A Collector of Oddities

By MinBannister

Arthur's Saltire

Walking past St Mary's Cathedral this afternoon I suddenly noticed a couple of people photographing something behind and above me. Of course I had to rubberneck at what they were looking at and it was this fabulous saltire in the sky.

The spot is more or less where Arthur Conan Doyle was born though the tenements have now been knocked down. The pub nearby is named after that fact. There used to be a statue of Sherlock Holmes across the road but the council vandalised it in the name of The Tram and have never put it back despite the fact The Tram will go nowhere near it.

Someday I mean to do some blips about ACD as I am such a huge fan. Most people only know him for Sherlock Holmes and perhaps for Challenger also but if you were ever in any doubt as to how wonderful a writer he was, check out (if you can find them) his historical romances. Don't let the name historical romance put you off, they are swashbuckling adventures filled with bloody violence and brilliantly understated humour. I reproduce here for your delight and delectation, a description of Sir Nigel's head.

"It is of import" said he, "for I love to keep my hair well ordered, seeing that the weight of my helmet for thirty years hath in some degree frayed it upon the top." He pulled off his velvet cap of maintenance as he spoke , and displayed a pate which was as bald as an egg, and shone bravely in the firelight. "You see," said he, whisking round and showing one little strip where a line of scattered hairs, like the last survivors in some fatal field, still barely held their own against the fate which had fallen upon their comrades; "these locks need some little oiling and curling, for I doubt not that if you look slantwise at my head, when the light is good, you will yourself percieve that there are places where the hair is sparse."

from The White Company

The man was incapable of putting words together imperfectly.

Comments
Sign in or get an account to comment.