Martin Fone's Blog, page 230
April 26, 2019
What Is The Origin Of (228)?…
First dibs
Watching children playing, they seem to be forever squabbling over who should have first go. Perhaps it is a vestige of an innate survival instinct. And there seems to be a special vocabulary that they use; “bags I go first” or “let me have first dibs.” It is the latter which will be the subject of this etymological enquiry.
The starting point is, not unsurprisingly, a game played by children, dibstones, abbreviated to dibs. By the time Thomas Hardy came to pen Jude the Obscure in 1895 it was being used as a reference to something trivial; “why when I and my poor man were married we thought no more o’t than a game of dibs.” Dibstones was probably a variant of the popular playground game, jacks, at least it was when I was a child, or knucklestones, involving a ball and ten metal or plastic jacks. The idea behind its modern incarnation is to pick up as many jacks before the ball bounces.
An early reference to the game is found in John Locke’s Some Thoughts Concerning Education, published in 1693; “I have seen little Girls exercise whole Hours together and take abundance of Pains to be expert at Dibstones as they call it.” But it is much older. There is a fragment from a play by the Athenian tragedian, Sophocles, attributing the origin of the game to Palamedes and the Romans certainly played a variant.
Perhaps having first dibs is getting the first turn at playing the game.
It might be but over time there was a significant change in the use of the word dibs. It became a synonym for money. The Song of George Barnwell, found in the Port Folio of June 6th 1807, contains the lines, “If you mean to come Bring your bellows (snuffome any more/ You must put more cash in your pocket./ Make Nunky surrender his dibbs.”
Pierce Egan’s Real Life in London: or The rambles and Adventures of Bob Tallyho Esq, from 1821, is always a good source for examples of the argot of the common folk. In its pages we encounter a Mr Merrywell whose speech was peppered with so many bits of slang as to make it barely comprehensible to the modern reader and, perhaps, many contemporary ones too. “Bring your bellows (snuff), in good order, and don’t be afraid of your bread basket (stomach). The dibs are in tune (there’s money). A ball of fire (brandy), a dose of daffy (a patent medicine) or a blow out of black strap (gin mixed with molasses) will set the blue devils at defiance, give a spur to harmony, and set the spirits a jogging.” Sounds good to me.
In slang prigs were thieves, a bit of knowledge necessary to appreciate the next monetary example of dibs to be found in On the Prigging Lay from 1829 to be found in John Farmer’s Musa Pedestris. “Uncle, open the door of your crib/ If you’d share the swag, or have one dib.” The thieves are exhorting the poor uncle to open up and let them have his money.
The usage had changed again by the middle of the century. George Matsell defined dib as “a portion or share” in his Vocabulum; Or, The Rogue’s Lexicon, published in 1859. This is surely the modern meaning of the playground phrase and we can detect a development from the abbreviation for a game through a slang term for money to a share. It makes sense.
What it doesn’t explain is why the earliest citations of first dibs come from America. An early such usage is found in a pamphlet called Our Boys, published by the Wisconsin Home and Farm School Association in 1907; “each boy cries out/ as quick as he can,/ I got first dibs/ on the baking pan.” It was clearly in use in speech before then and could easily have migrated over with English-speaking migrants.
April 25, 2019
It’s The Way I Tell ‘Em (35)
As the world seems to be going to hell in a handcart, I thought I would try to cheer us all up.
