The sad demise of the Hardy Tree

A couple of days ago I heard the sad news that the Hardy Tree has fallen down. 

I've visited the tree - which stood in Old St Pancras Church Yard in London - a few times in the past 40 years.

When King's Cross Station was being built, part of the the graveyard needed to be relocated. The Bishop of London, in whose diocese it fell, asked that whatever human remains were still on site be exhumed. The job of organising this fell to Covent Garden architect Arthur Blomfield (1829-1899) who, in turn, assigned the job to his assistant, the young Thomas Hardy (1840 - 1928) - this was before he'd written his great masterpieces, such as Far From The Madding Crowd, The Mayor Of Casterbridge and Tess Of The d'Urbervilles. 

Hardy was only 20 but he decided that something needed to be done to memorialise the effects of what modernity could do to humanity - he didn't like to see old things destroyed in the name of progress. And so he supervised the dismantling of many of the churchyard's tombs and the disinterment and re-internment of their occupants and then, as a monument to the past, he arranged a large number of their tombstones in a decorative ring around a substantial ash tree. And, in time, and as the author's fame grew, it became known as the Hardy Tree.

However, in July this year, the Camden New Journal reported that the tree was likely to fall, having been weakened by a storm and by disease. 'We are looking at ways to commemorate this tree, and its story, when it does eventually fall.' a town hall statement read. 'The council recognises the importance of the veteran Hardy Tree, both for our local communities and nationally, which is why we’ve taken measures over the last eight years to manage this stage of its lifecycle, keeping it safe for visitors.' 

However, despite shoring up and removing much of the crown,  the tree has now fallen.

Image: Simon Lamrock via Twitter. 

I hope they find some way to memorialise the Hardy Tree. One option suggested by the Thomas Hardy Society involves growing a new tree from cuttings of the original - although it remains to be seen whether this was carried out in time while the tree was still healthy enough. 'If not, hopefully some other memorial will be put in place instead,' says Dr Hayes, spokesperson for the Society. 'The tree's demise is particularly poignant given the recurring themes of life, death and industrial growth in Hardy's works. At the time when he placed the gravestones at the base of the tree towns and communities were being bulldozed due to the advance of the railways. I think he would be quite sad to see what's happened to the tree. The poetic take is that it grew from a seed dropped by a bird that was flying over the gravestones. Hardy was a great believer in everything being sentient - he wouldn't even let the gardener at Max Gate (the author's former home near Dorchester) prune the trees - and so they were all massively overgrown.' 

She added that if Thomas Hardy were alive he would probably prefer to see a nature-related memorial, rather than a plaque or statue, as he wasn't a huge one for commemoration of self. 'As cliched as it sounds he would probably prefer another tree to be planted, or a garden of some sort,' she said.

Trees are long-lived but they are mortal, sadly. I wonder how long it will be before this one in Victoria Embankment Gardens finally succumbs to gravity? I used to walk past it every day on my way to work at New Scotland Yard.

I have no idea if it has an official name but I always called it the 'Dali Tree' as it is held up with crutches and reminded me of the strange being in Dali's painting Sleep.

I'll be sad to see that one fall too.

King =1 Turbulent Priest =0

Today is St Thomas Becket Day. 

Not St Thomas à Becket Day, like I was told at school. 

His name was Becket - the à Becket version was a post-Reformation creation, possibly modelled on Thomas à Kempis, and is no longer used.

You might also recall from school that he was mates with Henry II who made him Archbishop of Canterbury. However, he was a man of principle and, despite his love for the king, he refused to blindly follow orders, especially in the case of making the church answerable to the crown. 

This angered Henry who famously ranted, 'Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?!' This was overheard by four knights who set off immediately for Canterbury and killed Becket. 

After a time, a cult built around Becket and he was sainted. Various miracles are ascribed to him including making freshwater springs appear and banishing nightingales from Kent as they kept him awake.  

But perhaps my favourite story is that, upon his death, the men of Kent were cursed to always have tails. 

Any Kentish blokes out there want to give us a swish?

Cabinet of Curiosities - Day 29

Today we have two rocks - a Piddock Stone and a black Iron Stone. 

