Giant by name and giant by nature

We often look back and think of the ancient structures at Stonehenge (3000 BC to 2000 BC) and wonder about the people who made this impressive spot. We are blown away by their inventiveness, just how did they move those large stones (7.3 metres tall and weighing as much as two tons), and wonder why they did it.  We know the stones were mined quite far away and had to be transported long distances so no wonder we are impressed.  

But almost 6000 years earlier than Stonehenge, Gobekli Tepe in South Eastern Anatolia (Turkey) is a Neolithic archaeological site with 17 pillars inscribed with herds of gazelle and other figures of wild animals. This site makes Stonehenge fairly modern by comparison. This is one of the world’s oldest permanent human settlements and is linked to that interesting period when humanity first transitioned from being hunters and gatherers to having an agricultural lifestyle.  Whereas Stonehenge was probably originally designed as a cemetery, Gobekli Tepe is thought to have originated as the world’s first temple and was quite sophisticated, with grinding stones and mortar and pestles etc. Dating from 9500 to 8000 BCE this is certainly an impressive place.

Amidst all the ancient history of such places, there are also stories that seemed to have survived over the millennia in many parts of the world.  Giants in various shapes and sizes have long been the stuff of legend.  Americans dug up skeletons of giants all over their continent in the late 19th century and early 20th century, and their heights were said to range from 7ft to 20 ft tall.   When these were debunked in 1934 by a leading scientist in the Smithsonian Institution (dinosaur bones were included in these finds), many fanatics convinced of their “truth” turned on this institution. Indeed, Smithsonian archaeologists were accused of destroying giant bones in order to cover up their existence.  

Just in case you thought this confusion was a result of early ignorance of scientific investigation this particular story was revived as recently as 2014. An internet story began circulating that claimed the Smithsonian Institution had custody of giant skeletons but they destroyed "thousands of giant skeletons" in the early 20th century.  Reuters and the Associated Press were this time able to expose the falsity of this.  It is depressing that nonsense reappears like a bad smell again and again.  Do we really have to waste valuable research time and money having to dispel crazy myths over and over again?  You think of education as a progressive process always advancing and illuminating humanity but it appears that miseducation is even more prevalent these days!  Will education deteriorate until it simply consists of just removing erroneous information gleaned? 

Two of my three sons shared a bedroom and my youngest son had his head filled with everything his older brother could think to tell him. For instance, that the universe was formed by a monkey and a vending machine in one long complicated tale that his brother retold so many times my youngest knew it by heart.  I feared my youngest son’s first few years of schooling would just entail unlearning all that his mischievous brother had instilled.  Back to the giant legend and to both ancient discoveries and old manuscripts.

Chinese ancient manuscripts speak of legendary figures of great height with deep-set blue or green eyes, long noses with full beards and red or blond hair.  Strangely much later, Pliny the Elder (23-79AD) mentioned a report from a Ceylonese ambassador to the Roman Emperor Claudius of a people in north-west China who exceeded the normal height, had flaxen hair with blue eyes and who made an uncouth sort of noise when talking.  It all sounds like nonsense but then the Tarim Mummies were discovered and these tall red-haired, Caucasian-looking people were found with felt and woven clothing and seemed very tall. They are called Tarim because that is the region in present-day Xinjiang, China (surprise, surprise - North West China!) where they were found.  They existed in this region from 1800 BC to the first centuries BC and are believed to descend from Indo-European language speakers who migrated into the Russian steppes around 3300 BC (no wonder their language was foreign sounding to those in China). 

One such mummy, known as the Cherchen Man, was an adult male who is believed to have died around 1000 BC and was aged around fifty years at the time of his death. He was tall and his hair was "reddish brown flecked with grey, framing high cheekbones", he had an aquiline "long nose, full lips and a ginger beard", and was wearing "a red twill tunic" and leggings with a pattern resembling tartan. 

Obviously, news of this group had travelled far and wide hence the ancient Chinese and Pliny references.  Height variation is not new, after all, ancient hunter gathers had an average height of 5 ft 9 inches but when an agricultural lifestyle was adopted the average height of a man had fallen to just 5 ft 3 inches by 3000 BC.  In comparison to those average heights, these guys must have seemed like giants!

Our species has been on the move over the millennium and with the aid of modern science we have a better notion of how and when that took place.  It is fascinating to see this movement on a map.

Looking at this movement over the millennium it is no wonder the human race is of many hues, sizes and dimensions. We know that pygmy tribes have an average height of 4 ft 11 inches and we accept that this variation is found in tribes.  So perhaps there were tribes of tall people too? After all exceptionally tall people turn up in unexpected places. Here are a few captured on camera. 

