spare me the bag inspection

Alexander Comstock Kirk (1888 – 1979) was a United States diplomat. I think he would have been rather a pleasure to hang out with…..

His family’s wealth was derived from America’s largest soap manufacturing concern. Its national brands were “American Family” for laundry and “Juvenile” for the bath.

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At age 9, he attended the Art Institute of Chicago until his family decided he was too young to be drawing nude models. He was then sent to work incognito in a soap factory until his identity was discovered. 

Andy Warhol as a child found here

Kirk joined the American Diplomatic Service in 1915. He managed the State Department budget for a time in the 1920s, and later said he thought it “an obligation” to spend the entire amount in order to support the argument for additional appropriations. While posted to Cairo, Kirk kept one house in the city for lunch, another near the pyramids for dinner and sleeping, and a houseboat on the Nile.

houseboat on the Nile found here

While posted to Berlin, he lived in an enormous mansion in the swank Grunewald neighborhood. A visitor described it as “one vast hall after another, and he quiet and alone in the midst of it. Very funny; a little like the theatre.” His staff of servants spoke only Italian. He held “a large buffet luncheon every Sunday noon, as a means of revenging himself for such hospitality as his position required him to accept.

Karl Lagerfield designed the Schlosshotel in Grunewald

In 1945 he attributed “his excellent health to the fact that he has never worn himself down by any form of exercise more violent than scratching, which he only does when suffering from insomnia at 6 a.m.”

A few years after Kirk’s retirement, as Senator Joseph McCarthy launched a campaign against suspected homosexuals in government, one investigator’s report charged that certain State Department employees “were very close personal friends of former Ambassador Alexander Kirk who is not now in the service but who had a very bad reputation of being a homosexual and certainly protected a lot of homosexual people.

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He was a carryover from an older day when to be rich entitled you to be eccentric, and he made the most of the privilege. As a gesture of defiance, and in the indulgence of a fine sense of the theatrical, Kirk presented himself as the sort of American career diplomat of which the American philistine has always been the most suspicious: elegant, overrefined, haughty, and remote. His conversation consisted largely of weary, allusive quips.

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Kirk claimed he escaped from diplomatic functions by whatever ruse the situation required. At one embassy in Rome he found it necessary to leave by a door he could only reach by going under a grand piano. “In a case of this sort, Kirk recommends slow motion, which, he says, often prevents witnesses from even noticing a maneuver which, if executed fast, might horrify them.”

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Retiring after his mother’s death, he disclaimed all further interest in the Foreign Service. He had entered it, he solemnly maintained, only to spare her having her bags inspected at frontiers.

handing it down to an inattentive son

Captain Philip Thicknesse (1719-1792) was an eccentric British author.

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“He claimed he could, at any time, muster ten or a dozen knaves and fools, who would put £100 in his pocket, merely for holding them up to public scorn. The dozen could include a fumigating Duke, ten Lords, a white-headed travelling Parson, three Doctors of Physic, a broken, deaf and lame Sea-Duck, ten thousand five hundred Male Midwives, and about the same number of their silly female customers, a Bulgarian Bath Painter, two hundred Black Legs and a Dancing Master of Ceremonies.

male midwife toad found here

In 1742 he eloped with Maria Lanove, a wealthy heiress, after he abducted her from a street in Southampton and took up residence in Bath with her, taking full advantage of the social whirl of life. In 1749 Maria and his children contracted diphtheria; she and two children died, leaving only a daughter, Anna, to survive. When Maria’s parents died some time later, he spent much time in trying to claim their fortune. Thicknesse then married Lady Elizabeth Tuchet, but she died in childbirth in 1762. His third wife was his late wife’s companion, Anne Ford, whom he married on 27 September 1762. Anne was a gifted musician with a beautiful voice who was well-educated and knew five languages. She gave Sunday concerts at her father’s house, but her ambition was to became a professional actress and, in spite of her father’s disapproval, she left home to enter the stage. The couple spent a lot of time travelling in Europe.

gratuitous “gifted musician” photo by Terry O’Neill

Thicknesse died on one such journey near Boulogne, France, and was buried in this town. In his later life he had become an “ornamental hermit”. In his will he stipulated that his right hand be cut off, and that it should be delivered to his son, Lord Audley, who was inattentive. 

plush severed hand found here

the original female dandy

Luisa, Marquise Casati Stampa di Soncino (1881 – 1957) was an eccentric Italian heiress, muse, and patroness of the arts in early 20th century Europe.

