Old Anglo Saxon Quotes

As a product of Anglo-Saxon-Protestant culture, I am familiar with its centuries-old tradition of hiding its abuse of women under pretty packaging.

Never listen to a leftist who does not give away his fortune or does not live the exact lifestyle he wants others to follow. What the French call “the caviar left,” la gauche caviar, or what Anglo-Saxons call champagne socialists, are people who advocate socialism, sometimes even communism, or some political system with sumptuary limitations, while overtly leading a lavish lifestyle, often financed by inheritance—not realizing the contradiction that they want others to avoid just such a lifestyle. It is not too different from the womanizing popes, such as John XII, or the Borgias. The contradiction can exceed the ludicrous as with French president François Mitterrand of France who, coming in on a socialist platform, emulated the pomp of French monarchs. Even more ironic, his traditional archenemy, the conservative General de Gaulle, led a life of old-style austerity and had his wife sew his socks.

There is scarcely any great author in European literature, old or new, who has not distinguished himself in his treatment of the supernatural. In English literature, I believe there is no exception from the time of the Anglo-Saxon poets to Shakespeare, and from Shakespeare to our own day. And this introduces us to the consideration of a general and remarkable fact, a fact that I do not remember to have seen in any books, but which is of very great philosophical importance: there is something ghostly in all great art, whether of literature, music, sculpture, or architecture. It touches something within us that relates to infinity

So how would you define a Londoner, then?” Lady Penny asked curiously. “Someone who lives here. It’s like the old definition of a cockney: someone who’s born within hearing distance of Bow bells. And a foreigner,” he added with a grin, “is anyone, Anglo-Saxon or not, who lives outside.

Cwædon þæt he wære wyruld-cyninga, manna mildust ond mon-ðwærust, leodum liðost ond lof-geornost.

The three species of pine native to Wisconsin (white, red and jack) differ radically in their opinions about marriageable age. The precocious jackpine sometimes bloom and bears cones a year or two after leaving the nursery, and a few of my 13-year-old jacks already boast of grandchildren. My 13-year-old reds first bloomed this year, but my whites have not yet bloomed; they adhere closely to the Anglo-Saxon doctrine of free, white, and twenty-one.

(on the word "fuck") 'Oh, come on, Mum,' I sighed at her protest. 'It's just an old Anglo-Saxon word for the female organ which has been adopted by an inherently misogynist language as a negative epithet. It's the same as "fuck", it basically means the same as copulate, but the latter is perfectly acceptable. Why? Because copulate has its roots in Latin and Latin reminds us that we are a sophisticated, learned species, not the rutting animals that these prehistoric grunts would have us appear to be, and isn't that really the issue here? We don't want to admit that we are essentially animals? We want to distinguish ourselves from the fauna with grand conceits and elaborate language; become angels worthy of salvation, not dumb creatures consigned to an earthly, terminal end. It's just a word, Mum; a sound meaning a thing; and your disgust is just denial of a greater horror: that our consciousness is not an indication of our specialness but the terrifying key to knowing how truly insignificant we are.' She told me to got fuck myself.

Ah, well, old girl, remember the definition of an Anglo-Saxon: A German who's forgotten his grandmother was Welsh.

He reverted to the old and unsuccessful Anglo-Saxon Viking-repelling technique: paying them to go away. It’s what I did when we had mice.

When Winston Churchill wanted to rally the nation in 1940, it was to Anglo-Saxon that he turned: "We shall fight on the beaches; we shall fight on the landing grounds; we shall fight in the fields and the streets; we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender." All these stirring words came from Old English as spoken in the year 1000, with the exception of the last one, surrender, a French import that came with the Normans in 1066--and when man set foot on the moon in 1969, the first human words spoken had similar echoes: "One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind." Each of Armstrong's famous words was part of Old English by the year 1000.

Least hypothesis” held no place of preference; Occam’s razor could not slice the prime problem, the Nature of the Mind of God (might as well call it that to yourself, you old scoundrel; it’s a short, simple, Anglo-Saxon monosyllable, not banned by having four letters—and as good a tag for what you don’t understand as any).

In the Old English translation, Christ’s statement that ‘where your gold-hoard is, there is your heart’ is particularly apt, because in Anglo-Saxon poetry the heart itself is often called a ‘hoard’, the place where the treasures of the spirit are kept. It’s the breosthord, feorhhord or sawelhord, the storehouse of thoughts, life or the soul.

The word worry is derived from an old Anglo-Saxon word meaning “to strangle or choke.” The stranglehold of worry keeps a woman from enjoying a life of contentment and peace.

clear amber, old-ivory white, new-ivory white, fish-belly white—this latter the leprous complexion frequent with the Anglo-Saxon long resident in tropical climates.

In terms of the outdoors, I and the others like me weren't badly cheated as such cheatings go nowadays, but we were cheated nevertheless. We learned quite a lot, but not enough. Instead of learning to move into country, as I think underneath we wanted, we learned mostly how to move onto it in the old crass Anglo-Saxon way, in search of edible or sometimes just mortal quarry.