Battista (or Baptiste) Hugo and Antoine Hugo were born 11 years apart in the late 1880s. The brothers were born in Vinadio, a village in the Italian mountains. Baptiste reached a height of 7ft 6.5 inches. Antoine was somewhat smaller at just under 7 ft 5ins.

The Imperial Durbar in Delhi in January 1903 was designed to celebrate the ascension of Edward VI and Alexandra of Denmark as the Emperor and Empress of India. In attendance at the Durbar, were the Rulers from all the big and small states that made up India.  The Maharaja of Kashmir brought along his giant bodyguards who literally stood heads and shoulders above everyone there.  They were twin brothers of which the taller one was 7 ft 9 inches and the shorter one 7 ft 4 ins tall. Called the Giants of Kashmir they were in service of the Maharaja as elite riflemen and his personal bodyguards.

Martine Van Buren Bates (1837-1919), called the Kentucky giant, was 7 ft 9 inches tall and he is photographed below with his wife who was even taller at 7 ft 11 inches.  

Mind you being this tall could bring its own problems.  Martin was one of the few of this height who survived into his 80s.  Health problems can arise due to extreme height and vice versa, health problems can cause extreme height.  There is a disease that triggers excessive growth due to a tumour on the pituitary gland. Gigantism is a very rare condition that happens when a child or adolescent has high levels of growth hormone (GH) in their body, which causes them to grow very tall. Many children with gigantism (29%) have a genetic mutation that causes the pituitary tumour to form. Given this is inherited, nowadays genetic screening of patients with GH excess is recommended to avoid the excessive growth associated with this condition.  In contrast, nowadays to treat short stature, growth hormone can be supplied to children to trigger growth.  It is horrifying to discover that in the 1950s and 60s estrogen treatment was given to some girls to stunt their natural growth.  It was thought if they were tall it would impact their future ability to marry!  

The evidence is clear not only do giants exist now but they have also existed in the past. Here is a table of giants and I have only selected those over 7 ft 5 inches and got no further than India in the alphabet of countries so apologies to those I have left out. Note too, how many died at quite a young age.  Being tall is obviously a challenge to our physical systems.

The next question is, could there have been tribes of giants?  Well, given the genetic components both in terms of simple inherited height and also gigantism it is conceivable that an isolated tribal community could have boosted their height considerably relative to others.  The average height of a man from Netherlands is 6 ft, among the tallest in the world, and their diet which is rich in milk and meat seems to have helped.  The Trapp family in Esko, Minnesota, USA, consisting of mum Krissy (6 ft 3 inches), dad Scott (6 ft 8 inches), children Savanna (6 ft 8 inches), Molly (6 ft 6 ins), and Adam (6 ft 8 inches) demonstrate that clearly having tall parents helps boost height 

Imagine, if instead of having three children the Trapp family had 12.  After all, when I go back to my own family two generations on both sides 12 was a fairly common family size.  Then, suddenly the idea of a tribe of giants seems not just a possibility but a distinct probability.

Interestingly I read this study, which has relevance to where I am from, Northern Ireland.

“An international team of scientists led by Prof. Márta Korbonits from Queen Mary University, London, reported key findings regarding pituitary tumours of genetic origin. The study, published in the journal Human Mutation and covered by the BBC and The Times, identified an increased number of patients with acromegaly and gigantism in the Mid Ulster region of Ireland and demonstrates how a change in the gene called AIP was inherited from one single person, the "common ancestor", who lived approximately 2,500 years ago….These findings may explain the known historical accounts of Irish giants originating from the area and, in a way, justifies the numerous local legends involving giants.”

I am not at all sure I agree with that last statement. After all, giants have been mentioned in cultures all over the world so did they all suffer from this disease?  Before modern medicine, gigantism meant you died fairly young so I am not sure that is an evolutionary gain. I don’t want to make a big thing out of this but the tall the short of it is, physical size is just one aspect of being human.  By far the biggest is the person you are inside and the quality of that will determine your own legend and legacy.  Those we remember throughout history were rarely the tallest but they contributed massively to our civilisation.

A hero is born among a hundred, a wise man is found among a thousand, but an accomplished one might not be found even among a hundred thousand men.

