All Comments

Congratulations to Sam2 on the highest viewing numbers for a single fortnight on Calderonia since April! And thanks to him for his superb posts that not only explain in clear readable English the problems of venturing into computer typesetting, but literally introduce some animation into the stuffy old Edwardian format of a standard Calderonian post…

We know that followers have appreciated these two posts, as they have emailed to say so. I would predict that the posts will continue for a long time to be picked up by surfers and bloggers who are taking their first steps into this territory.

Reading Sam2’s posts brings it all back to me.

The designing, experimentation, lateral thinking, problem solving, checking and deglitching were hard work. I remember saying at the time that we were on a very steep learning curve. At the back of it constantly was the fact that the delivery date of 15 May had been set by Clays on 28 November 2017!

So it would have been a miracle if we had got everything right ‘from a standing start’, as an experienced publisher’s editor has expressed it to me. But I think the only unsolved problem that irks me is that we couldn’t get the ‘finishing line’ of every page spread to be the same height above the bottom of the page. When you are looking at a given spread on screen, it is easy not to spot that variation, and for it never to enter your head that one could have crept in. However, in the published book the variation is as much as 1.3 to 2.45 cm. But you can see something similar in commercially published books and, I think, few readers notice it. Even if we had noticed it earlier, we would not have had time to rectify it: it seemed far more important to harmonise the vertical position of the bottom lines on a spread, which Sam2 admirably did. In doing the latter, incidentally, we did have to move forward or back some already indexed text, and adjust the Index accordingly. It seems, though, that there is only one of the classic indexing errors that I have bemoaned in some published books: the entry for ‘Speaker’s Corner’ should read ‘329’ and not ‘328’. Mind you, post-publication checking of the Index has so far identified fifteen other errors!

All these and other necessary improvements will be made in the paperback edition, with the benefit of Sam&Sam’s accumulated experience from producing the present hardback one. As Chekhov once said: ‘To learn, you have to make mistakes.’

The simple realisation that the whole process has brought me to is that if one wants a perfect book (but does one want anything perfect?), one has eventually to ‘handset’ every page. This sounds preposterous, given that we live in the age of ‘computer typesetting’, but in my mind’s eye I see a black-hatted medieval entrepreneur smiling at me wryly and nodding…

That is absolutely wonderful – thank you. I should so like to visit Ors – maybe one day. Thanks to Richard Webster on the War Poets Association Facebook Group for posting the link to your website.

What an accessible yet technical piece. It’s so good to see the process set out like an instruction manual combined with a conversation. I now know a bit more about what was going on during those afternoons in front of the computer during January and February.

Lots jumped out at me such as the meticulous use of carriage returns, tabs and spaces in the original word document that had to be converted into styles. I also smiled at the comment about the typeset document no longer looking like A-level coursework.

From what I gathered, solving the quirks and complications filled in the afternoons from March to May, so I’m looking forward to the next instalment.

Interesting write-up. How did you decide on OpenOffice?

What a good idea, Graeme! Thank you! We shall not trail our hands in the water, however, because of the monster pike… At the moment, I am tackling Topping’s at Ely, as I have talks lined up for Cambridge, Oxford, St Andrews (and Eastcote?) nearer the actual anniversary, 2 December.

A punt on the Cam rather than a launch?

I had intended to respond to Clare’s comment but was rather slow off the mark, and so the following may in some way overlap with the responses of others (including yours, Patrick). I gave up listening to The Archers years ago when it started to irritate me rather than entertain, so I wasn’t aware that the programme had mentioned the Ringing Remembers campaign; but it’s worth mentioning that bell ringers have been hard at work commemorating the loss of their colleagues throughout the First World War centenary period. As an example, our small village (Wylam, in Northumberland) lost two of its ringers (out of 54 men in all) and a quarter-peal was rung for both of them on the 100th anniversary of their deaths. Our local history group managed to identify, contact and bring together a number of members of their families to hear the peals. Other villages with slightly larger or more experienced bands have rung quarter-peals to commemorate every single villager (not just those who rang). How extraordinary, and how touching, that we as communities should remember 1,400 individuals who happened to be bell ringers in such a fitting manner. And top marks to the Central Council of Church Bell Ringers for co-ordinating the scheme. More details at https://cccbr.org.uk. The Ringing World (https://www.ringingworld.co.uk) has published short biographies of every ringer who was known to have died in the Great War.

