Martin Fone's Blog, page 217
September 6, 2019
What Is The Origin Of (247)?…
Money for old rope
I have been shining the spotlight on scams and fraudsters for long enough to realise that many people cannot resist the lure of money for old rope. By this phrase we mean doing something that is rewarding but involves little effort. But where does it come from?
I had thought that it was a reference to oakum which was used to caulk wooden sailing ships and made from the fibre of old rope which had been untwisted. But the earliest recorded usages of the phrase, in print at least, date to as late as the 1920s, an era when the wooden ship was well and truly a thing of the past.
Perhaps the earliest example is to be found in The Daily Mail on February 15, 1927 in a report from the Driffield Fishing Club, although the subject was a race between two puppies, Mercenary Mary and Leaps Rigg, with bookies and punters in attendance. “It took the Bookies some time, however, before they could get their bags tight on the Mary money for…very little…well, money for old rope”.
A report of a poetry competition from the Yorkshire Evening Post of December 11, 1929 recorded an easy victory for Billy Wimple; “This was rank failure, and to Billy Wimple, his exultant rival, the contest seemed money for old rope”. And James Curtis, in his 1936 novel Gilt Kid, felt able to use it without feeling the need for any explanation, suggesting that it was a term that was well understood; “he would spin her a fanny about marriage laws, tie the poor kid up. It ought to be money for old rope”.
Although our phrase is undoubtedly a fairly modern construction, there was an older phrase where the end of an old rope was used as a comparator to suggest that you didn’t care for something or value it. The earliest example is to be found in William Congreve’s comedy, Love for love, from 1695 in which a character, Ben, described as a young man “half home-bred, and half Sea-bred, remarks, “as for your love or your liking, I don’t value it of a Rope’s end”. That Ben had a nautical background doesn’t necessarily mean that this particular phrase owed its origin to the matelot community but they did use ropes. The end of a rope, especially an old one, is of far less use than the rope itself.
Susanna Centilivre, in her play A Bickerstaff’s burying: or, work for the upholders, from 1796 has a variant of Congreve’s phrase, intriguingly put in the mouth of a sailor character; “I care not a Rope’s-end if she does”. Perhaps more conclusive evidence of a nautical origin comes from a rather picaresque vignette of everyday life as it played out in the streets of London in the 1830s.
A report from the Devizes and Wiltshire Gazette on October 16, 1834 recorded a case that troubled the magistrates at Bow Street. Perhaps they picked it up because it was a slow news day in Wiltshire or saw it as a salutary warning to its country readership of the perils that lurked in the cesspit of human depravity that was London, who knows? An old sailor, Patrick O’Bryan, was foolish enough to give a woman half a crown to purchase some gin for himself, in the expectation that he would get some change. In this he was sorely mistaken, the woman downing the gin and running off with the change before being apprehended by the old Bill.
That O’Bryan was wont to pepper his speech with phrases reeking of the life on an ocean wave is established when he describes the woman escape thus; “[she] shot away with all sails set like a smuggling lugger chased by a King’s cutter”. He was also a kindly soul and pleaded to the magistrate to let the unfortunate miscreant off and whilst confirming she had committed the crime, said “she certainly did, but I don’t value the money an old rope’s end”.
What we can deduce from all of this is that whilst money for old rope is a relative modern creation, there is a legacy of part of an old rope denoting something cheap, trivial, worthless since the eighteenth century, which, in turn, may owe it s origin to the nautical world.
September 5, 2019
Gin O’Clock – Part Seventy Four
The ginaissance has spawned such a crowded field of gins jostling for the toper’s attention that they tend to need some special characteristic to stand out. Quite a lot of the marketing puff that goes with the gins is often questionable but one trait that grabs my attention is what is known as a single estate gin. In a nutshell, or should that be a cocktail glass, it describes a gin that is sourced from produce in the distiller’s locale. You could call it from soil to bottle.
