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FLOWING AND FANCIFUL!
( A hush falls as the meticulously voiced announcer speaks with a lilting, very theatrical tone)
( Image owned by the account holder)
{ If you are BLESSED with a comfortable figure, this is the ensemble for you! A TRULY ROYAL ENSEMBLE for the fair lady whom the master artist Titian would fain portray!
PRAY, LOOK! Patterned blue lace gently falls over you. A FLOURISH of a cape will gather around you.
An artist’s generous CHAPEAU speaks of your taste and sensibility; its detachable SUN VEIL will protect your complexion at the neck
You’ll make such an impression! As the poet said,
“While bright sun fair lady kissed,
Gay ribbon on her wrist,
Peacock fans rose to greet this
Newcomer in their midst!”
So let us BANISH all care! Thus attired, you may STEP FORWARD to receive the softly murmuring acclaim you RICHLY deserve! }
Or, as Madam would say to the customer in private:
(Whispering confidentially..) ‘In a nice garden setting, this costume is ideal. Very generous seams -so they can be adjusted as needed. Perfect for your figure!
May I advise for a moment, Madam? Ladies should apply face powder before and after venturing out, a garden breeze can wreak havoc on the complexion, mark my words! And of course, do take a look in your compact mirror before coming back…..
I do insist my assistant puts on a copious foundation, as you can now observe. Do ask if you need more advice…..’
by
Madam Worthington Exclusive Modiste
- Cabo da Roca, Portugal -
Cabo da Roca is the westernmost point of Europe.
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Fern Hill (Dylan Thomas, 1914 - 1953)
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace,
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
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 is Tuesday and we are in the kitchen of Lettice’s flat: Edith her maid’s preserve, except on Tuesdays, every third Thursday of the month and occasionally after a big party. That is when Mrs. Boothby, Lettice’s charwoman*, comes from her home in Poplar to do all the hard jobs. Edith is grateful that unlike her previous positions, she does not have to scrub the black and quite chequered kitchen linoleum, nor polish the parquetry floors, not do her most hated job, black lead the stovetop. Mrs. Boothby does them all without complaint, with reliability and to a very high standard. She is also very handy on cleaning and washing up duty with Edith after one of Lettice’s extravagant cocktail parties.
Lettice is away, staying with her family at Glynes, the Chetwynd’s grand Georgian Wiltshire estate, where she is visiting a neighbour of sorts of her parents, Mr. Alisdair Gifford who wishes Lettice to decorate a room for his Australian wife Adelina, to house her collection of blue and white china. Lettice’s absence allows Edith and Mrs. Boothby to tackle some of the more onerous jobs around Cavendish Mews before Lettice’s return later in the week. Whilst Mrs. Boothby has been giving the bathroom a really good going over with a scourer, Edith has climbed a stepladder, taken down all the crystal lustres of the chandeliers in the drawing room, dining room and hallway, washed them all and returned them to their freshly dusted metal frames. After a very full morning’s work, the two ladies are taking a well-deserved break in the kitchen of Cavendish Mews and sit around the deal kitchen table, enjoying a cup of tea, and the pleasant company of one another.
“Thank you for giving the bathroom a really good going over, Mrs. Boothby,” Edith says with a very grateful lilt to her voice as she pours some fresh tea into the old Cockney charwoman’s Delftware teacup. “I do try and keep it tidy, but… well…” Her voice trails off.
“Nah, don’t cha give it a second fort, Edith dearie,” Mrs. Boothby replies, blowing forth clouds of acrid pale greyish blue smoke across the tabletop covered with magazines, books and a tin of Huntley and Palmers** Empire Assorted Biscuits. “I know youse does, but what wiv all those lotions ‘n’ potions Miss Lettice uses to titivate ‘erself wiv, well, it just gets plain scummy, don’t it? I mean, what’s the point in all them fancy bottles of pink ‘n’ blue stuff wiv fancy labels if it’s all gonna go dahwn the plug ‘ole in the end, anyway?”
Edith smiles at Mrs. Boothby’s direct manner. Even though she has been working at Cavendish Mews, and thus Mrs. Boothby for five years now, there are still things that fly from the old woman’s mouth that surprise her.
“I mean all Ken and I use is a good old scrubbin’ wiv some carbolic,” Mrs. Boothby continues. “And look, ain’t I just as lovely as Miss Lettice?” She lifts her chin upwards and stretches out her arms slightly in a mock impersonation of a model. A serenely haughty look fills her heavily wrinkled face for just a moment, before she resumes her normal stance and starts laughing hard, her jolly guffaws punctuated by her fruity smoker roughened coughs.
“Oh Mrs. Boothby!” Edith titters. “You are a one!”
“’Ere! Don’t laugh, Edith dearie! That could be me on this ‘ere cover!” Mrs. Boothby laughs, carrying on the joke as she snatches up Edith’s latest copy of Home Chat from the tabletop in front of her and holds it up next to her face. “The face what sold a million copies!”
“Oh Mrs. Boothby!” Edith manages to splutter between laughs as tears roll down her cheeks. “You’re making my sides hurt.”
“Oh well, we can’t ‘ave none of that nah, can we?” the old woman says cheekily, returning the magazine to its place on top of a copy of Everylady’s Journal****. “Too much laughter eh? On ta somfink more serious. You clean all them dainty crystal drops what ‘ang off the lights then, did cha?”
“Oh yes, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith manages to say as she calms down and dabs the corners of her eyes with her dainty lace embroidered handkerchief. “It’s an awful job. I’m just glad Miss Lettice is away, so I can do it.”
“I agree. It does make it a bit easier when Miss Lettice ain’t ‘ome. You can leave a job and come back to it, ‘specially if it’s a big job, and not ‘ave to worry ‘bout pickin’ up after yerself in case she comes flouncin’ threw.”
“Her absence gives me a chance to think about some new menu options for my repertoire.” Edith adds, patting the covers of two cookbooks sitting just to her right. “I’m a good plain cook, but I’d like to be able to do a few fancier things too.”
“Nuffink wrong wiv a bit of plain cookin’, Edith dearie. That’s all I served me Bill when ‘e was alive, and ‘e nevva complained ‘bout anyfink I served ‘im up for tea.”
“I know Mrs. Boothby, and some the best recipes I know, I learned from Mum who is also a plain cook, but I’d just like to expand a bit. It would be nice to be able to make something fancier if Miss Lettice asks.”
“Well, just be careful, dearie.” The old charwoman picks up her cigarette from the black ashtray and takes a deep drag on it. “You’ll make a rod for your own back if you ain’t careful. Youse knows what them toffs can be like. Just look at poor “Ilda ‘avin’ ta grind coffee bits for Mr. Channon ev’ry mornin’ now, just cos once Mr. Carter the fancy American came visitin’ and made demands for fresh ground coffee, when Camp Coffee***** would ‘ave done just as well.” She blows out another plume of smoke and releases a few fruity phlegm filled coughs as she does. “Nah she’s gotta make it all the time, poor love.” Changing the subject after taking a slurp of her sweet hot tea, she continues, “So youse ready then, for Sunday?”
“Oh yes, I am!” Edith enthuses, thinking of the trip that she will be taking to Wembley to see the British Empire Exhibition****** with her beau, shop delivery boy Frank Leadbetter, her parents and brother, Bert, and Frank’s Scottish grandmother, Mrs. McTavish, on Sunday. “I can hardly wait. It all just sounds so amazing! All different pavilions from around the world.”
“Frank got your tickets then?”
“Well, he actually gave them to me, because he’s concerned that the daughter of Mr. Willison might pinch them, just to be nasty.”
“She sounds like a right piece a work, dearie. Best they stay safe wiv you, ‘ere at Cavendish Mews, then.”
“Yes, best to be on the safe side, for Henrietta,” Edith shudders as she mentions her name. “Is quite a little madam. Mind you,” She takes up a biscuit from the tin before her and takes a satisfied bite out of it. “I did give her what for that day you and I walked up to Oxford Street together.”
“Whatchoo do, Edith dearie?” Mrs. Boothby asks, snatching up a biscuit for herself with her long and bony, careworn fingers of her right hand, whilst holding her smouldering cigarette aloft in her left. She leans forward, excited to catch a little bit of gossip about her younger companion and friend.
“Well, after you left Frank and I together…”
“Ah yes!” Mrs. Boothby interrupts. “No place for an old woman like me when there’s young love in the air, is there?”
“We didn’t exactly shoo you away, Mrs. Boothby, as I recall it.”