And while on the subject of grassroots events – no, John, you are not alone: I had never heard of 14-18 NOW either. I’m sure I would have remembered those capital letters. But I have been aware of and enjoyed some of the events, and that is what is important.

This is as brilliant a clutch of Comments as any I can remember on Calderonia… Thank you all. Moreover, I found myself nodding approvingly as I read them, even when there might seem some variance from my own post. For example, I think John Dewey probably is typical in not having heard of 14-19 NOW by name before, and I do accept his point that many people voted Remain precisely to prevent further wars in Europe — both old and young have told me so.

And Clare’s point about the Archers is spot on. There is something mysterious and moving about sound that you can hear from a distance but can’t see the source of. A correspondent tells me that up and down the country campanologists have been commemorating their fallen by ringing ‘quarters’, sometimes muffled, and there is a campaign https://www.big-ideas.org/project/ringing-remembers/ to recruit 1400 new bell ringers in commemoration of those who never returned in 1918. Even Richard Morrison acknowledges this as ‘evocative and useful’. But I think the ringing of every bell in the land at 11.00 a.m. on 11 November will reach parts of the nation that even the visual image can’t reach on TV.

On John’s last point, I know there was a widespread desire to celebrate the centenary of Waterloo in 1915, because George refers to it in a letter to Kittie on his way to Gallipoli. He and other officers on the R.M.S. Orsova agreed that they would meet on the ship to celebrate Waterloo properly in precisely a year’s time — by which time their own War would be over… Personally I agree with Laurence Brockliss that 11 November must be kept special.

As always a thought-provoking post, Patrick. Here are some of mine. Am I alone in never having heard of 14-18 NOW, or is this further proof of that organisation’s expensive failure to connect with the public mood? In November 1916 the local choir in which my wife and I sing gave a performance of the Mozart Requiem in Blandford to commemorate the centenary of the ending of the Battle of the Somme. Together with readings of names of the fallen from Blandford and its twin towns in France and Germany, it was a moving occasion, well attended, with proceeds going to a military charity. Checking with the programme, I see that it was sponsored entirely by local organisations and individuals. I suspect this is typical of the many grassroots events which have had nothing to do with 14-18 NOW.

I totally agree with your comments on ‘official art’. They are by no means ‘laughably romantic’, but a statement of what should be the obvious. The only arrangement which really works is for a sponsor or patron to provide the cash, with the creative artist enjoying complete artistic freedom. This used to be the case at the BBC, for instance, whereas my impression is that nowadays too often the dead hand of managerial expectations and demands holds sway.

It was no doubt disingenuous of Morrison to drag Brexit into the argument. Second-guessing what motivated people to vote one way or the other in the referendum seems to have become something of a national sport, and it was quite reasonable of you to oppose his speculations with an alternative interpretation. One could of course equally suggest that many remainers were swayed by the argument that the EU has ensured peace in Europe since WW2, which various historians have justifiably seen as an almost inevitable continuation and completion of unfinished business from WW1. But who really knows?

One final point: it’s striking that there were apparently no comparable ceremonies in 1915 to commemorate the centenary of the ending of the Napoleonic Wars, despite the defeat of Napoleon and the Congress of Vienna having ushered in a century of, if not universal peace, at least relatively limited warfare in Europe (the big exception being the Crimean War). There were of course obvious reasons for ignoring this momentous anniversary at the time. Former allies and enemies from those days now found their roles reversed. It would also presumably have been considered unacceptable to celebrate a hundred years of (relative) peace in the midst of the bloodiest war the world had ever seen. But above and beyond this I wonder if the celebration of such anniversaries on such a scale is perhaps after all a phenomenon more typical of our own age. And if so, why?

The Morrison comment, I hope, is just another example of the affected detachment and cynicism of the chattering classes down the ages. It may beggar belief, but the Magdalen SCR betting book contains a number of wagers from 1940 and 1941 about the chances of a German invasion and the speed with which Britain would be conquered. And the wagers were laid by people close to government! And when the Second World War was over the college didn’t bother to put up a memorial to its dead or even bring back its First World War memorial cross from safe-keeping in Wheatley. It is no wonder Carol Reed made a film in early 1942, The Young Mr Pitt, on Pitt’s struggles against defeatism in the long war against France in the 1790s and early 1800s.