Of course, it could be a pretty limiting strategy depending upon the region you hail from but the Stirling brothers from the Arbikie Highland Estate in Inverkeilor on the Scottish east coastal region of Angus seemed to have cracked it. Their Arbikie Highland Estate Kirsty’s Gin, my bottle came via Drinkfinder’s on-line ordering service, is sourced entirely from the area. The story goes (there’s always a story with gin) that they found records suggesting that until 1794 there had been a distillery operating on the farm. Clearly, in those days the distillers could only use material they could get their hands on and this was the genesis of the idea to craft a gin from what is available in Angus.
The starting point is the neutral spirit. Rather than a wheat-based spirit, the head distiller, Kirsty Black, after whom the gin is named, uses a potato vodka made from three types of spud, King Edward, Cultra and Maris Piper, grown on the farm. The botanicals are added to the spirit in a copper still and left to soak for a day under a gentle heat. Once the heart’s cut is removed, the gin is left to rest for a few weeks and then distilled down to its bottled strength of 43% ABV.
The botanicals used are a mix of the traditional and the exotic. The traditional combo of juniper, angelica, coriander, liquorice and orris are joined by the exotica of kelp, representing the saltiness of the coastal region, Carline thistle root, and blaeberries (or to us Sassenachs, bilberries). The junipers are unlikely to be locally grown, about 80% of the Scottish juniper was wiped out by disease, but they are signed up to using local juniper when replacement trees are ready. It puts a bit of a dent into their claim of being single estate but there is more truth in it than in some others who claim the same distinction.
The bottle is tall, sturdy, and somewhat utilitarian. The white label at the front has a large swirly A and a depiction of the local Scottish botanicals in lavender. The use of black against white and vice versa makes the information contained on the label stand out, it is gluten free, for example. My bottle is from batch AG0004.
On removing the stopper made from artificial cork, the aroma is an enticing blend of sweetness and spice. In the mouth it is an incredible smooth, almost creamy, spirit (must be the potatoes) and a perfect, delicate mix of sweet sensations and the more warming spicy elements. The aftertaste is distinctly one of pepper and pine. I loved it and the introduction of the tonic seemed to enhance the sweeter elements which seem to dip in and out and weave around the juniper-led spirit.
This was a welcome addition to my collection and whilst you could categorise it as one of the ever-growing savoury gins that are emerging with a strong herbal element, it seems much more than that.
Until the next time, cheers!
September 4, 2019
Book Corner – September 2019 (1)
Fear Stalks The Village – Ethel Lina White
I first came across the crime writer, Ethel Lina White, in Martin Edwards’ wonderful anthologies of Golden Age detective fiction. I enjoyed her short stories and was sufficiently encouraged to try one of her novels. This, her second, was published in 1932.
I was almost put off by the first chapter which was full of the type of purple prose that wouldn’t have been out of place in Private Eye’s Pseuds Corner. But there is a purpose to this florid language. The village in which the story is set is a picture postcard of a community where everything has a place, order prevails and everyone’s existence is serene. But scratch beneath the surface…
A series of poison pen letters disturbs this rural idyll, revealing a darker side where fear, distrust, and potential disgrace lurk. They spark a wave of suicides. The rector is beside himself, wanting to preserve the peace and quiet of the village and save the souls of his flock. He brings in a friend, an amateur sleuth of independent means, Ignatius Brown, to solve the mystery and restore order. Which he does.
I won’t spoil the reader’s enjoyment of what I found to be a bit of a patchy book, perhaps a little too overlong and with too much padding between developments in the plot. That said, what could have been a mediocre crime tale is rescued by White’s sardonic humour. I just pick out a couple of examples as an illustration. “The squire turned to his wife. Although he usually bullied her, there were times when he followed her advice: for if he had no positive virtues, he had some rather good faults”. “The Rector – who did not know shorthand – was impressed by the dots and dashes with which his friend covered pages of his note-book. Ignatius – who did not know shorthand either – had counted on making this effect”.
