This page includes information and extracts from some of WE Bowman's other works. Click on the title to find out more, or scroll down to read more.
All works remain copyright of The Estate of WE Bowman.
The Cruise of the Talking Fish
The Cruise of the Talking Fish
The Cruise of the Talking Fish is the
sequel to Rum Doodle, and WE Bowman's only other
published work. It was first publised by Max Parrish in 1957. In
it, Binder takes on a new challenge: to sail across the Pacific
in a raft, with four human compnaions, and an assortment of
animals. What Rum Doodle does for mountain
climbers, The Cruise does for Thor Heyerdahl.
The Yorkshire Evening Post said "this should become a minor classic"
The Manchester Evening News said "wonderful stuff"
The Cruise is currently out of print: the most recent edition was a joint paperback edition with Rum Doodle, published by Pimlico in 1992. A recent correspondent to this website has managed to get hold of a copy through eBay.co.uk
Mugluring/Mabits
This was the third Binder book, written at the
publishers' urging, but never published. The title changed during
the writing.
Mith Son of Nith
is a short 'Welsh' story, part of Mugluring. My father
had a great affection for Welsh people and their use of language
(both English & Welsh). The story draws on the ancient Welsh Mabinogion,
and is reproduced here in toto:
Mith Son of Nith Mith, son of Nith, was not happy except that he had his hands on a maiden's dowry. He dwelt in the castle Breiniog in the cantref of Gwladygog. One day he sent for Cwm Cwm Mlad, his kinsman. Now Cwm Cwm Mlad, his kinsman, was the best teller of stories that ever was known in the cantref of Gwladygog. He dwelt at Tycwmcwmmladuchaf, which men call Tycwmcwmmladuchaf. Cwm Cwm Mlad, my kinsman, said Mith, tell us a story. So Cwm Cwm Mlad, his kinsman, told how Young Nuisance, son of Old Nuisance, found a large saucepan boiling on the floor. Cwm Cwm Mlad, my kinsman, said Mith, that is a good story. You can have half my kingdom, Mith, said Cwm Cwm Mlad, his kinsman, you can keep half your kingdom. Give me Buddugddu, the maiden whose dowry you have your hands on. Cwm Cwm Mlad, my kinsman, said Mith, no. Go you to the cantref of Tirydai, where dwells Daibudr, husband of Gwraigydaibudr, whom men call Buwchfach on account of her domestic qualities. She shall be your reward. Will no one sustain me in this thing, said Cwm Cwm Mlad, his kinsman; but no one would, and he was borne in the shape of a perfect gentleman to the cantref of Tirydai. Daibudr, he said, give me your wife Gwraigydaibudr, whom men call Buwchfach on account of her domestic qualities. What have you got for a swap, said Daibudr. An old station wagon, said Cwm Cwm Mlad. What does it do to the gallon, said Daibudr. Seventy-eight, said Cwm Cwm Mlad, who was the best teller of stories that ever was known in the cantref of Gwladygog. Throw in four spare tyres, said Daibudr, and it's a deal. So Cwm Cwm Mlad threw in four spare tyres, and the extra weight broke a spring of the station wagon. There now, said Daibudr, the extra weight has broken a spring, isn't it? No it isn't, said Cwm Cwm Mlad. That was the dashboard clock striking one. But it's only twelve, said Daibudr. Your rotten clock's neither use nor ornament. Don't be so dull, mun, said Cwm Cwm Mlad. We're in summer time in Gwladygog. So Daibudr took the station wagon, and Cwm Cwm Mlad threw Buwchfach onto his back and went. And the first night they slept at Cwmbuwch, which thereafter was called Cwmbuwch. And the second night they slept at Glynbuwch, which from that day was known as Glynbuwch. And the third night they were unable to reach Dyffrynbuwch and didn't get any sleep at all. On the fourth day they saw Daibudr coming after them in the station wagon and went on all night without stopping. On the fifth day they were so sleepy they fell sideways into a lake, which was called Llynbuwch from then on. Daibudr, who was only giving the station wagon a reliability trial, took them out and applied kiss of life. Cwm Cwm Mlad revived and said good gracious mun, better it was if you had left us there; this old Buwch of yours is a bad bargain if ever there was one. So Daibudr, who was a kindhearted man, threw them back into the lake. And that is the story of Mith, son of Nith. |
The Tale of the Terrible T
is a moral tale in verse. My mother remembers hearing
him laugh aloud as he wrote it. As a drama student in Hull in
1982, I directed a stage version of the story. It has 410 verses,
here are the first three:
In days long by, when hags rode
high
And ogres champed and chewed;
When the vile Unbird was horribly heard
And terrible griefs were grued;
When werewolves walked and
Saracens stalked
And all was curse and killing,
And dead men woke and spectres spoke
And Barkis was unwilling;
Loathed by men, in a secret glen,
In woodland wierd and wild,
Lived an Oolithum da, an Oolithum ma
And a dear little Oolithum child.
Jonathan Dodd
is also a moral tale in verse (164 lines). Here are the
first eight lines:
Jonathan Dodd had a message from
God,
Internally dictated
Modernly free from Thou and Thee,
Colloquially stated.
You there! Dodd! You're a louse!
said God;
And Jonathan Dodd took fright.
He examined the whole of his startled soul;
And he saw that God was right.
My father wrote at least nine short stories at various times, varying in length from 1,000-20,000 words. Titles include Malmansion, Denny Oat and the Life Thrust, and The Time Has Come.
At one stage he submitted them for publication together, under the title Strange Company, with a cover he designed (illustrated). Malmansion won an award and was published by South East Arts.
My father considerd his most important work to be the work he did on Einstein's Theory of Relativity. Although he worked for much of his life as a Civil Engineer, he had left school at the age of sixteen (quite late for Yorkshire in the 1920s) and was no academic. His aim was to write a Plain Man's View of Relativity.
The aims of the work were:
The work went through a variety of stages and forms, but was never published. Various academics and writers (including Einstein himself) read different versions of the manuscript. The writer and astronomer John Gribbin described it as "a very clear and readable account of some of the fundamental mysteries of the universe... a cracking good new way to understand [Einstein]".
An eight page essay on the future of humanity, written in the early 1980s. My father was a thinker and an idealist, and this short piece gets closer than anything in summing up his philosophy. Here is a short extract:
| Justice can be neither
defined nor achieved: it can only be pursued, by
infinitely delicate adjustment, of man to man in
friendship. Its approximation is the state in which no
man's will is imposed on another; where the whisper
outcalls the shout; where the need of one is the need of
all and strength is everyone's treasure. It is inseparable from kindness. |
If you're interested in finding out more about any of these works, contact us: gbowman@gn.apc.org