingly sentenced to dramatic punishment. As envisioned by Virgil, “no torches for him, no smoky flicker of pitch-pines, no, he [Zeus] spun him headlong down in a raging whirlwind” (Virgil, The Aeneid, Book 6, approximately line 585). This punishment, along with the destruction of himself and his kingdom, was Salmoneus’ price for impersonating a god.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (De planeet Jupiter en zijn invloed op de wereld, Johann Sadeler (I), naar Maerten de Vos, 1585, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Rijksmuseum).

 

Sources:

The Continence Of Scipio, By Giovanni Antonio Pellegrini (c. 1675-1741)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Italian artist Giovanni Antonio Pellegrini (c. 1675-1741), was inspired by a legend that was said to have occurred in Spain around the year 209 BCE. At that time, Rome and Carthage were clashing in the Second Punic War (c. 218-201 BCE), and a new Roman general named Publius Cornelius Scipio was beginning to gain momentum in Spain. Around that year (209 BCE), Scipio was able to conquer the city of New Carthage. During this siege and other similar battles, Scipio came into the possession of a great many captives, and it was in Scipio’s reported treatment of these prisoners that the seed of a legend took root. Although it was sadly not uncommon for prisoners and civilians under occupation to be faced with horrors and atrocities in the ancient world, Publius Cornelius Scipio was said to have decided to try kindness for a change. As told by the Greek historian Polybius (c. 200-118 BCE), “In Spain Publius Scipio, the Roman Commander, was spending the winter at Tarraco, and there his first achievement was to win the trust and friendship of the Spaniards by restoring the hostages to their various families” (Polybius, The Histories, 10.34). Giovanni Antonio Pellegrini’s painting tells the story of one of these families that was allegedly reunited by Scipio.

Unfortunately, the name of the captive at the heart of this legend remained unknown—only her looks and her connections were remembered by history. As the story goes, our mystery woman was the ultimate embodiment of feminine beauty, and she had been engaged to marry a certain Celtiberian chieftain, named Allucius, when she had the misfortune of falling into the hands of a Roman army. Describing the captive’s appearance, the Roman historian Livy (59 BCE-17 CE) wrote, “She was a young girl and so beautiful that everyone turned to look at her wherever she went” (Livy, Roman History, 26.50). Regrettably, not all of these roving eyes had good wishes or intentions. The endangered captive’s parents and fiancée knew the danger that the young woman was in, and their concerns were likely not alleviated when they learned that the Roman general, himself, had taken special interest in her. But, in this case, their fears were thankfully unfounded.

Scipio, after investigating the background of the woman, reportedly came up with a plan that was both benevolent and beneficial to Rome’s political and military interests. According to the tale, Scipio invited the captive woman’s family and significant other to the Roman military camp and then proceeded to shock them all with kindness and generosity. Livy described the chaotic scene:

“Then the parents and relatives of the girl were sent for. They had brought with them a weight of gold sufficient for her ransom, and when they found she was being restored to them for nothing, they begged Scipio to take the treasure as a gift, declaring that they would be as grateful for his acceptance as they were for the restoration of the girl in her virgin innocence. In reply to their urgent treaties Scipio agreed to take it; then, having asked for it to be laid at his feet, he called Allucius and told him to take the gold and keep it for his own, saying ‘This is my wedding present, to be added to the dowry you will receive from your bride’s father” (Livy, Roman History, 26.50).

It is this tale that is re-created in the painting above. The unnamed beautiful captive, dressed in white and blue, is seen kneeling before Publius Cornelius Scipio, who is equipped with green and red military gear. Also in attendance are the family and loved ones of the captured woman, presenting treasures that they hoped would pay for her freedom. Scipio, however, refuses the wealth and instead frees the woman, free of charge. Allucius, thankful for the mercy and generosity that was shown, would later reportedly bring a warband of around 1,400 cavalry to aid the Romans. As for Publius Cornelius Scipio, he would continue battling the Carthaginians, ultimately defeating Hannibal at the Battle of Zama in 202 BCE. Not long after the battle, Carthage capitulated to the Romans and the victorious general received a new name—Scipio Africanus.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

  • Livy, (Roman History) The War with Hannibal, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 1972.
  • Polybius, (The Histories) The Rise of the Roman Empire, translated by Ian Scott Kilvert. New York: Penguin Classics, 1979.
  • https://www.clevelandart.org/art/1968.207

