Martin Fone's Blog, page 97

Lost Word Of The Day (6)

It is important to avoid being colophised, a verb used between the mid-15th and 17th centuries to mean to beat or buffet. So far, so good.

Lost Word Of The Day (5)

The injudicious choice of food in foreign climes can sometimes result in a cacatory experience. The adjective, used between 1684 to 1753, meant accompanied by loose vowels, a perfect accompaniment to chicken cacciatore.

The White Priory Murders

A review of The White Priory Murders by Carter Dickson – 221216

Carter Dickson, the nom de plume of the eminent John Dickson Carr, is one of the pre-eminent masters of the impossible murder, a death that occurs in circumstances, often a locked room, that baffles all but the most adroit lateral thinker. The White Priory Murders, originally published in 1934 and now reissued as part of the excellent British Library Crime Classics series, is reputed to contain one of the finest in detective fiction. I was intrigued to see what all the fuss was about.

The circumstances of the murder of actress, Marcia Tait, are all that you could ask of an impossible crime. Her body is found in a pavilion, a sort of outhouse away from the White Priory. There has been a heavy snowfall and the only footprints are those of the man who discovered the body. The doctor confirms that Tait was murdered after the snow had fallen. Never mind whodunit, how was she killed. It is a baffling set of circumstances involving a murderer with a high degree of ingenuity and one that can only be unravelled by the eccentric genius of Sir Henry Merrivale, whose second outing this is.

It left this reader baffled and Carr prolongs the reader’s agonies by putting forward a couple of theories, each pretty convincing in their own right only to knock them down again. The solution is even more left field. Clues are there in the text, in particular the architecture of the place, the characteristics of certain motor cars and the obligatory dog that barks on occasion and falls silent on others, but I was not smart enough to put it all together.

Perhaps part of that is because, excellent as the central puzzle is, the book is a bit of a slog. The crime had happened before James Boynton, Merrivale’s American nephew, a house guest at the White Priory, had arrived and whilst he was on the scene when Tait’s body was discovered, he and the police led by Chief Inspector Masters have to rely on testimony provided by the guests and residents of the house, each of whom have their own agendas. The investigation really only gets going when Merrivale, HM as he is known, arrives.

Merrivale is a force of nature, a bundle of eccentricities, rude, blunt, abrupt, more than a little sexist, but with a razor-sharp brain. The tone of the book lights up and the pace cranks up a gear or two with his arrival. It needed it.

Tait’s is not the only murder. Her director, Rainger, is strangled. There are also some near misses. One of the characters, thinking he has committed a murder off stage, so to speak, attempts suicide and Tait, before her untimely demise had survived an encounter with a box of poisoned chocolates and an attempt to push her down some stairs. Another female guest, Louise Canifest, is found in the corridor on the night of Tait’s murder raving about a prowler in the passageway. There are a lot of odd goings-on for HM to noodle through.

Tait, having bombed on the London stage, has found fame and fortune in the movie business, thanks in no small part to the efforts of Rainger and her publicist, Emery. However, she wants to rub her critics’ noses in it by triumphing on the stage and is likely to take the lead part in a play backed by Lord Camifest and written and produced by John and Maurice Bohun, whose house the White Priory is. Rainger and Emery are anxious to thwart her return. There is also some mystery as to Tait’s marital status as she plays fast and loose with some of the key protagonists. Emotions are running high, but is the motivation strong enough to result in murder?      

Billed a mystery for Christmas, there is precious little festive about the story, save for the snow. There is some cheer, though, in the almost obligatory love interest as Boynton falls head over heels in love and secures his prize at the end.

The book is well worth the cover price for the intricacy of its central puzzle and the solution, but, be warned, there are some hard yards to be done before you get there.

