Martin Fone's Blog, page 61

The Seven Sleepers

A review of The Seven Sleepers by Francis Beeding – 231221

Originally published in 1925, The Seven Sleepers, written by the duo, John Palmer and Hilary Saunders under the nom de plume of Francis Beeding, is an all-action thriller very much in the style of John Buchan’s Thirty Nine Steps. There are murders, three particularly brutal ones, but the focus of the story is whether the narrator, Thomas Preston, can deliver a letter into the hands of the French authorities which will thwart a plot designed to restore German supremacy.

The aftermath of the First World War was a traumatic period for Germany. The humiliation of their capitulation and the vengeful terms imposed by the Allies as part of the post-war settlement led to economic hardship, social disorder, and a growing sense of resentment. It was these conditions that the Nazis under the leadership of Adolf Hitler exploited, plunging Europe and its allies into another catastrophic effect. It is clear, though, that even before the Nazis became a force to be reckoned with there were concerns that the Germans would not take their fate lying down and would seek to reassert themselves with renewed vigour. This is the premise of Beeding’s story.

The Seven Sleepers are a group of the richest individuals in Germany who are willing to pledge their wealth to fund a dramatic attempt to wage war on the victorious allies. They have signed a coded letter to that effect which is to be delivered to Hannover in an attempt to persuade the old war veteran, Field Marshal von Ludenburg, to lead the forces. The conspirators have already bought up a significant quantity of saucepans for their aluminium – it was a good time to be an aluminium salesman – and ball bearings.

The eminence grise behind the scheme is Professor Kreutzemark, a man who mixes brutality with a fine scientific mind. He has developed a gas which was designed to wipe out all life within an area of 400 square kilometers which was to be dropped by air on London and Paris ahead of a land assault by 200,000 troops. Mustard gas had been a deadly and effective weapon in the First World War and Kreutzemark’s X3 was a logical extension, presaging the fear that weaponry was likely to become more anonymous, more scientific, and more deadly. Was Beeding sensing that the nascent developments in nuclear fission and lethal gasses such as Zyklon B would lead to the mass atrocities of the Second World War.

That is the context. The story itself requires an amazing string of coincidences to get going. Preston’s trunk is sent to Geneva instead of genoa and he goes there for it, a city in which his girlfriend, Beatrice Harvel, whom he has not seen for two years just happens to work in the Secretariat of the League of Nations. Preston just happens to be sitting in the right bar at the right time to receive a curious invitation to meet his “grandmother” at 4pm the next day and deliver a note in cipher. He is regaled with the password to effect entry into the house. This happens just before his Apollo is dragged away, by two men, who, unbeknownst to him, will be his allies in the escapade to follow. Preston bears an uncanny physical resemblance to the intended emissary, von Emmerich.

Instead of ignoring the message or reporting it to the authorities, Preston makes the meeting and is rapidly drawn into a dark and murky world of espionage and counter espionage. If you can accept that the premise of the book requires an extraordinary number of coincidences to occur in a short space of time, then you are in for a thrilling ride. It is a page turner as Preston falls in and out of the hands of the baddies and at the same time reignites his love for Beatrice who, naturally, falls into the hands of the gang, emboldening our hero to see the job through to the end.                  

Beeding’s decision to have Preston narrate the story means that we know our hero is going to survive, but on occasions it is a close run thing, requiring all of his famous British pluck and ingenuity.

While the book ends happily, there is an ominous note. Preston receives a note congratulating him on his nuptials, to Beatrice, naturally, from Kreutzemark, who threatens that they will meet again. There is a little un-PC language in the story, but this should not overshadow what is an excellent example of a thriller of its time. Thoroughly recommended.

Did The Earth Move For You?

There were 1,712 earthquakes worldwide in 2023 with a magnitude of five or more and more than 64,100 people were killed, the highest death toll since 2010. 2024 opened ominously with the Sea of Japan earthquake which struck seven kilometres north-northwest of Suzu on the Noto peninsula of Ishikawa Prefecture on New Year’s Day registering a magnitude of 7.6.

