This has nothing to do with language, but this weekend, the world commemorates the 40th aniversary of the first moon landing.

In the US, it is celebrated as 20 July. This is correct (in UTC) for the landing, but I remember clearly staying up until three in the morning of 21 July to watch Neil Armstrong make his giant step live on television in the UK.

When things happen on Earth, the date and time when they happen can be decided by the longitude of the event, so that Columbus reached the Americas some five hours earlier than the simultaneous time in Europe. Captain Cook sighted Australia some hours later than the time would have been in Europe, and possibly a day later than it was at that moment in America. Each New Year creeps up on Earth gradually over the space of a whole day.

But when an event happens elsewhere in the universe, whose terrestrial time zone is the one to use? While 20 July is correct for the Americas, much of the populated world will have watched the moon landing on 21 July local time – Europe, Asia, Africa, Australasia.

This BBC programme about Henry Purcell is available on line for the next couple of weeks. In it Charles Hazlewood claims that we know so little about the composer that we are not even sure how to pronounce his name.

It is true that many people (including Mr Hazlewood in this film – although he is not consistent) stress the family name on the second syllable, but all the evidence points to this being wrong.

Dryden, a good friend of the composer, wrote an Ode on the death of Mr Henry Purcell, in which the name appears twice. On both occasions, the metre of the line demands that the name be stressed on the first syllable: “So ceas’d the rival Crew when Purcell came” and “The Gods are pleas’d alone with Purcell’s Lays”. Similarly, and two centuries later, Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote a sonnet to Purcell, the first quatrain of which is:

Have, fair fallen, O fair, fair have fallen, so dear
To me, so arch-especial a spirit as heaves in Henry Purcell,
An age is now since passed, since parted; with the reversal
Of the outward sentence low lays him, listed to a heresy, here.

Better even than these examples is the evidence of contemporary spellings of the name: John Evelyn’s Diary has the spelling ‘Pursal’ or ‘Purcel’ (30 May 1698 – different editors have the different spellings); Henry ‘Persill’ appears as a member of the cast of “The Siege of Rhodes” (1656); Henry ‘Pursall’ in the Will of John Hingston (12 December 1683). The variation in the spellings of the second syllable indicate that this cannot have been the stressed syllable.

Americans frequently stress Andrew Marvell’s name on the second syllable and (in my experience at least) always stress Lawrence and Gerald Durrell in the same way, although I have never yet heard anyone British make this mistake.

Perhaps Purcell started to be stressed on the second syllable when Unilever started to market ‘Persil’ washing powder in the UK, in 1909.

Now for something completely different.

In April, a French luxury yacht, the Ponant, with thirty crew members on board, was hijacked by pirates in the Gulf. The French government decided to pull out all the stops to mount a rescue. The BBC reported the affair rather sketchily, here, here, here, and here,  but now the full story has emerged, in Le Parisien and Le Canard Enchaîné. I’m not aware of any of this being reported in the English-language media. Here is the account from Le Canard (11 June 2008). Any inaccuracies in the translation are mine.

“L’opération a été rondement menée”, avait claironné le chef d’état major des armées aprés l’épopée du Ponant. Sarko exprimait sa “gratitude”. Morin, son ministre de la défense, ses “félicitations” aux “forces armées, qui ont fait preuve de professionnalisme et de réactivité”. Il aurait pu ajouter: et d’une grande capacité d’adaptation dans l’adversité.

“The operation was carried out promptly,” the armed forces chief of staff trumpeted after the epic events surrounding the Ponant. Sarkozy expressed his “gratitude”. Morin, his Minister for Defence, sent his “congratulations” to the “armed forces, which  have demonstrated their professionalism and ability to react”. He might have added: and a great capacity for improvisation in adversity.

Dès l’annonce de la prise d’otages dans le golfe d’Aden, le Commandant-Bouan, un bâtiment spécialisé dans la lutte anti-sous-marine, qui faisait des ronds dans l’eau à cent milles de là, rapplique dare-dare.

As soon as the hostage-taking in the Gulf of Aden is reported, the Commandant-Bouan, an anti-submarine warfare ship, patrolling a hundred miles away, is on its way.

Idem pour le Jean-Bart, qui vient de quitter Abou Dhabi. A bord de cette frégate, fatiguée par trente ans de roulis, on pousse les feux. Imprudence fatale. C’est la panne de machine. Après rafistolage, le rafiot repart. Pas longtemps. Nouvelle avarie moteur. Les techniciens réparent au fur et à mesure.

The same goes for the Jean-Bart, which has just left Abu Dhabi. On board this frigate, worn out by thirty years of rolling about on the seas, it’s full steam ahead. Not a good idea. The engine breaks down. After patching it up, the old tub sets off again. There is another breakdown. The technicians repair it as they go.

Compte tenu de ces performances, une autre frégate, le Surcouf, qui relâche à Djibouti, est appelée en renfort. Mais à la suite d’un problème technique, elle reste à quai. elle arrivera après la bataille.

Bearing all this in mind, another frigate, the Surcouf, which is moored at Djibouti, is called in as reinforcements. But following a technical problem, she stays in port. She will arrive after the battle.

Coup de bol, le porte-hélicoptères Jeanne-d’Arc, le fringant navire-école qui n’a que 44 ans, et sa conserve, le Georges-Leygues, qui l’escorte, passaient par là, en remontant de Madagascar.

By a stroke of luck, the helicopter carrier Jeanne-d’Arc, the fast training ship that is only 44 years old, and her escort, the Georges-Leygues, are in the area, returning from Madagascar.