“It all starts innocently, mixing chocolate and Rice Krispies, but before you know it you’re adding raisins and marshmallows – it’s a rocky road.” Olaf Falafel (2016)
“I was watching the London Marathon and saw one runner dressed as a chicken and another runner dressed as an egg. I thought: ‘This could be interesting.”Paddy Lennox (2009)
“The anti-ageing advert that I would like to see is a baby covered in cream saying, ‘Aah, I’ve used too much’” Andrew Bird (2008)
“Whenever I see a man with a beard, moustache and glasses, I think, ‘There’s a man who has taken every precaution to avoid people doodling on photographs of him”Carey Marx (2008)
“My granny was recently beaten to death by my grandad. Not as in, with a stick – he just died first”Alex Horne (2008)
“I think if you were hardcore anti-feminism, surely you wouldn’t call yourself ‘anti-feminism’ would you? You’d call yourself ‘Uncle Feminism’.” Jenny Collier (2016)
“My mate is called Liam, but we call him ‘Two Legs Liam’. The reason for that is because he only has one arm.” Andrew Ryan (2016)
“I heard a rumour that Cadbury is bringing out an oriental chocolate bar. Could be a Chinese Wispa.” Rob Auton (2013)
“I needed a password eight characters long so I picked Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.” Nick Helm (2011)
“Crash Investigations is my favourite TV show, I’ve seen every episode. Here’s a tip for the new viewers: if the show starts with the pilots being interviewed… it will be a boring episode.” Nick Cody (2015)
“I think the bravest thing I’ve ever done is misjudge how much shopping I want to buy and still not go back to get a basket.” Stuart Laws (2016)
“Drug use gets an unfair reputation considering all the beautiful things in life it has given us like rock ‘n’ roll and sporting achievement.” Jason John Whitehead (2016)
“I don’t have the Protestant work ethic, I have the Catholic work ethic; in that I don’t work but I do feel very guilty about that.” Rory O’Keeffe (2016)
“People who use selfie sticks really need to have a good, long look at themselves.” Abi Roberts (2016)
“Jokes about white sugar are rare. Jokes about brown sugar, Demerara.” Olaf Falafel (2016)
“I went to Waterstones and asked the woman for a book about turtles, she said ‘hardback?’ and I was like, ‘yeah and little heads” Mark Simmons (2015)
“Hey, if anyone knows how to fix some broken hinges, my door’s always open.” Paul F. Taylor (2016)
“If you don’t know what Morris dancing is, imagine eight guys from the KKK got lost, ended up at gay pride and just tried to style it out.” Fin Taylor (2016)
“Hedgehogs – why can’t they just share the hedge?” Dan Antolpolski (2009)
“Insomnia is awful. But on the plus side – only three more sleeps till Christmas.” Robert Garnham (2017)
April 24, 2019
Book Corner – April 2019 (4)
Miss Marjoribanks – Margaret Oliphant
This was a curious book and definitely one of two halves. Published in 1866 but serialised by Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine from February 1865, my edition helpfully had the break points for each instalment and I read each in one sitting to get a sense of how the original reader may have experienced what is Oliphant’s fifth of six stories set in the fictional town of Carlingford.
The eponymous heroine, Lucilla Marjoribanks, is the literary progenitor of E F Benson’s delicious Lucia and Sinclair Lewis’ Carol Kennicott, a busy-body who ties to organise the social life of her town to her own whims. It can be read, and probably is these days, as a proto-feminist tract, because this is all that a smart and talented woman can do in a patriarchal society.
But in the first two volumes of the book Oliphant is very much an ironic observer and sets her heroine up for ridicule. Although the third-party narrator of the tale is ostensibly narrating Lucilla’s history from the age of fifteen, when she is sent away to school, only returning three or so years later to make the sole object of her existence for the next ten years to make her dear papa’s life as comfortable as possible, whether he wants it or not, Oliphant’s tone is such that we are directed not to take her projects seriously and to view as the epitome of self-importance.
Lucilla’s principal mission is to transform her father’s Thursday night dinners into soirees to which the better sorts are invited for improving conversation and the opportunity to admire her distinctive voice. We are invited to laugh at the trivial feuds and misunderstandings which inevitably ensue and mock Lucilla’ small-minded provincialism which she believes to be the manifestation of the latest social theories. She has no sense of self-doubt or even an iota of sensitivity for the feelings of others.
