World "not dull" shock

Been lapping up Arnold Bennett's short book Literary Taste:

The makers of literature are those who have seen and felt the miraculous interestingness of the universe. And the greatest makers of literature are those whose vision has been the widest, and whose feeling has been the most intense… Their lives are one long ecstasy of denying that the world is a dull place.

Most fanciable union leaders of yesteryear

Wasn't aware of this little contest until it was over, alas, but you can still run an eye over the candidates and ogle the victor. Phwoarr!

Shifting beneath the duvet

Some people may like to know there are renewed signs of life on Toasty's Futon.

Baby, it's old outside

A freshly built Tudor town in Wigan is a prime example of Outsider Art.

Eminent, but new to me

Last week I tried to watch Help! for the first time. Gave up after less than an hour, deterred by its flabby silliness, a sad squandering of Leo McKern.

The one thing I did like was the Asprey's jeweller who examines Ringo Starr's ring: a distinguished-looking, authoritative man with the air of having pulled his weight in the war. Peter Copley, his name was.

So I looked him up, and blow me down if he isn't still alive and still acting at the age of 92, and due to be seen next year as Spold in Vadim Jean's film of Terry Pratchett's The Colour of Magic.

What's more, a few years ago he recorded his wartime memories, and a full transcript is here, plus a video clip in which he describes a doodlebug landing on Soho.

Turns out he wasn't in the forces for long; discharged from the Navy on medical grounds without seeing action, he went back to the theatre. Toured South America with Donald Wolfit, roped in a hundred Russian soldiers to sing to sluggish audiences in Worthing, fetched up at the Old Vic as fight arranger for Laurence Olivier and Ralph Richardson, and went with them and Sybil Thorndike to perform in starving, shattered Hamburg immediately after the German surrender, with the Afrika Korps squatting silently on the pavement amid the ruins, while visiting thesps were plied with lobster and salmon. Good Richardson story to finish with.

This decent summary of his career, apropros of an honorary degree in 2001, labels him "an extremely eminent actor". Shows how much I know, eh?

A giant leap for Dankind

Remember 1985? Gorbachev took charge of the Soviet Union, Orson Welles died, the Titanic was located, I got the sack from my worst ever job and Daniel Day Lewis made his name with two sharply contrasting performances in My Beautiful Laundrette and A Room with a View.

This compilation (five minutes from each) brings it all back:

The only one who didn't get a Nobel

Marie Curie's daughter has just died, aged 102.

Big fat hairy dissident

David Bellamy offers a vigorously sceptical take on global warming.

Manual or automatic?

Innovative transit solutions for Father Jack Hackett:

BibliOdyssey

There are treasures to be found in a blog devoted to remarkable images from rare books and prints.

Moloch

Poignant and chilling, this seven-minute film culled from Leni Reifenstahl's Triumph of the Will identifies Hitler with the ancient god to whom children were sacrificed:

Don't say that

"Healthy heresy - described in more enlightened times as critical thinking, sceptical enquiry, or even free speech - is again being hunted down," argues Claire Fox.

(This blog will of course continue to be cringingly inoffensive to all.)

Julia

Very much saddened to learn this week of the death of Julia Cleves.

Esse est percipi

Samuel Beckett, who wrote a play entitled Play, also scripted a short film called Film. Made in 1965, it stars Buster Keaton - in his last major role before his death - as a man feverishly trying not to be seen, above all by the camera, or rather by an entity whose point of view corresponds to that of the camera. The film is completely silent (there's a "Shhh!" at one point, they say, but I can't hear it) and is presented here in three instalments of six minutes each.

Chiz chiz chiz

Animated version of Nigel Molesworth's guide to 1950s prep school teachers, with soundtrack by the Goons:

Former Viscount speaks out

Ten typically bracing minutes of Tony Benn on the European Union and the upcoming treaty:

Latest olds

The infamous Madame Arcati thinks she may have found the oldest magazine editor in the world.

Her lips are moving

At the 1965 Edinburgh Festival, Stevie Smith recites her most popular poem "Not Waving But Drowning", though she's not entirely sure of the words:

Ghosts of the web

What do you do when a page you want to read isn't there any more, and Google's cache is no help?

That's when you need the Internet Archive.

Highlight and copy the URL you've got, paste it into the Wayback Machine, and in my experience there's a one-in-three chance that the page you desire will miraculously pop up on screen - sometimes in dozens of successive versions. Admittedly the images may be missing and the links may be kaput, but come on chaps, imperfect world, sic transit, vale of tears, &c., &c.

This has been a public service announcement.

John Gielgud at the upright piano in 1933

Even Methuselah was young once: