Elements of Time: The Chimney

By Craig: Sometimes it is the simple things in life that are remembered. They might exist in the distant past... hazy, foggy images, perhaps distorted somewhat by the passage of time that sit on the periphery of a persons mind. They are impressed there like stone...or in one of my cases, bricks. It is a chimney, perhaps 70 feet tall. I am 7 years old, and I am lying on my back on the grass looking up at the blue sky. I am at my grandfather's house. My brother is with me and we roll down the hill like logs until we get to the bottom of the hill. There are grass stains on my knees, but I don't care and neither does my brother. We climb back to the top of the small hill and repeat the process, until we are tired and merely lie there looking up at the clouds. I see a face with a bulbous nose, and a pursed mouth and watch it become distorted so that it resembles something else entirely. Why does it change? Why do things have to go away never to return? I see a great castle with a knight and a raised sword. It too eventually dissipates into nothingness. I tilt my head back and see the world upside down including the giant smokestack across the street that was built for the boilers that operated the hospital. It stands there towering up into the sky and seems to reach for heaven. Indeed, nothing on the planet could be taller than this chimney. If I could somehow get to the top I would be high enough to see God...If I stare at it long enough in relation to the clouds I can see it moving...falling! I get dizzy and sit up. My mother is calling from the house. She will not be pleased with the grass stains. My uncle leaps down from the steps on the front porch...A porch that no longer exists...he snaps his fingers at us as he hops in his car...a car that no longer exists...except in the guise of a distant memory...from a time that continues to recede farther and farther into the past.

The Dream of Bartolomeu de Gusmao

By Craig: For as long as I can remember I  have always had the same dream. I am flying over a field. Below me I can see the roof tops of houses, and the lush green foliage of tree tops. It is a serene, quiet dream with no elements of surprise, or abrupt deviations that turn and twist a dream from one location to another by means of the minds fragile and whimsical ability to skim the periphery of varying thoughts. No, it is always the same; the dark green grass, the tree tops and roofs of the houses with their open chimneys looking like dark cavities. I might have the dream once or twice a year, perhaps more, but the mind is a very forgetful instrument. In fact, I believe that I have written about this dream in a previous post on this blog. But anyway... I want to fly like the birds, and so too have others throughout the history of the world. Daedalus and his son Icarus created wings like a bird which were held together by wax. Their flight from the labyrinth, however, came with a warning. Daedalus warned his son not to fly too close to the sun or the wax of his wings would melt. Needless to say the warning went unheeded as the impetuous youth soared into the heavens and met his fate. The story of Daedalus and Icarus has been relegated to mythology, but needless to say it is proof that people were thinking about manned flight in ancient times.



In the early 18th century an inventive Portuguese priest named Bartolomeu de Gusmao appeared at the court of King John V in Lisbon. He had a startling proposal to make which, in 1709, seemed preposterous. Gusmao claimed that he could invent an airship that could take to the heavens and fly. He presented the king and his court with a sketch of the craft along with a detailed description. It would be shaped like a boat, with a massive sail to catch the wind. The ship would be held aloft by tubes from which air would be pumped through by way of a bellows. Powerful magnets inserted into hollow metal balls would move the craft through the sky. To today's readers this seems like something from the pages of a 19th century Jules Verne novel. However, Gusmao was totally serious.  It is not known for certain whether a model of his lighter than air craft was ever constructed. According to one account published by a London newspaper decades after the alleged event there is evidence that at least one of his experiments was attempted. Sometime around the year 1720 it is written:



A Brazilian Jesuit, named Bartholomew Gusmao, possessed of abilities, imagination, and address, by permission of John V. fabricated a balloon in a place contiguous to the Royal Palace, and one day, in presence of their Majesties, and an immense crowd of spectators, raised himself, by means of a fire lighted in the machine, as high as the cornice of the building; but through the negligence and want of experience of those who held the cords, the machine took an oblique direction, and, touching the cornice, burst and fell.

It is said that the Inquisition got wind of Gusmao's experiments, and believed that he might have been experimenting in a sort of wizardry.  He fled to Spain where he died at a relatively young age in 1724. Gusmao had a dream that one day mankind would take to the skies and soar through the clouds like birds. These days the dream of Gusmao is realized and people have even been into space. There has even been talk of a manned mission to Mars in the near future. What might Gusmao think of this? It is hard to say. The Inquisition is no more, but there is still the age old threat that keeps science and progress from attaining the evolution of Gusmao's dream ,and that is the inability of people to get along. There is a cultural divide that slows the advancement of technology due to the distractions and resources that are needed to fight them. Maybe one day reason will prevail over the petty squabbles of nations that inhibit the growth of Gusmao's dream.



