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BBBD: Glad you like it.
OV: Not accidental at all, I can assure you.
cthulhu: Thanks. I included the reference to Sandlund to give it some position within the story as a whole, as well as because it is his factory.
Ciçatrix: And here it is.
OV: Not accidental at all, I can assure you.
cthulhu: Thanks. I included the reference to Sandlund to give it some position within the story as a whole, as well as because it is his factory.
Ciçatrix: And here it is.
The Danish Revival
48. A Danish Christmas Fairytale Part II
“Kjeld. Kjeld, wake up!” His eyes blinked open, and could see only white. To his left was Eosphorus, who was gazing at him benevolently.
“Wha…?”
“Come, stand up,” said the angel, briskly. Kjeld got to his feet, and looked around. Two things rather surprised him. The first was that he seemed to be floating in the air. The second, rather more alarming, was that there was a body slumped on the ground not far below that appeared to be him. He looked to Eosphorus in panic, and the angel smiled.
“Don’t worry, you will soon return to your body, but for now you must come with me.” Kjeld was confused and scared, but the calm tone of the angel reassured him. He was not quite sure what he consisted of right at that moment, but it seemed to be something essentially Kjeld, and so he complied with the angel. As they floated over Aalborg Kjeld saw the city from the air, and the view would have taken his breath away if he had actually been breathing at that point. It was a white canvass, and was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen, even the grim factory that was his torment appeared benign and magnificent.
The angel stopped, and did…something, something Kjeld did not understand. The air suddenly felt different, and when he looked down the city looked completely different. There was no snow, and some newer areas of the city seemed missing. The angel Eosphorus turned, and Kjeld had to shield his eyes from the intense aurora of light that surrounded the angel.
“Kjeld, I can tell you that I have two missions here. This is the first. The Aalborg you see down there is not the one you know now, and indeed one you could never have known. The year here is 1830.” Before Kjeld could make any kind of exclamation the angel was descended, and he followed, basking in the heavy majestic sound of the flapping of those wings. They came to the ground, outside the dusty hovel that Kjeld knew all that well.
“In here there is something I must show you. Just before I appeared you had a thought, a thought you have had often in your brief life. What lies in this house will convince you of the error of this thought, I hope.”
The angel fluttered through the walls, and Kjeld gaped. He followed nervously, and felt a strange, unique sensation as he passed through solid brick and mortar. He entered, and looked around in horror. The place was more than a mess, with various bits of clothing and food strewn around, infested with rats and cockroaches. He noticed a distinct shape in the corner, seemingly someone sleeping with their back to him and Eosphorus. He had a horrible feeling he knew what it was, and as he floated to it he felt an indescribable horror. It was his mother, stiff and cold, dead for at least a week. He looked to Eosphorus, who was regarding the body emotionlessly.
“In this reality your mother died of disease, and no one knew or care.” He gently flew out, and spoke in the knowledge that Kjeld was following. He wanted to get out of that room as fast as possible. “This is a world where you never existed. Your mother never had a child.” Kjeld dragged his mind back to when Eosphorus, and did indeed remember that distinct feeling of helpless worthlessness he had experienced just before the angel’s appearance. He shot Eosphorus and angry glare.
“Why did you show me that?! That was just unfair.”
“You misunderstand. You should feel glad, Kjeld, for in your world you have been there to care for your mother, ensuring her survival for longer than she would otherwise have lived, and when she is gone she will have someone to miss her, she will have you.” Kjeld nodded gloomily. Eosphorus had a point, even if it had been rather gruesomely expressed.
“And I can assure you,” the angel continued, “that there are various other people’s lives you have touched, sometimes even without knowing. The world would be a lesser place had you never been born. I can tell you, Kjeld, that there are two kinds of people. There are those whose presence on earth is a boon, and those whose existence is only harmful and detrimental. You must realise that no matter how painful and unpleasant life can be that you are one of the former, and that you should live if only for this.”
Kjeld nodded, and sighed. “I know your right, but there is still a problem. This will be the last Christmas my mother will see, I am certain, and she will spend it alone. That somehow makes all this seem rather empty and meaningless, needlessly cruel, even.” Eosphorus smiled knowingly, a certain glint in his eye suggesting that this may not be the case.
“That’s where my second mission comes in,” said the angel smugly.
“Kjeld. Kjeld, wake up!” His eyes blinked open, and could see only white. To his left was Eosphorus, who was gazing at him benevolently.
“Wha…?”
“Come, stand up,” said the angel, briskly. Kjeld got to his feet, and looked around. Two things rather surprised him. The first was that he seemed to be floating in the air. The second, rather more alarming, was that there was a body slumped on the ground not far below that appeared to be him. He looked to Eosphorus in panic, and the angel smiled.
“Don’t worry, you will soon return to your body, but for now you must come with me.” Kjeld was confused and scared, but the calm tone of the angel reassured him. He was not quite sure what he consisted of right at that moment, but it seemed to be something essentially Kjeld, and so he complied with the angel. As they floated over Aalborg Kjeld saw the city from the air, and the view would have taken his breath away if he had actually been breathing at that point. It was a white canvass, and was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen, even the grim factory that was his torment appeared benign and magnificent.
