Pippa Middleton, Helena Asquith... and me

I'd like to meet Pippa Middleton. I think we'd get along famously. But I fear it will never happen. She won't invite me to any of her parties.

I could set my sights a bit lower. A Vanity Fair article a few months back had photos of the Asquith sisters Helena and Gabriela at the exclusive London club Lou Lou's. This photo has captured my imagination.  If I were thirty years younger, and single, and could gain access to Lou Lou's, this particular dream might be within reach. Those who share my fascination can read the Vanity Fair article by following this link. 

Wild Night Out in New Malden

Ah, the excitement of a Tuesday night out in New Malden. Particularly when it involves a stop at Bar Malden, located directly next to the train station on the High Street.  

Bar Malden, New Malden High Street

Based on the name, I feared the worst. Would it be one of those trendy new places featuring pricey wines, exotic martinis and techno music? Aren't pubs supposed to have names like The White Hart, George and Dragon, The King's Arms, or the Queen's Legs?

Exterior not withstanding (it's on the ground floor of a dreadful 1960s-vintage office tower), Bar Malden proved to be a standard neighborhood pub. The food wasn’t very good, but it wasn’t very expensive either. Nor was the alcohol. And all of it came quickly.

When it was time to go, I faced a dilemma. Does one tip bartenders in English pubs? When I asked the woman behind the bar, she just laughed and replied “Well, it’s nice, innit? But you don’t have to if you order at the bar.” I left her a pound anyway.

For those with long memories, Bar Malden includes the space formerly occupied  by the Chi Chi Chinese restaurant. But that was years ago. 

Jo Jo Laine, nee Joanne Lapatrie

I recently downloaded a song from 1964 on I Tunes.  It led me down a rabbit hole, or perhaps through the looking glass, searching for a woman who died eight years ago.

Here’s how it happened.

The song that launched this research project was the Moody Blues’ “Go Now.” I’ll never forget Denny Laine’s performance on national TV when “Go Now” was a Top 40 hit. In the middle of the song, he suddenly used one finger to jerk his eyebrow up and down with a quick vibrato-like movement.  It was bizarre and quirky, and I wondered at the time why he did it. I still wonder.

Jo Jo Laine, nee Joanne Lapatrie

I fell to musing on Denny Laine’s brief tenure with the band which went on to such success without him. That led me to research him on Wikipedia. There I learned he’d married someone named Jo Jo Laine. She has her own Wikipedia article. So I clicked on over to it.

Jo Jo, nee Joanne Lapatrie, is variously described as a model, singer and actress. She's also described as a groupie in the 1960s and 1970s. Born in 1952 or 1953, she was of my generation, only a year or two older than I. That was intriguing, so I ventured on, plodding through many web pages on various sites.

I’ve now invested an appalling amount of my precious time researching this woman’s life and likeness. I have gone so far as to purchase The McCartney Files by Bill Harry (Virgin Books Ltd, 1986, 192 pages). It contains information on Jo Jo because of her link with Wings through Denny Laine’s tenure with that band. According to The McCartney Files, Jo Jo sold her memoirs to the British tabloid Sunday People.  They include titles such as “My Galaxy of Pop Star Lovers” and “Lust at First Sight” and were published on April 17, April 18 and May 1, 1983. 

Oddly enough, one of those Sunday People articles was published on the day my daughter was born. As a father, it saddens me to read of Jo Jo losing her virginity to Jimi Hendrix at the tender age of 17, and cavorting with the swinish Jim Morrison when she probably wasn't much older. That’s just a sample of what you’ll find if you read through the links below.

I don’t like to think of her three children reading these things about their mother on the Internet. But by today’s standards, what she and other groupies did in those days isn’t so bad. True, they had one-night stands with musicians. That isn’t much worse than the casual sex and naked photo messaging that seems so widespread among young people today.  My guess is plenty of today’s girls don’t wait until age 17 to lose their virginity. Certainly 1960s groupie behavior pales in comparison to what porn stars do for money. And it seems porn is almost everywhere these days, even on DirectTV.

After all this research, I have to wonder how much of what I’ve read about Jo Jo Laine on the Internet is rumor, exaggeration, or simply made up. The 1983 Sunday People articles are probably the source for much of what one finds about her online. If I could only get my hands on those articles... At the rate I’m going, no doubt I’ll do that soon. 

Of the links below, the Daily Telegraph obituary is probably the most reliable.  Only Jo Jo knows the truth, but she left this mortal coil in 2006. Her accidental death from falling down a flight of stairs is strangely similar to that of Sandy Denny, a woman of the same times with the same weakness for drink. Here is yet another person of my generation, done in by substance abuse. It’s very sad. 

