SAVING ZE GERMANS: ALLIED AIRLIFT TO THE RESCUE – commemorating the end of the Soviet blockade of Berlin 75 years ago

22 May 2024Dr Sophie Louisa Bennett, PhD Conservation Biology (Lincoln 2016), MA Modern and Medieval Languages – German and Swedish (KC 1987, Cantab 2020), Diploma in Translation – German into English (City University/Institute of Linguists 1998)


Rescued by the Rosinenbombers: The Berlin Blockade by the Soviets ended 75 years ago/Airlift ensured the survival of the inhabitants of West Berlin – Allied aircraft delivering supplies to West Berlin. Photo of NOZ newspaper extract: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

ALLIES TO THE RESCUE AGAIN

How the airlift by the Western powers ensured the survival of the people of West Berlin during the blockade of 1948/1949

The Wochenende (Weekend) section 11th/12th May 2024 of the ever-excellent NOZ, the broadsheet of choice for friends of mine on the outskirts of Osnabrück, carried a feature by Clara Engelien marking the anniversary of the Berlin blockade.   I was aware of this historical event but knew really very little about its details.  Marianne and Wolfgang supplied the feature for my continuing education… Ever the unfinished article!

The Western Allies worked together in creating a ,,Luftbrücke” (literally: air bridge) to supply West Berlin with essentials in defiance of the Soviet operation.  Supplies were airlifted to Berlin from the West by the Americans, supported by the British. The blockade was imposed by the Soviets, still under the dictatorship of Joseph Stalin, in 1948, in an attempt to take the whole of the eastern part of Germany, most of which they governed, barring West Berlin.  It was a fairly obvious effort to force withdrawal of their former allies from the West.  The blockade was negated by the actions of those allies, as thousands of flights kept Berlin’s population going and their former wartime opponents used their bombers in friendship rather than enmity.


Picture of one of the American Rosinenbombers (a Douglas C-47 B ‘Skytrain’) on top of the ‘Museum for Discoverers’ – was the phrase on a banner put up on what is now the German Museum for Engineering and Technology (Deutsches Technikmuseum) in the autumn of 2009, at a time when many visitors were expected to be descending on Berlin to celebrate unification. Perhaps they were inviting people to discover them – a Museum for Scientific Discovery. Here seen from a river cruise on the Spree taken with Wolfgang and Marianne in 2009. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

As indicated, the newspaper cutting – a whole side of this local broadsheet – was sent to me by regular readers. Wolfgang, so Marianne had written to me in the accompanying greetings card, remembers this momentous period, the blockade and the aircraft, from his childhood.  When I think of these two, and my parents who are of the same generation, almost exactly the same generation – children of the 1940s, married in the late 1960s –  I think of all the fears and hardships they and their parents (my) grandparents, must have endured.  On different sides during a War that nobody really knew was coming.  At least not in the ‘general’ population. Who have seen post-War decades full of both alarming and exhilarating developments.  Exciting and terrifying.  In unequal measure.


Rescued by the Rosinenbombers: The Berlin Blockade by the Soviets ended 75 years ago/Airlift ensured the survival of the inhabitants of West Berlin – Allied aircraft delivering supplies to West Berlin. Photo of NOZ newspaper extract: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

Translation by Sophie Louisa Bennett from the NOZ feature on the Berlin Airlift:

ALLIED AIRLIFT TO THE RESCUE (Rettung mit Rosinenbombern)

How the airlift by the Western powers ensured the survival of the people of West Berlin during the blockade of 1948/1949

Hurrah, we survived, we’re still alive!” read the banner which had been fastened to the front of one car. The car was making its way through a crowd of joyful people in celebratory mood. It was mid-May 1949, when men and women, children and old people, could finally breath a sigh of relief. More than 2 million inhabitants survived the Soviet blockade thanks to the so-called ‘air bridge’, the airlift undertaken by their former allies in the West to bring supplies to the people of West Berlin.

This was reputed to be the biggest airlift in history. And one of the most spectacular events of the incipient Cold War between the former Allies who fought Nazi Germany. Only a few years previously the American and British bombers had devastated the capital of the Third Reich, bombarding the city day and night and laying it waste. Now they are providing supplies to all those who lived in the sectors of Berlin overseen by the Western powers – as if they were on an island, in the midst of a Soviet stronghold.