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“A celebrity and femme fatale, the marchesa’s famous eccentricities dominated and delighted European society for nearly three decades. She astonished society by parading with a pair of leashed cheetahs and wearing live snakes as jewellery. During a stay at the Paris Ritz, one of her boa constrictors escaped, causing much consternation among other guests and staff.

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In 1910 Casati took up residence at the Palazzo Venier dei Leoni, on Grand Canal in Venice (now the home of the Peggy Guggenheim Collection). Her soirées there would become legendary. Casati collected a menagerie of exotic animals, and patronized fashion designers such as Fortuny and Poiret. Nude servants gilded in gold leaf attended her. Bizarre wax mannequins sat as guests at her dining table, some of them even rumoured to contain the ashes of past lovers.

wax mannequin found here

She was tall and thin, with a pale, almost cadaverous face. Her huge green eyes were flanked by false eyelashes, slathered with black kohl, and she regularly used belladonna eyedrops to dilate her pupils. It is said that she once wore a freshly-killed chicken as a stole, and that on a separate occasion, she had her driver kill a chicken and pour the blood down her long white arms so that it dried in a pattern which pleased her.

blood spatter cushion found here

In 1896 she was one of the wealthiest women in Europe but by 1930, Casati had amassed a personal debt of $25 million. She fled to London, where she lived in comparative poverty and was rumoured to be seen rummaging in bins searching for feathers to decorate her hair. She died at her last residence, 32 Beaufort Gardens in Knightsbridge, on 1 June 1957, aged 76.

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Casati was buried wearing not only her black and leopardskin finery but a pair of false eyelashes as well. She also shared her coffin with a stuffed pekinese dog.

Taxidermied Pekingese found here

spattered by the doctor’s love jet

Recently I watch The Invention of Dr Nakamats,  a very funny documentary about an 81 year old eccentric Japanese inventor. Brainsturbator wrote an article about him, excerpts from it are below….

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Yoshiro Nakamatsu is a national hero in Japan, where he’s affectionately known as “Dr. NakaMats.” He sleeps four hours a night. He maintains this demanding schedule courtesy of special food that he naturally invented himself:

“…these are snacks I’ve invented, which I eat during the day. I’ve marketed them as Yummy Nutri Brain Food. They are very helpful to the brain’s thinking process. They are a special mixture of dried shrimp, seaweed, cheese, yogurt, eel, eggs, beef, and chicken livers—all fortified with vitamins.”

Extreme Halloween Brain Food found here

There’s more than power snacking: Nakamatsu also takes regular power naps, and he’s invented a device to enhance that, too. It’s called the Cereberex chair, and according to Dr. NakaMats “it improves memory, math skills, and creativity, lowers blood pressure, improves eyesight, and cures other ailments.”

Cerebrex Chair found at Corbis Images

The following question is one he has probably been asked hundreds of times—“so, where do you get your ideas?”—and Nakamatsu has the last answer anyone but him would ever suspect:

“The base for everything is a strong spirit, followed by a strong body, hard studies, experience and finally leads to a “trigger” experience. You “trigger” a bullet which contains spirit, body, study and experience – and finally that releases the actual invention.

water balloons being pierced by a bullet found here

How do you “trigger” an invention?

A lack of oxygen is very important.

A lack? Isn’t that dangerous?

It’s very dangerous. I get that Flash just 0.5 sec before death. I remain under water until this trigger comes up and I write it down with a special waterproof plexiglas writing pad I invented.

Dr Nakamats writing underwater found here

Do you do that a lot? Put yourself in that kind of situation to come up with a new invention?

Of course. This is the Dr. Nakamatsu method.

Nakamatsu has more than a few inventions which will probably never get the attention and investment they deserve, not least of which is the Nostradamvs II Engine, which “can run with just water, so there is no pollution at all.” Coming never to a car dealership near you!

The Nakamatsu water engine is a curious little rabbit hole. It’s also been patented under the name Enerex, and a search for that yields paranoid gems like this one:

NO SCIENCE BACKGROUND IS NEEDED TO UNDERSTAND THE ABSOLULTELY OBVIOUS REALITY OF THE WATER POWERED ENGINE invented by the greatest inventor alive today (Dr. Nakamatsu) who is thoroughly documented! Doesn’t it seem at least a little SUSPICIOUS that a scientist as great as Dr. Nakamatsu is practically unknown in America?

water powered Aston Martin found here

There’s no disputing that when Nakamatsu makes claims about being a great inventor, the numbers back him up. Thomas Edison, the most prolific inventor in US history, died with 1,093 patents. Nakamatsu, as of 2003, had 3,128.

“Love Jet is a spray-type health enhancer spattered directly across the private parts and works to combat male impotency,” Nakamatsu tells Spa! during an interview for its feature on Japan’s boki business – the booming trade to keep men erect. ”Viagra is a chemically based pharmaceutical aimed to help people with an illness, but Love Jet was created through my ideas about sex using all natural materials with no side-effects. And, unlike most other anti-impotency treatments, it’s not a pill, but a spray, allowing it to work immediately. It improves sexual response by three times among men and women.”

Korean Viagra advertisement found here

“DHEA levels markedly drop at around 25 years old, but a spray of Love Jet increases levels by three times. It doesn’t just work on erections, but also slows down the aging process.”

Love Jet is a beautiful window into the weirdness of Dr. NakaMats. You see, a single bottle of Love Jet costs 30,000 Yen, which translates to a little under $250. However, manufacturing a single bottle of Love Jet costs over 80,000 Yen, which translates to a loss of over $400 per bottle.

“…Love Jet is not about money. Japan’s biggest problem is not this economic slump we’re in now, but the low birthrate. GDP growth relates closely to population. In 50 years time, we’ll be looking at a country half as strong as it is now. I want to save Japan from a crisis, so Love Jet is a labor of love.”

“Japan Crisis” artwork found here

rat catcher to the establishment

Charles Waterton (1782 – 1865) was an English naturalist and explorer.

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He was educated at Stonyhurst College where his interest in exploration and wildlife were already evident. Whilst at the school, he records in his autobiography that “by a mutual understanding, I was considered rat-catcher to the establishment, and also fox-taker, foumart-killer, and cross-bow charger at the time when the young rooks were fledged. . . I followed up my calling with great success. The vermin disappeared by the dozen; the books were moderately well thumbed; and according to my notion of things, all went on perfectly right.

foumarts found here

In 1804 he travelled to British Guiana to take charge of his uncle’s estates near Georgetown. In 1812, he started to explore the hinterland of Guiana, making four journeys between then and 1824, and reaching Brazil on foot — barefoot — in the rainy season. He was a highly skilled taxidermist and preserved many of the animals he encountered on his expeditions. However, he employed a unique method of taxidermy, soaking the specimens in what he called “sublimate of mercury.” Unlike many preserved (“stuffed”) animals, his specimens are hollow — and are surprisingly lifelike, even today. He also displayed his anarchic sense of humour in some of his taxidermy: a famous tableau he created (now lost) consisted of reptiles dressed as famous Englishmen and entitled “The English Reformation Zoologically Demonstrated.” Another specimen was the upper half of a howler monkey contorted to look like an Amazonian Abominable Snowman and simply labelled “The Nondescript.” 

Nondescript found here

Whilst in Guiana he taught one of his uncle’s slaves, John Edmonstone, his skills. Edmonstone, by then freed and practising taxidermy in Edinburgh, in turn taught the teenage Charles Darwin. Waterton is credited with bringing the anaesthetic agent curare to Europe.