The best-known example of this split is in our animal names. In the fields and farms, where the Anglo-Saxon peasants worked, they get their old Germanic names. On the tables where the Anglo-Norman nobles dined, they get their Romance names.

After a pause, he said, “Þing sceal gehegan / frod wiþ frodne. Biþ hyra ferð gelic.” It sounded like German, but from hearing Calla’s whispers about the Gray Man, she knew it was Old English. “A dead language?” she asked, with interest. She seemed to be hearing a lot of them lately. “What’s it mean?” “‘Meetings are held, wise with the wise. Because their spirits are alike.’ Or minds. The word ferð has the sense of mind or spirit or soul. It’s one of the Anglo-Saxon Maxims. Wisdom poetry.

I was extremely shy of approaching my hero but he, as I found out, was sorely in need of company. By then almost completely blind, he was claustrated and even a little confused and this may help explain the rather shocking attitude that he took to the blunt trauma that was being inflicted in the streets and squares around him. 'This was my country and it might be yet,' he intoned to me when the topic first came up, as it had to: 'But something came between it and the sun.' This couplet he claimed (I have never been able to locate it) was from Edmund Blunden, whose gnarled hand I had been so excited to shake all those years ago, but it was not the Videla junta that Borges meant by the allusion. It was the pre-existing rule of Juan Perón, which he felt had depraved and corrupted Argentine society. I didn't disagree with this at all—and Perón had victimized Borges's mother and sister as well as having Borges himself fired from his job at the National Library—but it was nonetheless sad to hear the old man saying that he heartily preferred the new uniformed regime, as being one of 'gentlemen' as opposed to 'pimps.' This was a touch like listening to Evelyn Waugh at his most liverish and bufferish. (It was also partly redeemed by a piece of learned philology or etymology concerning the Buenos Aires dockside slang for pimp: canfinflero. 'A canfinfla, you see,' said Borges with perfect composure, 'is a pussy or more exactly a cunt. So a canfinflero is a trafficker in cunt: in Anglo-Saxon we might say a 'cunter."' Had not the very tango itself been evolved in a brothel in 1880? Borges could talk indefinitely about this sort of thing, perhaps in revenge for having had an oversolicitous mother who tyrannized him all his life.)

The totalitarian movements aim at and succeed in organizing masses—not classes, like the old interest parties of the Continental nation-states; citizens with opinions about, and interests in, the handling of public affairs, like the parties of Anglo-Saxon countries. While all political groups depend upon proportionate strength, the totalitarian movements depend on the sheer force of numbers to such an extent that totalitarian regimes seem impossible, even under otherwise favorable circumstances, in countries with relatively small populations. After the first World War, a deeply antidemocratic, prodictatorial wave of semitotalitarian and totalitarian movements swept Europe; Fascist movements spread from Italy to nearly all Central and Eastern European countries (the Czech part of Czechoslovakia was one of the notable exceptions); yet even Mussolini, who was so fond of the term "totalitarian state," did not attempt to establish a full-fledged totalitarian regime and contented himself with dictatorship and one-party rule. Similar nontotalitarian dictatorships sprang up in prewar Rumania, Poland, the Baltic states, Hungary, Portugal and Franco Spain. The Nazis, who had an unfailing instinct for such differences, used to comment contemptuously on the shortcomings of their Fascist allies while their genuine admiration for the Bolshevik regime in Russia (and the Communist Party in Germany) was matched and checked only by their contempt for Eastern European races.

September marks a transitional point in the year: it’s the month of the autumnal equinox, the end of harvest and the first sight of winter coming over the horizon. According to Bede, the Old English name for September was Haligmonað, which means ‘holy month’. Unusually, Bede doesn’t offer any explanation for why this month should be thought holy, but only gives a Latin translation, mensis sacrorum, ‘month of sacred rites’.1 Possibly he didn’t know what those rites consisted of, and chose not to guess. However, it’s reasonable to assume that the name has some connection to harvest, the main agricultural event of this time of year.

So we spent our undergraduate years awash in Anglo-Saxon and Old Norse and Middle English, living with Beowulf and Sir Gawain, ... and we were required to pay hardly any attention to the 19th-century novel, and not much to the 18th. As for the 20th century, it might have never arrived. As a friend of mine said, 'They taught us to believe in dragons.

