The 60 Minutes video segment on the Somerton Man has just gone live, but you’ll have to navigate down the thumbnails on the right hand side of that page to find it – alternatively, this direct link to the video might possibly work for you.

Though it’s always nice to see Gerry Feltus and Derek Abbott on screen 🙂 , the whole point of the programme was that it also included a series of on-screen interviews with Jestyn’s direct family members (daughter Kate Thomson, daughter-in-law Roma Egan, granddaughter Rachel Egan) that revealed some new titbits of information – though (as is normally the case with cipher mysteries) only really enough to tantalize rather than definitively prove or disprove.

As a result, the things we now know are:-
* That Jessica Thomson lied to the police (as just about everyone suspected), i.e. that she did indeed know who the Somerton Man was;
* That Jessica Thomson told her daughter that the whole mystery wasn’t “at a State Police level”;
* That Jessica Thomson told her daughter that she “was teaching English to migrants”, and could speak Russian (if a bit rustily);
* That Jessica Thomson’s daughter now believes that her mother was linked in some way to Soviet spying; and
* That Jessica Thomson’s granddaughter now suspects that the Unknown Man might well have been her actual grandfather.

The first bit of good news is that if (as claimed) Jessica did know the Somerton Man, then we can’t really call him the “Unknown Man” any more, because he was manifestly “The Known Man”. Having said that, I somehow doubt that Gerry Feltus will be changing his book’s title any time soon, though. 😉

As far as the whole Soviet spy scenario goes: ASIO (Australian Secret Intelligence Organization) had an office in Adelaide, and I expect that there is a huge amount of stuff in the archives relating to Russian spies in Australia during that edgy post-WW2 period. Of course, it may be many years yet before anything in such grey archives get declassified… but if this side of the story is even partially right, then that could – much to my surprise – well be where any kind of genuine historical answer will lie.

But all the same… if Jessica Thomson was indeed a Soviet spy, it still makes no sense that she would silently poison another Soviet spy visiting her, even if she were a double agent (other countries’ spies were often far more useful alive-and-known-about than dead-and-buried). Personally, I still think it far more likely that the Somerton Man died by accident or by someone else’s hand than by Jessica’s hand – though I really wouldn’t be at all surprised if it was she who meticulously cleaned and polished his shoes after his demise. Shame the hat was too far gone, though. 😐

Moreover, the notion that the Somerton Man was Robin Thomson’s father (and Rachel Egan’s grandfather) is still a little bit hard for me to digest. Before anything so radical as an exhumation could take place, the simplest explanation of all – that Prosper McTaggart Thomson was the biological parent of both Robin Thomson and Kate Thomson, as you’d basically expect – would surely need to be eliminated first.

Even though Y-DNA testing is not possible here (because it only works for two direct male descendants of a single male ancestor), I would be pretty sure that there must be some other DNA test that could look for some kind of shared allele pattern between Kate Thomson and Rachel Egan that would indicate whether or not they were related (or very probably related) via a shared male ancestor. (I’m not an expert on genetics, though, so please tell me if this is just plain wrong.)

Only if it could be shown beyond reasonable doubt that the two did not share such a male ancestor would it make any obvious sense to push for exhumation – so, has this kind of testing already been done? The programme was silent… but maybe such tests have already been done, who knows?

Thanks to Diane O’D for flagging that long-running Australian current affairs TV programme “60 Minutes” will be covering the Somerton Man this coming Sunday, with reporter Charles Wooley. The team were snapped filming in West Terrace Cemetery (where the Unknown Man’s body lies) last month.

For what it’s worth, I suspect that the fact that their interest and the Tamam Troll attacks on Cipher Mysteries all happened at basically the same time is not entirely coincidental. Perhaps that’s simply what happens when people stick their hot hands into historical hornets’ nests: someone’s gonna get stung.

But this is, of course, exactly how TV film-makers the world over make their programmes: their only concern is with the shining televisual jewel that finally emerges from the edit suite, not the wreckage that’s left behind by their underpaid & overstretched researchers trampling cavalierly over the cultural flowerbeds. It’s rare these days that this process yields even genuine reportage, let alone anything approaching (capital-H) History.

All the same, the programme makers have a moral responsibility to check their facts, to get their basic story straight: so let’s read their initial press release, to see what we should expect of them:-

We all know that fact is stranger than fiction and that’s very much the case with this story.