The Rocky Start To Hrafnkel Hrafnsson’s Settlement Of Iceland

By
thehistorianshut
-

A man named Hrafnkel Hrafnsson moved to Iceland around the early 10th century, landing on the eastern side of the island. According to the medieval Icelandic Book of Settlements (Landnámabók), Hrafnkel disembarked from his ship at a place known as Breiddale, and after gathering livestock and supplies, he started traveling to the northwest from his position, winding his way inland through the mountains. During his journey, Hrafnkel Hrafnsson reportedly stopped along the mountainous slopes of a place called Skridudale, which was located west of the lands between the Berufjörður and Reyðarfjörður regions of eastern Iceland and below Lagarfljót. Night fell as Hrafnkel passed through the Skridudale region, so he camped there with his livestock. Unfortunately, it would be a restless night.

As Hrafnkel and his animals soon learned, the mountainous slopes were perilously unstable that night. Danger was palpable, and the tense atmosphere of foreboding evidently affected Hrafnkel’s sleep, causing him to ultimately wake up in a panicked mood. The tale of what happened that night was recorded in the Book of Settlements, which stated, “He took a rest in Skridudale and fell asleep, and then he dreamed a man came to him and told him to get up and leave at once. He woke up and set off, and he’d only gone a short distance when the whole mountain came crashing down and killed a boar and a bull belonging to him” (Landnámabók, Sturlubók manuscript, chapter 283). As the quote conveys, Hrafnkel Hrafnsson and his animals were evidently hit by a rockslide. Yet, thanks to intuition, good fortune, fate, or supernatural intervention, Hrafnkel and the bulk of his livestock escaped the avalanche of earthen debris. After surviving his close encounter with the Skridudale slopes, Hrafnkel Hrafnsson continued pressing his way westward into the Icelandic interior. He settled in a region called Hrafnkelsdale, which was named after him.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Temptation of Frithiof, painted by August Malmström (c. 1829-1901), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum of Stockholm Sweden).

 

Sources:

  • The Book of Settlements (Sturlubók version) translated by Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 1972, 2006.

Alexander and Bucephalus, by Edgar Degas (c. 1834 – 1917)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the French artist Edgar Degas (c. 1834 – 1917), was inspired by ancient stories about the first meeting of Alexander the Great (r. 336-323 BCE) and his primary warhorse, Bucephalus. It was around 344 BCE when twelve-year-old Alexander met Bucephalus, the horse that would carry him on conquests stretching from Greece to India. Before the powerful and stubbornly independent horse came into the possession of Alexander, it was said to have been owned by a Thessalian horse breeder named Philoneicus. The merchant reached out to the royal family of Macedonia while they were traveling through the town of Dion, nestled underneath Mount Olympus. Philoneicus convinced King Philip II of Macedonia and his son, Alexander, to inspect his wares, especially his prized possession, Bucephalus.

King Philip sent out his groomsmen to assess the beast, but he did not like what he saw. Bucephalus refused to work with the handlers and was deemed to be untamable. When the king showed no interest in the horse, Alexander stepped in and criticized Philip about running away from a challenge. To up the ante, Alexander proclaimed that he, personally, could tame the horse, and if he failed, he would pay the horse breeder’s price with his own personal funds. Simultaneously angered and impressed, King Philip agreed to his son’s bargain.

According to legend, much of Bucephalus’ uncooperativeness originated from an unsuspected source—the horse was afraid of its own shadow. Alexander was said to have noticed this fear, so he repositioned the horse to where no shadows could be seen, and gave the stallion several minutes to calm down. Then, to the surprise of the onlookers, the twelve-year-old Alexander hopped onto the back of the tall horse and directed him about with ease. Such is the tale that is being re-created in Edgar Degas’ painting.

