This is the official website for The Shingle of Southsea Holmesian Society; a group dedicated to all things Holmesian, based in the Portsmouth and Southsea area in the UK.
The current membership is one person; Paul Thomas Miller. We have no plans to increase our membership.
I will use this blog to record the minutes of my monthly meetings with myself and any interesting works we produce together on my own.
"The Entire Canon" (Paul Thomas Miller) apologised for nothing. Screw you.
Toast:
Paul Thomas Miller (The Entire Canon) toasted Watson's wandering wound in the form of a song:
Presentation:
Paul Thomas Miller (The Entire Canon) presented the following essay about animals:
Anthropomorphised Animal Versions of Sherlock Holmes
There are many readily available anthropomorphised animal versions of Sherlock Holmes with punny names to be found in the animal kingdom. They come from many different countries and, therefore, bring with them a variety of cultures. They come from every taxonomic class and, therefore, bring with them a variety of approaches to living. From finger to fin, from tundra to desert, from carnivore to weakling - their variations are countless. Consider the following examples:
A huge variety, to be sure. But they all have one thing in common. In order to become an anthropomorphised animal version of Sherlock Holmes they must wear a deerstalker. As Jane Austin-Allegro once said: “It is a truth, universally acknowledged, that an anthropomorphised animal in possession of a highly analytical mind, must be in want of a deerstalker.” It was true then. It is true today. You simply cannot turn an anthropomorphised animal with a punny name into a version of Sherlock Holmes without putting a deerstalker on it.
“So what?” I hear you ask. “A child knows as much. There is nothing new or controversial here. Why do you waste our time?”
Well…stop a while and consider the implications for the Victorian sleuth version of antidorcas marsupialis – Mr Springbok Holmes.
The springbok, of course, is an antelope, which is basically a deer*. So if Springbok Holmes were to be depicted in a deerstalker, as above, he’d basically be wearing the headgear of someone who hunts their own kind for sport and/or food. Through the application of hattesian logic, we can see that this would make him a cannibal. And, generally speaking, cannibalism was frowned upon in Victorian London. Which would make Springbok Holmes a villain – the diametric opposite of Sherlock Holmes who is the embodiment of heroism and justice. At which point, Springbok Holmes is no longer an anthropomorphised animal version of Sherlock Holmes and he must remove his deerstalker. All of which creates a paradox which destroys this particular alternative universe. No – Mr Springbok Holmes cannot wear a deerstalker. And yet he must wear some form of substitute headgear – otherwise he is merely Mr Springbok, with no “Holmes” to justify his existence.
What might this headgear be? The obvious answer, in an alternate universe in which a deer has taken the place of a human, would seem to be a simple word swap which coincides with the species swap. Therefore, the “deerstalker” would become a “humanstalker”. But what is a “humanstalker”? Presumably, it would be the headgear worn by someone who hunts and shoots humans. Something like this:
But is this really acceptable? Is a deer hunting and killing humans really any better than a deer hunting and killing deer? No. Once again we find ourselves in the paradoxical situation of Mr Springbok Holmes at once representing ultimate evil and ultimate good. Once again his entire alternate universe implodes under the weight of a category six paradox.
So, is there no solution? Well, perhaps. In order to combat the need for a hat becoming a contradiction by making Springbok Holmes evil, he must wear the goodiest hat available. Surely then, early in his career, Springbok Holmes would solve the case of the Vatican Camel-os and be rewarded with the Pope’s very own mitre. This symbol of the power of good might be appropriately renamed an “evilstalker” and (atrocities committed in the name of Catholicism and Christianity in general notwithstanding) would have no ill effect on Springbok Holmes’ heroism.
*At this point I expect some pedant somewhere is wetting their knickers over the fact that springboks are not deer - springboks are a type of antelope and true deer are only distantly related to antelope. To which I say: "Well, you can prove anything with “science” and “facts”, can’t you. Piss off. Look at it. It’s clearly a deer."
Any Other Business:
With a battle cry of "Brag and bounce!", "The Entire Canon" (Paul Thomas Miller) ran from the room in search of bacon.
