H.M.S. Amethyst by James E McConnell

On 20th April, 1949, the British warship Amethyst was making her way up the Yangtse River to Nanking to take supplies to the British Embassy. A frigate of 1,490 tons, she was capable of a speed of 20 knots, and was armed with six 4-inch guns and eight 2-pounders. There was no mistaking her nationality, for Union Jacks had been draped boldly on both sides of her hull.

Her journey up the Yangtse was a perfectly normal one, for which permission had been given by the Chinese Government. But for some days Chinese Communist forces had been gathering on the north bank of the river in preparation for an attack on the Chinese Nationalist forces on the south side. As the Amethyst steamed up river, she was suddenly attacked by the Communist guns on the north bank. The attack was entirely unprovoked and unexpected. Under heavy fire, and with many casualties on board, the Amethyst ran aground. No other British warship succeeded in coming to her rescue because of the strength of the Communist guns.

Her crew managed to get the Amethyst afloat again, but negotiations with the Communists for a safe-conduct proved fruitless, and she had to remain anchored in the river.

After three months, conditions on board became serious, for stores of food and fuel were dwindling. Lieutenant-Commander Kerans (who took over the command of the Amethyst after Lieutenant-Commander Skinner had died from his wounds) began to plan a daring escape past the Communist guns.

The moonless night of 30th July was chosen. Danger was acute, for there was no pilot on board the ship, and there were hazardous sandbanks to negotiate on the way. Canvas was spread over much of the ship to disguise her shape, but she was quickly noticed and heavily attacked from the shore. Then by a stroke of good fortune, a freighter came past and the Amethyst followed closely in her wake. In the confusion she made good her escape, although throughout the 140-mile journey down river she was often under fire.

As the early morning light filtered across the sky, she entered the estuary and sent her last and most famous signal: “Have rejoined the fleet. No damage or casualties. God save the King.”

Here they come: Derby Day by Charles Green (after)

Today horse-racing is one of the world’s “cleanest” sports. The few crooks who find their way on to the racecourse are soon chased off again by the hundreds of people who keep an eagle eye open to see that a fine sport isn’t ruined.

Lord George Bentinck, the man who cleaned up racing, deserves the title “The Sherlock Holmes of the Turf”.

Racing in the middle of the last century attracted rogues the way a bright light draws moths. In 1844, when the Derby, one of the greatest Classic races in the world, was won by the colt “Running Rein”, that victory meant a lot to a certain Mr. Goodman, who gained £50,000 by it.

Lord George was suspicious. The Derby is for three-year-olds only, and an older and more experienced horse would have a good chance of beating the pick of any of these. Somebody whispered to Lord George that “Running Rein” was a little older than three.

But there wasn’t much he could do to prove the whisper right or wrong – or not until, after nearly a year of quiet investigation, he heard a rumour that the horse’s legs had been dyed or stained another colour before the race.

It was here that Lord George proved himself as good a detective as any in fiction. If this was a trick, the man who stood to gain most from it was likely to be the man responsible. And this pointed suspicion towards Goodman.

What next?

For the sake of secrecy, Goodman would, no doubt, have bought the dye himself.

Lord George knew where Goodman lived, and which were his favourite haunts. His house was in Foley Place, London; he was a regular stroller down Regent Street towards the area of the principal clubs.

Lord George promptly made a tour of Regent Street himself, calling in at all the chemists’ shops with a description of Goodman. Nobody answering Goodman’s description had bought any dye.

Then it occurred to him that hairdressers also sold dyes. And this time Lord George struck lucky. Moreover, the hairdresser, brought to confront Goodman, identified him without any doubt as the man who had bought dye from him long before the race.

Amid enormous interest from the whole of Britain and from racing followers in America, Australia, and on the continent, the case finally came to court. Jockeys, trainers and racehorse owners packed the courtroom as the amazing facts about “Running Rein” came out.

Finally it was proved to the court’s satisfaction that a swindle had, in fact, taken place; that the supposed Derby winner, “Running Rein”, was really a four-year-old, “Maccabeus” by name – exchanged secretly some eighteen months before the race.

