A Capital Collection!

Major Montague Maximilian GCSE is exceedingly fond of pipes. Ensconced in his estate in Yorkshire he claims that there is no finer feeling than, pipe in hand, enjoying quality shag. The Major has sent The Trumpington Bugle a photograph of some of his collection, with the following description:

"The collection is growing. The three on the left are Savinellis, a standard dry system, an academia, and a Roma rustica KS. In the other column there's a meerschaum-lined Kilimanjaro, a Peterson rocky Donegal, a Jean-Claude tigrato bent prince, and lastly, the newest addition, a GBD sandblasted bulldog, filled with Dunhill Durbar blend. Capital!"

Train Daze

There are rumours - rumours of the largest ever Ragged Rambler excursion taking place tomorrow. Our sources suggest that members of The Ragged Society of Antiquarian Ramblers will be travelling to Ipswich from Norwich, by train. It has been suggested to us that they will be liaising with a small party of three Suffolk-based antiquarians with whom they will explore some of the town's historic sites. 

Ancient Earthworks Discovered

An ancient earthworks has just been discovered in the north of Norwich city. Members of The Ragged Society of Antiquarian Ramblers first noticed evidence of this extraordinary find last Friday:

"Following an extensive breakfast - bacon, eggy dip-dobs, peas, fried bread, blood sausage, pork chops &c - I was perambulating along New Botolph Street, in considerable discomfort from a badly fitted truss, when I looked up and noticed a long earth barrow. 'By Jingo, ratherer!' I exclaimed, as I realised what it was I had discovered: an extremely large erection indeed!"
[Society Member, Munro Tweeder-Harris, Esq.]. 

Ragged Rambler, Dawson Bulwer-Rant, in between tears of joy, added,
"Hotspot of prehistoric... hic... activity we have here. Stone Clock near... hic... here! Old... it's very old..."

Initial analysis released by the RSAR suggests that the earthworks may be around 4,000 years old. When asked what it was used for, Mr Tweeder-Harris, Esq. and Mr. Bulwer-Rant explained thusly:
"Old... hic"
"Ritual!"
"Yes... hic... ritual - definitely ritual!"

A Fine Specimen - the Editor remembers..

As many a Rambler will tell you, the pleasures of a church can often be as intense outside as in, where the gentle hum of bees & trill of birdsong owe their presence to a peaceful churchyard.

   In this age of vast garden centres & expensive "features ", the un-sung heroic volunteers of these beautiful green spaces are ignored, and yet gaze ye upon their handiwork.  Can the modern lawn owner not learn from their modest means, plying the ground with the most basic of tools, shared, kept, passed down the generations, like surnames in a parish register?

  Ramblers have long appreciated such relics of the common man (and lady), coming across them as they do in their diligent investigations, and at times have celebrated them in their own right.  The Bugle archives contain many a yellowing memory of fine traditions, which the privations of war brought to a sad end.

One such was The Great Home Counties Watering Can Relay, where history, motoring and eco-friendly sportsmanship came together, in spectacular style.

So as the threat of summer drought looms large over the promise of a rich green summer, methought this little memento from the back-catalogue may help some reconsider their gardening vices.

A Fine Specimen - Dougie Womptoncroft with his Great
Home Counties winner, July 1927

  After all, were there not many centuries of fine green sward before some money-grubby tradesmen invented hose pipes and lawn sprinklers?!  My father's gardeners were up with the lark & out with their watering cans, as it should be, world without end, you idle, simpering, one-click & you're bored - no no, sorry, sorry!  I'm at the end of… oh, god, look, better just enjoy the pictures… Phew.  Breathe…

From The Archives

The Secretary writes:

Ramblum Mortuum...

 

  One cannot help but notice that the topic of death has arisen in recent postings, and indeed was the subject of some debate over cigars & brandy the other eve.  Observing that there were many uncertainties over the appropriate etiquette in dealing with dead Ramblers, or those who become so during Rambles, methought Members may benefit from some archival investigation.

The Society's basic tenet in these matters is that death makes no difference to status of Membership.  This is self evidenced by the healthy number of dead Members who regularly contribute to Society matters, such as Colonel Hampton, R J Oooooostead and others.

However, the Society does frown upon applications submitted after death.  One such is that of Peregrine “Trip-hammer” Fontenheim, who was nomination recusaverit in spite of his mother’s argument that the funeral service & burial in the family mausoleum should be counted as his first Ramble.

  Cessation of mortality during Rambles is not uncommon, and raises numerous challenges for which no one policy has proven universally applicable.  As a general consideration however, a Rambler mortuus occupies no more space than a Rambler vivus, so no major alteration of plans should result.  Only the most churlish would expect their fellows to Ramblus Interruptus.

