"« On peut jouer au fascisme de mille façons » écrivait Umberto Eco qui avait connu enfant le régime mussolinien. Dans un discours prononcé à New York en 1995, l'écrivain italien insistait sur le caractère changeant et l'absence de colonnevertébrale du fascisme italien historique: « un totalitarisme fuzzy » (confus) selon ses mots, dont l'idéologie instable formait « un collage de diverses idées politiques et philosophiques, fourmillant de contradictions ». Surtout, l'auteur du Nom de la rose alertait sur la possible résurgence, sous une forme inédite, des forces réactionnaires défaites cinquante ans plus tôt. Pour s'en prémunir, il proposait une liste de critères pour identifier les aspirants fascistes.

 

Racisme décomplexé, suspicion envers le monde intellectuel, obsession du complot, langue appauvrie... Le trumpisme coche treize des quatorze cases de la grille d'analyse proposée à

l'époque par Eco. Un véritable bingo. Certes, on se gardera d'assimiler la « fan base » MAGA à un parti de masse tel que l'Europe en a connu dans l'entre-deux-guerres. Mais la violence de rue de la milice anti-immigrants ICE, qui opère en marge de la légalité et tue désormais des opposants en plein jour, et les ambitions impériales assumées de la Maison-Blanche complètent de manière glaçante le tableau. Trump et ses lieutenants ne se contentent pas de faire quotidiennement étalage de leur mépris pour la science, le droit, les faits, et

même la plus élémentaire décence morale. Leur pratique du pouvoir érode sous nos yeux les institutions de l'une des plus anciennes démocraties du monde. Et offre un inquiétant exemple à suivre aux extrêmes droites européennes. […] "

 

"There are a thousand ways to play at fascism," wrote Umberto Eco, who had experienced Mussolini's regime as a child. In a speech delivered in New York in 1995, the Italian writer emphasized the changing nature and lack of backbone of historical Italian fascism: "a fuzzy totalitarianism," in his words, whose unstable ideology formed "a collage of various political and philosophical ideas, teeming with contradictions." Above all, the author of The Name of the Rose warned of the possible resurgence, in a new form, of the reactionary forces defeated fifty years earlier. To guard against this, he proposed a list of criteria for identifying aspiring fascists.

 

Unapologetic racism, suspicion of intellectuals, obsession with conspiracy theories, impoverished language... Trumpism ticks thirteen of the fourteen boxes on the analysis grid proposed

at the time by Eco. A real bingo. Of course, we should be careful not to equate the MAGA fan base with a mass party such as those that existed in Europe between the two world wars. But the street violence of the anti-immigrant ICE militia, which operates on the fringes of legality and now kills opponents in broad daylight, and the White House's unapologetic imperial ambitions complete the chilling picture. Trump and his lieutenants are not content with daily displays of contempt for science, the law, facts, and even the most basic moral decency. Their exercise of power is eroding the institutions of one of the world's oldest democracies before our very eyes. And it sets a disturbing example for the European far right to follow. […]"

  

Its bright colors somehow diminish the squalor, but let's face it: this is just another vacant lot in-waiting. If the occupants had been allowed to stay, they might have been able to keep it viable as a future residence for another family.

 

Unfortunately for them - and for us - bean-counters and computer algorithms cannot compute common sense and human decency. So they had to go...to make a point.

everything is very weird.

 

if you have any decency, you will view here.

Belgian postcard by Victoria Biscuits Chocolats, no. 16. Photo: M.G.M. Gene Kelly as D'Artagnan and Vincent Price as Richelieu in The Three Musketeers (George Sidney, 1948), based on the novel by Alexandre Dumas.

 

The Three Musketeers (George Sidney, 1948) is a classic Swashbuckler, starring Gene Kelly as D’Artagnan and Lana Turner as Milady De Winter. Other stars in the cast include Van Heflin, June Allyson, Gig Young, Angela Lansbury, and Vincent Price. It is one of the many, adaptations of the famous French book ‘Les trois mousquetaires’ by Alexandre Dumas père, and possibly the liveliest one, full of acrobatics, galloping horses, flapping cloaks, and sword fights with almost operatic intensity. Dumas’s story is followed quite faithfully, but the creative fantasy is in the theatrical way of depicting it.

 

As in the book: the story of The Three Musketeers (George Sidney, 1948) is set in 1625 in France. The young and inexperienced D'Artagnan (Gene Kelly) leaves his home village in Gascony to become a musketeer in Paris in the service of His Majesty King Louis XIII (Frank Morgan). In his pocket, he has the letter of recommendation from his father (silent film star Robert Warwick), a former musketeer and friend of the current captain of the musketeers, Treville (Reginald Owen). His father has taught him the art of fencing masterfully and gives him the good advice never to let himself be compromised with impunity. He is only too happy to follow this advice. Very soon, before he has even reached Paris, D'Artagnan gets into a confrontation with Rochefort (Ian Keith), Cardinal Richelieu's (Vincent Price) confidant, and his companion, the mysterious Lady de Winter (Lana Turner). At this first opportunity to preserve his honour in battle, he is unceremoniously struck down and robbed by Rochefort's henchmen, and his credentials are also taken from him. Once in Paris, he not only meets his new friends and comrades-in-arms Athos (Van Heflin), Porthos (Gig Young), and Aramis (Robert Coote), but also his landlord's niece, Constance Bonacieux (June Allyson), and falls in love. Many adventures and entanglements lie ahead and in the path of the brave hero D'Artagnan. Driven by his desire to become the king's musketeer and to prove himself in battle, he falls into the clutches of both the queen (Angela and the cardinal, experiences numerous dangerous situations and sometimes needs his new friends to get away at all. Nevertheless, he sets out to travel to England for the Queen's honour, to retrieve a jewellery box given away by the Queen's secret lover, Lord Buckingham (John Sutton), and to prevent Richelieu from plotting. To assist him, he is accompanied by Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, as well as his dull but loyal servant Planchet (Keenan Wynn). Shortly after D'Artagnan's return from England, Constance is kidnapped at the behest of Cardinal Richelieu. D'Artagnan makes a pass at Milady de Winter, discovers a delicate secret, and only just manages to save himself. Constance is freed and taken to safety in England, shortly after which war breaks out, and our four friends are drawn into it. They overhear a conspiratorial meeting between the Cardinal and Lady de Winter in an inn. The latter is to travel to England and kill Buckingham. Planchet also travels to England at D'Artagnan's behest to warn Buckingham. Lady de Winter is convicted and is to be executed. Constance is appointed her guardian. Milady de Winter, after a lengthy psychological duel, manages to take out Constance as well as a guard and Buckingham and then escapes. Athos and D'Artagnan, who wanted to help Constance, arrive too late; after Constance dies in D'Artagnan's arms, they themselves also have only escaped. Back in Paris, the four friends track down Lady de Winter, pronounce the death sentence on her, and have the prisoner executed. During their subsequent escape towards Spain, they are overpowered and arrested. Their fate seems to be sealed, but young D'Artagnan still has one trump card: the Countess's passport, personally sealed and signed by Cardinal Richelieu, with the note that everything the bearer of this letter undertakes will serve the good of the state. The king is not allowed to know the background of this letter - so Richelieu has to give in. Aramis receives permission to take up a clerical office. Porthos is allowed to marry richly, Athos gets his property back and D'Artagnan is to negotiate a peace offer with the enemy England on behalf of France.

 

This splashy 1948 MGM adaptation of The Three Musketeers was the third sound version and was also the first version in Technicolor. In 1947, a representative of the National Catholic Legion of Decency, an organisation that monitored the interests of the Church in motion pictures, objected to the characterisation of Cardinal Richelieu in the planned MGM adaptation of Dumas' story. In a letter to MGM producer Pandro S. Berman, the organisation stated its objection to the cardinal being portrayed as a "worldly and unscrupulous man" and urged the studio to remove the character from the film. Berman refused to remove the character from the film but promised he would use great caution in all sensitive matters pertaining to the story and in the film, Richelieu is never referred to as Cardinal Richelieu. Berman also indicated that Constance, the married mistress of D'Artagnan in the novel, would be unmarried in the film version. While early sound versions of Three Musketeers eliminated the deaths of Constance and Milady, this adaptation telescopes the novel's events to allow for these tragedies. According to AFI, screenwriter Robert Ardry was displeased with Sidney's irreverent approach to the Dumas story and objected to the spoof elements that were added to the film. A biography of Kelly noted that Belgian fencing champion Jean Heremans, who appears in the film as the cardinal's guard, taught Kelly how to fence. Kelly's biography also noted that during the filming of a bedroom scene, Kelly flung Turner onto a bed with such force that she fell to the ground and suffered a broken elbow. Hal Erickson at AllMovie: “True to form, MGM saw to it that Lana Turner, as Milady, was dressed to the nines and heavily bejeweled for her beheading sequence. Portions of the 1948 Three Musketeers, in black and white, showed up in the silent film-within-a-film in 1952's Singin' in the Rain, which of course also starred Gene Kelly.” The Three Musketeers opened to mostly favourable reviews, with several reviewers commenting on the film's unusual tongue-in-cheek approach. New York Times reviewer Bosley Crowther noted that "more glittering swordplay, more dazzling costumes, more colors or more of Miss Turner's chest have never been seen in a picture than are shown in this one." And added: “Completely fantastic, however, is Miss Turner as the villainess, the ambitious Lady de Winter who does the boudoir business for the boss. Loaded with blond hair and jewels, with twelve-gallon hats and ostrich plumes, and poured into her satin dresses with a good bit of Turner to spare, she walks through the palaces and salons with the air of a company-mannered Mae West.” In 1948, there was an Oscar nomination for Robert Planck in the category Best Cinematography/Colour. Hans J. Wollstein at AllMovie: “The Three Musketeers remains an outrageously entertaining yarn, the Southern California locales perfectly standing in for 17th Century France and England.” And finally, Yvette Banek at her blog In so many words: “Lana Turner is really quite superb in her evilness. So evil that she is even photographed without make-up. Well, as 'without make-up' as MGM got, at any rate. Even then, she is exquisitely beautiful - especially when praying.”

 

Sources: Bosley Crowther (New York Times), Hal Erickson (AllMovie), Yvette Banek (In so many words), AFI, Wikipedia (Dutch, German), and IMDb.

 

And, please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.

This is cricket. Proper cricket, as has been played in England for a thousand years. Proper cricket, chaps who borrow each others pads and bats, chaps who aren't necessarily very fit, maybe a bit overweight; but above all else chaps who just play the game with their mates for the sheer unadulterated pleasure of it. Long live its noble decency.

This image is copyright, all rights reserved, and not part of the public domain. Any use, linking to, or posting of this image is prohibited without my consent. If you want to use this image in any fashion, please have the common courtesy and decency to ask.

 

Elk Creek Falls, Siskiyou National Forest, Powers, Oregon

 

This is another view of this big waterfall where I had gotten down next to the creek to get this view. It was raining pretty good which added to the intense mist I was facing which made it difficult to come away with a mist free image. It was a fun fight and I came away with a couple of keepers.

 

Happy Waterfall Wednesday Everybody!

What an amazing place this is. It used to be a thermal bath house. It was built in the 19th century and what beautifully decorated. It will soon be converted into a posh hotel.

When we entered early morning we were the first explorers setting up our gear. Within an hour the place was crowded with explorers from all over Europe and it was hard to take a decent picture.

Apparently it is hard for other people to wait until others who were there earlier are done. I gave them a hard time by just standing in 'their' way while taking a shot. Have some decency people and be patient!

 

Please visit www.preciousdecay.com for more pictures and follow me on Facebook on www.facebook.com/Preciousdecay.urbex

This morning I took an hour long train into the city, then rushed to my desk to draft up triplicate copies of a medical release. A brisk walk in the cold (it was lower than 20 degrees) to another train, then a longer walk through the snow on the north side to meet with a new client.

 

I typically represent large publicly traded multi-national companies, and design the compensation and benefit structures on behalf of these companies that affect literally millions of people. And I'm paid quite handsomely for the work. Far more, in fact, than I'm likely worth.

 

This morning was different though.

 

My client used to have a normal life, married - with two young sons. He developed late onset schizophrenia and his life slowly started unravelling. He's been homeless now for the better part of fifteen years. His ex-wife had him declared dead after he'd disappeared for over ten years and she was told he'd been beaten to death in a mugging.

 

He's alive. Though even that seems a bit of a stretch of things to say. His face bears the scars of multiple physical attacks. Part of his forehead is caved in from blunt force trauma. He shrugs, giving the explanation "a fight over a place to sleep."

 

A local agency is now paying for him to stay at a "hotel." The overwhelming majority of the hotel's guests rent rooms by the hour. Only a floor or two is for overnighters.

 

I met with a member of the agency in the lobby and we went up to his room. The hallway floors were bloodstained, the acrid stench of stale urine infiltrated the air - suffocating.

 

Inside his room, the mattress was bare and heavily stained. No pillows, no towels. A thick black sludge covered the bottom of the shower. Roaches crawled all over the walls and across the bed. A chili can with a tarnished spoon sat precariously on the ledge of the stripped bed. He had to eat it cold as there wasn't a way for him to heat it.

 

I'd laid my purse on the floor, and watched silently as a roach crawled inside it.

 

We talked briefly about what I was going to do in order to try to establish his identity. He honestly is so far gone that I'm not sure he'll remember who I am when I have to meet with him again next week.

 

His family has been contacted. His parents and siblings want nothing to do with him. They've effectively disowned him. Cast him aside. His oldest son visited with his ex-wife. It's definitely him - though a shell of a man that they used to know and love. They can't relate to him now. They don't know what to say. He doesn't remember them. He doesn't remember who he was "before" his given name and birthdate are figments of someone else's imagination.