The angel stopped, and did…something, something Kjeld did not understand. The air suddenly felt different, and when he looked down the city looked completely different. There was no snow, and some newer areas of the city seemed missing. The angel Eosphorus turned, and Kjeld had to shield his eyes from the intense aurora of light that surrounded the angel.
“Kjeld, I can tell you that I have two missions here. This is the first. The Aalborg you see down there is not the one you know now, and indeed one you could never have known. The year here is 1830.” Before Kjeld could make any kind of exclamation the angel was descended, and he followed, basking in the heavy majestic sound of the flapping of those wings. They came to the ground, outside the dusty hovel that Kjeld knew all that well.
“In here there is something I must show you. Just before I appeared you had a thought, a thought you have had often in your brief life. What lies in this house will convince you of the error of this thought, I hope.”
The angel fluttered through the walls, and Kjeld gaped. He followed nervously, and felt a strange, unique sensation as he passed through solid brick and mortar. He entered, and looked around in horror. The place was more than a mess, with various bits of clothing and food strewn around, infested with rats and cockroaches. He noticed a distinct shape in the corner, seemingly someone sleeping with their back to him and Eosphorus. He had a horrible feeling he knew what it was, and as he floated to it he felt an indescribable horror. It was his mother, stiff and cold, dead for at least a week. He looked to Eosphorus, who was regarding the body emotionlessly.
“In this reality your mother died of disease, and no one knew or care.” He gently flew out, and spoke in the knowledge that Kjeld was following. He wanted to get out of that room as fast as possible. “This is a world where you never existed. Your mother never had a child.” Kjeld dragged his mind back to when Eosphorus, and did indeed remember that distinct feeling of helpless worthlessness he had experienced just before the angel’s appearance. He shot Eosphorus and angry glare.
“Why did you show me that?! That was just unfair.”
“You misunderstand. You should feel glad, Kjeld, for in your world you have been there to care for your mother, ensuring her survival for longer than she would otherwise have lived, and when she is gone she will have someone to miss her, she will have you.” Kjeld nodded gloomily. Eosphorus had a point, even if it had been rather gruesomely expressed.
“And I can assure you,” the angel continued, “that there are various other people’s lives you have touched, sometimes even without knowing. The world would be a lesser place had you never been born. I can tell you, Kjeld, that there are two kinds of people. There are those whose presence on earth is a boon, and those whose existence is only harmful and detrimental. You must realise that no matter how painful and unpleasant life can be that you are one of the former, and that you should live if only for this.”
Kjeld nodded, and sighed. “I know your right, but there is still a problem. This will be the last Christmas my mother will see, I am certain, and she will spend it alone. That somehow makes all this seem rather empty and meaningless, needlessly cruel, even.” Eosphorus smiled knowingly, a certain glint in his eye suggesting that this may not be the case.
“That’s where my second mission comes in,” said the angel smugly.
The Danish Revival
49. A Danish Christmas Fairytale Part III
“Come on, let’s go.” The angel flew up and Kjeld followed. He felt that strange feeling of change around him again, and when he looked down he felt little surprise to see that a white blanket of snow once again covered Aalborg. They came to his body, and Kjeld was surprised to see that despite the snowfall there was not even a single snowflake anywhere on him. He looked to Eosphorus.
“Just float back in, and you will once again be solid.” Kjeld did this, and felt something unique as his dismembered soul re-entered his body, a deep feeling of vitality. He stumbled to his feet and looked to where Eosphorus stood, illuminating the street.
“What will you do now? What is your second mission?” Eosphorus rose an eyebrow.
“I must show Mr. Schruge the true meaning of Christmas.” Kjeld opened his mouth to speak but before his brain could deliver the words to his mouth the angel had gone, and he was left standing alone in the street. He shook his head, not quite believing what had just happened, elated and slightly bewildered by the experience. He slowly walked in the direction of his home, feeling a sudden surge of tiredness eat away at his body. The angel will make it all right, he thought dreamily as he entered his house and collapsed onto the floor, deep in sleep before his head even reached the ground.
Mr. Schruge was sitting in his office, with a pipe in his mouth and a glass of brandy to keep him warm. He glanced a weary eye over the numbers on the page that he was reading, a let out a curse. They were slacking again, it seemed, all of them. Add another nought to these profit margins and I would be happy, he thought grumpily. Just as he was putting the paper down he became distinctly aware of a light behind him, and he froze.
“What’s that, who’s there?” He stood up and turned around.
“Hello, Mr. Schruge.” said Eosphorus calmly, with a sinister, twisted smile on his ether lips.
The light of dawn seeped through the windows, onto where Kjeld lay. He opened his eyes, and got the horrible feeling of not being sure where he was. He rolled over and looked at the ceiling, and felt relief in seeing the many mountains and valleys that he had come to recognise intimately from a bored, misspent childhood. He stood up and ran his hands through his hair, and blearily looked out into the window. The clock was showing a time of half past six.
