New John Jenkins Line (1 Viewer)
- Thread starter PolarBear
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mikemiller1955
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There is an old movie....1966
"Khartoum"........
In this epic tale of the British Army's travels in North Africa, two acting giants appear together for the first and only time: Charlton Heston portrays General Charles "Chinese" Gordon, who in 1883 led the defense of the Sudanese garrison against a Muslim rebellion. And Laurence Olivier plays the instigator of that uprising -- Mahdi, the "spiritual leader" of the Sudan. Robert Ardrey received an Oscar nomination for his screenplay.
I just moved it to the top of my queue list...has anybody seen it????
I can kind of see John doing this conflict....
He once told me his favorite movie as a kid was "El Cid"....
coincidentally Charles Heston again defending 11th century Spain from hordes of invading Muslims.
I was almost positive he wanted some closure on the 7 Years war though.
Clive seemed logical...
Gordon and Khartoum...........hmmmmmmmmmmmm.
"Khartoum"........
In this epic tale of the British Army's travels in North Africa, two acting giants appear together for the first and only time: Charlton Heston portrays General Charles "Chinese" Gordon, who in 1883 led the defense of the Sudanese garrison against a Muslim rebellion. And Laurence Olivier plays the instigator of that uprising -- Mahdi, the "spiritual leader" of the Sudan. Robert Ardrey received an Oscar nomination for his screenplay.
I just moved it to the top of my queue list...has anybody seen it????
I can kind of see John doing this conflict....
He once told me his favorite movie as a kid was "El Cid"....
coincidentally Charles Heston again defending 11th century Spain from hordes of invading Muslims.
I was almost positive he wanted some closure on the 7 Years war though.
Clive seemed logical...
Gordon and Khartoum...........hmmmmmmmmmmmm.
mikemiller1955
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check out this link.....JoeSoldier's diorama on the Siege of Kartoum....
it's pretty cool.
http://www.joesoldiers.com/19thcsiegeofkhartoum.htm
this guy built a nice fort.
here's a link to the movie trailer...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3XfzL_KDbiY
it's pretty cool.
http://www.joesoldiers.com/19thcsiegeofkhartoum.htm
this guy built a nice fort.
here's a link to the movie trailer...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3XfzL_KDbiY
mikemiller1955
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marco55
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Gordan had a very interesting life.He was a man of principal,He was religeous,honest,humane but he was also a soldier who would do his duty.Overall a fasinating individual.Mike I've seen the movie.It's pretty good but a little slow moving.
Mark
Mark
mikemiller1955
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He kind of puts me in the mind of a younger Paul Newman with a mustache, it's the eyes I think, lol.
marco55
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He kind of puts me in the mind of a younger Paul Newman with a mustache, it's the eyes I think, lol.
Yes Mike I think you are right.
Mark
mikemiller1955
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http://www.joesoldiers.com/19thcsiegeofkhartoum.htm
who are these Randy.......The Seige of Khartoum????
This website contains photographs of Joe Carvalho's collection of military figures. Each figure has been hand-painted by Carvalho over the past 32 years. Each uniform is based upon the uniforms actually used during the period depicted in the various diorama's. Figures in 54mm scale were produced by a wide range of makers from the United States, Europe, Latin America, and Asia. The most prominent makers are Marx, Britains, Accurate, Imex, Classic Toy Soldiers, Barzso, Conte Collectibles, BMC, San Diego Toy Soldier Company, Starlux, Dulcop, Reamsa, Timpo, Revell, Call to Arms, Replicants, Herald, Crecent, Charbens, Lonestar, Historex, Italeri, Ideal, Marxmen, HAT, Armies in Plastic, and Jason Pope's Plastic Underground figures. Viewers familiar with these makers will notice a number of "conversions" of various figures created by Carvalho in order to increase the diverse look of the individual soldiers or to create certain poses which enhance the "story-telling" of a particular diorama. All photographs on this website are by Joseph Carvalho.
PolarBear
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For a photo tour of what John's new series may contain, here are 124 photos of the Sudan Campaign done by a wargamer
http://talesfromghq.webs.com/apps/photos/album?albumid=4140735
Here is Gordon's Last Stand done in this scale by Perry Miniatures which makes an entire Sudan range for wargamers. It is important to note that John began as a wargamer.
http://talesfromghq.webs.com/apps/photos/album?albumid=4140735
Here is Gordon's Last Stand done in this scale by Perry Miniatures which makes an entire Sudan range for wargamers. It is important to note that John began as a wargamer.
