Flotsam and Jetsam (and Sesame)

At the end of 2016 I spent a remarkable month clearing out my mother's house - in a big hurry - prior to selling it, since she was going into a care home. I did this more or less single-handed - just a bit of help to shift big items. I used my van to take things to the dump. Long days, late nights. Looking back, I have difficulty believing that I managed to be so vigorous and single-minded about it - I guess I was focused on how badly we needed to sell it.

I spent a while with mountains and boxes of junk in our garage. A lot of things went to the charity shops, we gave stuff away by the cubic yard; I did manage to sell a few things, locally and on eBay, but mostly this whole period was just a monster chucking-out session. In amongst all the other debris, I hung on to a few items which had some personal sentimental value to me - not very much, in fact - my granddad's pocket watch, a couple of bits and pieces that meant something in my childhood.

I left home when I was 17, to go to university, and never went back apart from short visits. Over the years, my parents lives and my life rolled along independently. That does make it easier when ditching a lifetime's agglomeration of someone else's junk.

Just a doo-dad. Old junk - £1 coin for scale

One thing I rescued was the little item in the photo. From my earliest memory, it sat on the dressing table in my bedroom. I knew it had been in the family for years, but knew nothing else about it. Originally I didn't know what teak was (I assumed it was a part of a ship), though I did know that HMS Sesame was a ship (or had been a ship). I remember being painfully embarrassed at the age of about 5, when my Auntie Monica spotted it and asked me about it. Not only did I know nothing about it, but she explained to me that it was not pronounced Sessaym - two fails in one effort. Amazing how these things stick in the memory.

Since I rescued it from the back of a cupboard at Mum's house, it's been sitting on top of my painting bureau, collecting solitary cufflinks, buttons, paper-clips, rubber bands, pins - pretty much the same stuff that went in it in the old days. Typecasting? Anyway, it occurred to me that I still know nothing about it, though it and I are old friends. So I had a poke about online.

First off, there are masses of these on eBay and elsewhere. Also barometers, inkstands and similar, all with the same plaques. There must have been a lot of teak in the old Sesame. Shades of fragments of the Original Cross. Or the Berlin Wall. The other thing I found out is that there were two HMS Sesames.

One was a destroyer built in 1917, which was broken up in 1935. The other was a rescue tug which was sunk by an E-Boat a few days after the D-Day landings. Since the ship sunk in 1944 is in fairly deep water off Le Havre (it is a well-known wreck site for divers), and since the public appetite for souvenirs from sunken ships would have been pretty feeble in 1944, I guess that my little barrel must be from the 1935 breaking-up of the destroyer.

No big deal, obviously, but I'm quietly pleased to have finally got around to checking up. You may well have one of these sitting on a shelf somewhere yourself - there are certainly a lot of them about. Mine, as you see, is rather battered. If anyone knows of any interesting stories concerning HMS Sesame, I'd be very interested to hear them.

Hooptedoodle #312 - The Limpet and the Critic

This evening I have the house to myself, since my wife and my son have gone to an information evening at his school.

I like to dine simply on these occasions, so I made myself a sandwich of peanut butter (crunchy, of course), Jarlsberg cheese and just a touch of Marmite. Pretty good - all I needed apart from this was a glass of water and I was happy enough. Switched on BBC Radio 3 and caught part of a concert given in Edinburgh by the BBC Scottish Symphony Orchestra. Main item on the programme was to be Vaughan Williams' Sea Symphony, of which I've never been very fond, but we kicked off with Thea Musgrave's Turbulent Landscapes, which I really don't know at all. The theme of Ms Musgrave's suite is a musical interpretation of 6 paintings by the artist JMW Turner, and batting at No.4 was Turner's very quirky War: The Exile and the Rock Limpet, which I hadn't thought about in years. I have always found this picture very haunting, though I never quite knew what to make of it. You may write an essay on it for your homework - 1000 words will be fine. Perhaps you could bring out the implied contrast between imperial glory and the minutiae of Nature - or any other theme you like will be fine. You will have marks deducted if you mention the size of Napoleon's hat, by the way. Reference to the British guard will be OK, however.

Mention of marks deducted reminds me of a private joke which my late cousin Dave and I kept going for years. We lived through a period when it seemed that new works of art were judged by the weight of the justificatory text which accompanied them, rather than the work itself. We once attended a concert at the Liverpool Philharmonic at which the first item was a recently-commissioned orchestral piece about the coming of the Industrial Revolution to agricultural Britain (well, England, I guess). The composer himself gave an introductory talk lasting about a quarter of an hour, in which he described his interest in the subject, how (and why) he had been approached to compose the piece, and how he  had attempted with contrasting tone colours and symmetrical harmonies to create an image of smoke and fire against a rural idyll. He then conducted the piece himself, and I swear it lasted about 4 minutes.

Dave and I were transfixed. We were about 17, and we immediately declared war on critics, radio announcers and all pseuds in general, and we invented a scoring system, which awarded "faults", rather in the style of equestrian show-jumping. The speaker/writer could collect single faults for the use of undergraduate gushiness such as "lambent" or "plangent" (etc), and there were also a few biggies for words or phrases we really disliked. A "clear round" was a rarity - a text or talk which contained no offending words at all.

Back to the present, the night of the peanut-butter sandwich. Tonight's announcer on the BBC (who was only reading a prepared script about  the Musgrave piece, poor sod) scored 4 faults for "juxtaposition", which is always accompanied by a faint klaxon, but otherwise performed well enough. Dave died and dropped out of the game years ago, but I still keep my hand in with the scoring system when I get the chance. I have a few newbies since Dave's time - "Zeitgeist" gets 8 faults - which is a double-refusal or something - and I have a few others.

This all smacks a little of inverted snobbery, which is never attractive, but it really just reflects a long-held prejudice against the posturing bourgeoisie - though it occurs to me that it may reveal me as the biggest pseud of the lot!



**** Late Edit ****

Because the comments got me interested again, I thought I'd put a link to the relevant Part IV of Thea Musgrave's suite, as discussed.