Links:

• Obituary - Daily Telegraph, November 4, 2006
• "Queen of the rock chicks" - Daily Mail, October  30, 2006 
• "Jo Jo Laine: original rock chick and super-groupie" - The Scotsman, November 2, 2006 
• " 'Rock chick' Jo Jo Laine dies after falling down the stairs" -  Daily Mail,October 31, 2006
• Jo Jo Laine - Wikipedia

Karn Evil 9, Hoeing Hall, and the U. of Rochester

Brace yourself: tonight I tackle a task I've long avoided. I'm going to explain Emerson Lake and Palmer’s “Karn Evil 9.”

As everyone who grew up in the 1970s surely knows, “Karn Evil 9” is a three-part song on the band’s fourth studio album, “Brain Salad Surgery.” Forget that “Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends” bit. It’s the Third Impression that has both enthralled and repulsed me since I first heard it in Hoeing Hall at the University of Rochester in 1973.  The lyrics begin with this memorable verse:

Man alone born of stone will stamp the dust of time
His hands strike the flame of his soul.
Ties a rope to a tree, and hangs the universe
Until the wind of laughter blows cold.

Eloquent, but there is something maddeningly obtuse about those metaphors. “Stamp the dust of time?” “Hangs the universe?” How does one strike the flame of his soul?  Why does he stop when the wind of laughter blows cold?

Brain Salad Surgery
Emerson Lake and Palmer

The second verse is better,but still has a problem:

Man of steel pray and kneel with fever's blazing torch 
Thrust into the face of the night.
Draws a blade of compassion kissed by countless kings 
Whose jewelled trumpet words blind his sight.
  

There's powerful Arthurian imagery there, godlike kings and the like. “Blade of compassion kissed by countless kings” has a fine alliterative ring. “Jeweled trumpet words” -- a memorable phrase. But is there a redundancy lurking in “words blind his sight?” I can't decide.

I don’t wish to be unkind to Peter Sinfield. The man was talented. I loved his King Crimson work, and his command of the English language. I wish I could write half as well as he does. But here’s the problem: what does it all mean? I don't demand profundity in my rock and roll. Status Quo does not have to be T. S. Eliot. Yet still I wonder: what are these lyrics saying? 

40 years on, I haven’t a clue. But I keep thinking about it, which I suppose is a tribute to Sinfield's ability. I'm not going to get into Keith Emerson's Hammond organ and piano solos, or the steel drum passage on side 2. But these lyrics made a searing impression on me. They were the backdrop for many strange adventures on the first floor of Hoeing Hall at the U of R. I still love “Karn Evil 9.” 

The phrase "brain salad surgery" can also be found in Dr. John's 1973 smash hit "Right Place Wrong Time." Some say ELP liked the phrase so much that they used at as their album's title. 

Viking Gold

Exploring Irish farmland with his metal detector, this retiree uncovered a Viking gold ingot. It's estimated to be over a thousand years old. In 15 years of treasure hunting, all he'd found previously was bottle caps and sixpenny coins. Read all about it here: 

Gold Viking Ingot Discovered by Amateur Treasure Hunter

Daily Telegraph, June 27, 2013

The ingot is one of only a few nuggets known from Ireland, experts said Photo: PA

The Lewis Man By Peter May

UK paperback 
(C) Quercus, 2012

Quercus; 2012; 435 pages

The second in the Lewis trilogy set in Scotland’s outer Hebrides, this is a gripping crime novel, well-written with believable characters.  

Like its predecessor, The Blackhouse, The Lewis Man follows an ex-policeman as he struggles to untangle a murder mystery. Along the way, he encounters many childhood acquaintances. At least that's the framework, but it's really about long-ago decisions touching multiple lives years later.  

There’s an agreeable air of melancholy, regret and damaged lives that works well with the grim Isle of Lewis setting. Being something of a rolling stone myself, I liked the idea of an isolated community where people are connected by family, friendship and past mistakes. And I was glad to find the same romantic tension between Fin MacLeod and childhood sweetheart Marsaili that made The Blackhouse so enjoyable. 

May's characters live and breathe. They have substance to them. Unlike Jack Reacher, ex-Detective Inspector  MacLeod doesn’t leave a trail of wrack and ruin everywhere he goes. He rarely finds it necessary to resort to violence. When his old friend punches him in a bar fight, he turns the other cheek, but not out of weakness. Author Peter May must be a man who has seen something of life and understands people.

To be honest, this effort doesn't quite equal the performance this author gave in The Blackhouse. The Lewis Man sometimes felt formulaic and over-written. The island is “storm-lashed;”  the wind “whips” twice in five pages; dialogue occasionally becomes a bit unnatural and encyclopedic, reminding me of the exposition in a Dan Brown novel. But these are minor objections. This book is much better written than I’ve come to expect from crime fiction, and well worth your time if you enjoy character-driven mysteries. 

N.B. I was so eager to get this book and its sequel, The Chessmen, that I paid a premium to order both (used) from England via Amazon.uk. That was in January; it seems both are more widely available in the U.S. now. 

