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Christmas: Illustrated London News

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"What I Saw in the Fire" - Albert Crowquill

My very best wishes of the season to all readers of JSBlog.

I was interested to find that the Internet Archive has full sets of The Illustrated London News for several years in the early 1860s - worth reading for the quaint illustrations as much as the text - and each year this magazine featured a Christmas supplement with seasonal engravings. One of my favourites is this trippy - in fact quite Boschian - piece by "Albert Crowquill", What I Saw in the Fire , from the 1861 supplement (see here for zoomable source). "Albert Crowquill" was the pseudonym of the inventive and prolific illustrator Alfred Henry Forrester (1804-1872), who worked for a number of magazines including Punch, as well as illustrating books.

More about him later maybe - but for the moment, check out the Christmas supplements of The Illustrated London News: 1860 / 1861 / 1863 / 1864 / 1865.

"What I Saw in the Fire" - detail

"The Private View"- JA Fitzgerald

"Uncle John with the young folk: 'All prizes and no blanks!' - AB Houghton

"The Bachelor's Christmas Dinner" - JT Lucas

"Outdoor Relief" - GB Goddard

- Ray

Bracing start

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The variability of a maritime climate! In contrast to the picture-postcard Topsham dawn of 1st January 2013 (see Bright start) 2014 had a blustery start with the river brown with sediment, the Exe Marshes flooded, and the rain blowing sideways. But as the cliché goes, there's no such thing as bad weather, just wearing the wrong clothes. The important things are that I finished A Wren-like Note, and got through 2013 in good health and without further cancer treatment - a considerably better picture than we feared at the end of 2012 (see It ain't that kind if you don't know the backstory there). Thanks again to everyone who has given their kind support over the year. My most pressing problem at the moment is deciding on a new project for 2014; the 'other woman' is largely out of our life, but she leaves a major gap!
- Ray




Spring tide

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If you're in the UK, you'll be aware of the storm and flood warnings for the south-west over the last few days. For whatever reason, Topsham got off lightly; the weather was dry and calm overnight, so the rivers were up, but not disruptively so. But we went out to look at 8.30, and it was a striking morning: varying between bright sunshine, hail, ominous clouds to the north, and a lovely sunrise downriver.

Wixels, Topsham, looking up the River Exe
The Underway, Topsham, looking down the Exe
looking across the Exe, flooded Exe marshes, and Haldon Hills
looking across the Clyst
Clyst flood plain over Bridge Inn garden
Fisher's Mill, looking between the Clyst bridges
Clyst Bridge, looking upriver (note the almost-hidden arches)
looking down the Clyst wetlands
east bank of the Clyst, downstream of Clyst Bridge
east bank of the Clyst, downstream of Clyst Bridge (the pontoon at left is the normal river's edge)

downstream - the levee on the east bank of the Clyst

Grammatical iconoclasm

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Some pleasant bits of grammatical iconoclasm I just ran into:

Firstly, on Language Log - The English passive: an apology - the linguistics professor Geoffrey K Pullum has posted a link to his new paper, "Fear and Loathing of the English Passive", an enjoyable demolition of long-standing beliefs about the passive voice. A brief reminder:
The man bit the dog ... active voice
The dog was bitten by the man ... passive voice
Pullum's attack is two-pronged. One line of argument is that a high proportion of grammar pundits bemoaning the passive voice, and style guides forbidding it, haven't a clue what it is. For instance, they might treat virtually any use of the verb "to be" as passive, or consider any sentence as passive if it's somewhat vague about the agency - the doer of a verb. The paper contains a large compendium of examples of such misidentification.

The other line is that the idea that the passive - even when correctly identified - is automatically vague or weak just doesn't stand up to scrutiny: you don't get much stronger than, say, "President Kennedy was shot today". Pullum concludes:
What is going on is that people are simply tossing the term ‘passive’ around when they want to cast aspersions on pieces of writing that, for some ineffable reason, they don’t care for.
Direct link to the paper: The English passive: an apology.

Secondly, via Language Hat, - Blame Chomsky! - I just saw news of a recent book: Harry Ritchie's English for the Natives: Discover the Grammar You Don't Know You Know. A few newspapers have carried previews, such as It's time to challenge the notion that there is only one way to speak English ("Why do we persist in thinking that standard English is right, when it is spoken by only 15% of the British population? Linguistics-loving Harry Ritchie blames Noam Chomsky") in the Guardian; and Grammar? It's just snobbery in disguise in, surprisingly, the Daily Mail.

Ritchie's book is fierce polemic in favour of descriptive grammar. The thrust of his argument is that a century of linguistics has failed to reach either schools or popular consciousness (he blames Noam Chomsky for driving linguistics down abstract paths). Thus what many people equate with grammar is the body of essentially classist shibboleths invented wholesale in the 18th and 19th centuries. As a riposte to this, he has written a book on English grammar as presented on a pragmatic basis from an outsider viewpoint - English as a Second Language teaching - and shows that it's not horrific. It was only so to people who imagined English ought to behave like Latin.