Now here's an interesting idea: after you've heard the music, you could go and paint a picture giving your idea of what it portrays. Then someone could write another new piece of music interpreting your new picture, and so on, for ever. Great, eh? Like the most pretentious game of Chinese Whispers in history. If we produce a variation on the showjumping analogy, the limp little quote from La Marseillaise must be worth 8 faults on its own? And, just in case you missed it (because you were asleep?), there is a reprise at the end, which is no more inspiring and must be worth a further 8 - no VAR allowed.

****  ****

Donkey Award: Snake Sabres - a short digital digression

A few years ago, I saw mention of the fact that someone had developed a mod for a dice-rolling app on a smart-phone, so you could play Commands & Colors using your phone instead of Stone Age dice. Apart from a faint feeling of weary revulsion at the time, I did nothing more than make a mental note that the human species had achieved this further landmark in our technological evolution.

I was thinking idly about this the other day, and recalling that I had (luckily, perhaps?) never seen an example of this fine thing subsequently. I Googled, as one does, and found this thread on the user website, which seems once to have included a picture of the smartphone app doing its C&CN thing, but the picture has now gone missing.

Photograph missing - this is not the original missing photo, of course, it is another one

Well, it goes without saying, I don't actually care a button [perhaps "couldn't give a toss" would be more apt?], but this has piqued my interest again. My personal view is that the use of the actual, physical dice in the game (rather than an app) is a good thing, since

(1) it provides an element of much-needed exercise

(2) it gives a rare opportunity to switch the damned smartphone off and put it back in one's pocket, which is just the sort of reason we might play C&CN in the first place. [Even better, put the smartphone beneath the visitor's rear tyre, on the driveway.]

I am confident that some worthies will use this phone app and think that the game is all the better for it, and I can only say bless them, so I do not wish to mock or condemn anyone here, but if it was such a raging success, why can't I find a photo anywhere?

Anyone got a link to a picture of this app? If so, I'll be grateful and vaguely interested. If not, especially if this is because the whole idea was dropped as a stupid affectation, then I may even have a glass of the old Pinot Grigio with my dinner. How can I lose?

In a vague sort of way I am reminded of a walk I did along Hadrian's Wall six years ago, when one of my companions was in a sweat every evening trying to find somewhere to re-charge his iPhone, since he had a compass app on it. The idea of a flat phone battery resulting in our getting dangerously lost on a walk where you can either go east or west at any moment was too awful to contemplate, but fortunately I (secretly) had a small device in my pocket which used a magnetized steel pointer on a round dial to show the direction, so we were probably safe enough.

Oh yes - the title of this post is an insiders' joke term for the dice roll you need to kill a General in C&C. What fun we have, when you think about it. Since this post is a bit short of visuals, here is the house Donkey Award logo, to make the point.

One Step Forward - any number of steps back

Some years ago I decided to try to get my book collection back under control (one time among many), so I selected a goodly number of volumes to sell off, give away, bin etc. Among the books that went at that time were the original (green and black) War Games by Don Featherstone, and the original (orange) Practical Wargaming by Charlie Wesencraft. I got rid of them because (a) I never looked at them any more, and (b) well, my wargaming had outgrown these books anyway, hadn't it? I sold both books on eBay, and got reasonable prices for them - these things were in demand at the time. Fine.

Sadly missed - now back in the library

Of course, it took me just about a month to realise this was all a mistake. My life was poorer without them. Whenever I needed cheering up about why I played with toy soldiers, those old books were what I missed. Therapy. After about a further year I saw a good copy of the original edition of the Featherstone book, so I bought it (yes - I did feel like a bit of an idiot, but I paid less than I had received for my original one, and I will maintain (stubbornly) that the replacement was in rather better condition).

I also replaced the Wesencraft book, by buying the new, John Curry-edited paperback. Since I bought this edition, I guess I'm entitled to an opinion; my opinion is that I am delighted that John is re-publishing all these old classics, but I found his reprint of Practical Wargaming disappointing - numerous typos, tables laid out in a way which I found very difficult to follow, and I don't like the scans of the half-tone photos at all. So, you can guess what I've done now - that's right, I've bought a nice, clean, pre-owned copy of the orange, hardback Practical Wargaming from eBay. [I was about to go on to discuss the comparison of the selling and purchasing prices, but in fact I'm too embarrassed to bother.]

So everything is now back as it was - just some stupid footling-about in between.

Anyway, what this all amounts to is me trying to put a positive spin on my Full Donkey achievement of having sold two books on eBay and then having to buy them back again, also on eBay.

Whatever, I'm happy with the arrangement.

Thought for today: How many idiots does it take to make a market?

Hooptedoodle #311 - The Unbeatable Strategy - Do Nothing

There are few things more pathetic than the rage of an old man, so I'll spare you any tantrums this morning. I have to say, though, that I am saddened - though not really surprised - to observe that all charges against Sir Norman Bettison in connection with the Hillsborough disaster (1989) have now been dropped by the UK Crown Prosecution Service.

Given time, everything will pass away

If anyone feels suddenly weary, or stifles a yawn at mention of Hillsborough after all these years then I understand, but thereby lies the central theme. It was a very long time ago. That has always been the last hope of those with something to hide, or those who are already known to be responsible. It was a long time ago - if this can be spun out for long enough, there will be no-one left alive with any accurate recollection or any cause to pursue. I always knew this would be the last remaining strategy, it's just a bit of a shock when you see it in the papers, after all the noise and hypocrisy.

To remind ourselves (all right - myself), 96 football fans died at the Hillsborough soccer ground, in Sheffield, at a match in 1989 - crushed to death - killed by a combination of poor safety provision, bad crowd management on the part of the authorities and (allegedly) inadequate emergency support on the day. I wasn't involved, I wasn't there, I didn't lose any friends or relatives in the accident (though, like everyone with connections with the City of Liverpool, I know a number of people who were directly affected). Subsequently there were a number of enquiries into the matter, none of which seemed to clear up very much. As I understand it, in 1997 the then UK Home Secretary, Jack Straw, advised Prime Minister Tony Blair that digging up Hillsborough again for yet another investigation was unwise, since (in effect) everyone was getting a bit fed up with the whole business. Work to set up another public enquiry at that time appears to have been hamstrung by a directive that enough time had been spent on this, and everyone would lose credibility if it found anything new.