Oliphant has created here one of the great comic characters of English Victorian literature. Her manipulation of Barbara Lake, her rival for the affections of Cavendish, the presumed MP-to-be for Carlingford, is skilfully played out but a considerable spanner is thrown into the works when an Archdeacon turns up, causing Cavendish to disappear post-haste. It is clear he has a shady background and much of the second volume is concerned with Lucilla’s attempts to, firstly, find out Cavendish’s secret, then to thwart Barbara’s romantic intentions and, finally, to resolve the situation in a way that would not bring opprobrium to her social gatherings.
There is, however, a very distinctive change of tone in the third volume. We return to Lucilla some years afterwards, her self-imposed ten years of looking after papa’s best interests have elapsed. We have a clever, talented woman with oodles of time on her hands. She can’t take a job that might be an outlet for her talents and organisational abilities, she doesn’t have a vote and cannot engage overtly in political activities. The feminist agenda moves from the background to the forefront.
But this does not stop the redoubtable Lucilla. She throws her energies behind Ashburton who has declared his intention to run for the now vacant position of member of parliament, not least to spike Cavendish’s ambitions. Her behind the scenes manoeuvring of the political sentiments of the menfolk who can vote bears fruit and inspires Ashburton to try and win her favours. The book ends with a surprising twist but you conclude that her chosen husband is one she can dominate and allow her to use her talents to organise the folk of Marchbank.
Oliphant was a prolific author who has fallen into neglect for too long. If you like Trollope, gentle humour, social insight and although it is a bit too wordy, then you should like this book.
Give it a try.
April 23, 2019
Question Of The Week (4)
In this blog we are not afraid of asking those really big questions, like; just how much do you value your friendship with your best friend? Or to put it the other way round; how much money would you take to ditch your bosom pal?
In a survey of 2,000 men and women, commissioned by that esteemed sponsor of all matters sociological, Foxy Bingo, 40% of the respondents revealed that if the money was right, they would turn their back on their most cherished friendship. And, it seems, the tipping point is £106,000 for women and £180,000 for men.
Scousers put the lowest valuation of a friendship, £62,000, whereas Glaswegians, who are reputed to know the value of money, would not be parted from their bessie for anything under £200,000.
I’m not sure what to make of all of this. It smacks of one of those on-line surveys that you fill in when you are bored and/or have had a tincture or two. But perhaps the old adage of in vino veritas applies.
It reminds me of that old joke, a version of which was attributed to Winston Churchill, in which a man asks a woman if she would sleep with him for a million dollars. “Sure”, she says. “And for ten dollars?” he enquires. “What do you think I am?, she retorts. “We’ve already established what you are. All we’re doing is haggling about price.” If you are prepared to put a financial value on a friendship, it is not a friendship.
But, hey, that’s life.
April 22, 2019
The Streets Of London – Part Eighty Seven
Colonnade, WC1
When I was commuting daily to London to earn my daily crust, I rarely ever went anywhere near Russell Square. Now I have retired, whenever I go up to the smoke, the area seems to beckon me with its Siren’s call. And that’s why I recently discovered Colonnade, which runs parallel with Bernard Street to its north and Guilford Street to its south. Not to put it too bluntly, it is the arse end of the Russell Square tube station whose huge ventilators dominate the landscape.
My attention, though, was drawn to a building at the other end of the street, at the corner with Herbrand Street, with a slightly triangular frontage and bearing the legend Horse Hospital. It is now what it calls itself a progressive arts venue providing a venue for art, film, fashion, literature and music and has been so since 1993.
Horses were the principal method of transport through the streets of London in the 18th and 19th centuries other than Shanks’ pony. Like other mortal creatures they would get sick or get lame, a major inconvenience for their owners leading to a potential loss of income. There were very few veterinary establishments large enough to accommodate the numbers of nags that were indisposed at any one time in the metropolis. This is where James Burton, a builder who was responsible for some of the development in the Bloomsbury area, comes in.
In 1797 he had a brain wave, to establish a purpose-built establishment where working horses could be stabled and receive the requisite medical attention. A two-storey building made of red brick, it was furnished with concrete ramps, allowing the horses easy access to all areas, with hardwood slats to prevent them from slipping. These are still visible on the ramp in the upper floor. Each floor came with five cast iron pillars for tethering the horses and iron teething rings. There is evidence that the original building was redeveloped sometime after 1860. For those who worked with horses it must have been a godsend.