You can read the introductory chapter via the Amazon preview - see English for the Natives. It looks good as far as it goes, but I'll reserve judgement until I've looked at the unpreviewed chapters that actually get down to describing English grammar. I've noticed on occasion that ESL teaching is not always good at describing English. For instance, it frequently simplifies 'fuzzy' rules into concrete ones - order of multiple adjectives preceding a noun; the correct form of comparatives / superlatives; use of "very" before "extreme adjectives", and so on - and it's not immune from parroting a lot of the nonsensical old prescriptive rules, such as the claimed correctness of "It is I" and other archaic formalisms. However, from the sample findable so far, English for the Natives is linguistically well-informed, and Ritchie's heart is in the right place.

- Ray

"Old Jervie"

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John Ptak's blog Ptak Science Books category - "History of Blank, Missing and Empty Things" - is proving surprisingly applicable. A post by Dave Burnes in the Gosport Memories Facebook group reminded me of the displays my family took me to at HMS St Vincent, the RN training establishment at Gosport - decommissioned in 1969, and now a sixth-form college. One of the highlights of the year was the annual fireworks display on the parade ground - except that I remember being terrified by the huge figure looming out of the smoke.

This was the figurehead "Old Jervie" (or "Old Jarvie" in some sources): the effigy of John Jervis, 1st Earl of St Vincent. The image at right comes from Rob Jerrard's maritime book reviews here. There are better images in the galleries at the HMS St Vincent Association site; in 1946 (see here) he presided over the "Ganges Gym", .in later years, he overlooked the parade ground (see here).

Apart from the facade, the historic buildings of HMS St Vincent have been demolished, and Old Jervie is no longer on the site. I'm pleased to see, however, that he's still extant, and has been moved to the nearby shore establishment HMS Collingwood. See John Oram's Flickr photo HMSCOD_011 - 4 June 2011 ('Old Jervie' - Admiral John Jervis. HMS Collingwood Open Day, Fareham).

- Ray

The making of Gosport Park

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View Larger Map

I'm always fascinated by the landscape stories that it's possible to unearth using readily available sources. Yesterday a question was raised in the Gosport Memories group in Facebook about the origin of "The Dell", a recessed and banked oval of land in Gosport Park, Gosport, Hampshire (see Bing Maps).

With this kind of thing, it's always worth checking the excellent Old Maps map archive site, which readily finds that The Dell and the Park itself existed in 1898 ...

Gosport Park, 1898 OS map. Historic map data is (© and database right
Crown copyright and Landmark Information Group Ltd. (All rights reserved
2009). Low-resolution image reproduced for small-scale non-profit
use under the terms described in the Old Maps FAQ.
... but didn't in 1881, when the area was just a tract of common land called Ewer Common, on a peninsula between two creeks, Stoke Lake to the south, and Workhouse Lake to the north.

Ewer Common, 1867-1881 OS map. Historic map data is (© and database right
Crown copyright and Landmark Information Group Ltd. (All rights reserved
2009). Low-resolution image reproduced for small-scale non-profit
use under the terms described in the Old Maps FAQ.
This Martin Snape lithograph (found at www.richardmartingallery.co.uk) gives a good idea of what the land was like: heath and very low-grade pasture.