It’s the true tale of espionage, a love affair and murder – that wouldn’t be out of place in the movies.

Not a great start. Unless 60 Minutes have found a huge cache of evidence everyone else has missed completely (very unlikely), I think it’s important to say that we have:-

* no evidence of “espionage” at all – the “cipher” seems to be a list of initials of a set of phrases, nothing to do with spying
* no evidence of “a love affair” at all – all we have is a phone number in a book that seems to have been connected to the dead man
* no evidence of “murder” at all – the pathologists, lab analysts and coroners found no trace of poison, despite looking really hard

The year was 1948. Communism and democracy were wrestling for world supremacy. The nuclear arms race was in high gear. And there were spies everywhere, even in Australia.

All true (if a tad self-important and grandiose). But the probability that any of this is even remotely to do with a middle-aged bloke found dead on Somerton beach still seems extraordinarily low. I repeat: we still have not one jot of evidence that supports any of this speculation.

Against this sinister backdrop, an unidentified body was found on Adelaide’s Somerton Beach – the so-called Somerton Man.

TV loves sinister backdrops… but that doesn’t make the two things connected, or even likely to be connected.

Now, 65 years after he was buried there are moves to exhume him in an attempt to finally solve this lingering Cold War Mystery.

Professor Derek Abbott has indeed been trying to get the body exhumed. But – contrary to nearly every crime scene TV drama ever shown on television – the courts are respectful of the dead, and don’t allow them to be exhumed on a whim or on a fishing trip for physical evidence. Right now, we simply have insufficient tangible evidence to convince the courts that exhumation is a good idea, and – unless people actually do better quality research and find better quality evidence – that’s how it’s going to stay for the foreseeable future.

This Sunday, 60 Minutes will reveal for the first time the identity of the mysterious nurse who was romantically linked to the Somerton man, and talk to the woman who claims she’s the Somerton Man’s granddaughter.

Well… apart from the awkward fact that the identities of the nurse and her husband have been known by hundreds of researchers for many years now, perhaps we can be generous and say that “60 Minutes” will probably be the first to reveal it on TV.

All the same, the interview with “the woman who claims” (etc) will doubtless be interesting, if perhaps a bit speculative: though if they’ve hooked themselves a gee-new-wine Tamam Troll, that would turn the entire programme into a Tamam Train Wreck of spectacular proportions.

Let’s hope for some fast and furious fact-checking before Sunday! 🙂

Seeing as you’re here, I’ll let you into a sort-of secret: actually, I’m not the best code-breaker on the planet. All the same, I think (for what it’s worth) I’m an extremely good historical logician with a strong ability to work in a sustained manner with tricky, uncertain evidence: and am extremely cipher- and stats-literate.

So when I’m taking on a thing like the Beale Ciphers, my primary aim is to understand the practical and historical logic of what happened, and to use that to reduce the dimensions and degree of the code-breaking ‘space’ to something that is more practically tractable. But in all honesty, that’s far closer to an explicitly history-focused process than to a directly cryptology-focused process: someone else who is fundamentally a code-breaker would almost certainly be looking more for cryptanalytical results as a starting point.

But that’s OK: roughly paraphrasing what Euclid said to Ptolemy I Soter I, there is no royal road to this kind of knowledge – every individual must travel it (and learn it) for themselves the hard way.

Anyway, I’ve been looking again at the (33 years later, I’d say “infamous” is very nearly the right word to describe them) Gillogly sequences in Beale Cipher B1.

Firstly, here are the strings that Jim Gillogly found all those years ago: by reconstructing the sequence, I can say with some certainty that what Jim did to get these was to use the first letters of the Declaration of Independence exactly as quoted by Ward as a cipher letter dictionary. And here is what you get (with indices outside this DoI’s 1332-word range printed as ‘?’)

scs?etfa?gcdottucwotwtaaiwdbiidtt?wttaabbplaaabwct
ltfiflkilpeaabpwchotoapppmoralanhaabbccacddeaosdsf
hntftatpocacbcddlberifebthifoehuubtttttihpaoaasata
attomtapoaaarompjdra??tsbcobdaaacpnrbabfdefghiijkl
mmnohppawtacmoblsoessoavispftaotbtfthfoaoghwtenalc
aasaattardsltawgfesauwaolttahhttasotteafaascstaifr
cabtotlhhdtnhwtsteaieoaastwttsoitsstaaopiwcpcwsott
ioiesittdattpiufsfrfabptccoaitnattoststf??atdatwta
ttocwtompatsotecattotbsogcwcdrolitibhpwaae?btstafa
ewci?cbowltpoactewtafoaithttttoshristeooecusc?raih
rlwstrasnitpcbfaeftt