The whole thing seems to have stunk to high heaven right from the beginning. From a completely personal point of view, I don't find that much of a surprise. Over my lifetime, I have sort of grown used to things which stank to high heaven, of cover-ups at all levels of officialdom to suit the political ends of the day. If in your heart you have a little light which believes that justice and truth will win in the end then I am glad for you and I envy you. My little light went out many years ago.

I have lived in a state of disbelief since September 2012, when an independent enquiry into Hillsborough overturned much of the previous work, and produced a stack of evidence which changed the earlier findings - there had been incompetence, there had been a massive cover-up and there were people who would be held accountable. It wasn't, after all, simply the dead fans' own fault.

I was actually in Liverpool on the day the report was published, and I saw crowds of people singing hymns in the rain outside St George's Hall - it felt unreal - a bit like when the Berlin Wall came down. The beginnings of the idea that there might, somehow, still be some Justice for the 96 was very strange, and yet it was really happening - there were apologies from the Prime Minister in the House of Commons (by this time it was David Cameron) for the previous failure of the legal system and of the Establishment. Good Lord, even the bloody Sun apologised (which somehow redefines, and cheapens, the whole concept of contrition). Whatever next?

Well, I guess I always knew what would happen next. We would enter a stage of official foot-dragging. A few token (lightweight) sacrifices would be lined up to carry the can, and then the system would wait until the passage of time washed away the case against the rest. Things proceeded, shall we say, very slowly. The identified bad guys came in various categories - those who had done their job badly at the time, and those who orchestrated the terrifying cover-up - including falsification of evidence and witness statements. Six years later, a couple of days ago, it still seemed unbelievable that we had got to the point where six prime suspects were now charged and sentence would proceed, but it was, apparently, going ahead (if we lived long enough).

Five of those now charged and held to be accountable are to return to the court in Preston - I'm not sure when, and I'm not sure if this next session will actually get as far as sentencing - my confidence in that is not helped by yesterday's news

Put this in perspective. Bettison was not directly involved in the tragedy, but has been a high-profile prime mover in the (alleged) blame-shifting and misrepresentation which has followed. Also - let's face it - he is an easy guy to dislike, but it's necessary to remember that he is a minor player in this. In the week the Independent Enquiry delivered in 2012, Bettison was in the papers and on TV, re-stating the original police version of events. Now that the charges have been dropped against him, he has the lack of grace to claim publicly that he is vindicated. No he bloody isn't. He is a very lucky boy indeed. The official foot-dragging paid off for him; he got off on a technicality. The case against him (telling lies in a public office, which in theory is more serious than it sounds) finally collapsed because it relied on three chief witnesses - one has died, and one of the others (now 85) shows some inconsistency in her evidence. Time up - the CPS says that's enough, the charges are dropped, and Sir Norman can go back to his public speaking and selling his justificatory books. If he has any integrity at all, he will go and sit in a very quiet, dark corner, and have a good think about himself.

What next? One theory is that dropping the Bettison charges is just a try-out. If the world doesn't erupt, and God doesn't strike us all down for this, then we can expect any subsequent sentences on the other five to be very trivial indeed. Well, if I were a betting man, I would risk a small punt that the lawyer who fiddled with the evidence and the then-secretary of Sheffield Wednesday (whose ground it is) might be the fall guys. I suspect the senior police officers will walk out of there with a stern warning. It's hardly going to affect their careers now, is it?

You see, it was a very long time ago, and the world has got pretty fed up with us lot from the Self-Pitying City of Liverpool. Move on - nothing to see here.

Hooptedoodle #310a - Further Adventures of Batty...

[Spoiler: Batty has a short rest on top of a stone wall, then climbs up a tree and flies off home into the woods. If this goes viral, I'm going to be kicking myself for not putting adverts in the blog.]

Wargaming Infrastructure - Dodgy Antique

I've been keeping an eye open for some good, easily visible means of keeping score in war games - Victory Banners, or Field of Battle's "Army Morale Points", or much more of the same. Hand-written notes on a whiteboard are OK but lacking in elegance, and prone to errors or accidental erasure; cunning schemes of keeping track with miniature playing cards, chips and so on are - again - OK, but easily forgotten about if you are under fire; scribbled pencil notes on the margin of the rules QRS are just dreadful. And so on - easier to identify things I don't like than things I like.

So, I thought to myself, what games traditionally have a formal, easy-to-use-and-understand arrangement for keeping score? I considered cribbage boards (a bit small, and a bit fiddly), portable table-tennis scoreboards (big and clunky, and the numbers are likely to wear out) and various other cunning devices.

Finally came up with this, which has a certain Gonzo charm all of its own. It arrived yesterday.

Just how badly did you want to know the score...?

It is, as you see, a billiards/snooker scoreboard of a rather unusual design, mahogany and brass - date uncertain, probably 1930s-50s - it's in nice, lived-in condition. Partially restored, but a couple of dents and missing bits - it works. I like the thing, actually, just as an old object. For knackered read possessing a convincing patina, and you're getting close.

It's a little over 86cm wide. The numbers are on brass rollers, so each of the two score rows can be switched to 1-20, 21-40, 41-60. 61-80 or 81-100. Yes, it's a bit worn, but it's old, right? The black panel on the left is a small blackboard - I had a fleeting idea of converting it to a (black) magnetised mini-noteboard, but then realised what an outrage that might represent - so blackboard it shall remain. [No writing in blue chalk, though.]

One thing for sure, in future I may have no idea how my games are going, but I will be in no doubt about the score.

If anyone is expert in this area, I suspect that it was made by EJ Riley Ltd, of Accrington, Lancs, as a special order, but have no proof - the fellow who sold it to me doesn't know the background. I'd be interested to know a little more about its pedigree if you have any ideas. 

Hooptedoodle #309 - What a To-Doo

A bit of a Scots play on words there, but no matter. This morning I went into the village very early - I had a parcel to post. Our post office opens at 8:30, which is quite civilised really, and at present our local arts and music festival is on, which means things get very busy later on - especially since some genius has also decided this is just the time to dig up the streets in the town centre, and as a result we have parking areas coned off, temporary traffic lights - all that.

