I think the last shreds of my naivety died that night when, a week before the summer season began, my girls gathered for their first training run. They stood around me in their provocative shorts and even more provocative tops, considering perhaps for the first time the potential damage to their hair styles and fingernails. All of them wore make-up. They looked terrific.
Janie Prentiss, blonde and slinky, was the pack leader, but Laura Dunne—being the only one of them who had played before—was made captain. It might also have been because she was the only one with a steady boyfriend. She was a sturdily built lass in an athletic sort of way and had a very bossy manner. She brought along her sister Maggie who was slightly larger, and much tougher. Then there was our secret weapon—big Eva Neuwenhausen—six foot even in her runners but not the brightest lass on the planet. Nevertheless, with her height and reach, big hips and backside, I sensed we would be hard to beat under the basket.
Sammy Quick, a voluptuous Eurasian sexpot from the Merchant Bank upstairs, had been drafted into the team. She declared herself an expert dancer and I hoped that might be important—when I found out it was bellydancing I became less sure. Sweet Cherie Dutton, a skinny girl whose sole asset seemed to be a bubbly personality and a truly fascinating gap between buck teeth; and Paula Latham, quiet, shy and demure, made up the numbers. It was probably an omen that Paula caused my first problem.
“Those of you who want to keep your nails long should wrap band-aids around them,” I suggested, noticing that all of them had formidable talons.
“Why don’t I just take them off?” Paula suggested practically. And did so, stripping her claws away one by one. When I suggested that a good idea, the others all stripped off their false fingernails as well.
I regarded it as progress. I stood them in a circle and offered lesson one—catching and throwing. I demonstrated the bounce pass to Laura—she fired it back a little faster and lower than I expected and got me fair in the crotch.
Down I went in a writhing heap. They gathered, leaning over me, asking me if I was in pain. I have to tell you that, when teeth-gritted and pop-eyed from a below-the-belt blow, a spectacular view of six splendid cleavages is not the most beneficial prospect.
“Do you want me to rub it for you?” Sammy slyly offered. I struggled back to my feet.
Plainly, this was not going to be quite as simple as I had imagined.
New day, the army continued its march; and at length came to the holy city of the Christians, where the apostle James lay buried, with a great church built over his grave. Here there was heavy fighting, for the Christians, believing that the apostle would come to their aid, fought to the limit of their endurance; but in the end, Almansur overcame them and the city was taken and burnt. Hither, Christians from all parts of their country had brought their most valuable treasures for safe keeping, for the city had never before been threatened by any enemy; consequently, an enormous quantity of booty was captured, together with many prisoners. It was Almansur’s especial wish to raze the great church that stood over the apostle’s grave, but this was of stone and would not burn. Instead, therefore, he set his prisoners, aided by men of his own army, to pull it down. Now, in the tower of the church there hung twelve bells, each one bearing the name of an apostle. They had a most melodious tone, and were greatly prized by the Christians, in particular the largest of them all, which was called James…
Now, this is not an ancient text. It is a Norse saga written in the 1930s by a Swedish scholar, to what purpose we cannot imagine. The Long Ships by Frans Bengtsson is entirely written in accordance with the olde style—it has no descriptive passages, hardly any dialogue except heroic pronouncements, just statements of one bold deed after another.
Viking brothers Rofle (Richard Widmark) and Orm (Russ Tamblyn) capture the daughter of a rival bunch and sell her to a slave dealing Moorish king (Sidney Pontier). The Moor and his wife (Rosanna Schiaffino, however, refuse to pay. Instead they tell them where to find a mysterious giant bell made of gold, which is doubted to exist.Then they will all be rich.
Rofle finds that rumours regarding the size of the bell appear to have been much exagerated, until he swings it in frustration and a deafening peel rings out. In fact the entire dome is the bell. Then comes the problem of how to get it down and sail it away.
But the Moor swindles them again, offering instead the razor-sharp slide of death. The boys have had enough and a ding-dong fight results. Naturally, Rolfe and Orm prevail; in fact the Moor’s wife comes off worst, impailed on a spear magnificently. The vikings get their reward and sail away. to further adventures.
A not completely bad movie was made in 1964 but the entire two hour story of the screenplay used just five of the book’s 500 pages. It told of how Rolfe and his more famous brother Orm located the great bell of James, which was too heavy to move, and figured out how to bring it home. Then a new adventure in the next three paragraphs. It is literature ignoring the contribution of Shakespeare, Dickens, Tolstoy, in fact everyone from Dante and Chaucer onwards.
