People
Thought for the day
Sans toi, les émotions d'aujourd'hui ne seraient que la peau morte des émotions d'autrefois.
An X publication
X Magazine. Well more ex than X.
I I was (nearly) amazed that my fame had spread so widely when I discovered an original copy of Strand (notice no the) on e bay at a high price (£ 9.99).
Investigating this further, Strandman discovered that it is a defunct magazine, an ex publication. No vanity press this, no blogger on a roll. Real hard core magazine publication of good old fashioned stories. Damn, fame and notority to come soon perhaps?
Strand Magazine was a monthly fiction magazine founded by a Mr George Newnes. It was published in the United Kingdom from January 1891 to March, 1950, though the first issue was on sale before Christmas 1890. It was a smash hit and had an amazing initial sale of nearly 300,000. That is truly amazing!
Sales increased in the early months, before settling down to a circulation of almost 500,000 copies a month which lasted well into the 1930s. The modern equivalent of Google.Arthur Conan Doyle first published his wonderful Sherlock Holmes in The Strand. With the serialization of Doyle's The Hound of the Baskervilles (see additional pages Holmes), (which was on Channel 4 last week) sales reached their peak. Can you imagine lining up with thousands of others outside the magazine's offices, waiting to get the next instalment. Cool.
The A. J. Raffles, a Gentleman thief, (I was born so out of my time) stories of Ernest William Hornung first appeared in The Strand in the 1890s. Other contributors included Agatha Christie, Rudyard Kipling, Dorothy L. Sayers, Georges Simenon, Edgar Wallace, P. G. Wodehouse, and even another of my heroes, Winston Churchill.
The joy I have described of getting £100 for winning a crossword competition (see: Take Chance Wednesday 1) I was amused to learn that Strand invented it! Well nearly. Nearly Sodhuku! The Strand was also known for some time as the source of ground-breaking brain teasers, under a column called Perplexities, first written by Henry Dudeney. Dudeney introduced many new concepts to the puzzle world, including the first known crossnumber puzzle, in 1926.
The Strand Magazine eventually ceased publication and closed in 1950, forced out of the market by a falling circulation and rising costs and the curse of Fleet Street. Shame.
SM
The Ultimate Blogger
Fleet Street
Hero of the week #2
Samuel Pepys
So much has been written about and on the great man of Fleet Street, Samuel Pepys, FRS (23 February 1633 – 26 May 1703). Sam (to his mates) was an English naval administrator and Member of Parliament, famous chiefly for his detailed and wonderfully written diary. Although Pepys had no maritime experience, he rose by hard work and his talent for administration to be the Chief Secretary to the Admiralty under King James II. He was one of the first to apply methodical research and careful record keeping to the business of government, and his influence was important in the early development of the British Civil Service.
Samuel Pepys was born on February 23rd 1633 in Salisbury Court off Fleet Street. He was baptised in the pre-fire church of St.Bride, next door to his birth place.
His father, John, was a tailor, his mother Margaret Kite was sister of a Whitechapel butcher and Samuel was fifth in a line of eleven children.
The detailed private diary that he kept during 1660–1669 was published after his death and is one of the most important primary sources for the English Restoration period. It provides a fascinating combination of personal revelation and eyewitness accounts of great events, such as the Great Plague of London, the Second Dutch War and the Great Fire of London. He was, and is (through the award winning blog http://www.pepysdiary.com/ worth a look every day) the ultimate blogger. Respect.
Note:
The accepted pronunciation today of his curiously spelled name is PEEPS. Sam definitely pronounced his name PEEPS as do the descendents of his sister Paulina. However other branches of the family pronounce it PEPPIS.
Join The Pepys Club!
Best bit? The kidney stone operation and descriptions before and after.
Quiz of the Week from our hero of week.
Samuel Pepys wrote to Sir Isaac Newton a long letter asking him to determine the
probabilities for a set of dice rolls related to a wager he planned to make. Good man- trying to get the edge.
Pepys asked which was more likely, (take a chance, take a chance)
1. At least one six when six dice are rolled,
2. At last two sixes when 12 dice are rolled, or
3. At least three sixes when 18 dice are rolled.
Well?
