Podcasts about Anstruther

Tennants of Elgin is a family quarrying business that has been operating out of the North East of Scotland for fifty years. They have had numerous impressive contracts across Europe, but have recently begun some work that's a little closer to home – providing the granite for Aberdeen's Union Street works. Mark went along to meet with Director Gavin Tennant, and find out more about the quarrying process.Muirburn is a polarising issue at the moment in Scotland, particularly in light of recent wildfires across the country. Helen Needham met with Stuart Smith from the James Hutton Institute to find out more about the latest research on these land management practices.Buckhaven on the East coast of Fife was once a thriving fishing port, although the town's harbour has since been lost to time. Pupils at the Mountfleurie Primary School have been uncovering their local history in conjunction with the Scottish Fisheries Museum in Anstruther. Rachel met up with the head curator Linda Fitzpatrick to find out more about the town's hidden history.Rachel visited a community woodland in Gifford, East Lothian, to try her hand at some birch tapping. She met with Rupert Waites from Buck and Birch, who use birch sap in a number of ways, combining it with other foraged materials to make liquors and spirits, that harness the taste of the Scottish landscape.Kris King joins Mark and Rachel on the programme to tell us more about the Highland Ultra taking place next week. This race takes place in three stages, across the Knoydart Peninsula - what he calls the UK's last true wilderness. We hear more about what inspired the race, but also how the race aims to give back to the local rural community.The Corbenic Camphill Community is a residential care home for adults with learning disabilities. This year marks the 10th anniversary of their Poetry Path, which winds through the surrounding grounds and showcases the work of some of Scotland's greatest poets, as well as the work of some of the care home's residents. Mark met with Jon Plunkett, the Community Director, to find out more about the inspiration behind this project, and how they are celebrating this anniversary.Aberdeen and Stonehaven Yacht Club have begun their spring season of sailing upon the Loch of Skene. Mark headed out on the water with them, to find out more about the club, their history, and the exciting events they host throughout the year.

Critically acclaimed literary fiction writer, Eleanor Anstruther tells us about how she has integrated Substack into her writing and publishing journey as well as her endeavours to figure out the best ways of being a hybrid author.

In this thought-provoking episode of Hurt to Healing, I sit down with author Eleanor Anstruther to discuss the complexities of mental health stigma, particularly within traditionally closed-off communities. Eleanor examines why some mental health conditions, like bipolar disorder, are more widely accepted and treated, while others, such as narcissistic personality disorder, are misunderstood, overlooked, or even celebrated—despite the harm they can cause.Drawing from personal experiences and stories shared by friends, Eleanor offers a raw and nuanced perspective on the cultural biases that shape how we perceive mental illness. She explores the importance of questioning these stigmas, promoting empathy, and offering compassionate support to those in need.Find Eleanor:Website: https://www.eleanoranstruther.com/Instagram: @eleanoranstrutherFollow us on social media for more insights, behind-the-scenes moments, and community discussions. Share your thoughts and connect with us at @hurttohealingpod on Instagram and YouTube. We'd love to hear from you! Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Miss Ansruther's Letters by Dame Rose Macaulay: In the smouldering ruins of wartime London, Miss Anstruther faces an agonising choice. As bombs rain down and her building burns, she must decide what to save from the encroaching flames. Amidst the chaos, she suddenly remembers the most precious items she owns: letters from her deceased lover. Rose Macaulay's "Miss Anstruther's Letters" is a poignant exploration of loss, memory, and the objects that tether us to our past. Written in the aftermath of Macaulay's own devastating experiences during the Blitz, this story offers a deeply personal glimpse into the human cost of war and the intangible casualties that often go unrecorded. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Staring at the mark on the wall where that painting once hung? Wondering why the moon, seen by others, has been hidden from you?  You've entered the world of Absence (Cheerio Poetry 2024) by Ali Lewis. He guides us through this exceptional first collection,  from the painful ache of lost love, to the possibilities unleashed by running over a pheasant.Robin talks about poetry & walking, via Robert Frost's poem Acquainted with the Night.  We also venture into the dark and terrifying beauty of  Paul Celan,  and read Celan's poem Todesfuge, Death Fugue. And we happen across Poetry Peter, Peter Smith, a fisherman and proto-performace poet  in Anstruther and Cellardyke - and Peter Kenny reads one of his poems... excruciatingly badly. Support the Show.Planet Poetry is a labour of love, paid for out of our own pockets.If you enjoy the podcast, please show your support and Buy us a Coffee!

Mrs. Anstruther would like to plant a rose garden, however the clearing she wishes to use gives people nightmares, and they hear whispers by an old post in the clearing. Soon she, along with her husband, learn the history of the clearing and the injustice that took place there

Join Producer Scott as he chats with drummer and NCH Host Grant Hutchison on this special episode of the Neutral Cider Hotel podcast!Stop #4 on his trip through the UK finds Producer Scott heading north...to the coastal town of Anstruther in Scotland to spend some time with a cider rockstar and literal rockstar as well as a cider shop owner, Grant Hutchison.Over the adorable squeals of his baby daughter Wren, Grant and Producer Scott got right into a proper chat and spoke about how he's been getting on for the past year. They also talked music and Grant's feelings about getting back into it after Frightened Rabbit ended. You see, last year Grant joined this Scottish band called The Twilight Sad as their drummer and soon after joining, they went on a massive worldwide tour opening for a little band called The Cure!!! So, it was really interesting to hear how that came about.They also talked about his ambitions to expand cider in Northern Scotland, an exciting bit of news about his legendary cider shop Aeble, and his aspirations for the future of the Neutral Cider Hotel.It was so nice hearing two longtime friends (and a wee baby) have a proper catch-up. We hope you enjoy the conversation as much as they did.Please do check out the other conversations from this trip in the podcast feed or any other episodes you've missed. Our socials are a great place to stay connected with us (links below), or send us your voice messages and let us know how you're doing! Thanks for listening to the Neutral Cider Hotel podcast!The Team:Gabe is a cider expert: The CiderologistGrant has two cider businesses: Re:Stalk and Aeble Cider ShopMartyn loves to write about cider: CiderShitExecutive Producer/Editor: Scott RiggsThe Rest of The Team:Music: Billy KennedyConnect:Instagram: NeutralCiderHotelFacebook: NeutralCiderHotelThreads: NeutralCiderHotelTwitter: NeutralCiderPodYouTube: NeutralCiderHotelListen and share episodes on our website: https://www.neutralciderhotel.com/ Leave us a voicemail: https://www.speakpipe.com/neutralciderhotel Email: neutralciderhotel@gmail.com

Founded by Jordan Grant after he was inspired as a teenager to turn his life around, Glasgow Garden Maintenance is now offering an apprenticeship scheme for aspiring tree surgeons. Mark meets Jordan and a former apprentice to hear about how the business has gone from strength to strength supporting young people into new careers along the way. Rachel visits the Scottish Fisheries Museum in Anstruther and takes a look at one of their exhibitions- The Long Haul: a generational study of fishing in the East Neuk. We hear an excerpt from Helen Needham's upcoming Radio 4 programme, Crossing the Cuillin Mountains. In this two part series, the writer and mountaineer Robert Macfarlane attempts to complete the Cuillin Ridge. The expedition marks twenty years since his first book 'Mountains of the Mind'. Naturalist and environmental educator Dan Puplett has seen a big increase in the number of people keen to learn more about mammal tracks. Rachel heads out with him to see what she can identify through footprints and poo! We chat live to Rick Taylor, from the South of Scotland Golden Eagle Project about the recent successful translocation of Golden Eagle chicks to the area as well as the upcoming Moffat Eagle Festival. Mark visits the Sighthill Stone Circle in Glasgow along with podcast maker Matthew Magee. Matthew has been exploring some of Scotland's fascinating neolithic sites on his bike for his series Stone Me. He explains what makes Sighthill unique. Skein Dial is a new art installation created by Hannah Imlach at RSPB Loch Lomond. It is a migration sundial carefully calibrated to mark the seasonal arrival and departure of Greenland White-fronted geese. Mark takes a look and finds out how Hannah created it. And after his chat with Hannah, Mark continues his musings on geese and what their arrival at this time of year means for us.

Until recently, Formula 1 teams relied predominantly on physical boards to communicate with drivers. Enter IRIS' pairing of technology and psychology, reinventing team comms and maximising performance.Developing the tech to revolutionise team radio is just one of the strings to Jacobi Anstruther's incredibly diverse bow, among other endeavours in polo, music production, record label ownership and much more.Join us for an absolutely fascinating journey into the mind of a business leader who seeks success, fails fast, and never ceases to learn and innovate.Lee and Jacobi discuss:Early entrepreneurial ventures, finding inspiration to lead a business at 16Entry into the audio space through record label ownership, festival plans and EDM music productionIRIS' partnership with Red Bull Racing to revamp the technical approach to team communicationsPsychology, biomechanics and utilising audio to maximise flow stateAI's role in our future, and how Jacobi perpetually seeks to learn & innovateExtrology is sponsored by Progresso Talent Partners who for more than 25 years have successfully delivered interim and permanent leadership talent to transform businesses and to hire the talent you need to enable your business to thrive: https://www.progressotalent.com/Links & references at: https://www.extrology.com/

On today's episode, Andrew is joined by Maddie Anstruther and Anya Gera, editors of Panoramic, a magazine featuring young voices from around the world. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

The “Most Ancient and Puissant Order of the Beggar's Benison and Merryland” was formed in 1732 in the town of Anstruther in the East Neuk of Fife, Scotland. It was a secret all male club dedicated to sexual freedom, with a little bit of financial fiddling on the side. The Club ran until 1836 and had off shoots in Glasgow, Edinburgh and even St Petersburg. Join me to learn more! See the show notes on the website https://amoroushistoriespodcast.wordpress.com/ Find me on social media; Instagram, Facebook, Twitter and YouTube. Drop me an email on amoroushistories@gmail.com Track: No Saint, Music by: https://slip.stream/

Who is Nostalgo ? Posters with his unsettlingly grinning face are appearing on scaffolds all over London. A murdered body, horribly disfigured and bearing a striking resemblance to the man on the poster, vanishes from a police-station. Jack Masefield wants to protect his fiancée Claire from her shady guardian Anstruther, and before he knows it, he is in the thick of the mystery, unraveling a tale of greed, deception, revenge and dark deeds. Genre(s): Crime & Mystery Fiction Language: English Fred M. White (1859 - 1935) --- Support this podcast: https://anchor.fm/3daudiobooks0/support

In this final episode of the fourth season of Pubs. Pints. People. our hosts look forward to the new year, exploring what and who will be making waves in the beer and cider industry. In a panel discussion, Alison Taffs speaks to Nicky Kong of the Cat in the Glass online bottle shop and Helen Smith of the Burum collective. Then we hear from Julie O'Grady of Neptune Brewery in Liverpool and Grant Hutchinson, drummer with Frightened Rabbit and now proprietor of Aeble cider specialist bottle shop in Anstruther in Fife. CAMRA Shop: https://shop1.camra.org.uk/Join CAMRA if you're not already a member for just £28.50 a year at https://join.camra.org.uk/ - gain access to great audio and visual content on our Learn & Discover platform.If you'd like to get involved, simply contact podcast@camra.org.uk or follow us on Twitter @PubsPintsPeopleSupport this show http://supporter.acast.com/pubspintspeople. See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

