When The Bishop Rocked

 Just Not How You Expected It

For NO! we are not talking about Lemmy and one of his earlier bands, The Rocking Vickers, who were very much a real thing (not to be mistaken for The Real Thing, who were completely different).  Art?

Holy heck

     Nor yet Reverend And The Makers, or even the Holy Modal Rounders <O get on with it you punning bafoon! - caustic commentary courtesy Mister Hand>.  For LO! are we not back onto the subject of lighthouses again?

     Yes we are, it was a rhetorical question.

     This Sceptred Isle has no shortage of lighthouses, because the clue is in the title, "Isle", which does not refer to the walkways in a supermarket but rather our status as a small country completely surrounded by water.  Many bits offshore are rendered horribly dangerous to shipping because of rocks that lie just beneath or just above the waves, and remember that modern cartography and radar did not exist back in the seventeenth century.  Try navigating past submarine rocks and shoals in the dark during a storm, matey, and see what happens!

All too frequently, this.

     Thus there was considerable pressure to construct lighthouses that would warn shipping away from dangerous areas.  Enter Bishop Rock.  Art?

     

     There are no pictures of Bishop Rock absent lighthouse, as construction began in 1851.  It was completed and in operation by 1858, because of the sheer difficulty of erecting a massive granite structure on a tiny island where low tide was the only time the foundations could be put in.  The picture above shows the Rock at low tide.  Here's another at high tide.  Art?

     The lighthouse is now automated, and has been since the Nineties, for which those who previously served as the keepers were truly grateful, because the Atlantic storms that hit it were awesome to behold and experience.  When I say "awesome" of course I mean "terrifying".  Art?

     You can judge how hard that wave hits by being informed that the tower is 161 feet high, and in cases like this the Bishop did, literally, rock.

     Motley!  Bring me that novel by Virginia Woolf.  You know, it's called "To The -

Conrad Is An Anorak

A salient fact which we already knew, nicht wahr?  Tonight I sat down and had a short stab at classifying the first few files of the "Canadiana" on-line digitised record vault, going at the 'War Diaries' subsection.  It was perforce only a short stab, as there are 1,353 of the things present.  Art?

     So far, 9 reels in, we have one to do with "Indian Affairs" and the next 8 all concern the Canadian 3rd Infantry Division's Assistant Adjutant and Quartermaster General's office, from 1939 up to 1945.  I shall probably jump ahead a few hundred files tomorrow and see what the later reels deal with.  Yes yes yes, there may be an index somewhere; if there is then I haven't found it.  Your Humble Scribe is quite happy to keep on scribing, thanks for asking.

Look What I Found!

Conrad was very carefully poking around underneath the bed, in case there were spiders, when he came across a long, low-slung plastic trolley that contained a stash of books.  Wouldn't you know, there were two duplicates in there, so another brace of books for Colin.  How happy Wonder Wifey will be, all the more so as today I took a whole huge bagful of my books MY BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL BOOKS! into Semi-Sodom (okay, Royton, if you insist) and dumped them at the Red Cross shop.  So I feel a little better at digging this one out.  Art?

     I cannot remember where I acquired it, though odds are it was Church Street Books.  And you should know Conrad by now; the approved method would be to stick it on a shelf and consult occasionally, which I castigate, as I intend to read it cover to cover, so there.  Where's my bookmark?


Ye Battel Of Lyverishe Kidnie

I just realised I've not given a horrid punning title to the battle of the English Civil Unpleasantness that I'm waging, so you can have the above.  It's very much a battle of two halves at present, with the cavalry on each wing having at each other as the Royalist infantry plod slowly forward.  Art?

     The overall situation.  Over on the Parliamentary right flank their cavalry is in real trouble, with a regiment of two squadrons already routed off the table.  Once the Royalists get re-organised, the Roundheads will be in even hotter water.  Erk!

     On their left flank, in contrast, things have gone utterly pear-shaped for the King's men.  Art?

     That unit of cavalry in the centre of the table, to the north of the road, is Digby's Sabres, who are fleeing in panic rout as fast as they can.  Not only that, as per the rules when they ploughed into the 4th battalia of Gerard's King's Men, it, too, was routed.  This is not Conrad skewing things and ensuring the republicans win; it's all been affected by luck and how the dice fall, and it well reflects the chaotic battlefields of the early war period.  The 'push of pike' has yet to happen, so it's all up for grabs.  Count on another update eftsoons!

What, What What?

Just as no plan survives contact with the enemy, so too does any reading of P.G. Wodehouse bring up strange and unfamiliar words ranging in time from the Twenties to the Sixties.  What some enterprising scholar should do is compile a glossary of these words and phrases and sell it; of course, Plum's estate might jib at this, or demand a cut of the profits <muses silently on £££ for a while>.  I had already worked out that a "Whangee" was a walking stick, and "Bohea" was either a brand or species of tea.

     Anyway, for further illumination.

     "Eftsoons": Bertie uses this word at least once per book.  It means, "Forthcoming, soon to occur, presently" and went out of use in the seventeenth century, so he really is reaching if he expects a modern audience to recognise it.  Where he acquired it from is a matter of speculation, as Bertie by his own confession reads little but the sporting pages, the "Pink 'Un" and occasionally the Times - but only for the crossword*.

"Megrims": Another ambiguous argot.  This one is either a species of flatfish, or it means to be down in the dumps, not feeling very chirpy, lacking joie de vivre and all that.  On balance, Conrad suspects the latter.

"Me - grim.  You - Bertie Wooster."
(Because being dischuffed is harder to illustrate)

"Rannygazoo": No, nothing to do with animals in enclosures - this one means a kind of prank or tomfoolery, which you can only expect when in the company of Bertie, either being carried out by another or by himself on another's behalf.

     And, do you know, I thinks that's us jolly well done!

*  A crossword fan - I knew there was a reason I liked him.