Until the late 18th century the area consisted of fields, unbelievable as that may seem today when it is situated right in the heart of a bustling metropolis. The earliest appearance of the Colonnade on a map of London dates to 1801 in Wallis’ Plan of the Cities of London and Westminster. It is thought to have derived its name from a colonnade at the back of Guilford Street and provided stabling for horses and accommodation for coachmen on its southern side whilst the opposite of Colonnade Mews, as it was known at the time, was occupied by shops.
Besides the Horse Hospital, you can see other vestiges of the street’s equine history. Many of the properties retain large timber doors at ground floor level and I don’t think it is too fanciful to think that these were originally doors to stabling. The street is still cobbled.
But in 1870s the mews was described as being little more than a slum. The horse trade had collapsed and the stables were increasingly being rented out to the poor. By 1884 the housing in the street had been declared unfit, even for human habitation, and many of the older buildings were pulled down and rebuilt.
If you are in the area, a possibility if you take a wrong turning from the tube station, you could do worse than pop into the Friends at Hand. The pub, now at 2 – 4 Herbrand Street, was established in 1735 and in various censuses its address was shown as 32, Colonnade (1869 and earlier) and 64, Colonnade (1901). I don’t suppose that it was the pub that was moving around, more a testament to the evolution of the street and changes in street numbering systems.
April 21, 2019
Motivated By Curiosity And A Desire For The Truth – Part Thirty Six
Why is Easter such a movable feast?
Whether you are a believer or not, Easter is one of those points in the calendar that seems to give us a psychological lift. Summer is on its way and, if we are lucky, it might even bring some warmer weather with it. But unlike Christmas which is fixed rigidly on December 25th, irrespective of what day of the week it falls on, the date of Easter is movable, much to the consternation of those who like certainty in such matters. Why is that and what are the rules which determine the date of Easter?
The starting point in our enquiries is the Gospels. All four disciples (Matthew 26.2, Mark 14.1, Luke 22.1, and John 18.39) agree that the crucifixion of Christ took place in conjunction with the Jewish feast of Passover. The first three describe the Last Supper, traditionally placed as taking place on the Thursday, as a Passover meal whereas John’s account suggests that on the morning of Christ’s death the Jewish authorities hadn’t yet eaten their Passover meal. Our story is complicated enough that we will quickly pass over that little discrepancy.
The festival of the Passover, commemorated to celebrate the liberation of the Jews from slavery in Egypt, begins at sundown of the fourteenth day of Nisan. Its date is determined by the first full moon after the vernal equinox. The early Christians wanted to maintain the link between the death and resurrection of their Lord with the dating of the Jewish festival. As the latter was movable, based on lunar and solar cycles, so too was Easter.
By 325 CE, however, the Church authorities decided to add some intellectual rigour to the dating of Easter. At the Council of Nicaea they laid down the basic rules which are still used today. They took as their starting point the vernal equinox. They also wanted Easter to fall on a Sunday. The understanding of the celestial spheres and the orbit of the moon had advanced sufficiently that astronomers could estimate the date of all future full moons. So, an algorithm was developed which fixed Easter as the first Sunday after the first full moon following the vernal equinox. If the calculated Ecclesiastical Full Moon (EFM) falls on a Sunday, Easter will be the following Sunday. That means that Easter will always be between one and seven days after the EFM.
There was a tiny bit of a problem, though.
The vernal equinox itself is not a fixed date. The Nicaean Council used March 20th as the cornerstone for their calculation, it is known as the Paschal equinox, simply because it happened to be the date of the vernal equinox in the year of their deliberations. This means that the calculated EFM dates can be out of whack by as much as two days with the actual full moon we see in the night sky.