"The Entire Canon" (Paul Thomas Miller) apologised for the lack of meetings over the last few months. He explained that he’d had a lot going on this year including some family issues, a bereavement and hate crime attacks on his home - all of which had left him in pretty bad mental health. Fortunately, the silliness of Holmesiana had been keeping him going. But then one of the belligerent stuck-up gate-keeper Sherlockian old-guard decided to lay into "The Entire Canon" (Paul Thomas Miller) for causing Kate Middleton’s cancer by not having his tongue rammed quite so firmly up her royal dirt-pipe as them. "The Entire Canon" (Paul Thomas Miller) responded by telling this spatula-frotting toss-box exactly what he thought of him, but had always been too polite to say before. This led to "The Entire Canon" (Paul Thomas Miller) realising he was sick of walking the tightrope between the right-wing extremists and the left-wing extremists who have infiltrated our hobby and seem to be constantly on the look-out for ways to be offended. "The Entire Canon" (Paul Thomas Miller) made the decision to step away from Holmesiana until he felt more comfortable dealing with the tinsel-titted fuckwits of our hobby again. Contact from the People Worth Knowing in our community has helped "The Entire Canon" (Paul Thomas Miller) to decide that time is now.
Toast:
Paul Thomas Miller (The Entire Canon) toasted The Hound of the Baskervilles by collating some of his favourite lines from the text into a sort of found-poem:
Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!
As you value your life or your reason keep away from the moor.
Until we got three-quarters down Regent Street. Then my gentleman threw up the trap, and he cried that I should drive right away to Waterloo Station as hard as I could go.
My dear Holmes!
If we make one false move the villain may escape us yet.
Sufficient for to-morrow is the evil thereof; but I hope before the day is past to have the upper hand at last.
A clever man upon so delicate an errand has no use for a beard save to conceal his features.
Coming down with unsigned warrant. Arrive five-forty. Lestrade.
Uncle and nephew have been murdered.
Never in the delirious dream of a disordered brain could anything more savage, more appalling, more hellish be conceived.
The dog he bought in London from Ross and Mangles, the dealers in Fulham Road.
Presentation:
Paul Thomas Miller (The Entire Canon) presented the following:
The Watson Family
It has often been noted that we know little of Dr. John H. Watson’s family tree.
We know from the watch reading episode in chapter 1 of SIGN that Watson had a father who had once owned the watch. This father had been dead many years by this time (7th July 1888). We may also infer that he had a mother. However, we do not know what their names were or where they came from. That said, Dorothy L. Sayer’s essay “Dr. Watson’s Christian Name” lends considerable weight to the argument that he has some Scottish ancestry.
We know from his remarks about the grounds of Pondicherry Lodge in chapter 5 in SIGN (“I have seen something of the sort on the side of a hill near Ballarat”) that sometime before he began studying at St. Bart’s he had spent time near the gold mines of Australia. However, it is unclear how prolonged this stay was.
We know from STUD that upon his return to England following the Battle of Maiwand (sometime between late 1880 and early 1882) he “had neither kith nor kin in England”. Either all his relatives were already dead or they lived somewhere other than England – (perhaps Australia or Scotland as indicated by the above statements).
And, referring back to SIGN’s watch reading episode, we know that Watson has a brother – as the watch had passed from his father to his brother. But that’s all we know.
Or is it?
Look again at what Holmes says about the watch:
“Your father has, if I remember right, been dead many years. It has, therefore, been in the hands of your eldest brother."
That’s “eldest brother”. Not just “brother”. For Holmes to bother making the distinction, Watson must have had at least one other “brother”.
Furthermore, if Watson only had one brother who was older than him, Holmes would have referred to Watson’s “elder brother” rather than “eldest”. So, we now know that Watson had at least two brothers and that at least two of his brothers were older than him.
I was tempted, at this point, to put forward the notion that Holmes specifying “brother” meant that Watson might also suggest that Watson also had at least one sister. But, after consideration, I don’t think this follows. It’s not like Holmes would ever have been likely to say something as clunky as “…in the hands of your eldest sibling.” And, at this time in English history, the watch would have been tremendously unlikely to pass into a daughter’s hands anyway. Holmes would have used the word “brother” no matter how many sisters Watson had.