“Oh god, work,” he mumbled, putting on his coat as he went hurriedly through the door out into the snow laden street. He would have stopped to consider it’s beauty had he not got the prospect of another day of heavy, sweaty, painful work lingering malignly in the forefront of his mind. He walked slowly towards the mill, which usually took five minutes. Ten minutes later, having dragged his feet all the way, he came to the mill.
He stopped in disbelief. Outside the gates there were crowds of people, all talking and whispering about something. Kjeld could not work out what it was, and saw Hans, his mate from work. He waved, and Hans gave a gesture of recognition and strolled over.
“What’s going on?” asked Kjeld. Hans begun to speak, but was distracted by a surge in the crowd. He pointed to the front door of the mill, which was opening slowly.
“See for yourself.” Kjeld strained his eyes, and he could see that there were several men dressed in black carrying…something.
“What is that, is it…a corpse! Who’s died.” He looked to where Hans had been standing, and found he had addressed the question to nobody. He shrugged, and pressed right up against the gate he saw the as the men walked the face of the body came into view.”
“It’s Mr. Schruge!” A man next to him nodded.
“Yep, they say that he was murdered with his own walking cane.” Kjeld frowned, and was about to shout at the man when something else happened. The crowd turned, and as he turned with them he saw that a grand carriage had just pulled up. From it stepped out a man that Kjeld, and just about everyone else recognised. Kjeld heard a voice beside him.
“Ooh, Mr. Sandlund is going to be mad.”
Lars surveyed the crowd, and as he did Kjeld got the distinct impression that he would much rather be doing something else right now. Lars hit his walking cane against the floor with force, and the muttering crowds fell silent instantly.
“Can anyone tell me what the hell is going on here? You, boy!” With a rising sense of horror Kjeld realised that Mr. Sandlund was pointing at him.
“It’s, erm, uh, Mr. Schruge is dead. Sir.” Lars’ face remained perfectly still for what seemed like an eternity.
“Damnit!” He said quietly. He looked up, and raised his voice to address the crowd. “All right, until this is cleared up the factory will have to remain closed. Go home, people.” With that he got back into his carriage, and a collective sigh of joy rose from the crowd. At first it was just whisperings, but soon it rose like a crescendo into a veritable flood of joy. Kjeld knew too well that for many of these people it would be the first Christmas they would be able to spend with their families, and so joined in with the celebration eagerly. Kjeld, with joy in his heart, turned to a random stranger.
“Merry Christmas!” The man returned the compliment, and soon the whole crowd were saying seasonal greeting to everyone and anyone. Soon alcohol arrived from somewhere (it always does), and the various people that made up the crowd got drunk together in the snow.
Several hours later, as the impromptu party came to an end, there was something troubling Kjeld. As he staggered home, he thought back to the angel Eosphorus. When the angel had said that he would show Mr. Schruge the true meaning of Christmas he had assumed that the angel would fill the grumpy old man’s heart with the spirit of the season, not kill him. He had not wanted Schruge dead, not at all. He had merely wanted him to understand that Christmas is a time of giving and caring.
“Kjeld Mortensen.”
As Kjeld had been lost in thought Eosphorus had drifted down, and stood before him. He looked distinctly smug. Kjeld glared, feeling angry with the angel for causing a man’s death.
“You killed him! I thought you would show him the meaning of Christmas, but you killed him!” Eosphorus looked unflappable.
“I contributed to the end of his life, that is true.” The words were said carefully, as if hinting at Kjeld to read between the lines. Kjeld was in no mood for hints, though.
“You, you murdered him! Christmas isn‘t about death, it is about life, the birth of our saviour.”
“I didn't murder him, he died of a heart attack when he saw me. I was going to show him all different visions of the past and future and stuff, I had it all neatly prepared, but no, he had to go and die on me.” Eosphorus sighed, and raised his eyebrows. “And Christmas is about death in some ways,” he hinted darkly. Kjeld didn’t notice. He was too relieved
“Thank the lord!”
“Yes, the lord,” the angel said uncertainly. “Anyway, I suppose I had better wish you a merry Christmas and all.”
“Yes, merry Christmas! And a happy new year!” There was a flash of light and the angel was gone, and Kjeld once again found himself all alone.
Christmas day came and went, and Kjeld spent the day celebrating with his mother. There was a kind of sadness to the day, and on the day of the new year she passed away, with Kjeld at her side. He felt grief, of course, but also a sense of fulfilment. Most importantly, he had no regrets. The sky was blue, the snow had melted, and Kjeld had learnt the true meaning of Christmas.
Not of the AAR, of course, but of these special Christmas updates. Happy Christmas and a merry New Year, everybody!!
“Come on, let’s go.” The angel flew up and Kjeld followed. He felt that strange feeling of change around him again, and when he looked down he felt little surprise to see that a white blanket of snow once again covered Aalborg. They came to his body, and Kjeld was surprised to see that despite the snowfall there was not even a single snowflake anywhere on him. He looked to Eosphorus.
“Just float back in, and you will once again be solid.” Kjeld did this, and felt something unique as his dismembered soul re-entered his body, a deep feeling of vitality. He stumbled to his feet and looked to where Eosphorus stood, illuminating the street.
