Category Archives: books

amusements, books, history, music, topographical

The Millipede Brothers

It always surprises me what the brain does and the associations it makes.

Like many here I have been extremely bored recently by the charade the Labour Pain Party have been going through to elect a new leader – well at least it didn’t provide the expected result for once, which is perhaps one advantage of a transferable vote system – and the follow-on shenanigans.

My boredom has however been in part alleviated by the fact that I can’t help but think of the two main protagonists as The Millipede Brothers.  A somewhat amusing, if slightly droll, piece of mental gymnastics.

But of course The Millipede Brothers do sound rather like an act from some Victorian Circus. Perhaps they were a star turn promoted by Barnum and Bailey. Or more likely they were part of Pablo Fanque’s Fair, featuring Mr Kite, a poster for which so inspired John Lennon and the Beatles to produce Sgt Peppers.

I wasn’t even sure Pablo Fanque was real – he was! Fanque, born plain William Darby in Norwich as early as 1796, was not just a circus performer but, more importantly, Britain’s first black circus impresario.

Pablo Fanque, began as a famous circus performer in his youth but became the proprietor of his own circus company. His earliest known appearance in the sawdust ring was in Norwich on 26 December 1821, as ‘Young Darby’, with William Batty’s company. His circus acts included horsemanship, rope walking, leaping and rope vaulting. In 1841, aged forty-five and living in Oxford, he left William Batty to begin business on his own account, with just two horses. The towns of Lancashire, Yorkshire and adjacent counties became Fanque’s favourite venues and it was his visit to Rochdale on 14 February 1843 which produced the poster (above) that inspired John Lennon’s lyric For the Benefit of Mr Kite. Fanque died in Stockport in 1871 and is buried in Woodhouse Cemetery, Leeds next to his first wife Susannah Darby.

Much more interesting than Labour Party politics!

books, history, people, photography, topographical

Edith Nesbit Grave


Edith Nesbit Grave, originally uploaded by kcm76.

Another snap from our recent break in Rye.

Children’s author Edith Nesbit is buried at St Mary-in-the-Marsh and the grave marked by this simple wooden marker. Actually this isn’t the original – that fell apart some years ago and was replaced by Edith Nesbit’s family. The remains of the original are in the church along with a memorial plaque.

St Mary-in-the-Marsh is a lovely little country church, almost in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by the fields of the Romney Marsh.  As well as the memorial to Edith Nesbit it contains a memorial plaque to Anne Roper, one of the earliest and still foremost historians of the Romney Marsh. The village itself, just a few miles inland from New Romney, is little more than a dozen houses, the church and a pub. It really is in the middle of the country and still filled with summer birdsong – a delightful place for a quiet half hour or so.

books, quotes

Why I like Dance

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As many of you know I’m a devotee of Anthony Powell‘s 12 volume novel sequence A Dance to the Music of Time (thanks, Jilly, for the total restructuring of my life almost 30 years ago!) and you may also recall that Audible have recently released a complete audiobook of Dance.

Recently therefore I have been listening, here and there, to the audiobooks and it was yesterday I spent some time on The Military Philosophers (book nine of the sequence) which covers the second half of WWII. As well as longer sections of beautiful prose it is full of entertaining little snippets, for example:

‘Hullo, Nicholas. I hope my dear old Finn is not still cross with me about Szymanski ?’
‘There may still be some disgruntlement, sir.’
‘Disgruntlement’, one was told, was a word that could be used of all ranks without loss of discipline.

Our billet was a VIP one, a requisitioned hotel presided over by a brisk little cock-sparrow of a captain, who evidently knew his job.
‘We had the hell of a party here the other night,’ he said. ‘A crowd of senior officers as drunk as monkeys, brigadiers rooting the palms out of the pots.’

Finn pushed back his chair. He spoke slowly.
‘Borrit told me when he was serving on the Gold Coast, one of the Africans said to him: “What is it white men write at their desks all day?”‘

‘ Look at this,’ he said.
He spoke indignantly. I leant forward to examine the exhibit, which was in Pennistone’s handwriting. Blackhead had written, in all, three and a half pages on the theory and practice of soap issues for military personnel, with especial reference to the Polish Women’s Corps. Turning from his spidery scrawl to Pennistone’s neat hand, two words only were inscribed. They stood out on the file:
Please amplify. D. Pennistone. Maj. GS.

Our billet was a VIP one, a requisitioned hotel presided over by a brisk little cock-sparrow of a captain […]
‘We had the hell of a party here the other night,’ he said. ‘A crowd of senior officers as drunk as monkeys, brigadiers rooting the palms out of the pots.’