Jynevra Organic Gin

In 2006 that head brewer Stuart Thompson and distiller David Carbis formed Atlantic Brewery with the specific brief of creating unique, memorable, and quality small batch alcoholic drinks. They quietly beavered away for a decade or so on Treisaac Farm, a 2.5-acre site a few miles from the sea near Newquay in Cornwall, making a name for themselves by using traditional methods to create contemporary organic ales, using the wealth of natural and organic ingredients which they grow on the farm, including their own hops, or forage or otherwise acquire from the county. Atlantic Brewery is still an important part of their endeavours.

However, in 2017 they decided to see if they could make some headway in the market spawned by the ginaissance and established Atlantic Distillery. They now have a range of gins and vodkas to offer the discerning drinker, all organic, vegan, and organic producer and processor accredited. Their sustainable practices ensure that the botanicals used in their spirits are free from herbicide, pesticide, and insecticides. Adding further to their green credentials, Atlantic Distillery is powered by the wind and Cornish sunshine, they use their own Cornish spring water and for packaging, the bottles are made from re-cycled glass, the labels are paper rather than plastic and the cardboard boxes contain as little printed matter as possible.

The spirits are distilled in copper Bain-marie stills, which are essentially double boilers, often used to produce delicate sauces such as hollandaise and béarnaise as well as alcoholic beverages. The design is simple; an interior pot chamber which sits above a larger pot half-filled with water. The water acts as a form of insulation, allowing the mixture in the interior pot known as the mash, to heat slowly, and generally very evenly, thus preventing the botanicals from scorching and preserving their natural flavours.

Bain-maries can run continuously, as the water does not need to be replaced often. Steam is purified by the still’s copper, is condensed, and then falls back into the large pot to be used again. They are also highly efficient; the reflux and natural refining of the distillate means that fewer cuts are needed to make the spirit.

Jynevra is Cornish for gin and, appropriately, is the name for what Atlantic Distillery describes as its signature gin, and the first they produced. The bottle is squat, dumpy with pale green glass. Rounded shoulders lead up to a short neck, a wooden cap, and a cork stopper. The eye-catching part of the bottle os the labelling just below the neck, a riot of copper coloured engraving and wording against a black background, giving it a distinctive and somewhat old-fashioned feel. Underneath that, the essential information, including its ABV of 40% is given in more subdued black and white lettering against a blue background.

Sadly, they are not forthcoming on the precise make up of the botanicals, but it is clear from the aroma of the spirit that there is a bold hit of juniper, and that orange dominates the citric elements. This impression is not dispelled when the crystal-clear spirit is poured into a glass. The juniper is punchy and more than holds its own against the overtures of the orange, bergamot, soft spices, and some discernible floral notes.

I wonder if Juniper and orange is a particularly Cornish combination. I have had several gins over the last couple of years from the region where orange is the dominant citric element. I am not complaining as I think it makes a great companion for the juniper.

All in all, this is a delightful gin, one that grows on you. It is well worth seeking out.

Requiem For Robert

A review of Requiem for Robert by Mary Fitt – 221214

Classicist Kathleen Freeman used the nom de plume of Mary Fitt for her novels and Requiem for Robert, originally published in 1942 and reissued by Moonstone Press, certainly is a misfit in the detective/murder mystery genre. There is a death and some detection by a policeman and his friend, an amateur sleuth, but it would be wrong to judge it purely by the standards of the genre. It is more a novel that explores the psychology of an individual and those around him and meditation on the powerful influence that Catholicism can have on a person’s state of mind and behaviour.

As in Death and Mary Dazill, Fitt chooses to tell the tragic story of Robert Reynald through the eyes and memories of others, but whereas Miss Dazill’s story used a single point of reference, the vicar’s wife, here the picture is built up from the testimonies of those who knew him or were associated with him. The role of Superintendent Mallett and his friend, Dr Fitzbrown, Jones seems to have missed the cut, is to poke, prod, and to try and make sense of what they are being told.