“What will you do now? What is your second mission?” Eosphorus rose an eyebrow.
“I must show Mr. Schruge the true meaning of Christmas.” Kjeld opened his mouth to speak but before his brain could deliver the words to his mouth the angel had gone, and he was left standing alone in the street. He shook his head, not quite believing what had just happened, elated and slightly bewildered by the experience. He slowly walked in the direction of his home, feeling a sudden surge of tiredness eat away at his body. The angel will make it all right, he thought dreamily as he entered his house and collapsed onto the floor, deep in sleep before his head even reached the ground.
***********
Mr. Schruge was sitting in his office, with a pipe in his mouth and a glass of brandy to keep him warm. He glanced a weary eye over the numbers on the page that he was reading, a let out a curse. They were slacking again, it seemed, all of them. Add another nought to these profit margins and I would be happy, he thought grumpily. Just as he was putting the paper down he became distinctly aware of a light behind him, and he froze.
“What’s that, who’s there?” He stood up and turned around.
“Hello, Mr. Schruge.” said Eosphorus calmly, with a sinister, twisted smile on his ether lips.
************
The light of dawn seeped through the windows, onto where Kjeld lay. He opened his eyes, and got the horrible feeling of not being sure where he was. He rolled over and looked at the ceiling, and felt relief in seeing the many mountains and valleys that he had come to recognise intimately from a bored, misspent childhood. He stood up and ran his hands through his hair, and blearily looked out into the window. The clock was showing a time of half past six.
“Oh god, work,” he mumbled, putting on his coat as he went hurriedly through the door out into the snow laden street. He would have stopped to consider it’s beauty had he not got the prospect of another day of heavy, sweaty, painful work lingering malignly in the forefront of his mind. He walked slowly towards the mill, which usually took five minutes. Ten minutes later, having dragged his feet all the way, he came to the mill.
He stopped in disbelief. Outside the gates there were crowds of people, all talking and whispering about something. Kjeld could not work out what it was, and saw Hans, his mate from work. He waved, and Hans gave a gesture of recognition and strolled over.
“What’s going on?” asked Kjeld. Hans begun to speak, but was distracted by a surge in the crowd. He pointed to the front door of the mill, which was opening slowly.
“See for yourself.” Kjeld strained his eyes, and he could see that there were several men dressed in black carrying…something.
“What is that, is it…a corpse! Who’s died.” He looked to where Hans had been standing, and found he had addressed the question to nobody. He shrugged, and pressed right up against the gate he saw the as the men walked the face of the body came into view.”
“It’s Mr. Schruge!” A man next to him nodded.
“Yep, they say that he was murdered with his own walking cane.” Kjeld frowned, and was about to shout at the man when something else happened. The crowd turned, and as he turned with them he saw that a grand carriage had just pulled up. From it stepped out a man that Kjeld, and just about everyone else recognised. Kjeld heard a voice beside him.
“Ooh, Mr. Sandlund is going to be mad.”
Lars surveyed the crowd, and as he did Kjeld got the distinct impression that he would much rather be doing something else right now. Lars hit his walking cane against the floor with force, and the muttering crowds fell silent instantly.
“Can anyone tell me what the hell is going on here? You, boy!” With a rising sense of horror Kjeld realised that Mr. Sandlund was pointing at him.
“It’s, erm, uh, Mr. Schruge is dead. Sir.” Lars’ face remained perfectly still for what seemed like an eternity.
“Damnit!” He said quietly. He looked up, and raised his voice to address the crowd. “All right, until this is cleared up the factory will have to remain closed. Go home, people.” With that he got back into his carriage, and a collective sigh of joy rose from the crowd. At first it was just whisperings, but soon it rose like a crescendo into a veritable flood of joy. Kjeld knew too well that for many of these people it would be the first Christmas they would be able to spend with their families, and so joined in with the celebration eagerly. Kjeld, with joy in his heart, turned to a random stranger.
“Merry Christmas!” The man returned the compliment, and soon the whole crowd were saying seasonal greeting to everyone and anyone. Soon alcohol arrived from somewhere (it always does), and the various people that made up the crowd got drunk together in the snow.
Several hours later, as the impromptu party came to an end, there was something troubling Kjeld. As he staggered home, he thought back to the angel Eosphorus. When the angel had said that he would show Mr. Schruge the true meaning of Christmas he had assumed that the angel would fill the grumpy old man’s heart with the spirit of the season, not kill him. He had not wanted Schruge dead, not at all. He had merely wanted him to understand that Christmas is a time of giving and caring.
“Kjeld Mortensen.”
As Kjeld had been lost in thought Eosphorus had drifted down, and stood before him. He looked distinctly smug. Kjeld glared, feeling angry with the angel for causing a man’s death.
“You killed him! I thought you would show him the meaning of Christmas, but you killed him!” Eosphorus looked unflappable.
“I contributed to the end of his life, that is true.” The words were said carefully, as if hinting at Kjeld to read between the lines. Kjeld was in no mood for hints, though.
“You, you murdered him! Christmas isn‘t about death, it is about life, the birth of our saviour.”
