Hooptedoodle #393 - Music - Instant Time Travel

 Righto - lovely morning here, so I was browsing through the CD racks, looking for something suitable, to keep me in a mellow mood while I try to sort out my mother's tax return. I came up with this, and it stopped me dead...

 I remember exactly when and where I bought this album, and I can see it like a photograph. My first wife and I went on holiday to California in about 1990 - we flew to San Francisco, rented a car (a Chevrolet Monte Carlo, which had sort of sporty, "coupé" pretensions, but drove like a small lorry), then we had 2 nights in San Francisco, drove up through Sacramento and Auburn (which places I knew a little) and then stayed at Nevada City, up in the old goldfields, for a couple of days, then through the forests to Mendocino. A few days there (we stayed at the MacCallum House, which I think is still there - great food) and then we drove down the Pacific Highway, stayed at Carmel for a few nights, and then on to LA to fly home. About 12 days total, I think - I have a slightly blurred recollection of most of it, but I remember we had a good time.

One thing I remember very clearly. Last morning in Mendocino, early, after I'd packed our lorry ready for the run south, I was taking a walk down by the sea, to bid the place farewell - it was very misty, and at one point I was walking across some sort of "village green" area, thinking about coffee, when I heard music. Unmistakeable - Jim Hall on guitar, floating over the gardens. I found the source of the music, a bookshop, opening onto the green, exchanged greetings with the owner, and bought coffee and a pastry from him. I asked was the CD for sale, and he said yes, it was, so I bought it and took it away with me, which didn't please him a lot, because he was listening to it. Such is commerce, I guess.

This is the first track from the album - the tune that was playing through the mist in Mendocino - 30 years ago. This is Paul Desmond, on alto sax, with Jim Hall on guitar, playing When Joanna Loved Me.

Perfect. I shut my eyes and it's a misty morning in California, in another century.

I'd like to revisit Mendocino again sometime, but it's on a long list, and I realise I probably never will.

Featherstonia: Wargames Terrain [part 2]

 As promised, here is the remainder of the Wargamer's Newsletter booklet on terrain. I certainly hope you will be attempting sloping battlefields sometime soon. And you know you always wanted a sandtable, though they always remind me of my kids' sand-pit in the garden when I was with my first family - whoever lives in that house now must still be getting ancient Matchbox Toys rising mysteriously out of the depths. Would you really put your lovely soldiers in a sandtable? - really? Well, you're a brave chap.

Once again, many thanks to Albannach and his private museum.

Featherstonia: Wargames Terrain [part 1]

 More from the old Wargamer's Newsletter - this time sent in by Albannach, fine fellow and avid collector that he is. This is WN's publication on Wargames Terrain; because it's a biggie I'll do it in two parts.

This item is more for the interest of seeing what the current thoughts on the topic were in the 1970s, rather than offering anything which is likely to change your way ahead now, but please enjoy...

Featherstonia: Faces to Names

 This and the next post are going to be a brief revisit to the "Featherstonia" theme - extracts and publications from Donald Featherstone's Wargamer's Newsletter. Today's example was kindly sent by Goya, and is from the April 1974 WN. A useful selection of names and faces from the hobby's past.

To be pernickety, Tony Bath was Napoleon at Waterloo 1965, not Wellington, which is a simple enough mistake to make, but I am also intrigued by the caption for Terry Wise, which seems just a little barbed!

My next effort (I hope) will be the Wargamer's Newsletter publication on Terrain...

Hooptedoodle #388 - Ian St John - another boyhood hero gone

 It has been expected for a while, since he has been very ill with cancer for some years, but I am saddened to learn that Ian St John - a real footballing hero from my formative years - has passed away at the age of 82. Ian was a native of Motherwell, in Scotland, and was one of the early acquisitions when Bill Shankly set about rebuilding Liverpool FC in the early 1960s. That team became very successful indeed - though most of their glories were after I'd left Liverpool and moved to Edinburgh!

St John was centre-forward in the team with which Shankly won the old Second Division, and which then went on to dominate the First Division in the years which followed. St John scored the winning goal in Liverpool's first ever FA Cup win, at Wembley in 1965, against Leeds United. 

There's plenty of scope at present for being upset by the demise of old footballers - they are currently going down like flies, of course, so I tend not to dwell on this steady topic of mortality, but Ian was a bit special, and I am - if not exactly choked up - then certainly a bit wistful this morning.

Back in the day, there was a local joke, which went as follows:

Teacher asks a class of Liverpool schoolkids, what do they think would happen if Jesus came back, to Liverpool, at the present time [1960s]? Correct answer was, "They'd have to move St John to inside right". Yes, it's very silly, but in its way it is an affectionate mark of the man's stature in the common culture. 

1965 - Back row: Ron Yeats, Gordon Milne (reserve), Willie Stevenson, Ian St John, Chris Lawler, Gerry Byrne. Front: Tommy Lawrence, Peter Thompson, Geoff Strong, Tommy Smith, Roger Hunt, Ian Callaghan. [Only Yeats, Milne, Stevenson, Lawler, Hunt and Callaghan are still alive, as at March 2021]

Hooptedoodle #386 - The Strange Tale of the "Normandie" - in fact and the movies

 

Yesterday I got rather sidetracked by the Internet (as one does), and as a result finished up watching a movie on my TV, late in the evening. I have promised myself that I'll have a more productive day today, but I'm getting off to a poor start by writing about the time I wasted yesterday...