The Tipperary Hoard

I have exciting news. It’s about… gold. That’s right, gold. I’m talking gold here. I’m hoping to discover a hoard of gold coins soon, like this lucky find in Ireland. This would ease my exit from corporate life. I’ll begin digging in the back yard tomorrow. 

Hunter Thompson

This month's Playboy magazine (yes, I still subscribe) reprints a 1974 interview with Hunter Thompson, which concludes with the following statement:

"Nobody expected me to live past 20. Least of all me. I just assume, well, I got through today, but tomorrow might be different. This is a very weird and twisted world; you can't afford to get careless; don't fuck around. You want to keep your affairs in order at all times."

The Les Riceys Hoard

A construction worker found these gold coins hidden in the attic of a building undergoing renovation in Les Riceys, France. They were probably there for about 80 years. Estimated value: about $1 million.



Coin World, Feb. 25, 2013 (click for link)

A Horrid Dream

It was my first day in a new high school. I was searching for the place to pick up my class schedule. It seemed very important that I know my schedule, and get to that first class on time.

 

Nobody seemed to know where I could get my schedule. There was almost nobody in the school at all. I found myself in a hallway with aluminum wire racks against the wall. Someone gave me a packet and I opened it. But instead of my class schedule, the packet contained a set of gym clothes, including Jockey shorts in the school colors. On closer inspection, the Jockey shorts were much too small… so small that a newborn couldn’t have squeezed into them.

 

I kept plodding through the corridors, looking for someone who could tell me my schedule, beginning to suspect that it wasn’t the first day of school at all.

What does all this mean? Perhaps it symbolized a deep-seated yearning for order and structure in my life. But there was no structure. I was trying desperately to follow the rules. But there were no rules.

The Blackhouse By Peter May

368 pages
SilverOak, October 2012


I read a lot of fiction. But seldom does a book grab and hold me like The Blackhouse. Once the story got going, I literally couldn't put it down. On one memorable night I read straight through until midnight. Next day, I found some uninterrupted quiet time, shut myself in the guest room and finished it. Guys who live for reading learn to savor experiences like this.

I also did a couple of things I always do when a book really appeals to me: I started researching it on the Internet. And I wrote a blog post about it. This blog post, in fact. And I've even begun to toy with the idea of a trip to the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides, where this story is set.

This is a thriller and a murder mystery. There's a decent plot summary behind the link above, so I won't go into that here. As a mystery it's very well executed, but as the story unfolded that  became secondary to my enjoyment of The Blackhouse. This is more than just a crime novel. Far more appealing to me were the bleak island setting and great local color. In that sense it reminded me of Tawni O’Dell’s novel Back Roads [discussed elsewhere in this blog].

But without question, the best part of this book to this reader was the bittersweet subplot involving Detective Inspector Fin MacLeod and his old flame Marsaili MacDonald. Their pain and regret over teenage cruelties and roads not taken struck a deep chord within me. So did their disapppointing experience at the University of Glasgow, where Fin discovers he's not really interested in the arts, or in studying, or in Marsaili. This side of the story brought back sad feelings from my own youth. Surprisingly, nobody mentions those plot elements in any of the online discussions I've read. Perhaps I'm just a sentimentalist at heart.

I was very happy to learn that the sequel, The Lewis Man, features Fin. I hope it brings back Marsaili as well. For me, the romantic tension she brought to the book added a lot to this reading experience, although I wonder whether he can maintain it in the sequels. I'll know soon enough. I've just ordered The Lewis Man and The Chessmen from Amazon.co.uk (not available yet in any form in the U.S. as far as I can tell).

I've read Ian Rankin and Denise Mina.  I've long been interested in Scottish writers and settings. In part, that's due to my years in pipe bands and many memorable Scots I met as part of that effort. There's a well-known bagpipe tune called Stornaway. My first pipe band played it frequently, often with the better-known Skye Boat Song. Stornaway is in the area where much of The Blackhouse takes place. Small world.

Author's web site: http://maypeter.com/

Books Read in 2012

Life would definitely be a lot less rewarding without reading (and writing). I read 22 books in 2012, less than in previous years. Perhaps that's because my quotient of non-fiction to total books was higher than in years past.

First, in no particular order, here are my favorites in the fiction category:

Mantel, Hilary: Wolf Hall
Excellent account of the life of Thomas Cromwell, minister to Henry VIII. It made me want to learn much more about the Tudors. The sequel, Bring Up The Bodies, is a must-read for 2013.
[Link: Wall Street Journal book review.]

Gregory, Phillippa: The Red Queen
Terrific historical novel about Margaret Beaufort, mother of Henry VII. I've resolved to read everything Gregory has written. An audiobook, I listened to it while driving to and from the EEI conference in Phoenix.
[Discussed elsewhere in this blog. ]

Dermont, Amber: The Starboard Sea
Rich boarding school kids live lives of decadence amidst the pain and confusion of adolescence.
[Link: New York Times book review.]  [Discussed elsewhere in this blog]

Among non-fiction, my favorite was Janet Reitman's Inside Scientology, an objective account of the bizarre "religion" and its founder, L. Ron Hubbard. Beware of Thetans and suppressive persons.
[Link: Janet Reitman's web site.]

