GOOD GROUNDING
There has been much publicity recently surrounding the fact that Norfolk is now Top Place in archaeological ratings, simply because of the vast amount of stuff being discovered here. Quality stuff, too, of a sort which makes headlines and forces changes in the way we talk and write about the county's history.
To state things baldly, in 2014/15 Norfolk had the highest number of recorded archaeological finds and treasure trove cases in the entire country. In more detail, there were over 15,000 recorded finds and 119 treasure trove cases, many of them deemed to be of regional, national or even international significance. All in one single twelve month period, too.
Why is this? Lots of reasons, no doubt, but Norfolk's geographical position to begin with. Whereas today it is Metro-trendy to dismiss the place as being way off the beaten track, findings suggest it was once right on track, the place to be, a key territory right at the heart of all the trans-Doggerland too-ing and fro-ing. And it is still largely rural, or agricultural, and has thus missed much of the deep development blight some other counties have suffered.
I am sure there are many other reasons, too, but that will do for starters. And I confess the news set me thinking about north-west Norfolk, and the north and east Norfolk coastal areas, places where archaeology lives cheek by jowl with second homes and tripper-filled car parks. Made me realise, too, how blessed we are at having so much history at our disposal, as it were. And we're not talking stately homes, either.
For example, there have been the two Seahenge circles at Holme, the timbers from the second circle having been felled in 2049BC, exactly the same time as those felled to construct the first circle. Then there is the chalk reef off Sheringham and Cromer, recently protected by legislation but known about for at least 40 years; and tree pieces from swamped prehistoric Doggerland forests scattered on the beach at Brancaster.
At West Runton, the fossilised part-skeletons of an elephant and a rhino have been dug out of the darkly significant Cromer Forest Bed, at the foot of the cliffs; and of course, there is the Holt-Cromer Ridge itself. Then there are the two Roman roads which reach today's coastline at Holme and at Holkham; and a wonderfully preserved Iron Age encampment at Warham. And the golden torcs found at Ken Hill in the Heacham/Ringstead area; and the long-term archaeological study programme at Sedgeford.
To cap it all, of course, the Happisburgh hand axe and other worked flints, dated to about 900,000 years ago, which are of European significance; and the fleeting appearance of footprints on the beach, also at Happisburgh, made by a tiny group of Doggerland hunter-gatherers and now of international significance.
And more besides, I have no doubt. It all makes it such an interesting place to live.
Thursday 27 August 2015
Saturday 22 August 2015
THREE AT THE BACK
Even though most football managers say it is the team and the players - and not the tactics - which dictate levels of success, most fans have long been fascinated or even obsessed by formations. My early football-watching 'skills.' such as they are, were honed on old-fashioned WM structures, essentially 3-2-2-3 which, by the early 1960s (and after the Hungary debacle, of course) had gradually morphed into 4-2-4, or 4-4-2, and then 4-3-3.
Mind you, no-one cared much about formations in those days, anyway, for it was not until the invention of TV pundits that the public at large began to take much notice of this aspect of the game.
Inevitably, this latter (4-3-3) formation echoed England's success in the World Cup in 1966, but as many clubs at the time still had players immersed in the old ways (ie, wingers and inside-forwards with an in-bred reluctance to track back or even labour for a full 90 minutes) it did not work for all. Thus Mr Ramsey's 4-3-3 was not actually a glimpse of the Promised Land, but yet another transitional stage.
Nevertheless, it has been interesting of late to see several Premiership sides, which last season included Liverpool, Hull and even Manchester United, flirting with three at the back - with varying degrees of success.
It was not a new manoeuvre, for I can recall a European Cup Final back in the 1960s in which one of the sides (Italian, I think) played 3-3-4. It caused a lot of sniggering in the admittedly insular Pressbox at the old Wembley, while the match itself was largely written off as a pedestrian spectacle,
as one of those Continental 'chess' contests, all passing and little passion. I dare say it was our mistake.
One of the problems of three at the back is making it work. British players are not used to it, or brought up with it, and what the devil do you do about the full-backs? Or wing-backs, as they are called. Previous forays with three at the back often failed because the opposition twigged early on that if they pushed up on the wing-backs, forcing them into a defensive frame of mind, they were also denying the opposing side width. So the idea, occasionally tried and tested, was mostly found wanting.
It is a different matter altogether, however, if you can make it work. And in this context I have to say that Liverpool looked very comfortable with it the last time I saw them on TV experimenting with the system, having (a) found themselves some players who could actually deal with the defensive situation, and (b) using attackers in the wing-back positions.