So, how far have I managed to expand our knowledge of Watson? We may know confidently state that Watson had at least two brothers who were older than him and who were either dead or living abroad by 1882. It’s not much, but it’s all you’re getting.
Any Other Business:
"The Entire Canon" (Paul Thomas Miller) vowed to use his diabolical magic powers to destroy his enemies and then laughed like Skeletor for a full nine minutes before going downstairs to make a nice cup of Bovril.
Date of Meeting:9th March 2024 - two days before INTERNATIONAL HUG-A-HOLMESIAN DAY (11th March every single year!)
Location of Meeting:
The Sherloft, My House, Portsmouth, UK
Attendees:
"The Entire Canon" (Paul Thomas Miller)
Apologies:
Apologise. Fraternise. Double fries. Deep blue eyes.
Toast:
Paul Thomas Miller (The Entire Canon) rather pathetically toasted Silver Blaze:
If the cravat Fitzroy he may wear it.
But young Simpson did not really bear it.
It was Straker, you see,
Tied it 'round a horse knee
And attempted, thenceforth, to injair it.
Presentation:
Paul Thomas Miller (The Entire Canon) presented the following absurdity:
Construction For Noble Batchelors
A close reading of The Canon can leave no doubt that Sherlock Holmes is an artist. In GREE he referenced the fact that his family has “art in the blood”. I count five times that Watson called Holmes an artist (EMPT, BLAC, VALL (twice), THOR), twice that Holmes described himself in such terms (VALL, DYIN) and once that a client described him so (RETI). Make no mistake, these are not oblique references or hints – Holmes is quite clear that he considers himself an artist and Watson definitely concurs.
But Holmes was far from a conformist. We see no evidence of him painting Romantic, Realist or Impressionist masterpieces. Nor would we expect to from one “who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul” and had “Bohemian habits”. Note that when Watson used the term “Bohemian” to describe Holmes he was invoking the following definition: “a person who is interested in artistic and unusual things, for example art, music, or literature, and lives in an informal way that ignores the usually accepted ways of behaving”. Watson is reinforcing the notion of Holmes as an artist, but he also very clear that Holmes was not one for anything as mundane as the norm. So, what sort of artist was Holmes? I believe he struck out on his own, paving the way for a new form of avant-garde art, which wouldn’t receive a name until two years after his last recorded adventure. I believe Holmes was the godfather of Dada and we might retroactively title his one-man art movement Proto-Dada.
To explain, I should start by giving some idea of what Dada is (or was – as some believe the movement to be dead). Now, I am no artist myself. Nor am I any kind of art critic or art historian. In fact, when it comes to knowledge of art, I would be lucky if Watson rated me as highly as “Nil”. Everything I think about art should be treated with, not just doubt, but outright disdain. But I’m not going to let that stop me.
Dada is difficult to separate entirely from the Surrealist movement it later morphed into. Origin stories are numerous, and it is difficult to say for certain where and when Dada was born, but it is tolerable to suggest it first took form at the Cabaret Voltaire, Zurich in 1916. It was a reaction to the insanity of the world outside Zurich, in which war, hatred and destruction were tearing everything apart. Dadaist Hans Arp later put it rather neatly:
“Revolted by the butchery of the 1914 World War, we in Zurich devoted ourselves to the arts. While the guns rumbled in the distance, we sang, painted, made collages and wrote poems with all our might. We were seeking an art based on fundamentals, to cure the madness of the age, and a new order of things that would restore the balance between heaven and hell.”
(Incidentally, this quote was the cause of the essay you are now reading. The Dada reaction to the chaos of war by writing poetry immediately made me think of the poem 221b by Vincent Starrett. In 1942, when Starrett wrote the poem, he referred to "the world went all awry" and "though the world explode", indicating the insanity of World War Two tearing the world apart. Holmes, for Starrett, was the art form he turned to for comfort in the chaos of world war. The artists at Cabaret Voltaire turned to Dada. Surely there must be some link between the two…)
Exactly what makes something Dada remains impossible to define as it was consciously trying to be indefinable. Indeed, they made the world question what art itself was, let alone any specific movement. Any description of Dada will ultimately fail to describe Dada. But I’m not going to let that stop me.