 

He has brief moments of clarity - then it's all muddled again.

 

Everyone's forgotten him, it seems. It's easier to - it doesn't pain the soul as much as if they were faced with standing here with him instead of half a country away.

 

His name is George. And I know that for the rest of my life, I will never forget him. And I know that they haven't either. How could you? He was someone's son. Someone's husband, someone's father. He was a neighbor, a co-worker. He was a stranger passing on the street, and now he's invisible.

 

I am so lucky to have the life that I have. I need to do more to help other people, to somehow assuage this overwhelming guilt.

 

My life could've easily ended up like his did.

 

I cried on the train ride back to the office. I'm not the type that cries often, it's not my nature. Since I've been pregnant, things resonate so much stronger with me. I cried for George, for his neighbors in the hotel. But I also cried for my son, who I've not met yet. I cried - hoping that he would never have to know that want - that desperation. I think that was the hardest part for me. George is/was someone's son. Someone who knows where he is and just couldn't bear to deal with the truth, or worse - doesn't care.

 

I know we all struggle with daily inconveniences, but tonight - as you lay your head down to sleep. Please, be thankful. It could be so much worse.

As Nottingham's shops continue to close at an alarming rate, the face of the streets is changing dramatically, not always for the better. At least, on Bridlesmith Gate, they are trying to brighten things up a bit. Snapped with the Samsung Galaxy S21 5G phone cam and pushed, pulled and twisted about, way beyond the realms of common decency!

Hello my bunnies. Photo on the left - taken 5 years ago. The one on the right - taken five years later - today (when originally posted!) :D On 9th June 2020 I was dealing with a lot of things. The 'remote', brutal break up of my last relationship. The lockdowns. The insecurity of being a crossdresser and wondering what it all meant. However, I knew we would come out of the lockdowns eventually, but I would also end up with having to recover from my ex girlfriend finally ending things (though she said she might contact me a year later to see how we'd grown - or not) and I was feeling rather down and listless. I didn't want her to cut contact, but I also knew our ship had definitely sailed. I set out to become the person I had kind of been before the relationship had started, some 4 years earlier, but now, I wanted something else. I just was not sure what. First thing was - I wanted to formally change my name. In 2025, that's been achieved. But as for all the other things that happened - the relaunch of my channel on You Tube, THIS Flickr page, my dance lessons, skin diode laser sessions, my hair growing and being styled in a feminine way. A new job! And.....oh yes....HRT, and aligning my body with how I think and wish and do ultimately see myself, even if some parts of the world - on and offline, disagree. As I have grown on this journey, I have learned so much about myself. One thing that has shocked me a bit is how strong I have become - as I weakened a bit physically, I became mentally incredibly strong - and I say that as someone who always thought I had good mental strength. I value kindness, loyalty, support, decency and politeness. I strongly dislike liars, narcissists, people who have an inflated opinion of themselves, and increasingly, I take a harsh stance against anyone who does not value me in their lives, by removing myself from the situation. So you can probably guess that the ex did contact me again. I was polite, but disinterested in continuing contact with someone who had treated me badly, unfairly and was ultimately playing games. You do NOT do this to people. It is not a decent thing to do. So, you have my gratitude - back then for your support, and now. Much love and blessings to you all.

 

Police have released the above identikit image of a pernicious and persistent abuser of photographic decency. The public are advised to not approach this lunatic as he may be armed with a fully loaded medium format TLR.

 

We're Here to warn you about Outlaws, for they walk among us.

 

Tripod-mounted & lit by a Speedlite on a stick. Composited image of me & mine botched together in Photoshop.

The inland waterways vessel Newford is seen here in the Deurganck dock on its way to the DP World Terminal (on the right). Later in the day the vessel also loaded and containers at the MPET Terminal (on the left).

 

On the left, at the MPET terminal is the green hulled Sandy Rickmers (IMO 9220079), MSC Nitya B (IMO 9778117), the MSC Jordan (IMO 8918980) which is just sailing for Le Havre, and the MSC Romane (IMO 9745653).

On the right, at the DP World Terminal, is the CMA CGM Niagara (IMO 9722675), Northern Decency (IMO 9253296) and the Hannah Schulte (IMO 9301938)

 

Anne became Queen of England, Scotland and Ireland on 8 March 1702. On 1 May 1707, under the Acts of Union, two of her realms, the kingdoms of England and Scotland, united as a single sovereign state known as Great Britain.

 

Born: 6 February 1665, St James's Palace, St James's

Died: 1 August 1714, Kensington Palace, London

Coronation: 23 April 1702

Spouse: Prince George of Denmark (m. 1683–1708)

House: House of Stuart

Children: Prince William, Duke of Gloucester, Anne Sophia, Mary, George

 

Around 1671, Anne first made the acquaintance of Sarah Jennings, who later became her close friend and one of her most influential advisers. Jennings married John Churchill (the future Duke of Marlborough) in about 1678. His sister, Arabella Churchill, was the Duke of York's mistress, and he was to be Anne's most important general.

 

Anne and George of Denmark were married on 28 July 1683 in the Chapel Royal and Sarah Churchill was appointed one of Anne's ladies of the bedchamber.

 

In what became known as the "Glorious Revolution", William of Orange invaded England on 5 November 1688 in an action that ultimately deposed King James. Forbidden by James to pay Mary a projected visit in the spring of 1687, Anne corresponded with her and was aware of the plans to invade. On the advice of the Churchills, she refused to side with James after William landed and instead wrote to William on 18 November declaring her approval of his action. Churchill abandoned the unpopular king on the 24th. Prince George followed suit that night, and in the evening of the following day James issued orders to place Sarah Churchill under house arrest at St James's Palace. Anne and Sarah fled from Whitehall by a back staircase, putting themselves under the care of Bishop Compton. They spent one night in his house, and subsequently arrived at Nottingham on 1 December. Two weeks later and escorted by a large company, Anne arrived at Oxford, where she met Prince George in triumph.

 

In January 1689, a Convention Parliament assembled in England and declared that James had effectively abdicated when he fled, and that the thrones of England and Ireland were therefore vacant. The Parliament or Estates of Scotland took similar action, and William and Mary were declared monarchs of all three realms. The Bill of Rights 1689 and Claim of Right Act 1689 settled the succession. Anne and her descendants were to be in the line of succession after William and Mary, and they were to be followed by any descendants of William by a future marriage. On 24 July 1689, Anne gave birth to a son, Prince William, Duke of Gloucester, who, though ill, survived infancy. As King William and Queen Mary had no children, it looked as though Anne's son would eventually inherit the Crown.

 

Soon after their accession, William and Mary rewarded John Churchill by granting him the Earldom of Marlborough. Resentment soon grew between the sisters, Mary and Anne, over Anne's wish to become financially independent. From around this time, at Anne's request she and Sarah Churchill, Lady Marlborough, began to call each other the pet names Mrs. Morley and Mrs. Freeman respectively, to facilitate a relationship of greater equality between the two when they were alone. In January 1692, suspecting that Marlborough was secretly conspiring with James's followers, the Jacobites, William and Mary dismissed him from all his offices. In a public show of support for the Marlboroughs, Anne took Sarah to a social event at the palace, and refused her sister's request to dismiss Sarah from her household. Lady Marlborough was subsequently removed from the royal household by the Lord Chamberlain, and Anne angrily left her royal lodgings and took up residence at Syon House, the home of the Duke of Somerset.[69] Anne was stripped of her guard of honour; courtiers were forbidden to visit her, and civic authorities were instructed to ignore her. In April, Anne gave birth to a son who died within minutes. Mary visited her, but instead of offering comfort took the opportunity to berate Anne once again for her friendship with Sarah. The sisters never saw each other again.

 

When Mary died of smallpox in 1694, William continued to reign alone. Anne became his heir apparent and the two reconciled publicly. He restored her previous honours, allowed her to reside in St James's Palace, and gave her Mary's jewels but excluded her from government and refrained from appointing her regent during his absences abroad. Three months later, William restored Marlborough to his offices.

 

Soon after her accession, Anne appointed her husband Lord High Admiral, giving him nominal control of the Royal Navy. Anne gave control of the army to Lord Marlborough, whom she appointed Captain-General. Marlborough also received numerous honours from the Queen; he was created a Knight of the Garter and was elevated to the rank of duke. The Duchess of Marlborough was appointed Groom of the Stole, Mistress of the Robes, and Keeper of the Privy Purse.

 

The Whigs vigorously supported the War of the Spanish Succession and became even more influential after the Duke of Marlborough won a great victory at the Battle of Blenheim in 1704. Many of the High Tories, who opposed British involvement in the land war against France, were removed from office. Godolphin, Marlborough, and Harley, who had replaced Nottingham as Secretary of State for the Northern Department, formed a ruling "triumvirate". They were forced to rely more and more on support from the Whigs, and particularly from the Whig Junto—Lords Somers, Halifax, Orford, Wharton and Sunderland—whom Anne disliked. Sarah, the Duchess of Marlborough, incessantly badgered the Queen to appoint more Whigs and reduce the power of the Tories, whom she considered little better than Jacobites, and the Queen became increasingly discontented with her. In 1706, Godolphin and the Marlboroughs forced Anne to accept Lord Sunderland, a Junto Whig and the Marlboroughs' son-in-law, as Harley's colleague as Secretary of State for the Southern Department. Although this strengthened the ministry's position in Parliament, it weakened the ministry's position with the Queen, as Anne became increasingly irritated with Godolphin and with her former favourite, the Duchess of Marlborough, for supporting Sunderland and other Whig candidates for vacant government and church positions. The Queen turned for private advice to Harley, who was uncomfortable with Marlborough and Godolphin's turn towards the Whigs. She also turned to Abigail Hill, a woman of the bedchamber whose influence grew as Anne's relationship with Sarah deteriorated. Abigail was related to both Harley and the Duchess, but was politically closer to Harley, and acted as an intermediary between him and the Queen.

 

The division within the ministry came to a head on 8 February 1708, when Godolphin and the Marlboroughs insisted that the Queen had to either dismiss Harley or do without their services. When the Queen seemed to hesitate, Marlborough and Godolphin refused to attend a cabinet meeting. Harley attempted to lead business without his former colleagues, and several of those present including the Duke of Somerset refused to participate until they returned. Her hand forced, the Queen dismissed Harley.

 

The following month, Anne's Catholic half-brother, James Francis Edward Stuart, attempted to land in Scotland with French assistance in an attempt to establish himself as king. Anne withheld royal assent from the Scottish Militia Bill 1708 in case the militia raised in Scotland was disloyal and sided with the Jacobites. She was the last British sovereign to veto a parliamentary bill, although her action was barely commented upon at the time. The invasion fleet never landed and was chased away by British ships.

 

The Duchess of Marlborough was angered when Abigail moved into rooms at Kensington Palace that Sarah considered her own, though she rarely if ever used them. In July 1708, she came to court with a bawdy poem written by a Whig propagandist. that implied a lesbian relationship between Anne and Abigail. The Duchess wrote to Anne telling her she had damaged her reputation by taking up such a friend. Whilst some modern commentators have concluded Anne was a lesbian, most have rejected this analysis. In the opinion of Anne's biographers, she considered Abigail nothing more than a trusted servant, and was a woman of strong traditional beliefs, who was devoted to her husband.

 

At a thanksgiving service for a victory at the Battle of Oudenarde, Anne did not wear the jewels that Sarah had selected for her. At the door of St Paul's Cathedral, they had an argument that culminated in Sarah offending the Queen by telling her to be quiet. Anne was dismayed. When Sarah forwarded an unrelated letter from her husband to Anne, with a covering note continuing the argument, Anne wrote back pointedly, "After the commands you gave me on the thanksgiving day of not answering you, I should not have troubled you with these lines, but to return the Duke of Marlborough's letter safe into your hands, and for the same reason do not say anything to that, nor to yours which enclosed it."

 

Anne was devastated by her husband's death in October 1708 and the event proved a turning point in her relationship with the Duchess of Marlborough. The Duchess arrived at Kensington Palace shortly before George died, and after his death insisted that Anne leave Kensington for St James's Palace against her wishes. Anne resented the Duchess's intrusive actions, which included removing a portrait of George from the Queen's bedchamber and then refusing to return it. With Whigs now dominant in Parliament, and Anne distraught at the loss of her husband, they forced her to accept the Junto leaders Lords Somers and Wharton into the cabinet. Sarah continued to berate Anne for her friendship with Abigail, and in October 1709, Anne wrote to the Duke of Marlborough asking that his wife "leave off teasing & tormenting me & behave herself with the decency she ought both to her friend and Queen".[162] On Maundy Thursday 6 April 1710, Anne and Sarah saw each other for the last time. According to Sarah, the Queen was taciturn and formal, repeating the same phrases—"Whatever you have to say you may put in writing" and "You said you desired no answer, and I shall give you none"—over and over.

 

As the expensive War of the Spanish Succession grew unpopular, so did the Whig administration. The Duke of Marlborough was for the time being allowed to remain in charge of the army but in January 1711, Anne forced Sarah to resign her court offices, and Abigail took over as Keeper of the Privy Purse. Having lost her most trusted advisers, Anne created 12 new peers, Abigail's husband included and dismissed the Marlboroughs on the same day. The peace treaty was ratified and Britain's military involvement in the War of the Spanish Succession ended.

 

Anne was buried beside her husband and children in the Henry VII chapel on the South Aisle of Westminster Abbey on 24 August. Author David Green noted, "Hers was not, as used to be supposed, petticoat government. She had considerable power; yet time and time again she had to capitulate." Professor Edward Gregg concluded that Anne was often able to impose her will, even though, as a woman in an age of male dominance and preoccupied by her health, her reign was marked by an increase in the influence of ministers and a decrease in the influence of the Crown.[203] She attended more cabinet meetings than any of her predecessors or successors,[204] and presided over an age of artistic, literary, economic and political advancement that was made possible by the stability and prosperity of her reign.

