by Tom Cutler
I remember this all as if it was yesterday. I was living in Muswell Hill, in North London. As I walked through the woods to the Tube station the next morning – I was meant to travel to Sussex – I had to step over branches and jump over whole trees. No trains were moving so I postponed my visit until the following week. When Monday arrived I set off on my journey.
I enjoy the countryside so I decided that I would walk the few miles from Brookbridge station to the home of my great friend Arthur Van Houghton, the famous opera tenor and popular siffleur, who I was going to see. I had never been to the area before but he’d told me it was a pleasant stroll from the station to Rotherborough High Street, where we were to meet.
This was in the days long before smartphones and digital maps, and Arthur had told me to get out at the station and walk past the Wheatsheaf pub and then along the bridleway that travels straight as an arrow through the pretty fields and woods towards Martinsbrook. I was to go as far as the fingerpost at the crossroads in the little village of Brookstead Heath. The signpost, he said, would point me in the direction of Rotherborough, once the hometown of the celebrated aviatrix Betty la Roche. Arthur was to meet me at the top of the high street, under the bronze sculpture of the famous airwoman.
The train journey was uneventful and I got out at the station, and set off as instructed. There were many indications of hurricane damage in the dappled autumn sunshine, but much of the fallen wood and bits of demolished fence had been tidied into piles.
It was indeed a lovely walk and I finally reached the crossroads where the signpost was. And that’s where the trouble started.
The sign was a charming black and white fingerpost of the old style, with four ‘fingers’ pointing from its central pillar. The problem was that the hurricane had blown the sign down and it was lying flat on the grass. I looked at it lying there uselessly for a moment, wondering what to do.
One of the signpost’s fingers pointed to Martinsbrook and Coppesfield, a second, at right angles to that one and stuck in the mud, pointed to High Woodhurst and Rotherborough (my destination), a third, pointing in the opposite direction to the one to Coppesfield, pointed to Brookbridge, and a fourth, opposite the Rotherborough one, pointed to Buxfield Cross, a place I’d never heard of.
And then a thought struck me. I realised that I could easily discover which way I needed to go by using the sign, even as it lay there on the ground.
The problem
How did I discover from the blown-down signpost the proper direction to take in order to reach my destination?
Tap here for the solution.
The Knightsbridge barber
The mystery
Nowadays, Knightsbridge is an exclusive shopping district in London, but it began as a little hamlet that extended into the parishes of Kensington and Chelsea. Its ancient name comes from the Knight’s Bridge that once crossed over the River Westbourne, which still flows through the city, but now underground.
One of Knightsbridge’s most celebrated residents was Raymond Bessone, Britain’s first celebrity hairdresser. Born in Soho in 1911, Bessone anglicised his name to the more palatable Peter Raymond, but was known to everybody as Mr Teasy-Weasy.
Mr Teasy-Weasy was always impeccably coiffed and turned out, swooshing around Mayfair in bow ties, buttonholes and an expensive overcoat, which he wore without putting his arms in the sleeves. His Italianate looks were enhanced by his pencil moustache, but undermined by his entirely fake French accent.
Building his business and developing an exclusive clientele over the years was second nature to Mr Teasy-Weasy. Mixing as he did with the most fashionable people, he was always popping up in the news. Once, in 1956, the blonde bombshell Diana Dors flew him to the States to shampoo her hair. This reportedly cost £2,500, about £59,000 in today’s money.
Mr Teasy-Weasy was never short of an opinion. He claimed that women over the age of twenty should avoid wearing long hair because it was ageing. If he was interrupted while doing nothing he would announce, ‘Madam! Can you not see that I am meditating?’
One of Mr Teasy-Weasy’s most famous reported remarks concerned the backgrounds of those whose hair he was styling. He said, ‘I would rather cut the hair of three Cockney women than that of one Yorkshirewoman.’ This, as you might imagine, caused quite a stir among his northern clientele, of whom, admittedly, there weren’t hundreds.
