Arts, Drama

Whodunnit: Murder At Mattingley

Whodunnit

A keen member of the Ornithological Society, Miss Miller was delighted by the chance to visit Mattingley Chase, whose extensive grounds included an area of marshland that attracted rare species. The owner, Kyler Mattingley, was a noted recluse but ornithology was his passion, so he allowed four Society members to stay for the weekend.

The guests were familiar to each other from exchanges in the Society’s journal, Tweetings. The ride to the Chase was the first time they had actually met, however.

They were a merry bunch. Miss Wilson was the youngest of the quartet, fashionably dressed, with a special interest in finches and an enthusiasm for photography. Austin Ball was charming and magnificently attired in a cream jacket, dark trousers, black boots and silk kerchief. Clayton Hendricks was an outdoor type strongly built, with a large beard.

Their conversation was dominated by thoughts of Kyler Mattingley.

“I hear tell that Mr Mattingley is an impeccably gracious host,” said Miss Miller.

“A cautious one,” Hendricks replied.

Miss Wilson smiled. “We’re very lucky,” she said.

“Indeed, we are,” said Hendricks.

“We shall just have to ensure that the great Mr Mattingley has no reason to be displeased with our presence,” Ball said. “Maybe that way we can hasten the day when this opportunity is extended to other members of the Society.”

Miss Miller nodded. “Quite. I assume we all remembered our gifts?”

“Of course,” said Hendricks. “I have brought him a book of doves; the illustrations are magnificent.”

“That sounds delightful, Mr Hendricks,” said Miss Wilson. “I’ll have to ask Mr Mattingley for a look.”

When they arrived at the Chase, they were met by Gustav, Mr Mattingley’s man, who showed them to their rooms.

Miss Miller’s bedroom was charming. A comfortable bed and tasteful décor were complemented by a selection of beautiful artworks of birds. There were several sketches, a silver-backed mirror engraved with owls, a small, graceful carving of a jade heron in flight, and a wooden bookend in the form of a woodpecker. But what really caught her eye was a striking oil painting of birds of paradise.

After refreshing themselves, the guests assembled downstairs, clutching their gifts. Kyler Mattingley was there to greet them.

“Welcome, my friends,” he said, smiling. “I so rarely meet people, but I feel as if I know you all already. Where would we be without your lovely studies, Miss Wilson, or, Mr Ball, your hilarious anecdotes?”

After cocktails, the party went into the dining room, where they were served an impressive meal. Afterwards, he opened their gifts with every appearance of delight.

Miss Miller had brought a dozen hand-carved whistles in the likeness of less common woodland birds, in a lacquer box. When blown, each one made the trill of the bird it resembled. Hendricks presented Mattingley with the book of doves, each illustration a masterpiece of both art and biology. Ball gave a rather elegant jade phoenix, caught in the moment of its fiery rebirth, cleverly wrapped in silk. Miss Wilson, finally, had prepared a series of photographic exposures showing the changes in a park near her home over the course of a year, bound in red leather. Eventually, they retired early, to facilitate a dawn start.

Miss Miller had barely dozed off when she was awoken by a heavy knock, and Gustav entered.

“Ah, you at least are in place. Forgive me for disturbing you, Madam, but Mr Mattingley has been murdered. Your companions are not in their rooms.”

“I shall come down directly,” said Miss Miller.

By the time she was dressed and downstairs, the other Society members had been gathered.

“They say Kyler Mattingley is dead!” Miss Wilson exclaimed.

“So I hear,” said Miss Miller. “It’s a terrible business. I was in bed.”

Miss Wilson paused. “I was in the dining room, actually. I wanted to look at Mr Hendricks’ book.”

“I was in the drawing room, enjoying a cigar,” said Ball. “It is my invariable habit.”

Hendricks shrugged. “Well, I was in the kitchen. I need milk to take my medicine with.”

Miss Miller waved to the manservant. “May I have a word, Mr Gustav? He nodded, and she crossed over to him. “I fear that I know who the killer is.”

Who is the assassin, and how does Miss Miller know?

Detection level of difficulty: 4/5

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Arts, Britain, History, Military

The Royal Navy’s Arctic Ghost Ships

NATIONAL MARITIME

HMS Erebus

Painting by J Franklin Wright shows HMS Erebus and HMS Terror as they may have appeared before being lost.

