A quick update on yesterday’s Willen Styn post.

Debra Fasano very kindly took a second look at the form I received, and her sharp eyes picked up everything I missed. In her words:-

The Port Albany was a cargo vessel and didn’t normally carry passengers so I think he was more likely a fireman/trimmer onboard the ship. The document was filled out when the ship arrived in Fremantle and the “place of abode (abroad)” would be Penarth in Wales.

There are not many non-immigrant ship arrivals which are indexed so for cargo ships like this you would need to go to State records in real life. NSW is the only State that I know of which is indexing and digitising the manifests of all ships great and small.

The month by month is pretty much complete to 1900 but after that it gets a bit patchy, however they are all online at Ancestry. On that page there is also a link to the shipping arrivals index into Sydney and as many ships went to all ports from WA to Queensland, I checked the 1919 voyages into NSW and a fireman listed as W. Styne (or whatever!) aged 34 from Holland does turn up in 1919; someone obviously had his age wrong.

The August arrival is from New York via Adelaide (and Fremantle where the form was filled out), and the September arrival into Sydney is from Bowen and Townsville so they certainly got around.

It is quite possible that he didn’t set foot on Australian soil.

I also had an independent email follow-up from “Cymroz”, who correctly pointed out the existence of “Lord St in Penarth, near Cardiff, where his ship came from“. Thanks for that too! I think that this all hammers a sufficiently large number of nails into that thread’s coffin. Still, I’d rather know for sure it’s not him than not know at all.

One last thing: a few weeks ago, I drew up a list of all the partially open leads I could see in the Somerton Man case that I thought stood any chance of yielding anything genuinely productive. By far the best of these was trying to better understand the story behind the “Jestyn” signature: but without any “Mr Styn” to pursue in the archives, I’m now very nearly out of ideas.

Might a quite different Mr Styn / Stijn have been a patient at Royal North Shore Hospital in 1942/1943/1944? As I recall, there was a single newspaper report which said that the nurse had given a copy of the Rubaiyat to a patient: as always with journalists, that could very well have been misheard, miscopied, misreported or invented, but right now I can see very few archival avenues left to check.

Unfortunately, according to this page, it seems as though RNSH patient records are archived only back as far as 1963. Still, it might well be worth contacting the Assistant Medical Records Manager, archives can have all kinds of odd secondary records (admission books, etc).

A splendid “Do Not Bend” document envelope arrived here a few minutes ago (courtesy of the lovely people at the National Archives of Australia), containing the Form of Application for Registration #24041 for a certain ‘Willen Styn’ I mentioned a few days ago.

Alas, cutting straight to the chase, he’s not our Unknown Man: though he had grey eyes and was of medium build, he was only 5′ 7½” tall and had – definitively enough – a quite different left thumb-print (assuming the fingerprint chart on p.207 of Gerry Feltus’ “The Unknown Man” is correct 🙂 ).

According to the form dated 17th July 1919, this Dutchman was born in Amsterdam in 1894; signed his name “W. Stijn” (which presumably Aliens Registration Officer Hewitt miscopied or misheard as “Styn”); had arrived on the ship Port Albany from Cardiff; was working as a fireman; and lived at “15 Lord St, Penarith” (which doesn’t seem to exist, so I suspect should actually have been ’15 Lawson St, Penrith’), not too far from Penrith’s present-day Museum of Fire (one hour west of Sydney).

From all the other apparent typos on this single page form, I’d also guess he will turn out to be “Willem Stijn”. But regardless, he’s not our (unknown) man, I just thought you’d like to know. Oh well! 🙁

Incidentally, there seem to be good archival records of NSW firemen 1884-1955, so there may be more about firefighter Stijn in the Personnel record books in Western Sydney Records Centre in (dare I say it again) Kingswood. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that, eh? :-p

I’ve got a lot of time for Dominic Selwood: his 1999 (non-fiction) book Knights of the Cloister: Templars and Hospitallers in Central-Southern Occitania, c.1100-c.1300 painted a detailed, evidence-based picture of the Knights Templars across a properly historical and social background. It is not, as he points out, “light relaxing reading”: but remains a fine counterpoint to the more militaristic / political / conspiratorial accounts of the two Orders, well worth looking at.

Just so you know: back in 2001, I went to a lecture of his at the (now long-slumbering) Canonbury Masonic Research Institute, and later asked him by email about Templar artificial alphabets that were used for signing their proto-‘cheques’. Unfortunately, he replied that “All my notes from my research were thrown away by accident by the staff where I used to work“, (though he may still have some images on slides).

