ZIPSER Christmas 2017
THE FABLED THIRD EDITION
Editorial Team Julian Ditchley Lucy Giles Tom McCarthy Charlotte Saudek Lila Whatley
ZIPSER catchy, flamboyant and assertively classical…
Lionel Zipser WIKI potted biography Lionel Zipser. Viennese by descent, Australian by birth, classicist by conviction. Promising research student at Derby College, Cambridge, whose fledgling career was cruelly cut short by a lethal combination of gas and fire one stormy night at his lodgings. His dissertation on “The Fundamental Interconnectedness of Idea and Reason in the Poems of Propertius” is regarded widely as just that. The Zipser Hotel in Vienna remains a family concern—Bernhard Austerer being the current maître d’ - and the enterprising classical magazine was founded in his honour. Favourite book: Bruce Chatwin’s Utz, because, as he puts it, “I liked the stuffed bear”. Zipser appears in the Tom Sharpe novel “Porterhouse Blue” in which he seemingly meets his maker following a devastating gas explosion. This, however, was a ploy to allow Zipser to join a branch of the secret service under the name of River Cartwright. Follow his exploits in the “Slow Horses” series by Tim Herron – and, of course in the pages of Zipser Magazine.
Lionel Zipser might have sung this – before the explosion‌
THE SONG OF PORTERHOUSE COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE
bene edamus! bene bibamus! saecula semper concelebramus quod imperat regina ne faveat doctrina sed choro sonoro dives in omnia sed choro sonoro dives in omnia collegium, collegium acclamus Porterhouse, Porterhouse to live and die in Porterhouse! dives in omnia! In English ( it should be noted that this isn't real Latin! ) We eat well! We drink well! We celebrate throughout our whole lives! As commanded by the queen, Against the religious doctrine, We sing together, "Wealth in everything." We sing together, "Wealth in everything." We praise the college!
DEAR PROPERTIUS by Eleanor Todd I am delighted to discover that you have dedicated you first poem to me. And what a splendid poem it is, full of passion and glory, of beautiful imagery and bitter suffering. I am touched that you turn to me in your most woeful and despairing moments. Let me assure that I too once experienced the battles of being in love and I must say you capture the tortuous feelings very well. Your misery in the first six lines is practically palpable – the feeling of wretchedness expressed clearly throughout with your clever choice of diction which starts with the exclamation “miserum me” ‘O wretched me’. “contactum” has the fittingly dismal connotations of disease - after all the transition to Delirium after Love has infected you is not a long one. I really had a sense of the general feeling of hopelessness from the repeated “nullis...nullo” and the irony in Love himself teaching hate was appreciated. The comparison to Milanion’s hardships, “labores”, and valiant suffering on the Arcadian cliffs was amusingly appropriate, especially considering his heroic deeds are not particularly well known. The hopeful and optimistic idea that your love is as legendary as Milanion’s love which triumphed in the end, despite at times driving him ‘mad’ “amens” and having to endure than attack from the centaur “Hylaecus”, created a nice contrast in mood after the first section. I also must say I’m glad you aren’t going to be putting your trust in magic and trickeries to make Cynthia feel as you feel. I don’t believe in that power at all. You’re of course quite right when you say that those settled in safe love ( line 32 ) are the lucky ones, otherwise one only understands the dangers and the warnings given by friends when Love’s madness already has you enslaved! But soldier on and give honour to the gods. I’m sure they’ll reward you with happiness soon, old friend, not least for your excellent poetry. Yours faithfully, Lucius Volcacius Tullus
THE REVISION MONKEY The hope and saviour of many students during the 20162017 season “Learning the periphrastic future tense has never been so much fun! Thank you.” G. Lockhart, Happy First Year Student
Log of the Visit to Newstead Abbey Saturday 11 November 1824/2017 We met promptly at 7:55am at the Hill Lane Gates and climbed into our carriage, which took us on a journey of the greatest length up to the region of Nottinghamshire, stopping briefly for refreshments on the way there. We alighted mid-morning and proceeded to the back of the Abbey and gathered in a circle around Byron’s Oak, which he planted in his youth. We reserved a minute of silence for those of our descendants who may one day die for their country in years to come; and then, as and when the Byronic spirit moved us, we each read out a line from Lord Byron’s ‘Don Juan’ ( “The isles of Greece!” ), and then made our way towards Lord Byron’s old home. We were greeted warmly by some or his Lordship’s closest followers and allowed free reign to explore the magnificent building. We climbed a stone staircase, observing busts, windows and paintings, until we emerged into what was once Lord Byron’s shooting-room. We were informed by an old servant of how he would line up bottles whose contents he had finished drinking, and aim at them with a pistol, often leaving marks on the walls. He covered the floor with hay and used the room as a home for his extraordinary pets, which included a bear of which he alone was fond. Of course, when we arrived room had been specially tidied for us, so there were few traces left of Byron’s antics. We visited Byron’s old dressing room, which is haunted by the ghost of the Grey Friar, who once warned Lord Byron not to marry Annabella Milbanke. He did so, however, to quell the rumours about his affair with Lady Caroline Lamb. True to the Friar’s word, the marriage was extremely brief and ended very suddenly soon afterwards. We also saw many of the other rooms which Byron frequented. Of note are the bedroom, the mirrors of which are said to show, on occasion, the reflection of some of the many ghosts to be found there; and the library, where the ghost of a former Lord Byron, Sir John Little with the Great Beard, often walks dressed in his usual attire. As one of the many maids kindly explained to us, the ghost of the 6th Lord Byron’s mother is also sometimes present, and wherever she goes she is accompanied by the soft, light aroma of roses.