'Step by Step' tells the story of a 6-mile hike along the Fife Coastal Path. Sure - you could drive from village to village. But with so many things to see on such a short stretch of coast, why not make the most of the excellent paths and bus routes on the East Neuk of Fife and go for a leisurely walk.We start at the beach of Ruby Bay in Elie and work our way past St Monans and Pittenweem to Anstruther. Along the way, we explore historic ruins, stop to take in the landscape and hear about some of the quirky stories and sights that make this region so unique. In 2-3 hours, you've discovered more of the East Neuk of Fife, than you ever could on the road.After the story, I'll tell you some of my top tips to explore the East Neuk of Fife for yourself.Are you ready? Great – let's travel to Scotland!Visit our website to find out top tips for a trip to the East Neuk of Fife.This episode is brought to you by Go Ape.Book now at www.goape.co.uk and use the code WILDSCOT to receive 10% all four Scottish Go Ape sites - Aberfoyle, Peebles, Aberdeen, Dalkeith (Edinburgh).See full T&Cs on wildforscotland.comLinksJoin the Wild for Scotland email list here.Subscribe here to join the waitlist for my Ready-Made Itinerary, launching soon!Use my trail description to follow this hike.Plan a trip to the greater region with my Fife travel guide.Find out what to do in St Andrews.Access the transcript of this episode on wildforscotland.comSupport this show on Patreon and unlock bonus episodes.CreditsWritten and hosted by Kathi Kamleitner. Produced and edited by Fran Turauskis. Cover Art illustrated by Lizzie Vaughan-Knight. All original music composed by Bruce Wallace. Additional music and sound effects from Zapsplat and Pond5. Support my show on Patreon See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

This session presents two very exciting debut novels from writers who have each been fearless in rattling family skeletons or using elements of autobiography to come up with something fresh and startling. Eleanor Anstruther's A Perfect Explanation was inspired by her discovery that her grandmother, the granddaughter of the 8th Duke of Argyll, sold her father to her aunt for £500 to raise him as her own. Paul Mendez worked as an actor before settling into a writing career. His Rainbow Milk draws, in its portrayal of a boy's search for his true, Jamaican father, on his own troubled early life as an “unfellowshipped” gay son of Jehovah's Witnesses in the Black Country. Eleanor and Paul were in conversation with Colin Midson, director of Bookshaped and artistic director of the Falmouth Book Festival. We apologise for the slight audio issues in this recording caused by technical problems at the live event.

Hello and welcome back to Independent Thinking. Thank you so much for your comments about our first episodes of the series so far, they both seem to really have resonated with you, which is what we're all about! This week, we continue our exploration of partnerships in business with Aeble, Scotland's first and only cider shop brought to you by husband and wife team Grant and Jaye Hutchison. Many of you will know Grant from his days as drummer with the band Frightened Rabbit, but might be less aware of this love for cider. Together with his wife, who has worked extensively in the world of art and set design, they have opened Aeble, in Anstruther in the East Neuk in Fife to  showcase and celebrate indie cider producers from around the world. We talk about big life changes, moving out of the city, the power of collaboration and how far cider has come. Regardless of whether you're a cider lover or not, prepare to be won over and inspired, in this story of following your passion and taking the leap. Enjoy!https://www.aeble.co.uk/https://www.instagram.com/aeble_cidershop/If this has whet your appetite for chatting all things cider, you'll love Grant's podcast: https://www.neutralciderhotel.com/ Support the show

In the tenth Scottish Field podcast, we're heading to the east coast. This week, we're joined by Rosie Morton, the chief sub-editor at Scottish Field, to tell us about her recent trip when she went foraging for seaweed with East Neuk Seaweed's Jayson Byles in Fife. You can read all about it in the current edition of the magazine, and find out more about Anstruther-based East Neuk Seaweed at www.eastneukseaweed.com And also joining us is Alison Elliott, the manager of Murton Farm, Tearoom and Nature Reserve, and chair of the Angus Tourism Cooperative From vast sandy beaches to historic Pictish stones, Arbroath Smokies to wildlife hot spots like Montrose Basin, Visit Angus has today launched the Insider's Guide to Angus – 100 Unmissable Experiences, shining a light on the vast range of attractions Angus has to offer. You can find out more from at www.visitangus.com/insiders-guide

Tam Cowan talks to Robert Smith, owner of the famous Anstruther Fish Bar.

This week we’ve got a big one, talking new Rolex releases, headphones with Jacobi Anstruther (Founder, Iris Listenwell), and launch OT: merch! By now you’ve seen the news - Rolex dropped their 2020 collection. We jumped on the mics the evening of the release, to share our initial thoughts, and recorded a quick take, which we’ve inserted into the regular program. Bigger Submariners, brighter Oyster Perpetuals, flexxy Sky-Dwellers - we’ve got all the news. And for the main event - we have a fascinating chat with Jacobi Anstruther, the founder behind revolutionary headphone and audio company Iris Listenwell. Jacobi schools us on how sound works, the gradual decline in audio quality over the years and how Iris is different, and why he vowed never to wear a watch ever again. We are also super proud to announce our first ever merchandise; the hilarious ‘Stickers are for Flippers’ stickers, which are a great way to support us. This episode is made possible by our sponsor, William Wood Watches. Show notes: Stickers are for Flippers Autoreligion New Rolex Datejusts New Rolex Sky-Dwellers New Rolex Submariners New Rolex Oyster Perpetuals Iris Listenwell Iris Flow Headphones - Indiegogo Neil Ferrier (@Discommon) on Instagram Paul Simon’s Graceland The Psychology of Man’s Possible Evolution on Amazon   How to follow us: Instagram: @ot.podcast Facebook: @OTPodcastAU Follow hosts: @fkscholz + @andygreenlive on Instagram. Submit an application to our quasi-professional watch match making service, by email: otthepodcast@gmail.com If you liked our podcast - please remember to like/share and subscribe.

Fife es una de las zonas más bonitas de la costa este de Escocia. En este capítulo os explico una ruta de un día con salida y vuelta a Edimburgo, donde visitaremos además algunas de las localizaciones de grabación de Outlander. El esquema de la ruta es el siguiente: Edimburgo - Puentes de Forth - Castillo de Aberdour - West Wemyss (focas) - East Neuk (Pittenweem, St Monans, Anstruther y Crail) - St Andrews - Falkland - Edimburgo Para los amantes del senderismo, aquí os dejo el enlace que menciono en el capítulo: https://www.walkhighlands.co.uk/fife-stirling/fife-coastal-path.shtml Preguntas para el podcast: www.escociasinlimites.com ¿Quieres venir a Escocia?: www.mundoescocia.com Gracias por seguir Escocia sin límites en Instagram y Facebook y por tus valoraciones en Ivoox y Apple Podcast

This is the first of two episodes dealing with Scottish topics. Episode 66 will be posted on Wednesday, June 18, and will feature the Museum of Scottish Lighthouses. The North Carr Lightship is the last remaining light vessel in Scotland. The first light vessel stationed near the North Carr rocks on the SE coast went on station in 1887. Only two years later it was replaced by a more substantial vessel. The third and final North Carr Lightship was built in Glasgow for the Northern Lighthouse Board in 1933. After its retirement in 1975, the lightship was sold to the North East Fife District Council. The North Carr Lightship in 1988 at Anstruther, Scotland. Wikimedia Commons, photo by Timwether In January 2002 it was moved to Victoria Dock in Dundee. In 2010, Taymara, a Dundee-based maritime charity, stepped in and took ownership. The work to stabilize the vessel is well underway, as the ravages of time and salt water continue to affect the integrity of the 86-year-old structure. Sam McKillop is the Project Administrator and Engineering Lead for the lightship restoration. The North Carr Lightship at Dundee in 2007. Wikimedia CommonsBy Laerol - Own work, CC BY 3.0 Also featured in this episode is a conversation with Dwight Berry of Maryland, a lighthouse enthusiast who discusses the lighthouses that can be visited in the vicinity of Baltimore. Seven Foot Knoll Lighthouse, Baltimore, MD. U.S. Lighthouse Society archive. Click here to learn more about Taymara and the lightship.

The travel writing of Kash Battacharya, the Budget Traveller, has won him accolades including National Geographic Traveller Writer of the Year, filming for Lonely Planet and the BBC and resulted in his book The Grand Hostels, Luxury Hostels of the World. On this episode Kash, in easing-lockdown Berlin, talks budget travel, the culture shock of moving Kent to Calcuttta age 9, being ‘the English kid’ at a 18,000-pupil school, Dutch houses in Scotland, hanging with Rastas in South Africa and a rather surreal encounter with Tommy Lee Jones in an ancient Japanese Samurai Kingdom.   On this episode we cover:   Moving to Berlin How he became The Budget Traveller Quitting his job to make his dream work Travel being therapy Being born in England to Indian parents The massive culture shock of leaving Kent for Calcutta age 9 Moving to Dundee at 18 Travel as a child can be like a game 18,000 people in his school! 100 in his class Being bullied as ‘the English kid’ Calcutta being an assault on the senses The architectural legacy of Colonial India The incredible food culture in Calcutta Not appreciating the culture as a child How the tough life in India helped toughen him for life Lisa’s Indian-Fijian father not imparting much Indian culture Dundee being full of fun, culture and Desperate Dan The East Neuk of Fife Dutch fisherman’s cottages Anstruther having the best fish and chips in Britain Finding Scottish people relaxed and more welcoming Lisa being uprooted age 7 from England to Spain Appreciating travel being a gift and a privilege even more during the Coronavirus Not counting the countries he has been to Japan being magical and surreal The Japanese man who went that extra mile Travelling through his stomach Fresh sushi at Tsukiji Japanese fish market Filming Hidden Japan for the BBC and Lonely Planet The life-changing experience of visiting Kanazawa ancient Samurai Kingdom A surreal encounter with Tommy-Lee Jones in the ancient kingdom Celebrities advertising random products in in Asian countries Filming a road trip through South Africa’s Garden Route The beautiful Buccaneers backpackers hostel on the wild coast The reason Lisa hasn’t yet been to South Africa) Paragliding over stunning scenery (despite being terrified of heights) Hanging out with a Rastafarian Community in Sedgefield Backpacking along the Garden Route South Africa going through a tough time at the moment Kash getting excited when he finds someone (like Lisa!) who has never stayed in a hostel His book The Grand Hostels, Luxury Hostels of the World Lisa being happy to sleep on a park bench to get her out of the Borough right now The midnight sun in The 7 Fells Hostel deep in the woods in Finnish Lapland Picking cloud berries by the lake in the midnight sun Lisa having specialised a lot in luxury travel The Steel House design hostel in Copenhagen with a pool and cinema Luxury nowadays being about experiences Travel being about meeting people and learning about the culture What does the future of travel look like now? Crazy nights out in Berlin (Lisa’s visit to the infamous KitKatClub) Kash Winning National Geographic Traveller of the Year Being at a low point in his life when he moved to Berlin Berlin being very diverse and accepting One half of Mogwai the band owning a bar in Berlin Morcheeba Down by the Sea being the appropriate soundtrack to a magical trip to Tuscany and the hostel that opening him to the world of travel   Please support Adopt a Hostel – to help save hostels across the world from the devastating financial effects of the COVID-19 crisis.  

