nature is once again about to grace us

with a burst of color.

life slumbering beneath winters ways

will say

out loud joy to the world

she will say without fear of radical words

come and taste

we give not from thrones of rot and stench

but from an earth made from hands unseen

we are battered and misused

but not broken and fearful

your rulers may lie and cry

but we shout with joy

walk and enjoy

we give what they cannot

we give freely

no taxes

no lawful chains and oppression

stand and see

love is free

we are love we are joy we are peace

Broughty Castle is a historic castle on the banks of the river Tay in Broughty Ferry, Dundee, Scotland. It was completed around 1495, although the site was earlier fortified in 1454 when George Douglas, 4th Earl of Angus received permission to build on the site. His son Archibald Douglas, 5th Earl of Angus was coerced into ceding the castle to the crown. The main tower house forming the centre of the castle with four floors was built by Andrew, 2nd Lord Gray who was granted the castle in 1490.

 

The castle saw military action during the 16th-century War of the Rough Wooing. After the battle of Pinkie in September 1547, it was surrendered by purchase to the English by its owner, Lord Gray of Foulis. A messenger from the castle, Rinyon (Ninian) Cockburn, who spoke to the English supreme commander the Duke of Somerset before the castle was rendered was given a £4 reward. The Scottish keeper, Henry Durham, was rewarded with an English pension, income from the fishing, and an import/export licence. Durham later lent the English commander £138. William Patten, the English writer who accompanied Somerset, noted the castle's strategic importance;

"it standeth in such sort at the mouth of the river Tay, that being gotten, both Dundee and St. John's Town (Perth), and many other towns else shall become subject to this hold or be compelled to forgo their use of the river."

 

The position of the old castle itself was advantageous to modern warfare, as it was discovered that the swift river current made naval bombardment impractical. Soon after taking possession, the English garrison further fortified Broughty by building a ditch across the landward side of the castle's promontory. Edward Clinton began the refortification, on the advice of an Italian engineer, Master John Rossetti, and left 100 men guarded by three ships. William Bruce of Earlshall feared the English would build an outpost on the south say of the Tay. The garrison was first led by Sir Andrew Dudley, the Duke of Northumberland's brother, who hoped to distribute Tyndale's Bible in Dundee. Andrew Dudley wrote in October 1547 that; "never had a man who had so weak a company of soldiers given to drinking, eating and slothfulness," although, "the house stands well." His garrison included Italian and Spanish soldiers, and he hoped that Grey of Wilton would send him an expert French surgeon. The town of Dundee agreed to support the garrison and resist the Governor of Scotland, Regent Arran on 27 October 1547. The Constable of Dundee, John Scrimgeour, and the baillies and council signed the agreement, although under the duress of Dudley's two gunships.

 

The Earl of Argyll tried to capture the castle on 22 November 1547 and again in January 1548 with 150 men led by the soldier Duncan Dundas, without success. Thomas Wyndham brought two more ships in December 1547 and burnt Balmerino Abbey on Christmas Day. On 12 January 1548, one hundred matchlock guns were delivered from Berwick, with powder flasks, matches, touch boxes, and bullet moulds. Sir Thomas Palmer and the Italian military engineer "Master John", Giovanni di Rossetti,who was made master of ordnance at Broughty, made plans to improve the fortifications, noting that the castle was overlooked by a nearby hill. In February 1548, 100 workmen were sent from Berwick and new armaments including falcon guns, cannonballs for demi-culverins, bows, bills, pikes, cresset lights, cables and anchors. Palmer set to work fortifying the hill in February and also considered ambitious plans to build a citadel in Dundee with the demolition of the church and tolbooth. Andrew Dudley waited for lead to make a new platform (probably for artillery) on the castle tower in March 1548.

 

Andrew Dudley was succeeded by John Luttrell who had been the commander at Inchcolm. On 11 May 1548, the English commander at Haddington, Grey of Wilton wrote to Luttrell that he could not expect more supplies because of the expected French fleet. Grey of Wilton warned him against Scottish assassins in June, and Somerset required him to dismiss the German mercenaries in his command. There was some relief for Luttrell, as Lord Methven took away the guns of the Scottish counter-battery for redeployment at the Siege of Haddington on 6 June 1548.

Meanwhile, Luttrell had been ordered to build a new fortification on an adjacent site. In November he wrote to Somerset describing the progress of this work explaining that the ramparts made from turf were unstable and could not be strengthened. Luttrell said his enemies would not need guns; "for theye shall fynde hytt fallen downe redy to ther handys." In December 1548, Patrick, Lord Gray of Foulis, was summoned to account for his treasons against the Government of Scotland, and although the French commanders argued for his execution, he was eventually pardoned at Regent Arran's command.

In February 1549 Luttrell was joined by Pedro de Negro and his band of Spanish soldiers. In July Luttrell complained that the Spanish soldiers had not yet received pay or clothing.

Thomas Wyndham and his nephew Luttrell's activities on the Forth were called into question in November 1549, and the Earl of Rutland was required to investigate whether one of the ships they had seized was a lawful prize. On Christmas Day 1549, Mary of Guise held a conference at Stirling Castle with her guests, and they agreed that more French guns could be brought to besiege Broughty. Robert Hamilton of Briggis directed labourers called "pioneers" to dig entrenchments for the guns.

Twelve English ships arrived to support the defenders and it was 12 February 1550 before the French and Scots managed to recapture Broughty. Mary of Guise watched the successful assault on Wednesday 6 February 1550 from a vantage point across the Tay. Paul de Thermes led the French troops, 240 were injured and 50 killed. The garrison surrendered six days later at midnight. James Dog of Dunrobin claimed Luttrell as his prisoner and his papers were captured. His ransom of £1000 Scots was raised on 16 May 1550 as an exchange for the sons of George Douglas of Pittendreich and the Master of Semple who were prisoners in England. (George Douglas's son would later rule Scotland as Regent Morton.) Luttrell was promptly re-arrested for debts to a Dundee merchant, Robert Craig, but Regent Arran paid the merchant in September, and Luttrell was allowed home.

 

This statue of Junípero Serra survived radical mob violence during the summer of 2020. I am not of the Catholic faith; nevertheless, I abhor the vandalization, censorship, removal, and destruction of historical artifacts and artwork, without the lawful consent of the majority.

 

Old Mission Santa Inés

Solvang, CA - USA

 

Info: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jun%C3%ADpero_Serra

Is it lawful to pick icicles in a National Park? That is the question and one Not answered by the parks website. But some certain person Had to take a closer look at some of them. :) Happily there were very few people there to spy on and turn in said person for Maybe breaking a law. They were all down in the valleys buying up the last of the milk, bread and toilet paper because of the impending storm! That storm ended up dumping about 5 inches of snow with a nice crusting of ice on top of that. And now the winds! It will be a fun trip trudging to the barn for chicken chores this morning! Hope everyone has a blessed week ahead!

I might be missing an arm but I''ll still take your breath away

 

Day 5 and today we needed a cybernetic component to our gorgeous avi's As always make sure you check out Catrie's Photo for today's theme and make sure you check back tomorrow for our next photo!

 

Style Card:

 

Head: Catwa; Jessica

Hair: Stealthic; Intrepid [Ombre]

Body: Slink; Hourglass

Skin: Plastik; Lawful Good

Eyes: Ishy; Twisted Eyes

Lips: Izzy’s Halloween Collection

Outfit [Top, bottom, shoes] AsteroidBox : Erebus Outfit

Cyborg Arm: Azoury; Ephese Arm

 

Beautiful, deadly Yellowstone National Park. Taken from the lawfully mandated safety of the boardwalk...

 

2016-05-28 17.06.49_WY-YellowstoneNP-MidwayGeyserBasin

From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived,

Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved,

And be with caution bold.

Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes

And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;

Nor all that glisters, gold.

-- Thomas Gray

One Sabbath Jesus was going through the grainfields, and his disciples began to pick some heads of grain, rub them in their hands and eat the kernels. Some of the Pharisees asked, "Why are you doing what is unlawful on the Sabbath?"

 

Jesus answered them, "Have you never read what David did when he and his companions were hungry? He entered the house of God, and taking the consecrated bread, he ate what is lawful only for priests to eat. And he also gave some to his companions." Then Jesus said to them, "The Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath."

 

Luke 6:1-5

 

Check the reflection. It looks like a cross.

 

___________________

Announcement:

 

1) If you haven't posted your picture yet, please add your favorite best in my new thread, "Best of your Best", in Kris Kros Contacts (KKC) group. You may also browse an excellent collection of great pictures found on Flickr from my friends in this thread. So, showcase yours too.

 

2) The KKC group does not require anymore comments to be made after adding pictures to the group. It's now voluntary.

 

Thanks.

___________________

This ARTIST is for HIRE.

So is it still unlawful if it's not technically posted anymore? I stood here in the rain for a good five minutes debating this. I ended up not testing the (un)lawful nature of this, because I decided I wouldn't be able to see the falls any better down there due to the trees.

Tales in Omos Chapter 1: The Unlikely Duo

 

Our tale begins as a group of bandits travel through the harsh deserts of Omos, carrying with them a Kobold that they have captured. This Kobold goes by the name of Sekarr, even though he is tied up in the back of a carriage, he is exactly where he wants to be. In his head he runs over his several escape plans, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The bandit’s carriage pulls to a halt when a Drow by the name of Koruel greets them. The bandits and the Drow exchange words, and soon they exchange blades, as this Drow intends to save this Kobold from his captivity. Sekarr does not know this man, but is thankful for his aid… even though he did not need it. The two adventurers make quick work of the bandits and loot the carriage for what it’s worth. They do not speak as they do so, distrust fills the air as neither side is willing to place their faith in the other. They briefly discuss where they are heading now and realise, they both wish to do good across Omos, so the two form a tentative alliance and ride to the nearby city of Phokis. Koruel says tells Sekarr that Byzak, one of Omos’s Meejay is looking for worthy adventurers. The Meejay are 10 individuals who are granted lawful immunity so that they may do as they must to serve The Kaid (Omos’s King) when called upon. They agree that they would be up for the task and continue their journey.

The unlikely duo arrive in Phokis and head to the Tavern, Byzak enters after them, his charisma and confidence fill the room as he enters. Everyone in the Tavern is overrun by excitement as he makes his presence known. After some effort trying to get the Meejay’s attention Sekarr and Koruel have a conversation with Byzak. The unlikely duo share tales of how they met and show off their skills, impressing Byzak who invites them on a mission to deal with more Bandits, who could well be related to the ones that captured Sekarr. The trio head off to the Gargantuan Mountains where they find this Bandit camp. Forgoing stealth (Despite Koruel’s wishes) they make quick work of the bandits. Their leader puts up a bit more of a fight, but Byzak lands the killing blow. The Bandit Captain spits out his last words, “Hail the Order”.

 

Who is this order? Are there more of them across Omos? What were their plans? The Unlikely Duo and Byzak were determined to find out.

 

To be Continued…

 

_____________

I'm currently playing a Dungeons and Dragons game with my mates, and wanted to catalog the campaign in LEGO form. So of course more will be coming soon ;)

More stories at: antoinegady.tumblr.com

 

Poem by Jim Morrison

 

Lions in the street and roaming

Dogs in heat, rabid, foaming

A beast caged in the heart of a city

The body of his mother

Rotting in the summer ground

He fled the town

 

He went down South and crossed the border

Left chaos and disorder

Back there over his shoulder

 

One morning he awoke in a green hotel

With a strange creature groaning beside him

Sweat oozed from its shining skin

is everybody in?

is everybody in?

is everybody in?

the ceremony is about to begin

  

Wake up!

You can't remember where it was

Had this dream stopped?

 

The snake was pale gold

Glazed and shrunken

We were afraid to touch it

The sheets were hot dead prisons

And she was beside me

Old, she's no, young

Her dark red hair

the white soft skin

 

Now, run to the mirror in the bathroom

Look!

shes coming in here

I can't live thru each slow century of her moving

I let my cheek slide down

The cool smooth tile

Feel the good cold stinging blood

The smooth hissing snakes of rain . . .

 

Once I had, a little game

I liked to crawl, back in my brain

I think you know, the game I mean

I mean the game, called 'go insane'

 

you should try, this little game

Just close your eyes, forget your name

Forget the world, forget the people

And we'll erect, a different steeple

 

This little game, is fun to do

Just close your eyes, no way to lose

And I'm right there, I'm going too

Release control, we're breaking thru

 

Way back deep into the brain

Back where there's never any pain

And the rain falls gently on the town

And over the heads of all of us

And in the labyrinth of streams

Beneath, the quiet unearthly presence of

gentle hill dwellers, in the gentle hills around

Reptiles abounding

Fossils, caves, cool air heights

 

Each house repeats a mold

Windows rolled

Beast car locked in against morning

All now sleeping

Rugs silent, mirrors vacant

Dust Lying under the beds of lawful couples

Wound in sheets

And daughters, smug

With semen eyes in their nipples

 

Wait

There's been a slaughter here

 

(Don't stop to speak or look around

Your gloves and fan are on the ground

We're getting out of town

We're going on the run

And you're the one I want to come)

 

Not to touch the earth

Not to see the sun

Nothing left to do, but

Run, run, run

Let's run

lets run

 

House upon the hill

Moon is lying still

Shadows of the trees

Witnessing the wild breeze

C'mon baby run with me

Let's run

 

Run with me

Run with me

Run with me

Let's run

 

The mansion is warm, at the top of the hill

Rich are the rooms and the comforts there

Red are the arms of luxuriant chairs

And you won't know a thing till you get inside

 

Dead president's corpse in the driver's car

The engine runs on glue and tar

C'mon along, we're not going very far

To the East to meet the Czar

 

run with me

run with me

run with me

let's run

 

Some outlaws lived by the side of the lake

The minister's daughter's in love with the snake

Who lives in a well by the side of the road

Wake up, girl! We're almost home

 

We should see the gates by mornin'

We should be inside by evening,

 

sun sun sun

burn burn burn

MOON, MOON, MOON

i will get you

soon,

soon,

soon

 

i am the lizard king

i can do anything

 

We came down

The rivers and highways

We came down from

Forests and falls

 

We came down from

Carson and Springfield

We came down from

Phoenix enthralled

And I can tell you

The names of the Kingdom

I can tell you

The things that you know

Listening for a fistful of silence

Climbing valleys into the shade

 

for seven years, i dwelt

in the loose palace of exile

playing strange games with the girls of the island

now, i have come again

to the land of the fair, and the strong, and the wise

brothers and sisters of the pale forest

children of night

who among you will run with the hunt?

now night arrives with her purple legion

Retire now to your tents and to your dreams

Tomorrow we enter the town of my birth

I want to be ready'

Homily29OT_102223

 

“Love Conquers All”

 

Today, I want to discuss our Gospel reading in the context of the two great commandments Jesus gives us; to love God with all our heart, mind and strength, and to love our neighbor as ourselves. With these clear and straightforward commandments, we navigate a perilous and divided world. Secular culture would have us believe that we must leave our beliefs out of the public discourse. Living the Gospel in such a chaotic environment is challenging and dangerous, as it has always been and will continue to be. We do not walk this journey alone. God has given us an example to live by…HIS Son and the Holy Spirit, our constant companion. We carry, our love for God, not just in our words, but more importantly in our kindness and actions.