Today’s interesting observation is that if you instead use the modified index numbers that are required to transform Ward’s DoI into the letters that reproduce the B2 plaintext (i.e. adjust for the numbering gaps etc), the output is similar but more coherent (i.e. even more improbable than before):-

sbs?etfa?gcdottucwotwtaaisdbiidtt?wttbaabadaaabbcd
effiflkigpeamnpwchotoallpmotamanhabbbccccddeaosdst
hntftatpocacbcddebetpfebthiffehuubtjtttihpaoaasata
attomnmpoaaarbopjdta??tsbcobdafacpnrbabcdefghiijkl
mmnohppawtaombblsoesaoavispctaolbtflhfoahghwtenalc
assaastatdsltawgfeaauwaoattwhhttaaoetsafaasbstcifr
cabtotlhbdtnhwtstehieoaastwttsoftastaaosiwcpcwsotl
inieeittdattpiufaerfabptccooidnattoatstf??atmatwnw
ttocwtotpatsotebatrohbtogcwcdrolitiahlwaas?btstafa
ewci?ctowltpoactewtafoaiwhttttothrisoeohacuac?paih
rmsstrasnitpctfawftt

What makes this so interesting to my eyes is that quite a few formerly diffuse features kind of ‘come into focus’:-

Before: aabbplaaabwctltfif
After: baabadaaabbcdeffif

Before: abfdefghiijklmmnohpp
After : abcdefghiijklmmnohpp

Before: ttttt
After : tjttt

Before: acbcddlbe
After : acbcddebe

The immediate thing to notice is that “abcdefghiijklmmno” is (I think) more than a thousand times more improbable than “defghiijklmmno”, which itself already had a probability of occurring of less than one in a million million.

The second thing to notice is that the probability of ttttt occurring (based solely on the letter frequency distribution) was about 12.9%, while the probability of tttt occurring is 51.2%: so the fact that the only occurrence of ttttt disappears from one to the other is also a strong indication that we’re going in the right direction.

All the same, another thing to notice is that because T, A and P are all high probability initial letters in the DoI code book text (19.3%, 13.5%, and 4.46% respectively), we would expect to see quite a lot of TT, AA, and PP pairs in the output if the codebook was somehow misaligned with the index stream. And we still do… so it’s also very likely (from that alone) that dictionary mismatches or construction errors or cipher dictionary errors continue to persist.

This isn’t a solution, it’s just an observation standing on on Jim Gillogly’s shoulders. I don’t fully know what it all meams just yet… but I suspect that it will turn out to mean that broadly the same letter numbering used in B2 was used for B1 as well, rather than Ward’s DoI text. Your mileage may vary! 😉 To me, the Gillogly strings tell a complicated, multi-layer story… it’s just that we can’t read it all yet as closely as we would like…

Hot on the heels of yesterday’s Beale non-Decoder app comes something just as achingly zeitgeisty, but actually rather nice with it. OK, its uncracked historical cipher content is pretty much ‘zilch point squat’ percent, but I rather like it. So there.

On the one hand, the article (from Slate magazine) itself is little more than a short piece by Joseph Nigg to promote his nice-sounding (2013) book “Sea Monsters: A Voyage Around the World’s Most Beguiling Map”. However, given that the map in question is Olaus Magnus’ epic 1539 Carta Marina (that took 12 years to compile), and that Slate made its splendidly garish sea-monsters clickable (each one brings up Olaus’ somewhat breathless description of it), I think the page is well worth a visit.

Of them all, my personal favourite is the “ducks being hatched from the fruit of the trees” in the Orkneys, a folk tale that has a long and interesting history all of its own (for example, I’m pretty sure it came up in Andrea di Robilant’s (2011) book “Venetian Navigators: The Voyages of the Zen Brothers to the Far North”)… but really, there should be more than enough sea-monster madness going on there for anybody, perhaps even enough to inspire a whole new series of Scooby Doo Mystery Incorporated (yes, the one with Harlan Ellison). Enjoy! 🙂

In some ways, it’s an epic win for historical codebreaking: that the Beale Papers phenomenon has become such a cornerstone of American armchair treasure hunting that an entire Beale Decoder app (including several challenge ciphers) can be devoted to it is surely a sign of how mainstream unbroken ciphers now undoubtedly are. As far as I can tell, it’s a bit like David Oranchak’s Zodiac Killer Cipher webtoy but for the Beale Ciphers and running under iOS etc.