So the early shift made sense. I got to the post office just after 8:30, did the necessary business and even had time and space for a quick chat with the manager. Heading back to my car I became aware of a minor stooshie developing across the road. Goodness me.

Stock picture of unharmed wood pigeon, nowhere near here

It seems a wood-pigeon had flown into a window somewhere high above the street, and had fallen to the pavement, where it now lay, twitching, eyes closed, apparently gasping its last - opening and shutting its beak, anyway. The worst of it was that a middle-aged lady had witnessed the incident, and she was now in mid-conniption, shrieking and carrying on in fine style. Suitably alarmed, the staff from Greggs (the bakers, next door) came out and swept her into the cafe, and coffee was produced. Since there is not much else to gawp at so early in the morning, I suddenly found I, too, was in Greggs. I was idly wondering whether there might be some complimentary sausage rolls on the go as well as the coffee.

The star of the episode was in full flow - sobbing. What distressed her most, she said, was that she couldn't help thinking that her husband would simply have broken the poor thing's neck, to put it out if its misery. It was only at about this point that the Greggs people realised that all this fuss was connected with an accident to a pigeon - the lady hadn't simply been taken ill.

A couple of us went out to see whether the tragic pigeon had died yet, but it was gone. The cause of all the upset appears to have picked himself up, shaken his head, and flown away. Probably a smart move.

Next week - Dog Heard Barking...

Hooptedoodle #308 - An Unknown Uncle

Back in my mother's archives - more from Cousin Dave's notes on family history (the last, incomplete work of one of the world's happiest librarians). Don't worry, this isn't the start of a whole new blog.

Starting point is the same people I was writing about yesterday - in particular the immediate family of Robert James Moore (1875-1930), the gentle, big man from an Irish family who was a coal merchant in Birkenhead and also drove armoured cars in the desert in WW1. [As an aside, it is a sad coincidence that RJM died of prostate cancer at 54 - which is the same illness and the same age which took away Cousin Dave - no matter.]

Robert James Moore married a very vigorous woman - Winifred Agnes Booth. She had a difficult childhood - it's her family I'm going to write a bit about today - beset with some real hardship. She became a local legend in Birkenhead. She was a devout Fabian socialist, and a Quaker (I was surprised to learn), and a prominent Labour firebrand on Birkenhead Town Council for many years. For such a small town, Birkenhead has a remarkable history of social innovation - first wash houses, first public parks, you name it - and that tradition was strongly embraced by Winifred. For all her good works, she seems, in fact, to have been something of a monster - she completely dominated her two sons (particularly my maternal grandfather) and must have worn out her poor, quiet husband. My mother remembers her as "a right battle axe", in fact, the actual wording was "a right, fat battle axe" - the grandchildren were terrified of her, and one of the great joys of my mum's childhood in Paris was the occasion when Grandma Winifred visited them and sat on a chair in the girls' bedroom, to lecture them about something or other (as was her way). The chair, bless it, broke under the strain and left Councillor WA Moore stuck fast for some time, her regal derrière protruding majestically from the fractured seat.

This is my great-great-grandmother, Sarah Jane Miller, with
her second husband and their son - anybody have any clues
about the cap badge?

Let's not dwell on Winifred - enough has been written and said about her over the years, and she surely worked very hard to ensure this was so. No, today's tale is really about Winifred's mother, a much more unassuming person, it seems. It's not an entirely cheerful story, to be sure, she had to overcome more than her fair share of trouble, but it also throws up another relative I didn't even know I had.

Sarah Jane Miller was from an Irish family (from Galway - there must have been some English families in Victorian Liverpool, but it seems I'm not related to any of them), and she married a Scotsman, Richard Pithie Booth (he came from Peterculter, near Aberdeen). They had 5, possibly 6 children before Mr Booth was killed in an accident at Birkenead Docks in about 1890 - the Dock Authority refused to pay the normal compensation for such an accident because there was some dispute about whether Booth was officially supposed to be at work that day. Sarah and her family were left destitute, and she became a teacher in the village school at Bidston. One of her sons left home very early to go to sea, to help support his mother.

Eventually she remarried; a widower, another Scotsman (yes, all right), from Kirkcudbright, named William Beattie, who was a master bookbinder and whose business appears in trade listings for Birkenhead from 1883 onward. Beattie had children from his previous marriage, so the combined family was large, though now quite prosperous. In later life Sarah became active in the Birkenhead Cooperative Society and the Cooperative Women's Guild.

I knew some of this, in very little detail, but I never realised that William Beattie and Sarah had a child together. There he is in the picture - this is James - that's (let's see) my mother's father's mother's half-brother, James. Not a very close relative of mine, then, but I never knew he existed. He hardly did - James Beattie was killed in France in 1917, aged 19. This photo, which must have been taken in 1916 or 1917, was published in the Birkenhead News and the Wirral Advertiser in December 1923, after Sarah - who had become quite a prominent citizen after her personal struggles - passed away.

So there you go - a complete relative I had never been aware of.

I promise not to unload any more family history for a while. Back to the toy soldiers - I'm involved in a wargame this coming weekend...!

***** Late Edit *****

OK - did some further hunting around.

The cap badge is clearly that of the Cheshire Regt - that would make sense, since Birkenhead was in Cheshire in those days.

And I found great-great-uncle Jim. My dates were a bit out, but the idea was correct.

1 South Hill Rd, Birkenhead today, courtesy of Google Maps (on the
left of the two houses)

He was James Wallace Beattie, son of William Beattie, of 1 South Hill Road, Birkenhead. He was with the 10th Bn, Cheshire Regt, which, as part of the 75th Brigade, landed in France in Sept 1915. His serial number was 49435. Private JW Beattie was killed on 11th October 1916, almost certainly at the Battle for Ancre Heights, which followed the Battle of Thiepval Ridge. The history notes that the Germans put up a determined defence, and it was pissing with rain. James is buried at Thiepval. He was, as stated, 19 years old.

Ancre Heights, Oct 1916

Jesus Christ.

