JF Ptak Science Books  Post 2099  

Part of the series on the History of Blank, Empty and Missing Things.

Timbuktu, “a mass of ill-looking houses built of earth”–Caillie, 1830, volume 2, page 45

Of the many legends of the hypnotizing idea of the city of Timbuktu none illuminated the place as a city of earthen structures.  It was long a center of trade, located on the outskirts of the Sahara and just north of the Niger, with settlement in modern times reaching back to the 12th century, though there were settlements pre-dating this period by centuries. In any event, it was an unreachable place for the Western mind even though in Africa it was a hub of activity for trade in salt, gold, ivory, and slaves–and scholarship.  There’s a reason for people nowadays referring to distant/far-removed/inaccessible places as “Timbuktu”–and that’s because before the 19th century, it really was vastly inaccessible. And so the rumors of vast wealth and mystery wove their way into whatever little fabric of truth existed for the place. 

Europeans were enormously desirous of real information about Timbuktu–the French government offered 10,000 francs to the first explorer to see the place, and live.  That person turned out ot be Rene Caillie, an exploring son of a baker, who made his way there after much adventure in 1828, and published his saga two years later.¹ His report was not one of the expected golden mystery, but of a long-established town of antiquity and earthen hurts. 

The image above comes from his 1830 work, and is remarkable–it is beautiful, and evidently accurate, if not very dramatic or fulfilling of floating expectations. It was truthful.  And unexpected. 

• Caillié, René (1830), Travels through Central Africa to Timbuctoo; and across the Great Desert, to Morocco, performed in the years 1824-1828 (2 Vols), London: Colburn & Bentley. Google books: Volume 1, Volume 2.
• Caillié, René (1830), Journal d’un voyage à
  Temboctou et à Jenné, dans l’Afrique centrale … pendant les années
  1824, 1825, 1826, 1827, 1828 … Avec une carte itinéraire, et des
  remarques géographiques, par M. Jomard. (3 Vols), Paris: Imprimerie Royale. Gallica: Volume 1, Volume 2, Volume 3. Google books: Volume 1, Volume 2, Volume 3.

JF Ptak Science Books   Post 2100

There is no doubt that the working life of the miner was and is a very dangerous, incredibly demanding job.  Written descriptions and engraved and photographed and film images all will very quickly and profoundly depict the very demanding physical, psychological and medical demands that are made on the miner.  (Perhaps one of the most demanding accounts of the life of the miner is told by George Orwell in his The Road to Wigan Pier, which I quote from in an earlier post to this blog, here; see also an associated post on Welsh mining boys, also drawing on Mr. Orwell, here.)

Even in a sympathetic publication like Mining People–published by the Miners’ Welfare Commission in 1945–the idea of crushing proximity and indomitable closeness is present in almost every image, including those that have nothing to do with actually being underground.

There are a few images of miners at work, like so:

And so:

These would hardly have been investigative-style photos as the pamphlet was trying to sell certain ideas of the mining union for self-care and preservation, so I am guessing that the photos would be no more than “average”.  The odd bits come from the photos of miners out-of-the-mines, because there is no mistaking the extreme closeness of these men to one another in places where that didn’t necessarily have to be the case.  The locker room, for example, looks compact and tight, and unnecessarily so–I mean, why have men be compressed together in a changing room after having just spent 10 hours underground in tight and bunched quarters? 

Since this was basically a trade publication extolling good works with union dues money, perhaps this locker room is an improvement–still, there are two sets of lockers that are about five feet apart, with two benches that seem to be no more than six inches wide.

After sending men down into the mines to work all day it seems that the least that could be done would be to allow a wide enough space to allow for people to sit moderately comfortably.  The six-inch bench really bothers me.

Perhaps these showers were luxurious by those provided by other mines–perhaps other mines didn’t even have showers for the miners.  But again it seems to me another very cramped scene (and this one with the lead figure being a young boy).

AS I said, perhaps these after-work images were scene of comparative luxury.  The degrees of cramped closeness though are inescapable. 

JF Ptak Science Books   Post 2101

As a part of my semi-developing History of Normalcy, I decided to see if I could find a place in this country that was “normal”–and indeed, I found one.  Several–quite a few, actually, Normal and Normals and Normalcies, enough for everyone.

Here’s one–Normal, Illinois.  (Population, 40,000, 1990), in Normal Township.  There’s also Normal Township, in North Dakota. And one in Alabama.

And the town of Normal (Kentucky) and Normal (Tennessee), Normal Hill and Normal Landing (Louisiana), Normal Park (Nebraska), Normal Square (Pennsylvania), and Normalville (Pennsylvania).

Normal may or may not be a desirable thing; if it was a model thing, there is also a place called Model (in Colorado). On the other hand although there are a number of “normals”, there are no places called Average, or Mean, or Natural, or Regular, or Typcial. 

Outside of the normals, perhaps on the more combative end of normal, there are places identified called Troublesome (Colorado), Truthville (New York, Washington County), and Halfway (Georgia, Lumpkin County); there is no place called hell, though there is a Heaven(er) (Kansas). 

Oh–and there is a Standard City, Illinois.