Gawd bless Madame Cyn - a tale of War & Peace, in which our Brave Librarian is caught in the crossfire

Well chaps - it seems like a life time since I've been on the old bush telegraph communing with you all. Long enough to fight a few small wars and re-enact the battle of Trafalgar  several times over, and for Old Colonel Gin-Soaked (of the eponymous Gordon's Highland Regiment) to take an extended holiday. What's afoot you may ask?

(Answer: it's the thing on the end of your leg and  - we have several battalions of foot-soldiers currently awaiting breakfast, which is being provided this week by our new sponsor - Arny's Bunion Corporation - suppliers of footwear to the gentry..... and several small mercenary outfits, thank you for asking)

Anyway. The Catering Corps has lost its Commander owing to an unfortunate incident involving several stale sandwiches and a side of beef (you thought beef didn't take sides didn't you, but let me assure you, that where there are more than two sides, someone is bound to have a beef).

Which brings me to my latest skirmish. A sad tale of a Volunteer corps pitted against an ever ebullient CO against whom they recklessly declared intentions towards hostilities. It was a bloody battle and there are fears relating to collateral damage, but - like many conflicts - it had been simmering away on the margins of the theatre of battle for several years. Several bookshelves, thirteen publishers and three authors were held hostage for 

eighteen months in a series of complex manoeuvres, salvos were fired (both literary and literal), before relations broke down and all-out war was - somewhat inevitably - declared. The Volunteer Corps were clearly outgunned, and comprehensively overrun and five of its leaders fell on their swords, and retreated to camp to lick their wounds and contemplate their next move. I suspect this will involve setting up a charity bookshop dedicated to selling - exclusively - the works of the great literary heroine - Madame Cynthia Payne. Why the woman was never rewarded for Services to the Gentry or made a Regimental Mascot, I will never know, but that's War......and Peace for you eh?

One of our submariners is missing

Well it's been a long time since I put pen to paper (in the virtual sense). apparently since I last did so, I've been awarded a new title...Chairman or something. Well I don't know - I tried (like Caesar in Shakespeare's play) to 'put it by thrice', but the buggers insisted, so now you will all have to address me as Madam Chairman (apparently this is better than being called a Chair - in case someone attempts to sit on you)

Meanwhile after an unusually long truce, the old sods in the Catering Corps have launched a new assault planned for 13 hundred hours today. I am told I will be invaded by several dozen Submariners bearing Champagne rather than Arms. I have put my legions of books on standby and warned them that if attacked by champagne corks they are immediately to retaliate. Fortunately I  have positioned Sun Tzu's Art of War (de luxe French edition) in a key strategic position and if he fails me, not only do I have several volumes featuring heroes of the Battle of Midway, but Nelson is guarding the Left Flank. The buggers are not going to catch me napping.


Oh - and by the way - I've given birth again...to a new online catalogue. Watch this space.......

In which our brave Librarian takes on the Pirates...and a few casual diners

Avast there ye landlubbers for 'tis international Talk like a Pirate Day evidently. Now I personally, am not sure if my brave lads fought two World Wars and several other skirmishes involving an array of enemies ranging from imagined aliens to the far deadlier mosquito, just to dress up as cheap corsairs, but that's the modern way apparently, so let us take a moment to make sure we can identify one of these scoundrels should we come across 'em

Course 'tis unlikely that a real pirate will be presenting a sitting (standing) target like this one, who appears to be performing some sort of sea shanty in front of a captive audience of his victims who he is either torturing to death by singing the wrong lyrics, or entertaining, to distract them from the fact that there is a large plank at the rear of the auditorium which they will be forced to walk, into a crocodile pit once the concert is over.

As for my brave boys, they are still befuddled from attending a lecture on Naval & Military portraits at the National Gallery. Most behaved beautifully, but I had to restrain a couple of the younger recruits from painting moustaches on some of the exhibits apparently on the grounds that someone's grandparents had been victim of a particularly cruel flogging when acting as a Fag at some minor public school or other.

Other than that, it's been rather quiet in the Library...apart from migrating a rather old and creaky catalogue to a nice shiny online version and devising a digitization strategy that is, but, all in a day's work as they say.