Some of the aeroplanes landed at Berlin Gatow in 1948/49. The spectacular airlift, with its 270,000 flights, which delivered approximately 10 million food parcels, ensured the survival of West Berliners. Photo of newspaper cutting in detail: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

The blockade had begun in June 1948; 11 months previously. Suddenly overnight, one night in June, the lights in West Berlin went out, gas cookers too extinguished. The Soviets had blocked various access routes, they had cut off electricity and gas supplies, and brought deliveries of groceries to a standstill. Quite literally from one day to the next the city was cut off from the outside world. “They wanted to take Berlin and thought that the quickest way to achieve this would be to starve us out“, as Anita Stapel, who as a resident witnessed events at the time, explained to Germany’s Spiegel magazine.

WE WERE VERY AFRAID

The Western allies were evidently to be forced to withdraw their troops. “The fear that they would desert us, that we would fall into Russian hands, was immense“, says Gerhard Bürger, also able to recount from contemporary experience of events. the trigger seems to have been monetary reforms, as a result of which the D-Mark [old currency of West Germany prior to the Euro] was introduced. In the eyes of dictator Joseph Stalin a provocation.

In the opinion of the Soviets, Berlin should have remained exempt from the currency reforms. “Streets, railway lines and waterways are closed to us, but we have the air corridors,” was the conclusion at the time. There were three linking the West to Berlin: from Hamburg, Bückeburg (Hanover) and Frankfurt which were agreed by treaty after the War.

The driving force behind the airlift was US Military Chief Lucius D. Clay; whose initiative, approved by President Truman, launched the mammoth efforts by the Western Allies. Just over two million people lived in the western sectors of the city. On top of that, there were around 9,000 American, 7,600 British and 6,100 French soldiers and their dependants.


American General L. D. Clay was the man behind the airlift.  President Truman rewarded him for his efforts by bestowing an honour [photo suggests this was a medal]. Extract from the NOZ Wochenende supplement of 11th/12th May 2024 showing Lucius D. Clay receiving an award from Harry S. Truman, US President during the Berlin Blockade. Photo of newspaper extract: Sophie Louisa Bennett

We had no doubt that the Americans – once they undertook to do something – would do it. However, we had no concept of the scale“, recalled Berlin resident Gerhard Bürger. To serve West Berlin’s needs a minimum of up to 5,000 tons of supplies a day were required.

To manage this required planes to be brought over from Alaska, Honolulu, South-East Asia or Texas. In the beginning the airlift was planned to last 45 days, but demands on logistical capacity took on ever greater proportions. There were not infrequent problems with flight coordination, with overloading. Airspace which was too restricted, and, at the outset, only 2 routes for over 600 flight movements daily, made the undertaking significantly more difficult.

And so it was that a second runway was built at both Tempelhof and Gatow airports respectively. In addition, 19,000 Berliners built a new airport at Tegel in 85 days under the guidance of American and French engineers. Ultimately, an aircraft would land every 2 to 3 minutes at one of the 3 airports.


Extract from the NOZ Wochenende supplement of 11th/12th May 2024 showing Allied aircraft at Berlin Gatow as they deliver supplies to the residents of West Berlin during the Soviet Blockade in 1948/1949. Photo of extract: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix (source of original shown)

The constant droning hum of the supply planes gave West Berliners hope, even if the sound for some also brought back darker memories of the only recently ended Second World War. Despite this the people of Berlin referred to these aircraft affectionately as ‘Rosinenbomber‘, i.e. literally: raisin bombers [dropping food and grocery parcels which may even have contained the occasional treat or ‘exotic’ dried fruits. Strange to think that dried fruits could be seen as something special. But they were, due to continued rationing and supply shortages elsewhere in the post-War world, which lasted into the 1950s.]

The operations were associated with horrendous costs for the American and British taxpayers. Nonetheless, for the Western powers it was not only a question of ‘love they neighbour‘ towards their former enemies. It was about building a liberal democracy, with its associated freedoms. West Berlin acquired a symbolic role similar to that of Ukraine today. The whole World was looking on, and for the Western powers it was clear: if Berlin falls, West Germany would be next.

