Setting Jhamjarhistan Ablaze - Part the Tenth

Tuffers was taking his appointment as OIC Transport, Snapforce very seriously. After being treated to an evening of delights at Madame Kharrsi’s, by Aggers, Tuffers was feeling a bit jaded but keen as mustard to fulfil his side of the deal. Walking slowly through the morning heat of Peshawar Cantonments, after a bit of brekkers, Tuffers hit on a brainwave. He always had his best ideas after a good kipper or two. He had been tasked to obtain the use of more vehicles and he knew where he could lay his hands on another pukka lorry for the motorised column.

He sought out Colour Sergeant Major ‘Bungalow’ Botham. Bungalow had worked himself a cushy number as OIC Mobile Bath Unit and was seeing out his time before discharge, pension and a ticket home from Deolali, back to blighty and retirement. “I say Bungalow”, shouted Tuffers, “I need to borrow that old Foden steam lorry that you drive the tin baths around in”. “What’s in it for me?” grunted Bungalow. “Well, old stick, I can sign your chitty for a week’s leave in the fleshpots of Peshawar” retorted Tuffers. “Done”, said the Bungalow and shuffled off to pack his bags for a week on the razzle in Peshawar.

Having given the Foden the once-over, Tuffers felt it needed a bit of beefing-up. Once steam was up, he drove it over to the armoury and signed a request in triplicate for Corporal Boycott to fit a Lewis gun to the tail gate. Once that was done, Tuffers felt he had a suitable vehicle for the platoon of Gurkhas appointed to Snapforce. There were eight of the fearsome Nepalese warriors with their shining kukris from the 5^th Royal Gurkha Rifles, Frontier Force. Tuffers always felt it was a cunning plan to be on the right side of these taciturn fighters.

To be continued...

A Tachanka for the Bolos!

In the fields our tanks are rumbling,

See the foe is on the run.

Forward then Tachanka,

With each bullet from your gun.

Hey Tachanka gun from Kiev,

You're our joy and you're our pride!

The Red youth army's gun-carts racing,

Four wheels whirring as they ride!

One of Trotsky's little surprises!

Setting Jhamjarhistan Ablaze - Part the Ninth

Lev Davidovich Bronstein, better known as Leon Trotsky, is the Commander-in-Chief of the Red Army at the time of these momentous events which are taking place in Jhamjarhistan. Before the Great War, Trotsky had spent some time in London after escaping from exile in Siberia. He was writing for the revolutionary newspaper, Iskra (The Spark) alongside his Russian colleague, Vladimir Lenin.

During his sojourn in London, Trotsky met and had an affair with Lady Persephone Fotheringay-Featherstonhaugh , the wife of Sir Frobisher Fotheringay-Featherstonhaugh, the then Home Secretary. Lady Persephone fell pregnant and to avoid scandal, was taken away to the Swiss Alps where she gave birth to Arabella. Later returning to her position in society her daughter was accepted as a family member and grew up in the family home, Grey Gables in Ambridge, Borsetshire.

Trotsky was moving around a lot during the Great War as country after country deported him, first Switzerland, then France, Spain and eventually for a time the USA. He left New York after hearing the news that the February Revolution of 1917 had overthrown the rule of Tsar Nicholas II.

Leon Trotsky

Trotsky made secret enquiries about his daughter during the Civil War and discovered she had been educated at Roedean School and then on to Hilda Rumpole College, Oxford studying archaeology.

With Lenin ill, Trotsky’s influence and power was waning as his rival Joseph Stalin worked his devious machinations against him.

Trotsky’s agents in Tashkent have delivered the startling news that his daughter is in Jhamjaristan on an archaeological dig with her college.

Also, contained within this information are the rumours that the Golden Jhamjarh of Sticky Gods may be discovered in the vicinity. Trotsky rapidly comes to the conclusion that possession of the Golden Jhamjarh of Sticky Gods would restore the balance of power between himself and Joe Stalin. Indeed, perhaps put him ahead of the race to control the Comintern, should Lenin become too ill to fulfil his duties.

Accordingly, Trotsky sets out for Djelibad forthwith, with two aims in mind. He will reunite with his estranged daughter and also take the Jhamjarh for himself. As C-in-C Red Army, Trotsky has his own personal armoured train. Ordering steam up, the train departs Moscow’s Oktyabrsky Terminal for Tashkent. On board are Trotsky himself, the fearsome members of Trotsky’s personal train guard, plus one or two surprises, should he meet any opposition along the way.

To be continued...

