The Black Ascot by Charles Todd: A review

The Black Ascot was a famous horse race that took place in 1910 in honor of the recently deceased King Edward VII. Everyone wore black to the race to show their mourning for the beloved king.

After the race, there was a notorious murder of one of the attendees, a murder that was never solved. Or at least the suspect was never apprehended.

The suspect was one Alan Barrington, a wealthy man who had the means to give the police the slip. He disappeared, apparently having left the country, and never a trace was found.

Years later, in 1921, England and Europe had suffered through a great war that made news of one lone murder pale in comparison. Inspector Ian Rutledge, one of those who suffered in the war, had returned to his pre-war job with Scotland Yard, and he received a tip from a former convict that Alan Barrington had been seen in England again. His tip was credible enough that Rutledge felt a responsibility to report it to his superior. Subsequently, he began a quiet review of the records of the cold case with a view to investigating whether Barrington might indeed have returned to England and possibly finally bringing him to justice.

As he investigates, he finds some anomalies in the facts that are known and begins to wonder if, in fact, Scotland Yard had been chasing the wrong man. Rutledge follows the clues where they lead visiting the villages that lend so much verisimilitude to these historical mysteries.

In the midst of his investigation, a shocking event sends Rutledge into a recurrence of the shell shock which he suffered as a result of his wartime experiences and threatens to disable him and end his career, the only thing that had given structure and purpose to his life since the war.

Nevertheless, he perseveres, somewhat in the manner of a drowning man grabbing at straws, and yet he pursues his quarry and in the end finds the solution to the cold case.

This was another fine effort from the mother and son writing team that goes by the name of Charles Todd. Their depiction of the culture of 1920s England seems spot-on, especially in the way that the country is still so affected by all the consequences of the Great War, the loss of so much of the male population and disablement of so many more. The ramifications for the country were far-reaching.

The poignancy of the depiction of the effects of shell shock/PTSD is one of the strengths of this series and it is particularly strong in this entry.

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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