It has been a long journey to get there, however, but it does, if successful, allow sides to make use of the extra man further upfield. So we may soon be seeing more formations like 3-4-3 or 3-5-2, depending on the blend and the whim of the manager.
On the other hand, and as many managers point out, it's not the formation, it's the players that matter most. Still, I have to say that experiments with three at the back do also follow the modern trend of adding more and more players to mid-field. Perhaps formation buffs will find that 2-6-2 or even 2-7-1 are not so very far away, after all.
Even though most football managers say it is the team and the players - and not the tactics - which dictate levels of success, most fans have long been fascinated or even obsessed by formations. My early football-watching 'skills.' such as they are, were honed on old-fashioned WM structures, essentially 3-2-2-3 which, by the early 1960s (and after the Hungary debacle, of course) had gradually morphed into 4-2-4, or 4-4-2, and then 4-3-3.
Mind you, no-one cared much about formations in those days, anyway, for it was not until the invention of TV pundits that the public at large began to take much notice of this aspect of the game.
Inevitably, this latter (4-3-3) formation echoed England's success in the World Cup in 1966, but as many clubs at the time still had players immersed in the old ways (ie, wingers and inside-forwards with an in-bred reluctance to track back or even labour for a full 90 minutes) it did not work for all. Thus Mr Ramsey's 4-3-3 was not actually a glimpse of the Promised Land, but yet another transitional stage.
Nevertheless, it has been interesting of late to see several Premiership sides, which last season included Liverpool, Hull and even Manchester United, flirting with three at the back - with varying degrees of success.
It was not a new manoeuvre, for I can recall a European Cup Final back in the 1960s in which one of the sides (Italian, I think) played 3-3-4. It caused a lot of sniggering in the admittedly insular Pressbox at the old Wembley, while the match itself was largely written off as a pedestrian spectacle,
as one of those Continental 'chess' contests, all passing and little passion. I dare say it was our mistake.
One of the problems of three at the back is making it work. British players are not used to it, or brought up with it, and what the devil do you do about the full-backs? Or wing-backs, as they are called. Previous forays with three at the back often failed because the opposition twigged early on that if they pushed up on the wing-backs, forcing them into a defensive frame of mind, they were also denying the opposing side width. So the idea, occasionally tried and tested, was mostly found wanting.
It is a different matter altogether, however, if you can make it work. And in this context I have to say that Liverpool looked very comfortable with it the last time I saw them on TV experimenting with the system, having (a) found themselves some players who could actually deal with the defensive situation, and (b) using attackers in the wing-back positions.
It has been a long journey to get there, however, but it does, if successful, allow sides to make use of the extra man further upfield. So we may soon be seeing more formations like 3-4-3 or 3-5-2, depending on the blend and the whim of the manager.
On the other hand, and as many managers point out, it's not the formation, it's the players that matter most. Still, I have to say that experiments with three at the back do also follow the modern trend of adding more and more players to mid-field. Perhaps formation buffs will find that 2-6-2 or even 2-7-1 are not so very far away, after all.
Saturday 15 August 2015
WIDE HORIZONS
The Second World War managed to inspire some very popular books and films, many of them, because of the situation at the time, fairly obvious propaganda platforms carrying fairly obvious messages. I'm thinking particularly of works like Target for Tonight, Mrs Mineva and Went The Day Well?
A decade or so later the mood had changed somewhat, or levels of tension had lessened. Anyway, a certain layer of fiction and even sentimentality applied to the conflict was now seen to be perfectly acceptable, leading to Love Is A Many Splendour'd Thing, for example. The two book titles listed below, little known and probably largely forgotten today, belong to this later, softer genre, but they still managed to make a big impression on me when, as a relatively young and certainly impressionable chap, I read them for the very first time.
The story of the first one goes something like this. On March 7, 1951, The Daily Telegraph cried an announcement in its Personal Column which read: 'SEA-WYF. Am certain you are alive. Please get in touch. BISCUIT.'
Simple enough, you may say, but over the next few weeks there followed a steady stream of simularly intriguing notices - by which time the author JM Scott had become interested - including one, on April 11, which said: 'Publisher required for war story of three men of authority and one woman adrift fourteen weeks on float in Indian Ocean. Survivors parted with nicknames only and compact to forget.'
Well, Mr Scott did eventually get to write the story, and a cracking yarn it is, too. 'Violent and strange,' said one reviewer, 'this is a most entertaining book, and the final explanation is too good to give away.' Quite right, and I won't. But I will add that 20th Century Fox later made a film of it. Titled Sea Wife, it starred Richard Burton, Basil Sydney, Cy Grant, and a youthful Joan Collins.