Setting Jhamjarhistan Ablaze - Part the Eighth

Later that night in Peshawar Catonments, Captain Phil Tuffnell received a late-night visit from none other than the mysterious SIS agent, Vaggers. “Ayup, Tuffers, its eur mafted 'un t'neet, 'n neya mistake, by’ eck!”. Tuffers was somewhat mystified by the apparent use of code words but thought that the general message was something about it being hot that night. “By jingo, old sport, you’re not wrong there”, replied Tuffers. “’Appen, on’t way ta Kashgar, us’n’ll want to sen a message ta Kenners and Darling, wi’ regard ta progress” suggested Vaggers. Tuffers puzzled on this for a minute or two and realised the gruff Yorkshire spy was suggesting that it might be somewhat of an advantage if they were able to communicate with the HQ at Peshawar whilst they were en route, as it were. “Ah av sin a bus wi’ pigeons on’t at t’vehicle park” stated Vaggers. Pondering this apparent gobbledegook, Tuffers wondered whether Vaggers had been imbibing the old methylated spirits to induce such an hallucination where pigeons had their own buses! But then it hit him, of course, the old double-decker B-type bus which had been converted to a mobile pigeon loft bus. It had done great service on the Western Front but the Peshawar Engineers had left their single example to rot in the vehicle park, after the end of the Great War. “I say old boy, you may have something there, I’ll get those WRAF poppets to go over the old motor in the morning” enthused Tuffers. “Reet”, came the reply, “ah’s off yam then, naw theur av t' ideeur” and with that pronouncement, Vaggers disappeared into the night.

Major-General Kenwood-Chef with his converted B-type bus.

The WRAF ‘poppets’ on their way to service the mobile pigeon loft.

To be continued...

Setting Jhamjarhistan Ablaze - Part the Seventh

So, if there’s a missing and very powerful artefact, then it stands to reason that it must be missing from somewhere. In this case the Jīn de Guǒjiàng Guàn de Nián Shén, or as we shall refer to it, the Golden Jhamjarh of Sticky Gods was stolen from the Temple of Sticky Gods in Ngari, Tibet, 500 years ago. The culprits at the time were suspected to be rival monks of the Ma-Myte sect who were jealous of the power and respect that the Golden Jhamjarh of Sticky Gods conferred on the Temple of Sticky Gods. The Ma-Myte sect died out long ago, or so we are led to believe. The location of the Golden Jhamjarh has been lost in the mists of time. But, rumours are circulating through these troubled lands that this venerated and holy artefact is about to see the light of day again after a hiatus of 500 years.

The Temple of Sticky Gods, Ngari, Tibet

In response to this rumour, the monks of the Temple of Sticky Gods have dispatched five of their most renowned warrior-monks to search for the Golden Jhamjarh and return it to its rightful home. These five monks are now on their way to the Pamirs, trying to pick up any news of the Jhamjarh and it’s location.

The monks are recruited to the Temple at a very early age and are highly skilled in the ancient martial art of Ja-Mi, which may have originally travelled to Tibet from India.

The monks of the Temple of Sticky Gods are sometimes referred to, incorrectly, as Sticky Monks. Nevertheless, this soubriquet has stuck and the local populace refer to them as such.

His Holiness the Golden Shred, the spiritual leader of the Temple carries his badge of office, the Jhamspoon of Glutinous Joy with him at all times.

His Holiness the Golden Shred

These then are the five monks tasked with the recovery of the Golden Jhamjarh of Sticky Gods and, should they be successful, will be reincarnated as higher and holier beings.

The 'Sticky Monks'

To be continued...

Setting Jhamjarhistan Ablaze - Part the Sixth

At Djeli Palace, things were taking a sinister tone for Chippy Minton, one might even go as far as to say that Chippy was in a very sticky situation indeed. Minton was in the stickiest situation he’d known, ever since Sticky the Stick Insect got stuck on a sticky bun. Chippy was ostensibly on ‘shooting leave’ from his regiment, the West Borsetshire Foresters. This was a euphemism used by the British to describe officers unofficially poking about in countries where they were not necessarily welcome. The British had always feared the Russian threat to the Raj and officers on ‘shooting leave’ were quite often, players in the Great Game, spying on Russian activity beyond the borders of Afghanistan and Persia in Central Asia.

Chippy Minton had entered Jhamjarhistan in the hope of discovering what was happening there. There was obviously a Bolshevik threat to Jhamjarhistan itself and currently, so Chippy had heard, Djelibad was providing a haven for White Russians eager to continue their fight against the Bolos.

Unfortunately for Chippy, he was not quite the full jar of Marmite and had had no training whatsoever in undercover work, being a simple subaltern at heart. The Emir’s secret police, the Djelibad Palace Guard had picked him up in the Gummy Souk and taken him to the Palace dungeons for questioning.

Questioning in the Palace dungeons was the province of Appah Rao, a huge Jetti from Mysore. The Jettis are a superior caste of professional wrestlers and gymnasts. In their origins, in the days of the Rājas of Tanjore, they were employed in guarding the treasury and jewel rooms. Now they are sometimes employed as executioners and despatch their victims by a twist of the neck, or if the condemned man or woman has committed a particularly heinous crime (such as entering the Emir’s zenana), pounding large nails into the prisoners' heads using only their bare hands.

