Hagiang_VIETNAM_2013

The Mã Pì Lèng Pass

 

Up in the most northerly corner of Vietnam lies the Mã Pì Lèng Pass which takes travellers through some of the most dramatic hill country to be seen outside the Himalayas.

You may be able to see a truck in the picture (just below here), it is on the road beyond and to the right of the farmer. The truck is a couple of thousand feet below and toiling up to reach us.farmer The road runs into China some 10 miles away. The only other road through these mountains is the one from which the photo was taken and which runs from Mèo Vạac to Đồng Văn a distance of 14 miles though what must be some of the most spectacular scenery in the world. This is the beginning of the Mã Pì Lèng Pass.

A pass in English sounds like a bit of an effort, something to be got over, or through, with threats involved; famous battles and traps attend as in 'the Pass of Killacrankie O'. The Vietnamese have a different concept: these are the gates to heaven where the sense is of the 'heavens', both a place beyond and the firmament above. The image is of opening up and leading into light and space. And as the road runs out higher and higher onto the hillside, and the sky expands and mountains recede, so we ascend to these heavens, and stand at heaven's gate.

As hills go these are not big, but they make full use of their stature as befits the final throws and last outposts of the Himalaya, rolling and clambering up to full free standing mountains of near on 7,000butress feet, and then tumbling down in barren cascades and flinging themselves into the bottoms of deep gorges where apparently tiny rivers thread between the vast buttresses. It is as difficult to convey the scale of all this in pictures as it is in words. Any image that shows the top of the hill and the bottom of the gorge cannot show something as small as a house.

  

Inhospitable and barren the landscape may appear to be, but it is populated. Wherever a field can find soil it is fitted in, wherever a house can cling to the precipitous slopes it will be attached, although such attachments would seem to depend more on faith than physical security defying gravity as they do. Between these houses and fields people quietly go about their lives. Lives which to us would seem daunting for the slopes extend for thousands of feet from crest to the water below and some are steeper than 60 degrees. The people here are from the Black Dao ethnic group with their own language and traditions quite separate from those of the majority Viet population. We learnt from one of them that the inhabitants of such hamlets and houses, have to go down to that river for their water at certain times of the year. Imagine climbing, with your water, over a kilometre vertically upwards just as a part of the daily routine! blackdoaThese humans are clearly a different physical species from myself. But the acute slopes are not just a problem for collecting water, for every inch of the rather poor dry soil is cultivated, and this leads to extraordinary farming. The pattern shown in the picture is common: a curving ‘field’ of about 2 feet wide, terraced in steps of the same height which makes getting from one ribbon to the next, above or below, a major physical effort; and getting an ox and plough onto some point, a kilometre from a road, a sort of athletic miracle for both man and beast.

  

For the traveller on the road there are few such problems. The road was built to a high specification and is little used by vehicles larger than motor cycles. So it is in good condition by Vietnamese standards: one's body is offered a smooth ride. Amusingly the gradients are all modest, despite appearances, the signs assure you that you are rising at 9.64% or 9.37% and never reach 10%; one suspects a job lot of misprinted signs palmed off by the ministry that produced them, onto the ministry that had stipulated that gradients could not pass 10%! But for our heads it is less comfortable, the dizzying drops and towering cliff faces keep up a roller coaster of prospects that would satisfy the most jaded traveller. gorge

  

At the top of the pass there is a memorial to those who made the road through this impossible country, a task completed some 40 years ago. To add to the marvels of construction, it was undertaken at a time just after the French War had finished, when the country had few resources, except the charm to gain help from others. As you look out from here across the massive mountainsides you see a tiny thread cast round them, like a Lilliputian rope to Gulliver, and wonder how anyone thought of a road there, and then convinced another country that they should fund it.

  

The pass is not long and a glance at a map might suggest a half hour run between the two main towns at either end. But the map deceives. For each bend reveals a new extraordinary panorama and demands a new stop for photographs, and more time to take in the wonder of it all. A wonder appreciated by the locals who also find time to stop and watch over their land. So there we were together smitten, but we were the only strangers. roadThis place is far away, two days drive from the capital and the airport, so it is not an area that figures on the tours and treks that set out by the hundred from Hà Nội each day. Journey times are very slow, so for most tourists this marvelous scenery just does not exist. The Mã Pì Lèng Pass is the icing on the cake of the north of Vietnam: stunning scenery, friendly people and not another tourist in sight.

Doré’s incomparable imagination befits Coleridge’s poem about a cursed sailor and his journey on a haunted ship to Antarctica, a voyage that he alone survives. The first depicts the Ancient Mariner amid the eerie aftermath of his encounter with a ghost ship crewed by Death. The second captures the moment when the curse is lifted and the ship lurches forward with unexpected force., knocking the sailor over and causing him to fall into a trance.

Poem.

 

Childish excitement travelling from east to west in late winter.

You know soon, very soon, the West Coast “Munros” will gleam like incisor teeth above the forested landscape.

Forcan, left, and The Saddle, right, are such peaks that advertise the thousand metre micro-climate of semi-Alpine splendour.

Spin-drift sweeps off the upper slopes to accumulate in layers like royal icing.

The snowy back-cloth forms a pleasing contrast to the pastel tans and greens of the bracken and forest of the lower slopes of this historic Glen.

The West Coast beckons.

Such a grand mountain corridor befits the momentous land and seascapes that lie in prospect.

 

Poem.

 

Childish excitement travelling from east to west in late winter.

You know soon, very soon, the West Coast “Munros” will gleam like incisor teeth above the forested landscape.

Forcan, left, and The Saddle, right, are such peaks that advertise the thousand metre micro-climate of semi-Alpine splendour.

Spin-drift sweeps off the upper slopes to accumulate in layers like royal icing.

The snowy back-cloth forms a pleasing contrast to the pastel tans and greens of the bracken and forest of the lower slopes of this historic Glen.

The West Coast beckons.

Such a grand mountain corridor befits the momentous land and seascapes that lie in prospect.

 

Poem.

 

Childish excitement travelling from east to west in late winter.

You know soon, very soon, the West Coast “Munros” will gleam like incisor teeth above the forested landscape.

Forcan, left, and The Saddle, right, are such peaks that advertise the thousand metre micro-climate of semi-Alpine splendour.

Spin-drift sweeps off the upper slopes to accumulate in layers like royal icing.

The snowy back-cloth forms a pleasing contrast to the pastel tans and greens of the bracken and forest of the lower slopes of this historic Glen.

The West Coast beckons.

Such a grand mountain corridor befits the momentous land and seascapes that lie in prospect.

 

A brake from Brazil to report taht spring has sprung. This is the Tom Turkey dominating our back yard in day time, here displaying for the befit of a few indifferent hens. View large- hit "L" than "Z" twice

Bury St Edmunds Cathedral for most of its existence was simply the parish church of St James until the foundation of the new diocese of St Edmundsbury in 1914 when it was raised to cathedral status, one of the many new dioceses formed in the early 20th century that elevated existing parish churches to diocesan rank rather than purpose building a new cathedral. Many of these 'parish church cathedrals' sit slightly awkwardly with their new status, lacking in the scale and grandeur that befits such a title, but of all of them Bury St Edmunds has been adapted to its new role the most successfully, with in my opinion the most beautiful results.

 

The medieval church consisted of the present nave, built in 1503-51 under master mason John Wastell, with an earlier chancel that was entirely rebuilt in 1711 and again in 1870. Originally it would have seemed a fairly minor building at the entrance to the monastic precinct, overshadowed by the enormous abbey church that once stood immediately behind it. The absence of this magnificent church since the Dissolution and the scant remains of this vast edifice always sully my visits here with a sense of grievous loss, had history been kinder it would have served as the cathedral here instead and likely be celebrated as one of the grandest in the country.

 

The church never had a tower of its own since the adjacent Norman tower of the Abbey gateway served the role of a detached campanile perfectly. It is an impressive piece of Romanesque architecture and one of the best preserved 12th century towers in the country.

 

Upon being raised to cathedral status in 1914 the building underwent no immediate structural changes but plans were made to consider how best to transform a fairly ordinary church into a worthy cathedral. This task was appointed to architect Stephen Dykes Bower and work began in 1959 to extend the building dramatically. Between 1963-1970 the entire Victorian chancel was demolished and replaced with a much grander vision of a lofty new choir and shallow transepts, remarkably all executed in traditional Gothic style in order to harmonize with the medieval nave. It is incredible to think that this was done in the 1960s, a period in which church and cathedral buildings were otherwise constructed in the most self consciously modern forms ever seen, with delicate neo-medieval masonry in place of brick and concrete.

 

The new crossing of transepts and choir however remained crowned by the stump of a tower for the remainder of the century as funds were not available to finish Dykes Bower's complete vision of a lantern tower over the crossing: this was only realised at the beginning of the 21st century, aided by a legacy left in the architect's will and some subtle design changes under his successor as architect Hugh Matthews. The transformation from church to cathedral was finally completed in 2005 with most satisfactory results. A stunning fan-vault was installed within the new tower in 2010, an exquisite finishing touch.