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mikemiller1955
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Yea...I just edited my post to Randy.....nothing looks familiar to me.
PolarBear
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Twilight Zone
The material below is too weird
Here is the 1st chapter of a book called The Inheritance written by Tom Roulstone, a Mormon writer
Inheritance: Passage of Promise
Chapter One
Sir Gerald Langton knew he was dying. “Jenkins!” he breathed through dry, scaly lips.
John Jenkins, the Langton butler for forty years, shuffled into the room and took a servile position beside his master’s bed. “Aye, sir,” he said, barely concealing the disgust he felt at his master’s face, ravished now by age and improvident living. He deserves what he got, Jenkins thought.
“Get me Twiddy and look sharp about it.”
“The bishop?”
“Do you know any other Twiddys?” he hissed snidely.
“No, sir.”
“Then be off with you.” Sir Gerald emphasized his words with a weak wave of his blue-veined hand.
The butler muttered under his breath as he shuffled out. He would be glad when his master was dead. Unfortunately, young Master Stephen was no better. If there were only some way he could get his hands on a little more money, he’d retire and be shut of the Langtons for good. He sighed as he pulled a cloak around his thin shoulders and went out into the foggy London night.
A half hour later, Jenkins ushered the Right Reverend Horace Twiddy into the master bedchamber of Sir Gerald’s ancient townhouse near Bloomsbury Square.
“It pains me to see you in such a state,” the bishop said self-importantly. “But we must all run our mortal race with fortitude, and—”
“Enough, Twiddy,” Sir Gerald groaned. “I didn’t call you here to listen to your sanctimonious drivel. You know I’m not religious. But a gambler likes to hedge his bets. Will it do me any good on the other side if I confess something I did thirty years ago, and if I donate a priceless object to the Church?”
The bishop took a seat beside the bed, placed both hands together in the attitude of prayer, rested the point of his chin on his fingertips, and closed his eyes in thought. After a moment’s meditation he opened his eyes and gazed on the dying man. “It is never too late, Sir Gerald, to confess one’s sins, and any gifts to the church of a pecuniary nature will undoubtedly redound to the patron’s spiritual welfare.”
Sir Gerald grunted. “Jenkins, leave us. And shut the door behind you.”
Jenkins sorely wanted to stay, but he obeyed. Closing the door, he knelt in the hallway and placed his ear to the keyhole.
“Thirty years ago,” Sir Gerald was saying, “I was in a card game in Soho and lost all my ready cash. I’d been drinking heavily and . . .”
Jenkins’s eyes went wide at his master’s next words.
* * *
Timothy Smollett sat behind a desk piled with papers. He glanced up as his assistant opened the office door. “A Mister John Jenkins to see you, sir,” the assistant said.
Smollett waved the butler in. “I’m a busy man, Jenkins,” the newspaperman rasped. “Out with it. What’ve you got?”
“You’ll have time for this, Mr. Smollett,” the butler said. “Aye, indeed. You’ll have time for this.” Uninvited, he moved a stack of paper from the chair in front of the desk and slowly lowered himself onto it. “Do you recollect the murder of Lord Eustas Claverley some years back?”
Smollett’s eyes lit up, and he sat forward in his chair. “Claverley?” he said, going back in his mind. “Shot to death in Soho about thirty years ago?”
“The very same.” Jenkins leaned forward and placed his hands on the desk. There was less than a yard separating the two men. He dropped his voice an octave. “I have the whole story from the horse’s mouth.” He smiled with satisfaction to see the interest in the newspaperman’s face, sat back in the chair, and was silent.
“Well, out with it,” Smollett demanded.
With a wave of his hand Jenkins indicated he was not ready to reveal his scoop. “First, let’s talk brass,” he said. “How much will you pay to know who did away with his lordship? Say . . . two hundred quid?”
Smollett jumped to his feet. “Two hundred pounds? You’re daft, man. Maybe twenty, if your story pans out.”
Jenkins slowly rose from his chair and turned toward the door. “Thank you for your time, sir,” he said over his shoulder. “Perhaps the Chronicle or Gazette will be more interested.”