Welcome to the Nibble Scotland Over Coffee podcast. In the days before social distancing I was lucky enough to be invited to meet Jillian McEwan from Lunan Bay Farm near Arbroath, who you may already be following their fabulous goat breeding stories on social media. I’m also delighted that Billy Boyter, Head Chef from The Cellars in Anstruther joined us to hear more about some of the activities on the farm and start his own creative process from farm to plate for his discerning customers.So deep within the kidding shed we chat about how Jillian and her husband Neil got involved in goats, their recent busman’s holiday to New Zealand, also hear about Robert the Bruce’s Royal decree to keep goats in the area and how they plan to reintroduce 100% Scottish cashmere to the market. Lunan Bay Farm are one of around 3 farmers in Scotland harvesting asparagus and this year Lunan Bay asparagus will be found in many farm shops and greengrocers around the country for our enjoyment at home over the summer months. Be sure to drop us a review and subscribe wherever you listen if you are enjoying the podcast so far. Follow us on social media @NibbleScotland for a first look at future guests and a behind the scenes look of everything mentioned in each episode.Billy Boyter, Head Chef at The Cellar, Anstruther - https://www.thecellaranstruther.co.uk/Cider Tempura Lunan Bay Asparagus with wild garlic mayo.This is a great and simple recipe you can do at home. Making use of 2 great seasonal ingredients. The lovely crisp Asparagus dipped into the punchy wild garlic mayonnaise is perfect.6 Lunan Bay Asparagus Spears 80g of plain flour50g of cornflour1 tsp bicarbonate of soda1 tsp baking powderice cubes sparkling Cider rapeseed oil for deep-fryingTrim the Woody end of the Asparagus off and wash ready to use.Whisk together all the ingredients in a bowl, stirring in enough cider to give a nice, thin batter. Add the ice cubes to the batter to keep it nice and cold this makes the fryer bubble furiously, which creates a super-crispy, bubbly coating. Please be careful if doing this at home. The colder the batter, the better the result. Lightly flour the spears and dip through the batter. Fry at 180c until crisp.Wild Garlic Mayo90g of Wild Garlic450ml of rapeseed oil3 egg yolk1 tsp Mustard 2 tsp white wine vinegarSaltPepperMake the wild garlic oil. Rinse the wild garlic, then blanch of 35 seconds in a pan of heavily salted, boiling water. Drain the water and plunge into some iced water, then pat dry with some kitchen towel.Chop the wild garlic roughly and add to a blender, then pour in the rapeseed oil. Start blitzing on a low speed, then increase in speed for 30 seconds to 1 minute, until the oil is a bright green colourPass through a fine sieve, then through a fine sieve or a coffee filter.Whisk the egg yolks, mustard and vinegar in a bowl until smooth. Continue whisking and pour in a thin, steady stream of the wild garlic oil.Keep whisking and pouring until all of the oil has been absorbed and has emulsified with the egg mixture - you should be left with a nice, thick green mayonnaise. Season with salt and pepper.

This week we talk with Geoffrey Taylor. He’s stepping down as director of the Toronto International Festival of Authors, so we had one last conversation on the topic. The festival starts Oct 24 and runs through Nov 3. We also speak with poet Jaclyn Desforges, who talks about (and reads from) her chapbook Hello Nice Man. Enjoy the show!

Korte inhoud van het voorafgaande: Jeeves vertrekt voor zijn jaarlijkse vakantie naar Bognor Regis om daar te gaan garnalenvissen, en Bertie logeert op Brinkley Court, het buitengoed van zijn tante Dahlia. Tante Dahlia’s zoontje, Bonzo, is daar, alsmede Mr. Anstruther,…

#2 Lilian Kennedy Brzoska, Drama Teacher, Performer and Theatre Director, on performance, creativity, connection and nature spirits. Holding the Space, the new interview series, by Lisa May Young. Listen at: •Apple Podcasts•Luminary•Spotify•Spreaker•YouTube BiographyLilian is a qualified primary teacher, drama lecturer, voice and movement teacher, theatre director and performer. In the last ten years she has been Senior Co-facilitator of Fifeshed Inclusive Theatre, then Trustee on the Board of Attention Fife, doing therapeutic drama with ADHD children. She has also worked on the YMCA summer programme for children. After retiring she became one of the founding group of Fife Writes, which is now in its fourth year as a support group for writers in Fife, running workshops and encouraging writers to perform once a month at various venues in Fife. She is currently engaged in gathering her writings of various genre, artworks and songs for publication / performance, as well as co-facilitating workshops in Scotland / Europe for CoCounselling International, a peer support network encouraging personal growth and creativity.She is a member of the Scottish Region of the International Theosophical Society, under whose aegis she hosts TSFife in The Heart Centre in Kirkcaldy. Occasionally, for the Scottish Region, she delivers lectures and meditations. She has strong connections with the West Coast and is a Trustee member of the Core Group of An Tearman, a sanctuary for writers, musicians, artists and seekers of inspiration on the Isle of Bute. Lilian connects with Scotland’s sacred sites and deeply values the glorious clear waters of our ancient land, as well as the Faerie World and the Sacred nature of our cultural heritage.Lilian has many happy childhood memories of holidays in Anstruther, Pittenweem and Crail, where her Polish father and Scots mother brought the family every year from Stirling.. She has been writing poetry, articles and drama sketches since 1984. She wrote for BBC Scotland’s programme “Hopscotch”, before leaving Glasgow, where she was Co-director of Roughcast Music Theatre .During this time she appeared at the Edinburgh Festival in “ In The Night “ by Jim Kelman, whom she encouraged to direct. Tom Leonard and Allan Tall also wrote for the company, for whom she also directed “ A Midsummer Night's Dream, “ “ A Secret “, “ Alive at the Half Cafe” and Decadence. In 1995 she toured Scotland performing “Freedom Song” with Howard Purdie, the Innerleithen poet and playwright. She performed “ Phantarch in Alba” in the Demarco European /Arts Foundation and co-ran The Cellyddon Festival at Wiston Lodge with Martin Lowe of Amiga Centre Scotland. She has an ongoing friendship with the very talented Alan Jackson. www.booksfromscotland.com/Authors/Alan-Jackson with whom she has performed in Edinburgh on a variety of occasions.As troubadour at Music Festivals Lilian also improvises, sings and runs voice workshops when invited. She can occasionally be found in the Kirkcaldy Yes Hub, supporting the notion that we are Big Enough, Intelligent Enough, Rich Enough and Strong Enough to run our own affairs as an Independent Nation. #podcast #episodes #iam #radio #people #beyourself #spotify #applepodcasts #youtube #applepodcast #podcaster #podcasterlife #podcast #podcasting #podcastlife #podcastshow #podcastlove #podcastnetwork #podcasters #media #podcastaddict #podcastinglife #creativity #acting #amwriting #authorsofinstagram #sunday #weekendvibes #performance #character

Eleanor Anstruther is a woman who always knew that her aristocratic father carried a dark secret. He was shockingly sold to his aunt by his mother for the sum of £500. Eleanor Anstruther, an author like her father, interviewed him near the end of his life about his secret. He gave permission for Eleanor to have access to the family archive of letters and court orders surrounding the  case. This story reimagined beautifully and is now a book: A PERFECT EXPLANATION. Eleanor has been shortlisted for the The Desmond Elliot Prize 2019.  [https://www.eleanoranstruther.com/](https://www.eleanoranstruther.com/) [Buy the book](https://www.saltpublishing.com/products/a-perfect-explanation-9781784631642) #RadioGorgeous #Author #DiscoverADebut Follow: [https://twitter.com/ellieanstruther](https://twitter.com/ellieanstruther) You will always find fascinating women on Radio Gorgeous

This week the Fife friends go local, with a special discussing some pressing Fife stories, after having a bit of a natter about the continuing Omnishambles that is Brexit! Even though Mags is dead against it and, like most people, does not want to talk about it anymore. The friends imagine what the TV debates should look like, which is basically just a revival of Deal or No Deal, Edmonds and aw! Then Cutch asks the guys their opinions on Fife’s Contribution to it’s ever expanding waist Line and increase in heart Disease with the news that 2 of its local Chippies are doing Christmas themed Deep Fried Suppers, with the Waterfront in Anstruther doing battered, Kilted Sausages (Pigs in Blankets) and April’s Plaice (see what they did?) in Buckhaven doing a 1000 Calorie, Battered, Christmas Dinner.  After deciding if they’d eat this, the guys come up with an ingenious plan to open a pop up advent calendar chippy selling a different Deep fried Christmas delight every day. They try to think up of a few different combinations but would love the Fife Fans to get involved and chuck in some ideas too! Mags brings up news about new rules that Fife Council have put in place for naming streets after people, no more living folk, They have to have been dead for more than 5 years now, thanks to certain Yewtree investigations and the likes affecting streets in other areas across the country. On the back of this the guys nominate some Street names with Fife legends and why! Finally, The friends head back to the Nine Sideded Imagenary Nonagon for a little festive Fight Club. Of course, knowing how to wring a subject dry, this week the guys pit some Christmas foods against each other in the Nonagon. Jamie chucks in Christmas Pudding v Christmas Chocolate Cake , Meanwhile, Cutch Throws Christmas Dinner v Boxing Day leftover Sandwiches Who wins?   Listen to find out!    Fife Club - Episode 85 - Fife Special - Brexit - Deep Fried Xmas - Street Name Rules - Fantasy Fight Club