Lord Tiggy Periwinkle’s Party continued their four-day excursion into the Caledonian Highlands in spite of the tragic First Cake-stop near Bannockburn.  Indeed they returned the good Lord to his ancestral home four days later, exactly as consue tudine, in time for High Tea.  In fact, so calmly was the matter handled that it wasn’t until that evening’s poor showing at billiards – where-in His Lordship normally excelled – that his Great Aunt, Lady Glockshot, observed the inevitable change in his demeanour.

This particular case may well have benefited from the remoteness of the Ramble itself, however, as the Caledonian peasantry are hardened to the sights of Nature in the raw, so to speak.  More southerly centres of population may prove more complex scenarios, requiring discretion to be uppermost.

Tiggy Periwinkle's skull  in the Society archive

Tweeder Munro’s suggestion of placing the cadaver upright in the passenger seat is certainly better advised than Mrs Cynthia Peynton-Blanc’s insistence on the placing of her demised spouse on the roof-rack of their shooting brake.

Other party members recall she was concerned to acquire more room for the Afghan hounds, and that indeed all progressed smoothly until rain & wind so disturbed the covering picnic blanket that they found themselves somewhat alarmingly confronted by numerous Constabulary (“Like a cohort of over educated Storm Troopers!” as Mrs P-B still relates the story) shortly after Staines.

However, even the simplest solutions can be derailed, if only by well-meaning honesty. One Rambler party found themselves in delicate waters while on a pleasant Cotswolds jaunt tracing the remnants of whipping posts, stocks, gibbets and other instruments of civil order in picturesque hamlets.

  An unfortunate case of “the Battenburg Gargle” had struck down T C Leathersmocq (Junior or Senior – I confess my uncertainty) at first elevenses.  An un-anticipated consequence of this development was that in each successive village, the back seat remained permanently occupied by one tweed-clad gent, while the explorations & perusals of worn down stumps & street corner signs proceeded.

A Rambler Mortuus occupies no more space than a Rambler Vivus

The good Cotswold folks’ ancestors must have clearly benefited from the aforementioned floggings and gruesome humiliations, and were now at such an advanced stage of social sophistication that, noticing this repeated pattern, they kindly rose to provide a remedy for what they perceived as an impediment to the full enjoyment of their parishes.

Thus by the mid-afternoon stop for a long lost ducking stool, a small party awaited the Ramblers’ Lagonda by a village pond, consisting of a vicar, a churchwarden, a Postmistress and two school governors, with a bath chair at the ready for the perceived invalid.  Four sturdy immigrant workers stood by, ready to assist with practicalities!  Overwhelmed with such kindness, and yet at a loss as how to reject such hospitality, our Members were in an awkward pickle.  Fortunately her years behind the counter had made the Postmistress an astute judge of human dealings, and she clarified all matters to such an extent that the good vicar offered a service of interment there & then!

  Thus each situation must be approached afresh and when in doubt, seek the solution which causes the least disruption to the Ramble.  Clearly on occasion the boot may be more efficacious than the passenger seat.  Member Many Coats’ suggestion that expiring mid-Ramble should be entirely prohibited is understandable, and has been adopted in the past, but can cause awkward conflicts of interest: hence the number of deceased Ramblers still on the books, as it were.  The proposal of a statute requiring two weeks’ written notice of impending mort to the Committee, while commendable, carries certain logistical problems relating to Sunday post and availability of clerical staff.

Take heed...

  Some debate arose over the Guzzle-Rights to the deceased’s picnic hamper, as to what constituted precedence amongst the remaining party for first dibs.  Again, no one particular policy will suffice; but harken to St Benedict's warning: Above all things, gluttony must be avoided. Take heed lest your hearts be overcharged with surfeiting.

Lemon Drizzle must be handled carefully, as it seems it can be the cause of the most vociferous exchanges.  Obviously occasions shall arise where specialist tastes should be given preference, for example, are we not all aware of Many Coat’s international reputation as connoisseur of the French Fancy?

 
Hopefully the above will shed some light on matters mortuus, and that regardless of where we find ourselves on the ever turning Wheel of Dame Fortune, all Members shall strive to preserve the purity of the Pax Ramblum.


 The Secretary

An Ancient Erection!

Professor Greenidge, suckling the aardvarks prior
to the remarkable discovery of the obelisk

The Trumpington Bugle is pleased to bring you yet another astounding arkeological discovery! (See HERE for a previous exclusive - the Anglia Square Standing Stone Clock.) Professor Greenidge (pictured above), from The Ragged Society of Antiquarian Ramblers , was relaxing with friends somewhere in the East of Norfolk when he noticed something quite remarkable...

In an ostensibly ordinary domestic garden - albeit a most delightful one! -, he noticed this - a genuine ancient obelisk! Gently laying down his aardvarks, he began to inspect the artefact. He very quickly realised that it lay within a date range of between 5-7,000 years. 


