Ban it.

The Woman of the Day is the Anglo-Saxon noblewoman Godgifu of West Mercia, the only woman to remain a landholder in Britain after those robbing Normans swept in and stole everything that wasn’t nailed down (and quite a few things that were). Of course you’ve heard of her. You’ve heard of the Godiva Procession which was instituted in 1678 by Coventry Fair to commemorate the legendary ride by the Lady. Taking pity on the people of Coventry suffering grievously under her husband's oppressive taxation, she called his bluff that he would repeal the taxes if she would strip naked and ride through the streets of the town, clothed only in her long hair. She only agreed on the condition that everyone stayed indoors and shut their windows, but a tailor known ever afterwards as Peeping Tom disobeyed and was struck blind. Allegedly. It was all bunkum. Absolute bunkum. Lady Godiva’s real name was Godgifu. She married Leofric, Earl of Mercia, but both she and her husband were major philanthropists and among the most munificent of the Anglo-Saxon nobility until the Norman Conquest in 1066 (and those robbing Normans came along, etc). In Anglo-Saxon times, in laws dated around 1008 AD, women enjoyed full property rights, from peasant to nobility. They could own land, farms, houses. Upon marriage, a husband was legally required to give his wife a Morgengifu (Morning Gift): land, money, or goods, which remained her independent property that she could sell, give away, or manage as she chose. Women wrote their own wills and left property to whomever they chose including children, servants, or religious institutions, and they didn’t need their husband's permission. All that stopped after 1066. The new feudal system tied land ownership to military service, something women were barred from providing. Women became the chattels (property) of their husbands if they were married, or their fathers if they were not, a legal state known as coverture. Still, I’m sure the Normans thought they were being progressive and inclusive, two words I’ve come to loathe. But I digress. Godgifu survived the death of her husband and was mentioned in the Domesday Book, one of the few Anglo-Saxons and the only woman to remain a major landholder after the Conquest. Godgifu certainly would have ridden a horse but not in protest and certainly not minus her clothes. Still, the idea of it proved quite a crowd pleaser at Coventry Fair in 1678, even though the first fake Lady Godiva was actually a lad. Yes, I know. Some things just don’t change. In the intervening years, the myth was spiced up by the Puritans to prove a moral point but dampened down by other Protestants to make it fit for delicate ears. Never forget: the objectification of women is eternal, along with its fraternal twin, misogyny. The two generally go hand in hand. Despite several attempts to shut down the procession — in 1845, the Mayor got fed up with the crowds jostling to get a better view of her, expostulating, “It’s a disgrace”, and in 1854, the Bishop of Worcester protested against “a Birmingham whore being paraded through the streets as Lady Godiva” — it continued as a annual event until the 1960s. Godgifu’s date of birth is unknown but she died in her mid-fifties in 1067 after the Norman Conquest of 1066. The Domesday Book of 1086 notes that the lands formerly held by her had passed to others. Men of course. Chattels are property, and property cannot own property. Married women finally achieved independent taxation in their own right in 1990. Prior to that, their husbands were responsible for paying tax on their income unless she obtained his signature and consent to claim her own single person's allowance and pay tax on her own earnings. Her unearned income — such as investment or savings interest — still legally belonged to him. And of course, the "marital rape exemption" — the legal assumption that a wife could not withhold sexual consent from her husband under the marriage contract — was not formally abolished in English law until 1991. 935 years. It only took 935 years in this country to demolish the legal status and definition of Woman as Property, and despite the Supreme Court ruling, we still find ourselves having to dismantle the definition of Woman as a feeling — with political parties, Civil Service departments, with trade unions, charities, retailers, and with sporting bodies. I know many of us are tired of fighting the same old battles but keep going, sisters. “We woman suffragists have a great mission — the greatest mission the world has ever known. It is to free half the human race, and through that freedom to save the rest.” Emmeline Pankhurst, 17 October 1912.