And here are all the rest  (F = fiction, N = non-fiction):

Child, Lee: Killing Floor (F)
Ex-military policeman Jack Reacher dismantles a nest of criminals. Disappointing. I can’t picture Tom Cruise in this role.

Holman, Sheri: Witches on the Road Tonight (F)
Road trip takes a Depression-era couple to Appalachia, where they encounter a backwoods witch. Interesting and well-written.

Harkness, Deborah: A Discovery of Witches (F)    
Yes, another witch book. This book features vampires too, but the witches are much more interesting. Sorry, but I'm bored with tales of irresistibly seductive vampires and love-struck vulnerable women. No more, please, you're killing me. Well-written, but I won't bother with the sequel.

Hocking, Amanda: Switched (F)
I like to read a young adult novel every once in a while. The story had its moments. The author got this one noticed first as an e-book distributed via the Internet. That led to publication in conventional form. I give her a lot of credit for that, but this one's better suited to a teen female audience than guys like me.

Martin, George R.R.: A Clash of Kings (F)
A worthy sequel to A Game of Thrones.

Silva, Daniel: Moscow Rules (F)
I can barely remember what it was about. Something to do with an Israeli intelligence agent who is a deadly assassin and a gifted restorer of Old Masters. Give it a pass.

Collins, Suzanne:  The Hunger Games (F)
More than a young adult book, the author also has something to say about popular culture and celebrity. Much better than I expected.

Martin, George R.R.: A Storm of Swords (F)
Martin keeps the Game of Thrones wheeze moving along nicely in Book 3.

Martin, George R.R.: A Feast for Crows (F)
Book 4 of the Game of Thrones series. This one introduces a host of new characters while neglecting the most interesting from previous books. I could sense the author losing interest in his own story… or trying to prolong the series as long as he can for financial reasons… or all of the above. Too many promising plot elements are unresolved after four books. What happened to the Others and "winter is coming?" It's not coming fast enough.

Furst, Alan: Mission to Paris (F)
An actor is thrust into intrigue in pre-war Paris in this thriller. A better story than some of his prior books, perhaps because you don't have to wade through all those Balkan surnames.

Matheson, Richard: Steel (F)

Published as a tie-in to the Real Steel movie, this is a collection of Matheson's short stories, including some dating back to the 1950s. The tie-in: it includes Steel, on which the movie was  based and easily the best story of the lot. I picked it up in an airport bookstore.

Gwynne, S.C.: Empire of the Summer Moon (N)
Biography of the half-breed Quanah Parker, son of a Comanche chief and a captured pioneer woman. He chooses to live with the Indians, becoming a Comanche chief himself. Yet another bleak history of the exploitation of native Americans, it left me feeling weary and depressed.  

Rendell, Ruth: Portobello (F)
Not really a crime story, this one’s more a character study of contemporary Londoners. Great read. I’ll look for more by Baroness Rendell.

Fraser, George MacDonald: The Steel Bonnets (N) 
Remarkably detailed history of the Anglo-Scottish border reivers. By the author of the Flashman novels.
[Discussed elsewhere in this blog.]

Sansome C.J.: Dissolution (F)
In the days of Henry VIII, a hunchbacked lawyer is sent to dissolve a monastery and solve a murder mystery. Right after reading Wolf Hall, I was on a mad tear to find more Tudor material, and that led me to this one.

Guinn, Jeff: The Last Gunfight (N)
"The real story of the gunfight at the OK Corral." Wyatt Earp wasn't a very nice guy; he worked in brothels, probably as a bouncer, and spent time in jail. It seems his brother Virgil was probably a better lawman. Doc Holliday is variously referred to as "the hot-tempered dentist," "the tubercular dentist" (is the author joking?) and "a very dangerous man."

Perry, Ann: The Face of a Stranger (F)
Atmospheric detective story set in Victorian London. A William Monk mystery. Well-written, but the amnesia plot element didn't feel convincing to me.

Ackroyd, Peter: London Under (N)
Hidden secrets beneath the streets of London. I don't suppose I'll ever get this topic out of my system, and in truth, I don't want to.

In total, that's 17 fiction, 5 non-fiction. Not a bad year.

Looking ahead, I have some interesting items on the shelf for 2013. In addition to Mantel's Bring up the Bodies, there's Constantine's Sword by James Carroll (I'm in the early chapters now), The Book of Genesis: A Biography by Ronald Hendel, Iron Curtain by Anne Applebaum, and something or other by A.J. Cronin - perhaps Hatter's Castle.