“Well, be that as it may, go on.” She takes a long drag on her hand rolled cigarette, the paper crackling as the tobacco inside burns.
“Well, after you left and Frank and I talked for just a little while, I noticed we were being observed by that nasty little snitch. She accused us of cavorting in the street!”
“Did she now, fancy fine little madam?”
“As if she even knew what cavorting meant.”
“So whatchoo do, then, Edith dearie?”
“Well, I told her that we weren’t, and I told her to stop spying on Frank and I, or I’d tell Miss Lettice that I wanted to take our business elsewhere, and that her father would know that she was the cause of it.”
The old Cockney woman bursts out laughing and claps her hands in delight, showering flakes of ash and biscuit crumbs over the table before her. “Good for you, Edith dearie! I ain’t nevva fort youse ‘ave the guts to do somefink like that!”
“Nor did I, Mrs. Boothby.” Edith answers slightly shakily as she puts her hand to her heaving chest where her heart beats a little faster at the memory of her altercation with Henrietta Willison. “I don’t quite know where it came from, but I did, and I’m not unhappy that I did it.”
“Well, I say well done, dearie. That girl sounds like a nasty bit o’ work: spyin’ on people and spoilin’ their fun by threatenin’ ta steal tickets what they done paid for. It ain’t right. Sounds like she got what was commin’ to ‘er, and there’s a fact.”
“All the same, I do feel a little guilty about it.”
“Why, Edith dearie?” Mrs. Boothby munches contentedly on the remains of her biscuit as she settles back into the rounded back of the Windsor chair she sits in.
“Well, part of me thinks that for all her nastiness, it’s not entirely Henrietta’s fault that she is the way that she is.”
“’Ow’s that then?”
“Well, she’s at that difficult age. I don’t know if I was overly wonderful when I was her age either. Mum always said I was in a funk, which I put down to working for nasty old Widow Hounslow at the time, but looking back, I think I was emotional. My first chap who I was sweet on, the postman, had taken the King’s shilling******* and gone off to Flander’s Fields******* and never came back.”
“Bless all of ‘em takers of the King’s shillin’.” Mrs. Boothby interrupts, lowering her eyes as she does so.
“So I was a mess of emotions.”
“Course you was, dearie. Any girl wiv a sweetheart in the army would ‘ave been the same.”
“Maybe, but I think that even if there hadn’t been a war, I’d still have been emotional. You see it wasn’t just the war: everything made me emotional, or sullen.” She stops speaking and takes a gentle sip of her tea. “Do you know what I think, Mrs. Boothby?”
“What’s that then, dearie?”
“I think Henrietta is sweet on Frank, even though she’s far to young for Frank, and I think she sees me as a threat.”
“Nah, nah, my girl!” Mrs. Boothby defends. “Youse ain’t no threat ta nobody!”
“You know that, and I know that, but I think in her emotional, difficult stage of life mind, Henrietta thinks that if I went away, Frank might notice her.”
“Well, whevva she finks that or not, she’s still got no business stealin’ a body’s tickets what they gone and paid for ‘emselves. She got what she deserved, which I ‘ope is a big fright!” Mrs. Boothby nods seriously as she screws up her face into an even more wrinkled mass of crumpled flesh.
“Maybe, Mrs. Boothby.”
“Would you go frew wiv it, then: ya threat, I mean?”
“Well, I haven’t had to yet, but if she continues to spy on Frank and I, or cause trouble, I will tell Miss Lettice, and I don’t think she’ll take too kindly to me being bothered in my own time by the daughter of our grocers.”
“Well, enuf ‘bout ‘er, Edith dearie. Nah you said your dad was lookin’ forward to seein’ the trains at the hexibition.”
“That’s right, Mrs. Boothby. The Flying Scotsman********* in the Palace of Engineering.”
“Right-o. But whatchoo lookin’ forward to seein’ the most on Sunday, besides Frank’s pretty blue eyes starin’ dahwn inta yer own, eh?”
“Oh Mrs. Boothby!” Edith gasps, raising her hands to her cheeks as she feels them flush. As the old Cockney chuckles mischievously from her seat adjunct to Edith, the young girl perseveres as she clears her throat. “Well, I’m looking forward to seeing the Palace of Engineering too.”
“I nevva took you for a train lover, Edith dearie!” Mrs. Boothby says in surprise.
“Oh, it isn’t the railway exhibits I’m interested in.” Edith assures her, raising her hands defensively before her and shaking her pretty head. “No. I saw in the newspapers the designer of the Lion of Engineering********** and I read what was going to be included in the pavilion, and there will be examples of new British labour-saving devices, so I’m very keen to see them.”
“Is that all?” Mrs. Boothby exclaims aghast. “A whole bunch of new fancy appliances? What about all the fings from ‘round the world? That’s what I’d be interested to see!”
“Oh I am. They say that there will be coloured people there from some of the African nations, living right there at the exhibition, giving demonstrations of native crafts and taking part in traditional cultural events.”
“Yes, I read that too! Fancy that! I don’t see many coloured people, even dahwn Poplar, where we’s all mixed in togevva, ‘cept maybe a sailor or two nah and then.”
“And there will be elephants roaming around too, and goodness knows what else. It’s all going to be amazing, I’m sure.”
“Well, I look forward to ‘earing all about it from you, Edith dearie. You’ll probably be the closest I get to seein’ it, meself.”
Edith cradles her cup in her hands and looks thoughtfully at the old woman. “Aren’t you going to go too, Mrs. Boothby. Everyone I know is going. Hilda is going, although one of her friends from Mrs. Minkin’s knitting circle asked her before Frank and I did, so she is going with some of them in a few weeks.”
“Yes, she told me she was goin’, too, but not wiv you, which is a bit of a shame.”
“Oh, I’m just glad that she’s going, and that she has made some new friends.” Edith replies happily. “Hilda, as you know, is quite shy, and she finds it hard to make friends. I don’t think we would have been friends if we hadn’t shared a bedroom at Mrs. Plaistow’s, even if we were both under housemaids and living under the same roof.” She sighs. “Anyway, Hilda and I get to see each other all the time, especially since we live so close by now. As a matter of fact, I’m actually going over to Hill Street tonight, with Miss Lettice’s blessing, to help wait table with Hilda for Mr. and Mrs. Channon. They have some important guests from America coming to dinner this evening, and Hilda can’t manage to serve Lobster à la Newburg*********** by herself. Thus, why I have pulled out my cookbooks. I need to have my head on right if I’m to be head cook for Hilda, who is petrified of spoiling the lobster for Mr. and Mrs. Channon’s guests.”
“Well, I ‘ope Mr. and Mrs. Channon is payin’ you, Edith dearie, is all I’ll say. They might be ‘avin’ some fancy toffs over for a lobster tea, probably that American Mr. Carter and ‘is snobby English wife, but they’s can barely scrape by payin’ the ‘ouse’old bills. “Ilda ‘ad the wine merchants boys over at ‘Ill Street last week whilst I was there. Luckily, Mr. and Mrs. Channon were genuinely out, so ‘Ilda didn’t ‘ave ta lie and say they weren’t ‘ome when they was, but it’s still pretty bad when the bailiff’s knockin’ at the door.”
“Yes, I heard about that from Hilda. It’s a sorry state of affairs, and that’s a fact. I don’t think Mr. or Mrs. Channon can balance a budget to save themselves. Luckily, like you and Hilda, tonight’s wages will be paid to be by Mrs. Channon’s father, Mr. de Virre, who will also be in attendance.”
“Just as well. ‘E never fails to pay me wages.”
“Anyway, you were going to tell me why you and Ken aren’t going to the British Empire Exhibition. I’m sure Ken would enjoy the amusement park. Apparently it’s the biggest in Britain.”
“Big ain’t necessarily best.” Mrs. Boothby concludes sagely. “And it certainly ain’t for me Ken. I’m sure you’re right. ‘E’d love the rides and the colour, but they’s too many people there, and Ken gets hoverwhelmed, ‘e does if they’s too many strangers about. Besides,” she adds with a defensive sniff. “I don’t want no-one lookin’ sideways wiv funny glances at me Ken. ‘E’s a good lad, but folks outside ‘a Polar ain’t so kind to lads like ‘im, and I won’t ‘ave no strangers pokin’ fun at ‘im niver!”
“Well that’s fair enough, Mrs. Boothby. Shall I buy Ken a nice souvenir from the exhibition, then, since he’s not going to go himself?”
“Youse spoils my lad, Edith dearie. Nah, what youse should be doin’ is savin’ your shillin’s and pence for when you set up ‘ouse wiv Frank. Youse far too generous, dearie.”