********************

Didn't mean to add anything further to this post, but I've now seen a scan of a form which was issued in 1922 to provide details of individuals to be included on a war memorial for the fallen of Birkenhead. The information was completed by James' mother (Sarah), and the only information additional to all the above is that his date of enlistment is given as 31st March 1916 - so he must have gone out to join the 10th Battalion, who were already in France, shortly after that date. That puts a very narrow window of time when the family group above was photographed. Must have been April 1916 - something like that.

And here is the Birkenhead War Memorial - located in Hamilton Square, opposite
the Town Hall. It's been cleaned recently. Unveiled in 1925, there were some additions
after 1945 to deal with yet another war - very obvious disproportion in the numbers
of losses for the two wars. Sarah, who died a year after completing the
form above, never lived to see it.

*********************

Hooptedoodle #307 - Auntie Kashie's Basket

This isn't Kashie's Actual Basket, of course, but it was just like this, only a different colour...

I've been sorting out some boxes of old papers that I am minding for my mother - partly because I was looking for some old photos, but mostly just to see what's in there. The problem with this kind of activity is that most of what is in there is, of course, rubbish, but occasional items of interest appear, and it is very easy to get distracted - drawn in, so to speak. I take care to write my name and address on the soles of my slippers before I get too far absorbed.

In there I found a sheaf of notes and photocopies compiled by my cousin Dave; when he found out he had terminal cancer he started (pretty much from scratch) researching his/our family. Sadly, he didn't get as long on the job as we would have all wished, but he certainly found some fascinating stuff. Yesterday I found some notes about "Auntie Kashie", and I sat up straight, because I haven't heard of her since I was a very small child.

From my very earliest memory, I used to keep my toys in a very old wickerwork laundry basket. It was Auntie Kashie's Basket, though I didn't know who Auntie Kashie was, and I'm not altogether sure my mother did either. It was very like the basket at the top of this post, except it was painted (or stained?) green. The basket went on its way before we moved house when I was 10, so I haven't thought about Auntie Kashie for a very long time. Well, I've never thought about her at all, really. Just another name in a bewildering family history.

All these years later, I know who she was, and Dave's notes fill in a lot of gaps. If I may start by way of a short detour, I wrote a blog post some years ago about my great-grandfather, Robert James Moore, who served in the Royal Armoured Corps in Egypt in WW1 - he drove a Ford Model T armoured car, which you can see in that post. Robert was my mother's father's father (that's not too complicated, is it?), and apart from his military service he lived most of his life in Liverpool and Birkenhead, where he was a coal merchant.

Robert James Moore's father was also named Robert Moore (confusingly), and he was born in Tralee in Ireland in 1842. Robert senior was a professional soldier in the British Army, and his children were born on his travels - Robert James Moore was born at Pembroke Docks [it says on his birth certificate] in 1875, and a daughter, Kathleen Annie Marcella Moore, was born in Cork in 1876. The daughter was known as Kashie. Ah.

St Mary's Anglican Church, Walton, Liverpool

Both the children were confirmed at St Mary's Church, Walton, Liverpool in 1892 - by this date their father had been discharged from the army, and was living in Liverpool. He seems to have held various jobs as a night watchman, janitor at a school and similar.

Kashie was musical. When she grew up she worked as staff pianist at the Empire Theatre, Liverpool, where she met and married the manager of that theatre, one Kingstone Trollope (I am not making this up, I swear). Kingstone was an actor of some national reputation - quite why he was working as a theatre manager in Liverpool is a mystery. I think my mother has a suitably theatrical photo somewhere of Mr Trollope, but I can't find it at the moment - I need to have a good look through her piles of old family pictures again.

By 1911, Kingstone seems to have resumed his career as an itinerant Thespian - his name crops up in old theatre programmes - in 1937 he appeared in "London After Dark" at the Shaftesbury Theatre, London, in a pretty serious production, and in 1940 (by which time he must have been in his 60s) he was in "The Importance of Being Earnest" with Peggy Ashcroft and Jack Hawkins. I don't know what happened after that (you will be delighted to learn).

Queen's Road, Everton, when they were knocking it down (1960s?) - all new
houses there now

Whatever, in the 1911 Census a Mrs Kathleen Trollope is recorded as resident at 7 Breck Grove, Queen's Road, Everton, Liverpool, but there is no record of Kingstone, who must have gone back to treading the boards. Kashie kept a basket of Trollope's costumes and other gear for many years, and eventually it became my toy basket, so I guess he never came back for it.

Now I'll have to do some further reading in the boxes, and I must have a proper search through those piles of photos. I'll have to watch this - you need plenty of time to devote to it, and I am uncomfortably aware that my cousin has passed this way before, but he ran out of time.

If it turns out Kingstone Trollope is actually world famous, please someone let me know!

I could use that old basket for my wargame scenery now, I tell you.

***** Late Edit *****

Since I promised, here's that picture of Trollope - by the way, his full name was Norris Kingstone Trollope, and he was born in Camberley, Surrey. Kashie threw him out in 1908, so his basket was hanging around for a long time!

*** Even Later Edit ***

And here's an extract from a programme from the Prince of Wales Theatre, Cardiff, for a performance of "The Importance of Being Earnest" on 9th Oct 1939. This image kindly provided by Callum (see Comments). Kingstone seems to have worked a lot with John Gielgud at this time; it's a very heavyweight cast for a touring play!

*******************

 

Hooptedoodle #305 - Stone Cold Dead in de Marketplace

I get so used to the convenience of online shopping that it really stings when it goes wrong. Nothing major - no big deal - just a routine shopping story, straight from the pages of Bicycle News [private joke]. The real problem is that we take things for granted - no contingency margins at all - so any pain is mostly self-inflicted.

This week I needed to get some musical kit in a hurry - nothing particularly interesting - just a long-overdue replacement for a carrying case. Had a look around, and eventually bought something on Amazon. I could have looked further, but our experience with Amazon is so overwhelmingly positive in recent years, and they always look after any (rare) mishaps professionally and quickly, so their name has become a bit of a safeguard.

£58, with free delivery. Fine. Easy. In fact the item was supplied by one of Amazon's Marketplace sellers, a big music shop in Yorkshire which also deals with real customers in a real bricks-&-mortar shop. All good. The chances of a staff member in an actual music shop knowing what they are doing must be at least as good as what might be expected in the dungeons of a Corporate Fulfilment Centre.