La Jeanne-d’Arc est priée d’accélérer. A 20 noeuds, au lieu de 12, elle craque de partout, mais la vieille est une dure à cuire. A bord, il y a des Alouette et des Gazelle. Et ils volent.

The Jeanne-d’Arc is asked to get a move on. At 20 knots, instead of 12, she’s creaking at the seams, but the old lady is a tough nut to crack. On board there are Alouette and Gazelle helicopters. And they can fly.

Ça tombe bien. Car les deux hélicoptères Puma qui devaient appuyer l’opération depuis la côte ont un coup de mou. Le premier est resté cloué au sol. Le second a un clignotant rouge d’alarme qui refuse de s’éteindre.

It’s just as well. Because the two Puma helicopters that were supposed to support the operation from the coast have lost their bottle. One is stuck on the ground. The other has a flashing red warning light that won’t go out.

Le Georges-Leygues,  qui chaperonne la Jeanne, finira l’équipée complètement out, avec seulement deux alternateurs sur quatre.

The Georges-Leygue which is with the Jeanne, will finish the escapade completely worn out, with only two of its four generators working.

Sur zone, l’état-major a envoyé un avion de patrouille maritime, l’Atlantique-2, en service dans les armées depuis vingt-sept ans. Il a pour mission de garder le Ponant à l’oeil. Mais l’un de ses deux moteurs tombe en carafe, il manque de sa crasher. Le coucou termine sa course, façon planeur du dimanche, dans le désert du Yemen.

On the ground, headquarters sent up a maritime patrol aircraft, the Atlantic-2, in service with the armed forces for 27 years. Its job is to keep the Ponant in sight. But one of its two engines fails, and it almost crashes. It ends its journey, behaving like a weekend glider, in the Yemeni desert.

Un autre décolle aussitôt… de Lann-Bihoué, dans le Morbihan, à 6000 km de là, pour prendre le relais. Il lui faut un peu de temps pour rejoindre l’Invincible Armada.

Another one takes off straightaway … from Lann-Bihoué, in the Department of Morbihan (Brittany), 6000 km away, to take over. It needs some time to join the Invincible Armada.

Il faut amener sur place, depuis la France, l’élite de l’élite, les commandos marine Hubert et Pentenfenyo. A Djibouti, un Transall les prend en charge pour un “tarpon”, en langage militaire, un parachutage en mer: 18 commandos marine sont repêchés par l’équipage de l’aviso.

The crème de la crème – the marine commando units Hubert and Pentenfenyo – have to be brought from France. In Djibouti, a military transport aircraft takes them up for a drop into the sea: 18 commandos are picked up by the crew of the patrol boat standing by.

Pour des raisons juridiques, il faut envoyer aussi des officiers de police judiciaire. Une dizaine de Rambo du GIGN prennent donc le même chemin.

For legal reason, officers of the police judiciaire also have to be sent, so ten ‘Rambos’ of the National Gendarmerie Intervention Group (GIGN) are also on their way.

Des nageurs de combat sont de la fête et vont faire un tour sous la coque du voilier. Mais avec 30 otages à bord, il n’y a pas grand chose à tenter.

Navy divers (equivalent of the British Special Boat Service) are also involved, and they have a look under the yacht’s keel. But with 30 hostages on board, there’s not a lot they can do.

Le chef du GIGN, le colonel Denis Favier, et le contre-amiral Marin Gillier, le chef des fusiliers et commandos marine, rejoignent leurs petits gars en parachute. Recueillis, eux aussi, à proximité du Jean-Bart, enfin arrivé à destination. Un abordage est envisagé. Un gros canot est donc mis à l’eau, et chargé de tout un arsenal, trop lourd ! La barcasse chavire avec armes et soldats. Improvisation d’une opération pour sauver les sauveteurs. Heureusement, les commandos Hubert sont comme des poissons dans cette eau à 27°C. Les hommes sont saufs.

The head of the GIGN, Colonel Denis Favier, and Rear-Admiral Marin Gillier, head of the marine commandos, join their colleagues by parachute. They are also picked up close to the Jean-Bart, which has now arrived. They plan to board the Ponant. A large dinghy is launched, and loaded with a whole arsenal. Too heavy! It capsizes with both arms and soldiers. An operation has to be improvised to rescue the rescuers. Fortunately the Hubert commandos are like fish in this 27°C water. The men are saved.

Le 11 avril, rendez-vous sur l’eau pour le paiement de la rançon. Deux millions cent cinquante mille dollars changent de poche. Les otages sont libérés. Une course-poursuite s’engage dans le désert somalien. Le moteur du 4×4 qui emmène les flibustiers est pulvérisé, depuis un hélico, par un tir de fusil.

On the 11 April, there is a rendez-vous on the water to pay the ransom. $2,150,000 change hands. The hostages are freed. A chase then takes place in the Somali desert. The 4×4 carrying the pirates is destroyed, from a helicopter, by rifle fire.

Les pirates sont arrêtés, une partie de la rançon récupérée. Tout est bien qui finit bien.

The pirates are arrested, and part of the ransom is recovered.  All’s well that ends well.

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A week later (18 June 2008) Le Canard Enchaîné reports that President Sarkozy wants to reduce the size of the French armed forces by 52,000.

No wonder he’s so keen on a European defence force!

This blog will be about language – mainly – with some references to genealogy and music. Maybe all three at once sometimes.