Many of Lord George’s friends had laughed at his attempts to play the detective. Now they had to apologise. The horse with dyed legs was disqualified, and “Orlando”, which had finished second, was declared the winner.

There have been numerous racing swindles since then, but if it had not been for Lord George Bentinck, they would probably have been much more frequent.

Until Lieutenant William H. Fleming came to England, he was just an ordinary officer in the United States Air Force. He was not even a pilot, and had no particular desire to become a hero.

But in 1955, when he was stationed at RAF Station Bentwaters, in Suffolk, he risked his life several times to make flying jets just a little safer. He also became the first – and probably the last – man ever to drive a six-ton lorry at a speed well over 100 miles per hour!

It all started when an American Air Force F84F Thunderstreak jet fighter-bomber crashed through an arresting barrier which had been set up at the end of the runway to catch planes which could not stop. Something was very wrong with the design of the barrier because the heavy jet plane ploughed straight through the nylon webbing and steel cable stretched across the runway and failed to drag the 30 tons of battleship anchor chain behind it which would have brought it to a clanking but safe stop.

Within days, two more jets sailed right through the barrier in just the same way. In each case the jet was wrecked, but fortunately none of the pilots was hurt.

The commander of the American base, Colonel McElroy, held a secret conference with his senior officers. He told them he could not risk any more of his planes and pilots until the barrier had been cured of its faults. And quite obviously some tests would have to be made to discover what was going wrong.

One of the pilots agreed to taxi a jet at high speed towards the barrier while experts watched what happened. But USAF headquarters would not let Col. McElroy use real planes for the test; it would be far too expensive if things went wrong again.

So the colonel held another conference and asked his engineering officer to think up something. Lieut. Bill Fleming was working for the engineering officer and, seeing an old, six-wheeled, six-ton lorry lying in the salvage yard waiting to be scrapped, he got an idea.

He said: “Let’s build a full-sized model of a Thunderstreak out of steel beams and galvanised sheet metal and bolt it on the front of that old truck in the salvage yard. Then we can drive it full-pelt down the runway and crash it into the barrier.”

The colonel thought this a very good idea.

In a few days, the ugliest-looking vehicle ever designed was rolled out of the hangar and christened ‘The Thing’, because nobody could think of a better name for it.

All that was needed now was a ‘pilot’ for The Thing. Then the tests could begin.

It so happened that at this time Bill Fleming had a bit of trouble driving his car in a nearby town, and the police reported the incident to the colonel. The colonel sent for Bill and asked him if he would like to ‘volunteer’ to pilot The Thing. If he would, the colonel said he might forget about the bit of trouble. Bill agreed to do the job.

The first of the tests was too slow to show up any faults in the barrier. The Thing was so heavy that its old engine couldn’t push it any faster than 37 m.p.h. – even when Bill rammed the throttle hard down on the floorboards.

Then somebody had the bright idea of bolting ATO (Assisted Take-Off) bottles on the back for extra thrust!

ATO bottles were really portable rockets designed to help heavily-laden aircraft take off. They burned for 30 seconds and gave a push of 1,000 pounds each.

Six ATO bottles were bolted on to the back of The Thing, and four more were bolted facing the other way, to be used as retro-rockets in case the barrier failed again.

The speed of The Thing during the next test was terrific. First it was driven to its maximum speed from the far end of the runway; then it was put into neutral. Then, at the right moment, the ATO bottles were fired.

There was a sudden roar and a whine, and the weird lorry-cum-aeroplane came tearing down the runway with white smoke streaming behind it. Movie cameras whirred in slow motion as it crashed into the barrier.

As a result of the test, adjustments were made to the barrier’s nylon webbing; and then three more tests were run – just to make sure.

For the final test, The Thing had 12 ATO rockets on the back.

On that final test the gearbox screamed in protest as Bill Fleming crashed into the barrier at 110 m.p.h. But the modified barrier worked like a charm and the heavy anchor chain, clanking behind, brought Bill’s strange vehicle safely to a stop.

The tests had been more than successful and the strange contraption was scrapped.

All the pilots on the base thought Bill Fleming was a hero, but Bill said he had never been so frightened in his life.

He smiled, though, as he said it, because he knew that not everyone has driven a rocket-propelled six-ton lorry at well over 100 miles an hour!