Britain is far enough from the Earth’s fault lines to make an earthquakes one of the least of the potential natural disasters to worry about, but they do occur, a total of 13 earthquakes with a magnitude of four or over have struck within 300 kilometres of the United Kingdom in the last ten years, an average of just over one a year, and there are many more small tremors, between twenty and thirty per annum, that can be felt in parts of Britain.

The largest known earthquake to have struck the UK occurred on June 7, 1931 with a magnitude of 6.1ML, its epicentre located offshore in the Dogger Bank area, approximately 120km northeast of Great Yarmouth. It was felt by most of Great Britain where damage was reported in 71 areas as well as in the east of Ireland, northern France, northwest Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium, Denmark, and southwest Norway.

How likely is an earthquake which strikes Britain or occurs close to Britain likely to kill one of us? The answer is provided by a fascinating article published on February 1, 2003, in Astronomy and Geophysics. After trawling through the historical records, starting from the first recorded instance of an earthquake in Britain in 974AD, R M W Musson, the author, concluded that “only twelve fatalities can be traced with any certainty. Of these, only ten were directly due to the earthquake, six of these due to people being hit by falling stones or rock and four due to building damage. Of these four, in the case of two it is not even certain that the building collapse was due to the earthquake”.

Musson also states that “there is a lack of correlation between earthquake magnitude and earthquake casualties in the UK; this is in accord with general observations in earthquake epidemiology” To illustrate his point, the Dogger Bank earthquake only caused one fatality, an elderly lady from Hull, Mrs Ellen Bradley, who was “apparently unnerved as a result of the shakes” and died the following day. As its epicentre was out at sea, the impact on the mainland was not as great as it could be.  

My mind has been put to rest but I will keep checking that list of earthquakes. It is quite addictive.

The Case Of The Housekeeper’s Hair

A review of The Case of the Housekeeper’s Hair by Christopher Bush – 231218

The thirty-fourth adventure involving Christopher Bush’s amateur sleuth, Ludovic Travers, originally published in 1948 and reissued by Dean Street Press, begins in dramatic fashion. At the Regency Club Major Guy Pallart tells Travers and David Calne that he is going to commit murder and has no intention of being caught. Calne laughs it off, saying that Pallart likes to be outré, but an astonished Travers believes that he is deadly serious and informs his old sparring partner, George Wharton of the Yard, before setting out to deepest Essex where Pallart lives to find out more and prevent a tragedy.

This is a carefully contrived mystery, a web built out of a thirst for revenge, deception, false identities, and robust alibis. With consummate mastery Bush, through his narrator, Travers, carefully holds the reader’s hand through the maze-like twists and turns of the storyline, dropping hints here and there that something in the next passage is of vital importance to the final outcome. It is subtly done. Travers is not infallible and as he progresses with his narration, he readily admits that he missed the importance of something or other that he is about to describe.

The relationship between him and Wharton is always a delight. The seem to be on best terms on this case and divide the workload of the investigation between them, each element suited to their particular strengths. There is more collaboration than competitive tension, although, of course, it is Travers who manages to piece everything together and produce a cogent rationalisation of what has gone on.

For me, the attraction of the story was in the how and why the murders were committed rather than the whodunit, which, frankly, is fairly easy to spot. However, Bush does like to spring a surprise because the first victim is Pallart himself, one of three deaths that occur before the story is done. Before that, there is an accident involving Pallart’s boat, from which Calne falls overboard. Was it really an accident or was he pushed? And who is the mysterious Czech, and why is Pallart’s gardener, Wilkin, acting so suspiciously? And why, as Wharton acutely observes, is there a distinct French flavour running through the story?

The end of a war does not draw a clean line over events. The participants bear physical scars, Calne has been lamed, and, more importantly, emotional scars which fuel an irresistible urge to right a wrong. An atrocity committed in northern France is the key behind the story, one which I found powerful and moving, and Pallart’s motives in seeking his own form of justice are understandable. A trip to Paris reveals all and confirms Travers’ and Wharton’s theories.

Annie Winder’s mishap with some hair dye which she found in the Czech’s room provides Travers with the clue as to the real identity of the mysterious Czech. Dye of a different sort blows wide open an alibi and reveals what really happened on the boat. The investigation into tides is done with the lightest of touches, unlike the meal that Freeman Wills Crofts would have made of it, and if you must get rid of a body, having some drainage works on the go is always handy.

