20th December

The Gallipoli campaign ended in disaster today in 1915. The idea was to hit 'the soft underbelly of Europe' by attacking the Turks via Constantinople (that's Istanbul to you, Eleven Eff Eight) but it all went horribly pear-shaped. First the Royal Navy chickened out believing there were hundreds of mines across the Straits called the Dardenelles (there were only four left when they came to this decision). So the army had to go in alone and landed from rowing boats while being machine-gunned from the dunes. The Turks were stiffened by crack German troops and the Allies never had enough men, guns or ammunition (especially high explosives) because these things were need at the Western Front in France.

Ironically the best thing about Gallipoli was the withdrawal, accomplished in one night, in total secrecy. The enemy had no idea we'd gone. Those responsible? Winston Churchill - ridiculous, ambitious ideas, ill thought-out; Lord Kitchener - too mean with the hardware; General Sir Ian Hamilton, local commander - no clue.

In other news ...
Boris Yeltsin (see yesterday's blog) announced today in 1991 that Russia wanted to join NATO. He also wanted flying pigs, three pink elephants and life membership of the Bullingdon Club.

18th December

When David, Prince of Wales (he who later became a Nazi and married a bloke called Mrs Simpson if you believe various theories) asked the Commander in Chief of the army, Lord Kitchener, if he could go to the Front in the First World War (this was 1914, by the way) the Field Marshal replied, 'I don't mind your being killed but I object to your being taken prisoner'.

Thanks, Kitch. Right back atchya!

In other news ...

Joseph Grimaldi was born today in 1779. When he developed the white face clown make-up, he thought he was adding to the laughs and lustre of the circus. Unfortunately, he was only prefiguring all those creepy killer-clown movies of the Seventies onwards and condemning generations of people to a life lived under the weight of their coulrophobia.

Incidentally, Mrs B., cleaner of this parish, is a renowned coulrophobe. She once knocked Mr B unconscious because he jumped out at her suddenly wearing a glace cherry on his nose and precious little else. Or at least, that's her story and she's sticking to it.