“Nonsense, Mrs. Boothby. I think a treat for someone as sweet as Ken is only deserving.”
“Well, if I can’t talk you outta it, make it somethin’ small and cheap, eh?”
“Alright Mrs. Boothby.” Edith laughs good naturedly. “More tea?”
“Like I’d evva say no to a nice cup ‘a Rosie-Lee************, dearie!”
Just as Edith pours the tea, a jangling ring echoes through the peaceable quiet of the kitchen.
BBBBRRRINGGG!
BBBBRRRINGGG!
Edith places the knitted coy covered pot back down on the table with an irritable thud and looks aghast through the doors wedged open showing a clear view to Lettice’s dining room. Beyond it in the Cavendish Mews drawing room, the sparkling silver and Bakelite telephone rings.
“Oh! That infernal contraption!” she mutters to herself.
BBBBRRRINGGG!
Edith hates answering the telephone. It’s one of the few jobs in her position as Lettice’s maid that she wishes she didn’t have to do. Whenever she has to answer it, which is quite often considering how frequently her mistress is out and about, there is usually some uppity caller at the other end of the phone, whose toffee-nosed accent only seems to sharpen when they realise they are speaking to ‘the hired help’ as they abruptly demand Lettice’s whereabouts.
BBBBRRRINGGG!
“That will be the telephone, Miss Watsford,” Mrs. Boothby says with a cheeky smirk as she stubs out her cigarette and reaches for her tobacco and papers so that she can roll herself another one. “Best youse go see ‘oo it is, then.”
Edith groans as she picks herself up out of her comfortable Windsor chair and walks towards the scullery connecting the service part of the flat with Lettice’s living quarters. “I should have disconnected it from the wall the instant Miss Lettice left.” she says as she goes. “Then let’s hear it ring.”
“Oh! I should like to see Miss Lettice’s face if she came back and saw that!” Mrs. Boothby manages to say between her guffaws and smattering of fruity coughs as Edith disappears.
*A charwoman, chargirl, or char, jokingly charlady, is an old-fashioned occupational term, referring to a paid part-time worker who comes into a house or other building to clean it for a few hours of a day or week, as opposed to a maid, who usually lives as part of the household within the structure of domestic service. In the 1920s, chars usually did all the hard graft work that paid live-in domestics would no longer do as they looked for excuses to leave domestic service for better paying work in offices and factories.
**Huntley and Palmers is a British firm of biscuit makers originally based in Reading, Berkshire. The company created one of the world’s first global brands and ran what was once the world’s largest biscuit factory. Over the years, the company was also known as J. Huntley and Son and Huntley and Palmer. Huntley and Palmer were renown for their ‘superior reading biscuits’ which they promoted in different varieties for different occasions, including at breakfast time, morning and afternoon tea and reading time.
***Alfred Harmsworth founded Home Chat to compete with Home Notes. He ran the Amalgamated Press and through them he published the magazine. He founded it in 1895 and the magazine ran until 1959. It was published as a small format magazine which came out weekly. As was usual for such women's weeklies the formulation was to cover society gossip and domestic tips along with short stories, dress patterns, recipes and competitions. One of the editors was Maud Brown. She retired in 1919 and was replaced by her sister Flora. It began with a circulation of 186,000 in 1895 and finished up at 323,600 in 1959. It took a severe hit before the Second World War in circulation but had recovered before it was closed down.
****The Everylady’s Journal was published monthly in Australia and shipped internationally from 1911 to 1938, but began life as The New Idea: A Woman’s Journal for Australasia in 1902. The New Idea contained articles on women’s suffrage, alongside discussions about diet, sewing patterns and tips and tricks for the housewife and young lady. From 1911 The New Idea became the Everylady’s Journal. Published by T.S. Fitchett the fashion periodical changed its name to New Idea in 1938, and it is still being published to this day.
*****Camp Coffee is a concentrated syrup which is flavoured with coffee and chicory, first produced in 1876 by Paterson & Sons Ltd, in Glasgow. In 1974, Dennis Jenks merged his business with Paterson to form Paterson Jenks plc. In 1984, Paterson Jenks plc was bought by McCormick & Company. Legend has it (mainly due to the picture on the label) that Camp Coffee was originally developed as an instant coffee for military use. The label is classical in tone, drawing on the romance of the British Raj. It includes a drawing of a seated Gordon Highlander (supposedly Major General Sir Hector MacDonald) being served by a Sikh soldier holding a tray with a bottle of essence and jug of hot water. They are in front of a tent, at the apex of which flies a flag bearing the drink's slogan, "Ready Aye Ready". A later version of the label, introduced in the mid-20th century, removed the tray from the picture, thus removing the infinite bottles element and was seen as an attempt to avoid the connotation that the Sikh was a servant, although he was still shown waiting while the kilted Scottish soldier sipped his coffee. The current version, introduced in 2006, depicts the Sikh as a soldier, now sitting beside the Scottish soldier, and with a cup and saucer of his own. Camp Coffee is an item of British nostalgia, because many remember it from their childhood. It is still a popular ingredient for home bakers making coffee-flavoured cake and coffee-flavoured buttercream. In late 1975, Camp Coffee temporarily became a popular alternative to instant coffee in the UK, after the price of coffee doubled due to shortages caused by heavy frosts in Brazil.
******The British Empire Exhibition was a colonial exhibition held at Wembley Park, London England from 23 April to 1 November 1924 and from 9 May to 31 October 1925. In 1920 the British Government decided to site the British Empire Exhibition at Wembley Park, on the site of the pleasure gardens created by Edward Watkin in the 1890s. A British Empire Exhibition had first been proposed in 1902, by the British Empire League, and again in 1913. The Russo-Japanese War had prevented the first plan from being developed and World War I put an end to the second, though there had been a Festival of Empire in 1911, held in part at Crystal Palace. One of the reasons for the suggestion was a sense that other powers, like America and Japan, were challenging Britain on the world stage. Despite victory in Great War, this was in some ways even truer in 1919. The country had economic problems and its naval supremacy was being challenged by two of its former allies, the United States and Japan. In 1917 Britain had committed itself eventually to leave India, which effectively signalled the end of the British Empire to anyone who thought about the consequences, while the Dominions had shown little interest in following British foreign policy since the war. It was hoped that the Exhibition would strengthen the bonds within the Empire, stimulate trade and demonstrate British greatness both abroad and at home, where the public was believed to be increasingly uninterested in Empire, preferring other distractions, such as the cinema.
*******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.
********The term “Flanders Fields”, used after the war to refer to the parts of France where the bloodiest battles of the Great War raged comes from "In Flanders Fields" is a war poem in the form of a rondeau, written during the First World War by Canadian physician Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae, written in 1915.
*********No. 4472 Flying Scotsman is a LNER Class A3 4-6-2 "Pacific" steam locomotive built in 1923 for the London and North Eastern Railway (LNER) at Doncaster Works to a design of Nigel Gresley. It was employed on long-distance express passenger trains on the East Coast Main Line by LNER and its successors, British Railways' Eastern and North Eastern Regions, notably on The Flying Scotsman service between London King's Cross and Edinburgh Waverley after which it was named. Retired from British Railways in 1963 after covering 2.08 million miles, Flying Scotsman has been described as the world's most famous steam locomotive. It had earned considerable fame in preservation under the ownership of, successively, Alan Pegler, William McAlpine, Tony Marchington, and, since 2004, the National Railway Museum. 4472 became a flagship locomotive for the LNER, representing the company twice at the British Empire Exhibition and in 1928, hauled the inaugural non-stop Flying Scotsman service. It set two world records for steam traction, becoming the first locomotive to reach the officially authenticated speed of 100 miles per hour on the 30th of November 1934, and setting the longest non-stop run of a steam locomotive of 422 miles on the 8th of August 1989 whilst on tour in Australia.