Appah Rao

Appah Rao did not speak English and so the questions were asked by Sanfran Cisko-Bey, a renegade from the Turkish secret police, the Teşkilât-ı Mahsusa. They had originally entered Khiva in the employ of Enver Pasha. Seeing no future in the Basmachis who Enver Pasha had taken up with, they looked for more gainful and lucrative employment and found it in Jhamjarhistan with the Emir’s Palace Guard. When Cisko-Bey felt that the prisoner was being less than truthful, he indicated to Appah Rao who applied some nasty pressure to various sensitive parts of Chippy’s anatomy.

Sanfran Cisko-Bey

“So, Mr. Minton, what are you doing in Jhamjarhistan?” enquired Cisko-Bey. “Actually, it’s Lieutenant Minton, West Borsetshire Foresters, old boy and I’m here for a spot of shooting, don’t you know” replied Chippy. Cisko-Bey indicated to the Jetti and Chippy struggled to maintain a stiff upper lip as the torture continued. This was far worse than being bullied at Greyfriars School when that dreadful swine Horace Coker, had forced his bare buttocks against the school boiler after Chippy had burnt his crumpets, when he was fagging for Coker.

Horace Coker

“Now come, Mr. Minton” continued Cisko-Bey, laying an insulting emphasis on the ‘Mr’, “we know you are here in search of the Jīn de Guǒjiàng Guàn de Nián Shén. You might as well admit it and save yourself a lot of pain”. “I’m after the whoosit? The whatchamacallit? I’m sorry old stick, I don’t follow your lingo at all, I’m right up the Ranygazoo, sans paddle here”, feeling a little discomnoculated, Chippy was not at his best. Having your family jewels crushed by a giant Jetti, tends to put a bit of a damper on your day, whoever you are. “In English, the Jīn de Guǒjiàng Guàn de Nián Shén would roughly translate as the Golden Jhamjarh of Sticky Gods a legendary and very powerful artefact”, pressed Cisko-Bey. “We know you cursed Britishers seek it’s power for yourselves, the Emir Of Jhamjarhistan is all-knowing”, continued the Turk. At that moment, the Emir Of Jhamjarhistan himself chose to enter the dungeon to see what progress his minions had made.

Faqir Al Djelibeybi

Faqir Al Djelibeybi, the Emir was a powerful looking man. At the tender age of thirteen, he had been sent by his father, the previous Emir to Saint Petersburg to gain a military education. In 1896 he returned to Djelibad and assisted in the ruling of Jhamjarhistan until his father’s death in 1910.

Upon mounting the throne, Faqir continued to receive tribute from the people of Jhamjarhistan in the form of bribes and taxes. He also received a rake-off from the salaries paid to court officials. Very much a traditional ruler in the style of his father, definitely a chip off the old block. Opponents of his rule were generally publicly whipped and then exiled.

In March 1918 activists of the Free Jhamjarhistan Movement contacted the Bolshevik government in Moscow and stated that the Jhamjarhistanis were ready for revolution and that the people were awaiting liberation from the Emir. The Red Army subsequently marched to the very gates of Djelibad and demanded that the Emir surrender the city to the Free Jhamjarhistan Movement . The Emir in a towering rage, responded by killing the Bolshevik delegation, along with several hundred Russian supporters of the Bolsheviks in Jhamjarhistan and the surrounding territories. The majority of Jhamjarhistanis did not support a foreign invasion and the ill-equipped and ill-disciplined Bolshevik army fled back to the Soviet stronghold at Tashkent.

This then, was the man who strode into Chippy’s dungeon and glared at him,  piercing eyes glittering beneath a great beetling brow.

To be continued... 

Teşkilât-ı Mahsusa

The Teşkilât-ı Mahsusa are the Ottoman imperial government's special forces unit under the War Department. They are my Turkish Secret Police. I have no idea how they fit into the story yet!

Onbaşı Bid Onee-Bey, Yüzbaşı Sanfran Cisko-Bey (undercover department), Astsubay Kıdemli Üstçavuş Guan Than Amo-Bey, Tuğgeneral Moor Kamb-Bey, Çavuş Botan ee-Bey, Binbaşı Toki oh-Bey

*Apologies in advance for the awful puns.

Bokhara Basmachi

In January 1920, the Red Army captured Khiva and set up a Young Khivan provisional government. Junaid Khan fled into the desert with his followers, and the Basmachi movement in the Khorezm Region was born. Before the end of the year, the Soviets deposed the Young Khivans government, and the Muslim nationalists fled to join Junaid, strengthening his forces considerably.

In August of that year, the Emir of Bukhara was finally deposed when the Red Army conquered Bukhara. From exile in Afghanistan, the Emir directed the Bokhara Basmachi movement, supported by the angry populace and clergy. Fighters operated on behalf of the Emir and were under the command of Ibrahim Bey, a tribal leader. Basmachi forces operated with success in both Khiva and Bokhara for an extended period. The insurgency also began spreading to Kazakhstan, as well as the Tajik and Turkmen lands (Wiki).

Emir Sayeed Alim Khan of Bukhara (1880–1944), the last Emir of Bukhara

Ibrahim Bey

Bokhara Basmachi

Some more players in the Great Game

 As the title says, assorted characters painted over the last couple of months for service in Jhamjarhistan.

