by Karl Shaw
La misteriosa bola de marfil de Wong Shing Li [The Mysterious Ivory Ball of Wong Shing Li] (Madrid: Instituto Editorial Reus, 1961)
El caso de la mujer transparente [The Case of the Transparent Woman] by Harry Stephen and Hazel Goodwin Keeler (Madrid: Instituto Editorial Reus, 1963)
Yo maté a Lincoln a las 10:13 [I Killed Lincoln at 10:13] (Madrid: Instituto Editorial Reus, 1964)
El círculo blanco [The White Circle] (Madrid: Instituto Editorial Reus, 1965)
La calle de los mil ojos [The Street of a Thousand Eyes] by Harry Stephen and Hazel Goodwin Keeler (Madrid: Instituto Editorial Reus, 1966)
El hombre que cambió de piel [The Man Who Changed His Skin] (Madrid: Instituto Editorial Reus, 1967)
Appendix II
Selected Poems of Amanda McKittrick Ros
“The Lawyer” from Poems of Puncture
Beneath me here in stinking clumps
Lies Lawyer Largebones, all in lumps;
A rotten mass of clockholed clay,
Which grown more honeycombed each day.
See how the rats have scratched his face?
Now so unlike the human race;
I very much regret I can’t assist them in their eager ‘bent’
“The Old Home” from Fumes of Formation
Don’t I see the old home over there at the base
Of a triangle not overcrowded with space:
’Twas there I first breathed on the eighth of December,
In the year of Our Lord the month after November.
I’ve been told it was snowy and blowy and wild
When I entered the home as a newly-born child,
There wasn’t much fuss, nor was there much joy
For sorrow was poignant I wasn’t a boy.
I felt quite contented as years flitted on
That I to the coarser sex did not belong
Little dreaming that ever the time would arrive
That of female attire I would be deprived.
By a freak of the lustful that spreads like disease
Which demanded that females wear pants if you please,
But I stuck to the decentest style of attire
And to alter my “gender” I’ll never aspire.
During that hallowed century now dead and gone
In which good Queen Victoria claimed to be born
From childhood her modesty ever was seen
Her exalted position demanded when Queen.
She set an example of decency rare,
That no English Queen before her you’d compare
Neither nude knee nor ankle, nude bosom nor arm
Dare be seen in her presence this Queen to alarm.
She believed in her sex being loving and kind,
And modesty never to march out of line
By exposing those members unrest to achieve,
Which pointed to morals immorally grave.
But sad to relate when she bade “Adieu”
To earth and its vanities tainted with “rue”,
That centre of fashion, so French in its style,
Did its utmost to vilify decency’s smile
And mock at these garments which proved in their day,
At a glance – who was who – and wherein gender lay,
But alas! Since the death of our great and good Queen
That attribute “Modesty” ’s ne’er to be seen.
It wasn’t long after till modesty grew
A thing of the past for me and for you;
Last century’s fashions were blown quite aside,
The ill-advised folk of this age now deride.
The petticoat faded away as we do
In circumference it covered not one leg but two,
Its successor exposes the arms, breasts and necks,
Legs, knees and thighs and too often – the —.
“On Visiting Westminster Abbey”
Holy Moses! Have a look!
Flesh decayed in every nook!
Some rare bits of brain lie here,
Mortal loads of beef and beer,
Some of whom are turned to dust,
Every one bids lost to lust;
Royal flesh so tinged with “blue”
Undergoes the same as you . . .
Famous some were—yet they died;
Poets – Statesmen – Rogues beside,
Kings – Queens, all of them do rot,
What about them? Now – they’re not!
Appendix III
Selected Poems of William Topaz McGonagall
In 1882, Queen Victoria was attacked by Roderick Maclean, giving rise to this poem:
“Attempted Assassination of the Queen”
God prosper long our noble Queen
And long may she reign!
Maclean he tried to shoot her
But it was all in vain.
