Blognator fuit hic

The third worst curse in ancient China is supposed to have been 'May you live in interesting times'. What's wrong with living in interesting times, I hear you ask? Well, my bloggy friends, there's a difference between interesting and...well...interesting. And the last couple of days has been interesting in italics; we've had the plumbers in.

I'm not sure why, but having tradespeople in the house makes me nervous. We've a biggish house (six bedrooms at last count), and it should be fairly easy to avoid them as they go about the business of ripping out old washbasins and making good the walls (or should that be 'making the walls good'?) but, for some reason I just can't seem to get away from them. Every time I walk into a room, turn a corner or start to climb the stairs, you can bet a length of copper pipe that one or other of them will be there. After a while you feel sure that they feel sure that you're just checking up on them; making sure they put down the dust sheets before ripping plaster off the walls, or placing their umpteenth cup of tea (two sugars) on the coaster, not on top of the recently polished pine drawers. So, having been made to feel like an interloper in my own house, I just gave up moving around the place, and, for the last couple of days, I've become something of a recluse, sat in front of the computer, idly dipping my toes in the electronic surf instead of getting out and walking by the real stuff. So perhaps it's not surprising that the subject of plumbing has been rather on my mind.

The word plumbing comes from the Latin word plumbum, meaning lead (that's why the chemical symbol for lead is Pb). Way back when, plumbers didn't change tap washers or ballcocks, mainly because neither of these things existed. Plumbers were artisans who worked with lead. The chances are that, if the lead of your local church roof is still intact and hasn't been pinched by a bunch of desperate ruffians, it was installed by plumbers. The roof of Old Saint Paul's Cathedral in London was referred to as 'The Leads', and gentlemen of note would climb up to the roof to take in the prospect of London. Often they would carve their names in the soft lead covering to prove that they had been there. Or rather, they wouldn't; they would get a servant to do it for them. How posh is that - employing someone to do you graffiti for you!

Of course, the roof of the cathedral, and everything else, for that matter, was destroyed in the Great Fire of 1666. Diarist John Evelyn recorded that 'the stones of Paul's flew like grenadoes, the melting lead running down the streets in a stream, and the very pavements glowing with fiery redness, so as no horse, nor man, was able to tread on them'. Curiously, he doesn't mention dogs. Or rats, of which there was a superabundance.

The use of lead pipes in plumbing is far older. The Romans (he's on about the Romans again!) used huge quantities of the stuff to feed private homes, public fountains, baths, and, of course, the Emperors' palaces. Lead would be bashed out into flat sheets, then wrapped around a wooden pole to make a rough cylinder and soldered. Pipes were joined together with the same solder. Citizens could pay to have water piped directly into their homes, paying different amounts depending upon the bore of the pipe; a kind of early water-metering system. Some examples of Roman lead pipe can still be seen in the wonderful city of Bath, or Aquae Sulis as the Romans called it. Lead was the preferred metal for water pipes into the 20th century; my own house, at the ripe old age of 102, still has odd bits of lead pipe sticking out of the walls at odd angles!

Lead pipes aside, the Romans were quite hot on hygiene, which makes the following all the more surprising. Roman latrines were often quite cleverly designed. Stone benches with appropriately sized holes in them were sited over a drain or gutter, along which fresh water would flow to take away the...erm...waste products. These latrines were generally a communal affair, with quite a number of available seats and absolutely no privacy; you could pass the time of day with the neighbouring user, or perhaps even transact a bit of business. Pictorial reconstructions generally show Roman soldiers sitting on these things and sharing a joke or two with their fellows, but it's now accepted by many historians that they squatted on the bench over the hole, rather than sat - not unlike the current practice in many Mediterranean countries. Now, here comes the surprising bit. Sad to report, the Romans didn't have access to toilet paper but, ever enterprising, they came up with a novel idea; sea sponges. Natural sponges were harvested from the sea, attached to sticks, and used in lieu (in loo?) of toilet paper. One simply dipped the sponge in the running water below, deployed it as instructed, and then dipped it in the water to rinse it off. These sponges were communal. A slave, destined to die in the Flavian Amphitheatre, cheated the masses by ramming one of these sponge-sticks down his throat and choking to death. What a way to go. But at least it shows that, even those who were about to die for the amusement of the Emperor had access to life's little comforts.

Now, you probably want to know about the other two Chinese curses, don't you? The second worst was 'May you come to the attention of those in authority'. And the worst: 'May you find what you are looking for'. Now, where did I put that winning lottery ticket?

Now, there's a Merry Thought.

When I was a child, way back in the 1960s, chicken was regarded (in ordinary families like mine, at any rate) as an expensive luxury. Chicken was something you ate on high days and holidays only. Easter, birthdays, a visit from nan and grandad; these were the kind of occasions where a visit to the butcher's shop was essential, and the purchase of a box of Paxo sage and onion stuffing mix an absolute must. Things have certainly changed over the years. Intensive farming and high density breeding of birds has resulted in ridiculously cheap chickens being available at most supermarkets. I can't vouch for their quality or flavour, however. Rightly or wrongly, I tend to go for a free range organic bird; one that, to the best of my knowledge, has been reared in more 'natural' surroundings, able to scratch around for worms and insects, wander in or out of doors to its heart's content, and lead an altogether better existence than its battery counterparts...right up to the moment when its little neck is wrung.