My parcel was much, much bigger than this...

On Saturday, even quicker than expected, a DPD van brought me a fine big parcel. At the time I was up to my knees in tidying up the garage, so it wasn't until later on that I opened my package. Ouch. Wrong item. They had sent me an enormous case of a different type - same make, but about three times the size (and, incidentally, twice the value). Let's not panic here.

I got online to Amazon, recorded my wish to return the item, which was accepted straight away, and I printed off labels and documents they emailed me to send the parcel back. I also rang up the music shop (they were still open at nearly 6pm - business must be either very good or very poor - take your pick).

Gentleman at the music shop said that these things happen, but didn't seem to care unduly. If I send the item back, they will refund the cost. He certainly wasn't at all apologetic - I got a faint hint that Amazon customers are a bit of a pain in the capodastro.

Now, here's the rub. Normally, in a situation like this, where the music shop knows that you are in a bit of a hurry, the guy might well say, "very sorry, we screwed up - we'll rush the correct item to you, and our courier will collect the wrong one when he calls with it".

Not in the Marketplace. The guy cannot do anything like that, because Amazon have to call all the shots on the refund - this is probably how it should be - I'm sure all you auditors will agree. SO THE SELLER IS HAMSTRUNG BECAUSE HE IS WORKING FOR AMAZON ON THIS SALE.

OK - over to Amazon themselves. I had a pleasant on-screen "chat" exchange with one of Amazon's customer reps, and he said that I have to mail the thing back to the seller, at my own cost, and the seller will refund purchase price plus my postage when they receive it. But, I said, I thought you would send me a label which would get me free return mailing.

Ah, well. This is what would happen if the item had been supplied direct from Amazon's warehouse, but it's different for a Marketplace sale. The seller, you see, has to process the refund and accept the item back into stock. I can understand that, but it does mean that AMAZON ARE ALSO HAMSTRUNG BECAUSE THEY ARE USING A MARKETPLACE SELLER.

To be fair to them, Amazon awarded the princely sum of £5 as a goodwill payment for my inconvenience. They also explained that the procedure is now thus: I repackage the parcel, attach the labels Amazon have sent me, take it to a courier [I used Royal Mail Parcelforce this morning, registered - that's £13.40] and pay the postage to get it back to the seller. When the lads in Yorkshire get their case back, they will check it's OK and will refund my £58 - any betting that they'll remember the return postage without being chased? Once I have seen on my credit card statement that everything is in order I may start again, re-ordering the same item from the same supplier, through Amazon. Just as though it never happened.

Just a minute - you mean they can't take the initiative to send me the correct item without further action from me? No - the transaction ends when they have their goods back, I have my money back, and Amazon's audit trail rings the Angelus. Then I may feel free to start all over again.

Mustn't make a fuss - things usually do go very well. My hopes for a quick, convenient purchase of an instrument case have vanished without trace, however, and I have the additional hassle of checking I get all my money back. Then I have to decide whether I am sufficiently impressed with this episode to risk going round the process one more time.

No. In fact I had already ordered the same item online (outside Amazon, from a shop in Derby - for only £48), within an hour of the conversation. If the original seller in Yorkshire had given even a token pretence of contrition I'd have considered ordering from them again - they will have to pick up the tab for my return shipping, after all. But he didn't. Fair enough. If he doesn't give a stuff, then neither do I, and whether the world is a warmer and more caring place as a result is well beyond me.

Move on - nothing to see here.

Blogger Misbehaving?

I've seen a couple of posts along this theme. I'm currently having problems with Blog comments. For some subscribers (not all, and I don't understand why) I am not getting email notification of pending comments. I also now realise that these "stealth" pending comments are arriving in my Awaiting Moderation folder in batches - sometimes a while after they were submitted.

Very sorry if you've been affected - I know that Stryker, Jon Freitag, David from Suffolk and one or two others have sent comments which didn't trigger the notification email. I live in hope that Blogger will be fixed soon - I don't think any of us has done anything wrong!

I do try to keep an eye on the pending folder.

Hooptedoodle #298 - Donkey Award - The Man Who Bought the Same Puzzle Books, Two Years Later

The Donkey, let it be understood right at the start, is me.

I came to Sudoku rather late in life - I've been interested in the idea for years, but I swerved the craze (was it a craze? - is it now an ex-craze?) because I know myself too well; I always knew I would get hooked and would waste far too many hours - I find the puzzles very compelling, and the perfection of the game system has a strange beauty and rhythm. Love it.

This started in earnest in 2016, when I bought the first 4 of the Telegraph's Sudoku books to take on holiday to Austria. I very quickly became addicted, and got a lot of pleasure from them. I invested in a good-quality propelling pencil (Faber-Castell Grip-Plus model, 0.7mm lead, lose the pocket clip, keep a supply of fresh eraser inserts...) - with the pencil tucked in the current page of my current book, I'm a happy bunny on train journeys, in dentists' waiting rooms - you name it. I don't claim to be particularly brilliant at Sudoku, you understand, but I like to think I'm not bad, if a little slow sometimes.

The Telegraph books are structured so that the puzzles are graded - they start off "Gentle" and then get progressively more difficult, going through "Tough" (I can't remember all the actual grade titles) until they get to "Diabolical" at the end. Problem is that the faster you bash through the easier ones, the quicker you reach the near-impossible ones at the end. The end-state of one of my Telegraph Sudoku books is that I am left with only the very hardest puzzles, so that if I pick up an almost-finished book I have maybe a 20% chance of solving the next puzzle.

Thus I have started each new book before the previous one was finished - basically because I am not capable of finishing it, but also because regularly failing to solve the next puzzle is not entirely gratifying (though one appreciates a challenge, of course).

I believe I have now "finished" (more accurately, "had enough of") Telegraph books 1 to 7, though I suspect I never did purchase Vol.6. I've chucked out the "finished" books, and now started looking to see what further volumes the Telegraph is offering. It was only when I started looking that it suddenly dawned on me that, since there is no way I would ever remember, or even recognise, a particular puzzle I had already attempted, it would be perfectly feasible to start again with Volume 1. Thus I have ordered books 1 to 4, though Amazon helpfully protested that I had bought these same books just two years ago. One big plus (especially for us Scottish enthusiasts) is that the earlier volumes are available through Amazon's Marketplace, new, at 30 pence a pop, rather than the full price of £5.99. You do get stiffed a little for P&P, but it's still a big saving. Better and better.