 

Our Gospel reading from Matthew, gives us an example of how Jesus navigates unfriendly forces, which always includes the Pharisees and, in this case, the Herodians that were directly supported by the Romans. Their goal is stated clearly “how they could entrap Jesus in speech.” They flatter Jesus: “Teacher, we know that you are a truthful man and that you teach the way of God in accordance with the truth.” They then launch the well thought out question: “Is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar or not?”

 

Jesus knows they have witnessed the light. The problem is that they want to extinguish the light. Sometimes we miss this important point. We get the secondary message which is winning the debate…and focusing on the famous “Then repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.”

 

Some say that this is the seed of our secular culture…the separation of Church and State.

 

We all feel this tension of separation personally. We are taught in our jobs to never talk about religion or politics. Clergy are taught not to preach politics from the pulpit. These two topics have caused division in families and between friends. What are we to do?

 

Our gospel acclamation tells us where our focus should be:

 

“Shine like lights in the world

as you hold on to the word of life.”

 

Let me share a story…I recently read on a deacon blog…and I quote:

“Just before the pandemic, my son had purchased a dog. It quickly became a source of frustration and joy. This dog become the motivation for me to walk every day. Soon several neighbors where meeting in the park with their dogs. The dogs play and the adults talk. Soon we were a caring community…now going on for three years. Most of them where non church goers, but I never preached. I knew the rules and I respected the boundaries. However, I am who I am. They knew I was a Catholic….and a deacon. They knew that I preached at church, andI had other church duties. Most important they knew I saw them as the beautiful and caring people they are. I was nonjudgmental and listened to them.

 

Recently, one couple from this group met me at my house. They had just lost their only son and want me to talk at his funeral.” End quote!

 

In an indirect and influential way…this couple was looking for comfort. They found it with a friend. The boundaries of correctness were breached and healing and comfort where found-a loving light was shining in the darkness.

 

This week, I have been reading a book, by Richard Rohr, called “Everything Belongs. In it, he states:

“When we see that the world is enchanted, we see the revelation of God in each individual as individual. Then our job is not to be Mother Teresa, our job is not to be St. Francis — it’s to do what is ours to do. That, by the way, was Francis’s word as he lay dying. He said, “I have done what was mine to do; now you must do what is yours to do.” We must find out what part of the mystery it is ours to reflect.”

 

We are called to engage and work in the world. God works uniquely in and through each of us and also through those who appear not believe in Him. The way of love is the hardest path to follow. What better example do we have then Jesus himself?

 

In a few moments…we will receive Him in the Eucharist. We will carry this light into the world…this light will surely be shared with others, in a mysterious and beautiful way, as we love God and neighbor.

 

I close with a familiar verse from a Catholic hymn:

 

Faith of our fathers! we will love

Both friend and foe in all our strife:

And preach thee, too, as love knows how,

By kindly deeds and virtuous life.

 

Stockholm Police House at Kungsholmen (1903–11) was designed by swedish architect Gustaf Lindgren. He is famous for his public works, but he also made villas. The building has also been described as one of the few Swedish complexes that were built in the imperial style that was used around the world to manifest lawful authority.

 

Wikipedia

Argyle Street, Glasgow

 

Liberation Explains with Sara Salyers, Prof. Alf Baird & John Brown

 

SALVO is planning to translate & edit the existing lawful constitution of Scotland

The basilica was built between 1087 and 1197, during the Italo-Norman domination of Apulia, the area previously occupied by the Byzantine Catapan of which Bari was the seat. Its foundation is related to the recovery of some of the relics of Saint Nicholas from the saint’s original shrine in Myra, in what is now Turkey. When Myra passed into the hands of the Saracens, some saw it as an opportunity to move the saint's relics to a safer location. According to the justifying legend, the saint, passing by the city on his way to Rome, had chosen Bari as his burial place. There was great competition for the relics between Venice and Bari. The latter won, the relics were carried off under the noses of the lawful Greek custodians and their Muslim masters, and on May 9, 1087, were safely landed at Bari. A new church was built to shelter Nicholas' remains and Pope Urban II was present at the consecration of the crypt in 1089. The edifice was officially consecrated in 1197, in the presence of the Imperial Vicar, Bishop Conrad of Hildesheim, and of numerous bishops, prelates and noblemen. Elias, abbot of the nearby monastery of Saint Benedict, was named as first archbishop. His cathedra (bishop's throne) still stands in the church to this day.

Looking a bit sorry for itself... The notice on the window says the vehicle has seen lawfully seized and impounded. Checking the DVLA, the MoT has expired now, yet still has valid tax.

This is another image I took on my recent mad morning jaunt at silly o'clock around Ellesmere. The boat is a lifeboat belonging to a local sailing club, of which I had to join so I could gain "lawful" entry on their land at various times of the day. I have also started to take a little more time in the execution and post processing of my images, instead of the old bish bash bosh.....crop.

 

Trust me View On Black

Who does He think He is?

(Frank Hall)

 

"Is it not lawful for Me to do what I wish with what is My own?" Matthew 20:15

 

How dare people walk their pets on leashes to control them!

How dare parents force their children to obey their rules!

How dare employers insist that their employees do their jobs!

How dare governors rule over the people!

How dare policemen take criminals to jail without their permission!

 

How dare God have His way with His creatures!

How dare the Potter make one vessel unto honor, and another unto dishonor!

How dare God love and hate whom He will!

How dare God the Father choose to save whom He will!

How dare God the Son die for whom He will!

How dare God the Spirit call whom He will!

How dare the Almighty have His way with all men, in all places, at all times!

How dare God save and damn whom He will!

How dare God judge us!

How dare God call us into question!

How dare the indisputable Sovereign of the universe do . . .

what He pleases,

when He pleases,

where He pleases,

how He pleases, and

with whom He pleases!

 

Who does He think He is — God?

 

"Our God is in the heavens; He does whatever He pleases!" Psalm 115:3

 

"I know that the LORD is great, that our Lord is greater than all gods. The LORD does whatever pleases Him, in the heavens and on the earth, in the seas and all their depths!" Psalm 135:5-6

 

"All the peoples of the earth are regarded as nothing. He does as He pleases with the powers of heaven and the peoples of the earth. No one can hold back His hand or say to Him: What have You done?" Daniel 4:35

Arundel Catholic Cathedral viewed from the gardens of Arundel Castle in West Sussex England

The Cathedral Church of Our Lady and St Philip Howard is located in Arundel, West Sussex, England. Dedicated in 1873 as the Catholic parish church of Arundel, it became a cathedral at the foundation of the Diocese of Arundel and Brighton in 1965. It now serves as the seat of the Bishop of Arundel and Brighton

.

The cathedral's location, construction, design, and dedication owe much to the Howard family, who, as Dukes of Norfolk and Earls of Arundel are the most prominent English Catholic family, and rank first (below the royal family) in the Peerage of England. Since 1102 the seat of the Howards' ancestors has been Arundel Castle.

 

In 1664, Catholic worship was suppressed in England by the Conventicle Act, and all churches and cathedrals in England were transferred to the Church of England. With the Roman Catholic Relief Act 1829, the foundation of Catholic parishes became lawful once again.

 

In 1868, Henry Fitzalan-Howard, 15th Duke of Norfolk, commissioned the architect Joseph Hansom to design a new Catholic sanctuary as a suitable counterpart to Arundel Castle. The architectural style of the cathedral is French Gothic, a style that would have been popular between 1300 and 1400—the period in which the Howards rose to national prominence in England. The building is Grade I listed and is regarded as one of the finest examples of Gothic Revival architecture in the French Gothic style in the country.

 

The church was originally dedicated to Our Lady and St Philip Neri, but in 1971, following the canonisation of Philip Howard, 1st Earl of Arundel, and the reburial of his relics in the cathedral, the dedication was changed to Our Lady and St Philip Howard.

  

"You know that every traitor belongs to me as my lawful prey and that for every treachery I have a right to a kill."

 

The Jadis MG was introduced by the Duke corporation to serve as a mid to long range suppression and elimination tool. With a chassis built of ultra-light, ultra rigid Caerostris fibres, the Jadis is rugged enough to withstand the harshest environments yet light enough to encourage versatility.

 

Please comment and criticize, I feel like this is one of my better builds in a while. Also, a cookie goes to who guesses what books I was stuck with as a child.

You should have listened and stayed away from the Pendle Hill forests, creatures of the night are plentiful and tonight you've found yourself a starving wendigo looking for her next meal

 

Place: Pendle Hill

Pose: Emozione; Gift Pose *Creepy*

 

Style Card:

 

Head: Catwa; Jessica

Hair: Stealthic; TOS Facade

Body: Slink; Hourglass

Skin: Plastik; Lawful Good

Eyeshadow: Izzie's; Gloom Eyeshadow

Eyes: Izzie's; Demon Eyes

Lips: Izzie's; Halloween Collection

Top: Luas; Bina Camisk

Antler's: Static; Antler's Decay

Claws & Claw Fade: Sweet Thing; Creature Claws

 

As always make sure you take a look at my dearest Catrie's version of today's challenge photo

 

SL Dusk Till Down Halloween Contest:

www.flickr.com/groups/4598238@N21/

#Bellisima.Benelli

 

#Morgaine Blackrain

#Harry Cooper

#Sererika Capra

#nongekoolhaas

I am adding the description that I wrote under a different, previously posted image taken on the same walk. These five photos were in a photo folder that I had barely used. This happens too often - I post a few photos from an outing and then I get busy and never get back to finishing. Comes in handy at the moment, though, as I'll have to stay home for days in two days' time, to rest my left knee, following a cortisone shot.

 

"Three days ago, on 17 August 2016, I drove my painfully noisy vehicle for just a very short distance, as far as a local park. Each year, I tend to visit the area to look for any mushrooms, and I knew that I just couldn't miss a quick visit. Found a few fungi to photograph, so I was happy. Then I remembered that I had found mushrooms in a different part of the park in other years, so yesterday, I risked an even shorter drive to see what I could find. Everywhere was quite dry and I saw quite a few shrivelled fungi. Luckily, I came across a few that were fresher and worth photographing. So dark in the forest and many photos were not as sharp as I would have liked.

 

At the end of my walk, I sat at a picnic table near the parking lot and kept an eye on all the large holes in the ground, made by Richardson's Ground Squirrels. I was just about ready to give up, when I happened to look down close to my feet and there was one solitary 'Gopher' three or four feet away from me. They are such fun to watch. Returned home without running into a Police car, which could very easily have pulled me over because of the dreadful noise my car is making. Today, 20 August 2016, is day 12 since ordering my new car .... sigh."

 

"The Richardson’s ground squirrel is commonly called the prairie gopher, yellow gopher, flicker tail or picket pin. It was named after the naturalist John Richardson who first collected specimens of the rodent in the early 1820’s.

 

Ground squirrels play an important role in the ecology of Alberta’s wildlife. Ground squirrels are a major source of food for many predatory birds, mammals and reptiles. One species of raptor, the ferruginous hawk, depends almost entirely on ground squirrels to fledge their chicks. Similarly, many other species rely on ground squirrels as a major food source.

 

The population status of Richardson’s ground squirrels varies from year to year but is generally rated as “not at risk.” Richardson’s ground squirrels are also unregulated, which means they can be lawfully shot, trapped or otherwise removed where permitted.

 

Richardson’s ground squirrels spend the majority of their life underground. In their underground burrow system, they usually mate, raise their litters for the first 28 days and avoid predators (except weasels and badgers) and inclement weather (heat, cold and rain). They sleep underground from just before sunset until shortly after sunrise and hibernate for up to eight months in their burrows." Taken from link below.

 

www1.agric.gov.ab.ca/$department/deptdocs.nsf/all/agdex3471

On August 1st 1715 The Riot Act, or to give it its full and more entertaining title, “An Act for preventing tumults and riotous assemblies, and for the more speedy and effectual punishing the rioters", came into force.

 

The Act was introduced during a time of civil disturbance in Great Britain, such as the Sacheverell riots of 1710, the Coronation riots of 1714 and the 1715 riots in England. The preamble makes reference to "many rebellious riots and tumults [that] have been [taking place of late] in diverse parts of this kingdom", adding that those involved "presum[e] so to do, for that the punishments provided by the laws now in being are not adequate to such heinous offences".

 

The act created a mechanism for certain local officials to make a proclamation ordering the dispersal of any group of more than twelve people who were "unlawfully, riotously, and tumultuously assembled together".