Indian preparing curare found here

In the 1820s he returned to Walton Hall and built a nine-foot-high wall around three miles of his estate, turning it into the world’s first wildfowl and nature reserve, making him one of the western world’s first environmentalists. He also invented the bird nesting box.

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A range of colourful stories have been handed down about Charles Waterton, not all of which are verifiable, but which add up to a popular portrait of an archetypal aristocratic eccentric:

Waterton had his hair cut in a crew cut at a time when a full head of hair piled up or brushed forward was in style.

unusual haircut found here

In 1817, he climbed St. Peter’s in Rome and left his gloves on top of the lightning conductor. Pope Pius VII asked him to remove the gloves, which he did.

Waterton sometimes enjoyed biting the legs of his guests from under the dinner table, imitating a dog.

dog imitating airplane found here

He tried to fly by jumping from the top of an outhouse on his estate, calling the exercise “Navigating the atmosphere”

Waterton died after fracturing his ribs and injuring his liver in a fall on his estate. His body is interred near the spot where the accident happened. His coffin was taken from the hall to his chosen resting place by barge, in a funeral cortege and followed at the lakeside by many local people. The grave was between two oak trees which have now disappeared. It is said that a flock of birds followed the barge, and a linnet sang as the coffin was being lowered.

linnet found here

soul searching

James Kidd was an eccentric copper miner with an interest in the supernatural

James Kidd was no relation to Jimmy the Kid

Kidd mysteriously disappeared in 1949, and was declared legally dead in 1965. Arizona authorities found among his possessions a handwritten will in which the prospector directed that his estate, worth $198,138.53, be used for “research or some scientific proof of a soul of the human body which leaves at death.”

Soul leaving the body found here

Although he boggled at the unusual bequest, Superior Court Probate Judge Robert L. Myers ruled that the will was legitimate, ordered a hearing to find out whether anyone could properly qualify to carry out Kidd’s wish. As the trial got underway, it was apparent that there were plenty of soul-searchers eager to tackle the task. No fewer than 17 organizations and 78 individuals put up the $15 filing fee and were prepared to stake their claims. Among them:

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Nora Higgins, 57, housewife and self-described clairvoyant from Branscomb, Calif., who maintains that the soul has no physical substance but consists of a hazy, tinted form resembling that of the body. At the hearing, she insisted that she had detected Kidd’s soul in the courtroom, “pacing up and down with his hands behind his back, shaking his head at the proceedings.”

Peck in courtroom found here

Another California housewife, Jean Bright, 48, of Encino, who claims to be in constant contact “through my entire nervous system” with a dentist friend who died two years ago. She asks the dentist’s soul yes or no questions about the beyond, Mrs. Bright asserts, and it replies by causing her head either to nod or shake.

amateur dentist found here

William A. Dennis, 64, of Balboa, Calif., a geophysicist who contends that the soul is a center of cosmic vibrations. When the human body is alive, he says, vibrations from the soul give man the power to think and act. When the human body is dead, it is unable to accept or record these vibrations.

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Virat W. Ambudha, 51, a lieutenant colonel in the army of Thailand and author of a book called Increasing Brain Power, who arrived from Bangkok on leave to fight his case, which he based in part on the enigmatic contention that the soul is a “most wonderful, delicate, small thing.”

Dr. Richard Ireland, founder of the University of Life Church in Phoenix, who claims the power to communicate with souls and frequently dons a blindfold to demonstrate his powers of mental telepathy.

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Since the court hearing was announced, Judge Myers, an Episcopalian, has received more than 4,500 letters of advice suggesting proofs for the soul’s existence. Most of them argue that the answer is to be found in the Bible, although a letter from India suggested: “Take a man who is about to die into a small room. All the doors, windows and ventilators should be thoroughly closed so that there is no place for the soul to get out. As soon as the man dies, his soul shall pierce or crack the window glass, thus giving proof of its existence.” Courthouse observers estimate that the hearing will last all summer, but Myers considers himself fortunate in at least one respect: “I don’t have to rule whether or not man has a soul.” That, he explains, is a matter outside his court’s jurisdiction.

