The second in a very long series of British police procedurals (sort of)
with all the faded charm of their post-war era - quaint references to
Brown Windsor soup and jam roly-poly, diggings and National Service,
plus a seaside town with two piers which haven’t yet been burnt down,
and tourists who arrive by train on Saturday for a week’s full board.
There’s a certain interest in these little details even without the
murder mystery.
Other aspects haven’t worn quite so well. The
writing style is not quite up to snappy modern standards, and the
characters are more like caricatures. Here’s the Scottish sea captain
called in to tell the police his story: “We drappit down here owernight
and fetchit up at Wylie’s before the toon was astir. I paid aff the crew
bodies and saw them awa’ to the station, then I lifted the hatch and
huiked out the cargo. He wasna in the best o’ shape, ye ken – it gi’es
me a deal o’ consolation thinkin’ o’t – but I gar him ha’ a wash, whilk
he did, and a swig at the borttle, whilk he didna, and betwixt doin’ the
ain and not doin’ t’ither he was sune on his legs agin and marchin’ off
doon the quay.” Got that? Good.
The plot, which starts off as a
traditional body-on-the-beach, soon descends into fifties Iron Curtain
paranoia, with a Trotskyite conspiracy, no less, and an over dramatic
finale. Gently himself, the peppermint cream sucking detective, has his
moments, but he is helped rather by just happening to go into a
particular cafe, or see a particular car, or notice a particularly
suspicious character, which chance event inevitably leads to the
revelation of a Big Clue. And this particular plot was greatly helped by
a significant character deliberately and voluntarily giving him a great
deal of important information. I’m tempted to go for two stars, but in
honour of the Brown Windsor soup and two piers, I’ll be generous. Three
stars.
No comments:
Post a Comment