**********Although largely forgotten today, British artist, sculptor and designer, Percy Metcalf had a great influence on the lives of everyday Britons and millions of people throughout the British Empire. He designed the first coinage of the Irish Free State in 1928. The first Irish coin series consisted of eight coins. The harp was chosen as the obverse. Metcalfe was chosen out of six designers as the winner of the reverse design of the Irish Free State's currency. The horse, salmon, bull, wolf-hound, hare, hen, pig and woodcock were all on different denominations of coinage that was known as the Barnyard Collection. In 1935, it was George V's jubilee, and to celebrate the occasion, a crown piece containing a new design was issued. The reverse side of the coin depicts an image of St George on a horse, rearing over a dragon. Due to its modernistic design by Metcalfe it has earned little credit from collectors. In 1936, Metcalfe designed the obverse crowned effigy of Edward VIII for overseas coinage which was approved by the King, but none was minted for circulation before Edward's abdication that December. Metcalfe was immediately assigned to produce a similar crowned portrait of King George VI for overseas use. This image was also used as part of the George Cross design in 1940. The George Cross is second in the order of wear in the United Kingdom honours system and is the highest gallantry award for civilians, as well as for members of the armed forces in actions for which purely military honours would not normally be granted. It also features on the flag of Malta in recognition of the island's bravery during the Siege of Malta in World War II. Metcalfe also designed the Great Seal of the Realm. He produced designs for coinage of several countries including Ireland and Australia. He created a portrait of King George V which was used as the obverse for coins of Australia, Canada, Fiji, Mauritius, New Zealand and Southern Rhodesia. To commemorate the extraordinary visit that George VI and Queen Elizabeth set out on to North America in 1939, three series of medallions were designed for the Royal Canadian Mint. The reverse side of the coins contained a joint profile of George VI and Queen Elizabeth, which was designed by Metcalfe. This design was also used on the British Coronation Medal of 1937. Metcalfe created a British Jubilee crown piece, which was exhibited in the Leeds College of Art in November 1946. Prior to all his coin designs, Metcalfe had taken up sculpting and designing objects as an art form at the Royal College of Art in London, and he was commissioned to create the great Lions of Industry and Engineering for the British Empire Exhibition in 1924.
***********Lobster Newberg (also spelled lobster Newburg or lobster Newburgh) is an American seafood dish made from lobster, butter, cream, cognac, sherry and eggs, with a secret ingredient found to be Cayenne pepper. A modern legend with no primary or early sources states that the dish was invented by Ben Wenberg, a sea captain in the fruit trade. He was said to have demonstrated the dish at Delmonico's Restaurant in New York City to the manager, Charles Delmonico, in 1876. After refinements by the chef, Charles Ranhofer, the creation was added to the restaurant's menu as Lobster à la Wenberg and it soon became very popular. The legend says that an argument between Wenberg and Charles Delmonico caused the dish to be removed from the menu. To satisfy patrons’ continued requests for it, the name was rendered in anagram as Lobster à la Newberg or Lobster Newberg.
************Rosie-Lee is Cockney slang for tea, and it is one of the most well-known of all Cockney rhyming slang.
This comfortable domestic kitchen scene is a little different to what you might think, for whilst it looks very authentic, it is made up entirely of 1:12 size dollhouse miniatures from my miniatures collection, some of which come from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableaux include:
Edith’s deal kitchen table is covered with lots of interesting bits and pieces. 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 the United Kingdom. The Huntley and Palmer’s Breakfast Biscuit tin containing a replica selection of biscuits is also a 1:12 artisan piece. Made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight, the biscuits are incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. The Deftware cups, saucers, sugar bowl and milk jug are part of a 1:12 size miniature porcelain dinner set which sits on the dresser that can be seen just to the right of shot. The vase of flowers are beautifully made by hand by the Doll House Emporium and inserted into a real, hand blown glass vase.
Edith’s two cookbooks are made by hand by an unknown American artisan and were acquired from an American miniature collector on E-Bay. The Everywoman Journal magazine from 1924 sitting on the table was made by hand by Petite Gite Miniatures in the United States, whilst the copy of Home Chat is a 1:12 miniature made by artisan Ken Blythe. I have a large representation of Ken Blythe’s work in my miniatures collection – books mostly. Most of the books I own that he 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! Sadly, 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. As well as making books, he also made other small paper based miniatures including magazines like the copy of Home Chat. It is not designed to be opened. What might amaze you in spite of this is the fact is that all Ken Blythe’s books and magazines 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 them all miniature artisan pieces. 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, as well as through his estate via his daughter and son-in-law. His legacy will live on with me and in my photography which I hope will please his daughter.
Also on the table, sit Mrs. Boothby’s Player’s Navy Cut cigarette tin and Swan Vesta matches, which are 1:12 miniatures hand made by Jonesy’s Miniatures in England. The black ashtray is also an artisan piece, the bae of which is filled with “ash”. The tray as well as having grey ash in it, also has a 1:12 cigarette which rests on its lip (it is affixed there). Made by Nottingham based tobacconist manufacturer John Player and Sons, Player’s Medium Navy Cut was the most popular by far of the three Navy Cut brands (there was also Mild and Gold Leaf, mild being today’s rich flavour). Two thirds of all the cigarettes sold in Britain were Player’s and two thirds of these were branded as Player’s Medium Navy Cut. In January 1937, Player’s sold nearly 3.5 million cigarettes (which included 1.34 million in London). Production continued to grow until at its peak in the late 1950s, Player’s was employing 11,000 workers (compared to 5,000 in 1926) and producing 15 brands of pipe tobacco and 11 brands of cigarettes. Nowadays the brands “Player” and “John Player Special” are owned and commercialised by Imperial Brands (formerly the Imperial Tobacco Company). Swan Vestas is a brand name for a popular brand of ‘strike-anywhere’ matches. Shorter than normal pocket matches they are particularly popular with smokers and have long used the tagline ‘the smoker’s match’ although this has been replaced by the prefix ‘the original’ on the current packaging. Swan Vestas matches are manufactured under the House of Swan brand, which is also responsible for making other smoking accessories such as cigarette papers, flints and filter tips. The matches are manufactured by Swedish Match in Sweden using local, sustainably grown aspen. The Swan brand began in 1883 when the Collard & Kendall match company in Bootle on Merseyside near Liverpool introduced ‘Swan wax matches’. These were superseded by later versions including ‘Swan White Pine Vestas’ from the Diamond Match Company. These were formed of a wooden splint soaked in wax. They were finally christened ‘Swan Vestas’ in 1906 when Diamond merged with Bryant and May and the company enthusiastically promoted the Swan brand. By the 1930s ‘Swan Vestas’ had become ‘Britain’s best-selling match’.
Edith’s Windsor chairs are both hand-turned 1:12 artisan miniatures which came from America. Unfortunately, the artist did not carve their name under the seat of either chair, but they are definitely unmarked artisan pieces.
The bright brass pieces hanging on the wall or standing on the stove all come from various stockists, most overseas, but the three frypans I bought from a High Street specialist in dolls and dolls’ house furnishings when I was a teenager. The spice drawers you can just see hanging on the wall to the upper right-hand corner of the photo came from the same shop as the frypans, but were bought about a year before the pans.
In the background you can see a very modern and up-to-date 1920s gas stove. It would have been expensive to instal at the time, and it would have been the cook’s or maid’s pleasure to cook on and in. It would have included a thermostat for perfect cooking and without the need of coal, it was much cleaner to feed, use and clean. It is not unlike those made by the Roper Stove Company in the 1920s. The Roper Stove Company previously named the Florence-Wehrle Company among other names, was founded in 1883. Located in Newark, Ohio, the company was once the largest stove producer in the world. Today, the Roper Stove Company is a brand of Whirlpool.
The tin bucket, mops and brooms in the corner of the kitchen all come from Beautifully handmade Miniatures in Kettering.
rising 4 year old filly by Font Barbados out of Sala Lilting Melody - 6 months under saddle.
I am so proud of our first youngster!!!
The lilting Swallow-tailed Kite has been called “the coolest bird on the planet.” With its deeply forked tail and bold black-and-white plumage, it is unmistakable in the summer skies above swamps of the Southeast. Flying with barely a wing-beat and maneuvering with twists of its incredible tail, it chases dragonflies or plucks frogs, lizards, snakes, and nestling birds from tree branches. After rearing its young in a treetop nest, the kite migrates to wintering grounds in South America.
Taken in Dinner Island, FL
Commentary.
Utter peace,
only broken by the lilting, gentle breeze
and a distant, echoing call of a cuckoo in the woods ahead.
Brinacory Bay, Brinacory Island but no Brinacory village.
Just a few scattered, dressed granite blocks lost in the undergrowth mark the remains of a village community.
Lost to the landowners, cleared to far distant Imperial lands
so sheep could graze rough pasture and sapling forests.
Even this inhuman, society-wrecking tactic for short term economic gain was ironically flawed.
The relative remoteness and wildness created has brought
far greater riches from tourism than crofting or sheep could ever bring.
Maybe there is truth in old adage that “every cloud has a silver lining.”
Just a mile beyond the island the loch plunges to 1,017 feet deep.
Testament to several glaciers converging and over-deepening a previous river valley.