Not long before the Victory Service […] Prasad’s Embassy gave a party on their National Day […] Gauthier de Graef, ethnically confused, had been anxious to know whether there were eunuchs in the ladies’ apartments above the rooms where we were being entertained.

‘Not all the fruits of Victory are appetising to the palate,’ said Pennistone. ‘An issue of gall and wormwood has been laid on.’

It is these small amusements, just as much as the excellent prose, which makes Powell so wonderful to read.

arts, books

Shakespeare's Globe

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Shakespeare’s Globe, originally uploaded by kcm76.

On Tuesday evening we took a group of Anthony Powell Society members and friends to see Shakespeare’s Merry Wives of Windsor at the Globe Theatre in Southwark. Fortunately we had seats under cover for it was a horrible wet evening – it tipped it down with rain throughout the first half and everyone standing in the Yard got well and truly soaked, as did some of the actors.

Notwithstanding the play was excellent, as one expected of the much acclaimed 2008 production by Christopher Luscombe. It was a most excellent romp and the cast gave every impression of thoroughly enjoying themselves too.

Not having been to the Globe before, I was surprised at how attractive a theatre space it is and it certainly works well for the dramatic sweeps of Shakespeare. I had been warned that the seating was just traditional wooden benches and to take a cushion. However I didn’t find the benches uncomfortable even without a cushion, although I did hire a back-rest which was for me more uncomfortable than not having one – the angles were all wrong for me and I discarded it in the interval.

The only thing which was slightly irritating were the students continually wandering in and out of the Yard – however authentically Elizabethan that may be. And a couple of roast chestnut sellers in the Yard would have made the experience complete!

The Globe is not a cheap evening out (what theatre is!) unless one chooses to stand in the Yard, but it is well worth going to as it does work pretty well for Shakespeare and is an experience worth having at least once. Despite not being a great theatre-goer I’m certainly glad I went.

The photo is a panorama of several shots I took during the interval from our seats.

amusements, books, food+drink, thoughts

Squashed Buttered Nuts

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Noreen bought a book yesterday.  I stole it.  I stole it because it contains such twinkly brilliant gems as:

Bottled at Source. Abbey Well, Highland Spring, Glenpatrick, Ty Nant Welsh Spring, Pennine (bottled at source in Huddersfield) … Apparently, you can’t walk more than a hundred yards in the UK without falling into a natural spring, an Ice Age glacier, a gushing source of healing, sparkling spring water or a 400-year-old magical fairytale wishing well with purifying pixies, adjacent sandstone filter, bottling plant and market-research department.

Mozzarella. Mozzarella cheese comes in Silly Putty-shaped shiny balls … It tastes of nothing. Mozzarella is stored in those unsettling little water-filled tubs – displayed like some sort of soft-cheese Petri-dish specimen …

Muffins. Since when did it become acceptable to eat fairy cakes for breakfast? … You can keep the modern breakfast muffin. I’ll take the fairy cake any day. Not one of those chi-chi chain coffee shop cupcakes; a proper fairy cake, one with icing and those edible rice-paper cake-toppers in the shape of Mickey Mouse’s face, that crab thing from The Little Mermaid, the Wuzzles or the Popples.

Pacific-Rim Cooking. More fucking mangoes.

At several chuckles, sniggers or snorts a page Sausage in a Basket: The Great British Book of How Not to Eat by Martin Lampen is a must. If, like me, you loathe false food or if you just desire an amusement for that transatlantic flight, then this book will not disappoint.

books, history, medical, science, topographical

Capital Cures

Browsing Shakespeare’s London on 5 Groats a Day by Richard Tames the other day I came across the following remedies.

Loss of hair. Try doves’ dung, burnt, failing that the ashes of a small frog

Nits in the hair. Comb with mercury ointment and pig fat
Yep that should see off the nits, if it doesn’t see you off first

Head colds. A sliver of turnip in the nostril

Tinnitus. Oil of hempseed in the afflicted ear, followed by hopping on that side

Retention of urine. Three large lice inserted in the penis
Hmm, I can imagine that might work too; not sure I fancy the side effects though

Asthma. The lungs of a fox washed in wine, herb and liquorice
OMG

Tuberculosis. Incurable, but for relief try asses’ milk and snails in their shells

I think on balance I’m glad I live in the 21st century!

books, history, people, photography, pleasures, topographical

Hut, Rye Harbour


Hut, Rye Harbour, originally uploaded by kcm76.