Lev Davidovich Bronstein aka Leon Trotsky, TBA, the man from the Cheka, Marshal Gregorovitch Nokabolokov, TBA

Part of the foot column and mule train

TBA, a couple of ANZAC mule wranglers, TBA, the first of my Sikh troops (2nd Bn/11th Sikh Regiment, Ludhiana Sikhs)

"You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!"

Sergeant Archibald Cutter, Sergeant 'Mac' MacChesney and Sergeant Thomas 'Tommy' Ballantine

Gunga Din

by Rudyard Kipling

You may talk o’ gin and beer
When you’re quartered safe out ’ere,
An’ you’re sent to penny-fights an’ Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s got it.
Now in Injia’s sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin’ of ’Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din,
He was ‘Din! Din! Din!
‘You limpin’ lump o’ brick-dust, Gunga Din!
‘Hi! Slippy hitherao
‘Water, get it! Panee lao,
‘You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din.’

The uniform ’e wore
Was nothin’ much before,
An’ rather less than ’arf o’ that be’ind,
For a piece o’ twisty rag
An’ a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment ’e could find.
When the sweatin’ troop-train lay
In a sidin’ through the day,
Where the ’eat would make your bloomin’ eyebrows crawl,
We shouted ‘Harry By!’
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped ’im ’cause ’e couldn’t serve us all.
It was ‘Din! Din! Din!
‘You ’eathen, where the mischief ’ave you been?
‘You put some juldee in it
‘Or I’ll marrow you this minute
‘If you don’t fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!’

’E would dot an’ carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An’ ’e didn’t seem to know the use o’ fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin’ nut,
’E’d be waitin’ fifty paces right flank rear.
With ’is mussick on ’is back,
’E would skip with our attack,
An’ watch us till the bugles made 'Retire,’
An’ for all ’is dirty ’ide
’E was white, clear white, inside
When ’e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was ‘Din! Din! Din!’
With the bullets kickin’ dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-ranks shout,
‘Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!’

I shan’t forgit the night
When I dropped be’ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should ’a’ been.
I was chokin’ mad with thirst,
An’ the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin’, gruntin’ Gunga Din.
’E lifted up my ’ead,
An’ he plugged me where I bled,
An’ ’e guv me ’arf-a-pint o’ water green.
It was crawlin’ and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I’ve drunk,
I’m gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was 'Din! Din! Din!
‘’Ere’s a beggar with a bullet through ’is spleen;
‘’E's chawin’ up the ground,
‘An’ ’e’s kickin’ all around:
‘For Gawd’s sake git the water, Gunga Din!

’E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An’ a bullet come an’ drilled the beggar clean.
’E put me safe inside,
An’ just before ’e died,
'I ’ope you liked your drink,’ sez Gunga Din.
So I’ll meet ’im later on
At the place where ’e is gone—
Where it’s always double drill and no canteen.
’E’ll be squattin’ on the coals
Givin’ drink to poor damned souls,
An’ I’ll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I’ve belted you and flayed you,
By the livin’ Gawd that made you,
You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din!

Setting Jhamjarhistan Ablaze - Part the Fifth

Whilst urgent preparations are afoot in Peshawar, the archaeological dig outside Djelibad continues apace. The girls of the Rumpole Scholars were excavating several kurgans, burial chambers dating back to the Iron Age and possibly containing remains of the Scythians of Central Asia, who were nomads and livestock herders.

A merciless sun beat down upon the covered heads of the students of Hilda Rumpole College, Oxford. Professor Hilary de Spongepants (Rumpole College’s Chair of Archaeology) was fussing over her ‘gels’. “My gels”, she declared “are the crème de la crème. Spotting Ophelia Bottomley-Throppet (daughter of the aforementioned Monty Bottomley-Throppet) stopping to mop her glowing brow (ladies do not perspire, they merely glow) she bustled over to ensure that Ophelia was fully buttoned-up. “Scorpions, you know darling, like to get in your unmentionables”, Hilary liked to warn her ‘gels’. Hilary had her favourites and was not afraid to show it. The other students had nicknamed Hilary’s favourite girls ‘the Spongepants Set’. Ophelia was in the Set, along with the Honourable Bunty Hamster-Crust, Araminta ‘Minty’ Creosote, Prunella Gusset-Monger, Philomena Uphill-Crumpet and Lady Camilla Marsupial-Trout.

Araminta ‘Minty’ Creosote, the Honourable Bunty Hamster-Crust, Professor Hilary de Spongepants (Rumpole College’s Chair of Archaeology), Ophelia Bottomley-Throppet and Lady Camilla Marsupial-Trout

Ophelia thought that being told to button-up was less to do with scorpions and more to do with the appreciative looks given to her and the other ‘gels, by the two amateur archaeologists and travelling adventurers who had joined them on the dig. Previously to their arrival the only male members of the dig (apart from the hired Jhamjarhistani labourers, of course) were Lord Gustavus Creosote and his valet, Biscuit-Barrel.