So I've ordered up the same books again! If everything goes well, there's no reason why I couldn't order them up yet again sometime later. All right, I could get someone else's Sudoku books instead, I suppose, but I know and trust the Telegraph's gradings and organisation.

In passing, I was intrigued to note that some dealers on the Marketplace were offering even cheaper, used copies. A used copy of a Sudoku puzzle book? - if they're anything like mine, they will be full of scribblings, and filthy with the rubbings-out which are an important part of the solution. Sounds a bit dodgy to me - would you buy, for example, a second-hand paperback book of crosswords?

Hmmm.

Anyway - Groundhog Day puzzles should start here in a week or so.

Hee-haw.

Hooptedoodle #297 - Deception in Warfare

Spring is a little delayed this year, but things are starting up in earnest - our crocuses (croci?) are making a brave show in the grass verge outside in the lane, and Dod the Gardener has just arrived with an enormous petrol-driven machine he's rented to scarify the lawns. This is getting serious, and may be expensive [scarified, Matron? - I was bloody terrified].

One thing we'd like to avoid this Summer is a repeat of the Swallows Episode from last year. Last Summer, after 17 years when they could have done the same thing (but declined), swallows eventually built a nest in our woodshed and - though I wish the little chaps no harm - they were a nuisance. They made a terrible mess. When starting their nest-building project, they appear to have thrown mud and crap all over the place, and the eventual nest was where it happened to stick best. Also, once the laying and brooding bit started, it was a problem to avoid disturbing them, and we had to clear the woodshed and put plastic sheeting down to limit the medieval squalor.

This is not so handy; we keep garden furniture in there, and some tools, and all the bins and tubs for the bird feed (which are, as they say, legion); we had to shift all that lot into the garage, so it didn't get pebbledashed - and then there was the small matter of having a load of firewood delivered during the Summer, so it could dry nicely for the year-end, and - another thing - last year the stupid beggars put their nest on top of an electric light, so we had to use a flashlight to avoid frying their eggs.

Once they had gone we disposed of the nest (which was a wreck anyway) and cleaned up thoroughly. Actually I'm not sure whether it's legal to get rid of the old nest - well, it's gone. This year we'll try to avoid a repeat. Rhetorical questions: do a pair of swallows come back to the same nest? - is there, in fact, such a thing as a pair of swallows to come back to the same nest? - could another pair somehow find (or hear about) last year's nest?.....

Whatever, we'll try to discourage them gently. We have a hot tip that one way to keep swallows away is to equip your shed with [wait for it]...

...a FAKE OWL.

Good, eh?

You buy a fake owl, and put it near the potential nesting site, and the swallows will express their disappointment, fleetingly (which is how they do everything, of course), and will then go and happily build a lovely nest somewhere else, where they can make as much mess as they want. You may well have a fake owl in your garden already, but here are some examples of what you can get.

Owlternative No.1 - this one's head turns in the wind - how awesome is that?

No.2 - this is a long-eared owl, and the swallows may knock on our door to
explain that these don't live around here

No.3 - very scary - this one is supposed to flutter on the top of a pole

So we are going to order one - at the very least we should get a good laugh if it doesn't work. It could make an interesting conversation piece if we have any soirees in the woodshed. The only slightly chilly note is that the Contesse found a reference to some unfortunate lady (in Devon, apparently - you probably like a bit of authentic detail in your stories?) who invested in a Fake Owl for exactly this purpose, and the swallows built their nest on top of the thing. Yes, I know - the owl doesn't look very realistic, does it? - and the swallows may not have realised they were supposed to be scared away. Also, I think it may have been reported in the Mail, so the story may be tripe.

People will always try to discredit a good idea
- just a minute - isn't that No.2...?

Interesting, though.

Real Life has been getting a bit much of late. We could certainly cope with swallows as well, but we'd rather they didn't bother.

Max Foy visits the lighthouse

First Round to the Beast

I used to have a boss whose catch phrase was "Don't spend much time telling me what you're hoping to do - tell me when you've done it". I'm sure this is identifiable as some labelled style of defective management (like the once-celebrated Mushroom Management, Fox-in-the-Henhouse Management and a host of other Nineties jokes which I'm sure no-one remembers now), but his approach did have some advantages. If I applied this principle to myself now, and I'm sure a lot of fellow wargamers are in the same situation, I'd often have very little to talk about.

The so-called "Beast from the East" [Donkey Award nominee] storm in the UK did eventually cause a postponement of our Marston Moor game - it was probably always a safe bet, but the hoped-for easing of the weather conditions on Thursday and Friday didn't happen, and this morning (Saturday, the official day for the event) the travel situation is still pretty awful - no trains, for one thing, and the country roads are not safe at all. Thus the logistics have killed us.

No problem - I've photographed the tabletop set-up in detail, I've put the (ready-labelled) armies in their box-files in exactly the same order they'll go back on the table, and I've put all the scenery elements in a box of their own, all ready to go; we can re-arrange the game later in the month. In the meantime, the Dining Room can be used for dining, as specified. I'd best make sure I've typed up all the scenario rules and features - you know - in case I forget...

Obviously I am a bit disappointed, but when Nature decides to take a poke at you she doesn't mess about, so let's get on with it. If I have to put my battle away in its boxes, then it's a good idea to put it away really well. There - that feels better.

I include a couple of photos, if only to demonstrate to Jonathan (who knows his snow) that we did get proper snow in the end. The road along the coast from our farm to the village has been impassable for two days, as has the road past the farm down towards the A1 and places like Dunbar, Haddington, Edinburgh, England - everywhere, really. This means that we, and the village of North Berwick, have been cut off from the Outside World for two days. Problem has been the type of snow, and the high winds. I'm not sure an idiot layman's description of snow is just what you wish to read today, but in our garden we had, at the most, maybe 20cm of very soft, puffy snow - like polystyrene packing beads, about the size of Rice Krispies. Because it was so cold it was very dry, and blew about in the wind.