 

Abridged (believe it or not) from en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anne,_Queen_of_Great_Britain

   

David Mark - Long Shot

(Original Title: The Long Chance)

Dell Books D300, 1959

Cover Artist: Mitchell Hooks

 

"He threw away pride, decency and love for a rotten little tramp and the sick excitement of the race-track world."

This city is dead.

 

No good looking people around,

I wonder how the reputation of this society could go down like this.

 

Living with such a majority, my life sucks.

We were surrounded before I figured out that someone was gonna get hurt.

 

I didn't see it coming at all and it happened so fast that there really wasn't time to get scared.

 

The guy that threw the punch was young... like twenty eight maybe... and you could tell he worked out... a lot... probably junked up on steroids too... had his sleeves rolled up in that roid-rager way to show off his 'guns'... even though that'd gone out of style years before.

 

It was the kinda punch a guy'd throw to impress his buddies.

 

The kinda punch a man throws not so much to hurt the guy he's hittin' but to say to his buddies 'I gotcher back.'

 

That's probably the worst punch to get hit with.

 

Man... it flew right close by my head... I thought it was comin' for me but it was way too fast for me to even duck it.

 

I could HEAR the guy's swing.

 

The guy knew how to throw a punch too... that was pretty clear.

 

He started it with his big toe and the energy went right through his entire body like a lightning bolt and it was all invested in his meaty well formed fist... watching him throw it was like watching a whip get cracked.

 

There wasn't even time to blink.

 

He 'punched through' his target like a skilled street fighter.

 

That hit was 'all business.'

 

The old man's nose was just instantly shattered right in front of me... obliterated.

 

Before his body even crumpled there was this horrific explosion of blood.

 

It splattered everywhere and I remember it hitting the wall and the floor before his body did.

 

I remember this liquidy-thump sound... like a big piece of meat getting tenderized... nothing like the sound of a guy gettin' hit on TV.

 

The man's face was demolished.

 

This shit was for real.

 

Too real.

 

There must have been eight of them and I knew I was next.

 

I can tell you from experience that nothing sucks worse than being second in line for execution.

 

A guy I worked with taught interrogation to various agencies with the US Government... he's well known as an expert on the matter... we were driving through California one night on the way to a meeting in Tijuana and he told me that he was working with the Turks and their intelligence services a few years back.

 

They wanted to show him how they get a guy to talk.

 

So he said they tied a guy to a chair that they wanted information from and then they took another guy and tied him to a chair right in front of him...

 

a guy who had nothin' to do with nothin'... just some schmuck who got caught up in the operation.

 

They skinned the guy alive right in front of the dude that they wanted the information from.

 

Needless to say he sung like a canary and told them everything they wanted to hear.

 

My guy quit workin' with the Turkish Intelligence after that.

 

Because even in the world of intrigue there's boundaries to decency.

 

What kind of guy punches an old man like that for callin' his boss a liar?

 

I turned around to face the guy... I knew that there was no way outta this one.

 

I wasn't gonna take it in the back of the head but I knew I was gonna take it so I figured I'd take it like a man... at least I could see it comin'.

 

The circle tightened to close up the space the old man vacated after hitting the floor and I was at the center of it.

 

Those jackals seemed to want some more blood on the floor... this time it was gonna be my blood.

 

I really don't like seeing my blood puddle on the floor you know?

 

When the guy cocked back... I don't even think I threw my hands up to defend myself.

 

It would have just prolonged the agony I knew that I was about to feel.

 

But he didn't throw at me.

 

He hesitated.

 

We locked eyes and I silently mentally pleaded with the guy not to do it... but not a word came from my lips... I might've shook my head slightly... like 'don't do this' but that was it.

 

Who wants to die begging for their life?

 

I couldn't face God and ask him to let me slide by if I did that... and everyone knows the devil'd laugh your ass outta hell for it...

 

Maybe that's why they invented purgatory...

 

If you ain't good enough to get into heaven but you're too big a sissy boy to get into hell.

 

I wouldn't ask for mercy from a man so merciless he threw a punch like that at a defenseless old man.

 

Tough guy started to throw at me a time or two... like a flinch and he cocked back again... like he was readjusting his aim or his stance or something...

 

Like he was taking windage on a target.

 

It was almost like he wanted to see me cower in front of him and his buddies.

 

I'd take the beating silently before I gave him that satisfaction.

 

But the punch never came.

 

He just turned around and walked away and the circle around me broke up without a word, although I remember these sounds... contemptuous sounds... sounds that said 'you'dda been next' and 'you're lucky we don't kill you' but they weren't words proper... just noises.

 

The old man was making loud slurping-gurgling sounds and bleeding out all over the place...

 

He kinda rolled over and put his hands over his shattered nose.

 

It was pointing in a different direction as it had been when we'd walked in... almost like two directions if you can imagine that... it was heinously smashed.

 

The only sound he made was this labored gasping for air.

 

It was the unmistakeable sound of death if you've ever heard death before... the wheezing garglesong of the Grim Reaper himself.

 

When I picked the old man up to drag him outta there I was surprised at how light he was... like a feather really... he told me before we walked in that he was a retired railroad signalman... he hadda be almost eighty I figured.

 

He wore some awful synthetic pastel sweater and looked like everyone's grampa.

 

Now it was just covered in his blood.

 

Who the fuck goes around punching someone like that?

 

Especially someone who wears a badge.

 

I dragged the old guy out the door leaving a long bloody trail... that really thick, deep and dark blood that comes from a headwound like that... it was just pouring out of his nose... like it was a firehose of blood.

 

I dragged him across the sidewalk and his wife jumped out of the car as soon as she saw us.

 

I couldn't figure her out... she must've been really shocked or confused because she had this really sweet smile on her face.

 

Her husband looks like he's about to die on the sidewalk and I swear she looks like she's gonna pinch my cheek and offer me some cookies.

 

She was wearin' what looked like her Sunday church dress and I watched her smile turn to horror in an instant... a split second as she took it all in.

 

'No... no... no' she moaned.

 

I'll never forget the poor lady's look.

 

Seein' her seemed to perk the old guy up and I was kinda relieved that he got up under his own power... kinda staggerin' but he still got up.

 

You could tell he didn't want her seein' him like this.

 

She asked me what happened and he just looked at me... his head shaking... her hands trying to cradle him but retreating repeatedly in horror... like she couldn't bring herself to touch him.

 

He gave me that 'shut the fuck up and don't say anything to the old lady' look.

 

I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head and I turned around to walk away as the old man seemed to find a little bit of piss and vinegar or pride within' himself...

 

He got angrier as she screamed over and over again 'what happened' and she held her blood covered hands up to her face shaking them as if that would remove all the blood and turn back the clock to when her husbands face looked recognizable.

 

I think he mighta told her to shut up.

 

The effluent of assault gave off such contrast splattered on her yellow dress... it's splatter on the lace of her collar was something that never should have been... a deep and terrible masochistic irony.

 

It made it all seem so wrong.

 

The old man got into the drivers seat and yelled at her to shut the door.

 

He was trying to calm her down... to take some control of the situation... her panicking didn't seem to help anything.

 

With a heavy clunk the passenger door shut and the old Buick peeled off.

 

Probably straight to the emergency room.

 

I don't think we ever exchanged a word after he took that hit.

 

I jumped into my truck and got onto the expressway at twenty second street before the queasiness began to turn to seething red hot anger.

 

Fuck those motherfuckers I thought.

 

They had no right.

 

The old man didn't do anything but say that the cheif was wrong.

 

Who the hell did they think they were?

 

It wasn't a minute later I called up the district headquarters.

 

I told the guy who answered the phone what I'd just seen and he said someone from internal affairs would get back to me.

 

I hadn't driven seventy five blocks when my phone rang.

 

It was internal affairs.

 

They already knew my address.

 

They made sure to point that out.

 

They must have already called the station and got the story because the guy knew the details.

 

He told me that he was gonna turn on a tape recorder.

 

And he told me that I was going to say that 'I did not see a uniformed firefighter knock out an eighty year old man.'

 

He never threatened me.

 

Not with words anyway.

 

That was implicit in the tone of his voice.

 

But I knew the dirt I was dealin' with and I knew how they played the game.

 

I didn't know the old man.

 

It really wasn't even my beef.

 

He turned on the tape recorder.

 

I told him what he told me to say.

 

It is one of the few real regrets I have in this life.

 

And that's what was going through my mind in that dark parking lot fifteen years later when a completely bizarre sequence of events was initiated that led me to uncover the murder of more than two hundred innocent people.

 

People whose families had no idea they'd even been murdered until I told them.

 

And it was kinda looking like right now that I had the number '201' written on the target on my forehead.

Nearly halfway through the month, and it's the weekend again, and the the good news is that the sore throat I had on Friday went and did not return.

 

Which is nice.

 

Jools's cough, however, which seemed like it was getting better, returned slightly on Friday evening, and would again on Saturday. We had tockets to see Public Service Bradcasting again, this time in Margate, but our hearts were not in it, if I'm honest, and in the end we decided not to go in light of her coughing, but also as I said, we saw them a month back, though this would be a different show.

 

And Norwich were on the tellybox, what could be better than watching that?

 

Anything, as it turned out.

 

But that was for later.

 

We went to Tesco, a little later than usual, as we had slept in rather, then back home for breakfast before the decision on what to do for the day. Jools decided to stay home to bead and read, I would go out.

 

There are three churches near to home that I feel I needed to revisit, St Margaret's itself I should be able to get the key from the village shop at any time, but St Mary in Dover hasn't been open the last few times I have been in town, and Barfrestone was closed most of the year due to vandalism.

 

But Saturday morning there is usually a coffee morning in St Mary, so I went down armed with camera and lenses to take more shots of the details, especially of the windows.

 

There was a small group with the Vicar, talking in one of the chapels, so I made busy getting my shots, just happy that the church was open. I left a fiver with the vicar, and walked back to the car, passing the old guy supping from a tin of cider sitting outside the church hall.

 

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

 

In the heart of the town with a prominent twelfth-century tower. From the outside it is obvious that much work was carried out in the nineteenth century. The church has major connections with the Lord Wardens of the Cinque Ports and is much used for ceremonial services. The western bays of the nave with their low semi-circular arches are contemporary with the tower, while the pointed arches to the east are entirely nineteenth century. The scale and choice of stone is entirely wrong, although the carving is very well done. However the east end, with its tall narrow lancet windows, is not so successful. The Royal Arms, of the reign of William and Mary, are of carved and painted wood, with a French motto - Jay Maintendray - instead of the more usual Dieu et Mon Droit. The church was badly damaged in the Second World War, but one of the survivors was the typical Norman font of square Purbeck marble construction. One of the more recent additions to the church is the Herald of Free Enterprise memorial window of 1989 designed by Frederick Cole.

 

www.kentchurches.info/church.asp?p=Dover+1

 

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

 

THE TOWN AND PORT OF DOVER.

DOVER lies at the eastern extremity of Kent, adjoining to the sea, the great high London road towards France ending at it. It lies adjoining to the parish of Charlton last-described, eastward, in the lath of St. Augustine and eastern division of the county. It is within the liberty of the cinque ports, and the juristion of the corporation of the town and port of Dover.

 

DOVER, written in the Latin Itinerary of Antonine, Dubris. By the Saxons, Dorsa, and Dofris. By later historians, Doveria; and in the book of Domesday, Dovere; took its name most probably from the British words, Dufir, signifying water, or Dusirrha, high and steep, alluding to the cliffs adjoining to it. (fn. 1)

 

It is situated at the extremity of a wide and spacious valley, inclosed on each side by high and steep hills or cliffs, and making allowance for the sea's withdrawing itself from between them, answers well to the description given of it by Julius Cæfar in his Commentaries.

 

In the middle space, between this chain of high cliffs, in a break or opening, lies the town of Dover and its harbour, which latter, before the sea was shut out, so late as the Norman conquest, was situated much more within the land than it is at present, as will be further noticed hereafter.

 

ON THE SUMMIT of one of these cliffs, of sudden and stupendous height, close on the north side of the town and harbour, stands DOVER CASTLE, so famous and renowned in all the histories of former times. It is situated so exceeding high, that it is at most times plainly to be seen from the lowest lands on the coast of France, and as far beyond as the eye can discern. Its size, for it contains within it thirty five acres of ground, six of which are taken up by the antient buildings, gives it the appearance of a small city, having its citadel conspicuous in the midst of it, with extensive fortifications, around its walls. The hill, or rather rock, on which it stands, is ragged and steep towards the town and harbour; but towards the sea, it is a perpendicular precipice of a wonderful height, being more than three hundred and twenty feet high, from its basis on the shore.

 

Common tradition supposes, that Julius Cæfar was the builder of this castle, as well as others in this part of Britain, but surely without a probability of truth; for our brave countrymen found Cæfar sufficient employment of a far different sort, during his short stay in Britain, to give him any opportunity of erecting even this one fortress. Kilburne says, there was a tower here, called Cæsar's tower, afterwards the king's lodgings; but these, now called the king's keep, were built by king Henry II. as will be further mentioned hereafter; and he further says, there were to be seen here great pipes and casks bound with iron hoops, in which was liquor supposed to be wine, which by long lying had become as thick as treacle, and would cleave like birdlime; salt congealed together as hard as stone; cross and long bows and arrows, to which brass was fastened instead of feathers, and they were of such size, as not to be fit for the use of men of that or any late ages. These, Lambarde says, the inhabitants shewed as having belonged to Cæfar, and the wine and salt as part of the provision he had brought with him hither; and Camden relates, that he was shewn these arrows, which he thinks were such as the Romans used to shoot out of their engines, which were like to large crossbows. These last might, no doubt, though not Cæsar's, belong to the Romans of a later time; and the former might, perhaps, be part of the provisions and stores which king Henry VIII. laid in here, at a time when he passed from hence over sea to France. But for many years past it has not been known what is become of any of these things.