The new arrivals were Cecil de Leominster, his valet Stirrup and Baron Dietrich von Strepsil (© Doug ex-em4).

Cecil de Leominster and Baron Dietrich von Strepsil

For the back story of these two adventurers, we have to refer to the writings of D. M. D’Emfore himself. Taken from D’Emfore’s magnum opus, Travels in the Back Passage, D. M. reveals how these two legends originally met.

Cecil de Leominster was born in 1896 into an aristocratic (but somewhat impoverished) Borsetshire family and has drifted through life effortlessly. His background is classical English upper class – Eton, Oxford, a spell in the Guards. In between Oxford and the Guards, he served for a year in the 2^nd Battalion, The West Borsetshire Foresters which he joined as a volunteer in 1915. Joining with him, indeed acting as his soldier-servant for a while was Stirrup, an employee of Cecil’s wealthy uncle Sir Rufus Pitt-Bulstrode, Squire of Much Rampling. Stirrup soon tired of his servant role and joined one of the rifle platoons where he served with distinction, becoming a sergeant. Cecil managed to get a transfer to the Guards after much behind-the-scenes influence was expended by Sir Rufus and also finished the war with an enviable service record.

After the war he was restless and unhappy in peace-time England and spent most of his time abroad where, surprisingly both for himself and his friends, he became fascinated by archaeology. He renewed his acquaintance with Stirrup when visiting his family back in England and soon became aware that his old servant and comrade-in-arms was as out of place in rural England as he was himself. Stirrup by this time had become Sir Rufus’ valet.  So, with the blessing of his uncle he offered Stirrup the job of valet which, given the nature of Cecil’s travel, was likely to offer as much adventure and variety as anyone could wish for.

Since then, Cecil and Stirrup have travelled widely in Asia, Africa and South America. Their adventures have been dangerous and rewarding.

Dietrich von Strepsil is the only son of a landed German family. Born in 1892, his upbringing was very typical of his class and time. His family estate in Upper Silesia was extensive and provided ample opportunity for a young nobleman to develop the skills and accomplishments that were expected of him. A spell in the army was a natural part of his education and he joined Ulanen-Regiment von Katzler Nr.2 at Gleiwitz in 1908. He served for 3 years, attaining the rank of Oberleutnant, then studied archaeology at the University of Greifswald until war broke out.

Rejoining his regiment upon the outbreak of war at his previous rank of Oberleutnant he served with distinction on the Eastern Front and was promoted to Rittmeister at the start of 1916. He was seriously wounded in 1917 and by the time he had made a complete recovery (except for a slight limp) the war was ended.

The post-war situation in Germany left him depressed and disgusted so, as soon as he could, he travelled overseas on a self-financed archaeological expedition.

 It was while he was investigating reports of Macedonian artefacts in Anatolia that Cecil first encountered the young Baron von Strepsil. Initially, it was not a friendly encounter. Both were investigating the same reports of interesting finds and both had hired groups of local labour to assist them in excavations. Confrontations and minor scuffles broke out over disputes about use of sites, water supplies and other niggling issues. The atmosphere was not helped by the indisputable fact that the two rival expedition leaders had been wartime enemies. However, everything changed on the night that mountain brigands attacked water-parties from both expeditions, murdering three labourers. Von Strepsil and de Leominster are very different in many ways but when action is needed, particularly instant, violent action, they are as one. The brigands were put to flight, leaving several of their number on the field and from that night, von Strepsil and de Leominster have been the closest of friends and constant companions in all sorts of escapades and adventures. The fact that Dietrich only fought on the Eastern Front in the war went a long way to reconciling Cecil’s man, Stirrup, to the new friendship.

(With thanks for the permission, text in italics written by Doug ex-em4 aka D. M. D’Emfore)

To be continued...

Setting Jhamjarhistan Ablaze - Part the Fourth

 Aggers, Johnners and Tuffers are putting together the motorised column for the arduous trip to Kashgar. Two drivers from the WRAF (Leading Aircraftwoman Honeysuckle Weeks and Aircraftwoman Perdita Weeks, sisters from Cardiff) contingent have already been allocated vehicles. D. M. D'Emfore's Rolls Royce has also been commandeered for the ride.

Setting Jhamjarhistan Ablaze - Part the Third

 Der Zeppelin Korps

In the Zeppelin base at Cologne, matters seemed to be moving at a very rapid rate, indeed. LZ36 was making ready to take to the air. It was announced as a record-breaking flight to Persia for the general public. In actual fact LZ36 was to undertake a top secret mission to central Asia. The Gräfin von Zeppelin was one of the few people who knew the real purpose of the mission and she was currently engaged in embarking her clandestine corps of soldiers onto LZ36. This corps were known as Der Zeppelin Korps, formed in 1915 in secret by Helene (Hella) Amalie Gräfin von Brandenstein-Zeppelin (Gräfin von Zeppelin), daughter of the Zeppelin inventor, Ferdinand Adolf Heinrich August Graf von Zeppelin.