The rock-lip at the seaward end rose sufficiently, after the ice melted, to prevent the sea inundating the deep chasm created.
Thus Morar never became the fjord that so
many other glacial valleys became in this region.
Only intrepid hikers and mountaineers venture along these banks, far enough to reach remote Knoydart at Loch Nevis
and Sgurr na Ciche to the north, Glens Pean and Dessarry to the west, or Sgurr Thuilm and Glenfinnan to the south.
I have walked these hills.
They are a God-given sanctuary of peace.
They are the memorial to those who lost their home.
Their spirit and love for this place still blows in the wind.
The very wildness and remoteness that their removal brought will keep this environment unspoiled for many millennia to come!
ti ho incontrata ad un corso preparatorio
per il volontariato alla Lilt:
Erano gia' anni che io ne facevo parte e con occhio sicuro ti ho scelta come amica: e collega
Abbiamo parlato ci siamo scrutate e poi
ho detto: e' una persona eccezzionale.
Sei bella fuori , dentro e solare.I colori accesi non sono nel mio stile ma per te sono obbligatori: Tu sei radiosa e piena di colore ed insieme
daremo molto
con tanto affetto
teresa
It’s been a while since I’ve been out and done some night shots with the tripod. This is taken from Hessle foreshore looking west under the Humber Bridge. Not very spectacular, but I quite like the long exposure softening effect on the water. And there’s something about the colours that gives it a tropical feel, despite the fact that it was rather nippy.
May the sound of happy music
And the lilt of Irish laughter
Fill your heart with gladness
That stays forever after.
-Irish blessing
for Monday's Photo Challenge and Thursday Retread Group.
this week's challenge........"taking a picture that is either seriously about the color green, luck or something simply Irish". I also post this in tribute to my Grandfather. Grandaddy was a true Irish man, in thought word & deed. He had sage advice, quick wit & enjoyed a classic cocktail. He has been gone for 25 yrs but I think of him each St. Patrick's Day.
if you would like to take a moment to view other photo's in the group:
A renaissance festival is a great place to find people in period costume expressing themselves with music, dance and sport. This gentleman held me entranced as he and his spouse played old style musical instruments. His speciality was strings, and the tunes were beautiful.
Image: Christmas Island Red Crab, found in the rain forest, with an unusual dent in shell. No idea why. Crab was cool though and moving normally.
Below is the third in a series of five monthly reports I sent back to friends in 2007.
Should you be interested, recommend that they be read in order, to get the best out of them.
Notes from Christmas Island
Chapter 3
SEPTEMBER 2007
For those of you who live in busy times and cannot spare the time to read all of Chapter 3 here is a summary of the contents.
Injury, beaches, snorkelling, geological information, scenic lookouts and Hash Runs.
If you have to leave it here, thanks for dropping by...
For those remaining, here we go:
The nurse’s lovely Irish accent lilted.
“There’s definitely something there, I’ll go show the Doctor”
The x-ray revealed what the Doctor confirmed, there definitely was something there.
A short but definitive break to the little finger of the left hand.
Jody’s left hand.
She was chatting to my mother, the closest witness, when she stepped off the kerb.
From a distance of 25 metres, my vantage point, Jody’s fall had all the grace and elegance of an emu slipping off a wet rock.
The fall was slow, irretrievable following a trajectory of slightly left to right then down, until both knees, hands, a hip and a shoulder were the grazed contact points of skin and bitumen.
Doof !
That will be putting any proposed snorkelling, mountain bike riding, dishwashing or any dexterous use of her left hand on hold until the bandages and splint are removed.
And that’s a shame as snorkelling at our beaches is wicked.
There are many beaches on CI with access varying between awesomely convenient and magnificently inconvenient.
One in particular is quite a drive, then a serious hike.
Carrying a machete, known locally as a parang, to re-clear paths can be necessary.
But all beaches have their own rewards.
The most commonly used beach is at Flying Fish Cove.
Named after HMS Flying Fish when visiting the island in 1887.
Flying Fish Cove also blends into the town port.
When I mean the town port I really do mean, the Port right in the middle of Town
Attentive readers will recall from Chapter 2 the Kampong is a residential area directly across the road from the ocean.
Despite being a working port for over a hundred years the coral is in good condition and generally visibility is very good.
With flippers, mask and snorkel fish and coral can be seen within the first 10 metres from shore.
CI juts out of the ocean very steeply.
Very little fringing reef or continental shelf exists.
Think of it as the top of an undersea mountain.
Even within the confines of Flying Fish Cove when we, if our hands aren’t broken, swim out say 30 metres from the coast, the ocean floor drops away.
One moment rock and sand are 10 metres below the surface, at next glance it is hundreds of metres down to the bottom, it just drop’s off. Just like that.
This drop off is called: The Drop Off !
It truly is the Deep Blue without any exaggeration whatsoever.
Ships that come into the port actually tie up on one side to the port rockwall.
Their anchors just can’t cut it.
The ocean side of the ship secures to permanent anchorage buoys.
Despite being within a hundred or so metres from the coast these buoys themselves are anchored to the ocean floor 400 metres below or 222 fathoms.
The convenience of these depths for recreational divers is remarkable.
Divers who want to dive deep to see our wonderful marine ecosystem do not have to travel for kilometres out into the ocean to get to the good stuff.
They can either swim out from the beach or couple of minutes by boat.
What’s it like out in the cove?
The fishes laugh, the birds smile, the coral waves and the rocks stand proudly in the sand.
[from Bob Dylan's, "When the Ship Comes In"]
In another maritime point of interest, three weeks ago a whale, either Humpback or Southern Right Whale swam by.
Numerous independent sightings were reported.
Didn't see it myself though.
Also on the whale front, a few Orcas / Killer Whales / Free Willy's, so they say, were seen from the coast in front of our place. Missed them too.
But twice I have seen pods of the smallish Spinner Dolphins.
The first occasion was when Jody and I went out on a boat along the coast for some snorkelling.
As we rounded the point away from Flying Fish Cove suddenly three....four.....five dolphins parallelled the boat.
Would I like to swim with them? The question was floated.
Sure would.
Quickly, it was off with the hat, shirt and sunnies.
Slowly, too slowly on with the gear but fun loving Spinners wait for no one.
By the time I was in the water they were heading away.
All I felt was a very clear, very blue ocean and very deep isolation.
Right, now where is that boat!
Back on deck and within twenty minutes our boat was tied up to a buoy ready for snorkelling up against a cliff face.
As the swell surged us back, forth, up and down we viewed masses of fish busily living their lives with eternal vigilance.
Looking for prey and looking out for predators.
In nature, a peaceful demise is a rare thing.
Few creatures die in their sleep and fewer die of old age.
Lucky perhaps they have no concept of the day after tomorrow.
It’s a tough gig out there.
Anyway, the omni directional oceanic movement was also the home of another phenomenon feared by all who dare go into the water.
Yep, snorkel sickness almost snared another unsuspecting victim, sending Jody back to the boat for timely relief.
It’s not as difficult to get as you may think.
Mix three-dimensional motion with a head full petrol fumes courtesy of the outboard motor plus some strenuous activity and a nauseating bout of nausea can swim right by.
Fortunately the cure was getting the boat moving and moving along fast.
Then fumes trail behind the boat, fresh air rushes on to the face and the world is a great place again.
The second time I spied the dolphins was during a tour to view the Western side of the island.
At the lookout the rugged coast and relentless waves are sights in themselves.
A small pod of dolphins, at their own expense, spun out of the water for us.
My clients could not have been happier.
Whale Sharks swim by the island during the wet season towards the end of the year.
Some say, it is for the eggs and hatchlings of the migrating red crabs that the island is famous for. Others say it is for the ocean life that feeds on the crab hatchlings.
Whatever......Either way they come here.
I have spoken to a number of divers who had a Whale Shark unexpectedly appear from the depths and they tell the stories with a deliberate low voice and wide eyes about these astonishing encounters.
The beaches on the eastern side of the island, the ones facing towards the west coast of Australia, are nesting areas for turtles.
These beaches are often small and due to their remoteness require some effort to walk to.
The turtles endure quite an effort themselves to make landfall due to the ruggedness of the rocks around the beach and the power of the surf.
My most recent tour group were very fortunate to see a large solitary turtle in the surf zone.
She, I am assuming a female turtle, was there for at least fifteen minutes.
The waves were big though not impossible and no appearance of distress was apparent, which was cool [because if I had been in those waves someone would have had drag my my drowned body up onto shore] she just seemed to be getting on with life.
