And now they're all gone

Liam Clancy died on Friday.

This has long been my favorite Makem & Clancy song. May all the Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem be singing together again in Heaven.

A Rumpole Christmas by John Mortimer

57. A Rumpole Christmas
by John Mortimer
fiction, 2009
finished, 12/2/09






What a pleasure for fans of the late John Mortimer to have this collection of Rumpole Christmas stories. I don't know if the author planned for their publication or if someone else decided to compile the themed tales for this first Christmas after Mr. Mortimer's death. They were published in various places between 1997 and 2007. The titles are:

Rumpole and Father Christmas
Rumpole's Slimmed-Down Christmas
Rumpole and the Boy
Rumpole and the Old Familiar Faces
Rumpole and the Christmas Break

Horace Rumpole is such a wonderful character. He is very much a 'what you see is what you get' sort of person. He doesn't change. He's who he is. He sees the worst side of people, and often is the man defending them in court, yet he is still cheerful, and gets great satisfaction from his simple pleasures: his wine -

I filled our glasses with Château Thames Embankment. His Lordship drank and pulled a face. "I say, this is a pretty poor vintage, isn't it?'
"Terrible," I told him. "There is some impoverished area of France, a vineyard perhaps, situated between the pissoir [look it up!] and the barren mountain slopes, where the Château Thames Embankment grape struggles for existence. Its advantages are that it is cheap and it can reconcile you to the troubles of life and even, in desperate times, make you moderately drunk.

his Christmas celebration -

Christmas was not usually much of a "do" in the Rumpole household. There is the usual exchange of presents; I get a tie and Hilda receives the statutory bottle of lavender water, which seems to be for laying down rather than immediate use. She cooks the turkey and I open the Château Thames Embankment, and so our Saviour's birth is celebrated.

and his food -

... bacon and eggs with sausage and fried slice

He is one of those rarities: a happy, contented man who doesn't think about his life. He simply lives it.

I'd read only one of the stories before, but really I can read any Rumpole story or book over and over again and receive the same deep pleasure every time. I love the character as if he were a real person. From what I've read about John Mortimer, he was a bit like Rumpole himself: a man who was who he was. A man with warts he didn't try to hide. A man who loved life. As his daughter, Emily Mortimer wrote:

He had caused plenty of trouble in his life, but he died wishing he could have made some more. Morally, my dad was at best naughty, at worst selfish and in his own words 'greedy.' If he were ever to have been psychoanalysed, it would have been decided that he had all sorts of hang-ups and 'issues.' But as it was, he got away with it. He was always being let off the hook, for the simple reason that he was the best company in the world. People who live life like there's no tomorrow are famously good company. But the ones who are also bright, funny, kind and original are just plain killer.

May John Mortimer rest in peace, but still be having a good time wherever he is now.

Kay's Fudge Cake

The batter

The finished product

Tom's birthday is in a couple days, and we are celebrating this evening at the home of Margaret's boyfriend. I've had this recipe for eight years. It came from my friend Kay, so I call it:

Kay's Fudge Cake

Melt one cup of butter.
Add 1/4 cup cocoa and 6 Tablespoons water.
Stir well.

Pour over a mixture of 2 cups flour and 2 cups sugar.
Add 1/2 cup milk.
Add 2 lightly beaten eggs.
Add 1 teaspoon vanilla, 1 teaspoon baking soda, 1 teaspoon cinnamon.

Beat well for a few minutes until very smooth.

Bake in greased 9 x 13 pan in preheated 350º oven for 25 minutes.

5 minutes before the cake is done:
Melt 1/2 cup butter.
Add 1/4 cup cocoa, about 3 cups confectioners sugar, 6 Tablespoons milk, and 1 teaspoon vanilla.
Mix well and pour over cake right out of the oven.

This is a wonderful chocolate cake!

Hercule Poirot's Christmas by Agatha Christie

56. Hercule Poirot's Christmas
by Agatha Christie
mystery, 1939
finished, 11/29/09





I wonder how many people open an Agatha Christie book for the first time expecting a light, cozy, uncomplicated little mystery. I think I used to view her work that way. I've read enough now to know this isn't so, yet each time I begin a new one I am surprised at the depth of human emotions she portrays, and how she doesn't shy away from complex individuals and situations. Hercule Poirot often is the only touch of humor and warmth in the stories in which he is the sleuth. Here is an example:

"Nothing like a wood fire," said Colonel Johnson as he threw on an additional log and then drew his chair nearer to the blaze. ... Cautiously he [Poirot] edged his own chair nearer to the blazing logs, though he was of the opinion that the opportunity for roasting the soles of one's feet (like some medieval torture) did not offset the cold draught that swirled round the back of the shoulders.