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If the group failed to disperse within one hour, then anyone remaining gathered was guilty of a felony without benefit of clergy, punishable by death.

 

The proclamation could be made in an incorporated town or city by the mayor, bailiff or "other head officer", or a justice of the peace. Elsewhere it could be made by a justice of the peace or the sheriff, undersheriff or parish constable. It had to be read out to the gathering concerned, and had to follow precise wording detailed in the act; several convictions were overturned because parts of the proclamation had been omitted, in particular "God save the King".

 

he wording that had to be read out to the assembled gathering was as follows:

 

“Our sovereign lord the King chargeth and commandeth all persons, being assembled, immediately to disperse themselves, and peaceably to depart to their habitations, or to their lawful business, upon the pains contained in the act made in the first year of King George, for preventing tumults and riotous assemblies. God save the King.”

 

If a group of people failed to disperse within one hour of the proclamation, the act provided that the authorities could use force to disperse them. Anyone assisting with the dispersal was specifically indemnified against any legal consequences in the event of any of the crowd being injured or killed.

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Because of the broad authority that the act granted, it was used both for the maintenance of civil order and for political means.

 

At times, it was unclear to both rioters and authorities as to whether the reading of the Riot Act had occurred. One example of this is evident in the St. George's Fields Massacre of 1768. At the trials following the incident, there was confusion among witnesses as to when the Riot Act had actually been read. The Riot Act also caused confusion during the Gordon Riots of 1780, when the authorities felt uncertain of their power to take action to stop the riots without a reading of the Riot Act. After the riots, Lord Mansfield observed that the Riot Act did not take away the pre-existing power of the authorities to use force to stop a violent riot; it only created the additional offense of failing to disperse after a reading of the Riot Act.

 

The Riot Act was read prior to the Peterloo Massacre of 1819, Cinderloo Uprising of 1821, as well as before the Bristol Riots at Queen's Square in 1831 and twice during the Merthyr Rising of the same year.

 

The Riot Act eventually drifted into disuse. The last time it was definitely read in England was in Birkenhead, Cheshire, on August 3rd 1919, during the second police strike, when large numbers of police officers from Birkenhead, Liverpool and Bootle joined the strike. Troops were called in to deal with the rioting and looting that had begun, and a magistrate read out the Riot Act.

 

The Act was repealed in England in Wales by the Criminal Law Act 1967. However, it would continue to be law in Scotland until July 18th 1973 when the Statute Law (Repeals) Act 1973 came into force. The last known use of the Act in Scotland was in 1971 when it was read by the deputy town clerk James Gildea in Airdrie.

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As a consequence of the Act, the expression "to read the Riot Act" has entered into common language as a phrase meaning "to reprimand severely", with the added sense of a stern warning. The phrase remains in common use in the English language.

   

There is a strong and unjustified attack by some Flickr users against groups whose members, generally but not exclusively Italian, too often enter into Explore. It seems even the staff at Flickr has helped to prevent the Explore entry for some of these.

 

The fact is truly regrettable. Envy, hysteria, offenses against good photographers who have always had good reputation and recognition, but that now are listed as dishonest for being members of a group . They receive feedback and faves from other members of that group, as is normal in most groups of Flickr, but also many awards, faves and comments by others non members. All this is normal and does not break any rules.

Who loves the production of a photographer, regularly awards its photos. He invites the photographer among his friends and contacts and follows him constantly. If you look at comments and faves in most of the photos that come into Explore you will notice that most of those who have seen, commented, fostered an image are often the same people who previously have supported other photos of the same photographer. Even this seems to me not only normal, lawful, but commendable. Who loves a style, who has certain aesthetic preferences, those who prefer a particular type of photography, they will be devoted follower of the photographer that meets his preferences.

 

The fact that they are groups that are born according to similarities, preferences, reciprocity seems to me a very positive thing and not the contrary. These groups have the freedom to be public or private, admitting many subjects or to select invitations. It is a right thing and you're all set.

 

Many of the photographers who belong to groups accused were given awards, very positive comments, explore high positions before entering into those groups. Their performances have not changed and remain constant. Their production is qualified.

 

The attack and invective against these groups and these people are not only unjust, but show an unjustified evil.

 

Please let’s stop with this controversy ...

 

________________________________

  

C’è un forte ed ingiustificato attacco da parte di alcuni utenti di Flickr nei confronti di gruppi i cui membri, in genere italiani ma non solo, entrano troppo spesso in Explore. A quanto pare anche lo staff di Flickr si è permesso di bloccare alcuni di questi.

Il fatto è davvero spiacevole. Invidia, isteria, offese nei confronti di bravi fotografi che da sempre hanno avuto riconoscimenti e che per il fatto di essere membri di un gruppo oggi vengono indicati come disonesti. Essi ricevono commenti e favori da altri membri del medesimo gruppo, come avviene normalmente nella maggior parte dei gruppi di Flickr, ma anche molti awards, commenti e faves da altri. Tutto questo è normale e non infrange alcuna regola.

Chi ama la produzione di un fotografo, premia regolarmente le sue foto. Iscrive il fotografo tra i suoi contatti e amici e lo segue costantemente. Se osserviamo commenti e faves in gran parte delle foto che entrano in Explore ci accorgiamo che buona parte di coloro che hanno visto, commentato, favorito una foto sono spesso le stesse persone che in precedenza hanno favorito altre foto del medesimo fotografo.

Anche questo mi sembra non solo normale, lecito, ma apprezzabile. Chi ama uno stile, chi ha certe preferenze estetiche, chi preferisce un tipo di fotografia particolare sarà affezionato e seguace del fotografo che soddisfa le sue preferenze.

Il fatto che si costituiscano gruppi in base ad affinità, preferenze, reciprocità mi sembra una cosa molto positiva e non il contrario. Questi gruppi hanno la libertà di essere pubblici o privati, di ammettere molti membri o di selezionare gli inviti. E’ giusto che sia così ed è tutto regolare.

Molti dei fotografi che appartengono ai gruppi sotto accusa hanno avuto riconoscimenti, award, alte posizioni in explore ancora prima di entrare in quei gruppi. Le loro performance non sono cambiate e restano costanti. La loro produzione è qualificata.

L’attacco e le invettive contro questi gruppi e queste persone non solo sono ingiusti, ma mostrano una ingiustificata cattiveria.

Per favore, smettiamola…

   

Explore # 453 on Saturday, 15 November 2008 - the 237th

 

Saw this man meticulously doing his craft.

I had to make this quick as it is lawfully illegal to take pictures

on somebody unless you had the permission.

Taken this afternoon, 15 Nov 2008 at Hibiya Park.

24.01.2016 Piatra Neamt, Neamt

 

Going about in her lawful business of taking the cars from Piatra Neamt to the cement plant in Bicaz.

 

Press L for better view.

 

A Fated Affair

 

"Inês de Castro came to Portugal in 1340 as a maid of Constance of Castile, recently married to Peter, the heir to the Portuguese throne. The prince fell in love with her and started to neglect his lawful wife, endangering the already feeble relations with Castile. Moreover, Peter's love for Inês brought the exiled Castilian nobility very close to power, with Inês's brothers becoming the prince's friends and trusted advisors. King Afonso IV of Portugal, Peter's father, disliked Inês's influence on his son and waited for their mutual infatuation to wear off, but it did not.

 

Inês's murder in the monastery of Santa Clara in Coimbra

Constance of Castile died in 1345. Afonso IV tried several times to arrange for his son to be remarried, but Pedro refused to take a wife other than Inês, who was not deemed eligible to be queen. Peter's legitimate son, future King Ferdinand I of Portugal, was a frail child, whereas Peter and Inês's illegitimate children were thriving; this created even more discomfort among the Portuguese nobles, who feared the increasing Castilian influence over Peter. Afonso IV banished Inês from the court after Constance's death, but Peter remained with her, declaring her as his true love. After several attempts to keep the lovers apart, Afonso IV ordered Inês's death. Pêro Coelho, Álvaro Gonçalves, and Diogo Lopes Pacheco went to the Monastery of Santa Clara-a-Velha in Coimbra, where Inês was detained, and killed her. When Peter heard of this, he sought out the killers and managed to capture two of them in 1361. He executed them publicly, ripping their hearts out and claiming they didn't have one, having pulverized his own heart.

Peter became King of Portugal in 1357. He then stated that he had secretly married Inês, who was consequently the lawful queen, although his word was, and still is, the only proof of the marriage. Legend has it that he had Inês's body exhumed from her grave and forced the entire court to swear allegiance to their new queen by kissing the corpse's hand. She was later buried at the Monastery of Alcobaça where her coffin can still be seen, opposite to Peter's so that, according to the legend, at the Last Judgment Peter and Inês can look at each other as they rise from their graves. Both marble coffins are exquisitely sculpted with scenes from their lives and a promise by Peter that they would be together 'até ao fim do mundo' (until the end of the world)." (Wikipedia)

 

Tombs of Inês and Peter: www.google.pt/search?q=tumulos+de+ines+e+pedro&espv=2...

 

La Reine Morte (Henry de Montherlant): fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Reine_morte

 

Avatar(s) (The Lady Death and Bobbinlace, mixed and slightly modified) created by Meilo Minotaur

 

Second Life: Dysphoria - Alice in Wonderland (at Oxygen Island)

  

Stockholm Police House at Kungsholmen (1903–11) was designed by swedish architect Gustaf Lindgren. He is famous for his public works, but he also made villas. The building has also been described as one of the few Swedish complexes that were built in the imperial style that was used around the world to manifest lawful authority.

 

Wikipedia

Love feels no burden, thinks nothing of trouble, attempts what is above its strength, pleads no excuse of impossibility; for it thinks all things lawful for itself, and all things possible.

Thomas à Kempis

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Happy Valentine's Day Fence Friday, my friends! I hope your weekends are filled with love. :)

Street preaching is legal in UK:

 

Preaching in the street is lawful, even if it is contentious, unwelcome or provocative, and police officers may not ask preachers to be silent, according to a landmark ruling made in the Supreme Court in July 1999. This is the law of the land in England and Wales.

 

We have freedom in the UK to share the gospel with others. It is lawful to preach the gospel and hand out Christian literature on the streets to the general public without prior permission. The European Convention on Human Rights grants the right to freedom of religious belief and freedom of expression.

 

The Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Act which received Royal Assent on 28 April 2022 has some affect - Part three of the bill amends the Public Order Act 1986 so police can impose conditions on protests that are noisy enough to cause “intimidation or harassment” or “serious unease, alarm or distress” to bystanders, including protests consisting of one person.

 

It also abolished the common law offence of public nuisance and replace it with a statutory offence of “intentionally or recklessly causing public nuisance”.

 

The right of "free speech" is a precious thing that needs protecting (ask any Chinese or Russian citizen).

 

Candid shot; Taunton, Somerset, UK.

Sometimes my sugardaddy Le Duc De D'Or Baleine likes to enjoy me as the woman I have always been under my aristocratic trappings - a shameless harlot! In fact, my new honeybunch has a very particular take on this subject.

 

“Rebecca, my dear: my family maintains its leading position in the world of global finance by employing only the very best professionals: managers, accountants, bankers. My attitude to sex is the same: always hire the best professionals for the job. And I have not been disappointed by the excellent services I have received from you - costly though they are!”

 

The Duke is now openly talking to me about marriage – which would of course mean divorcing my current husband. As his lawful wedded wife, Le Duc would expect to share me with his wide circle of friends and business associates, and I would be required to offer sexual services at the Duke’s private parties (=orgies!). Exactly as his previous five wives have been doing since 1963… former hookers all!!

 

So should I divorce Lord Lyndon and marry Le Duc De D'Or Baleine? My new honeybunch is, after all, richest man in the world – as well as being a sex-crazed septuagenarian with a rather weak heart…

  

Toodle Pip!

 

Love and Kisses to All!

xxxxx

Lady Rebecca Georgina Arabella Lyndon

Duchess of Basingstoke

 

"Lord Jesus, in your victory over sin and death on the cross and in your resurrection you give us the assurance of sharing in the eternal rest of heaven. Transform my heart with your love that I may freely serve my neighbor for his good and find joy and refreshment in the celebration of Sunday as the Lord's Day."

 

Mighty To Save

 

Scripture: Mark 3:1-6

 

Again he entered the synagogue, and a man was there who had a withered hand. And they watched him, to see whether he would heal him on the Sabbath, so that they might accuse him. And he said to the man who had the withered hand, "Come here." And he said to them, "Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, to save life or to kill?" But they were silent. 5And he looked around at them with anger, grieved at their hardness of heart, and said to the man, "Stretch out your hand." He stretched it out, and his hand was restored. The Pharisees went out, and immediately held counsel with the Hero'di-ans against him, how to destroy him.

 

Closer View On Black

 

Copyright© 2009 Kamoteus/RonMiguel RN

This image is protected under the United States and International Copyright laws and may not be downloaded, reproduced, copied, transmitted or manipulated without written permission.

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Today however we are not at Cavendish Mews. We have travelled east across London, through Bloomsbury, past the Smithfield Meat Markets, beyond the Petticoat Lane Markets* frequented by Lettice’s maid, Edith, through the East End boroughs of Bethnal Green and Bow, to the 1880s housing development of Upton Park. It is here that Frank’s closest and only surviving relation lives: his grandmother. As Edith and Frank’s relationship has deepened over the past few months, Frank has been anxious to introduce his sweetheart to his grandmother, but he has wanted to wait for the right moment to do so. And so, today is the day!