In 1943, the Gestapo finally caught Raymond Aubrac, one of France’s most wanted Resistance leaders. The German secret police sentenced him to death, and his execution was only days away. At the same time, his wife Lucie was six months pregnant with their second child. Most people in her position would have gone into hiding, grieved quietly, and prayed for a miracle. Lucie Aubrac decided to do something completely different. She got her hands on forged identity papers, created a believable cover story, and walked straight into the office of Klaus Barbie. History would later remember Barbie as the brutal Butcher of Lyon, but Lucie did not let fear stop her. She looked him in the eye and successfully convinced him to grant her a final visit with her condemned husband. But Lucie did not risk her life just to say a tearful goodbye. While she was inside the prison area, she was secretly memorizing the positions of the guards, counting the minutes between patrols, and mapping out the exact route the prison truck would take. She was treating a desperate situation like a military operation. On October 21, 1943, that prison truck rolled through the streets of Lyon. It was carrying Raymond and several other prisoners toward what should have been their final destination. What the German soldiers did not know was that Lucie had spent weeks quietly assembling a dedicated team of Resistance fighters. She planned an ambush with absolute precision. When the truck finally reached the chosen ambush spot, her team struck fast, coordinated, and without a single moment of hesitation. In the middle of the sudden gunfire and chaos, Raymond Aubrac was pulled free from the truck. Lucie, who was visibly and unmistakably pregnant, had organized every single detail of his dramatic liberation. Right after the rescue, the couple had to go into deep hiding. A few weeks later, Lucie gave birth to their daughter in a secret safe house while German forces searched frantically for them across France. They managed to evade capture until the war ended. When liberation finally came, the Aubracs did not just try to sit back and recover from their trauma. Instead, they rebuilt their lives and continued to serve their country. Raymond became a celebrated engineer and entered public life to help rebuild France's infrastructure. Lucie became a respected historian, pouring decades of her life into making sure that the women of the French Resistance were never forgotten. She wanted to make sure these women, who were so often unnamed in the history books, were written permanently into the record. Together, the couple raised three children, traveled the world, argued, laughed, and grew old side by side. Years later, journalists asked Lucie what had compelled her to risk everything on that dangerous October day. She did not hesitate for a second. She looked at them and said, "He was my husband. What else would I do?" In his final years, he continued speaking publicly to young generations about the Resistance, the power of memory, and the absolute obligation to tell the truth about history. When Lucie passed away in 2007 at 94, and Raymond followed her in 2012 at 97, they left behind a 64 year marriage that was a testament to the ultimate triumph of life and family over hatred. Their love didn't just survive a war it blossomed into a lifetime of shared smiles, proving that the greatest force in the world is a heart that refuses to give up on the one it loves ♥️♥️

In 1941, a Spaniard walked into the British embassy in Madrid and offered to spy on the Nazis. The British turned him down. So he went to the Germans instead, pretended to be a loyal fascist, and got hired as a German spy. His plan was to lie to them for the rest of the war. It worked better than anyone could have imagined. His name was Juan Pujol García. Before the war he had tried his hand at running a chicken farm and a movie theater. He had no spy training. What he had was a deep hatred of both fascism and communism after the Spanish Civil War, and an incredible imagination. The Germans gave him a codename, invisible ink, money, and orders to go to Britain and recruit spies. He didn't go to Britain. He went to Lisbon, Portugal, and made everything up. Using a tourist guidebook, maps, magazines, newsreels, and a British railway timetable from the library, he wrote long, detailed reports about life in England. Military movements. Morale. Ports. He'd never been there. He made mistakes. He didn't understand British money. He once reported that dockworkers in Glasgow would do anything for a liter of wine. The Germans loved him anyway. Then British codebreakers reading German messages noticed something strange. The Germans were hunting for a convoy that didn't exist, based on a report from some agent in Britain they'd never heard of. The British went looking for this mystery spy. They found Pujol. In 1942 they finally took him on and brought him to London. Now he had real help. MI5 gave him the codename Garbo, after the actress, because they thought he was the greatest actor in the world. Together with his British handler, Pujol built a fake spy network for the Germans. It eventually had 27 imaginary agents. Each had a name, a personality, a job, and a backstory. A Welsh nationalist. A Venezuelan student. A Greek sailor. Some of them recruited their own imaginary sub-agents. When they needed to explain why one agent had gone quiet, they killed him off. They even put a fake obituary in a Liverpool newspaper. The Germans reportedly paid a pension to his widow. Who also didn't exist. Then came D-Day. Hours before the landings, the British let Pujol send a message warning the Germans that the invasion was coming in Normandy. It was timed so it would arrive too late to matter, but it made him look brilliant. Three days later he sent the most important message of his career. Normandy was a trick, he said. The real invasion was still coming, at Calais, led by a huge army under General Patton. That army was fake too. But the Germans believed him. German forces that could have been rushed to Normandy were held back near Calais for weeks, waiting for an attack that never came. The Germans were so grateful they awarded him the Iron Cross. A few months later, King George VI made him a Member of the Order of the British Empire. He's one of the only people known to have been decorated by both sides of the war. After the war, afraid of revenge from surviving Nazis, he faked his own death from malaria in Africa and disappeared to Venezuela, where he lived quietly running a shop. For decades the world thought he was dead. In 1984, a British writer tracked him down. Pujol came back to Normandy for the 40th anniversary of D-Day and met veterans who had landed on the beaches. Some of them thanked him.

You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a baby with no teeth, no job, and no idea who Barbara Ann is absolutely losing their mind to “Ba ba ba, ba Barbara Ann!” by The Beach Boys! 😂🎶

BREAKING: President Trump must sit for a deposition in his defamation lawsuit against the BBC by Dec. 11, a judge orders. apnews.com/article/trump-bbc…

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