A look in the British Library 19th Century Newspapers archive finds that the land was transformed in the late 1880s, the driver behind the project being Colonel Charles Mumby. See Charles Mumby & Co., Gosport and Portsmouth: Memories Evoked by the Isle of Wight Steam Railway for a good biographical summary. (He wasn't a 'real' colonel, by the way - this was the kind of era when the local bigwig automatically got parachuted into some medium-high rank in the regional volunteer battalion - roughly equivalent to the modern Territorial Army). An all-round Victorian entrepreneur who'd become rich chiefly from mineral water manufacturing in Gosport, he'd risen in the town hierarchy to become chairman of the Local Board (precursor to borough council), and one of his projects was the proposal in 1886 to develop Ewer Common as a public park.
The Chairman said that while at Ewer Common some time ago he thought that this large tract of land which measured nearly 30 acres, would form a very desirable place of public recreation. While paying a subsequent visit to London, he saw the Chief Clerk to the Secretary of the Ecclesiastical Commissioners. who were the Lords of the Manor at Alverstoke, and learned from him that no revenue was acquired from the land. He then wrote a letter to the Commissioners stating that the Common was merely used as a squatting place for gypsies and for digging gravel for the repair of roads, and that to his knowledge no common rights had been exercised for many years and he therefore asked whether the Commissioners would be willing to hand over the land for a public recreation ground. A favourable reply had been received, and he now moved that the question be referred to the Roads and Works Committee, for them to negotiate with the Ecclesiastical Commissioners with a view to acquiring Ewer Common.
The Hampshire Telegraph, February 13, 1886
It seems fairly high-handed of Mumby to present the plan at such an advanced stage, and there were objections - particularly from a Mr Treacher, who argued that this, like a previous deal to acquire land for building Thorngate Hall, amounted to misrepresentation and fraud. (I assume his implication was that Mumby was exaggerating the worthlessness of the land in order to get the owners to relinquish it). However, the resolution was passed. Treacher's objections continued over the next few years - chiefly about the general expense and the legality of the funding process:
Mr JF Treacher said that if he went according to his belief, he would oppose the motion [to borrow money to fence the park under construction] tooth and nail, but as the ground was commenced, he would remain neutral. He could hardly say that they had carried out this work in a strictly legal manner, as they had been drawing funds from the general district rate, for which no resolution had been passed. The total sum spent on Ewer Common would have been sufficient to build an Infection Diseases Hospital. Besides the Common was not in a central position, and would only be of use to a portion of the parish.
- Hampshire Telegraph,May 16, 1891
The Park was  completed in 1891, at a total cost of some £3000, and was opened on June 17th 1891.
OPENING OF THE GOSPORT PARK
Wednesday was a red letter day in the history of Gosport. In magnificent weather the new Park at Alverstoke was formally opened to the public. … A piece of land that was useless, except as a camping-ground for gypsies, is now transformed into a well laid-out recreation ground, with a capital cycle track and running path. The track itself, which is about three laps to the mile, is egg-shaped, the curves making easy sweeps. An unsightly gravel pit has been turfed, and will make excellent courts for tennis, the sloping sides sheltering the players, and effectually keeping the balls from straying too far. A spacious carriage-drive runs round the whole ground, and altogether the Gosport Park is an ornament and a credit to the parish.
- Hampshire Telegraph June 20, 1891
The Dell, although not named as such in the account of the opening, is clearly the site of this egg-shaped track.

The Ewer Common peninsula has other historical interest as the site of the former Alverstoke House of Industry, one of the first radially-designed workhouses (hence the adjacent creek being called Workhouse Lake). You can see a detailed ground plan on Old Maps, which has a 1:500 town plan:

Alverstoke House of Industry, 1875-1880 town plan.
Historic map data is (© and database right Crown copyright and Landmark
Information Group Ltd. (All rights reserved 2009).
Low-resolution image reproduced for small-scale non-profit
use under the terms described in the Old Maps FAQ.
Closed after WW2, the workhouse site was used as an industrial unit until its demolition in 1989, and all that remains is its northern gateway, converted into a house. See The Workhouse / Alverstoke for further details and pictures. There's a slight Isle of Wight connection I didn't know about: Valentine Gray, the 'Little Sweep' who's commemorated in Church Litten park, Newport, was a former inmate.

- Ray

TE Brown and Manx Dialect

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Mark Liberman's Language Log post More bee science (which comments on a news story's mistaken description of worker bees as drones) reminded me of a scrap of verse I remember from way back.
What's the gud of these Pazons? They're the most despard rubbage goin,
Reglar humbugs they are. Show me a Pazon, show me a drone!
Livin on the fat of the land, livin on the people's money
The same's the drones is livin on the beeses honey.
- TE Brown
I first encountered this diatribe about parsons in Arnold Silcock's 1952 anthology Verse & Worse: A Private Collection, but I'd never bothered to look into its origins. I'd assumed it was in some folksy US dialect, but far from it. It turns out to be in Anglo-Manx, a now-declining dialect of which the Manx poet, scholar and theologian Thomas Edward Brown was a major chronicler. The above verse is one small segment of "The Pazons", part 5 of a cycle of comic rants - In the Coach - purportedly heard aboard a public coach. It comes from Brown's anthology Old John and other poems (1893, Internet Archive ID oldjohnotherpoem00brow).

He looks an interesting guy. His diaries contain a wonderful and inspirational exposition of what it is to be a writer ...
I must be free free to do what I like, say what I like, write what I like, within the limitations prescribed by me by my own sense of what is seemly and fitting.
... and it seems his works were unusually robust for the time, but he self-censored them in contemporary collections (see The Drama of Storytelling in T.E. Brown's Manx Yarns, Max Keith Sutton, 1991) . The 1998 Fo'c's'le Yarns: An Uncensored Edition of Four Manx Narratives in Verse leads with:
FO'C'S'LE YARNS presents four of T. E. Brown's best Yarns uncensored for the first time. These narrative poems were originally published in 1881 in an edition Brown called an "emasculation" of his best work. George Eliot, Max Muller, Francis Thompson, and W.H. Henley admired his work, yet he was eventually dismissed as too Victorian. These original texts demonstrate the inaccuracy of this characterization with their bold treatment of sex, and their dramatic inclusion of the rough give-and-take between the yarnspinner and his shipmates in the forecastle. The frankness of the Yarns makes them a significant expression of Manx experience and culture, as does their close imitation of the dialect.
Some of the censorship was about expletives - his characters' use of "My God" and the Manx equivalent "My gough" - but I haven't been able to find specifics of what else was involved.