 

Getting out at Upton Park railway station, the pair exit the polychromatic red and brown brick Victorian railway station with its ornate finials and elegant quoining. Even though the day is grey and overcast, the glare of natural light after being in the London underground blinds them momentarily. Before them the busy high street shopping precinct of Green Street stretches in either direction to their left and right, the noisy thoroughfare chocked with a mixture of chugging motor cars, lorries and the occasional double decker electrical tram. Even horse drawn carts with placid plodding old work horses unperturbed by the belching of their mechanical usurpers join the melee of trundling traffic going in either direction. People bustle past them on the footpath, going about their Sunday business cheerily, many off to the nearby Queens Road Market.

 

Edith looks across the road to the ramshackle collection of two and three storey buildings constructed over two centuries. Their canvas awnings fluttering in the breeze help to advertise a haberdasher, a lamp shop, a chemist, a boot repairer, a grocers, an electric sanitary laundry and a bakery. She smiles at the banality of it all and sighs with relief. Having never been to Upton Park before, Edith didn’t quite know what to expect. As she stands on the pavement, she cannot help but feel nervous about meeting Frank’s grandmother, her stomach roiling with anxiety and tension. However, seeing the similarities between the Upton Park high street and her own home high street in Harlesden, Edith feels a little easier. Up until this moment, she has been worried that Frank’s grandmother might be far grander than she or her family. Even the fact that the area she lives in has a park in its name suggests grandeur, so the ordinariness of her surroundings gives her hope and eases her apprehension a little.

 

“Everything you need is right here.” Frank remarks as he notice’s his sweetheart’s keen eye taking in her surrounds. “All it really needs now is a cinema**. Come on.”

 

The pair cross the busy thoroughfare of Green Street, weaving their way through the traffic, and head west a short distance before turning down the elm tree lined Kings Road, which is flanked to either side with identical polychromatic cream and red brick two storey Victorian terraces with grey or painted stone dressings. As Edith peers at their façades over the top of their low brick fences, she notes that each house has a small bay with two windows downstairs and two upstairs, a recessed porch and front door with a window above that. As they walk underneath the elm trees, Edith notices the slight flutter of several sets of lace curtains in the downstairs windows as suburban London housewives, no doubt alerted to the pair’s approach by their footsteps on the concrete footpath, peer out from the comfort of their front rooms.

 

“So, back before the war and the Spanish Flu, it used to be five of us here in Kings Road.” Frank chatters brightly, the heightened false joviality indicating his own underlaying nervousness at this very important meeting between the two most important women in his life. “My Grandpop and Gran, Mum, Dad and me.”

 

“Is your Grandpop going to be there today too?” Edith asks, suddenly aware that there may be a person she has not considered in the equation of her visit. Frank has only ever talked about his grandmother and not a grandfather.

 

“Not unless we’re having tea in the West Ham Cemetery,” Frank replies, somewhat in alarm.

 

“Oh I’m sorry, Frank. You haven’t mentioned him before, so I assumed that… well…” She gulps guiltily.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Edith.” Frank reassures her, putting his arm comfortingly around her. “I think we’re probably both as nervous as each other about today.”

 

Edith sighs and allows herself to fall into Frank’s protective embrace and press against his side as they walk. The familiar scent of him: a mixture of soap and the grocery shop, is comforting to her and helps her to keep her mettle. She knows how important this meeting is, and she wants to impress upon Frank’s grandmother that she really does care for her grandson, as well as making Frank proud of her.

 

“Not that you have anything to worry about. You’re my girl, and I know Gran is going to love you. I bet she’s just as nervous as we are,” Frank goes on. “Not that she’d tell me so.”

 

They stop in front of a terrace behind a low brick wall just the same as all the others, its front door painted black and a small patch of lawn, devoid of any other vegetation filling the space between the street and the house.

 

“Well, here we are then.” Frank says, rubbing Edith’s arm consolingly. “Like I was saying before, before the war there were five of us here, but Grandpop died in 1912, and of course my parents went with the Spanish Flu, so it only left Gran and me, so the landlord divided the house. He said it was so Gran could stay because she was a good tenant, but I reckon he just wanted to make more money by turning upstairs into a second tenement.” He lets out a deep breath tinged with remorse. “Still, at least it did mean when I moved to live closer to work that Gran could manage on her own downstairs, and the neighbours upstairs are nice people who keep an eye on her.”

 

Frank releases Edith and grasps her forearms and looks her squarely in the face, admiring her beauty as she stands in her Sunday best plum frock, her three quarter length black coat and her cloche with the purple silk roses and black feathers. In an effort he knows is to impress his grandmother, her second-hand crocodile skin handbag hangs from the crook in her left arm. She nervously fiddles with the butchers paper wrapped around a bunch of yellow roses she bought as a gift for Frank’s grandmother from a florist outside Down Street Railway Station***.

 

“Come on then, Edith.” Frank says, bucking his sweetheart up. “Let’s get this over with.”

 

Walking through the unlocked front door, the pair find themselves in the black and white lino lined hallway of the terrace, with a flight of stairs leading upwards. The vestibule smells of a mixture of carbolic soap, boiled cabbage and fish. “Smells like Mrs. Claxton managed to get some fish for tea.” Frank observes.

 

The doorway that would have led into what was once the front room has been bricked up and paper pasted over it, however an original frosted and stained glass panelled doorway adjunct to the stairs which leads to the back of the ground floor of the terrace now serves as the downstairs tenement’s front door. Walking up to it, Frank knocks loudly and then calls out “It’s only me, Gran,” before opening it and walking in without waiting for an answer.

 

“Och! Is that you, my bairn?” a voice thick with a Scottish brogue calls as Frank eases Edith out of her coat and hangs it on a hook in the hallway alongside his own coat, scarf and hat.

 

“Yes Gran!” he replies. “And I’ve brought Edith with me.”

 

“Good! Good!” comes the reply.

 

“Wait Frank!” Edith gasps.

 

“What is it?” Frank queries.

 

“I… I don’t know what to call your grandmother. I can’t very well call her Gran, can I? That would be presumptuous of me.”

 

“Oh, that’s true.” Frank replies, cocking his head thoughtfully to one side. “Well, she’s my Mum’s mum, so she’s a McTavish. So best call her Mrs. McTavish, at least initially.” He gives her a reassuring wink before leading her further down the corridor and through a second frosted and stained glass door like the first and into a neat, cheerful and light filled kitchen.

 

Edith quickly assesses the room with flitting glances around her. The kitchen is bigger than her parents’ one in Harlesden, but similarly to theirs, the room is dominated by a big black coal consuming range and features a dresser that is stuffed with all manner of mismatched decorative china and a panoply of cooking items. The walls are covered with cream coloured wallpaper featuring dainty floral sprigs. Several framed embroideries hang around the room and a cuckoo clock ticks contentedly to the left of the range. A rug covers the flagstone floor before the hearth. A round table covered in a pretty lace tablecloth has several mismatched chairs and stools drawn up to it. On the table itself stands a healthy looking aspidistra which obviously benefits from the sun as it filters through the lace curtains at the large kitchen window. Just like her mother’s table when guests come to call, a selection of decorative blue and white crockery has been set out, ready for use. A shop bought Dundee Cake****, still with its ornamental Scottish tartan ribbon wrapped around it, sits on a plate, whilst a biscuit tin and a cannister of tea stand next to it. A sewing work table with a sagging floral bag for storage beneath it stands open, its compartments filled with needles, thread, wool, buttons and everything a sewer and knitter needs. And there, in a very old and worn brown leather wingback chair sits Frank’s Scottish grandmother, Mrs. McTavish.

 

“Och, there you are, Francis my boy!” the old woman says with a growling enunciation of the letter r as she reaches up and grasps her grandson’s face in her hands, drawing him down for a puckered kiss on the lips.

 

“Oh Gran!” Frank gasps with embarrassment.

 

“What? Too big to be kissed by your old Gran, Francis?” she asks, the wrinkles and folds in her weathered and old face deepening in concern as she looks up into his fresh and youthful one.

 

“Francis?” Edith queries with surprise.

 

“I thought we had this discussion, Gran!” Frank protests. “I’m Frank, not Francis.”

 

“Och! Nonsense!” the old Scottish woman says sharply, slapping her grandson’s forearm lightly. “You’ll always be Francis to me, my little bairn!”

 

“Francis?” Edith repeats, unable to prevent a smile spreading across her face as she hears Frank’s real name for the first time.

 

“Now don’t you start.” Frank says warningly to his sweetheart, wagging a finger admonishingly at his grandmother at the same time, who smiles cheekily. “No-one will take me seriously if I’m Francis, so I’m Frank.”

 

“If you say so, Francis,” Mrs. McTavish replies, using his real name again, much to his irritation. Turning her attention to the stranger in the room, she addresses Edith, “And you must be Edith.” She smiles broadly, showing a set of slightly crooked and tea stained teeth. “How do you do, dearie.”

 

“How do you do, Mrs. McTavish.” Edith replies, smiling politely in return as she stands in the middle of the room. Frank tries to indicate something with his eyes, and remembering that she is holding the yellow roses that she bought, she presents them to the Scottish woman in the chair. “These are for you.”

 

“Och! How kind dearie!” she replies, taking them into her worn and gnarled hands which Edith notes as she passes them over, have rather long and elegant fingers. “I do so love flowers, and roses are a real treat. Thank you. They’ll brighten up the table. Will you Fr…”

 

“Gran!” Frank warns.

 

“Will you put them in some water, as-he-likes-to-be-known-now, Frank?”

 

“You are incorrigible, Gran!” Frank exclaims in exasperation, snatching the roses from his grandmother’s outstretched hands. He takes them over to the small trough sink underneath the window and finding a glass vase on the grooved wooden draining board, fills it with water and starts unwrapping the roses from their butchers paper housing.

 

“I bet he didn’t tell you his name was Francis, did he, dearie?” Mrs. McTavish asks Edith, indicating for Edith to take a seat in the Windsor chair, not too unlike her own at Cavendish Mews, that has been drawn up to the range.

 

“No, he didn’t.” Edith replies, inhaling the smell or carbolic soap which has obviously also been used in the neat kitchen. She also picks up the smell of coal dust and fried or baked potatoes coming from the range.

 

“Well you can hardly blame me, can you?” Frank calls from the sink. “Francis is a girl’s name, not a boy’s.”

 

“Nonsense bairn!” Mrs. McTavish says again. “What about Francis Drake the great Elizabethan explorer? Hhmm?”

 

“We don’t live in Elizabethan times, Gran.” Frank replies, putting the vase of roses on the table. He places a comforting hand on Edith’s shoulder before taking a seat in the high backed Windsor chair on the opposite side of the table to Edith.

 

“So, dearie,” Mrs. McTavish begins. “Frank,” She emphasises his preferred choice of name. “Has told me a bit about you, but he didn’t tell me whether you prefer to be called Eadie or Edith. What shall I call you?”

 

“Oh Edith is fine. No-one calls me Eadie.”

 

“Very good. So Edith, Frank tells me that he met you through delivering for the grocers that he works for up in the West End. Is that right?”

 

“Well yes,” Edith replies, prepared and yet at the same time not quite expecting the interrogation to start quite so soon after her arrival. “I work as a maid for the daughter of a viscount and Willisons is our local grocer.”

 

“And you’ve been a domestic since?”

 

“Since I was fourteen, Mrs. McTavish.”

 

The old woman nods and smiles pleasantly. “And you’re how old now, Edith?”

 

“She’s twenty-two.” Frank pipes up.

 

“Thank you, Francis,” the old woman addresses her grandson with wide eyes, this time deliberately using his proper name. “I was addressing Edith, not you. And were your parents in service too, dearie?”

 

“No.” Edith replies. “Well, my mother works as a laundress to bring in a little extra money, but my father works for McVitie and Price in Harlesden.”

 

“He received a promotion last year, to line manager.” Frank pipes up again.

 

“Och!” the old woman exclaims. “I’m addressing Edith, not you, bairn! Stop being a nuisance and interrupting. Make yourself useful and make us some tea, will you.” She points to a pretty blue floral teapot sitting in the shadows on a shelf at the side of the range over a small oven. “We can’t go having Dundee cake without tea, now can we?” she asks rhetorically.

 

Frank picks himself up out of his chair and walks around the table, reaching behind Edith to grab the teapot which he takes to the table. “Have you been cooking rumbledethumps*****, Gran?” he asks as he catches the same whiff of potatoes that Edith had smelt whilst sitting by the hearth.

 

“I have, bairn. I’ll give you some to take home to your landlady to heat up for you for your tea. That Mrs. Chapman could serve you a decent dish of rumbledethumps or two. You’re as skinny as a rake.” she observes before continuing her conversation with Edith. “And you were born in Harlesden then, Edith?”

 

“I was, Mrs. McTavish. So were both my parents. They met through a church picnic as they went to the same parish.”

 

“And what do you and my Fran… k, do, when you go out together?”

 

“I told you, Gran!” Frank mutters as he puts a third heaped teaspoon of tea from the red enamel and brass tea caddy into the pot. “We go dancing at the Hammersmith Palais****** and to the Premier in East Ham******* to catch a moving picture. I told you!”

 

“Och! Don’t keep interrupting, Francis!” the old Scottish woman exclaims, reverting back to his proper name yet again, this time in exasperation as she scolds Frank like a little boy. “And don’t forget to add an extra spoon for the pot********! And don’t stir that pot with the handle********* once the tea is made, or it will be nothing but strive for you!”

 

“No Gran!” Frank mutters in reply with slumped shoulders.

 

“We go to Hyde or Regent’s Park sometimes,” Edith adds hopefully, embroidering on Frank’s admission to their pursuits on their days off. “And listen to the band play under the rotunda, or visit the speakers********** and listen…”

 

“If they have anything decent to say.” Frank adds as he takes up the large brass kettle from the hob, only to find it nearly empty. He grumbles to himself as he goes and fills it at the tap.

 

“And sometimes we go to Lyon’s Corner House*********** in Piccadilly for tea, and sometimes we don’t go anywhere. We just sit in my kitchen at Cavendish Mews and take tea there.”

 

“Och! Doesn’t your mistress mind?”