The Piddock Stone came from the beach at Ogmore-by-Sea in Glamorgan, Wales. The stone is Oolite, a soft limestone from the Lower Carboniferous era. The pitted surface is due to a combination of natural erosion and the action of young piddocks. Some of the larger piddock tunnels go all the way through the stone.

Piddocks (Pholadidae), also known as angelwings, are a family of bivalve molluscs similar to clams. However, Piddocks are unique in that each side of their shells is divided into 2 or 3 separate sections. Furthermore, one of the piddock's shells has a set of ridges or 'teeth', which they use to grind away at clay or soft rock in order to create create tubular burrows. The shape of these burrows are due to the rotating motion of the piddock as it grinds the rock to make its home. The piddock stays in the burrow it digs for the entirety of its eight-year lifespan, with only its siphon exposed to take in water that it filters for food. So called hagstones (see here) are often the result of Piddock activity.

The Iron Stone came from a blackhouse (taigh-dubh) village on the island of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides. Raasay Ironstone is rich in iron and very heavy and perfect for building houses that have to withstand extreme weather. 

'Blackhouses' were low, single story buildings shared by humans and livestock. The design of a blackhouse originates back several thousand years, as does the constructional method. The building consists of two concentric dry stone walls with a gap between them filled with earth, peat or straw for insulation. The roof was either thatched or made up of turfs and constructed upon a wooden frame. As the roofing material had to withstand quite extreme weather conditions at times, it was often secured by using netting with large stones tied at the ends. Their design was eventually replaced in the late 1800s by 'Whitehouses' (taigh-geal), which were built to separate humans and animals. 

Unbelievably, some of the blackhouses were still inhabited until the middle 1970’s. On Lewis, the best examples to view are at Gearrannan, where it is possible to see a range of houses all in one place. You can see some photos of them on my blogpost about visiting the Callanish stones here.

Both stones are interesting for different reasons but what fascinates me most is that, despite them being picked up hundreds of miles from each other, they fit together like jigsaw pieces. The resulting object is, to me, very attractive.

And that's why they got included in my list of 'curiosities'.

Cards on the Table

Today is National Playing Cards Day. Apparently.

It's a new one on me. But a good excuse to take a closer look at these everyday objects.

Playing cards are thought to have first appeared in China and arrived in Europe some time towards the end of the fourteenth century. Many different types of deck existed - estimates from Columbia University suggest that there are at least 6,000 different types of historical deck - but the 52 card pack we know today was created by the French. They introduced four suits - hearts, clovers, pikes, and tiles - but by the time they reached England, the clovers had become clubs, the tiles became diamonds and the pikes became spades.

Playing cards really took off with the advent of mass printing and the founding of the Worshipful Company of Makers of Playing Cards in 1628, which regularised the pack. Then, in the eighteenth century, manufacturers began rounding the corners of cards and printing at the edges, indicating the card type and value. Players could then hold a fan of cards in one hand. 

During the 19th century, they began designing double-headed cards so that the cards could be readily identified whichever way up they were (and because players might accidentally reveal that they hold a Court Card if they flipped them the right way up). Each suit includes three Court Cards (or Face Cards) called the King, Queen and Knave/Jack. The original Chinese cards did not have Court Cards - they first appeared when playing cards reached Persia. But, even then, they didn't originally have images of people on them. Islam forbids idolatry so they featured fancy calligraphy that named the cards as malik (king), nā'ib malik (viceroy or deputy king) and thānī nā'ib (second or under-deputy). 

When the cards arrived in Europe it was an easy transition to create the King and Queen but there was no equivalent for the third ranked card so the Knave was introduced. A knave was a servant with no specific job role - unlike stable-boys, cooks, footmen etc. As the result, a Knave was also known as a Jack-of-all-trades, which is why we also call the card a Jack. In some non-French packs, the Jack is known as the Knight, Valet, Peasant or Bower.  