As the fascinating afterword points out, being a crooner was not the done thing in 1940s Britain and it explains Pallart’s astonishing animus towards his nephew, a snippet of social history that would have passed me. A great editorial decision to include that.

This is one of Bush’s better books, a complex plot but understandable and told with no little verve and humour. It would be a great place to start a non-chronological exploration of a master of his art.

House Of Elrick Gin

Stuart Ingram, founder and owner of House of Elrick gin, made two big calls. After purchasing the historic Elrick House, nestled in the lowlands of Aberdeenshire at Newmachar, in 2014 he moved the gin distilling operation, which had previously been contracted out, to a purpose-built distillery in the grounds in 2018. He also resisted the opportunity to be raped and pillaged by the grasping capitalists who make up the panellists of BBC’s Dragons’ Den in order to keep possession of the house, which had been built in 1720 and only had five previous owners.

This strength and determination seems to have paid off as House of Elrick Gin Ltd not only offers a premium small batch artisan gin but also three rum liquors, Dark Rum, Spiced Rum, and White with Mango Rum. It also comes through in the bottle design, whose elegance is enhanced by its simple sophistication, encapsulated by its use of a matt black glass and silver script. It is circular but tapers inwards towards its flat shoulder. The medium sized neck leads to a silver cap with an artificial stopper.

On the front of the bottle there is an emblem featuring a key hole and the bare essentials, the name, size of bottle (70cl), and strength (42% ABV) embossed in silver. The rear tells the story of the gin in a pleasing copperplate script. Drawing upon the history of the house and its place in the Scottish Enlightenment movement, it is, the marketing blurb claims, designed to “quench the thirst of the capricious thinkers, the artists, the philosophers, the poets, the discoverers and the entrepreneurs, for the curious souls that gather past and present within the walls of our home in the lowlands of Aberdeenshire”. There is more than a touch of the now lamented BBC series Ghosts in all of that but any drink that is crafted for the enlightened mind gets my vote and I could not resist their invitation to join them for a drink.

There website says that there are nine botanicals which go into the mix, although they only go on to identify eight; juniper, coriander seeds, angelica root, citrus peel, heather, pink peppercorns, sweet fennel, and rose petals. There is either a secret ingredient, or the citrus is both orange and lemon, or the list was compiled when they were one over the eight. The spirit uses water from Loch Ness.

On the nose the aroma is a mix of floral and citric notes, giving it a fresh and fruity feel. In the glass, it reveals its strength, the initial hit of earthiness from the juniper giving way to the zesty citrus and the sweetness of the floral elements. There is a sting to its tail as the peppercorns begin to make their mark, contributing to the smooth and slightly spicy aftertaste. There is a lot going on in the glass and while some might lament that the balance between the herbal elements and the juniper tips it towards the contemporary end of the gin spectrum, there is no doubting the skill that has gone to making a gin that is refreshing while maintaining a sophisticated complexity.

Until the next time, cheers!

The Fatal Five Minutes

A review of The Fatal Five Minutes by R A J Walling – 231216

This is the first book by Robert Walling that I have read and published in 1932 introduces his amateur sleuth, Philip Tolefree, for the first of ultimately twenty-four adventures running though to 1949. It can be fairly described as almost an impossible mystery where the crime, the bludgeoning to death of Wellington Burnet with a candlestick, takes place within a time gap of five minutes, although no one seems to have heard anything, there is no weapon to be found, and it is not clear how the culprit left the room. As any seasoned reader of detective fiction will know, crimes are committed in a universe where the concept of time is elastic.

The set up for the story is fairly conventional in that it features a relatively wealthy businessman, Wellington Burnet, who has fallen for and married a younger woman, a move he has come to regret. There is a house party to which a variety of people are invited including a leading KC and a theatrical director. Tolefree, who works in insurance and does a bit of rooting out of deception and embezzlement on the side, has been invited down by a worried Burnet but has been asked to go incognito. His cover is almost immediately blown as one of the other guests is Farrar, Burnet’s oldest friend and fellow broker. Farrar acts as Tolefree’s Dr Watson and narrates the story as they try to solve who killed their host and why.