The Dadaists blamed much of the insanity of the world on the bourgeoisie, the status quo, the conventional. They absolutely despised the bourgeois concept of art – pretty things for people with money, that did little more than match the sofa. Moreover, if doing things the accepted way was responsible for the state of the world, it made sense to stop doing things the accepted way. They felt art should affect people’s lives – make them see and experience things differently. Dada art, then, embraced absurdity and the shocking. It revelled in the chaos of human life instead of ignoring it. It was dedicated to erasing the distinctions between art and life. The result of this was that Dada art itself was absurd, shocking, unconventional and chaotic. It embraced juxtaposition and the irrational collision of ideas, sometimes satirically or wittily, but not always.
Dada experimented in different mediums – there were performances of poetry, spoken word, music and dance as well as the production of sculpture, collage and painting. The performances were nonsensical and chaotic. Often several performances would take place at once, each drowning out the others so that no meaning could be pulled from the maelstrom of activity. Actual artworks ranged from the Readymades of Duchamp (for example, an upturned urinal signed “R. Mutt” which was titled “The Fountain”) to confusing vibrant photo collages like Max Ernst’s “The Word” – a headless woman stood in a giant chestnut case with birds tucked under her arms and legs.
However, I’m not here to catalogue the works of Dada, so I shalln’t attempt to describe many of its works to you. If you want to get a better idea of it, I politely suggest you Google Dada and see which rabbit holes attract you. What I want to do is compare the behaviour and artistic output of Sherlock Holmes with that of the Dadaists. And I’d like to start with poetry. Dada poetry is predominantly represented by one of the early Dadaist’s – Tristan Tzara. In 1920 he published the following suggestion on how to produce Dada poetry:
TO MAKE A DADAIST POEM
Take a newspaper.
Take some scissors.
Choose from this paper an article of the length you want to make your poem.
Cut out the article.
Next carefully cut out each of the words that makes up this article and put them all in a bag.
Shake gently.
Next take out each cutting one after the other.
Copy conscientiously in the order in which they left the bag.
Get ready for the action of the geyser of our blood
-submarine formation of transchromatic aero-
planes, cellular metals numbered in
the flight of images
above the rules of the
and its control
Compare this with Holmes’s poem you can pick out of the text of The Dying Detective:
Indeed, I cannot think why the whole bed of the ocean is not one solid mass of oysters,
So prolific the creatures seem.
Strange how the brain controls the brain!
No doubt there are natural enemies which limit the increase of the creatures.
You and I, Watson, we have done our part.
Shall the world, then, be overrun by oysters?
No, no; horrible!
While the chaos of Holmes’s piece is, perhaps, not fully realised, certainly the proto-Dada flavour must be evident to any reader.
Next consider Dada music. Some music of the scene was tonal and classical, some was mocking and satirical, but the type that interests me is the experimental improvised music which they produced – discordant messes which the Parisian Dada movement termed “anti-music”. We have no direct evidence of this music as Dada performances set out to be transitory and incapable of being captured, but accounts mention unskilled but enthusiastic drummers and erratic bell clanging among other auditory assaults. It is difficult not to see the following testimony from Watson as almost predicting this art form:
“When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any music or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of an evening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle which was thrown across his knee. Sometimes the chords were sonorous and melancholy. Occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearly they reflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the music aided those thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of a whim or fancy was more than I could determine.”
In terms of Dada performance, though, I think Holmes’s greatest moment came in the back shop of Allardyce’s. During his preliminary research in Black Peter, Holmes parades through the streets of London with a barb-headed spear tucked under his arm, he then rocks up at the local butchers where he purchases a whole pig, has it hung in a back room and then, in gentleman’s garb, furiously stabs at the pig with his spear. Now, this was not pointless activity – he was gathering data about how easy it is to transfix a body with a harpoon – but Holmes is aware that it is absurd behaviour, and this appears to delight him. Indeed, we see him chuckle as he relates his activities to Watson. I feel sure that, given the opportunity, Holmes would have loved to repeat this activity on the stage of Cabaret Voltaire.