 

Whilst it isn't a large building by cathedral standards its newer parts do much to give it the shape and dignity of one. This is especially apparent within, where the cruciform eastern limb draws the eye. The interior is enlivened by much colour, with the ceilings of Dykes Bower's choir and transepts adorned with rich displays of stencilling, whilst the nave ceiling (a Victorian replacement for the medieval one) was redecorated in similarly lively colours in the 1980s which helps to unify the old and new parts of the church.

 

Few fittings or features remain from the medieval period, most of the furnishings being Victorian or more recent, but one window in the south aisle retains a rich display of early 16th century stained glass, very much Renaissance in style. The remaining glass is nearly all Victorian, some of the windows in the new choir having been transferred from the previous chancel.

 

St Edmundsbury Cathedral is not filled with the monuments and fittings that make other great churches so rewarding to linger in but it is a real architectural delight and cannot fail to uplift the spirit.

stedscathedral.org/visit/

 

As befits the black gabbro of skye

This was the Light Show at the Gardens by the Bay, Singapore, with the lit-up Marina Sands Hotel 'boat-in-the sky behind. The bluish trees in shot are termed Supertrees. There are a lot of them in the three gardens and as befits the garden theme they are actually ventilators and are not organic or living. The nightly Light Show brings thousands of visitors to the hotel and the Sky Gardens and they are lit-up in many colours which change whilst beautiful live music plays..

See '1955: my father playing with my eldest brothers' On Black!

 

As befitted a professional musician and violin teacher like my father, he always encouraged his children to also learn to play an instrument. I don't know if he regrets none of us followed in his footsteps professionally (don't think so, actually) but we all played and enjoyed it, although, admittedly, some more than others!

 

Here he is with my two eldest siblings. The setting is our livingroom in Utrecht, towards the conservatory, where the grand piano stood. Brother B plays the cello, F the violin. The latter became actually quite good at it.

 

In later years, when all six of us were able to play somewhat, we even formed a little 8 piece classical ensemble, playing on occasions like my grandmother's birthday and such. For some that was not always the most enjoyable side of music making...

 

Note the poor foot gear: cheap 1950's gym shoes and plastics... Artistically and intellectually we may have been a 'classy' family, but that certainly did not translate into financial security (yet).

Graceful, historic Hoi An is known as Vietnam’s most atmospheric and delightful town. Once a major port, it boasts the grand architecture and beguiling riverside setting that befits its heritage.The face of the Old Town has preserved its incredible legacy of tottering Japanese merchant houses, Chinese temples and ancient tea warehouses – though, unfortunately, residents and rice fields have been gradually replaced by tourist businesses. And yet, down by the market I find life has changed little – Hoi An, Vietnam

From the East

Dominating the Lunedale ridge, the pine-covered tumulus of Kirkcarrion is one of the region's major Bronze Age burial sites. Thought to have been constructed sometime around 1400 BC, this elaborate chieftain's tomb was excavated in Victorian times.

As befits a site of such antiquity, there are several local legends about the spot. It is said that within its circle of trees there is a place where no wind ever blows, no matter how rough the weather, but since the location of this point itself is supposed to be constantly shifting, it is a difficult thing to verify. The site is also reputed to be haunted. The identity of the ghost varies -- the original Bronze Age inhabitant, one of the Victorian diggers or the land-owner who gave permission for the excavation -- but the vengeful nature of the spectre remains a fairly constant feature in all versions. Whatever the truth of the story, at times the mound -- which is said to lie on a ley line -- can be an unusual and oddly atmospheric sight, even in full sunshine.

A few metres down the road, this view offers itself up for trains coming from the other direction. It's a bit boring, but that somehow befits the country . An unidentified LINT is approaching Gårde on its way from Tønder to Aarhus. Gårde, 28-08-2024.

Chandeliers, spotlights, skylight (the latter fake, but rather convincing). And the overall opulence of classic interiors, as befits a noble Institute of Chartered Accountants ;)

Not all heroes wear capes!

 

When Englishman Brandon Grimshaw was in his forties, he quit his job as a newspaper editor and started a new life. For 13 thousand dollars, he bought a small uninhabited island in the Seychelles in called Moyenne. and moved there.

 

At that time, fifty years ago, no human had stepped foot on the island.

 

As befits a true Robinson, Brandon found a mate (his Friday) among the Seychelles natives, and hired her. Her name was Rene Lafortin Together with Rene, Brandon traveled to the deserted island and began to set up his new home. While Rene came to Moyenne Island only occasionally, Brandon lived there for decades and never left.

 

Over a period of 39 years, Grimshaw and Lafortin planted 16,000 trees with their own hands and built nearly 3 miles of trails. In 2007, when Brandon was eighty one years old, Rene Lafortin died, leaving Brandon all alone on the island.

 

The island has attracted 2,000 new bird species to the island and introduced over a hundred giant turtles, which in the rest of the world (including Seychelles) were already on the brink of extinction. Thanks to Grimshaw's efforts, the once-deserted island is now home to two-thirds of Seychelles' wildlife. An abandoned piece of land has become a true paradise.

 

A few years ago, a Saudi Arabian prince offered Brandon Grimshaw $50 million for the island, but this modern Robinson turned it down. “I don’t want the island to become a favorite vacation spot for rich people. It better be a national park everyone can enjoy. "

 

Brandon did succeed in getting the island effectively declared a national park in 2008.

Way back in 1994, when I visited Byron Bay on the east coast of Australia, the front of its community centre and literary institute was one gigantic, fabulous, celebratory mural – as befitted this laid-back Australian resort favoured by hippies and named after the poet Lord Byron’s grandfather who sailed with Captain Cook.

 

I think things have moved on since the ‘90s; even so, this is a cheerful 35mm colour print reminder of my few days there.

This delightful little old cottage also dates from the first half of the 19th century. It stands in the main street of Evandale and is cared for immaculately. Behind that lovely picket fence is a little garden that befits the simplicity and beauty of this brick cottage. And remember always, "Please shut the gate."

Don't exact as coarse are my avowals,

They befit the traits of my own fate.

I find that my lips are caught in dryness

From the thoughts of you I have of late.

 

I pay back the due within my power,

With my life embodied in a plea,

I find myself breathless in my tower

From the thoughts of you that come to me.

 

Never mind my garden is storm ravaged,

With myself I live in battle state,

That yet again my eyes are full of tears

From the thoughts of you I have of late.

 

Don't exact as coarse are my avowals,

They befit the traits of my own fate.

I find that my lips are caught in dryness

From the thoughts of you I have of late. m.youtube.com/watch?v=F0zhsvgX9NU

Panzer's Nomad Bee, Nomada panzeri.

 

Body length; 7 - 12mm.

 

Flight period; March – July.

 

Habitat; A wide variety of habitats, as befits its wide range of hosts, but there is a strong association with woodland.

 

Fairly common and widespread in England and Wales, Panzer's Nomad Bee is one of the larger and more frequently encountered Nomada species. Similar to Nomada flava, females of these two species can be reliably told apart by the erect black hairs on the clypeus of N. panzeri (these are pale in N. flava), and has silvery rather than yellow hairs on the sides of the thorax. The males of these two species are extremely difficult to separate with any degree of confidence.

 

This species is found throughout Britain and is more frequent than N. flava in northern regions but less so in the south. Also recorded from Ireland and the Channel Islands.

It is widely distributed in Europe.

Like all nomad bee species, the Panzer's nomad bee is a cleptoparasite. As such, the females use the nests of targeted hosts and lay an egg in the wall of an unsealed nest cell, one that has already been furnished with adequate food provisions ready for the emerging host larva.

The grubs of nomad bees emerge from the egg at about the same time as the host grub. Nomad bee grubs have large, sickle-shaped mandibles which they use to destroy the host egg or grub. The nomad bee grub then consumes the food stores that were intended for the host's offspring.

 

In addition to Andrena fucata, Panzer's Nomad Bee will use the nests of other hosts, including Andrena fulva, Andrena helvola, Andrena lapponica, Andrena varians and Andrena synadelpha.

In the wild lands of the Komi Republic, one can find one of seven wonders of Russia, the Manpupuner rock formations (in translation from the Mansi language, the mountain of stone idols). This sacred place of the Mansi tribe — seven high rocks of bizarre form — is surrounding by nothingness. There is no settlement within 100 kilometers. It is not easy to see to get there: one has to overcome a tough land route or reach the plateau by air. As befits a sacred place, the seven Mansi idols are unapproachable and keep their secrets with care. However, the number of those who want to come to Manpupuner is growing every year.

