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I made this image twice: once with text alone, and once with a section of the typewriter included. I found it to be a much more effective image with more than just text.
in The Four Loves, the full quotation (with context) reads:
“Finally, we must notice that Friendship is very rarely the image under which Scripture represents the love between God and Man. It is not entirely neglected; but far more often, seeking a symbol for the highest love of all, Scripture ignores this seemingly almost angelic relation and plunges into the depth of what is most natural and instinctive. Affection is taken as the image when God is represented as our Father; Eros, when Christ is represented as the Bridegroom of the Church.
Let us begin with the suspicions of those in Authority. I think there is a ground for them and that a consideration of this ground brings something important to light. Friendship, I have said, is born at the moment when one man says to another "What! You too? I thought that no one but myself..." But the common taste or vision or point of view which is thus discovered need not always be a nice one.”
Any relation to an actual military unit is coincidental. I made enough of these knight-themed frames for a squad without realizing it I suppose. On another note, the stud.io renderer seems to have made this one pretty blurry in the center, not entirely sure why.
"The bananaquit (Coereba flaveola) is a species of passerine bird of uncertain relation. It is tentatively placed in the tanager family, but classified as incertae sedis by other authorities such as the American Ornithologists' Union. Its classification is debated, and it is often placed in its own family: Coerebidae. It has recently been suggested the bananaquit should be split into three species, but this has yet to receive widespread recognition. This small, active nectarivore is found in warmer parts of the Americas, and is generally common.
The bananaquit has a slender, curved bill, adapted to taking nectar from flowers. It sometimes pierces flowers from the side, taking the nectar without pollinating the plant. It also feeds on sweet juices by puncturing fruit with its beak, and will eat small insects on occasion. While feeding, the bananaquit must always perch as it cannot hover like a hummingbird.
The bananaquit is known for its ability to adjust remarkably to human environments. It often visits gardens and may become very tame. Its nickname, the sugar bird, comes from its affinity for bowls or bird feeders stocked with granular sugar, a common method of attracting these birds. The bananaquit builds a spherical lined nest with a side entrance hole, laying up to three eggs, which are incubated solely by the female. It may also build its nest in human-made objects, such as lampshades and garden trellises. The birds breed all year regardless of season and build new nests throughout the year."
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bananaquit
We saw Bananaquits on both Trinidad and Tobago. This one was seen and photographed at the Asa Wright Nature Centre on the island of Trinidad, on 19 March 2017.
This adventure was only the second holiday (or was it actually my third?) of any kind, anywhere, that I have had in something like 30 or 35 years! The other holiday was a wonderful, one-week trip with my great friends from England, Linda and Tony, when we went down south to Yellowstone National Park and the Grand Tetons in September 2012. I have had maybe half a dozen weekends away, including to Waterton National Park, which have helped keep me going.
Six birding/photographer friends and I decided that we would take this exciting trip together (from 12-21 March 2017), spending the first two or three days on the island of Tobago and then the rest of the time at the Asa Wright Nature Centre on the nearby, much larger island of Trinidad. We decided to take a complete package, so everything was included - flights (we were so very lucky to get Black Friday prices, which were 50% off!), accommodation at both places, all our food, and the various walks and day trips that we could choose from. Two of my friends, Anne B. and Brenda, saw to all the planning of flights and accommodations, which was so very much appreciated by the rest of us. I could never have done all this myself!
What a time we had, seeing so many beautiful and interesting things - and, of course, everything was a lifer for me. Some of these friends had visited Costa Rica before, so were familiar with some of the birds. There was a lot more to see on Trinidad, so we were glad that we chose Tobago to visit first and then spend a longer time at Asa Wright. It was wonderful to be right by the sea, though, at the Blue Waters Inn on the island of Tobago. Just gorgeous.