After Alexander became king in 336 BCE, he and Bucephalus campaigned from Greece through many distant lands, including Anatolia, Syria, Egypt, Babylonia, Persia, Bactria and Sogdiana. Finally, around 327 BCE, they invaded the borderlands of India. The ancient sources agreed that Bucephalus died in 326 BCE, around the time of Alexander’s battle against King Porus at the Hydaspes River. A few writers claimed that the old horse (allegedly thirty years of age) simply died of natural causes. The rest, however, wrote that Bucephalus died during the battle that occurred after Alexander smuggled a force across the river to confront King Porus and envelop his army. During the ensuing fight, Alexander’s favorite horse allegedly received a fatal stab wound from an enemy spear, and the one who struck the killing blow may have even been King Porus’ own son. After obtaining Porus’ surrender, Alexander honored his fallen horse by founding a new city near the site of the battle—he named the settlement Bucephala.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

  • The Campaigns of Alexander by Arrian, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.
  • Plutarch’s Life of Alexander in The Age of Alexander: Ten Greek Lives by Plutarch, translated by Ian Scott-Kilvert and Timothy E. Duff. London: Penguin Classics, 1973, 2011.
  • https://www.nga.gov/collection/art-object-page.101776.html

Recollections and Experiences of a United States Troop Carrier Squadron Officer in Normandy

By
thehistorianshut
-

In memory of Col. Frank W. Hansley (1917-2003)

Air power was a key component to Allied victory in WWII. In terms of the logistical and supply side of war, Allied strategic bombing of German infrastructure, oil and ball-bearing facilities crippled Hitler’s war machine and caused the German economy to implode by the winter of 1945. Airpower was also necessary to assist troops fighting battles on the front lines; for the famous D-Day invasion of Normandy on June 6, 1944, airplanes dropped airborne infantry behind the German defenses, and the mobility and maneuverability of these paratroopers played a vital role in the success of the Normandy operation. Tactical bombings of German military positions further aided in the expansion of the Allied front in mainland Europe. Allied air forces also carried out logistical duties, delivering supplies and mail to the front. Before returning to their airstrips, these planes would gather men who were injured in combat and fly them back to doctors and nurses waiting in nearby hospitals.

Colonel Frank W. Hansley spent 30 years of active service in the United States Air Force. He was 24 years old when he left Heidelberg College in Tiffin, Ohio, to enlist in the U.S. Army Air Corp in 1941. He quickly earned his wings in 1942 and, with the rank of captain, was assigned as an operations officer of the 72d Squadron in the 434th Troop Carrier Group. When the 72d Squadron later took off to carry out missions in the D-Day invasion of Normandy, Frank Hansley had reached the rank of Major, and, according to the November 10th edition of the George Field News in 1945, Hansley was  “In the lead ship of the squadron (and also commanding officer of the organization)” (George Field News, pg. 3). During the Normandy invasion, the 72d Squadron dropped paratroopers and towed gliders over enemy lines. Col. Hansley told the newspaper that “We made three missions in less than two days but were very fortunate. The squadron suffered no losses on any of the missions” (George Field News, pg. 3).

After the successful invasion of mainland Europe, Col. Hansley’s squadron was tasked with combat resupply, casualty evacuation and logistical functions. He told the George Field News, “One of our most appreciated functions was the mail flown to France in C-47s. Sometimes the boys in France actually received better mail service than those in England” (pg. 3). After Normandy, Col. Hansley’s assault, frontline resupply and air evacuation of wounded missions continued in areas such as Holland, Bastogne and the Rhineland. The 72d Squadron of the 434th Troop Carrier Group also airdropped supplies and evacuated wounded during the Battle of the Bulge. Col. Hansley had some close brushes with death, especially while he flew over Holland. Troop carrier squadron air assault, combat resupply and medical evacuation missions required low-altitude flight; the planes flew low enough for ground fire and flak to be a danger to the aircraft and crew.  He told the George Field News “My closest call came at that time when my wing man was knocked down…In March a fragment sailed through my wing, luckily too far out to hit the gas tanks” (pg. 3).