Don’t Scroll down…..
>
>
>Got it yet?
>
>
>Well?
>
At least one six when six dice are rolled is most likely.
Prove it? See below!
And if you got that correct please have a Great Fire of London Cake see additional pages
SM
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Hero of Week # 1
Does every blog have to have a hero /heroine page? Do we all have to be influenced by someone, respect or adore? Well, yes. I have decided they do.
Strandman can now give you the list of his top 127 heroes in no particular order. Rules are they must connect in some way with Fleet Street or Strand and they must roughly be 127 of them.
Also it should talk not so much about them but about something they actually did. If you have read any Terry Prachett (and I am guessing a high percentage have since Terence David John Pratchett OBE (born April 28, 1948, in Beaconsfield, Buckinghamshire, England) is an English fantasy author, best known for his Discworld series. He has sold approximately 40 million books worldwide) and enjoyed one book in particular (The Truth) you may recognise this name Wynke de Worde (see William de Worde).
Hero of Week and their Claim to it, Number 1
Wynkyn de Worde’s Italic Font
- Definition: In typography, italic type refers to cursive typefaces based on a stylized form of calligraphic handwriting. The influence from calligraphy can be seen in their usual slight slanting to the right.
- Did you know (well I did not) the term italic is wrongly applied on oblique fonts (mostly sans-serif), when they are merely distorted into a slanted orientation.
Uppercase letters in italic types are usually oblique instead of being true italics.Italic type is often used for emphasis to distinguish or otherwise set off certain words within text. As a result I have been trying to thing the day/evening in Italic:
- Emphasis: "Strandman was definetly not going to eat in Burger King, ever"
- The titles of works that stand by themselves:: "There was a performance of the Pistol’s No Fun last night."
- The names of ships: "The Titanic sailed to disaster."
- Mucky old Foreign words: "A splendid coq au vin was served." (how middle class)
- Using a word as an example of a word, rather than for its semantic content "The word the is an article." (The Word- what a show).
- Introducing terms, especially technical terms or those used in an unusual or different way: "Freudian psychology is based on the ego, the super-ego, and the id." I have been working on my ID all day.
- Sometimes in novels to indicate a character's thought process: "'I wish I was not stuck on the Zebra crossing' thought Strandman."
- The Latin binary nomenclature (as I would be happy to tell you about at length and I suspect I will drag Linneus in here somewhere. Oh I did) (Genus species), in the taxonomy of living organisms: "A common rat species is the Black Rat, Rattus rattus." (or indeed my favourite Rattus norwegicus by the Stranglers.
- Symbols for physical quantities and other mathematical variables: "The speed of light, c, is approximately equal to 3.00×108 m s-1." Or there about. I was not driving that fast officer, honest.
Well that is enough italic for one night/day. You think?
SM
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Judy the Black Cat and DW
The massive amount of time I have spent on the pavements of London (usually walking, occasionally crawling) have made me slightly numb to their beauty and interest. To walk on these pavements, paved with gold, is perhaps the greatest pleasure that we ignore daily. The story I had in my head this morning, on the brief journey from home to work was of Dick Whittington (a character in a British pantomime, very loosely based on the real-life, as I feel I am).
The reason wasn’t as spiritual and unguided as you might sense from my writing but because there on the pavement on the divide between Strand and Fleet St. was a black cat. It was early, 7.15am and my brain was working on a light 2-stroke mixture and not yet opening any tuning channels higher than limbic. So where Richard Whittington came from is unclear. My memory / silicon chip was set to overload (the brain, left side, internal ipod)
'And all the playing's stopped in the playground now
'She wants to play with her toys awhile
'And school's out early and soon we'll be learning
'That the lesson today is how to die'
It is Monday but here you go..
Richard Whittington, who was born, probably in Gloucestershire, in the late 1350s and died in London in 1423. There are several versions of the traditional story, which tells how Dick, a boy from a poor family
Im just a poor boy,i need no sympathy-
Because Im easy come,easy go,
A little high,little low,
Anyway the wind blows,doesnt really matter to me,
To me
sets out for London to make his fortune, accompanied by his cat (does that sound weird to any of you?).