One of the interesting features of the book is the relationship between Tolefree and the police investigator, Inspector Catterick. The two never officially join forces nor work against each other, but their investigations go along parallel lines with the policeman being the more dramatic and flashier than the quieter, unassuming but determined amateur. At the end Catterick is content to give Tolefree his head to flush out the truth.

There are moments of high drama, not least Elford’s dramatic exit, during the resumed coroner’s inquest into the death of Burnet, and Tolefree’s verbal reconstruction in an attempt to flush out the culprit who in the end prefers the taste of veronal to the hemp jig, and much creeping along corridors at night. However, much of the book adopts a slower pace, content to meander along a number of paths before the pieces begin to fit together. Walling’s style, in comparison with other writers in the 1930s, seems a tad old-fashioned and his choice of using a narrator means that some of the breakthroughs that Tolefree makes on his own initiative happen off stage and do not receive the detailed treatment they deserve.

Nevertheless, it is an interesting enough puzzle to keep the reader entertained and the solution is ingenious. There are two plausible sets of suspects and Walling does well in keeping the various possibilities in play until the end. Blackmail, marital infidelities and hidden identities are at the centre of a tale which has spurred me on to read more of Walling this year. My TBR pile is groaning!

Walk Like A Penguin

Penguins on land have never struck me as being the most graceful of creatures but their curious and comedic waddle seems to be effective as they rarely seem to fall arse-over-tit in the snowy and icy conditions in which they live. They have been doing it for aeons and if it did not work, evolutionary pressures would probably have given them a better mobility solution.

As someone who treads rather gingerly on snow and ice, perhaps we can learn something from them. At least, that is what NHS Greater Glasgow and Clyde (NHSGGC) think, after urging the public to walk like penguins to avoid slips and trips in icy conditions.

This may well be sound advice but how do you actually walk like a penguin? Fortunately, NHSGGC have thought of that. First of all, bend slightly and keep your knees loose, point your feet slightly outwards, extend your arms at your sides, walk flat-footed, taking short steps, and keep your centre of gravity over your feet. Carrying a fish in your mouth is not obligatory.

It will cause some amusement on the streets if it catches on!

Crime De Luxe

A review of Crime de Luxe by Elizabeth Gill – 231216

Originally published in 1933 and reissued by Dean Street Press, Crime de Luxe is the third and final book in Elizabeth Gill’s Benvenuto Brown series. Her tragic death from complications following surgery the following year at the age of thirty-three robbed crime fiction of a strong and emerging talent. This is an enjoyable tour de force about artificial fertiliser.

Benvenuto Brown, artist and occasional amateur sleuth, is on board the Atalanta en route to New York where a gallery is putting on an exhibition of his paintings. His plans for a relaxing five days people watching are disrupted when a nervous woman who was discombobulated when boarding because she had seen someone she had recognised and with whom Brown had just been talking to is fished out of the sea. Was it suicide, an accident, or murder? Brown was last to talk to her and the contents of her luggage reveal a surprise that makes him even more determined to find out what happened to Miss Smith.

Setting her plot on a liner allows Gill to limit the number of suspects while assembling a motley collection of people and, boy, she does not let the opportunity of creating a number of strong, memorable characters pass. One of her undoubted strengths in her short literary career was her ability to bring a character to life, to capture their behaviour and mannerisms, so that they are fully rounded. She is also not averse to injecting a little humour into her books and, just to titillate the readers, introduce a little love interest as Brown falls for the undoubted charms of Ann Stewart, who is on a mission of her own.

The story revolves around the arch-capitalist, Lord Stoke, who has got his hands on a formula for a miraculous fertiliser which will turn even the most unpromising patch of land into the Garden of Eden. One of his fellow passengers, Gowling, claims that his lordship had swindled him out of the formula and is seeking revenge. Soviet enthusiast, Roger Morton-Blount, wants the formula to give to the world gratis and Ann Stewart who has loosely teamed up with him has her own reasons for doing Lord Stoke down. There is, of course, also a link between Miss Smith and Lord Stoke and to add to the mix the recently wed Lady Stoke is playing fast and loose with a Hollywood heartthrob, Rutland King.     