The story has an intriguing start. Mallett’s attention is drawn to three sequential obituary notices announcing the death of Robert Reynald, one from his mother, one from his estranged wife, and the third, from his daughter, Geraldine. He and Fitzbrown attend the funeral. The cause of Reynald’s death was suicide while temporarily of unsound mind. Geraldine is certain that her father did not kill himself and presents her suspicions that he was murdered to Mallett. His interest piqued, Mallett sets out to investigate in an unofficial capacity.

Those of us who have read enough crime fiction usually anticipate that what looks like a suicide usually turns out to be murder most foul and, sure enough, there are enough clues to suggest that Reynald’s death had more to it than initially met the local police’s and coroner’s eye. The position of the body slumped over the desk was not a natural pose for someone who had just committed suicide, the gun he supposedly used was not his, there are marks on the carpet suggesting that his body had been moved to its final resting place, and although the door to the study was locked, there was a cubby hole through which someone could enter and leave the room.

Added to that there is a suspicion of madness in the family, Robert’s father having allegedly burnt down the house on the night of his son’s birth. There is also a daughter an illegitimate daughter, born after an affair in wartime France, the suspicion that Robert is having an affair with the mysterious Rosa, and his renewed commitment to the Catholic church, evidenced in his project to build a new chapel. The fragments of the history of Robert and his parents are drip fed throughout the book and ultimately make sense as a backdrop to the tragedy of his final hours.

While there is a mystery to be solved, the book’s major focus is on the terrible dilemma in which Robert finds himself. He is estranged from his wife who is now in a somewhat uneasy relationship with his former tutor and is being pressurised to agree to a divorce, an action which offends his Catholic sensibilities, a feeling reinforced by the reactions and attitudes of his mother and, more significantly, the rather austere, hard-line Catholic priest.

Robert, whose preference is to be considerate to the feelings of others, is torn. There is motive enough for two of the potential suspects to murder him, but equally the impossibility of the situation in which he finds himself may have driven him to commit suicide. I am no expert in Catholic canonical law, but I always thought suicide was at least a damning mortal sin as divorce. As Mallett observes towards the end of the book, all the characters have in their own way killed Robert. It is just that the resolution of his fate seems a little lame, given what we know of his psychological makeup.

It was an interesting book, one that is more a psychological study than an outright thriller, an interesting twist on the usual suicide or murder plot, well written and well worth spending a couple of evenings with.

Black Edged

A review of Black Edged by Brian Flynn – 221209

Once again Brian Flynn changes the format of his stories, this time in what is the twenty-third in his long running Anthony Bathurst series provides us with an inverted murder mystery, one in which the murderer is revealed early on, and the focus of the story is on the sleuth’s attempt to catch them and unravel the mystery. Bathurst is in full Sherlock Holmes mode, using his tremendous powers of deduction, leaving his police colleagues, Andrew McMorran of the Yard and Inspector Rudge of the local force, trailing in his wake and gasping in awe. Originally published in 1939 and rescued from obscurity by Steve Barge and Dean Street Press, it is quite a change from his normal approach and makes for a fun read.

The nine of diamonds is known as the Curse of Scotland. It certainly brought Madelaine ill luck when she drew it in a playing card version of Russian roulette with her husband, Dr Stuart Traquair. Under the rules of the game, Traquair was entitled to shoot her dead. Madelaine tried to pre-empt him by getting her shot in first, but only wounded his hand, allowing Traquair to shoot her through the heart. Clearly, this is rather unusual behaviour for a married couple to be engaging in and the cause of what might be described as this domestic friction – Traquair has discovered that his wife has betrayed him – and the reasons why he has taken such a course of action takes up much of the rest of the book.

However, before we get to that, Traquair is being watched and his house is turned over by a group of men clearly looking for something. Traquair effects his escape, using some of the clothing of an unfortunate traffic victim who was brought to his surgery, and puts himself at the mercy of an old flame, Helen Eversley. Ironically, she is married to Inspector Rudge’s brother-in-law. Traquair also seems to be reporting to a shady character called Armitage, whom he has never met but seems to be some kind of puppet master.

