In West Africa, the era of colonialism imposed new economic imperatives on Africans, compelling them to venture away from their homelands and engage in the cultivation of novel crops and income-generating activities. For many Yoruba migrant workers, this journey mirrored the pre-colonial trading routes of their forebears, leading them to settle in areas where their ancestors had established diaspora communities.

Under colonial rule, the long-standing tradition of Yoruba migration to regions like Ghana and Kano underwent a transformation. The advent of mechanized transportation, including bicycles, motor roads, and railways, facilitated their migration to locations such as Tamale in northern Ghana and Kano in northern Nigeria. These migrations were triggered by a variety of factors, including the colonial tax burden and the demand for cash crops. Some Yoruba migrants moved to Ghana and northern Nigeria for political or spiritual reasons, while others engaged in politically motivated migrations in protest against colonial taxation and forced labor.

In response to the structural changes in the colonial economy, Yoruba migrant workers provided vital economic and social services, securing a distinct niche within the economies of their host communities. They were key contributors to the development of modern technical skills, effectively serving as craftmasters of the colonial economy. The migrant profiles and experiences underscore the remarkable adaptability of Yoruba migration culture. This adaptability manifested as a duality of social integration within host communities, often taking the form of transnational connections, and diaspora identities that remained closely intertwined with the homeland for developmental purposes, particularly in the context of homeland politics.

Studies in Arthurian and Chronicle Traditions in Memory of Fiona Tolhurst: Quondam et Futurus is the last in a series of memorial projects in honour of Professor Fiona Tolhurst, who died unexpectedly in December 2021. Tolhurst pursued her undergraduate English literature degree at Rice University, graduating Magna cum Laude and Phi Beta Kappa in 1990. From Rice, she proceeded to a Mellon Fellowship and Princeton University for her graduate training, earning her MA in 1994 and PhD in 1995. Thereafter, Tolhurst worked briefly at Texas A&M before taking up a tenure-track position at Alfred University, becoming one of the youngest female faculty members to achieve Full Professor. At the time of her death in December 2021, Tolhurst was Full Professor and Chair of the Department of Language and Literature at Florida Gulf Coast University.

At about the same time that Tolhurst died, the Executive and Advisory Committee of the North American Branch of the International Arthurian Society was finalizing its 2022 programme for its Arthurian mini-conference at the larger Medieval and Renaissance Symposium at St. Louis University. Although the June 2022 Arthurian mini-conference was not originally designed this way, it quickly became dedicated to Fiona Tolhurst: it was the first of the three Tolhurst Tributes. The second tribute was a 2023 special issue of Arthuriana that published several of the Tolhurst Tribute papers from that June's St. Louis Medieval and Renaissance Symposium.

Franziska had slept longer than usual after her restless night, so that when she awoke at a late hour, the sun was already streaming brightly into her room. Everything seemed transformed, and her melancholy was gone along with the rain.

The two patients were also both improved and under the influence of the changed weather were clearly near recovery. The count was sitting up in his cot, and the door and window were open to let the light in everywhere. Franziska took advantage of this propitious turn of events, and spoke about the boat and the fiery eye that had pursued her into her dreams. And surely the boat must have brought her some news.

“It did, Franzl—a letter from Judith. She's coming, and Egon too. They’re both just waiting for better weather.” As the count said this, Franziska seemed to be thinking, and her color changed.

“You’re not pleased?”

“Oh, no, I am. How could I not be? You know what high regard I have for the countess—how much I love her. There were weeks and days that she might have made difficult for me—but she made them unforgettably happy. I’m truly and sincerely pleased, and if I was startled for a moment, it was only at the thought of being suddenly and unexpectedly torn away from this peace and quiet that I’ve grown so fond of.”

Analysing formerly enslaved people’s 1930s’ interviews from the 1920s and 1930s, this chapter argues that enslaved people developed their own gendered, embodied and spatially defined standards for emotional expression in the US South. To control the bodies and minds of the enslaved, enslavers attempted to restrict bondspeople’s expressions of emotions. Though enslaved people navigated these rules carefully, they also developed their own emotional styles to express emotion as they needed to. In front of their enslavers and when separated from their children, enslaved women publicly expressed their grief despite enslavers’ attempts to restrict these displays. It was when away from the prying eyes of their enslavers, however, that enslaved people could express emotion as they truly desired. When engaging in religious practices on the edge of plantations, enslaved people created spaces of emotional refuge, where expressive emotional displays were encouraged. In creating these standards for emotional expression, enslaved people resisted their enslavers’ emotional restrictions, communicated their political ideologies and created spaces of emotional freedom that aided them in surviving slavery’s violence.