See the Internet Archive - search creator:"Brown, T. E. (Thomas Edward), 1830-1897" - for his many other works.

There are a number of glossaries of Manx dialect, notably the AW Moor's 1924 A Vocabulary of the Anglo-Manx Dialect and WW Gill's 1934 Manx Dialect Words and Phrases. Like many regional dialects (such as that of the Isle of Wight), it's greatly declined now, reduced to a regional accent with a few dialect words. Having never heard it, I wasn't what kind of accent it would be - I thought it might have affinities with Irish English. In fact it has a lot of similarities to North-West accents, with a twang not unlike Liverpudlian. The British Library has a couple of historical examples, recorded in the 1950s, in its Survey of English Dialects - Amanda Crellin (b. 1878), and John Thomas Teare (b. 1873).

For a modern example, check out the videos by Ben Watterson and Juan McGuinness. While they're a scathing satire on insular attitudes, the general response has been positive, with commentary to the effect that the accent is authentic and only slightly exaggerated. It definitely sounds even more Liverpudlian than the 1950s samples.


- Ray

For Felix

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This morning I had news of the death of Felix Grant, my colleague and friend of some 25 years. It wasn't radically unexpected - he told me about his health problems on our last meeting - but that makes it no easier. I didn't often meet Felix in person, but that made no difference; I think he would have appreciated the pertinence of this quote from Philip K Dick.
We are served by organic ghosts, he thought, who, speaking and writing, pass through this our new environment. Watching, wise, physical ghosts from the full-life world, elements of which have become for us invading but agreeable splinters of a substance that pulsates like a former heart. And of all of them, he thought, thanks to Glen Runciter. In particular. The writer of instructions, labels and notes. Valuable notes.

He raised his arm to slow to a grumpy halt a passing 1936 Graham cab.
- Philip K Dick, Ubik, 1969
Felix has been the central and best of these 'wise ghosts' in my life for so long that his absence is hard to grasp. I'll write a proper appreciation when it feels a little less raw.

- Ray

Morning on the estuary

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The weather lately has been variable: a lot of overcast days and rain, but with stunningly vivid mornings and evenings. I took these this morning at 9, before the sun had come round sufficiently to dazzle any attempts to photograph directly down the estuary toward Exmouth.

Looking down the Exe estuary from Topsham Quay
More images below: click to enlarge.



Detail: down the estuary, with Exmouth in the distance

Detail: the sunlight reflects off a train near Starcross

From Topsham Quay across to the west bank of the estuary

View from Topsham Quay toward Topsham Lock Cottage and motorway bridge
- Ray

Wonders of the Isle of Wight: growth of a meme

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Another image from the pleasant booklet, c.1910, Isle of Wight: Forty-one camera studies of the nooks & crannies, bays & chines of the garden isle, produced by the Photochrom Company of London and Tunbridge Wells (see previously, Nooks and crannies - an ill-fated housing boom).

This is one of the many incarnations of the 'Wonders of the Isle of Wight' - "Cowes you cannot milk, Lake you can walk through, Freshwater you cannot drink, Needles you cannot thread, and Newport you cannot bottle" - though the number and choice of locations has been variable.

The earliest precursors I can find appear in the 1850s-60s, where a number of comic journals contain variants on this pun:
A Truism.—There is one remarkable feature in the Isle of Wight, not generally known, which is, that any person who visits there may obtain mutton from Cowes.
- True Briton: A Weekly Magazine of Amusement and Instruction, Issue 6, Sep 8, 1853

What extraordinary kind of meat is to be bought in the Isle of Wight? 
Mutton from Cowes!
Puniana: or, Thoughts wise and other-wise, Hugh Rowley, 1867
By 1899, there were three items, as in:
Why is the Isle of Wight a fraud? — Because there's Cow(e)s you cannot milk, Needles you cannot thread, and Freshwater you cannot drink.
-  Children's Corner, Aberdeen Weekly Journal, March 1, 1899
A similar joke was widely syndicated in various newspapers worldwide in 1901, expanded to four items:
Why is the Isle of Wight a fraud? Because it has Needles you can't thread, Freshwater you cannot drink, Cowes you cannot milk, and Newport you cannot bottle.
- Fun and Fancy, The Star [Christchurch, NZ], Issue 7273, 7 December 1901
In 1908, the concept made the jump to pictorial form in a card by William James Nigh, a Ventnor postcard maker, who produced a "The Five Novelties of the Isle of Wight" card:
Needles without Eyes
Saltwater you get from Freshwater
Ryde you can have and not move
Lake without any water
Mutton you get from Cowes
The copyright registration is in the National Archives:
"Photograph for postcard of an arrangement of views with ornamental design entitled 'The Five Novelties of the Isle of Wight'."
Item is a colour postcard and not a photograph. Copyright owner of Work: William James Nigh, 7 Ocean View Terrace, Newport Road, Ventnor, Isle of Wight. Copyright author of Work: William Dederich, Imperial Buildings, Ludgate Circus, London. Form completed 9 July 1908. Registration stamp: 21 July 1908.
- COPY 1/523/345, National Archives
(William Dederich was a fine-art publisher; WJ Nigh & Sons is still extant, now in Shanklin).