When WWII ended in Allied victory, Col. Hansley returned to the United States and married Jane Charles, who would be his wife for 56 years. With his wife and their two children, Col. Hansley assumed various USAF command positions and was stationed at bases in the Pacific and mainland United States. He served in the Tactical Air Command, then Strategic Air Command and eventually was assigned to Air Training Command. After serving in WWII, the Korean War and the Cold War, Col. Hansley retired from the Air Force in 1970, at the age of 53. The B-52 was the last aircraft Col. Hansley flew for the Air Force. He and his family eventually settled in South Carolina. Upon retirement, he had been decorated with the Legion of Merit, Distinguished Flying Cross, Air Medal with oak leaf cluster, Air Force Commendation Medal with oak leaf cluster, Presidential Unit Citation—Battle Honors, Air Force Outstanding Unit Award, American Defense Service Medal, American Campaign Medal, Europe-Africa-Middle East Medal with silver and bronze stars, World War II Victory Medal, National Defense Service Medal with bronze star, Korean Service Medal with bronze stars, Air Force Longevity Service Ribbon with silver and bronze oak leaf clusters, Korean Presidential Unit Citation, and the United Nations Korean Medal. Col. Frank W. Hansley passed away in 2003 at the age of 86.

In 1999, the 26th volume of the Silent Wings newsletter published Col. Frank Hansley’s recollection of his missions over Normandy (Mission Chicago, Keokuk and Galveston) as well as his resupply and medical evacuation missions in the aftermath of the initial Normandy invasion. His descriptions are both incredibly detailed and filled to the brim with emotion and imagery. His account of his experience in Normandy is transcribed in its entirety below. Images of the George Field News and Silent Wings can be found at the end of the article.

(Frank W. Hansley)

 

Silent Wings (Volume 26)
March, 1999.
Col. Frank Hansley

“CO of the 72nd TCS/434th TC Group Recalls Details of Normandy Missions”

“When we contacted Colonel Frank W. Hansley for permission to publish his Normandy article in SILENT WINGS, he advised us he had written it just to refresh the minds of the 72nd TC Squadron members of the outstanding performance to duty each and every person played – perfect team work. And he added ‘if you considered it worth publishing, go to it!’”

“He also said, ‘I feel all of those glidermen need special recognition for carrying out so well an almost impossible assignment. The results were much more positive that was either expected or for which they were given credit for by news sources.’”

“’I also need to commend the exceptionally well-qualified Pathfinder crew members who performed their duties with perfection during the Chicago mission. We were where we were supposed to be at all time.’”

“’My feeling about the liberation missions became serious shortly before those events took place when Colonel William B. Whitacre, CO of the 434th TC Group, called me into his office and unexpectedly asked if I thought I could command the 72nd TC Squadron. I assured him that it would not be a problem with the quality of people we had at all functional levels.’”

 

“Mission Chicago”

“Cockpit activity started by wearing special goggles to build up visual purple in the eyes for better blackout flight capability. Colonel Whitacre, as the mission commander, flew the lead aircraft and started rolling at 1:19 a.m., 6 June 1944. As the Deputy Mission Commander, I was at the controls of the third aircraft echelon to the right front. The mission called for us to lead the right two columns to a different landing zone than the left two columns.”

“We descended the entire formation down to 500 feet while flying over the English Channel. This was to better evade enemy electronic detection. We were relieved when we flew by the British Channel Islands of Guernsey, Sark and Jersey (then occupied by Germany) without any enemy response.”

“As we approached the French coast, I hoped the many fires I saw ahead were a good sign that the fighters/bombers had knocked out most, if not all, enemy gun emplacements. That hope did not last long! Our lead aircraft flew a very short distance over land before streamers of tracer bullets started whizzing around the aircraft and gliders. I started telling myself, ‘keep the faith, keep the faith!’ I then added and repeated my version of the 23rd Psalm which was “Yea though I fly through the valley of death I fear no evil for Thou art with me.’ With this true belief, it proved most calming! I am positive many others in our formation were doing much the same – all stayed the course!”

“As one string of tracers moved within inches of my aircraft, a strange question flashed through my mind – how will it feel when the bullets rip through my body? The firing stopped just before striking the aircraft!”

“I glanced around at the aircraft crew and found each of them calm and doing his job. My version of the 23rd Psalm became plural: ‘Yea though we fly through the valley of death…etc.’”

“I was concerned about others in our formation. If we in the lead aircraft were attracting so much enemy fire power, what is happening to those following us? There was no way of checking! We had to maintain radio silence; however, those aircraft flying off of our wings seemed to be faring well.”

“We came to the predesignated point at which we would lead approximately 50% of the mission aircraft and gliders to a secondary landing zone. With the blackout, it was impossible to see good navigational landmarks as it was 4:00 a.m. No problem! Our aircraft had one of the latest electronic navigational units – known today as LORAN. By automatically calculating the triangulation of three English based radio station signals, it could indicate our location within an acceptable few yards.”

