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Milan Kundera

I saw in the Guardian yesterday that Milan Kundera has died.

He was undoubtedly one of the most important European writers of the late twentieth and early twenty first centuries.

All writers are products of their time and place. Not all are accepted for that. In Kundera’s case that lack of acceptance by the government led to him having to leave his homeland, the then Czechoslovakia, and making a life for himself in France. So much so that his later books were written in French.

I have reviewed his books, here, here, here, here, and here. I still have some unread to look forward to.

Milan Kundera: 1/4/1929 – 11/7/2023. So it goes.

War Graves, Murie Cemetery, Errol, Perth and Kinross

Murie Cemetery lies just to the west of Errol, up a side road off the St Madoes Road.

Seven Commonwealth war graves lie in the cemetery and there is one of a Czechoslovakian soldier.

War Graves, Murie Cemetery, Errol

Below, from left to right; Sergeant C Moorehead, Pilot, RAF, 25/1/1943 aged 21, Lieutenant J H J Vernon, HMS “Macaw” 26/11/1944, aged 20, Sergeant W T Woodington, Pilot, Royal Canadian Air Force, 20/12/1942, aged 19:-

Three War Graves, Murie Cemetery, Errol

Sub-Lieutenant, W V Stark, Royal New Zealand Volunteer Reserve, 7/3/1943, aged 20.:-

War Grave, Murie Cemetery, Errol

Sub-Lieutenant (A) B N Prance, RNVR, HMS “Jackdaw” 19/3/1943, aged 24, Sub-Lieutenant (A) A A J Robertson, RNVR, HMS “Jackdaw” 19/3/1943, aged 29, Sub-Lieutenant (A) J R Hobday, RNVR, HMS “Macaw” 30/3/1944, aged 19:-

Murie Cemetery, War Graves

František Drahovzal, RT, Czech Army, 10/6/1908 – 29/5/1943:-

Czechoslovakian War Grave, Murie Cemetery, Errol

Ian St John

So now it’s Ian St John who has died.

Having made his name at Motherwell he became an integral part of the first great Liverpool team of my lifetime, the first Shankly-managed one, and also played what now seems a paltry 21 games for Scotland, scoring nine goals for the national side, including two in that great sliding-doors match, the play-off with Czechoslovakia for the right to go to the World Cup in Chile in 1962. Scotland were ahead with a few minutes to go but lost a goal before the final whistle then two more in extra-time. Czechoslovakia went on to reach the World Cup final. What if indeed.

St John’s great years as a player were a bit before my time but I do remember the possibly apocryphal story of a Church billboard in Liverpool asking, “What would you do if Jesus came to Liverpool?” to which some wag had added below, “Move St John to inside-left.”

After his retirement I remember a TV competition to find a new commentator for televised football matches in the run-up to the 1970 World Cup. The competitors were anonymous before the voting. However I knew I recognised one of the voices but couldn’t place it. Then came the reveal of the runner-up (who I now see but hadn’t remembered till looking it up actually tied with the winner) – Ian St John. The winner was a Welshman named Idwal Robling who apparently did go on to commentate on games for Match of the Day (never broadcast at the time in Scotland so I never heard any of them) and later mostly for Welsh games.

But it was as co-presenter of Saint and Greavsie, an ITV equivalent of the Football Focus of today but with a more light-hearted approach (and which was broadcast in Scotland) that St John was more familiar to my generation. The banter between St John and the other presenter Jimmy Greaves was always good-natured and entertaining.

John (Ian) St John: 7/6/1938 – 1/3/2021. So it goes.

Czechoslovak War Graves, Overleigh Cemetery, Chester

In amongst the Commonwealth War Graves in Overleigh Cemetery (see previous post) were those of three men from the former Czechoslovakia.