The Asa Wright Nature Centre, on Trinidad, is such an amazing place! We stayed in cabins up or down hill from the main building. Really, one doesn't need to travel away from the Centre for birding, as so many different species visit the Hummingbird feeders that are right by the huge, open veranda, and the trees of the rain forest high up a mountainous road. The drive up and down this narrow, twisting, pot-holed road was an adventure in itself! Never would I ever do this drive myself - we had a guide who drove us everywhere in a van/small bus. I had read many accounts of this road, lol! There was just enough room for two vehicles to squeeze past each other, and the honking of horns was almost continuous - either to warn any vehicle that might be coming fast around the next bend or as a sign that drivers knew each other. The drive along this road, from the coast to Asa Wright, took just over an hour each way.
Even after more than three weeks, I still miss the great food that was provided every single day at Asa Wright and the Rum Punch that appeared each evening. I never drink at all, so I wasn't sure if I would even try the Punch - glad I did, though, as it was delicious and refreshing. Breakfast, lunch and dinner were all served buffet-style, with a great variety of dishes from which to choose. To me, pure luxury. So very, very grateful to have been invited to be part of this amazing adventure.
The terminus, at the Rome end, of Laziali - Line G is adjacent, although in no way connected to, platforms 23 to 26 of Roma Termini. Consisting of 3 street level platforms and looking rather run down and quite frankly worn out. The unwary traveller is promised a service to Giardinetti whereas in reality the service has been cut back to Centocelle with the 106 bus required for any onward travel. The line was due to close in 2016 with part of it being incorporated into a busway, plans for this seem to be a little up in the air and the stock, some 90 years old, continue to provide a regular 12 minute service along the remaining stretch of this former 94km railway. Certainly wouldn't fancy nearly 60 miles in one of their trams!
2015 08 27
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In relation to the "Tribunal de las Aguas", in the northern half of the square is the "Fuente del Turia", with a central male figure that allegorically represents, in bronze, the Turia river, surrounded by eight female figures, naked and with headdresses of valencian farmers, who represent the eight main ditches that irrigate the garden. The fountain is the work of the sculptor Manuel Silvestre Montesinos and was inaugurated in 1976.
En relación con el Tribunal de las Aguas, en la mitad norte de la plaza se encuentra la Fuente del Turia, con una figura masculina central que representa alegóricamente, en bronce, el río Turia, rodeado por ocho figuras femeninas, desnudas y con tocado de labradoras valencianas, que representan a las ocho acequias principales que irrigan la huerta. La fuente es obra del escultor Manuel Silvestre Montesinos y fue inaugurada en 1976.
Ciutat Vella de Valéncia (Spain)
I found this mural to be pretty amazing as on closer inspection it is created by lots of purple themed images with relation too Jimi Hendrix Painted by Won ABC
With his liberal leanings, he opposed both a strong ecclesiastical and political influence on education in school policy. He called for pedagogical and professional (and no longer clerical) school supervision and a uniform school organisation, i.e. he wanted to achieve a professionalisation of the teaching profession. He also fought for the relative autonomy of schools in relation to social powers. He owed his great influence on the teaching profession at the time above all to his journal Rheinische Blätter für Erziehung und Unterricht (Rhenish Journals for Education and Teaching), which he published from 1827, but also to his Jahrbuch für Lehrer- und Schulfreunde (Yearbook for Teacher and School Friends) from 1851.
Troy has tempted the travellers for thousands of years. Troy Museum situated 700 meters to the east of Troy archaeological site.
Over the centuries, the epic Trojan wars from Homer’s Iliad have been tempted the travellers for thousands of years to come to visit Troy. Situated 700 meters to the east of Troy archaeological site. The Troy Museum attracted visitors to Troy now have a possibility to gain much more information about this archaeological site and put its history into a much broader perspective. Most of the artefacts displayed in the museum had been previously exhibited in the Archaeological Museum in the centre of Çanakkale, far away from the site of Troy. The new arrangement makes it much easier to see these objects, and the visit to the museum is an excellent introduction to the tour of Troy..