The problem
Why did Mr Teasy-Weasy say that he would rather cut the hair of three Cockney women than one Yorkshirewoman?
Tap here for the solution.
The fastest beard in the world
The mystery
In 1963 Sean Horn was seventeen and living at home with his parents in the USA. He was a precocious child and had a particular knack for the church organ, which he had learned from his father, a sober black-suited minister, who was himself proficient on the instrument.
Sean was also precocious in the matter of facial hair. His beard had begun growing at the age of sixteen and would by now have been long and bushy if his parents had not insisted on him shaving it off. They refused to allow men with long hair or beards to enter the house, on old-fashioned ‘moral’ grounds that were a mystery to Sean’s normal, Beatles-loving friends. ‘When you are eighteen, My Son, and have come of age,’ said his mother one day, ‘only then may you grow a beard. If you must.’ Sean was an obedient boy so he shaved his face every day without fail.
Sean’s friend Olivia Carlson had invited him to her all-night Christmas party on 18 December, in the centre of the city, so he asked his parents’ permission. They were already trying their best to accommodate themselves to the galloping changes taking place in the USA at that time. Boys with long hair, girlfriends staying over, jeans, drugs, swearing and pop music all seemed so alien to their world. But, though old-fashioned and strict, they realised that their son was nearly a man so they agreed that he could go to the party if he was back before sunrise. He promised he would be. ‘Make sure to shave before you go, Son, and don’t forget to take along a posy of flowers,’ said his mother.
On the night of the party, Sean put on his best clothes and had a close shave. His parents approved. He waved them goodbye as he jumped on the evening bus into town.
When he returned home just before the following sunrise his parents were astonished to see that he had a bushy black beard. They pulled it in disbelief but it didn’t come off. It was a real beard.
The problem
Sean’s hair grows at a normal rate. His beard is his own real hair, and there’s nothing wrong with him. So how did he manage to grow a proper bushy black beard before sunrise?
Tap here for the solution.
The high window
The mystery
The sloping walls at the foot of the newish-looking Leeds Combined Court Centre are no doubt designed to prevent people from standing around smoking or relieving themselves against the building. They add an extra element of charmlessness to an edifice that, in its orange-brick brutalism, is already a bit short on good looks.
Not so long ago this was the scene of an interesting dispute, which sprang up during the trial of Mr Joe Slepkava, who was being tried for the crime of murder.
The story was that a man had been stabbed outside a pub overlooking the River Aire, which flows through Leeds city centre. Along the river’s banks stand many renovated industrial buildings. Some are businesses, others hotels, and some are tall private dwellings. It was from a high window in one of these skinny 19th-century conversions that the witness for the prosecution, structural engineer Marmaduke Snarbes, claimed to have seen Slepkava arguing with the victim before stabbing him and heaving him over the side into the water. Here is an extract from the trial records.
MR CUMMING (PROSECUTION): ‘Just tell us, Mr Snarbes, what it was you saw from the house in Chandler’s Walk.’
MR SNARBES (PROSECUTION WITNESS): ‘Well, I was in this small room at the top of number 69, inspecting it for my client. The main beam, which functions as
a drag strut in the lateral-load-resisting system, seemed to have a problem with its acquired axial loading.’
CUMMING: ‘Just tell us what you saw, thank you, Mr Snarbes.’
SNARBES: ‘Oh yes, well it’s an unused room on the third floor. Dark and dusty. Unfurnished …’
CUMMING: ‘Was it locked?’
SNARBES: ‘No. It was jammed closed from outside with an old chair, under the handle. The wind whistles through any open doors up there. There is one very small square window in the room. It’s got bars on it. No furniture, no chimney or anything in the room. Nothing – it’s completely bare. Peeling wallpaper, bare floorboards, very dirty. Now, in the course of taking notes I heard raised voices, so I looked out of the window and I noticed a big fat man down beside the river. He had a spider web tattoo on his face. I saw him stab this other man in the chest and lift the body over the side, into the water. He threw the knife in afterwards.’