LOOK AT WHAT IS HAPPENING TO THIS CITY

This position was clarified, to take one example, in a speech by West Berlin’s then Oberbürgermeister [Mayor] Ernst Reuter (SPD) in September 1948 as he stood before the ruins of the Reichstag parliamentary building. In his address to hundreds of thousands of audience members he declared: “I am calling on the People of the World, the People of America, England, France, Italy! Look upon this city and recognise that you should and must not abandon either the city or its people!” Attempts at a diplomatic solution remained unsuccessful for quite some time. A counter-blockade by the Western powers in the summer of 1948 had already blocked transport of goods from the West into the Soviet zone of occupation. Later this blockade was extended to trade with eastern European countries. The blockade simply became too expensive for the Soviet Union, and the Western Allies had amply demonstrated in any case that they would not allow annexation by the Soviets. On the 4th May 1949 the Soviet government caved in, a week later the blockade and counter-blockades ended.

The fact that during these operations American, English [British] and Germans worked side-by-side, to make possible the seemingly impossible, is an experience that characterised transatlantic relations over a sustained period. Ultimately, more than 2 million tons of goods were transported to Berlin, including more than 10 million food parcels. the 277,000 plus flights ensured survival of the inhabitants. “Under such circumstances you remain grateful your whole life. Which is only right,” according to Anita Stapel in the Spiegel magazine interview. “And also the very fact that somewhere in the World there are people who show their former enemies generosity.”

[Indeed, very remarkable that we were still prepared to help our former enemies, albeit there were thousands of Allied personnel and their families there. I cannot imagine what it must have felt like to be surrounded in this way by an enemy state with unpredictable intentions and I am proud that ‘Little Britain’, with its ‘inward-looking’ mentality, stepped in alongside the USA.]


A note at the end of the German text in the NOZ feature reads NKA – Not having researched this I assume that the feature writer, Clara Engelien, provided/used some syndicated materials from a press agency, and, evidently, materials from Spiegel magazine were also drawn from.


One of the American Rosinenbombers (a Douglas C-47 B ‘Skytrain’) mounted on top of the ‘Museum for Discoverers’ – the phrase on a banner put up on what is now the German Museum for Engineering and Technology (Deutsches Technikmuseum) in the autumn of 2009, at a time when many visitors were expected to be descending on Berlin to celebrate unification. Perhaps they were inviting people to discover them – a Museum for Scientific Discovery. Here seen from a river cruise on the Spree taken with Wolfgang and Marianne in 2009. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

Regarding Rosinen – My copy of the 1954 Brockhaus monolingual German dictionary indicates that apart from them being ‘dried grapes‘ or ‘dried fruits of the vine‘ there are one or two idioms in which they are used: ,,Rosinen im Kopf haben” – is defined as ,hoch hinaus wollen‘ in this 1954 edition which translates literally as ‘wanting to go high up or achieve great heights‘, more recently though it has acquired the meaning of having lots of ‘big’ ideas which cannot be fulfilled or remain unfulfilled. Another expression is ,,die Rosinen aus dem Kuchen picken/klauben’‘, meaning ‘to pick all the best bits out for yourself‘ (!). I am not sure that these expressions have any relevance in the case of the coining of the word ,,Rosinenbomber“, but are interesting as background nonetheless. I can imagine children and adults alike waiting for the arrival of the aeroplanes from the West and watching as the small black dots on the horizon became bigger and bigger as they came properly into view. Perhaps the Allies and the Germans themselves were very unsure whether the airlift would work. But it did.


Inhabitants of West Berlin waving to one of the planes delivering essential supplies to them during the Soviet Blockade between 1948 and 1949, from the NOZ Wochenende section 11th to 12th May 2024. Photo of newspaper clipping: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

All translated material, plus additional comments [including square brackets] by Dr Sophie Louisa Bennett – and I/she reserves all rights on those materials. And, yes, despite everything, she is proud to be British – English in fact.