The ship has its own detective, a retired policeman, Inspector Markham, who is reluctant for Brown to tread on his patch but gradually he realises that the sleuth can bring much to the party. With the help of information telegraphed from Blighty, Brown cracks the relationship between Lord Stoke, Miss Smith, and Gowling, but his attempts to finesse a deal that will pass the formula to the league of Nations are scuppered when Lady Stoke and Rutland King are found in flagrante delicto.

By introducing characters with such radically different world views, Gill can indulge herself in debating the respective merits of the capitalist and communist systems and how the British character and way of life, epitomised by the wonderfully oh-so middle class British couple, the Pindleburys, compare and contrast with the American way. In some ways this is a love letter to America which Gill visited several times, a perspective that makes the text even more moving.     

The five day journey gives the book added pace and while it seems a tall order to make an entertaining and page turning story out of fertiliser, Gill has achieved it with aplomb. It makes you wonder how great a writer she would have been.

The Daily Grind

How do we fill our time? Well, mostly by sleeping and resting, according to a fascinating insight into our habits released by the Office of National Statistics. Adults in the UK spent on average 9 hours and 3 minutes a day sleeping and resting between September 23rd and October 1st 2023, compared with 8 hours and 47 minutes recorded between September 5th and October 11th 2020 when certain lockdown restrictions were in force.

The time spent on socialising, entertainment and other free time activities has reduced, down to 3 hours and 39 minutes a day from 4 hours and 17 minutes three years ago. Most of the time was spent watching television (2 hours 17 minutes), eating (1 hour and 7 minutes), washing, dressing, using the bathroom and self-grooming (53 minutes), making food and drinks (46 minutes), and socialising with people (32 minutes).

For those working, men reported that the average daily time spent working away from home had increased slightly over the three year period, from 6 hours and 51 minutes to 7 hours and 27 minutes, while women spent slightly less time working away from home, down from 5 hours and 11 minutes to 4 hours and 42 minutes. For both men and women, the time spent working from home was roughly the same compared with three years ago, an average of 5 hours and 38 minutes for men and 6 hours and 42 minutes for women.

One of the surprising points to come out of the survey is that the 70-plus age group is second only to those in their 20s when it comes to using a computer or device for leisure purposes, spending an average of 43 minutes and 10 seconds a day, ten minutes longer than those in their 40s, mainly web browsing, checking emails, and creating content. Social media, though, does not seem to float their boat, spending the least time, just three minutes a day, exploring other people’s rants, fantasies and frustrations.

An old boss told me that if you had one hand in the fire and the other in a bucket of ice, on average you would be fine and, of course, averages can be misleading and only give a broad brush picture. Still, there is a yardstick to measure ourselves against.

If it all gets to much, you could always pop into the Daily Grind in Oakham for a coffee!

Brought To Light

A review of Brought To Light by E R Punshon – 231214

I only wish I can write a book as good as this when I am eighty-two. Originally published in 1954, two years before his death, and reissued by Dean Street Press, Brought To Light is the thirty-second novel in Punshon’s Bobby Owen which began in 1933 with Bobby a bobby on the beat. Now he is a Deputy Commander at the Yard with a licence to roam and act independently, two characteristics which play to the detective’s strengths.

The opening chapter sees Punshon at his best, setting up the story with economy and clarity. In the churchyard at Hillings-under-Manor lies the grave of Janet Merton, the mistress of a lauded poet, Stephen Asprey, who in his grief is said to have placed a casket containing his love letters and his last poems. The sexton, Hagen, unusually learned for a man in his position and unwilling to seek promotion, is paranoid that the grave will be opened and the casket removed. Edward Pyle, the proprietor of the Morning Daily, is campaigning for the grave to be opened as he intends to write a biography on Asprey. This horrifies the Duke of Blegborough as he fears that the contents of the letters will cast an unfavourable light on his dead wife.