The next complicating factor was the introduction of the Gregorian calendar by Pope Gregory XIII in October 1582 to replace the Julian calendar, replacing ten dates in that month to realign the Paschal Equinox with the seasons. By that time, of course, we in Britain had split with the Catholic church and not having truck with foreign ways (where have we heard that before?) did not adopt the new calendar until 1752. So for near on two centuries our Easters were out of line with those celebrated by the Catholic church.
The Eastern Orthodox churches were also having nothing to do with the Gregorian calendar reforms and to this day they still use the Julian calendar. Although they use the methodology established by the Council of Nicaea the date ranges in which their Easter celebrations fall can differ markedly. The last time the two festivals coincided on the same date was as recently as 2017 and they will do again in 2025.
The upshot of all this is that Easter can fall between March 22nd and April 25th using the Gregorian calendar whereas the Eastern churches can celebrate Easter between April 4th and May 8th. Easter this year is quite late but not as late as it will be in 2038, when it will fall on the latest possible date, April 25th. The last time Easter fell on March 22nd was way back in 1818 and it won’t settle on that date again until 2285. I don’t think I will be around to see it.
There have been attempts to pin Easter down. The Second Vatican Council agreed to a fixed date in 1963, provided agreement could be reached amongst all the Christian churches. A further attempt to resolve matters was made at the meeting of the Council of World Churches in 1978 in Aleppo where it was proposed that the latest scientific methods for calculating the full moons would replace that developed in 325CE.
Nothing has come of that initiative and for me, that’s no bad thing. Easter would lose some of its charm if it was a fixed date in the calendar.
If you enjoyed this, check out Fifty Curious Questions by Martin Fone
April 20, 2019
Sting Of The Week (2)
It is good to see that the Government is taking the bull by the horns and encouraging the farming community to provide an environment which is favourable to pollinators. The Department for Environment, Food, and Rural Affairs (Defra) have even set up a whizzy website called Bees’ Needs as part of its national pollinator strategy.
There was a bit of a problem, though. When visitors to the site clicked on a link for further information, they were directed, in what can only be described as a honey trap, to a site which advertised the services of independent escorts throughout the land. Every campaign needs its incentives, I suppose.
The error has now been corrected and the correct link directs users to a site rich in information. But it took a while for the problem to be unearthed, which raises its own questions; are farmers not that bothered about bees or were they grateful to Defra for alerting them to the opportunities to doing their own bit of pollinating?
If you are not too careful, though, bees can cause a bit of a problem.
Take the astonishing case of Ms He who took herself to Fooyin University Hospital in Kaohsiung in Taiwan, complaining of a swollen eye. On examining her, doctors found four sweat bees living inside her eyelid, feeding on her tears. They were extracted, the doctors managing to save the creatures as well as the unfortunate woman’s eyesight. When she was weeding in a garden, Ms He felt something go into her eye.
She was not wrong.
April 19, 2019
What Is The Origin Of (227)?…
Copper-bottomed
These days we use the term copper-bottomed to describe something that is certain, genuine, trustworthy and unlikely to fail. The derivation of our phrase is equally copper-bottomed. It is all to do with the treatment of ships.
In the days of wooden ships, maintenance was a considerable headache. The activities of one creature in particular, Toredo worms, were positively migrainous. These saltwater clams have a particular appetite for boring into wood which has been immersed in seawater. Over time, of course, if their actions are not detected or treated, then the wood can disintegrate, causing a bit of a problem if you are sailing the seven seas.
To counteract the problem, the British Navy, in 1761, started a process of adding copper plating to the underside of the hulls of their ships. So, the ships were literally copper-bottomed. By March 1781, at least according to the London Magazine who reported the rather self-satisfied remarks of Admiral Keppel, it was job done, despite the laggardly behaviour of Lord Sandwich; “he reproached Lord Sandwich with having refused to sheath only a few ships with copper at his request, when he had since ordered the whole navy to be sheathed.”
There were other benefits to this enhancement to the engineering of the fleet of the British navy. Their copper bottoms meant that the speed through which they travelled through the water increased and their manoeuvrability was enhanced, both features contributing to the fleet’s naval hegemony.
But there was a down-side, isn’t there always?