The Wonders of the Isle of Wight page at wightindex.com has a nice collection documenting the various incarnations of the idea on postcards since: "Novelties" became "Wonders" (and occasionally "Contradictions" or "Peculiarities"), and increased to as many as eight.

Peculiar Properties of the Isle of Wight: J Welch & Sons, Portsmouth
In the 1930s, the idea was co-opted into use for a Shell Oil advertisement:


As seven, the wonders are featured in the somewhat naff murals, created as a community project in 2008, at the Ryde Esplanade bus and rail terminus.

1st wonder - Thread the Needles

2nd wonder - Newport bottled

3rd wonder - Drink Freshwater

4th wonder - Old Newtown

5th wonder - Milk Cowes

6th wonder - walk in Ryde

7th wonder - Stay dry in Lake
The meme acquired a modern spin in 2012 when it was featured in Ed Petrie's All Over the Place slot on the BBC children's section CBBC.
- Ray

A Glass of Water: the horrors of Clapham Junction

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I just posted to the A Wren-like Note weblog one of Maxwell Gray's first story sales, A Glass of Water, which originally appeared in One and All, a weekly periodical sold in railway stations, around 1880.

It can hardly be viewed as an advertisement for railway travel, telling of the misadventures of a newly-wed couple on the way to their honeymoon, who become separated when the husband gets out of the train to get his wife a glass of water. The labyrinthine "Smasham Junction" in the story is based on (in the author's words) "an experience of the horrors and perils of Clapham Junction", one of the busiest stations in Europe. It's actually in Battersea, but - see the Disused Stations account - at the time it was built it was named after the then more upmarket Clapham in an attempt to attract a higher class of clientele. It was a complex station even at the time of writing:
CLAPHAM JUNCTION is in the direction of St. John's Hill, at the north-eastern extremity of Wandsworth Common. "The station itself which was at first one of the most inconvenient, was re-built a few. years ago, and now with its various sidings and goods-sheds cover several acres of ground." It is one of the most important railway junctions south of the Thames, offering facilities to persons desirous of travelling not only to any part of the Metropolis but to all parts of England. Easy access can be had to the eight different platforms for "upline" and "downline," etc., on entering the tunnel. Booking office for Kensington, Metropolitan line, etc., on the ground floor at the north end of the tunnel and facing No. 2 platform; Booking office South-Western line No. 5 platform; Booking office Brighton and South-Coast No. 8 platform; also Telegraph office ditto ditto.

At the Junction there are thirteen waiting rooms, two refreshment bars, two cab ranks, two carriage roads to the Junction from St. John's Hill. Nearly 1,000 trains pass through the Junction daily. The staff of railway employees are respectful and obliging to passengers; there is none of that bull-dog growl in reply to questions which characterize some men with surly dispositions who fill public positions.

" Evil is wrought from want of thought
As well as want of heart."

London, Brighton and South-Coast Railway: Station Master, Mr. John B. Carne ; South- Western Railway : Station Master, Mr. Thomas Green. West London Extension Railway : Battersea Station, High Street.
- p151, All about Battersea, Henry S Simmonds, Ashfield, 1882, Internet Archive allaboutbatters00simmgoog).
See A Wren-Like Note for A Glass of Water.

- Ray

"It was a dark and stormy night"

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The Underway
A combination of spring tide, low pressure, and strong onshore wind brought unusually high river level this evening, with waves breaking over the Underway below Topsham church, and flooding of parts of the riverside streets, where the houses were sandbagged. Clare and I went out to join others in gawping at the spectacle; we've never seen the river like this before.

The Underway

Ferry Road

The mini-roundabout by the Lighter Inn
The Strand
The Strand by Hannaford's Quay, where men were engaged in sweeping
water away from the gates of courtyards below street level. I thought of
Mrs Partington and her mop.
See The morning after for follow-up.

- Ray

The morning after

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Follow-up to "It was a dark and stormy night": I went out for a walk 8.30-9ish. There wasn't anything spectacular in the way of aftermath from last night's storm, but the wind and river were still pretty high. Ominously for many, waves were already starting to break on the lower roadways, and high tide isn't until about 10.30 (I imagine the water level is increased further by the high rainfall bringing extra floodwater down the Exe). People are saying there has been some damage to the Goat Walk, the riverside raised path at the southern tip of the peninsula Topsham is on. I couldn't see, because it too was already semi-submerged.