 

“Miss Lettice is quite liberal and kind in that way, Mrs. McTavish,” Edith assures her. “But we usually only have tea in the kitchen on my days off if I know Miss Lettice isn’t going to be home. I don’t like to impose, nor abuse her kindness and generosity.”

 

“That’s very wise.” the old Scotswoman acknowledges.

 

“Oh Gran!” Frank groans loudly.

 

“What is it now, bairn?” she asks, bristling with mild irritation at her grandson’s constant interruptions.

 

“You’ve nearly let the range go out!” He investigates the canal ware************ coal scuttle and sees that it is nearly empty. “And there’s no coal.”

 

“Och, here!” With a groan she heaves herself out of her comfortable seat with the Scottish tartan blanket behind her head and reaches up under the ornamental fringe hanging from the mantle above the range and hands her grandson a small key. “Go and fill it up for me. There’s a good lad!” She smiles brightly and runs her hand lovingly along his cheek before patting it.

 

“You’ve been locking the coal store in the cellar?” he queries.

 

“There have been a few instances of coal theft in the neighbourhood lately.” Mrs. McTavish elucidates with a nod as she lowers herself back into her seat.

 

Muttering to himself, Frank leaves the two ladies alone in the kitchen. They both fall silent as they listen to his shuffling footsteps as he lugs the scuttle awkwardly out of the back door and heads for the coal cellar entrance.

 

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Edith asks knowingly after taking a few measured breaths upon the closure of the back door. “You knew the scuttle was empty and you let the fire die down.”

 

“I did, bairn.” Mrs, McTavish admits with a sigh. “And I used Francis’ real name because I knew he would ne have told you it. You’re a canny and clever wee lass aren’t you?” Her eyebrows arch over her glittering dark brown eyes. “I know, I’m a bit of a cheeky one, even at my age. I love Francis very much. He is, after all, my only real close family now with my daughter and son-in-law being gone these last few years.” she goes on. “But he’s so anxious that you and I should get along that he’ll do anything, say anything, to gild the lily about anything you are, say or do. I want to know the truth, without his interruptions and insistences.”

 

“Well, I hope I will please you, and that we will get along, Mrs. McTavish.” Edith leans across the space between them and grasps the older woman’s bony left hand as it rests on the arm of her chair with her right hand. “It is my fondest wish that we should. I only want to make Frank happy, I assure you.”

 

The old woman places her right hand over Edith’s and pats it gently, the worn and cool flesh of her palm sending a spark of energy though the younger woman. “I’m sure, dearie. And from what Francis has told me, and what you’ve shown so far whilst you’ve been here, I can tell you’re a nice lass, not racy or rude like some he’s met on his rounds.”

 

“No,” Edith muses, retreating and sitting back to her seat as she remembers meeting Vi at the Premier Cinema in East Ham just before Christmas. “No, I’m not at all racy, and I was raised to mind my manners. In fact I’m quite old fashioned and conservative, really.” She chuckles half to herself. “Or so Miss Lettice says.”

 

“Old fashioned and conservative isn’t always bad, dearie.” Mrs. McTavish answers as she snuggles back into the woolly warmth of the red, green and yellow blanket draped across the top of her chair. “So tell me, Edith, whilst my best lad is out of the room, what is it that drew you to him? He tells me that you sort of stumbled into courtship, or whatever it is you young people call it now. What is it about my Francis that you like so well?”

 

“Well, “ Edith thinks. “I suppose it’s because he is a bit old fashioned and conservative too. I like that he wants to do things correctly. He’s kind and thoughtful too, and I like that he is trying to better himself in little ways. I suppose I am too, in my own way.” Edith pauses before continuing. “I must confess that I do enjoy reading romance novels, Mrs. McTavish, but I’m under no illusions that Frank should sweep me off my feet with declarations of love or grand gestures of emotion. He told me just before Christmas when he took me out to the pictures, that he wishes that he could afford to buy me a brooch as a token of his affection, but I really don’t need it. He does little things for me, like pay for a deckchair when we go to Hyde Park, or gives me a box of chocolates now and then, and that’s more than enough for me.” She smiles. “We rub along well together, and I think we’re well suited, Mrs. McTavish. I love him and he loves me.”

 

“And what would you do, dearie, if Francis told you that he was going to do something that you did ne agree with?”

 

“Oh, I’m sure Frank wouldn’t do that, Mrs. McTavish. Like I said, he’s kind and gentlemanly.”

 

“Yes, but what if he did?”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Well,” she thinks. “What if he decided to follow those Communists or Bolshevists or whoever it was killed the Russian Czar and created anarchy there?”

 

“Oh, he’s not a communist, Mrs. McTavish!” Edith assures her.

 

“Yes, I know he isn’t, dearie,” she answers patiently. “But what would you say to him if he were?”

 

“Well, “ Edith ponders. “I suppose I’d tell him that I thought it was a bad idea, and why. I’ve found you have to reason with Frank.”

 

The old woman sighs and Edith can see her body relax within the confines of her old fashioned high necked Edwardian print dress. “Well that’s all I need to know, Edith.” She raises a hand to her chest and starts massaging it comfortingly. “I won’t always be around, and to know my Francis has met a nice girl who will help love and support him, and reason with him if he looks like he might get himself into trouble makes me very relieved.”

 

Edith wonders if she has just passed Mrs. McTavish’s test. Suddenly all the anxiety and fear that had been roiling around in Edith’s stomach starts to disperse.

 

“Did you make the fringe above the fireplace, Mrs. McTavish?” Edith asks, pointing to the beautifully embroidered floral scallops of duck egg blue and tan.

 

“I did my dear, and the tablecloth too.” She points proudly to the snowy white cloth on the table. “My clan comes from Perthshire, and I make bobbin lace – a skill which I learned from my mother, and my mother learned from hers.” She reaches to a small black pillow covered in dangling wooden bobbins sitting on an old pedestal table next to her. Edith stands up and steps over, crouching before the Scotswoman as she places the pillow in her lap and begins moving the bobbins deftly beneath her elegant fingers, creating a little bit more lace. “Snowflaking************* goes back in my family for as long as anyone can tell.” She indicates to a basket in front of her sewing table.

 

Edith follows her hand and sees a froth of beautiful white lace sticking out from it. With careful reverence she reaches into the basket and touches the rolls of lace, lace doilies and lace trimmed pillowcases inside.

 

“My mother does a little bit of lacework, Mrs. McTavish, but nothing like this.”

 

“Well, I make lace for some of those dressmakers who make the fancy frocks for the likes of your mistress up the West End.”

 

“Miss Lettice has a friend who makes frocks, Mrs. McTavish.” Edith remarks. “Maybe you make lace for him.”

 

“Maybe I do, dearie.”

 

A loud thud, followed by the bang of the back door and a few more smaller thuds indicate that Frank has returned from the coal cellar. Huffing he groans as he dumps the large canal ware scuttle full of crumbling black coal onto the hearth tiles. “You…” he puffs. “You didn’t need… to give me the key… Gran. The box was… unlocked.”

 

“Oh? Was it, bairn?” Mrs. McTavish asks, her eyes glistening cheekily as she looks to Edith. “Well, there you go. Must have forgotten to lock it last time I was down there.”

 

“Well,” Frank replies. “Luckily… no-one broke in… and stole your coal, Gran. And I’ve… locked it up for you… so it’s… safe as houses************** now.” He replaces the key back on the little hook beneath the fireplace fringe, and looks down at his sweetheart and his grandmother. He pauses for a moment to catch his breath before asking, “So, how are my two best girls getting on, then?”

 

“I think we’re getting along just fine, Francis.” Edith says with a cheeky smile.

 

*Petticoat Lane Market is a fashion and clothing market in Spitalfields, London. It consists of two adjacent street markets. Wentworth Street Market and Middlesex Street Market. Originally populated by Huguenots fleeing persecution in France, Spitalfields became a center for weaving, embroidery and dying. From 1882, a wave of Jewish immigrants fleeing persecution in eastern Europe settled in the area and Spitalfields then became the true heart of the clothing manufacturing district of London. 'The Lane' was always renowned for the 'patter' and showmanship of the market traders. It was also known for being a haven for the unsavoury characters of London’s underworld and was rife with prostitutes during the late Victorian era. Unpopular with the authorities, as it was largely unregulated and in some sense illegal, as recently as the 1930s, police cars and fire engines were driven down ‘The Lane’, with alarm bells ringing, to disrupt the market.

 

**It was not until five years after this story that the Carlton Cinema on Green Street opened its doors on the 29th of October, 1928 with the Fritz Lang film “The Spy” (Spione) starring Willy Fritsch. The Carlton Cinema was a project of exhibitors Clavering and Rose who employed noted cinema architect George Coles to convert the old St. George’s Industrial School building into the auditorium of the new cinema. The outer walls, now with original windows and doors bricked up were retained and a splendid new facade in an Egyptian style was built on Green Street. It was faced in multi-coloured tiles manufactured by the Hathern Station Brick and Terra Cotta Company similar to the George Coles designed Egyptian style Carlton Cinema, Islington. Inside the entrance led to a long connecting corridor which contained a cafe, and through this into the auditorium, which was set well back from and parallel to Green Street. Inside the auditorium, seating was provided for 2,117 in a semi-stadium plan, (a raised area at the rear, but with no overhanging balcony).

 

***Down Street, also known as Down Street (Mayfair), is a disused station on the London Underground, located in Mayfair. The Great Northern, Piccadilly and Brompton Railway opened it in 1907. It was latterly served by the Piccadilly line and was situated between Dover Street (now named Green Park) and Hyde Park Corner stations. The station was little used; many trains passed through without stopping. Lack of patronage and proximity to other stations led to its closure in 1932. During the Second World War it was used as a bunker by the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, and the war cabinet. The station building survives and is close to Down Street's junction with Piccadilly. Part of it is now converted to a retail outlet.

 

****Dundee Cake has strong association to the geographical area through the marmalade makers Keillers of Dundee. Keillers used their surplus orange peel from their marmalade production to create the Dundee Cake. The cake was made as a rich buttery sultana cake flavoured with orange peel and almonds. Some Scottish bakers decided they didn't like glazed cherries in their fruit cakes (usually a staple in most fruitcakes) and so they baked a cake with blanched almonds instead.

 

*****Rumbledethumps is a dish that is popular in the Scottish border regions and is perfect for using up leftover mashed potatoes and excess vegetables. Often referred to as the Scottish version of bubble ‘n squeak, rumbledethumps recipes usually contain turnip and cabbage, but really any vegetable leftovers could be used. The vegetable mixture is topped with cheese and then baked until bubbling. The dish can be made the day before and heated up and whilst it can be eaten on its own, makes a nice accompaniment for a hearty stew.

 

******The Hammersmith Palais de Danse, in its last years simply named Hammersmith Palais, was a dance hall and entertainment venue in Hammersmith, London, England that operated from 1919 until 2007. It was the first palais de danse to be built in Britain.

 

*******The Premier Super Cinema in East Ham was opened on the 12th of March, 1921, replacing the 800 seat capacity 1912 Premier Electric Theatre. The new cinema could seat 2,408 patrons. The Premier Super Cinema was taken over by Provincial Cinematograph Theatres who were taken over by Gaumont British in February 1929. It was renamed the Gaumont from 21st April 1952. The Gaumont was closed by the Rank Organisation on 6th April 1963. After that it became a bingo hall and remained so until 2005. Despite attempts to have it listed as a historic building due to its relatively intact 1921 interior, the Gaumont was demolished in 2009.

 

********The traditional measurement when making that we give is one teaspoon per person, and one extra spoon for the pot. Although not confirmed by anyone else, my Grandmother always told me the one spoon of tea leaves per person rule is based on the assumption that in polite society, a sitter only ever drinks one cup from the pot, before the pot requires replenishment. The tea weakens after its first use, but by adding an extra spoonful of tea leaves, when replenished for a second time, the tea should still be strong and flavoursome enough for the enjoyment of the sitters.

 

*********A Scottish superstition states that it is considered bad luck to stir tea with anything other than a spoon, as the handle of a fork or spoon is said to stir up trouble for the improper stirrer.

 

**********A Speakers' Corner is an area where open-air public speaking, debate, and discussion are allowed. The original and best known is in the northeast corner of Hyde Park in London. Historically there were a number of other areas designated as Speakers' Corners in other parks in London, such as Lincoln's Inn Fields, Finsbury Park, Clapham Common, Kennington Park, and Victoria Park. Areas for Speakers' Corners have been established in other countries and elsewhere in Britain. Speakers here may talk on any subject, as long as the police consider their speeches lawful, although this right is not restricted to Speakers' Corner only. Contrary to popular belief, there is no immunity from the law, nor are any subjects proscribed, but in practice the police intervene only when they receive a complaint.

 

***********J. Lyons and Co. was a British restaurant chain, food manufacturing, and hotel conglomerate founded in 1884 by Joseph Lyons and his brothers in law, Isidore and Montague Gluckstein. Lyons’ first teashop opened in Piccadilly in 1894, and from 1909 they developed into a chain of teashops, with the firm becoming a staple of the High Street in the United Kingdom. At its peak the chain numbered around two hundred cafes. The teashops provided for tea and coffee, with food choices consisting of hot dishes and sweets, cold dishes and sweets, and buns, cakes and rolls. Lyons' Corner Houses, which first appeared in 1909 and remained until 1977, were noted for their Art Deco style. Situated on or near the corners of Coventry Street, Strand and Tottenham Court Road, they and the Maison Lyonses at Marble Arch and in Shaftesbury Avenue were large buildings on four or five floors, the ground floor of which was a food hall with counters for delicatessen, sweets and chocolates, cakes, fruit, flowers and other products. In addition, they possessed hairdressing salons, telephone booths, theatre booking agencies and at one period a twice-a-day food delivery service. On the other floors were several restaurants, each with a different theme and all with their own musicians. For a time, the Corner Houses were open twenty-four hours a day, and at their peak each branch employed around four hundred staff including their famous waitresses, commonly known as Nippies for the way they nipped in and out between the tables taking orders and serving meals. The tea houses featured window displays, and, in the post-war period, the Corner Houses were smarter and grander than the local tea shops. Between 1896 and 1965 Lyons owned the Trocadero, which was similar in size and style to the Corner Houses.