I frst became interested in William Dyngley in 2011 while working on the second Cambridge fascicle of An Index of Images from the Time of Chaucer to Henry VIII. What caught my eye was a catchword design used by his primary scribe. None of the twelve manuscripts bore Dyngley's name, but all were inscribed in the Peterhouse Registrum vetus as his donations to the college. Until recently Dyngley has been little known. In 1896 M. R. James frst drew attention to him in a short entry in Proceedings of the Antiquarian Society citing ‘One group of books – a set of works by SS. Augustine, Ambrose and Jerome, given by a certain William Dyngeby [sic]’ which have ‘notices of the money spent in producing the book. These notices are uniform and the items have some interest.’ The specifc detail was entered in his ensuing Descriptive Catalogue of the Manuscripts in the Library of Peterhouse. In 1936 H. E. Bell praised Dyngley's notices as ‘the most satisfactory records of the cost of production’ he had discovered, and in 2008 J. F. Overty published the itemised lists from five of Dyngley's manuscripts. Neither cited him by name. Virginia Davis in a paper presented at the 1999 Harlaxton Conference included Dyngley in her survey of university-educated secular clerics.

This chapter reviews the Bank of England’s use of QE since the global financial crisis. It takes stock of research from the Bank of England and elsewhere on its impact and effectiveness, drawing out the implications for monetary policy.

There was a closer relationship between the French declaration of war of 20 April 1792 and the emergence of the sans-culottes as a political force than is now apparent in modern scholarship on the French Revolution. In the nineteenth century, the ministry responsible for taking France to war, the ministry made up of the political figures subsequently labelled Girondins, was once known as the sans-culotte ministry.

We consider the version of monadic second-order logic introduced in Hliněný’s analogue of Courcelle’s Theorem. This language establishes a natural connection between formal logics and the computational theory of hypergraphs. The theorems by Courcelle and Seese provide a framework for discussing this connection. Many of the ideas we use have their origins in the classical theorem by Büchi, Elgot, and Trakhtenbrot, showing that a set of strings forms a regular language if and only if it is defined by a monadic sentence.

The origin of the return to close convergence across the annals of C with D and E from the late tenth century until the early 1020s is obscured by the fact that none of these manuscripts were created before the mid-1040s. The block of annals describing the greater part of the reign of King Æthelred was probably authored soon after his death in 1016, and continued to c.1023. While it is likely that this block was created to augment an existing Chronicle version, the extent to which the author adapted or wrote over pre-existing annals is difficult to determine. Furthermore, the relationship between the authoring of this block and the interpolation of long annals concerning King Edgar from the 950s to the 970s is unclear, as is the place of all these annals in relation to the making or possible continuation of the Northern Recension. This chapter begins with a close reading of annals of the reign of Æthelred shared by C, D and E, discussing the contexts of their inclusion. After c.1023 these three Chronicles offer varying patterns of agreement and divergence, but generally in such a way that shows the contemporary annalistic record was neglected from this moment until after the accession of Edward the Confessor in 1042. From this later time, the annals scarcely look back to Cnut's reign, but do so very closely at the succession crisis that arose after his death. Despite sharing sources in and beyond the 1040s, and continuing to be Chronicles about kings (with an increasing interest in queens), these three versions develop individual features, suggesting different local, and even partisan, perspectives for the remainder of their records.

Part of a larger study on the urban experience of siege in the long twelfth century, this essay examines the preludes and onset of sieges, and the economic structures that influenced townspeople whether to resist or come to terms. In doing so, it appreciates the many fault lines amid a town's population: propertied or not, secular or ecclesiastical, young or old, etc. Blending charter evidence with narrative sources, we see towns making (or often, just enduring) deliberate clearances of urban growth in the name of defense. Rapid repairs and even wholesale restoration of town walls had to be done quickly, often by raiding a town's most substantial buildings (i.e., churches and monasteries). This necessity in turn risked alienating divine help. Should external forces be allowed in, ostensibly to help? Ties to the hinterland, such as mills and ovens, had to be reconstituted inside the defenses. Even if all this was accomplished, a town's inhabitants still had to watch the surrounding lands be despoiled and destroyed, thus imperiling their future even if they survived the immediate siege. Thus, every day, if not every hour, was an ongoing calculation whether armed resistance was worthwhile.

A millennium or so before the European Middle Ages, an Egyptian proverb noted that “the wealth of cities rests in not taking sides.” In a political landscape as fractured as that of the High Middle Ages, even determining what constituted a “side” was no simple conclusion, nor did the sides stay fixed in only one alignment.

Weeks had passed, and life at Arpa Castle was proceeding just as planned. Franziska had indeed begun to study Hungarian, and every day without fail, the little priest who was instructing her would come up from Szegenihaza. He was a plump, easy-going little fellow, who before and after lessons would do full justice to the breakfast that was always provided, eating with gusto and smacking his lips in a manner that suggested the monk he once had been. As he ate, he would address questions pertaining to his church with cheerful good humor, though always with great tact and never forgetting his cloth. Franziska often drew parallels between this tone and the one she remembered from her parents’ house: a tone which, despite her father's air of freedom in private life, became a touch heavy and pompous and worst of all, unctuous, among his fellow pastors.

Apart from the little priest, it was old Toldy to whom she felt herself drawn more and more. She would make almost daily visits to his little cottage, the “nursery,” which lay hidden behind an arbor of vines. There had been no mother there for a year, and Franziska would tend to the smaller children and assist with the rather sorry state of the housekeeping. When she encountered old Toldy himself, she never tired of hearing about his time with the honvéd and the heroic struggles of 1849, and was undaunted by the deluge of Hungarian curses that concluded each of his recitations.