“I didn't murder him, he died of a heart attack when he saw me. I was going to show him all different visions of the past and future and stuff, I had it all neatly prepared, but no, he had to go and die on me.” Eosphorus sighed, and raised his eyebrows. “And Christmas is about death in some ways,” he hinted darkly. Kjeld didn’t notice. He was too relieved
“Thank the lord!”
“Yes, the lord,” the angel said uncertainly. “Anyway, I suppose I had better wish you a merry Christmas and all.”
“Yes, merry Christmas! And a happy new year!” There was a flash of light and the angel was gone, and Kjeld once again found himself all alone.
Christmas day came and went, and Kjeld spent the day celebrating with his mother. There was a kind of sadness to the day, and on the day of the new year she passed away, with Kjeld at her side. He felt grief, of course, but also a sense of fulfilment. Most importantly, he had no regrets. The sky was blue, the snow had melted, and Kjeld had learnt the true meaning of Christmas.
THE END
Not of the AAR, of course, but of these special Christmas updates. Happy Christmas and a merry New Year, everybody!!
Last edited:
excellent! fascinating!Fiftypence said:
Merry Christmas to all, and a Happy and Prosperous New Year!
Ah, excellent update, I didn't have time to read it on the day it was posted, but now I remembered about it again.
Oh yes, a little comment: Danes celebrate Christmas on the 24, Christmas eve.
Merry Christmas, and a Happy New year.
Oh yes, a little comment: Danes celebrate Christmas on the 24, Christmas eve.
Merry Christmas, and a Happy New year.
GhostWriter: Thanks.
RossN: That's good to hear.
Ciçatrix: I can't understand that, it seems like celebration a birthday the day before. Crazy Europeans.
RossN: That's good to hear.
Ciçatrix: I can't understand that, it seems like celebration a birthday the day before. Crazy Europeans.
The Danish Revival
50. Denmark After the War
Excerpt from “The Danish Revival” by E. J. Cobban, Oxford University Press 2005
After the Northern War: 1841-1843
The period immediately following the conclusion of the Danish-Swedish conflict was quiet, as the Danish bureaucracy was adjusted to include the 1.8 million new citizens gained in Norway and Malmo. The only notable event that occurred during the remainder of 1841 was the marriage of Princess Maria to the Chancellor Mathias Jonsson, a union which raised a few eyebrows, as many traditionalists regarded Jonsson to be too lowborn to be the husband of a possible future monarch of Denmark. The marriage took place on November 9th, and as a result King Christian VIII granted the Chancellor the title Duke of Skåne.
Military
Several reforms were made to the standing army of Denmark during 1842. The artillery division that had taken part in the Swahili and Northern Wars was disbanded, the reason being the expense that came with maintaining functioning artillery was a drain on the Danish economy. It was replaced with a standard infantry division, which was deployed to Malmo to quell any potential unrest from the ethnically Swedish citizens who inhabited the area. The Norwegians had welcomed the Danes as liberators, but the Swedes in Skåne and Gotland were more suspicious. One reason was the closing of various factories owned by Swedish companies, which led to mass unemployment in the region. 1842 saw many Skånians move to Copenhagen, becoming employees of the Copenhagen Shipyard Company. Others went back to the fields, and these changes to the region were prime factors that led to the requirement of the new garrison division.
In early February of that year saw the incorporation of Swedish military research into the Danish Army. The idea of a strategically mobile force was introduced to the pool of military doctrines. This was the ability for an army to project influence over a larger geographical area and to deploy forces to strategic locations with more speed and more efficiency. The military also begun to equip their soldiers with improved Swedish designed muzzle-loaded rifles, replacing the slower and less accurate flintlock rifles that had been used during the war.
Economy
The aftermath of the war saw a boom in the Danish economy, a result of the increased tax revenues from the new citizens and the lumber mills outside Oslo, which were soon acquired by Sandlund’s industrial empire. However, the autumn of 1842 brought about an economic downturn, the agricultural sector of the economy crashing after a disastrous harvest brought about by an unseasonably cold spell just before the harvests were to be brought in. As a result of this many disaffected farmers moved to the big cities, most becoming employees of the ever growing network of Sandlund owned industries.
Diplomacy
Denmark’s reputation had suffered greatly with all the great powers barring Russia after the Northern War, and relations with their ally had even become strained after the tense standoff that had arisen over control of Stockholm and the terms of the Treaty of Kiel, which had given the Russians not even an inch of land. Denmark was, however, gaining international respect and prestige, and 1842 saw the unexpected warming of relations between the Danes and the British to such an extent that the UK formally guaranteed the independence of Denmark. The French and particularly the Prussians remained hostile.
The Prussian King Friedrich III, in December of 1841 proposed a Congress of the great powers to discuss the Danish question, much like the Congress of Vienna and the following summits that had occurred after the Napoleonic Wars. It took place in April of 1842, but was snubbed by both the Russian Tsar and Queen Victoria. The Kings of Prussia and Denmark both attended in person, but the absence of the British and Russian monarchs made the Congress little more than a talking shop which said much but delivered little.