Peter the Hermit by Angus McBride

From the earliest centuries of Christianity, Palestine had been the goal of pilgrims from the West. Jerusalem fell into the hands of Arab Moslems in the 7th century, but there continued a spirit of tolerance between them and the thousands of pilgrims who annually flooded into the city. The pilgrims needed to be fed, transported and housed, and the Arabs in Jerusalem drew a comfortable income from the provision of these humdrum needs.

Then, in the late 9th century, the Turks, Moslems themselves, drove out the Arabs and a new era began. Flercer and more fanatical than their predecessors, the Turks destroyed the profitable tolerance that had existed. Persecution and extortion began and returning pilgrims brought bitter tales of the indignities to which they had been subjected.

One of these pilgrims was a man known simply as Peter the Hermit. He had been born in France and had adopted the life of a hermit. Physically, he was remarkably unattractive – a deformed dwarf with a great tangled beard that swept down to his waist, clad in filthy rags. In the eyes of most, he more closely resembled one of the twisted, stunted dwarfs of legend than a human being. But he also possessed a remarkable gift of eloquence.

Until his return to France from Palestine, Peter was largely unknown. He would have remained in obscurity had his path not crossed that of another and greater man, Pope Urban II, who had determined to raise an expeditionary force for the recovery of the holy places of Palestine.

Urban was both politician and priest – an honest man and an astute one, with much experience of the control of men. In a great Council at Clermont in France he put his proposal forward in November 1095: a large Christian army should be recruited in Europe and should leave in August the following year. His speech created great enthusiasm and the Council dispersed to work out the details.

But Peter the Hermit moved ahead of the Council. He saw himself as the voice of God and began a tireless round of preaching. So dominant did he become that later generations completely forgot the sober work of the Pope and placed the credit for the first Crusade entirely to the fanatical hermit. The stunted, filthy figure on a tiny donkey became familiar throughout France. Most of his hearers lived out their lives within a few miles of their birthplaces. Few had ever been into a large town: Palestine might have been on another planet. Into their dull, constricted lives erupted this ludicrous figure with the golden tongue, bringing to them news of the suffering of their brethren in Jerusalem, of the insult offered to their God, urging them to abandon everything then and there and go on Crusade. The Lord would provide.

They gathered in their thousands, not waiting for the support of the professional fighting men who were making their own, slower, preparations. In a vast, uncontrollable mob they followed Peter across Europe and went down to Palestine to defeat and death, their bones whitening under the Syrian sun: a monument to one man’s eloquence.

Baron Paul Reuter by Melchiorre Delficco

A Pigeon fluttered down from the sky and a young man gave a cry of joy. With trembling fingers he removed the message which was attached to the bird’s leg, then raced with it to the new telegraph office at Aachen. Paul Reuter was in business.

The pigeon had begun its flight at Brussels where Paul Reuter’s young wife sent it off with the message. As yet the telegraph lines on the Continent had not been joined up and the Reuters introduced a pigeon post between the telegraph offices of Brussels and Aachen. It was the first step to founding the world’s most famous news agency.

Paul Julius De Reuter (later to become a Baron) was born at Kassel in Germany on July 21, 1816. As he grew up he became interested in the newly developed technique of sending messages along wires, and in 1849 he founded his pigeon post service.

In 1851 he set up an office in London following the laying of a cable between Dover and Calais. When he registered his company, its objective was the “transmission of intelligence” between England and the Continent.

Unfortunately for Reuter, no one else seemed interested in the “transmission of intelligence.” In vain the German explained to English newspaper editors the advantages of his system, how he planned to have agents in every centre, sending off news so that papers everywhere knew what was going on almost within minutes of it happening.

It was not until 1858 – seven years after the Channel cable had been laid – that Reuter suddenly had his breakthrough. A Paris Reuter agent forwarded the text of an important speech by Napoleon III. The Times published this and overnight, Reuters News Agency was accepted. From then on, its network of agents spread throughout the world to the huge organisation it is today. Paul Reuter died at Nice in the South of France on February 25, 1899.