 

The huge stone pillars of irregular shape resemble a gigantic rock garden or a natural Stonehenge. Each of the rocks is as high as a 10-15-story building and has unique shape. From certain angles, the pillars collectively form the shape of a giant, or a horse's head. No wonder that Manpupuner has a reputation of an energy source for mystics. The locals still consider it sacred. In ancient times, ascending to Manpupuner was considered to be a great sin.

 

There are many legends about the rock pillars. According to one, the seven idols were terrible giant brothers, forever stopped by the forces of good spirits in the Yalpingnyor mountains. One of the pillars is located at some distance from others. According to the legend, he was the first giant to be turned into stone. Horror-stricken, he threw his drum away and his brothers suffered the same fate later when they tried to run away. This is how the locals were saved from powerful invaders.

 

However, scientists have their own, far less poetic version. Some 200 million years ago, gigantic mountains towered over the landscape here. Under the influence of wind and time softer rock formations were destroyed and the harder ones remained, perhaps as a reminder of former greatness. These separate rocks are called residual outcrops. This is how the stone pillars appeared in the Komi Republic.

 

Today, for the convenience of tourists, hiking trails with clear paths and rest areas have been laid to the Manpupuner rock formations. Guest houses are also available. The Manpupuner rock formations are usually uncrowded, as they are located in the Pechora-Ilych Nature Reserve, which limits the number of visitors.

A title that would befit an image taken in the 1980's or early 1990's but in 2020? Ex 20168 now simply numbered '2' is seen on the headshunt of Earles sidings preparing to take a load of coal up to the Hope cement works for the kilns, The loco had propelled these hoppers down from Earles sidings and were later taken up the branch after being split into two smaller sets.

Given the virtual total demise of power station coal, this must be one of the very few remaining coal flows on the UK national rail network

Very much a fluke shot of being in the right place at the right time. My wife had wanted to do a walk to Win Hill (annual trek to the beautiful Peak District) which meant we parked in Hope and walked up the hill side. I had no plans to capture this working - all the more satisfyingly given the totally random nature and a Saturday morning bonus.

I could not determine from previous arrivals where this coal had originated from (Cwmbargoed ?) - any info welcome.

Image captured Saturday 11 July 2020

Panzer's Nomad Bee, Nomada panzeri.

 

Body length; 7 - 12mm.

 

Flight period; March – July.

 

Habitat; A wide variety of habitats, as befits its wide range of hosts, but there is a strong association with woodland.

 

Fairly common and widespread in England and Wales, Panzer's Nomad Bee is one of the larger and more frequently encountered Nomada species. Similar to Nomada flava, females of these two species can be reliably told apart by the erect black hairs on the clypeus of N. panzeri (these are pale in N. flava), and has silvery rather than yellow hairs on the sides of the thorax. The males of these two species are extremely difficult to separate with any degree of confidence.

 

This species is found throughout Britain and is more frequent than N. flava in northern regions but less so in the south. Also recorded from Ireland and the Channel Islands.

It is widely distributed in Europe.

Like all nomad bee species, the Panzer's nomad bee is a cleptoparasite. As such, the females use the nests of targeted hosts and lay an egg in the wall of an unsealed nest cell, one that has already been furnished with adequate food provisions ready for the emerging host larva.

The grubs of nomad bees emerge from the egg at about the same time as the host grub. Nomad bee grubs have large, sickle-shaped mandibles which they use to destroy the host egg or grub. The nomad bee grub then consumes the food stores that were intended for the host's offspring.

 

In addition to Andrena fucata, Panzer's Nomad Bee will use the nests of other hosts, including Andrena fulva, Andrena helvola, Andrena lapponica, Andrena varians and Andrena synadelpha.

Tariff Day, April 3, 2025

Povero Sonny ...

Povero giovane orsetto dal grande testone...era poco più di un cucciolo, si affacciava alla vita solitaria, nei suoi primi tempi da individuo indipendente, senza la mamma .

Inesperto e fiducioso, muoveva i suoi passi nel bosco e nelle valli.

Lui non dormiva al sicuro in qualche tana, ma girovagava in cerca di cibo.

Il bel sonno del letargo non ha protetto Sonny.

Peccato si sarebbe salvato.

Le invernate miti, infatti, hanno ormai confuso e influenzato il ciclo naturale degli orsi.

Il loro ritmo sonno/veglia, legato alle stagioni, si è alterato.

L'incontro da lontano con due persone gli è costato la vita... per aver solo incrociato lo sguardo del bipede tiranno .

Non ha mai fatto male a nessuno Sonny. Condannato, braccato e freddato a fucilate per non aver fatto niente.

Tutto in modalità rapida come conviene ai vili che agiscono a tradimento.

Un esecuzione contestuale all'emissione del decreto di uccisione, senza lasciare spazio alla società civile di impostare un' azione volta a salvarlo, ricorrendo al Tar.

Ucciso perché confidente, perché si serviva dei cassonetti sempre disponibili e mai modificati, ucciso perché anche i sentieri in Trentino non sono mai stati ben disciplinati e tutti possono spingersi ovunque, per poi creare allarmismi collettivi.

Mentre gli orsi non hanno più una zona sicura e devono solo scomparire.

Presi i denari del progetto di reintroduzione Life Ursus, ora i plantigradi sono di troppo in quelle valli e forse di intralcio per qualche altro disegno che porta soldi .

Il suo giudice e carnefice è il Presidente della tristissima Provincia autonoma di Trento, Fugatti, determinato a farli fuori tutti.

Questo soggetto ostile e sprezzante della vita dei selvatici, ricorderà bene questi giorni. Segneranno la sua esistenza perché tutto il Paese ha conosciuto bene il suo cinismo, la sua ossessione fuori controllo per queste creature e verrà ricordato come l'odiatore degli orsi, aguzzino dalle doppiette e dagli ergastoli facili ...

Re indiscusso del Casteller.

Ruth Lemma

 

Poor Sonny...

Poor young bear with the big head... he was little more than a puppy, he was facing a solitary life, in his early days as an independent individual, without his mother.

Inexperienced and confident, he took his steps in the woods and valleys.

He did not sleep safely in some den, but wandered around looking for food.

The beautiful sleep of hibernation did not protect Sonny.

Too bad he would have been saved.

The mild winters, in fact, have now confused and influenced the natural cycle of bears.

Their sleep/wake rhythm, linked to the seasons, has altered.

The encounter with two people from afar cost him his life... for just having met the gaze of the bipedal tyrant.

He never hurt anyone Sonny. Condemned, hunted down and shot dead for doing nothing.

All in rapid mode as befits cowards who act treacherously.

An execution at the same time as the issuing of the killing decree, leaving no room for civil society to take action aimed at saving him, resorting to the TAR.

Killed because he was confident, because he used the bins that were always available and never modified, killed because even the paths in Trentino have never been well regulated and anyone can go anywhere, and then create collective alarmism.

While bears no longer have a safe area and just have to disappear.

Having taken the money from the Life Ursus reintroduction project, now the plantigrades are too many in those valleys and perhaps an obstacle to some other project that brings money.

His judge and executioner is the President of the very sad autonomous province of Trento, Fugatti, determined to kill them all.

This hostile and contemptuous subject of the life of wild animals will remember these days well. They will mark his existence because the whole country knew well his cynicism, his out of control obsession with these creatures and he will be remembered as the hater of bears, a tormentor with doubles and easy life sentences...

Undisputed king of Casteller.

Ruth Lemma

 

Poem.

 

Childish excitement travelling from east to west in late winter.

You know soon, very soon, the West Coast “Munros” will gleam like incisor teeth above the forested landscape.

Forcan, left, and The Saddle, right, are such peaks that advertise the thousand metre micro-climate of semi-Alpine splendour.

Spin-drift sweeps off the upper slopes to accumulate in layers like royal icing.

The snowy back-cloth forms a pleasing contrast to the pastel tans and greens of the bracken and forest of the lower slopes of this historic Glen.

The West Coast beckons.

Such a grand mountain corridor befits the momentous land and seascapes that lie in prospect.

 

I have it on authority that this Grumman VC-37A is allocated to the Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security. The ship taxied all the way in with one reverser deployed to maintain a slow dignified rate of knots as befits the rank.

Graceful, historic Hoi An is known as Veitnam’s most atmospheric and delightful town. Once a major port, it boasts the grand architecture and beguiling riverside setting that befits its heritage.The face of the Old Town has preserved its incredible legacy of tottering Japanese merchant houses, Chinese temples and ancient tea warehouses – though, unfortunately, residents and rice fields have been gradually replaced by tourist businesses. And yet, down by the market I find life has changed little – Hoi An, Vietnam

Expensive and refined as befits the gift of a king.

As glamorous as a film star.

And so it would be.

 

7.370 cc

8 Cylinder

110 hp @ 2.400 rpm

Vmax : 140 km/h

 

Museo dell'Automobile

Corso Unità d'Italia 40

Torino - Turin

Italia - Italy

January 2019

As befits the bearer of the next generation, the female is far more inconspicuously attired. NB Despite the data given on the right of this page (until lost by flickr!), my lens was actually 150-500mm.