“As we approached the landing zone (LZ), we anxiously looked for the ground signals from the Path Finder Troops that had been dropped earlier by another unit. As we prepared to release our gliders without that verification, their signals were activated. They were a radio beacon and the lighting of a landing tee.”

“Those signals were wonderful assurances; but it did not relieve my great concern for the glider crews and troopers. Darkness would not give the glider pilots the visibility to select the safest landing routes. I truly regretted they had to release. The odds were very high against them.”

“We intercepted and then accompanied Colonel Whitacre’s two columns for the flight over UTAH Beach and the mammoth Allied landing fleet – IFF (Identification, Friend or Foe) assuredly turned on! The return flight to Aldermaston was uneventful.”

 

“Mission Koekuk”

“After a short relaxing nap at the flight line, it was time to man the 32 tow planes and the English-made Horsa gliders for the Keokuk mission. Take off started at 6:30 p.m., 6 June 1944. As deputy mission commander, I took off in the second aircraft and flew off the lead aircraft’s right wing. Lt. Col. Steve Parkinson was flying the lead aircraft as mission commander.”

“Nothing unusual happened enroute. My memory flashes back to a rather open route leading over UTAH Beach and a trail way pretty well controlled by advancing American troops. Appreciatively, we received much less ground fire on this mission, even after we arrived over the glider landing zone area. We were later informed that the Germans saved their ammunition to use on the attacking glider men during their approach and landings. I sure saluted the glider men; they again took the brunt of the mission.”

“Once again, the return flight to Aldermaston was uneventful.”

 

“Mission Galveston”

 “The first tow planes with gliders took off at 4:32 a.m., 7 June 1944. We had rain, gusty winds and poor visibility. I was leading the 72nd Troop Carrier Squadron element, which was the third unit in our train of 50 towed CG4A gliders. The weather cleared for much better visibility over the channel. Unlike Keokuk, we received much enemy ground fire as we entered French territory. I do not remember many other details of this mission, except that some earlier gliders had landed in deep marshlands. I tried to give the glider pilots the best possible landing approach over land, yet keep them together as one fighting unit.”

 

“Resupply”

 “We started within days, landing on rapidly built strips near the battle front lines. We flew in food, ammunition, blood plasma, gasoline, and other required materials. Flight nurses became very important members of the aircrews.”

“Two incidents still stay strong in my mind. I led a flight onto a strip with enemy guns flashing just off the east end of the strip. As we started unloading the aircraft, the Germans started dropping .66 mm mortar rounds onto the strip. Crew members hit the troop trenches! No persons or aircraft were lost, so we finished unloading supplies; then loaded battle-wounded personnel for the flight back to England and hospitals.”

“Another well remembered resupply mission was one to the Canadians near Caen, France. I could not believe the number of burning tanks, most of them from the 21st Panzer Division. It was a frightening sight of destruction.”

“The 72nd Troop Carrier Squadron men, of all specialties, performed superbly! A true top-performing unit!”

__

“We appreciate receiving permission from Colonel Hansley to publish this excellent summary of the early Normandy missions. The Chicago mission was flown by 52 CG4A gliders from the 434th TC Group. 72nd TCS personnel flew 11 of the 12 gliders flown by the squadron. The lead glider was flown by Colonel Mike Murphy, with 2nd Lt John M. Butler as co-pilot.”

 

 

 

(Horsa glider being towed, c. 1944)

(C-47s of the 88th TCS towing gliders, c. 1944)

(Operation Mallard glider landing zone, c. 1944)

(101st Airborne in front of a crashed glider, c. 1944)

 

 

[Scans of the George Field News and Silent Wings]

 

 

 

 

 

Written by C. Keith Hansley
(Originally posted on warhistoryonline.com on June 6, 2016. It has since been edited and reformatted)

 

 

The Unfortunate Rebellion Of Lupus And The Friulans Against King Grimoald

By
thehistorianshut
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A man named Lupus was assigned as the commander or duke of the Friuli region of Italy toward the end of the reign of King Grimoald of the Lombards (r. 662-671). Lupus and the king got along quite well at first. In fact, the king’s son, Romuald, reportedly married Lupus’ daughter, Theuderada. Even more, King Grimoald evidently trusted Lupus enough to put the man in a stewardship role in northern Italy when the king had to march south to confront armies sent by the Emperor Constans II of Constantinople, who personally sailed to Italy around 663. Nevertheless, Lupus ultimately did not live up to the king’s expectations.