Colonies
1841 and 1842 saw various uprisings in the lands administered by the Danish East Africa Company, most notably the Tanga revolt of July. This was a sustained campaign by the natives against the garrison army. The guerilla fighters had somehow managed to equip themselves with obsolete Prussian rifles, and the ensuing campaign led to deaths of over 5,000 Danish troops until the eventual capture of their ringleader, who was executed after torture yielded no information as to the source of their weaponry. There were several smaller revolts in the south, mostly against minor landholders in the Crown Colonies of Kilwa and Lindi rather than the DEAC itself.
Elsewhere, the trading post at Yebuti was made into a full colony, falling under the jurisdiction of the DEAC.
Excerpt from “The Danish Revival” by E. J. Cobban, Oxford University Press 2005
After the Northern War: 1841-1843
The period immediately following the conclusion of the Danish-Swedish conflict was quiet, as the Danish bureaucracy was adjusted to include the 1.8 million new citizens gained in Norway and Malmo. The only notable event that occurred during the remainder of 1841 was the marriage of Princess Maria to the Chancellor Mathias Jonsson, a union which raised a few eyebrows, as many traditionalists regarded Jonsson to be too lowborn to be the husband of a possible future monarch of Denmark. The marriage took place on November 9th, and as a result King Christian VIII granted the Chancellor the title Duke of Skåne.
Military
Several reforms were made to the standing army of Denmark during 1842. The artillery division that had taken part in the Swahili and Northern Wars was disbanded, the reason being the expense that came with maintaining functioning artillery was a drain on the Danish economy. It was replaced with a standard infantry division, which was deployed to Malmo to quell any potential unrest from the ethnically Swedish citizens who inhabited the area. The Norwegians had welcomed the Danes as liberators, but the Swedes in Skåne and Gotland were more suspicious. One reason was the closing of various factories owned by Swedish companies, which led to mass unemployment in the region. 1842 saw many Skånians move to Copenhagen, becoming employees of the Copenhagen Shipyard Company. Others went back to the fields, and these changes to the region were prime factors that led to the requirement of the new garrison division.
In early February of that year saw the incorporation of Swedish military research into the Danish Army. The idea of a strategically mobile force was introduced to the pool of military doctrines. This was the ability for an army to project influence over a larger geographical area and to deploy forces to strategic locations with more speed and more efficiency. The military also begun to equip their soldiers with improved Swedish designed muzzle-loaded rifles, replacing the slower and less accurate flintlock rifles that had been used during the war.
Economy
The aftermath of the war saw a boom in the Danish economy, a result of the increased tax revenues from the new citizens and the lumber mills outside Oslo, which were soon acquired by Sandlund’s industrial empire. However, the autumn of 1842 brought about an economic downturn, the agricultural sector of the economy crashing after a disastrous harvest brought about by an unseasonably cold spell just before the harvests were to be brought in. As a result of this many disaffected farmers moved to the big cities, most becoming employees of the ever growing network of Sandlund owned industries.
Diplomacy
Denmark’s reputation had suffered greatly with all the great powers barring Russia after the Northern War, and relations with their ally had even become strained after the tense standoff that had arisen over control of Stockholm and the terms of the Treaty of Kiel, which had given the Russians not even an inch of land. Denmark was, however, gaining international respect and prestige, and 1842 saw the unexpected warming of relations between the Danes and the British to such an extent that the UK formally guaranteed the independence of Denmark. The French and particularly the Prussians remained hostile.
The Prussian King Friedrich III, in December of 1841 proposed a Congress of the great powers to discuss the Danish question, much like the Congress of Vienna and the following summits that had occurred after the Napoleonic Wars. It took place in April of 1842, but was snubbed by both the Russian Tsar and Queen Victoria. The Kings of Prussia and Denmark both attended in person, but the absence of the British and Russian monarchs made the Congress little more than a talking shop which said much but delivered little.
Colonies
1841 and 1842 saw various uprisings in the lands administered by the Danish East Africa Company, most notably the Tanga revolt of July. This was a sustained campaign by the natives against the garrison army. The guerilla fighters had somehow managed to equip themselves with obsolete Prussian rifles, and the ensuing campaign led to deaths of over 5,000 Danish troops until the eventual capture of their ringleader, who was executed after torture yielded no information as to the source of their weaponry. There were several smaller revolts in the south, mostly against minor landholders in the Crown Colonies of Kilwa and Lindi rather than the DEAC itself.
Elsewhere, the trading post at Yebuti was made into a full colony, falling under the jurisdiction of the DEAC.
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No that is Christmas Eve, the night before Christmas. It is probably a Norman/Germanic tradition.
Nice trilogy on Christmas 50p, Sandlund has seen the light as well, for a wee tiny bit
Nice trilogy on Christmas 50p, Sandlund has seen the light as well, for a wee tiny bit
OV: Well, not really. Sandlund just could not be bothered dealing with such mundane stuff.
Ciçatrix: Thanks. Now that I have everything working again there should more historical, gameplay oriented updates than there have been of late.
GhostWriter: Thanks.
Here is the first update of 2006. I should also note that this AAR is now over 100 pages of a single Works document, as well as being over 50,000 words.