Gräfin von Zeppelin

Troopers of Der Zeppelin Korps

Originally part of Die Fliegertruppen des Deutschen Kaiserreiches (Imperial German Flying Corps), abbreviated to Die Fliegertruppe. In 1916 the Kaiser gave permission for the Zeppelin Korps to break away from the Fliegertruppe and become a secret autonomous arm of the German military. Only the elite were selected for service in the Korps after a rigorous selection process. Details of their missions during World War I are scarce, as the Allies suppressed details of their raids behind Allied lines to avoid panic. It is thought that the Korps took part in the raid on Britain by LZ 36. This raid was intended to destroy British historical documents, including the copy of Magna Carta held in Balcoven Castle in Scotland. This raid was only defeated at the last minute by a British spy, Lieutenant Geoffrey Richter-Douglas.

Gräfin von Zeppelin and Lieutenant Geoffrey Richter-Douglas

LZ36 flies over Cologne Cathedral

Part of the troops embarking on LZ36 are the Geier Geschwader. Unknown to all outside Der Zeppelin Korps is an elite within the elite of the Korps. Known as the Geier Geschwader (Vulture Squadron), these daredevils are experimenting with parachutes as a means of attack rather than the traditional exit from a burning plane or balloon. Led by Rittmeister Rikard D’Astardly, the Vultures are all volunteers from the Korps. Consequently, they only number three members at present. In addition to the Rittmeister, there is the eccentric inventor, Hauptmann Herman von Klunk, the Squadron’s technical expert and Oberleutnant Albrecht Zilly who is somewhat of an enigma.

Zilly, D'Astardly and Klunk

To be continued...

Setting Jhamjarhistan Ablaze - Part the Second

 ...continued.

Just then, a commotion arose outside the pleasant surroundings of the Officer’s Mess. “What the devil?” muttered Snapcase as he rushed outside to find the source of the unwanted interruption. In a huge cloud of dust, a battered 1912 Rolls Royce, festooned with canisters of water, petrol and assorted spare tyres pulled up with a screech of tortured brakes. From the driving seat arose a tall, thin racing snake of a man. Pushing his grime-smeared goggles up onto a dusty forehead, he advanced on Snappers, hand thrust forward in greeting. “My dear old thing, how d’ye do, D’Emfore’s the name, D. M. D’Emfore, lately of Wiltshire. Just popped over from blighty in the Roller. Only took two months to drive here. Any cricket on?” Snappers, not to be outdone by this sudden unexpected arrival uttered in a welcoming tone, “Dear boy, you must be parched after that drive? Allow me to sign you into the mess as my guest. A stiffening libation or two would be in order, would it not?”. “Throat like an Arabian desert, my dear old thing” replied the intrepid traveller, “everything now oojah-cum-spiff, push on, push on”.

D'Emfore's Rolls Royce

Over the aforementioned liquid refreshment, various facts about D. M. D’Emfore came to light. Whilst D’Emfore was making use of the Mess facilities, Snapcase hurriedly consulted the Mess copy of Wisden, concealed under a pile of ancient copies of Country Life and Punch. It transpired that D. M. D'Emfore was quite a hand in his day. A tricky left-arm leg spinner and a more than handy number five, he played for the Old Flatulents against Combined Services at Lords and emerged with a creditable 3 for 45 in the second innings and a bravura knock of 37 on a sticky dog to see the Flatulents home.

Summoning the Mess waiter for more of the alcoholic elixir Snapcase engaged D’Emfore in more conversation, revealing more of his journey. Apparently, his motor trip to India originally had two objects in view. He was planning to meet up with fellow Flatulent, the Nawab of Patuadi (no mean twirler himself) for the Nawab's annual round of rather excessive social gatherings, described by a decidedly sniffy lady missionary as "orgies to shame a Roman". Asked what he thought of the lady's comments, the Nawab replied that "he’d never been an adherent of the missionary position".

The second reason for the trip was as cricket correspondent of The Times with a brief to report on the state of the game in the Raj. “You’re in luck old stick, as regards the cricket and the Nawab. I myself am on a jolly to Djelibad via Kashgar. We pass through Patuadi en route. The Emir of Jhamjarhistan, Faqir Al Djelibeybi fields his own XI, the Djeli Gentlemen, having learnt to love the game when he attended Eton College. You must come along with us, we could field quite a creditable team from our motorised column. My adjutant, Bovvers is the devil with his full toss. Have you brought your pads?” and with that, the deal was sealed. D. M. D’Emfore slightly the worse for wear after a long drive and a bottle of gin was on his way to Djelibad.