The Red Queen by Philippa Gregory

Touchstone, 2011, 432 pages

I found this historical novel to be as well-written and entertaining as The Other Boleyn Girl and The Other Queen (both by the same author). It’s a darker story, but Gregory does a credible job of developing her central character, Margaret Beaufort, mother of Henry VII.  Margaret’s slow transition from innocent child bride to conniving, ruthless middle-aged woman seemed, to this reader, entirely believable. Gregory paints such a sympathetic portrait of her as a child that I didn’t mind what she became as life hardened her. It seems an understandable reaction to the constraints placed upon her by the times -- no freedom to choose and allowed to decide virtually nothing, despite being nobility and a rich heiress as well.

Historical fiction by its nature has to assign thoughts and feelings to real people whose true thoughts and feelings cannot be known. Some dislike that, but I love seeing famous figures made human. Richard III is depicted here as a good and capable man beset by conspiracy on all sides. Meanwhile Gregory has Margaret ordering the death of the princes in the tower. Interesting juxtaposition.

This author has been criticized for historical inaccuracies, but I personally don’t care about that. When I want facts, I’ll read history. I read fiction because I love being carried along by a good story with believable characters. This book fit my needs admirably on that score. I know I’ll read more of Philippa Gregory.

Wikipedia article on Margaret Beaufort

The St. Albans Hoard

Yet another ancient coin hoard has come to light. Last month, a patient guy with a metal detector discovered the largest hoard of Roman coins ever found in the United Kingdom. Gold, that is. Oro. Au.

Coin World, Nov. 12, 2012

According to this article, during the Roman occupation of Britain, coins were sometimes buried as a religious sacrifice to the gods. Some say objects were thrown into the Thames for the same reason. "The coins were scattered across a wide area... evidence suggests that the hoard was disturbed in the past few hundred years by quarrying activity or plowing."

Get the whole story:
Roman Ancients in Hoard Hidden About 1,600 Years
Coin World, Nov. 12, 2012

It's an Outrage!!

The September 29 issue of The Economist contains an article with this headline: "The Faint Smell of Dog Fart". The story, which is about North Korean agrarian reform, informs us that the slogan “reform and opening up” sounds like the Korean word for “dog fart.”

This raises a number of issues.

What sort of a world are we living in when a respected publication like The Economist even prints the word "fart?" And in the headline, no less.

Furthermore, it is not accurate to describe dog farts as smelling "faint." Pungent, yes. Sharp, sour, noxious... but not faint.
I'm sorry, but this not responsible reporting. Excuse me, please, but I have to take a stand against this. We cannot afford to tolerate such gross breaches of the standards of journalistic excellence. Dog farts should be appropriately described. Or better yet, not described at all. At the very least, the managing editor of The Economist should have sent this article back for a headline re-write.

All of which has nothing to do with North Korean agrarian reform. But I don't care about North Korea, or agrarian reform in any context. As far as I am concerned, North Korea is not worth the powder to blow it to hell. I am, however, worried about the ever-declining moral decay we see all around us. This is an evil world, and daily groweth worse.

Get the full story: http://www.economist.com/node/21563772

Sword at Sunset by Rosemary Sutcliff

512 pp; Chicago Review Press, 2008
ISBN-10: 1556527594

• 
  

In this episode in Rosemary Sutcliff's fine Arthurian novel Sword at Sunset, Arthur is lost while walking in the mountains, and must spend the night in an isolated farmhouse. His hostess (here named Ygerna -- like Igraine, or is it Morgana?) sends the servants away and gives Arthur a drugged cup of wine. We then have the following memorable passage, told in the first person by Arthur, in which Ygerna says: "I knew that you would come, one day."

I frowned, and shook my head in a last attempt to clear it. "Are you a witch, then, to know the thing that has not yet come to happen?" And even as I spoke, another thought sprang to my mind. "A witch, or…"

Again she seemed to read my thinking; and she laughed up into my face. "A witch? Are you afraid to wake in the morning on the bare mountain side, and find three lifetimes gone by? Ah, but whatever happens tomorrow, surely tonight is sweet?"

With the speed and liquid grace of a cat, she slip-turned from her kneeling position, and next instant was lying across my thighs, her strange ravaged face turned up to mine and her dark hair flowing over us both. "Are you afraid to hear the music of the Silver Branch? Are you afraid to hear the singing of Rhiannon's Birds that makes men forget?"

I had not noticed the color of her eyes before. They were deeply blue, and veined like the petals of the blue cranesbill flower, the lids faintly stained with purple like the beginning of corruption. "I think you would not need the Birds of Rhiannon to make men forget," I said thickly, and bent towards her.

Never fear, it doesn't get any more explicit than that. But ruinous consequences ensue. The woman is Arthur's half-sister, although he doesn't know it at the time.

Here's an interview with author Rosemary Sutcliff, from the excellent Camelot Project at the University of Rochester. Sadly, she spent most of her life in a wheelchair, but by God, the woman could write.

William Marshall: Trial By Combat

The English knight William Marshall was regent of England under Henry III, as mentioned in  a previous post, The Brussels Hoard. In this true-life account taken from his biography, the young Marshall confronts his accusers.