Here he is sharing his excitement with you all...

Pg III Venustas

Aqua Nympha ..?

This enigmatic beauty gazes patiently over a secluded pond in a truly fabulous secret garden, but is she Water Nymph or Rhine Maiden?  She's not telling, but the lucky heroicus for whom she waits probably won't lose sleep over it... and who could blame him!

Tweed peril!

Beware Before You Wear...

A word from the front line of public life 

  While we are all delighted for fellow Ragster, Munro Tweeder-Harris, as he racks up yet another year of illustrious life as a good Antiquarian, the photo of him happily enrobed in a good Norfolk gave me some pause for serious thought.
Just the other club night, I found myself listening to a fine, steady fellow whose nerves were well and truly jangled: indeed never was a G&T so essential for a poor chap's survival!
Only after gulping his third could the poor blighter speak - and this is no stammering curate I'm talking about, the man has taken on all comers in service of the Empire, from the Euphrates to the great Rock.
Nerves shot to pieces, a wreck.  It's lightly told, but heavy with implications of responsibility for us all.
  Heading office-ward the other morning, he narrowly avoided a nasty accident on his velocipide, while momentarily - and quite unconsciously - distracted by sight of a particularly fine Tweed.  Some chap, coming out of a small supermarket, blithely sporting some pucker wool craft as if he was in his own club!  A supermarket, I tell you, and one of the smaller, city-centre-rot variety, too.
Our man escaped a most unpleasant entangling with pedestrians of the commoner sort, by a nat's whisker and the grace of Aunty Gary.  And who knows what other moments of chaos that self centred buffoon went on to cause that morning, wandering blithely through a city centre full of innocent people?
 So have a thought, gentlemen, before you strike out, cravated & jacketed - what's good for the charabanc may be darned dangerous for the casual errand.
Major S.G. Hodgeforth (Retired)

Tweed Journal!

Dear Editor,

You people and your tweeters and Eye-phones and what-not! I have a notebook, and the cover is tweed. I call it, "my tweed journal." Do you understand what I am saying?

Yours Sincerely,
R.P.G. Grumpage


Marston Manors
Trumpington
Cambs

Prehistoric Stone Clock Shocker!

Prehistoric Standing Stone Clock!

A discovery of international significance has been made in the north of Norwich. Local antiquarians have identified a prehistoric stone circle located under the flyover next to Anglia Square. Mr. Pariah Greengrass of the 'Ragged Society of Antiquarian Ramblers' (RSAR) describes it thus:

"A find of international significance! The dating evidence would seem to suggest that this remarkable survivor is around 5,000 years old. The stones themselves are concrete - which just goes to show that the ancient folk had technologies beyond anything we had hitherto imagined. Our current understanding of the purpose of the structure is that it was a clock; however, sadly, the hands do not survive. This astonishing find leads us to believe that they must have had a stone calendar nearby, and - despite the best efforts of the baser sort of angry security staff at Anglia Square! - Society members are currently undertaking a number of exploratory trenches in order to locate it. "

The Trumpington Bugle has contacted the Norfolk Archaeological Unit but, as yet, we are still awaiting a response.

This issue's Pagina III Venustas is 

delightful Aphrodite

This modest beauty almost hides her venustas in a city street garden…

...and seems to have given her apple away to some lucky heroicus some time in the past - she's not saying!  Let's hope those holly prickles aren't too close...

Brogues?

Editor,

May one enquire as to what happens to all of the tiny circles of leather which are punched out during the production of ones' brogues? This is a subject of much debate between me and my antiquarian collaborators in the Trumpington Obscurities, Oddments and Cake Society.

Salutations,
Dr. Norbert Oddstrom,

Feckit Lane,
Trumpington

Bugle Exclusive: Romans Next Door, by Jove!

The Bugle has news of a potentially stunning historic discovery, which could overturn the entire academic canon of Roman Britain...

The epoch making find is the work of the much respected authority on British history, Field-Marshall D. Cockton-Smythe.

"The rummest darn thing! Find of the century, but only because of a mix up at the hairdressers!" the Field-Marshall told The Bugle. Known to friends as Bumper, he has asked that the exact location of the find remain confidential until further investigation, to avoid any "tin-pot clad nancy's & galloping Guinevere's" creating "some bally brou-ha-ha."

This remarkable survival of Roman Britain has, it seems, stood unnoticed in a busy city street for centuries, overlooked by all, including himself, until recently.

"Been kicking meself, you know, " he said, "must have been going about in a dashed dream these last sixty years! Was like this: Henrietta-Marguerite was in the hairdressers, and some new little filly mixed her name up, result being some kind of disaster with extensions, whatever they are - thought barbers cut hair off, meself, but, horses & courses - and she's in there for an infernally long time, I'll tell you.