CUMMING: ‘You say you got a good look at this man. If you see him in court today would you please point him out to the jury? Thank you. For the record, the witness has pointed at Mr Slepkava.’
HIS HONOUR JUDGE QUATERMASS: ‘You are certain, are you, that this is the man you saw?’
SNARBES: ‘Yes Sir. The missing ear and the facial tattoo are distinctive.’
JUDGE QUATERMASS: ‘Thank you.’
CUMMING: ‘No more questions, Your Honour.’
JUDGE QUATERMASS: ‘Ms Scrunt?’
MS SCRUNT (DEFENCE): ‘Thank you, Your Honour. Mr Snarbes, you told the police when they took your statement that – now this is important – that you had seen this event by looking out of the window.’
SNARBES: ‘That’s right. I looked out of the window and saw that man stab the other one and push him in the river. I told the police that.’
SCRUNT: ‘Mr Snarbes, you are a professional surveyor, a man used to dealing in numbers and space. How high is the window that you claim to have looked through?’
SNARBES: ‘I didn’t measure it.’
SCRUNT: ‘Well, roughly – as well as you can remember.’
SNARBES: ‘I should say, about … I suppose about eight feet off the floor. It’s a tall room and it’s a small square window.’
SCRUNT: ‘Eight feet? That is indeed a high window. It’s about the height of a single-decker bus, isn’t it? How tall are you, Mr Snarbes? In feet and inches if you prefer.’
SNARBES: ‘I’m five feet ten.’
SCRUNT: ‘Could you look over the top of a bus?’
SNARBES: ‘No.’
SCRUNT: ‘Yet you claim that you looked through a tiny, dirty window obstructed by bars, eight feet off the floor.’
SNARBES: ‘Yes.’
SCRUNT: ‘It’s a smooth wall, isn’t it? Or is there a projecting window sill or anything to grab hold of?’
SNARBES: ‘Nothing to get hold of, no.’
SCRUNT: ‘You didn’t use rope of any sort?’
SNARBES: ‘Rope? No, I didn’t use rope or anything like that.’
SCRUNT: ‘Mr Snarbes, we took pains to visit this room. It’s exactly as you describe it, entirely empty and the window is almost eight feet off the floor. We took Mr Niblet, our solicitor, with us. Mr Niblet is six feet tall and plays basketball, and he couldn’t see out of the window, even when he jumped up. And yet you say that you saw our client through this tiny aperture when you are only of modest height.’
SNARBES: ‘Yes. Though I disagree that five feet ten is “modest”.’
JUDGE QUATERMASS: ‘Ms Scrunt, this is easily settled. We will adjourn, and you and Mr Cumming will take a couple of police officers and you will visit the room in question. Take Mr Snarbes too, please, and find out whether he, or anybody, can see through this high window in this completely empty room. You may report back after the adjournment.’
MS SCRUNT: ‘Thank you, Your Honour.’
After the adjournment the court reconvened.
JUDGE QUATERMASS: ‘Now Ms Scrunt, perhaps you can tell us: could you or the police officers, or anyone, see through the window in question?’
MS SCRUNT: ‘Yes, we all did, thank you, Your Honour. I’d like now to move on to the badly blurred pictures from the CCTV camera on top of the Hungry Pussy nightclub …’
The problem
How is it that Mr Snarbes, a man of normal height, was able to see easily through a small window eight feet off the floor in an entirely bare room? Even Ms Scrunt was able to see through the window when she tried for a second time. Mr Snarbes didn’t use rope, wire, mirrors, a camera or any unusual aid. How is this possible?
Tap here for the solution.
The confusing coach trip
The mystery
During the early part of the 20th century, when people had less money to throw around than they do now, manufacturing firms, especially in the industrial north of England, used to organise works outings for their employees. They would send their grateful staff to seaside resorts or other out-of-town destinations to blow the cotton fluff out of their hair and the coal dust out of their lungs.