It is highly unlikely that there will be any significant opposition to the public money spent on 14-18 Now because at the local level there has been tremendous interest in commemorating the Great War and many local communities intend to mark the centenary of the Armistice with a special event. In my own village, Wootton, near Abingdon, we are holding a commemorative party for all ages on the afternoon of 11 November. It will begin with a play about the village’s war dead in the 1914-18 war, based in present and past time, which will set the scene for a brief account of Wootton, Britain and the world’s history over the last hundred years told in song, dance and drama. It will end with Brexit to emphasise as Patrick has said that Britain’s relationship with the continent of Europe has been difficult and unresolved since 1914. For the century before we largely stayed aloof. For the last century we have hovered on the edge undecided whether to commit or withdraw. As early as 1960, it should be remembered, AJP Taylor was daring to argue that we should never have gone to war in 1939 over Poland.

The 11 November remains one of the pivotal dates in the national calendar and has become more rather than less so as the number of veterans, even from the Second World War, is dwindling fast. It is to the nation or all four nations what Trafalgar Days is to the navy. If there is a threat to its importance, it comes not from articles by the intelligentsia but from the decision of the present and recent governments to mark the anniversary of any civilian tragedy with a national two-minutes silence. This is an understandable development given our new-found readiness to express our emotions. And there is always room for family and friends to mark these anniversaries with some act of remembrance. But too many national days of mourning rapidly devalues the currency. And where does it end? Why is there no annual commemoration of the Abervan disaster, for instance? We need to keep 11 November special.

I totally agree that the events organised (and co-opted) by 14-18 NOW have, generally, been both excellent in themselves, and excellent value for money. But perhaps it’s in Richard Morrison’s job description to criticise any effort by any government body to organise anything at all for the benefit or enjoyment of the nation. I am reminded of the media negativity that surrounded the Millennium Dome, back in 2000. The feedback from most ‘ordinary’ people who weren’t put off from buying tickets was that it was brilliant. We thought it was so good we took our children twice. Besides which, the Dome itself, now reincarnated as the O2, has been a huge economic and cultural success – as, presumably, can be said of 14-18 NOW.

But anyhow, the real purpose of this comment is to ask, do any Calderonians listen to The Archers on Radio 4? I have been following with interest the efforts of bell-ringing supremo and pig man extraordinaire Neil Carter to recruit Ambridge villagers to take part in a special peal on Armistice Day. This really is a Thing – see https://www.gov.uk/government/news/nations-bells-to-ring-out-together-to-mark-armistice-centenary. Could there be any more appropriate way to mark the anniversary of the guns falling silent? (I don’t like to say, of the war ending. As a nation we seem to have forgotten that the terms signed on November 11 were but the agreement to a ceasefire that allowed the peace negotiations to begin.) The Ringing Remembers campaign will involve volunteers and entire communities across Britain – everyone will have to listen, whether they want to or not – in a way that chimes (!) perfectly with how ordinary people reacted to the news in 1918. But that’s where the similarity ends of course: Neil Carter and his non-fictional counterparts will also be enjoying themselves… War may not be fun; but commemoration most certainly is. (Discuss.)

OK, I have to read this book!!! Delighted to hear it is now available. Please can I have a copy. Are you going to advertise bank account details so people can pay you online, or would you like a cheque posted? Many congratulations – Jenny

Well done indeed Patrick! Put me down for a copy please.
Charles N (in Holland)

The phrase “don’t spook the thoroughbred” comes from talent manager Barry Katz, via comedian Jay Mohr.

Mohr often brings it up on his podcast (and does it in a hilarious impersonation of Barry, who is his manager).

A quick google found this reddit “ask me anything” where Barry Katz mentions it briefly:

Question:
Have you ever had to perform any menial or absurd task to keep someone you were managing happy?

Barry Katz:
Yes. Many many many many times. But I think the thing to understand if you’re in this business is the fact that talent rules. Talent will always rule. And Jay Mohr has a great, great thing he always said to me that I live for in terms of representation and working with people and that quote is, “Don’t spook the thoroughbred.” My whole goal as a manager/producer is to make the people I work with feel confident about their future while feeling safe at the present moment, and if that means that I have to do something that many people would think was beneath me, I have no problem doing it. Because I wanna feel what it’s like on every set, in every situation, what it’s like to be at every level of the business. Whether it be the level of an intern, or the level of an Executive Producer of a Television show…. and for anybody out there listening, I truly believe in any job you’re in, if you wanna get to the next level, you have to be prepared to do everything, and never have a sense of entitlement, or you will fall like a set of car keys in a fish tank.

Sounds like a very wise decision!

When do we get to place our orders?