High Barbaree is a beast of a slightly different ilk, being even more wistful, for it pours on sentimentality with a very large spoon. Nevertheless, I liked it when I first read it, finding it puzzling and dreamy; and while I have no knowledge of a film ever being made of it, it still remains a fascinating yarn.
It goes like this. During the war in the South Pacific a Japanese submarine fires on a Catalina floatplane, and brings it down. At the same time, the plane scores a direct hit on the sub with a bomb, which duly sinks, leaving two surviving aircrew abroard the drifting seaplane. But as they drift, and as they begin to lose their grip on reality, one of the crew dreams he is being carried towards Turnbull's Island, a childhood obsession of his, and an island of mystery.
Of course, books like this are scarcely popular any more, now that grim reality tends to hog all our screens. But they are still worth a look. If you can find them.
(Sea-Wyf and Biscuit, by JM Scott. Heinemann, 1957. High Barbaree, by Charles Nordhoff & James Norman Hall. Four Square Books, 1960)
The Second World War managed to inspire some very popular books and films, many of them, because of the situation at the time, fairly obvious propaganda platforms carrying fairly obvious messages. I'm thinking particularly of works like Target for Tonight, Mrs Mineva and Went The Day Well?
A decade or so later the mood had changed somewhat, or levels of tension had lessened. Anyway, a certain layer of fiction and even sentimentality applied to the conflict was now seen to be perfectly acceptable, leading to Love Is A Many Splendour'd Thing, for example. The two book titles listed below, little known and probably largely forgotten today, belong to this later, softer genre, but they still managed to make a big impression on me when, as a relatively young and certainly impressionable chap, I read them for the very first time.
The story of the first one goes something like this. On March 7, 1951, The Daily Telegraph cried an announcement in its Personal Column which read: 'SEA-WYF. Am certain you are alive. Please get in touch. BISCUIT.'
Simple enough, you may say, but over the next few weeks there followed a steady stream of simularly intriguing notices - by which time the author JM Scott had become interested - including one, on April 11, which said: 'Publisher required for war story of three men of authority and one woman adrift fourteen weeks on float in Indian Ocean. Survivors parted with nicknames only and compact to forget.'
Well, Mr Scott did eventually get to write the story, and a cracking yarn it is, too. 'Violent and strange,' said one reviewer, 'this is a most entertaining book, and the final explanation is too good to give away.' Quite right, and I won't. But I will add that 20th Century Fox later made a film of it. Titled Sea Wife, it starred Richard Burton, Basil Sydney, Cy Grant, and a youthful Joan Collins.
High Barbaree is a beast of a slightly different ilk, being even more wistful, for it pours on sentimentality with a very large spoon. Nevertheless, I liked it when I first read it, finding it puzzling and dreamy; and while I have no knowledge of a film ever being made of it, it still remains a fascinating yarn.
It goes like this. During the war in the South Pacific a Japanese submarine fires on a Catalina floatplane, and brings it down. At the same time, the plane scores a direct hit on the sub with a bomb, which duly sinks, leaving two surviving aircrew abroard the drifting seaplane. But as they drift, and as they begin to lose their grip on reality, one of the crew dreams he is being carried towards Turnbull's Island, a childhood obsession of his, and an island of mystery.
Of course, books like this are scarcely popular any more, now that grim reality tends to hog all our screens. But they are still worth a look. If you can find them.
(Sea-Wyf and Biscuit, by JM Scott. Heinemann, 1957. High Barbaree, by Charles Nordhoff & James Norman Hall. Four Square Books, 1960)
Sunday 9 August 2015
MARCUS LA TOUCHE
Getting on for two years' ago (November, 2013, if you want to check) I wrote of Marcus La Touche, former circus Clown Roma and children's entertainer, who a couple of decades before had rested his tiny homemade caravan on a riverside meadow in Burgh-next-Aylsham in Norfolk and, with his dog Viscount, declared himself retired from show business.
Marcus, who died several years' ago, was a gentle, approachable man who deliberately and contentedly lived a life of great simplicity, but who had nevertheless lived an actual life which had been far from simple - circus in South America, filming wild animals in Africa, Hollywood, children's entertainer back in Blighty, and so on.
At the time I also lamented the fact that I'd found little additional information about him. I believe many of his scrapbooks and souvenirs were destroyed in a caravan fire, too. Well, thanks to the internet, now I do know a little more.
His real name was Arthur Edward La Touche Aston - a surname, hitherto unknown to me, and a fact which had thrown me right off the scent - and he was born on November 12, 1909, to Helen Edith Johns (nee Buck), an actress, of 27, Mount Pleasant Lane, London, who in 1908 had married John Edward La Touche Aston. In 1911 the family of three moved to 50, St Leonard's Road, Mortlake. They also had links with Greenhead Farm, near Cheadle, and Mill Street, Macclesfield.