Colonel Johnson, Chief Constable of Middleshire, might be of the opinion that nothing could beat a wood fire, but Hercule Poirot was of the opinion that central heating could and did every time!

In Hercule Poirot's Christmas, also published as Murder for Christmas and A Holiday for Murder, we are in a country house with a heavy atmosphere of tension and pain. Simeon Lee is a widower with many children. Some are estranged, some are the children of his late wife and some are the children of other women. One lives at home with his wife. He is the dutiful, uncomplaining son and his father treats him poorly. It hurts his wife immensely to see the way her husband takes this punishment. Not all the sons do so, however. One left after his mother died because he hated his father for the way he treated her. Another son roams the world on money given to him by the father. And the other son is a politician. After years and years of not being under the same roof, the father invites them all for Christmas. In addition to the men and their wives, Lee invites his late daughter's child, a young woman he has never met. And a young man turns up at the door, the son of Lee's former partner from his days in South Africa in the diamond trade.

Well, you put all these people together with their various resentments and hatreds and you just know there will be a murder. The father is killed; 'throat cut like a pig. He bled to death in less than a minute.' It is up to Hercule Poirot, who just happens to be visiting a local policeman, to solve the mystery. This is a particularly interesting story which kept me guessing right up until the surprise ending. Another great book by Agatha Christie.

Agatha Christie, A Reader's Companion by Vanessa Wagstaff & Stephen Poole offers a picture of the terrific first edition cover, with the words:

The striking first-edition jacket of Hercule Poirot's Christmas with a bright red cover gruesomely suggestive of blood.

Christmas is Murder by C.S. Challinor

55. Christmas is Murder - first in the Rex Graves series

by C.S. Challinor

mystery, 2008

finished, 11/26/09





I've often longed to spend Christmastime in England. And what could be better than an old country house which has been turned into a hotel? And a snowstorm that keeps the guests inside by the cozy fire with a library full of books? Ah, a dream come true. Except if the other guests start dying off (and not in the same way). And because of the snow the bodies must stay in the house. And the worry that you might be next.

This is the story in Christmas is Murder, a first mystery with Reginald (Rex) Graves who is a Scottish barrister. He happens to be invited to the house for Christmas because the owner is an old friend of his mother's. He spent some time here in his childhood. It was a wonderful home in those days, but since then it has had to be turned into a hotel because the husband died. The mother is in mourning for her son, a soldier who died in Iraq. She resents being a hotel owner, and has no sign out front. The only guests must be invited by her. I suppose that way it feels less like an ordinary place where any old person can put down their money and have a room for the night.

This book offers one of my favorite features of a mystery story: a list of characters right at the beginning so the reader can go back and see who's who.
According to the author's website, there are two books following this one. I look forward to them. I want to know more about Mr. Graves, and I want to find out if he is still in touch with a certain woman he meets in this book. He's a quiet, kindly man who drives a Mini Cooper (Les!) and smokes a pipe, and is a wonderful new addition to the mystery genre.

Calendars from the past

This morning the oil man came, and I found between the doors not only the bill, but also a 2010 calendar. It got me thinking about my childhood when our house was full of calendars given out by local businesses. I don't ever remember my mother buying one. I'm so happy to still have two of these old calendars with her well-remembered handwriting.

This one came from the drycleaners, in the days when the dry-cleaner man stopped by the house to pick up and deliver the week's cleaning. It had just one little picture glued in at the top with these words beside it. As the months rolled on, there were informational pages for each one.



Here's a closeup of the February 1963 page. You may see a faint circle around my 15th birthday, and that I noted an upcoming haircut. It's hard to believe that's my handwriting since I have printed for so many decades now.


And then there were the mostly one-function calendars, like this one which came from the milkman. Those are my mother's words on the side: August 1 - Apron to guild sale.


On these pages were written the deliveries for each day. In this leap year, on the 29th, my mother bought '3 qt m and 1 pt c' - 3 quarts milk and 1 pint cream. And she had just bought 4 quarts of milk and 1 pint of cream two days before. Ah, the days of milk drinking! Well, we still do drink this much but most people don't. Each month had a page of recipes, of course all calling for milk products, along with milk information.

about two thirds of our butter is made from milk produced in months when the cow's feed is largely green grass. This summer butter is extremely rich in Vitamin A value. Its full flavor and food value are retained in refrigerated storage for winter use in every delicious way.