It is true that the story of mighty Troy has fascinated travelers for thousands of years. With my wife Kathy, who is very interested in history, we wanted to see the Trojan stories and the conditions of that day once again. There were very few visitors as the tourist season just started and it was important for us that it wasn't crowded. Amongst the exhibites, the small section of golden crowns made of very small and thin leaves of gold and the small medical instruments used in the conditions in those days caught my attention, small bottles with different colors and incredibly beautiful shapes. The techniques of how to set the sail in different seasons at sea used by ships are among the techniques that still using by the seafarers nowadays.
Visit the museum 3rd floor inviting you to meet the emperors. Statues of Hadrian and Augustos and one of the oldest example of sacophagus with figurative narration discovered in Anatoria so far. I also recommend the terrace view. It's a bit windy but plenty of oxygen feels great... The museum exhibits around 2,000 artifacts in total and awaits its visitors with more than 40,000 artifacts in its warehouse.
Text description provided by the architects. The archeological site of Troy has been inscribed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1998 because of its outstanding universal value as a site that has witnessed various civilizations for over 4000 years and has been a significant influence on the development of the European civilization, arts, and literature over two millennia. Museum of Troy, located 800 meters from the site, is honoring this heritage and is a medium to tell the rich history of Troy in relation to its natural, cultural, artistic and archeological context. The museum building was acquired as a result of a national architectural design contest held by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism of Turkey in 2011. The museum was opened to visitors in October 2018 as a result of 7 years of work.
The building of the Troy Museum stands out in the barren landscape of the Trojan plain, attracting the visitors' attention from afar. If the effect it makes on the visitors is the one that its designers aimed at, remains an open question, to be answered by the guests themselves.The entrance to the Troy Museum entrance is accessed by a large ramp lined with concrete walls with niches holing small exhibits. The ramp leads the visitors to the subterranean floor, with an entrance hall. This level also houses exhibition spaces, a cafe, a restaurant, and a museum shop. There are also conservation laboratories and storage space for the museum's collection, inaccessible to the visitors.The exhibition is divided into four levels, starting at the lowest one: Cities of Troad, Layers of Troy, Ancient World, and Troy Excavation History. Above them, there is a terrace offering the views of the site of Troy and the whole region of the Troad. These four levels provide an overview of Troy and the Troad, divided into seven sections: Troad Region Archaeology, Bronze Age of Troy, Iliad and the Trojan War, Troad and Ilion in Ancient History, Eastern Rome and Ottoman Period, History of Archaeology, and Traces of Troy.The exhibition presents these stories along a chronological timeline highlighting technological changes, social organization, political and economic relations, urban development, daily life, arts, and craftsmanship. The visitors can explore, read, watch, contemplate, and interact with the exhibition at their own pace. Moreover, a special storyline has been prepared within the exhibition for the younger visitors, to evoke their curiosity and facilitate engagement with the artefacts.
Thank you so much for visiting my stream, whether you comments , favorites or just have a look. I appreciate it very much, wishing the best of luck and good light.
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Thanks for stopping and looking :)
In relation to the previous post, that is. Which of the two do you like better, if any?
___________________________
Con la foto anterior, quiero decir. ¿Cuál de las dos te parece mejor, si es que alguna?
“Despite the illusion of giving understanding, what seeing through photographs really invites is an acquisitive relation to the world that nourishes aesthetic awareness and promotes emotional detachment.”
― Susan Sontag, On Photography
Gibellina (Sicilian: Gibbiddina) is a small city and comune in the mountains of central Sicily, Italy in the Province of Trapani. It was destroyed by the 1968 Belice earthquake.
The new city, Gibellina Nuova, was rebuilt some 11 kilometres (7 mi) distant from the old one. The new city was designed by many of the most prominent artists and architects in Italy, but done in a piecemeal fashion so that the parts of the new city bear little relation to one another or to the indigenous architecture of Sicily.
The church’s architect was Ludovico Quaroni (1911-1987).
This Paparazzi Momma followed the kids around all morning with the goal of capturing the real life moments from our daily life. This was one of my favorites. I love how it documents her size in relation to her little Universe that's our home.