Plato

Blood and gusts, urine and rescue

Northern Ireland reminds me so much of my roots. Sitting in the waiting room in the haematology Department I get chatting to an 85-year-old fellow patient. Our conversation was triggered by a much older man nearby getting his blood taken in a treatment room. Being wheelchair bound and extremely deaf, every exchange with the staff is audible to all in the waiting room outside. His medical records indicate he was born on the 10^th of February and the nurse treating him comments that her father was also born on that day. He asks loudly, “but what year was he born?” The nurse answers with, “1933” and his response to that is, “Sure, he’s only a young one isn’t he?” Or to be more accurate what he actually said was “Ach sure e’s only a yungon ainy?”  But I shall spare all of you any more of the deadly Northern Ireland dialect.

The people in the waiting room smile in response, feeling much better about their own age. The man beside me is also a young one born in 1933 and informs me he is the youngest of a family of eight. His elder sister never married and lived until her 97^th year, a lovely kind woman he tells me.  One of his brothers was in the military and died in his 50s, this was accompanied by a sad sigh of loss despite the decades that have since passed. We talk of places and family. His name is Anderson and I also have family members called Anderson but he comes from a different area entirely in Northern Ireland called Cookstown. I told him I have a relative who ran the pharmacy in Cookstown for years and suddenly I realise the unknown person beside me in Northern Ireland is invariably either related/lives beside a relative/or went to school with a relative.

The communication goes deeper and we share our relief at the rescue of the Thai youngsters from the dark deep water-logged cave. In such moments humans show their compassion and unity in longing for their safe rescue. All of us have become invested in these young footballers. Their release is a joyous relief. Of course, we are picky about our investment of emotional attachment. Thousands drowning in the Mediterranean pluck few heartstrings but a tiny toddler face down in the surf of a beach breaks through our intellectual defences. Likewise, millions facing desperate conditions in Yemen don’t make it onto our newspapers. Instead, the infantile posturing of the self-important gets three-inch high headlines. The worst humanitarian disaster facing humanity at present is considered of little or no impact importance in this perverse world of ours.

My 85-year-old fellow patient is struggling to maintain his garden these days just like my mum. They are both suffering from the present hosepipe ban. The younger gardeners manage by using watering cans but for the over 80s they just have to watch their flowers wilt and fade while their lawns grow brown and die. He tells me he was the last child born in his family and was 18 pounds at birth*.  He’s a nice good-natured 85-year-old, well dressed and well spoken. I tell him he’s lucky to have been brought up in a big family surrounded by loved ones.

Then, he says all his brothers and sisters have since died. The last he lost was a sister 12 years ago.  He’s all alone now. No brothers or sisters, his wife gone and his only son lives abroad. I had idly thought that the lonely were usually drug addicts or alcoholics who had systematically broken or abused every family relationship until they were homeless with no one left to care. I had not factored in that death in old age is equally effective in breaking all the loving bonds that unite families.  Gradually death casts aside all the mooring lines that attach you to others. Drifting off, these individuals are unexpected alone after a lifetime of being loved and surrounded by kindness. They don’t expect it and have no time to acclimatise to this new brutal reality. They have all the social skills that life in a loving family cultivates. They’re good-natured, long-suffering, grateful for all the special souls that have shared this journey with them. But suddenly they bereft and alone facing hospital visits and treatment alone. There is no one to share the bad news with. It fills my heart with sudden sympathy. They cultivate a new kinship with those in here to get blood tests regularly and most seem to know each other. Suddenly, as the conversations develop the noise levels rise and it makes me feel Northern Irish. That characteristic chattiness and love of a good gossip binds and quickly unites us.  They’re talking about football now anticipating the big game tomorrow as one man in a wheelchair is wheeled out of a treatment room and placed beside us.  As the consultant passes back into the treatment room he points out to the nurse that “We seem to have a leak here!”  Horrified everyone notices that the man’s wheelchair is parked in a puddle of urine that has dripped from his chair.  The consultant closes this door, the nurse rushes to get cleaning material and we are all left in awkward silence.

Into the humiliating silence, people unexpectedly begin to share tales of their own humiliation. Some are really cracking tales told in commiseration for the chap in the wheelchair.  One character, Jesse, a middle-aged man in a red tracksuit says his bowels stopped working a year ago. He was given fibre gel, lactose, senna etc and growing arsenal of stuff designed to give him a good ‘pull through’ as my grandfather would call it. All to no avail in Jesse's case,” I was blocked up as if by cement!” He explained.  “They give me everything short of dynamite to get me going but all failed. After three weeks I felt my innards would explode if no relief came. I was swollen like a pregnant pup and the pain was awful. I could barely sit and standing was not much better!  Anyway, unknown to me my doc arranged for me to be hospitalised. They took me on board this ambulance for a 10-minute drive to the local hospital. I didn’t make it. Eight minutes into the trip, my bowels finally decided to get going after being on strike for three weeks. There was I, in the back of an ambulance, having the bowel movement of the century. I apologised to the wee lass with me in the back of the ambulance and the driver and the nurse who helped clean me up on the ward later. I thought I’d be mortified beyond belief! But you know what, I was rightly relieved and grateful too! It’s not until you can’t do something that you begin to appreciate the miracle of anything.” 