The newspaperman’s attitude instantly changed. He laughed and sat back down. “Sit down, sit down, man. Don’t let a little horse trading scare you off. All right. I think I can come up with fifty. How does that sound?”
Jenkins stood with his hands on the back of the chair and pursed his lips. “A hundred. Not a penny less. You know the story will sell papers. Besides Claverley’s murder, it has to do with a priceless ring that once belonged to a Muhammadan king called Saladin.”
Smollett’s heart started pumping faster but he tried not to show it. “Saladin, eh? I’ve heard of him.” He sighed as if defeated. “All right, Jenkins. You win. It’ll probably cost me my job, but you have a deal. Now out with it.” “Not so fast. I don’t open my mouth till the brass’s in my pocket.”
The newspaperman heaved another sigh. “You’re like a ferret with a rabbit in its teeth. All right, Jenkins, sit down. I’ll be right back.”
Soon Jenkins had the pound notes in his hands. Smollett impatiently tapped his fingers on the desk while Jenkins slowly counted the bills, meticulously folded them, and placed them in an inside pocket of his black coat jacket. He looked up and smiled. “One more thing, Mr. Smollett. I want your word you won’t publish what I’m going to tell you until after the guilty party’s gone. Agreed?”
Exasperation showed in the newspaperman’s florid face. “Gone? Gone where?”
“Deceased.”
“How long will that take?”
“Not long. A day or two at the most. He’s on his deathbed.”
“How can you be sure?”
Jenkins’s lips formed what could pass for a smile. “I’m sure. Believe me. I’m no stranger to death. In my many years of service—”
“All right. All right,” Smollett interrupted. “The story stays in my hands till he passes. Now, can I have it?”
“One other thing,” Jenkins said. “I must remain anonymous. I’m still serving in the Lang . . . in the household of the murderer.”
Smollett noted the slip and for a moment considered making use of it. But he had already paid out the money and decided to let it slide. “You have my word. Newspapermen don’t reveal their sources. Out with it.”
To Smollett’s consternation Jenkins rose, opened the office door, and made sure no one was listening at the keyhole. After firmly closing the door, he resumed his seat. Only then did he lean forward and relate all that he had heard through the keyhole in his master’s house.
The more Jenkins said, the more the newspaperman knew that he’d gotten a bargain for his hundred pounds. With the fall of Khartoum a year earlier and the butchering of the English hero Chinese Gordon and his Anglo-Egyptian troops by the followers of the fanatical Mahdi, the English public could not get enough of things Moslem. Knowing who killed Claverley was sensational enough. The Saladin connection would be a lucrative bonus. Yes, Smollett thought, this isn’t just a front-page story; it’ll make a series of articles. Even more satisfying to the newspaperman was the knowledge that the Times would scoop the other papers. I hope Langton croaks soon, was his thought, as he ushered Sir Gerald’s manservant out of his office.
The material below is too weird
Here is the 1st chapter of a book called The Inheritance written by Tom Roulstone, a Mormon writer
Inheritance: Passage of Promise
Chapter One
Sir Gerald Langton knew he was dying. “Jenkins!” he breathed through dry, scaly lips.
John Jenkins, the Langton butler for forty years, shuffled into the room and took a servile position beside his master’s bed. “Aye, sir,” he said, barely concealing the disgust he felt at his master’s face, ravished now by age and improvident living. He deserves what he got, Jenkins thought.
“Get me Twiddy and look sharp about it.”
“The bishop?”
“Do you know any other Twiddys?” he hissed snidely.
“No, sir.”
“Then be off with you.” Sir Gerald emphasized his words with a weak wave of his blue-veined hand.
The butler muttered under his breath as he shuffled out. He would be glad when his master was dead. Unfortunately, young Master Stephen was no better. If there were only some way he could get his hands on a little more money, he’d retire and be shut of the Langtons for good. He sighed as he pulled a cloak around his thin shoulders and went out into the foggy London night.
A half hour later, Jenkins ushered the Right Reverend Horace Twiddy into the master bedchamber of Sir Gerald’s ancient townhouse near Bloomsbury Square.