We continued to a dressing room, where we put on our fine clothes and had our portrait painted by Lord Byron’s private physician, by which time we were becoming famished, so we proceeded to the courtyard, where we dined and drank fine wine in the company of a magnificent peacock. We then strolled in the grounds, visiting the lake, the waterfall and the small copse in the Abbey’s domain. Finally, before departing, we paid a visit to the grave of Byron’s best and closest friend, his dog Boatswain. We read the inscription on Boatswain’s virtues and then headed back to our private carriage once more. On then to the tomb of Byron and his daughter Ada at Hucknall. Guided by Richard Jackson our host and verger, we learnt much about the great poet and the achievements of his mathematically inclined Ada, lit candles and departed into the dusk, hearts heavy with a broth of sullied joy. Lady Charlotte Leveson-Gower/Charlotte Saudek
HERODOTUS AND HIS SECRET AGENT LEGACY In 480 BC, as the Greek historian Herodotus tell us, the Greek general Themistocles employed his secret agent Siccinus in a master stratagem directed against the Persian king, Xerxes, before the Battle of Salamis. The Greek fleet, which had assembled at Salamis, was composed of several contingents. Although the Athenian was the largest, command was held by the Spartan Eurybiades. He and other Peloponnesian leaders desired to withdraw from Salamis towards the Peloponnese, while Themistocles insisted that they stay and fight at Salamis, where the straits would negate the Persian numerical superiority. In order to avoid a possible withdrawal and to commit his allies to the fight, Themistocles sent Sicinnus to Xerxes, who convinced the Persian king that the Greeks were in near panic, and that if he wanted them not to escape, the Persian fleet should blockade the escape route on the southwestern side of Salamis. Spymaster Themistocles thus lured Xerxes into his trap: the Persian fleet was lured into the straits, and history, in playing out its course, made Themistocles as famous as the legendary “M”. Siccinus, the agent, was the first in a long line. What follows are the twelve secret agent stories which form the Herodotus Legacy as chosen by Sir Kenneth Branagh…
KIM 1901 In a vividly drawn India of the late nineteenth century, orphan Kimball O'Hara is on the cusp of manhood. Living as a beggar, it isn't until Kim befriends an aged Tibetan Lama that his life transforms: the old man is on a quest to find the legendary River of the Arrow and achieve Enlightenment, and together they embark on an adventure through this impoverished, beautiful, chaotic nation in the grip of the Great Game, the conflict during which the British and Russian Empires raced to control Central Asia. But when Kim becomes a pawn in the Game, he must face the most difficult choice of all: his companion or his country? GOLDFINGER 1964 Who is Auric Goldfinger? The Bank of England wants to know and they’re eager to discover what he’s done with the gold he’s been stockpiling since the War. James Bond is put on the trail, but this isn’t the first time 007 has crossed paths with the enigmatic millionaire. Inexorably drawn into the most ambitious heist of the century, Bond soon learns that Goldfinger never forgets and never forgives. Greed and power have created a deadly opponent who will stop at nothing to get what he wants, and against Goldfinger’s murderous mania for gold, Bond may prove the only defence. THE IPCRESS FILE 1962 Len Deighton’s classic first novel, whose protagonist is a nameless spy – later christened Harry Palmer and made famous worldwide in the iconic 1960s film starring Michael Caine. The Ipcress File was not only Len Deighton’s first novel, it was his first bestseller and the book that broke the mould of thriller writing. For the working class narrator, an apparently straightforward mission to find a missing biochemist becomes a journey to the heart of a dark and deadly conspiracy. The film of The Ipcress File gave Michael Caine one of his first and still most celebrated starring roles, while the novel itself has become a classic.
