ERIC'S BIT or THAT TIME BATMAN DANCED IN A DISCO
Have you been appreciating bats the past couple of weeks? If not there's still plenty of time. October is Bat Appreciation Month according to Bat Conservation International, which urges us to celebrate the importance to our ecosystems of those furry flying mice.To me bats are a mixed bag. On the plus side they eat flying insects and I don't like flying insects. They are scarier than bats. On the other side of the ledger Dracula flies around as a bat and they get in your hair. The bat, that is, not Dracula. He just raises your hair.
This might be a good time to watch some old Christopher Lee movies. He is to Dracula what Basil Rathbone is to Sherlock Holmes. Mystery readers might want to read The Bat by Mary Roberts Rinehart and Avery Hopwood, the novelization of the stage play which was based loosely on Rinehart's novel The Circular Staircase, or watch one of the three movies adapted from the stage play. It's all very complicated.
I hate it when people pose as experts by spouting Wikipedia so I will admit that along with the information above it was from Wikipedia I learned that comic-book creator Bob Kane stated that the villain of The Bat Whispers (the 1930 film adaptation of The Bat) was an inspiration for his character Batman.
Now there is something I can celebrate. Batman was my favorite superhero back when comic books were badly printed and cost a dime. Unlike most superheroes he didn't possess magical powers. He depended on technological gadgetry and athletic prowess. Being more human, he was more interesting.
That Batman wasn't as grim as the modern version. He was a lighter shade of noir but still darker than other costumed crime fighters of the era. I liked the idea of a spookily attired avenger prowling dark alleys at night. I guess it appealed to something dark inside me, just as the novels of writers like Jim Thompson, David Goodis, and James M. Cain do.
Imagine my horror when I tuned in to the first episode of the Batman television series and found him portrayed as a campy buffoon! Never mind the black little corner of my personality that enjoys murder mysteries and the like, when I saw Batman busting a few awkward dance moves in a disco * I felt like I had a Thompsonesque Killer Inside Me ready to burst out!
I suppose at the time mature minds were thinking you couldn't actually depict a cartoon character seriously. Movie makers since than have proved them wrong.
Although bats are associated artistically with darkness and fear I don't find them frightening in real life. They are too much like mice with wings. At least the sort we have in the northeastern United States.
At the end of the street where Mary and I once lived there was a barn. In the evening bats would pour out into the twilight like spilled ink. On summer nights, living at the family cottage, I'd stand in the yard, in the middle of a maelstrom of swooping, diving, tumbling bats and chiropteran chirping. Hey, if I run across a new word I have to use it. They flew so close I could almost feel the draft from their wings but they never blundered into me. I found the creatures fascinating rather than frightening.
The mother of a friend of mine was terrified of bats. She didn't trust their "radar" or their intentions. Forget about the importance of bats to ecosystems, to her bats existed for no reason except to fly into her hair. Which was unfortunate since the family house had a huge attic filled with bats and they often found their way downstairs.
As soon as a winged intruder got loose in the house, my friend's mother would put her hands on top of her head and run screaming from room to room, much to the amusement of my friend and I. (Let's face it, kids find the spectacle of adults acting like children hilarious.) Not being, as we put it, "scaredy cats", let alone "yellow bellied sap suckers", we rushed to the rescue. Our method? We chased the bat with a vacuum sweeper until we were able suck it up. It might sound cruel but when we took the vacuum outside and opened it up the bat invariably flew off, apparently unscathed, and no doubt ready to return to the attic.
So there is my Bat Appreciation Month tribute to bats (without even mentioning that I liked the Bat Masterson television show). Not that I can tell you what gives Bat Conservation International the right to declare such a month. I suppose anyone can declare a month or a week or a day or anything they like. I could call today International Orphan Scrivener Day or how about Name Your Own Day Day?
* Batman dancing the Batusi https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RsYA8Gr5NTY
NECESSARY EVIL or THE BSP TICKER
We're happy to report after last month's mushy knob problem the ticker's been repaired and has a news item to pass along.