Looking along Goat Walk
Looking along Goat Walk
North Quay
Topsham Quay
The Strand by Hannaford's Quay - the stuff on the road is shingle
Looking down to the Underway - submerged last night
compare to above
Update: 10.30am. I'm pleased to say that the wind has dropped significantly toward mid-morning. The tide was nominally the same as last night's - but with the calm and lack of other excacerbating effects, the river level was high but harmless.

High tide at the Underway
But see the following: Goat Walk damage.

- Ray

Goat Walk damage

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Further to the previous two posts: we took a walk this afternoon to have a look at the state of the Goat Walk, the concreted riverside path at the southern tip of Topsham. This morning with the tide up it'd been clear that something was amiss ...


... but a later look showed the extent of the damage. The path was exposed to the full force of the heavy seas coming upriver, which had ripped off large sections of the concrete capping revealing the clay and rubble underneath.






The storm had also collapsed the corner of the sea wall in the grounds of Riversmeet, the house at the southern tip of the Topsham peninsula.


The damage has been echoed at various coastal locations nearby, with flooding and a breach of the sea wall in Exmouth, and - most significantly for the whole South-West region - at Dawlish a section destroyed of the wall carrying the coastal main line railway.

These guys below, however, didn't seem to mind. Opportunistic feeders such as this robin and these turnstones no doubt found good pickings amid the debris.



- Ray

Bright and Miss Follett: a Topsham courtship

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Richard Bright (from Medical Portrait Gallery)
Browsing for history of the Goat Walk yesterday, I ran into a Topsham connection I never knew: the courtship of Richard Bright and Eliza Follett.

Richard Bright (1789 – 1858) was an eminent physician and an early pioneer in the research of kidney disease (Bright's disease - a historical classification of nephritis - is named after him). There's a chapter on him in the 1838 Medical portrait gallery. Biographical memoirs of the most celebrated physicians, surgeons, etc., etc., who have contributed to the advancement of medical science: see Richard Bright, M.D. F.R.S. Bright was married twice. His first wife Martha Lyndon Babington, died of childbirth complications in 1823. A few years later he courted a childhood friend, Eliza Follett, sister of the lawyer and politician William Webb Follett, and they married on 27th July 1826 (ODNB).

The Folletts being a Topsham family, a deal of Eliza's courtship with Richard took place around Topsham, and their walks are recorded in the 1983 biography by Bright's great-great niece.
It is at Easter 1826 that we hear, in a letter written to his father, all about his visit to the Folletts at Topsham.

'Passage' (or Follett Lodge as it is known today) had been the family home since the first Folletts, natives of Normandy, had come to England in Henry II's time. Eliza's father, Benjamin Follett, was a retired captain of the 15th Foot Regiment and carried on the old family business as ships' chandler and timber merchant. He had married an Irish girl, Ann Webb of Kinsale, and they had a family of six sons and two girls.

'Goat's Walk' seems to have been Bright's and Eliza's favourite spot; it is often mentioned in Eliza's love letters. It was a narrow path along the water's edge. At high tide a vast expanse of water stretched before them, while at low tide the tortuous channel of the Exe was winged with sea birds plummeting down on to cushions of sea-pink. Here they would watch the bare-legged winkle gatherers, dressed in striped skirts looped to the waist. Their wind-ravaged faces arrested Bright's interested attention, and Eliza soon discovered it was the same when they met gypsies, or talked to her father's men in the timber yard. Exploring with him was a wonderful experience. He was always stopping to pick a flower, to identify the sound coming from a bush or to scoop up the clay where the river Clyst met the solid wall of the old Bridge Inn. Walking along the road where the Romans had marched, he would always find some evidence of their existence and of their battles.
- Dr. Richard Bright, (1789-1858), Pamela Bright, Bodley Head, 1983.
I guess you had to be there. Anyhow, this does show that the Goat Walk's existence as a path - and it seems its name - pre-dates the anecdote connected with its early 20th century upgrade to concreted form.

A later biography of Bright adds:
The wedding took place in the old church of St Marguerite [sic] at Topsham in July 1826. As with his marriage to Martha we have no surviving details of the ceremony nor the honeymoon. 
- Richard Bright, 1789-1858: physician in an age of revolution and reform, Diana Berry, Campbell Mackenzie, Hugh L'Etang, Royal Society of Medicine Services, 1992 
- Ray

Updates

Mystery Devon images

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This is purely a feeder for a post at the Devon History Society website, but I thought it would be of interest to local readers. Philip Willis sent the DHS some interesting images from a set of glass lantern slides c.1900-1920, asking if anyone could identify the locations. Many in his set are labelled Ilfracombe, and some - such as that below - I was able to identify straight away. Many others aren't as straightforward; thatched cottages, for instance, are ubiquitous around Devon. So if you fancy topographic puzzles, seee Mystery Devon images (you'd best hurry, as 13 out of the 15 have already been identified - but they're interesting pictures anyway).