 

Others, averse to Cæsar's having built this castle, and yet willing to give the building of it to the empire of the Romans of a later time, suppose, and that perhaps with some probability, it was first erected by Arviragus, (or Arivog, as he is called on his coin) king of Britain, in the time of Claudius, the Roman emperor. (fn. 2)

 

That there was one built here, during the continuance of the Roman empire in Britain, must be supposed from the necessity of it, and the circumstances of those times; and the existence of one plainly appears, from the remains of the tower and other parts of the antient church within it, and the octagon tower at the west end, in which are quantities of Roman brick and tile. These towers are evidently the remains of Roman work, the former of much less antiquity than the latter, which may be well supposed to have been built as early as the emperor Claudius, whose expedition hither was about or immediately subsequent to the year of Christ 44. Of these towers, probably the latter was built for a speculum, or watch-tower, and was used, not only to watch the approach of enemies, but with another on the opposite hill, to point out the safe entrance into this port between them, by night as well as by day.

 

In this fortress, the Romans seem afterwards to have kept a garrison of veterans, as we learn from Pancirollus, who tells us that a company of soldiers under their chief, called Præpositus Militum Tungricanorum, was stationed within this fortess.

 

Out of the remains of part of the above-mentioned Roman buildings here, a Christian church was erected, as most historians write, by Lucius, king of Britain, about the year 161; but it is much to be doubted whether there ever was such a king in Britain; if there was, he was only a tributary chief to the Roman emperor, under whose peculiar government Britain was then accounted. This church was built, no doubt, for the use of that part of the garrison in particular, who were at that time believers of the gospel, and afterwards during the different changes of the Christian and Pagan religions in these parts, was made use of accordingly, till St. Augustine, soon after the year 597, at the request of king Ethelbert, reconsecrated it, and dedicated it anew, in honour of the blessed Virgin Mary.

 

¶His son and successor Eadbald, king of Kent, founded a college of secular canons and a provost in this church, whose habitations, undoubtedly near it, there are not the least traces of. These continued here till after the year 691; when Widred, king of Kent, having increated the fortifications, and finding the residence of the religious within them an incumbrance, removed them from hence into the town of Dover, to the antient church of St. Martin; in the description of which hereafter, a further account of them will be given.

  

DOVER does not seem to have been in much repute as a harbour, till some time after Cæsar's expedition hither; for the unfitness, as well as insecurity of the place, especially for a large fleet of shipping, added to the character which he had given of it, deterred the Romans from making a frequent use of it, so that from Boleyne, or Gessoriacum, their usual port in Gaul, they in general failed with their fleets to Richborough, or Portus Rutupinus, situated at the mouth of the Thames, in Britain, and thence back again; the latter being a most safe and commodious haven, with a large and extensive bay.

 

Notwithstanding which, Dover certainly was then made use of as a port for smaller vessels, and a nearer intercourse for passengers from the continent; and to render the entrance to it more safe, the Romans built two Specula, or watch-towers, here, on the two hills opposite to each other, to point out the approach to it, and one likewise on the opposite hill at Bologne, for the like purpose there; and it is mentioned as a port by Antoninus, in his Itinerary, in which, ITER III. is A Londinio ad Portum Dubris, i. e. from London to the port of Dover.

 

After the departure of the Romans from Britain, when the port of Bologne, as well as Richborough, fell into decay and disuse, and instead of the former a nearer port came into use, first at Whitsan, and when that was stopped up, a little higher at Calais, Dover quickly became the more usual and established port of passage between France and Britain, and it has continued so to the present time.

 

When the antient harbour of Dover was changed from its antient situation is not known; most probably by various occurrences of nature, the sea left it by degrees, till at last the farmer scite of it became entirely swallowed up by the beach. That the harbour was much further within land, even at the time of the conquest than it is at present, seems to be confirmed by Domesday, in which it is said, that at the entrance of it, there was a mill which damaged almost every ship that passed by it, on account of the great swell of the sea there. Where the scite of this mill was, is now totally unknown, though it is probable it was much within the land, and that by the still further accumulation of the beach, and other natural causes, this haven was in process of time so far filled up towards the inland part of it, as to change its situation still more to the south-west, towards the sea.

 

From the time of the Norman conquest this port continued the usual passage to the continent, and to confine the intercourse to this port only, there was a statute passed anno 4 Edward IV. that none should take shipping for Calais, but at Dover. (fn. 20) But in king Henry VII.'s time, which was almost the next reign, the harbour was become so swerved up, as to render it necessary for the king's immediate attention, to prevent its total ruin, and he expended great sums of money for its preservation. But it was found, that all that was done, would not answer the end proposed, without the building of a pier to seaward, which was determined on about the middle of Henry VIII.'s reign, and one was constructed, which was compiled of two rows of main posts, and great piles, which were let into holes hewn in the rock underneath, and some were shod with iron, and driven down into the main chalk, and fastened together with iron bands and bolts. The bottom being first filled up with great rocks of stone, and the remainder above with great chalk stones, beach, &c. During the whole of this work, the king greatly encouraged the undertaking, and came several times to view it; and in the whole is said to have expended near 63,000l. on it. But his absence afterwards abroad, his ill health, and at last his death, joined to the minority of his successor, king Edward VI. though some feeble efforts were made in his reign, towards the support of this pier, put a stop to, and in the end exposed this noble work to decay and ruin.

 

Queen Mary, indeed, attempted to carry it on again, but neither officers nor workmen being well paid, it came to nothing, so that in process of time the sea having brought up great quantities of beach again upon it, the harbour was choaked up, and the loss of Calais happening about the same time, threatened the entire destruction of it. Providentially the shelf of beach was of itself became a natural defence against the rage of the sea, insomuch, that if a passage could be made for ships to get safely within it, they might ride there securely.

 

To effect this, several projects were formed, and queen Elizabeth, to encourage it, gave to the town the free transportation of several thousand quarters of corn and tuns of beer; and in the 23d of her reign, an act passed for giving towards the repair of the harbour, a certain tonnage from every vessel above twenty tons burthen, passing by it, which amounted to 1000l. yearly income; and the lord Cobham, then lordwarden, and others, were appointed commissioners for this purpose; and in the end, after many different trials to effect it, a safe harbour was formed, with a pier, and different walls and sluices, at a great expence; during the time of which a universal diligence and public spirit appeared in every one concerned in this great and useful work. During the whole of the queen's reign, the improvement of this harbour continued without intermission, and several more acts passed for that purpose; but the future preservation of it was owing to the charter of incorporation of the governors of it, in the first year of king James I. by an act passed that year, by the name of the warden and assistants of the harbour of Dover, the warden being always the lord-warden of the cinque ports for the time being, and his assistants, his lieutenant, and the mayor of Dover, for the time being, and eight others, the warden and assistants only making a quorum; six to be present to make a session; at any of which, on a vacancy, the assistants to be elected; and the king granted to them his land or waste ground, or beach, commonly called the Pier, or Harbour ground, as it lay without Southgate, or Snargate, the rents of which are now of the yearly value of about three hundred pounds.

 

Under the direction of this corporation, the works and improvements of this harbour have been carried on, and acts of parliament have been passed in almost every reign since, to give the greater force to their proceedings.

 

From what has been said before, the reader will observe, that this harbour has always been a great national object, and that in the course of many ages, prodigious sums of money have been from time to time expended on it, and every endeavour used to keep it open, and render it commodious; but after all these repeated endeavours and expences, it still labours under such circumstances, as in a very great degree renders unsuccessful all that has ever been done for that purpose.

 

DOVER, as has been already mentioned, was of some estimation in the time of the Roman empire in Britain, on account of its haven, and afterwards for the castle, in which they kept a strong garrison of sol. diers, not only to guard the approach to it, but to keep the natives in subjection; and in proof of their residence here, the Rev. Mr. Lyon some years since discovered the remains of a Roman structure, which he apprehended to have been a bath, at the west end of the parish-church of St. Mary, in this town, which remains have since repeatedly been laid open when interments have taken place there.

 

This station of the Romans is mentioned by Antonine, in his Itinerary of the Roman roads in Britain, by the name of Dubris, as being situated from the station named Durovernum, or Canterbury, fourteen miles; which distance, compared with the miles as they are now numbered from Canterbury, shews the town, as well as the haven, for they were no doubt contiguous to each other, to have both been nearer within land than either of them are at present, the present distance from Canterbury being near sixteen miles as the road now goes, The sea, indeed, seems antiently to have occupied in great part the space where the present town of Dover, or at least the northwest part of it, now stands; but being shut out by the quantity of beach thrown up, and the harbour changed by that means to its present situation, left that place a dry ground, on which the town of Dover, the inhabitants following the traffic of the harbour, was afterwards built.

 

This town, called by the Saxons, Dofra, and Dofris; by later historians, Doveria; and in Domesday, Dovere; is agreed by all writers to have been privileged before the conquest; and by the survey of Domesday, appears to have been of ability in the time of king Edward the Confessor, to arm yearly twenty vessels for sea service. In consideration of which, that king granted to the inhabitants, not only to be free from the payment of thol and other privileges throughout the realm, but pardoned them all manner of suit and service to any of his courts whatsoever; and in those days, the town seems to have been under the protection and government of Godwin, earl of Kent, and governor of this castle.

 

Soon after the conquest, this town was so wasted by fire, that almost all the houses were reduced to ashes, as appears by the survey of Domesday, at the beginning of which is the following entry of it:

 

DOVERE, in the time of king Edward, paid eighteen pounds, of which money, king E had two parts, and earl Goduin the third. On the other hand, the canons of St. Martin had another moiety. The burgesses gave twenty ships to the king once in the year, for fifteen days; and in each ship were twenty and one men. This they did on the account that he had pardoned them sac and soc. When the messengers of the king came there, they gave for the passage of a horse three pence in winter, and two in summer. But the burgesses found a steerman, and one other assistant, and if there should be more necessary, they were provided at his cost. From the festival of St. Michael to the feast of St. Andrew, the king's peace was in the town. Sigerius had broke it, on which the king's bailiff had received the usual fine. Whoever resided constantly in the town paid custom to the king; he was free from thol throughout England. All these customs were there when king William came into England. On his first arrival in England, the town itself was burnt, and therefore its value could not be computed how much it was worth, when the bishop of Baieux received it. Now it is rated at forty pounds, and yet the bailiff pays from thence fifty-four pounds to the king; of which twenty-four pounds in money, which were twenty in an one, but thirty pounds to the earl by tale.

 

In Dovere there are twenty-nine plats of ground, of which the king had lost the custom. Of these Robert de Romenel has two. Ralph de Curbespine three. William, son of Tedald, one. William, son of Oger, one. William, son of Tedold, and Robert niger, six. William, son of Goisfrid, three, in which the guildhall of the burgesses was. Hugo de Montfort one house. Durand one. Rannulf de Colubels one. Wadard six. The son of Modbert one. And all these vouch the bishop of Baieux as the protector and giver of these houses. Of that plat of ground, which Rannulf de Colubels holds, which was a certain outlaw, they agree that the half of the land was the king's, and Rannulf himself has both parts. Humphry the lame man holds one plat of ground, of which half the forfeiture is the king's. Roger de Ostrabam made a certain house over the king's water, and held to this time the custom of the king; nor was a house there in the time of king Edward. In the entrance of the port of Dovere, there is one mill, which damages almost every ship, by the great swell of the sea, and does great damage to the king and his tenants; and it was not there in the time of king Edward. Concerning this, the grandson of Herbert says, that the bishop of Baieux granted it to his uncle Herbert, the son of Ivo.

 

And a little further, in the same record, under the bishop's possessions likewise:

 

In Estrei hundred, Wibertus holds half a yoke, which lies in the gild of Dover, and now is taxed with the land of Osbert, the son of Letard, and is worth per annum four shillings.

 

From the Norman conquest, the cities and towns of this realm appear to have been vested either in the crown, or else in the clergy or great men of the laity, and they were each, as such, immediately lords of the same. Thus, when the bishop of Baieux, to whom the king had, as may be seen by the above survey, granted this town, was disgraced. It returned into the king's hands by forfeiture, and king Richard I. afterwards granted it in ferme to Robt. Fitz-bernard. (fn. 21)

 

After the time of the taking of the survey of Domesday, the harbour of Dover still changing its situation more to the south-westward, the town seems to have altered its situation too, and to have been chiefly rebuilt along the sides of the new harbour, and as an encouragement to it, at the instance, and through favour especially to the prior of Dover, king Edward I. in corporated this town, the first that was so of any of the cinque ports, by the name of the mayor and commonalty. The mayor to be chosen out of the latter, from which body he was afterwards to chuse the assistants for his year, who were to be sworn for that purpose. At which time, the king had a mint for the coinage of money here; and by patent, anno 27 of that reign, the table of the exchequer of money was appointed to be held here, and at Yarmouth. (fn. 22) But the good effects of these marks of the royal favour were soon afterwards much lessened, by a dreadful disaster; for the French landed here in the night, in the 23d year of that reign, and burnt the greatest part of the town, and several of the religious houses, in it, and this was esteemed the more treacherousk, as it was done whilst the two cardinals were here, treating for a peace between England and France; which misfortune, however, does not seem to have totally impoverished it, for in the 17th year of the next reign of king Edward II it appears in some measure to have recovered its former state, and to have been rebuilt, as appears by the patent rolls of that year, in which the town of Dover is said to have then had in it twenty-one wards, each of which was charged with one ship for the king's use; in consideration of which, each ward had the privilege of a licensed packetboat, called a passenger, from Dover across the sea to Whitsan, in France, the usual port at that time of embarking from thence.

