SHERLOCK HOLMES: A PRETENTIOUS SMARTY-PANTS DRUG ADDICT

There are presently five briars waiting at my work station to clean up and rehabilitate. I would have dealt with them today, but I was working with one of our more idiosyncratic fellows.
Which, you must understand, puts limitations on what I can do or undertake.

Shan't say anymore except to remark that his worldview is unique.

My own weltanschauung is not thus. I am a dreadfully normal man. Fairly scientifically and medically literate, and not given to novel reinterpretations of reality to match my own fond praeconceptions. Possibly because I am considerably younger and the treads on my brain haven't worn off.

That goes double as regards some of the regulars yacking on the porch.
They're mostly my age, but you wouldn't think so.
Mental rigour mortis.

This pipe is probably the most eccentric thing I own. And it is unusual. Ropp was known for cherry wood pipes, it was rare that they ventured into Erica Arborea burl. At one time every university man, especially one majoring in history, classical literature, or philosophy, had a cherry wood. Along with at least one good briar, and possibly a Calabash pipe.


Calabash pipes have become quite rare since Turkey imposed an export ban on uncarved meerschaum, and now manufactures the bowl inserts. Technically perfect, but practically unsmokable. They don't understand the concept of a narrow normal size hole with only the slightest of tapers. And the gourd itself is now seldom grown with the pegs placed to develop the right shape. Also, plastic shank extensions (so that a mouthpiece can be fitted snugly), are an abomination that uglifies the whole. Wood should be used. But a good calabash can be a delightful piece of equipment.

A well made calabash with correctly fitted and proportioned parts is something to treasure. It can be used with stronger tobaccos, because the air chamber mellows the smoke, and if the bowl is meerschaum or a similar porous material it bears repeated fills over an entire afternoon of swatting Suetonius during rainy weather. Or James Joyce. It's up to you.

I remember several winter afternoons at my grandmother's house in Berkeley, going through cans of Rattray's Black Mallory or Highland Targe (both full Latakia tobacco mixtures) at a fairly rapid clip. I hope she didn't mind. Maybe it reminded her of my dad and my uncle (living in Holland and Canada respectively).


Sherlock Holmes, by the way, never smoked a calabash; the books speak of a cherry wood, a black briar, and a clay pipe. The calabash is a stage and film convention that makes him more recognizable and more eccentric. And let's face it, Sherlock Holmes is a bloody bore anyway, and the stories are very silly.


I haven't smoked either my cherry woods or my calabashes in a while.
Briars are more thoughtful and more practical.
Also more discreet.



I am reminded of an old photograph of my father. Black and white, with correct lighting. He's at his desk, turned to face the camera, with a briar pipe by Comoy, Lovatt shape. He was younger in that photograph than when I knew him. It was probably taken only a few years after his stint flying bombers over Germany. Possibly after he had become an aeronautical engineer.
But I know he also had a calabash. I remember him smoking it.
He may have at one point also had a cherry wood.

TOBACCO INDEX


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