Ciçatrix: Thanks. Now that I have everything working again there should more historical, gameplay oriented updates than there have been of late.
GhostWriter: Thanks.
Here is the first update of 2006. I should also note that this AAR is now over 100 pages of a single Works document, as well as being over 50,000 words.
Last edited:
The Danish Revival
51. Going Home
15th January 1843
Carlsforth Hall was a hive of activity, as servants scuttled around making last minute preparations for the departure of the guests of over a year. In the parlour, however, Lord Haughton sat smoking a cigar coolly, seemingly existing peacefully in the eye of the storm. Beside him on the table was a glass of whisky, and the newspaper resting on his lap had his full attention. There was a polite knock on the door, and Jens took Haughton’s grunt as permission to enter.
“Ah, Jens, cigar?” He declined, and sat down on the chair opposite Haughton’s.
“We’re going soon, so I thought I had better say goodbye. Helena is off somewhere ordering the servants around as if they are her own.” Haughton laughed, and raised his eyes from the paper.
“The house is going to feel empty without you two here, I can tell you.” Jens saw sadness in the old man’s eyes, or maybe it was something else. Jens was not quite sure.
“You have been most generous to allow us to stay in your home for so long, I feel I owe you a massive debt of gratitude,” Jens said. Haughton shook his head, frowning.
“No no, not at all. It’s been great having you here.” Jens nodded, smiling, and a friendly silence enveloped. The year, Jens reflected, had gone by with such haste that it seemed impossible that it was already 1843. Early in 1842 Haughton had put Jens in contact with some associates in the Foreign Office, who were able to inform him regularly of happenings in Denmark, especially those concerning Mathias Jonsson. In truth, there had been little to report. In March of that year Søren had returned to Copenhagen suffering from acute homesickness, and had promised to keep his ears open with regards to Mathias. Thus, for the rest of the year it had been just him and Helena, and in that time they shared the experiences that ten years of separation had deprived them of. In August they had been married in a small ceremony in a chapel on the grounds of Carlsforth House, and the rest of the year the communiqués from London had been sparse.
As the New Year came, Jens and Helena had decided it was time to return to Denmark. Both were determined to solve the riddle of why Jens had been imprisoned for so long by Mathias, what it was that had caused him to keep Jens alive instead of just killing him as he did to all others who knew too much. The problem was that while Jens knew that he knew too much, he did not know what he knew too much of, other than it would be considered treasonous. He recalled that the angel Iedidiel had, in a dream, had told him that Mathias was planning something, something big. The contacts at the Foreign Office had hinted that there was something dark and sinister, some kind of eminence gris pulling the strings behind the Danish government that Mathias was a part of, but could give no further details.
In November he had received a letter from Alphonse, which had reminded him of the horoscope prediction that he had made foreseeing great darkness in the future of the Danish Kingdom. He could remember the exact words; Denmark will be ruled by the principles of fear, chaos and absolute power. This was still as ambiguous in Jens’ mind as it had been all those years ago. How, for example, could it be ruled by both chaos, which suggests anarchy, and absolute power, which implies strong central authority? Unless it is the chaos that wields the absolute power…
A loud crash, followed by extensive cursing woke him from his daydream. He looked up, slightly dazed, and saw Haughton smirking.
“That wife of yours really does have a foul mouth, doesn’t she?” Jens was for a moment perplexed, and then it occurred to him that Haughton had quite a good knowledge of the Danish language, presumably including the curse words. Helena popped her head around the door, her face flushed red.
“The servants just knocked over some old table, and it landed on the foot,” she said, by way of explanation. “Jens, are you ready to go?”
“He’ll just be a moment,” Haughton said, motioning for her to leave. He went over to a cabinet in the corner of the room and took something out, to the confusion of Jens. He was holding an object wrapped in a cloth, and when He revealed it to Jens he let out a stifled gasp.
“I know that, that’s…”
“I thought you might recognise it. It is Dr. John Dee’s actual scrying mirror, made of black obsidian with a frame made of solid silver. It is my gift to you, in the hope that it may somehow aid you against the wiles of Jonsson. Take it.” He thrust it into Jens’ hands, and as he took it he was surprised by how light it was, almost as if it’s weight was distributed among many different planes of existence.
“I thought this was in the British Museum?” he stuttered, not quite believing his senses. This was one object that any occultist worth his salt would long to get their hands on. Haughton shrugged.
“It’s a fake, a mere replica. That, I can tell you, is the real thing.”
“It’s…incredible,” Jens whispered in awe. “How can I ever thank you? First you put me and my wife up in your home for over a year, and then this!” Haughton smiled.
“Making Mathias see the error of his ways is thanks enough for me.” They shook hands, and Jens carefully stored the mirror in his luggage. Five minutes later the coach was on it’s way to Ipswich, where a trading clipper would take them the rest of the way. As he looked back he was already beginning to miss the comfortable existence they had led at Carlsforth Hall, but as he turned back he saw the beautiful face of Helena, gently dozing, and began to think very deeply about all that had happened, all that was happening and all that was yet to occur.