And yet, to my eyes it’s also such an obvious epic fail for historical common sense. The Gillogly in B1 strings go so far beyond statistical, errrrm, anomalousness that it surely makes no sense whatsoever to bring people an app that allows them to put in long-out-of-copyright texts in the one-in-a-trillion hope that one might possibly have that right coincidence of letters that will spit out the directions to the Beale treasure on a tiny white card, like some “I Speak Your (Soon-To-Be-Immense) Fortune” machine from the carnival.

Though I’ve said it several times before, I’ll say it one more time: once you really get what’s going on in B1 (and it’s not a hoax, sorry), the big sequential Gillogly string can be one thing and one thing only – an accidental repetition of a badly chosen key phrase used in the enciphering system. Moreover, I’m also sure that the Gillogly strings provide proof beyond all reasonable statistical doubt that we don’t need to look for another text, because the same Declaration of Independence is – though with a quite different set of copying and/or numbering errors arising from the different cipher system in use – the key text used in B1, and very probably B3 as well, why not?

In fact, I’d go so far as to that I hold these truths to be self-evident, that all three ciphers’ keys were created equal, that they were endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable statistical properties. And really, who’s going to argue with something as well written as that, eh? 😉

I’ve started to amass the raw data for an open source time of death calculation for the Somerton Man.

* The Adelaide Advertiser, 30th November 1948, p.8.
* The Adelaide Advertiser, 1st December 1948, p.10.
* The Adelaide Advertiser, 2nd December 1948, p.6.

30th November 1948
Sunset 7.14pm
Moon set 6.51pm – New Moon
High tide 4.52pm (6.0ft), low tide 10.10pm (2.4ft)
Temperature min 52.1°, max 76.3° [i.e. 11.2°C to 24.6°C]
Barometer 30.05 (3am), 30.09 (9am), 29.99 (3pm), 30.03 (9pm)
Relative humidity 58% (9am), 43% (3pm), 57% (9pm)

1st December 1948
Sunrise 4.56am
Moon rise 4.51am – New Moon.
High tide 4.34am (9.0ft), low tide 11.11am (1.0ft).
Temperature min 65.7°, max 96.0° [i.e. 18.7°C to 35.5°C]
Barometer 29.87 (3am), 29.86 (9am), 29.70 (3pm), 29.71 (9pm)
Relative humidity 20% (9am), 18% (3pm), 39% (9pm)

The initial surprise was that this was a short but extremely dark night – the sun and (new) moon both set around 7pm and rose just before 5am. As a result, anyone observing any event after sunset that evening / night would have had to have been relying almost entirely on street lights.

The second surprise that the high tide at 4.34am was a spring tide (i.e. a very strong tide, and nothing to do with the season ‘Spring’). That is, at the time of a New Moon, what can happen is that one of the two normal tides a day can be exaggerated by the gravitational force of the Earth, the Moon and the Sun all lining up in what is called a “syzygy“, from the Greek ζυγον meaning “yoke”. (I used to play Scrabble with my Grandma after school, and I’m sure she’d have thoroughly appreciated that word: this was the first time I’ve managed to use it in its proper context).

However, I haven’t yet found good enough information to be sure what the temperature was during the night, and I also can’t make out the wind direction or speed from Trove’s scans of the Adelaide Advertiser’s weather maps. If anyone has access to better information for these, please say!

Also, I don’t know how far up Somerton Beach the 9ft high tide would have come at 4.34am. The man’s body would surely have to have been fairly close to the sea wall, simply to have avoided been washed over by the waves. Just a thought!

Here’s something a bit unexpected you might appreciate, with a generous tip of the pasty-filled hat to the ever-mind-expanding Daily Grail.

Basically, the story goes like this: someone called ‘TramStopDan’ (actually Dan Wickham) recently posted up two galleries of scans (set #1 and set #2) of various papers inside a wooden box found abandoned on the side of the road in Asheville, N.C. in 2008.