Brought up in the family hotel in Fife, Scotland, Edith Bowman has travel running through her veins. She’s hung out in New York with the world’s biggest bands, been caught in a snowstorm in the salt flats of Bolivia, shot guns in Texas (which she hated), presented TV travel shows from all over the globe and loves nothing more than waking up in a new place a day with her kids and rockstar husband on a tour bus.   On this episode we cover: How she got started on MTV Initial negativity about her Scottish accent MTV UK’s Sara Cox June Sarpong Cat Deeley Donna Air Davina McCall MTV’s Select Growing up in family hotel in Anstruther in Fife in Scotland Her granddad’s café and grocers shop Sir Alex Ferguson Golf Working in the hotel from a young age A visit from the Queen The Queen’s velvet toilet seat The bus from The Italian Job Her vast family Fife being the fifth moth instagrammed place in the UK Being bored as a teenager in Anstruther Edinburgh East Neuk of Fife St Andrews The May Island bird sanctuary Japanese Golfers Swedish football fans Family weddings Family holidays (term-time!) Skiing Disney World Portugal Taking the kids out of school The high price of school holiday holidays Centre Parcs The importance of quality time with family Instagram world schoolers Holidays with kids Her husband, Tom Smith from the band Editors On the tour bus with Editors Exploring Europe with the kids Germany Zoe Ball Warsaw Interviewing Kylie Minogue outside the loo for Forth FM T in the Park in Strathclyde Park in Glasgow Moving to London for MTV Travelling with MTV to Rotterdam, Milan and more Getting a BBC presenting job on travel show Rough Guides Travel shows in Bolivia, New Zealand, Japan, Barcelona, Stockholm… Altitude sickness in La Paz Hitting a freak snow storm in Bolivia The surreal Bolivian salt flats California Driving on her own through the Mojave Desert Visiting her cousin in Mammouth How presenting travel shows encouraged her adventurous streak Solo female travel Snowboarding Los Angeles Getting stuck in a blizzard on the way to Yosemite Loving New York Loving Home Alone! A late night out with U2 and Bono Larry Mullen from US having to get the FBI to find an imposter Australia The Rhythm and Vine festival near Auckland A crazy electrical storm at a festival in Tasmania The Yeah Yeah Yeah’s Why Glastonbury Festival is so special Her sons Rudy and Spike Working at Glastonbury two weeks after a C section Expressing milk between takes The other worldliness of Glastonbury Lose Vagueness in Glastonbury Lost in Vagueness – the film by Sofia Olins Thom Yorke at The Roundhouse Finding the positive in all travels Not being comfortable just flopping on a beach Being a bit bored in Mauritius Roadtripping – her travel TV show with Cat Deeley Mexico, Italy, France, Morocco, Texas Feeling out of her comfort zone with the gun crowd in Texas Conspiracy theories Waco Nearly getting arrested in Morocco Being freaked out by the gun culture in Texas Her podcast Soundtracking Duncan Jones, Clint Mansell and David Bowie Duncan Jones’ Scottish Nanny Carmine Rojas Rod Stewart Her parents’ Timeshare experience Villa Moura, Portugal Her home away from home in Portugal Kilconquhar Castle Estate the East Neuk of Fife Places she would love to go: Cuba, Mexico, Galapagos, China, the Northern Lights, Brazil… Giving the kids life experiences through travel Midlake – The Trials of Van Occupanther                  