Rothamsted – a PhD candidate’s recollections

21 May 2024 Dr Sophie Louisa Bennett, PhD Conservation Biology (Lincoln 2016), MA Modern and Medieval Languages – German and Swedish (KC 1987, Cantab 2020), Diploma in Translation – German into English (City University/Institute of Linguists 1998)


Poster from my presentation of findings at a Rothamsted meeting in 2012 or even 2013 (I think). Photo of own poster: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

It was raining this morning and that made me think of a trip I made to Rothamsted as a postgraduate – a PhD candidate who was struggling to finish her research and do the write-up.

The meeting I attended was on an entomological theme and connected with the farmed environment. As you would expect from Rothamsted who conduct extensive and intensive research into the effects of both pest and beneficial invertebrates/arthropods/insects in our wider agricultural environment.


Part of my poster from the Rothamsted meeting I attended in order to present outside the conference hall. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

I offered to present a poster. Even presenting posters – which means standing in a more or less draughty foyer for hours on end in case someone who might be an important contact sees your work – can be nerve-racking.

I put together a poster of some of my findings and had a place in the entrance area outside the main conference room where I stood with other researchers and representatives from entomological/agricultural organisations with my/our material on show. Waiting for questions, rather than inviting people to ‘roll up, roll up‘.


Some images of a farmland hedgerow and invertebrates I had caught during sampling for PhD work in 2011. Here you can see some of the more abundant and widespread and ‘typical’ groups such as Ground Beetles, Parasitic Wasps and Springtails… I hadn’t yet tackled other variables for which I’d collected data. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

I spoke to a gentleman from Buglife and looked at some other posters, went and listened to some of the presentations. And was rather aggrieved at one, during which the presenter, quite a well-known figure whose name I cannot recall and I have long since lost the day-conference agenda, expressed his dissatisfaction with researchers who ‘missed out’ the winter season when sampling invertebrates/insects. I have to admit, I did the same for my PhD, although I had been involved in winter sampling using a pitfall trapping as an undergraduate (and subsequently examined and identified thousands of ‘the sampled’). For the PhD I had had every intention of sampling during that time, but my main year of activity had been heralded by extreme cold and snow, and I soon came to the conclusion that, as a lone researcher, the methods I had chosen for sampling invertebrates would have required much more effort in collection and analysis than I could cope with had I extended further. Or so I imagined. Of course no PhD researcher is on their own completely, but the motivation, the practical aspects and the data interpretation are up to you once you have received your guidance. Charles and Paul had supported and encouraged with instruction on ‘R’ by Carl.

Sometimes things don’t work out as either you or your supervisors, or experts in the field might anticipate. And then a viva becomes a place to defend your decisions.

I suppose the perceived criticism (regarding sampling seasons/duration) was aimed more at official scientific research in general in this area. Although ‘outsiders’ will always look on this sort of investigation as being perhaps rather ‘counter-intuitive’ in terms of conserving the environment or monitoring biodiversity. Rothamsted, incidentally, had long-term insect sampling on the go at various sites (which I’d read about in Silent Summer).


Two more representatives of the invertebrate/arthropod/insect groups I sampled during my PhD research into the biodiversity of farmland hedgerows – the more interesting and cuter from my point of view, on the right, is a Pseudoscorpion – very very tiny creatures inhabiting leaf litter. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

I felt quite miserable – possibly mostly because of the weather, my own dampness and some draughts, and the thought I had not ‘done enough’ – and was probably unable to concentrate on anything else much during that very rainy day. I’d come down on the train and was aware that I had a longish walk back to the station, in very wet conditions, and was therefore clock-watching in order to make it back in time. I missed the end of the conference where I assume the more interesting discussions and contact-making and networking would have taken place.


The University of Lincoln’s emblem, as she was: Minerva. Photo from my poster: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

As I went to collect my things from the cloakroom, the lady indicated that I should perhaps wait since there was a prize-giving and she thought I might have won one. I hesitated for a second, because I thought to myself “I really doubt that I’ve won a prize based on the number of visitors to my poster and conversations I have had”, so I looked at her with some scepticism and surprise, asked for my stuff and left on the long wet walk back to the station. Just like that.


