Complete Angler - Published as an E-Book

It's taken as long to work my way through the quagmire that is e-book upload as it did to research and write my book in the first place. But triumph! With the help of my wife Lore, it's now gone global on Kindle.

Still a few hardback copies left of course for discerning collectors. Contact me on 01926 259 515 or email me at lenmarkham@hotmail.com to order.

Tight lines!

The Emperor

My searches on the internet have revealed that the legendary violin was sold by George Haddock's son Edgar in 1910 for £10,000. The buyer was Jan Kubelik, a violinist and composer who died in Prague 1940. I do hope the instrument survived the war. I'll follow the trail.

In Search of the 'Emperor'

I was listening to a flawless performance of Beethoven's Fourth Symphony last evening, earphones giving me the complete orchestral experience when my mind wandered. I wondered what my great forebear George Haddock would have made of the performance?

My mother was Ethel Elizabeth Haddock born in 1911. Throughout her entire life, she never mentioned her illustrious ancestors once and I've often wondered if she knew anything about them? And yet, strangly, although neither she nor I had any musical education, we both loved classical music and, as a small boy, I would listen to the wireless and pretend to be bowing some phantom violin. Only in recent years have I discovered that one of my relatives taught Delius and had a collection of over 80 rare violins and other instruments including a Stradivarius known as the Emperor dated 1715 and added to George Haddock's collection in 1876. Further research has revealed that George had the finest collection of violin bows in the world!

I have begun my search for the masterpiece, early enquiries revealing that a 19 page book - The Emperor -  was written about the violin in 1897, a copy of the book fetching nearly £200 in a recent auction. If I am eventually to trace its subject matter and bring ownership back into the family, I will need to start saving up! 

My initial delvings makes me wondere whether I should write a book about my musical family.

More to follow.     

Sunday Lunch? What! No Yorkshire Puddings?

Yesterday, Lore and I were invited out for Sunday lunch, our son-in-law Peter, a culinary croationist whose parents hailed from across the seas, surprising us with an ethnic speciality - kotolvina - a dish cooked outside in a utensil with dustbin lid proportions. The heart of the dish is a Balkan hillbilly stove powered by dry firewood, chicken, spiced sausage, mushrooms, onions, tomatoes and  a glug of wine bubbling on a high heat to create an aromatic dish of rainbow colours that is utterly irresistible. Taken inside (with great care) the dish is placed in the centre of the dining table and everyone is invited to dip in with chunks of bread. 

Who needs boring old Yorkshire puddings!    

And it saves on washing up!

Bread Lines

Predatory Amazon continues to drive local booksellers to the wall and Monsanto eagerly awaits the vote in the Brazilian Parliament giving it permission to introduce its genetically engineered cereal seeds to the farms of South America. The so called 'suicide seeds' will only be fertile for one planting and will not produce viable material for the next harvest, farmers having to go cap in hand to the multinational giant who will control prices. The world yearns for fairness and sustainability! Every measure to resist the rampage of the multinationals should be applauded. So, I heartily cheer and support an enterprising artisan baker in Kenilworth who, despite massive competition from local supermarkets is making delicious bread . He uses some flour ground at a centuries old water powered mill in Charlecote, some of his wheat hailing from a local farm just down the road in the Cotswolds. Mix all this with passion and skill and you have a loaf to drool over. What a template for future sustainability and healthy communities. With examples like Crustum on Priory Road, we could well see the return of a local butchers shop and ...

 maybe another bookshop?   

Murmuration

On recent evenings, I've watched starlings preparing to roost for the night. Their havens are three specific trees in the old grounds of Kenilworth Priory - now a park. The birds - in groups of around 30 - return from the fields just before sunset, the growing murmuration (for that's the term) hypnotically swirling, individual groups merging and coalescing in a rythmic and seemless cloud of birds, some cosmic air traffic controller ensuring that not a feather touches. The starlings chatter as they mingle in dance, the volume of twittering joyously increasing as each new group joins the swell. When all are assembled, the entire flock descends to the trees. I wonder if each bird has its allocated place? The starlings certainly congregate for warmth and security during the winter months. But, if the excited murmurings are anything to go by, surely for the joy of companionship as well?  

And here's a picture of the roosts and the murmuration.

Fishing in Denmark

Just made tentative arrangements to visit Denmark in June, partly at the invitation of the secretary of the Danish Angling Association - Per Ekstrom - who I met in London last summer and partly to accompany my best pal who, being married to Dane Bodil, has assimilated Denmark into his blood. I'll fish for pike and there's a tantalising promise of some exciting sea fishing (a contact has a boat!) with suggestions we might catch salmon and turbot - a fish I have only ever come across in Edwardian restaurant menus. 

I sent Per a copy of The Complete Angler in memory of the first publication in Danish of Izaak Walton's timeless work. The translation was published secretly in 1940 as a reaction against the German invasion, the publication echoing the volume of 1653 which came off the press in similar circumstances during the Commonwealth of Oliver Cromwell.

Over dinner in London last year, Per, incredibly generously,  presented me with a 1945 copy of Den Fuldkomne Fisker beautifully bound in calf. I can only read of few words of the Danish text but it exudes the very spirit of Walton!    

Fish Heads in my Shoe

I've completed a book of humorous short stories based on my experiences in Yorkshire, but Fish Heads in my Shoe is not attracting an interested publisher. So, bearing in mind the ancient wisdom that you should act 'as if' I've printed the 90 or so pages, bound them in a most apt cover and presented my volume to the world! It beams out from my bookcase awaiting takers.

Here it is! I think the image encapsulates the raw essence of the book. If you want to read more, please contact me and I'll load up tittalatory extracts!

Snowdonia

Recently returned from a visit to Snowdonia, spending Christmas in the village of Beddgelert. Legend has it that the hamlet grew up around the grave of a dog - Gelert - who was accidently slain by his master Prince Llewellyn who returned after a hunting trip to discover his son missing and the hound covered in blood. Jumping to a terrible conclusion, he unsheathed his sword and despatched the dog only to later discover his son save and well with a dead wolf by his side. Distraught, the prince buried Gelert by the river, the grave - surely one of the most romantically situated resting places in the world - drawing visitors ever since. Situated at the confluence of two mountain rivers, Beddgelert is graced by the seasonal runs of both salmon and sea trout, salmon continuing up the Glaslyn to spawn in a beautiful lake, sea trout miraculously turning left up the Colwyn to spawn in it upper reaches.

I was very impressed by the village and its people, the views of white mantled  Snowdon and a conversation I had with a local in the bar of the Prince Llewellyn, whetting my appetite for a return visit in the spring. Keen angler Rob Ball has promised to show me the most promising pools.

Before I left, I spied a pair of dippers on the Glaslyn bobbing a farewell. I'll be back pretty birds!

The photograph shows my family posing against the backdrop of the great mountain.