In the earliest days workers were ferried to Blackpool and other exotic destinations in charabancs. The strange name of these vehicles comes from the French char-à-bancs, meaning, ‘carriage with seats’, and your typical charabanc was an open-topped horse-drawn contraption that over time gave way to the modern motor coach, with two decks, toilets, tinted windows, air conditioning, entertainment facilities, vast luggage capacity and fat driver.
The first charabanc in Britain was presented to Queen Victoria by Louis Philippe of France and is today kept in the Royal Mews. Just the sort of present every queen needs. It is part of history now, and the word itself is seldom heard any more, though some older people still refer to modern coaches as ‘charabancs’.
Works outings are a thing of the past too. Nowadays, tradesmen such as plumbers and painters seem quite flush with the old wonga, unfurling great curled wads of the stuff in the pub on a Saturday night, or flying off to Crete, Cuba and Thailand for what are now called ‘breaks’. Many of them also seem to have second homes in Malaga or Florida, and zoom around town in flash cars and dark glasses, iPhones clapped to their ears. Am I straying into the land of caricature here?
Let’s, for a moment, go back to the pre-motorised days of yore, when nobody had any money and life was simpler. Imagine that it is 1925 and you are driving a large charabanc carrying nineteen passengers from Birmingham New Street to St Ives pier. At their request, eight passengers are dropped off at Worcester, and two are picked up. Three get off between Cheltenham and Gloucester, where a peculiar foreign gentleman gets on with a harem of seven wives (each carrying several sacks containing cats and kittens). The resulting chaos prompts fifty per cent of the remaining passengers to leave the coach at Bristol, but five more pick it up at Weston-super-Mare, including two children, who travel at half price. At Taunton nobody gets off and nobody gets on. Then, at Exeter, one old man gets off and one old lady, with several bags of shopping, gets on but immediately gets off again. The journey then continues uninterrupted, with the coach arriving in St Ives on time many hours later.
The problem
How many brothers and sisters, if any, does the coach driver have?
Tap here for the solution.
The pilot who wore a dress
The mystery
Lufthansa is the largest airline in Europe. Its name comes from Luft, German for ‘air’, and Hansa, Latin for ‘guild’.
Lufthansa is recognised as having one of the best psychological recruitment-screening programmes of any airline. Cadet pilots must go through a battery of searching psychological tests and interviews before they are allowed to begin their two-year training programme. The tests filter out more than 90 per cent of applicants, which is good to know. I wouldn’t want to be flown by some fellow who had voices telling him to fly to Australia upside-down.
This psychological testing programme reminds me of the young man who was talking to his psychiatrist and said,
‘When it’s my time, I’d like to die suddenly and peacefully, at work, just like my dad. Not screaming and crying like his passengers in the back of his plane.’
Among the general queries about mood, family relationships, sleep patterns and alcohol use that airlines use in their psychological tests, I doubt that there is one that probes the trainee pilots on their sexual preferences. It doesn’t seem relevant, does it? But maybe the larger airlines should take a leaf out of the book of some of the smaller outfits and include a question about transvestite yearnings.
One of the tinier airlines, Àcourt Dargent Air, based in the Crozet Islands, did, in fact, recently ask a trainee pilot what he would do if, after a long-haul flight, he met the captain wearing a dress in the hotel bar.
The problem
The trainee pilot gave an immediate, short, psychologically revealing, and confident answer to this query. It was exactly the kind of answer his questioners were hoping for. What was the nature of this answer?
Tap here for the solution.
Picking up the children from school
The mystery
Suzanna Young lives in a modest flat in Croydon. On her mantelpiece she has a picture of herself in her wedding dress, looking pretty and, many people have noticed, rather sexy. It was her husband’s favourite photo till he ran off with his secretary. Sue is a single parent now but she has come to terms with the idea.