It was a cracking tale that had us all laughing in stitches. Even the poor guy sitting in the wheelchair in a puddle started giggling.  The nurse came back into the waiting room mop and bucket in hand. First, she sprayed some disinfectant on the floor and then carefully mopped up the urine, moving the wheelchair to get underneath.  Then she left and the humiliation was back in the room.  Everyone knew he was sitting in soaking clothes wet and uncomfortable.

We were rescued by a white-haired lady sitting opposite who shared her story of humiliation. Once she’d been a deputy head of school and had gone in to talk to the headmaster in his office. While there she felt an unexpected urge to fart. While not been able to avoid passing wind she did manage to do so silently, “silent but deadly” she informed the riveted room. After the conversation was over she left the office happy that she had got away with the unexpected gust without being noticed.  A few minutes later she realised she had left her handbag in the office and returned to the office knocking briefly before entering to retrieve her bag. There, she found the headmaster with the office window open using a large newspaper to waft out the offending smell.  She said, “I didn’t know where to look, I actually put my hands over my eyes, I was that ashamed.  I left the office without saying a word and thought suicide was my only option!”  In the silence that followed we all howled in mirth.  The room was full of riotous laughter and good humour.  There are true comedians skilled in tales to bring you back from the edge of despair.  Sharing their own humiliation turned an unmitigated disaster into something else for all of us. 

_.

* I found this almost unbelievable but then found out afterwards that the record for "heaviest birth" is currently held by Anna Bates, who gave birth to a boy weighing 22 pounds in Seville, Ohio, on January 19, 1879.

Christmas Blues

Was at school this week in the staff room and the discussion was centred on the preparations for Christmas.  Buying presents, decorating trees, Christmas parties, performances etc.  I mentioned that we did not and have never bought Christmas presents or trees for our children.  There was a horrified silence as if I had regaled them with tales of how I starved my children regularly.  My story had slipped out when I told them of shopping at a supermarket with my youngest, a mere toddler, in the trolley seat with groceries pilled up behind him.  As the shop assistant scanned the items she smiled brightly at my son and asked that usual pre Christmas question.

“And what is Santa bringing you?” 

in a happy confidant tone designed to lift customers spirits with festive joy.

Daniel answered instantly 

“He doesn’t give me anything and never has!”

A horrified uncomfortable silence reigned as she scanned in the remaining items.  The look she gave me was one of shocked surprise that said clearly she wondered what kind of parent was I.

My children were told from an early age that Santa was not real.  That other parents pretended he existed for lovely reasons.   To make their children excited about the Christmas period, to celebrate the birth of Christ, to create a spirit of giving and kindness in families and communities.  We kept stressing that it was a religious festival designed to remind people of the life of Christ and his teachings.  But they missed the whole presents and Santa thing.  The only present they got was one from my parents and boy did that one present mean a lot!

It was a little hard at times when they saw the abundance of gifts showered upon their cousins and neighbours.  But they were surprisingly stoical about it.  Children accept you for what you are, warts and all.  They see you as normal and judge the rest of the world from that baseline. That’s why it is so horrible when we really screw them up.  When we make our nightmare their baseline.

Thankfully our three children, now adults, seem to hold no grudges for all those missing gifts and non-existent Santas.  Which kind of shows how meaningless most of that crap really is.  Indeed, we were careful to tell them, even when toddlers, that on no account should they ruin the illusion of Santa for their friends and school mates. That it would be cruel to steal this illusion when their parents had so carefully cultivated the magic of it year after year.  So when Daniel aged three answered the shop assistant with

            “He doesn’t give me anything and never has!”

I was quite proud that he was careful not to shatter her conviction that Santa was real.  He knew not to announce that,

“Santa does not exist and therefore does not bring me anything.”

He responded with a statement of truth while allowing her to maintain her belief in Santa.  It always amazes me how thoughtful and kind small people can be.  It strikes me that they would not ruffle feathers in staffrooms over Christmas.  I obviously have much to learn!