Avsnitt
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'Mad'' Jack Mytton, hailed from a long line of Shropshire squires stretching back more than 500 years. When his father died, at the age of two, he inherited his family estate, including Halston Hall and an annual income equivalent to over £1.7 million.
Raised by his “amiably weak and indulgent” widowed mother, Mytton’s education was entrusted to his rather ineffectual uncle, William Owen. Though they spent most of their time hunting and sleeping with horses.
Expelled from prestigious public schools like Westminster and Harrow, Mytton very nearly attended Trinity College, Cambridge, on the understanding that he would never read anything more taxing than The Racing Calendar.
Finally, though, Mytton threw over these ‘studies’ to embark on a Grand Tour of Europe, leaving behind the 2,000 bottles of vintage port he’d sent up to his suite of rooms in preparation.
In 1816, Mytton joined the army. Where he spent most of his time stationed in France, drinking and gambling. But, just before his 21st birthday, he resigned his commission and returned to England. Whereupon, he inherited a further fortune of £60,000 and estates worth £18,000 a year.
As a proper grown-up – with an alcohol problem and everything – he naturally wanted to become a parliamentarian. Though his daily intake of vintage port (and bottles of Eau de Cologne) might have made him seem a bit over-qualified.
Mytton won his seat in parliament by ambling about his constituency wearing a flamboyant coat festooned with £10 notes – and giving them out to anyone offering him support. After spending a cool £10,000 on his electioneering, he became MP for Shrewsbury. And, having been sworn into the job, never went anywhere near Westminster again.
However, his reputation as a daredevil sportsman grew – with his name becoming synonymous with stupid recklessness. He was known for endurance hunting (performed naked and in snow), shooting rats on ice skates, and getting into high-speed traffic collisions.
When he wasn’t riding around on the back of a bear, dressing as a highwayman to terrify local clergymen, losing money out of carriage windows, and getting into fights with burly Shropshire miners, he was generally worrying the livestock.
Finally, he fled to France to escape his creditors, where he set himself on fire to curb a particularly annoying bout of hiccups.
Mytton ended up in a debtors’ prison in London, described as a “drivelling sot”. He passed away at the age of 38 – remembered for his generosity and fun-loving nature. Impressively, he managed to squander a fortune equivalent to about £20 million in today’s money, mostly on booze.
This is a bonus episode made especially for Patreon subscriber – and all-round good egg – Lisa Highton.
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William Buckland was born in Axminster in 1784, only a few miles away from the fossil-rich coasts of Dorset and East Devon.
Buckland was elected to the Royal Society in 1818, and the same year managed to convince the Prince Regent to endow an additional Readership upon him. This time, in what he termed ‘undergroundology’ – later renamed ‘geology’. He was the first holder of the new appointment.
To make his lectures more interesting, Buckland brought in his adopted pet bear, Tiglath Pileser to prowl about the stage whilst he talked, dressed in a cap and gown. And performed some questionable bird impressions.
As the first Professor of Geology at Oxford University, Buckland spent a considerable amount of time digging around in mud and sand – and was, consequently, responsible for excavating the world’s first recorded dinosaur fossil. Though the term ‘dinosaur’ had yet to be coined, in 1824 Buckland published a monograph entitled Notice on the Megalosaurus or Great Fossil Lizard of Stonesfield.
Sunday lunch at the Buckland household comprised of some very odd dishes indeed – ranging from exotic meats shipped from abroad to things he and his son dug up in the garden. Meals comprised of such tasty treats as panther, rhino, elephant trunk, earwigs, slugs, and…erm, puppies. Mice on toast was a favoured amuse-bouche in the household. Buckland said later that he thought that mole was the most unpleasant thing he’d ever tasted – until, that was, he sampled stewed bluebottles.
During a dinner at his friend Lord Harcourt’s house, the guests were treated to an intimate viewing of the strange object – the mummified heart of the late French King Louis XIV. In what seems to have been the work of a moment, as the object came into his grasp, Buckland remarked: “I have eaten many strange things, but I have never eaten the heart of a king before.” And with that, he snapped the box open, grabbed the heart, and swallowed it whole.
This is a bonus episode made especially for my Patreon master – and brother with the same mother – Gaston Fulano.
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Saknas det avsnitt?