Yes indeed, Damian, my grandfather is one of my direct lines to the pre-1914 ‘idyll’… But before Wisdenians assure me that W.G. never bowled at Canterbury, I should perhaps stress that my grandfather was describing to me W.G. emerging from the pub outside the ground after having had a few, being challenged by someone to bowl straight in that condition, and clean bowling the challenger on a hastily improvised wicket.

Patrick: the lyrical impulse cannot be resisted…

Your grandfather saw WG
Grace (bearded) bowl at Canterbury.
Were there flags in the famous tree?
And was there honey still for tea?

(I couldn’t get Cowdrey in there as a rhyme, because he’s an iamb rather than a trochee.)

Damian

Well, Patrick, as England toil against Pakistan in the Test (though at least Kent have the beating of Glamorgan in the one-day game in Canterbury), let us indeed talk cricket. And Colin Cowdrey. Because here – take care! – you are speaking about my boyhood hero, and even a comment on a review on a book about the man (gentleman?), takes me back to the early fifties when I thrived or suffered by his success or failure at the wicket. I can recall now, and shiver slightly, the night when I crept downstairs in a cold house at 3 or 4 am to listen to the commentary from Australia; and the elation (the bishop would call it a visionary experience) when Cowdrey scored his first test century, 102 out of England’s total of 191. I won sixpence on a bet with a schoolfriend on this. It was Cowdrey’s doings for Kent and England that kept me cheerful in those not always very glorious days. The time he scored a century in each innings for Kent against the touring Australians, and Kent were within a whisker of beating them. (I use this as a buttress against the time I sat thunderstruck in the stand at Blackheath, as Kent were bowled out for 72 before lunch by Surrey; Godfrey Evans, if you please, scoring 50. At least Dave Halfyard scattered Peter May’s stumps later in the day, as a partial consolation). In those days I used to cycle – later, motorcycle – to all the Kent grounds: Dartford, Maidstone, Tunbridge Wells, Canterbury. I could truly say, with Wordsworth, ‘for me/It was a time of rapture.’ When I was in France in the summer of 54, I cycled every day into Blois to buy a newspaper just for the cricket scores; my host family realized that English eccentricity set in early. And so you see, the bishop is not too far off with his spiritual assessment of the game; cricket did and presumably still does this to people…though I must say the modern game has gone a bit dead on me, personally, and I hardly remember the rules.

Not much about biography here, I’m afraid; but just as there is a tide in the affairs of man that leads on to fortune, there is a time also when we are so susceptible to the stature and capacities of someone, that unconditional ‘worship’ becomes the right term, and any attempt at objectivity is completely pointless.

Must get back to the test match, and check if Kent have pulled it off…

Thanks to Sam2 for instructions on how to access the Susie Boyt article, which is indeed very illuminating on the obsessions and neuroses of biographers, in particular the way in which the life of a creative artist can throw up a split in the biographer’s reaction to the (usually admired) work and the (often annoying or even downright unpleasant) person who produced it. Lucky A.N. Wilson, who’s quoted as saying he loved both Betjeman and his poetry and was in ‘floods of tears’ when he came to write about his death! Although he doesn’t say, it’s clear he found Tolstoy a much more difficult subject in this respect. I have to say that in in the end Wilson did actually do the right thing in managing to remain objective and largely avoiding personal animus in his account of Tolstoy the man. It’s of course a perennial problem. As Auden puts it: ‘what God-fearing Magistrate/ would dream of shaking hands with a financial/ crook and Anti-Semite? Yet Richard Wagner/ wrote masterpieces.’

What a beautiful page. And a terrific cartoon. And a tantalising glimpse inside a long-awaited book. One cannot but hope that – after they have recovered from their present endeavours – Sams 1&2 may go on to publish other works to this meticulous and exquisite standard. I foresee many future approaches from authors…

These verses are intended as a consolation to Sam & Sam, in the context of their latest (and last?) tribulations.

Widows and orphans used to be
A simple matter; you could see
Them right (some of them, if not all)
Founding a Foundling Hospital,
A Magdalen, Ladies’ retreat,
To save such women from the street.
(In Venice, it’s the Ospidale;
When kids leave, ‘Ave atque vale’).
But now our Sam & Sam have found
Orphans and widows can abound
Just where you least expect them; cut
Off from their kind, and in a rut.
You can’t just shunt them here or there;
You risk Deficiency of Care.
The thing to do is let them go
To some strays’ paradise, limbo
Where unclaimed lines can find a space
Unknown to print (that fall from grace).
The readers of George Calderon
Might just catch them: going…gone.