HOW ENGLISH BECAME A DOUBLE LANGUAGE After the Romans conquered England in the first century AD, they hired German and Scandinavian mercenaries from Anglia and Saxony to help fend off pirates and put down rebellions by the native Picts and Celts. When the Roman Empire abandoned England in 410 AD, more Anglo-Saxons migrated to the island, marginalizing the Gallic-speaking Celts, wiping out the Latin of the Romans, and imposing their Germanic tongue throughout England. But 600 years later Latin came back this roundabout way: In 911 AD Danish Vikings conquered territory along the north coast of France and named it after themselves, Normandy, land of the Norsemen. After 150 years of marriage to French women, these Danes spoke what their mothers spoke, a thousand-year-old French dialect of Latin. In 1066 King Wilhelm of Normandy (a.k.a. William the Conqueror) led his armies across the English Channel and defeated the English king. With that victory, French came to England. Throughout history, foreign conquests usually erase native languages. But England was the exception. For some mysterious reason, the Germanic language of the Anglo-Saxons and the Latinate French of the Normans merged. As a result, the vocabulary of what became modern English doubled. English has at least two words for everything. Compare, for example, the Germanic-rooted words “fire,” “hand,” “tip,” “ham,” and “flow” to the French-derived words “flame,” “palm,” “point,” “pork,” and “fluid.

85 percent of the 30,000 Anglo-Saxon words died out under the influence of the Danes and Normans. That means that only about 4,500 Old English words survived—about 1 percent of the total number of words in the Oxford English Dictionary. And yet those surviving words are among the most fundamental words in English: man, wife, child, brother, sister, live, fight, love, drink, sleep, eat, house, and so on.

But that's crazy, " George said. "How can I be the Average American Man? I'm only five foot eight and my name is Blaxter spelled with an "l", and I'm of Armenian and Latvian ancestry and I was born in Ship's Bottom, New Jersey. What's that average of, for Chrissakes? They better recheck their results. What they're looking for is some Iowa farmboy with blond hair and a Mercury and 2.4 children." "That's the old, outdated stereotype," the reporter said. "America today is composed of racial and ethnic minorities whose sheer ubiquity precludes the possibility of choosing an Anglo-Saxon model. The average man of today has to be unique to be average, if you see what I mean." The Shaggy Average American Man Story

Imagine a vast hall in Anglo-Saxon England, not long after the passing of King Arthur. It is the dead of winter and a fierce snowstorm rages outside, but a great fire fills the space within the hall with warmth and light. Now and then, a sparrow darts in for refuge from the weather. It appears as if from nowhere, flits about joyfully in the light, and then disappears again, and where it comes from and where it goes next in that stormy darkness, we do not know. Our lives are like that, suggests an old story in Bede’s medieval history of England. We spend our days in the familiar world of our five senses, but what lies beyond that, if anything, we have no idea. Those sparrows are hints of something more outside – a vast world,

Is It True? English is a really a form of Plattdeutsch or Lowland German, the way it was spoken during the 5th century. It all happened when Germanic invaders crossed the English Channel and the North Sea from northwest Germany, Denmark and Scandinavia to what is now Scotland or Anglo Saxon better identified as Anglo-Celtic. English was also influenced by the conquering Normans who came from what is now France and whose language was Old Norman, which became Anglo-Norman. Christianity solidified the English language, when the King James Version of the Bible was repetitively transcribed by diligent Catholic monks. Old English was very complex, where nouns had three genders with der, die and das denoting the male, female and neuter genders. Oh yes, it also had strong and weak verbs, little understood and most often ignored by the masses. In Germany these grammatical rules survive to this day, whereas in Britain the rules became simplified and der, die and das became da, later refined to the article the! It is interesting where our words came from, many of which can be traced to their early roots. “History” started out as his story and when a “Brontosaurus Steak” was offered to a cave man, he uttered me eat! Which has now become meat and of course, when our cave man ventured to the beach and asked his friend if he saw any food, the friend replied “me see food,” referring to the multitude of fish or seafood! Most English swear words, which Goodreads will definitely not allow me to write, are also of early Anglo-Saxon origin. Either way they obeyed their king to multiply and had a fling, with the result being that we now have 7.6 Billion people on Earth.

The lack of understanding by the Germans, but not only the Germans, for Anglo-Saxon traditions and American reality is an old story. —Hannah Arendt

It’s common in Old English to count time by ‘winters’ – to speak, for instance, of someone having lived a certain number of ‘winters in the world’ – and we’ll see that winter is a season which looms large in Anglo-Saxon poetry.

In Old English, spring is called lencten, a word which derives from the same Germanic root as ‘long’ and ‘lengthen’, denoting the season when the days are growing longer. After the conversion, lencten also came to be used for the season of fasting before Easter, and so became the origin of the word ‘Lent’.

In a letter of advice to the Augustinian mission, Gregory counselled them to treat conversion as a process of adaptation, telling them to offer the newly converted Anglo-Saxons Christian feasts in exchange for their existing festivals and to repurpose the sites of pagan shrines as Christian churches. The idea was that it would be easier for people to accept the new religion if they were allowed to keep aspects of their old festivals:

The Old English word wyrd is usually translated as ‘fate’, but it often seems to mean something like ‘the inevitable forward movement of time’, which carries humans along on its course.