"In the year 1180 William was in the summit of his career in the young king's court. Valued for his prowess in battle and his sagacity in counsel, he was favored by Prince Henry over all other members of his household. But his eminence aroused the anger of a number of his comrades-in-arms. They circulated the rumor that William was the lover of the young queen, Margaret of France…

"Naturally William wished to put an end to these rumors and clear his name as quickly as possible. His opportunity came in the autumn of 1182....Categorically denying the truth of the rumor that he was Queen Margaret's lover, he offered to prove his innocence in battle. On three successive days he would fight the three strongest of his accusers. If any one of them defeated him, his master could hang him as a traitor.

"When young Henry refused to accept this offer, William proposed that a finger should be cut off his right hand and that he should then be allowed to fight the strongest of his enemies. But Prince Henry had no intention of bringing the matter to trial. As soon as William realized that his master's purpose was to drive him from the court, he demanded a safe conduct to the frontier of the Angevin lands."  
 

From "William Marshall: Knight-Errant, Baron, and Regent of England" by Sidney Painter, Medieval Academy of America © copyright 1982

The Brussels Hoard

The Brussels Hoard of 1908

The Long Cross Coinage of Henry III

by Ron Churchill and Bob Thomas
Baldwin’s and the British Numismatic Society, 2012

Yet another example of hidden mysteries: as explained in this newly published book, workers tearing down an old tavern in Brussels uncovered something bricked up in a vault in the basement. The hoard they found there included 140,000 British coins. Indications are that they were last concealed in 1266 or 1267, so many must date to the reign of Henry III.

Oddly, Coin World states: "Most of the coins are worth only their silver value." Surprising, since they're over 700 years old.

The discovery was made in 1908. Apparently a portion of the coins were melted down for their silver content in the interim.  But these coins are going to become available to the public soon. It's inevitable: I'll buy one.

As an aside: Henry III's regent was William Marshall, who deserves a post of his own in this blog. That will follow soon.


Anglo-Scottish Border Reivers

The Steel Bonnets: The Story of the Anglo-Scottish Border Reivers
by George MacDonald Fraser
Barrie and Jenkins, 1971, 384 pages

In his history of the outlaws and border lords of the thirteenth through sixteenth centuries, the author of the Flashman books notes that Richard Nixon and Lyndon Johnson were both descendants of three notable Scottish Border clans:

"Lyndon Johnson's is a face and figure that everyone in Dumfriesshire knows; the lined, leathery Northern head and rangy, rather loose-limbed frame belong to one of the commonest Border types.... Richard Nixon is the perfect example. The blunt, heavy features, the dark complexion, the burly body, and the whole air of dour hardness are as typical of the Anglo-Scottish frontier as the Roman Wall. Take thirty years off his age and you could put him straight into the front row of the Hawick scrum and hope to keep out of his way. It is difficult to think of any face that would fit better under a steel bonnet."

Reivers also have a role to play in George Garret's historical novel The Succession (Doubleday and Company, 1983, 538 pages).

Medieval Shaft Beneath Sofa

Bearing out the truth of a previous post: hidden mysteries abound in England. Here we have a true story from the Daily Telegraph (London). While replacing a floor, a man in Plymouth uncovered a medieval well beneath the sofa in his living room. No wonder the floor was uneven.

 Research shows his property was woodland until 1895, but the well itself dates back to the 16th century.  The Telegraph calls it a "medieval shaft," which is a nice choice of words. After digging down 17 feet, he discovered an old sword.

For display purposes, "he has installed lights in the structure and the well has been covered up by a trapdoor beside his sofa." Extraordinary! Read the full story here, on the Telegraph site. Compared to this, my discovery of the main intake to the furnace is as nothing... nothing.

The Starboard Sea by Amber Dermont

St. Martin's Press
320 pages; February 28, 2012

On one level this is a boarding school story and a coming-of-age novel. That’s good marketing. In fact, it’s what attracted me in the first place. But don't be mislead by the cover. This book is packed with deep stuff for adults, with a lot to say about the difficulty of finding “the right sea, the true sea… the best path in life.”

Dermont makes that point by using sailing as a metaphor. The lead character, Jason (as in “the Argonauts”), is a senior at The Bellingham School and loves sailing. The sailing coach, Tripp (as in “odyssey”), teaches him to navigate. The coach’s own sextant is of brass, a finely crafted instrument of precision. Tripp gives Jason a sextant of his own: “It’s just plastic,” he said, “but I figured it would be a good start.”

Dermont is saying we’re all “searching for guiding stars” to help us navigate through life. Some may be better at this than others, and adults can be of tremendous help to children in this regard. But some of the adults in this story are as corrupt, unhappy and lost as the adolescents. They lost their course, or never found it in the first place.