Looks great, Patrick. I agree with others; it’s a lovely picture of George. Looking forward to seeing “the real thing” in due course.

It’s a stunning cover. I was struck by the movement on the front cover – George emerging from darkness, perhaps only momentarily caught in the slanting light, heading off-screen to go who knows where…
After the front, the back seemed to have a feeling of brooding calm: disquiet arising perhaps from hindsight of impending war.
Looking forward to owning this book!

There’s a touch of Douglas Jardine about that look; the scarf as well. Not so much ‘of’ or even ‘anti’ Establishment as beyond it. He’s always going to be his own man. Maybe that’s what gets the ladies. Congratulations. We look forward to the book adorning our shelves before long.

Congratulations, Sam&Sam. I’m following your progress keenly – as exciting as a murder-mystery novel, but with the bonus of no-one having to die. I see you as Poirot, explaining the denouement to dim readers. When will he deliver his final line? And is the champagne on ice yet?

Interested, with my Polish background, about potential shortenings of Sam & Sam into a single, pluralised word, I suppose meaning “themselves”. In Polish that would be “Sami” if they include at least one man, and “Same” if both women. Sadly, they don’t have the trans-lingual pun of being English names in their own right.

That’s terrific! I love it. But of course it’s not the eyebrows! It’s the eyes. The depth of pain in them; the vulnerability. He is looking past the camera – at what? [Thinks: Who is this man of mystery? I must buy the book and find out!]

And the touch of gold. A subtle echo of Percy Lubbock’s biography of George perchance?

The headmistress in question was perhaps behind her times. “Evasive” they, a helpful way of being gender-neutral, has been around a long time. For instance, there are plenty of examples in Jane Austen’s work. As Emma Woodhouse says:
“It is very unfair to judge of any body’s conduct, without an intimate knowledge of their situation.”
For many more examples see Henry Churchyard’s site: https://www.pemberley.com/janeinfo/austhlis.html

When you introduced the topic of gender equality with the observation that a male and a female publisher could call themselves ‘Sam&Sama’, I paused to wonder whether masculine Russian pronouns are as domineering as their English counterparts. Would ‘Sama&Sam’ sound as odd to a Russian as the phrases ‘hers and his’ and ‘she or he’ do to us?

There seem to be a whole lot of arguments and theories around gender and grammar. (And if any expert Calderonian could provide a simple summary of them, I for one would be very grateful indeed.) They were dead keen on grammar when I was at school. The Headmistress was so distressed by the clashing pronouns of a notice that said, ‘If anyone [singular] finds a tennis racquet in a green case, would they [plural] kindly return it…’, that she was quite unable to read it out in Assembly. Then there were the hours we wasted (as it seemed) trying to remember whether French and Latin words were masculine or feminine (not, I note, feminine or masculine)… Why, oh why, did they have to be either – as it never occurred to me to ask at the time.

What else did I never think to ask about at school and at home? What cultural brainwashing about gender difference did I absorb – and how far does that, rather than physical/biological differences, affect, for instance, my negotiating skills today?

Yes, it’s that old question of nature v. nurture. Surely, though, nurture has to be more capable of rapid change than nature. I use the word ‘rapid’ advisedly. Female contemporaries of George Calderon could look back on Samuel Johnson’s day and reflect that they had far greater educational opportunities than did their 18th-century forebears. Edwardian society was at least discussing Votes for Women. A century on and things are better again. We would not be worrying about the gender pay gap now if there were still jobs and professions – the armed forces, to name but one – that were closed to half of the population. My children have no difficulty in using ‘they’ and ‘theirs’ instead of ‘she’, ‘he’, ‘hers’ and ‘his’, and they don’t hesitate to tick me off if my conversation or attitudes lapse into traditional male/female stereotyping. But the rate of change can still seem painfully and frustratingly slow.

I have mulled over this comment for a couple of days. Not least because I have been trying to bring the epigram ‘Patience is a virtue, possess it if you can…’ into line with our world of diverse and fluid sexuality and gender identity. I give up – or rather, I throw down the challenge!

These links are most interesting. Thank you! So women negotiate for raises as much as men, but ‘are denied them more than men’. Could this be precisely where the ‘supplement’ discrimination creeps in? In fairness to men, perhaps, I have to admit that the gentleman I quote on the subject was a senior figure in an oil company twenty years ago! I don’t have more recent personal experience, but I still think that gender difference clouds men’s judgement on the subject, just as it may still do for some women where competency at childcare is concerned?