That's someone digging out the main road from North Berwick to the outside world,
3pm Friday - 48 hours after it was cut off. I know these things are routine in Canada
and Russia, but we are not really used to this.

About a mile away, on what passes for a main road here, the east wind drifted this puffy stuff across what will later be wheat fields and it got trapped between the hedges, on the roadway. This is where the photos were taken - on the A198. I've never seen anything like this around here. The drifts also put the single-track railway to North Berwick under about 3 metres of snow in a cutting near Ferrygate, I'm told. Marston Moor is just one of a great many things which aren't going to happen today!

This is around the same spot, the road past our farm, Thursday morning, looking the
other way. Some people don't believe in the Red Weather Alerts, do they?

Forecast for next week is not brilliant, but seems to be wetter, which might be OK. I'm certainly pretty bored with what we have at the moment.

Must mention a classic manifestation of Sod's Law. Two nights ago a big chunk of the cement seal around the flue-pipe of our wood stove suddenly dropped out. That's never happened before, either. Of course, my stand-by tub of ready-mixed fire cement has set rock-hard, and, though they have shelves of the stuff in the hardware store in the village, we haven't been able to reach the village. Hmmm. Above the howling wind, I am certain I heard faint laughter.


***** Late Digression - PINBAT's revenge *****

Digger or not, the A198 is still not viable today, and it's still snowing. Apparently it is just about possible to get into North Berwick from Edinburgh (the opposite side from us) along the coast road from Longniddry, and so yesterday Tesco managed to get a truck to their supermarket here by coming that way, and driving through the town, since the usual route was blocked by snow. Just in time - supplies are running very low.

Now then, back in 2007, when it first opened, Tesco was the subject of a lot of local hostility here. I don't live next door to the place, so my view may be coloured by this fact, but I regard the presence of Tesco as a huge improvement in our quality of life. Whatever, at the time there was a fearsome militant movement - recruited mostly, it seemed, from the ranks of residents who commuted to Edinburgh everyday and thus spent little time here - named PINBAT (People in North Berwick against Tesco). The opening of the store was eventually secured after negotiations which yielded cash donations to the local community and also - I now learn - an agreement that Tesco's wagons would not drive through the town.

Well - guess what? Some superannuated survivor from PINBAT yesterday registered an official complaint that Tesco had broken the 2007 agreement by rerouting a supply van to avoid the blocked roads. Accordingly, Tesco sent this morning's wagon by the official route, up the A198, and it got stuck at the village of Whitekirk, as we might have predicted. Thus, people, there is no food in North Berwick today. 

Someone, somewhere, must think they've won a little victory. I sincerely hope the rest of the community don't find out who it was.

ECW - General Wm Baillie - Ox-Droppings Dept.

This follows on smartish from my previous post, since I was keen to get Baillie painted up ready for Marston Moor (next weekend). Still vaguely apprehensive about the political correctness thing, I decided not to use the camped-up conversion with the clown boots etc (not sure why, something to do with a feeling that using a contrived figure might be potentially more offensive), and instead used an Irregular Miniatures general officer (a bit small by normal 20mm standards) and mounted him on a 20mm scale SHQ horse.

Good - pleased with the result. A respectful depiction of a small man, at which no-one could possibly take offence.

Looking a little like a Hobbit-General, Wee Willie Baillie poses next to a nifty
pond I got for a knock-down price at the York Wargame Show.

Then I received an email from Prof De Vries. He asked me where I got the idea that the little man on the right-hand end of Van der Helst's painting (as shown in my previous post) was William Baillie. I replied that there are at least three blogs/websites that use it as a portrait for Baillie. One in particular goes into some interesting detail on how the site owner actually was William Baillie in a former life, which explains why he recognised himself in the Van der Helst painting, why he has always been able to speak Dutch, why he recalls a lot of what happened to Baillie during his lifetime and so on. It also explains why he has a special bond with a close friend of his, who looks very like the figure of (Baillie's friend and colleague) James Lumsden (next to Baillie in the big painting) and who may have been Lumsden in a previous life. If you are getting a little giddy at this point, and if you would like to see how General Baillie's later alter ego improvised his own ECW costume from motor cycle clothing, I recommend you have a quick look here.

Since I have experienced enough drive-by flamings to learn not to criticise anyone else's internet presence, I offer no judgement of these claims. The Professor, though, was less tactful. He reckons that the three websites which offer the Puss in Boots picture as a likeness of William Baillie have misled each other - what De Vries describes as the classic internet closed-circle of mutual confirmation. He also reckons that a person who spoke Dutch and had even a slight familiarity with Google would not have taken very long to learn the truth of the De Schuttersmajltid painting. The date, the event, and - especially - the people in the picture are known. 

The bad news? Too late; wrong people. Is that a klaxon I hear...?

In fact, the event depicted was a lunch in celebration of the Peace of Münster, 18 June 1648, held in the headquarters of the Amsterdam Crossbowmen's Guild (St George's Guard). 

The people portrayed are actually recorded as being: (right, with silver horn) captain Cornelis Jansz. Witsen, (shakes hand of previous) lieutenant Johan Oetgens van Waveren, (seated behind the drum, with flag) reserve officer candidate Jacob Banning, sergeants Dirck Claesz. Thoveling and Thomas Hartog. Additionally: Pieter van Hoorn, Willem Pietersz. van der Voort, Adriaen Dirck Sparwer, Hendrick Calaber, Govert van der Mij, Johannes Calaber, Benedictus Schaesk, Jam Maes, Jacob van Diemen, Jan van Ommeren, Isaac Ooyens, Gerrit Pietersz. van Anstenraadt, Herman Teunisz. de Kluyter, Andries van Anstenraadt, Christoffel Poock, Hendrick Dommer Wz., Paulus Hennekijn, Lambregt van den Bos and Willem the drummer.

Not a bloody Scotsman in sight.

Sorry about all that. I am left with the mystery of where Nigel Tranter got his information about Baillie. Frankly, I'm not bothered - Baillie, it is well known, was a small man with a squeaky voice - here's a squeaky model of him - do you have a problem with this?