For God He turned the ball aside
Maclean aimed at her head;
And he felt very angry
Because he didn’t shoot her dead.
There’s a divinity that hedges a king,
And so it does seem,
And my opinion is, it has hedged
Our most gracious Queen.
Maclean must be a madman
Which is obvious to be seen,
Or else he wouldn’t have tried to shoot
Our most beloved Queen.
Victoria is a good Queen
Which all her subjects know,
And for that God has protected her
From all her deadly foes.
She is noble and generous
Her subjects must confess;
There hasn’t been her equal
Since the days of good Queen Bess.
Long may she be spared to roam
Among the bonnie Highland floral,
And spend many a happy day
In the palace of Balmoral.
Because she is very kind
To the old women there,
And allows them bread, tea, and sugar
And each one gets a share.
And when they know of her coming
Their hearts feel overjoy’d,
Because, in general, she finds work
For men that’s unemploy’d.
And she also gives the gipsies money
While at Balmoral, I’ve been told,
And, mind ye, seldom silver
But very often gold.
I hope God will protect her
By night and by day,
At home and abroad
When she’s far away.
May He be as a hedge around her
As he’s been all along,
And let her live and die in peace
Is the end of my song.
On 28 December 1879, the Tay Bridge – a 3.5 km long railway bridge in Scotland – collapsed in fierce winds just as a train was passing over it. All seventy-five passengers on board the train were killed. The event prompted McGonagall to pen his most famous poem:
“The Tay Bridge Disaster”
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety1 lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
’Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say -
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers’ hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say -
“I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay.”
But when the train came nea
r to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers’ hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov’d most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov’d slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! The Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the people’s hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! Ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
On 2 June 1893, HMS Victoria sank on naval manoeuvres (see Least Effective Attempt to Create a Good First Impression).
“The Loss of the Victoria”
Alas! Now o’er Britannia there hangs a gloom,
Because over 400 British Tars have met with a watery tomb;
Who served aboard the “Victoria”, the biggest ship in the navy,
And one of the finest battleships that ever sailed the sea.
And commanded by Sir George Tyron, a noble hero bold,
And his name on his tombstone should be written in letters of gold;
For he was skilful in naval tactics, few men could with him cope,
And he was considered to be the nation’s hope.
’Twas on Thursday, the twenty-second of June,
And off the coast of Syria, and in the afternoon,
And in the year of our Lord eighteen ninety-three,
That the ill-fated “Victoria” sank to the bottom of the sea.
The “Victoria” sank in fifteen minutes after she was rammed,
In eighty fathoms of water, which was smoothly calmed;
The monster war vessel capsized bottom uppermost,
And, alas, lies buried in the sea totally lost.
The “Victoria” was the flagship of the Mediterranean Fleet,
And was struck by the “Camperdown” when too close they did meet,
While practising the naval and useful art of war,
How to wheel and discharge their shot at the enemy afar.
Oh, Heaven ! Methinks I see some men lying in their beds,
And some skylarking, no doubt, and not a soul dreads
The coming avalanche that was to seal their doom,
Until down came the mighty fabric of the engine room.
Then death leaped on them from all quarters in a moment,
And there were explosions of magazines and boilers rent;
And the fire and steam and water beat out all life,
But I hope the drowned ones are in the better world free from strife.
Sir George Tyron was on the bridge at the moment of the accident
With folded arms, seemingly quite content;
And seeing the vessel couldn’t be saved he remained till the last,
And went down with the “Victoria” when all succour was past.
Methinks I see him on the bridge like a hero brave,
And the ship slowly sinking into the briny wave;
And when the men cried, “Save yourselves without delay,”
He told them to save themselves, he felt no dismay.
’Twas only those that leaped from the vessel at the first alarm,
Luckily so, that were saved from any harm
By leaping into the boats o’er the vessel’s side,
Thanking God they had escaped as o’er the smooth water they did glide.