180114 362

 

Veilchenorganist Фиолетовая эуфония (женский пол)

  

400mm / 320th / f9 / iso800

  

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16.02.2022 Piotrków Trybunalski

[PL]

Najstarszy istniejący egzemplarz "byka" jeszcze do niedawna pozostawał w czynnej służbie. Jak na lokomotywę historyczną przystało, maszyna również posiadała historyczną, turkusowo-zieloną malaturę oraz różne detale (między innymi metalowe oznaczenie, klasyczne lampy).

Na zdjęciu ET22 prowadzi skład lawet z autami w kierunku Mszczonowa mijając przejazd w ciągu ulicy Rolniczej w Piotrkowie Tryb.

[EN]

The oldest existing example of the "Bull" was in active service until recently. As befits a historical locomotive, the machine also had historic turquoise-green paint and various details (including metal markings, classic lamps).

In the photo, ET22 is driving a train of tow trucks with cars towards Mszczonów, passing the crossing along Rolnicza Street in Piotrków Tryb.

Puerta lateral del patio de los leones. Alhambra de Granada. Construido en 1377 por Mohamed V, hijo de Yusuf I rodeado por una esbelta galería con 124 columnas de mármol blanco de Macael (Almería), las cuales se agrupan, en conjunto de dos, tres, y hasta cuatro en las esquinas, sustentando, o bien sólo apuntalando, las arcadas de filigrana. Alrededor, las alcobas, salas privadas del sultán y esposas con piso alto abierto, falta de ventanas que miren al exterior, pero con jardín interior como corresponde a la idea musulmana del paraíso.

 

Side door of the playground. Alhambra in Granada. Built in 1377 by Mohamed V, son of Yusuf I surrounded by a gallery with 124 slender columns of white marble Macael (Almería), which are grouped in sets of two, three, and four in the corners, supporting, or While only underpin, filigreed arches. All around, the bedrooms, private rooms of the sultan and wives upstairs open, lack of windows to look outside, but inside garden as befits the Muslim view of paradise.

 

Esta foto tiene derechos de autor. Por favor, no la utilice sin mi conocimiento y autorización. Gracias.

Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reservats. Thanks.

Group B Stelae type.

These statues have been found at different times since the last century in the basin of the river Magra and its tributaries, and are now partly conserved in the Civic Museum of La Spezia and partly in that of Pontremoli. The corpus comprises over 60 stelae, which document the birth and flourishing of the production in the Copper Age (5th - 4th millennium B.C.) and the subsequent, probably not contiguous, production in the Iron Age (late 2nd - 1st millennium BC).

 

The statues can be divided into two large groups (Copper Age and Iron Age). Their dating is based on the study of the representation of the objects carved on them. These objects, realistically drawn in the stone, are weapons and ornaments of a well-defined and well-recognized type, which correspond to and reproduce the archaeological remains found in the excavations of tombs or dwellings of the Copper Age. The former group, the more ancient and numerous one, comprises three types of anthropomorphic representations: male, indicated either only by a dagger or an associated flat axe; female, indicated by more or less marked breast, and sometimes by necklaces or chokers; finally a type without any attribute, hence conventionally considered asexual. This latter type is perhaps an expressive metaphor of an individual with a still-undefined social role, as would befit a child or adolescent.

 

The Copper Age stelae are divided in two groups: the Group A, or the Pontevecchio type Stelae, and the Group B, or the Malgrate type stelae. The main characteristic of the Group A is the head joined to the torso, of the Group B the head separated from the torso and spread out sideways.

 

Stone stelae

5th - 4th millennium B.C.

Pontremoli, Archaeological Museum

 

Today is the birthday of one of my best friends, Sasha ‘Edler’ Mochalov, wonderful musician, poet, founder and co-leader of one of my favourite band “Mezozoy” (another co-leader – his wife Nastya Frolova, my big friend too). In this year Edler decided not to celebrate, that’s why I’ve found myself in those village Achapnoe in Nizhny Novgorod region, about 350 km from my home, in a dream and not for real (I’ve planned to hitchhike there again, even bought the power bank to be able to listen music all the way and borrowed the palm-sized micro-combo for my guitar. Achapnoe is one of my favourite places on the Earth and Edler’s and Nastya’s company is the very best for my taste, we spent a lot of precious for me time together, just three of us). First thing in the morning I decided to congratulate Edler with some photos about him, which I have in abundance on my hdd. Instead, I made this one, from the birthday concert for Nastya at Nizhny Novgorod in this June. In this photo aren’t no Sasha or Nastya and figured some of our mutual friends, but it somehow focused on this there Katya. Isn’t she the real McCoy of beauty? My heart rejoices watching. She's like in her own time here. Maybe everywhere and always. I’m making photos rather slow and not in a hurry at all, as befits a true artist. I could make the image years later after it was taken. My friends tolerate this, they’re artists too.

On my long way to freedom (see about it the texts with my previous photos) I decided do not adhere to the photo-series if I’m not feel like that and not even mention the war if I don’t want to. I feel that creating something on another, peace side is anti-war as well. Maybe even more effective. “Make love, not war” still sounds like the very best recipe to destroy the war for me. And I’ll definitely show you Edler soon. I’m still honored and proud that he asked me to perform the sitar part in his song “Do not cut water with an ax”. He made it about 2 years before the war, but it’s like the perfect commentary to it, not to say the prophecy. It’s still on YouTube as well as in the Mezozoy’s repertoire, as anti-war as the song could be, you could check it out if you’ll fancy to see me playing sitar:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=N1SFmcD-Vl4

 

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Childish excitement travelling from east to west in late winter.

You know soon, very soon, the West Coast “Munros” will gleam like incisor teeth above the forested landscape.

Forcan, left, and The Saddle, right, are such peaks that advertise the thousand metre micro-climate of semi-Alpine splendour.

Spin-drift sweeps off the upper slopes to accumulate in layers like royal icing.

The snowy back-cloth forms a pleasing contrast to the pastel tans and greens of the bracken and forest of the lower slopes of this historic Glen.

The West Coast beckons.

Such a grand mountain corridor befits the momentous land and seascapes that lie in prospect.

 

Memorial for the deported

 

Between 1940 and 1945 more than 8,000 Jews, Sinti and Roma originally from Hamburg and northern Germany were deported from the city, in particular via the former Hannoverscher Bahnhof railway station. They were sent to ghettos and to concentration and extermination camps in German-occupied regions: Belzec, Litzmannstadt/Lodz, Minsk, Riga, Auschwitz and Theresienstadt. Only very few survived. Responsibility for these deportations fell to Hamburg’s local authorities and administrative bodies as well as to state organisations at Reich level. The vast majority of German society either looked idly on or actively supported these crimes.

The Hannoverscher Bahnhof was severely damaged during the Second World War and, after 1945, it was largely forgotten about. What parts of the building complex remained were razed to the ground in 1955 and 1981. As Hamburg’s HafenCity district began to emerge, the general public once again became aware of the site in the early 2000s. Associations of former victims of Nazi persecution in particular have campaigned actively to this day for a memorial that befits the memory of the victims.

 

hannoverscher-bahnhof.gedenkstaetten-hamburg.de/en/

 

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 at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds in Wiltshire, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his wife, Arabella. Lettice has been summoned to her old family home after an abrupt morning telephone call from her father, following the publication of an article in the publication, Country Life* featuring her interior designs for friends Margot and Dickie Channon’s Cornwall Regency country house ‘Chi an Treth’.

 

As Lettice elegantly alighted from the London train at Glynes village railway station, there on the platform amid the dissipating steam of the departing train and the smattering of visitors or return travellers to the village, stood Harris, the Chetwynd’s family chauffer. Dressed in his smart grey uniform, he took Lettice’s portmanteau, hastily packed in London by Edith her maid, and umbrella and walked out through the station’s small waiting room and booking office, leading Lettice to where the Chetwynd’s 1912 Daimler awaited her on the village’s main thoroughfare. As they drove through the centre of the village, Harris told Lettice through the glass partition from the front seat, that her article in Country Life* had caused quite a sensation below stairs. Quietly, Lettice smiled proudly to herself as she settled back more comfortably into the car’s maroon upholstery. Lettice is undeniably her father’s favourite child, but she has a strained relationship with her mother at the best of times as the two have differing views about the world and the role that women have to play in it. She only hopes as she nears her family home, that Lady Sadie, who does not particularly approve of her venture into interior design, will be proud of her achievement this time.

 

As the Daimler purrs up the gravel driveway and stops out the front of Glynes, Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler, steps through the front door followed by Marsen, the liveried first footman. Marsden silently opens the door of the Daimler for Lettice and helps her step out before fetching her luggage.

 

“Welcome home, My Lady,” Bramley greets her with an open smile. “What a pleasure it is to see you looking so well.”

