frankie

MICRODOTSIn this current-day boom of privacy breaches and

frequent online hacks, perhaps we could learn a thing or two from

the microdots of yore. These feats of photographic innovation

first came about during the Franco-Prussian War in 1870, thanks

to a photographer named René Dagron. At the time, important

correspondence was sent via carrier pigeon – a vehicle that made

sense for succinct, to-the-point messages, but certainly nothing

detailed or secretive in nature. René’s brilliant solution? Create a

teeny-tiny photo, laden with information and viewable only with

a special magnifying piece of equipment. The pigeons were still

used to transport the messages, but could now subtly carry dozens

at once. At around one millimetre in diameter – approximately the

size of a typographic full stop – the microdot was quickly snapped

up as a wartime tool to keep uninvited eyes at bay. The trick was

a special photographic shrinking technique that could reduce an

entire document to a single dot – and, when feathered couriers

weren’t appropriate, secret messages could be embedded within

a postcard, ring or cufflinks. These were disguised as a simple gift,

offered with an accompanying microdot reader that was cleverly

hidden in a cigarette or fountain pen.

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WHISTLED LANGUAGESHow to communicate with a friend who’s

standing far across the plains? Don’t bother shouting – try whistling

instead. Long before the advent of the mobile phone, folks have

devised their own whistled languages to reach each other across

great distances. In the tiny Greek mountain town of Antia, for

instance, locals developed a melodic, bird-like whistle only they can

understand – complete with grammar, vocabulary and full sentence

structure. The language,Sfyria, dates back nearly 2500 years, when it

was commonly used by shepherds across the valleys (perhaps

to warn of nearby invaders). Meanwhile, halfway around the world,

the Hmong people in the foothills of the Himalayas continue to

keep their own whistled language alive – the shrill, piercing notes

manage to cut through dense forests and across vast fields. At

times, whistled notes are even used for courtship and seduction.

Not in a creepy way, though – young couples have been known to

create their own personal codes, deterring eavesdroppers and

allowing them to hold intimate conversations in public.

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KNITTED CODE We all know the stereotypical image of a spy:

a mysterious individual perched on a park bench in a trench

coat, newspaper obscuring their identity. But in reality, during

World Wars I and II, spies had a far craftier disguise: knitting. The

domestic activity exited the home and became ubiquitous in public

spaces, as women were encouraged to knit socks and hats for

soldiers whenever they could. In fact, so innocuous was the sight

of an older woman knitting in public, that Belgium hired these

nimble-fingered dames to do just that while positioned casually

near train yards. They observed and eavesdropped, creating

coded stitches – a sequence of purls and gaps in a predetermined

pattern – to communicate the goings-on of enemy forces. The

knitted code would then be handed to a nearby soldier, under the

guise of keeping them all rugged up from the cold. It may sound

simple, but orbs of wool weren’t the only balls the crafty ladies

needed – as espionage agents, they were bravely risking their

lives. So, the next time you sit down to stitch up a woolly scarf,

spare a thought for the stealthy crafters – and their fast-moving

needles – that came before you.

Photo

Lukasz Wierzbowski

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