 

The state of this place in the reign of Henry VIII. is given by Leland, in his Itinerary, as follows:

 

"Dovar ys xii myles fro Canterbury and viii fro Sandwich. Ther hath bene a haven yn tyme past and yn taken ther of the ground that lyith up betwyxt the hilles is yet in digging found wosye. Ther hath bene found also peeces of cabelles and anchores and Itinerarium Antonini cawlyth hyt by the name of a haven. The towne on the front toward the se hath bene right strongly walled and embateled and almost al the residew; but now yt is parly fawlen downe and broken downe. The residew of the towne as far as I can perceyve was never waulled. The towne is devided into vi paroches. Wherof iii be under one rose at S. Martines yn the hart of the town. The other iii stand that yt hath be walled abowt but not dyked. The other iii stand abrode, of the which one is cawled S. James of Rudby or more likely Rodeby a statione navium. But this word ys not sufficient to prove that Dovar showld be that place, the which the Romaynes cawlled Portus Rutupi or Rutupinum. For I cannot yet se the contrary but Retesboro otherwise cawlled Richeboro by Sandwich, both ways corruptly, must neades be Rutupinum. The mayne strong and famose castel of Dovar stondeth on the loppe of a hille almost a quarter of a myle of fro the towne on the lyst side and withyn the castel ys a chapel, yn the sides wherof appere sum greate Briton brykes. In the town was a great priory of blacke monkes late suppressed. There is also an hospitalle cawlled the Meason dew. On the toppe of the hye clive betwene the towne and the peere remayneth yet abowt a slyte shot up ynto the land fro the very brymme of the se clysse as ruine of a towr, the which has bene as a pharos or a mark to shyppes on the se and therby was a place of templarys. As concerning the river of Dovar it hath no long cowrse from no spring or hedde notable that descendith to that botom. The principal hed, as they say is at a place cawled Ewelle and that is not past a iii or iiii myles fro Dovar. Ther be springes of frech waters also at a place cawled Rivers. Ther is also a great spring at a place cawled …… and that once in a vi or vii yeres brasted owt so abundantly that a great part of the water cummeth into Dovar streme, but als yt renneth yn to the se betwyxt Dovar and Folchestan, but nerer to Folchestan that is to say withyn a ii myles of yt. Surely the hedde standeth so that it might with no no great cost be brought to run alway into Dovar streame." (fn. 23)

Cougate Crosse-gate Bocheruy-gate stoode with toures toward the se. There is beside Beting-gate and Westegate.

Howbeyt MTuine tol me a late that yt hath be walled abowt but not dyked.

 

This was the state of Dover just before the time of the dissolution of religious houses, in Henry VIII.'s reign, when the abolition of private masses, obits, and such like services in churches, occasioned by the reformation, annillilated the greatest part of the income of the priests belonging to them, in this as well as in other towns, in consequence of which most of them were deserted, and falling to ruin, the parishes belonging to them were united to one or two of the principal ones of them. Thus, in this town, of the several churches in it, two only remained in use for divine service, viz. St. Mary's and St. James's, to which the parishes of the others were united.

 

After this, the haven continuting to decay more than ever, notwithstanding the national assistance afforded to it, the town itself seemed hastening to impoverishment. What the state of it was in the 8th year of queen Elizabeth, may be seen, by the certificate returned by the queen's order of the maritime places, in her 8th year, by which it appears that there were then in Dover, houses inhabited three hundred and fifty-eight; void, or lack of inhabiters, nineteen; a mayor, customer, comptroller of authorities, not joint but several; ships and crayers twenty, from four tons to one hundred and twenty.

 

¶This probable ruin of the town, however, most likely induced the queen, in her 20th year, to grant it a new charter of incorporation, in which the manner of chusing mayor, jurats, and commoners, and of making freemen, was new-modelled, and several surther liberties and privileges granted, and those of the charter of king Edward I. confirmed likewise by inspeximus. After which, king Charles II. in his 36th year, anno 1684, granted to it a new charter, which, however, was never inrolled in chancery, and in consequence of a writ of quo warranto was that same year surrendered, and another again granted next year; but this last, as well as another charter granted by king James II. and forced on the corporation, being made wholly subservient to the king's own purposes, were annulled by proclamation, made anno 1688, being the fourth and last year of his reign: but none of the above charters being at this time extant, (the charters of this corporation, as well as those of the other cinque ports, being in 1685, by the king's command, surrendered up to Col. Strode, then governor of Dover castle, and never returned again, nor is it known what became of them,) Dover is now held to be a corporation by prescription, by the stile of the mayor, jurats, and commonalty of the town and port of Dover. It consists at present of a mayor, twelve jurats, and thirty-six commoners, or freemen, together with a chamberlain, recorder, and town-clerk. The mayor, who is coroner by virtue of his office, is chosen on Sept. 8, yearly, in St. Mary's church, and together with the jurats, who are justices within this liberty, exclusive of all others, hold a court of general sessions of the peace and gaol delivery, together with a court of record, and it has other privileges, mostly the same as the other corporations, within the liberties of the cinque ports. It has the privilege of a mace. The election of mayor was antiently in the church of St. Peter, whence in 1581 it was removed to that of St. Mary, where it has been, as well as the elections of barons to serve in parliament, held ever since. These elections here, as well as elsewhere in churches, set apart for the worship of God, are certainly a scandal to decency and religion, and are the more inexcusable here, as there is a spacious court-hall, much more fit for the purposes. After this, there was another byelaw made, in June, 1706, for removing these elections into the court-hall; but why it was not put in execution does not appear, unless custom prevented it—for if a decree was of force to move them from one church to another, another decree was of equal force to remove them from the church to the courthall. Within these few years indeed, a motion was made in the house of commons, by the late alderman Sawbridge, a gentlemand not much addicted to speak in favour of the established church, to remove all such elections, through decency, from churches to other places not consecrated to divine worship; but though allowed to be highly proper, yet party resentment against the mover of it prevailed, and the motion was negatived by a great majority.

 

The mayor is chosen by the resident freemen. The jurats are nominated from the common-councilmen by the jurats, and appointed by the mayor, jurats, and common-councilmen, by ballot.

  

THE CHURCH OF ST. Mary stands at some distance from the entrance into this town from Canterbury, near the market-place. It is said to have been built by the prior and convent of St. Martin, (fn. 47) in the year 1216; but from what authority, I know not.—Certain it is, that it was in king John's reign, in the gift of the king, and was afterwards given by him to John de Burgh; but in the 8th year of Richard II.'s reign, anno 1384, it was become appropriated to the abbot of Pontiniac. After which, by what means, I cannot discover, this appropriation, as well as the advowson of the church, came into the possession of the master and brethren of the hospital of the Maison Dieu, who took care that the church should be daily served by a priest, who should officiate in it for the benefit of the parish. In which state it continued till the suppression of the hospital, in the 36th year of king Henry VIII.'s reign, when it came into the hands of the crown, at which time the parsonage was returned by John Thompson, master of the hospital, to be worth six pounds per annum.

 

Two years after which, the king being at Dover, at the humble entreaty of the inhabitants of this parish, gave to them, as it is said, this church, with the cemetery adjoining to it, to be used by them as a parochial church; at the same time he gave the pews of St. Martin's church for the use of it; and on the king's departure, in token of possession, they sealed up the church doors; since which, the patronage of it, which is now esteemed as a perpetual curacy, the minister of it being licensed by the archbishop, has been vested in the inhabitants of this parish. Every parishioner, paying scot and lot, having a vote in the chusing of the minister, whose maintenance had been from time to time, at their voluntary option, more or less. It is now fixed at eighty pounds per annum. Besides which he has the possession of a good house, where he resides, which was purchased by the inhabitants in 1754, for the perpetual use of the minister of it. It is exempt from the jurisdiction of the archdeacon. (fn. 48)

 

There is a piece of ground belonging, as it is said, to the glebe of this church, rented annually at ten pounds, which is done by vestry, without the minister being at all concerned in it. In 1588 here were eight hundred and twenty-one communicants. This parish contains more than five parts out of six of the whole town, and a greater proportion of the inhabitants.

 

The church of St. Mary is a large handsome building of three isles, having a high and south chancel, all covered with lead, and built of flints, with ashler windows and door cases, which are arched and ornamented. At the west end is the steeple, which is a spire covered with lead, in which are eight bells, a clock, and chimes. The pillars in the church are large and clumsy; the arches low and semicircular in the body, but eliptical in the chancel; but there is no separation between the body and chancel, and the pews are continued on to the east end of the church. In the high chancel, at the eastern extremity of it, beyond the altar, are the seats for the mayor and jurats; and here the mayor is now chosen, and the barons in parliament for this town and port constantly elected.

 

In 1683, there was a faculty granted to the churchwardens, to remove the magistrates seats from the east end of the church to the north side, or any other more convenient part of it, and for the more decent and commodious placing the communion table: in consequence of which, these seats were removed, and so placed, but they continued there no longer than 1689, when, by several orders of vestry, they were removed back again to where they remain at present.

 

The mayor was antiently chosen in St. Peter's church; but by a bye-law of the corporation, it was removed to this church in 1583, where it has ever since been held. In 1706, another bye law was made, to remove, for the sake of decency, all elections from this church to the court-hall, but it never took place. More of which has been mentioned before.

 

From the largeness, as well as the populousness of this parish, the church is far from being sufficient to contain the inhabitants who resort to it for public worship, notwithstanding there are four galleries in it, and it is otherwise well pewed. This church was paved in 1642, but it was not ceiled till 1706. In 1742, there was an organ erected in it. The two branches in it were given, one by subscription in 1738, and the other by the pilots in 1742.

 

Thomas Toke, of Dover, buried in the chapel of St. Katharine, in this church, by his will in 1484, gave seven acres of land at Dugate, under Windlass-down, to the wardens of this church, towards the repairs of it for ever.

 

¶The monuments and memorials in this church and church yard, are by far too numerous to mention here. Among them are the following: A small monument in the church for the celebrated Charles Churchill, who was buried in the old church-yard of St. Martin in this town, as has been noticed before; and a small stone, with a memorial for Samuel Foote, esq. the celebrated comedian, who died at the Ship inn, and had a grave dug for him in this church, but was afterwards carried to London, and buried there. A monument and several memorials for the family of Eaton; arms, Or, a sret, azure. A small tablet for John Ker, laird of Frogden, in Twit dale, in Scotland, who died suddenly at Dover, in his way to France, in 1730. Two monuments for Farbrace, arms, Azure, a bend, or, between two roses, argent, seeded, or, bearded vert. A monument in the middle isle, to the memory of the Minet family. In the north isle are several memorials for the Gunmans, of Dover; arms,. … a spread eagle, argent, gorged with a ducal coronet, or. There are others, to the memory of Broadley, Rouse, and others, of good account in this town.

 

www.british-history.ac.uk/survey-kent/vol9/pp475-548

Urbex Benelux -

 

In general, it is all about bad boys' areas like knocking down garbage cans, painting walls ( graffiti ), setting fire to waste and paper and scratching cars. It often concerns childish or adolescent behavior out of boredom and may indicate a lack of intelligence , imagination , decency or empathy , although the latter is by no means necessarily the case. [source?] For example, there may also be an inner dissatisfaction with the offender or even more serious psychological problems. Sometimes vandalism is committed as a revenge or as a protest against specific people or institutions. This can be, for example, painting walls with certain slogans, or smashing windows. They are not serious crimes, but it costs society a lot of money every year. Vandalism has been made punishable under Dutch criminal law as 'destruction' (Article 350 Penal Code). Since it is a crime, the perpetrator can incur a criminal record .

I've been in a Beatles mood as of late, so I hereby dedicate this flickr week to The Beatles! :D

My T-shirt is quite wrinkled... sigh* It's just a night shirt anyways... But I could have had the decency to de-wrinkle it. Oh well.

Don't forget to check out Becks as she is my 52 double.

 

In spite of the Supreme Court recently reaffirmed the right of protesters to cause disruption, this Bill wants to deny these rights now!

😄The male and female Egyptian Geese were peacefully mating on the lake, enjoying a quiet moment together.

 

Suddenly, an unexpected intruder—a male Domestic Goose—appears on the scene.

 

Despite strong protests from the Egyptian Goose male, the Domestic Goose boldly takes over, attempting to mate with the Egyptian Goose female.

 

The Egyptian Goose female, clearly unwilling, frantically tries to escape from the persistent advances of the Domestic Goose.

 

After a dramatic struggle, the Egyptian Goose female finally breaks free and escapes.

 

Peace is restored. The Egyptian Geese couple reunites and returns to decency, living happily ever after.

😄😄

The police in Paris are in discussion with the NYC police and both are currently in communication with the Musée d'Orsay, and the Metropolitan, over the latest manifestation of this startling phenomenon.

 

Neither 'The International League of Decency', nor Marcel Duchamp were available for comment, but both denied (through representatives) having any connection to this recent spate of runaway nudes, descending or otherwise.

 

A Musée d'Orsay curator lamented that it was probably a mistake to allow the painting to travel to New York. "A girl could have her head turned. That city could turn anyone", he fomented (in French, of course).

 

Police, in New York and Paris, are asking the public to keep their eyes peeled, and to report any unexpected unclad figures, either male or female, to their local constabulary.

 

Manet was not available for comment.

 

Olympia's cat is said to be distraught.