“It pains me to see you in such a state,” the bishop said self-importantly. “But we must all run our mortal race with fortitude, and—”
“Enough, Twiddy,” Sir Gerald groaned. “I didn’t call you here to listen to your sanctimonious drivel. You know I’m not religious. But a gambler likes to hedge his bets. Will it do me any good on the other side if I confess something I did thirty years ago, and if I donate a priceless object to the Church?”
The bishop took a seat beside the bed, placed both hands together in the attitude of prayer, rested the point of his chin on his fingertips, and closed his eyes in thought. After a moment’s meditation he opened his eyes and gazed on the dying man. “It is never too late, Sir Gerald, to confess one’s sins, and any gifts to the church of a pecuniary nature will undoubtedly redound to the patron’s spiritual welfare.”
Sir Gerald grunted. “Jenkins, leave us. And shut the door behind you.”
Jenkins sorely wanted to stay, but he obeyed. Closing the door, he knelt in the hallway and placed his ear to the keyhole.
“Thirty years ago,” Sir Gerald was saying, “I was in a card game in Soho and lost all my ready cash. I’d been drinking heavily and . . .”
Jenkins’s eyes went wide at his master’s next words.
* * *
Timothy Smollett sat behind a desk piled with papers. He glanced up as his assistant opened the office door. “A Mister John Jenkins to see you, sir,” the assistant said.
Smollett waved the butler in. “I’m a busy man, Jenkins,” the newspaperman rasped. “Out with it. What’ve you got?”
“You’ll have time for this, Mr. Smollett,” the butler said. “Aye, indeed. You’ll have time for this.” Uninvited, he moved a stack of paper from the chair in front of the desk and slowly lowered himself onto it. “Do you recollect the murder of Lord Eustas Claverley some years back?”
Smollett’s eyes lit up, and he sat forward in his chair. “Claverley?” he said, going back in his mind. “Shot to death in Soho about thirty years ago?”
“The very same.” Jenkins leaned forward and placed his hands on the desk. There was less than a yard separating the two men. He dropped his voice an octave. “I have the whole story from the horse’s mouth.” He smiled with satisfaction to see the interest in the newspaperman’s face, sat back in the chair, and was silent.
“Well, out with it,” Smollett demanded.
With a wave of his hand Jenkins indicated he was not ready to reveal his scoop. “First, let’s talk brass,” he said. “How much will you pay to know who did away with his lordship? Say . . . two hundred quid?”
Smollett jumped to his feet. “Two hundred pounds? You’re daft, man. Maybe twenty, if your story pans out.”
Jenkins slowly rose from his chair and turned toward the door. “Thank you for your time, sir,” he said over his shoulder. “Perhaps the Chronicle or Gazette will be more interested.”
The newspaperman’s attitude instantly changed. He laughed and sat back down. “Sit down, sit down, man. Don’t let a little horse trading scare you off. All right. I think I can come up with fifty. How does that sound?”
Jenkins stood with his hands on the back of the chair and pursed his lips. “A hundred. Not a penny less. You know the story will sell papers. Besides Claverley’s murder, it has to do with a priceless ring that once belonged to a Muhammadan king called Saladin.”
Smollett’s heart started pumping faster but he tried not to show it. “Saladin, eh? I’ve heard of him.” He sighed as if defeated. “All right, Jenkins. You win. It’ll probably cost me my job, but you have a deal. Now out with it.” “Not so fast. I don’t open my mouth till the brass’s in my pocket.”
The newspaperman heaved another sigh. “You’re like a ferret with a rabbit in its teeth. All right, Jenkins, sit down. I’ll be right back.”
Soon Jenkins had the pound notes in his hands. Smollett impatiently tapped his fingers on the desk while Jenkins slowly counted the bills, meticulously folded them, and placed them in an inside pocket of his black coat jacket. He looked up and smiled. “One more thing, Mr. Smollett. I want your word you won’t publish what I’m going to tell you until after the guilty party’s gone. Agreed?”
Exasperation showed in the newspaperman’s florid face. “Gone? Gone where?”
“Deceased.”
“How long will that take?”
“Not long. A day or two at the most. He’s on his deathbed.”
“How can you be sure?”
Jenkins’s lips formed what could pass for a smile. “I’m sure. Believe me. I’m no stranger to death. In my many years of service—”
“All right. All right,” Smollett interrupted. “The story stays in my hands till he passes. Now, can I have it?”