The modern word derives from the Old English cyning, meaning something like ‘son of the kin’.

and by the end of the fifth century they had conquered three-quarters of the old Roman province,

The tree of life motif is especially prominent in the medieval poem “The Dream of the Rood.” Probably first written in the late seventh or early eighth century, the extant version of this Anglo-Saxon epic poem was discovered among a collection of other Old English religious literature in the Cathedral library at Vercelli in northern Italy. The text recounts the Passion from the cross’s point of view, making it the chronicler of its own story, starting from its youth as a green sapling, and concluding with its being hewn down and fashioned into the instrument of crucifixion.

and he was now almost seventy years old.

Æthelwulf’s sons might well have worried that their new twelve-year-old stepmother

the old king died not long afterwards in January 858. The elder son retained the position he had usurped,

Æthelwulf was about fifty years old, Judith only twelve

About two hundred years after the monks arrived and started Old English on its way to a written, literary language, the Viking invasions began, and they kept up for a few hundred years. These Vikings spoke a different language from the Anglo-Saxons, but a related one—Old Norse, the language that eventually turned into modern Swedish, Danish, Norwegian, and Icelandic.

The Viking invasions began as smash-and-grab raids to take as much as possible and go, but some groups decided to settle down and make a new life on the land they claimed. Their language was similar enough to Old English that they could communicate with the Anglo-Saxons without too much difficulty, and over time their own way of speaking mixed into the surrounding language, leaving vocabulary and expressions behind that don’t quite fit the rest of the pattern at the old Germanic layer. Much of the Scandinavian influence in English is so well absorbed that it doesn’t cause any weirdness. For example, there was a sequence in Germanic that became a ‘sk’ sound in Scandinavian and a ‘sh’ sound in English. When we mixed some Scandinavian words into English, we got some doubles like skirt and shirt, but we don’t even think of those as the same word, so the intrusion is unnoticeable.

There are two features of this intriguing text which seem to connect it with much later rituals for ensuring the health of crops. One is the salutation to the earth, ‘be well’, hal wes þu. In Old English this phrase was a common greeting, more usually found in the order wes þu hal, ‘be thou well’. By the twelfth century, this phrase is recorded as a toast, used to wish someone health when presenting them with a cup of drink.18 In time, it became contracted to wassail, and in Middle English it appears both as a toast and a general word for drinking and feasting. In medieval sources, wassailing has no connection to crops. From the sixteenth century onwards, however, there are records from across southern England of the custom of wassailing fruit-trees in the winter season, around Christmas or Twelfth Night, to ensure a good harvest of fruit in the coming year.19 This often involved singing to the trees, beating them with sticks, toasting them with cider or putting pieces of cider-soaked bread in their roots or branches. More than five hundred years separate this Anglo-Saxon field-ritual from the first records of wassailing, so there may be no direct connection between the Old English text and the later custom. However, the use of the phrase hal wes þu as a salutation to the earth is a remarkable similarity, even if it’s just coincidence.

Will the new Germany, as the main exponent of the Nordic and Germanic principle, succeed in winning this enormous battle, in this Ragnarok, and in carrying out a new arrangement and coordination in Europe which can secure the Germanic world in Europe between the Jewish-determined Anglo-Saxon world powers in west and the Jewish-determined Russo-Asian world power in the east? Will the Nordic and Germanic peoples succeed now, as in the past great crises of history, in clearing the way of an old world and creating a new one that can lift the whole of human development to a higher level?

Most readers will be familiar with the name of Oberon as the king of fairyland.  William Shakespeare is responsible for this, but he borrowed the name; he did not invent it.  It derives from the early to mid-thirteenth century French romance Huon of Bordeaux.  In that story Oberon/Auberon appears as a magical fairy king- as well as being a dwarf who’s the height of a three-year-old child as the result of an enchantment. A dwarfish fairy king was not a unique notion: the same is true of the fairy king in the English romance of King Herla).  Auberon is a French name, an affectionate diminutive form of Aubert, which in turn is derived the Frankish/Germanic name Alberic (to which we may compare the Anglo-Saxon Aelfric) and which means no more than 'elf rule.'  In other words, this is not really a name at all, it's just a job title- 'King of the Elves.

no ordinary island, and

Alone of the Germanic tongues, it had received a massive influx of words from Latin and French, which doubled its vocabulary. Between 1250 and 1450, of 27,000 new words identified, 22 percent were derived from French, and most others from Latin. English often acquired several words for the same concept. They were sometimes used in tandem to make meaning sure, or just for rhetorical purposes, as in “aiding and abetting,” “fit and proper,” “peace and quiet.” In due course they could acquire nuances of meaning, as with “kingly,” “royal” and “regal,” or “loving,” “amorous” and “charitable,” from English, French and Latin respectively. Linguistic flexibility was greatly enhanced by bolting together grammatical elements from each language. Prefixes and suffixes made word creation easy: for example, the Old English “ful” added to French nouns (beautiful, graceful); or French suffixes with Old English verbs (knowable, findable). It has been argued that this made it really a new language.37 But the basics remained, and remain, Anglo-Saxon: in modern written English, the hundred most frequently used words are all derived from Old English.

