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In addition to being a mildly accomplished software engineer, I’ve done some studying and armchair research in the field of ancient languages and palaeography. What happens if we smoosh those fields together?

In a very slight way, art historian and fellow Oxenafordisc Dr. Janina Ramirez did that in her series on Illuminations: the Private Lives of Medieval Kings (erm, Kings and Ælfgifu). In the series she showed off many manuscripts in the British Library collection, but when she went out in the field she took an iPad. It turns out that the BL isn’t too hot on letting you run around with their thousand-year-old kidskin.

You already know my opinion on our digital heritage. This puts it into stark relief: in one hundred years’ time, barring some epic fire in London (those never happen), the BL and its collection will still be there. Will it still be possible to even launch the iPad app she was using? I very much doubt it.

How about if we put the same effort into storing our source code as the scriptoria did into storing their indentures and gospels? Well, I sharpened a goose feather and had a go at just that (warning: very much draft document impending).

Example 2-1 from PCAS

What you see up there is the first sample code in Professional Cocoa Application Security – Listing 2-1. Ignore the fact that you don’t recognise all the letter shapes: things have changed over the centuries. There were a few contortions required to get the source code to work in manuscript form: let me show you them.

First is that in the hand in which I wrote the source, some of the characters needed for Objective-C source code don’t exist. Like ‘v’. I used the fact that u and v are actually the same letter to get around that. Punctuation was harder: I went for roughly accurate rendering, with a single misplaced comma to suggest that the scribe didn’t really understand punctuation.

When it came to comments, I decided they have the same meaning as the gloss in the Lindisfarne Gospels – rendering the difficult language required by the church^Wcompiler into plain English. I therefore roughly scratched them in smaller text with different ink, letting them flow around the code as if they’d been written later. I also put in a few Old English spellings – though again not consistently[*].

The return value posed some difficulty, because we didn’t borrow 0 from the Middle East until a few centuries after the time this script is mimicking. I realised that if a scribe were to illuminate any part of a C function, it’d probably be the return value because that’s the consistent and – from the perspective of the rest of the code – important part. Thus the 0 is highly decorated, with six legs in the fashion of a bug :-).

Bugs hark back to the days of illuminated manuscripts anyway. Any good scribe would know that a mistake in the text was the fault of Titivillus, not of the scribe. Just as those bugs aren’t my fault. Honest.

[*] Next time you want to get angry at a teenager, remember that the work “ask” was once “acsian” with the s on the end, and think about which one of you is bastardising our language.