As an outsider Brown is ideal for observing the rather peculiar characters who populate the village. White is excellent in developing their particular traits and characteristics, the more to emphasis the horrors that would befall them if and when their dark secrets are revealed. Although long-winded in his speech and actions, Brown has a nice turn of phrase, describing a family who had just returned from an extended holiday in Italy as “aren’t they the people, who remember nothing of the places they’ve visited except the shops?” We’ve all met that type.
The plot is full of clever twists and turns, requiring the reader to be alert, and it is easy to fall for the rather discreet red herrings strewn along this particular country lane. To be fair to her, the puzzle is a first-rate one with enough clues sprinkled throughout the text for the reader to recognise that the solution, though somewhat intricate and involved, is highly plausible.
Unusually, the poison pen letter device is not used to trigger blackmail or murder, as it does in the hands of many other writers, but is sufficient to lead a string of characters to fear the worst and kill themselves. Where White really comes into her own is building up an atmosphere and distrust, a sensation heightened by her portraying it as if it was a character, a shadowy presence moving around the village. These features mark it out as a book a cut above the average.
September 3, 2019
What’s Brewing In Alaska? – Part Two
One of my hobbies, if you can ascribe it with that name, is to sample as many locally produced beers as I can when I visit a new area. I call it drinking with a purpose. A recent trip to Alaska provided me with ample opportunity to prospect for beers previously unknown to me. And what a treasure trove it proved to be.
Still in Skagway, off the main road but nearer the cruise ship jetty I found the Klondike Brewing Company. There was a nice walled garden area which enabled me to take in the unexpected Alaskan sun and to offset some of the effects of the beer I had chosen from their extensive menu. Hammer Stone Double IPA had an impressive ABV of 8.9% and was dark, hoppy, and piney with a hint of citrus. It was delicious but one was enough. It was a good job I had a ship to catch.
I had heard there was a new brewery in Ketchikan and in the hour or so I had free in the town, I decided to track it down. Tucked away from the main drag is the Bawden Street Brewing Company, which opened as recently as July 16, 2018. There was a tasting room to the side of the brewhouse in an Alaskan log cabin style. It was all a bit spit and sawdust but I was here to sample the beer, the menu for which was written on a piece of brown paper hung up over the bar.
All the beers on offer were phenomenally strong. It was as if Sean Heismann, the lone brewer, was on a mission to brew the widest range of strong beers known to man and there was something of the mad professor about him as we saw him inspecting the latest batches. I selected an amber, Biere de Garde, which with an ABV of 8.2% was one of the tamer ales on offer. It was coppery gold in colour, malty with a hint of spice, and wouldn’t have been out of place in a Belgian bar.
I had just time, before boarding my ship, to pop into the Totem Bar and sample a glass of Single Engine Red, brewed by the Denali Brewing Company from Talkeetna in Alaska. It was an Irish Red Ale in style with an ABV of 5.9%. Its name was selected by customers in a poll. It could have been worse, I suppose, it could have been Boaty McBoatface. It had an intensely reddish amber colour, a nutty taste, and was slightly bitter.
Alaska’s burgeoning micro-brewery industry is certainly making waves.
September 2, 2019
Double Your Money – Part Forty Five
The green goods scam
What increases the chances of a scam getting some traction is if it appeals to the avaricious nature of its victim. What is even better is if it is a scam which encourages the mark to commit an illegal act. When they realise that they have been duped, they are hardly likely to run to the police and confess that they had been conned whilst trying to commit a crime. It is even better if the scammers have got the police in their pocket. These were all the characteristics of what came to be known as the green goods scam which was perpetrated in late nineteenth century America.