15th January 1843
Carlsforth Hall was a hive of activity, as servants scuttled around making last minute preparations for the departure of the guests of over a year. In the parlour, however, Lord Haughton sat smoking a cigar coolly, seemingly existing peacefully in the eye of the storm. Beside him on the table was a glass of whisky, and the newspaper resting on his lap had his full attention. There was a polite knock on the door, and Jens took Haughton’s grunt as permission to enter.
“Ah, Jens, cigar?” He declined, and sat down on the chair opposite Haughton’s.
“We’re going soon, so I thought I had better say goodbye. Helena is off somewhere ordering the servants around as if they are her own.” Haughton laughed, and raised his eyes from the paper.
“The house is going to feel empty without you two here, I can tell you.” Jens saw sadness in the old man’s eyes, or maybe it was something else. Jens was not quite sure.
“You have been most generous to allow us to stay in your home for so long, I feel I owe you a massive debt of gratitude,” Jens said. Haughton shook his head, frowning.
“No no, not at all. It’s been great having you here.” Jens nodded, smiling, and a friendly silence enveloped. The year, Jens reflected, had gone by with such haste that it seemed impossible that it was already 1843. Early in 1842 Haughton had put Jens in contact with some associates in the Foreign Office, who were able to inform him regularly of happenings in Denmark, especially those concerning Mathias Jonsson. In truth, there had been little to report. In March of that year Søren had returned to Copenhagen suffering from acute homesickness, and had promised to keep his ears open with regards to Mathias. Thus, for the rest of the year it had been just him and Helena, and in that time they shared the experiences that ten years of separation had deprived them of. In August they had been married in a small ceremony in a chapel on the grounds of Carlsforth House, and the rest of the year the communiqués from London had been sparse.
As the New Year came, Jens and Helena had decided it was time to return to Denmark. Both were determined to solve the riddle of why Jens had been imprisoned for so long by Mathias, what it was that had caused him to keep Jens alive instead of just killing him as he did to all others who knew too much. The problem was that while Jens knew that he knew too much, he did not know what he knew too much of, other than it would be considered treasonous. He recalled that the angel Iedidiel had, in a dream, had told him that Mathias was planning something, something big. The contacts at the Foreign Office had hinted that there was something dark and sinister, some kind of eminence gris pulling the strings behind the Danish government that Mathias was a part of, but could give no further details.
In November he had received a letter from Alphonse, which had reminded him of the horoscope prediction that he had made foreseeing great darkness in the future of the Danish Kingdom. He could remember the exact words; Denmark will be ruled by the principles of fear, chaos and absolute power. This was still as ambiguous in Jens’ mind as it had been all those years ago. How, for example, could it be ruled by both chaos, which suggests anarchy, and absolute power, which implies strong central authority? Unless it is the chaos that wields the absolute power…
A loud crash, followed by extensive cursing woke him from his daydream. He looked up, slightly dazed, and saw Haughton smirking.
“That wife of yours really does have a foul mouth, doesn’t she?” Jens was for a moment perplexed, and then it occurred to him that Haughton had quite a good knowledge of the Danish language, presumably including the curse words. Helena popped her head around the door, her face flushed red.
“The servants just knocked over some old table, and it landed on the foot,” she said, by way of explanation. “Jens, are you ready to go?”
“He’ll just be a moment,” Haughton said, motioning for her to leave. He went over to a cabinet in the corner of the room and took something out, to the confusion of Jens. He was holding an object wrapped in a cloth, and when He revealed it to Jens he let out a stifled gasp.
“I know that, that’s…”
“I thought you might recognise it. It is Dr. John Dee’s actual scrying mirror, made of black obsidian with a frame made of solid silver. It is my gift to you, in the hope that it may somehow aid you against the wiles of Jonsson. Take it.” He thrust it into Jens’ hands, and as he took it he was surprised by how light it was, almost as if it’s weight was distributed among many different planes of existence.
Dr. John Dee
“I thought this was in the British Museum?” he stuttered, not quite believing his senses. This was one object that any occultist worth his salt would long to get their hands on. Haughton shrugged.
“It’s a fake, a mere replica. That, I can tell you, is the real thing.”
“It’s…incredible,” Jens whispered in awe. “How can I ever thank you? First you put me and my wife up in your home for over a year, and then this!” Haughton smiled.
“Making Mathias see the error of his ways is thanks enough for me.” They shook hands, and Jens carefully stored the mirror in his luggage. Five minutes later the coach was on it’s way to Ipswich, where a trading clipper would take them the rest of the way. As he looked back he was already beginning to miss the comfortable existence they had led at Carlsforth Hall, but as he turned back he saw the beautiful face of Helena, gently dozing, and began to think very deeply about all that had happened, all that was happening and all that was yet to occur.
Carlsforth Hall
End of Part Three
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GhostWriter: Thanks.
Cicatrix: Well, actually more like 111 pages.
Only two comments in five days? I have to say that's a bit disappointing. Still, here is the next update.
Cicatrix: Well, actually more like 111 pages.
Only two comments in five days? I have to say that's a bit disappointing. Still, here is the next update.