In the king’s absence, Lupus allegedly administered the realm with corruption and misrule. Lupus’ stewardship of northern Italy was so bad that, when King Grimoald eventually returned, worried Lupus fled back to Friuli and allegedly felt that his life could only be saved by gambling on rebellion. Committing himself to this idea, Lupus raised whatever troops were loyal to him in Friuli and revolted against King Grimoald. If Lupus was expecting other nobles to join his rebellion, he was sorely mistaken. No prominent dukes within the Lombard kingdom joined the revolt, and even Lupus’ own Friulans had wavering enthusiasm for their leader. In the end, the revolt of Lupus posed little threat to King Grimoald, but he had to deal with it, nonetheless.

King Grimoald was said to have taken highly unorthodox measures to crush Lupus’ rebellion. A Lombard historian, Paul the Deacon (c. 720-799), claimed that Grimoald “sent word to the Cagan, king of the Avars, to come into Forum Julii [Friuli] with his army against duke Lupus and defeat him in war” (Paul the Deacon, History of the Lombards, 5.19). If this tradition is true, then King Grimoald had found himself in an awkward alliance, for the Avars had allegedly killed both of his parents during one of their previous incursions into Italy. Whatever the case, due to invitation or whim, the Avars did reportedly invade the Friuli region and waged war against Lupus’ fledgling rebellion. The lone duke held his ground for a few days, but he was ultimately killed in battle against the Avars. Lupus’ rebellion died before King Grimoald had finished mobilizing his own army.

Although Lupus and his loyalists were crushed, King Grimoald now had to deal with the Avars (that he may or may not have invited). Grimoald, who could be cold and calculating when he needed to be, was said to have been in no hurry to confront the Avars. Instead, he allegedly let them pillage the Friuli region while he developed diplomatic channels with the Avar leader. Through messengers and ambassadors, King Grimoald let the Avars know that if they did not willingly withdraw from Friuli, then the Lombard military would force them out. As the story goes, the Avars heeded the warning, gathered their loot, and crossed out of Lombard territory without any further fighting.

When King Grimoald reimposed his authority over Friuli, he handed control of the region to a new figure named Wechtari. Curiously, around that time, a son of the slain Lupus emerged from the shadows, trying to stir the region of Friuli back into rebellion. This time, however, the Friulans were in no mood for rebellion, and they instead killed Lupus’ ambitious son in battle.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Duke William the Bastard from BL Royal 16 G VI, f. 266v, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons, Europeana, and The British Library.jpg).

 

Sources:

  • History of the Lombards by Paul the Deacon, translated by William Dudley Foulke (c. 1904). University of Pennsylvania Press, 1907, 1974, 2003.

Sisyphus, Painted By Antonio Zanchi (c. 1631-1722)

By
thehistorianshut
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This painting, by the Italian artist Antonio Zanchi (c. 1631-1722), was inspired by the hellish myth of Sisyphus. According to ancient Greek mythology, Sisyphus was the founder of Ephyra (but later became associated with Corinth) and was the grandfather of the mighty hero, Bellerophon. Sisyphus was not too shabby himself, and had a reputation for cunning and cleverness. He was once said to have cheated death by instructing his wife to not give him proper burial rights, and because of this negligence, Sisyphus was able to return to the land of the living on the pretense of chastising his wife, but he instead just thanked his wife for following their plan, and then he refused to return to the underworld. While that trick was controversial enough, Sisyphus was said to have further angered the gods by tattling on the high-god, Zeus, when the powerful deity kidnapped the nymph, Aegina. Zeus’ involvement in the kidnapping was revealed by Sisyphus to Aegina’s father, the river god, Asopos, who then tried to take Aegina back from the lightning-wielding divinity. Although the minor river deity could not defeat the high-god of Olympus, Zeus was still annoyed by the situation and he particularly grew wrathful against Sisyphus for speaking to Asopos. When Sisyphus died a second time (and this time could not escape death), the gods arranged a special punishment for him in the underworld. On this, the ancient scholar known as Pseudo-Apollodorus (c. 1st-2nd century) wrote, “Sisyphus undergoes the punishment in Hades of rolling a rock with his hands and head in an attempt to roll it over the top of a hill; but however hard he pushes it, it forces its way back down again. He suffers this punishment because of Aegina, a daughter of Asopos; for Zeus had carried her off in secret, and Sisyphus is said to have revealed this to Asopos, who went in search of her” (Apollodorus, Library, I.9.3). Such, then, is the story behind Antonio Zanchi’s painting. It shows Sisyphus in his endless struggle against the unconquerable rock and hill of Hades.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