Another set of pleased clients.
The island first broke the surface of the ocean about sixty million years ago but has during geological history also submerged.
About twenty million years ago, give or take a couple of weeks it came up for good.
Of course everyone knows this time was around the beginning of the Miocene era, in the fourth epoch of the Tertiary period, between the Oligocene and Pliocene epoch.
In more recent epochs CI has uplifted a few more times causing the marked terrace or plateau effect that characterises the island.
Between lower and higher plateaus the rockwall areas are steep craggy drops and cliffs.
Referred to as knolls.
I looked for the grassy knoll but couldn't find it.....maybe it was hidden in a Government Conspiracy!!!
At the top of some of the knolls panoramic vantage points have been established.
The golf course lookout is one of the more significant.
Access is gained from the highest terrace.
Although the track is marked very well, first time visitors usually go with guides or locals.
The walk is steep as the slope between the highest and intermediate terrace needs to be transversed.
Twenty minutes down, the track efficiently terminates by a sheer drop of 150 to 200 metres.
That'll stop ya!
While the trekking stops, the views start.
Looking high and long, the dark navy blue of the ocean is broken only by the whitecaps of passing intercontinental waves.
Looking low and short, the entire golf course is below.
Even for a non-golfer it provides some passing interest.
Wedged between the ocean and the curtain of rock that makes up the cliff-face, the course is small but appealing.
By using various approaches the nine greens support eighteen holes for the regular Saturday competition.
During WW2, CI was held by the Japanese Imperial Forces.
In the creation of a market garden, prisoners of war cleared an area of jungle.
One of the POW’s was a keen golfer and could see the area he was clearing, in the fullness of time and fullness of peace would make a great golf course.
Within a decade of conflict cessation Christmas Island Golf Club formed.
The boundaries between adjacent holes are rows of coconut trees.
While coconut trees do not have the spread of boughs, limbs and foliage such as gum trees or fig trees it is still easy enough to hit one.
In 1995 on the fortieth anniversary of the Club’s incorporation a gathering was held of previous members.
The golfing ex-POW presented the Club with the original measuring tape he laid out the entire course with four decades earlier.
Fine effort!
On most golf courses players tee off on hole 1 and return to the clubhouse after hole 9.
A long walk occurs in between and can seem longer if a drink is needed from the bar.
The original CI course designer had vision and foresight.
He put the Clubhouse central to the course.
Therefore after every three holes a player can quickly run to the bar and get drinks for the rest of his team and be underway without undue delay.
During the dry season, understandably the course dries out a bit but in the wet season it is a lush emerald green and a pleasure to view from above or play on below.
For instance, when playing hole number five, the right hand side is rainforest climbing the escarpment.
The view to left, through the hundreds of mature coconut palms is the ocean.
Virtually all the course has an elevated ocean view.
Of recent times a dedicated volunteer has built an outdoor wood fired pizza oven. Nice touch!
Cost for a casual golfer, for example a tourist, is amazingly cheap.
You can play nine holes or eighteen holes for the same AUD$10.
Compare this to courses on the mainland or around the world.
Sure plenty may be more elaborate but few have a history or location as this and none have a red crab migration that run right through the middle of them.
Oh yeah........Red Crabs.
I briefly touched on them in Chapter 1.
These particular red crabs are endemic to CI. That is they naturally are restricted to CI.
Their evolution has been specific to the island.
As an adult their body size is similar to your fist plus four legs hanging out each side.
The amazing thing about them is not of their endemic nature but their sheer numbers and what they do when the time comes to reproduce.
Historically, they say there have been up to 135 million of them at one time, but accounts vary nowadays between 40 and 80 million.
Either way this is a LOT of crab. Damp, moist or wet areas are the favoured conditions for the crabs to survive and flourish. They eat the leaf litter that falls from the rainforest canopy and give the forest floor a neat and tidy swept appearance.
Once it rains heavily they emerge from their burrows.
The long migration from the upper terraces to the ocean is dependant on the first true rains of the wet season.
The march starts with all the adult male crabs heading coastward where they create a burrow ready for all the hot chicks to arrive.
Then everyone is shagging and once mating has finalised, the males as expected lose interest and hit the road leaving each female holding the baby, actually 100,000 eggs.
Following alignment of tidal and lunar cycles, eggs are released into the ocean.
Those crazy girls at some places are known to stack themselves 100 to the square metre.
Then with a job well done, they head for the hills back to their homes.
Weeks later, and if the tides are kind, tiny red crabs wash back to the island to begin a tough odyssey back up the terraces.
This back and forth of tens of millions of the crabs is the migration of international renown.
People fly in from all around the world to be a part of this. Sir David Attenborough, he's cool, made a documentary here.
A common description is of a carpet of crabs, and whilst perfectly valid and correct is a little clichéd.
I prefer to think the land is fully crabbed.
When the migration is at it's most hardcore roads are closed off for days at a time, the entire focus of the island is on nothing else, while film crews and documentary makers abound.
Playing golf as thousands scuttle past tees, fairways and greens is an exercise in patience and awe.
Sadly the crabs have been taking a pounding from crazy ants. These unsympathetic ants attack the crabs and have reduced their numbers by a third. Bastards!
Fortunately the ant issue has been addressed again only recently, hopefully the plans and funding in place will reduce the impact of the ants permanently.
Crab burrows or ex-crab burrows provide a challenging environment during Hash.
Let me clarify Hash.
Hash as discussed here is the international running group.
More formally is known as Hash House Harriers or acronymed down to HHH or just plain Hash.
Word is, Hash originated in Kuala Lumpur in 1938 where five English expatriates started running to offset their hard living.
To add some interest one would set a trail and the others would follow a short time after trying to catch the trail setter.
The Hash name derivative came from the Selangor Club Annex in Kuala Lumpur, known locally as the Hash House because of its plain lame food.
The fundamentals as set by the original runners are still in place at seventeen hundred Hash groups that run regularly around the world.
4.30 every Thursday evening on CI, our group meets somewhere on a road or in the jungle to run the Hare’s trail.
One person is nominated a week in advance as the Hare.
Their task is to set a trail that the others have to follow.
The trail is tagged by tape hanging from trees to notify runners of the direction.
However in an attempt to keep the group somewhat together, false trails are included.
Therefore the faster runners lead the way but when they come to a T-junction or Y-junction the tape may show either direction could be taken.
One will be a false trail but the only way to find out is to run it. If after a few hundred metres no further tag is sighted then the trail has ended and a return to the junction is needed to try the alternate trail.
The trails can follow sealed roads, graded or overgrown tracks, rainforest floor or rocky slopes.
Every week is different and that is what makes it entertaining.
There is no requirement to be a champion runner, in fact, there is no real requirement to be a runner at all.
Age is no barrier with the youngest around 2 and the oldest over 80.
A single trail is set but it has an abbreviated walkers component within the runners trail.
As a general rule, the slow runners complete 3 to 5 kilometres while the runners return after 6 to 9 km.
What can be tough on CI is the nasty gradient of the hills and the energy draining humidity.
But that is what makes the finish so good.
Located at the finish area are the drinks and informal formalities.
The organisation of Hash is superb, ably supported by the Hash Trailer.
This is a standard vehicle trailer that has two fridges, with motors removed, lying on their backs full of ice and drinks.
The trailer is rugged enough to go anywhere into the jungle and is parked awaiting the return of the Hashers.
Behind the fridges the BBQ stands with lighting rigged up to a spare car battery.
Following the run, anyone who has brought attention upon themselves, in a positive or negative manner, can be called up for a Down-Down.
This is a ceremonial sculling of a beer or another mixed alcoholic concoction, in front of the assembled Hashers.
All in a fun-loving way, of course.
This is supposed to be an honour though rarely feels like it.
Examples, in a positive light could be reaching a milestone run.
Such a 50th 69th or 100th run and so forth. Perhaps returning back from an absence.
Or a final run before leaving the island permanently.
Examples in a less glamorous light:
- Falling over while running, being a Hash Crash,
- Running without a Hash shirt, although no shirt is supplied.
- Not paying attention
- Taking short cuts
- New shoes
- Dobbing someone else in
- Getting lost
- No particular reason at all
The list is unending and unrelenting.
It is from these activities that Hash is understood as “drinkers with a running problem.”
As I enjoy my running and the social side is excellent Thursday is my favourite day of the week.
Attentive readers would remember that running through the rainforest is a great way to see different parts of the island and invigorating when it rains.
The great news is that the rains are getting closer.