Anglo-Saxons created a vernacular literature to which the continental nations at that time could show no parallel,

Nevertheless, for all Cnut’s determination to portray himself as a traditional Old English king, his reign had altered English society dramatically.

The practice of buying off the Vikings will always be associated with Æthelred in particular… [but] it was not something which proceeded from Æthelred alone, and indeed it was not uniquely characteristic of Æthelred’s reign… In 991 Ealdorman Byrhtnoth rejected the option of paying tribute and resolved to fight: he died a heroic death, and gained immortality in 325 lines of Old English verse, but the countryside was ravaged and tribute had to be paid nonetheless; there were other instances of heroic resistance, but perhaps the English learnt a lesson at Maldon which they found hard to forget.

To the Anglo-Saxons themselves, the cities established by the Romans were places of mystery, wondrous but useless, the haunted relics of a vanished civilization. The phrase used in more than one Old English poem to describe their massive ruins was enta geweorc – ‘the work of the giants’.7

No one can say exactly when the process of combining the different historical, legendary, and mythic elements into a Volsung cycle began, but it was probably at an early date. By the ninth century the legends of the Gothic Jormunrek and those of the destruction of the Burgundians had already been linked in Scandinavia, where the ninth-century “Lay of Ragnar” by the poet Bragi the Old treats both subjects. Bragi’s poem describes a shield on which a picture of the maiming of Jormunrek was either painted or carved and refers to the brothers Hamdir and Sorli from the Gothic section of the saga as “kinsmen of Gjuki,” the Burgundian father of King Gunnar. The “Lay of Ragnar” has other connections with the Volsung legend. The thirteenth-century Icelandic writer Snorri Sturluson identifies the central figure of the lay, whose gift inspired the poem in his honor, with Ragnar Hairy Breeches, a supposed ancestor of the Ynglings, Norway’s royal family. Ragnar’s son-in-law relationship to Sigurd through his marriage to Sigurd’s daughter Aslaug (mentioned earlier in connection with stave church carvings) is reflected in the sequence of texts in the vellum manuscript: The Saga of the Volsungs immediately precedes The Saga of Ragnar Lodbrok. Ragnar’s saga, in turn, is followed by Krákumál (Lay of the Raven), Ragnar’s death poem, in which Ragnar, thrown into the snakepit by the Anglo-Saxon King Ella, boasts that he will die laughing. The Volsung and Ragnar stories are further linked by internal textual references. It is likely that the The Saga of the Volsungs was purposely set first in the manuscript to serve as a prelude to the Ragnar material. The opening section of Ragnar’s saga may originally have been the ending of The Saga of the Volsungs. Just where the division between these two sagas occurs in the manuscript is unclear. Together these narratives chronicle the ancestry of the Ynglings—the legendary line (through Sigurd and Ragnar) and the divine one (through Odin). Such links to Odin, or Wotan, were common among northern dynasties; by tracing their ancestry through Sigurd, later Norwegian kings availed themselves of one of the greatest heroes in northern lore. In so doing, they probably helped to preserve the story for us.” (Jesse Byock)

In its opening image of the cross towering as tall as the heavens, worshipped by all beings in the world, The Dream of the Rood shows us this great tree as the steady axis around which the universe revolves, the world-tree. As such images found their way into Old English poetry, they must have resonated with older beliefs, since there’s evidence for the veneration of sacred trees in pre-Christian Anglo-Saxon culture as well as in the Christian tradition.

Along with its unforgettable description of the eerie space this woman inhabits, the poem also locates her very precisely in time, offering two almost unique words which transport the reader into the exact moment of her sorrow. First is uhtcearu, a compound which means ‘sorrow before dawn’ or ‘grief at early morning’. In Old English uht is the name for the last part of the night, the empty chilly hours just before the dawn, an especially painful time for grief and loneliness (as well as other kinds of threat: the dragon in Beowulf is called an uhtfloga, a creature who flies before dawn). The word suggests the sting of waking to the memory of sorrow, or the anxiety of lying awake in the early morning, worrying over what the day will bring.

As with the period around the winter solstice (Geola, ‘Yule’), the Old English name Liða corresponds to two months in our calendar: June is called se ærra liða, ‘the earlier Liða’, and July se æftera liða, ‘the later Liða’.

Though we’ll get to the poetry of fallen leaves in the next chapter, there’s really no word in Old English corresponding to what English-speakers today would call ‘autumn’ or ‘fall’. To the Anglo-Saxons the fourth season of the year was hærfest, ‘harvest’, and that continued to be its usual name throughout the medieval period. In the four--season pattern of the year, hærfest was used as the equivalent of Latin autumnus, and theoretically ran from 7 August until 6 November. However, in general use hærfest referred more loosely to the period when harvesting was actually being done, from late July to September. In that sense it’s the latter part of summer, as it would have been in the older two-season cycle – and once it’s over, winter begins.