At that time, he had just completed a PhD at Oxford (and occasionally played in a band called The Binmen!) and was then starting the work as a barrister that would occupy him for the next five years: and so I was intrigued to discover a few weeks ago that he had just published a novel called The Sword of Moses (the Kindle version is currently only 62p, which is a steal).

the-sword-of-moses-cover

Oddly, this also seems to have necessitated drinking some Johnny Depp-stylee potion, as can be seen from the dramatic physical transformation he has undergone:-

Dominic-Selwood-as-was

Dominic-Selwood-as-is-or-perhaps-his-evil-twin

Either that or the novel was written by his evil twin, it’s hard to tell. 😉

Anyway, if you even remotely know how books in the historical-artefact/modern-threat/sassy-hero genre run, you’ll be at home immediately (think Ark of the Covenant, international mercenaries, bombs, assault weapons, etc): and the main character (Dr Ava Curzon) is a kind of passive-aggressive ‘Jane Bond’ / Lara Croft ex-spook-now-sassy-archaeologist hybrid, probably with half an eye towards Angelina Jolie in the film version (as per normal). And if you can find a genuinely empathetic or believable character anywhere in the mix, you’re far more observant than I am: but that’s hardly much of a criticism, as it is industry standard fare for the genre.

The most obviously notable feature, though, is the sheer scale of the book. Not just the chunky page count (792 pages!), but it is very much as though Selwood has collided two or three already biggish novels together, and welded the wreckage together into a fatter, lumpier composite: Ethiopian churches, Iraq, Knights Templar (who, it seems, are still going strong, bless ’em), Masons, MI6, Russian gangsters, Israeli spies, London/Kent Neo-Nazis, necromancy, John Dee, etc all play their respective part (though the Voynich Manuscript only gets a cameo, it has to be said): and even dear old Aleister Crowley gets more than a nod.

Really, this all comes across to me as though Selwood’s Writing Ambition was in a gladiatorial fight to the death against Editorial Control, where only the former was wielding a sword. By which I mean that even though he writes pretty well, whenever his story’s fire starts to flicker a little, he anxiously hurls yet more geopolitics and history onto its flames: but that rich burning smell ultimately comes across as one of insecurity, not of confidence.

For me, though, the most interesting feature of “The Sword of Moses” was the history – the book clearly sits atop the heaped spoils of Selwood’s lifetime’s connoisseurship of alt.history strands. And what I think transforms the whole enterprise into something epic is something that I think emerges from the text only indirectly: his personal micro-crusade against junk history.

Honestly, he seems to be saying, why do novelists invest so much time filling their genre books with historical nonsense, when the real deal is even more excruciatingly complex and intriguing, if you just bother to get your stupid superficial noses out of Wikipedia? And so he goes out of his way to get the history properly right, again and again: mightily impressive, densely entertaining, heavily intertextual stuff.

And so when it comes to the idea that forms the historical backbone of his novel, it’s his idea of a proper shocker: that the Old Testament has polytheism and even ritual sacrifice embedded in it (which is indeed entirely true). But… but… but… this is also where it all goes a bit Pete Tong.

The horrible, dull truth is that exposing the ritualistic layers codicologically embedded in plain sight within The Bible (and having a super-evil necromancer to bring them to some kind of twisted life) just isn’t much of a surprise any more. The Dan Brown sincere flattery crowd (as in “imitation is…”) of novelists have kind of strip-mined the genre: and for all their dodgy historical faults, in the list of their crimes against readers Bad History comes a distant third behind Empty Characterization and Mile-Wide Plot Faults.

So… while I like Dominic and have terrific admiration for his historical sensibilities and indeed writing ambition, I finished his book feeling that he set out on his novel-writing quest to solve the wrong problem. Having myself read far too many books in this genre over recent years than is properly healthy, I’d agree that he really isn’t tilting at windmills – that Bad History is an endemic problem in fiction in general. But he’ll have to work somewhat harder with his next novel to help readers care whether Dr Ava Curzon lives or dies, because frankly I never quite managed that piece of reading magic, sorry. 🙁

A few days ago, I had a nice email from two Swedish engineers called Henrik (Henke) Sundberg and David Thelin: surprisingly, they claimed that they had worked out the details of the Zodiac Killer’s 32-character “map cipher” (also known as “Z32”).

The first thing I did was to put up a new page describing the Z32 cipher, something I’ve been meaning to do for a few years: as normal, I tried to cover the raw factuality and basic observations rather than out-and-out theories and speculation.