On CI, Hash is an institution, this week we will be running Hash Run 1457, being 28 years of weekly runs.
My run total is 61. 50 from my original CI stay, 1 on Cocos and 10 on CI this tour.
The number of runs a person has accrues, as they attend any Hash run throughout the world.
A persons Hash name also stays with them.
I was named Chops some 17 years ago.
That is the name that all will refer to me before during and immediately after a run.
Quite often, during the week as well.
I occasionally get people who call me Chops who have no idea what my actual name is.
After the designated third run, Jody received her name of Yogey Bare.
In the circumstances, got to be happy about that.
Names can get so much worse.
Despite being very, very tentative with her hand Yogey still completed her ninth hash run last week, trekking the rough rainforest floor including climbing over a tree trunk about three feet in diameter and finishing the last five hundred metres at a canter.
And now for today’s Hash news.
Thursday 9pm in the evening having just dragged my sorry bones back from this weeks Hash run.
We ran from the Cove, past the Kampong and the roundabout, up the incline [being the old access from bottom to the top of the hill] through Silver City to the Territory Day Park.
This is a sensational lookout over the residential areas, which is one complete terrace above the Cove.
Getting there via sealed roads, while stable under foot is really hard yakka.
For the non-Australian readers Hard Yakka means Hard Work.
The way down was via rainforest track that stopped being track and started being rainforest only with a dash of rain to make it slippery.
We had temporarily left the trail to go a better way.
The three Hashers climbing down the rocks in front of me were, in my fully justifiable opinion, going too slow so I temporarily left the first temporary trail to go down a different batch of rocks.
It was here that my feet temporarily left the second temporary trail off from the first temporary trail off from the real trail.
When climbing over rocks, trees and bushes I consider my balance and stability to be on par with any competent mountain goat.
However…
At this point I became a Hash Crashing Bastard on a, not slippery looking but slippery in reality, patch of random concrete.
Lucky that concrete was there to save me from landing on soft soil and leaves.
The scorching graze from behind my knee to the base of my gluteus maximus has a red glow to it.
Friday morning is going to be a sore one.
Also taking the impact was an area that will be diplomatically described, since my mother will be reading this, as the buttocks.
But I didn’t hit the rocks shadowing the trail and that is a very good thing.
Think of the rocks here as Rottweiler rocks but with less compassion.
The point, at which I slipped on the concrete, was at the top of a genuinely steep gully.
Those in Perth compare with the steepness and length of Jacobs Ladder but without the stairs.
Those not in Perth compare the steepness and length with something steep and long.
I waited around for Yogey so I could offer assistance if required.
And although I could have got a down-down for being a Pandering Bastard, I just knew her climb down this nasty gully with one only free hand while keeping the busted one protected was going to be tentative at best or total and permanent incapacitation at worst.
By now she had already whacked the broken finger on rocks, cut one leg, grazed the other three times and was sporting a graze and puncture wound to one arm. But she was still going.
Right now the invigorating nature of pure exercise should be emanating straight off the page at you. Go on, get off your butt and go outside and run.
As the sun sets on Chapter 3, I do recall mentioning way back in Chapter 2 that I would provide greater information on the rainforest, mining, wildlife and history.
I lied.
In the event that these things might interest you, maybe they will be covered in Chapter 4.
Or maybe they won’t. Can’t say.
That’s it.
Thank you and Goodnight
Keith
(Owner of two good hands and one bruised tail)
How do I know they're Irish cows. Well, they moo with a lovely Irish lilt... and I shot this from Magheracross Viewpoint on the Antrim Coast of Northern Ireland. I think about these cows this time of year because I bake for the holidays. Kerrygold Irish Butter is always a favorite for baking because it has a higher fat content than typical American butter. That provides a greater emulsion effect that is especially noticeable in cookies. These are dairy cows... I often imagine these two ladies might have contributed to my baking.
Commercials here in America tell us that "Happy cows are California cows." Just look at that lush green of the Emerald Isle, though... I believe these cows to be every bit as contented as any in California. I'm not sure they're as funny, however: www.youtube.com/watch?v=Up880afV_qs&feature=player_em...
Heading at full-lilt out of the city.
By the way, apologies if the running order, so to speak, of these images seems a little disjointed. I have even yet to get my head aound how to manage the order in which Flickr displays my uploads.
building #18, Philadelphia Navy Yard
from a workshop with Matthew Christopher of Abandoned America and Hidden City Philadelphia
benjaminschoos.bandcamp.com/album/night-music-love-songs
English:
Belgian-born Francophile Benjamin Schoos doesn't sleep much. Instead he spends his nights thumbing through novels in front of the black-and-white flicker of old science-fiction movies, swimming in the stillness and hush of a world outside momentarily calm. It was in this “nocturnal ambience”, as he calls it, that his latest selection of piano-led Parisian pop songs, each one like a slow kiss amid the madness of Belleville patisserie, came to him. 'Night Music, Love Songs', is Schoos' Third solo album, and the follow-up to 2014's remarkable 'Beau Futur' – an electronic fantasia of stories of stuntmen, astronauts and sun-soaked Italian villas. This latest charge into haunting synths and melodies that glisten and waver like street lights in the Seine strips back his sound of old to bare, affecting essentials – a lilting listen full of warm, misty-eyed romance that questions what it is to love someone. “It's a very particular feeling...” explains Schoos. “One that can move and shake you as much as it can make you suffer.”
“Both women and the night are muses of this album,” says the one-time Eurovision Song Contest representative for Belgium, but that's not where his inspiration ends. The glacial minimalism of Erik Satie influences parts of 'Night Songs, Love Music'; the pre- and post-war French chanson of Charles Trenet and Henri Salvador elsewhere. “Soft jazz and sunshine pop” were other factors in its making but one record in particular convinced him to forgo some of the wild-eyed stories of his previous records – 2012's 'China Man vs China Girl' was about a broken-down wrestler, based on an action figure his son owned – to confront the twin highs and lows of love. “I really love the Lewis album 'L’amour.' It convinced me you could make a record on this theme and evoke a dream in Paris.”
That dream takes Schoos – who memorably collaborated with Laetitia Sadier on the stirring 'Je Ne Vois Que Vous', earning him a place on the BBC 6 Music A-list – here through old Elka drum machine beats ('Un Fille En Or') and lush saxophone solos ('I Love You'). It takes him on 'Le Matire Du Monde' to a smoggy den of meanies (“I've always loved songs about bastards,” he says) and on 'Le Grand Paquebot Va Sombrer', translated in English to 'The Big Ship Is About To Sink', to a gorgeous moment of serious strangeness. “That track is about a guy who disguises himself as a woman to save his own skin on the Titanic, as women and children are the first people to be saved in case of emergency,” Schoos explains. “It starts as a transgender song and then we discover the fraud.”
Written and recorded in twilight hours at Schoos' studio – “a cabinet of curiosities,” he describes it, full of dusty string simulators and old echo and reverb tape recorders – ''Night Music, Love Songs'' has an impulsive heartbeat befitting a man who once did a journey in the footsteps of the famous Arthur Rimbaud, simply because he loved the Marseille man's surrealist poetry. “I began with improvisations. I start the rhythm box and add an improvised instrumental melody on the piano,” recalls the songwriter. “Once this basis is stable, I finally build my songs. I loved the minimalist sound my strange tools were producing. Finally, everything took shape once I added the lyrics – the last step in songwriting as I always favour melody.”
“It's an intimate album,” admits Schoos – maybe his most intimate yet. “It mixes delicate flavours of nostalgia with intense sentimental reverie... Nothing would please me more than people listening to this record while driving down a dark road around 2am. My previous albums dreamed about three-dimensional pop and constantly broke the tempo within the record. This one is more personal and belongs to the slow songs album tradition. I'm very proud of it. My songwriting and I have grown in this adventure.” It's an adventure, from the opening blooms of piano on its opening track, you'll quickly find yourself swept up in. “L'amour est la poesie des sens,” famously said the 19th century novelist Honoré de Balzac – “love is the poetry of the senses.” Let the stirring and seductive 'Night Music, Love Songs' ignite your senses this winter – you won't regret it.
French:
Benjamin Schoos. Il y a chez cet homme raisonné une folie qui s'ignore. Parlez-lui du nom de scène qui l’a fait connaître au grand public (Miam Monster Miam, 7 albums à son actif), lui répond par un changement d’identité et une carrière en solo. Dites-lui qu’il s’est assagi et le voilà qui lance un projet instrumental kraut-psych avec ses Loved Drones. Quant au virage chanson française, perceptible depuis China Man Vs China Girl (2012), il est amorcé alors que l’époque est à l’autotune, au rap Youtube et autres combats de rue où les chanteurs romantiques n’ont plus leur place. Il y a donc dans la discographie de ce Schoos de quoi désarçonner le plus aguerri des cavaliers. C’est comment qu’on schizo-freine ?