Karel Müller, VOJ, Czech Army, ?/?/1917-21/9/1940:-

Czechoslovak War Grave, Overleigh Cemetery, Chester

Antonin Umlaut, Des Czech Army, 11/6/1910-26/8/1940 and Rudolf Mikurchik, Des Czech Army, ?/?/1907-18/8/1940, with in the background, Lance Corporal W B Brown, The South Lancashire Regiment, 6/6/1940, aged 29, and Private G Atherton, The South Lancashire Regiment, 6/7/1940, aged 45:-

Czechoslovak (and British) War Graves , Overleigh Cemetery Chester

WW2 Memorials, Chester Cathedral

Cheshire Yeomanry Memorial. “In proud memory of the officers, non-commissioned officers and men of the Cheshire (Earl of Chester’s) Yeomanry who gave their lives for their country in the Great War 1939 – 1945.”:-

Second World War Memorial, Chester Cathedral

Czechoslovak Memorial, “To the memory of Czechoslovak soldiers and airmen who fought with the Allies and sacrificed their lives during the 1939- 1945 war.”:-

Czech Memorial, Chester Cathedral,

Czechoslovak Memorial Information:-

Chester Cathedral, Czech Memorial Information Board

Czech War Grave, Hawarden

Jan Machalek, CET Sergeant, Royal Air Force, 3/8/1921 – 26/10/1942:-

Czech War Grave, Hawarden

Arthur Montford

To Scottish football followers of a certain age (that’ll be me for starters) the name of Arthur Montford is shrouded in misty memory. Well, given that one of his trademarks was the checked jacket and in black and white TV days that caused all sorts of weird effects on the domestic TV screen that should be strobed in misty memory.

The news that he has died is sad. One of the last links to the golden age of sport (for which read football, mainly) on television – golden because there was so little of it it was all precious.

Arthur was a stalwart of STV’s Scotsport programme for many years when it was in its pomp.

No-one who heard one of his commentaries could ever forget it. Liberally sprinkled with the phrase, “what a stramash,” he also rarely missed the opportunity to say, “up go the heads,” when two or more players contested a ball in the air.

He never hid his allegiance when commentating on Scotland games, “Mind your legs, Billy,” when a scything tackle came in on Billy Bremner. This perhaps reached its peak in the crucial qualifier for the 1974 World Cup at Hampden versus Czechoslovakia with his cry of, “Disaster for Scotland,” when the Czechs scored first. His euphoria when the game was turned round is there for all to hear.

Nevertheless he seemed a gentleman and his background knowledge of the game always shone through.

Today’s presenters have big footsteps to follow.

Arthur Montford, 1929-2014. So it goes.

HHhH by Laurent Binet

Vintage, 2013, unpaginated. Translated from the French HHhH (© Éditions Grasset et Fasquelle 2009) by Sam Taylor.

 HHhH cover

HHhH is a strange book, claiming to be a novel, but which is also a historical account of Operation Anthropoid, the British-backed mission to assassinate the head of both the Gestapo and the SD and architect of the Nazis “Final Solution” to what they called “the Jewish Problem,” Reinhard(t) Heydrich, (he removed the final “t” of his forename to make it sound harder) in Prague in 1942. The narrator makes much of his attempts to be true to his characters’ actual lives, saying he will eschew invention of dialogue where possible, commenting on occasions where he does so. He asserts his heroes are the assassins, Jozef Gabčík and Jan Kubiš (one Czech, one Slovak at the insistence of President-in-exile Beneš) and other members of the resistance, yet they and the assassination itself take up only a small portion of the novel which is really the story of Heydrich’s life and an examination of the insanities of the Nazi belief system and organisation. Along the way we delve deep into the roots of the Czech-German dispute – in mediæval times a Bohemian king invited miners from Germany to exploit the silver deposits found in his kingdom – we digress into the origins of the Reformation in the Hussite heresy and, solely because Heydrich visited Ukraine, the heroism of the Ukrainian footballers who took on the previously undefeated Luftwaffe team with ten men and despite being warned to lose at half-time, triumphed 5-1. A few days later they also won the return against a team bolstered by “professional” players from Berlin. [I put that “professional” in quotes because I’m sure I read somewhere else – probably in Inverting the Pyramid – that the pre-war German game was amateur and the Nazis believed only amateur sport was true sport. Professional football only developed in Germany after the war.] The Ukrainians also won the hastily arranged return match and all but three players, who escaped in the confusion of a pitch invasion at the end, were executed.

