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Previously Published Puzzles

Previously Published Riddles (A Book Of Conundrum Riddles)
Previously Published Riddles (Music Riddles)
Previously Published Riddles (The Voice)

Previously Unpublished Riddles

Up until about October 1983, I’d written very little in the way of poetry, save the usual stuff at school, a terrible eulogy to John Wayne (which I binned at some point) and the lyrics to a few songs I’d composed while living in Chestnut Avenue, Leeds. The catalyst for the poetry was a deeply personal thing. I started writing lyrics too, and a fair few conundrum riddles, the latter simply to pass the time, although later I envisaged publishing a book or two of them. I didn’t attempt to market any of the latter until 1986, when I met with nothing but rejection. Around this time I saw an advertisement asking for musical talent in Loot, the advertising paper that rightly called itself London’s Noticeboard, and sent off a tape or two of my songs. I also mentioned the riddles I’d been writing, and for once I received a positive response.

When in due course I went along to his suite in Kensington High Street to meet my potential publisher, I was mildly surprised. He was a black guy, late thirties I should imagine, who was running a business with an ethnic angle, and his name, believe it or not, was Winston. When I told one of my right wing friends, he couldn’t stop laughing, but Winston was instantly likeable, and the type who had no time for whining about racism and other chimeras, a genuine entrepreneur. He filled me in on his ethic, and told me to leave things with him. Which I did. In due course I saw a number of my riddles and puzzles published in the Voice, the weekly that called itself “Britain’s Best Black Newspaper!” - with rather less justification than the claim made by Loot, I might add. After having received enough rejection slips for books, songs, poems and riddles to paper my walls, it seemed, finally, that I might be going somewhere. Although I did get some money out of Winston, and his spirit was willing, and his flesh far from weak, he was not the master of his own destiny. In spite of a steady stream of riddles and puzzles finding their way into the paper, there was no sign of a book deal, a record deal, or anything. Eventually it became clear to me what had happened, Winston’s subordinate had a contact at the Voice, a lady journalist whom he was probably slipping a length, but that was the extent of his networking. Finally, my patience ran out and I told him that it was the end of the road. In retrospect I was very uncharitable to him, especially as it was obvious that he had problems of his own. After we parted company I didn’t expect to hear from him again, certainly I wouldn’t have had anything further to do with me if I’d been him, but a couple or a few years later – I can’t remember exactly when - I received a phone call from him out of the blue.

I was very apologetic, and we arranged a meet, but his problems appeared to have caught up with him, and I never heard from him again. Neither I think did his landlord; I spoke to the woman who was the manageress or some such of his premises, and he had left owing rent. Sigh.

Although as I said, I did get some money out of Winston, the amounts involved were pitiful, and the projected puzzle book or magazine never came close to materialising. The links below lead to the puzzle and riddle sections; this is only a tiny fraction of my output; I will add more as time permits. I have included scans of those already published in chronological order, in JPG format.

Twenty years and more on I can state truthfully that Socrates is not the only philosopher who is in a class by himself. I am the only person ever to have written for the Voice, Index On Censorship, Spearhead and Pravda!

Alexander Baron,
Sydenham,
London.

March 19, 2009