Ps Bill Anstruther - The Lord who Sanctifies us by Sermon of the week

ADVENTURE IV. THE BOSCOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY  We were seated at breakfast one morning, my wife and I, when the maid brought in a telegram. It was from Sherlock Holmes and ran in this way: “Have you a couple of days to spare? Have just been wired for from the west of England in connection with Boscombe Valley tragedy. Shall be glad if you will come with me. Air and scenery perfect. Leave Paddington by the 11:15.” “What do you say, dear?” said my wife, looking across at me. “Will you go?” “I really don't know what to say. I have a fairly long list at present.” “Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you. You have been looking a little pale lately. I think that the change would do you good, and you are always so interested in Mr. Sherlock Holmes' cases.” “I should be ungrateful if I were not, seeing what I gained through one of them,” I answered. “But if I am to go, I must pack at once, for I have only half an hour.” My experience of camp life in Afghanistan had at least had the effect of making me a prompt and ready traveller. My wants were few and simple, so that in less than the time stated I was in a cab with my valise, rattling away to Paddington Station. Sherlock Holmes was pacing up and down the platform, his tall, gaunt figure made even gaunter and taller by his long grey travelling-cloak and close-fitting cloth cap. “It is really very good of you to come, Watson,” said he. “It makes a considerable difference to me, having someone with me on whom I can thoroughly rely. Local aid is always either worthless or else biassed. If you will keep the two corner seats I shall get the tickets.” We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense litter of papers which Holmes had brought with him. Among these he rummaged and read, with intervals of note-taking and of meditation, until we were past Reading. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic ball and tossed them up onto the rack. “Have you heard anything of the case?” he asked. “Not a word. I have not seen a paper for some days.” “The London press has not had very full accounts. I have just been looking through all the recent papers in order to master the particulars. It seems, from what I gather, to be one of those simple cases which are so extremely difficult.” “That sounds a little paradoxical.” “But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost invariably a clue. The more featureless and commonplace a crime is, the more difficult it is to bring it home. In this case, however, they have established a very serious case against the son of the murdered man.” “It is a murder, then?” “Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing for granted until I have the opportunity of looking personally into it. I will explain the state of things to you, as far as I have been able to understand it, in a very few words. “Boscombe Valley is a country district not very far from Ross, in Herefordshire. The largest landed proprietor in that part is a Mr. John Turner, who made his money in Australia and returned some years ago to the old country. One of the farms which he held, that of Hatherley, was let to Mr. Charles McCarthy, who was also an ex-Australian. The men had known each other in the colonies, so that it was not unnatural that when they came to settle down they should do so as near each other as possible. Turner was apparently the richer man, so McCarthy became his tenant but still remained, it seems, upon terms of perfect equality, as they were frequently together. McCarthy had one son, a lad of eighteen, and Turner had an only daughter of the same age, but neither of them had wives living. They appear to have avoided the society of the neighbouring English families and to have led retired lives, though both the McCarthys were fond of sport and were frequently seen at the race-meetings of the neighbourhood. McCarthy kept two servants—a man and a girl. Turner had a considerable household, some half-dozen at the least. That is as much as I have been able to gather about the families. Now for the facts. “On June 3rd, that is, on Monday last, McCarthy left his house at Hatherley about three in the afternoon and walked down to the Boscombe Pool, which is a small lake formed by the spreading out of the stream which runs down the Boscombe Valley. He had been out with his serving-man in the morning at Ross, and he had told the man that he must hurry, as he had an appointment of importance to keep at three. From that appointment he never came back alive. “From Hatherley Farmhouse to the Boscombe Pool is a quarter of a mile, and two people saw him as he passed over this ground. One was an old woman, whose name is not mentioned, and the other was William Crowder, a game-keeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Both these witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone. The game-keeper adds that within a few minutes of his seeing Mr. McCarthy pass he had seen his son, Mr. James McCarthy, going the same way with a gun under his arm. To the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight at the time, and the son was following him. He thought no more of the matter until he heard in the evening of the tragedy that had occurred. “The two McCarthys were seen after the time when William Crowder, the game-keeper, lost sight of them. The Boscombe Pool is thickly wooded round, with just a fringe of grass and of reeds round the edge. A girl of fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter of the lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate, was in one of the woods picking flowers. She states that while she was there she saw, at the border of the wood and close by the lake, Mr. McCarthy and his son, and that they appeared to be having a violent quarrel. She heard Mr. McCarthy the elder using very strong language to his son, and she saw the latter raise up his hand as if to strike his father. She was so frightened by their violence that she ran away and told her mother when she reached home that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling near Boscombe Pool, and that she was afraid that they were going to fight. She had hardly said the words when young Mr. McCarthy came running up to the lodge to say that he had found his father dead in the wood, and to ask for the help of the lodge-keeper. He was much excited, without either his gun or his hat, and his right hand and sleeve were observed to be stained with fresh blood. On following him they found the dead body stretched out upon the grass beside the pool. The head had been beaten in by repeated blows of some heavy and blunt weapon. The injuries were such as might very well have been inflicted by the butt-end of his son's gun, which was found lying on the grass within a few paces of the body. Under these circumstances the young man was instantly arrested, and a verdict of ‘wilful murder' having been returned at the inquest on Tuesday, he was on Wednesday brought before the magistrates at Ross, who have referred the case to the next Assizes. Those are the main facts of the case as they came out before the coroner and the police-court.” “I could hardly imagine a more damning case,” I remarked. “If ever circumstantial evidence pointed to a criminal it does so here.” “Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing,” answered Holmes thoughtfully. “It may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something entirely different. It must be confessed, however, that the case looks exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is very possible that he is indeed the culprit. There are several people in the neighbourhood, however, and among them Miss Turner, the daughter of the neighbouring landowner, who believe in his innocence, and who have retained Lestrade, whom you may recollect in connection with the Study in Scarlet, to work out the case in his interest. Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the case to me, and hence it is that two middle-aged gentlemen are flying westward at fifty miles an hour instead of quietly digesting their breakfasts at home.” “I am afraid,” said I, “that the facts are so obvious that you will find little credit to be gained out of this case.” “There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact,” he answered, laughing. “Besides, we may chance to hit upon some other obvious facts which may have been by no means obvious to Mr. Lestrade. You know me too well to think that I am boasting when I say that I shall either confirm or destroy his theory by means which he is quite incapable of employing, or even of understanding. To take the first example to hand, I very clearly perceive that in your bedroom the window is upon the right-hand side, and yet I question whether Mr. Lestrade would have noted even so self-evident a thing as that.” “How on earth—” “My dear fellow, I know you well. I know the military neatness which characterises you. You shave every morning, and in this season you shave by the sunlight; but since your shaving is less and less complete as we get farther back on the left side, until it becomes positively slovenly as we get round the angle of the jaw, it is surely very clear that that side is less illuminated than the other. I could not imagine a man of your habits looking at himself in an equal light and being satisfied with such a result. I only quote this as a trivial example of observation and inference. Therein lies my m�tier, and it is just possible that it may be of some service in the investigation which lies before us. There are one or two minor points which were brought out in the inquest, and which are worth considering.” “What are they?” “It appears that his arrest did not take place at once, but after the return to Hatherley Farm. On the inspector of constabulary informing him that he was a prisoner, he remarked that he was not surprised to hear it, and that it was no more than his deserts. This observation of his had the natural effect of removing any traces of doubt which might have remained in the minds of the coroner's jury.” “It was a confession,” I ejaculated. “No, for it was followed by a protestation of innocence.” “Coming on the top of such a damning series of events, it was at least a most suspicious remark.” “On the contrary,” said Holmes, “it is the brightest rift which I can at present see in the clouds. However innocent he might be, he could not be such an absolute imbecile as not to see that the circumstances were very black against him. Had he appeared surprised at his own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, I should have looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such surprise or anger would not be natural under the circumstances, and yet might appear to be the best policy to a scheming man. His frank acceptance of the situation marks him as either an innocent man, or else as a man of considerable self-restraint and firmness. As to his remark about his deserts, it was also not unnatural if you consider that he stood beside the dead body of his father, and that there is no doubt that he had that very day so far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him, and even, according to the little girl whose evidence is so important, to raise his hand as if to strike him. The self-reproach and contrition which are displayed in his remark appear to me to be the signs of a healthy mind rather than of a guilty one.” I shook my head. “Many men have been hanged on far slighter evidence,” I remarked. “So they have. And many men have been wrongfully hanged.” “What is the young man's own account of the matter?” “It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his supporters, though there are one or two points in it which are suggestive. You will find it here, and may read it for yourself.” He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local Herefordshire paper, and having turned down the sheet he pointed out the paragraph in which the unfortunate young man had given his own statement of what had occurred. I settled myself down in the corner of the carriage and read it very carefully. It ran in this way: “Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased, was then called and gave evidence as follows: ‘I had been away from home for three days at Bristol, and had only just returned upon the morning of last Monday, the 3rd. My father was absent from home at the time of my arrival, and I was informed by the maid that he had driven over to Ross with John Cobb, the groom. Shortly after my return I heard the wheels of his trap in the yard, and, looking out of my window, I saw him get out and walk rapidly out of the yard, though I was not aware in which direction he was going. I then took my gun and strolled out in the direction of the Boscombe Pool, with the intention of visiting the rabbit warren which is upon the other side. On my way I saw William Crowder, the game-keeper, as he had stated in his evidence; but he is mistaken in thinking that I was following my father. I had no idea that he was in front of me. When about a hundred yards from the pool I heard a cry of “Cooee!” which was a usual signal between my father and myself. I then hurried forward, and found him standing by the pool. He appeared to be much surprised at seeing me and asked me rather roughly what I was doing there. A conversation ensued which led to high words and almost to blows, for my father was a man of a very violent temper. Seeing that his passion was becoming ungovernable, I left him and returned towards Hatherley Farm. I had not gone more than 150 yards, however, when I heard a hideous outcry behind me, which caused me to run back again. I found my father expiring upon the ground, with his head terribly injured. I dropped my gun and held him in my arms, but he almost instantly expired. I knelt beside him for some minutes, and then made my way to Mr. Turner's lodge-keeper, his house being the nearest, to ask for assistance. I saw no one near my father when I returned, and I have no idea how he came by his injuries. He was not a popular man, being somewhat cold and forbidding in his manners, but he had, as far as I know, no active enemies. I know nothing further of the matter.' “The Coroner: Did your father make any statement to you before he died? “Witness: He mumbled a few words, but I could only catch some allusion to a rat. “The Coroner: What did you understand by that? “Witness: It conveyed no meaning to me. I thought that he was delirious. “The Coroner: What was the point upon which you and your father had this final quarrel? “Witness: I should prefer not to answer. “The Coroner: I am afraid that I must press it. “Witness: It is really impossible for me to tell you. I can assure you that it has nothing to do with the sad tragedy which followed. “The Coroner: That is for the court to decide. I need not point out to you that your refusal to answer will prejudice your case considerably in any future proceedings which may arise. “Witness: I must still refuse. “The Coroner: I understand that the cry of ‘Cooee' was a common signal between you and your father? “Witness: It was. “The Coroner: How was it, then, that he uttered it before he saw you, and before he even knew that you had returned from Bristol? “Witness (with considerable confusion): I do not know. “A Juryman: Did you see nothing which aroused your suspicions when you returned on hearing the cry and found your father fatally injured? “Witness: Nothing definite. “The Coroner: What do you mean? “Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed out into the open, that I could think of nothing except of my father. Yet I have a vague impression that as I ran forward something lay upon the ground to the left of me. It seemed to me to be something grey in colour, a coat of some sort, or a plaid perhaps. When I rose from my father I looked round for it, but it was gone. “ ‘Do you mean that it disappeared before you went for help?' “ ‘Yes, it was gone.' “ ‘You cannot say what it was?' “ ‘No, I had a feeling something was there.' “ ‘How far from the body?' “ ‘A dozen yards or so.' “ ‘And how far from the edge of the wood?' “ ‘About the same.' “ ‘Then if it was removed it was while you were within a dozen yards of it?' “ ‘Yes, but with my back towards it.' “This concluded the examination of the witness.” “I see,” said I as I glanced down the column, “that the coroner in his concluding remarks was rather severe upon young McCarthy. He calls attention, and with reason, to the discrepancy about his father having signalled to him before seeing him, also to his refusal to give details of his conversation with his father, and his singular account of his father's dying words. They are all, as he remarks, very much against the son.” Holmes laughed softly to himself and stretched himself out upon the cushioned seat. “Both you and the coroner have been at some pains,” said he, “to single out the very strongest points in the young man's favour. Don't you see that you alternately give him credit for having too much imagination and too little? Too little, if he could not invent a cause of quarrel which would give him the sympathy of the jury; too much, if he evolved from his own inner consciousness anything so outr� as a dying reference to a rat, and the incident of the vanishing cloth. No, sir, I shall approach this case from the point of view that what this young man says is true, and we shall see whither that hypothesis will lead us. And now here is my pocket Petrarch, and not another word shall I say of this case until we are on the scene of action. We lunch at Swindon, and I see that we shall be there in twenty minutes.” It was nearly four o'clock when we at last, after passing through the beautiful Stroud Valley, and over the broad gleaming Severn, found ourselves at the pretty little country-town of Ross. A lean, ferret-like man, furtive and sly-looking, was waiting for us upon the platform. In spite of the light brown dustcoat and leather-leggings which he wore in deference to his rustic surroundings, I had no difficulty in recognising Lestrade, of Scotland Yard. With him we drove to the Hereford Arms where a room had already been engaged for us. “I have ordered a carriage,” said Lestrade as we sat over a cup of tea. “I knew your energetic nature, and that you would not be happy until you had been on the scene of the crime.” “It was very nice and complimentary of you,” Holmes answered. “It is entirely a question of barometric pressure.” Lestrade looked startled. “I do not quite follow,” he said. “How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No wind, and not a cloud in the sky. I have a caseful of cigarettes here which need smoking, and the sofa is very much superior to the usual country hotel abomination. I do not think that it is probable that I shall use the carriage to-night.” Lestrade laughed indulgently. “You have, no doubt, already formed your conclusions from the newspapers,” he said. “The case is as plain as a pikestaff, and the more one goes into it the plainer it becomes. Still, of course, one can't refuse a lady, and such a very positive one, too. She has heard of you, and would have your opinion, though I repeatedly told her that there was nothing which you could do which I had not already done. Why, bless my soul! here is her carriage at the door.” He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the room one of the most lovely young women that I have ever seen in my life. Her violet eyes shining, her lips parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all thought of her natural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement and concern. “Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!” she cried, glancing from one to the other of us, and finally, with a woman's quick intuition, fastening upon my companion, “I am so glad that you have come. I have driven down to tell you so. I know that James didn't do it. I know it, and I want you to start upon your work knowing it, too. Never let yourself doubt upon that point. We have known each other since we were little children, and I know his faults as no one else does; but he is too tender-hearted to hurt a fly. Such a charge is absurd to anyone who really knows him.” “I hope we may clear him, Miss Turner,” said Sherlock Holmes. “You may rely upon my doing all that I can.” “But you have read the evidence. You have formed some conclusion? Do you not see some loophole, some flaw? Do you not yourself think that he is innocent?” “I think that it is very probable.” “There, now!” she cried, throwing back her head and looking defiantly at Lestrade. “You hear! He gives me hopes.” Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. “I am afraid that my colleague has been a little quick in forming his conclusions,” he said. “But he is right. Oh! I know that he is right. James never did it. And about his quarrel with his father, I am sure that the reason why he would not speak about it to the coroner was because I was concerned in it.” “In what way?” asked Holmes. “It is no time for me to hide anything. James and his father had many disagreements about me. Mr. McCarthy was very anxious that there should be a marriage between us. James and I have always loved each other as brother and sister; but of course he is young and has seen very little of life yet, and—and—well, he naturally did not wish to do anything like that yet. So there were quarrels, and this, I am sure, was one of them.” “And your father?” asked Holmes. “Was he in favour of such a union?” “No, he was averse to it also. No one but Mr. McCarthy was in favour of it.” A quick blush passed over her fresh young face as Holmes shot one of his keen, questioning glances at her. “Thank you for this information,” said he. “May I see your father if I call to-morrow?” “I am afraid the doctor won't allow it.” “The doctor?” “Yes, have you not heard? Poor father has never been strong for years back, but this has broken him down completely. He has taken to his bed, and Dr. Willows says that he is a wreck and that his nervous system is shattered. Mr. McCarthy was the only man alive who had known dad in the old days in Victoria.” “Ha! In Victoria! That is important.” “Yes, at the mines.” “Quite so; at the gold-mines, where, as I understand, Mr. Turner made his money.” “Yes, certainly.” “Thank you, Miss Turner. You have been of material assistance to me.” “You will tell me if you have any news to-morrow. No doubt you will go to the prison to see James. Oh, if you do, Mr. Holmes, do tell him that I know him to be innocent.” “I will, Miss Turner.” “I must go home now, for dad is very ill, and he misses me so if I leave him. Good-bye, and God help you in your undertaking.” She hurried from the room as impulsively as she had entered, and we heard the wheels of her carriage rattle off down the street. “I am ashamed of you, Holmes,” said Lestrade with dignity after a few minutes' silence. “Why should you raise up hopes which you are bound to disappoint? I am not over-tender of heart, but I call it cruel.” “I think that I see my way to clearing James McCarthy,” said Holmes. “Have you an order to see him in prison?” “Yes, but only for you and me.” “Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going out. We have still time to take a train to Hereford and see him to-night?” “Ample.” “Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will find it very slow, but I shall only be away a couple of hours.” I walked down to the station with them, and then wandered through the streets of the little town, finally returning to the hotel, where I lay upon the sofa and tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed novel. The puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when compared to the deep mystery through which we were groping, and I found my attention wander so continually from the action to the fact, that I at last flung it across the room and gave myself up entirely to a consideration of the events of the day. Supposing that this unhappy young man's story were absolutely true, then what hellish thing, what absolutely unforeseen and extraordinary calamity could have occurred between the time when he parted from his father, and the moment when, drawn back by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It was something terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might not the nature of the injuries reveal something to my medical instincts? I rang the bell and called for the weekly county paper, which contained a verbatim account of the inquest. In the surgeon's deposition it was stated that the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the left half of the occipital bone had been shattered by a heavy blow from a blunt weapon. I marked the spot upon my own head. Clearly such a blow must have been struck from behind. That was to some extent in favour of the accused, as when seen quarrelling he was face to face with his father. Still, it did not go for very much, for the older man might have turned his back before the blow fell. Still, it might be worth while to call Holmes' attention to it. Then there was the peculiar dying reference to a rat. What could that mean? It could not be delirium. A man dying from a sudden blow does not commonly become delirious. No, it was more likely to be an attempt to explain how he met his fate. But what could it indicate? I cudgelled my brains to find some possible explanation. And then the incident of the grey cloth seen by young McCarthy. If that were true the murderer must have dropped some part of his dress, presumably his overcoat, in his flight, and must have