Adelina Patti

There was a thunder of applause as the old lady walked on to the stage at the charity concert. She smiled as she looked down at the audience – many of whom were on their feet in their enthusiasm – and made a slight sign to the leader of the orchestra. Music swelled throughout the theatre and the old lady burst into song. At the age of 71 Adelina Patti was making her final appearance.

She was born in Madrid on February 19, 1843, and right from the start her Italian parents realised that their daughter was destined to be a great singer. Her father paid for her music lessons, impatient for the day when he would see his Adelina walk on to the stage as an opera performer. That day came in 1859 when she made her debut as Lucia in the opera Lucia di Lammermoor.

Overnight she became famous. Critics raved about her clear soprano voice, and her “fans” queued for hours to hear her. Many people have to wait for years to get their “break” on the stage, but with Adelina Patti her success was instantaneous, thanks to the wonderful quality of her voice.

In 1861 she came to London where once again her success was repeated. From England she travelled to the capitals of the world where she was hailed as the greatest soprano of all time.

After a wonderful career she planned to retire in 1895, marking the occasion with a farewell concert in London. But she was not allowed to remain in retirement. She sang at another farewell concert, and then another, and yet another.

In 1914 Madame Patti returned to the theatre for the last time in aid of charity. She died five years later on September 27.

Sacred celebrations during Easter in Ethiopia

The oldest surviving Christian kingdom in the world is not, as one might suppose, in Asia or Europe, but in Africa. The ancient Ethiopian Empire has officially been a Christian nation since the middle of the 4th century A.D., and still remains so.

Even today, Ethiopia is an isolated country, with rugged mountain ranges and deep valleys. Until the coming of helicopter transport, many places were cut off from neighbouring towns except by walking or pack-mule. Because of this difficulty of access, the Ethiopian people have been able to resist for centuries the influences and pressures of invading forces. Ideas, like people, have only been admitted if they were really wanted. Christianity became the national religion by the choice of an early Emperor.

The first people to speak of the Christian faith in this remote part of Africa were not missionaries, but prisoners! In those days the fierce Ethiopians sometimes came down to the Red Sea coast in search of slaves, and in one such raid they captured two men, Frumentius and Edesius. This was in about A.D. 340.

These two prisoners were natives of Tyre, on the Syrian coast. Their arrival in Ethiopia caused a sensation, and they were taken before the Emperor himself.

According to a historian of the times, Frumentius and Edesius preached the Christian faith so persuasively to the Emperor that he determined not only to become a Christian himself, but to make this new faith the official religion of his nation.

Both prisoners were released, but Frumentius promised to return after he had visited Egypt and consulted its famous bishop, Athanasius. He went to Egypt and was himself made a bishop by Athanasius, who sent him back to Ethiopia. In this way, a link was forged between the Coptic (Egyptian) and Ethiopian Churches which has survived.

Partly because it was such a remote country there arose many Ethiopian customs which are peculiar to the church of that land. It observes feasts and fasts unlike those of Western churches, and keeps even the best-known ones like Christmas and Easter on different days from those kept by others.

In the former capital of Ethiopia, Axum, and in other towns, there are fine churches, some centuries old. There are also well-preserved copies of the Bible, and other religious books, dating from the thirteenth century. These are written in an ancient language called ‘Ghe’ez’, which today is known only to the priests.

Ethiopian Christians hold the founders of their church in the highest honour, and have given them the titles of Saint Frumentius and Saint Edesius.

Rabindranath Tagore

The Indian poet, philosopher, educationist and writer of popular songs, Rabindranath Tagore, was well known outside his native Calcutta. He visited England several times, and in 1912 stayed at No. 3 Villas on the Heath, in the Vale of Health, Hampstead. A plaque over the door commemorates his visit.

One of seven sons of the leader of an Indian religious sect, Rabindranath was brought up amid a continual whirl of creative activity. His family occupied a large house in which lived all his near relatives, as was customary. Tutors visited the house to give him lessons and from an early age he spent much of his spare time writing, singing and acting. At eight he was already writing verse.

At 16 he was sent to England to study law. His education completed, he returned to India, where he rapidly became engrossed in writing and journalism. He started with short stories, poems and essays for papers published by his brothers, and this activity developed naturally into the production of full-length novels.

Tagore was interested in the philosophy of education, and in 1901 he opened his own school at Bolpur, near Calcutta. In spite of his unusual methods – traditional Hindu ideas were blended with others from Europe – the venture was a success, and the school became acknowledged as an important institution. He envisaged it as a ‘home for the spirit of India’ and later expanded it by adding a university.

Meanwhile he continued writing, winning the Nobel prize for literature in 1913. Until then Tagore was unknown, outside India, but now a much wider public began to take notice of him. He undertook extensive lecture tours in America and Great Britain. In both countries his Oriental appearance attracted attention, and he was much in demand for drawing-room parties; this caused some damage to his reputation as a ‘serious’ person.

In 1915, he was awarded an English knighthood, but returned it four years later in protest against methods used to put down the political disturbances then occurring in the Punjab. Nevertheless, he was more interested in social reform than political freedom, and opposed the Indian practice of child marriages and the rigid caste system.

In his later writing, Tagore, anxious to promote his ideal of a universal human culture and unity, tried to interpret Eastern philosophy for the West. In 1940, the University of Oxford paid him the extraordinary compliment of calling a special meeting of convocation at Santiniketan, Tagore’s own university, to award him a doctorate of literature. He died in 1941, much of his work still untranslated.

Adolf Hitler by Paul Rainer

Who said “My patience is exhausted!”?

The answer is Adolf Hitler on 26th September, 1938, in Berlin.

-§-

The quotation comes from a speech of Hitler’s which also contained the statement, “This is the last territorial claim I have to make in Europe.” Yet within two years this “bloodthirsty guttersnipe”, as Sir Winston Churchill once called him, had conquered nearly all Europe – but not Great Britain.

By 1938, it was plain to statesmen like Churchill, but not to the vast majority of people, that Germany was bent on conquest. In March, Hitler annexed Austria, then he turned his eyes towards Czechoslovakia. Unlike the Austrians, the Czechs were bitterly hostile to Germany, and Hitler, not yet wishing to start his war, organised disturbances in the Sudetenland area of Czechoslovakia, where there was a large German population.

With riots raging, Hitler threatened invasion. France was pledged to aid the Czechs, but Neville Chamberlain, the British Prime Minister, unwilling to believe what a menace Hitler was to peace, desperately tried to find a solution to the problem.

More trouble occurred along the frontier. Hitler announced at Nuremburg (as he was to again in Berlin) that his patience was exhausted. Chamberlain flew to see him, begging him not to invade. Hitler demanded the Sudetenland, and Chamberlain got the French, who were in a weaker state than anyone realised, to agree. He returned to Germany and was savagely abused by Hitler – despite the fact that the Czechs, deserted by their allies, had given in. Hitler wanted more, and war seemed near. He made the Berlin speech of the quotation, ranting and raving in his usual manner and brutally attacking the Czechs.

Once again Chamberlain flew to Germany – to Munich – and Hitler rejoiced that a British Prime Minister was coming to beg favours. A new agreement was reached and the Czechs were forced to cede more territory. Chamberlain returned home, bringing what he called “Peace with Honour”. The following March, Hitler seized the rest of Czechoslovakia, but by now Britain realised the truth about him and was preparing for war.

The Great Eastern by James E McConnell

At a time when steam navigation to the East and Australia was greatly handicapped by the lack of coaling facilities, a ship which could carry enough coal for a voyage to Australia and back was specially designed by Isambard Kingdom Brunel.

The Great Eastern, originally called the Leviathan because of her enormous size, had been laid down in 1854. When completed, she had a length of 692 feet and a beam of 82.5 feet. She had engines totalling 8,297 horse power to drive her paddle wheels and propeller and give her a maximum speed of 15 knots. Six masts carried a spread of 6,500 square yards of sail. Precautions that her hull should have the requisite strength included giving her a double bottom and a tubular upper deck.

A delay of three months in the launching of the Great Eastern drove the company which financed her construction into liquidation, and, as a result, she was purchased for use on the North Atlantic, a service she was not designed for, and for which she was most unsuitable.

In 1860 she made the first of several voyages to New York, but she never paid her way. She was then used to lay Atlantic cables, and in 1887 she was broken up.