The starting point of the scam was a circular, produced by a gang member called the writer, sufficiently vague in its wording but sufficiently enticing to interest the target audiences, buyers of lottery tickets who were considered likely to succumb to appeals to their innate greed, and to ex-Confederate soldiers who were down on their luck and keen to put one over the Federal government in Washington. A typical circular would read, “I am dealing in articles, paper goods – ones, twos, fives, tens, and twenties – do you understand? I cannot be plainer until I know your heart is true to me. Then I will satisfy you that I can furnish you with a fine, safe, and profitable article that can be used in any manner and for all purposes, and no danger”.
What was being offered was counterfeit money at knock-down prices.
Some circulars were more explicit. One set could not have been any plainer, stating “I have on hand a large amount of counterfeit notes of the following denominations: $1, $2, $5, $10 and $20. I guarantee every note to be perfect”. Others, fearful that the police might intercept their missives, talked enigmatically about certain brands of cigar.
Once the victim had indicated their interest, the economics of the deal would be spelt out. A modest outlay of $100 would entitle the purchaser to notes to the value of $1,200, whilst $600 would secure $10,000. In order to get their hands on this deal of the century, the prospect would have to travel to New York City or a destination in upstate New York where they would be met by a member of the gang, called a steerer. Their job was to take the victim to a location where they would see a pile of cash which would seem to be legitimate, as it was.
The gang even threw in a suitcase free of charge which they filled with the amount of money the victim had purchased for the knock-down price. But before the victim got his hands on the suitcase, there would be some form of distraction during which a man known as the turning point would replace the original suitcase with an identical one. Unfortunately, the replacement suitcase was stuffed full of newspaper or sand.
However, the victim would not have the time to notice he had been duped. The steerer got hold of him, telling them to go with him to the station and get out of town without talking to anyone. To ensure that the victim obeyed their instructions, a policeman, in the pay of the gang, of course, would be lurking in the background. If the victim looked as though he was about to open the suitcase, the policeman would leap into action, threatening to arrest him for buying counterfeit money. The alternative was to get on the first train out of town.
It was only when the victim had got on to the train or arrived home feeling pleased with himself that he would realise he had been had. By that time, of course, it was too late.
George Appo, a notorious pickpocket, had eight years as a steerer. In his autobiography he gives some sense of the economics and scale of the scam in its heyday. The operator would make between $300 to $1,000 a time, of which 10% went to the steerer and 45% to the turning point. Often an operator would have up to writers, each of whom would hook in one or two victims a day.
The anti-Tammany Hall investigations which started in 1893 began to reveal the incestuous relationship between the green goods gangs and the police. Up to 30 policemen were indicted at the time. Then the new Republican mayor appointed Theodore Roosevelt as Police Commissioner. Roosevelt, in conjunction with postal inspectors, started treating the green goods operators as “a farmer treats weeds – root them out and prevent them from coming back”. So successful was the campaign that by the early twentieth century, this form of scamming was a thing of the past.
If you enjoyed this, try Fifty Scams and Hoaxes by Martin Fone
https://www.troubador.co.uk/bookshop/business/fifty-scams-and-hoaxes/
September 1, 2019
Lifestyle Tip Of The Week
As someone who is prone to see the gloomier side of things, some news reached me from the pages of that august journal, Proceedings of the National Academy of Science, that plunged me into the slough of despond.
According to research carried out at Boston University School of Medicine, women who had an optimistic view on life had a lifespan almost 15% longer than those who verged towards a pessimistic viewpoint. With men the results showed the glass half full brigade had a 11% longer lifestyle than those whose glass was half empty.
Lifestyle may come into it. For the pessimists it may be that drinking to excess, smoking and taking drugs is the only way they can face the day whilst those happy souls without a care in the world are likely to eat what’s good for them and indulge in the dread E word, exercise. Yes, the scientists had thought of that and, allegedly, adjusted their results to take into account lifestyle choices.
The difference in lifespans reduced, I found that surprising, but not significantly.
Looking on the bright side, by maintaining my usual pessimistic take on life, I’m likely to be out of here sooner than otherwise might have been the case. Now that has cheered me up.