 

“Thank you Bramley,” she replies with a satisfied smile as she looks up at the classical columned portico of her beloved childhood home basking in the spring sunshine. “It’s always good to be home.”

 

“How was the train journey from London, My Lady?” Bramley asks Lettice as he falls in step a few paces behind her.

 

“Oh, quite pleasant, thank you Bramley. I have my novel to while away the time.”

 

“We were all pleased and proud to see your name in print in Her Ladyship’s copy of Country Life.”

 

“Oh, thank you, Bramley. That’s very kind of you to say. I take it that is why I have been summoned here today.”

 

The butler clears his throat a little awkwardly and looks seriously at Lettice. “I couldn’t say, My Lady, however they are expecting you, in the drawing room.” The statement is said with the gravitas that befits one of the country house’s finest rooms.

 

Lettice’s face falls. “Do I have time to refresh myself.” She peels off her gloves as she walks through the marble floored vestibule and into the lofty Adam style hall of Glynes. The familiar scent of old wood, tapestries and carpets welcomes her home.

 

“I was asked to show you into the drawing room immediately upon your arrival, My Lady,” Bramley says as Marsden closes the front doors and then the vestibule doors behind them. “Her Ladyship insisted, and His Lordship didn’t contradict her.”

 

“Oh. Do I sense an air of disquiet, Bramley?” Lettice asks, handing the butler her red fox collar and then shrugging off her russet three quarter length coat into his waiting white glove clad hands.

 

“Well My Lady, may I just say that your article caused somewhat of a stir both above and below stairs.” He accepts Lettice’s elegant picture hat of russet felt ornamented with pheasant feathers.

 

“Yes, so Harris told me. Good or bad above stairs, Bramley?”

 

“I think,” the older manservant contemplates. “Mixed, might be the best answer to that, My Lady.”

 

“Meaning?”

 

“Well, His Lordship, and Master Leslie were thrilled, as was the young Mrs. Chetwynd. However, as you know, My Lady, Her Ladyship has particular ideas as to your future.” He cocks an eyebrow and gives her a knowing look. “She’s had them planned since the day you were born, and you know she dislikes it when her plans go awry.”

 

“Oh.” Lettice says with a disappointed lilt in her answer. “Well, thank you Bramley,” she gives him a sad, yet grateful smile. “You are a brick for warning me.” She brushes down the front of her flounced floral sprigged spring frock, sighs and says with a sigh, “Then I best get this over with, hadn’t I?”

 

“I don’t see an alternative, My Lady.”

 

“Then don’t worry, I’ll show myself into the drawing room. I should imagine this will only be an overnight stay.”

 

Without waiting for a reply, Lettice turns on her heel and walks down the corridor, her louis heels clicking along the parquetry flooring, echoing off the walls decorated with gilt framed portraits of the Chetwynd ancestors, their dogs, horses and paintings of views of the estate. She stops before the pair of beautiful walnut double doors that open onto the drawing room, grasps one of the gilded foliate handles, turns it and steps in.

 

The very grand and elegant drawing room of Glynes with its grand dimensions, high ceiling and gilt Louis and Palladian style furnishings has always been one of Lettice’s favourite rooms in the house. It is from here that she developed her love for collecting fine Limoges porcelain to emulate the collection amassed by her great, great paternal grandmother Lady Georgiana Chetwynd. No matter what time of day, the room is always light and airy thanks to its large full-length windows and beautiful golden yellow Georgian wallpaper decorated in a pattern of delicate blossoms and paper lanterns which seems almost to exude warmth and golden illumination. Whilst decorated with many generations of conspicuous consumption, it is not overly cluttered and it does not have the suffocating feel of Lady Sadie’s morning room, which she loathes, and it smells familiarly of a mixture of fresh air, bees wax polish and just a waft of roses. Glancing around, Lettice can see the latter comes from two vases of roses – one white bunch and one golden yellow cluster – both in elegant porcelain vases. The room is silent, save for the quiet ticking of several clocks set about polished surfaces, the hiss of dusty wood as it burns and the muffled twitter of birds in the bushes outside the drawing room windows. And there, by the grand crackling fire, her parents sit in what she hopes to be companionable silence.

 

Lady Sadie sits in her usual armchair next to the fire, dressed in a grey woollen skirt, a burnt orange silk blouse and a matching cardigan with her everyday double strand pearls about her neck. With her wavy white hair framing her face in an old fashioned style she looks not unlike Queen Mary, as she sips tea from one of the floral tea cups from her favourite Royal Doulton set, lost in her own thoughts as she stares out through the satin brocade curtain framed windows. The Viscount on the other hand is sitting opposite his wife in the high backed gilded salon chair embroidered in petit point tapestry by his mother. Dressed in his usual country tweeds worn when going about the estate, Lettice notices that he is immersed in the very copy of Country Life that her interiors feature. Between them, tea and coffee in silver pots stand on a small black japanned chinoiserie occasional table along with the round silver biscuit sachet that has once been Lady Sadie’s mother’s.

 

“Well, here I am.” Lettice announces with false joviality, alerting both her parents to her presence as she closes the door behind her.

 

“Lettice!” the Viscount exclaims, jumping up from his seat, slightly crumpling the pages of the Country Life between his right fingers as he lets his hands fall to his side. “My dear girl!” He beams at her proudly. Thrusting out the magazine in front of him as if trying to prove a point, he continues. “What a surprise, eh?” He indicates to the article about ‘Chai an Treth’, which he was reading, as Lettice suspected.

 

“Pappa!”

 

Lettice hurries into the room, steps between the gilt upholstered chairs that are part of the Louis Quartzose salon suite that had been included in her mother’s dowery when she married her father and falls happily into the loving arms of the Viscount who smells comfortingly of fresh air and grass as he envelopes her.

 

“Don’t gush, Cosmo!” Lady Sadie chides, giving her husband a withering look of distain as she sips her tea with a crispness, passing judgement like usual over her husband and youngest daughter’s emotional relationship, which she unable to fathom.

 

“Hullo Mamma.” Lettice reluctantly removes herself from her father’s welcoming embrace and walks over to her mother, who places her teacup aside and tilts her head so that Lettice can give her an air kiss on both cheeks, their skin barely touching in the transaction.

 

“Help yourself to tea and biscuits.” Lady Sadie pronounces, indicating with a sharp nod to the low tea table upon which sits a third, unused, teacup and saucer nestled amongst the other tea things. “Mrs. Casterton has made her custard creams this week.”

 

“Thank you, Mamma.” Lettice sees a selection of vanilla and chocolate cream biscuits on a plate already as she helps herself to tea from the small round sterling silver pot, polished to a gleaming sheen by Bramley or the head parlour maid. She takes up one each of the two varieties of custard creams, ignoring the look of criticism from her mother by doing so, depositing them onto her saucer. She then settles down on the settee, closest to her father and puts her cup on the table next to her.

 

“My dear girl! My dear girl!” the Viscount repeats in a delighted voice as he tosses the copy of Country Life with the crumpling sound of paper onto the top of a pile of newspapers and periodicals atop a petite point footstool. “Exemplifying a comfortable mixture of old and new to create a welcoming and contemporary room, sympathetic to the original features.” he paraphrases one of Lettice’s favourite lines in Henry Tipping’s** article, giving away that this was hardly the first time he has read the article since the magazine arrived at Glynes. “What wonderful praise from Mr. Tipping.”

 

“Oh, do stop, Cosmo!” pleads Lady Sadie from her seat on the other side of the fireplace, toying with the pearls at her throat. “Gushing is so unbecoming,” She glares critically at her husband. “Especially from a man of your age. It’s emasculating.”

 

Lettice gives her mother a wounded glance before quickly looking at her father, however he bares a steeliness in his jaw.

 

“Why shouldn’t I gush, Sadie?” he replies in defence of himself and his daughter, looking over his shoulder at Lady Sadie, determination giving his voice strength. “This is our child we are talking about,” He turns back and smiles with unbridled delight at Lettice, his eyes glittering with pride. “And I’m damn proud that Lettice has her name in print in a periodical such as Country Life, even if you are less so.”

 

“I don’t know whether I am pleased at all, Cosmo.” Lady Sadie eyes her daughter. “I’d rather see your name printed in the society pages next to a certain eligible duke’s son’s name, Lettice.” she adds dryly as she picks up a custard cream and gingerly nibbles at it as though it might contain rat bait. “Then, I’d gush.”

 

“Mamma!” Lettice manages to utter in a strangulated fashion as disappointment at her mother’s reaction to the article grips her like a cold pair of hands around her throat.

 

“It’s your duty to marry, Lettice, and marry well. You know this.” Lady Sadie lectures in reply haughtily. “We’ve had this conversation time and time again. You don’t want to be a burden on poor Leslie when your father dies, do you?” She nibbles some more at the biscuit clutched between her fingers.