This deeply satisfying book is one of my best reading experiences of the past year. It’s clearly aimed at grown-ups, but young adults (at least, those that are like I used to be) will enjoy it for the plot and the young characters you come to care about deeply. It’s the 12th novel I’ve read this year and much more finely drawn than most of the fiction that crosses my desk. Those who enjoy The Starboard Sea may wish to try Frederick Reiken's Lost Legends of New Jersey (2001) or Claire Messud's The Emperor's Children (2007).

God Speed!

Edmund Leighton (1900)

Some may call this sentimental, kitschy, or worse. But still, there's something about it...

Celtic Coin Hoard

Metal detector hobbyists have discovered a hoard of Celtic coins in the Channel Islands. And it's a big hoard.

Imagine digging a hole in the ground and uncovering 50,000 coins. Oddly, they were fused together in a solid block weighing three-quarters of a ton. Archaeologists needed a crane to lift this tangled mass.

Initial assessments date these coins to around the year 50 BC -- roughly the time of Julius Caesar’s conquest of Gaul. If accurate, that would make them over 2,000 years old, as explained in this Coin World article:
Hoard yields thousands of Iron Age coins

Why does this fascinate me so? I suppose it’s because I've always dreamed of uncovering.... hidden mysteries. As to what those might be, I'm quite flexible. It doesn't have to have monetary value. No, the hidden mysteries I'm interested in include the forgotten, the abandoned, or things that are just plain hidden and old. A few examples:

• The Kecksburg Incident
• John Michell
• Infiltration: places you're not supposed to go
• Disused stations on London's Underground
• Secrets of Grand Central Station
• Abandoned mines
• Carney Mine, Unity Township, PA
• Stuff that's gone
• The underground stream

Sadly, hidden mysteries are tough to locate in Las Vegas, even with the most powerful metal detector. Yet this sort of thing happens regularly in England. For example, the Bredon Hill Hoard is described here: Metal detectorist makes find of lifetime with hoard discovery
And the more contemporary Hackney Hoard:U.S. gold coins found buried in garden

The Holy Grail by Arthur Edward Waite

Thirsting for esoteric knowledge, I set forth to read The Holy Grail: History, Legend and Symbolism by Arthur Edward Waite. It's one of the most obtuse books I’ve ever encountered.

On page 18, we have the following sentence: “The literature which enshrines this Mystery, setting forth the circumstances under which it was from time to time discovered and, in fine, its imputed removal, with all involved thereby, is one of such considerable dimensions that it may accurately described as large.” Oh my Gawd! That’s what I call writing.

Undaunted, I drilled down to page 480, where all was revealed. To paraphrase the learned Waite: The Grail itself is the manifestation of God. The quest for the Grail is the search for God, as well as presentation of the Christian life as perceived by a 13th century mind. Galahad is God’s own minister, charged with a mission which is far beyond his personal concern. It says so, right here in "Book XII: The Secret of the Holy Grail."

Ah, now I understand.

My Life

Some notable things that happened in my life this year:

Left my employer of 7 years due to corporate merger. Not as bad as it sounds; it was the outcome I wanted, for reasons I won’t go into here.

Landed a comparable job in my chosen field after only two months of unemployment. As usual, my worst fears (protracted unemployment, forced to take a menial job) did not come to pass.

Moved to Las Vegas. This still feels rather unreal.

Performed well in my first seven months on the job. It’s turned out to be more than I bargained for, but I’ve had some meaningful accomplishments in high-priority areas.

Bought a house and sold a house.

Increased savings.

Began a gambling experiment. Did this under carefully controlled conditions, playing blackjack in Vegas under a self-imposed set of rules designed to avoid financial ruin. Net result: winnings exceeded losses by $28, which is not much different than breaking even.

Spent three days in hospital for investigation of cardiac problem, which apparently is of little or no consequence.

Achieved my 32nd year of marriage.

Overall, despite all my complaints, I have much to be thankful for. I wish all my friends and family great health and much happiness in the year ahead.

Books Read, 2011

It's New Year's Eve, time once again to post my list of books read during 2011.

First, my favorites.

In the fiction category, Danielle Trussoni's Angelology (Kindle version) sent me scrambling to the bookstore in search of The Book of Enoch.

None of this year's non-fiction books made much of an impression on me. But here's one I'm in the midst of now: Janet Reitman's Inside Scientology: The Story of America's Most Secretive Religion. I've always been curious about how L. Ron Hubbard invented Scientology and got so many people to follow him, not unlike Joseph Smith and Mormonism.

(F = fiction; N = non-fiction; * = Kindle)

January
Wodehouse, P.G.
The Luck of the Bodkins F

Faragher ,John Mack
Daniel Boone: The Life and Legend of an American Pioneer N

Farrington, Tim
The Monk Downstairs F

February
Michener, James
Tales of the South Pacific F
This was a big disappointment. I rented the DVD of the musical and it was even more disappointing and hopelessly dated.

Card, Orson Scott
The Lost Gate* F

Murray, Paul
Skippy Dies* F

March
Stockett, Kathryn
The Help F
Much better than the movie.