The evolution from hlaf- to la- in the modern form is comparable to two words with the same root, ‘lord’ and ‘lady’: these words ultimately derive from the Old English compounds hlafweard and hlæfdige, which originally meant something like ‘bread-guardian’ and ‘bread-kneader’, suggesting those who protect and provide for a household.

September has two attested names in Old English: while Bede calls it Haligmonað, Ælfric refers to September as Hærfestmonað, ‘harvest month’.6 Though not elsewhere recorded in Anglo-Saxon sources, the name Hærfestmonað is paralleled in other Germanic languages: for instance, a list of Old Norse month-names recorded by the Icelandic writer Snorri Sturluson includes Haustmánuðr, cognate with the English ‘harvest month’.

This element ‘mas’, still found in many of our festival names, derives from the Old English mæsse, a borrowing into English from Latin missa. In Anglo-Saxon sources it means both ‘mass’, in the sense of a celebration of the Eucharist, and more generally ‘festival, feast-day’. You could pretty much put mæsse on any word in Old English and make it a festival name: examples which go back to Anglo-Saxon usage include Christmas, Candlemas, Childermas (the feast of the Holy Innocents, 28 December), Lammas, Michaelmas and Martinmas.

This divine governance is immeasurably greater than any power to which an earthly hero might aspire; it belongs only, the poet says, to the soð Metod, ‘true Measurer’. Metod is a common epithet for God in Old English poetry, and it seems to mean something like ‘the one who metes out’ life, time or destiny – the one who governs times and seasons and the shape and duration of human lives.

The Beowulf poem survives in a single manuscript copy that was made in ca AD 1000. Moreover, this manuscript is often stated by modern critics to be a copy of a mid-8th century Anglo-Saxon (i.e. Old English) original, now lost.1

God grant that there may come a reaction, and that the great principles of Anglo-Saxon liberty may be rediscovered before it is too late! But whatever solution be found for the educational and social problems of our own country, a lamentable condition must be detected in the world at large. It cannot be denied that great men are few or non-existent, and that there has been a general contracting of the area of personal life. Material betterment has gone hand in hand with spiritual decline. Such a condition of the world ought to cause the choice between modernism and traditionalism, liberalism and conservatism, to be approached without any of the prejudice which is too often displayed. In view of the lamentable defects of modern life, a type of religion certainly should not be commended simply because it is modern or condemned simply because it is old. On the contrary, the condition of mankind is such that one may well ask what it is that made the men of past generations so great and the men of the present generation so small. In the midst of all the material achievements of modern life, one may well ask the question whether in gaining the whole world we have not lost our own soul. Are we forever condemned to live the sordid life of utilitarianism? Or is there some lost secret which if rediscovered will restore to mankind something of the glories of the past? Such a secret the writer of this little book would discover in the Christian religion. But the Christian religion which is meant is certainly not the religion of the modern liberal Church, but a message of divine grace, almost forgotten now, as it was in the middle ages, but destined to burst forth once more in God’s good time, in a new Reformation, and bring light and freedom to mankind. What that message is can be made clear, as is the case with all definition, only by way of exclusion, by way of contrast. In setting forth the current liberalism, now almost dominant in the Church, over against Christianity, we are animated, therefore, by no merely negative or polemic purpose; on the contrary, by showing what Christianity is not we hope to be able to show what Christianity is, in order that men may be led to turn from the weak and beggarly elements and have recourse again to the grace of God.

The actual antecedents of contemporary populist politicians like Trump are to be found not in interwar Central European totalitarian states but in state and local politics, particularly urban politics. In Europe, pro-Brexit Boris Johnson was the mayor of London before becoming prime minister, and Italy’s Matteo Salvini was on the city council of Milan from 1993 to 2012. In the United States, the shift from post-1945 democratic pluralism to technocratic neoliberalism was fostered from the 1960s onward by an alliance of the white overclass with African Americans and other racial minority groups. The result was a backlash by white working-class voters, not only against nonwhites who were seen as competitors for jobs and housing, but also against the alien cultural liberalism of white “gentry liberals.” The backlash in the North was particularly intense among “white ethnics”—first-, second-, and third-generation white immigrants like Irish, German, Italian, and Polish Americans, many of them Catholic. The disproportionately working-class white ethnics now found themselves defined as bigots by the same white Anglo-Saxon Protestant (WASP) elites who until recently had imposed quotas on Jews and Catholics in their Ivy League universities, but who were now posing as the virtuous, enlightened champions of civil rights. This toxic mix of black aspiration, white ethnic backlash, and WASP condescension provided a ripe habitat for demagogues, many of them old-school Democrats like Frank Rizzo, mayor of Philadelphia, Sam Yorty, mayor of Los Angeles, and Mario Angelo Procaccino, failed mayoral candidate in New York. These populist big-city mayors or candidates in the second half of the twentieth century combined appeals to working-class grievances and resentments with folksy language and feuds with the metropolitan press, a pattern practiced, in different ways, by later New York City mayors Ed Koch, a Democrat, and Rudy Giuliani, a Republican. In its “Against Trump” issue of January 22, 2016, the editors of National Review mocked the “funky outer-borough accents” shared by Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders. Indeed, Trump, a “white ethnic” from Queens with German and Scots ancestors, with his support in the US industrial states where working-class non-British European-Americans are concentrated, is ethnically different from most of his predecessors in the White House, whose ancestors were proportionately far more British American. Traits which seem outlandish in a US president would not have seemed so if Trump had been elected mayor of New York. Donald Trump was not Der Führer. He was Da Mayor of America.