OUR MAN IN HAVANA 1958 Wormold is a vacuum cleaner salesman in a city of power cuts. His adolescent daughter spends his money with a skill that amazes him, so when a mysterious Englishman offers him an extra income he's tempted. In return all he has to do is carry out a little espionage and file a few reports. But when his fake reports start coming true, things suddenly get more complicated and Havana becomes a threatening place. THE RIDDLE OF THE SANDS 1903 One of the first great spy novels, The Riddle of the Sands is set during the long, suspicious years leading up to the First World War. In spite of good prospects in the Foreign Office, sardonic civil servant Carruthers is finding it hard to endure the boredom of his life in London. He accepts an invitation from a college friend, Davies, a shyly intrepid yachtsman, and joins him on a sailing holiday in the Baltic, and there, amidst the sunshine and bright blue seas, they discover a German plot to invade England. Like much contemporary British spy fiction, The Riddle of the Sands reflects the Anglo-German rivalry of the early twentieth century, and the intricacy of the book’s conception and its lucid detail make it a classic of its genre. THE SECRET AGENT 1907 In the only novel Conrad set in London, The Secret Agent communicates a profoundly ironic view of human affairs. The story is woven around an attack on the Greenwich Observatory in 1894 masterminded by Verloc, a Russian spy working for the police, and ostensibly a member of an anarchist group in Soho. His masters instruct him to discredit the anarchists in a humiliating fashion, and when his evil plan goes horribly awry, Verloc must deal with the repercussions of his actions. While rooted in the Edwardian period, Conrad's tale remains strikingly contemporary, with its depiction of Londoners gripped by fear of the terrorists living in their midst.
THE THIRTY NINE STEPS 1915 Richard Hannay finds a corpse in his flat, and becomes involved in a plot by spies to precipitate war and subvert British naval power. The resourceful victim of a manhunt, he is pursued by both the police and the ruthless conspirators. The Thirty-Nine Steps is a seminal ‘chase’ thriller, rapid and vivid. It has been widely influential and frequently dramatised: the film directed by Alfred Hitchcock became a screen classic. This engaging novel also provides insights into the inter-action of patriotism, fear and prejudice. THE TRINITY SIX 2011 Hard-up Russia expert Dr Sam Gaddis finally has a lead for the book that could solve all his career problems. But the story of a lifetime becomes an obsession that could kill him. When his source is found dead, Gaddis is alone on the trail of the Cold War’s deadliest secret: the undiscovered sixth member of the infamous Cambridge spy ring. Suddenly threatened at every step and caught between two beautiful women, both with access to crucial evidence, Sam cannot trust anyone. To get his life back, he must chase shadows through Europe’s corridors of power. But the bigger the lie, the more ruthlessly the truth is kept buried…
THE SPY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD 1963 Alex Leamas is tired. It's the 1960s, he's been out in the cold for years, spying in the shadow of the Berlin Wall for his British masters. He has seen too many good agents murdered for their troubles. Now Control wants to bring him in at last - but only after one final assignment. He must travel deep into the heart of Communist Germany and betray his country, a job that he will do with his usual cynical professionalism. But when George Smiley tries to help a young woman Leamas has befriended, Leamas's mission may prove to be the worst thing he could ever have done. In le Carré's breakthrough work of 1963, the spy story is reborn as a gritty and terrible tale of men who are caught up in politics beyond their imagining. A DANDY IN ASPIC 1966 Alexander Eberlin is a small, faceless civil servant working for the Government at the height of the Cold War. As he nears middle age, he allows himself one luxury - to dress like a Dandy. His superiors send him on a mission to hunt down and destroy a cold-blooded and vicious Russian assassin named Krasnevin, who is responsible for a number of British agents' deaths. But Eberlin has a secret - he is Krasnevin. This is the story of what happens when Eberlin is sent to destroy himself. AT RISK 2004 For MI5 Intelligence Officer Liz Carlyle the nagging complications of her private life are quickly forgotten at Monday’s Counter-Terrorist meeting. An invisible may have entered mainland Britain. An ‘invisible’ is a terrorist who is an ethnic native of the target country, who can cross its borders unchecked and move about unnoticed – the ultimate nightmare. For Liz this signals the start of an operation that will test her to the limit. Who or what is the target? Where and who is the invisible? With each passing hour the danger increases. But as she desperately sifts the incoming
intelligence and analyses the reports from her agents she finally realises that it is her ability to get inside her enemy’s head that is the only hope of averting disaster. THE BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS 1908 Arthur Cadogen West had been in the company of Miss Violet Westbury, his fiancée, on a foggy evening. For some mysterious reason, he left her suddenly and did not return. His body was found the next morning close to the tracks of the Underground railway, just outside the Aldgate Station in London. His head was crushed. This could have happened if he had fallen from one of the railway cars, or if he had been pushed out. He had no ticket in his pocket. This was unusual, since no one could get on the railway without one. Most important, in his pocket were seven of ten sheets of paper on which the plans of the Bruce-Partington submarine were written. The three most important sheets were missing. These papers were a jealously guarded governmental secret. Mycroft Holmes, a senior British government operative, enlists the help of his brother…
Report by Tom McCarthy, Scamp Club President, for the Zipser Christmas Edition 2017
THE FIVE BEST LATIN JOKES as told at the Zipser Copenhagen Convention 2017 A senator walks into the senate fifteen minutes late while Cicero is giving a speech. He says to his friend, “What’s he talking about?” and the friend replies, “I don’t know, he hasn’t got to the verb yet!” How was the Roman Empire cut in half? With a pair of Caesars. Any salad is a Caesar salad if it’s got 27 knives. The night before Caesar was assassinated, his friends ordered a pizza. But because Caesar was absent, his piece remained to be eaten. So Brutus decided to consume this as well. And when he stabbed Caesar, his friend looked at him reproachfully and said, “Ate two, Brute?” A Roman walks into a bar, holds up two fingers and says, “Five beers please.”