CHILDREN AT PLAY or SWINGING ON A LAMP POST AT THE CORNER OF THE STREET
When The Street Lights Came On is Mary's nostalgic look at childhood street games, illustrated by a marvellous photo that could have been taken in her street. Point your clicker to author Christina Waldman's blog:https://christinagwaldman.com/2025/08/29/when-the-street-lights-came-on/
MARY'S BIT or THE FATE OF DOCTOR FOSTER
Before Mr Maywrite and I took to tramping down the dark and dangerous alleys and hidden courtyards of fiction featuring murder, mayhem, and malfeasance we both wrote non-fiction. His field was legal articles while mine were often devoted to such off-beat topics as Doctor Merryweather's leech-powered Tempest Prognosticator, swan upping, cheese-rolling, weather forecasting goats, and the disappearance of Doctor Foster.Years later and with more experience in unravelling mystery plots I've decided to revisit the case of Doctor Foster to speculate further on what happened that rainy day in Gloucestershire. Let us examine the information we have as preserved in the nursery rhyme:
In a shower of rain
He stepped in a puddle
Right up to his middle
And never came home again
I put it to the jury that, as I shall demonstrate, Doctor Foster was not on his way to attend to a patient in crisis even though he was out walking in what was obviously a downpour.
This demonstrates he did not have a wealthy practice, indicating he resided in the country. To argue the point we must consider if he possessed a carriage. Given he did and he was not riding in it the day he disappeared strongly indicates it must have been at the blacksmith's smithy for repairs to a broken spring or axle. Further, the presence and depth of the puddle clearly demonstrates the local council was not doing much of a job keeping roads in good repair and safe for the passage of carriages, carts, and other conveyances lends weight to his walking to Gloucester. It also supports his being a rural practitioner on the grounds if he lived in town there'd be transportation methods other than shank's pony available to him.
Why didn't he see the fatal puddle? Was his eyesight not all it should be? Doubtful, considering his profession. However, given the puddle was half his height, flooding from the downpour must have been high enough to conceal a pothole deep enough to engulf him to the waist, another indication of the parlous state of the thoroughfare he was travelling.
The cautious investigator should not rule out the role his umbrella played in the tragedy. What do we do with our gamp when it's stotting down? We position it to keep rain off our head and shoulders. Was his umbrella tilted at such an angle as to obscure his view of the tell-tale indication of a pothole by a dip in the flow of the current?
The next question is why was he going to Gloucester in the first place? It is large enough to be the home of numerous doctors so his travel there in such foul weather is intriguing. But consider: Gloucestershire is known for its cheeses. I posit he'd developed a fancy for toasted cheese sandwiches after a discussion at his local hostelry the previous evening concerning the annual cheese-rolling race held each spring at Cooper's Hill, about five miles from Gloucester.
Alas, both his larder and the village grocer were bereft of this particular dairy product so, next morning, Doctor Foster, a true turophile, braved the weather and started off to town to purchase the necessary amount of Double Gloucester cheese with which to cook this excellent snack. It may not have been raining when he got up but his tempest prognosticator indicated an imminent storm so he naturally took his umbrella.
Mystery readers would be inclined to deduce from these points that the good doctor met his end by foul play. Given known weather conditions, it's unlikely there'd be anyone out and about to give him a lift or help him out of the pothole. But somebody reported his dilemma as otherwise it would not be documented in the nursery rhyme. Could it be the road was in such bad condition that Doctor Foster was rescued from one pothole only to step into another just as deep after his good Samaritan left the scene? Was there a gentleman of the road, one of evil intent, passing along the road to Gloucester that fateful day? Sadly, history has shown there are those who would drown a trapped man for the sake of a pocket watch and an umbrella.
We now have motive, method, and opportunity. Based on this conclusion, Mr Maywrite is of the opinion the authorities should have been on the lookout for a tramp with a gamp, to which I add one in possession of a pawnbroker's ticket for a handsome timepiece.
AND FINALLY
As we conclude this email an occasional breeze is blowing stray leaves about, each one marking another moment bringing us closer to the next Orphan Scrivener flapping into your inboxes on December 15th. Since it is the same date as the Atlanta premiere of one of the most famous movies of all time, we can fittingly say that until next issue we are Gone With the Wind.
See you then!
Mary R and Eric
who invite you to visit their home page, to be found hanging out on the virtual washing line that is the Web at https://reed-mayer-mysteries.blogspot.com/ There you'll discover the usual suspects including more personal essays on a wide variety of topics, a bibliography of our novels and short stories, and libraries of links to free e-texts of classic mysteries and tales of the supernatural, not to mention a couple of our short stories of the latter ilk. There's also the Orphan Scrivener archive, so don't say you weren't warned! Meantime, just for the heck of it, we'll also mention our names on the social site formerly known as Twitter are @marymaywrite and @groggytales. Drop in any time! To unsubscribe jot a line to maywrite@earthlink.net and we'll take care of it.
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