The short version is that the letter-shapes in the Z32 cipher look nearly exactly the same as the (famously solved) Z408 cipher, which makes it seem very much as though it too is a homophonic cipher, though with different letter assignments (deciphering it using the Z408 key doesn’t seem to yield anything sensible). Unfortunately, 32 characters (made up of 29 different shapes, i.e. only three appear more than once) wouldn’t normally be anywhere near large enough for a homophonic cryptogram to be cracked, unless you had some significant additional information to work with. (Hint: a cipher key would be a good start. 🙂 )

However, in this case there was some other extra information: a roadmap of the San Francisco Bay Area with a “Zodiac Killer” shape centred on Mount Diablo, and a note saying “The Map coupled with this code will tell you where the bomb is set. You have untill next Fall to dig it up“. A second “little list” letter (posted a month later) give a further clue: “PS. The Mt. Diablo code concerns Radians 4#inches along the radians“.

Sundberg and Thelin’s theory (described in this PDF file) is that it’s in fact a very scientific cipher, as much a stegotext as a cryptogram.

Z32-cipher

From this, they extract the phrases “C3H3”, “Octane”, and “North of West”, while “HCEL(Zodiac)PW(triangle)” reminds them of how the molecule HClO3 looks, centred around the Zodiac symbol. From which they deduce that they need to look 1 inch (i.e. 6.4 miles) along a vector due West from magnetic North.

Guys, guys… I’m really sorry, but I think you’ve got it wrong. Nobody in their right (or indeed wrong) mind would concoct a chain of reasoning based around a vague resemblance to a particular molecule in order to encode a unit vector. Even dear old Jessica Lee wouldn’t do that, much as she likes chemistry and ciphers.

Look: the Zodiac Killer wasn’t some evil scientific genius, he was a sick, unhappy man with a grudge against the SFPD (probably a surrogate for his sick unhappy relationship with his abusive, distant father) on a gun-powered external power trip, a (literally) vain attempt to right the perceived wrongs in his personal life. I don’t even think he knew properly what a “radian” is, because he doesn’t use the term correctly in his note.

A pragmatic starting point for the d’Agapeyeff cipher is to sequentially replace its digit pairs with letters, i.e.

** .1 .2 .3 .4 .5
6. _0 17 12 16 11 --> A B C D E
7. _1 _9 _0 14 17 --> F G H I J
8. 20 17 15 11 17 --> K L M N O
9. 12 _3 _2 _1 _0 --> P Q R S T
0. _0 _0 _0 _1 _0 --> U V W X Y

If you then “re-flow” those letters into a 14×14 grid, many of its oddities are to be found in the final right hand column:-

[ 0] J B L O P B P D K D P I O N
[ 1] D I I L N M K C K K I I L B
[ 2] D J M L N P J I E M J J J R
[ 3] C E E K C K J O J J D B L Q
[ 4] O I C L J I M K E K N O D O
[ 5] D O O C L G B M B K K G K D
[ 6] C J L K D M C L O K C C C X
[ 7] I K P P N C O N E D O E B S
[ 8] B B O P O P I P G J D E J F
[ 9] E M B D I K L N B L D P K R
[10] E B D N N P M O I P K E G I
[11] M M O L M D B G B E B M J Q
[12] G C L L G G M L O N J L K M
[13] G N B L M J K D J I O K B Q

The ‘X’ (’04’) right at the end of row #6 is highly suspicious: at least one person before me has suspected that this might somehow be a padding ‘X’ appended to the end of the (pre-transposition-stage) plaintext to bring it up to a 14×14 multiple.

However, I think that the three ‘Q’ (’92’) symbols in the same rightmost column are even more suspicious: this symbol occurs exactly three times in the cryptogram, and only ever in this column. I think these are even more likely than the ‘X’ to be the final three letters of the plaintext, appended to pad it up to 14×14 = 196 characters in length.

In fact, I’m now almost certain that the correct starting point for cryptanalysis should be the diagonal transposition of the 14×14 grid, which transformation would flip all these oddities across onto the bottom (final) row of the transposed grid, leaving (presumably) a 14-column transposition cipher to solve:-

[ 0'] J D D C O D C I B E E M G G
[ 1'] B I J E I O J K B M B M C N
[ 2'] L I M E C O L P O B D O L B
[ 3'] O L L K L C K P P D N L L L
[ 4'] P N N C J L D N O I N M G M
[ 5'] B M P K I G M C P K P D G J
[ 6'] P K J J M B C O I L M B M K
[ 7'] D C I O K M L N P N O G L D
[ 8'] K K E J E B O E G B I B O J
[ 9'] D K M J K K K D J L P E N I
[10'] P I J D N K C O D D K B J O
[11'] I I J B O G C E E P E M L K
[12'] O L J L D K C B J K G J K B
[13'] N B R Q O D X S F R I Q M Q

Here I’ve highlighted the two tripled letters (“LLL” on row #3′, and “KKK” on row #9′): here LLL is on a row with 6 L’s (so it’s hardly surprising that it ended up as a tripled letter post-transposition), while KKK is on a row with 4 K’s. Here are the overall letter instance counts for the cryptogram:-

.K .B .J .L .O .D .M .I .C .P .E .N .G .Q .R .F .S .X
20 17 17 17 17 16 15 14 12 12 11 11 9 3 2 1 1 1

It’s interesting to compare this set with the letter frequency table of the text mini-corpus taken from d’Agapeyeff’s “Codes and Ciphers” (which I also generated recently). If you normalize that to 196 characters, here’s what you would expect to see in the cryptogram:-

.E .T .A .I .O .S .N .R .H .D .L .C .U .M .F .P .W .G .Y .B .V .K
25 18 15 14 14 14 13 12 11 .8 .7 .6 .5 .4 .4 .4 .4 .4 .3 .3 .2 .1

From this, it looks as though K probably –> E, while B/J/L/O/D seem likely to go to T/A/I/O/S. What I’m thinking here is that if this is right, all we need to solve it is to generate a moderate number of best-guess substitution values and feed those into a transposition cipher solver, i.e.:-
(a) guess that K –> E
(b) generate the 5! = 120 permutations of B/J/L/O/D –> T/A/I/O/S
(c) assign plausible values to the remainder of the used letters (in matching descending frequency order)
(d) feed the 120 versions of the transposed 14×14 grid into a reliable columnar transposition solver

My prediction is that even though this will still be wrong, getting the 6 most popular letters right (i.e. 20 + 17 + 17 + 17 + 17 + 16 = 104 characters, ~53% of the cryptogram) and possibly some of the others (by chance) will allow the transposition solver to get us close enough to the answer, that we can tell from its output what the correct transposition order is. Does that sound reasonable?

PS: if the final row is partly artificial, it may be a good idea not to feed that into the transposition solver, i.e. only try to solve a 14×13. Incidentally, a very good freeware cipher solver Windows application is CryptoCrack, but more about that another day… 🙂

I’ve been trying to break the d’Agapeyeff challenge cipher this week, a process that I (along with several other cipher commentators, although opinions differ etc etc) strongly suspect will involve solving a 14×14 transposition cipher and a substitution cipher simultaneously.

A plausible-sounding way to try to do this would be to model the distribution of digraph frequency counts in English texts, and then for a given transposition compare an ordered table of its digraph frequency counts against that model. However, when I tried this with some test text (taken from d’Agapeyeff’s book), the English digraph frequency values given on the Internet weren’t even close.

I initially looked at getting a corpus of British English text to generate a proper digraph frequency table: but that proved to be difficult and expensive, with the bother of licenses and licence fees to deal with. But then I thought… why not use d’Agapeyeff’s book “Codes and Ciphers” itself as the corpus? Sure, it’s on a much smaller scale, but it would surely be more statistically representative of the cryptogram’s plaintext than the complete works of Shakespeare (which are often included in English corpora, presumably on the principle of what-the-heck-let’s-throw-it-all-in-can-it-really-hurt?).

Even though the book’s text looked nice and clean to my eye, OCR’ing it turned out to be completely unsatisfactory: and so I was delighted to find a page put up by regular Cipher Mysteries commenter Menno Knul containing a lot of text from “Codes and Ciphers” (thanks Menno!). After a bit of tweaking (fixing some typos, removing foreign language quotes, removing confusing cipher / code passages, etc), I then ended up with a reasonably workable d’Agapeyeff mini-corpus to plug into a trivial C digraph-counting programme.

So, here are d’Agapeyeff’s top 50 digraphs from the text of “Codes and Ciphers” (but with spaces, punctuation, spaces and numbers removed), together with their frequency percentages in descending order. I’ll be using this table before very long to try to break his cipher, fingers crossed they’ll do the trick!

TH,3.23744%
HE,2.80072%
IN,2.03171%
ER,1.89246%
AN,1.50321%
ES,1.41460%
RE,1.39245%
ON,1.21523%
NT,1.20257%
ED,1.20257%
ST,1.19624%
EN,1.14561%
SE,1.10447%
EA,1.08548%
TE,1.05383%
TI,1.04750%
ET,1.02851%
ND,1.01269%
IS,0.99370%
OF,0.98104%
TO,0.95889%
OR,0.94940%
AT,0.92725%
AS,0.92725%
IT,0.87978%
HI,0.83547%
LE,0.82598%
NG,0.81648%
AL,0.81648%
HA,0.80699%
AR,0.80699%
SA,0.73104%
SI,0.71838%
VE,0.70255%
RI,0.69623%
CO,0.69306%
SO,0.68673%
ME,0.67724%
EC,0.67407%
DE,0.66774%
RA,0.60129%
RS,0.59496%
RO,0.59179%
DI,0.59179%
TT,0.58546%
OU,0.58546%
TA,0.58230%
BE,0.57597%
US,0.54432%
IC,0.52850%

Researchers and commenters have been asking me lots of questions about the Somerton Man over the past few weeks, so I thought I’d round up a load of stray threads in a single post. Hence the following may be a bit bitty, but it is what it is, I hope it’s helpful!

1. Pakies

I asked Derek Abbott why he included the only-sporadically used Pakies guest book in his Somerton Man primary source material page. Was it simply the presence of the Nosovs and Hellmuth Hendon? His reply:-

[Hellmuth] Hendon is there who was linked to [Joseph Saul Haim] Marshall. Also Xavier Herbert is there who is linked to [Alf] Boxall. Also a Russian ballet troupe is there. […] Of course, there is zero hard evidence that [Jestyn] was connected to Marshall….but it seems plausible. […] The bottom line is [that] the Pakies guestbook could be useful for drawing up an interconnectivity map.

2. Jestyn Handwriting

Derek Abbott has closely compared the Jestyn handwriting and signature on Alf Boxall’s book with Jessie Thomson’s handwriting and signature and says “it is a definite match. No doubt about that.” He has also shown me a 1940s autograph book where Jessie Harkness copied (most of) a stanza from Omar Khayyam (“[…]Fill the cup that clears / today of past regrets and future fears / Tomorrow? Why tomorrow I may be / Myself with yesterday’s sev’n thousand years.“). It looks to be the same hand (though slightly more free-flowing than in Boxall’s copy).

3. The Jestyn “E”

I asked Derek Abbott about the “E”. He replied:-

You will notice the signature is in a fountain pen and the ink of the E is darker. This says to me that she was trying to write an ‘e’, but the ink splodged at bit, so she reworked it into an ‘E’ to make it clearer. […] And she does do her capital E’s in a way that would make it read JEstyn.

I also asked Gerry Feltus what he thought had happened with the “E”:-

I noticed the lighter writing on the name JEstyn just after I first saw it and I was going to refer to it in my book. I tried to find a suitable explanation and I thought maybe she had previously written the poem in the book and handed it to Alf. Alf then may have asked/suggested she sign it and it was done with a different pen. Maybe! It was too confusing so I left it out.

Was the “E” original? Yes, according to Derek Abbott:-

As for Boxall adding the E himself later, I don’t think so: 1. He didn’t know how she wrote her capital E’s and 2. The fountain pen ink matches (I’ve seen the original).

3. The Jestyn Drawing

I asked Gerry Feltus about the drawing at the front of Alf Boxall’s Rubaiyat: he was sure it was printed, not drawn. But I’ve looked at a few other Rubaiyat editions, and none seems to have anything quite like that. So, Gerry is sure it’s part of the book, but I’m still somewhat unsure quite what to make of it. Here’s the top part of it from near the end of the ABC documentary:-

ABC-Jestyn-drawing

4. The Jestyn Pronunciation

The 1978 ABC documentary voice-over pronounced “Jestyn” to rhyme with “Test In”, which is how John Ruffles (who heard Alf Boxall pronounce it, according to Derek Abbott), Gerry Feltus, and indeed online commenter “daughter of Jestyn” all say it was pronounced. Right now, my suspicion remains that Jessie – for whatever reason – may well have first introduced herself to Alf Boxall as “Jess Styn”, which he heard as a single word. Maybe that’s right, maybe it isn’t (don’t shoot me, that’s how hypotheses work): hopefully we will find out one way or the other before very long…

5. NAA

The Willen Styn WW1 document I mentioned the other day has now been scanned and posted to me by the NAA. It’s apparently quite small: we’ll have to wait for the mail pixies to wing it halfway around the world, see what it says…

6. Adam Yulch’s Laundry Mark Index

This wandering librarian blogger wondered (in 2011) whether someone had tried comparing the Somerton Man’s laundry tag to Adam Yulch’s index of 100,000 American laundry marks. Haven’t followed this up myself, but it might be interesting, thought you’d like to know. 🙂

7. Ronald Francis’ Copy In The Car

According to Gerry Feltus, “Ronald Francis” and his wife specifically requested that his real name not be published. He is a very elderly gentleman, and may even have passed away by now.

