It has just occurred to me that nearly everyone whose image appears on this blog has a beard. Not all of them are as luxuriant as that of Tsar Nicholas, but there is a distinctly high level of facial furniture on display.
I have recently lost (well, I say lost; more disposed of) my rakish ‘tash that was an integral part of my NYE costume, and Movember fund raising efforts. (New Years Eve revellers might have caught a fleeting glimpse of the ginger lip bush when Thomash and I arrived at the Blitz Party dressed as Spitfire pilots…) And it was with this sense of loss, and cooling breeze across the facial bows, that I considered how it is that Naval Officers always seem to have full and established beards? Are there are days at sea when young Lieutenants are confined to their quarters until their growth becomes acceptable enough to be seen on deck? Are Petty Officers issued them as they take their shore leave? Does the Admiralty offer discounts on beard trimmers to Senior Servicemen? Do they all get razor rations? Are you never ever sick at sea?
A prize for anyone who can guess who this bearded sailor is..
As luck would have it (and the British Navy always has them) there are regulations for such important matters. The most extensive of these are found among the General Orders of the HMS Royal Yacht Britannia. I love the very notion of ‘permission to grow…’:
The growing of a beard whilst serving in the Royal Yacht is permitted provided that the beard is respectable by the time the Standard is broken and the first time it appears in public.
The rules are as follows: The granting of a request to discontinue shaving will carry with it an automatic stoppage of leave for 14 days. At the end of this time the beard will be inspected and a further 14 days stoppage may be given. Should the beard still be untidy after 28 days the order to continue shaving will be given. The stoppage of leave applies to members of all sports and recreation parties where there is the slightest chance of meeting anyone outside the Royal Yacht. Requests for leave to take part in representative games will not necessarily be granted.
Except for medical reasons a request to continue shaving will not be granted within 6 months of the granting of the request ‘to grow’.Since the appearance of Royal Yachtsmen in public must be impeccable at all times, permission to grow may be withheld from Quartermasters, boats crews and other Royal Yachtsmen whose duties are likely to take them ashore after the request is made. So now you know.
Each month ABEBooks produce a list of their most expensive sales… its an interesting distraction. December’s most expensive list spans from the 15th to the 20th century. The oldest and most expensive item was a single leaf from the first edition of Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales which sold for £6,818. This fine piece of incunabula is one of the most sought-after works of Middle English writing.
However, the most interesting item included may be a sequence of photos of the notorious French criminal Jacques Mesrine who was responsible for multiple bank robberies, jail breaks, burglaries, murders, and kidnappings in France and Canada. Mesrine’s crimes read like a Hollywood script: robbing multiple banks in a single day, holding a real estate mogul for a 6 million Franc ransom, attempting to kidnap a judge who had once sentenced him to prison, escaping a crime scene by running out of a surrounded building (past police) yelling “Quick! Mesrine’s up there!” as he got away, and of course the multiple jail breaks. Mesrine’s eventual demise was also in Hollywood fashion; police were finally able to track him by means of a woman thought to be his mistress. The two of them were heading out of town for a weekend in the country when police boxed their car in at the entrance to an intersection and opened fire, shooting Mesrine 15 times. Throughout his escapades he earned the title of Public Enemy #1 in France. [I have plundered this from the ABE newsletter, so do go and check them out yourself… they are good people.]
Lucky you… a second thought download from me in a day… but then you have been patient over Christmas. A quality vital to get you through this one, but bear with me:
In the same way that I never intended this to be a political blog, it is not also a religious blog. However the two so often go hand in hand, especially in America, and especially in an election year, and are often inescapable. It is this connection, not the arguments themselves per se, that I have been thinking about.
This all stemmed from a discussion in the local with a good friend and self-confessed ‘anti Goddist.’ (He would probably spell God without a capital letter, and do check out his blog) (And by including a capital I know I have broken the intention of my opening paragraph… but lets press on before we all end up in a vortex of indecision, grammar, and syntax.)
My friend told me about a recent clip he had watched by Penn Jillette, one half of the Penn and Teller entertainment duo, that discusses the current Republican Party candidates, their religious affiliations, and presents Penn’s atheist view on the interface between religion and politics in the US. It really is well worth a watch. I am not sure why Penn has been chosen to present this case, but he is certainly rational, reasoned, thoughtful, and passionate about the subject. The clip forms part of a bank of ‘interviews’ and pieces on the Big Think site. If you are not accustomed with this site, please leave my humble ramblings right now, go to it, and rummage about there. It’s much better than any talking animals or the like you will find on here.
Penn presents his thoughts on the major Republican candidates in the current race to fight Obama for the White House. He is noticeable silent on Gingrich, and Santorum, but has some real fun with Bachmann, and claims that “Michelle Bachmann’s blasphemy is greater than anything I have ever accomplished.”
It is pretty frightening that she not only has the self belief to think that voters will be swayed by her beliefs, but is also not hauled over the political coals for claiming that earthquakes and hurricanes were God’s way of getting politicians attention; using human suffering, and God’s wrath to support and promote a candidate that champions ‘Christian values’ is a very round about, and frankly a reductio ad absurdum approach. (It does rather take the writings of CS Lewis to an absurd and literal level… his Problem of Pain is one of the best books on Christian philosophy I have ever read, and his ability to weave words precedes his religious writings.)