I have hesitated to get involved in this debate in wider fora, but will interject here.

I think another factor in the modern professional world is that women may not be such tough salary negotiators. One needs to be able to walk away from a job or an offer if one believes that the salary is insufficient, and check out a range of employers before signing a contract.

I am open to being corrected here.

It was great to hear today that your book is so close to completion. Cheers to you!

Very pleased that you and James (that’s Sam & Sam) could hack it;
But Sam & Sam to me remains Sam Johnson & Sam Beckett.
Two of a name and (oddly) Beckett thought two of a kind,
Sam Johnson from the eighteenth century and Sam Beckett lagging behind.
Beckett was always planning to write a play about the sage,
Which never did unfortunately make it to the stage;
Not Boswell’s Johnson, charged with wit that takes the breath
Away, but Johnson’s: lonely, prayerful, and afraid of death.
Lucky’s tirade in Waiting for Godot, it has been shown,
Contains several references to Sam Johnson ‘for reasons unknown’.
Beckett (Sam) was haunted all his life by Johnson (Sam),
Doubling themself, as if Descartes’ celebrated ‘I am’
Were plural; and when Beckett stopped and looked inside
It was old, carbuncular, stumbling Johnson that he espied;
And in Sam’s tortuous relationship with Mrs Thrale
We can surmise Sam Beckett learnt the rules of how to fail;
‘Fail better’ was the best that Beckett could ever approve
From anyone; ‘Shall we go? Yes, let’s go. They do not move.’
A more optimistic quotation for George Calderon:
Last of The Unnamable — ‘I can’t go on. I’ll go on.’

Congratulations to Sam 1&2 on reaching this important milestone! Your hard work has paid off, and it should be ‘all systems go’ from now on.

A fascinating story – and so sad that the house was demolished.

‘… and I trust that in due course they will seek a famous commercial publisher to bring it to an even larger readership.’

The delicious irony in your last sentence (the best irony is always ‘delicious’, isn’t it?) is surely worthy of Aleksei Mikhailovich himself. Bravo, Patrick. Illegitimi non carborundum!

For many years I have had similar experiences when phoning a company. You get a series of options, none of which quite fits your needs, and then when you choose one, you are faced with another set of questions. This approach to service certainly saves money for the company, but it fails to deliver social utility, in the same manner as many websites.

It is a considerable comfort to me, Ian, that you too think Publisher X’s ‘Castle’ is bonkers. No publisher I know is more approachable and pings back faster than you! Given the number of authors in your stable http://www.unicornpublishing.org/, I don’t know how you do it.

‘If readers have followed me this far, they may be feeling as I did by then…’

This far and no further! The way some ‘publishers’ put up self-important barriers is enough to drive anyone bonkers. Tell whomsoever is being mucked about to contract me at Unicorn and boom boom job done! Marketed properly too.

A depressing tale, Patrick. You’re certainly not alone in morphing into Victor Meldrew. From a rational viewpoint computers should make life simpler, and in many ways they do. The trouble is that companies have got wise to the possibilities offered by computerisation of offloading much of the work involved onto their customers. This is of course a no-brainer for them, but a pain in the neck for the rest of us. Perhaps it’s time we started fighting back. Militant Fogeys unite!

For anyone else out there contemplating self-publishing I’d certainly recommend doing so through Brimstone Press (www.brimstonepress.co.uk; go to their ‘Advice’ page). For a single setup fee of £150 (£100 for any subsequent books published with them) they provide an ISBN number and deal without all the hassle of Nielsen Bookdata registration. This is of course in addition to all the other services provided by Brimstone. Compared with Nielsen’s outrageous charge for a single ISBN no. this is excellent value, which Brimstone is able to achieve by purchasing their ISBN nos. in bulk.

Damian, thank you (once more). But you surely know that, like matter, time is infinitely (?) compressible and expandable? Keep the communications coming!

Patrick: I am open-mouthed with admiration at your energy. (This is quite convenient, as I am also brushing my teeth). I do not wish to waste any more of your precious time…

Patrick: thou art a veritable provoker of parody.

Let me not to the passage of the Word
Admit impediment. Text is not text
Which alters when a tyrant has demurred,
Complying with the censor–fie! What next?
O no, it is as precious as a scroll
That looks on printed books as chickenfeed;
It can shine through nine carbons on a roll,
(Though legibility’s not guaranteed).
Text never is corrupt, though mistypes be
Inevitable as is human error;
This alters not the text’s integrity,
Which stays authentic–saying No to Terror.
If this is not the soul of samizdat,
I’ll sell my typewriter–and eat my hat.