(The word ‘lord’ derives from the Old English hlaford, meaning ‘loaf-guardian’, or ‘bread-giver’.)

In some respects all this was a sudden acceleration of the drift toward the manorial system, a process which had already gone a long way in Anglo-Saxon England, and certainly in Wessex. But even in Wessex the idea still persisted that the tie of lord and man was primarily personal, so that a free man could go from one lord to another and transfer his land with him. The essence of Norman feudalism, on the other hand, was that the land remained under the lord, whatever the man might do. Thus the landed pyramid rose up tier by tier to the King, until every acre in the country could be registered as held of somebody by some form of service. But besides the services which the man owed to the lord in arms there was the service of attending the courts of the hundred and the county, which were, apart from exemptions, courts of the King, administering old customary law.

England at the start of the eleventh century was a country both old and new.

Much of what we know of the old gods comes from the Vikings because the Scandinavians had similar beliefs and told similar stories of their gods who had near-identical names to those of the Anglo-Saxon gods. However, the Scandinavians remained pagan for longer and so developed a written tradition before the stories were lost. Therefore, most of what we think we know about the Anglo-Saxon religion is guesswork and based on the writings of the Vikings.

The old deities were definitely not forgotten and never will be while we have our English names for the days of the week: Tuesday is Tiw’s day (he was the god of war); Wednesday is Woden’s day; Thursday is Thunor’s day (he was the god of thunder); Friday is the goddess Frigg’s day and Eostre, the goddess of springtime, is remembered in the word ‘Easter’ – so that isn’t a Christian festival at all.

The point is that there is a very old idea that the Holy Spirit is functioning in our lives not only to give us power as Christians but also to clean up our lives, lead us toward holiness. I will have to admit that certain kinds of holy Christians have always repelled me. I have never been able to tell whether it is because they make me uncomfortable, knowing that I am far from holy, or whether they are in fact making a serious error in supposing themselves to be holy when in fact all they are is sanctimonious. I will have to admit also, however, that I have met a few Christians who make no show of holiness yet whom I sense to be living on a different plane from my own. These people have a quality that strikes me as being at the heart of real holiness; they do not make me aware of their goodness so much as of their hope. They do not point up my shortcomings in contrast to their saintliness; they point up my potential. I think Christ must have had this kind of holiness. He would never have attracted men like rough Peter and worldly Matthew otherwise. The secret ingredient in this kind of transforming holiness, I came to think, was love. When I came into contact with love as an overwhelming experience in the baptism of the Holy Spirit, I found that I had been cleaned, built up, healed. I knew a kind of wholeness I'd never dreamed of; and the words whole, holy, and health are all derivatives of the same Anglo-Saxon word haml, meaning "complete." This is the type of sanctification that comes from contact with the Christ-love of the Holy Spirit.

And it should be remembered that before the coming of the Anglo-Saxons in the sixth and seventh centuries, dialects of Old Welsh were spoken the length of Celtic Britain.

A detachment of General Cos's army appeared at the village of Gonzales, on the 28th of September, and demanded the arms of the inhabitants; it was the same demand, made for the same purpose, which the British detachment, under Major Pitcairn, had made at Lexington, on the 16th of April, 1775. It was the same demand l And the same answer was given—resistance—battle—victory ! The American blood was at Gonzales what it had been at Lexington; and between using their arms, and surrendering their arms, that blood can never hesitate. Then followed the rapid succession of brilliant events, which in two months left Texas without an armed enemy in her borders, and the strong forts of Goliad and the Alamo, with their garrisons and cannon, the almost bloodless prizes of a few hundred Texan rifles. This was the origin of the revolt; and a calumny more heartless can never be imagined than that which would convert this rich and holy defence of life, liberty, and property, into an aggression for the extension of slavery. Just in its origin, valiant and humane in its conduct, the Texan revolt has illustrated the Anglo-Saxon character, and given it new titles to the respect and admiration of the world. It shows that liberty, justice, valor—moral, physical, and intellectual power— characterise that race wherever it goes. Let our America rejoice, let old England rejoice, that the Brasos and Colerado, new and strange names—streams far beyond the western bank of the Father of Floods—have felt the impress, and witnessed the exploits of a people sprung from their loins, and carrying their language, laws, and customs, their magna charta and its glorious privileges, into new regions and far distant climes.