 

************Narrow boat painting, or canal art is a traditional British folk art. This highly decorative folk art once adorned the working narrow boats of the inland waterways of Britain. Canal ware, barge ware, or gift ware, are used to describe decorated trinkets, and household items, rather than the decorated narrow boats.

 

*************Lace made by hand using bobbins is properly called bobbin lace, but colloquially it is known as snowflaking, Depression lace, or chickenscratch, indicating that it was a way to make something out of nearly nothing.

 

**************John Hotten argued in his Slang Dictionary of 1859 that “safe as houses” may have arisen when the intense speculation on railways in Britain — the railway mania — began to be seen for the highly risky endeavour that it really was and when bricks and mortar became more financially attractive.

 

A cosy kitchen this may be, but it is not quite what it seems, for it is made up entirely of pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

Dominating the room is the large kitchen range which is a 1:12 miniature replica of the coal fed Phoenix Kitchen Range. A mid-Victorian model, it has hinged opening doors, hanging bars above the stove and a little bass hot water tap (used in the days before plumbed hot water). The fringing hanging from the mantle is actually a beautiful scalloped ribbon that was given to me at Christmas time by a very close friend of mine.

 

Mrs. McTavish’s intentionally worn leather wingback chair and the sewing table are both 1:12 artisan miniatures. The inside of the sewing table is particularly well made and detailed with a removable tray made up of multiple compartments. Beneath it, the floral fabric lines the underside and opens up into a central bag. Both pieces come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The top comparts are full of sewing items which also came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop and various online specialists on E-Bay. The tartan rug draped over the back of the chair I have had since I was about six. It came with a blanket rocker miniature I was given for my sixth birthday.

 

The sewing basket that you can see on the floor beneath the sewing table I bought from a high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house furnishings. It is an artisan miniature and contains pieces of embroidery and embroidery threads. Also inserted into it is an embroidery hoop that has been which embroidered by hand which came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The lidded wicker basket also beneath the sewing table was made by an unknown miniature artisan in America. The floral patterns on the top have been hand painted. The hinged lids lift, just like a real hamper, so things can be put inside. In this case it contains various lace doilies, some of which I have obtained from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom and one that I bought from the same high street shop that specialised in dolls and doll house furnishings that the sewing basket came from.

 

On the small pedestal table next to Mrs. McTavish’s chair sits a black velvet pillow used for making bobbin lace. It comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom, and so too does the table.

 

On the wall just behind Mrs. McTavish’s chair hangs a hand painted cuckoo clock. It has been made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces.

 

In the background you can see Mrs. McTavish’s dark wood dresser cluttered with decorative china. I have had the dresser since I was a child. The shelves of the dresser have different patterned crockery which have come from different miniature stockists both in Australia and the United Kingdom.

 

Like the dresser, the round table and the Windsor chairs I have had since I was a child. The cloth on the table is hand crocheted antique lace which I have had since I was seven years old. The decorative china on the table also come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. So too does the tea caddy, the aspidistra in the white pot and the floral teapot on the range. The biscuit tin with the decorative lid featuring a Victorian man and lady comes from Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The Dundee cake is a 1:12 artisan miniature made of polymer clay with a real piece of tartan ribbon around it, made by Polly’s Pantry who specialises in making food miniatures. The vase of yellow roses came from an online stockist on E-Bay.

 

The brass pieces on the range all come from different online stockists of miniatures.

 

The rug on the floor comes from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.

Fantastic Artists in Manchester Northern Quarter !!!! NEXT TO MARKET

The Refectory

  

For more photographs of Basingwerk Abbey please click here: www.jhluxton.com/Wales/Flintshire/Basingwerk-Abbey/

 

asingwerk Abbey (Welsh: Abaty Dinas Basing) is a Grade I listed ruined abbey near Holywell.

The abbey, which was founded in the 12th century, belonged to the Order of Cistercians. It maintained significant lands in the English county of Derbyshire. The abbey was abandoned and its assets sold following the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1536.

 

The site is now managed by Cadw – the national Welsh heritage agency.

 

The abbey was founded in 1132 by Ranulf de Gernon, 4th Earl of Chester, who had already brought Benedictine monks from Savigny Abbey in southern Normandy.

 

The abbey became part of the Cistercian Order in 1147. It was a daughter house of Combermere Abbey in Cheshire, of which Earl Ranulf was a great benefactor. However, in 1147 the abbot and convent of Savigny transferred it to Buildwas Abbey in Shropshire.

Twenty years later, the monks of Basingwerk challenged their subjection to Buildwas, but Savigny found against them and sent a letter notifying their decision to the abbot of Cîteaux, the head of the Cistercian order. An Earl of Chester gave the manor of West Kirby to the Abbey.

 

The abbey had significant lands in the English county of Derbyshire. Henry II gave the monks a manor near Glossop. The Monks' Road and the Abbot's Chair near the town are a reminder of the Abbey's efforts to administer their possession. In 1290 the Abbey gained a market charter for Glossop. The monks also got another charter for nearby Charlesworth in 1328.

 

By the 13th century, the abbey was under the patronage of Llywelyn the Great, Prince of Gwynedd. His son Dafydd ap Llywelyn gave St Winefride's Well to the abbey. The monks harnessed the power of the Holywell stream to run a corn mill and to treat the wool from their sheep. In 1433, the monks leased all of Glossopdale in Derbyshire to the Talbot family, the future Earls of Shrewsbury (1442).

 

A legend says a 12th-century Basingwerk Abbey monk was lured into a nearby wood by the singing of a nightingale. He thought he had only been listening a short while, but when he returned, the abbey was in ruins. He crumbled to dust shortly afterwards.

 

In 1536, abbey life came to an end with the Dissolution of the Monasteries during the reign of Henry VIII. Its dissolution was made lawful by the Dissolution of the Lesser Monasteries Act and the lands of the abbey were granted to lay owners.

 

Razors pain you;

Rivers are damp;

Acids stain you;

And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren’t lawful;

Nooses give;

Gas smells awful;

You might as well live.

Resumé - Dorothy Parker

 

Nothing great, really, but special meaning. Stay safe, people. Stay Strong.

I'm reading Looking for Alaska finally bought an e-book hooray! and I have this feeling it will probably ruin my life, but most books do so whatever. I've had a week full of inspiration which I mainly used in my writing and my Wreck this journal so I'm kinda happy.

My divorce from Lord Lyndon has now been finalized, to the keen satisfaction and excitement of both parties! We both have wedding plans of our own, now we are single again - though we will always remain close friends and business associates! I am to marry Le Duc de D'Or Baleine, and my ex-husband will be marrying Sir Charles Dexter, in his/her new identity of Miss "Lulu" Lyndon.

 

It's a lot of fun being engaged to the wealthiest man in the world! My honeybunch completely understands what a total tart and strumpet I am (that's one of the reasons he fell for me!). But he also loves to see me acting the part of the posh, aristocratic lady - and showing me off to the world as his glamorous trophy bride! Here I am all dolled-up and ready for tonight's round of cocktails, dinner - and whatever other activities may transpire...

 

Speaking of other activities, I have been so busy with my wedding preparations that I have been unable to spend as much time as usual working at The Salon. Lady Amanda Barclay has been doing a superb job running our operation during my absences, and I have been keeping my hand in (so to speak!) by seeing some of my regular clients.... But I have been candid with my fiancé about my intention to return full-time to my chosen profession after our honeymoon. Like almost all husbands, my honeybunch is completely thrilled by the thought that his lawful wedded wife is also a completely shameless tart!

 

I think we may soon be seeing a new "wife watcher" at The Salon...!

 

Toodle Pip!

 

Love and Kisses to all my Friends and Fans!

xxxxx

Lady Rebecca Georgina Arabella Lyndon

Duchess of Basingstoke

(a hereditary title which I will definitely be keeping!!!)

 

We're here are looking for lawful rebellions. Well, our little library has been rebelling against mother nature for a long while now. The summer monsoon we had today was a step too far though and the rebellion has come to an end.

The cathedral's location, construction, design, and dedication owe much to the Howard family, who, as Dukes of Norfolk and Earls of Arundel are the most prominent English Catholic family, and rank first (below the royal family) in the Peerage of England. Since 1102 the seat of the Howards' ancestors has been Arundel Castle.

 

In 1664, Roman Catholic worship was suppressed in England by the Conventicle Act, and all churches and cathedrals in England were transferred to the Church of England. With the Catholic Emancipation Act of 1829, the foundation of Roman Catholic parishes became lawful once again.

 

In 1868, Henry Fitzalan-Howard, 15th Duke of Norfolk, commissioned the architect Joseph Hansom to design a new Roman Catholic sanctuary as a suitable counterpart to Arundel Castle. The architectural style of the cathedral is French Gothic, a style that would have been popular between 1300 and 1400—the period in which the Howards rose to national prominence in England. The building is Grade I listed and is regarded as one of the finest examples of Gothic Revival architecture in the French Gothic style in the country.

 

The church was originally dedicated to Our Lady and St Philip Neri, but in 1971, following the canonisation of Philip Howard, 1st Earl of Arundel, and the reburial of his relics in the cathedral, the dedication was changed to Our Lady and St Philip Howard.

Name |||Ira

Physical Age|||21

Actual Age |||Doesn't know

Gender|||Female

Height |||5' 2"

Weight |||130lbs

Sexuality |||Bi-Sexual

Scent|||Sunflowers & Spring Rain with a hint of Holy Water

Race |||Angel

Sub-Race |||Seraphim

Faction |||N/A

Occupation|||N/A

Alignment|||Lawful Neutral

Personality|||Blunt, Honest, Straight forwards and completely unfiltered, but she's shy at first.

  

||| Abilities |||

 

Powers |||

  

Weakness |||

  

|||Biography|||

  

Photo Taken @ Origins of Sin

maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Aegis%20Island/195/78/4001

 

Model |

Eos Fʏᴇ Sɪɴᴊɪᴋo™ (coquito69)

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Tonight, we are in the little maid’s room off the Cavendish Mews kitchen, which serves as Edith, Lettice’s maid’s, bedroom. The room is very comfortable and more spacious than the attic she shared with her friend and fellow maid, Hilda, in her last position. The room is papered with floral sprigged wallpaper, and whilst there is no carpet, unlike Lettice’s bedroom, there are rugs laid over the stained floorboards. The room is big enough for Edith to have a comfortable armchair and tea table as well as her bed, a chest of drawers and a small wardrobe. Best of all, the room has central heating, so it is always warm and cosy on cold nights.

 

Edith has returned to Cavendish Mews after spending Christmas with her family in Harlesden and New Year with her beau Frank at a pub in Rotherhithe, arriving a few days ahead of Lettice who will shortly return from her own Christmas holiday spent with her family at their country estate, Glynes, in Wiltshire. Edith is luxuriating in the silence of the flat with no Lettice present. Although not overly demanding and a very good mistress to work for, Edith always knows when Lettice is home, sensing her presence in the soft clip of her footfall on the parquetry floor, the distant sound of her favourite or latest American records on the gramophone, the waft of her expensive French perfumes about the rooms of the flat, the peal of her laughter as she giggles over tea or cocktails with visiting friends or the jangle of the servants call bells bouncing about in the kitchen near the back door. For now, it is just Edith with only the tick of the clocks about the house and the distant burble of late night traffic along Bond Street to disturb her quiet.

 

She sighs and takes a sip of tea from the Delftware teacup, part of the kitchen set she uses and places it back on the tea table next to the pot, covered with a cosy knitted for her by her mother three years ago as a Christmas gift. She glances around the room at her possessions. In comparison to her mistress, what she has amassed is meagre to say the least, but she is very happy with her own personal touches about her little bedroom. Her hat, a second hand black straw cloche she came by at Petticoat Lane* decorated with bits and bobs she picked up from her Whitechapel haberdasher Mrs. Minkin, sits on her hat stand, also acquired from Petticoat Lane, on one end of the dark chest of drawers. Her lacquered sewing box, a gift from her mother when she first left home to go into service, sits at the other. Behind it is wedged her latest scrapbook that she fills with newspaper articles about fashion, films and the advances of women. Next to the sewing box sit the latest editions to her library, three romance novels from Lettice as a Christmas gift. Next to her hat stand, her collection of hat pins, and next to that, the brass framed portrait photo of she and her parents taken at a professional photographic studio in the Harlesden High Street. If she squints and concentrates hard, Edith can just remember the occasion, with her pressed into her Sunday best white pinny with lace, made for her by her mother, and starched by her too, being a laundress. The needlepoint home sweet home Edith made hangs on the wall in a simple wooden frame above the drawers. Her eyes return to the chest of drawers’ highly polished surface where the eau de nil Bakelite**dressing table set from Boots***, a gift from Lettice the previous Christmas, sits and then she sees the face of Bert, her first love, gazing out at her. Although he is sitting stiffly and was possibly ill at ease dressed in his Sunday best when the photograph was taken, it cannot hide the kindness in his eyes, or the cheeky smirk that plays at the corners of his mouth.

 

“I wonder if it’s time.” Edith muses quietly to herself, taking another sip of tea.