I hope your readers will forgive us both!

What a dramatic story! Having come to George Calderon late, I am looking forward to the book now.

You clearly deserve an award for your publication and promotion of samizdat back then, Patrick. I can see why Sam&Sam is close to your heart, making it an obvious choice for self-publishing the Calderon biography.

I loved your ‘original’ of the ‘Samuel Goathead’ sonnet. Any chance of these being republished or at least made available online? Did they manage to convince the ‘Titian-haired Maia’, or at least persuade her that your friend had gone to extraordinary lengths to win her over? It would be interesting to see one of his Russian ‘translations’, too. All in all a fascinating story!

One of those “ah ‘bobbins’ it turns out the ol’ man certainly got up to some r8 hijinks I didny know ’bout” type o’ posts.

This is a rum kind of conversation though Patrick. Here I am, talking to you; and there you are, privately discussing what I said with – who?

So may I address this comment to the Shy Seventeen emailers and the unnumbered communicators-by-other-means: won’t you consider sharing your views more widely? It is not that I don’t empathise with your reluctance to comment; believe me, I do. I know how daunting it is. The first time I posted something on Calderonia I felt exactly as if I was sticking my head above a parapet. I still regularly feel nervous that I will be shown up as a complete fool. But honestly, it won’t happen – Patrick is terrifically polite and enormously kind, besides which he moderates our comments to stop us posting nasty stuff about each other! Speaking personally, I have also found that writing up a nebulous train of thought for online publication can clarify it in an extremely helpful way.

So go on – please do give it a try. I for one would love to know more about these views that Patrick so tantalisingly alludes to. You, who writes about the War for a parish magazine – have the past four years changed your definition of heroism? You, whom the fields of crosses make furious and ill – have you always felt this way, or has the spotlight of the centenary period – or the ongoing crisis of Brexit – changed something for you? And you, who feel uncomfortable at the scale of the monuments – is it the sheer number of names, or something to do with the relationship between the stones and the landscape?

I share Patrick’s surprise that nobody has come out in defence of the marmoreal giants of the CWGC. Let me do so now. Thiepval is the only large memorial that I have visited, and my first and lasting impression – as I saw it from afar on the bus – was astonishment at how small and insignificant, and dare I say it, temporary, it seemed against such a vast and beautiful landscape. I found the experience of standing in front and within the monument very moving, but in an entirely gentle and peaceful way. I felt glad for the missing of the Somme that they are remembered, and very much hope to visit them, and their monument, again.

And talking of monuments… I spent an hour this afternoon with two students, one of whom who will be travelling to Flanders during the Easter Vacation to visit the graves and memorials of members of Trinity who fell in the three Battles of Ypres. Next term she will be putting on an exhibition of her photographs in the college hall during Arts Week. This is student-led commemoration; the excitement and enthusiasm are palpable and infectious, the ‘vision’ for it is inspiring. I asked them if they had seen Journey’s End, and neither of them had even heard of it.

Why does this make me feel so cheerful? I think because I suddenly realised that it doesn’t matter a hoot if I see it or not. The future of commemoration is – as it should be – in the hands of the young.

Thank you Clare! I will bask in the assumption that ‘high use material’ coincides with high quality material, and stop lamenting my Lawrentian lot…

If you deserve a white feather Patrick – which you most certainly do not! You get a gold star from me at any rate – but if you do, then so do I. For I saw a trailer for Journey’s End a couple of weeks ago and those three minutes were enough; I know I can’t face it either.

And while we’re in confessional mode, let me admit that I have also baulked at your invitation to re-read our past conversation about commemoration. My brief encounter with Journey’s End reminded me somewhat uncomfortably that I was annoyed – offended, truth be told! – by one post in which you opined that you felt sorry for archivists who have to spend so much time ‘doing’ commemoration. You said, I think, that you didn’t know how we can bear it. I’m afraid I found this rather facile at the time. (Anyone who has ever attended a meeting about GDPR, for instance, would know that it is the activities that offer emotional engagement which actually make the job bearable!) But now, alas, your remark has returned to haunt me. Killed in action… Died of wounds… Last seen going forward… Hit by a shell… Shot by a sniper… Presumed gassed… After three and a half years of drawing up monthly lists of the fallen of Trinity College (we display them alongside Laurence Binyon’s famous poem), I just feel sickened at the prospect of an evening spent listening to the sound of shellfire and watching actors made up with fake blood pretending to die in the trenches. It isn’t real, and I don’t have to watch it.

