 A building more than 500 years old rises from the sea. Millions for defense, but not one cent for tribute. That statement was made after the American Revolution. Five well-known tunes can be found in a famous popular song. Can you imagine that? Yes, this is Lindsay McCarry back with you once more, friends. And those statements you heard are all true. In just a moment or two, we'll be back with you with the absolute proof. Wait for us, will you please? The first item on the session of this series of Can You Imagine That Broadcasts. It isn't often that students of archaeology experience the good fortune that the citizens of Walton on the nays on the east coast of England had on the day of January 3rd, 1928. For several days a torrential storm had lashed the seacoast. Gargantuan waves had beaten the rocky promontories. Winds of cyclonic intensity had forbidden the villagers to venture from their homes. At last the elements abated and the good people of Walton emerged to view the seascape, to smell the new air washed clean by winter rain, wind and waves. I sigh. Ain't this wonderful now? I bet it is, Jimmy. It is a beautiful sight. Aye! Look! What struck Henry, do you suppose? Jimmy! Mikey! Look! Down to the sea! Wait! What? What is it? It is a building! Oh! The Lost Church! To Jimmy is no omen at all. It is just the low tide what's given up the old church to all of you once more. The Lost Church. After all these hundreds of years. Come, let's go down and have a look at it. Aye! For the tide flows back again. Come on, everyone! Down to the sea! But before the people of Walton on the nays could reach the shell and seaweed-covered church, the jealous Atlantic had once more swallowed it from their astounded gaze. Built more than a thousand years ago, the old parish church had been submerged since the year 1398. The coast had suffered from erosion, allowing the ocean to beat higher and higher on the rocks, farther and farther inland, until almost 550 years ago, the ancient edifice had disappeared beneath the waves, never to be seen again except on that wintry day in 1928 for a few all-too-brief moments by the amazed and frightened villagers. Can you imagine that? What American citizen hasn't heard this declaration? Millions for defense, but not one cent for tribute. I imagine that most of you think this statement originated during the War for Independence, the American Revolution. If you think so, you're wrong. Yes, because it was made after George Washington had served his second term as President of the United States when John Adams was President. During the period of the French Directory, the United States of America had declared their neutrality in a current disagreement between France and England. France disagreed with this move and declared aggression toward American shipping, a virtual declaration of war. Three emissaries were sent to France, Elbridge Gerry, John Marshall, and Charles Coatesworth Pinckney. When the American ministers arrived in France, the Directory refused to receive them unless, and here's the rub, unless they would pledge payment to the Treasury of France of $250,000. When this old madam reached Charles Pinckney, he cried, Millions for defense, but not one cent for tribute. When the action of the French Directory became known in the United States, popular enthusiasm for war against France rose to fever pitch. Patriotic songs and speeches were heard on every hand in the new country. As a matter of fact, several naval engagements occurred between American and French ships. The U.S. Congress organized a new army. George Washington was recalled from a retirement and appointed Commander-in-Chief. Alexander Hamilton was selected as First Major General. War with America's erstwhile allies seemed imminent, but a new turn of events transpired in France. Napoleon Bonaparte abolished the Directory in November 1799, became First Consul and Virtual Dictator, and instead of pursuing the Directory's policy towards America sought peace and goodwill, and thus a very probable French-American war was averted. You know there's an old saying that goes like this. A golden mirror may blind the wisest man. Which means, of course, that money, or the apparent possession of a lot of it, can make fools of otherwise shrewd, cautious men. And the proof? Well, in the late 1870s, a French peasant girl whose name was Therese Dorignac announced to an astounded France... Oui, oui. I am the solare of an American. His name is Robert Henry Grofer. Soleil, Mumshill. And, of course, you have proof. We must hear out the paper. You see, M. Grofer was so very, very grateful that I nursed him through a very serious illness. All along, too, but he was ill. Yes, yes, Mumshill. Dorignac, the papers, please. Mon Dieu. Mumshill, this will leaves you out to 20 million American dollars. 20 million American dollars. The news spread. Little Therese Dorignac became famous. Frederick Umber, son of a cabinet minister. Of course, some people doubted the existence of the fortune until the news went around that two nephews of the American, Crawford, had arrived from America to break the will. Is that one of them? Of course, we don't mean to cut Therese off without a penny. She was good to Uncle Robert, but... but we feel that we should be entitled to some of the money. So we're going to sue for an enforcement of another will which will give Therese 72,000 dollars a year. 72,000 dollars a year. A nice, tidy little income. The nephews insisted that until they had reached an agreement about the wills, Therese should have legal custody of the securities. A French notary sealed a strong box containing the fabulous sum and placed it in a safe under protection of the courts. Thus, the fortune was given legal standing. Therese, now Madame Umber, achieved dazzling splendor in society. She lacked nothing. Her procedure for buying something was simple. Ah, Madame Umber, we are honored that you should come into our store. There is something you wish? Yes, Monsieur, there is. A diamond necklace for the ball tomorrow night. Diamond necklace? Oui, but yes, the finest of course. Here is one for only 100,000 francs. That will do. Deliver it this afternoon. For the money, I will make you a note payable after I secure my legacy. It is agreeable to you. But yes, but yes, anything Madame wishes. For the fur coat, I will give you a note payable after my legacy is established. I wish to give a party. There must be champagne, all kinds of food and lovely souvenirs for the guests. I will give you a note payable after the legacy is mine. Well, that went on for 20 years. Madame Umber, the former little peasant girl, Therese Dorignac, lived in luxury for 20 years while the court fight for the wills went on. And on. At length, Madame Umber's payable notes amounted to over $11 million. Then suddenly in 19-2, I tell you, I am right. I must be right. I grew suspicious. So I looked up this Crawford family. I wrote to America, Monsieur, Therese knows such person as Robert Henry Crawford. I am ruined, ruined. Oh, my dear. The hoax was uncovered. 10 creditors committed suicide. Finally, the safe deposit box was opened in the presence of Madame Umber's distinguished attorney. The contents were noted and these were found. Security's worth $1,000. A jewel case that is empty. Several worthless copper coins. And, and, Monsieur, a brass button. The Umber's and the fake American nephews had fled to Spain. They were brought back, tried before a laughing public, which had been amused and were given ridiculously short sentences. Thus, for 20 years, a clever bunch of confidence workers hoaxed the courts of France and ruined gullible merchants. Can you imagine that? Now, we're going to take you into the realm of musical oddities once more to prove to you that even in popular music, there's nothing new under the sun. So, let's get our tonal scalpel out and do a little dissecting on the body of, yes, we have no bananas. In other words, let's break it down, phrase by phrase and see what other tunes it sounds like. For instance, the first measure and a half could very well be the first phrase of Handel's Hallelujah chorus. Then there follow three measures of an old familiar tune. Yep, that was, of course, my bonnet lies over the ocean. Then, well, there appear to be just a few bars of the middle part of another song you'll remember. It's from Belf's operetta, The Bohemian Girl, and it's I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls. And the next recognizable phrase is this. And now, with different words, then, of course, it seems to start all over again and when you put it all together, it spells not mother, but yes, we have no bananas. That's another batch of canyons. We're coming back on this same station soon again. Will you be listening for us? We hope so. Until that time, this is Lindsay McCarrie saying goodbye now.