At first he meets with little success, and is tempted to return home. However, on his way out of the city, whilst climbing Highgate Hill from Archway, he hears the Bow Bells of London ringing, and believes they are sending him a message ( I can hear voices now, not in an X Factor way; reach for the bipolar disorder handbook)
Turn again, Whittington,Once Mayor of London!
Turn again, Whittington,
Twice Mayor of London!
Turn again, Whittington,
Thrice Mayor of London!
On returning to London, Dick embarks on a series of adventures (hurrah for adventures!). In one version of the tale, he travels abroad on a ship, and wins many friends as a result of the rat-catching activities of his cat; in another he sends his cat and it is sold to make his fortune. Was my cat a relative of the DW Rat Trap (cue internal MP3 cerebral cortex jukebox, volume control on 11):
Her mind's made up, she walks down the road,
Her hands in her pockets, coat buttoned 'gainst the cold,
She finds Billy down at the Italion cafe
And when he's drunk it's hard to understand what Billy says
But then he mumbles in his coffee and suddenly roars,
"It's a rat trap Judy; and we've been caught...."
Back to the story: eventually he does become prosperous, marries his master's daughter Alice FitzWarin (the name of the real Whittington's wife), and is made Lord Mayor of London three times (the historical Whittington was elected Lord Mayor four times).
So where on the path /pavement /sidewalk of London does that leave me? Well the St.Clements bells chimed this morning and I felt a surge of ambition and accomplishment. The cat was symbolic and has fueled a positive upswing in my mood. And the cat shall be known as Judy.
SM
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Something for the Weekend? Sweeney Todd
The Barber of Fleet Street
Something for the Weekend, Sir?
I love this story which appears to be a truthful and correct story about Sweeney Todd. The demon barber of Fleet Street had his shop at number 186 Fleet Street, which is now the Dundee Courier building with a copier shop below. Been there and looked around- no blood or clues.
At 186, he is believed to have robbed and murdered over 150 customers, thereby making him the number two serial killer in British history (let us assume that a certain Doctor Shipman was number one).
Sweeney was born on 16 October 1756, at number 85 Brick Lane in London's East End. Todd's mother was a silk-winder and his father a silk weaver, working for the French Huguenots in nearby Norton Folgate, Spitalfields. In 1770, aged only 14 years, Sweeney Todd was sentenced to a five year term in Newgate Prison for theft of a pocket watch.
While in prison he met up with an old barber named Plummer, who was serving ten years for embezzlement, he taught Sweeney how to cut hair and shave, and how to pick pockets of the customers, Sweeney was keen to learn and soon became Plummer's apprentice lathering-up and shaving some of the prisoners who could afford their services.
After his release in 1785, with a few pounds he had stolen at work in the goal, and the little knowledge of haircuts he gained, Sweeney Todd opened his Barber Shop at 186 Fleet Street, next door to St Dunstan's Church, just a few blocks away from the Royal Courts of Justice, and next to Chicken and Hen Court near to the corner of Fetter Lane.
Going west wards from Chancery Lane opposite the Temple Bar is Bell Yard, a narrow alleyway where Mrs Lovett a girl friend of Sweeney’s had her meat pie shop.
The first murder account in the 'Daily Courant' (Fleet Streets first newspaper) that may have been the work of Todd, recalls:
'that on 14th of April 1785 a murder was committed in Fleet Street on a gentleman from the country on a visit to London. The gentleman was seen arguing with a barber when the barber took from his white coat a razor and slit the throat of the young man, and then ran towards white friars disappearing in the fog.'
The story of this wonderful (?) barbers shop tells us that when a customer was seated in the revolving chair, that stood in the centre of the shop over a trapdoor above a disused basement cellar, the chair would be swung over and an identical empty chair would take its place. Meanwhile Mr. Sweeney would exit through the rear door and down a flight of stairs to where the unconscious customer was lying after their drop. Sweeney would take out his razor and slit their throats (through Sweeney Todd's act this type of razor became known as a cut throat razor).