It’s been a bit quiet on the WW2 pigeon cipher front (the GCHQ Historian has been working hard to try to find some Typex rotor wiring diagrams for us, but so far without any luck, *sigh*), but I thought you might like to see some nice action shots of pigeons and pigeon handlers from WW2 archives.

Shows two of the crew of an Australian Lancaster Squadron with their pigeons before leaving for a raid on Berlin
H98.100/4278 Shows two of the crew of an Australian Lancaster Squadron with their pigeons before leaving for a raid on Berlin – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

(The remainder of the photos were taken by Army photographer H. J. Nott.)

A.T.S. woman being shown how to release a pigeon
H2000.200/418 A.T.S. woman being shown how to release a pigeon – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

Attaching a message to a bird for dispatch
H2000.200/419 Attaching a message to a bird for dispatch – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

Officer in the field writing a message for dispatch by pigeon
H2000.200/420 Officer in the field writing a message for dispatch by pigeon – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

Releasing the pigeon
H2000.200/421 Releasing the pigeon – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

Last flight of B.L.A. war pigeons
H2000.200/422 Last flight of B.L.A. war pigeons – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

Releasing pigeons in the field
H2000.200/423 Releasing pigeons in the field – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

Attaching message cylinder to pigeon's leg
H2000.200/424 Attaching message cylinder to pigeon’s leg – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

Attaching message cylinder to pigeon's leg
H2000.200/424 Attaching message cylinder to pigeons leg (closeup) – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

'Premier' the pigeon arriving home with a message
H2000.200/425 “Premier” the pigeon arriving home with a message – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

Showing A.T.S. woman how to attach a message
H2000.200/426 Showing A.T.S. woman how to attach a message – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

Birds arriving back in lofts after training flight
H2000.200/427 Birds arriving back in lofts after training flight – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

Message transferred from pigeon to dispatch rider
H2000.200/428 Message transferred from pigeon to dispatch rider – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

Loading pigeon into special container for dropping over occupied territory
H2000.200/430 Loading pigeon into special container for dropping over occupied territory – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

Pigeon dispatch riders on the road
H2000.200/431 Pigeon dispatch riders on the road – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

'Tommy' the pigeon being awarded the Dicken medal for distinguished war service
H2000.200/432 “Tommy” the pigeon (NURP.41.DHZ56) being awarded the Dicken medal for distinguished war service – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

'Tommy' the pigeon being awarded the Dicken medal for distinguished war service
H2000.200/432 “Tommy” the pigeon being awarded the Dicken medal for distinguished war service (closeup) – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

And finally, a couple of photos by H. J. Nott that appeared in a story reported in the Ottawa Journal, 12 January 1945, p.2:-

Canadian corvette, H.M.C.S. “Mayflower”, was given an unexpected chance to help speed the victory. The tired pigeon carried important information from a French patriot regarding gun emplacements and flying bomb platforms. It was sent aboard the “Mayflower” which broke wireless silence to send the information in code to shore authorities. The picture at the left shows the pigeon being passed in a bag from the tug to the Canadian corvette, and the one on the right shows the well-bred and mannerly visitor taking its ease by a porthole of the wardroom on board the “Mayflower”. Lieut Douglas Marlen, Halifax, was senior officer of the convoy, and the message written in French was translated by Sigmn. Andre Belland, Montreal.

Pigeon being passed from British tug to Canadian corvette.
H2000.200/434 Pigeon being passed from British tug to Canadian corvette – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

Weary pigeon resting on board the H.M.C.S. Mayflower, the ship sent its message on in code
H2000.200/433 Weary pigeon resting on board the H.M.C.S. Mayflower, the ship sent its message on in code – Argus Newspaper Collection of Photographs, State Library of Victoria.

The American Botanical Council (who neither I nor many of you had heard of before this week) are celebrating their 100th issue of their quarterly peer-reviewed journal “HerbalGram” (it says in this press release here) by publishing an article revealing the hitherto undecrypted herbal secrets of the Voynich Manuscript.