 

Edith’s young man was the local postman in Harlesden, and that was how Edith first met him, delivering mail in her street. The Watsfords, Edith’s family, never had much post, but Bert would always find an excuse to stop if he saw her in that last year before the war before she had her first live-in post as a maid and was still living at home. She was fourteen and he was eighteen, and Edith’s parents, George and Ada, said they were both too young to be tethering themselves to one another, what with all their lives ahead of them. Bert’s mother wasn’t too keen on him courting a laundress’ daughter about to go out into service either. She had expectations of Bert. She always felt that being employed in a steady job with the post office, he could make a successful career for himself, and could do better than a local girl with a father who baked biscuits at the McVitie and Price factory and a mother who laundered clothes for those more fortunate than she. But they didn’t mind what their parents said. They loved each other. What might have been, Edith was never to find out, for then the war broke out, and Bert took the King’s shilling****, like so many young men his age, and he died at the Battle of Passchendaele in 1917.

 

“I think you’d like Frank,” Edith addresses Bert’s photograph. “He’s a hard worker, just like you were, and he rides a bike too.” She smiles. “He thinks he’s on the make, and maybe he is. He’s certainly trying to improve and better himself, and me too if he has his way. He wants to take me to an art gallery or two this year. He told me so on New Year’s Eve when we were down at The Angel by the Thames. Can you imagine me going and looking at paintings in a big gallery? I can’t, any more than I can imagine you doing it, Bert, but I’m willing to give it a go for him.”

 

She sits and thinks for a while, recalling moments spent with Frank on their days together.

 

Edith chuckles to herself again. “Last summer when the weather was fine, Frank and me, we would sometimes go to Hyde Park on our Sundays off rather than going to the pictures up in West Ham, and listen to the brass bands play in the rotunda. Frank paid for our deckchairs – he’s a gentleman like that you can rest assured – and we’d sit and listen to them play.” She sighs. “Oh it was grand! The sun shining warm on my face and only the distant burble of the traffic to even remind me that I was in London. And then on the way home, we’d stop and listen to the speakers***** if Frank thought they had anything decent to say. I bet you can’t imagine little me, your sweet and gentle Edith, listening to political speeches. If you had kept your head down over there in France, I might never have. We were never into politics, you and I, were we, Bert?” She takes another sip of her tea. “Not that we really knew each other all that well. We were both so young and probably really still finding out who we were ourselves, never mind each other.” She sighs more deeply as she ruminates. “The truth is that quite a lot of it goes over my head, Bert, but Frank takes the time to explain things to me so that I can understand it too. Frank is quite a political chap really, and he says that I should show an interest too. I asked him why, when I don’t even have the vote******, but he says it won’t always be the way it is now. He says that now is the time for the working man, and woman. He believes in the emancipation of women. There you go, Bert! That’s a big word for me isn’t it? Emancipation!” She smiles proudly. “It means to be set free from social or political restrictions.”

 

Edith stands up and wanders over to Bert’s photograph and picks it up. The Bakelite feels cool in her hands as she traces the moulded edges of the frame.

 

“I wonder if you’d come back from the war whether you would have come back a changed man, Bert, and whether we’d even still be together. Would I have been enough for you? Would you be a man like Frank, not that he went to the war. Being the same age as me, he just missed out on being old enough to enlist. Would you have come back different? So many did. I mean some came back with the most awful injuries you can imagine, and then there were the injuries you couldn’t see, which doctors are still considering.” She looks into Bert’s frozen face. “Mental damage, I mean – something the doctors are now calling shellshock. But for all of them, there were plenty of men who weren’t hurt in the war, and they all seem to want change. They haven’t gone back to their old jobs as footmen or other domestic staff or working on farms. Women too. Women who worked in the munitions factories during the war. Canary Girls, they called them, because their skin turned yellow from building the shells. They all want better jobs, better pay and better standards of living. Would you have joined their ranks, I wonder, and would I have been there to support you? I just did what Mum told me to do and went into domestic service proper, and I tell you what, Bert, with less men there to do the jobs in big houses, the work falls to women, and there are fewer of us too. Older staff mutter about women waiting at table and answering doors nowadays, because there are fewer footmen and butlers, but there are fewer parlour maids and kitchen maids too. I’ve read in the newspapers that it is called, ‘the servant problem’. I still keep scrapbooks, Bert, but the things I paste in them are different these days. There is less about Royal Family and more about fashion and the pictures, and ladies doing things they’ve never done before. Have I changed? Would you like the Edith Watsford I am today, I wonder?”

 

Edith runs her hands over Bert’s face, forever young, forever captured with that slight hint of smile and sparkle in his eyes.

 

“Frank wants me to meet his granny, Bert. His parents died of the Spanish Flu after the war, and he only has his granny now. I’d like to meet her, but at the same time I’m terrified. I’m not frightened of her, in fact I want to meet her.” She takes a deep sigh. “No, what I’m frightened of is the significance of meeting her, and what that meeting means. Mum and Dad have been crying out to meet Frank. They wanted him to come and join us in Harlesden for Christmas dinner, since my brother was at sea on Christmas Day, but I told them that Frank wants to do things correctly, which means I meet his family first and then he can meet mine. Meeting Frank’s granny means that I will have to let go of you, and I can’t really ask you how you feel about that. When you died, Mum just told me to get on with things, and not to worry about the past. Now I’m doing that. I didn’t think I’d ever find someone to love again, Bert, but I do love Frank. If I’m honest, now I’m older and know myself and the world a bit better, I might love Frank even more than I loved you. I was only fourteen after all, and didn’t really know much about love, other than what I’d read in romance novels.” She looks at the brightly coloured paper cover of one of the novels Lettice gave her for Christmas. “I still read them, but I know that what appears in those pages isn’t necessarily really love. I don’t expect a man to sweep me into his arms and confess his undying love for me. No, a mutual understanding and agreement about where we are going in life is what love is, or part of it anyway. Just look at Mum and Dad. Not that I don’t want a bit of romance along the way, and Frank is a good kisser. I’m sure he’d be happy to do a little more than kiss if I let him, but Mum told me not to let that happen until after I get a ring on my finger. By meeting Frank’s granny, Bert, it means it’s a big step closer to getting that ring on my finger. It means that I’m serious about him, and he me. It means that we are sure we want to be together and get married.”

 

Tears well in Edith’s eyes, even as she speaks.

 

“If I have to leave you behind in order to move on with Frank, would you let me, Bert? Would you be happy for me? Would you wish me well? Would you wish us well?”

 

Carefully Edith moves the latches on the back of the frame holding Bert’s image in place. She feels the backing come away and fall slightly into her fingers. The glass tilts, reflecting back a ghostly image of herself across Bert’s smiling face. She realises that no matter how she feels about Bert, there will never be a photograph of the two of them together. She thinks of her friend Hilda, who now works for Lettice’s friends Margot and Dickie Channon in a flat within walking distance of Lettice’s flat. Hilda longs to meet a man whom she can step out with the way Edith and Frank have been ding for almost a year now, yet she has no prospects. There are far fewer men to choose from than before the war, and plenty more women vying for interest in those who have returned from the conflict. Edith considers herself lucky to have such an opportunity with Frank. Perhaps the time for change has come.

 

Gently she slips her fingers between the photograph and the glass. She withdraws Bert’s photograph.

 

“If I’m serious about Frank, Bert, which I am, I can’t keep carrying you around in my purse, or in a picture frame. It’s not fair to Frank, or to me really. But, I’ll always carry a little of you in my heart.”

 

She opens one of the small top drawers of the chest of drawers, which squeaks on its rungs as it is pulled out. A waft of lavender from a small muslin sachet inside drifts up to her nose. She slips Frank’s photo underneath a stack of clean pressed handkerchiefs and then closes the drawer firmly. She opens the next drawer and places the frame into the empty space.

 

“I’ll take you out again when I have a photo of Frank to put in you.” she assures the frame as she closes the drawer again.

 

*Petticoat Lane Market is a fashion and clothing market in Spitalfields, London. It consists of two adjacent street markets. Wentworth Street Market and Middlesex Street Market. Originally populated by Huguenots fleeing persecution in France, Spitalfields became a center for weaving, embroidery and dying. From 1882, a wave of Jewish immigrants fleeing persecution in eastern Europe settled in the area and Spitalfields then became the true heart of the clothing manufacturing district of London. 'The Lane' was always renowned for the 'patter' and showmanship of the market traders. It was also known for being a haven for the unsavoury characters of London’s underworld and was rife with prostitutes during the late Victorian era. Unpopular with the authorities, as it was largely unregulated and in some sense illegal, as recently as the 1930s, police cars and fire engines were driven down ‘The Lane’, with alarm bells ringing, to disrupt the market.

 

**Bakelite, was the first plastic made from synthetic components. Patented on December 7, 1909, the creation of a synthetic plastic was revolutionary for its electrical nonconductivity and heat-resistant properties in electrical insulators, radio and telephone casings and such diverse products as kitchenware, jewellery, pipe stems, children's toys, and firearms. A plethora of items were manufactured using Bakelite in the 1920s and 1930s.

 

***Boots the chemist was established in 1849, by John Boot. After his father's death in 1860, Jesse Boot, aged 10, helped his mother run the family's herbal medicine shop in Nottingham, which was incorporated as Boot and Co. Ltd in 1883, becoming Boots Pure Drug Company Ltd in 1888. In 1920, Jesse Boot sold the company to the American United Drug Company. However, because of deteriorating economic circumstances in North America Boots was sold back into British hands in 1933. The grandson of the founder, John Boot, who inherited the title Baron Trent from his father, headed the company. The Boots Pure Drug Company name was changed to The Boots Company Limited in 1971. Between 1898 and 1966, many branches of Boots incorporated a lending library department, known as Boots Book-Lovers' Library.

 

****To take the King’s shilling means to enlist in the army. The saying derives from a shilling whose acceptance by a recruit from a recruiting officer constituted until 1879 a binding enlistment in the British army —used when the British monarch is a king.

 

*****A Speakers' Corner is an area where open-air public speaking, debate, and discussion are allowed. The original and best known is in the northeast corner of Hyde Park in London. Historically there were a number of other areas designated as Speakers' Corners in other parks in London, such as Lincoln's Inn Fields, Finsbury Park, Clapham Common, Kennington Park, and Victoria Park. Areas for Speakers' Corners have been established in other countries and elsewhere in Britain. Speakers here may talk on any subject, as long as the police consider their speeches lawful, although this right is not restricted to Speakers' Corner only. Contrary to popular belief, there is no immunity from the law, nor are any subjects proscribed, but in practice the police intervene only when they receive a complaint.

 

******It was not until the Equal Franchise Act of 1928 that women over the age of twenty-one were able to vote in Britain and women finally achieved the same voting rights as men.

 

This cosy room may be a nice place to keep warm on a winter’s night, but what you may not be aware of is that it is made up entirely with pieces from my 1:12 miniatures collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The eau-de-nil dressing table set on Edith’s chest of drawers, which has been made with incredible detail to make it as realistic as possible, is a Chrysnbon Miniature set. The mirror even contains a real piece of reflective mirror. Judy Berman founded Chrysnbon Miniatures in the 1970’s. She created affordable miniature furniture kits patterned off of her own full-size antiques collection. She then added a complete line of accessories to compliment the furniture. The style of furniture and accessories reflect the turn-of-the-century furnishings of a typical early American home. At the time, collectible miniatures were expensive because they were mostly individually crafted.

 

The photo of Bert in the eau-de-nil frame and the family portrait in the brass frame on the chest of drawers are real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The brass frame comes from Melody Jane’s Doll House Suppliers.

 

Edith’s black dyed straw hat with purple roses and black feathers was made by an unknown artisan. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable. This hat is part of a larger collection I bought from an American miniature collector Marilyn Bickel. The hat stand it sits on also comes from her.

 

To the right of Edith’s hat is an ornamental green jar filled with hatpins. The jar is made from a single large glass Art Deco bead, whilst each hatpin is made from either a nickel or brass plate pin with beads for ornamental heads. They were made by Karen Lady Bug Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

Edith’s scrapbook wedged behind her sewing box is a 1:12 size miniature made by the British miniature artisan Ken Blythe, as are the three novels you can see on the surface of Edith’s chest of drawers. Most of the books I own that Ken has made may be opened to reveal authentic printed interiors. In some cases, you can even read the words, depending upon the size of the print! I have quite a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my collection, but so little of his real artistry is seen because the books that he specialised in making are usually closed, sitting on shelves or closed on desks and table surfaces. When open, you will find the scarpbook contains sketches, photographs and article clippings. Even the paper has been given the appearance of wrinkling as happens when glue is applied to cheap pulp paper. To give you an idea of the work that has gone into this scrapbook, it contains twelve double sided pages of scrapbook articles, pictures, sketches and photographs and measures forty millimetres in height and thirty millimetres in width and is only three millimetres thick. What might amaze you even more is that all Ken Blythe’s opening books are authentically replicated 1:12 scale miniatures of real volumes. To create something so authentic to the original in such detail and so clearly, really does make this a miniature artisan piece. Ken Blythe’s work is highly sought after by miniaturists around the world today and command high prices at auction for such tiny pieces, particularly now that he is no longer alive. I was fortunate enough to acquire pieces from Ken Blythe prior to his death about four years ago. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.

 

The sewing box, the ‘home sweet home’ embroidery and the pencil all come from various online shops who sell dollhouse miniatures. The franked postcard in the foreground on the tea table comes from Mick and Marie’s Miniatures in the United Kingdom.

 

Also on the tea table, the tea cosy, which fits snugly over a white porcelain teapot, has been hand knitted in fine lemon, blue and violet wool. It comes easily off and off and can be as easily put back on as a real tea cosy on a real teapot. It comes from a specialist miniatures stockist in England.

 

The Deftware cup, saucer and milk jug are part of a 1:12 size miniature porcelain dinner set which I acquired from a private collection of 1:12 miniatures in Holland.

 

Edith’s armchair is upholstered in blue chintz, and is made to the highest quality standards by J.B.M. Miniatures. The back and seat cushions come off the body of the armchair, just like a real piece of furniture.

 

The chest of drawers I have had since I was a teenager. I bought it from the toy section of a large city department store.