Parce que comme le disait le Cardinal de Retz « on ne sort de l’ambiguïté qu’à son détriment », Benjamin fonce tout Schoos et cultive l’amour des contraires là où tant d’autres sortent des disques contrariés. Fin d’un triptyque débuté en 2012 avec China Man Vs China Girl (2012) et Beau Futur (2014), Night Music, Love Songs possède au moins le mérite de la clarté : tout est dit dans le titre. Ecrit avec deux compagnons de solitude (Jacques Duvall et Dodi El Sherbini) et enregistré la nuit au studio Freaksville autour d’un piano, d’un orgue Hammond et d’une boite à rythme Elka Drummer One (celle utilisée par François de Roubaix), ce troisième essai en solo lève définitivement le voile sur les dessous chic du compositeur belge : musique nocturne et chansons d’amour en format cinémascope. Dans la veine des chansons lentes (on dit slow dans la langue de Joe Jackson) qui balisent depuis 50 ans l’histoire de la musique anglo-saxonne.
Sans masque, ni maquillage, les sept morceaux qui composent Night Music, Love Songs sonnent comme une réponse très premier degré au cynisme ambiant, et font de cet étrange objet du désir un parfait contrepoint, encore une fois, à l’époque. Gimmicks synthétiques évoquant la bande original d’Emmanuelle, arrangements dépouillés rappelant en filigrane le Sébastien Tellier sobre des débuts, costume de Frank Sinatra entonnant Un inconnu dans la nuit en franco-belge dans le texte ; on tient assurément un french crooner revisitant l’histoire de France, et dans laquelle quelques héros à voix perchées (Christophe, Polnareff ) ont su mieux que personne faire trembler la France d’avant les quotas.
« Sur le walk of fame, on est tous les mêmes » chante Schoos sur I love you, piste d’ouverture à écouter à l’horizontale, saxophone coincé dans l’entrejambe. Ce qui est évidemment vrai est aussi faux : personne ne ressemble à Benjamin Schoos. Sa nuit à lui, au moins, ne ment pas. On tient peut-être le disque de chevet d’une discographie à dormir debout.
credits
released January 29, 2016
"The grand gestures of Gainsbourg and Vannier loom large... these nocturnal romances still confirm French as the language of the impossibly glamorous."
Uncut 8/10
"Belgian-born Schoos embraces hushed reflection. Just the right time. Deep, dark, affecting"
MOJO ***
"His tracks paint the most vivid of pictures using words, once you’ve translated them of course, and sings with the same truth and valour about the romance in both life, love and death"
Gigsoup ****
"Prolifique et romantique, le songwriter belge publie un nouvel album bizarroîde"
Les Inrockuptibles ****
"Ambiance Christophienne, fleur à la boutonnière, yeux faits, fauteuils en velours et plus personne dans le salon du bateau fantôme". Technikart ****
"..en sept titres majestueux, on se rend à l'évidence: avec son piano blanc, sa boite à rythmes et ses vieilles machines, il parvient à émouvoir, d'abord, puis à instaurer une ambiance racée sans discontinuer, verbe agile à l'appui, ensuite."
Muzzart
"Benjamin Schoos s’est littéralement métamorphosé. En artiste accompli, en musicien sobre, toujours exigeant. En grand ordonnateur d’une musique adulte, sérieuse, pénétrante mais encore rafraîchissante. Comme un dernier cocktail sur le pont du navire avant qu’il ne tutoie je ne sais quel glacier imminent. Qu’il ne disparaisse et fasse place à un autre chef-d’œuvre. Car celui-là en est un."
Shebam Blog Pop Wizz
"Principalement synthétiques, ces chansons romantiques et vespérales sont nées de l'amour du Wallon pour les claviers hors d'âge et les boîtes à rythmes vintage, et enrichies de quelques instruments discrets (flûte, orgue Hammond, violoncelle, bugle, trompette."
Magic rpm ****
"C’est son côté crooner sérieux et authentique que laisse parler ici Benjamin qui, sans difficulté, parvient à nous émouvoir."
Le Mad (Le Soir)
"En s’affranchissant de guitares, basses et batteries parfois un peu poussives, il laisse ainsi se sublimer d’elles-mêmes quelques magnifiques lignes de piano, plusieurs envolées de cordes et autres échappées belles de cuivres. C’est doux. Parfois un peu trouble. Mais c’est beau. Très beau, même."
Idoles Mag
"37 Minuten großes Nacht-Kino."
Sound and Image
"...Ces love songs crépusculaires et langoureuses, réunies dans un album bouleversant et sublime de bout en bout. De la très haute couture, Monsieur Schoos !"
Benzine Mag
"Un album court mais intense, aux confins de l’intimité et capable de nous faire passer par toutes les couleurs. Sept titres pour au moins mille émotions."
Branchesculture
"...Un disque de Crooning nocturne mise en mots par Jacques Duvall. Tender is The Night"
Focus Vif
"Un album mélodieux aux nuances délicates orchestrées de main de maître (du monde)."
La magicbox
"Il nous offre un album de Dandy du crépuscule au romantisme à la fois plastique et éthéré."
Metro
—
Photography : Pascal Schyns.
Sleeve design : Scalp.
—
Catalog number : FRVM74
Catalog number CD : FRVR55
Catalog number Vinyl LP : FRVR55
℗ Freaksville Publishing 2015
© Freaksville Publishing 2016
Quick demo shot for Steve "Blackdog" Bennett - King of the Pringles Tube Lighting Rig.
The bottle was placed inside a cut down cardboard poster tube and was lit from below with a small circular 24 LED cheapo light. It was flagged on three sides by black A3 foam boards. Secondary light from above provided by a 300w halogen uplighter, bounced off a white ceiling. Water drops from the usual plant spray gizmo - I could do with some glycerine for this sort of effect.
Oh yeah, as you can see from the liquid in the bottle, the tilt was in the slight crop done as an after thought.
Expensive studio lights - no way! Fiat Lux!
Canon EOS 7D + EF100mm Macro USM
the trees lining this pond had deep red buds - hence the unusual color of some of the reflections. Denis à Quebec (et sa rivière) - I hope you like it.
A lot of Burn's songs are thought of as poems but "Afton Water" is a poem that became a song. And what a beautiful lilting melodic treat it is, this together with "The Bonnie Lass O' Ballochmyle" have been my lifetime favourites from the Bard ever since I learned them as as a wee boy at Ayrshire's Hurlford school some fifty years ago. Today I'm traveling back south from a visit to Hurlford after a wonderful reunion with some of those school classmates. I have passed Mauchline, Ballochmyle, and have stopped at New Cummock to capture this picture of Rabbie. Its a fine tribute mounted on a ten foot tall red sandstone column and testifies to the town's pride in its association with Rabbie. Here he gazes out over a fine pastoral view towards Kilmarnock so that cant be what's upsetting him, but something is, and I'm wondering what might explain that guilty-glum expression? Maybe this is how he faced the Kirk Session!
Listen to his song and no-one could be glum:-
www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8g_NCIdeRE
One of Burns friends in New Cumnock was Robert Campbell and Burns would have known New Cumnock well standing as it does on his regular route between Dumfries, Mauchline and Kilmarnock. The following lines from Burns to Campbell survives: -
Dated, Saturday morn: 19th Aug., 1786'. Burns writes : 'I have met with few men in my life whom I more wished to see again than you and Chance seems industrious to disappoint me of that pleasure. I came here yesterday fully resolved to see you... but a conjecture of circumstances conspired against me. Having an opportunity of sending you a line, I joyfully embraced it. It is perhaps the last mark of our friendship you can receive from me on this side of the Atlantic. Farewel! May you be happy up to the wishes of parting Friendship!'
Campbell owned the small estate of Pencloe in Glen Afton, about 2 miles from New Cumnock.
FLOW GENTLY SWEET AFTON
Flow gently, sweet Afton! amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stockdove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing thy screaming forbear,
I charge you, disturb not my slumbering Fair.
How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,
Far mark'd with the courses of clear, winding rills;
There daily I wander as noon rises high,
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.
How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,
Where, wild in the woodlands, the primroses blow;
There oft, as mild Ev'ning weeps over the lea,
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, amang thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Robert Burns 1757 - 1796.