The court cards, surprisingly, all have names: 

King of Spades - David 

Queen of Spades - Pallas 

Jack of Spades - Ogier 

King of Hearts - Charles 

Queen of Hearts - Judith 

Jack of Hearts - La Hire 

King of Clubs - Alexandre 

Queen of Clubs - Argine

Jack of Clubs - Lancelot 

King of Diamonds - Cesar 

Queen of Diamonds - Rachel 

Jack of Diamonds - Hector

Each suit also includes Pip Cards, numbering from one to ten. The card with one pip is known as an Ace. The fanciful design and manufacturer's logo commonly displayed on the ace of spades began under the reign of James I of England, who passed a law requiring an insignia on that card as proof of payment of a tax on local manufacture of cards. 

The Joker card - there are usually two per deck - is the most recent addition and originated in the United States during the Civil War, and was created as a trump card for the game of Euchre.  

Certain cards have acquired nicknames over time. 

One-eyed Jacks – the Jack of Spades and the Jack of Hearts are depicted in profile - so only show one eye - , while the other two are shown in full or oblique face. 

One-eyed Royals – are the King of Diamonds - the other three Kings are shown in full or oblique face - plus the One-Eyed Jacks. 

Suicide Kings – The King of Hearts is typically shown with a sword behind his head, making him appear to be stabbing himself. Similarly, the one-eyed King of Diamonds is typically shown with an axe behind his head with the blade facing toward him. These depictions, and their blood-red colour, inspired this nickname.

The King of Diamonds is sometimes referred to as The Man with the Axe. This is the basis of the trump 'One-Eyed Jacks and the Man with the Axe'. Poker may be played with wild cards, often 'Aces, Jacks, and the King with the Axe'. 

The Ace of Spades, unique in its large, ornate spade, is sometimes said to be the Death Card or the Picture Card, and in some games is used as a trump card. 

The Queen of Spades usually holds a sceptre and is sometimes known as The Bedpost Queen, though more often she is called the Black Lady. She is the only Queen facing left. 

There are, as mentioned, many other different types of packs - the most well-known being the Tarot pack, which we'll look at another day.

But what's always fascinated me is that the standard pack can also be used as a calendar. There are 52 cards that correspond to the 52 weeks of the year and four suits that match the four seasons. There are 12 Court Cards to represent the months of the year or 13 cards in each suit could be said to represent the 13 full moons per year in the Lunar Calendar. And there are 365 pips in a full deck (taking the Court Cards at their numerical value there are 364 pips. The joker is counted as the 365th pip.). 

Isn't that extraordinary?

Anyone fancy a game of Chase The Ace?

Cabinet of Curiosities - Day 28

Today's item is a 'Piece of Eight'.

This particular coin dates from the 1670s and was recovered from the wreck of the HMS Association, sunk in 1707 off the Scilly Isles. The Association was the flagship of Admiral Sir Cloudesley Shovell in the Mediterranean during the War of the Spanish Succession.

On 22nd October the ship, commanded by Captain Edmund Loades and with Admiral Shovell on board, was returning from the Mediterranean after the Toulon campaign. The 21 ships in the squadron entered the mouth of the English Channel at 8pm but, as a result of navigational errors, the ships were not where they were reckoned to be. The Association struck the Outer Gilstone Rock off the Scilly Isles and sank in minutes with the loss of her entire crew of about 800 men. Three other ships (HMS Eagle, HMS Romney and HMS Firebrand) were also lost, bringing the death toll to nearly 2,000. It was one of the greatest maritime disasters in British history. It was largely as a result of this disaster that the Board of the Admiralty instituted a competition for a more precise method to determine longitude. 

This particular coin was given to my late father by the marine archaeologist Roland Morris, a family friend and the man who brought up the first treasures from the ship. It's not an original - Morris had a load of them cast and used to give them out as gifts along with his business card.

But why were they called 'Pieces of Eight'?

Coins used to be made from precious metals and were valued by their actual weight (the British pound is so named because of many coins the Romans could make from a single lump of metal weighing one pound). And because coins were hammered by hand, it was a lot of hassle to have lots of different denominations. Therefore, large coins were struck that could be cut into halves, quarters and eight pieces. So a Spanish dollar or Real was called a 'Piece of Eight' as it was a coin worth eight pieces, or bits. Something worth 'two bits' cost 'a quarter ' - terms that are still used in America today.

I blame it on Climate Change

Penguin down!

After I posted this on Facebook, a friend called Trish Dowdall posted this pic with the comment: 'Must be a thing as I saw this one.' 