AS A ‘whodunit’, it remains one of the greatest of all time, a British seafaring mystery with such enduring fascination that even after 170 years of rumour, allegations and speculation, it still fires imaginations.

What really did happen to Rear-Admiral Sir John Franklin and the 129 sailors on the HMS Erebus and HMS Terror who set sail to explore the Arctic in 1845 but who never returned home from that frozen wasteland?

Precisely how, where and why they died has only ever been guessed at.

Over the years it has variously become a legendary tale of men fighting against starvation, sickness and extreme elements to stay alive, or a baffling story of unexplained death, with murky under-currents of possible murder, suicide and cannibalism.

At last, though, there has been a breakthrough, as a new exhibition, Death In The Ice, at the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich, London reveals.

In 2014 and 2016, the wrecks of Erebus and Terror were discovered in the depths and marine archaeologists have been examining them ever since. The exhibition reveals the preliminary findings – and the startling results call for a complete rethink of the saga of Sir John Franklin’s epic last voyage.

The ships and their crews went missing on a Royal Navy expedition to find and chart the last 900-mile section of the fabled North-West Passage – a sea route over the top of the world linking the North Atlantic to the Pacific via the Arctic Circle.

They were sailing into the unknown, trying to weave their way from Baffin Bay to the Bering Strait, between thousands of islands, large and small, where ice-covered land and frozen sea constantly merge and icebergs block the way.

To add to their troubles, they experienced winters so severe that even the Inuit, the native inhabitants of the Canadian Arctic, thought them exceptional.

In command was the 59-year-old Franklin, a much-admired seaman who had fought at Trafalgar and sailed the Arctic three times before.

But he had recently been a failure as governor of the British colony in Tasmania and, desperate to restore his reputation, volunteered to lead the expedition. The Admiralty was concerned about his age but gave him the nod anyway.

Erebus and Terror were, like Franklin, veterans of the ice, having survived previous expeditions to the Arctic and Antarctic.

Their hulls were reinforced with iron sheeting to cope with the frozen seas, and had steam-driven propellers for when they were becalmed or in danger of becoming ice-bound.

 

THE officers and men on board were the Navy’s finest, each one a volunteer for a voyage expected to last up to three years.

In May 1845, the ships left the Thames, sailing north. By July they were in Greenland, and in August their tall masts were spotted by whalers between Greenland and Canada heading for the start of the North-West Passage.

After which, they were never seen or heard from again. So began the mystery.

For two years, the Admiralty did nothing, expressing its “unlimited confidence in the skills and resources of Sir John”. But family and friends were growing anxious, particularly Franklin’s wife, Jane, who lobbied for action.

Ships were finally dispatched to search from both eastern and western ends of the Passage.

In all, more than 30 search teams would be launched over the next decade – some out of altruism, others inspired by an Admiralty award equivalent to £1.5million today for a successful rescue. But no traces of the ships were found.

Then in 1850, three graves were discovered on an island near the start of the Passage, yielding the frozen and intact bodies of two sailors and a Royal Marine private. But of the rest of the crews, there was no sign.

Their fate was by now a Victorian obsession, prompting endless debate, books, magazine articles and folk songs. Spiritualists joined in, claiming to have seen visions of the lost souls.

Then, in 1853 – eight years after the Erebus and Terror had set sail – significant new light was thrown on the plight of the crew.

John Rae, a Scottish explorer, returned with stories he heard from the Inuit. They told of having seen a ghostly party of sick, hungry and desperate qalunaaq (“white men”) who walked across the ice until they dropped dead.

The Inuit said they had found many corpses, and cooking pots with body parts inside.

The obvious conclusion was that starving men had resorted to what Rae described as “the last dread alternative” – cannibalism.

Rae’s discoveries were a massive shock to the British public, and an outraged Charles Dickens denounced the suggestion that British heroes had stooped so low as to eat each other in extremis. The arguments raged on, but from Rae’s evidence, the men’s fate seemed certain. The Admiralty declared the members of the expedition “’assumed dead” and paid out the men’s wages to their relatives.

But Jane Franklin was having none of it – neither the money, nor the idea that all hope had gone. She protested that there still might be survivors sustained by fish or seal or polar bear meat.