The box is 29″ by 38″, and most of the drawings are large, heavily informed by a draughtsman’s eye for detail and line and with a few, errm, fairly spectacular pieces. In its brief online life, it has acquired the sort-of-catchy title “The Box of Crazy” (and also “The Ezekiel Box”), as if the person behind it was simply a nutter with a fixation on Ezekiel (which is explicitly referenced a number of times).

However, it turns out the truth is actually far more complicated and sad.

The author was Daniel S. Christiansen from St Petersburg, Florida: he also identifies himself as “Nesna-it-sirhc”, but (perhaps disappointingly) this is not some name given to him by our alien overlords but simply his name spelt backwards (so much for finding a Cipher Mysteries angle on the story *sigh*). He had a sister called Eva who lived back in Denmark: and it seems reasonably likely to me that he was the same Daniel S. Christiansen who was born on 27th November 1904 and died in St Petersburg, Florida on 26th September 1994… so perhaps the box was handed down to a relative who in turn died in 2008, but that’s just a guess.

From the handwritten notes, it seems that a turning point in his life came on 7th July 1977 with what he calls “The Tampa Bay Observation”: this seems to have focused all his previous thoughts about UFO visitations, Ezekiel, and unusual weather patterns into a single, tightly-draughted set of drawings, reaching towards a lucid yet hallucinatory quasi-religious UFO vision:-

the-tampa-bay-observation-sharpened

And yet, Fox Mulder need not travel down from Washington just yet… it turns out that what Christiansen saw had a surprisingly down-to-earth explanation. On the same day that a tornado travelled across Pasco County, it seems very likely that Christiansen caught sight of something new and visually striking – a cutting-edge laser light art show being projected onto the cloudy skies above St Petersburg Port.

The show was done by avant-garde laser artist Rockne Krebs: the particular one that Christansen saw was probably Krebs’ “Starboard Home on the Range, Part VI”. The story behind the story is here, courtesy of the Tampa Tribune. But nobody has so far posted any images or videos of it online… perhaps there simply aren’t any. Maybe you just had to be there.

Oh, and finally: if you’re a completist as far as Internet coverage of odd phenomena goes, you should also head over to Reddit. But be warned that there’s far less there than the length of the page might initially lead you to believe – just tellin’ ya how it is, don’t shoot the messenger, etc. 😉

While responding to Cipher Mysteries comments from the ever-interesting Byron Deveson and others today, it struck me that what we are broadly iterating towards is a kind of “open source autopsy” of the Tamam Shud / Unknown / Somerton Man. And so, my reasoning went, why not take this basic idea and really do it properly?

In short, I propose that we carry out an open source autopsy on the Unknown Man. The point of the exercise would not be to do with whether you think, believe or suspect he was a spy, a paramour, a horse doper, a car thief or whatever, but with the unassailable basic factuality his physical body tells us about what happened to him (pre- and post-mortem) in the period up to the morning of 1st December 1948.

For me, a grain of fact outweighs a ton of speculation: and I believe that by collaborating to dig out all the grains of fact we can here, we will be able to reach a position where we can build up a powerful and convincing story about what happened. Not only that, but by collecting, exposing, and validating all the physical evidence, any conclusions or inferences will be openly accessible and verifiable by all manner of modern forensic professionals.

The first step in this journey of a thousand miles, though, is evidence collection. Frankly, I’m getting a bit tired of re-reading abbreviated summaries in 60-year-old Australian newspapers about the various autopsies, coronial inquests, and pathology reports. For example, Kerry Greenwood’s recent book (I’m waiting for my copy to arrive, any day now, *sigh*) quotes John Dwyer’s pathology notes, but having direct access to these notes is surely a better place to start.

I surely can’t be the only researcher who wants to go through these reports first-hand!

So, my current list of evidence sources we would need to begin with would look something like this:-

* Dr John Berkely Bennett’s autopsy report [examined the body at 9.30am on 1st December 1948]
* Dr John Matthew Dwyer’s pathology report [carried out the post-mortem at 7:30am on 2nd December 1948]
* Dr Robert Cowan’s report [stomach, stomach contents, a liver section, a muscle section, blood and urine]
* Dr Kenneth A. Brown’s forensic odontology report [he surely wrote and submitted a report, right?]
* The coronial inquest transcript / report [“Inquest Into the Death of a Body Located at Somerton on 1st December 1948, State Records of South Australia, GX/0A/0000/1016/0B, 17th & 21st June 1949”]
* The raw data collected from what is believed to be the Unknown Man’s hair by Professor Derek Abbott’s group.