Excerpt from a poster presentation of my PhD ‘investigations’ during 2011. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

As it happened, I think I knew who would win the prize there – a female researcher I had seen at another entomological event in Liverpool – a farmer’s daughter who was looking into dung beetles, and was subsequently featured on Countryfile. And so, I believe, it proved to be.

When I got onto the train, I was soaked. And although I didn’t regret the day-trip entirely, I thought what a lonely old slog being a researcher is sometimes and how thankless. As I am sure many other professionals do. And yes, I did receive my PhD, eventually, in 2016. Although I do not work professionally in entomology or biodiversity research.

I was to go back again to Rothamsted, in better weather, with another University of Lincoln graduate from Natural England…


Excerpt from a poster presentation given at Rothamsted on the invertebrate diversity of farmland hedgerows. Photo by investigator – we say ‘principal’ or ‘lead’, but in fact ‘only’ in this case: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

The Investigator’ – as I was in 2011/2012 during my PhD research and write-up. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

Implantation and the future order of things – a reflection on technology and innovation

14 May 2024Dr Sophie Louisa Bennett, PhD Conservation Biology (Lincoln 2016), MA Modern & Medieval Languages – German and Swedish (KC 1987, Cantab 2020), Diploma in Translation – German into English (City University/Institute of Linguists 1998)

An old SIM card with circuitry – effectively an implant from my old Nokia. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

They couldn’t tell her what the cause was, whether it was the implant that had failed first or the drugs.  Either way, she could no longer function as she had previously and the old brain fog descended.  She knew most members of the ‘Unimproved’, a sect dedicated to ‘natural lifespans’, suffered all their lives from such disadvantages.  However, she resented no longer feeling she was at the top of her game – in work, love and life in general. 

The sad fact was that a replacement implant was no longer possible.  Too much additional risk to remaining original tissues.  And too little incentive to restore someone as lowly and means-restricted now (she had been rather perturbed to read the ROI line in her health assessment), since the redundancy of her work unit through further innovation.  Shutdowns were becoming more noticeable: in her case, there had also been an accident and some problems with the circuitry.   It was not the case, as many had anticipated with the new regime, that there would be employment for all once the correct measures were in place.  Despite strict laws against discrimination, an ancient charter was sometimes used to override the former.

Her best hope was that when the time came her memories and capabilities and personality type would be deemed so valuable that they would be transplanted into another.  Either for enhancement purposes, or even replacement by official decree. Maybe if she was a good girl and repeated her Crick mantra regularly that would come true: “The soul has vanished”.  She knew from other compulsory lessons and reading that she would more than likely be turned into some sort of automaton without much creativity, artistic imagination or intuition, but also without the susceptibility to love or hate.

One mediport she had consulted had informed her that she must now sort out her mental attitude.  The best she could hope for would be a review of her daily medications and hopefully the issue of Soporifia would help quell all the emotional and physical pains that had ensued.  As well as blocking the night terrors.

At least she had been allotted some vouchers for a Holo-deck journey or two.  That was some compensation.  A pacifier.  Maybe she would visit the Pacific, or the Sea of Tranquility.


I wrote this for all sorts of reasons, not only current developments in robotics and AI and warnings from those within tech industries as well as those now from government, but also because of Huxley, Orwell, Wyndham and other fiction writers and programme-makers, maybe even Hawking, and, latterly non-fiction writers such as Fernandez-Armesto, who has an interesting take on evolution, culture and its ‘transmission’.


‘Studied’ love – Rencontre – Charles Grandmougin

13 May 2024 Dr Sophie Louisa Bennett, PhD Conservation Biology (Lincoln 2016) and also MA Cantab – KC 1987


A poem I received in my post box at King’s years ago. Photo: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

A poem, written out in blue fountain pen some 35 years ago.  Now faded, as the sentiments, and many of the memories associated with Michaelmas, Lent and Easter.


Red, Purple, Green. The Services booklets for King’s College Chapel for all three terms, 1988. Photo of keepsakes: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

 A French poem by a poet I knew nothing of but he obviously did.  Had perhaps even sung these words.  Words that seemed to mean something – at the time touching – looking back youthfully gauche.  The borrowed introspective words of students finding their way in love and life.