Some 12 years after the expedition went missing, she financed her own search mission by Arctic explorer, Leopold McClintock.

On King William Island, McClintock came across Inuit who had in their possession silver spoons and forks and other items from the Franklin expedition. They told him of how ships had been stranded in the ice nearby and of bodies in the snow.

McClintock and his team found three skeletons and a 28ft lifeboat lashed to a sledge, with an array of boots, towels and tobacco inside.

Most revealing of all, they came across a handwritten message inside a cairn with instructions that anyone finding it should forward it to the Admiralty. It gave the position of Erebus and Terror, referred to the ships and their crews wintering on the ice in 1845-46 and declared that “all [is] well”.

But dated April 28, 1848, more scrawled text had been added that told a much bleaker story.

It explained that by now the ships had been stranded in this same place for 20 months; that Franklin was dead (and had been for almost a year), as were 23 other crew members; and that the remaining 105 “souls” were abandoning the ships. The message was signed by James Fitzjames, captain of the Erebus, and Francis Crozier, captain of the Terror who, with Franklin dead, had become the faltering expedition’s commander.

McClintock raced back to London with his findings, establishing the narrative that was now to be generally accepted as the truth about the sad fate of Franklin’s expedition.

The ships had stranded in the ice to the north-west of King William Island and after three winters had run out of provisions.

The men were heroes who tried to save themselves by slogging across the ice to the other side of the island but one by one dropped from exhaustion, hunger, frostbite and sickness. The cannibalism allegations were set aside.

 

HERE instead was a legend of British grit to be proud of – summed up in an iconic Victorian painting that today hangs in the National Maritime Museum depicting Franklin and his men dying in the snow.

What remained missing, though, were the actual ships. McClintock had been told were Erebus and Terror were but, assuming no one was left on board, he had seen no point in finding them.

And in the following century and a half, their location remained unknown, assumed lost for ever.

Then in 2014, following an extensive search authorised by the Canadian government, HMS Erebus was pinpointed and two years later, Terror was also found.

Today, the wrecks rest on the sea bed, upright and amazingly intact, awaiting further investigation by divers and marine archaeologists.

Substantial relics have already been brought to the surface – the ship’s bell of Erebus, a six-pounder cannon, the gilded hilt of an officer’s sword, even willow-pattern china plates from the gallery.

But perhaps most astonishing is that the ships were found more than 100 miles from where their crews abandoned them.

It is possible that shifting sea-ice moved them from their original site. But there is also a strong chance that they may have sailed to their final locations. In which case, the abandoned ships must at some stage have been re-occupied by some of the crew.

Significantly, Terror appears to have been anchored – which could only have happened if there had been crew on board.

And if that’s true, the notion of Franklin’s men heroically remaining together as a disciplined British military unit trekking doggedly through blizzards until the very last man collapsed and died, is thrown up in the air.

HMS Terror may yet contain the answers everyone seeks. She sits in 150ft of water, her hatches closed and the glass windows apparently still intact. In such a closed, cold environment, documents may have been preserved.

Perhaps the ship’s log or diary is nesting there, sealed inside a water-tight container – something that could settle once and for all the long-running mystery of what exactly happened to the 129 lost souls who went out to find a passage through the ice and never returned.

– DEATH In The Ice: The shocking story of Rear-Admiral Sir John Franklin’s final expedition. National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, London. Until January 7, 2018.

 

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Arts, Britain, Films, History, Second World War

Film Review: Dunkirk

LITERARY REVIEW

THERE haven’t been many good films about the mass evacuation of Allied troops from the beaches of Dunkirk in the early summer of 1940. Strangely, however, two of the most notable were made in the same year, with World War II still raging. William Wyler’s Oscars-festooned Mrs Miniver, and David Lean’s In Which We Serve, both came out in 1942.

In 1958, the film Dunkirk directed by Barry Norman’s father Leslie, made a pretty decent fist of showing why Churchill called the events of May 26 to June 4, 1940, “a colossal military disaster”.

That is perhaps why not too many movies have been made about it. By contrast, D-Day and its aftermath, received oodles of cinematic attention. That event was just four months after the events at Dunkirk. But that was based on an advance; Dunkirk was merely about the definitive retreat.