At Whitehall, London, mothers and fathers did call,
And the pitiful scene did the spectators’ hearts appal;
But the most painful case was the mother of J. P. Scarlet,
Who cried, “Oh, Heaven, the loss of my son I’ll never forget.”
Oh, Heaven! Befriend the bereaved ones, hard is their fate,
Which I am sorry at heart to relate;
But I hope God in His goodness will provide for them,
Especially the widows, for the loss of their men.
Alas! Britannia now will mourn the loss of her naval commander,
Who was as brave as the great Alexander;
And to his honour be it fearlessly told,
Few men would excel this hero bold.
Alas! ’Tis sad to be buried in eighty fathoms of Syrian sea,
Which will hide the secret of the “Victoria” to all eternity;
Which causes Britannia’s sorrow to be profound
For the brave British Tars that have been drowned.
“A Tribute to Henry M. Stanley”
Welcome, thrice welcome, to the city of Dundee,
The great African explorer Henry M. Stanley,
Who went out to Africa its wild regions to explore,
And travelled o’er wild and lonely deserts, fatigued and footsore.
And what he and his little band suffered will never be forgot,
Especially one in particular, Major Edmund Barttelot,
Alas! the brave heroic Officer by a savage was shot,
The commandant of the rear column – O hard has been his lot!
O think of the noble Stanley and his gallant little band,
While travelling through gloomy forests and devastated land,
And suffering from all kinds of hardships under a burning sun!
But the brave hero has been successful and the victory’s won.
While in Africa he saw many wonderful sights,
And was engaged, no doubt, in many savage fights,
But the wise Creator was with him all along
And now he’s home again to us, I hope quite strong.
And during his travels in Africa he made strange discoveries,
He discovered a dwarfish race of people called pigmies,
Who are said to be the original natives of Africa,
And when Stanley discovered them he was struck with awe.
One event in particular is most worthy to relate,
How God preserved him from a very cruel fate:
He and his Officers were attacked, while sailing their boat,
By the savages of Bumbireh, all eager to cut his throat.
They seized him by the hair and tugged it without fear,
While one of his men received a poke in the ribs with a spear;
But Stanle
y, having presence of mind, instantly contrives
To cry to his men, Shove off the boat, and save your lives!
Then savages swarmed into three canoes very close by,
And every bow was drawn, while they savagely did cry;
But the heroic Stanley quickly shot two of them dead,
Then the savages were baffled and immediately fled.
This incident is startling, but nevertheless true,
And in midst of all dangers the Lord brought him through
Then, welcome him, thrice welcome him, right cheerfully,
Shouting, “Long live the great African explorer, Henry M. Stanley!”
Therefore throw open the gates of the city of Dundee,
And receive him with loud cheers, three times three,
And sound your trumpets and beat your drums,
And play up, See the Conquering Hero Comes!
“An Address to the New Tay Bridge”
Beautiful new railway bridge of the Silvery Tay,
With your strong brick piers and buttresses in so grand array,
And your thirteen central girders, which seem to my eye
Strong enough all windy storms to defy.
And as I gaze upon thee my heart feels gay,
Because thou are the greatest railway bridge of the present day,
And can be seen for miles away
From North, South, East or West of the Tay
On a beautiful and clear sunshiny day,
And ought to make the hearts of the “Mars” boys feel gay,
Because thine equal nowhere can be seen,
Only near by Dundee and the bonnie Magdalen Green.
Beautiful new railway bridge of the Silvery Tay,
With thy beautiful side-screens along your railway,
Which will be a great protection on a windy day,
So as the railway carriages won’t be blown away,
And ought to cheer the hearts of the passengers night and day
As they are conveyed along thy beautiful railway,
And towering above the Silvery Tay,
Spanning the beautiful river shore to shore
Upwards of two miles and more,
Which is most beautiful to be seen
Near by Dundee and the bonnie Magdalen Green,
Thy structure to my eye seems strong and grand,