The Crusaders wheelie did have a lot of baggage

AN INTERESTING CASE WHEN do you think luggage with wheels on them were first invented? I imagined it wasn’t much before the 1970s. Until then, I can remember struggling with either oversized suitcases where the handle perennially threatened to give way, or over-stuffed backpacks – or haversacks as they used to be called – bumping around on your back.

Then miraculously the case with wheels appeared, and travelling instantly became easier. At least that’s how I remember it. But according to Wiki, wheeled luggage has been around since the 1930s – in America. How on earth it never made its way to Ireland before the 1970s I have no idea.

Different if it had been something that was never taken out of America, say electric toothbrushes – but suitcases? Surely somebody must have seen those US travellers with their baggageon-wheels and said, wait a minute... But apparently not. Then I happened to listen to a history podcast called No Such Thing As Fish and was astonished to learn that the 1930s were several hundred years after wheeled luggage was first used. Such baggage dates back to the 12th century and the knights of old – particularly the Crusaders. They apparently went on their derringdo missions trailing their chain armour, their lances and whatnots behind them in wheeled luggage carriers.

You don’t often see that in the paintings of the Crusades – the knights riding into battle trailing their wheelie cases or trunkies behind them. I suppose they left them back in the hotel.

Still on the subject of luggage: earlier travellers on the Orient Express were advised to carry a revolver and a teapot with them. The journey in the early days of the route in the 19th century meant having to occasionally disembark and take a boat to a new rail terminal – the line wasn’t continuous. Often a ruckus would develop at a port – sort of like Gatwick Airport on a drone day – so a revolver came in handy. And as for a teapot: your guess is as good as mine. OWED TO A POET NEXT Friday, January 25 is Burns night. The national poet of Scotland, Robert Burns, pictured, will be toasted across the globe, from Moscow to Mullingar. He’ll be celebrated in traditional fashion – eating haggis, usually piped in martially by a Highland piper, and then, as they say, piped out by Armitage Shanks.

Over the years, haggis – this state-of-the-art offal, has changed little , although you can now get a vegan version.

No matter where the night is celebrated the recognition of Burns’ work on January 25 is no less than he deserves. A poet who can write lines such as those of Auld Lang Syne, probably his best known work, and still have them sung throughout the world two centuries after his death certainly knows his verse from his elbow.

Today the National Trust in Britain looks after the Robert Burns Birthplace Museum in Ayr. As well as being stuffed with memorabilia, the museum holds guided tours, talks throughout the year, and the odd Haggis Hoo- ley. Burns was, after all, a fine musician as well as being a skilled wordsmith. And he definitely liked a party.

I have a particular interest in Burns, because his sister Agnes lived in Dundalk, where she is now buried. The largest tombstone in St. Nicholas’ churchyard on Clanbrassil Street bears the inscription: ‘As a tribute to the genius of Robert Burns, the National Bard of Scotland and in memory of his eldest sister Agnes.’

It is not known if Robert ever made it to Dundalk – there’s certainly no record of a visit to his sister. A Professor, Reasonably Well Read in Literature, told me: ‘It’s possible that the legend that he spent time in Co. Louth is based on the cigarettes Sweet Afton. They were made in Dundalk for many years, and named after Burns’ poem Afton Water. The package even included four lines of the poem on the cigarette packet. Possibly a unique occurrence in the history of cigarettography.’

Thank you, Professor. CARD TRICK I WAS chatting with a waiter the other day about how he gets his revenge on mouthy customers.

His favourite is what he calls The Old Decliner.

It works particularly well if somebody is rude in front of a group of people.

If the loudmouth is paying the waiter presses cancel just before the card goes through then says, ‘I’m sorry sir it’s been declined.’ He repeats as necessary.. HOORAY HAMBURG HAMBURG is to ships what Salzburg is to Mozart or Clonakilty is to black pudding.

The huge, historic harbour (a Unesco World Heritage Site) is this year celebrating its 830th anniversary.

Hamburg’s prosperity is almost entirely down to its docks – the River Elbe has simply washed wealth into the city since the Middle Ages.

Although situated 110km upriver, Hamburg earns its seaport title because large ocean-going vessels are easily accommodated.

The ocean-going cruise was invented here when one Herr Rob Sloman offered the world’s first cruise aboard his frigate ‘Germania’ way back in 1846.

Although Hamburg has a hardedged commercial background, you’re unlikely to be stuck for something to do. Aside from the Reeperbahn, Hamburg’s neighbourhood of dim repute aka ‘the Mile of Sin’, the city offers art galleries and museums, classical music extravaganzas, ballet and operas. You may perhaps baulk at the thought of Hamburg State Opera’s eight-hour production of Goethe’s Faust, but during the season plenty of crowd-pleasing productions are staged – and you can get into most shows, featuring international artists, for under a tenner. This must make it one of the cheapest opera houses in Europe.

But, as you’ll know if you’ve done much reading on the history of the Beatles, it’s not all high brow arias.

The pubs and clubs are still there, with their cutting edge rock and jazz. Musicals are big business here too – Broadway on the Elbe, it’s called, and the city has become that rare thing in the theatre world: a reliable centre for producers outside of the two big markets, New York and London. Once again prices are low.

As befits the city which gave its name to the most ubiquitous takeaway in the known universe – Hamburg boasts more eating places than you could reasonably shake a fork at.

And this, sometimes referred to as the bourgeois capital of Germany, is also home to designer shops, great department stores and top-notch fashion houses, all displaying their wares, putting on great performances, shimmying till their garters break.

All sorts of negative associations, including the war, plus misapprehensions and misconceptions about Germany’s heroic lack of humour, and its surfeit of order, have conspired to relegate the country to the also-rans in the vacation stakes. Which is so misguided.

Admittedly, Hamburg can lay no claim to a classic Teutonic old town, nor any great set-pieces for the architectural pilgrim.

A few medieval areas remain, but a huge fire in 1842 followed by the RAF’s contribution to German town planning in 1944 and 1945, meant that very little of the old city remains.

Less than 80 years ago, Hamburg was rubble. But somehow its distinctive silhouette arose again as the city was rebuilt, literally brick by brick.

Back in 1530 when the Lutheran reformers arrived to tell the canny merchants of Hamburg about their new-fangled religion, the Hamburgers were all ears.

They particularly liked the bit about not having to stump up to the Vatican for indulgences. In three days they had turned their backs on Catholicism, their faith since 800AD.

But the merchants didn’t want you thinking they’d fallen on hard times, so adorned their new church outrageously.

Out went the statues, and in came flamboyant ornaments, velvet-lined chairs (available for rental, naturally) and an enormous organ. Today the church can boast some 10,000 organ pipes. Some of the city’s great musical illuminati have tinkled the ivories here, including Bach.

Now that so many places have sold their souls to mass tourism, it’s good to visit this rugged, cosmopolitan port run on behalf of both locals and travellers.

I enjoyed Hamburg friendliness on several occasions during my weekend, and not just the lady in the Reeperbahn who asked in a delightful accent: “You wanna come in? which I gently declined.

Listen — you just need to go.