St Anthony’s Fire

I’ll tell you a story about ergot. In my spare time at university I read a book (The Day of St. Anthony’s Fire by John Grant Fuller Jr) about the 1951 Pont-Saint-Esprit ergot poisoning.

Ergot contains a mass of compounds, some of which act like LSD and some of which have other effects on the body.

There have been reports throughout history of mass poisoning with ergot.

A 2016 article in the Smithsonian refers to an incidence of St John’s dance (another name for St. Anthony’s Fire) that affected a village in Aachen in 1374 where the villagers danced endlessly and uncontrollably.

Breugel painted the annual procession of people affected by St John’s Dance on their pilgrimage to be cured at the church at Molenbeek.

St John’s Dance, or St. Anthony’s Fire, are thought to be incidences of ergotism. 

Hundreds of people were affected in the 1951 outbreak at Pont-Saint-Esprit in France. Some died, some had gangrenous limbs, some went crazy, and some survived intact.

I remember a sentence near the end of the book where one of the outsiders who came to the village after the outbreak described the villagers as moving together like a flock of geese.

That’s got a science fiction sound to it – that the villagers were somehow telepathically tied to one another.  Or perhaps they were simply shocked and came together as survivors of a mutual tragedy.

You may wonder how an incident like this could go on for days and weeks in the 20th century without the outside world quickly arriving to intervene and help people.

This was an isolated village in rural France in 1951, not long after the Second World War. It happened. 

Ergot

A friend and I used to cycle from the university to a nature reserve.

One summer’s day we stopped on a small country road and sat back on the grass by a field. I started to tell her about The Day of St. Anthony’s Fire, the book I was reading, and while I was telling her I saw that there was rye growing around the edges of the field.

It may have been the previous year’s crop that had hung on and sprouted again. Or it may have been there for years, stubbornly refusing to disappear.

I reached back behind my head to take an ear of rye to explain how ergot – Claviceps purpurea fungus – grew inside and over the ear of rye.

I looked at what I had picked and one of the ears was a large, dark purple, curved mass of ergot.

We looked for other ears similarly infected with the fungus. Nothing. Never found another one.

I kept the ear in a small quill box. I had bought in a junk shop because it was similar to the one my parents had at home which I liked.

My dad brought that box back from Japan after he was invalided out during the Korean War.

The box was hand made, black wood with porcupine quill inlays.

I don’t know what happened to the ear of ergot or the box I bought. After my parents died, I kept their quill box, which I still have.



On a visit to the Dohány Synagogue in Budapest

Our guide, Yoel, pointed out the extent of the ghetto from 1944 after the Government tried to surrender to the Allies. The Government was overthrown by Arrow Cross and the Germans marched in.

In front of us in the grounds of the synagogue are buried 2,281 people in mass graves.

The graves look like raised flower beds in a small area by the wall of the synagogue, marked by some plaques. We stare at the space.

How do you cry when the crying is too big,

When the thing about which you want to cry is so big that your cry is swallowed in your mouth,

When the history is many times more than you,

When many others suffered so much, much more,

When your voice is small,

When the pressure of what is inside you and what is outside you tighten in your chest, in your mouth?

That feeling is the feeling you feel.

Who Will Be Notified Of This Post

Well that was interesting. I deactivated Jetpack and then I was stuck for a sign-up form for this site. You would think it would be easy.

I found a plugin that would push notifications to subscribers, but who were the subscribers and how would I put a widget on the site to get new subscribers?

I looked at rss-to-email with MailChimp, and got it to work, but then I looked at the notification I got of the last blog post. It said powered by Google. Great. Now what was the name of Google’s RSS service?

It took me ages to remember the name. FeedBurner! Of course, that was where at least some of my subscribers were listed – I already had a list in Google’s FeedBurner. How forgetful of me.

So I went there and got the script for a widget and added it to the sidebar.

That was a lot of effort.

But when I had Jetpack activated. what subscribers was it collecting and who is on that list? And what happens to them now that I no longer have Jetpack installed? Will they still be notified? And if I reinstall Jetpack, what effect if any will it have on the Feedburner notifications?

I installed the Jetpack plugin again (and added the subscriber sign-up widget)

Now I wonder who will get a notification of this post?

 

Dao Dow

The tagline I used in various places, and probably still do here and there, is

Treading a line between Dao and Dow.

I like the play on the sound of the two words (pronounced identically where I come from – maybe not where you are) and I like the balance between the physical and spiritual worlds. And I like that it is short.

Today I took a peek at The Online Photographer. I often go there for a breath of fresh air, to read something about photography and read what people who are polite and well-rounded have to say.

I saw a comment that led to a community website for photographers to put their portfolios. I recognised the site but hadn’t visited it for years. I thought I might have an account, and I have and so I was able to log in. I looked at my profile and saw this that I wrote a long time ago and forgot about:

Dow Dao Dow Dao
Have you any wool
Yes, sir, yes sire,
But I gave it away.

It is, of course, a play on the rhyme, probably several hundred years old, that goes:

Baa, baa, black sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yes, sir, yes, sir,
Three bags full;
One for the master,
And one for the dame,
And one for the little boy
Who lives down the lane.

There is something pointed and contrary, disobedient, and transcendent in my version, and I like that.