Capstone Hill, Ilfracombe - image courtesy of Philip Willis
Ilfracombe, I have to admit, looks far more jolly a century ago, with its bandstands and promenade restaurant. It was then a boom resort, served both by railway (the Ilfracombe Branch Line) and ferries along the Bristol Channel.
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- Ray

Ibong Adarna: Google Mistranslate

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from Project Gutenberg Tagalog edition
Ibong Adarna is the title of a massively popular epic fantasy in the mythology and culture of the Philippines; it originally went under the snappy title of Corrido ng Pinagdaanang Buhay nang Tatlong Principeng, Magcacapatid na Anac nang haring Fernando at nang Reina Valeriana sa Caharian ng Berbania ("Corrido of the Traveled/Travailed Life of Three Princes, Sibling Children of King Fernando and Queen Valeriana of the Kingdom of Berbania"). Despite the Spanish names, it evidently pre-dates the Spanish Era in the Philippines.
One of the most beautiful tales which the Filipinos are wont to hear in their youth since time immemorial is the “Ibong Adarna”. This tale, or awit, is known all over the Philippines and was told vocally probably  centuries before it was anonymously printed in Tagalog in about 1860, thereafter appearing in the different vernacular dialects  — Visayan, Pampango, Ilocano and Bicol where its version varies. It is a four-thousand-one-hundred-thirty-six-line metrical romance in quartillas, of iambic tetrameter, on the life and adventures of the three sons of King Ferdinand of Berbania — one if not the most interesting of the fantastic tales in Philippine literature. According to the more reliable studies on the subject the tale is of Pre-Spanish origin and so is indigenous, although it is not free in its modern version from outside influence, like the other native corridos that were "derived" from European romances, that are greatly saturated with the "medieval flavor and setting of chivalry". It is comparable or possibly on a par with the world-famous Arabian Nights' Entertainments— a book included in the outside reading texts of both public and private schools. Although its language is not as literary as Florante at Laura, the work nevertheless indicates that it is the product of a pen of the stamp of a Balagtas, which in spite of not having the academic preparation of that prince of Tagalog poets, in fact it is like an uncut diamond which though it does not glitter as much as the cut and polished one, yet does not on that account cease to be a diamond.
- The Adarna Bird (A Filipino Tale of Pre-Spanish Origin Incorporated in the Development of Philippine Literature, the Rapid Growth of Vernacular Belles-letters from Its Earliest Inception to the Present Day), Eulogio Balan Rodriguez, General Printing Press, 1933.
See the paper ANG MGA INAGDAANANG BUHAY NG IBONG ADARNA: Narrative and Ideology in the Adarna's Corrido and Filmic Versions (Francisco Benitez, Department of Comparative Literature, University of Washington) for a detailed analysis of the story's content and cultural significance.

As you can gather from the synopsis at the Wikipedia page Ibong Adarna (mythology), it's a fairly convoluted story of the adventures of three princes, Pedro, Diego and Juan. The first two conspire against Juan, as they go on a quest to heal their ailing father (who has got ill from worrying about a dream in which two traitors conspire against Juan). The title refers to the Adarna bird that's central to the story and has properties probably unique  for a mythical creature. It has powers of magic and healing, but a dangerous aspect: petrifying poo! At the end of the day it sings seven songs that lull listeners to sleep, changing colour with each song, then defecates - and anyone incautious enough to be underneath is turned to stone.

Which leads to the Google Translate weirdness. "Ibong Adarna" means "Adarna bird" ("Adarna" is a proper name of, as far as I can tell, unknown etymology). But if you put it into Google Translate, it correctly detects the language as Filipino (the prestige register of Tagalog), but translates the whole phrase as "Toilet Slave" (try it).

This is peculiar, to say the least. With the individual words, it translates "Ibong" as "Birds" (which is on the right track) and can't translate "Adarna" (which is expected). The problem is only with the phrase "Ibong Adarna". Is it a malicious mistranslation someone submitted to the database? Some inexplicably garbled allusion to the defecating Adarna bird? Or what? Knowing zero about the Filipino language and the workings of Google Translate, I can't fathom it. Any thoughts?

- Ray (finder's credits to Pinkie17 on Yahoo! Answers)

To Riversmeet: "Your care about your banks infers a fear"

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It's always interesting to visit new places, and sometimes they're only a stone's throw from familiar ones. Yesterday was a clear and bright afternoon, and I wandered out to take another look at the Goat Walk, damaged by the recent storms. On impulse, it being low tide, I decided to walk further along the shoreline by the wall skirting the grounds of the large houses at Riversmeet; this tract of land projects right out into the confluence of the Exe and Clyst, ending in a walled-earth pier.