How overwrought and dramatic. How needful of living up to intellectual pretensions (we were at Cambridge after all).  And a meeting of ‘minds’.  Heartfelt at the time I am sure.  Or maybe even blissfully unaware of the true romantic nature of those lines and unguardedly encouraging further interest, without romantic intent.

Oui, je t’avais chéri sans te connaître bien…  And those lines were cherished too.  As a token of friendship, if nothing more.




Finding Candia McWilliam – writer and ‘observer’

13 May 2024Dr Sophie Louisa Bennett, PhD Conservation Biology (Lincoln 2016), MA Modern & Medieval Languages – German and Swedish (KC 1987, Cantab 2020), Diploma in Translation – German into English (City University/Institute of Linguists 1998)


Cover illustration of Candia McWilliam’s Wait Till I Tell You by Craigie Aitchison. Photo of own copy of book: Sophie Louisa Bennett with Panasonic Lumix

Candia McWilliam (1955 – ) is a gifted Scottish short story writer with a number of publications under her belt, including a collection I once ‘magpied’ from a bookshop shelf in London, Wait Till I Tell You, published in 1997.  She has been widely admired and won the Guardian Fiction Prize in 1994, along with numerous other accolades and plaudits.

‘Her words sparkle and fizz. […] Her work is like poetry in its scrupulousness and writerly care, yet at the same time it’s devastatingly everyday …’ Michèle Roberts, Independent on Sunday

McWilliam’s minute observation, structural finesse and wry humanity give full voice to the many dimensions of her subject matter’ Lucy Atkins, Guardian

‘The flaunt of the writing asks for admiration … this is Candia McWilliam at her remarkable best’ Helen Dunmore, The Times

‘The language is beautiful – packed, characteristically, with felicities so generous that it is perhaps better not to read these stories one after the other, but savour them one at a time, slowly’ Eliza Charlton, Sunday Telegraph

‘These pictures are sharp glances and eccentric explorations that make us wait – pleasurably – for their slow, subtle graces to dawn on us’ Sylvia Brownrigg, Independent

‘McWilliam is a magically original writer, arranging words like sweets, making phrases sumptuously fortuitous’ Julie Myerson, Mail on Sunday

https://literature.britishcouncil.org/writer/candia-mcwilliam


I re-opened Wait Till I Tell You and started to read, smiling at the phrases she used to describe certain situations and people and things.  At random, I chose one of the short stories to read; again as I thought, even if the spine of the book was remarkably unlined.  Maybe I had been a very careful reader in the 1990s, with certain books at any rate.  Others were full of pencil markings and underlinings…  An intriguing title indeed.  What were those ‘American’ thoughts and, indeed, what is ‘American’ thinking (not that I was under any illusion that this would be some sort of philosophical analysis).  Elise – who works in a library – goes out for a meal with and her other half, who has been ‘working abroad’…

I chose this passage quite randomly as an illustration of her talent for capturing moments in human behaviour.  The observer is a woman observing other women.  She evidently does not approach nights out in the same way as they do, is not part of a gaggle of friends (others may think less charitably) who go out ‘scouting’ for boys, but is already in a seemingly stable relationship with her other half; except the other half has come home (from America she is led to believe) to break off their engagement. Elise has previously reported ‘feeling that they were both old and young’ – a red flag if ever there was one since she describes the relationship almost along the lines of a pair of comfortable shoes.  And so it goes…

Those American Thoughts

Elise forked the mince out of her pitta, mashed it around in a swarfy tangle of raw carrot and swallowed it with a go of the Lilt.  There were women arriving for the riggers now, great-looking girls on heels, carrying backwards off a few casual fingers short jackets with fur on at the neck.  Drinks arrived, ice, and small bottles of tonic.  Coral nails flashed as the women palmed their nylons smooth over their insteps and up over ankle bracelets.  Only a woman couldn’t groom herself like these ones would put the ankle bracelet on over the stockings, Elise had noticed.  These women wore the bracelets like wedding rings, seriously, to say something about themselves.