Note that I’m not interested in the police reports or in any individual claims or narratives at this stage, but only in raw physical evidence. Is there anything missing from this list? Please leave a comment if there is!

Of course, there may be particular reasons why some or all of these can’t be openly published on the Internet. But all the same, I think we should be able to publish detailed summaries of all of the physical evidence and conclusions, not just the edited highlights that prove useful to reinforce some speculative or moral narrative.

To stand any chance of making any headway, I think we need to start with the whole physical story in all its confusing, contradictory detail – because the body itself can’t speculate or lie. Is that too much to ask for?

[NP: here’s a guest post by Gordon Cramer, lightly edited to Cipher Mysteries house style and with some brief comments from me at the end]

An enormous amount of effort has been applied to this case for so many years and I agree with comments regarding the value of Gerry Feltus’ book and the work of Derek Abbott and the students at Adelaide University.

I would suggest, with great respect to all, that the following facts and questions regarding evidence and timeline be taken into consideration when reviewing this case. I hope you will bear with me whilst I attempt to unravel some aspects that I find quite unusual:

1. On December 1st 1948, the Adelaide News published a brief article on the finding of the body of a man at Somerton beach that morning. In the article the man is described as being 5ft 11 inches in height, well-built and having fair hair and hazel eyes. This information was ‘fresh’ and would have come directly from the Police and quite probably the Coroner’s officer.

If you look at the images published at the time and since, his hair was quite dark and in fact has been referred to as being auburn in colour. His eyes were later referred to as blue in colour and not hazel. You could brush this off as a simple mistake but there were quite a number of such simple mistakes as you will read.

2. On Friday 3rd December in the Advertiser, another article appeared and it refers to a ‘reconstructed’ photograph of the body of a man found on Somerton Beach. This coincides with the view I and others have that the images published at the time had in fact been altered. You of course must form your own opinion on that. The same article clearly states that his death was not natural. I mention this because it was said that the Police did not discover the fact it was an unnatural death for some time. How much credence can be placed on the published photograph’s being a true likeness of the man?

3. Around mid-January the suitcase was discovered. It contained a range of items including tools, a glass dish, a razor and more. What puzzles me, given that the death was known not to have been a natural one, is why none of the items was fingerprinted. The blade and handle on the knife, the handle on the brush, the glass dish and more were apparently not dusted for prints. In fact, the Police made it clear that the way they were able to associate the man with the suitcase was the presence of Barbour’s waxed thread used to repair the collar of his coat and a card of similar coloured thread that was found in the suitcase. Why do that when his fingerprints should have been on the items mentioned, including the card of thread and the suitcase, inside and/or outside?

3. When much later a copy of the book was found, it also was not dusted for fingerprints. It should be born in mind that Detective Jimmy Durham had earlier risen to fame because he had been able to capture a palm print from a copy of a second-hand book from a shop and that led to a successful prosecution of a lady who had stolen the book. The question here is why weren’t this book and its pages fingerprinted? The least they would have found should have been the man’s prints and who knows who else’s prints.

4. The final aspect that adds to the puzzle is the manner of his death. Most would know that it was believed with some good cause that the man had been poisoned and that Digitalis or the plant derivative had been used. At the autopsy Cleland described the man’s spleen as being three times the normal size. In a discussion with Derek Abbott his view was that the Somerton Man was very ill and that his spleen could have taken three or more days to reach that size.

Here is where any input would be greatly appreciated: for example, is it true to say that Digitalis can have this enlarging effect on the spleen? If so then we are faced with the possibility that Somerton Man had been poisoned some days earlier when he would have been in Victoria, as is widely thought, or perhaps on the train.

The question here is would a man take poison, carefully pack his suitcase supposedly with the book and then take off on a lengthy train journey not knowing if he would survive it, let alone get to Somerton beach?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

[NP: my own brief comments:

(1) “…gingery coloured hair, fairly coarse and turning slightly grey at sides, back of neck and behind ears… grey eyes, clean shaven and natural teeth” according to this later police report.

