That old Bailey hack used to imagine himself after death, facing the Judge of judges, and "putting a few impertinent questions to the Prosecution."
I expect that's what Rumpole's creator, writer and barrister John Mortimer, imagined he'd be doing himself right about now.
Mortimer died yesterday.
More later, if I'm not feeling so sad.
We Who Must Be Dismayed
Posted by: Tom Watson | Saturday, January 17, 2009 at 11:07 AM
I thought of you when I read the news yesterday.
Posted by: Claire | Saturday, January 17, 2009 at 11:25 AM
This is as sad as Robertson Davies.
I believe we actually have some chateau thames embankment in the house for later...
Posted by: julia | Saturday, January 17, 2009 at 12:21 PM
My favorite Rumpole story was 'Rumpole and the Last Resort.' Wildly funny on the merits, but also carrying that vague promise of resurrection--that the old darling [and, by extension, his creator], would never really shuffle off this mortal coil.
bn
Posted by: nothstine | Saturday, January 17, 2009 at 04:14 PM
Mortimer, Westlake, Hillerman. These things do go in threes.
Posted by: Mike Schilling | Saturday, January 17, 2009 at 07:09 PM
My brother back when he was drinking would refer frequently to his wife in a rare burst of genuine (if borrowed) humor as "she who must be obeyed." God rest ye, Mr. Mortimer.
Posted by: Chris The Cop | Saturday, January 17, 2009 at 10:05 PM
Yes, passive periphrastics were familiar when I got to them in Latin (Carthago delenda est) all because of Mortimer. He will be missed
Posted by: M.A.Peel | Sunday, January 18, 2009 at 09:09 AM
Thought of you when I heard, Mannion. I was, and remain, too fucking depressed to write about it.
I had convinced myself he'd make 100. And still be writing.
Posted by: Campaspe | Sunday, January 18, 2009 at 10:27 PM