August 31, 2019
Vehicle Of The Week
An unusual vehicle was spotted on the motorway in Bedfordshire the other day, sufficiently odd to warrant the attention of the Old Bill. It looked a bit like a boat with the nose of an aeroplane and the chassis of a motorbike held together with liberal quantities of gaffer tape and white paint.
After the police had made the usual checks, yes, it had a number plate, a MOT certificate, tax and insurance and no, it wasn’t causing an obstruction, yes, it had working lights and brakes and yes, it was keeping up with the other traffic, the owner, together with his boot full of shopping, was allowed to go on his way.
It doesn’t pay to be different in Bedfordshire.
[image error]
Not so
fortunate was Glyndwr Wyn Richards from Llanfairn in Ceredigion. He thought it
would be a good idea to take a car down to the local scrapyard. Instead of
using the tried and tested method of towing it he strapped it to the roof of
his VW Jetta.
Not
surprisingly he came to the attention of the Old Bill. His unusual method of
transporting his old car cost him a £80 fine and three penalty points on his
licence. For me, though, the incredible part of the story was how he got the
car on to the roof and just how strong are Jettas.
Classics
August 30, 2019
What Is The Origin Of (246)?…
All Greek to me
One of the, admittedly few, advantages of learning ancient Greek is that I cannot with any degree of honesty use this phrase. Figuratively, though, it is used to denote total incomprehension. But why Greek?
Before I unmask the origin, I need to debunk a commonly held misconception. As great a dramatist as William Shakespeare was and as inventive a user of the English language as he undoubtedly was, it is almost inconceivable that all the phrases that came into common currency in the Elizabethan era owe their origins to him. It is true that the Bard used the phrase in an exchange between Casca and Cassius in the play, Julius Caesar, dating from 1601. Casca reporting on a speech of Cicero’s says “I, he spoke Greeke”. When asked what the great orator said, Casca reported, “those that understood him, smil’d/ at one another, and shooke their heads; but for mine/ owne part, it was Greeke to me”.
There are, however, some earlier examples of the phrase in print. The poet, George Gascoigne translated the prose comedy of the Italian playwright, Ludovico Aristo, under the Anglicised name of Supposes and it was performed at Grays Inn in 1566. Balia, after asking Polynesta to explain herself, comments, “this geare is Greeke to me; either it hangs not well together, or I am very dull of understanding: speak plaine, I pray you”. Even if we don’t understand the word geare, it means talk, the meaning of the phrase is crystal clear. Interestingly, Gascoigne introduced the phrase into the text, it not being there in the original.
The Scottish historie of Iames the fourth, slaine at Flodden, written by the English author, Robert Greene and published posthumously in 1598, contained the phrase, “tis Greeke to me”. A year before Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, Thomas Dekker includes this exchange in his play, Patient Grissel; “asking for a Greek poet, to him he fails. I’ll be sworn he knows not so much as one character of the tongue./ Why, then it’s Greek to him”. This usage is relatively rare, it is normally Greek to the speaker rather than a third party, but nonetheless there is sufficient evidence to debunk the attribution to Shakespeare and to suggest that it was in currency from at least the middle of the sixteenth century.
Indeed, it is likely that the origin comes from the commonplace marginalia of a frustrated monk who cannot make head nor tail of the text that he is laboriously copying, Graecum est, non potest legi. In case that is Greek to you, it means it is Greek, it cannot be read. The phrase escaped the confines of the cloisters, perhaps aided by the destruction of the monasteries during the Reformation. And why Greek? The language was less well known and understood even among the educated classes, particularly in comparison with the lingua franca of the time, Latin. And the Greek script can be off-putting to a beginner to get their head around.