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Donald Sinclair was the unwitting inspiration for Basil Fawlty – the irascible protagonist of the hugely-successful BBC comedy series Fawlty Towers.
Before the Second World War rolled around, Sinclair was an officer in the Royal Naval Reserve. Consequently, in 1939, he was called up for military service. His naval career was dramatic – and he was torpedoed several times. Which probably didn’t do much for his mood.
In April 1946, Sinclair, now a salty old sea dog with a well-earned reputation as a disciplinarian, returned to Blighty. Having achieved the rank of Lieutenant Commander; as an officer with his own bagman, he was used to giving orders – and having them carried out to the letter.
Arriving in Torquay, his wife Beatrice somehow persuaded him to give up his Naval career in favour of the safer option of running the hotel she’d just bought. Though he grudgingly agreed, he was not a man well-suited to the service industry.
Sinclair managed the Gleneagles with only the very keenest reluctance, treating anyone checking in as a source of considerable irritation. Marching about the hotel, swathed in his dressing gown, he would angrily berate guests – and interpret any interaction with them as the most unforgivable imposition.
In May 1970, the comedy troupe of the BBC sketch show Monty Python’s Flying Circus were filming for their upcoming TV series in the nearby town of Paignton – and, by chance, found themselves booked into the Gleneagles.
John Cleese became instantly fascinated by the hotel manager, describing him later as ‘the most wonderfully rude man I had ever met.’
Though the rest of the Pythons soon relocated to the Imperial Hotel, Cleese decided to stay on – and even sent for his wife Connie Booth to join him – and the pair set about observing Sinclair and gathering material that would later be used to create Cleese’s most enduring comedy creation, Basil Fawlty.
This is a special bonus episode made especially for my Patreon – and sometimes Film Crowd – bestie, Mark Vent. Long may he prevail.
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In 1927, an enigmatic, anarchic group of well-heeled women – calling themselves ‘Ferguson’s Gang’ – got together in secret with the aim of protecting historic buildings in the UK from demolition and conserving landscapes and views of outstanding natural beauty. Though being a bit silly was also factored in for good measure.
The inner circle of gang members included – Right Bloody Lord beer shop of the Gladstone islands and Mercator’s Projection, Red Biddy, Bill Stickers, Sister Agatha, Herb the Smasher, Kate O’Brian the Nark, Silent O’Moyle, See Me Run, and Black Maria.
The gang wrote up their exploits in their club book (known as ‘the Boo’) in which the gang religiously recorded their activities, which they did – presumably, in an effort to further deepen the mystery – in a sort of ludicrous faux-‘cockerney’ that would make Dick Van Dyke blush.
The gang’s ‘raids’ always supported The National Trust. Sometimes this involved raising money and buying specific land and properties outright or just donating cash to help the trust carry out its own plans. Mostly it involved delivering money to the beleaguered trust secretary in heavy disguise and via a variety of peculiar methods. At times, cash was thrown onto the secretary’s desk by masked members of the gang with the bank notes wrapped around cigars or placed inside miniature liqueur bottles. On one occasion, they threaded antique Victorian coins inside the carcass of a goose.
The gang met for regular boozy AGMs called ‘hauntings’ at Shalford Mill, an 18th-century watermill in Surrey that they had saved. Shalford locals typically knew when the gang was in session – as delivery vans from London’s famous Fortnum & Mason department store could invariably be seen inhabiting the lanes outside the mill when the gang was in residence. Meals of pheasant, duck, lobster, and crates of fine champagne were all delivered and fastidiously logged in the Boo. The gangs’ masks – that they used for their various raids – were usually purchased at Harrods.
Only two members of Ferguson’s Gang have been officially identified.
This is a bonus episode created for the Patreon subscriber Vanessa Laurin, AKA Apocalypse Hair.
Featuring the Cornish Cockney vocal stylings of Beth Troake.
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Oliver Reed (1938 - 1999) was an English actor best known for his edgy screen performances, ‘hellraiser’ lifestyle, and ‘orange juice’-fuelled chat show inebriation. Towards the end of his life, the British Film Institute pronounced him the UK’s ‘thirstiest actor’.
Reed’s breakthrough role came as Bill Sikes in Oliver! – the 1968 musical version of Dickens’ Oliver Twist. Directed by his uncle, Reed later claimed to have landed the role because the two men had “come out of the same c*ck”.