The Morbid Fame Of Hrút Of Vigg

By
thehistorianshut
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A person’s name can be recorded in the history books for a variety of reasons, from fame to infamy, and all of the feats, records, and peculiar events in-between. Unfortunately, not all paths to historical longevity are pleasant for the historical figure. One such person was a Norwegian chief, known as Hrút of Vigg. His name has been handed down through history for nearly a thousand years, but he unfortunately earned his spot in the history books by being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

To set the scene, Hrút of Vigg was a Norwegian chief during the chaotic politics in Norway during the early 11th century. In 1000, King Olaf Tryggvason of Norway (r. 995-1000) was killed by a coalition of Danes, Swedes and dissident Norwegians at the battle of Svold or Svolder. For about fifteen years after the king of Norway’s death, the Norwegian jarls and chieftains deferred to the Danish and Swedish monarchs, but otherwise existed in relative autonomy. King Olaf II (Saint Olaf, r. 1015-1028), was able to reimpose the authority of the Norwegian crown for over a decade, but his power was ultimately usurped by Canute the Great—ruler of England since 1016, and king of Denmark since 1019—who ousted Olaf II from Norway in 1028. Such was the complicated political situation that Hrút of Vigg was living in as a Norwegian chieftain in the early 11th century.

Norway’s situation became more complicated when Olaf II returned to Norwegian lands around 1030 in an attempt to reclaim his throne, igniting a conflict between Norwegians who supported the return of the king versus those who wanted to keep the status quo under Canute the Great. The divide culminated in the Battle of Stiklestad, in which Olaf’s army fought against a Danish-Norwegian coalition. Hrút of Vigg was present at the battle on the side of the anti-Olaf forces. Yet, in terms of manpower, his contribution to the Danish-Norwegian coalition was not very significant, for he reportedly had only thirty men under his command at the time of the battle. Chance and fate, however, brought Hrút and his modest band of warriors a bittersweet fame. The reason they are still talked about after nearly a millennium is because Hrút led his thirty men out on a scouting mission at the wrong time and to the wrong place. Instead of gathering intel, Hrút and his men unintendedly marched right into the clutches of Olaf’s army. Iceland’s saga writer and historian, Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), described the incident from the perspective of Olaf’s army:

“They caught sight of a company of men descending the Vera Dale. They had been reconnoitering and approached closely to the army of the king and were not aware of it before they were so close that they could recognize one another. That was Hrút of Vigg, with thirty men. Then the king ordered his bodyguard to fall upon Hrút and kill him. The men were quick to do this…Both he and all those with him were slain” (Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 209).

Such was the fate and the fame of Hrùt of Vigg. For emphasis, Snorri Sturluson’s bulky Heimskringla (History of the Kings of Norway), reaches over 800 standard book pages when translated into English, but Hrut of Vigg’s name was mentioned on only two of them. The first mentioning was quoted above, stating only that Hrút of Vigg and thirty men died in a skirmish at the onset of the Battle of Stiklestad in 1030. Snorri’s only other reference to poor Hrút came in connection to the reign of Olaf’s son, King Magnus the Good of Norway (r. 1035-1047), who reportedly appropriated the late Hrút’s land into royal property as an act of revenge, since Hrút was widely known to have died fighting against Saint Olaf. Although Hrút of Vigg did not die the most glorious of deaths, he was likely at peace with it in Valhalla, for name-recognition and dying weapon-in-hand on a battlefield was praised in Viking-Age Scandinavia.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration till “Fjolners saga”. Plansch 23, by Fredrik Wilhelm Scholander (c. 1816-1881), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum in Stockholm Sweden).

 

Sources:

  • Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018.
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