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| Letters From London |
| Humorous Views on London Culture, Royals, Gossip and Politics |
My Heart Bleeds For You - 13 February 2009
Birds, beatings, beheadings, imprisonment, saints and sinners; it’s St Valentine’s Day again.
The special day is now reduced to men buying exorbitantly expensive lacy knickers for
themselves, I mean for their girlfriends/lovers/partners. Interestingly not all that much has
changed historically as some claim the day of love and lust is based on a Roman festival where
“many of the noble youths and of the magistrates run up and down the city naked for sport and
laughter striking those they meet with shaggy thongs” according to Plutarch.
Others maintain there were at least three saints who answered to the name St Valentine. “I’m St
Valentine!” “No, no, no. I am St Valentine!” “You are both wrong. I am St Valentine!” One of them
should have taken a vow of silence because he was imprisoned, beaten and beheaded on the
orders of the Emperor Claudius II for embracing Christianity. Oops. Not a good idea in 3rd
century Rome. Perhaps arbitrarily or simply inspired by the concept of ‘I died for love’,
inexplicably Pope Gelasius made him the patron saint of lovers in 496.
The ancient Greeks and Chinese believed the spirit resided in the heart. The Egyptians beat that
as they imagined the heart was an inner book that stored a person's entire life of emotions,
ideas and memories. Presumably if one were to eat an enemy’s pumping heart, he’d have
access to these feelings and images. Or schizophrenia.
The birds came into view pre-Daphne du Maurier in the 14th century when it was believed that
birds started mating on Valentine’s Day and due to the all pervasive superstition surrounding
birds, young men set out to hunt for an owl and two sparrows. If they captured these birds and
dragged them back in their nets to the inn before the women of the house arose, they were
remunerated with three pints of ale laced with a shot of wormwood instead of being rewarded
with the more traditional hugs and kisses – or more. So much for being loved up.
Valentine’s Day was first mentioned by Chaucer in a 1382 poem: “Seynt Volantynys day” ‘Whan
euery bryd comyth there to chese his make’ – or simply put: when every bird comes there to
chose his mate.
We all know that the simplest explanation is the influence of chivalry. “Let me hold that moat
open for you, dearest sweet heart.”
The dye was cast when in 1415, Charles, the Duke of Orleans sent the first Valentine’s card to
his wife from the Tower of London where he was imprisoned after the Battle of Agincourt.
Who knew then that we would be tossing red roses and champagne truffles into the air en
masse to express appreciation for the commercial acumen of the Americans who made
Valentine's Day into a national institution when in 1847 Esther Howard of Massachusetts sold the
first mass-produced paper lace cut-outs. But by the late 19th century, all those hearts and
flowers had driven the Victorians mad and they found it far more entertaining to send ‘vinegar
Valentines’ – cards depicting insulting pictures and poems to those they didn’t love – or even like
– in true British ironic tradition.
Mass fabrication couldn’t be far behind. In 1910 an 18 year old entrepreneur from Nebraska (that
surely explains the cloying sentimentality) founded the now famous company selling Valentine’s
and Christmas cards. In 1928 Hallmark made its mark and we’ve all been paying ever since…
£100 for ten long-stemmed red roses, £35 for five hand-made chocolates, £150 for edible
knickers.
I say take a stand against blatant commercialism: write a ‘roses are red, violets are blue’ poem
and bag a pigeon for your loved one. It will be a Valentine’s Day to remember – with no
dismemberment involved.
Birds, beatings, beheadings, imprisonment, saints and sinners; it’s St Valentine’s Day again.
The special day is now reduced to men buying exorbitantly expensive lacy knickers for
themselves, I mean for their girlfriends/lovers/partners. Interestingly not all that much has
changed historically as some claim the day of love and lust is based on a Roman festival where
“many of the noble youths and of the magistrates run up and down the city naked for sport and
laughter striking those they meet with shaggy thongs” according to Plutarch.
Others maintain there were at least three saints who answered to the name St Valentine. “I’m St
Valentine!” “No, no, no. I am St Valentine!” “You are both wrong. I am St Valentine!” One of them
should have taken a vow of silence because he was imprisoned, beaten and beheaded on the
orders of the Emperor Claudius II for embracing Christianity. Oops. Not a good idea in 3rd
century Rome. Perhaps arbitrarily or simply inspired by the concept of ‘I died for love’,
inexplicably Pope Gelasius made him the patron saint of lovers in 496.
The ancient Greeks and Chinese believed the spirit resided in the heart. The Egyptians beat that
as they imagined the heart was an inner book that stored a person's entire life of emotions,
ideas and memories. Presumably if one were to eat an enemy’s pumping heart, he’d have
access to these feelings and images. Or schizophrenia.
The birds came into view pre-Daphne du Maurier in the 14th century when it was believed that
birds started mating on Valentine’s Day and due to the all pervasive superstition surrounding
birds, young men set out to hunt for an owl and two sparrows. If they captured these birds and
dragged them back in their nets to the inn before the women of the house arose, they were
remunerated with three pints of ale laced with a shot of wormwood instead of being rewarded
with the more traditional hugs and kisses – or more. So much for being loved up.
Valentine’s Day was first mentioned by Chaucer in a 1382 poem: “Seynt Volantynys day” ‘Whan
euery bryd comyth there to chese his make’ – or simply put: when every bird comes there to
chose his mate.
We all know that the simplest explanation is the influence of chivalry. “Let me hold that moat
open for you, dearest sweet heart.”
The dye was cast when in 1415, Charles, the Duke of Orleans sent the first Valentine’s card to
his wife from the Tower of London where he was imprisoned after the Battle of Agincourt.
Who knew then that we would be tossing red roses and champagne truffles into the air en
masse to express appreciation for the commercial acumen of the Americans who made
Valentine's Day into a national institution when in 1847 Esther Howard of Massachusetts sold the
first mass-produced paper lace cut-outs. But by the late 19th century, all those hearts and
flowers had driven the Victorians mad and they found it far more entertaining to send ‘vinegar
Valentines’ – cards depicting insulting pictures and poems to those they didn’t love – or even like
– in true British ironic tradition.
Mass fabrication couldn’t be far behind. In 1910 an 18 year old entrepreneur from Nebraska (that
surely explains the cloying sentimentality) founded the now famous company selling Valentine’s
and Christmas cards. In 1928 Hallmark made its mark and we’ve all been paying ever since…
£100 for ten long-stemmed red roses, £35 for five hand-made chocolates, £150 for edible
knickers.
I say take a stand against blatant commercialism: write a ‘roses are red, violets are blue’ poem
and bag a pigeon for your loved one. It will be a Valentine’s Day to remember – with no
dismemberment involved.