Sikhism originated in the 15th century, in the Punjab region by Guru Nanak, who preached ideas that were radical for his age: he denounced Hinduism's oppressive caste system and Islam's gender discrimination, preaching that all people can commune with the divine equally, without the intervention of rituals or priests. The Sikh faith is a monotheistic religion, meaning Sikhs worship one God. The three core pillars of Sikhism are: vaṇḍ chakkō (sharing with others, helping those in need, as well as participating as part of a community), kirat karō (earning/making a living honestly, without exploitation or fraud, and speaking the truth at all times) and naam japna (meditating on God’s name to live a life of decency and humility).

The temporary distractions of the material world are seen as an illusion. The qualities of ego, anger, greed, attachment and lust are known as the Five Thieves that rob a person of their ability to realize their oneness with God and creation. Sikhs work to counteract the temptations of these qualities through the values of service, equality, and seeking justice for all. Sikhs also believe that one’s form on Earth is only a temporary vessel for the eternal soul. Thus, the death of the physical body is a natural part of the life cycle, while the soul remains. Death is not an end, but merely the progression of the soul on its journey toward God.

Nine more gurus succeeded Guru Nanak (Angad, Amar Das, Ram Das, Arjan, Har Gobind, Har Rai, Har Krishan, Tegh Bahadur, and Gobind Singh), and continued to spread his teachings across the world.

The last guru, Guru Gobind Singh, named the Sikh sacred text, the Guru Granth Sahib, to be the eternal Guru that would guide the Sikhs going forward. It consists of 1,430 Anks, or pages, and 6,000 Sabads, or line compositions, all are written in poetic verse and are aligning to the rhythmic forms of ancient north Indian classical music. At the core of the Guru Granth Sahib is a yearning for a world governed by divine justice, without oppression of any kind.

The final living guru, Gobind Singh, also established the Khalsa, or order of Sikh soldier-saints. They are recognizable by "The 5 k's," their physical articles of faith: Kesh (unshorn hair and beard), Kirpan (ceremonial sword), Kangha (comb), Kara (steel bracelet) and Kachha (drawers). The Dastar, or turban, is considered a spiritual crown, a token of remembrance of the Sikh principles.

 

Subathu, Himachal Pradesh, India

Well, it’s time for my annual “HEY THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED IN MY LIFE THIS YEAR” post, and I’ll get to that in a minute, but first we need to acknowledge the elephant in the room that’s probably fresh in a lot of your minds as well as mine:

 

You used to call me on my cell phone...

Late night when you neeeeed my love

 

Whoops, that’s not it.

 

Star Wars: The Force Awakens. Don't worry; this is not a spoiler. But if you’ve seen it, you know exactly what scene I’m talking about. I was definitely shaken, as much as one can get from a piece of fiction, by the plot twist in that movie. It was a great movie and an interesting story, and I’m curious to see where they’ll take the next one.

 

Alright, now that that’s out of the way, here’s how the rest of my year went.

 

On January 2nd, 2015, Ally and I hopped on a Porter plane for Montreal. It was a trip we had planned pretty spontaneously about a week or two before. The flight was a little bumpy, and I was getting over a brutal cold, but I was excited for a change of scenery. We took a bus from the airport to the part of town we were staying in, then took another bus up the road, picked up some cereal, unpacked our stuff at the AirBnB, and then headed out to eat. It was very, very cold. We looked for one restaurant in particular but it had a lineup down the block, so we tried to find a bakery and found that it was closed. We found a nice diner and ate there, and then walked around for the rest of the evening, my knees aching more and more as we walked further in the cold. The next morning, I woke up with a migraine. Not cool. I took some Advil and got up, and went to the planetarium and Olympic Stadium, where I got some decent pictures. The next day I woke up with a migraine again. What the hell! I took some Advil and got up, and we went outside and discovered that the entire city was covered in an inch of ice. We slid along the sidewalk with our gear toward the bus, which we took to an art gallery. We didn’t have to catch the plane until around 6:00, but after the art gallery we said “fuck it” and decided to just go to the airport and wait there. Half of Montreal was at the airport, and we found out our flight home had been cancelled. So I lined up and was told they were working on creating another flight in the morning. We waited some more and then took a shuttle to the hotel they had booked. When we got up around 5:00 the next morning, I checked my phone to see that our new flight had been cancelled. So we took the shuttle back to the airport and lined up again…our new new flight would leave around 10 or something. Around 11:30am it finally left, and we got to Toronto, having missed a day of placement. It was nice to be home sweet home.

 

In early February, I ceased working at my job up north. I would write more about that, but I’ve got an image to preserve.

 

I continued on in my placement at Good Shepherd until the end of February, and received a very nice send-off from the staff there. My experience there in the weeks that followed my end at the other place was nothing but positive. It was a great experience overall to be part of that organization.

 

After placement ended, Ally went away for a week-long meditation retreat, so I ate pizza pretty much every day, and developed a muscle-shaking problem that would take a few months to figure out.

 

In March, we went back to class for our last few months of the program. And boy, was that semester ever a bunch of bullshit. I thought I was considered the white devil in the previous semester! Okay, it wasn’t all bad…we had one class where I got to exercise my organization skills and be praised rather than criticized for it. We had lots of fun commiserating. But there was one Jerry Springer moment that brought all the tension out into the open. I have to omit some details here for the sake of karma superstition, er, I mean decency. One day, the class was having a discussion about the video that had just surfaced of a cop shooting a black guy to death as he ran away, and most of us were understandably disgusted at what was going on in America. Two of our classmates, from different racial and age groups, got into a huge argument over the definition of “assassinate”. Nasty words and invalidation were tossed around the room, with several parties jumping in, including the teacher. That moment, I believe, was the culmination of students being subtly pitted against one another; forgetting our common struggle as students or people in general…finding new divisions where uniting would have been more helpful. I’m sure the argument came as no surprise to anyone.

 

Shortly after school ended, I started getting a bunch of shifts at Good Shepherd (where I’d just been hired), and my job in Milton (where I hadn’t worked since October). Spring was a bit of a rebirth for me, as I was able to shed the frustrations of being implied as an active oppressor at school and get back to working, warm weather, and relaxing.

 

In May, Ally and I decided to do a paint night with our friends Cecilia, Stephane, V-Ron and Strahan, at their house. I had done a few small paintings in the previous two years, but this was the first “big” painting, and the subject was something cool (the Scarborough RT!). Back in 2013 I did a few small paintings with Ally’s guidance, and I had gotten into drawing while sitting in on group art therapy sessions at Good Shepherd that winter, and felt confident to try painting on a bigger scale. In fact, if there was one theme for me for 2015, it might be The Year Painting Became a Hobby. Although I still have a lot to learn, I’ve discovered another thing that I enjoy; where I can put my imagination on canvas. It’s also been cool to see some of my friends doing paint nights with their friends -- it’s like I’m finally doing something trendy!

 

Also around May, Ally and I borrowed a box set from my sister and decided to watch one of the greatest shows ever made: Seinfeld. You see, when Seinfeld was on its original run, I was much too young to understand the interpersonal dynamics and dilemmas. I saw a handful of episodes on TV over the years, but didn’t get into it. Now that I’ve been an adult for over a decade, I find myself cringing every time George tells Jerry he’s going to confront the woman he’s dating about some petty issue – and when he starts to confront her, I grab my head and groan “No, George, don’t do it! …Argh, no!!” I relate to George because he’s so socially clueless (and as my Zoo friends will remember, I was pretty clueless in my early 20s). I relate to Jerry because I’ve been pointing out the foolishness of various elements of humanity and society for years, and it turns out that’s what he does, too.

 

On July 8th, just in time for the Pan Am Games and HOV lanes, we embarked on the longest trip I’ve been on in a long time – it was time to show Ally the land of my childhood. With my mother, of course, since I no longer had faith in my old car to take us that far, and she was planning a trip out east anyway. We got to Edmundston on the first day. The next day, after roadside jungle hilarity in the New Brunswick wilderness, we got to North Sydney, where I nerded out over the ferries, and where the smell of rotting fish wafted in our bed-and-breakfast window. Mom and I both commented that it smelled like home. I don’t think Ally was as impressed.

 

Anyway, the next day we went to Sydney Ribfest, and then got on the ferry to Newfoundland. We spent the next several days doing touristy things like whale watching, Signal Hill and Cape Spear, and personal things like going around my old stomping grounds in the east end; taking pictures of my old houses, old schools, and old places I’d pass by every day. And eating my grandmother’s French toast, which is always a treat. I hadn’t been to St. John’s in eight years, and it had changed quite a bit. Some areas had expanded (Torbay Road past Stavanger Drive), and others were shells of their former selves (Churchill Square). After noticing the small mountains around us every day, I realized that I took the beauty of St. John’s for granted when I lived there. On the day we went whale watching, Ally saw distant whales; dolphins and puffins up close; an iceberg, and a moose. She also got screeched in. I was glad she was able to have a genuine (if not stereotypical) Newfoundland experience, and she’s asked me a few times when we’re going to move there. So…I think that counts as a success!

 

After five and a half days in Newfoundland, we flew to Nova Scotia while Mom stayed behind. My other grandmother picked us up and drove us to her cottage, where I spent a few weeks of the summer for most of my pre-adult years. It had been five years since I’d been there, too, so it was nice to be back. We spent a lot of time walking along the beach collecting glass, eating copious amounts of cookies, and relaxing after a faster-paced week in St. John’s. We also went to PEI and I got a few chances to nerd out over the ferries again. Being on ships or boats turned out to be a theme for the trip, actually; having sailed on the Atlantic Vision; the Atlantic Whaler; the Holiday Island and the Confederation. It was nice to get back out on the ocean, even if only for a little while. It was also fun to write my third trip journal, which I can’t share because it’s too Terrance-and-Phillip-esque, hahaha.

 

When we got back from the East Coast, Ally decided that she wanted to buy a car…so we went to a dealer and she took a few out for a drive, but it fell through. A little while later, though, she had the idea that I could sell her my car and I could buy a new one. At least I think it was her idea. So I started researching.

 

August involved a lot of walking around my neighborhood in the longest heat wave I've experienced, sitting on hills at Riverdale Park and Greenwood Park with a bottle of Gatorade, absorbing all the heat that I couldn’t get while living in Newfoundland.

 

At the end of August, I started training for a new contract position at my job in Milton, which was the opportunity I had been looking for. I did dozens of interviews, learned how to handle referrals, and finally got comfortable using the phone. Although the contract is almost over now, I’ve felt a lot more self-efficacy with this job; like it’s a better match for my personality and natural skills. I received a lot of positive feedback from my co-workers, too, which is nice. I won’t make any predictions about what the future holds, because who ever thought I would end up working in the addiction field… but for now I’ll be focusing my job search on intake roles.

 

Anyway, after weeks of meticulous research and/or stalling, at the end of September I bought an almost-new Toyota for myself and sold the Honda to Ally. I thought it was going to be a really sad experience for me, since the Honda was my first car and I drove it for six and a half years…but I didn’t really feel anything except relief. It was time to say goodbye to fast-warping brakes, a lack of air conditioning, and a clunk every time I hit bumps. It’s nice to no longer have to brace myself while wondering “is this pothole going to be the one?”

 

Oh, and I also turned 30.

 

I got caught up in the Blue Jays post-season hype, which is rare for me, as a person who historically gave no shits about sports because the kids who liked sports used to make fun of me while I was growing up.

 

I also got caught up (rightfully so) in the Canadian election fever. On the night of the election, I went out and cast my ballot NDP orange, and told Ally as I went to bed “No matter what you see on Facebook or hear via text message, do not tell me who won the election, because if it’s Harper, I’ll be miserable and won’t be able to sleep, and if it’s Trudeau or Mulcair, I’ll be thrilled and won’t be able to sleep.” So the next morning I got up, got on the Internet and saw that Trudeau had won…and all was right with the world. Finally, our scientist-muzzling, heavy-handed oil promoting Prime Minister was gone, and anyone-but-him was in. If you can’t get perfection, progress is a good alternative.

 

In November I bought a sketchbook and did a bunch of little paintings. I also got caught up with the Paris massacre and groaned at the online conversation designed to make people feel guilty for feeling worse for the Paris terror victims than for terror victims in other countries. We feel most for those who we relate to the most, and that’s all there is to it.

 

Aaaand a few of you just stopped reading. That’s okay; I don’t expect everyone to agree with me. Terrorism, gun control, Donald Trump, refugees! Lots o’ women in Cabinet ‘cause it’s 2015! Believing what you want; having some conservative beliefs and some liberal beliefs? Not being able to identify as strictly conservative or strictly progressive? That's me!

 

That’s the end of the chronological tale, so here are a few other little pieces that I’ll include because I’ve touched on these topics during my previous year-end summaries:

 

In terms of food, I made my own pizza from scratch for the first time in February. It was really bland, so I think I need to add a lot more salt next time. I also learned how to make garlic butter sauce (I know, right?), naan wraps, and peanut butter cookies with chocolate in the middle. Not too adventurous this year in terms of cooking, but at least I learned a few things!

 

This was also a relatively unadventurous year in terms of music. I downloaded Jon LaJoie’s two albums, briefly got into Amy Winehouse after watching the movie, and got “Hotline Bling” stuck in my head on more than 10 occasions, but that’s about it. I didn’t buy a single CD this year. I didn't record many songs this year, either!

 

Something something hotline bling!

Something something mean one thing!

 

Oh right, back to the summary!

 

I didn’t do a whole lot of planned photography this year, and that’s followed a general trend that began when I got my iPhone back in 2011. I only took about 3,200 pictures this year, and only uploaded 77 to Flickr. I think that's better than my 2012 number, but now that Flickr removed the easy-to-use Archive system in favor of their terrible Camera Roll" feature, Flickr no longer does the counting for me and I have to count picture by picture.