The two authors, Arthur O. Tucker Ph.D (“botanist, emeritus professor, and co-director of the Claude E. Phillips Herbarium at Delaware State University“) and Rexford H. Talbert (“a retired information technologist formerly employed by the US Department of Defense and NASA“) found themselves so inspired by the similarity between the plant drawn on the Voynich Manuscript’s f1v and xiuhamolli / xiuhhamolli “the soap plant depicted in the 1552 Codex Cruz-Badianus of Mexico [on f9r]” that they concluded that the Voynich Manuscript must not only be post-Columbus, but also post-Conquest Nueva España (i.e. after 1519-1521).

Voynichese, they believe, is therefore nothing more than a New World polyglot studded with “loan-words […] from Classical Nahuatl, Spanish, Taino, and Mixtec“, but which is overwhelmingly in an “extinct dialect, keeping much of the Voynich Manuscript’s secrets intact… for now.

So… does this all reduce to nothing more than an “ethnobotanical cold case”; and if it does, have these two plucky independent authors actually cracked it? In the interests of open-mindedness and fair debate, you might want to flick through their paper for yourself here before you read the rest of my article dismissing their historical naivety and overhopeful botano-centricity.

What, you already think I’m being unfair to their abductive logic? For a start, if “abductive logic” isn’t a sixty-dollar term that means nothing much more than “generating hypotheses sufficient to explain observations” (and normally only a carefully-selected subset of observations to boot), I wasted my time studying logic at University.

I hate to start out by pointing out the ridiculously obvious here, but here in Voynich Research Land, we’re already up to our necks (and gasping for anguished breath) in plausible-sounding hypotheses that similarly seek to explain other carefully-selected observations. Selective abductivity is the disease, not the cure, and what they’ve done is terrifically selective.

The proper Intellectual History methodology (of which their methodology is the palest of shadows) is to take on board the sum-total of all the evidence across all the different analytical historical domains, and only then try to construct abductive hypotheses that explain the whole lot simultaneously. Here, the two authors found themselves driven towards a post-New Spain New World origin by a single apparently persuasive piece of evidence, and then rippled through the consequences of what that would have to mean for that portion of the rest of the evidence they allowed themselves to consider.

What they didn’t consider: the demonstrably 15th century vellum in play (radiocarbon dating), 15th century digit shapes (in the quiration), 15th century number forms (in the quiration), 15th century contractions (on the zodiac roundel hand) and 15th century parallel hatching (in several drawings). So, that’s evidence from the domains of codicology, palaeography, and Art History immediately consigned to their great big wastepaper basket of Not Examined Here Stuff.

However, the way that they bracket these multiple classes of evidence is to say “but such spurious claims [of pre-Rudolfine origins] have channelized scholars’ thinking and have not been particularly fruitful“. In fact, what has held back Voynich research most over recent decades is the set of spurious claims of post-Columbine origins (e.g. John Dee, Edward Kelley, Cardan grille hoaxes, sunflowers, etc), of which these authors’ paper is merely the most recent example. For when you bracket out evidence from multiple parallel research domains, you’re setting yourself up for a fall.

Another thing that annoyed me was that even though they tentatively identified Voynichese as Nahuatl, they nowhere mentioned John D. Comegys (twin brother of Cipher Mysteries regular James Comegys), who for years has championed a Nahuatl Voynich link. Even Kircher & Becker’s ridiculous book identified Voynich as a polyglot mess mix of “l’allemand, le suédois, le néerlandais, le latin, l’anglais, avec quelque notions de gaélique et de nahuatl“, and hence dated the object to “entre 1570 et 1610”. Hence it doesn’t seem to me that Tucker and Talbot even attempted any kind of literature review beyond a grudging scrollthrough of Wikipedia (ha!) and voynich.nu.

They also seem unaware of the light painter / heavy painter debate (i.e. they naively take it as read that all the paints the manuscript presents are original, despite the evidence to the contrary), and the bifolio reordering debate (i.e. they naively take it as read that the foliation is original, despite the evidence to the contrary). Oh, and they seem completely unaware of the post-1990 debate over the Voynich “sunflowers”, with their account starting and stopping with Hugh O’Neill in 1944.

They also bracket out the “medieval German script” on f116v (which they consistently mis-spell as “Michiton Olababas”) as a freestanding mystery, apparently unaware that Voynichese letters are embedded within both this and the marginalia at the top of f17r (which I found in 2006 with a UV blacklamp, but which were later photographed by the Austrian documentary makers in 2009).