THE LIONEL ZIPSER HERITAGE WALK
Follow Lionel’s favourite walk beside the River Arun…
THE CURSED TABLET Greetings my subjects. My name is Sulis Minerva and I am the goddess who lives in the sacred springs of the Roman Baths. I am a much loved goddess and Romans from all over the ancient world come to offer me sacrifices and bestow their words of praise upon me. Naturally, I never show myself to them; I have to keep my identity hidden. That's part of the magic, but I make my existence known by healing anyone with an illness that bathes in my murky waters. However, people don't always come for me for good things; people sometimes come to me with curses and that's how this story begins. It seemed a rather average day to begin with. I cured some random old man of his blisters. I was bestowed with the gift of a shiny green glass pot and I cleaned some pleasantly Roman children. But that all changed the moment Lucius Wendanious Jaga walked into my domain, carrying a smalllooking lead tablet. He seemed unsure of what he was doing. His head kept twisting, turning almost as if he was looking out for someone; could someone possibly be watching him? No, that wasn't it. He was looking for signs to find his way. He clearly hadn't been here before. That was outrageous in my eyes, how could you even resist the temptation of visiting me? Most people seemed to come daily in prayer to me.
Anyway, after taking multiple wrong turns and asking numerous guests at my lair, he eventually managed to find his way to my eternal and most beautiful home: the Great Bath. Once he reached my waters, he stopped still, looking at the tablet in his hands. After a slight hesitation, he took a deep breath and tossed the thing into my waters. I was excited; was this a gift? With the uttermost joy I glided over to the tablet my hands outstretched, ready to grab it. Once I had the object in my hands I took the time to read its newlyscratched words - this was no gift, it was a curse. “The person who has lifted my bronze cooking pot is utterly accursed. I give him to the Temple of Sulis, whether woman or man, whether slave or free, whether boy or girl, and let him who has done this spill his own blood into the vessel itself.� I decided to grant him with my help, although he was clearly not a regular at my place of worship and not at all deserving. If I helped him he may repay me in some way by spreading the words of my powers and overall excellence. After a little research, I discovered that the culprit was in fact a lowly female slave named Rubia. She was not a worshipper of mine and, as far as I know, had never even stepped foot in a temple in all her life. She was worthless so I shall be glad to dispose of her. Naturally, I don't do the dirty work myself so I used my powers to invade a dream of one of my most regular
worshipers, an assassin named Gauius Descibus Salvius. In the dream I showed an image ( totally fictional, of course ) of the culprit beating my assassin’s wife, to provoke anger. Then I showed an image of the bronze cooking pot, dripping with blood, the perfect murder weapon. The vision worked. My loyal assassin did the deed as I guessed he would. I do love it when my subjects appease me. The slave girl is dead, the pot returned and I should hope her master comes to thank me. I shall be expecting him. Long live Sulis Minerva! A prose poem by Lila Whatley, inspired by the Third Year Latin Visit to Bath in October 2017.
NICOLAS FLAMEL Sponsor of ZIPSER from the beginning, supporter of the Classics and expert on the magical qualities of the spa waters of Aquae Sulis‌
An Arizonan Christmas An Original Short Story By el Presidento de Club de Cacto James Mitchell Assisted by Tom Mitchell
Out in the desert lived a great saguaro cactus, growing for over one hundred years. By the side of the road, he saw cars, trucks, bikes come zooming by, shimmering in the heat. One day a man in a suit walked up to him, and looked aside. “Here,” he said, “I shall build my hotel”. The old cactus, never seen a person so close, wondered how close the building would be. Then out of the car stepped another man, in sunglasses this time. He cried to the other man, “We’ll have to chop this cactus down!” Overhearing this the great cactus thought, “Oh no, I don’t want to die!” All night he trembled, pondering his fate, until the bright desert sun broke the night. But the morning brought no salvation, as the diggers arrived. The measured up the ground, and to his horror, a chainsaw was brought forwards. The engine was started, but was soon turned off, to the cactus’s relief. Up walked a gentleman, recently moved from England, who said, “I shall move this cactus, and take it home”. With the help of a digger, spades and a flatbed lorry, the great cactus was moved for the first time, and left his home for the last time. The journey was bumpy, and hurt his prickles, but he knew that with his roots intact, he was going to be looked after. Two hours passed, and they finally stopped, outside a large, brick house, with a bare garden sprinkled with sand.
He was hoisted into a pot and taken inside, with three children helping their dad. The old cactus wondered, “Where am I going, I do not belong inside.” As it grew dark outside, the whole family gathered around. They threw lights around his stem and his arms, and decorated all of him with baubles, tinsel and ornaments of all description.