And today, as the Library yet again disguises itself as a Dining Room, I am resorting to a few rounds of my favourite sport: firing old rubber stamps and (formerly sticky) labels at passersby in order to distract them from their food and entice them into reading some of my most memorable Military Histories. If that doesn't work I could try Plan B: wandering around with an air of Amazement at the sight of all these wonderful volumes, or Plan C: pretending I have fleas and scratching at the next table. 

If all else fails, it's back to the Pirates.

In which our brave Librarian takes a holiday and ends up in Steinditz

Well it's good to be back chaps, had the most horrendous experience while on shore leave. Thought it would be a good time, since most of the lads had upped and left for the summer, to take misself off to Hungary having heard they'd switched sides and joined the Allies. 

All was going well: visiting the cultural hotspots which - incidentally - included a gathering of the great unwashed at somewhere cunningly entitled Sziget which - it turns - out is a place where you can watch popular music combos from all over the entire globe for 24-hours-a-day for an entire week. Those Magyars know how to party I can tell you. They are a pretty hardcore bunch indeed: when I popped into the local druggist for a packet of Ibuprofen for my old War Wound, they bunged a pack of the hard stuff over the counter: 800mg? I was flying for days....without a parachute.

Anyway, as I said all seemed to be going well so I took the chaps off to Lake Balaton for some R&R (Rest and Recreation to you - none of that Rock-n-Roll nonsense - I decided they'd had enough long-haired layabouts for one detail). Trouble is, my intel was obviously faulty and what we took for the local branch of Butlin's was in fact, the local Prison Camp known to many as Stalag Steinditz, and ruled over by a sadistic blonde commonly known as Commandant Basella  Fawlty. Basella presides over a ruthless regime with the normal Nazi mania for law and order. Dammit, it took as two days to dig an escape tunnel (under the immaculate - yet forbidden paradise of the Swimming Pool) to the Beach at Balaton. And even then we had a close encounter with some of her Gestapo friends at the local museum of 'Nostalgia': 

Hungary's a dangerous place let me tell you.

Anyway, once the escape route had been secured, all was plain sailing: I even took the lads to see a Concert Party in the local town square where there was a bunch of soldiers performing a belly dance routine. Most convincing bunch of drag-artists I've seen this side of Thailand let me tell you - damn near fell for one misself. Anyway, the lads came back refreshed and ready to do battle with the new OPAC when it's fully operational. Only one misshap at Security at Budapest where they seized some of our ammo: a giant green water pistol (the very same one that those cunning Magyars had searched on the way into the aforementioned tribal gathering, in case my boys had been using it to smuggle alcohol). You can't pull the wool over their eyes (even if their sheepdog have Dreadlocks).


More adventures in Library-land soon eh chaps

In which our brave Librarian joins Foreign Legion

So things are getting quiet at the barracks as several generals disappear for the summer and leave me in charge of the Mess. I take full advantage of this opportunity by moving things around in the hope that no-one will be able to find anything on their return (particularly my secret munitions dump, which

consists largely of stale bread rolls, marmalade, the odd stapler and a large quantity of Book Plates)

Had a visit from the Major yesterday who - as ever - had several tales to tell, ranging from the time his Good Lady Wife taught Mountbatten to do the Twist, to his role as De Gaulle's chaperone during his sojourn around the corner to the barracks as head of the Free French Forces. Apparently it was all Churchill's idea, his comment being:
'The Major speaks no French, De Gaulle refuses to speak English, they'll get on famously'.
Needless to say, the Major wasted no time in chasing the lovely French ladies in their white skirts and doing his bit for the old Entente Cordiale which, it turns out, even Churchill's favourite bette noir (to continue the French theme) Nancy Astor helped out, by lending the barracks to group of Free French supporters to hold their meetings under the guise of the Petit Club Francais (I suspect much wine was quaffed and cheese eaten).

The Major also admitted that the roof of Liverpool Railway Station still leaks owing to an incident involving himself, several rookies and a revolver, which he assumed contained blanks (but that's for another day) and that he spent several evenings partying the night away with a certain matinee idol to whom he bore a striking resemblance, and that he still, despite his ninety-plus years, continues to frequent the illustrious night clubs of London where, according to one barman, he probably pretends to faint in the hope of being given the kiss of life by the young ladies.