D. M. D'Emfore

Meanwhile, at Madame Kharrsi’s Home for Distressed Gentlewomen, Captain Agnew was buttering up Captain Tufnell of the Royal Engineers. Aggers was paying for the drinks and Tuffers was quaffing as much champagne as he could, whilst the going was good. “Now look here, old man”, began Aggers “we are right in the how's your father here. Snappers has been ordered to proceed to Kashgar tout de suite using whatever bally motorised transport he can lay his hands on, with me so far, Tuffers?”. “Top hole, all received and logged in the old napper, Snappers is on a beano right up the Ranygazoo using the old bangers”. “That’s it in a nutshell, Tuffers”, replied Agnew, “and the thing is, engines are tricky blighters on the best of days. We need a performing troop of your oily-rag mechanics led by your good self to see us in clover, as it were”. “Ah, I see old horse, you may be in luck there, it just so happens that I have some drivers and mechanical types on loan from the crabs, just arrived off the old banana boat and raring to go, just need some more of the old throat oil to seal the deal, as it were”, offered Tufnell. “Take them with you and everything in the garden will be oojah-cum-spiff”.

Tuffers

Well, the Engineers Captain wasn’t wrong. He did indeed have some highly qualified bods in mind. The bods in question had arrived in Peshawar, somewhat bemused after their long journey. They were all members of the Women’s Royal Air Force and had not been expecting to be posted abroad, let alone to the dangerous environs of the North West Frontier. Upon their arrival, Tuffers had telegraphed back to blighty to see what the devil was going on. It transpired that some loathsome oik in the clerk’s office had made a typing error after a night on the tiles. The WRAF types were required at RAF Peshawar, an aerodrome in the vicinity of Walthamstow. The dozy oik had typed in Peshawar as the destination and here they were in British India. Tuffers had no idea what to do with them until Aggers had turned up out of the blue, looking for oily rags. Serendipity or what, he had thought.

The WRAF contingent arrive in Peshawar

To be continued...

Setting Jhamjarhistan Ablaze - Part the First

SETTING JHAMJARHISTAN ABLAZE

“There is a dry wind blowing through the East and the parched grasses await the spark. And the wind is blowing towards the Indian frontier . . .  I have reports from agents everywhere”.

Sir Walter Bullivant to Richard Hannay, Greenmantle.

THE JHAMJARHISTAN CAMPAIGN

GHQ, WAFFLE Corps, Peshawar, January 192?.

“It’s all kicked off in Jhamjarhistan, Darling” ejaculated Major-General Kenwood-Chef. A British officer on shooting leave by the name of ‘Chippy’ Minton has been imprisoned in Djelibad. That roguish rapscallion, Faqir Al Djelibeybi, the Emir of Jhamjarhistan will be behind it all!”, he continued, in a bellicose voice that had bought many a tribal leader, quivering to their respective knees. Captain Kevin Darling, the General’s ADC was already aware of the dangerous situation in Jhamjarhistan, it was he who had laid the TOP SECRET/URGENT/EYES ONLY telegram on the General’s desk that morning.

'Chippy' Minton and Major-General Kenwood-Chef

Lakshmibai Al Djelibeybi, Emira of Jhamjarh, Faqir Al Djelibeybi, the Emir of Jhamjarh and Gunga Al Djelibeybi, the Emirzade of Jhamjarh

Major-General Kenwood-Chef was Wazirstan Amalgamated Field Force Leader ‘E’ Corps and as OIC WAFFLE Corps, Jhamjarhistan came under his jurisdiction. Jhamjarhistan being a small autonomous province to the east of Bokhara in the Pamirs.

“Darling, get me that fool Snapcase. You’ll probably find him drinking chota pegs at Madame Kharrsi’s Home for Distressed Gentlewomen”. Madame Kharrsi’s was in fact a cover for a Peshawar brothel catering exclusively for officers of field rank and above. Very hush, hush you know.

Snapcase was duly extracted by an agitated Darling from Madame Kharrsi’s establishment and hurried back to Peshawar Barracks. Ushered into Kenwood-Chef’s office, he saluted the General and accepted the offer of a mid-morning bracer, a very welcome G&T.

Snappers and Kenners

“Now then Snappers, we need you to get to Kashgar with a mixed force by yesterday!” “Stap me, Kenners, that’s a rather tall order!” riposted Snapcase. “Now look here, I’ve spoken to that transport johnny of yours, Agnew is that his name?” growled Kenwood-Chef. “Aggers, yes that’s right sir”. “Well, he and that QM chappie Johnston reckon they can cobble together enough motorised transport to get your advance column to Kashgar in a week or so. The heavy baggage and follow-up column can damn well use Shank’s pony and a mule train”. “If that’s the case then I’ll get my adjutant, Major Bovril onto the detailed planning straight away, General”, Snapcase came to the salute, about faced and marched off to cantonments to look for Bovvers, Aggers and Johnners.

Bovvers, Aggers and Johnners

When questioned, Bovvers and Aggers were adamant that they would need a team of expert mechanics to keep the motorised section running all the way to Kashgar. Aggers felt that if they could get a chap called Tuffnell from the Royal Engineers on board, then he could bring a choice selection of oily rags with him on the beano. Aggers went off to see if he could sweeten the deal with Tuffers with an all-expenses paid visit to Madame Kharrsi’s.