First piece of this fresh info is a very short British Pathe Studios film showing Marcus, in smart blazer and flannels, with his dog Viscount. Marcus asks Viscount simple mathematical questions, and Viscount barks the answers. The film is dated 1939.
Second is another short Pathe film from 1940, titled Good Dog, showing Viscount - very much with the War in mind - collecting 'important' messages and racing across fields and roads to deliver them to a police post.
Then in 1943 another Pathe short, filmed at Greenhead Farm, Kingsley, near Cheadle, Stoke-on-Trent, showing Marcus and Viscount - he had a succession of dogs which took the same name - performing their outdoor act in front of a female audience. This was evidently filmed at harvest-time, so the audience may have been Land Army girls working on the farm.
Yet another item of interest is a poster from the V&A collection, dated 1970, advertising 'Clown Roma's Fun Time,' autographed by Marcus (Clown Roma) at the time. Scenes in the show evidently included Crazy Camping, The Birthday Party, the TV Studio, and Road Safety.
Also, I have a faint recollection of Marcus telling me that he intended to donate his clown's costume to the Strangers' Hall Museum, in Norwich. But I have no knowledge of what happened to it.
A final echo of Clown Roma's life and times comes with the realisation that he had, for over 20 years, been caught up in 'hostilities' surrounding the performing animals controversy. In December, 1942, Marcus appeared on BBC radio in a debate about 'performing animal cruelty,' arguing among other things that cruelty in training was not necessary.
Then on January 7, 1960, a 'cruelty' campaigner demanded of the Chief Constable of Hertfordshire that he charge Marcus - whose dog had died in another caravan fire - for having an out-of-date dog registration form. I have no idea of the outcome, but clearly hostilies had not subsided.
Getting on for two years' ago (November, 2013, if you want to check) I wrote of Marcus La Touche, former circus Clown Roma and children's entertainer, who a couple of decades before had rested his tiny homemade caravan on a riverside meadow in Burgh-next-Aylsham in Norfolk and, with his dog Viscount, declared himself retired from show business.
Marcus, who died several years' ago, was a gentle, approachable man who deliberately and contentedly lived a life of great simplicity, but who had nevertheless lived an actual life which had been far from simple - circus in South America, filming wild animals in Africa, Hollywood, children's entertainer back in Blighty, and so on.
At the time I also lamented the fact that I'd found little additional information about him. I believe many of his scrapbooks and souvenirs were destroyed in a caravan fire, too. Well, thanks to the internet, now I do know a little more.
His real name was Arthur Edward La Touche Aston - a surname, hitherto unknown to me, and a fact which had thrown me right off the scent - and he was born on November 12, 1909, to Helen Edith Johns (nee Buck), an actress, of 27, Mount Pleasant Lane, London, who in 1908 had married John Edward La Touche Aston. In 1911 the family of three moved to 50, St Leonard's Road, Mortlake. They also had links with Greenhead Farm, near Cheadle, and Mill Street, Macclesfield.
First piece of this fresh info is a very short British Pathe Studios film showing Marcus, in smart blazer and flannels, with his dog Viscount. Marcus asks Viscount simple mathematical questions, and Viscount barks the answers. The film is dated 1939.
Second is another short Pathe film from 1940, titled Good Dog, showing Viscount - very much with the War in mind - collecting 'important' messages and racing across fields and roads to deliver them to a police post.
Then in 1943 another Pathe short, filmed at Greenhead Farm, Kingsley, near Cheadle, Stoke-on-Trent, showing Marcus and Viscount - he had a succession of dogs which took the same name - performing their outdoor act in front of a female audience. This was evidently filmed at harvest-time, so the audience may have been Land Army girls working on the farm.
Yet another item of interest is a poster from the V&A collection, dated 1970, advertising 'Clown Roma's Fun Time,' autographed by Marcus (Clown Roma) at the time. Scenes in the show evidently included Crazy Camping, The Birthday Party, the TV Studio, and Road Safety.
Also, I have a faint recollection of Marcus telling me that he intended to donate his clown's costume to the Strangers' Hall Museum, in Norwich. But I have no knowledge of what happened to it.
A final echo of Clown Roma's life and times comes with the realisation that he had, for over 20 years, been caught up in 'hostilities' surrounding the performing animals controversy. In December, 1942, Marcus appeared on BBC radio in a debate about 'performing animal cruelty,' arguing among other things that cruelty in training was not necessary.