“One other thing,” Jenkins said. “I must remain anonymous. I’m still serving in the Lang . . . in the household of the murderer.”
Smollett noted the slip and for a moment considered making use of it. But he had already paid out the money and decided to let it slide. “You have my word. Newspapermen don’t reveal their sources. Out with it.”
To Smollett’s consternation Jenkins rose, opened the office door, and made sure no one was listening at the keyhole. After firmly closing the door, he resumed his seat. Only then did he lean forward and relate all that he had heard through the keyhole in his master’s house.
The more Jenkins said, the more the newspaperman knew that he’d gotten a bargain for his hundred pounds. With the fall of Khartoum a year earlier and the butchering of the English hero Chinese Gordon and his Anglo-Egyptian troops by the followers of the fanatical Mahdi, the English public could not get enough of things Moslem. Knowing who killed Claverley was sensational enough. The Saladin connection would be a lucrative bonus. Yes, Smollett thought, this isn’t just a front-page story; it’ll make a series of articles. Even more satisfying to the newspaperman was the knowledge that the Times would scoop the other papers. I hope Langton croaks soon, was his thought, as he ushered Sir Gerald’s manservant out of his office.
Dragoon
Sergeant Major
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Knew there was a reason I hung on to those Dept. 56 palm trees after selling all the WWII desert war stuff, also K&C's new desert buildings should make a nice setting for Kartoum.
I hope JJ goes beyond the siege of Kartoum and also includes the relief column and the battles it engaged in on it's to try and save Gordon.
I hope JJ goes beyond the siege of Kartoum and also includes the relief column and the battles it engaged in on it's to try and save Gordon.
PolarBear
Major
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More Twilight Zone stuff
A novel in the Simon Fonthill series on the British army in the 19th C Colonial era.
Fonthill's sidekick is named Jenkins and the latest volume in the series is:
The eyes of the world are on the fate of General Gordon and the English-held Khartoum as it comes under siege, in this latest novel in the thrilling Fonthill series.
Simon Fonthill, one time subaltern and ex-Captain in the North West Frontier's Royal Corps of Guides, together with 352 Jenkins, ex-batman and servant, are called to Khartoum. They're on an urgent mission from Sir Garnet Wolseley to reach General Gordon, England's hero, who is being besieged by followers of Mahdi, the infamous religious leader who has declared a jihad against Egyptian authority in the Sudan. Their journey on camel-back through the Sudanese desert is treacherous. When they finally reach the General, an unexpected attack makes them realise that they have little time to make contact with Wolseley, who can dispatch troops to rescue General Gordon. As they leave in darkness to cross the Nile, they're set upon by a brutal Dervish patrol. Can Simon and Jenkins survive a Dervish interrogation and make it back to the General before Khartoum falls from British hands?
A novel in the Simon Fonthill series on the British army in the 19th C Colonial era.
Fonthill's sidekick is named Jenkins and the latest volume in the series is:
The eyes of the world are on the fate of General Gordon and the English-held Khartoum as it comes under siege, in this latest novel in the thrilling Fonthill series.
Simon Fonthill, one time subaltern and ex-Captain in the North West Frontier's Royal Corps of Guides, together with 352 Jenkins, ex-batman and servant, are called to Khartoum. They're on an urgent mission from Sir Garnet Wolseley to reach General Gordon, England's hero, who is being besieged by followers of Mahdi, the infamous religious leader who has declared a jihad against Egyptian authority in the Sudan. Their journey on camel-back through the Sudanese desert is treacherous. When they finally reach the General, an unexpected attack makes them realise that they have little time to make contact with Wolseley, who can dispatch troops to rescue General Gordon. As they leave in darkness to cross the Nile, they're set upon by a brutal Dervish patrol. Can Simon and Jenkins survive a Dervish interrogation and make it back to the General before Khartoum falls from British hands?
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mikemiller1955
Lieutenant General
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- Messages
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When John announced this new series...
Khartoum...
did he even exhibit or show a completed figure....
maybe a prototype....
or anything to look at yet?
Did he elaborate at all on this series...other than to say it's his next endeavor?
Khartoum...
did he even exhibit or show a completed figure....
maybe a prototype....
or anything to look at yet?
Did he elaborate at all on this series...other than to say it's his next endeavor?