The copper plates were often attached to the hulls using iron nails. The combination of copper and iron together with seawater creates the perfect conditions for something called electro-chemical corrosion, where electrons from other compounds are attracted to the ions in the metal allowing the seawater to corrode the metal. This was almost as dangerous to the mariners as worm-infested timbers and so to resolve the problem iron nails were replaced by copper ones in a process known as copper-fastening.
In the late 18th century a boat which was copper-bottomed and copper-fastened was the real deal. For confirmation of this statement you only have to look at the Hull Advertiser for July 9th 1796 where it announces, “she is copper-fastened and copper-bottomed, and a remarkable fine ship.”
It was not too much of a stretch to see how copper-bottomed could move from a prosaic description of the features, and thereby enhanced seaworthiness, to a figurative sense of trustworthy, genuine or reliable. One of the first instances of its usage in a figurative sense appeared in the satirical periodical created by Washington Irving and his brother, William, called Salmagundi; or the Whim-whams and Opinions of Launcelot Langstaff & Others. Launched at the start of the 19th century Irving used it to lampoon New York culture and politics. In the edition of May 16th 1807 he wrote, “..except by the celebrated eagle, which flutters his wings over the copper-bottomed angel at messrs. Paff’s in Broadway.”
Irving was clearly on a roll that year, ascribing in the edition for November 11th the name, well known to aficionados of Batman, of Gotham to New York, apparently as an analogy to the supposed stupidity of the residents of a village in Nottinghamshire by the same name. In 1894, Robert Louis Stevenson wrote in the Ebb-Tide, which he co-authored with his stepson, Lloyd Osborne, “The real, first-rate, copper-bottomed aristocrat.”
The term was sufficiently established in the vernacular by 1890 to appear in Slang and its Analogues, a seven volume meisterwerk compiled by J S Farmer and W E Henley. There they helpfully define the term thus; “in mercantile circles, the expression has become popularly current, in a figurative sense, to signify the highest commercial credit; and first-class, first-rate.”
Copper-fastened, a different technique, as we have seen, has also been used figuratively but not until the middle of the 20th century. The Evening Independent in November 1848 wrote; “we had some striking examples of what happens when a guy gets so big for his britches that any pal of his is automatically a copper-fastened genius.” The sense seems to slightly different, denoting certainty rather than trustworthiness.
April 18, 2019
Gin O’Clock – Part Sixty Three
The ginaissance still shows no sign of running out of steam. Far from it.
Figures released recently by HMRC showed that export sales of British gins had doubled in value since 2010, reaching the heady height of £612 million in 2018. Meanwhile in Blighty, we consumed 66 million bottles of gin, a 41% increase on 2017.
Impressive statistics but, as I noted a few weeks ago, there is a discernible attempt to exercise some control of what is rapidly resembling the Wild West. Some companies have been playing fast and loose with what were the commonly held tenets of the gin industry, not least what a gin is.
The two key articles of faith, if I can put it that way, are that the spirit has an ABV of 37.5% or more and that it is juniper-led. The Gin Guild, which seems to be emerging as the self-proclaimed gatekeeper of all matters gin, puts it more succinctly on their website, recognising only “gin styles produced by distilling ethyl alcohol in stills traditionally used for gin, in the presence of juniper berries and other botanicals – provided that the juniper taste is predominant.” You can’t say fairer than that.
So, where does this leave the so-called gin liqueurs? The few that I have tasted have been fruit-heavy, sweet and with low ABVs, often as low as 18%. On so many levels, they fail the gin test. At best they can only be described as a juniper flavoured drink. The only reason that gin is mentioned on their labelling is that is so on trend that gullible consumers are likely to be attracted to it. There is a very strong case for forcing them to remove their misleading labelling. According to press reports, Nicholas Cook, director-general of the Gin Guild, has already reported a number of these liqueurs to Trading Standards. I shall be interested to see what they do, if anything.
