It was some time since I had moved out of our old rooms in 221B Baker Street, but happening to find myself in that neighbourhood one July morning in the year 1897 I thought I would stop by to see my old friend, Mr Sherlock Holmes. As was his custom when faced with an extremely difficult puzzle he was lounging on the sofa shooting discontentedly at the wall with an old service revolver. He seemed to be marking out a message in bullet holes. I could just make out the letters F, U, and what may have been the start of an L, or then again it may not.
‘Ah, Watson!’ he exclaimed, laying aside the pistol. ‘You are the stormy booby of crime. You arrive to find me grappling with a singularly difficult problem.’
‘An illustrious client?’ I asked, glancing the gilded monogram adorning the letter on the table.
‘The most illustrious: her Majesty the Queen herself.’
‘Why, I congratulate you, Holmes!’
He shook his head. ‘The problem she has presented to me is of a unique difficulty. It may be insoluble. Something has gone missing from the heart of government.’
‘Surely they haven’t lost another top secret submarine plan?’
‘No, nothing as simple as that.’
‘Then what?’
‘The government has lost its sense of morality. I fear not even I may be able to locate it.’
Poking around in a tide pool
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Remember the time you found their missing ethics advisor?’
‘Pah! That was a simple matter. All I had to do was follow the sound of sobbing until I discovered him hiding in the broom cupboard.’
Just then there came a tap on the door and Mrs Hudson entered bearing a tray with three more telegrams. Holmes opened the first two, and groaned.
‘What is it this time?’ I asked anxiously. ‘Surely they haven’t lost anything else?’
‘It’s worse than I feared. Now they’ve lost their sense of shame and of decency!’ He tore open the third, then flung it aside with a cry of despair. ‘This one’s from the Prime Minister.’
‘What’s he lost?’
‘His marbles.’
‘But what are you going to do, Holmes?’
‘In a situation like this there’s only one thing to do.’
He made a long arm and opened the desk drawer. Inside I could just see the tip of a hypodermic syringe, and small bottle marked “Seven percent solution. Do not take if operating heavy machinery”. I sadly shook my head, and took my leave. As I made my way downstairs I could faintly hear the strains of Holmes’s violin, playing an unusual set of chords, in a rhythm quite unlike anything I had ever heard (da-da-da-da, da-dum). Then Holmes began to sing.
‘She don’t lie, she don’t lie, she don’t lie… cocaine!’
Outside, a steady drizzle had begun to fall, and I realised I’d lost the sense of purpose with which I’d set out that morning. I thought of going back and asking Holmes to help me find it, but something suggested this may not be the time…
St Fergus’ on a sunny day
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But let us turn our minds to happier thoughts. Judit has sent us pictures of another splendid gansey, in a very natty shade of blue, and what—if I mistake not, Watson—appears to be a variant of the classic Staithes pattern. It’s a good reminder of how effective these patterns are in pretty much any colour, and that they’re classics for a reason. Many thanks once more to Judit for sharing!
And finally this week, I didn’t quite manage to finish the olive gansey, but nearly. (And there’s nothing like five or six inches of ribbing at the end of a project to teach you that we’re not put here on earth for pleasure alone.) Next week we’ll post pictures of the finished article, hopefully washed and blocked and ready to be taken for a spin. All I need to find is the motivation… but let’s not go through all that again, eh?
Grasses in the wind
Beautiful pattern and brilliant but tragic satire. I saw in newspaper yesterday that NHS workers will not be given paid sick leave if they get covid. I had to read it twice to believe it. Just a tiny little notice in the front of the paper almost hidden by true tales of a Mexican mayor marrying an alligator.
Cheers Sharon! Did he marry two alligators to each other, or was he amorously enamoured of a particular reptile?
Your Mrs. Hunter’s is an inspiration to me. I’m doing a Filey variation in the Falmouth Navy. I’m about a third of the way through the first sleeve and I will soldier on. Actually, I’m not inspired to do much else besides knit. I say, as I sit on the porch of our family’s old summer house, on a gorgeous day, looking down Buzzard’s Bay in Massachusetts, trying to finish my school reports. My Filey is by my feet, just in case I need inspiration!
Hi Sarah, which side of Buzzards Bay are you on? Margaret and her family hail from the Cape – we got married in Falmouth church! And yes, do soldier on – you’re almost there, though Falmouth navy is a bit dark for my poor eyes these days.
They’ve all lost their marbles, over here too. Isn’t there some way we could have them gently but firmly taken to have their heads examined?
…If the current gansey somehow lacks a home (hah), my friend loves that color…
Hi Tamar, well, what a difference a week makes, huh? Though I like to think I played at least a small part in the downfall of our glorious leader, as I’m sure he reads the blog…!
Our lot have been indulging in 7% solution as well. At least that’s the only way I can rationalize their behaviour.
They should forced to take knitting classes by law, and if that doesn’t straighten them out, then sent to the Red Queen. “Off with their heads!”
Hi Lois, my new slogan: if in doubt, vote ‘em out! And if that fails and they keep getting voted in, move to New Zealand. You know it makes sense. Plus, the accent – sorry, “ixcent” – is so cute.
“I read the news today, Oh Boy, About a lucky man who made the grade . . .” “I just want to find 11,780 votes.” “Today we see a very important event though. Because right over there, right there, we see the event going to take place. And I’m going to be watching. Because history is going to be made. We’re going to see whether or not we have great and courageous leaders, or whether or not we have leaders that should be ashamed of themselves throughout history, throughout eternity they’ll be ashamed. And you know what? If they do the wrong thing, we should never, ever forget that they did. Never forget. We should never ever forget.” DJt
I don’t know who is getting this one, but I hope they have a pair of faded jeans and a light blue shirt . Wonderful sweater – can’t wait to escape to a new knitting project.
Hi Rebecca, if anyone ever says, oh, I can’t vote for the Democrats, they’re all the same and as bad as each other” I’d just point to the Supreme Court and say, “Seriously?”
Thanks for the kind words. First challenge will be if it fits, then I’ll worry about their fashion combinations!
Gordon, I enjoyed reading your report about the meeting with your old friend Mr Sherlock Holmes Many thanks for mentioning my blue gansey in the blog. Yes it is a Staithes pattern variant. I love knitting easy patterns without cables 🙂
Hi Judit, it’s always a pleasure to feature your lovely work! And a tay tuned for some Caithness patterns next year, many of which don’t have cables and which I hope will inspire you…
Heard the latest? Rumor has it that No.10 is to relocate to more appropriate domicile , all future communication c/o The Shambles.
Good to see sanity remains here in your lovely gansey. Looking forward to new jewel to your crown.
Many thanks Kevin. And I read a great quote in the Observer today: if you give a crown to a clown it doesn’t make him a king, it just turns the court into a circus. Don’t know why that seemed so appropriate after events of this week!
Well – the clown thought he had a crown, but all
he had was as ill-fitted waistcoat, snuggly girdling his paunch. Look away – The Queen did try to maintain herself, but having no such control myself, the image of the awkward penguin, wannabe king, still sends me into bouts of laughter. If only, it wasn’t so SAD.