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the people skills of Basil Fawlty

John Fothergill was an eccentric restaurateur with the people skills of Basil Fawlty.

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He turned the sleepy Spread Eagle Inn into one of the most famous hotels in England, if not the world. Some came for the food and the ambiance, others to marvel at John Fothergill’s eccentric personality. 

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A curmudgeon and an obsessed puritan, Fothergill was not just any old snob. Sporting knee breeches, a dark green “over-garment that has been described as a cross between a page boy’s and a parson’s,” a flamboyant foulard, an Eton collar, buckled shoes, and a lorgnette that dangled on a black cord down to his navel, he inevitably cut a curious, if romantic figure. In summer, he favored a suit of white duck.

lorgnette for a fish goddess found here

He attended public school at Bath College in Cumbria, then studied at St. John’s College, Oxford, before dropping out after one term, having flunked his exams. Fothergill quickly fell in with Robbie Ross, a close friend of Oscar Wilde’s. At that early age, Fothergill was strikingly handsome, with a notable élan. Wilde, who cherished being in his company, called him the “architect of the moon”

Moon House by architect Antonino Cardillo found here

He seemed destined for a life as an aesthete, or at least a dilettante, surrounded by his gay artist friends. But he turned his back on the world of art and archaeology, and went straight, marrying Doris Elsa Henning. The marriage was a disaster from the start and ended abruptly with Fothergill suffering a nervous collapse. Finding himself, at 46, a broken man with few prospects, he was, as he says in his memoir, “counselled to take an inn.” In 1922, he and new wife, Kate Headley Kirby, heard about a place near Oxford called The Spread Eagle in Thame that was “very shabby but very possible.” Fothergill pulled together the money he needed and bought the lease.

Spread Eagle Inn found here

He channeled his enthusiasm for fine wine into creating one of the finest wine cellars in the area, and crafted a menu that focused on what he called “real food” — not the usual hotel fare of prepared meals, but an ever changing menu of tavern standards such as jugged hare or saddle of mutton, mixed with then exotic French dishes, and fanciful desserts such as “lemon flummery,” an 18th-century dish.

cribbage cards made out of flummery found here

What had been a run-down country inn soon became the country crash pad of high society. But not everyone was welcome. Fothergill had not shed his aesthetic standards. If a customer was “ill-shaped, ugly or ill-dressed,” he was known to snub them and to charge them an added fee, what he dubbed “face-money.”

refaced money found here

He also seems to have had a fetish for especially tall men, for whom he often offered a free pint. He kept a tally of them, with a measuring stick, marking their heights on a wall.  But beauty did not always guarantee special treatment. One boy who mistakenly ordered a pint of Angostura, thinking it was an aperitif, was given it and made to drink it. Another fellow who demanded steak, even though it wasn’t on the menu, had to eat a stringy tough cut of beef that Fothergill ordered directly from the butcher as punishment.

tallest man found here

He had a rabid distaste for travelers who stopped in merely to use the lavatory. Even though it was common practice among inns at the time to offer this service as part of an arrangement with the automobile touring association, Fothergill was determined to make it as unpleasant for uninvited guests as possible. If they didn’t personally approach him to thank him for his hospitality, he would follow them outside, berate them publicly and tell them never to set foot in his hotel again. Often if they slipped out before he could get to them, he would take down their license numbers and write them a scathing letter. One time he asked one of these intruders, a rather grand lady, for her home address “in case I need a pumpship when I’m passing your home.”

Magic Cone found here

This is an excerpt from an original review by Brooks Peters you can read here

sealing wax and other things

Writer Leo Tolstoy came from a rather eccentric family, with Fyodor Ivanovich Tolstoy (1782 – 1846) being perhaps the most unruly of all his relatives.

His comrades at that time described Fyodor Tolstoy as an excellent shooter and a brave fighter. His wild character, along with his taste for women and card games, gave him frequent cause for arguments with his comrades and higher officers that often ended in a violation of discipline.