There was talk of ‘Christmas’, perhaps like a Christmas cactus he thought. But then the youngest child said, “Why haven’t we got a Christmas tree?” “Because in the hot south, trees don’t grow,” replied the dad, and took a picture to send back home. During the night, just over a week later, a red dressed old man with a long grey beard, put wrapped gifts around his trunk, and crept back up the chimney from where he had come. Early in the morning, the children came running down, and gasped as they peeked inside. Their mum and dad followed them, and sat around the cactus, opened gifts of toys, food and clothes. The joy of all filled the cactus with pride, as he knew he was a gift to them.
For twelve days family and friends talked around him and smiled at him, and the buzz relaxed and soothed him. He was glad to be a part of it all, for he had never been loved before. But soon the partying finished, all the presents opened, all the food eaten. His decorations were removed and he was picked up and carted out into the fresh warm air. He was put down in the front garden, and the children said, “We’ll dress you up again next Christmas”. He was content, standing in the earth, and to his delight, more cacti appeared. He found out they were also rescued from being cut down, saved by the father, who was once in a School Cactus Club. He had many friends to keep him company, and they enjoyed watching the children go to and from school. He had winter to look forward to, as he would always be the Christmas Cactus.
For those who find themselves in MALCOLM SAVILLE COUNTRY over the Christmas period. Please note that flagons of steaming hot chocolate will be available at Witchend from 11 am.
My Day In Pompeii With Mickey Mouse Mickey Mouse had told me he had been to Pompeii before and that we should meet at the Forum Baths. When I got to the Forum Baths, I saw Mickey very clearly, talking to someone. Someone who most definitely had to be Roman citizen. They looked different from Mickey and I. A bit taller, a bit older, a bit more happier and a lot more confident. It was as if the world was at their feet. But they wore rags, bitten, and a dark rose colour from blood it seemed. Were they beaten? As I approached Mickey, he had a giant smile on his face, it was clear that they weren’t just strangers that met up. They both looked content with each other. “Hey Mickey.” I said. I was really excited. Mickey was my best friend, and we haven’t spoken in ages. Probably even years, actually. “Amanda! Hello! This is my cousin’s friend, Nyx.” I politely smiled at Mickey’s friend. She smiled back. After saying goodbye to Nyx, I told Mickey about our first destination. To Caecilius’ House. We were going to walk, since it wouldn’t have taken quite a long time, but after 10 minutes we were tired. And his house was only... 12 minutes away. I looked to Mickey. I’ve never seen him tired before. It was quite weird. He looked back at me. I bet he was thinking the same thing. As I kept panting, Mickey Mouse had a good idea. He had his back-pack with him, which I had thought carried food and drink, and as he opened his backpack, it suddenly took my tiredness away. Finally. Water. I knelt down beside him, my hand out, waiting for him to give me a bottle of water. Instead, I got a soft palm. “Oh, Toodles!” Mickey Mouse called. He looked at me, in confusion. I nodded to him and we called Toodles again a second time. Toodles came from the bag. His ears twitched. He had a great crayony smile, and he smiled right at me. “We’ve already done the Mouskadoer at the ClubHouse. We got, Toodles please, a broom.” Toodles showed a broom on his screen whilst Mickey kept talking. “A box, a band and a mystery tool!” Toodles spun round, a big purple question mark on his screen. I nodded, “bye Toodles for now!” I high-fived Toodles.
Mickey then closed his backpack and hung it on his back. “So why are we going there, Amanda?” “Oh, for breakfast. My friend is very rich and he’d happily let us visit.” I answered. I got up and started to walk and then I realised I was still tired. A box. A band. A broom. Hm. How could these help? We’ve got Toodles and an empty backpack. Not really helpful. Mickey called Toodles again, and he got a box. It landed in his hand. It was quite a big box actually. He turned it upside down, so there was a base, like a desk. He sat on top of the box. “Amanda, sit down, have a rest and then you won’t be tired anymore,” Mickey said. I did as he asked. It rested my legs really well somehow, and I wasn’t so tired anymore. Micky dismantled the box, and put it in his backpack. We didn’t need it anymore anyway. We headed to Caecilius’ house and we reached there at 8 o’clock. There was a huge knocker on his door, a brass picture, and clean too. Like brand-new. That showed his wealth, didn’t it? I thought. I hit it on the door and it made a loud noise. Surely, my friend the businessman, would be awake by now. What about all his businesses? It’s a Saturday, right? So, he would need to be... While all these thoughts ran through my head, I didn’t even notice that he had opened the door and was standing there, staring at me. Breakfast “Hello Amanda.” He said. He wasn’t very good at English, so he did convert from Latin to English. “Caecilius! We wanted to come and stay in your home for breakfast.” He nodded. I think the words come, stay and breakfast, he understood. He then turned to Mickey Mouse. He hugged Mickey Mouse. Did they know each other? Mickey Mouse smiled at Caecilius, and then we were invited in. In very quick Latin, Caecilius called the cook. The cook came immediately, greeting his master, then greeting us. He was instructed to make breakfast. I looked at the breakfast menu. Stale bread. Or stale bread with butter. Or toasted stale bread. Right. “I.. I uh think I’m going to go with the stale bread please.”