Many other things annoyed me (their treatment of the Codex Osuna, the “maiorica”, etc, etc), but I’ve got to 850 words already and that’s more than enough annoyance for one post. But one last aside…

What I came to hate about the Voynich mailing list was that some time around 2006 it had subsumed the trendy-but-ghastly management meeting notion that “there’s no such thing as a bad idea” (usually said in a dippy, please-don’t-be-a-hater voice). Actually, if you have a whole array of basic physical evidence to work with, yes there definitely is such a thing as a bad idea. And the sooner people putting forward such bad ideas get to take their fingers out of their ears and stop saying la-la-la at all the thousands of pieces of ‘inconvenient evidence’ they’d rather bracket to tell their story, the sooner we’ll get to hear some good ideas instead.

In short, I would be delighted (and would indeed be the first to cheer) if Tucker and Talbot had put forward a good idea. But I think they have failed to do so in numerous different ways, all of which were easily avoidable.

If you’re a dyed-in-the-wool Voynich hoax muppet advocate, stop reading this right now, otherwise you’ll only get yourself all cross and bothered, and you’ll forget to take your medication or something else just as bad.

The rest of you, particularly those who have looked at Voynichese with a bit of care and close attention, should already understand that there are lots of patterns present there, all at the same time and on many different levels: and that any sensible explanation for the internal structure would need to give a reasonable account of these numerous simultaneous patterns. In short, it’s not enough to say ‘a clever table could generate them‘: there’s far more going on than just that.

At the same time, it’s well known that there are very few apparent corrections within the Voynichese text itself; while I’ve also presented a fair bit of evidence in the past that indicates that the text was copied onto the page (say, by one or more scribes copying from wax tablets), rather than composed on the page per se. What kind of account could tie all these diverse observations together?

Today’s proposed explanation is that Voynichese may well be even more heavily structured than we tend to accept, and that copying errors (of which I think there will prove to be plenty) were simply left intact on the page rather than corrected. As opposed to the Tamam Shud cipher (which appears to have an entire line crossed out!), I suspect that here the principle will turn out to be far closer to Omar Khayyám’s well-known:

“…The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it…”

Literary aside over, let’s look at the first paragraph of a typical Voynich page (I was looking at f111r the other day following an email by Torsten T, but more or less any would do just as well) and where I’m reasonably sure the copying errors are to be found on it:-

f111r-para1-annotated-cropped

In Takahashi’s transcription:-

kcholchdar. shar. aiip. chepchedy. […]
doiin. sheeky. okeey. okeey. qeeal. […]
dsheedy. lkeedy. chckhy. lchedy. qo[…]
saiin. oteedy. qokeey. daiin. oke[…]
saiin. sheekshy. ol. shedy. chok[…]

Error #1: I don’t believe that “aiip” is correct. Rather, what I think happened here was that the downstroke of the “p” gallows overlapped the terminal upstroke of an “n”, probably on the wax tablet. Hence, I suspect this should read “aiinp”. Philip Neal has long pointed out that words ending in gallows characters are unusual and tend to be found on the top line of pages and paragraphs: I suspect that this is a typical example of that phenomenon.

Error #2: I don’t believe that “oiin” would ever be correct Voynichese, i.e. it’s just a miscopied “aiin” (of which there are many examples to be found on just about every page), hence this should probably read “daiin”. Curiously, though, the instance stats of aiin-family groups change between A pages and B pages: aiin appears 5x more often than ain in A pages, but only 1.6x more often in B pages.

Error #3: “akeey” (as it appears on the page, though Takahashi-san has autocorrected it to the more plausible “okeey”) should almost certainly be “okeey”. Basically, the (ok:ak) and (ot:at) instance ratios are both about 100:1, which brings copying errors to my mind rather than rare linguistic features.

Error #4: “qeeal” just looks wrong (it’s the only instance in the whole VMs). But then again, there are only 4 “qoal”s and there are no “qochal”s or “qoshal”s at all (which surprised me a little bit, but hand-building Markov models of Currier A and Currier B is a job I’ve been putting off for too long). There are plenty of “qokal”s (228) and “qotal”s (72), as well as a few “qopal”s (3), “qokeal”s (5), and “qoteal”s (2). Again, these last two look like potential copying errors (i.e. qokeal -> qokal, qoteal -> qotal)

Anyway, that points to (I think) a likely four copying errors out of 56 words (or 338 characters), i.e. an average of roughly one every 14 words (or, alternatively, one per line), which – I think – is probably a pretty good figure for a scribe copying a ciphertext. At some point, I ought to repeat the exercise on a bigger sample, see if the error rate holds true (and for both Hand 1 and Hand 2, etc).