Another body is discovered in Traquair’s house, killed at around the time that Bathurst, McMorran, and Rudge were on the premises, along with Traquair’s rather superior maid, Phoebe Hubbard. Why did she mistake the way to her own room? As the story progresses, the body count increases as Traquair tries to keep a step ahead of both Bathurst and the shady men who seem to be dogging his footsteps.

What starts out as a tragic and bizarre domestic dispute and the culprit’s attempt to evade justice quickly turns into a much darker affair as it progresses, reflecting the tensions and manoeuvres of two countries in the build up to the Second World War. Flynn quite cleverly splits the book into four parts, the first and third written from Traquair’s perspective, while the second and fourth detail Bathurst’s attempts to unravel the mystery and catch the culprit. It allows Flynn to build up the reader’s sympathy for Traquair as he finds himself trapped in a spider’s web, his predicament worsening the more he struggles.

As for the resolution, the reader can easily spot that Traquair is a pawn in a much bigger game and that some of the characters are not quite all that they seem, but the finale, where some of the characters reveal the truth and confirm Bathurst’s theories, although the reader cannot be entirely sure on that, is a little lame for those who like to exercise their grey cells. The precise cause of the kerfuffle, while clearly something Traquair knew, only emerges at the end.

Nevertheless, these are only minor quibbles. It is a riveting read, the format Flynn has chosen suits the story to a tee and it was so enthralling that I could not put it down. Thoroughly recommended.

Another Cup Of Instant Coffee

Humourist and columnist for the Parisian newspaper, Le Chat Noir, Alphonse Allais, is credited with developing the first water-dissolving instant coffee granules, inspired by his comrades’ complaints about the quality of coffee while on national service. Although he was awarded a patent in 1881, (no. 141530), the text is indecipherable, leading some to suggest that it was one of his leg-pulls. After all, he had patented a frosted glass aquarium for shy fish.

David Strang who owned the Coffee and Spice Works in Invercargill on New Zealand’s South Island has stronger claims. In 1889 he developed and patented “Strang’s Soluble Dry Coffee-powder”, made by blowing hot air over freshly brewed coffee until it evaporated into a powder, much like the way he dried his spices.

Packed in a tin, light, stable, and with a long shelf life, it was the first commercially viable instant coffee, marketed as a drink of convenience. One of Strang’s adverts claimed that it was “the most enjoyable drink you can have at Picnics, Camps and Out of Doors…made in a minute, milk and sugar to taste. Far superior to any so-called coffee essence”.

Having cut his teeth on soluble tea, Chicago-based chemist Satori Kato developed a method for separating the volatile oils from coffee and then recombining them with the dried product, a method which retained much of the flavour and extended its shelf life. He exhibited his product at the Pan-American Expo in 1901.

However, these early examples of instant coffee were niche products until Belgian-American serial inventor, George Washington, came on to the scene. After noticing some dried coffee on the spout of his coffee pot, he developed a secret process, never patented, which, as an advertisement in the New York Times in 1914 revealed, “removes the disturbing acids and oils (always present in ordinary coffee)”, allowing consumers to “drink all the coffee you wish” without running the risk of indigestion.

Washington launched Red E Coffee in 1909, rebranded as George Washington’s Prepared Coffee the following year, which he mass-produced and advertised with gusto. Although the taste was mediocre at best, Washington had established such a market position by the time the Americans entered the First World War in 1917 that he was asked to satisfy the troops’ coffee requirements.

His factory swung into action, producing a serving of three-quarters of an ounce of instant coffee granules in an envelope, twenty-four to a can. At its height, he was producing 40,000 lbs of coffee a day. On the front line, soldiers would tip the contents of an envelope into a tin mug, stirring in hot water. Their “cup of George” was one of the few creature comforts around, so valued that one soldier was moved to write home vowing that “there is one gentleman I am going to look up first after I get through helping whip the Kaiser, and that is George Washington of Brooklyn, the soldier’s friend”.

