McMurdo’s Camp

February 4, 2011

February 4, 2011

Filed under: Sherlock Holmes — Matilda @ 2:23 pm

It is the fourth of February in the year 2011. It has been a severe winter, and the snow lies deep on the hillsides, in the valleys, and upon the frozen lakes and streams. The county snow-ploughs have, however, kept the roads open, and life goes on pretty much as usual, but with fewer down-state tourists.

Here, among the lumber-camps of Michigan, we like to pause on this day and drink a toast to one of our own, a man who traveled down to Chicago looking for better opportunities, and from there went on to achieve fame as someone who almost fooled Sherlock Holmes, but not quite. Sadly, he didn’t fool Moriarty either.

To Bertram Edwards !

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1 Comment »

  1. Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
    Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
    Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
    Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

    Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
    Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
    Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
    Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

    He was my North, my South, my East and West,
    My working week and my Sunday rest,
    My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
    I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

    The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
    Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
    Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
    For nothing now can ever come to any good.

    — W.H. Auden (and MEW, too)

    Comment by MEW — February 4, 2011 @ 2:43 pm


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