In the eighteenth century variants emerged. John Wesley, in Advice to a People called Methodist from October 1745, wrote, “To ninety-nine of them it is still heathen Greek”. And amongst the lower orders, at least according to Francis Grose’s A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, there was St Giles’s Greek, defined as “the slang lingo, cant or gibberish”. This was picked up in the rather snooty editorial introduction to a letter written in the vernacular which Jackson’s Oxford Journal deemed to publish on March 4, 1786; “we are desired to publish the following intercepted Letter to the Informer of the Robbery at Magdalen College, written, as it appears, by one of the Gang, in the Language which they call St Giles’s Greek”.
Unadulterated Greek won out, though. The Dutch have a similar phrase although the object of their incomprehension is the Latin tongue, whereas the Italians are baffled by Arabic and the French Chinese. Even the few speakers of Esperanto profess to be perplexed by Volapukaio. We all have our crosses to bear, it would seem.
August 29, 2019
Fact Or Fiction?
“That was when they suspended the constitution. They said it would be temporary. There wasn’t even any rioting in the streets. People stayed home at night, watching television, looking for some direction. There wasn’t even an enemy you could put your finger on“.
The Handmaid’s Tale – Margaret Attwood (1985)
August 28, 2019
Book Corner – August 2019 (4)
England, Their England – A G Macdonell
Writing a book that is actually and consistently funny is a tricky business. A comic idea is difficult to sustain and humour can date very quickly. But some writers manage to pull it off and the likes of P G Wodehouse, Evelyn Waugh and Jerome K Jerome are firm favourites amongst aficionados of the genre. One author who has fallen by the wayside somewhat in recent times is A G Macdonell but his satire of English society, England, Their England, published in 1933, is worth a read.
In essence, it is a travel memoir, written by a young Scotsman, Donald Cameron. Whilst in the First World War he shares a pill box with a Welshman and publisher, Evan Davies, and they discuss, during a lull in the battle, the unfathomable nature of the English character. Davies suggests that Cameron should write a book about it. Their paths separate and Cameron returns to Scotland to help his ailing father farm. When Cameron’s father dies, the terms of the will force our hero to seek his fame and fortune south of the border. Initially, he writes for a number of newspapers before bumping into Davies again and accepting the commission to write about the English from the perspective of a foreigner.
If the book is known for anything these days, it is for the wonderful chapter describing a cricket match between a team of topers and literary types from London and a team of Sussex locals. It is a tour de force and even if you are not a student of the game or haven’t tried your hand at it, your enjoyment of the humour of the description is unlikely to be dimmed. Perhaps it is true that the foreigners’ perception of the English is coloured by this strangely eccentric game with its formal conventions and sense of timelessness. If so, Macdonell has struck the middle timber with a yorker.
The book, however, is more than the cricket match. Cameron saunters around English society in the 1920s taking in a country house weekend (natch, although there is no murder), a visit to a village pub, and a boat trip to Danzig where his only fellow passenger is an insufferable bore with a stock of preposterous stories of amazing derring-do and ingenuity. Macdonell is withering in his critique of the pretentiousness of modern theatre during his description of a trip to the theatre. Cameron even inveigles himself on a diplomatic mission to Geneva where he sees the wizardry of the English diplomat, their actions undetectable by the human eye.
Cameron also acts as a political agent and the description of the level of political discourse has disturbingly modern parallels – “you don’t need facts or tommy-rot of that sort”. Cameron tries his hand at golf and being a Scot is more than a match for his fellow players, even though he hasn’t a clue about the scoring conventions they are deploying. He also discovers that his fellow Scot, the club professional, takes great delight in ripping the locals off. Other sporting events are sampled, including the Varsity rugby match and a game of professional football.
The book does suffer from the attitudes and views of the time which may upset those readers who think writers should have the foresight to anticipate the sensibilities of future generations and in places it does seem like a rather elaborate inside joke. I’m sure that Macdonell is satirising some of the illuminati of the English literary and social scene of the era but the specifics rather passed me by. It also ignored the majority of English society, the working class.
That said, I found it a witty and strangely uplifting book, much needed in these increasingly gloomy times.