Then on January 7, 1960, a 'cruelty' campaigner demanded of the Chief Constable of Hertfordshire that he charge Marcus - whose dog had died in another caravan fire - for having an out-of-date dog registration form. I have no idea of the outcome, but clearly hostilies had not subsided.
Sunday 2 August 2015
SHANTY TIME
During the eight years or so that we have lived beside the sea and most usually, but not always, when the weather is good, we have developed a habit of driving to the seafront in the early evening to enjoy the air, the view, and in certain conditions, the sunset, which can be wonderful. This is often a much better prospect than going to the prom during the day, because in the evening there are likely to be places to park while most of the trippers have gone home, or at least back to their cars or the railway station.
Sometimes we even have the promenade largely to ourselves. Most often, there are just a few people about, strollers, like us, enjoying the atmosphere.
Of course, eight years is not a long time, and we would still be classified as newcomers by some long-term residents. It is a side issue, I know, but we realised only quite recently that some folk, who may have lived here for many decades, hardly ever go to the seafront, anyway. When we say we've been to look at the sea, they look at us with a decidedly odd expression. Is it something to do with familiarity breeding indiference? I don't know.
Anyway, one evening a short time ago the weather was fine, and so we parked the car near the West End of the prom, took a short stroll, and then found ourselves seats overlooking the incoming tide and affording distant views of the cluster of wind turbines several miles offshore. There were also a couple of ships at anchor.
And it was then we caught the sound of singing, wafting in the breeze. A short stroll towards the sound confirmed that it was the Shantymen, twenty or so of them, performing songs in the open air at the fishermen's slipway, surrounded by dozens of supporters and spectators.
They were marking not only the recent refurbishment of the slipway but also the choir's 25th anniversary. The Shantymen first got together in 1990 for a couple of one-off concerts, and they have not stopped since. Some of them are former fishermen or lifeboatmen, plus a mix of engineers, social worker, electricians, surveyors, ex-policemen, and the like, all brought together by a love of the sea, and sea songs.
Now they are known throughout the country, having performed at many different locations and on television, and they have even made their own CDs. Locally, of course, they are exceedingly popular, for they make such a happy sound. So we stayed, transfixed, and listened to them.
There were songs of ships and sailing, of faraway places and voyages to South Australia and Botany Bay, and of family and girls left behind. And it was magical. For here was the open air, fishing boats on the slipway, the shrieking nd swooping of gulls, and the hiss and churn of the incoming tide. And voices in the wind, making themselves heard.
During the eight years or so that we have lived beside the sea and most usually, but not always, when the weather is good, we have developed a habit of driving to the seafront in the early evening to enjoy the air, the view, and in certain conditions, the sunset, which can be wonderful. This is often a much better prospect than going to the prom during the day, because in the evening there are likely to be places to park while most of the trippers have gone home, or at least back to their cars or the railway station.
Sometimes we even have the promenade largely to ourselves. Most often, there are just a few people about, strollers, like us, enjoying the atmosphere.
Of course, eight years is not a long time, and we would still be classified as newcomers by some long-term residents. It is a side issue, I know, but we realised only quite recently that some folk, who may have lived here for many decades, hardly ever go to the seafront, anyway. When we say we've been to look at the sea, they look at us with a decidedly odd expression. Is it something to do with familiarity breeding indiference? I don't know.
Anyway, one evening a short time ago the weather was fine, and so we parked the car near the West End of the prom, took a short stroll, and then found ourselves seats overlooking the incoming tide and affording distant views of the cluster of wind turbines several miles offshore. There were also a couple of ships at anchor.
And it was then we caught the sound of singing, wafting in the breeze. A short stroll towards the sound confirmed that it was the Shantymen, twenty or so of them, performing songs in the open air at the fishermen's slipway, surrounded by dozens of supporters and spectators.
They were marking not only the recent refurbishment of the slipway but also the choir's 25th anniversary. The Shantymen first got together in 1990 for a couple of one-off concerts, and they have not stopped since. Some of them are former fishermen or lifeboatmen, plus a mix of engineers, social worker, electricians, surveyors, ex-policemen, and the like, all brought together by a love of the sea, and sea songs.
Now they are known throughout the country, having performed at many different locations and on television, and they have even made their own CDs. Locally, of course, they are exceedingly popular, for they make such a happy sound. So we stayed, transfixed, and listened to them.
There were songs of ships and sailing, of faraway places and voyages to South Australia and Botany Bay, and of family and girls left behind. And it was magical. For here was the open air, fishing boats on the slipway, the shrieking nd swooping of gulls, and the hiss and churn of the incoming tide. And voices in the wind, making themselves heard.
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