And here's the one which arrived today. Though the photography is modern, it is still quite typical. If you live in New England, you often get a calendar with photographs from each state. This is one thing which hasn't changed much over the years.


Nowadays, this is the only calendar that arrives at our house. For a long, long time I've thrown it out in favor of calendars of English gardens or Irish scenes or dogs or Susan Branch, but this year I'm feeling a little wistful and nostalgic and I think I'll keep it. I'll still put up my Susan Branch calendar by my desk but I think I'll put this one up in the kitchen as a reminder of the days when my kitchen was the heartbeat of my childhood home. The calendar, the wall phone, the memo pad were all together keeping track of milk deliveries, and haircuts, and dropping that apron off at the guild sale.

After I wrote this, I found myself thinking of a post which Beth did. Although it isn't about old calendars, it is about remembrance and family keepsakes. If you haven't already read it, you may find it here. It is really very special.

The Dogs of Riga by Henning Mankell

54. The Dogs of Riga - second in the Wallander series
by Henning Mankell
mystery, 1992
translated by Laurie Thompson
finished, 11/20/09





Three little things that make me love the books by Henning Mankell:

I love the inclusion of weather. It is a character. It is important. The first words of The Dogs of Riga are:

It started snowing shortly after ten a.m.

I also love a book that says:

It was less than a month since his friend and colleague had died of cancer.

And I love a book that tells you the date when the story begins: February 12, 1991. Let's see, my kids were eight and five on that date. I was thirteen days from turning forty-three years old.

Kurt Wallander is not one of those arrogant, know-it-all policemen. He is not perfect. He makes mistakes and feels remorse about them. In this story, there's an inflatable life-raft that two murdered men were found in. It ends up being stolen from the basement of the police station.

He realized the fatal error he'd made. Nobody had let the air out of the rubber boat, nobody had looked inside. It had not occurred to him to do so. ...Wallander felt embarrassed. How could he have failed to open the raft up? He would have thought of it sooner or later, of course, but he ought to have done it straight away.

And a little further into the story, when he has gone to Latvia:

I'd forgotten that I'm in an alien world.

A measure of real talent in a series writer for me is when the second and further books do not follow a prescribed formula. The Dogs of Riga couldn't be more different from Faceless Killers. Our hero is in a different place, with completely different concerns. We learn more about who he is and his feelings about his home country, Sweden. I am so pleased with Mankell's writing. I feared that I might not enjoy this book as much as the first because the translator is different, but it was just as good, and again, did not feel like a translation.

This book reminds me (as if I needed a reminder) how very little I know about certain parts of the world, like Scandanavia, Eastern Europe, the former Soviet Union. What I know, I learned from Michael Palin in his journey, New Europe. If you are interested, please do visit his website. You may now read this, and all his other books online. There are also wonderful new paperbacks of each journey. And the dvds are at Netflix.

The Dogs of Riga begins two years after the Berlin Wall came down, and because it was actually written in that time, there is an immediacy to the story that is makes it very exciting.

The life-raft I mentioned is the catalyst for bringing Kurt Wallander to Latvia. There he finds a world in tumult. Just as in all the Cold War spy stories the setting is dismal, the people duplicitous, the gap between rich and poor huge. He ponders the conditions there, and thinks a lot about his own country.

This is Sweden, he'd thought. Everything is so bright and cheerful on the surface, our airports are built so that no dust or shadows could ever intrude. Everything is visible, nothing is any different from what it seems to be. Our national aspiration, our religion, is that security is written into the Swedish constitution, which informs the whole world that starving to death is a crime. But we don't talk to strangers unless we have to, because anything unfamiliar can cause us harm, dirty our floors and dim our neon lights. We never built an empire and so we've never had to watch one collapse, but we persuaded ourselves that we'd created the best of all possible worlds, and that even if small, we were the privileged keepers of paradise.

Whew! I look forward to seeing if, and/or how, this opinion changes over the course of the series.

The 'dogs'in the title are symbolic; they are a metaphor for the spies who are everywhere. Who may he trust? Who is telling the truth? What is the truth?

I so enjoyed this book. I liked learning about this time and place in history. I am fascinated by the character of Kurt Wallander. I love this series.

Addendum: you may read about present-day Riga here.