My favorite chapter is about dogs. In it the author explains that dogs are not animals. According to him, or her (I don't know what sex authors are in the same way I don't know their names), dogs are a concept. A Doberman is not much like a Cocker Spaniel which shares few characteristics with a Chihuahua; a Saint-Bernard can meet a Pekingese and, theoretically, they can mate, but does that ever happen and would it be a good thing? Because, although zoologically they belong to the same species, in practical terms it's blindingly obvious they're not made for each other. The author went on to say how amazed he (or she) was that his three-year-old daughter (the tendency to mix personal life with reasoning makes me incline towards an Anglo-Saxon writer) could always recognize a dog when she saw one in the street, even though the animals she pointed at so enthusiastically- delighted by an opportunity to display her combined mastery of language and categorization- didn't look anything like each other. If a cat appeared, even a big beefy one, she would not be fooled. If a pony turned up, even the smallest of its lineage, smaller at the wither than a Great Dane, she would not cry 'Dog! Dog!' She knew. Even if they don't bark, have their ears trimmed so they prick up, or are bundled into miniature anoraks to protect them from inclement weather, dogs maintain their conceptual integrity.

I would have to go back and do some studying to talk properly about the characteristics of Old English poetry—that is, poetry written in Old English, or Anglo-Saxon, between the seventh century and a few decades after the Norman Conquest of England, which occurred in 1066. (This date is one that should be remembered especially by writers in English, because it is after this date that the French language was aggressively introduced into the existing languages of England; the Norman Conquest resulted in our having the wonderful doubled vocabulary that we have in English:

William was probably a bit too old and fat to be doing this sort of thing by now. During the siege of Mantes his horse jumped awkwardly, by one account frightened by the flames, and his saddle ripped into William’s stomach; it became infected and he spent five or six weeks in agony, but at least he died doing what he loved best—burning down cities and killing its inhabitants.

Even William felt regret for all the oppression and brutality he had dished out, and on his deathbed speculated on his legacy: ‘I fell on the English of the northern counties like a raving lion, subjecting them to the calamity of a cruel famine and by so doing became the barbarous murderer of many thousands, young and old, of that fine race of people. I have persecuted its inhabitants beyond all reason. Whether noble or commons I have cruelly oppressed them; many I have unjustly disinherited.’3 If only modern politicians could be so honest in their autobiographies.

Eventually English was adopted by the new aristocracy, but it was a changed language, and Old English is totally incomprehensible to us. Today at least a quarter and as many as a half of English words are of French origin, and the Norman invasion helped to add great nuance to the language. French words are usually more formal or aristocratic sounding: ascend, rather than rise, status rather than standing, mansion rather than house, cordial rather than hearty. Almost all words relating to government and justice are Norman, including prison, jury, felony, traitor, govern and, of course, justice. Likewise titles are mostly Norman French, including sovereign, prince, duke and baron—although not king or lord.

Picasso’s relations with his animals were very close: he had an extraordinary gift for entering into direct contact with them: could handle a wild bird or walk up to a furious dog when most people would have provoked an ugly scene: and the tired old cliché about the power of the human eye finds its justification in Picasso. He had in fact a most luminous and striking eye, a singular, penetrating gaze, always the first thing that people noticed. But these relations were quite unlike those which are usual in Anglo-Saxon countries. A child brought up on the spectacle of slaughtered bulls does not have the same reactions as one brought up on flopsy bunnies or the products of Walt Disney’s muse: Picasso did not shift his animals to a semi-human plane—he met them on their own.

Heathen: This Anglo-Saxon word literally means “dweller on the heath.” The heath is the area outside the settlement; post-Christianity, those wishing to maintain old traditions retired to the heath, hence the name. It came to be synonymous with “Pagan,” sometimes with the added implication of rude, ignorant barbarian. The word has been reclaimed by Neo-Pagans subscribing to Northern European traditions and today is used with pride. See also Asatru

was fascinated by a 9th-century poem by the Anglo-Saxon poet Cynewulf, whose religious poem Christ included the Old English word for the known inhabited world: middangeard, translated as “Middle-earth.” The poem makes reference to a being called Earendal, who is the brightest of angels above Middle-earth and is sent to humans.

Silver worked: small, thick silver coins that were often minted locally. The Frisians minted them with the old god Wotan on one side, with spiked hair, a drooping moustache and eyes that stare out like goggles; and on the other side a serpentine kind of monster with clawed feet and a high tail. The Anglo-Saxons in England imitated the Frisians, and put a creature like a porcupine on their silver, or sometimes a king.41 These silver deniers were scarce in all the wide Frankish territory until the Franks grabbed Frisia and its mints in the 730s.