The undoubted success story of 2018 has been the growth of coloured and flavoured gins, which now make up around 20% of all gin sales in the UK, contributing to around a half of the overall increase in gin sales in 2018. Pink gins make up around 75% of the increase in flavoured gins alone. Personally, I feel they are too sweet for my palate and on occasion the distinctive taste of juniper is overwhelmed. And, once more, it is hard to make a case for some to be included within the classic definition of a gin. Another area for Trading Standards to keep an eye on, methinks.
I am not arguing that there is no place for these drinks, just that they are labelled responsibly so that the consumer knows exactly what they are getting. That is not too much to ask, surely.
One development I will watch with interest is the launch and development of the Gin Guild flavour guidance or Gin-Note. As bottles of premium gin are expensive, it pays to do a little research before making a purchase. An impulse buy based on the shape of the bottle or the marketeer-ese description on the labelling can be the precursor to an expensive mistake. The idea behind the Gin-Note is that it gives a standard flavour summary of each gin signed up to the scheme.
There are three elements to the Gin-Note – a visual representation of the general characteristics of the gin, a 20-word brand supplied description of the gin and two words, think tags, drawn from a pre-determined list which the supplier thinks best fits or describes their hooch. Provided that there is sufficient buy-in from the suppliers and that the standards are applied consistently and are broad enough to encompass most of the wide variety of tastes and flavours of true gins, it should be a boon to the consumer.
Until the next time, cheers!
April 17, 2019
Book Corner – April 2019 (3)
Best detective stories of Cyril Hare
One of the joys of the sort of crime anthologies that the inestimable Martin Edwards compiles is that you come across a wide range of writers, some of whom you are happy to have encountered on that one occasion but there are others whom you wish to explore further. Cyril Hare, the pseudonym of the English barrister, judge and crime writer, Gordon Clark, taken from the name of his Chambers, Hare Court, and his house in Battersea, Cyril Mansions, is one of the latter.
This collection of thirty short stories, some very short, was originally published in 1959 and in America appeared under the title of Death Among Friends. Many of the stories were written for the London Evening Standard in the days when newspapers and magazines dd their bit to foster and develop literary talent. Your fish and chips were wrapped up in a better quality of writing in those days.
What I liked about Hare is that he wrote with a certain panache, a pinch of humour, his plots generally held together and quite often there was a clever twist at the end. To a greater or lesser degree most of the stories in this collection exhibit some or all of these qualities and there are very few duds and most stand the test of time.
For me the one that didn’t was a story called The Rivals, a tale of two suspects, both romantically associated with a girl who is murdered. Both point the finger of suspicion at each other. The identity of the murderer is revealed in the final paragraph and, to be fair, the clues had been signposted during the narrative but you would have had to have had a detailed knowledge of what shoes a chap wore to dances at the time to crack it.
The funniest was The Tragedy of Young McIntyre in which a young, struggling barrister sues his voice coach for ruining his voice. The plot, of course, is absurd but Hare rescues what could have easily been a farce with some aplomb. Some knowledge of the laws of testacy wouldn’t come amiss for the opener, Miss Burnside’s Dilemma, but it has a clever and slightly surprising ending, which sets the scene nicely for what is to come.
In very broad terms, the book falls into three parts; stories involving the law and principally wills, good old-fashioned murder and what might be lumped together as miscellaneous crimes, the latter having more than their fair share of Hare’s characteristic black humour. Perhaps the most atmospheric, ghostly and even bizarre tale was A Life for A Life in which a World War One gas victim has an attack brought on by a pea-souper of a fog and is saved by a pharmacist who died a long time ago.
I am a fan of closed room mysteries and I enjoyed Weight and See which demonstrated that there are some advantages to being overweight. Inevitably, Hare’s most famous lawyer cum detective, Francis Pettigrew, makes an appearance in a couple of the stories and a number are set in his stomping ground of Markhampton. The Children of the Week stories, whilst all insubstantial, were clever and showcase Hare’s technique to good effect.
As always with these collections, there are some stories which are better than others but they are all short enough not to feel you have wasted too much time if you don’t like them.