Reed’s Bill Sikes caught the eye of director Ken Russell, who cast him in Women in Love (1969), the first mainstream movie to show full-frontal male nudity. In it, Reed famously has a naked fireside wrestle with Alan Bates. In I’ll Never Forget What’s’isname (1967), Reed became the first lead actor to use the f-word on film; and in Sitting Target (1972), he starred in the first British film to be given an X-rating just because of the violence in it.
Reed spent much of his adult life being thrown out of pubs and hotels after marathon drinking sessions he designated ‘tests of strength’. These would typically be followed by him revealing a very intimate bird claw tattoo to any crowd that might have assembled.
One quiet Saturday afternoon trip to a country pub apparently culminated in Reed inviting 36 rugby players over to his house – and between Saturday night and Sunday lunchtime, between them, they famously consumed 60 gallons of beer, 32 bottles of whiskey, 17 bottles of gin, four crates of wine, and one bottle of Babysham. Before throwing them out the next morning, at Reed’s insistence, the entire party engaged in a nude dawn run through the Surrey countryside.
Reed died in 1999, whilst filming Ridley Scott’s Gladiator. A man who feared dying peacefully, he no doubt would have been comfortable with the circumstances of his death. Reed suffered a fatal heart attack on the floor of a Maltese barroom whilst arm wrestling a local sailor – having consumed three bottles of rum.
Reed’s Last Will and Testament instructed that his wake should take place at his local pub and that £10,000 must be spent buying drinks – but just on ‘those who are crying’.
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Goo goo ga-joob!
Sir George Reresby Sitwell (1860 – 1943) was a Conservative politician, writer, inventor, and largely unsuccessful husband and father.
Despite urging his – much more successful – children to abandon their literary ambitions on the grounds that writing is ruinous to the health, Sir George penned several intriguing works of his own.
Titles of his unpublished books include Wool-Gathering in Medieval Times (And Since), The History of the Fork, Domestic Manners in Sheffield in the Year 1250, Acorns as an Article of Medieval Diet, and, of course, the classic Lepers’ Squints.
When not writing, Sir George divided his time between travelling Europe, eating chicken, neglecting his wife, antagonising his children, attending to his (and other people’s) gardens, and painting cattle.
As an inventor, Sir George is credited with the creation of a musical toothbrush, a pistol for shooting wasps, and an egg, that he named after himself.
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This human form,
Where I was born,
I now repent...Caraboo!
On an April morning in 1817, a cobbler in Almondsbury, Gloucestershire, encountered an exotically attired – and apparently disoriented – woman, who spoke at him in a way that was both urgent and entirely incomprehensible.
The woman was subsequently placed into the care of Samuel Worrall, the local magistrate, who determined that she referred to herself as ‘Caraboo’ – though the rest of her story remained a mystery.
Fortunately for the Worralls, a Portuguese sailor named Manuel Eynesso offered his translation services – and returned to them with the most singular tale.
According to Eynesso, the mysterious woman was in fact Princess Caraboo, of Javasu in the Indian Ocean.
After witnessing her father’s murder, she had been captured by pirates and brought to England, where she finally escaped by jumping overboard in the Bristol Channel.
Why is this story being covered in The English Eccentric? More to the point, why would you ever trust a Portuguese sailor? Tune in now…
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Lieutenant Commander Bill Boaks (1904 - 1986) was a bluff old seaman, decorated war hero, and frequent – though never successful – political campaigner.
An officer in the British Royal Navy, he took part in the sinking of the German battleship, Bismarck; and was awarded the Distinguished Service Cross for his part in the Dunkirk evacuation.
Returning to London after the war, Boaks took his fight to politics. In 1951, he ran for parliament (very nearly in the sitting-Prime Minister’s ward) on a ticket that advocated equal pay for female workers. Clearly, this was never going to be a winner in London in the ’50s. And so, for the next thirty years, he campaigned on a subject that touches every British voter’s heart – road safety.
Over the course of his political career (such as it was), Boaks ran for elected office 28 times over 35 years, never receiving a vote share exceeding 0.5% – and, consequently, lost all of his paid deposits. A pioneer of British eccentric political campaigning, he holds the record for the fewest votes recorded for a candidate in a British parliamentary election, taking just five at a by-election in 1982.