So, after cooling me heels too long in a favourite little novelty shop of mine, thought I'd have a dander to look at some flushwork I know. Trying to find a sheltered corner to light a bowl full of shag, I head south up a cobbled alley I don't normally tread. And I just saw it, framed by a bookshop & a no-right-turn, at a totally new angle, I guess, when bingo! - the denarius drops! Third Century, from pediment to architrave, fresh as the Pantheon, or I'm a Rear Admiral! Been trotting past it almost every day for donkey's, without seeing what was right under me nose! Could have blown me, I'll say."

The Field-Marshall contacted his peers for second opinions, and a crack team of the Ragged Society (RSAR) members soon formed, regardless of personal inconvenience.

"Can't imagine there were many ladies too happy about it, " he boomed, " me ringing up & saying look here, I've got a building Vitruvius himself wouldn't blink at, right next to an ice-cream stall and a bakers! Gregorious was tied up with a niece or something, but Esotericus was there like a rabbit in a kitchen garden, good man, Hodgeforth and a few other chaps, all of us goggle-eyed that we'd missed something so blindingly obvious."

A complete Roman period building, in a high state of preservation

seems to have not just survived the centuries in a busy urban environment, but fitted in with life around it.

"Built to last, y' see," explained Major S.G. Hodgeforth (Ret.) "with top-hole solid workmanship, and capable of absorbing different uses down through the ages - if it ain't broke, why pull it down & build anew? Of course it's got new bits, those window frames are later, and you can knock the clock & campanile off for starters, but the basic jobby's Roman to the core, and a beauty, too. Corinthian, marvellous capitals, and delightful lower rustication."

The Raggeds are certain this is a totally unique survival, though other authorities have been less forthcoming - The Bugle contacted local museum authorities for comment, but digital communication problems, vacations and a high level of staff unavailability meant no one could speak clearly.

The ancient building currently functions in everyday commerce, but the occupiers proved none the wiser as to the ancient pedigree of their workplace, as experiments with a little Latin-speaking quickly proved.

Not that this came as a surprise to some of the Ramblers.  "Expected!" said Cockton-Smythe, "Who gets a decent education in this country anymore? All too busy shoving poppycock onto this blasted Internet-thing to even hear their own chatter, let alone anything useful."

Differences of opinion arise over the original purpose of the building.

"Flavian Ludus Gladiatorius," according to Major Hodgeforth, dismissing objections of the architecture being too ornate, as public entertainment was a big business.

"From here trained fighters would supply the amphitheatres of Britannia & Gaul," he said, pointing to chilling evidence of ancient bloodstains, still clearly visible.

Others cite the ornate dome within the building as more suitable for a temple, possibly to a local Romano-British deity. Esotericus was more circumspect: "Absences of evidence can be evidence of absent evidence, in many cases."

Cockton-Smythe was more certain of his ground.

"Happy Shop, Gentlemen's Relish Pot, Jupiters' Watering Hole, no doubt about it. Million of 'em all over the bally Empire, usual layout, on a slight rise for look outs, discretion and all, y' know, respectable as a Vestal Virgin outside, busy as a bag of frogs in. Clear these blasted shops away and you'll find the back door, wide & low to allow a few chaps at a time, bent double on the run, if wifeys came past. Excellent set-up, be-gad. They knew their stuff you know, these Romanum."

The Bugle keenly awaits further developments, to be published in these pages - tempus omnia relevat!

Posted by Esotericus on behalf of The Contributions Secretary

Most Perplexing!

Dear Editor,

One is most perplexed! One recently observed a young bearded man in a torn leather jacket visiting ones' local church. This is unacceptable!

Mrs K.J. Appleworth

Cravats!

Editor,


Whilst we are fully cognizant of the perilous state of the nation's finances, we feel that a responsible government should really make paisley cravats exempt from VAT. For too long the gentle Antiquarian has been neglected by our policy makers. It is time to stand up for the tweedy minority!


Yours sincerely,
Ernest Frippery


Greener's Cottage
Trumpington

Snapping Sock Garters!

Editor,


Is it not beyond the capacity of Man to manufacture a secure pair of sock garters! I now have a painful weal on my right shin as a result of a garter snapping as I negotiated a county stile. You people!


Digby Farquarson
Squinch Gardens,
Titby
Kent

Wholesome Antiquarian Pursuits

Editor,

Unless we resolve to give our young people access to brass rubbing and other wholesome Antiquarian pursuits, it is perfectly clear that they will be condemned to descend into a condition which, my young nephew, Tristan, informs me, is known in the vernacular as, "the charv"!

Dr Unk 

Manor House Lane

Framingham Bigot

Norfolk

Return to the Ragged Society of Antiquarian Ramblers