So there are two related threads here - the ship and the movie I watched. I'll start off with the ship.

I did some reading about the SS Normandie, a ship I recognise vaguely from old photos, but never really knew very much about. It really is a very odd story - sad, undoubtedly, and filled with some astonishing bad breaks and terrifying incompetence - if you are interested, you can find lots about it online, but here's a quick skim.

Built at St Nazaire, in Brittany, the Normandie was launched in 1935; it was the biggest, fastest, most technically advanced, most luxurious passenger liner of its day, and this in an age when the big transatlantic liners were at their most prestigious. It's success was tempered a little by a shift in the market - by design, the Normandie was heavily committed to catering for the very wealthy, and as the 1930s neared their end there was a big upsurge in demand for more economical travel, which gave the British Cunard ships an unassailable advantage.

 

After the attack on Pearl Harbour, since the USA was now at war with the Axis Powers, and France had become German-occupied territory, the Normandie, which was stranded in New York, was requisitioned by the US Navy (with the full co-operation of its owners), was renamed the USS Lafayette (see what they did there?), and after some dithering about, during which it was briefly proposed to make her into an aircraft carrier (the ship, you understand, was enormous), eventually a plan was produced to convert the vessel into a troopship. 

Conversion work was rather rushed, trying to meet a very ambitious commissioning date, and on 9th February 1942 the ship caught fire, at the refit berth at Pier 188, Brooklyn. Sparks from a welding torch set alight a store of kapok-filled life-jackets which were in a passenger saloon, the fire spread rapidly, as a result of inflammable varnished wood panelling not having yet been removed, and, helped by a stiff northeasterly breeze, which blew the blaze along the length of the ship, within about an hour, the three upper decks were engulfed from end to end.

The ship was equipped with a sophisticated fire-fighting system, and lots of appropriate equipment, but the system had been disabled and most of the equipment removed. Further, the NYCFD's hoses did not fit the ship's French connectors. Some valiant, though hopeless, efforts were improvised to fight the conflagration. As water was pumped in from shore-based fire tenders and the port's fire-boats, the ship began to settle in the dock, and took on a list to seaward.

The Normandie's designer was present in New York, since he had been involved in discussions of the refit. He arrived at the dock, with a plan to save the ship, but the harbour police refused him entry. His idea was to go on board, open the sea-cocks to flood the lower hull, allowing the vessel to settle the few feet to the bottom of the dock, which would enable the fire to be put out without risk of capsizing. The Navy commander on the spot, Admiral Adolphus Andrews, rejected this idea.

The authorities eventually declared that the fire was under control, and rescue operations ceased, but some 6,000 tons of water had been pumped on board. Continuing entry of water below the surface resulted in the vessel capsizing later on that night. This had been a major emergency - many individuals were injured, and there was one death. Andrews placed a complete shut-down on all reporting - no press were allowed anywhere near the scene.

Later there were a number of proposal for projects to restore the vessel in some form, but after a lot of wasted time and expenditure the ideas were axed, and the hulk was scrapped in 1946. Since then there have been many theories suggesting mob involvement and so on - interesting, but I'll spare you all that.

While I was reading about this, I learned that the capsized vessel appears in the 1942 Alfred Hitchcock movie, Saboteur. Now, as it happens, I have a big box set of Hitchcock films, which one of my sons gave me for Xmas some years ago, and I was pretty sure this one is included. It is.

Which brings me to my other thread - the movie, which I duly watched last night. In fact I have seen it before, some years ago, but I remembered very little about it (the plot was spoiled rather less for me last night by what I had remembered about it than by what was pretty obviously predictable anyway). The film has a big wartime message about patriotism and public awareness of national security, though there are some odd plot twists involving a wealthy, privileged elite who are masterminding the Fifth Column and sabotage in the US - seems strangely in tune with modern conspiracy theories?

The movie is fun - not a very demanding watch, and is in many ways a film of Great Silliness, not the least of which is a Hitchcock cliché - a climactic ending, set on yet another famous National Monument (yes, AGAIN). I sat up and saluted when I (briefly) saw the wrecked Normandie/Lafayette (or USS Alaska - a battleship, no less, as it is cast in the plot). 

OK - so what? Well, so nothing, really, but there is something odd about the dates. If I had been less tired, I am sure I'd have tried to find out a bit more, but I'd had enough by this stage.

Here's the thing - filming took place from December 1941 to February 1942 - not a generous timescale, but there was a war on. The capsizing of the "battleship" is not a strategic high spot of the story, but it is an impressive part of the build up to the finale. Given that the ship only sank in February 1942, I am forced to assume that there was some very fast footwork, and Hitchcock changed the story to include his (prohibited) shots of the Lafayette - I guess that the story was largely patched together as he went along anyway, but that is impressive. As far as I know, none of the conspiracy stories involves Hitchcock commissioning the sinking of one of the biggest ships in the world, to fit into his latest movie, so it must just have been opportunism on his part.

It brought him a lot of grief - his use of illicit shots of a ship, the sinking of which was the subject of a lot of denial, and the hints in the story that the Navy's security and competence might be a tad suboptimal resulted in the movie being "red-flagged" by the censors, though it was allowed to be released because of its positive wartime espionage messages, and was premiered in April 1942. We may assume Admiral Andrews never forgave him, however...