On a separate point it is an interesting difference between the here and our American friends how abortion always becomes a prominent theme during the Republican caucuses, but is rarely, if at all, mentioned in the British election debates. In the states the topic seems to then rather melt away once the Presidency is announced… but again, for more on this see the blog mentioned earlier.
Penn accounts how 30 – 40 years ago religion was not seen as a politically motivating factor, and claims that no sensible candidate would ever have described themselves as a Baptist, Catholic, or Protestant, for fear of the support of other factions shying away. Today however, his argument goes, because we now use the umbrella term ‘Christian,’ it has become accountable, mandatory even, to bring God into the polling booth.
IMHO, he is right in general terms, I am not sure I agree with his historical claims… Woodrow Wilson was an ardent Presbyterian, indeed his father was a Presbyterian minister and professor of theology. Hoover was a Quaker and there was a national debate at the time of his inauguration as to how he would swear the Presidential Oath (given that Quakers don’t swear oaths.) Kennedy was a Catholic who often spoken openly about his religion, and Jimmy Carter continued to teach in a Baptist Sunday school and serve as a deacon in his local church while he was President. I think it might be a better theory than practice, and religion (and by this I mean the President’s individual beliefs and affiliations, not a general ‘Christianity’ as Penn claims) has been a major player in US politics for generations. His idea that the ‘Christian’ candidates are in death throws, and that it is now impossible to avoid main stream culture, philosophy, and influences, are however right on the nail.
He also has a good old dig at the Iowa caucus winner (by the narrowest of margins) Mitt Romney, and here he is not only funny, but has a more serious point. Penn reminds us that Romney is a Mormon, and wears magic underwear! “[Romney] believes that a convicted conman, got golden tablets that no-one else could see, and sat with an angel to find out that the original Jews of the Bible were living in North America.” It is true that all this is only slightly removed from talking snakes, virgin births, and burning bushes, I know, but great fun none the less. Do check out this link to get your own magic pants… I know what I want for Christmas next year!
Penn asks how on some level Mitt Romney does not sit down and say, “Yer, you know, there weren’t actually original Jews living in North America..,” and if he doesn’t then he is actually “bug-nutty bat-shit crazy!” All he asks for in his exasperated tones is for any of the candidates and politicians generally to stand up and say, some of these beliefs I profess are bug-nutty bat-shit crazy, but I am not. Penn believes that they are all moral people, who have family values, but who are speaking in a code for which he has not been given the key.
His final diatribe is against those that claim that they take the Bible as the word of God, and take it literally. On this, he is spot on. There is not a lot I can add to his angry bewilderment, and it’s a frightening feature of religion on both sides of the pond that there are an increasing number of people who believe this, but who also are comfortable about professing it. I know we all have religious freedom, and freedom of expression, but believing someone should be stoned for working on the Sabbath, or will go to hell for mixing cotton with linen cloths is pretty far out in my opinion. For what its worth.
So, go and check out the video linked, the comments alone are priceless. It’s not only thoughtful but also, how many British comedians would use the word “solipsistic” on TV? Oh, and here is the talking animal that I promised you… it’s brilliant!
Ever heard of Two Temple Place? No I thought not… apparently its London’s first venue to specifically showcase publicly-owned art from around the UK. And believe me, there is a surprising amount of it… the Daily Mail is always banging on about Rembrants in provincial fire stations, and Picassos up lighthouses etc etc. (For a more accurate view do click here to have a look at Public Art Online.)
The building itself is one of London’s hidden architectural gems, an extraordinary late Victorian mansion built by William Waldorf Astor on Embankment, and in and of itself is well worth poking about in. But the inaugural exhibition is the clincher for me… it looks at how William Morris told stories through pattern and poetry. It examines the tales and myths that were most important to him, such as the works of Geoffrey Chaucer, Norse saga, Arthurian legend and Greek myth.
Morris returned to the same stories throughout his artistic career, and this exhibition explores his continued fascination by arranging the works according to the tale they tell rather than their medium. Five rarely seen panels of the embroidered frieze ‘The Romaunt of the Rose’ are exhibited together with editions of ‘The Works of Geoffrey Chaucer’, elaborately illustrated by Morris and Edward Burne-Jones and printed by Morris’ private press. Both the frieze and Chaucer drew inspiration from the French medieval text the ‘Roman de la Rose’ (Romance of the Rose). This will be the first time that these exquisite panels have been seen since their recent conservation by The Royal School of Needlework.
The bad news is that you have to go soon… (and there is a good chance that you will bump into me and my mum… we are going for her Christmas present…) the Morris exhibition is only on till 29th January 2012, but it is all FREE (dont tell mum!)
Full details from the Two Temple Place website here.
PS, ever noticed that almost all depictions of male angels are ginger? Especially Pre-Raphaelite ones? Hmm…
OK, I think we have all been occupied with other things over the festive period, but just to reassure you that I am back and mean business, here is an interactive idea for you… its a quick spot the difference…. bonus points for the first correct entry to identify both candidates… BizTsar egh!