Although it seemed that the women who had just arrived hardly spoke, the noise from the group of riggers grew.  The men seemed to fill out, their voices too, in the presence of the women.  The women looked in small mirrors at parts of themselves, eye-teeth, frownlines, upper lips, glimpses of throat.  Whey they had put their mirrors away with snappings and zippings and wary lumbar movements of roosting, they started to try to get a view of parts of themselves harder to see, shoulder blades and elbows, knee-backs and the inner surfaces of nail ends; some looked at the tips of their high heels as though checking that nothing had been impaled there since the last look.  One or two of the women spoke to one another to enlist help in checking some part of the construction that was hard to see even by the utmost craning, the hang of a dress over a buttock, the alignment of a belt with a hem at the back.  It all looked private, but public, as though the women knew what gestures pleased the men, suggesting to them things about which they had been thinking for weeks out in the North Sea but could not name here and now.

Lillie Langtry watched with unsighted approval.  Elise looked on and wondered where you learned those things.  Was it from men or from other women, or was it born in you like knowing how to walk in heels and never telling people you’d heard their story before, and being unpopular with dogs.”

Walking in heels is just a question of balance and placement – see Priscilla Queen of the Desert.  As for never telling people you’d heard their story before, well, this depends on the nature of the relationship and whether you are at a stage where a mere eye-rolling will do, or you accomplish a nifty change of subject, or a look at your wristwatch, or a quick glance over that person’s shoulder as you spot someone, anyone, else. I imagined it would be quite difficult to be unpopular with dogs – it’s usually the other way round – but I think I have read that Candia is more of a cat person, without being canine-exclusionary. 

Candia has what you’d call ‘the eye’; great observational skills.  Her own life experiences I would guess also enabled her to write so well about human relationships.  The outsider perspective is what I will say she has, in common with many other writers on the human condition, which in turn seems to have been a consequence of an unusual and ‘disrupted’ upbringing, compounded with an innate gift. 

I chose this book all those years ago (over 25 now), not because I knew she was an author lauded by critics who themselves could probably have vied with her for the vivacity and skill of their prose, although that does much to recommend her, but because I fell a little in love with the art work on the front cover.  A pastel, sketchily drawn in muted but also vivid colours, depicting a pale blue, almost-lavender bird (uncaged) – more than likely a Budgerigar – perched on the stem of a poppy-like flower seemingly looking towards a couple of yellow objects.  A toy or some food – millet – or perhaps, if you used up more of your mental energy, even a window, surrounded by a sky-like blue, partially obscured by a blind, through which the parakeet might escape outside, to freedom.  If only it did not look so passively observant. An illustration by Craigie Aitchison (1926-2009).

Short stories, such as these, suited my ‘lifestyle’ too, at that time.  And perhaps they even suit my way of reading and thinking throughout my life.  Novels often seemed ‘too long’ if they exceeded more than a couple of hundred pages: I made an exception for Possession.  Plays were not really meant to be read – but seen – although they could be ‘tolerated’ as reading matter, mainly for academic purposes or to check a quotation was correct.  Poems were favourite of all.

At the time I ‘found’ Candia McWilliam she was still a youthful and promising author who had won a number of prizes between the late 1980s and the mid-1990s.  A Scot, she had studied at Cambridge – Girton – and gained a First in English. (In fact, the one thing that is missing for me from the short stories is a glossary for terms such as ‘slatch’, ‘guddling’ and ‘blash’.  Scotland and England, eh; two nations divided by ‘one’ language: who would have thought it?). I know now from having read biographical material and interviews in the press that she always felt Scottish, and an outsider in England, and I wondered how it had come to be that she had studied at Cambridge – so far South, although not as far South as Oxford, of course.   I can only think that, although she had options North of the Border, she was pleasing someone’s expectations or recommendations and that Girton, being an all-women College at the time, on the northernmost edge of Cambridge, was the most comfortable place for her.

Even if this is the only writing by Candia McWilliam I have ever bought and read, I can truly say, that I thought it every bit as splendid as some of the critics had promised. I saw her picture – a lovely portrait by Jerry Bauer – on the back cover and thought she looked handsome, slightly mysterious, and intellectual, with an air of foreignness, elegance and Garbo, with sad-distant-thoughtful eyes.