(2) To be precise about the “reconstructed” picture, it was made by Police Photographer Durham, appeared in the Friday 3rd December issue of the Adelaide News, and was then referred to as a “reconstructed” photo in the Saturday 4th December issue of the Adelaide News. My own best guess is that the “reconstruction” element simply involved putting a shirt and tie on the man’s body, i.e. staging rather than photo-manipulation.

(3) The book certainly should have been fingerprinted, yes: but unfortunately detective work is often full of should haves. 🙁

(4) The man’s enlarged spleen has yet to be explained satisfactorily (and I too think it would have taken several days or indeed weeks to reach that size). But the notion that the Somerton Man was a slow-motion suicide-by-self-administered-poisoning doesn’t yet make sense to me at all. Why lug brushes and knives around if you’re about to die?

Even more to the point, I think it is well worth pointing out that the significant lividity at the back of the man’s head was highly inconsistent with the pose of his body on the beach. The distinctive lividity pattern strongly suggests to me that after dying, the man’s body was laying down (almost certainly on his back) with his head slightly lower than the rest of his body, before being carried to the beach some hours later, again almost certainly in the night hours. So, somebody took his body to the beach after a fair few hours. The pasty in his stomach sounds to me a lot like a light lunch to a man his size, so my own forensic reconstruction is that
* he died in the late afternoon [perhaps in a sequence involving vomiting into his hat and losing his dental plate, right Pete?];
* he was then laid out on his back on someone’s [probably quite small] bed with his head tipped slightly over one side;
* he was finally carried to the beach in the middle of the night to be posed with a cigarette in his mouth etc.
Feel free to comment and disagree with this, but I’m pretty sure this is as close as we can currently get to the correct sequence!
]

The Devil’s Handwriting is one of my favourite little cipher mysteries, for the simple reason that it manages to combine age (it first appeared in print in 1532), brevity (it’s just under seven lines) and devilish visual wit (pitchforks and bats). I have no idea who its alleged author / owner Ludovico of Spoleto was, but I have to say I’m liking him already.

All the same, one question you always have to ask with old ciphertexts is whether they are actually simpler than they first appear: really, are we making too much of a fuss about it? Having toyed with The Devil’s Handwriting for a while here at Cipher Mysteries Towers, it now seems to me that most of the character variation we see in it was probably down to a scratchy old quill (as well as someone making a copy of an unclear original) rather than a hideously Byzantine homophonic cipher. Really, I think it’ll turn out to be nothing more than a monoalphabetic simple substitution cipher, albeit one that has been dragged backwards through a couple of hedges on its lengthy route through time to us.

The difficult bit, of course, is working out what its original alphabet was and what is, for want of a better phrase, the entropic decay that has happened to it ever since. However, if we start from my nicely sharpened version of the ciphertext and look a bit more closely at the shapes used in its devil-themed alphabet, I think we can see that some of the original patterns and structures are still visible.

Firstly, the ‘flourished pitchfork’ shape seems so consistent across all of its eight instances that I for one find it hard to imagine that it was not actually a single character in the original ciphertext.

flourished-pitchfork

Secondly, pretty much wherever the repeated pitchfork character has an extra leg or two going off to one side from the stem, the leg(s) always seems to go clockwise.

clockwise-hooks

Thirdly, there’s just something about the ‘bats’ that reminds me of improvised peasant ciphers. I can’t help thinking that these are probably just enciphering Arabic digits, with (say) three enciphered as three bats. Of course, I also believe that what we’re looking at is a book copy of a version that was itself at least a copy, so that these are far less clear than we would like (and the degradation to these ‘bat-numbers’ may well prove impossible to reverse, however much we would like to). Despite all that, I’m reasonably confident that digits are indeed what we are looking at here, and that the plaintext may well have ended with a 4-digit year, e.g. something, for the sake or argument, not entirely unlike “1512”.

bat-numbers

Fourthly, because there only a few other characters in the cipher alphabet (e.g. the ‘::’ four-dot character, etc), I think it likely that the original monoalphabetic substitution alphabet used (say) 21 letter instances, less four or five extra characters, yielding sixteen pitchfork characters shared between four rotations, i.e. four individual shapes per pitchfork / pigpen rotation. Maybe they originally looked something like this:-

shape-template-guess

Finally, I think there seems little reason not to believe that the plaintext is in either Italian (strictly speaking Tuscan or perhaps Venetian) or Latin, with Tuscan being the one on the shortest odds at the bookies.

Is this such a scary cipher any more? Hopefully a little less than before! 😉