(looks too sharp, but I didn't sharpen for web)
This was just down the street from the brewery we were headed to. Pentax 17, Kodak 5222 (Double-XX), Beeranol.
The 5Z97 0853 Derby RTC - Derby RTC pauses at Sheffield Midland , with 97302 at one end looking neat and tidy and 97304 at the other looking far from it...
16 8 19
Excerpt from Wikipedia:
Specks Hof is a commercial building with the oldest preserved shopping arcade in Leipzig . The complex near Nikolaikirche is an example of Leipzig's trade fair and trading houses built at the beginning of the 20th century.
Specks Hof extends for 82 meters along the Schuhmachergäßchen between Reichs - and Nikolaistraße in which the building has front lengths of 40 or 47 meters. To the south, it borders the Reichshof , the Hansahaus and the postwar new construction with the Fürstenerker.
Bacon's yard is six storeys high. In the first three upper floors, the principle of the column-and-rail system can be clearly recognized by emphasizing the continuous pilasters . The upper two floors are slightly set behind a balustrade or a narrow roof strip. In each of the three adjacent streets is a bow-arched passage entrance, each of which as well as the two building corners is emphasized by a rounded Risalit . At the front, which is clad with trachyttuff and cast stone, there are plenty of architectural ornaments in stone as well as on the pedestal above the ground floor and above the third floor in copper. The figures are borrowed from the Greek world of the gods and have no relation to the purpose of the building.
The southern part, later developed as part of the front in the Nikolaistraße, deviates in its design from the rest of the building. It is kept simpler and has a pyramid roof.
The ground floor of the building is traversed by barrel-vaulted passages, some of which are still embossed with copper. The corridors are interrupted by three glass-covered atriums, which are beginning in the west, designated A, B and C and have floor areas between 40 and 50 m². Their walls are artistically designed.
In the yard A 33 white terracotta plates by Peter Makolies (1936) are attached. Above the fourth floor is an image frieze by the Leipzig painter Bruno Griesel (1960) with the theme "Psychology of Time". In courtyard B are a design on Meißner tiles by the Leipzig painter Heinz -Jürgen Böhme (1952). Above this rises more than 20,000 colored ceramic plates over several floors of the wall frieze by Moritz Götze (1964) "The Morning, the Noon, the Evening". Lichthof C is decorated with 16 medallions depicting everyday objects, mainly shoes, in an enamel glaze technique by Johannes Grützke (1937-2017). In the stairwells of the atriums A and B are still original lead glass panes after designs by the painter Paul Horst-Schulze (1876-1937) available.
While offices are located on the upper floors, the ground floor is fully occupied by retail establishments, including two catering establishments, many of which can also be accessed via the passages and the courtyards.
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.
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But actually, here, it is not justified.
I may add that one of the consensuses in the Israeli society is the bad relation to the Ultra-Orthodox Jew.
Some may say that they earned in by themselves,
but there are beautiful aspects in this community, we can appreciate, and learn from.
One of them is the mutual help for those in need.
Here, you see an example of it:
Towards Passover people clean their houses very, very thoroughly
("and there shall no leavened bread be seen with thee, neither shall there be leaven seen with thee, in all thy borders", Exodus, 13:9).
As the feast approached it becomes challenging to prepare food for the (many, many) children, alongside the other duties.
Therefore, one of the members of the community, from his own initiative, arranges lunch to tens of children, in the main square of the neighborhood.
Ermita de San Bartolomé, Cañón de Rio Lobos, Soria.
La iglesia de San Juan de Otero, ahora dedicada a San Bartolomé, se ubica en el interior del Parque Natural del Cañón del Río Lobos, realmente en el término no municipal denominado: Comunero de San Bartolomé, regentado por los municipios sorianos de: Herrera de Soria, Nafría de Ucero y Ucero en Castilla y León (España); fue construida en el primer cuarto del siglo XIII, cuando el estilo románico daba paso al gótico, transición que quedó plasmada en la obra arquitectónica. Formaba parte de un cenobio templario del que sólo se conserva la capilla.