I find myself standing in an open court. There is a slight breeze as I mingle with the crowd that has gathered in front of Ribeira Palace in Lisbon. I gaze to my left and see the harbor filled with merchantman and caravels. A large man-o-war with 56 guns sits idle, its crew also mingling with the throng of people that are here to witness a marvel never before seen in the annals of time. A raised platform covered by a large canvas canopy holds the young king and his courtiers who are here to witness this unprecedented event. In the center of the court is the magician himself, wearing a chocolate brown robe made of the finest eastern silk. He stands next to his machine that is bedecked in a material known only to the inventor. It is shaped like a large bird the bow carved into the likeness of a hawk. He salutes the crowd and then the king, and climbs aboard with two assistants who are similarly clothed. Gusmao bends down and does something to the large magnets that causes a humming sound to burst forth from the craft. There is a startled emanation from the crowd as fingers point to the object of interest. Suddenly it is aloft! The two assistants work the bellows as the unfurled sail catches a northerly breeze from the harbor and the airship is soon moving slowly higher up over the palace and into the sky. The inventor can be seen working the sail, his soft hat askew. The crowd is shouting with mixed emotion, some of them cheering, others laughing and crying, while the most pious of the lot are on their knees praying to their savior for the wizardry that they have just been witness to. A man screams and flees the palace yard in terror taking a horde of the superstitious rabble with him. I watch in silence until the mighty airship disappears behind a cloud. When it emerges again it is but a speck in the sky...drifting...sailing into the dreams of an unknown future.

Classics Ilustrated # 141: Castle Dangerous

By Craig: There are three types of people. There are those who live for the present, while others live for their future. The ones who live for the present are usually of the hedonistic variety. They live for  pleasure, and for the most part do not think of the future or ever reflect about the past. They typically are the television watchers, bar patrons, and fine dining epicureans who attempt to find ways to make their lives more agreeable in the here and now with superficial tendencies. The people who live for the future are more apt to live an ascetic lifestyle, or at least one that consists of being economically sound. They shun the extravagant lifestyle and engage in frugality with the hope of a more comfortable and secure retirement. Finally there are the people who are always looking behind them. They may also belong to one of the former types, but are different in the sense of sentimentality. I could give a flying leap about climbing the so-called ladder of success that is typically associated with the first group. I also do not care to live a life that abstains from life's simple pleasures. This removes me from the second group. After all, life may end tomorrow or the day after. There are no guarantees. This leaves me with the unenviable position of being cast into the third group. A group that consists of poets, dreamers, procrastinators and people who would rather watch the world from a vantage point far from the center of activity, or the hub of popularity.

I first became acquainted with the works of Sir Walter Scott when I was a young boy. At sometime my brother and I  acquired a tattered copy of the Classics Illustrated comic book Castle Dangerous. I have forgotten where and how we managed to obtain it but it was probably at the flea market that we would frequent every Sunday. The comic was 20 years old when it came into our possession and had not been taken care of. Not that this mattered to us. We were intrigued by the story that was told inside. The cover shows a fierce looking knight in black armor standing on a siege ladder. His sword is raised behind him as he is getting ready to slash at his adversaries while attempting to break over the castle walls. The story takes place during the English-Scottish border wars in the early 14th century. The black knight depicted on the cover is the Scottish Douglas. Sir James Douglas (1286-1330) also known as the "Black Douglas" because of the colour of his armor was one of Robert The Bruce's chief allies in the Scottish war of Independence. The story in the comic book is of course semi-fictional. It takes real historical personalities and mixes them with fictitious ones to create a fluid tale that culminates in a small battle between the English and the Scots outside of a church. This eventually leads to a single combat between Douglas and his English counterpart Sir John De Walton which ends in a mutual truce.

Every few years or so I pick up this comic book and read it. It is the epitome of the days of chivalry. Knights defending the honour of a lady... single combat between knights, and the solid walls of an impregnable castle. It takes place during a time of adventure and romance. Of course, in reality, it is all hogwash. The reality of the times that this romantic adventure took place were quite different than what most folks see in books and movies. It was for most people a time rife with disease and pestilence. Life was short and harsh. The only solace coming from the monks and priests who spoke of another life in the hereafter. But I don't give a damn about the reality. I deal with reality everyday. Sometimes I choose to live in the land of illusion...the land of the distant past. For a short time I become the all powerful Black Douglas possessing the strength of 10 men climbing to the top of the castles ramparts and delivering mortal blows with my broadsword to usurpers that have stolen my ancestral home. A damsel locked in a tower beckons from an airy window for my protection which of course is forthcoming. When I first read this comic book nearly 40 years ago I imagined that the future held an unimaginable amount of goals and achievements none of which were insuperable. There was a castle waiting for me, an army of knights in my employ that would do my bidding, and a lady love that was provided with all the finery of life. Today, the illusion is gone, but somehow remotely persists in the inner chamber of my mind where it resurfaces time and time again amidst the insipid  reality of what is now.