The walk is normally too muddy to be feasible, but the storm seems to have scoured away the mud down to the stony, almost causeway-like, surface below. It was possible to get right round the corner to the river gate of Riversmeet to the pier - which has suffered major collapse - and peek round the corner to see the Clyst and the railway bridge. With nothing but estuary in sight, this must be one of the most isolated spots in Topsham; on a vivid and fresh afternoon, with dazzling skies, it was worth contemplating for a while.










This is the pier - looking much the worse for wear after the storms - which dates from the building of Riversmeet House in the 1840s. The retaining wall, which extends round the whole property on both landward and river aspects, was also built by Davy as part of the reclamation of the former marshland that formed the tip of the Topsham peninsula.
… around this time Mr Francis Davy, the fourth son of the well-known Topsham shipbuilder and merchant, Robert Davy, built Riversmeet House, with a small pier at which his ships could discharge their cargo
...
A stone in the Riversmeet embankment, commemorating the reclaiming, reads: "The adjoining marsh, consisting of 45 acres, was enclosed in 1844 by Mr Francis Davy, 10 acres of which were sold to the Exeter and Exmouth Railway Company in 1859.

Your care about your banks infers a fear
Of threaking [sic] floods and inundations near
If so, a just repaire would only be
Of what the land usurped upon the sea. Dryden"
- Parkinson, M., 1980b. Salt Marshes of the Exe Estuary. Rep. Trans. Devon. Ass. Advmt Sci., 112, 17-41.
The quotation is from Dryden's religious allegory The Hind and the Panther. I haven't seen this commemorative stone, and don't know its location, or even if it still exists.






 - Ray

The Three Old Maids of Lee

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This is Old Maid's Cottage, Lee, near Ilfracombe - subject of a large number of historical postcards - which turned up as one of the Mystery Devon images locations in a recent Devon History Society post. The house still exists, as what looks like an extremely pleasant holiday rental.


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The house has become associated - for no clear historical reason I can find - with a piece of Victorian doggerel by the lawyer, author, lyricist and broadcaster Frederic Edward Weatherly, an incredibly prolific songwriter.
The Bird in Hand
(The Three Maids of Lee)

There were three young maids of Lee,   
They were fair as fair can be,   
And they had lovers three times three,   
For they were fair as fair can be,   
These three young maids of Lee.
But these young maids they cannot find   
A lover each to suit her mind;   
The plain-spoke lad is far too rough,   
The rich young lord is not rich enough,   
And one is too poor and one too tall,
And one just an inch too short for them all.   
“Others pick and choose and why not we?"
“We can very well wait,” said the maids of Lee.
There were three young maids of Lee,
They were fair as fair can be,
And they had lovers three times three,   
For they were fair as fair can be,
These three young maids of Lee.

There are three old maids of Lee,   
And they are old as old can be,
And one is deaf, and one cannot see,   
And they all are cross as a gallows tree,
These three old maids of Lee.
Now if any one chanced—’t is a chance remote—
One single charm in these maids to note,
He need not a poet nor handsome be,   
For one is deaf and one cannot see;   
He need not woo on his bended knee,   
For they all are willing as willing can be.   
He may take the one, or the two, or the three,
If he’ll only take them away from Lee.   
There are three old maids at Lee,   
They are cross as cross can be,   
And there they are, and there they ’ll be   
To the end of the chapter one, two, three,
These three old maids of Lee.
Although now it's chiefly known as a poem, it was published as a song in 1881, set to a polka tune by Joseph L Roeckel. To modern sensibilities, it's excruciating in the sexism of an era that ridiculed women who remained unmarried by accident or choice, and assumed they'd be desperate for anyone who came along - while the male equivalent would be respected as a 'confirmed bachelor'. However, it became an instant hit as a comic ballad; newspaper archives find it was being sung at soirees and concerts from Christmas 1881, and it continued in popularity for a few decades.

The score for the largely forgotten song is findable in the Johns Hopkins University, Levy Sheet Music Collection, Box 046, Item 035: jhir.library.jhu.edu/handle/1774.2/16122

Johns Hopkins University, Levy Sheet Music Collection, Box 046, Item 035:
jhir.library.jhu.edu/handle/1774.2/16122

In case the score cover doesn't make it clear its horrible subtext, here's how to stage it:
The song of the "Three Old Maids of Lee" makes a charming little set of tableaux, very easy to arrange. Three pretty girls are necessary. They are seen in the first scene in eighteenth-century dresses, sitting in a garden. In the second scene, three lovers are looking over the wall at the girls, who turn haughtily away. The third scene shews the same girls fourty years after, sitting knitting—and with a cat and a parrot and any other old-maidish detail that can be thought of. One must wear spectacles.
- Tableaux Vivants. How to arrange them. By Mabel Collins, The Derby Mercury, December 19, 1900.
- Ray
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