Ever Lawful, South Boston, MA

Morrison Electricars DV4 number 222 in the Birmingham fleet is going about it's lawful duties in Somerville Rd near it's junction with Muntz Street, Small Heath on a fine late Winter morning in 1965. FVP 86 was new 08/03/1940 when it went to Lifford depot, it later went to Montague street and lasted until17/05/1971 when it went to Sansom (breaker). The picture shows the old style dustcart with the shutters open revealing the load of noisome household rubbish which was carried by the crew in the tin baths that can be seen on the pile. A few of these carts caught fire as a result of hot ash starting a fire in the wooden bodies.

For once Geoff Dowling not Peter!

Men naturally rebel against the injustice of which they are victims. Thus, when plunder is organized by law for the profit of those who make the law, all the plundered classes try somehow to enter -- by peaceful or revolutionary means -- into the making of laws. According to their degree of enlightenment, these plundered classes may propose one of two entirely different purposes when they attempt to attain political power: Either they may wish to stop lawful plunder, or they may wish to share in it.

 

Woe to the nation when this latter purpose prevails among the mass victims of lawful plunder when they, in turn, seize the power to make laws!

 

Until that happens, the few practice lawful plunder upon the many, a common practice where the right to participate in the making of law is limited to a few persons. But then, participation in the making of law becomes universal. And then, men seek to balance their conflicting interests by universal plunder. Instead of rooting out the injustices found in society, they make these injustices general. As soon as the plundered classes gain political power, they establish a system of reprisals against other classes. They do not abolish legal plunder. (This objective would demand more enlightenment than they possess.) Instead, they emulate their evil predecessors by participating in this legal plunder, even though it is against their own interests.

 

It is as if it were necessary, before a reign of justice appears, for everyone to suffer a cruel retribution -- some for their evilness, and some for their lack of understanding.

 

Fredrick Bastiats

Container Ship Ever Lawful, South Boston, MA

Arundel Catholic Cathedral viewed from the gardens of Arundel Castle in West Sussex England. This photo was taken with my Canon DSLR camera. I prefer the photos I took with my Samsung phone camera more.

 

The Cathedral Church of Our Lady and St Philip Howard is located in Arundel, West Sussex, England. Dedicated in 1873 as the Catholic parish church of Arundel, it became a cathedral at the foundation of the Diocese of Arundel and Brighton in 1965. It now serves as the seat of the Bishop of Arundel and Brighton

.

The cathedral's location, construction, design, and dedication owe much to the Howard family, who, as Dukes of Norfolk and Earls of Arundel are the most prominent English Catholic family, and rank first (below the royal family) in the Peerage of England. Since 1102 the seat of the Howards' ancestors has been Arundel Castle.

 

In 1664, Catholic worship was suppressed in England by the Conventicle Act, and all churches and cathedrals in England were transferred to the Church of England. With the Roman Catholic Relief Act 1829, the foundation of Catholic parishes became lawful once again.

 

In 1868, Henry Fitzalan-Howard, 15th Duke of Norfolk, commissioned the architect Joseph Hansom to design a new Catholic sanctuary as a suitable counterpart to Arundel Castle. The architectural style of the cathedral is French Gothic, a style that would have been popular between 1300 and 1400—the period in which the Howards rose to national prominence in England. The building is Grade I listed and is regarded as one of the finest examples of Gothic Revival architecture in the French Gothic style in the country.

 

The church was originally dedicated to Our Lady and St Philip Neri, but in 1971, following the canonisation of Philip Howard, 1st Earl of Arundel, and the reburial of his relics in the cathedral, the dedication was changed to Our Lady and St Philip Howard.

  

EL BOTÓN

 

El Presidente miraba el botón sin verlo, tan intensas eran las cábalas sobre sus intenciones. Sólo él conocía su existencia y no eran necesarios protocolos de claves enigmáticas ni secuencias de números sellados compartidos con su hombre de confianza. Su antecesor en la Presidencia del país le confesó dónde estaba el mecanismo secreto para, en caso de extrema gravedad, anticiparse al atacante.

La Humanidad se desangraba en continuas guerras por muchos motivos. El ser humano nunca escarmentaba ni aprendía de sus errores; seguía obstinado en luchar contra su prójimo, fuera el que fuera y allá donde se hallase. Esto tenía que acabar, pensó el Presidente. La solución era apretar el botón. Había que empezar de cero.

Nuevos seres poblarían de nuevo el planeta Tierra. Tras la extinción de los dinosaurios sobrevino el caos pero luego nuevas especies de animales y plantas aparecieron. La Vida, de un modo u otro, no se extinguió totalmente, perduró aunque con formas distintas. Ahora sucedería algo semejante.

Las guerras conllevan crueldad y el fin del enemigo, Para los supervivientes, hambrunas y penurias, miserias insufribles.

No era lícito bajo ningún concepto, que un presidente decidiese sobre el porvenir de sus semejantes. Desde hace un tiempo este pensamiento lo llevaba siempre en su conciencia, día y noche, no le dejaba en paz.

En realidad no pretendía ni deseaba el fin de la humanidad, de la vida misma en el planeta. Él no temía a la muerte, más bien la deseaba; ésa era la finalidad de liberar la bomba K. Morir del modo más rápido e indoloro. Pero era inhumano y no era justo acabar con la vida de los demás. Aunque era bien cierto que las guerras , lenta pero inexorablemente, aniquilarían a todos los habitantes del planeta en poco espacio de tiempo. Él haría que ese final fuera más rápido e incruento.

Era el hombre más poderoso del mundo, podía decidir sobre naciones y pueblos enteros, quebrantar voluntades, todos le temían. La causante de estos pensamientos y deseos fratricidas era la infelicidad que le embargaba, el motivo de que tuviera a mano aquel botón. ¿De qué le servía decidir y dominarlo todo si últimamente el amor de su esposa le había abandonado? Se sentía el más desgraciado del universo y nada le importaba ya que todo desapareciera para siempre por esa ausencia.

En ese estado, nadie hubiera dado crédito a lo que pasaba por su mente . Ahora no era su corazón de oro, como siempre se atribuyó a sí mismo y mostraba a todos. Era el del hombre más ruin y despreciable que pudiera existir. Se asqueaba de sí mismo y pensar que era al fin y al cabo un hombre como cualquier otro, no apaciguaba su ánimo de quitarse la vida,

 

Su matrimonio era un ejemplo de amor y convivencia para el país, la imagen de una pareja adorable. Nadie imaginaba que en la intimidad imperaba el vacío, el desamor más insondable. Por eso no deseaba vivir en este estado, con esa carencia que se prolongaba demasiado tiempo, sin motivo aparente.

Levemente puso el dedo índice de su mano derecha sobre el botón. Si lo pulsara, el cohete con la carga letal surcaría los cielos más veloz que cualquier otro artefacto conocido para arrasarlo todo. En ese momento sonó su teléfono privado.

Era su esposa y le recordaba que era su aniversario de boda. Se sentía más feliz que nunca por compartir la vida con él y ser madre de sus hijos. Estaba deseando que volviera a su lado cuanto antes para celebrar tan importante efeméride brindando con champagne francés.

Aquellas dulces y tiernas palabras rebosantes de amor fueron un repentino y poderoso bálsamo para su atribulada desesperanza. El solitario y frío despacho presidencial se llenó como por arte de magia de la presencia y la voz de su añorada y deseada esposa que durante un tiempo creyó no lo amaba. Una inesperada felicidad embargó su antes triste corazón para que refulgiera y le hiciera sentirse diferente.

Un resorte desconocido e involuntario hizo que apartase la mano del botón. Su mente bullía en mil pensamientos contradictorios al pensar en la atrocidad que iba a cometer. Se horrorizó de sí mismo por querer ser el causante de la muerte de millones de seres humanos. Que también sufrían de amor y por otros motivos mucho más acuciantes que los suyos propios y deseaban morir voluntariamente.

Decididamente no pulsaría el botón. Él menos que nadie podía decidir sobre la vida y la muerte de ningún ser humano.

El botón seguiría en el lugar secreto de siempre.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE BUTTON

 

The President looked at the button without seeing it, so intense were the cabals about his intentions. Only he knew of its existence and no enigmatic key protocols or sequences of sealed numbers shared with his trusted man were necessary. His predecessor in the Presidency of the country confessed to him where the secret mechanism was to, in case of extreme gravity, anticipate the attacker.

Humanity bled to death in continuous wars for many reasons. The human being never chastised or learned from his mistakes; he was still stubborn in fighting against his neighbor, whoever he went and wherever he was. This had to end, the President thought. The solution was to push the button. You had to start from scratch.

New beings would again populate planet Earth. After the extinction of the dinosaurs chaos ensued but then new species of animals and plants appeared. Life, in one way or another, did not become totally extinct, it endured although with different forms. Now something similar would happen.

Wars entail cruelty and the end of the enemy in the form of death to which more heartbreaking. For the survivors, famines and hardships, insufferable miseries.

It was not lawful under any circumstances for a president to decide on the future of his fellow men. For some time this thought always carried him in his consciousness, day and night, it did not leave him alone.

In reality he did not intend or desire the end of humanity, of life itself on the planet. He did not fear death, rather he desired it; that was the purpose of releasing the K. bomb To die in the fastest and most painless way. But it was inhumane and it was not fair to end the lives of others. Although it was true that wars, slowly but inexorably, would annihilate all the inhabitants of the planet in a short space of time. He would make that ending faster and bloodless.

He was the most powerful man in the world, he could decide on entire nations and peoples, break wills, everyone feared him. The cause of these fratricidal thoughts and desires was the unhappiness that overwhelmed him, the reason why he had that button at hand. What good was it for him to decide and master everything if lately his wife's love had abandoned him? He felt the most unfortunate in the universe and nothing mattered to him since everything disappeared forever because of that absence.

In that state, no one would have suspected the true nature of the President's heart, In such a situation it was not his golden heart, as he always attributed to himself and wanted to show everyone. He was the most despicable and despicable man who could ever exist. He was disgusted with himself and to think that he was after all a man like any other, did not appease his desire to take his own life,

 

Their marriage was an example of love and coexistence for the country, the image of an adorable couple. No one imagined that in intimacy emptiness prevailed, the most unfathomable heartbreak. That is why I did not want to live in this state, with that lack that lasted too long, for no apparent reason.

He slightly put the index finger of his right hand on the button. If pressed, the rocket with the lethal charge would soar through the skies faster than any other known artifact to wipe it all out. At that moment his private phone rang.

It was his wife and reminded him that it was his wedding anniversary. She felt happier than ever to share life with him and be a mother to his children. I was looking forward to him coming back to his side as soon as possible to celebrate such an important anniversary by toasting with French champagne.

Those sweet and tender words brimming with love were a sudden and powerful balm for his troubled hopelessness. The lonely and cold presidential office was filled as if by magic with the presence and voice of his longed for and desired wife who for a time believed she did not love him. An unexpected happiness overwhelmed his formerly sad heart to shine and make him feel different.

An unknown and involuntary spring caused him to move his hand away from the button. His mind was buzzing with a thousand contradictory thoughts as he thought of the atrocity he was going to commit. He was horrified at himself for wanting to be the cause of the death of millions of human beings. That they also suffered from love and for other reasons much more pressing than their own and wished to die voluntarily.

I definitely wouldn't press the button. He less than anyone else could decide on the life and death of any human being.

The button would remain in the usual secret place.

 

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The remains of the chapter house at Basingwerk Abbey, Flintshire.

 

For more photographs of Basingwerk Abbey please click here: www.jhluxton.com/Wales/Flintshire/Basingwerk-Abbey/

 

asingwerk Abbey (Welsh: Abaty Dinas Basing) is a Grade I listed ruined abbey near Holywell.

The abbey, which was founded in the 12th century, belonged to the Order of Cistercians. It maintained significant lands in the English county of Derbyshire. The abbey was abandoned and its assets sold following the Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1536.

 

The site is now managed by Cadw – the national Welsh heritage agency.

 

The abbey was founded in 1132 by Ranulf de Gernon, 4th Earl of Chester, who had already brought Benedictine monks from Savigny Abbey in southern Normandy.

 

The abbey became part of the Cistercian Order in 1147. It was a daughter house of Combermere Abbey in Cheshire, of which Earl Ranulf was a great benefactor. However, in 1147 the abbot and convent of Savigny transferred it to Buildwas Abbey in Shropshire.

Twenty years later, the monks of Basingwerk challenged their subjection to Buildwas, but Savigny found against them and sent a letter notifying their decision to the abbot of Cîteaux, the head of the Cistercian order. An Earl of Chester gave the manor of West Kirby to the Abbey.

 

The abbey had significant lands in the English county of Derbyshire. Henry II gave the monks a manor near Glossop. The Monks' Road and the Abbot's Chair near the town are a reminder of the Abbey's efforts to administer their possession. In 1290 the Abbey gained a market charter for Glossop. The monks also got another charter for nearby Charlesworth in 1328.

 

By the 13th century, the abbey was under the patronage of Llywelyn the Great, Prince of Gwynedd. His son Dafydd ap Llywelyn gave St Winefride's Well to the abbey. The monks harnessed the power of the Holywell stream to run a corn mill and to treat the wool from their sheep. In 1433, the monks leased all of Glossopdale in Derbyshire to the Talbot family, the future Earls of Shrewsbury (1442).

 

A legend says a 12th-century Basingwerk Abbey monk was lured into a nearby wood by the singing of a nightingale. He thought he had only been listening a short while, but when he returned, the abbey was in ruins. He crumbled to dust shortly afterwards.

 

In 1536, abbey life came to an end with the Dissolution of the Monasteries during the reign of Henry VIII. Its dissolution was made lawful by the Dissolution of the Lesser Monasteries Act and the lands of the abbey were granted to lay owners.

Wheelock Square looking all lawful. Shanghai, China