Chrines, who claims to be the son from the relationship between Asprey and Hanet Merton, is also after the papers as he too is planning to write a biography. Asprey’s wife is also in the vicinity, anxious to preserve her husband’s reputation. To add some extra spice, the previous vicar of the parish, Dr Thorne, disappeared one evening and was presumed to be lost on the moors. His body was never found. Into this unusual maelstrom of heated passions with a Gothic twist of potential grave robbery boldly steps Bobby Owen.

Punshon takes time in developing the character of the odious Pyle who is used to getting his own way and has the knack of getting other people’s backs up. It is no surprise then when he is shot, and the caravan in which he was staying on the moor waiting for his opportunity, whether officially sanctioned or not, to open the grave is burned to the ground. Bobby’s task is to work out which of the suspects is guilty. Along the way he has to work out what really happened to Asprey’s letters and poems and to solve the mystery of Dr Thorne’s disappearance. A significant clue is a poem contained in Chrines’ recently published collection of poetry.

It is a tale of obsession and guilty secrets, populated with some fascinating characters. There is more than a little graphic horror with Punshon sparing no details in his description of the goriness of the deaths. The scene when Janet Merton’s grave is opened is vivid and has left an image that will stay with me for a long time. The brooding malevolent presence of the moor adds to the atmospheric feel of the book. I did miss the presence of Bobby’s wife, Olive, which meant that instead of deploying her as his sounding board and source of inspiration, we have to listen to his internal rationalising of what he has discovered so far, which works less well, I feel.

Nevertheless, there is much to admire in what is one of the best of Punshon’s later output and that he was able to pull it off at his advanced age is testament to the power of his creativity and his mastery of his craft. Remarkably, he was to publish three more Bobby Owen books before his death two years later.

Silent Pool Rare Citrus Gin

Although I am more a fan of traditional London Dry, juniper forward gins than of contemporary style gins, the team at Silent Pool Distillers from Albury near Guildford do make a tasty spirit. I had tried and reviewed their signature gin many moons ago and I was intrigued to see what their Rare Citrus Gin, which Santa had very kindly given me, was like.

One of the striking things about Silent Pool is the beauty of their bottle design and this is no exception. Instead of the blue of their Silent Pool Gin, the bottle is orange with the same design of botanicals on its circular main body. The shoulder is rounded, leading to a medium sized neck and a glass stopper, which is remarkably robust as I dropped it. Labelling is minimal, just “Silent Pool” on an orange band on the neck and some basic information, including that it is “distilled from grain” in white at the bottom of the bottle. What it lacks in information, this 50cl bottle containing a spirit with an ABV of 43% more than makes up for in style.

The pressure to find space in the crowded marketplace spawned by the ginaissance, has encouraged enthusiastic distillers to search for wonderful and exotic flavours with which to tickle our palates and find an edge. Unsurprisingly, the inspiration behind the Rare Citrus Gin came from a love of all things citrus but, more particularly, to introduce some new taste sensations that perhaps their topers have not experienced before. The Silent Pool’s citrus suppliers, based in Portugal, have around 360 varieties of citrus and the team sampled dozens to find the perfect combination that would provide a complex gin.

They settled on four. The first was Buddha’s hand or, to give it its botanical name, Citrus medica var. sarcodactylis, a curiously shaped citron whose zesty fruit is segmented into finger-like sections, rather like those seen on statues of Buddha, hence its name. The second is Natsu dai dai, which is thought to be a hybrid between sour orange or pummelo and mandarin. Growing to the size of a grapefruit when ripe with a yellowish orange rind, its flavour is refreshingly bitter and sweet, rather reminiscent of Seville orange marmalade. The third is Hirado Buntan, a cultivar which originated on Hirado Island in Japan in 1910. It is a large fruit, bright yellow when ripe with a flavour that is a pleasant mix of sugar and acid with hints of bitterness. The quartet is made up by Green Seville Oranges.

With all that gorgeous citrus, I feared that it would overwhelm the spirit but, surprisingly and all credit to the distiller’s craft, it is still a remarkably juniper-forward tipple, its earthiness and piney notes counterbalancing and bringing under control the sweet and bitter tones from the citrus that, initially, threatens to take charge. It is a complex and wonderful gin that showcases some of the more exotic citrons but in a way that will satisfy even the most critical traditionalist.

I could not resist a second glass.

Until the next time, cheers!