Roslund, Anders and Hellstrom, Borge
Box 21 F*
Grim tale of human trafficking and prostitution in Sweden (or was it Norway?). Bleak and brutal.

April
Berenson, Alex
The Faithful Spy F
Excellent espionage. But the sequel didn't maintain the high standard of this first novel.

Gruen, Sara
Water for Elephants F

Todd, Charles
A Test of Wills
I remember nothing of this book -- not even whether it's fiction or non-fiction.

May
Turow, Scott
Innocent F
By this time, I had moved to Las Vegas and was living alone in a rented apartment. I had basic cable TV only -- no premium channels, and I couldn't get the DVD player to work. It was so hot that I had to stay indoors in the afternoons. I got a lot of reading done over the next three months.

O'Brien, Patrick
Blue at the Mizzen F

June
Rowling, J.K.
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix F
for some reason, I found these Harry Potter books soothing during my solitude.

Atkinson, Kate
Started Early, Took My Dog* F
Excellent. I'll buy more by this author.

Morton, Kate
The Distant Hours* F
The tale of the Mud Man.

Rowling, J.K.
Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince F

August
Walton, Jo
Among Others* F

Hill, Reginald
The Woodcutter* F

September
Woodrell, Daniel
Winter's Bone F
Must read more of his work. The movie's good, too.

Martin, George R.R.
A Game of Thrones* F
Surprisingly well written. I'll read more of this series.

Ellis, Brett Easton
Lunar Park F
Didn't like it.

Pizzolatto, Nick
Galveston* F
Great first novel with an unorthodox anti-hero.

October
Ackroyd, Peter
Thames, The Biography N

November
Harrison, Jim
The Great Leader* F

Ro, Ronin
Tales to Astonish N

Barclay, Linwood
The Accident* F

Trussoni, Danielle
Angelology* F
One of the best reads of the year.

December
Larson, Eric
In the Garden of Beasts* N

Mason, Bobbie Ann
The Girl in the Blue Beret* F

Hidden Mysteries

Last night I came to grips with a situation that has long troubled me.

There’s an air conditioner vent right next to my favorite chair in the family room. For some time, I’ve been uneasy about the dust that’s caught in the slats. I cannot abide caked-up, crusted-on crap of any description. I find it everywhere – on the toaster oven, the refrigerator shelves, my razor, and even my toothbrush.

I approached this problem with some hesitancy, as it required removal of the vent’s metal covering. What if I couldn’t get it back on? What would my wife say? But this was affecting the very air we breathe. Casting aside doubt and hesitation, I set to work.

Two sheet metal screws held in place the grid covering for the vent. To my surprise, these unscrewed easily, providing access to the filth. With the aid of a powerful vacuum cleaner and Martha Stewart’s All-Purpose Cleaner, I removed a surprising amount of lint and dog hair.

But a closer inspection revealed more blockage down below. Determined to make this right once and for all, I pulled hard on the metal cover. The entire assembly suddenly popped free with a clang and a clatter, revealing the vent as a sizeable hole in the floor.

“What are you doing down there?” my wife called from the bedroom.

“Oh, just tidying up…” I answered. Peering down into the vent, I saw shockingly heavy deposits of lint, dust and hair, both animal and human. Horribly long strings of it floated on the air current from the air conditioner. But they were being sucked downwards, towards the basement. I had uncovered the master intake vent for the air conditioner, and the furnace too!

Sickened and strangely thrilled, I went after it in a near frenzy. I would conquer this disgusting mass of caked-on crap at all costs, I thought, pulling an incredible volume of lint from the hole in the wall. How many years had it gone uncleaned, slowly growing like the creature under the floor in Hellraiser? Years, perhaps decades… obstructing the air flow… straining the equipment down below…shortening the life of our HVAC system. Oh, the horror.

Replacing the vent, I regarded my handiwork with deep satisfaction, my catharsis complete. As I trudged off to bed, I thought that most people would never dare tell this story, let alone write about it at length.

Huge Need for Dealers Exists

Important news: there are great job opportunities for casino dealers right here in my home town. I could be trained and licensed in mere months!
Soon I’d be a full-fledged blackjack dealer -- flipping cards with careless ease, wearing a richly embroidered vest and diamond pinkie ring, raking in big tips from debonair high rollers and rich, beautiful women.

Ah, but wait.

There don’t seem to be any high rollers in this town. I’d have to relocate to Vegas for that.

And I don’t think I’ve ever seen a beautiful woman in a casino. Of course, in movies, gorgeous babes often slink up behind gamblers and drape their arms around them. They also do this in shaving cream commercials. But I've never seen either of those things actually happen.

Finally, the working conditions: second-hand smoke… standing up all day… absorbing abuse from drunks and white trash wearing t-shirts and baseball caps backwards… This may not be right for me. Perhaps I'd be better off pursuing my other fantasy of becoming a professional billiards player.