Meanwhile, the Political Department at Peshawar had heard of Snapcase’s imminent departure for the back of beyond. Monty Bottomley-Throppet (who some suspected was the local SIS man) dropped by to chat with Snapcase. Monty’s daughter Ophelia was on an archaeological dig with her college in Jhamjarhistan and Monty was worried about her.

The archaeological dig in Jhamjarh was being sponsored by Lord Creosote. His Lordship is a keen amateur archaeologist and when his daughter approached him for some readies to travel with her university’s archaeological club, he decided to accompany them and sponsor the dig. Lord Creosote is very jealous of his rival Howard Carter’s success in the Valley of the Kings. Lord Creosote is accompanied by his valet, Biscuit-Barrel. Creosote is known for being as rich as Croesus. His daughter is Araminta Creosote, studying archaeology at Hilda Rumpole College, Oxford. The College’s archaeological club, known as the Rumpole Scholars are working on a very ancient site near Djelibad, Jhamjarh’s main town. Passing adventurers and archaeologists in their own right, Cecil de Leominster and Baron Dietrich von Strepsil have decided to help the Rumpole Scholars in their dig.

Biscuit-Barrel, Lord Creosote and Araminta Creosote

Over drinks in the mess, it was agreed that Monty’s top two agents, one Henry Blofeld (an Old Etonian) and the other known only as Vaggers (a taciturn Yorkshireman), would accompany the advance column, first to Kashgar and then on to Djelibad to check that all was well with Ophelia and the dig. Snapcase had known Blowers at Eton and was happy to allow him on the mission.

Whilst much was known of Blowers locally, the arrival of the SIS agent Vaggers was shrouded in mystery. Rumour had it that he was an old seadog, a salty veteran of the Royal Navy. He certainly had the weather beaten appearance of an old matelot. Indeed, some said, even a colleague of Vice-Admiral Roger Keyes at the Admiralty. At the Consulate, ‘Windy’ Miller who knew about these things, opined that said Vaggers had landed from HMS Vindictive at Zeebrugge in ’18 and had suffered a rather nasty wound as a result. Whatever the truth of it, this gruff Yorkshireman was now indisputably SIS and along with his colleague Blowers, was all agog for the Jhamjarhistan mission. Unbeknownst to all but himself, Vaggers had an ulterior motive in visiting Lord Creosote’s dig. An old flame of his, the Honourable Bunty Hamster-Crust was taking part in the dig as one of the Rumpole Scholars. 

Blowers, Vaggers and the Honourable Bunty Hamster-Crust

To be continued...

...and he's back!

 So no blogging since before Christmas eh? Scurrilous behaviour. No idea why. Maybe a combination of laziness and Covid restrictions deflation? Endless bad weather? Lack of moral fibre? Attention span of a goldfish?

Anyway, stomach in, chest out, shoulders back, back straight, chin up, eyes front and pay attention you 'orrible little men and women. I have been busy painting and planning and in the next post we shall commence with Setting Jhamjarhistan Ablaze, a brand new adventure.

To be continued...

Requiescat in Pace - Doug Scott

Another hero gone.

Doug Scott, who has died aged 79 from cancer, was the first Englishman to climb Everest, but it was what happened afterwards that made him famous in the mountaineering world.

Scott and his Scottish partner, Dougal Haston, were part of Chris Bonington’s 1975 expedition to climb Everest the “hard way”, via the south-west face. Having left their top camp soon after dawn, the pair faced testing delays as Haston’s oxygen equipment iced up and unconsolidated snow, chest-deep in places, slowed their progress. It was already 3.30pm when they finally reached the lower south summit where the two climbers paused to melt snow for a much-needed drink.

Should they go on? Haston suggested stopping for the night but Scott reasoned it was better to push on and get it done. Two hours later, at around 6pm, they were at the top.

Scott was exultant and despite the late hour spent time taking in the view before descending. By the time they regained the south summit, their headlamps had failed and it was too dark to continue. With their bottled oxygen finished, Haston and Scott faced a brutal night of hypoxia and cold. No one had ever spent a night out at this altitude. Even worse for Scott, he had left his down-filled suit behind because it was too constricting to climb in. All night they struggled with hallucinations and the threat of hypothermia but both survived without frostbite and were able to descend at first light.

Requiescat in Pace - Sean Connery

 I have only just read that one of my boyhood heroes, Sean Connery died at the end of October. Here's to you, Sean.

"Now listen to me, you benighted muckers! We're going to teach you soldiering, The world's noblest profession! When we're done with you, you'll be able to stand up and slaughter your foes like civilized men! But first, you will have to learn to march in step. And do the manual of arms without even having to think! Good soldiers don't think, they just obey! Do you suppose that if a man thought twice, he'd give his life for Queen and Country? Not bloody likely! He wouldn't go near the battlefield! One look at your foolish faces tells me that you're going to be crack troops. Ohhh him there with the five-and-a-half hat size has the makings of a bloody hero!"