He Also Denied
And, of course - obviously! - he eventually died. Yes, we are continuing with the theme of Fraud In Science, and the Uke in question is Trofim Lysenko. This chap was a plonker of the highest order, and since we need an enticing clickbait picture to ensnare passers-by, I'm not going to start with his ugly mug. Intead - Art!
Mara Corday, Art's long-time crush
Far nicer than the grim-faced bruiser himself. Lie-senko - do you see w O you do - was as much a politician as a scientist, and his star really shone during the Stalin years. You know, that period when you could be shot for having a better moustache or being right-handed, or whatever The Little S*** With The Moustache felt like being paranoid about that month.
ANYWAY, Ol' Tro decided that genetics was all wrong, because he was right, and plants would grow better and produce more crops if you shouted Sinister dialectic at them, or some such shizzle. I think the principle was that you bawled "GROW! GROW FASTER! GROW MORE!" and they would, because - er - because - ah, who knows what he was thinking or drinking*. Art!
Ukranian wheatfield. You know, this looks kind of familiar ...
Ol' Tro's theories had the intellectual validity of an MC Escher etching brought to life. HOWEVER he had an immense amount of political clout, so proper genuine scientists who still held that genetics was a valid field were sacked, arrested, imprisoned or even murdered. Lie-senko's theories were put into practice and produced immense famines that killed millions.
Ooops.
However, The Little S*** With The Moustache liked Ol' Tro, and made sure he was untouchable, probably because he didn't have a moustache and so wasn't a threat in that department. Art!
"Do I eat it or sweep the floor with it?"
Things got less rosy for Ol' Tro after Stalin choked it, and by the mid-Sixties the establishment had gotten fed up with him, and starvation, so when he was publicly criticised, an avalanche of criticism subsequently fell on him. His theory of 'Lysenkoism' (egotistical much, matey?) was dismissed as pseudo-science in 1965 and he got kicked out of his sinecure, being sent to dig ditches on a farm instead. Rumour has it that there were three guards and a supervisor to ensure he did the job properly.
However! the story is not over yet, because the bafunes running The Populous Dictatorship decided to copy his methodology and - you may be ahead of me here - triggered the Great Chinese Famine of 1962. 'Twould seem that Ol' Tro killed more people than the Black Death and Herr Schickelgruber combined.
Still confused
Conrad feels he should point out that Ukraine, which was The Ukraine back then, has traditionally been an agricultural powerhouse due to 'chernozem' or 'black earth', which is incredibly fertile soil. When you plant a wheat seed there you have to stand back immediately as it will instantly sprout six feet tall, or whatever that is in poods.
I'm sorry, what? What Ukranian did you think I was going to rattle on about?
You What?
Whilst on the subject of agriculture, Conrad came across a reference to 'Jimson Weed' during his item about Datura Ferox. The latter being, as you should surely know, toxic in every part, and rather scary to look at, with all the giant spines sticking out of it.
Jimson Weed is one of the familiar names for another Datura, being Datura Stromonium, and Caveat Emptor, because it possesses profound hallucinogenic qualities. Art!
Little strop of horrors
Lest you be tempted to chow down on a Jimson for a cheap high, be warned that you will be playing Ruffian Roulette, because levels of DEADLY POISONS such as atropine and scopolamine vary wildly and widely from plant to plant and even leaf to leaf. It is very easy to overdose on JW and thus render yourself extremely inert, which is to say, dead. And if your trip turns out to be a bad one, tough luck, because you might be out of your gourd for as long as a fortnight.
That was a bit of a downer, wasn't it? Bring on the light and frothy nonsense!
More Of "Tormentor"
Ah, yes, perhaps not the best example extant of 'light and frothy'. Still, I shall carry on regardless.
Feeling
the urge to get out of the house, Louis put on a warm coat, found a pair of
gloves just in case and went wherever his feet took him.
To the canal.
That familiar air of presence
rolled over him, in a chillier fashion than he was used to. Turning, he saw another figure leaning on the
railing, looking down at the water, a figure not there a second ago.
‘Are you lot following me?’ asked
Louis, in exasperation.
‘No, mate. I’m a resident here,’ said the figure. The street lighting here gave only enough
light to make out a dark, blocky face, a workmans jacket and dungarees. ‘Suicide.
Caught the wife in bed with another man.’
‘Oh. Are you looking to, er, move on?’
The vague figure shook it’s head.
‘Not yet, I’m not. Maybe in a few years when I get fed up of
being unable to travel from here.’
‘Been here long?’
‘Since ’sixty nine. Nineteen sixty nine.’
Louis shook his head this
time. Well, this is what was going to
happen if he went beyond the normal strict boundaries of his previous
routine.
‘That’s a long time. Do you know where I live?’
The shade nodded at him.
‘Well, give me a call if you get
fed up. There’s a priest who knows about
me, I’ll pass your details on.’
How very matter-of-fact. Of course it all goes pear-shaped in an instant when the - but that would be telling.
Okay, Not Light Or Frothy At All
For Lo! we are back to "The War Illustrated"'s next edition. For your information, we are nearing the end of this collection, so if you're enjoying it make the most, and if you find it stultifyingly boring, commiserations. Art!
Mister Winnie himself, with the obligatory cigar and a RAF uniform, which he took great delight in wearing. He has just returned from his overseas jaunt around the Mediterranean, where he witnessed a parade by the Eighth Army in Tripoli. We shall come back to that. Art!
This is heart-breakingly poignant. Here we see the southern part of the Eastern Front, and as you can tell, the Ruffians are invading The Ukraine, except this time they really are fighting the Nazis. Given what's going on there now, I don't think we'll bother with any Ruffian pictures today. Yes, Dimya, I thought that would make you snivel and dab your eyes. You don't have to like it, you just have to put up with it.
Finally -
I can hear movement downstairs, meaning Edna will doubtless arrive shortly when everyone else has gone out. Annnnnnnnnd there's no room for a weather excuse about walkies.
* Liquified mothballs, probably.
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