After years of campaigning about road safety, Boaks was injured in a traffic accident in 1984 whilst alighting a bus. He was buried at sea with full honours in the naval graveyard outside Portsmouth Harbour.
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In this special Halloween episode of The English Eccentric, we’re going into darkness…
Introducing Aleister Crowley, (1875 – 1947), English occultist, ceremonial magician, poet, painter, novelist, mountaineer, and occasional haggis hunter.
After a university career spent writing wanky teenage poetry, in 1898 Crowley was inducted into London’s secret occult society The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, where he was trained in ceremonial magic by S L MacGregor Mathers and Allan Bennett. (No, not that one.) Before leaving…due to some unpleasantness.
Undeterred, Crowley headed to Mexico where he quickly learnt to make himself invisible; and, after that, to Cairo, where he became the prophet of the Thelema religion – entrusted to him (whilst off his tits on Class-A drugs) by the entity Aiwass, the supernatural spokesman of the Ancient Egyptian deity Horus.
Crowley’s spirit-channelling provided him with The Book of the Law, Thelema’s sacred text – which famously pivots on the fundamental tenet: ‘Do What Thou Wilt’.
In 1920, Crowley established the Abbey of Thelema, a religious commune in Cefalù, Sicily, where he lived with various followers – before being thrown out of the country three years later by Benito Mussolini for his attempted sexual outrages with a goat.
By the mid-1930s, Crowley was a rather tragic figure. He had lost his looks, most of his teeth, and almost all of his money – and was reduced to shambling about cheap hotels and bedsitting rooms.
Crowley died of a respiratory infection in a Hastings boarding house in December 1947, at the age of 72. According to popular myth, his last words were: “I am perplexed”. Though this was later denied by the woman that was beside him in his final moments, who claimed he gasped: “Sometimes I hate myself”.
No Haggises were harmed in the making of this podcast.
Featuring Andrew Sharman playing his own grandfather ‘PC Alfred Richard John Sharman’.
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The first patron-inspired episode of The English Eccentric. This episode was requested by the excellent Claire Rowe.
William John Cavendish-Scott-Bentinck (1800-1879), the 5th Duke of Portland, was born in London, the second son of William Bentinck – and known by his middle name ‘John’.
In fact, all the males in his family were Christened ‘William’ – and, thus, it was customary for them to take their middle names. Presumably, because otherwise, it would’ve made it quite difficult for their mum to call them each in for their tea.
Having inherited his family seat, Welbeck Abbey in Nottingham, Bentinck spent vast amounts of cash ‘improving’ it. This mostly involved letting the abbey fall into a state of disrepair, whilst he created a peculiar network of tunnels and strange rooms underneath it.
After his death, the reclusive duke – and his strange interest in false whiskers – caused his successor, William Bentinck, 6th Duke of Portland, problems when another claimant to the estate came forward and his known predilection for disguises and tunnelling suddenly got a whole new focus...
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Lieutenant Colonel A. D. Wintle (1897 - 1966) was a British military officer in the Royal Dragoons, who served in both World Wars.
Never without his trademark monocle, service revolver, and trusty umbrella, Wintle wasn’t the master of disguise he thought he was – but he certainly wasn’t going to let that stop him from having a go.
A decorated war hero, Wintle also saw the inside of a surprisingly large number of prison cells. Most of them in England.
However, Wintle was also the first non-lawyer to achieve a unanimous verdict in his favour at a trial in the House of Lords. Clearly, every man jack of them agreed with Wintle that the debagging of crooked solicitors is every Englishman’s duty.
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Phyllis Pechey – better known as Fanny Cradock – was an English television chef and writer.
Her popular BBC TV show, Kitchen Magic, saw her providing cookery demonstrations in company with (sometimes) husband Major Johnnie Cradock – who played the part of a dull-eyed, swaying, junior partner – whilst she snapped her fingers at her terrified assistants.
After a successful stint as British television’s top chef, soon the bottom seemed to fall out of the market when it came to irascible, chiffon ballgown-wearing cooks with a penchant for piping bags and vegetable dyes.