“I’ll have some grapes and toasted stale bread.” Mickey said in fluent Latin. The cook looked at me again. I had no idea what to do. I’m pretty sure that Mickey ordered for me so that the cook’d stop wanting an answer. “Mickey, how did you know how to speak Latin? And how does Caecilius know you?” I whispered. “Amanda, I told you! I have a cousin here. He also does a TV show. It’s called M.R Club House. I bet he’s told everyone that the oldest of our family does UK and American show.” He whispered back. “Probably told the whole of Rome. You see, it’s not just me Club House, there are others around the world, and those Mice are my relatives. My sister does African show, for example. And it is named after their middle name because all of our first names are Mickey. So I’m Mickey Mickey. The oldest of all of them. Do you get it?” I nodded. How absolutely fascinating. Wow. Mickey must have a big family. Then the cook came with our food. And we had wine as our drink. I don’t drink. I looked at the cup in disgust. Mickey laughed at me, then said, “the cook knows we won’t drink. He gave us grape juice.” Then Mickey drank his drink to reassure me. Caecilius wore an elegant robe and came to the dining table. He also had toasted stale bread. Whilst eating Mickey and Caecilius just spoke in Latin to each other about Mickey’s job, and sometimes I joined in too. Even though it was a small meal, it was really warm and nice. After eating I declared we had to go, but Caecillius insisted he show us his family and home. It was only 9:15 anyway. “Tantum a brevis pretium.” I said, which meant, only a short tour. The tour wasn’t short at all. It was fun, but when I looked at the time, I was annoyed with myself. “Ugh! I can’t believe I stayed for so long! It’s ridiculous! Why did I do that?” I said as we walked onto the pavement. “No, no Amanda, because we stayed for so long, I learned so many things. Houses are strutted in a different way, the windows don’t have much of an effect, and everyone has a role to play. Also, the streets, they are constructed so each stall has a place. You can’t just set up a new business without anyone knowing, it’ll cause much problem. But then again, if a stall is shutting down, you could take their place,
no-one really would notice. And Pompeii is so clean! I learnt everything from one house! So don’t be angry.” Mickey cried. I almost almost forgotten we haven’t been with each other in years, he knew how to calm me down. I was about to speak when he spoke again. “Now, where?” He asked. I mean, it was 11:17, but maybe we could eat later. We were supposed to go to the indoor theatre, but why couldn’t we now? We headed to the Indoor Theatre whilst I was telling Mickey everything about everything in the theatre. In The Theatre “The theatre we’re going to is quite public, but most people go to the open one.” We crossed a road. “And we’re going to see a concert. Not a music one unfortunately, because then maybe we would have seen your cousin.” I joked, as we turned a corner. And another. “We’re going to see a gladiator play. Well, it’s not really a play. It’s a battle between two people. The court decided they should fight to the death. It’s so silly, I actually want to see if they’ll kill one another or get over it.” We crossed the road and asked for directions. “So, I hope you’re ready for some disgustingness.” When we arrived, it seemed the fight had already started but nothing big really happened. We sat down on the circling chairs. It was like a stadium. While the two idiots were bolting out meaningless punches, I spoke to Mickey. “In the Colosseum is where the big theatres are. In the Colosseum, people would have proper battles. If you lost you were guilty and dead. If you won, you were innocent and alive.” “What happened if both of you died?” Mickey asked. I clouded my face, darkly, and said, “then both of you were guilty. You both lied to the court and the law of God made you both die which is kinda a weird thing to happen, since normally only one death would happen, but not here.” “Oh! Look! Blood was shed.” Mickey interrupted. I think he wasn’t used to this kind of thing. More and more people were exiting the theatre. It was clear they were both tired and fed up, but had to put on a show. Less people came in, but there was the occasional two or three.
