Saturday 26 October 2013

Just short of a technical giant


'Bruce and Sheila' - I wrote their names down, but without looking them up I am ashamed to say that I have forgotten them already.

This couple came all the way from Australia, just to visit The Bell Inn here in Bath, shortly after it was bought in a community take-over which produced over 530 subscribers, one of whom is Robert Plant - yes, the Robert Plant, who lives close by.

You can still hear the East London twang in the voice of the one with the rabbit-skin hat, but the accent of her with the soft drink does not betray the fact that her relatives lived in Bath in the 19th century. I was discreet enough not to ask how they ended up Down Under, as I believe that the debt to society has been settled now, and enough is enough.

That was her second soft drink in quick succession - she knocked the first one over the trousers of her husband as soon as it was paid for.

If they come back next Summer - or even this Christmas - they will see a new, improved, shiny frontage to The Bell, as scaffold is now up so it can be polished. I have inveigled myself into the position of 'Spiritual Advisor' for this external restoration project, and any attempt to divert me from the inspired choice of colour for the windows and woodwork is met with a hair-drier blast of petulant invective which sees off the most opinionated of cooks in this already over-crowded kitchen.

Same with the signage and same with the stonework. I am not indispensable, I am just wearily tolerated.

There is a pub just down the road called 'The Saracen's Head', which proudly proclaims that it is the oldest dedicated pub in Bath, dating as it does from 1723. Dickens stayed here in the 19th century and is reputed to have written the best part of one of his books in his room upstairs.

Well I have news for you, Saracen's Head - The Bell dates from 1704. Nya nya nya nya nya!

The Bell (ok, I know there are about 5000 other 'Bells' in the UK - and so do my German friends who tried to telephone me there once by consulting a directory for a pub with that name in England), was purpose built as the first (or last, depending on which direction you were travelling in) Coaching Inn outside the Eastern side of the city walls - the road to London.

Actually, it was only the main approach to London before the Post Chases were developed later in the 18th century, when - for a brief period - The Bristol to London coaches entered the city from the North Gate, where they made a slight diversion South on their way to Marlborough.

Now - as for the last 3 or 4000 years - again, you leave the town via Walcot Street on your first steps to London, and the first church (rebuilt 3 times in the last 300 years) is called St. Michael Without - 'without' meaning 'without a city wall', just like that Christmas Carole which caused me so much confusion as a child.

The name 'Walcot' denotes a whole community built up alongside a wall, but now Walcot is the largest parish in Bath, showing how far without it has sprawled.

Down in The Roman Baths, there is the skeleton of a man in a glass case, and this body was found - encased in stone - right alongside the stretch of road which leads past The Bell Inn - right opposite in fact.

Thanks to modern forensics, they have discovered that this man was an international trader from Syria (I believe) about 2000 years ago. So nya nya nya nya nya! to all you pesky Romans too, for spreading the lie that we were insular savages before you arrived.

I first saw this Syrian trader lying in his grave in Walcot Street, then the second time it was down in the bowels of the Bath's archives some years ago, where he was disrespectfully stuffed into a small, cardboard box in the dark. I lifted the lid of the box and felt not a little sorry for him, so far from home and torn from his almost final resting place.

Then, the last time I was in the museum, I took a closer look at his re-assembled remains and - with mounting incredulity - began to realise how tall he must have been in life.

At a rough guess, I would say that he must have been around six feet six inches high - a mere two inches short of a technical giant, even for these modern times.

So nya nya nya nya nya! to all you historians and anthropologists too, for spreading the lie that we were all midgets before you turned up.

23 comments:

  1. I never knew that Syrians were British!

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    1. Who said they were, smarty-pants?

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    2. Oh my abject apologies young man, I thought that was what you were implying - No.
      While I'm here may I thank you
      and a few of your followers for giving my blog extra publicity - keep it up folks. For as the Ad Man says all publicity good or bad, is good for business!

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    3. You are so fucking irritating, and I guess this is your prime function in life. I might take a leaf out of other's books and just block you, unless you start to pay your way and not add to our already considerable burden,

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  2. Once glance at the photo..."He looks Australian."

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    1. He was very proud of looking Australian, and insisted wearing the hat before the picture was taken. They still - apparently - refer to him as English in the bars, though.

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  3. One really wonders if all Kings, Queens, famous playwrights, famous authors, and poets, must have spent their entire lives visiting manor houses, castles, pubs, and brothels. No wonder they stopped handing out Blue Plaques.

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    Replies
    1. They have been prosecuting people for faking blue plaques for their houses of late, but I don't know on what grounds.

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  4. My sister-in-law's husband is East London. His accent is so different from her Midland.
    I once met a person who studied regional speech, who identified the portion of the city I grew up in after a few moments. An interesting identifier.

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    1. He must have had a good ear - unless all your people were locked up in a ghetto for 300 years, like the Japanese did to themselves.

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    2. P.S. - I cannot tell the difference between a London accent and all the other regional ones from it's surrounding counties - like Surrey, the one I was brought up in. I find it very easy to tell the difference between the East and West Scottish, though.

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    3. I like to know where folk's accents originated. I once loved a fellow for his Oklahoma twang. Irish lilts turn my head, and no rude Heron remarks, please. I've had my own from him.

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    4. " suffan" accents are , to me, just suffan!

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    5. He is on borrowed time from me, Joanne. I have had enough of his 'funny' quips. Oh well, twats like that will hang themselves if you give them the correct length of rope.

      Anyway, linguists go to the Appalachian mountains to study the verbage, just to see how English was spoke in the late 17th century.

      I speak BBC English, as you know, Cro.

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    6. .... and always wear an Armani dinner jacket.

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    7. I would NEVER wear an Italian dinner jacket.

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  5. ' Bruce and Sheila ' obviously didn't make a big impression on you then, Tom ?!!
    While you were talking to them, were you thinking " this will make a good post " ? ..... little did they know !! XXXX

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    1. I did tell them I would post them on the net, and I think I have done that quite nicely, don't you think?

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    2. Infamy, infamy - they've got it in for me!

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