Though celebrated for her abrasive style and haughty demeanour, it was later to prove her undoing – when she guested on an episode of the early reality show The Big Time in 1976, and openly chided a farmer’s wife from Devon for her rubbish menu, all the time mugging furiously at the cameras, rolling her eyes and pretending to retch.
Despite all this, for many, Cradock remains the ultimate Fanny!
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The Reverend Frederick Densham was Rector of St. Bartholomew Church in Warleggan, Cornwall, from 1931 until his death in 1953.
A cleric with unusual ideas in interior design. That thought – possibly correctly – that organ music was the work of the Devil. And who spent most of his time railing about the ills of humanity to small pieces of cardboard.
In an unusual move, upon becoming the vicar at the remote parish, Densham spent considerable time and industry alienating his entire congregation – doing such things as erecting an 8-foot barbed-wire fence around the rectory, banning whist drives, Sunday school, and the choir.
But, then, realising that no one was listening to his sermons, he fashioned his own paper and cardboard congregation and installed a Tannoy system at the front of the church so that he could bark out angry homilies about booze, beef, and his own organ.
Featuring Elizabeth Troake as Daphne du Maurier.
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The 1970s were the heyday of the ‘character footballers’ – the likes of Georgie Best and Charlie George. With popstar haircuts and dangerous playing styles, they were famed for their womanising and hard living. Yet, there’s a footballer that was head and shoulders above them all – and though you’ve probably never heard of him, he really wouldn’t have cared.
A man of many parts, Robin Friday could’ve played football for England – but, instead, preferred drinking Dry Martini with asphalters.
An off-pitch lifestyle that comprised largely of heavy smoking, drinking, drug taking, womanising, and petty criminality, Friday was also one of the few professional sportsmen to miss several important fixtures because they’d been arrested for impersonating a policeman.
Despite Friday’s remarkable ball skills and prolific goal-scoring, he retired after just four years as a professional player – because he was bored with people telling him what to do. Sadly, therefore, his mark on the beautiful game is often less celebrated than the mark he (allegedly) left on TV pundit Mark Lawrenson’s kitbag…
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In 1792, Joanna Southcott joined the Wesleyan Church in Devon – and announced to the congregation that she was ‘The Woman of the Apocalypse’, as described in the Book of Revelation.
When many of her baffling visions proved accurate, Southcott then decamped to London and picked up more than 100,000 disciples. She later prophesied that in her 64th year, she would give birth to the new messiah.
When Southcott died in 1814, she left behind a sealed trunk – containing many wonderous things that she believed would save England in its darkest hour. Depending on who you believe, her ‘box’ (as it is known) was either manhandled by a famous ghost-hunter – or, remains locked up at the location of the Garden of Eden. In Bedford.
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In 1931, a former police detective named Anthony William Hall sent a letter to King George V stating that he was claiming the throne – and demanding that the monarch immediately abdicate or face transportation.
Hall went on to hold several rallies across the UK at which he claimed to be the nation's true sovereign – and set out his plan to have the ‘imposter’ George V beheaded. Despite routinely being fined and bound over to keep the peace, Hall maintained his campaign, even going so far as having a bejewelled crown and ceremonial mace made up and his own currency printed.
Hall subsequently registered his ‘Tudor Manifesto’ with the Royal College of Arms; publicly outlining the changes he would make to British law once he succeeded to the throne. These populist policies included the abolition of income tax, opening up royal parks for picnics, and increasing the alcoholic strength of beer…
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Colonel Charles Sibthorp (1783 –1855), MP for Lincoln between 1826 and 1855. Punch designated the notorious ultra-Tory: 'the MP against everything'.
Sibthorp’s happy childhood, hunting unfortunate wildlife in rural Lincolnshire, informed his entire political outlook – and, consequently, he divined malevolent motives to any kind of progress whatsoever. Imagine then, the poor man’s upset at living through a period of political unrest, characterised by radical reforms and social changes…
During Sibthorp’s tenure in the House of Commons, he argued passionately for Catholic repression, and against The Great Exhibition, The National Gallery, the railway, and Queen Victoria’s husband. Sometimes with considerable eloquence. Sometimes with rooster impressions.
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The trailer for the new comedy history podcast The English Eccentric by E O Higgins.
Featuring historical characters with corkscrew minds, peculiar obsessions, and largely incomprehensible outlooks...
Subscribe now – and join me on a journey of historical whimsy!
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