But back to the French:
The Kepi Blanc seem to have left a large number of recruiting posters lying around in the barracks and rather foolishly I filled one in for a bit of a laugh (I have fond memories of them from my time in Paris where they told me they could smuggle large amounts of dubious substances and other equipment for me if the price - ie marriage - was right and where I learned that they are all obsessed with Edith Piaf and stand to attention when her songs are played on the radio).

Anyway, to cut a long story short: I have signed up for the old Legion Etrangere as it seems from the recruitment magazine, that you can learn the Huyla there. I may be gone some time. Toodle pip.

It ain't half hot mum (In which our Librarian witnesses acres of naked flesh)

Gad the heat Carruthers- the boys have issued Planters orders. Now, to be frank, I had no idea what this meant as my jungle training did not progress past Uncle Jim's Jungle Gym, but apparently the implications of this are quite shocking: jackets and ties removed, sleeves rolled up (four neat turns and not above the elbow - we are not an 80s pop group remember) - the place is starting to resemble some sort of Roman orgy. The Horror, The Horror.

Despite this shocking distraction, I have been managing to get a lot of work done - aside from an incident earlier in the week where I was forced to reenact the Dentist Scene from Marathon Man and, most shockingly, to pay over £200 for the experience. I suspect it's time I found a new dentist, and one where the receptionist doesn't chirp out in a loudly nonchalant fashion:
'No, you can't book an appointment with Mrs Engelblatt, she's dead'. I suspect there are better ways of breaking this news.

But I digress from my purpose. The old feller (or 'im indoors, but usually out as I call him) has apparently been drafted into the Albanian army. He went there on a sort of musical exchange programme, but appears to have come a cropper in the fashion of that nice Liam Neeson (or was it his daughter?) either ways, our offspring's reaction by text was :

The ungrateful brat! Remind me to put her on half rations for the rest of her tour of duty.
I am currently negotiating with various ambassadors and the makes of Ferrero Rocher to pay the ransom.

I have been putting a lot of work in building an electronic roll-call of soldiers which I am

thinking of turning into a musical, along the lines of Privates on Parade (although - given the amount of flesh I've been forced to face in the last few days - I'm not sure that this is wise). 
My version shall feature several old salty Sea Lords and the odd Cotton magnate and will start in the National Portrait Gallery where, it appears, they feature dozens, nay hundreds of illustrious former members of my platoon. 
Naturally, they will all be fully clothed: 
I guess Some Like it Hot, personally I prefer formal wear, as they say. 

The Enemy Within moves closer to home

So this week ladies and gents I have extremely serious news to report: I fear the enemy has infiltrated my own home. My evidence for this is having caught my good husband sneaking off late at night wearing two-tone brogues and a bowler hat, and carrying a cane. when questioned as to his destination, he muttered something about a photo-shoot, but I postulate that he was off for a secret rendez-vous with Count Friederich Wilhelm Von Bog-Brush (the suspected double-agent on my Library Committee). Said Count appeared in my luxury office suite (AKA the Broom Cupboard) the next day carrying a file marked 'Top Secret' which included such dubious items as a paper on how to digitize your archives with the use of a contingent NADFAS Volunteers. Later that day, I caught my husband watching a programme on Moon landings and NASA conspiracies, so I have - sadly - concluded that I will now start looking closer to home for traces of enemy activity.

This rather took the shine off my latest victory which involved a tame monkey who managed to interview nearly 300 businessmen and women as well as a handful of veterans for me, as part of my plans for Market Research into a new diversionary tactic (known as a History Book) which the chaps here are determined to trial before the end of the next Tour of Duty. Said Monkey even managed to turn up some potential financial backers - a matter which caused much excitement in the ranks, let me tell you. It also broke up the rather more gloomy task of searching the Commonwealth War Graves Commission website for evidence of any of our boys Killed in Action.


The other piece of good news this week involved a book-signing featuring a little-known author I had encountered while doing research into a former member of the SOE who left a legacy of rather exciting (but naturally secret) items in a file marked 'to be opened in the event of my death'. Obviously I have to keep schtum about much of this, but let's just say that  he 

 

  and that - my friends is how we won the war. Toodle-pip.