He became lovers with the pie maker Mrs Margery Lovett, who would often bake him his lunch time pie ( I still feel slightly ill when you go over to the Bank of England pub and there is a sign up declaring that this is where she sold her pies and on the sign outside? Pie and ale house...). They discovered a disused underground tunnel leading from the cellar of Sweeney’s shop, that ran beneath St Dunstan's Church and the burial crypt, finishing up under Mrs Lovetts pie shop, making it an ideal business partnership.
On January 25, 1802, in the prison yard at Newgate, Sweeney Todd was strung up on the gallows before a crowd of thousands, who had waited all night to see the event, and after his execution, his body was given over to a handful of learned “barber-surgeons” (or indeed the news that we are to have NHS Doctor surgeons)where it was taken away to be dissected. Sweeney Todd ended up, like so many of his victims, as a pile of meat and bones. And as for Mrs Margery Lovett she was to cheat death by the hangman, she was found poisoned in her cell at Newgate prison.
If you presuming you needed a hair cut and had been walking along Fleet Street London in the summer of 1785, heading west towards Strand and Covent Gardens, from the old Ludgate, you would have crossed over Fetter Lane on your right and then immediately afterwards you would have noticed Hen and Chicken court, perhaps you may have paused and if a young woman asked you to go down the alleyway with her for some sport, you would have felt the danger of walking down such a dark alleyway alone, you would not have been aware of the horror lurking inside the old brown wooden barber shop at the side of the alley would be a great deal more of a danger than the girl beckoning in the alley, and if you decided not to have a haircut or shave you would have passed by Todd's barber shop with a lucky escape.
This old brown wooden barber shop would not have caused you any delay whatsoever, as there was no window display, and the windows were misty with steam and dirt. You may have noticed the red and white striped pole projecting from the shop front, denoting its dual role as a barber surgeon.
If curiosity had got the better of you and by chance you looked in through the window you would have seen several dusty wigs hanging from wood blocks roughly the shape of heads. You may have become distracted by the number of jars with coagulated blood, alongside some old gin bottles containing rotten teeth. These displays were to advertise the skills of pulling out teeth and bleeding clients for minor ailments. Had you looked at the sign above the shop you would have seen the worn out hand painted yellow sign proclaiming 'Sweeney Todd, barbers'. Had you been in need of a shave, you may have walked into the shop.
On opening the door, a rusty old bell would ting to announce your arrival. Once inside the shop you would have been no more impressed than with the outside. Heavy brown wooden beams run across the low ceiling, meeting up with the dark walls, that only went to make it even more gloomy. Two oil lamps flickered at either end of the shop and were only lit when the last bit of natural light had vanished. A grimy bench ran along the side of the wall, where a few dirty-looking sheets, some with spots of blood, that were put around customers necks ready for shaving. Also on the bench were arranged the tools of the barbers trade, razors, combs, brushes, shaving bowls, sharp knives and pincers. By the side of the chair was a leather strap that was used to sharpen a blunt razor or knife.
On the left side of the wall was a small open fire, with bits of coal and some smouldering burnt hair, with a pot of water being heated for shaves. You would not have failed to notice the bare wooden floor boards, with dark stains around the old fashioned barbers chair that stood in the centre of the shop. The chair was made of oak wood with ornate legs, with a small step to rest your feet when in the chair, by which time it might have been to late.
The demon barber himself was even more off putting than his shop was. He sounds grim!:a sullen figure with heavy eyebrows, a long hard mouth, and an awkward stance. Every day a few people would gather outside the barbers shop, to witness Gog and Magog (still there), being the name given to the two statues above the church who every hour would hit with a club the large bell of St Dunstan's Church that was next door to Todd's shop. The figures were installed in 1671, and are carved in wood, each holding a club, they would swing from side to side, with two hits each quarter. As the crowd stood watching this amazing sight, they would not have known of the underground tunnels that were beneath the church. They were part of the priory of white friars monastery, that stood opposite in what is today's Bouverie Street. Our barber surgeon was most certainly aware of the tunnels, it may have been one of the reasons why he took the shop in the first place, as tunnels were of course full of rats. So from his small shop on Fleet Street with living accommodation up stairs, Sweeney set about making his fame and fortune.
I like his style.....
SM
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