P-p-p-p-pop a penguin.

 

Cabinet of Curiosities - Day 27

Today's item is a portrait of James Mason stroking a cat surrounded by prehistoric cave paintings. 

And yes, I am quite aware of how weird this is. It's why I have it. 

Back in the days when I used to be a 'QI elf' I would travel into London every Monday for production meetings and script meetings. Following discussions, I'd often grab a lunchtime pint with m'chums Justin Pollard, John Lloyd and John Mitchinson in the nearby Harp pub in Chandos Place, Covent Garden. It's an excellent pub with a great selection of ales. It was the Evening Standard's London Pub of the Year 2019 and 2020, CAMRA National Pub of the Year 2010/2011, and London Cider Pub of the Year 2011. The back door to the pub is in Brydges Place, the end of which is, I believe, the narrowest public thoroughfare in London. There is barely enough room for a stout chap like me to go through without my shoulders touching a wall. 

The pub was always rammed with people at lunchtime but the beer was good, the ambience wonderful and, both upstairs and downstairs, the walls are covered by an extraordinarily eclectic gallery of paintings. One painting in particular always attracted me towards it and I often chose where to stand simply to be near it so that I could examine it more closely. It's a tricky one to photograph as it is covered by glass and there are reflections from every angle. Yup, that's James Mason with a Siamese cat apparently sitting among the Neolithic cave art of the Lascaux caves in France. 

It's a lovely little painting and, written on Mr Mason's sleeve is the artist's name 'Le Bon'.  But who is/was Le Bon? And what is the meaning behind the picture? I've tried to find out. 

Annoyingly, there seems to be no end of artists called 'Le Bon'. There's Canadian artist Maurice Le Bon (1916 - 1998). He seems to have been active in the right sort of era but, unfortunately, his art bears little resemblance to the Mason portrait and his signature was quite different. Then there's Belgian artist Charles Le Bon (1905-1957) who has a painterly style but only seems to have worked on landscapes and whose signature is, again, very different. Nicola Lebon is a contemporary ceramicist from Margate. Charlotte Le Bon is an illustrator and film-maker. Marie Lebon is a painter and illustrator but in a very modern style. Then there's an artist who simply calls himself Le Bon whose artwork is abstract and colourful but nothing like the James Mason picture. I've spent many, many hours trying to hunt down the elusive Harp 'Le Bon' but I've had no luck yet. I've tried posting the question on social media too but all that revealed was a sizeable number of people who also love the painting. Perhaps this blogpost might reach someone who knows? So, I've had no luck identifying the artist. But I can, at least, explain some of the subject matter. 

It's no great secret that James Mason liked cats. 

No. He loved cats. 

In an interview with Clipping Magazine in 1945 he revealed that he and his wife Pamela shared their home with three Siamese called Flower-Face, Sadie and Tribute. That explains the cat in the painting. The Masons even wrote a book called The Cats in Our Lives (1949) and James's illustrations are actually quite beautiful. 

But what about those cave paintings? Your guess is as good as mine. 

I've not found any photos of him visiting any Neolithic caves and his autobiography doesn't mention any particular interest in them. Maybe it's a nod to his starring role in the 1959 film of Journey to the Centre of the Earth? That's my best guess so far. Although ... it is interesting to note that his cat drawings, sparse of line as they are, resemble nothing quite so much as Japanese art or, dare I suggest it, cave art? Perhaps the whole painting is an allegory about Mankind's primal urge to create images of things we find important?

I suspect I'll never know the truth but that doesn't matter. Le Bon has done his/her job. They've made me look. They've made me think. And they've stirred emotions in me, which is, after all, what aesthetic means (the opposite is anaesthetic - to dull feelings and sensations). I love the painting so much that I cleaned it up in Photoshop, printed it, framed it and hung it on my study wall. Here it is below an original sketch of a dog by Noel Fielding and a painting on wood called 'Chabol' by toy designer Mathew Plater (MAp-MAp). 

Meanwhile, all I can tell you for sure is that, next time I'm in the Harp, I'll endeavour as always to enjoy my pint of Dark Star's Hop Head somewhere close to the mysterious painting of Mr Mason and his cat. 

I love them both.