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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required (absurdly enough, a true story) Four centuries ago this year (believe me, for I’ve checked!) Britain and Spain jointly adhered to the Treaty of Utrecht. They’d been at war so long before, concerning – of all things – the British right, as Britain saw, of choosing Spanish kings. Yet more wars came, with curious names, as often as the seasons. But what was claimed? Who was to blame? We scarcely know the reasons. In ‘thirty-one, Boca Raton saw trouble reappear: the brittle peace o’erran its lease, and Jenkins lost his ear. For Jenkins, Master, this disaster befell him while afloat. The Spanish fleet, on meet-and-greet, boarded the British boat. Of depredations wrought by nations we’ve surely seen enough. Suffice to say, swords were in play: one cut his ear clean off. Of privateers and buccaneers, we’ve heard, and Captain Morgan: but not of Tom, thus parted from his auditory organ. Tom Jenkins went to Parliament, with amputation: viz, of Commons and Peers he had the ear (and they, by George, had his!) “It’s war! It’s war!” All voted “for”. “The clearest insult ever!” “We can’t have kith and kindred with appendages thus severed!” From first to last, the canon blasts rang out for ten long years. Who knows the cost? But many lost a good deal more than ears. So, blood ran high. Men fought, and died. Faced grapeshot. Didn’t falter. But who today can name that fray, or guess at what it altered? When will we learn? When will we spurn the razor and the cosh? Or, decades hence, will violence still spill out, over tosh?
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