Nestlé’s Nescafe, launched in 1938, is the UK’s most popular instant coffee, with around 13.7 million Brits using it. It soon established a reputation for being superior to other products around, tastier, more flavoursome, and with a more appealing aroma, one it has retained to this day. 

What would John Dring have made of it all?

Lost Word Of The Day (4)

In these straitened times in the midst of a cost-of-living crisis, it is useful from time to time to practise a little buccellation, a word used between 1657 and 1731 to denote the act of dividing into small portions.

Lost Word Of The Day (3)

Stuck for a word to describe a beautiful piece of scenery? Try boscaresque, used in 1734 to describe something that is picturesque or scenically wooded.

Murder Most Familiar

A review of Murder Most Familiar by Marjorie Bremner – 221208

It is always a pleasure to find an author new to me who has unjustly languished in obscurity and so the enterprising Moonstone Press are to be congratulated for reissuing this wonderful book by Marjorie Bremner. Bremner was born in the States but moved to London in 1946 and spent the rest of her life in Britain. She wrote two crime novels, of which this is the first, originally published in 1953. Her second, Murder Amid Proofs, published two years later, is begging to be reissued. There is also a short story of hers in Murder by the Book, an anthology published as part of the British Library Crime Classics series.

Initially, I was a little uncertain as the set up seemed to trawl through the most familiar of familiar murder mystery tropes. It is set in a country house where the paterfamilias, Sir Hugh Mason, is a successful but ruthless businessman who, despite leaving school and having to work for a living, has created a successful business and riches to set up his extended family comfortably for life. It is the weekend of his sixtieth birthday and at the dinner it is widely anticipated that he will make a major announcement. He has become interested in politics in general and a proto-Fascist group called the Freemen in particular, and the word on the street is that he will pledge a sizeable chunk of his assets to the cause.

Sir Hugh has made an outsider, Tay, his de facto number two in the business, spurning the claims of his relative, Andrew, to the disgust of some of his family. Both are clear that they believe this overt show of support for a Fascist group would damage the business considerably. Both Tay and Andrew have been lobbying the shareholders in the family to gain their support in the event that Sir Hugh leaves the business. Add into the mix a female relative who is desperate for money to pay off a blackmailer and a spot of industrial espionage at the factory and there is a heady mix of anger, frustrated ambitions, political chicanery, and desperation.

It comes as no surprise that Sir Hugh does not quite see in his birthday nor make his big announcement. He is found dead, poisoned, but who did it and why?   

The story is written from the perspective of Christina, Sir Hugh’s niece and private secretary. She is a perceptive observer and through her, Bremner, whose professional career was devoted to psychology and political science, gives the reader a fascinating case study of a family coming apart at the scenes, as the police, through the patient but persistent enquiries of Burgess, increases the pressure on them. The problem with having just one focus for the narrative is that Christina has to be omnipresent, as even Burgess wryly observes at one point.

Nevertheless, Burgess manages to discern that they all have something to hide which might or might not have some bearing on Sir Hugh’s demise and had cause to visit Sir Hugh privately in his room between the end of dinner and his death. This includes Giles who lived in the village and given his political antipathy to Sir Hugh is the prime suspect and Charles, who has turned his back on the family business and works in the Foreign Office, but has suddenly flown back from France feigning that his work there was done, but that was far from the case.

The strengths of this book are the psychological insights of a family that was seething with discontent under the surface and whose schisms come to the surface once Sir Hugh is dead, her pacy, vivacious writing interspersed with no little wit, and her ability to breathe some life into some of the most hackneyed of crime fiction’s tropes. An inadvertent slip of the tongue confirms Burgess’ suspicions as to the identity of the murderer and whilst the ending is a little too twee for my taste, dragging in another trope, some love interest, it is a thoroughly entertaining and engrossing read.