Writer-director Christopher Nolan receives plaudits from many for tackling it again now, so unambiguously many of the protagonists say. Despite some of the gaps that historians will exploit, such as the absence from the film of some 15,000 Scottish soldiers of the Highland Regiments nearby, or even that of the assistance provided by India and its soldiers, this gripping and unconventional film is a mighty accomplishment all the same. It will be interesting to see whether the film will collect as many Academy Awards as Wyler’s Mrs Miniver (six).

Contrary to some over-excited reports, its main achievement is not to offer proof that the One Direction boyband star Harry Styles, who makes his screen debut can really act. Rather, it is to show, in much more vivid detail than Norman’s 1958 film, why a French place-name that is synonymous with British stoicism more accurately reflects Churchill’s infamous and grave assessment. Read enough reports, for example, of townsfolk battling against rising floodwaters, and it won’t be too long before you come across the evocative phrase “Dunkirk spirit”.

The new Prime Minister’s famous bulldog exhortation to fight on the beaches, in the fields and in the streets, was delivered in response to Dunkirk. But the same speech included the declaration that “wars are not won by evacuations”.

EMOTIVE

NOLAN uses that line as his mantra. From the film’s first frame to its last, there is never any doubt that we are witnessing a catastrophe. After all, some 338,000 members of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) returned home, but around 68,000 were lost.

The film begins, quite dramatically, with a young soldier, Tommy (Fionn Whitehead), running from German gunfire through the streets of the small French seaside town.

His arrival on the beach yields a breathtaking sight, for him and us alike. Tens of thousands of men are lined up, almost as far as the eye can see, waiting to climb into boats that have yet to arrive. And there are German bombers overhead.

Tommy hooks up with a French soldier and together they carry a wounded man on a stretcher towards the sea, not so much to save his skin as theirs. Indeed, one of the reasons this film is so moving is not so much its frequent displays of doughty heroism (not least from Mark Rylance as Mr Dawson, one of the many civilian skippers who took their boats to help with the evacuation), but more its powerful depiction of an intense will to live, against seemingly insuperable odds.

Survival instincts can sometimes look like the very opposite of bravery. Cillian Murphy plays a shellshocked soldier, saved from the sea by Mr Dawson, who cannot bear to return to Dunkirk. However, we are encouraged not to judge him, even when he does something with terrible consequences.

The film has emotive scenes. One is where an elderly blind man, back in Blighty, welcomes home the bedraggled returning soldiers by telling them “well done”. But all they did, one of them responds, was survive. “That’s enough,” says the old man.

Another is when Kenneth Branagh’s naval commander first spots salvation in the form of all those fishing-boats and pleasure crafts helping in the rescue effort. Yet, the film does not feel manipulative. Nolan could have made more of his opening shot of the rescuing flotilla. It could have been breathtaking; thousands of boats bobbing all the way to the horizon. But he keeps it real, with a suitably motley, but relatively small, advance fleet.

With astute screenwriting, Nolan offers us a series of small, personal dramas rather than any overall narrative thread, which we must suppose is precisely what war is.

There are no scenes with Churchill and his top brass back in Whitehall trying to orchestrate Operation Dynamo, the somewhat grandiose seat-of-the-pants exercise. Instead, Nolan is far more intent on evoking the frantic chaos of that momentous week.

There is a strong sense, too, which even the best war films sometimes fail to convey, of nobody quite knowing what’s going to happen next. The director communicates this by keeping dialogue to a minimum, daringly considering his heavyweight cast. Hoyte van Hoytema’s rousing cinematography tells the story just as eloquently and powerful as any words. At times, though, there is an almost documentary realism to proceedings, which won’t please everyone. Not all viewers will be spellbound.

The film is presented from three perspectives – from land, sea and air – each within a different time frame. The fate of Tommy and a few other desperate soldiers unfolds over a week. Another is played, splendidly, by Styles, who reportedly auditioned without Nolan having the slightest idea who he was, but whose presence should tempt youngsters to watch this film. Let’s hope so. They’ll perhaps realise that ‘one direction’ has a much more solemn meaning when applied to Dunkirk.

Dunkirk (12A)

Verdict: Unmissable epic ★★★★★

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