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In 1803 Fyodor went on a circumnavigation of the world as a member of the sloop Nadezhda. His behavior on board, where he was unencumbered by official duties, was very unpredictable. He often provoked quarrels with the crew, including the captain himself and played jokes on those that he did not like: for example, once he intoxicated a priest and when the latter lay dead drunk on the floor, Tolstoy stuck his beard to the deck boards with sealing wax. When the priest came to, he was obliged to cut off his beard to free himself.

poppy seed beard found here

On another occasion, when the Captain was out, Tolstoy sneaked into his cabin with an orangutan that he had bought while the ship was moored on an island in the Pacific Ocean. He took out the logbook and showed the ape how to cover the paper with ink. Then he left the orangutan alone in the cabin, drawing on the notebook. When the Captain returned, all his records had been destroyed.

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Similar behavior more than once caused Tolstoy to be put under arrest. Finally, the Captain lost patience and abandoned his passenger during a stop at Kamchatka. From Kamchatka Tolstoy managed to get to Sitka island, where he spent several months among Alaskan natives.

Russian Church in Sitka found here

During his sojourn on Sitka, he acquired multiple tattoos, which he later displayed with pride to curious acquaintances. The afore-mentioned orangutan, which was left on land with Tolstoy and whose later fate is unknown, gave rise to a great deal of gossip in aristocratic circles. According to one of the rumors, during his stay in Kamchatka, Tolstoy lived together with the ape; according to others, he ate it.

Alaskan tattoos found here

Tolstoy returned to European Russia via the Far East in August 1805. He developed a love of gambling and became famous for it during his years in Moscow. He did not hide the fact that he sometimes cheated. According to the memoirs of his contemporaries, he did not like to rely on luck during a game, preferring, by way of cardsharping, to “play for certain”, as he liked to say.

image by Georges de La Tour

Even more famous was Tolstoy’s participation in a number of duels, the reasons for which were often found in card games. It is unknown how many duels he fought, but some accounts state that he killed eleven men altogether. In his early years in Moscow, Tolstoy’s love affairs provided copious material for rumor and gossip in society. He married the gypsy dancer Avdotya Tugayeva on January 10, 1821, but only after having lived with her for several years.

19th century gypsy found here

Tolstoy suffered greatly from the death of his children, especially when his eldest daughter, Sarra, died at the age of seventeen. At the end of his life he  grew devout and considered the death of his eleven children to be God’s punishment for his killing of eleven men in duels.

He carefully noted the names of those he had killed in his diary. He had twelve children, who all died in youth, except for two daughters. As each child died, he would cross out the name of one person he had killed and wrote the word “quit” (repaid). When he lost his eleventh child, he crossed out the last of the names and said, “Well, thank God, at least my curly-haired gipsy girl will live.”

Harvey Keitel in Ridley Scott’s The Duellists

Tolstoy died in 1846, after a short illness, in the presence of his wife and only surviving daughter Praskovya. Before his death he summoned a priest and confessed to him for several hours. He was buried in the Vagankavo Cemetery. His widow Avdotya outlived him by fifteen years but died a violent death: she was stabbed by her own cook in 1861.

should blue and green ever be seen?

Lord Cornbury, the third Earl of Clarendon, served as Governor of New York between 1701 and 1708.

Cornbury came to be regarded in the historical literature as a moral profligate, sunk in corruption: possibly the worst governor Britain ever imposed on an American colony. The early accounts claim he took bribes and plundered the public treasury.