Duchamp’s “The Fountain”, described above, is possibly the best-known piece of Dada art. It comes from a category of Dada known as the Readymade (a term invented by Duchamp). These are ordinary, prefabricated objects which the artist takes and presents as a piece of art. While it isn’t necessary, the artist may make some alterations to the object or present them in a certain way (E.g. combining a wheel and a stool, writing on a urinal, or creating collages out of litter). I won’t insist upon this one, but I would like to point out that the use of busts made by other people may be seen as Holmesian Readymades which he used in interactive Dada performances. One example is the performative interaction with a bust at the conclusion of the Six Napoleons:
Finally, he picked up his hunting-crop and struck Napoleon a sharp blow on the top of the head. The figure broke into fragments, and Holmes bent eagerly over the shattered remains. Next instant, with a loud shout of triumph, he held up one splinter, in which a round, dark object was fixed like a plum in a pudding.
“Gentlemen,” he cried, “let me introduce you to the famous black pearl of the Borgias.”
Lestrade and I sat silent for a moment, and then, with a spontaneous impulse, we both broke out clapping as at the well-wrought crisis of a play.
It’s difficult not to see this as an absurd performance piece. But the more convincing examples are the busts of himself he keeps having made just to invite their destruction at the hands of his enemies. The bust which Monsieur Oscar Meunier, of Grenoble spent days crafting is left on display for Colonel Sebastien Moran to destroy and the one by Tavernier, the French modeller, is set up for a similar fate at the hands of Count Sylvius, albeit one that never transpires. It’s silly behaviour which involves Holmes taking the craftsmanship of other people and incorporating it into his own artistic performances. Again, not fully formed Dada behaviour, but very much laying a foundation for it.
In terms of the visual arts, one of the most well-known branches of Dada was the photocollage or photomontage. Using the inherently Dada medium of prefabricated photographs – a type of Readymade – these images were cut up, mixed together and reformed to make something new. The result was not typically beautiful – as bourgeois art had been until then – but disjointed, absurd and often involving an unexpected mixture of ideas. I am not suggesting that Holmes ever went so far as to produce collages but I would point out the way that he decorated his own bedroom as described by Watson:
“I walked slowly round the room, examining the pictures of celebrated criminals with which every wall was adorned.”
Other Dada performative arts also seem to have pre-empted by Holmes. The Dadas were known for their eccentric costumes, cubist/tribalist masks and multiple identities. Absurd costumes (such as the bizarre cardboard bishop-esque costume Hugo Ball would wear to recite his poem Karawane) were visually striking, as were the masks made by Marcel Janco which performers would wear at the Cabaret Voltaire. Holmes never really went in for this level of absurd costuming, but we can see parallels with the behaviour of Arthur Cravan. Arthur Cravan, nephew of Oscar Wilde, was born in Lausanne, Switzerland but was part of the New York Dada scene, rather than that of his home country. While he was an artist and a writer, it was in his style of living that he most embodied the spirit of Dada. He would announce himself as all kinds of things he was not - a sailor in the Pacific, muleteer, orange-picker in California, snake charmer, hotel thief, logger in the great forests, former French boxing champion, grandson to the Queen’s Chancellor, Berlin automobile chauffeur, gentleman thief, and much else besides. This penchant for false identities was quintessentially Dada. In developing alternative personae, the Dadists implied that, rather than being fixed, identity is in a state of flux. And the development of alternative personae is something Holmes was all over. From Altamont – the Irish-American secret society agent to Escott the romantic plumber, Holmes had a skill for adopting alternate personalities. As Watson put it:
“It was not merely that Holmes changed his costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul seemed to vary with every fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a fine actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a specialist in crime.”