 

“Oh Sadie!” the Viscount gasps. “Don’t be crabby. You must concede that you are proud that one of the leading authorities on architecture and interior design in Britain has spoken so highly of our daughter’s work.”

 

The older woman pulls a face, cleaning mushy biscuit remains from her gums, but doesn’t dignify the statement with an answer.

 

“Can’t you be just a little happy for me, Mamma?” Lettice pleads as she reaches out and grasps her father’s bigger hand for comfort and support. “Just this once?”

 

“I’ll be happy when I see you married off.” She picks up her cup and saucer and takes a sip of tea. “Is it not bad enough that I have one wayward child? Perhaps I had better pack you off to British East Africa too.”

 

“Tipping said Lettice is a very capable interior designer.” the Viscount defends his favourite child. “And the photos prove that.”

 

“Capable!” Lady Sadie scoffs with a nod of disgusted acknowledgement of the magazine lying beyond the tea table. “The room looks barren – positively starved of furnishings and character. How can that be capable interior design? There is practically nothing in it, to design!”

 

“But paired back is the new style now, Mamma. People don’t want…”

 

“What?” Lady Sadie snaps, the fine bone china cup clattering in its saucer.

 

“Well they don’t necessarily want all this.” Lettice gesticulates around her, almost apologetically, to the furnishings around them. “People want cleaner lines these days, to better reflect their more modern lives.”

 

“So your father and I are old hat?” Lady Sadie quips. “Is that what you’re saying, Lettice?”

 

“No, of course not Mamma. I love you and Pappa, and Glynes is classically beautiful. You do a wonderful job at maintaining the elegance of the house. I did retain some of the original décor of Margot and Dickie’s house as part of my refurbishment, even though Margot told me to fling it all out. Mr. Tipping calls it ‘Modern Classical Revival Style’. You and Pappa taught me to always respect a house’s history, and that is what I did, whilst giving Margot the more modern look she wants.”

 

“Pshaw! That girl hasn’t an ounce of taste. Her family have always been new money.” remarks Lady Sadie dismissively. “You can always tell the difference between the old and the new. True breeding will always win out.”

 

“Margot is my friend Mamma! Please don’t say such hurtful things.”

 

“Well, whatever you may think of Lettice’s choice in friends, Sadie, you cannot deny the credit she has brought to the family name by being associated with the Marquis of Taunton.” retorts the Viscount.

 

“Only by association with this interior design folly nonsense of hers, Cosmo.” She flaps her bejewelled hand at her daughter, the lace trimmed handkerchief partially stuffed up the left sleeve of her knitted silk cardigan dancing about wildly with every movement. “At least you were good enough to have your name and business published in a respectable periodical, Lettice.” she concedes begrudgingly.

 

“Well, I’m proud of you, Lettice my girl, and there’s a fact.” He turns again and stares with a hard look at his wife before pronouncing, “And so too is your brother and Arabella, and the Tyrwhitts. Your mother is just bitter because she wasn’t the one who was able to announce the news to the whole village.”

 

“You had no right not to tell me about this article, Lettice!” Lady Sadie grumbles as she cradles her cup and saucer in her lap in a wounded fashion, whilst foisting angry and resentful looks at her daughter. “None at all! I hadn’t even had an opportunity to open the magazine and peruse it before I had the Miss Evanses up here, unannounced, crowing about your name in print in Country Life and how proud I must feel.”

 

Lettice cannot help but smile at the thought of her mother being assailed by the two twittering spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house in the village. The pair are known for their love of gossip, and even more for their voracity at spreading it, as they attempt to fill their lives which they obviously feel are lacking in drama and excitement. The chagrin Lady Sadie must have felt would have been palpable.

 

“Don’t you dare smile at my humiliation, you wicked girl! I had to pretend, Lettice! Pretend to those two awful old women, fawning and toadying the way they do, that I had read the article, and there it sat, unopened on my bonheur de jour***, completely untouched.”

 

“I only wanted it to be a surprise, Mamma.”

 

“Well, it certainly was that.” The woman’s eyes flame with anger. “I had feign that I was only being a tease when I showed such surprise to the Miss Evanses about your name in that article. Luckily the two were more interested in their own delight at their association to you than my genuine surprise that they believed me.” She turns her head away from her husband and daughter and adds uncharitably, “Stupid creatures.”

 

“Now don’t be bitter, Sadie.” the Viscount chides his wife. “Bitterness doesn’t become a lady of any age.”

 

“I’m not bitter!” spits Lady Sadie hotly with a harsh laugh of disbelief.

 

“Yes, you are.” her husband retorts with a gentle laugh of his own. “The more you defend yourself, the more evident it is, Sadie. You are just upset that the Miss Evanses had done a successful job of spreading the news through the village before you had the chance to do so yourself. They took the wind out of your sails. Lettice meant it to be a delightful surprise, and it was, my dear girl.”

 

“She didn’t consider the consequences.”

 

“The petty rivalry between her somewhat misguided mother, who should know better, and two old village crones, should hardly be a concern of one of London’s newest and brightest interior designers, Sadie.”

 

“Well, shouldn’t I have the opportunity to boast about my own daughter, Cosmo?”

 

“Aha! There!” the Viscount crows triumphantly. “So, you are proud of Lettice then.”

 

Lady Sadie thrusts her cup noisily onto the side table and stands up, brushing biscuit crumbs from her lap with angry sweeps onto the Chinese silk carpet at her feet. “You do talk a lot of nonsense, Cosmo.” She mutters brittlely. “I need to go and attend to something. So, if you will please excuse me.” She prepares to leave, but then adds as an afterthought, “But when I come back, I hope you two will have finished your character assassination of me.”

 

Lettice and her father watch Lady Sadie stalk towards the door with her nose in the air.

 

“I just hope that the Duchess doesn’t read that article, Lettice.” Lady Sadie says with a meanness in her angry voice. “I very much doubt she would like a daughter in trade. I hope you realise that this little stunt of yours could have ruined the best match you’ll ever get.”

 

The older woman opens the door and walks out into the corridor.

 

“Just ignore your mother.” the Viscount waves his hand before his wife as if erasing her presence as the door slams behind her, making both he and his youngest daughter wince. “She really is just jealous of those two silly old spinsters because they were gossiping about you in the village before she was able to do so.”

 

“I just wanted it to be a lovely surprise for you and her, Pappa.” Lettice pleads with wide and concerned eyes welling with tears.

 

“I know, my girl. I know.” He takes his handkerchief from his inside pocket and passes it to Lettice, who dabs at her eyes.

 

“I even organised with Mr. Tipping for Mamma to get her edition early,” Lettice sniffs. “But I suppose the mail delivery let me down.”

 

“Well,” her father shrugs. “Any general worth his wait in salt**** will tell you that the very best laid plans can go awry.” He smiles at her consolingly. “Your mother is contrary at the best of times. She’ll never admit that she is happy with any success that isn’t of her own making. Why on earth you seek her approval, I don’t know.” he adds in exasperation. “Do you deliberately wish to punish yourself, dear girl?”

 

Lettice sighs and sniffs. “I just hope that one day she will be proud of me. I feel like I’ve always disappointed her.”

 

“How old are you?”

 

“Twenty-three, Pappa.”

 

“Then you are old enough to know that no matter how hard you try, your mother will never admit to you that she is proud of you. If you do end up marring young Spencely, I doubt even then that she will willingly admit to being proud of you.”

 

“You’re right, Pappa. I should know better. You know that Lally told me the Christmas before last that Mamma lords the perfection of her married life over me, whilst lording the glamour of my life over her.”

 

“Quite so.” the Viscount admits. “I always told your mother that playing that game would do her no god in the end.” He laughs sadly. “But you know your mother. She won’t be told anything. I’m glad that your sister told you what’s what. Sadie hasn’t that power over you any more, now that you know the truth, Lettice.”

 

“But why does she do it?”

 

“Like I said, your mother is sadly misguided. Whether you believe me or not, it isn’t done out of spite.”

 

“Then what?”

 

“She does it to try and get you to both emulate the good things in the other. She wants Lally to be ambitious like you. The truth is I don’t think she ever really approved of the match between Lally and Lanchenbury.”

 

“But Lally and Charles are very happy together.”

 

“I know, Lettice. I know.” He pats her hands. “I think she considers him to be a little below the expectations she had for her eldest daughter, coming from a good and wealthy, but relatively socially insignificant family. That’s why she aspires for you through the marriage bed, dear girl.”

 

“But marriage isn’t all I aspire to, Pappa.”

 

“I know that too, and both your mother and I know how decimated the options are for young ladies in the wake of the war, your mother probably far better than I. But you must forgive us for wanting you to fill the role we expect you to fill, and for us hoping that it is a financial and socially ambitious match you make.” He sighs wearily. “Although with the way the world is changing, that seems to be becoming a less likely thing. I’m only grateful your brother made me modernise the estate. Goodness knows if we would have survived this post-war world of ours, and even now, I wonder whether we actually will.”