 

Books are my Laundromat companions, in that most of the reading I’ve done in the last year has been at the Laundromat. This year I finished The Demon-Haunted World (which I started in 2014), and read Sh*t My Dad Says, The Sky Is Not The Limit, Trauma and the Twelve Steps, and Food Junkies. I just started An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth.

 

Other than Seinfeld, in terms of TV shows I also got into Downton Abbey and Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee, and I was happy to see that Stephen Colbert has largely held onto his Colbert Report persona in his new show.

 

Other than a shitty start, most of 2015 was pretty good for me. I spent New Year’s Eve with Ally, eating, watching Barack Obama on Comedians in Cars, and watching Seinfeld after a busy afternoon at work. Next year’s resolutions: Learn to make fudge, and start jogging to work off the fudge!

 

Oh yeah, and maybe a few other resolutions:

-Get a full-time permanent job

-Go on at least one trip with Ally if time permits

-Play my electric guitar more often

-Read more books

-Maybe start singing in front of Ally again

 

Thanks for reading! Hope you have a great 2016!

_____________

IMG_1017011ps

There are three churches near to home that I feel I needed to revisit, St Margaret's itself I should be able to get the key from the village shop at any time, but St Mary in Dover hasn't been open the last few times I have been in town, and Barfrestone was closed most of the year due to vandalism.

 

But Saturday morning there is usually a coffee morning in St Mary, so I went down armed with camera and lenses to take more shots of the details, especially of the windows.

 

This is one dedicated to the search and rescue pilots and the MTBs that rescued ditched pilots during the Battle of Britain. Very colourful.

 

Many more shots to come, I took some 150 shots here.

 

But that was nothing compared to how many I took at Barfrestone.....

 

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

 

In the heart of the town with a prominent twelfth-century tower. From the outside it is obvious that much work was carried out in the nineteenth century. The church has major connections with the Lord Wardens of the Cinque Ports and is much used for ceremonial services. The western bays of the nave with their low semi-circular arches are contemporary with the tower, while the pointed arches to the east are entirely nineteenth century. The scale and choice of stone is entirely wrong, although the carving is very well done. However the east end, with its tall narrow lancet windows, is not so successful. The Royal Arms, of the reign of William and Mary, are of carved and painted wood, with a French motto - Jay Maintendray - instead of the more usual Dieu et Mon Droit. The church was badly damaged in the Second World War, but one of the survivors was the typical Norman font of square Purbeck marble construction. One of the more recent additions to the church is the Herald of Free Enterprise memorial window of 1989 designed by Frederick Cole.

 

www.kentchurches.info/church.asp?p=Dover+1

 

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

 

THE TOWN AND PORT OF DOVER.

DOVER lies at the eastern extremity of Kent, adjoining to the sea, the great high London road towards France ending at it. It lies adjoining to the parish of Charlton last-described, eastward, in the lath of St. Augustine and eastern division of the county. It is within the liberty of the cinque ports, and the juristion of the corporation of the town and port of Dover.

 

DOVER, written in the Latin Itinerary of Antonine, Dubris. By the Saxons, Dorsa, and Dofris. By later historians, Doveria; and in the book of Domesday, Dovere; took its name most probably from the British words, Dufir, signifying water, or Dusirrha, high and steep, alluding to the cliffs adjoining to it. (fn. 1)

 

It is situated at the extremity of a wide and spacious valley, inclosed on each side by high and steep hills or cliffs, and making allowance for the sea's withdrawing itself from between them, answers well to the description given of it by Julius Cæfar in his Commentaries.

 

In the middle space, between this chain of high cliffs, in a break or opening, lies the town of Dover and its harbour, which latter, before the sea was shut out, so late as the Norman conquest, was situated much more within the land than it is at present, as will be further noticed hereafter.

 

ON THE SUMMIT of one of these cliffs, of sudden and stupendous height, close on the north side of the town and harbour, stands DOVER CASTLE, so famous and renowned in all the histories of former times. It is situated so exceeding high, that it is at most times plainly to be seen from the lowest lands on the coast of France, and as far beyond as the eye can discern. Its size, for it contains within it thirty five acres of ground, six of which are taken up by the antient buildings, gives it the appearance of a small city, having its citadel conspicuous in the midst of it, with extensive fortifications, around its walls. The hill, or rather rock, on which it stands, is ragged and steep towards the town and harbour; but towards the sea, it is a perpendicular precipice of a wonderful height, being more than three hundred and twenty feet high, from its basis on the shore.

 

Common tradition supposes, that Julius Cæfar was the builder of this castle, as well as others in this part of Britain, but surely without a probability of truth; for our brave countrymen found Cæfar sufficient employment of a far different sort, during his short stay in Britain, to give him any opportunity of erecting even this one fortress. Kilburne says, there was a tower here, called Cæsar's tower, afterwards the king's lodgings; but these, now called the king's keep, were built by king Henry II. as will be further mentioned hereafter; and he further says, there were to be seen here great pipes and casks bound with iron hoops, in which was liquor supposed to be wine, which by long lying had become as thick as treacle, and would cleave like birdlime; salt congealed together as hard as stone; cross and long bows and arrows, to which brass was fastened instead of feathers, and they were of such size, as not to be fit for the use of men of that or any late ages. These, Lambarde says, the inhabitants shewed as having belonged to Cæfar, and the wine and salt as part of the provision he had brought with him hither; and Camden relates, that he was shewn these arrows, which he thinks were such as the Romans used to shoot out of their engines, which were like to large crossbows. These last might, no doubt, though not Cæsar's, belong to the Romans of a later time; and the former might, perhaps, be part of the provisions and stores which king Henry VIII. laid in here, at a time when he passed from hence over sea to France. But for many years past it has not been known what is become of any of these things.

 

Others, averse to Cæsar's having built this castle, and yet willing to give the building of it to the empire of the Romans of a later time, suppose, and that perhaps with some probability, it was first erected by Arviragus, (or Arivog, as he is called on his coin) king of Britain, in the time of Claudius, the Roman emperor. (fn. 2)

 

That there was one built here, during the continuance of the Roman empire in Britain, must be supposed from the necessity of it, and the circumstances of those times; and the existence of one plainly appears, from the remains of the tower and other parts of the antient church within it, and the octagon tower at the west end, in which are quantities of Roman brick and tile. These towers are evidently the remains of Roman work, the former of much less antiquity than the latter, which may be well supposed to have been built as early as the emperor Claudius, whose expedition hither was about or immediately subsequent to the year of Christ 44. Of these towers, probably the latter was built for a speculum, or watch-tower, and was used, not only to watch the approach of enemies, but with another on the opposite hill, to point out the safe entrance into this port between them, by night as well as by day.

 

In this fortress, the Romans seem afterwards to have kept a garrison of veterans, as we learn from Pancirollus, who tells us that a company of soldiers under their chief, called Præpositus Militum Tungricanorum, was stationed within this fortess.

 

Out of the remains of part of the above-mentioned Roman buildings here, a Christian church was erected, as most historians write, by Lucius, king of Britain, about the year 161; but it is much to be doubted whether there ever was such a king in Britain; if there was, he was only a tributary chief to the Roman emperor, under whose peculiar government Britain was then accounted. This church was built, no doubt, for the use of that part of the garrison in particular, who were at that time believers of the gospel, and afterwards during the different changes of the Christian and Pagan religions in these parts, was made use of accordingly, till St. Augustine, soon after the year 597, at the request of king Ethelbert, reconsecrated it, and dedicated it anew, in honour of the blessed Virgin Mary.

 

¶His son and successor Eadbald, king of Kent, founded a college of secular canons and a provost in this church, whose habitations, undoubtedly near it, there are not the least traces of. These continued here till after the year 691; when Widred, king of Kent, having increated the fortifications, and finding the residence of the religious within them an incumbrance, removed them from hence into the town of Dover, to the antient church of St. Martin; in the description of which hereafter, a further account of them will be given.

  

DOVER does not seem to have been in much repute as a harbour, till some time after Cæsar's expedition hither; for the unfitness, as well as insecurity of the place, especially for a large fleet of shipping, added to the character which he had given of it, deterred the Romans from making a frequent use of it, so that from Boleyne, or Gessoriacum, their usual port in Gaul, they in general failed with their fleets to Richborough, or Portus Rutupinus, situated at the mouth of the Thames, in Britain, and thence back again; the latter being a most safe and commodious haven, with a large and extensive bay.

 

Notwithstanding which, Dover certainly was then made use of as a port for smaller vessels, and a nearer intercourse for passengers from the continent; and to render the entrance to it more safe, the Romans built two Specula, or watch-towers, here, on the two hills opposite to each other, to point out the approach to it, and one likewise on the opposite hill at Bologne, for the like purpose there; and it is mentioned as a port by Antoninus, in his Itinerary, in which, ITER III. is A Londinio ad Portum Dubris, i. e. from London to the port of Dover.

 

After the departure of the Romans from Britain, when the port of Bologne, as well as Richborough, fell into decay and disuse, and instead of the former a nearer port came into use, first at Whitsan, and when that was stopped up, a little higher at Calais, Dover quickly became the more usual and established port of passage between France and Britain, and it has continued so to the present time.

 

When the antient harbour of Dover was changed from its antient situation is not known; most probably by various occurrences of nature, the sea left it by degrees, till at last the farmer scite of it became entirely swallowed up by the beach. That the harbour was much further within land, even at the time of the conquest than it is at present, seems to be confirmed by Domesday, in which it is said, that at the entrance of it, there was a mill which damaged almost every ship that passed by it, on account of the great swell of the sea there. Where the scite of this mill was, is now totally unknown, though it is probable it was much within the land, and that by the still further accumulation of the beach, and other natural causes, this haven was in process of time so far filled up towards the inland part of it, as to change its situation still more to the south-west, towards the sea.

 

From the time of the Norman conquest this port continued the usual passage to the continent, and to confine the intercourse to this port only, there was a statute passed anno 4 Edward IV. that none should take shipping for Calais, but at Dover. (fn. 20) But in king Henry VII.'s time, which was almost the next reign, the harbour was become so swerved up, as to render it necessary for the king's immediate attention, to prevent its total ruin, and he expended great sums of money for its preservation. But it was found, that all that was done, would not answer the end proposed, without the building of a pier to seaward, which was determined on about the middle of Henry VIII.'s reign, and one was constructed, which was compiled of two rows of main posts, and great piles, which were let into holes hewn in the rock underneath, and some were shod with iron, and driven down into the main chalk, and fastened together with iron bands and bolts. The bottom being first filled up with great rocks of stone, and the remainder above with great chalk stones, beach, &c. During the whole of this work, the king greatly encouraged the undertaking, and came several times to view it; and in the whole is said to have expended near 63,000l. on it. But his absence afterwards abroad, his ill health, and at last his death, joined to the minority of his successor, king Edward VI. though some feeble efforts were made in his reign, towards the support of this pier, put a stop to, and in the end exposed this noble work to decay and ruin.

 

Queen Mary, indeed, attempted to carry it on again, but neither officers nor workmen being well paid, it came to nothing, so that in process of time the sea having brought up great quantities of beach again upon it, the harbour was choaked up, and the loss of Calais happening about the same time, threatened the entire destruction of it. Providentially the shelf of beach was of itself became a natural defence against the rage of the sea, insomuch, that if a passage could be made for ships to get safely within it, they might ride there securely.

 

To effect this, several projects were formed, and queen Elizabeth, to encourage it, gave to the town the free transportation of several thousand quarters of corn and tuns of beer; and in the 23d of her reign, an act passed for giving towards the repair of the harbour, a certain tonnage from every vessel above twenty tons burthen, passing by it, which amounted to 1000l. yearly income; and the lord Cobham, then lordwarden, and others, were appointed commissioners for this purpose; and in the end, after many different trials to effect it, a safe harbour was formed, with a pier, and different walls and sluices, at a great expence; during the time of which a universal diligence and public spirit appeared in every one concerned in this great and useful work. During the whole of the queen's reign, the improvement of this harbour continued without intermission, and several more acts passed for that purpose; but the future preservation of it was owing to the charter of incorporation of the governors of it, in the first year of king James I. by an act passed that year, by the name of the warden and assistants of the harbour of Dover, the warden being always the lord-warden of the cinque ports for the time being, and his assistants, his lieutenant, and the mayor of Dover, for the time being, and eight others, the warden and assistants only making a quorum; six to be present to make a session; at any of which, on a vacancy, the assistants to be elected; and the king granted to them his land or waste ground, or beach, commonly called the Pier, or Harbour ground, as it lay without Southgate, or Snargate, the rents of which are now of the yearly value of about three hundred pounds.

 

Under the direction of this corporation, the works and improvements of this harbour have been carried on, and acts of parliament have been passed in almost every reign since, to give the greater force to their proceedings.

 

From what has been said before, the reader will observe, that this harbour has always been a great national object, and that in the course of many ages, prodigious sums of money have been from time to time expended on it, and every endeavour used to keep it open, and render it commodious; but after all these repeated endeavours and expences, it still labours under such circumstances, as in a very great degree renders unsuccessful all that has ever been done for that purpose.

 

DOVER, as has been already mentioned, was of some estimation in the time of the Roman empire in Britain, on account of its haven, and afterwards for the castle, in which they kept a strong garrison of sol. diers, not only to guard the approach to it, but to keep the natives in subjection; and in proof of their residence here, the Rev. Mr. Lyon some years since discovered the remains of a Roman structure, which he apprehended to have been a bath, at the west end of the parish-church of St. Mary, in this town, which remains have since repeatedly been laid open when interments have taken place there.