One thing that I'm fairly sure hasn't changed is the tradition concerning the chicken's wishbone. Quite simply, one individual takes hold of one side of the wishbone, and another person the other. Sometimes the thumb and forefinger are used; in our family it was the little finger curled around the bone. The two pull in opposite directions, and the wishbone snaps. The person with the larger portion of the bone is then permitted to make a wish, but must not reveal what is wished for.

Superstitions concerning the wishbone date back a very long way. The Etruscans, who inhabited Italy before the Romans, believed that chickens were able to divine the future, and 'sacred' birds were used in ceremonies where they were permitted to peck at little piles of grain representing different letters of the Etruscan alphabet. As they pecked, the appropriate letters were noted down, and used by priests to foretell the future. For some unaccountable reason, the furculae, or fused clavicles (aw, alright, wishbones!) of these sacred birds were thought capable of granting wishes. Once dried in the sun, an individual was allowed to hold the unbroken bone and make a wish.

The Romans also regarded chickens as sacred. Publius Claudius Pulcher, given command of the Roman fleet against Carthage at the Battle of Drepana, had a cage containing sacred chickens on his flagship. The behaviour of these birds would determine when battle should be joined. Apparently, the chickens appeared to be off their food; a very bad omen. Foolishly, Pulcher threw the birds, still in their cage, into the sea, saying, 'If they won't eat, let them drink'. Needless to say, the battle resulted in a spectacular defeat for Rome. On his return to Rome, Pulcher was tried for sacriledge, convicted, and exiled, dying soon afterwards, possibly at his own hand. So let that be a lesson to anyone who chooses to ignore their chickens.

I digress. The Romans continued the Etruscan tradition regarding the wishbone. One source claims that citizens of the Republic fought over possession of these bones because they were in short supply. During the course of these brawls, the wishbones were accidentally broken, thus kick-starting the trend for snapping them in two that continues to this day. But this seems a little fishy to me. Chickens were by no means a rare bird in Rome. The ancient author and cook Apicius had no less than seventeen recipes involving chicken; eggs, hard-boiled and otherwise, found their way into many dishes; and Columella, in his De Re Rustica, suggested that flocks of chickens should ideally consist of around two hundred birds. So the idea that our little feathered friends were hard to come by seems unlikely. The idea of Roman Citizens having a punch-up over a clavicle seems equally implausible. The preferred method of getting one's own way in Rome involved either (i) sticking a dagger between your opponent's ribs, taking whatever it was you wanted, and then dumping his body in the Cloaca Magna (Rome's main sewer), or (ii) paying a group of ruffians to do the job for you. If you had a wishbone, and someone bigger and tougher than you wanted it, the chances are they'd get it, and without a single bone (other than yours, of course) getting broken.

Empires rise and fall, but chickens go on for ever. So, it seems, do superstitions. In 15th century Germany, it was the (unbroken) wishbone of the goose that was used for divination. In 1455, a Bavarian physician named Hartlieb wrote: 'When the goose has been eaten on St. Martin's Day or Night, the oldest and most sagacious keeps the breast-bone and allowing it to dry until the morning examines it all around, in front, behind and in the middle. Thereby they divine whether the winter will be severe or mild, dry or wet, and are so confident in their prediction that they will wager their goods and chattels on its accuracy.' The good doctor also remarked that the bone would be used to determine when battles should be fought; a link back to poor old Publius Claudius Pulcher. The tradition of pulling the wishbone flourished in England too. The Seventeenth century diarist and raconteur John Aubrey, in his work The Remaines of Gentilisme and Judaisme, relates the correct method of dealing with the Merrythought. I make no apology for quoting him in full:

Tis common for two, to breake the Merry-thought of a Chick Hen, or wood-cock, &c and the Anatomists call it 'Furcula': 'tis called Merrythought, because when the fowle is dissected, or carved it resembles the Pudenda of a Woman.

The manner of breaking it, as I have it from the Woemen, is thus, viz: One puts the merrithought on his nose (slightly) like a paire of Spectacles, and shakes his head till he shakes it off his Nose thinking all the while his Thought: then he holds one of the legs of it betweene his forefinger and Thumbe, and another hold the other in like manner: and breake it: he that has the longer part, hath got the Thought: then he that hath got the Thought putts both parts into his hand and the other drawes (by way of Lott) and then they both Wish: and he that lost his Thought drawes: if he drawes the longest part, he getts his Wish: if the shorter, he looses his Wish.

Did everyone get that? I hope so, as I'll be asking questions later.

It is, perhaps, unsurprising that the traditions surrounding the wishbone were carried to America by the Pilgrim Fathers. An excellent account of the fortunes of the furcula on the other side of the Atlantic can be found in Willow's blog here. American tradition pays homage to the turkey rather than the chicken, the latter beast being plentiful there.

It is worth noting that the first settlers in North America enjoyed (if that is the right word) a precarious living for the first few years; so it is likely that many of them were vegetarians by dint of necessity rather than by choice. However, in these latter days, many people are vegetarian by choice, and this creates a problem. How do vegetarians keep alive the old custom of breaking the turkey wishbone? The enterprising Lucky Break Wishbone Corporation has produced a fully synthetic turkey wishbone that looks and breaks just like the real thing!

There now. I bet you wish I'd found this before Thanksgiving, don't you? Never mind. You've still got time to make that last minute order for Christmas.

Image © 2004, The Lucky Break Wishbone Corporation.