***Lord Cornbury image found here

Later historians characterise him as a “degenerate and pervert who is said to have spent half of his time dressed in women’s clothes”, a “fop and a wastrel”. One night during the early 1700s, a constable working for the British colony of New York arrested what he presumed was a prostitute walking along Broadway. When the suspect was brought back to the stockade, however, it was discovered that he had actually taken into custody the colonial governor, who enjoyed taking evening strolls in his wife’s clothes … In addition to women’s clothing, which he enjoyed wearing while walking the parapets of the British fort he commanded, Lord Cornbury also had a fetish for ears, and made it a point of telling visitors to official state functions that they were free to fondle those of his wife …

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He is reported to have opened the 1702 New York Assembly clad in a hooped blue gown and an elaborate headdress and carrying a fan, imitative of the style of Queen Anne. It is also said that in August 1707, when his wife Lady Cornbury died, His High Mightiness (as he preferred to be called) attended the funeral again dressed as a woman.***

Blue gown and elaborate headdress found here

One hundred years later, Henry Cope of Brighton, also liked to dress up in unusual clothing. Whereas Lord Cornbury reputedly preferred female attire, Henry was more concerned with a specific colour.

Henry Cope was gripped by green. A contemporary writer records every detail: “Green pantaloons, green waistcoat, green frock coat, green cravat; and though his ears, whiskers, eyebrows and chin were powdered, his countenance, no doubt from the reflection of his clothes, was also green. He ate nothing but green fruits and vegetables, had his rooms painted green, and furnished with a green sofa, green chairs, green table, green bed and green curtains. His gig, his livery, his portmanteau, his gloves and his whip were all green. With a green silk handkerchief in his hand and a large watch-chain with green seals fastened to the green buttons of his green waistcoat, he paraded every day on the Steyne”.

Green house by Sandy Skoglund found here

Unfortunately by 1806, Cope had gone completely mad and hurled himself from the cliff down to the beach below which was mostly golden but with patches of green seaweed. He is believed to have spent his last years in an asylum, bound up in a straitjacket. It is not known whether it was green.

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***In 2000 Patricia U. Bonomi re-examined these assertions, and found them to be questionable and based on very little evidence.

talking turkey with papa

Irish landowner Adolphus Cooke (1792 – 1876) was a firm believer in reincarnation

Reincarnation image found here

He believed that a large turkey cock in the farmyard was the re-born soul of his father. Employees knew that his better nature could be appealed to by citing the ‘opinion’ of the turkey cock. On one occasion Adolphus appointed himself as judge to try his dog, which had taken to wandering the countryside and consorting with dogs of low breeding.

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After numerous warnings were ignored the court was held and the dog sentenced to be hanged for insubordination. A workman was ordered to hang the dog at dawn. The next morning the man was seen leading the dog back to the house. Adolphus was outraged and demanded to know why his orders were not obeyed. The workman explained that the turkey cock had expressed opposition to the execution and the workman wanted to consult Adolphus about this. Adolphus totally believed this farrago and reprieved the dog, who continued to live a long and dissolute life.

turkey found here

Hunting was a major pastime of the gentry at the time, but he opposed hunting. He believed he would return to this world after death as a fox. To be prepared he spent his later years wandering the countryside day and night so he would be aware of each earth and passway to escape the hounds.

baby Fennec fox found here

The best known incident about Cooke is the affair of the crows. He was awoken frequently by the cawing of large flocks of crows and employees told him the noise was because the crows were nesting nearby. Cooke ordered that the crows nest in another part of the estate. They naturally ignored this. He then ordered all his workmen and some tenants to collect twigs and branches and to climb the trees to build nests for the crows. The workers were well paid for this pointless activity and loafed about for weeks. No crows would use the few nests actually made. When Adolphus appeared to inspect the work and was annoyed at the lack of success the workers explained that ‘his honour’s crows’ were now engaged in a civil war with the crows from a neighbouring village (about the nests) and that a huge battle had taken place.

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Cooke was pleased to learn his own crows had been victorious in the battle and demanded to see the dead and injured. The workmen replied that, unfortunately, the neighbouring crows had called a truce and had come back to collect and remove all the casualties. Adolphus showed no signs of disbelieving this avian Illiad and gave rewards to the men who had assisted his army.

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Cooke died an old man in the 1870s and was buried, along with his brother and his childhood nanny, in a ‘beehive’ tomb. This igloo-like construction still exists, though overgrown and neglected, in a local churchyard. It dates from an earlier period of Cooke’s life, when he believed that his post death form would be as a bee.

Adolphus Cooke’s beehive tomb found here