The narrator mentions the many books and films featuring Heydrich and/or the assassination which he has sought out or encountered – mainly to emphasise their historical inaccuracies – and puts in a good word for Conspiracy where Kenneth Branagh portrayed Heydrich at the Wannsee Conference but scorns most other representations. Despite his apparently encyclopædic knowledge of Heydrich’s afterlife in book and film he makes no mention of the only other I have seen bar Conspiracy, a film called Operation: Daybreak starring Anthony Andrews as Gabčík, but he does dwell on the novel on which the film was based, Seven Men at Daybreak by Alan Burgess.

The first person narration is a piece of authorial trickery. We are invited to believe it is by Binet himself but the narrator does his military service teaching French at an academy in Slovakia, Prague is the city he loves most in the world, yet the author is French – HHhH won the first-novel Prix Goncourt in 2010 – and the constant references to his attempts to establish facts (for example he dithers over whether Heydrich’s Mercedes was black or green; his memory has it as black but the museum exhibit he saw may have been a substitute, an otherwise reliable book has it as green) subtly undermine reliability. In a sly aside he mentions that – contrary to the perennial defence trotted out by ex-Nazis to defray blame for their actions – Heydrich was not averse to disobeying orders when the opportunity to be lenient was available. Heydrich was never lenient.

It seems Heydrich was also supremely arrogant, usually travelling round Prague with no escort, a fact which troubled Albert Speer on his visit to the city and to whom Heydrich says in the novel, “Why should my Czechs shoot me?” Heydrich had previously been shot down on the Eastern Front after a reckless chase of a Soviet plane in an attempt to make himself a war hero, causing great apprehension in Berlin till he got himself back to German lines. Hitler banned any further such adventures. Yet Heydrich didn’t learn. His only companion on the day of the assassination was his driver. After his death the book has Hitler berating his carelessness, saying, “Men as important as Heydrich should always know that they are like targets at a fairground.”

Except for those parts dealing with the narrator’s research and primary readers’ comments the book is for the most part written in the historic present. (John Humphrys would not like it, then.) Its unusual title is from the German Himmlers Hirn heisst Heydrich (Himmler’s brain is called Heydrich.) The original title Operation Anthropoid was apparently “too SF” – !!!! – “too Robert Ludlum.”

The climax of the German hunt for the assassins and their comrades, fruitless until they were betrayed by a fellow parachutist for the reward of twenty thousand crowns, is dealt with in a few pages. Of course, there are no eye witness accounts of the final moments in the crypt at the church of Saints Cyril and Methodius, as the group held out till their ammunition was about to be exhausted and killed themselves with their last bullets.

The narrator quotes George Sand – “Struggle against those who tell you: ‘Work hard to live badly’” – which he says is “not an invitation to digress – it’s a demand.” One of the Nazis is stated as thinking, “Scapegoats at all costs – that could be the Reich’s motto.”

Notwithstanding the lack of tension – surely any interested reader will already know the outcome – and the digressive nature of the treatment the book is immensely readable. It’s easy to see why it won the praise it has received.

The translation was excellent (except for its unfortunate forays into USian – ass for arse, jerked off.)

Hitler’€™s War by Harry Turtledove

Hodder, 2010, 496 p.

The usual fare from Turtledove. This time the altered history is that World War 2 starts in 1938 – though the actual Jonbar Point seems to be when Spanish General Sanjurjo survives his aeroplane flight from Portugal to Burgos to head up the Nationalist army in the Spanish Civil War which continues long after it did in our history as, after a failure of the talks in Munich two years later Hitler declares war on and invades Czechoslovakia. Major differences are that Poland then becomes a German ally, the invasion of France is not swift enough (apparently due to the early German panzers not being quite as effective as their later 1940 counterparts would be) and Japan eventually attacks the already war-embroiled USSR in Siberia.

The viewpoints are many, but hardly varied as the characters are as cardboard (or as functional) as always, or there simply to outline the war’€™s progress. The writing is as annoying as ever with its repetitions of information we already know. Particularly irritating was the observation that someone or other didn’t like some aspect of warfare “one bit” occurring again and again.

The reading is easy though; something I felt I needed after Gardens of the Sun. I don’t think I’€™ll be following the rest of The War That Came Early series though. There’€™s now another four of the beggars!

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