De su vinculación a la Orden de los Caballeros del Temple no cabe duda. La especulación se genera únicamente en torno a sus antecedentes. En una bula papal de 1170, el papa Alejandro III hace referencia al Monasterio de San Juan de Otero, perteneciente a la diócesis de Osma. Puede que estuviera localizado en el mismo lugar que San Bartolomé y fuese reemplazado por la construcción protogótica que ha perdurado, pero también hay quien apunta la posibilidad de que estuviera situado en el otero donde se asienta el castillo, y que se edificara a la par que éste a mediados del siglo XII. Las ruinas de la pequeña iglesia que subsisten podrían ser, en tal caso, las del primitivo santuario templario.
La iglesia tiene planta de cruz latina, disposición que se acusa ostensiblemente al exterior. Llama la atención la escasa altura del transepto en relación con la de la nave. La cumbre de la bóveda de aquél queda por debajo de la línea de imposta de la bóveda de cañón apuntado de la nave, de tal manera que ambas bóvedas no se intersecan y no dan lugar al establecimiento de una cúpula o un cimborrio sobre el crucero.
Las pilastras de sección rectangular adosadas a los muros exteriores del ábside, así como las que flanquean la portada, y la misma puerta que luce seis arquivoltas muy apuntadas, ponen de manifiesto el momento de transición del románico al gótico en que se edificó esta iglesia.
Merecen ser resaltados los dos rosetones, uno en cada astial del transepto, cuyas celosías evocan influencias musulmanas en la forma del entrelazado que compone una estrella lobulada de cinco puntas. Poseen tres arquivoltas de las que sólo la externa está decorada.
The church of San Juan de Otero, now dedicated to Saint Barthelemy, is located inside the Natural Park River Canyon Lobos, really in no municipality called: Comunero of St. Bartholomew, run by the sorianos municipalities of Herrera Soria Ucero Ucero and Nafría of Castile and Leon (Spain); was built in the first quarter of the thirteenth century, when the Romanesque style gave way to Gothic transition was reflected in the architectural work. It was part of a Templar monastery of which only the chapel remains.
Its link to the Order of the Knights Templar no doubt. Speculation is generated solely around their background. In a papal bull of 1170, Pope Alexander III refers to the Monastery of San Juan de Otero, belonging to the diocese of Osma. Maybe he was located in the same place as San Bartolomé and was replaced by protogótica construction that has endured, but also who points out the possibility that was located on the hill where the castle is located, and which will be built at the same time this mid-twelfth century. The ruins of the small church that could subsist be in such a case, the primitive Templar sanctuary.
The church has a Latin cross, provision is ostensibly accused abroad. Particularly striking is the low height of the transept in relation to the ship. The summit dome that is below the impost of the pointed barrel vault of the nave, so that both vaults do not intersect and do not lead to the establishment of a dome or a dome over the transept.
The pilasters of rectangular section attached to the outer walls of the apse, as well as flanking the doorway, and the door which boasts six archivolts very targeted, reveal the moment of transition from Romanesque to Gothic that this church was built.
They deserve to be highlighted the two rosettes, one in each astial the transept, whose lattices evoke Muslim influences in the form of interlaced comprises a lobed five-pointed star. They have three archivolts of which only the outer is decorated.