had the hardihood to return and to carry it away at the instant when the son was kneeling with his back turned not a dozen paces off. What a tissue of mysteries and improbabilities the whole thing was! I did not wonder at Lestrade's opinion, and yet I had so much faith in Sherlock Holmes' insight that I could not lose hope as long as every fresh fact seemed to strengthen his conviction of young McCarthy's innocence. It was late before Sherlock Holmes returned. He came back alone, for Lestrade was staying in lodgings in the town. “The glass still keeps very high,” he remarked as he sat down. “It is of importance that it should not rain before we are able to go over the ground. On the other hand, a man should be at his very best and keenest for such nice work as that, and I did not wish to do it when fagged by a long journey. I have seen young McCarthy.” “And what did you learn from him?” “Nothing.” “Could he throw no light?” “None at all. I was inclined to think at one time that he knew who had done it and was screening him or her, but I am convinced now that he is as puzzled as everyone else. He is not a very quick-witted youth, though comely to look at and, I should think, sound at heart.” “I cannot admire his taste,” I remarked, “if it is indeed a fact that he was averse to a marriage with so charming a young lady as this Miss Turner.” “Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow is madly, insanely, in love with her, but some two years ago, when he was only a lad, and before he really knew her, for she had been away five years at a boarding-school, what does the idiot do but get into the clutches of a barmaid in Bristol and marry her at a registry office? No one knows a word of the matter, but you can imagine how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for not doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what he knows to be absolutely impossible. It was sheer frenzy of this sort which made him throw his hands up into the air when his father, at their last interview, was goading him on to propose to Miss Turner. On the other hand, he had no means of supporting himself, and his father, who was by all accounts a very hard man, would have thrown him over utterly had he known the truth. It was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last three days in Bristol, and his father did not know where he was. Mark that point. It is of importance. Good has come out of evil, however, for the barmaid, finding from the papers that he is in serious trouble and likely to be hanged, has thrown him over utterly and has written to him to say that she has a husband already in the Bermuda Dockyard, so that there is really no tie between them. I think that that bit of news has consoled young McCarthy for all that he has suffered.” “But if he is innocent, who has done it?” “Ah! who? I would call your attention very particularly to two points. One is that the murdered man had an appointment with someone at the pool, and that the someone could not have been his son, for his son was away, and he did not know when he would return. The second is that the murdered man was heard to cry ‘Cooee!' before he knew that his son had returned. Those are the crucial points upon which the case depends. And now let us talk about George Meredith, if you please, and we shall leave all minor matters until to-morrow.” There was no rain, as Holmes had foretold, and the morning broke bright and cloudless. At nine o'clock Lestrade called for us with the carriage, and we set off for Hatherley Farm and the Boscombe Pool. “There is serious news this morning,” Lestrade observed. “It is said that Mr. Turner, of the Hall, is so ill that his life is despaired of.” “An elderly man, I presume?” said Holmes. “About sixty; but his constitution has been shattered by his life abroad, and he has been in failing health for some time. This business has had a very bad effect upon him. He was an old friend of McCarthy's, and, I may add, a great benefactor to him, for I have learned that he gave him Hatherley Farm rent free.” “Indeed! That is interesting,” said Holmes. “Oh, yes! In a hundred other ways he has helped him. Everybody about here speaks of his kindness to him.” “Really! Does it not strike you as a little singular that this McCarthy, who appears to have had little of his own, and to have been under such obligations to Turner, should still talk of marrying his son to Turner's daughter, who is, presumably, heiress to the estate, and that in such a very cocksure manner, as if it were merely a case of a proposal and all else would follow? It is the more strange, since we know that Turner himself was averse to the idea. The daughter told us as much. Do you not deduce something from that?” “We have got to the deductions and the inferences,” said Lestrade, winking at me. “I find it hard enough to tackle facts, Holmes, without flying away after theories and fancies.” “You are right,” said Holmes demurely; “you do find it very hard to tackle the facts.” “Anyhow, I have grasped one fact which you seem to find it difficult to get hold of,” replied Lestrade with some warmth. “And that is—” “That McCarthy senior met his death from McCarthy junior and that all theories to the contrary are the merest moonshine.” “Well, moonshine is a brighter thing than fog,” said Holmes, laughing. “But I am very much mistaken if this is not Hatherley Farm upon the left.” “Yes, that is it.” It was a widespread, comfortable-looking building, two-storied, slate-roofed, with great yellow blotches of lichen upon the grey walls. The drawn blinds and the smokeless chimneys, however, gave it a stricken look, as though the weight of this horror still lay heavy upon it. We called at the door, when the maid, at Holmes' request, showed us the boots which her master wore at the time of his death, and also a pair of the son's, though not the pair which he had then had. Having measured these very carefully from seven or eight different points, Holmes desired to be led to the court-yard, from which we all followed the winding track which led to Boscombe Pool. Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot upon such a scent as this. Men who had only known the quiet thinker and logician of Baker Street would have failed to recognise him. His face flushed and darkened. His brows were drawn into two hard black lines, while his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glitter. His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed, his lips compressed, and the veins stood out like whipcord in his long, sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase, and his mind was so absolutely concentrated upon the matter before him that a question or remark fell unheeded upon his ears, or, at the most, only provoked a quick, impatient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his way along the track which ran through the meadows, and so by way of the woods to the Boscombe Pool. It was damp, marshy ground, as is all that district, and there were marks of many feet, both upon the path and amid the short grass which bounded it on either side. Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead, and once he made quite a little detour into the meadow. Lestrade and I walked behind him, the detective indifferent and contemptuous, while I watched my friend with the interest which sprang from the conviction that every one of his actions was directed towards a definite end. The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of water some fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary between the Hatherley Farm and the private park of the wealthy Mr. Turner. Above the woods which lined it upon the farther side we could see the red, jutting pinnacles which marked the site of the rich landowner's dwelling. On the Hatherley side of the pool the woods grew very thick, and there was a narrow belt of sodden grass twenty paces across between the edge of the trees and the reeds which lined the lake. Lestrade showed us the exact spot at which the body had been found, and, indeed, so moist was the ground, that I could plainly see the traces which had been left by the fall of the stricken man. To Holmes, as I could see by his eager face and peering eyes, very many other things were to be read upon the trampled grass. He ran round, like a dog who is picking up a scent, and then turned upon my companion. “What did you go into the pool for?” he asked. “I fished about with a rake. I thought there might be some weapon or other trace. But how on earth—” “Oh, tut, tut! I have no time! That left foot of yours with its inward twist is all over the place. A mole could trace it, and there it vanishes among the reeds. Oh, how simple it would all have been had I been here before they came like a herd of buffalo and wallowed all over it. Here is where the party with the lodge-keeper came, and they have covered all tracks for six or eight feet round the body. But here are three separate tracks of the same feet.” He drew out a lens and lay down upon his waterproof to have a better view, talking all the time rather to himself than to us. “These are young McCarthy's feet. Twice he was walking, and once he ran swiftly, so that the soles are deeply marked and the heels hardly visible. That bears out his story. He ran when he saw his father on the ground. Then here are the father's feet as he paced up and down. What is this, then? It is the butt-end of the gun as the son stood listening. And this? Ha, ha! What have we here? Tiptoes! tiptoes! Square, too, quite unusual boots! They come, they go, they come again—of course that was for the cloak. Now where did they come from?” He ran up and down, sometimes losing, sometimes finding the track until we were well within the edge of the wood and under the shadow of a great beech, the largest tree in the neighbourhood. Holmes traced his way to the farther side of this and lay down once more upon his face with a little cry of satisfaction. For a long time he remained there, turning over the leaves and dried sticks, gathering up what seemed to me to be dust into an envelope and examining with his lens not only the ground but even the bark of the tree as far as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying among the moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained. Then he followed a pathway through the wood until he came to the highroad, where all traces were lost. “It has been a case of considerable interest,” he remarked, returning to his natural manner. “I fancy that this grey house on the right must be the lodge. I think that I will go in and have a word with Moran, and perhaps write a little note. Having done that, we may drive back to our luncheon. You may walk to the cab, and I shall be with you presently.” It was about ten minutes before we regained our cab and drove back into Ross, Holmes still carrying with him the stone which he had picked up in the wood. “This may interest you, Lestrade,” he remarked, holding it out. “The murder was done with it.” “I see no marks.” “There are none.” “How do you know, then?” “The grass was growing under it. It had only lain there a few days. There was no sign of a place whence it had been taken. It corresponds with the injuries. There is no sign of any other weapon.” “And the murderer?” “Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg, wears thick-soled shooting-boots and a grey cloak, smokes Indian cigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-knife in his pocket. There are several other indications, but these may be enough to aid us in our search.” Lestrade laughed. “I am afraid that I am still a sceptic,” he said. “Theories are all very well, but we have to deal with a hard-headed British jury.” “Nous verrons,” answered Holmes calmly. “You work your own method, and I shall work mine. I shall be busy this afternoon, and shall probably return to London by the evening train.” “And leave your case unfinished?” “No, finished.” “But the mystery?” “It is solved.” “Who was the criminal, then?” “The gentleman I describe.” “But who is he?” “Surely it would not be difficult to find out. This is not such a populous neighbourhood.” Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. “I am a practical man,” he said, “and I really cannot undertake to go about the country looking for a left-handed gentleman with a game leg. I should become the laughing-stock of Scotland Yard.” “All right,” said Holmes quietly. “I have given you the chance. Here are your lodgings. Good-bye. I shall drop you a line before I leave.” Having left Lestrade at his rooms, we drove to our hotel, where we found lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent and buried in thought with a pained expression upon his face, as one who finds himself in a perplexing position. “Look here, Watson,” he said when the cloth was cleared “just sit down in this chair and let me preach to you for a little. I don't know quite what to do, and I should value your advice. Light a cigar and let me expound.” “Pray do so.” “Well, now, in considering this case there are two points about young McCarthy's narrative which struck us both instantly, although they impressed me in his favour and you against him. One was the fact that his father should, according to his account, cry ‘Cooee!' before seeing him. The other was his singular dying reference to a rat. He mumbled several words, you understand, but that was all that caught the son's ear. Now from this double point our research must commence, and we will begin it by presuming that what the lad says is absolutely true.” “What of this ‘Cooee!' then?” “Well, obviously it could not have been meant for the son. The son, as far as he knew, was in Bristol. It was mere chance that he was within earshot. The ‘Cooee!' was meant to attract the attention of whoever it was that he had the appointment with. But ‘Cooee' is a distinctly Australian cry, and one which is used between Australians. There is a strong presumption that the person whom McCarthy expected to meet him at Boscombe Pool was someone who had been in Australia.” “What of the rat, then?” Sherlock Holmes took a folded paper from his pocket and flattened it out on the table. “This is a map of the Colony of Victoria,” he said. “I wired to Bristol for it last night.” He put his hand over part of the map. “What do you read?” “ARAT,” I read. “And now?” He raised his hand. “BALLARAT.” “Quite so. That was the word the man uttered, and of which his son only caught the last two syllables. He was trying to utter the name of his murderer. So and so, of Ballarat.” “It is wonderful!” I exclaimed. “It is obvious. And now, you see, I had narrowed the field down considerably. The possession of a grey garment was a third point which, granting the son's statement to be correct, was a certainty. We have come now out of mere vagueness to the definite conception of an Australian from Ballarat with a grey cloak.” “Certainly.” “And one who was at home in the district, for the pool can only be approached by the farm or by the estate, where strangers could hardly wander.” “Quite so.” “Then comes our expedition of to-day. By an examination of the ground I gained the trifling details which I gave to that imbecile Lestrade, as to the personality of the criminal.” “But how did you gain them?” “You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles.” “His height I know that you might roughly judge from the length of his stride. His boots, too, might be told from their traces.” “Yes, they were peculiar boots.” “But his lameness?” “The impression of his right foot was always less distinct than his left. He put less weight upon it. Why? Because he limped—he was lame.” “But his left-handedness.” “You were yourself struck by the nature of the injury as recorded by the surgeon at the inquest. The blow was struck from immediately behind, and yet was upon the left side. Now, how can that be unless it were by a left-handed man? He had stood behind that tree during the interview between the father and son. He had even smoked there. I found the ash of a cigar, which my special knowledge of tobacco ashes enables me to pronounce as an Indian cigar. I have, as you know, devoted some attention to this, and written a little monograph on the ashes of 140 different varieties of pipe, cigar, and cigarette tobacco. Having found the ash, I then looked round and discovered the stump among the moss where he had tossed it. It was an Indian cigar, of the variety which are rolled in Rotterdam.” “And the cigar-holder?” “I could see that the end had not been in his mouth. Therefore he used a holder. The tip had been cut off, not bitten off, but the cut was not a clean one, so I deduced a blunt pen-knife.” “Holmes,” I said, “you have drawn a net round this man from which he cannot escape, and you have saved an innocent human life as truly as if you had cut the cord which was hanging him. I see the direction in which all this points. The culprit is—” “Mr. John Turner,” cried the hotel waiter, opening the door of our sitting-room, and ushering in a visitor. The man who entered was a strange and impressive figure. His slow, limping step and bowed shoulders gave the appearance of decrepitude, and yet his hard, deep-lined, craggy features, and his enormous limbs showed that he was possessed of unusual strength of body and of character. His tangled beard, grizzled hair, and outstanding, drooping eyebrows combined to give an air of dignity and power to his appearance, but his face was of an ashen white, while his lips and the corners of his nostrils were tinged with a shade of blue. It was clear to me at a glance that he was in the grip of some deadly and chronic disease. “Pray sit down on the sofa,” said Holmes gently. “You had my note?” “Yes, the lodge-keeper brought it up. You said that you wished to see me here to avoid scandal.” “I thought people would talk if I went to the Hall.” “And why did you wish to see me?” He looked across at my companion with despair in his weary eyes, as though his question was already answered. “Yes,” said Holmes, answering the look rather than the words. “It is so. I know all about McCarthy.” The old man sank his face in his hands. “God help me!” he cried. “But I would not have let the young man come to harm. I give you my word that I would have spoken out if it went against him at the Assizes.” “I am glad to hear you say so,” said Holmes gravely. “I would have spoken now had it not been for my dear girl. It would break her heart—it will break her heart when she hears that I am arrested.” “It may not come to that,” said Holmes. “What?” “I am no official agent. I understand that it was your daughter who required my presence here, and I am acting in her interests. Young McCarthy must be got off, however.” “I am a dying man,” said old Turner. “I have had diabetes for years. My doctor says it is a question whether I shall live a month. Yet I would rather die under my own roof than in a gaol.” Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in his hand and a bundle of paper before him. “Just tell us the truth,” he said. “I shall jot down the facts. You will sign it, and Watson here can witness it. Then I could produce your confession at the last extremity to save young McCarthy. I promise you that I shall not use it unless it is absolutely needed.” “It's as well,” said the old man; “it's a question whether I shall live to the Assizes, so it matters little to me, but I should wish to spare Alice the shock. And now I will make the thing clear to you; it has been a long time in the acting, but will not take me long to tell. “You didn't know this dead man, McCarthy. He was a devil incarnate. I tell you that. God keep you out of the clutches of such a man as he. His grip has been upon me these twenty years, and he has blasted my life. I'll tell you first how I came to be in his power. “It was in the early '60's at the diggings. I was a young chap then, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn my hand at anything; I got among bad companions, took to drink, had no luck with my claim, took to the bush, and in a word became what you would call over here a highway robber. There were six of us, and we had a wild, free life of it, sticking up a station from time to time, or stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings. Black Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our party is still remembered in the colony as the Ballarat Gang. “One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to Melbourne, and we lay in wait for it and attacked it. There were six troopers and six of us, so it was a close thing, but we emptied four of their saddles at the first volley. Three of our boys were killed, however, before we got the swag. I put my pistol to the head of the wagon-driver, who was this very man McCarthy. I wish to the Lord that I had shot him then, but I spared him, though I saw his wicked little eyes fixed on my face, as though to remember every feature. We got away with the gold, became wealthy men, and made our way over to England without being suspected. There I parted from my old pals and determined to settle down to a quiet and respectable life. I bought this estate, which chanced to be in the market, and I set myself to do a little good with my money, to make up for the way in which I had earned it. I married, too, and though my wife died young she left me my dear little Alice. Even when she was just a baby her wee hand seemed to lead me down the right path as nothing else had ever done. In a word, I turned over a new leaf and did my best to make up for the past. All was going well when McCarthy laid his grip upon me. “I had gone up to town about an investment, and I met him in Regent Street with hardly a coat to his back or a boot to his foot. “ ‘Here we are, Jack,' says he, touching me on the arm; ‘we'll be as good as a family to you. There's two of us, me and my son, and you can have the keeping of us. If you don't—it's a fine, law-abiding country is England, and there's always a policeman within hail.' “Well, down they came to the west country, there was no shaking them off, and there they have lived rent free on my best land ever since. There was no rest for me, no peace, no forgetfulness; turn where I would, there was his cunning, grinning face at my elbow. It grew worse as Alice grew up, for he soon saw I was more afraid of her knowing my past than of the police. Whatever he wanted he must have, and whatever it was I gave him without question, land, money, houses, until at last he asked a thing which I could not give. He asked for Alice. “His son, you see, had grown up, and so had my girl, and as I was known to be in weak health, it seemed a fine stroke to him that his lad should step into the whole property. But there I was firm. I would not have his cursed stock mixed with mine; not that I had any dislike to the lad, but his blood was in him, and that was enough. I stood firm. McCarthy threatened. I braved him to do his worst. We were to meet at the pool midway between our houses to talk it over. “When I went down there I found him talking with his son, so I smoked a cigar and waited behind a tree until he should be alone. But as I listened to his talk all that was black and bitter in me seemed to come uppermost. He was urging his son to marry my daughter with as little regard for what she might think as if she were a slut from off the streets. It drove me mad to think that I and all that I held most dear should be in the power of such a man as this. Could I not snap the bond? I was already a dying and a desperate man. Though clear of mind and fairly strong of limb, I knew that my own fate was sealed. But my memory and my girl! Both could be saved if I could but silence that foul tongue. I did it, Mr. Holmes. I would do it again. Deeply as I have sinned, I have led a life of martyrdom to atone for it. But that my girl should be entangled in the same meshes which held me was more than I could suffer. I struck him down with no more compunction than if he had been some foul and venomous beast. His cry brought back his son; but I had gained the cover of the wood, though I was forced to go back to fetch the cloak which I had dropped in my flight. That is the true story, gentlemen, of all that occurred.” “Well, it is not for me to judge you,” said Holmes as the old man signed the statement which had been drawn out. “I pray that we may never be exposed to such a temptation.” “I pray not, sir. And what do you intend to do?” “In view of your health, nothing. You are yourself aware that you will soon have to answer for your deed at a higher court than the Assizes. I will keep your confession, and if McCarthy is condemned I shall be forced to use it. If not, it shall never be seen by mortal eye; and your secret, whether you be alive or dead, shall be safe with us.” “Farewell, then,” said the old man solemnly. “Your own deathbeds, when they come, will be the easier for the thought of the peace which you have given to mine.” Tottering and shaking in all his giant frame, he stumbled slowly from the room. “God help us!” said Holmes after a long silence. “Why does fate play such tricks with poor, helpless worms? I never hear of such a case as this that I do not think of Baxter's words, and say, ‘There, but for the grace of God, goes Sherlock Holmes.' ” James McCarthy was acquitted at the Assizes on the strength of a number of objections which had been drawn out by Holmes and submitted to the defending counsel. Old Turner lived for seven months after our interview, but he is now dead; and there is every prospect that the son and daughter may come to live happily together in ignorance of the black cloud which rests upon their past.  

