Swing Time

This is just a brief post - my first in months. Since February I have been through quite a whirl with work, property renovation and our new (less so now) baby. Miri. is well - having cut teeth and started to stamp her mark on the world in a pretty jolly fashion. We have renovated our flats in Prague and London successfully and I enjoyed an incredibly busy and enjoyable period of learning a new job and sector (head-hunting fund managers in London) which drew to a close on Friday when I was sacked (for not making enough money).

The plan going forward is to follow the sage counsel of Fred Astaire - issued during that other major 'credit crunch' of the 1930's - and 'pick myself up, dust myself off and start all over again'.

In the short term at least I intend to work alone - as I doubt any of the reputable head-hunters will hire me until the markets improve (especially as I did not bill well over the last few months) and all I have to do to be relatively prosperous is beat the 'dole'. In an odd way this moment is liberating - as it has re-defined my horizons (by reducing the downside of lost salary). Moreover, assuming that we are not witnessing the demise of Western capitalism (even if a shift in the geographical locus of power towards the East), the pendulum will swing back again and there will be better times ahead.

However, the decision is also daunting. My resources will be my time, the contacts I have and a few ideas about how to improve client service. I will be up against bigger, more established firms. Consequently, this is going to be a heck of a challenging time - especially while the markets are turbulent - so please remember me and my family in your prayers.

The next post will revert to my usual rant against modernity - next weekend (I hope)...

The Battle of Codson's Beard

I was rummaging through some of my grandfather's old papers today and came across a piece of doggerel verse, recorded in old red note book with Kyrllic letter on the cover. My paternal grandfather was a poor orphan who joined the Royal Navy as a stoker during the First World War (later joining the Army and rising through the ranks to become a Colonel - fighting behind enemy lines during the Second War). If you know anything about this period of history, please let me know. I would really appreciate more information but should mention my gratitude to Patrick Kidd who identified that the poem was written by A.P. Herbert of the Royal Navy who later became a Liberal (regrettably in my eyes) M.P.

During the Russian Revolution, a detachment of British troops was sent to support the anti-Bolsheviks and my grandfather's ship, the Forester, went along. Some British sailors (including Herbert) were attached to army units, to form the Royal Naval Division (R.N.D.) and this is the tale of one of them. It should be noted that soldiers were expected to be clean shaven but sailors were allowed a beard.

Anyway, here is the verse, which although hardly the work of Sassoon or Owen, touched me for it's warmth:

The Battle of Codson's Beard

A.P. Herbert

Now I'll tell you a yarn of a sailorman
With a face more fierce than fair,
He got over that on the Navy's plan
By hiding it all with hair.
He was one of the rough old sailor breed
And had lived all his life at sea,
But he took to the beach at the Nation's heed
And fought in the R.N.D.

Now Brigadier General Blank's Brigade
Was tidy, neat and trim,
And the sight of a beard on his parade
Was a bit too much for him,
"What is that?" he cried, with a terrible oath,
"Of all that's wild and weird",
His staff replied "a curious growth,
But it looks very much like a beard".

The General said "I've seen six wars,
And many a ghastly sight
Men with locks that gave men shocks,
And buttons none too bright,
But never a man in my brigade
With a face all fringed with fur,
So you'll hurry away and shave today."
But Godson said "you err".

"For this old beard of which you're scared,
It stands for a lot to me,
For the great North gales and the sharks and whales,
And the smell of the dear grey sea."

Then Generals gathered around the spot,
And urged him to behave,
But Codson said "You talk a lot
But can you make me shave?
For the Navy allows a beard at the laws
And thus a beard is the sign for me,
That, where'er I go, the world may know,
I belong to the King's Navy."

So they gave him jobs in distant parts,
Where none might see his face,
Town Major jobs that break men's hearts,
and bullets at the base.
But, whenever he knew a fight was due,
He hurried there by train
And when he had done for every Hun,
He hurried back again.

Then spake another old sailor,
"It seems you can't have heard,
Begging you pardon General Blank,
The reason for this man's beard,
So I've brought you this 'ere photograph
Of what he used to be,
Before he stuck that fluffy muck,
Upon his Physionomy."

"It's a kind of a sort of a 'camouflage',
And that I take to mean
A kind of a thing that hides something
Which ought not to be seen."
The General looked and fainting cried:
"The situation's grave,
His beard was bad but Kamerad,
He simply cannot shave."

So when these thin lines sage and sag
And man goes down to man,
That great black beard is always in the van,
I've been in many a hot spot,
Where death is the least men feared,
But I've never seen anything quite so hot
As the 'Battle of Codson's Beard.'

I love these lines and will always treasure their sentiment. The tale of a stubborn salt-water sailor, whose courage and character deserve our fond remembrance.