I realised that backstage, a man and another man, what seemed to be a janitor, were discussing something. As the janitor pointed on stage, I think they were discussing the scene. The janitor came onstage with a knackered broom. “Sunt. Sunt cum’ya.” And he shooed them off. He then started cleaning the blood. It seemed it wouldn’t come off. He scrubbed harder. Harder. The hardest he possibly could...? Ugh! It broke. Everyone started to leave. I started to get up, and Mickey stayed. He tapped my shoulder and I saw the other man backstage, telling the janitor to clean. The janitor replied, how? The other man said his tongue. The janitor bent down and suck his tongue out. “Mickey, we can’t let him do this!” I said. “Wait! I habere ideam.” Mickey went to the janitor and said something. I watched. Mickey then called Toodles. What is up with him? I ran in onstage too. “Mickey, wha-?” Then Toodles came. Mickey asked for the broom. Oh yes! I remember! The broom that Toodles gave us as a tool. Mickey gave this broom to the janitor. The janitor looked astonished. He weakly started cleaning up the blood, it almost went. He looked to both of us. He grabbed our hands. “Gratias tibi. Gratias ago tibi populi.” Then he tickled Toodles ear before Toodles went. The janitor started cleaning. He stuck his tongue out at his master, who, Mickey told me, gave him the busted up broom. Expecting the janitor to fail so he’d have no job. It was now 12:35. Lunch time, I guess. Lunch Time and The Bakery For lunch, we had to go out and buy some food. In the Market.When we were going there, people came to talk to Mickey Mouse. They cried and cheered and laughed. It seemed Caecilius talked about me too, because most of the servants came to greet me. They had heard about my silly way of talking and my high-pitch laugh and contagious smile, apparently. I wasn’t that high-pitch, and as for my smile, well. That was just ridiculous. But these people weren’t treated as people. They were so nice and kind and they had amazing personalities, and all they do is cook and clean and go Yes Master, No Master. Mickey
saw this too. His eyes went round and sad when he saw how they talked about their masters and when he’s asked why such the disrespect, they told stories of abuse, rudeness, punishments and name-calling. Caecilius treats his servants like his son and daughter, it’s unfortunate not everyone does this. “We’re going to Forum.” I said to them, and they got incredibly excited because they had to go to the Market too. So we went with these amazing people and all the people there knew these servants well. They had so many friends, and they couldn’t tell anyone how they truly felt but them. Mickey laughed and sang his Mickey Mouse Club House song to them, just like his cousin would. Meaning he sang it in Latin. I couldn’t join in. We bought bread and vegetables whilst they sang. I then sang to them how we sang it in UK. There were some teens, children and young adults in this batch of servants and they got so excited, they wanted me to teach them. So I did. They sang beautifully in English, it’s hard to believe they’d never heard the language. There was also some meats. We bought lamb, just a small one. Then the servants had to go back to their masters, so as a souvenir, Mickey Mouse and I gave them a piece of bread each, until we were left with half to ourselves. It was now 1:42. Nice. Mickey claimed he was hungry, so I let him have some of our bread. I wasn’t. I don’t know why. We had to go the bakery before enjoying our meal. The Bakery was called Omega Bakery. A family Bakery. Mickey Mouse was in awe of the smell and the happiness it brought its customers. There was bread and cakes and tea cakes and biscuits. I found out that the bakers were born in Tunisia, and could speak Latin, basic English and the Tunisian language, which I don’t know how to write. “Helloh! You twoe... Ah, English peoples?” The cashier man asked. “Yes,” Mickey said. “How did you know?” I asked. “Many people coming here evey day. We have to know their language so wey don’t get shut down.” He said. His voice and English was so cute. “Okay. What do you have for sale?” Mickey smartly changed the conversation topic. “We’re just about to shut down. But we could make another sale? Junior?” He called his brother, I think. He spoke to him in whispers.
Junior nodded. “Okay, then, come over here.” We went through the Bakery. “These are on stock. That is scone. Scone and flavoured scone, chocolate, mainly. This is doughnut, iced and sprinkled. And lastly a short tea cake. The marsh-mallow thick and tasteless but the chocolate big on flavour.” Junior lead his brother into the canteen, on the side of the cashier. This was where we could see what we could eat. Junior was quite small and skinny, but the first man we talked to was a bit plump and more jolly. He had red cheeks, while Junior was used to cooking, so he had ash around his face. Junior began to speak. “Our own Pompeian special of the day. Funky Monkey Banana Bread.” He said. Then he took a plate of it. “This is more expensive since it’s the special of the day and an original Pompeian recipe. But it is so worth the cost.” “Yes, yes, it is.” The cashier man said, nodding his head. Junior laughed at his brother, being jolly at last. “Oh, brother, you cannot be doing this. You kill me.” We all started laughing at the cashier man’s bobbing head. Mickey Mouse bought the Funky Monkey Blah Blah whatever it’s called. I didn’t have any more aureus. Sadly, I gave my all when shopping and used all my aureus, but Mickey Mouse didn’t. He was clever Mickey. He knew how to save things and keep it for the whole journey ahead. We said goodbye to the baker brothers and went to our next destination. A.K.A, a place to eat. The day was almost over! Lunch 2:13. Fantastic. We’ve only got until 6 and then Mickey has to fly back home for a rerun of his channel. I decided to go back to the Indoor Theatre and eat there, I mean we know the janitor, and we could give him some food too. I’m sure you’re allowed to eat in the theatre. Right? When we went in the theatre, the janitor and the mean man we saw last time, were arguing. This is probably a bad time. The janitor looked at us and smiled. “Now, see here. You two, didn’t I clean up everything with your broom?” The janitor asked, but in Latin, but I can’t be bothered now