 

“Don’t say that Pappa.”

 

“Whatever happens, don’t let your mother upset you, and don’t let her spoil your triumph. I repeat, your brother, Arabella, the whole district is so proud of you, and I’m sure that all your friends, and young Spencely are equally proud to know you.”

 

“Alright Pappa,” Lettice sighs as her father places a consoling hand on her shoulder and rubs it lovingly. “I won’t.”

 

“That’s my girl. Now, I’m sure your mother has gone to arrange luncheon for Lady Edgar, the vicar and any number of other members of the great and good of the county, all of whom she will be singing your praises to – not that she will tell you that.” The Viscount winks conspiratorially at Lettice. “So, what’s say you and I go and have luncheon at the Dower House with Leslie and Arabella? I know they would love to see you and congratulate you.”

 

“Thank you Pappa!”

 

Lettice and her father embrace, and the pair remain in position for a few minutes, enjoying the intimacy without the criticism of Lady Sadie.

 

*Country Life is a British weekly perfect-bound glossy magazine that is a quintessential English magazine founded in 1897, providing readers with a weekly dose of architecture, gardens and interiors. It was based in London at 110 Southwark Street until March 2016, when it became based in Farnborough, Hampshire. The frontispiece of each issue usually features a portrait photograph of a young woman of society, or, on occasion, a man of society.

 

**Henry Tipping (1855 – 1933) was a French-born British writer on country houses and gardens, garden designer in his own right, and Architectural Editor of the British periodical Country Life for seventeen years between 1907 and 1910 and 1916 and 1933. After his appointment to that position in 1907, he became recognised as one of the leading authorities on the history, architecture, furnishings and gardens of country houses in Britain. In 1927, he became a member of the first committee of the Gardens of England and Wales Scheme, later known as the National Gardens Scheme.

 

***A bonheur de jour is a type of lady's writing desk. It was introduced in Paris by one of the interior decorators and purveyors of fashionable novelties called marchands-merciers around 1760, and speedily became intensely fashionable. Decorated on all sides, it was designed to sit in the middle of a room so that it could be admired from any angle.

 

****Although these days we commonly say that someone is worth their weight in gold, to say that someone is “worth one’s salt,” is the more traditional saying. Its meaning is the same. It’s a statement that acknowledges that they are competent, deserving, and – to put it simply – worthwhile. The phrase itself is thought to be rooted in Ancient Rome where soldiers were sometimes paid with salt or given an allowance to purchase salt. Similarly, if a person uses the phrase “worth its weight in salt,” to describe an object, they are expressing that they think the item is worth the price they paid or that it otherwise holds immense value to them.

 

This grand Georgian interior may appear like something out of a historical stately country house, but it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection and includes items from my childhood, as well as those I have collected as an adult.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The gilt Louis Quatorze chair and sofa, the black japanned chinoiserie tea table and the gilt swan round tables table are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.

 

The gilt high backed salon chair is also made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq, but what is particularly special about it is that it has been covered in antique Austrian floral micro petite point by V.H. Miniatures in the United Kingdom, which makes this a one-of-a-kind piece. The artisan who made this says that as one of her hobbies, she enjoys visiting old National Trust Houses in the hope of getting some inspiration to help her create new and exciting miniatures. She saw some beautiful petit point chairs a few years ago in one of the big houses in Derbyshire and then found exquisitely detailed petit point that was fine enough for 1:12 scale projects.

 

The Palladian console tables at the back to either side of the fireplace, with their golden caryatids and marble was commissioned by me from American miniature artisan Peter Cluff. Peter specialises in making authentic and very realistic high quality 1:12 miniatures that reflect his interest in Georgian interior design. His work is highly sought after by miniature collectors worldwide. This pair of tables are one-of-a-kind and very special to me.

 

The elegant ornaments that decorate the surfaces of the Chetwynd’s palatial drawing room very much reflect the Eighteenth Century spirit of the room.

 

On the centre of the mantlepiece stands a Rococo carriage clock that has been hand painted and gilded with incredible attention to detail by British 1:12 miniature artisan, Victoria Fasken. The clock is flanked by a porcelain pots of yellow, white and blue petunias which have been hand made and painted by 1:12 miniature ceramicist Ann Dalton. At either end of mantle stand a pair of Staffordshire sheep which have been hand made, painted and gilded by Welsh miniature ceramist Rachel Williams who has her own studio, V&R Miniatures, in Powys. If you look closely, you will see that the sheep actually have smiles on their faces!

 

Two more larger example of Ann Dalton’s petunia posies stand on the Peter Cluff Palladian console tables. The one on the left is flanked by two mid Victorian (circa 1850) hand painted child’s tea set pieces. The sugar bowl and milk jug have been painted to imitate Sèvres porcelain. The right table features examples of pieces from a 1950s Limoges miniature tea set which I have had since I was a teenager. Each piece is individually stamped on its base with a green Limoges stamp. The vase containing the yellow roses is also a Limoges miniature from the 1950s.

 

The silver tea and coffee set and silver biscuit sachet on the central chinoiserie tea table, have been made with great attention to detail, and come from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. The wonderful selection of biscuits on offer were made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The gilt edged floral teacups and plate on the table come from a miniatures specialist stockist on E-Bay. The blue and white vase the white roses stand in comes from Melody Jane’s Dolls House Suppliers in the United Kingdom.

 

The white and yellow roses are also made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering.

 

The copy of Country Life sitting on the footstool which is a lynchpin of this chapter was made by me to scale using the cover of a real 1923 edition of Country Life. The 1:12 miniature copy of ‘The Mirror’ beneath it is made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.

 

The hand embroidered pedestal fire screen may be adjusted up or down and was acquired through Kathleen Knight’s Dolls House Shop.

 

All the paintings around the Glynes drawing room in their gilded frames are 1:12 artisan pieces made by Amber’s Miniatures in the United States, and the wallpaper is an authentic copy of hand-painted Georgian wallpaper of Chinese lanterns from the 1770s.

 

The Georgian style fireplace I have had since I was a teenager and is made from moulded plaster.

 

The Persian rug on the floor has been woven by Pike, Pike and Company in the United Kingdom.

The Rueful Autumn is a customised Tigermouth gunship used by a special operations team of the Widebrim mercenary group; it is rugged and hard wearing as befits the group and survived many an encounter were the odds were stacked against it. A single pair of long ranged, tunnelling particle cannons as well as a micromine launcher make the ship more of a clever combatant than a back street brawler, but no combatant worth their salt attacks the Autumn without some serious forethought.

The Temple of Hephaestus, also known as the Hephaisteion or earlier as the Theseion, is a well-preserved Greek temple; it remains standing largely as built. It is a Doric peripteral temple, and is located at the north-west side of the Agora of Athens, on top of the Agoraios Kolonos hill. From the 7th century until 1834, it served as the Greek Orthodox church of St. George Akamates.

 

Hephaestus was the patron god of metal working and craftsmanship. There were numerous potters' workshops and metal-working shops in the vicinity of the temple, as befits the temple's honoree. Archaeological evidence suggests that there was no earlier building on the site except for a small sanctuary that was burned when the Persians occupied Athens in 480 BC.

 

After the battle of Plataea, the Greeks swore never to rebuild their sanctuaries destroyed by the Persians during their invasion of Greece, but to leave them in ruins, as a perpetual reminder of the war.Construction started in 449 BC, and some scholars believe the building not to have been completed for some three decades, funds and workers having been redirected towards the Parthenon. The western frieze was completed between 445-440 BC, while the eastern frieze, the western pediment and several changes in the building's interior are dated by these scholars to 435-430 BC, largely on stylistic grounds. It was only during the Peace of Nicias (421-415 BC) that the roof was completed and the cult images were installed. The temple was officially inaugurated in 416-415 BC.

 

Around 700 AD, the temple was turned into a Christian church, dedicated to Saint George. Exactly when the temple was converted to a Christian church remains unknown. There are assumptions however that maybe that happened in the 7th century. For the first time, the temple is mentioned as an official Christian temple of Athens in 1690 and until 1834, it was the church of "St George Akamates".

 

Info Source: Wikipedia, 2013.

Monasterio de Yuso, San Millán de la Cogolla, La Rioja, España.

 

El real monasterio de San Millán de Yuso (yuso significaba 'abajo' en castellano antiguo) está situado en la villa de San Millán de la Cogolla, comunidad autónoma de La Rioja (España), en la margen izquierda del río Cárdenas, en pleno valle de San Millán. Forma parte del conjunto monumental de dos monasterios, junto con el más antiguo monasterio de San Millán de Suso («de arriba»).

 

Este monasterio fue mandado construir en el año 1053 por el rey García Sánchez III de Navarra «el de Nájera». La historia de su fundación va unida a una leyenda basada en un milagro de san Millán (o Emiliano), un joven pastor que se hace ermitaño. Cuando en 574 muere Millán, a la edad de 101 años, sus discípulos lo entierran en su cueva, y alrededor de ella se va formando el primer monasterio, el de San Millán de Suso. San Braulio, cincuenta años después de muerto san Millán, escribe la vida de este.