Certainly Holmes was not as absurd as the Dadaists – when he dressed as a priest he looked like a priest, not a madman in vibrantly painted slabs of cardboard – but that is not to say he didn’t enjoy certain shocking and even silly behaviour in his alternative personae. I would remind you of his actions while dressed as a book seller in Empty House. First he prattled on about filling a gap on a shelf with British Birds, and Catullus, and The Holy War and then he transformed into Holmes so quickly the shock caused Watson to pass out. Again though, Holmes’s performances in alternate personae were not so much Fully Dada as examples of a man experimenting with ideas they would later build upon.
Principally, Dada was an idea movement rather than a stylistic one. It was a sort of anti-art self-destruction because previous art served the bourgeoisie and their narrative. This anti-art approach meant that Dada was, essentially, an attitude. An attitude of rejecting convention, of embracing chaos and delighting in absurdity. And we see examples of this attitude in Holmes all through The Canon.
The description of Holmes’s housekeeping in The Musgrave Ritual are well known. Holmes was “a man who keeps his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece”. He shoots letters into the wall and his “chemicals and of criminal relics… had a way of wandering into unlikely positions, and of turning up in the butter-dish or in even less desirable places.” This Bohemian mode of living can certainly be seen as a Dada flouting of convention.
Apart from the Dada poem found in Dying Detective above, we see an awful lot of purposely confusing language from Holmes. While his famous “curious incident of the dog in the night-time” conversation with Colonel Ross turns out to have meaning later, it still resembles Hugo Ball’s Dada sound poems in that Holmes seems to be purposely confusing people with language which sounds like it should mean something but means nothing to them.
Contradiction and juxtaposition featured heavily in Dada art, to violate expectations and rationality. A reading of pretty much any of the Canonical stories will reveal an instance or two of Holmes behaving in ways which involve contradiction and juxtaposition. Some are small and some are great. Sometimes the contradiction is between his actions in different stories. For example, in The Gloria Scott he is bitten on the ankle by another student’s dog. Instead of berating the owner, he becomes close friends with him. In Abbey Grange and Blue Carbuncle he expends a great deal of effort apprehending a criminal just to let him off, whereas in Five Orange Pips he expends so little effort catching the villains that they get to kill one more person and never face justice. In Charles Augustus Milverton he goes to the ridiculous length of becoming engaged to someone he has no interest in just to get a dog out of the way, when we know he and the doctor had ready access to enough sedatives to do the job far more effectively and easily. In Devil’s Foot, he uses a narcotic to prove that it is incredibly dangerous – despite this predictably being a very dangerous thing to do. As it mounts up throughout The Canon, all his absurd, contradictory, bohemian behaviour points to a Dada heart beating in the chest of the artist Holmes.
In summary, then, I contend that Holmes was a (if not “The”) Proto-Dadaist. While he didn’t quite embody the nihilism and anarchy of proper Dada, he did recognise the chaos of real life and, in many artistic ways, toyed with things absurd and disjointed that reflected this social disarray which the bourgeoisie sought to hide. He more or less lays this bare at the beginning of A Case of Identity:
Or perhaps Watson put it better when he reviewed The Book of Life (a clear metaphor for actual human life):
“What ineffable twaddle!”
Any Other Business:
"The Entire Canon" (Paul Thomas Miller) wanted to remind everyone that Monday 11th March is International Hug-A-Holmesian Day. Unfortunately there was no one else present to hug.
Sometimes I think "apologies" sound a bit like "apple juice". But it doesn't. Sorry.
Toast:
Paul Thomas Miller (The Entire Canon) toasted the boundaries of Holmesiana:
Of Sherlock Holmes
There's been much study
By idiots
And fuddy-duddies,
But the thing
They won't reflect on
Is the Great
Detective's rectum.
Presentation:
Paul Thomas Miller (The Entire Canon) presented the following space filler:
The First and Only Holmesian Regatta
Sherlockians are ever interested in expanding the field of Holmesian entertainments. This year saw the birth of the latest innovation: The Holmesian Regatta – a boat race between vessels from the Sherlock Holmes Canon. The event was originally televised live on an obscure web-only channel. Sadly, this was not recorded. What we do have is a selection of the commentator’s comments which have been transcribed for us by Paul Thomas Miller from memory. There are several large gaps in his recollection, but the overall feel of the event remains apparent.