But Journey’s End has had excellent reviews. I hope my son will see it, and all his friends who love to play war games on their computers; they need to know what the First World War was really like. I said as much to him, and he was affronted. He knows a lot more about warfare than I do, he says. Some games are based on the experiences of real soldiers in past conflicts; and they are very ‘realistic’. Why do I think a film is more like the real thing?

That was a challenging question. Indeed, John knows a great deal about weapons; and tactics; and his skills are real enough. He has the confidence of youth, for he is 22, the same age as many of the young men who gave their lives in the First World War. Is his enthusiasm for war any different from his counterparts a century ago when [public] schoolboys and undergraduates played extensive war games in their OTCs, and territorial officers rushed to volunteer for service overseas? Even the middle-aged George Calderon couldn’t wait to gallop off to the Western Front!

Yes, yes, he went for the sake of his ideals, as you have regularly reminded us. And so do they who go today to fight in the Middle East. (Did you watch the Channel 4 drama series The State last year by the way? Superb tv.) What such men all seem/seemed to lack, then and now, is any awareness of what war might actually start to feel like when they can’t turn the screen off or take off their kit and go home for tea. You posted an excellent summary of the emotional impact of war on 31 October 2014 – there’s a link to it via my featured comment in your right hand column. You said:

‘The massed slaughter and mutilation, the material destruction, the relentless stupidity of it all, begin to depress you, then oppress you. Come last weekend, when we were working on the Battle of Gheluvelt, I literally wanted to shout with Siegfried Sassoon, “O Jesus, make it stop!”’

If Journey’s End engenders that feeling in viewers, then the more people who watch it the better! I see on Wikipedia that in 1928 George Bernard Shaw described the original play as a ‘useful [corrective] to the romantic conception of war’. And as a description of the trenches is it any less ‘real’ than, say, the selectivity of soldiers’ letters home, or, worse, the commanding officers’ letters to parents describing the beautiful deaths of their sons? My personal experience of commemorating the War has mostly been about memorialisation of the dead, but this film is commemoration as ‘history’. If it tells the viewer what the trenches were like, then, surely, it is real.

And so now I start to feel guilty as well as cowardly for my reluctance to go and see it…

But it also seems to me that the emotional course of commemorating the centenary of the War has closely followed that of the War itself. The ‘Blood Swept Lands and Sea of Red’ poppy installation in 2014 felt nationally significant, and engendered feelings of pride and admiration at its scale and scope. In Trinity College we installed a memorial to our fallen German and Austro-Hungarian members, and glowed with international peace and harmony. Commemoration was fun! Then came two years of hard slog – Gallipoli, Loos, the Somme, Arras, Passchendaele… – and this was a time of serious books, landmark exhibitions and growing understanding and knowledge; commemoration felt worthwhile, and important. But now it is the fourth year and we are emotionally drained; exhausted. Have we got the stamina to press on to the end? Will we have achieved anything meaningful at all?

The film I saw a fortnight ago was Darkest Hour. Gary Oldman was fantastic! I don’t know if Churchill ever used his famous maxim in World War One, but that, I think, is all you and I can hope to do now. KBO, Patrick! KBO…

Hello Damian, your index does sound wonderful, I must say. And if you want some solid evidence of it being widely consulted, then look no further than the Oxford libraries’ SOLO catalogue. I see that the Bodleian Library has acquired a second copy of the D H Lawrence Handbook in which it reposes, and this is to be found on the open shelves of the Gladstone Link, where it is labelled UBHU. That stands (although I’m not sure quite how) for “high-use material which has been selected on the basis of previous use by readers”. So there!

Thank you Patrick! And do you know, I have since recalled an episode that proves the truth of your last sentence. When James Boulton and his team were working on the General Index to the CUP edition of Lawrence’s letters (which was eventually published, volume VIII, in 2000) he wrote to me suggesting that they might make some use of my Index; taking over some of the thematic heads, etc. I don’t now remember why nothing came of the suggestion; but I suspect it may have been at least partly due to my own negligence and procrastination. And/or the fact that I was already looking over the sea to Lille, at this time: demob happy? Still, it was an opportunity missed.

When I tell you, however, that the Index as it stands runs to 285 pages (40 pages, double column, on DHL himself, all his pomps and all his works) entirely without my help, you may wonder how this might have been inflated with it…