"absolute nonsense" [VALL]      This episode is a little different. As you know, we alternate between interview shows and Burt and Scott discussing whatever comes to mind. In this case, we had a number of news-related items to stitch together, but we had help in doing so. This was something of a chowder, a goulash, a salmagundi, a boullabaise, a melange of content.   First, Bob Katz, BSI ("Dr. Anstruther") joined us again, but this time he told us all about  — the latest in the BSI's series of quadrennial conferences. This gathering at the Chatauqua Institution is not exclusive to Baker Street Irregulars; it's open to any Sherlockian who wishes to participate in a conference centered around art of all sorts. In this case, that includes theater, film, music and even podcasting (!). Plenty of food, drink, Sherlockian shopping, sightseeing and more.    is a research assistant at the , where she's conducting a study of Sherlockians and their organizations, called "Celebrities, Fans and Muses." She is interested in getting in touch with Sherlockians from all over the world. If you're involved with a Sherlockian society — particularly if you lead one — please to participate in the survey.   We subject Ron Lies to a Wait Wait Don't Tell Me-inspired quiz in which Scott does a mediocre  impression, and then we get on with the news.   The Editor's Gas-Lamp is "The Days We Envy" from Vol. 4, No. 3 of the Baker Street Journal from 1954. And our Easter egg contains some tales from Down Under and a surprise update on one of the earlier news items.   Finally, we discuss Episode 95 in which we'll interview Jamie Mahoney and Leah Guinn, authors of A Curious Collection of Dates. And we brainstorm what we'll do in Episode 100. If you have ideas for what we should do for our centennial show, .     Our special thanks go out to Mary Miller and Christian Mongaard for their Patreon support! Won't you join them by clicking on the button?   Notes 1:52 Welcome 3:35 First sponsor — which will it be? 6:01 Bob Katz joins us to talk about the BSI conference in Chatauqua 27:25 Second sponsor — including some trivia about Arthur Conan Doyle and the first speeding ticket in a small Connecticut town 31:15 Rachel Smillie from the University of Portsmouth 40:57 Mental Exaltation 51:20 Third sponsor 53:46 The news! 1:09:33 The Editor's Gas-Lamp 1:15:16 Closing comments 1:16:00 Our 100th episode   Sponsors This episode includes our two longtime sponsors and a special sponsor who is supporting us for the first half of this year:   The , featuring A Curious Collection of Dates,  , where you should get  in now to secure all four issues plus the Christmas Annual.  And Paula Berinstein's  series for young adults.     Would you care to become a sponsor? You can find .      [Save As] | File size 37.2 MB, 1:20:31   Links: The  Contact page for  The  page     Many more links, articles and images are available in our Flipboard and Scoop.it sites at  and , as well as on the  on Google+ (now over 3,500 members), as well as through our accounts on , , ,  and .     Please , ,  or  and be kind enough to leave a rating or review for the show. And please tell a friend about us, in any fashion you feel comfortable.   Your thoughts on the show? Leave a comment below, send us an email (comment AT ihearofsherlock DOT com), call us at (774) 221-READ (7323).   --    