We’re just back from spending a week in Rye, East Sussex with a friend and her three children.  The children were a delight: great fun and very amusing if a bit noisy at times. Everyone seems to have had a good time. Amongst other things we got in: the late Derek Jarman’s cottage at Dungeness; several Romney Marsh churches; Romney, Hythe & Dymchurch Railway; some bookshops; a couple of trips to the beach; as well as lots of Rye itself and too little sleep because we sat up talking until late. We could easily have stayed another two weeks and still not run out of interesting things to do. Many thanks to Katy, Tilly, Tallulah and Oscar!

More photos on Flickr as I get time to do post-processing.

books, food+drink, history, topographical

1599 Huguenots

More from Richard Tames’s, Shakespeare’s London on 5 Groats a Day which depicts the eccentricities London life in about 1599 in the words of the people of the time.

LONDON LIVING

Huguenot habits are catching on with other Londoners. Because weavers have to spend all day at their looms they brighten their workrooms by growing fragrant flowers in wooden boxes which they hang at the windows and keep caged canaries by them for the sweetness of their singing.

Thrifty Huguenot housewives have shown their neighbours that the tail of an ox should not be thrown away as useless but can be braised to make a hearty stew and the bones and leftovers rendered into a delicious soup.

They also gather scraps of meat to make a spicy, scarlet sausage called a saveloy. This can be eaten hot or cold and has become a great favourite with those whose work compels them to eat on the streets or on the move, such as porters and carriers. It is said that the main ingredient that gives the saveloy its distinctive flavour and texture is brains, but this may be only a rumour.

Love the bit on saveloy; clearly the MacDonald’s of its day.

books, food+drink, history, topographical

Capital Cautions

Indigenous food was ever a trap for the unwary. I came across this during this evening’s reading …

A ‘sallet’ is any vegetable dish, raw or cooked – including a salad, which might come with primroses, daisies or dandelions.

‘Good King Henry’ is not a loyal toast but a sort of spinach with a peppery punch to it.

‘Humbles’ (say ‘umbles’) are entrails, usually of a deer, baked with herbs, spices and suet to make a ‘humble pie’. The contents will include not only the heart, liver and kidneys but also the lungs, guts and spleen.

Brawn is a sort of stiff, meat paste made from the head and fore-parts of a pig. It is considered a great treat, usually reserved for Christmas.

‘Gravey’ is a thick sauce of ground almonds, broth, sugar and ginger and is used to dress rabbit, chicken, eels or oysters.

‘Blancmange’ is remarkable for the absence of any strong spices in its preparation. The ingredients are boiled rice, capon flesh finely shredded with a pin, almond milk and sugar. The surface is usually decorated with blanched almonds. On fish days it may be made into a main dish by the addition of dried haddock, perch or lobster.

Beware of English mustard. It is incredibly hot and, if you are not used to it, should be tried with caution. Londoners use it especially to override the flavour of dried, salted fish.

From: Richard Tames, Shakespeare’s London on 5 Groats a Day

books

Full of Money

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I’ve just finished reading Full of Money by Bill James. Crime fiction is not the sort of thing I would normally read but I started dipping into it out of a sense of duty. Duty because Bill James uses Anthony Powell’s A Dance to the Music of Time as a pivotal back-plot. But also because James is in real life AJ Tucker one of the earliest to write academically about the Dance sequence. I soon found “dipping in” wasn’t good enough and I had to start at the beginning.

I’m not really one for crime fiction. Why do I want to read about gangsters giving each other “acute lead poisoning” and being pursued by dumb cops? Is this different? Yes, it is. To start with there is no blazing gun battle or consequent “lead poisoning” (except off-stage at the end); not that we know that at the outset. It’s set in late 1990s London. And the only cop who plays a significant role is a senior female Detective Chief Superintendent, though by many measures she’d still rate as foolhardy if not dumb.

The main events of the story – murder and drug dealing on two inner London housing estates – all take place off-stage, the main one even before the book opens; they’re almost a backdrop rather than the raisons d’être of the story. So we have to piece everything together from set of cameos revolving around the DCS, a range of larger and smaller villains, and media types who play out these cameos through a variety of sub-stories. The twists and turns are interesting; the writing is good, and tight; the dialogue civilised and mischievous – all of which kept me turning the pages. Indeed the quotes on the jacket sum it all up rather well:

Engaging reading for mystery fans who like their crime stories gritty, realistic, and unsettling.

James knows how to pick the perfect turn of phrase and uses this gift to evoke dark hilarity, and bring a sense of menace and foreboding even in the midst of seemingly comic situations … [a] brilliant and thoroughly entertaining mix …

A gleeful send-up, by turns sinister and amusing, James is probably the most undervalued Brit writing crime fiction today.