 

El monasterio fue construido en estilo románico, como correspondía a la época. Es demolido en su totalidad y reconstruido en el siglo XVI, en estilo herreriano, de los siglos XVII y XVIII.

 

La iglesia es de tres naves, con bóveda estrellada y un bonito cimborrio. Se comenzó en 1504 por mandato del abad Fray Miguel de Alzaga y se termina treinta y seis años después. Gótico decadente. La iglesia era para uso de los monjes, por eso la parte delantera, desde el coro central, pasando por el presbiterio hasta el relicario, estaba destinada solo para ellos. La parte trasera, desde el trascoro hasta la puerta, era la zona que usaba el pueblo cuando éste podía acceder al templo. Son dos espacios litúrgicos dentro del mismo edificio.

 

The Royal Monastery of San Millán de Yuso (yuso meant "below" in Old Castilian) is located in the town of San Millán de la Cogolla, in the autonomous community of La Rioja (Spain), on the left bank of the Cárdenas River, in the heart of the San Millán Valley. It is part of the monumental complex of two monasteries, along with the older monastery of San Millán de Suso ("above").

 

This monastery was commissioned in 1053 by King García Sánchez III of Navarre "of Nájera." The story of its founding is linked to a legend based on a miracle of Saint Millán (or Emiliano), a young shepherd who became a hermit. When Millán died in 574 at the age of 101, his disciples buried him in his cave, and the first monastery, that of San Millán de Suso, was built around it. Fifty years after Saint Millán's death, Saint Braulio wrote his life.

 

The monastery was built in the Romanesque style, as befitted the period. It was completely demolished and rebuilt in the 16th century in the Herrerian style of the 17th and 18th centuries.

 

The church has three naves, a star-shaped vault, and a beautiful dome. It was begun in 1504 by order of Abbot Fray Miguel de Alzaga and completed thirty-six years later. It is in the Decadent Gothic style. The church was for the use of the monks, so the front part, from the central choir through the presbytery to the reliquary, was reserved for them only. The rear part, from the transept to the door, was the area used by the common people when they could access the temple. They are two liturgical spaces within the same building.

Elk, scouting for white fluffy things ..as befits her!

56090 on 0Z41 12:20 Weaste Tarmac Colas - Crewe Basford Hall Yard Route Proover, seen here gingerley approaching Eccles Loop after just dropping a load of binmen off and forcing its way through the overgrown forest which now befits the Weaste Branchline, the gated entrance to the loop and terminal was full denied so i'd assume there gona try again soon with a view to taking Cement tanks down the branch once more 08/09/2024

Canon G9 Compact.

 

This energetic Russian chap provided the ideal focal point for this image during his morning excercise routine. I was lucky to capture him in a near crucifix pose which I wanted to give the image a biblical feel, which befitted the awe inspiring sunrise in front of me.

 

Best Viewed On Black

 

Explore #23 10th May 09

Rolling countryside 5 kilometres west of Nottingham Road in the KwaZulu-Natal Midlands, much of it brown and barren as befits the dry but often very pleasant local midwinter. This shot is taken from the car park of the Blueberry Café, a handy refreshment spot just 4 minutes from the N3 Durban to Jo'burg motorway.

Martin Van Buren is the only US president who did not grow up speaking English. His family lived in what was then the Dutch speaking village of Kinderhook, New York. Van Buren was the first president to be born a US citizen, earlier presidents had been born in colonial days.

 

This is the house Van Buren bought as an adult, as a child he had lived above his father's tavern.

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

Born in 1782, the future president was raised by Dutch parents, with Van Buren receiving his early schooling at the Kinderhook Academy. A young Martin also received an early political education by virtue of the fact that his father’s tavern often served as a local center for the sometimes-raucous political debate that befitted a new nation.

 

Van Buren couldn’t afford to attend college, so he began an apprenticeship with a local lawyer, Francis Sylvester, and, in 1803, passed the bar and took up practice as a lawyer.

 

-- [Hudson Valley] Almanac Weekly

Rolling countryside 5 kilometres west of Nottingham Road in the KwaZulu-Natal Midlands, much of it brown and barren as befits the dry but often very pleasant local midwinter. This shot is taken from the car park of the Blueberry Café, a handy refreshment spot just 4 minutes from the N3 Durban to Jo'burg motorway.

This distinctive-looking dog breed has a proud, independent spirit that some describe as catlike.

With his deep-set eyes and large head, accentuated by a mane of hair, the Chow Chow (Chow for short) is an impressive-looking dog. His looks might make you think he's mean or ill-tempered, but a well-bred and well-raised Chow isn't aggressive.

Instead, it's said that the Chow combines the nobility of a lion, the drollness of a panda, the appeal of a teddybear, the grace and independence of a cat, and the loyalty and devotion of a dog. He's also dignified and aloof, as befits a breed that was once kept in imperial Chinese kennels.

Poem.

 

Childish excitement travelling from east to west in late winter.

You know soon, very soon, the West Coast “Munros” will gleam like incisor teeth above the forested landscape.

Forcan, left, and The Saddle, right, are such peaks that advertise the thousand metre micro-climate of semi-Alpine splendour.

Spin-drift sweeps off the upper slopes to accumulate in layers like royal icing.

The snowy back-cloth forms a pleasing contrast to the pastel tans and greens of the bracken and forest of the lower slopes of this historic Glen.

The West Coast beckons.

Such a grand mountain corridor befits the momentous land and seascapes that lie in prospect.

 

Details best viewed in Original Size.

 

Duomo di Milano Madonnina's Spire, Italy (Large - Digital)

In 1762 one of the main features of the cathedral, the Madonnina's spire, was erected at the dizzying height of 356 feet (108.5 m). The spire was designed by Carlo Pellicani and sports at the top a famous polychrome Madonnina (Gold Madonna) statue, designed by Giuseppe Perego that befits the stature of the cathedral. Given Milan's notoriously damp and foggy climate, the Milanese consider it a fair-weather day when the Madonnina is visible from a distance, as it is so often covered by mist.

The Milan Cathedral (Duomo di Milano), or more formally the Metropolitan Cathedral-Basilica of the Nativity of Saint Mary (Basilica cattedrale metropolitana di Santa Maria Nascente), is the cathedral church of Milan, Lombardy, Italy. Dedicated to the Nativity of St. Mary (Santa Maria Nascente), it is the seat of the Archbishop of Milan, as of this writing Archbishop Mario Delpini. The cathedral took nearly six centuries to complete: construction began in 1386, and was declared completed in 1965. It is the largest (by volume) church in the Italian Republic—the larger St. Peter's Basilica is in the State of Vatican City, a sovereign state—and the third largest in the world. Again, the Vatican’s St. Peter's Basilica is the largest in the world. The second largest is Catedral Basílica do Santuário Nacional de Nossa Senhora Aparecida in Aparecida, Brazil, with the Duomo di Milano in third place, and New York City’s Cathedral of St. John the Divine in fourth.

In 1386, Archbishop Antonio da Saluzzo began construction of the cathedral. The last details of the cathedral were finished only in the 20th century: the last portal was inaugurated on 6 January 1965. This date is considered the very end of a process which had progressed for generations, although even now, some uncarved blocks remain to be completed as statues. The Allied bombing of Milan in World War II further delayed construction. Like many other cathedrals in cities bombed by the Allied forces, the Duomo suffered some damage, although to a lesser degree compared to other major buildings in the vicinity such as the La Scala Theatre. It was quickly repaired and became a place of solace and gathering for displaced local residents.

Additional information on the Duomo di Milano may be obtained at Wikipedia.

 

Explored October 26, 2024.

Zoë (strangers 10)

It was time for lunch. Zoë was having lunch, neatly dressed in her black work clothes as befits someone who works in a fancy department store, she sells expensive handmade (ladies) bags. I was allowed to disturb her for a moment, she had already eaten enough. The salad she had ordered was way too big for her. It looked very tasty, but enough is enough.

I was allowed to take a picture of her as she sat there, outside at the tables in front of the restaurant in the center of Rotterdam. Thanks Zoë.

This is already the 10th picture of the 5th round of the 100stangersproject.

Find out more about the project and see pictures taken by other photographers at the group 100 Strangers | Flickr: www.flickr.com/groups/100strangers/

 

After arriving at Swithland Sidings with the 11.55 demonstration goods train with BR Standard 9F 92214 we went into the Up Loop, ran round and sat on the north end of the train to wait for the road.

 

The 12.15 Leicester train was double-headed by Ivatt 2-6-0 46521 and GWR Modified Hall 4-6-0 6990 Witherslack Hall and is seen passing us on the Up Main. Both engines are in BR Brunswick Green livery as befits post-nationalisation Swindon-built engines