to write what he said. We both nodded. Mickey started setting up the food. I think he didn’t want to get into this. Or maybe he had a good idea. “What’s wrong?” I asked, and I went on stage, though I was really hungry. “Prandium confractus volo ad me, et non erit.” The janitor argued. “Bene, quod non est factum suum officium.” The mean man argued. He was red in the face, so angry over something so stupid. What’s his problem? “Mr, I’m sure he’s done everything he could. Please. Just let him go on his lunch break. Maybe take off for the rest of the day?” I said, earnestly. They both stared at me blankly. Mickey Mouse came up and translated. They both looked at each other in shame. They probably realised how childish they were being. “Finis. Vade.” The mean man said. The janitor left and he thanked us again. The other man left in anger. Uh oh. We were left in the theatre alone. And we had our lunch. It was so tasty. With the banana bread too! And the fact that we were really hungry and we savoured every bit of it made it even more delectable. We finished our lunch at 3 pm, probably. Maybe nearer to 2:50, I can’t remember now, specifically. Unlike the other times, I had forgotten to write the time down for the lunch ending. We were quite full. Now, the last surprise of the day for Mickey. Ooh, he’s going to love this. Meeting M R I told Mickey we were going to the Sports Ground, which we are, but I didn’t tell him about the surprise. It took a twenty-minute walk, but since we ate we had more energy and we weren’t so tired as we were in the start. When we got to the Sports Ground, I saw many people lined up for a race. Hm… Where is..? Oh yes! He sees me. I give him a wink and he goes and hides. I tell Mickey we’re going to experience a Roman, hardcore race. He looks at me with exasperation, as if wanting me to say I was joking but I just take off my jacket and get in line. He lines up beside me and then I spoil it because I couldn’t not. “Oh, and Mickey?” I begin to say. “Yes, Amanda!” He says enthusiastically. I think he’s getting in the role of
this. The waiting, the tension. the surprise. “Your cousin is going to be joining too.” I say quickly. I didn’t get a response, I don’t think he heard me. I begin to start then he interrupts me. “Why? What? How did..?” Mickey asks. “I just thought the last bang of the day should be with family. And you and your cousin seem close, so he’s coming. Well, not coming, he’s here.” Mickey looks around, straining to see where his cousin is. Then I see his cousin creep up to him and scare him. They both have a three-minute reunion and then everyone starts hugging everyone. The administrator says we have exactly a minute to get ready for the race. Well, Mickey told me thanks what he says, because everybody speaks Latin. It’s crazy! Anyway, Mickey’s cousin, Rockey, then gave us a dilemma. “My hair. I don’t have my hat with me. I can’t run with my hair all over the place.” He said. Oh. I then had an amazing idea. “Oh, Toodles!” I cried. Mickey stared at me in confusion. Toodles came immediately. I asked for the rubber band. It plopped in my hand. I told Rockey to use it. He tied his hair up. Weirdly enough, shortly after that we had to...GO!!!! It was very hardcore, we had to run for ages and ages. Then Mickey-Rockey informed that we’ve only done a few laps yet. When I gave up, Mickey gave up a lap after and Rockey was one lap away from winning, but then he couldn’t go on. There were refreshments, and Rockey and I told Mickey more about Pompeii. He asked some silly questions like, do they have left-handed people? And what are the laws about peace? We also spoke about Greek and Italian and how it compares to Latin. Well they’re all languages, but they also live close together. All in Europe. When the race was done, it was 4:54. But we were so tired, we couldn’t bare walking back. Mickey Mouse called Toodles. We looked at the mystery tool. It was a chariot! Yes! Now we don’t have to walk home! Mickey and I cheered and we hugged Toodles very much. When Toodles left we got to the other side of the mountain. When things went downwards. None of us knew how to use a chariot. Even M R, and he lives here. I guess he always had a footman. There were some people left, not everyone went straight home after the winners were announced. We asked around. One family said they’d love to
but it’s getting cloudy and they don’t want to get wet. Just as they said that, it started to rain. Ughhhh.... Then everyone left. And we were stuck in the cold. It was quite breezy a minute ago, where did this rain come from? Getting Home I decided that we just ought to try it. No one went horse riding, but Mickey Mouse volunteered. Mickey did quite well for a non-rider. But we did go slow. At least I wasn’t out in the rain. But then I thought that was quite mean. So every 5 minutes we swapped. After 30 minutes we got to the border of Pompeii. 5:30. We went to the airport, and we had a packet of crisps while waiting for our plane. It was 15 minutes early. Good thing we were early too. Mickey Mouse and I said goodbye to Mickey Rockey, and we headed to UK. “Hey, Amanda,” Mickey said, dryly. “Yeah, Mickey,” I answered. “We should do this again sometime. Maybe when I am not doing a day show, like today. This gave me a look into other’s life. I never knew how fascinating the world was. So we have to do this again.” With effort, I looked at Mickey and said, “sure.” Then we both fell asleep on the aeroplane. by Amanda Mensah, Winner of the 2017 Kenneth Branagh Prize for Creative Writing.
Sir Ken, along with Nicolas Flamel, one of the founding sponsors of Zipser.
CONTRIBUTORS Agnes Braid, Witchend Kenneth Branagh, Creative Writing Prize Nicolas Flamel, Sponsor Lucy Giles, Paddington Glenn Gould, Counterpoint Charlotte Leveson-Gower, Humour Gilderoy Lockhart, Revision Tom McCarthy, Herodotus James Mitchell, Arizona Tom Mitchell, Saguaro Amanda Mensah, Pompeii Charlotte Saudek, Byron Eleanor Todd, Propertius Lila Whatley, Aquae Sulis To all of whom go our thanks and praises‌ The Zipser Editorial Team
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