Welcome to the first annual Holmesian Regatta, taking place on the Thames. The course is a fairly simple one. Starting here at Tower Bridge and ending here at the Custom House pier at Gravesend. It's a twenty-five-mile journey and they will be going with the tide. We can expect speeds exceeding 15 knots and, with cameras and drones covering the whole route, this should be an exciting spectacle.
Our six contestants have all taken their place at the start line. The boats in this year’s competition are:
- The Aurora, skippered by Captain Mordecai Smith. The Aurora has a distinct advantage in this race, having already run the course once before in July 1888, although it only completed 8 miles of the course before running aground.
- The Alicia, skippered by Captain William Cantelo. This cutter is highly rated for its ability in all types of weather.
- Next up is The Lone Star, an American vessel skippered by Captain James Calhoun. He'll be glad to be working with his usual crew, who all seem to have come dressed as ghosts.
- Boat four is the unimaginatively named Little Yacht, skippered by Captain Neligan. Despite living in the famous fishing county of Cornwall, Neligan admits that he knows nothing about boats and that his Little Yacht is absolutely not up to the task. However, he is desperate for the prize money, so he's willing to give it a shot.
- The Norah Creina is an Irish steamer skippered by Captain Sutton and crewed by Messrs Biddle, Hayward, and Moffat.
- And finally, we have The Gloria Scott, a heavy-bowed, broad-beamed craft skippered by... well this is interesting, the previously listed captain has, apparently been suddenly replaced with a Mr Jack Prendergast. I can't say that I know much about him, but I'm sure he knows what he's doing...
...Ah... it looks like they are ready to start... yes, the engines are being stoked and the starter is raising his pistol.
*BANG*
And they are off...
...Already they are tearing past St. Katherines and around Canary Wharf. I must say, the river is looking lovely today. The Aurora seems to have taken an early lead, let's hope they can keep up this pace. The other five ships are all in a dead heat a few hundred yard behind them...
...Oh no! What's this! Captain Mordecai Smith seems to have relinquished control of The Aurora to a one-legged man who has immediately lost control of the ship and... yes... he's run it aground again! Smith can't be happy with this.
Taking advantage of the situation, here comes The Norah Creina. With their solid approach, the Worthingdon crew should have little trouble... oh dear... it's sunk.
But here come the plucky Americans aboard The Lone Star. This is an experienced crew used to much worse conditions than these. Captain James Calhoun has taken this vessel back and forth across the Atlantic countless times, they'd be unlikely to... oh no, my mistake... they've sunk...
...So now, in a dead heat we see The Little Yacht, The Gloria Scott and The Alicia passing Thamesmead where weather conditions seem to have deteriorated. There is a small patch of mist on the Thames here, but they should have no trouble passing through it... Neligan's Little Yacht is the first to emerge - by a hair in front of the Gloria Scott... but what's this? The Alicia has simply disappeared. This will be a blow for the, now non-existent, crew who put so much into getting The Alicia ready for this race…
…Neligan's Little Yacht is building on its lead. It's a good two or three lengths ahead of The Gloria Scott as they approach Coldharbour. Their lead seems to just keep growing. They'd have to do something stupid to lose this race now... oh... the crew all seem to have abandoned ship... and... yes... I can just about see... they've drowned.
This just leaves The Gloria Scott. There's just under 6 miles of the course left. Surely, they can't possibly lose now, as they are the only remaining ship. All they need to do is stay calm and... wait... what's this smoke coming up from her...
*KABOOM*
Oh dear, The Gloria Scott, Jack Prendergast and all aboard appear to have exploded...
...Well, where does that leave us? The First Holmesian Regatta was certainly an exciting affair, but the only winner seems to have been Poseidon. All that remains, is to clear the detritus from the river, put on your hat and coat and join me for something nutritious at Simpsons. Goodbye, folks.
Any Other Business:
"The Entire Canon" (Paul Thomas Miller) started crying and didn't stop until everyone else left the room. As there was no one else in the room, this took an unexpectedly long time.