Another visit to the East Neuk of Fife to one of the coastal fishing villages which is now popular with tourists.  Don't forget to pop into the Fishing Museum.  I stayed at the Silverdyke Caravan Park in Cellardyke and enjoyed the walk into Anstruther through the fishermens cottages past Cellardyke harbour and enjoyed a coffee and some people watching opposite Anstruther harbour.  Would suggest you consider taking a boat trip out to the Isle of May to see the seabirds and seals or take the new boat service over to North Berwick for the day.  All the boat trips are seasonal so check online.

East Neuk of Fife and Kirriemuir Angus A great few days on the east side of Scotland.  Some days spent adjacent to the wonderful villages on the Fife Coastal Path.  The coastal villages of St Monan's, Anstruther, Elie, Earslferry, Pittenweem and Crail are often referred to as the strings of pearls. Its a wonderful location for walking and enjoying the very best of the Kingdom of Fife. The second half of the podcast is based in the small town of Kirriemuir in Angus.  I mention J.M. Barrie and his famous novel Peter Pan.  I also reflect on my imminent trip to the the Isle of Skye.

The skiff - a four-person, coxed rowing boat - was traditionally a common sight in the seas off Scotland's coastal communities. Changes in the populations of these towns and villages, many losing their traditional links with the sea altogether, has meant, though, that the racing of skiffs was becoming less common - until, that is, the advent of the self-build kit skiff. Named the St. Ayles skiff (in honour of the Scottish Fisheries Museum, where the idea was born and which is built on the site of St. Ayles Chapel in Anstruther), the huge popularity of the kit skiff has taken the coastal rowing world by surprise. Communities up and down the coastline have banded together to buy, build and then share their own skiff, with some villages buying more than one and women particularly well-represented in the sport. Helen Mark visits Ullapool for a trip out on Loch Broom in the Ulla with the village's over-forty women's crew, enjoying the calm before attending the opening of the inaugural St. Ayles Skiff World Championships. Crews from around the world, linked only by the fact that they have all bought and built their own St. Ayles skiff, have come together for a week's racing and a celebration of coastal rowing. All agree that the skiff has brought unexpected bonuses to their communities, uniting people in fundraising, in boatbuilding and then, finally, in getting out onto the water together.

TravCast is the Writer's Podcast from the Traverse, Scotland’s New Writing Theatre. Associate Director, Hamish Pirie, interviews well known playwrights whose work features in the year round programme at the Traverse. In this episode, Hamish Speaks to Sue Glover. Sue was born in Edinburgh and went to school and university there. She now lives further North in the fishing village of Anstruther, within sight of the sea, and close to the beach which was the setting for her first theatre play (The Seal Wife). She writes for television and radio as well as theatre. Her favourite medium is the one she is writing for at the time. Several of her plays have been translated and produced abroad, but she regards Guy Pierre Couleau's translations and productions of Asservies and La Chaise de Paille as highlights of her theatre experience. (Her other plays include The Bubble Boy, The Seal Wife, Artist Unknown, Sacred Hearts, Shetland Saga.) Sue Glover's plays have been produced worldwide to critical acclaim. Bondagers, about the women who worked on the Border farms, was hailed as a modern Scottish classic, and included in Cannongate's Twentieth Century Scottish Drama. This episode contains some strong language. Original music by James Iremonger www.jamesiremonger.co.uk Produced and engineered by Cian O Siochain

This is called the Barfcast because I feel like utter, unmitigated shite this morning, after another awesome evening with Mrs. Toad getting scooshed and playing records.  I think I had Weald on at the maximum volume our amp can actually manage.  Which, for the record, is pretty fucking loud. So now I am off to get ready for not one, but three gigs.  Firstly the Ides of Toad at Henry's, then Lach and Viv Albertine after that, and then Flamin' Hott Toadzzz! in Anstruther tomorrow.  When the chance to have a good sleep comes, I think I will have earned it! Sometime this week I will figure out what the fuck to do with the 200th podcast. Or at least, I'd better!  There have been a good few calls to get Mrs. Toad back on, which is a lovely idea, but will depend very much on whether or not she can possibly be arsed, which I wouldn't take for granted. 01. Bobby Fuller Four - I Fought the Law (00.26)02. Evan Dando - $1000 Wedding (Gram Parsons) (04.41)03. Easter - Damp Patch (07.39)04. Preston School of Industry - So Many Ways (13.52)05. Sparklehorse - Piano Fire (18.57)06. The Black Tambourines - A Lot of Friends (26.31)07. Ghost Outfit - Tuesday (30.47)08. Loch Awe - I Will Drift into 10,000 Streams (35.33)09. Lil Daggers - Dada Brown (42.32)10. Rob St. John - Sargasso Sea (44.45)11. Dan Mangan - About As Helpful As You Can Be Without Being Any Help at All (55.56)

Take a walk though any landscape in Scotland, and there's a story to be uncovered - of human lives, and the impact we've had on the land around us. Join Iain Stewart as he visits some of Scotland's most intriguing landscapes, guided by people who live and work in them, to uncover tales of how we have exploited, celebrated and enjoyed Scotland's forests, hills, lochs, glens and shores. This walk takes Iain to the East Neuk of Fife, home to Scotland's last village fishing industry. Yet the fishing is not what it once was - because many of the fish have disappeared from the Forth. Iain walks between Pittenweem and Anstruther, to hear how the decline of the fishing industry has affected them. As he follows the coast, he seeks out the wildlife which draws visitors to the area. What happens under the water affects the lives and livelihoods of the people who live in these villages, and Iain discovers that even today, this corner of Fife is shaped by its proximity to the sea.

Contrary to what you might suspect from my location this week and the steady stream of silly videos from Anstruther , this podcast is not anything to do with the Fence Collective or Haarfest. Actually, apart from a few brief intrusions from my pile of audio cassettes (a lot of time in the van, you see) this is generally just the usual stream of music news and new bits and pieces from my inbox.  Actually, I am way behind my inbox at the moment, due to a week of holiday and now a week in Anstruther, and things aren't likely to get any better either, what with... oh never mind, you hear enough of my whining as it is.  Tunes... 01. Eels - Jungle Telegraph (02.32) 02. Les Shelleys - The World is Waiting for the Sunrise (07.22) 03. Broken Records - A Leaving Song (13.41) 04. Women - Heat Distraction (19.56) 05. Let's Talk About Trees - Wood of Rassay (23.50) 06. The Tragically Hip - Fireworks (31.57) 07. Grant Lee Buffalo - Testimony (35.48) 08. Inspector Tapehead - Grooming (44.48) 09. Nice Purse - Heart Medley (50.52) 10. Bombadil - Barcelona (54.55)

We're in Anstruther this weekend for Homegame, and so we got incredibly pissed late at night and recorded a podcast for you all, just as a special extra Sunday Supplement. This should give you a taste of our Homegame fun and, sadly, also an idea of just how much of a wreck we all make of ourselves in Fife once a year. Honestly, this is my favourite festival in the fucking universe, possibly only equalled by Pickathon, which is incredibl e. Toadcast #113 - The Rhubarbcast [audio:http://media.libsyn.com/media/songbytoad/ToadcastNo113.mp3] 01.Withered Hand - No Cigarettes (01.34) 02.Silver Columns - Yes and Dance (Silver Columns Remix) (08.31) 03.Findo Gask - Wrapped in Plastic (Live) (14.00) 04.Adem - Everything You Need (20.02) 05.Django Django - Love's Dart (29.52) 06.FOUND - Freaky Freaky Chancer (33.37) 07.Cold Seeds - The Perfume of Mexican Birds (43.43) 08.Love.Stop.Repeat - The Ghost of What You Used to Be (50.52) 09.FOUND & eagleowl - Some R. Kelly Cover (58.52)

Another day another dollar, another month another blogger..... Last month This Is Music was pretty darned exciting!  I know we said that our January night was possibly the best This Is Music we'd ever put on, but truth be told I think this one was just as brilliant, if not more so.  People were queueing.  Queueing! Unfortunately, I was on the door when the bands were on so I couldn't really see anything.  What I heard though, was ace!  First up were Glasgow million-piece, or more accurately, ten-piece, How To Swim.  Since 2006 they've released a series of EP's, and in Spring of this year are set to release their debut album.  They're a really fun band, and they make very exciting, fun and interesting music. Next up were our headline bandido, Meursault. Darlings of the Edinburgh music scene at the moment, they really can't seem to put a single foot wrong.  During the gig, a queue, which I mentioned earlier, formed.  We hit capacity half way through How To Swim's set, and so it became 'one in, one out'.  People were queueing in the hope that other people would leave once they had seen How To Swim.  Unfortunately this wasn't the case, but we managed to shoehorn in a few extra people for Meursault anyway....and then those that couldn't get in for the gig came back later for the club.  Yay! Meursault recently released their debut album, Pissing On Bonfires/Kissing With Tongues, on Song by Toad.  They're going to be playing the Fence Homegame Festival this coming April in Anstruther, and if you're not from Scotland or indeed Edinburgh, then fear not as they could be coming to a town near you soon as they're going to be doing a wee bit of touring in 2009. The club saw Rory and Gill from Broken Records take to the wheels of steel.  Playing such a varied set is really what This Is Music is about, and we had a lot of fun listening, dancing and singing along to their tune selection.  Thanks to Lewis (HP's mate) who DJ'd for us between the bands, and thank you thank you thank you to Rachel Maclean who provided us with some pretty mental visuals for the night too.  If you were there, then you'll know what I'm talking about. What's happening in March? RBRBR Edinburgh's own RBRBR had a busy 2008 supporting the likes of Metronomy and appearing in session for Vic Galloway's Introducing show on Radio 1. The boys bring their pounding live show - and possibly some dancing Ninjas! - to This Is Music OVER THE WALL Glasgow based Over The Wall are a two piece who use keyboards, laptop beats, guitars, mandolins, trumpets, cowbells, harmonicas, hurdy gurdys and kazoos to create their own brand of "euphoric pop". They released their EP "The Rise and Fall of Over The Wall" on Motive Sound at the tail end of last year and were named as one of the Skinny Magazine's "Ones To Watch" for 2009. PLAYDATE DJ's Sneaky Pete's venue mates PLAYDATE complete this months line-up, the boys have just celebrated their 1st Birthday in January after a year of going from strength to strength, culminating in a roof blowing appearance from DRUMS OF DEATH. The boys headline with support from residents WHAY? and i-TALLAH DISCO Plus Visuals by KNIGHTS WITHOUT ARMS It's £3 for the bands // Free from 11pm for the club Right, time to download that podcast then....or to subscribe if you haven't already.  There are some free tracks this month from How To Swim and Meursault, and there's a sneak preview of what to expect for our night on Friday 13th March. Looking forward to seeing all your lovely faces down at Sneaky Pete's this month. Peace out guys and gals. Tallah, Jim & HP xoxoxox