For those of you who just can’t wait for the forthcoming three volume epic, nor for the Hollywood blockbuster, nor West End hit musical, here is a link you might find interesting from the Oxford Research Archive … well, mildly distracting for about five seconds… It even has its own QR code for all you clever iKids out there!
I seem to be on a bit of a theme of digging up old rubbish… sorry about that, but this one appeared in my inbox, and I thought I had better share it with you all (well, the both of you that read this nonsense…)
A rusty pocket knife that ones belonged to T E Lawrence, AKA ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ is going up for sale at auction later this month. The current owner apparently bought the knife in the 1990s from the son of the local man who found it 40 years ago, in the hedge at Lawrence’s bizarre home at Cloud’s Hill near Bovington. The house itself is well worth a look if you are ever passing that way (its on the way to Monkey World!) as it features many of his possessions from the period when he was living as a recluse under a different name and enrolled in the RAF. The National Trust wonderfully describes how “the austere rooms are much as he left them and reflect his complex personality.”
The Victorian-era knife was made by Royal cutlers Underwood and Farrant, and features his initials burnt into the wooden handle. Astonishingly it is valued at only £300, but I have a sneaky suspicion that it will sell for a lot more than that! Especially after the Daily Mail got wind of the story. Shame really, it should be with his rifle and Brough Superior in the Imperial War Museum.
(PS, if you don’t know the quote that starts ‘All men dream…’ look it up. Do it right now. I might then just about forgive you for not having read the Seven Pillars.)
When we were kids my sister and I grew up in a small village near Malvern called Hanley Swan. I dont really know why we moved from the Northeast, I guess it must have been for dad’s work, but we arrived there some time in about 1982, and shortly afterwards, my sister was born. The whole place had a touch of the fairy tale about it, right from picturesque the village duck pond, the ponderous and ever flooding River Severn, even the address conjured Elgar and gloaming sunlight: Lilac Cottage, Picken End, Hanley Swan, Hereford & Worcestershire.
The best thing about the house was the enormous garden. We were totally spoilt kids with a tree house, a pet rabbit, a swing, a sandpit, fruit trees, Wendy house, steel drum kit (how many kids have one of those made for them!?), go-cart, and enough space to get lost in. I have really good memories of the whole place. However despite these manifold distractions and entertainments, the corner that I seem to remember most time poking about in was about half way down the garden on the left hand side, sort of under an old rotting tree… the old rubbish dump!
As a slightly (Ok… not even slightly… massivly) geeky kid complete with metal detector and trowel I would spend hours digging up old bits of metal, glass bottles, buttons, and miscellaneous victorian junk that must have been tossed away by the former inhabitants of the house. I even remember proudly showing my horrified mother a set of old false teeth that I had dug up from somewhere…
So, why am I taking you on this meandering jaunt into my childhood and telling you all about some junk I once dug up? Well, I guess by writing this, and you reading it, I have already proved my point… the internet is crammed full of total nonsense, but it does have little corners of clutter that offer remarkable access to information. Lord only knows why people publish the nonsense that they do, but I for one am grateful that they do… By accident the other day I found a photo of the very people whose junk I had been digging up all those years ago. I could actually stare into the eyes (sadly not dentureless mouth) of the people who had drunk from those bottles, lost those buttons, and tossed all their junk into what was once their own garden. And here they are, thanks to the Hanley Castle and Hanley Swan Village Website:
George Dovey was born in 1819 and, as a young man, he travelled widely in Worcestershire. He had first married a Castlemorton girl, but she died in the early 1850s, leaving him to bring up two daughters. At some point in his travels he met Jane Colley, 16 years his junior, from Suckley Green, the daughter of an agricultural labourer. They married and their first child was born in 1854 in Doverdale. George and Jane had a total of 12 children over a period of 24 years, eight boys and four girls, all the boys becoming, like their forebears, agricultural labourers.
George died before the end of the century, leaving Jane as the matriarch of the family. With 43 grandchildren by 1917, she was known throughout the parish as Granny Dovey. When the Blackmore estate was broken up in 1919, she somehow found the money to buy the two small properties the family rented in Picken End – Liliac Cottage and Rose Cottage. Jane died in 1926 at the age of 91.
I guess the point is digging up trivia, ephemera, and rubbish is great fun, be it as a kid in the garden, or sitting on the sofa with google as you metal detector and trowel.
The legend that was Freddie Mercury died twenty years ago today. A buck-toothed, homosexual called Farrokh from Zanzibar, he went on to become the greatest showman and live performer the world has ever been blessed with. His sad death from AIDS twenty years ago was the first major public figure to die of the disease, and lead to international heightened awareness of the risks it poses. Elizabeth Taylor, never normally someone that captures my sort of sentiment, of spoke of Mercury as “an extraordinary rock star who rushed across our cultural landscape like a comet shooting across the sky.” I can remember exactly where I was when I learned of his death (dispute only being ten years old at the time) and he is still sadly missed.
“My soul was painted like the wings of butterflies. Fairytales of yesterday will grow and never die; I can fly my friends, I can fly!”
Tim Myatt 