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The Waterkeringpad is a walking route between Amsterdam Central Station and Huizen and consists of eight sections. Check all sections here and information. The route follows the dike along the former Zuiderzee now the IJ Lake and the Gooimeer. A unique experience, walking on the dike! Before 1500 the Diemerzeedijk between Maxis and Muiden was made from clay and construction waste. From mid-fifteenth century, the old sea wall was a retaining wall of wooden poles. Between 1732 and 1744 it was replaced by a stone slope which could better absorb the powerful waves. The Waterkeringpad is a 36 kilometer long trail. We are walking section no.4 from Maxis to Muiden. On our route we will experience the importance of safe dikes with special historical and impressive objects that have to do with the dam and enjoy the nature around us. Since a few years there is a dam constructed especially for birds. It's a bird reserve. The bare dam breed huge colonies of rare birds such as the Black Tern. A rugged piece of nature where the Grass snake still lives undisturbed. It is an important habitat for birds such as the Tufted Duck and Scaup. In the distance you can see the island Pampus. Pampus is an artificial island and late 19th Century sea fort located in the IJmeer near Amsterdam. The fort is on a man-made island situated on what was the Pampus shallows or sandbank in the former Zuiderzee. Together with the artillery battery on the lighthouse island near Durgerdam and the battery at the Diemer seawall, Pampus protected the entrance to IJ Bay and the harbour of Amsterdam. The dike offers beautiful views over the IJ Lake. Also the Dutch painter Rembrandt van Rijn did made many drawings along the Diemerzeedijk. It's a walking path with lots of history.
The Waterkeringpad is a walking route between Amsterdam Central Station and Huizen and consists of eight sections. It's a 36 kilometer trail and the dike offers beautiful views over the IJ Lake. In the distance you can see the island Pampus. Pampus is an artificial island and late 19th Century sea fort located in the IJmeer near Amsterdam. The fort is on a man-made island situated on what was the Pampus shallows or sandbank in the former Zuiderzee. A day at the Iake restores the soul. It's a beautiful setting at sunset.The wind dies down the birds are silent while the boatmen go ashore.
Het Waterkeringpad is een wandelroute tussen Amsterdam Centraal Station en Huizen en bestaat uit acht trajecten. Bekijk hier al de trajecten en info. De route volgt de waterkering langs de voormalige Zuiderzee nu het IJmeer en het Gooimeer. Een unieke ervaring, wandelen over de dijk! Vóór 1500 bestond de Diemerzeedijk tussen Maxis en Muiden uit klei en bouwafval. Vanaf midden vijftiende eeuw kreeg de oude zeedijk een beschoeiing van houten palen. Tussen 1732 en 1744 maakte hout plaats voor een flauw aflopende stenen glooiing. Die kon krachtige golfslag beter opvangen. Het Waterkeringpad is een 36 kilometer lange wandelroute. Wij wandelen traject nr.4 van Maxis naar Muiden. Je kunt in de verte het eiland Pampus zien liggen.Na de Frans-Duitse Oorlog van 1870 was het Nederlands bestuur bevreesd voor een aanval op Amsterdam. Men bouwde rondom Amsterdam een vestingring, de Stelling van Amsterdam en voor de monding van het IJ werd een forteiland gebouwd genaamdt Pampus. Het fort staat op 4.000 heipalen van 11 meter lang en de bebouwing is een combinatie van beton en gemetselde bakstenen. De oorsprong van de betekenis voor pampus liggen: dronken zijn is als volgt. Vroeger kwamen de schepen van de VOC richting Amsterdam aan en moesten wachten voor Pampus om op het juiste tij om de haven van Amsterdam binnen te varen. Daarna gingen de matrozen naar de haven, meerden af, kregen hun gage en verspilden het in de dagen daarna aan drank en vrouwen. Nu is het is een belangrijk rustgebied voor vogels. Naar het voorbeeld van de Kinseldam die voor de kust van de IJdoornpolder in het water ligt is er sinds kort een losliggende dam langs de Diemerzeedijk gebouwd die dienst doet als vogelreservaat. En met succes: op de kale dam broeden enorme kolonies zeldzame vogels zoals de zwarte stern. De dijk biedt mooie panorama's over het IJmeer. Een dag op het IJmeer doet je goed. de zon gaat onder, de wind gaat liggen en de vogels worden stil, terwijl de schippers aan land gaan. Eén van de plaatsen langs de Diemerzeedijk die door Rembrandt en zijn leerlingen herhaaldelijk en van verschillende kanten in beeld is gebracht, is Outersdorp. Outersdorp was een piepkleine buurtschap van drie boerderijen. Hier zijn een stuk of vijftien tekeningen van. Kortom een bijzonder pad met veel geschiedenis.