 

This station of the Romans is mentioned by Antonine, in his Itinerary of the Roman roads in Britain, by the name of Dubris, as being situated from the station named Durovernum, or Canterbury, fourteen miles; which distance, compared with the miles as they are now numbered from Canterbury, shews the town, as well as the haven, for they were no doubt contiguous to each other, to have both been nearer within land than either of them are at present, the present distance from Canterbury being near sixteen miles as the road now goes, The sea, indeed, seems antiently to have occupied in great part the space where the present town of Dover, or at least the northwest part of it, now stands; but being shut out by the quantity of beach thrown up, and the harbour changed by that means to its present situation, left that place a dry ground, on which the town of Dover, the inhabitants following the traffic of the harbour, was afterwards built.

 

This town, called by the Saxons, Dofra, and Dofris; by later historians, Doveria; and in Domesday, Dovere; is agreed by all writers to have been privileged before the conquest; and by the survey of Domesday, appears to have been of ability in the time of king Edward the Confessor, to arm yearly twenty vessels for sea service. In consideration of which, that king granted to the inhabitants, not only to be free from the payment of thol and other privileges throughout the realm, but pardoned them all manner of suit and service to any of his courts whatsoever; and in those days, the town seems to have been under the protection and government of Godwin, earl of Kent, and governor of this castle.

 

Soon after the conquest, this town was so wasted by fire, that almost all the houses were reduced to ashes, as appears by the survey of Domesday, at the beginning of which is the following entry of it:

 

DOVERE, in the time of king Edward, paid eighteen pounds, of which money, king E had two parts, and earl Goduin the third. On the other hand, the canons of St. Martin had another moiety. The burgesses gave twenty ships to the king once in the year, for fifteen days; and in each ship were twenty and one men. This they did on the account that he had pardoned them sac and soc. When the messengers of the king came there, they gave for the passage of a horse three pence in winter, and two in summer. But the burgesses found a steerman, and one other assistant, and if there should be more necessary, they were provided at his cost. From the festival of St. Michael to the feast of St. Andrew, the king's peace was in the town. Sigerius had broke it, on which the king's bailiff had received the usual fine. Whoever resided constantly in the town paid custom to the king; he was free from thol throughout England. All these customs were there when king William came into England. On his first arrival in England, the town itself was burnt, and therefore its value could not be computed how much it was worth, when the bishop of Baieux received it. Now it is rated at forty pounds, and yet the bailiff pays from thence fifty-four pounds to the king; of which twenty-four pounds in money, which were twenty in an one, but thirty pounds to the earl by tale.

 

In Dovere there are twenty-nine plats of ground, of which the king had lost the custom. Of these Robert de Romenel has two. Ralph de Curbespine three. William, son of Tedald, one. William, son of Oger, one. William, son of Tedold, and Robert niger, six. William, son of Goisfrid, three, in which the guildhall of the burgesses was. Hugo de Montfort one house. Durand one. Rannulf de Colubels one. Wadard six. The son of Modbert one. And all these vouch the bishop of Baieux as the protector and giver of these houses. Of that plat of ground, which Rannulf de Colubels holds, which was a certain outlaw, they agree that the half of the land was the king's, and Rannulf himself has both parts. Humphry the lame man holds one plat of ground, of which half the forfeiture is the king's. Roger de Ostrabam made a certain house over the king's water, and held to this time the custom of the king; nor was a house there in the time of king Edward. In the entrance of the port of Dovere, there is one mill, which damages almost every ship, by the great swell of the sea, and does great damage to the king and his tenants; and it was not there in the time of king Edward. Concerning this, the grandson of Herbert says, that the bishop of Baieux granted it to his uncle Herbert, the son of Ivo.

 

And a little further, in the same record, under the bishop's possessions likewise:

 

In Estrei hundred, Wibertus holds half a yoke, which lies in the gild of Dover, and now is taxed with the land of Osbert, the son of Letard, and is worth per annum four shillings.

 

From the Norman conquest, the cities and towns of this realm appear to have been vested either in the crown, or else in the clergy or great men of the laity, and they were each, as such, immediately lords of the same. Thus, when the bishop of Baieux, to whom the king had, as may be seen by the above survey, granted this town, was disgraced. It returned into the king's hands by forfeiture, and king Richard I. afterwards granted it in ferme to Robt. Fitz-bernard. (fn. 21)

 

After the time of the taking of the survey of Domesday, the harbour of Dover still changing its situation more to the south-westward, the town seems to have altered its situation too, and to have been chiefly rebuilt along the sides of the new harbour, and as an encouragement to it, at the instance, and through favour especially to the prior of Dover, king Edward I. in corporated this town, the first that was so of any of the cinque ports, by the name of the mayor and commonalty. The mayor to be chosen out of the latter, from which body he was afterwards to chuse the assistants for his year, who were to be sworn for that purpose. At which time, the king had a mint for the coinage of money here; and by patent, anno 27 of that reign, the table of the exchequer of money was appointed to be held here, and at Yarmouth. (fn. 22) But the good effects of these marks of the royal favour were soon afterwards much lessened, by a dreadful disaster; for the French landed here in the night, in the 23d year of that reign, and burnt the greatest part of the town, and several of the religious houses, in it, and this was esteemed the more treacherousk, as it was done whilst the two cardinals were here, treating for a peace between England and France; which misfortune, however, does not seem to have totally impoverished it, for in the 17th year of the next reign of king Edward II it appears in some measure to have recovered its former state, and to have been rebuilt, as appears by the patent rolls of that year, in which the town of Dover is said to have then had in it twenty-one wards, each of which was charged with one ship for the king's use; in consideration of which, each ward had the privilege of a licensed packetboat, called a passenger, from Dover across the sea to Whitsan, in France, the usual port at that time of embarking from thence.

 

The state of this place in the reign of Henry VIII. is given by Leland, in his Itinerary, as follows:

 

"Dovar ys xii myles fro Canterbury and viii fro Sandwich. Ther hath bene a haven yn tyme past and yn taken ther of the ground that lyith up betwyxt the hilles is yet in digging found wosye. Ther hath bene found also peeces of cabelles and anchores and Itinerarium Antonini cawlyth hyt by the name of a haven. The towne on the front toward the se hath bene right strongly walled and embateled and almost al the residew; but now yt is parly fawlen downe and broken downe. The residew of the towne as far as I can perceyve was never waulled. The towne is devided into vi paroches. Wherof iii be under one rose at S. Martines yn the hart of the town. The other iii stand that yt hath be walled abowt but not dyked. The other iii stand abrode, of the which one is cawled S. James of Rudby or more likely Rodeby a statione navium. But this word ys not sufficient to prove that Dovar showld be that place, the which the Romaynes cawlled Portus Rutupi or Rutupinum. For I cannot yet se the contrary but Retesboro otherwise cawlled Richeboro by Sandwich, both ways corruptly, must neades be Rutupinum. The mayne strong and famose castel of Dovar stondeth on the loppe of a hille almost a quarter of a myle of fro the towne on the lyst side and withyn the castel ys a chapel, yn the sides wherof appere sum greate Briton brykes. In the town was a great priory of blacke monkes late suppressed. There is also an hospitalle cawlled the Meason dew. On the toppe of the hye clive betwene the towne and the peere remayneth yet abowt a slyte shot up ynto the land fro the very brymme of the se clysse as ruine of a towr, the which has bene as a pharos or a mark to shyppes on the se and therby was a place of templarys. As concerning the river of Dovar it hath no long cowrse from no spring or hedde notable that descendith to that botom. The principal hed, as they say is at a place cawled Ewelle and that is not past a iii or iiii myles fro Dovar. Ther be springes of frech waters also at a place cawled Rivers. Ther is also a great spring at a place cawled …… and that once in a vi or vii yeres brasted owt so abundantly that a great part of the water cummeth into Dovar streme, but als yt renneth yn to the se betwyxt Dovar and Folchestan, but nerer to Folchestan that is to say withyn a ii myles of yt. Surely the hedde standeth so that it might with no no great cost be brought to run alway into Dovar streame." (fn. 23)

Cougate Crosse-gate Bocheruy-gate stoode with toures toward the se. There is beside Beting-gate and Westegate.

Howbeyt MTuine tol me a late that yt hath be walled abowt but not dyked.

 

This was the state of Dover just before the time of the dissolution of religious houses, in Henry VIII.'s reign, when the abolition of private masses, obits, and such like services in churches, occasioned by the reformation, annillilated the greatest part of the income of the priests belonging to them, in this as well as in other towns, in consequence of which most of them were deserted, and falling to ruin, the parishes belonging to them were united to one or two of the principal ones of them. Thus, in this town, of the several churches in it, two only remained in use for divine service, viz. St. Mary's and St. James's, to which the parishes of the others were united.

 

After this, the haven continuting to decay more than ever, notwithstanding the national assistance afforded to it, the town itself seemed hastening to impoverishment. What the state of it was in the 8th year of queen Elizabeth, may be seen, by the certificate returned by the queen's order of the maritime places, in her 8th year, by which it appears that there were then in Dover, houses inhabited three hundred and fifty-eight; void, or lack of inhabiters, nineteen; a mayor, customer, comptroller of authorities, not joint but several; ships and crayers twenty, from four tons to one hundred and twenty.

 

¶This probable ruin of the town, however, most likely induced the queen, in her 20th year, to grant it a new charter of incorporation, in which the manner of chusing mayor, jurats, and commoners, and of making freemen, was new-modelled, and several surther liberties and privileges granted, and those of the charter of king Edward I. confirmed likewise by inspeximus. After which, king Charles II. in his 36th year, anno 1684, granted to it a new charter, which, however, was never inrolled in chancery, and in consequence of a writ of quo warranto was that same year surrendered, and another again granted next year; but this last, as well as another charter granted by king James II. and forced on the corporation, being made wholly subservient to the king's own purposes, were annulled by proclamation, made anno 1688, being the fourth and last year of his reign: but none of the above charters being at this time extant, (the charters of this corporation, as well as those of the other cinque ports, being in 1685, by the king's command, surrendered up to Col. Strode, then governor of Dover castle, and never returned again, nor is it known what became of them,) Dover is now held to be a corporation by prescription, by the stile of the mayor, jurats, and commonalty of the town and port of Dover. It consists at present of a mayor, twelve jurats, and thirty-six commoners, or freemen, together with a chamberlain, recorder, and town-clerk. The mayor, who is coroner by virtue of his office, is chosen on Sept. 8, yearly, in St. Mary's church, and together with the jurats, who are justices within this liberty, exclusive of all others, hold a court of general sessions of the peace and gaol delivery, together with a court of record, and it has other privileges, mostly the same as the other corporations, within the liberties of the cinque ports. It has the privilege of a mace. The election of mayor was antiently in the church of St. Peter, whence in 1581 it was removed to that of St. Mary, where it has been, as well as the elections of barons to serve in parliament, held ever since. These elections here, as well as elsewhere in churches, set apart for the worship of God, are certainly a scandal to decency and religion, and are the more inexcusable here, as there is a spacious court-hall, much more fit for the purposes. After this, there was another byelaw made, in June, 1706, for removing these elections into the court-hall; but why it was not put in execution does not appear, unless custom prevented it—for if a decree was of force to move them from one church to another, another decree was of equal force to remove them from the church to the courthall. Within these few years indeed, a motion was made in the house of commons, by the late alderman Sawbridge, a gentlemand not much addicted to speak in favour of the established church, to remove all such elections, through decency, from churches to other places not consecrated to divine worship; but though allowed to be highly proper, yet party resentment against the mover of it prevailed, and the motion was negatived by a great majority.

 

The mayor is chosen by the resident freemen. The jurats are nominated from the common-councilmen by the jurats, and appointed by the mayor, jurats, and common-councilmen, by ballot.

  

THE CHURCH OF ST. Mary stands at some distance from the entrance into this town from Canterbury, near the market-place. It is said to have been built by the prior and convent of St. Martin, (fn. 47) in the year 1216; but from what authority, I know not.—Certain it is, that it was in king John's reign, in the gift of the king, and was afterwards given by him to John de Burgh; but in the 8th year of Richard II.'s reign, anno 1384, it was become appropriated to the abbot of Pontiniac. After which, by what means, I cannot discover, this appropriation, as well as the advowson of the church, came into the possession of the master and brethren of the hospital of the Maison Dieu, who took care that the church should be daily served by a priest, who should officiate in it for the benefit of the parish. In which state it continued till the suppression of the hospital, in the 36th year of king Henry VIII.'s reign, when it came into the hands of the crown, at which time the parsonage was returned by John Thompson, master of the hospital, to be worth six pounds per annum.

 

Two years after which, the king being at Dover, at the humble entreaty of the inhabitants of this parish, gave to them, as it is said, this church, with the cemetery adjoining to it, to be used by them as a parochial church; at the same time he gave the pews of St. Martin's church for the use of it; and on the king's departure, in token of possession, they sealed up the church doors; since which, the patronage of it, which is now esteemed as a perpetual curacy, the minister of it being licensed by the archbishop, has been vested in the inhabitants of this parish. Every parishioner, paying scot and lot, having a vote in the chusing of the minister, whose maintenance had been from time to time, at their voluntary option, more or less. It is now fixed at eighty pounds per annum. Besides which he has the possession of a good house, where he resides, which was purchased by the inhabitants in 1754, for the perpetual use of the minister of it. It is exempt from the jurisdiction of the archdeacon. (fn. 48)

 

There is a piece of ground belonging, as it is said, to the glebe of this church, rented annually at ten pounds, which is done by vestry, without the minister being at all concerned in it. In 1588 here were eight hundred and twenty-one communicants. This parish contains more than five parts out of six of the whole town, and a greater proportion of the inhabitants.

 

The church of St. Mary is a large handsome building of three isles, having a high and south chancel, all covered with lead, and built of flints, with ashler windows and door cases, which are arched and ornamented. At the west end is the steeple, which is a spire covered with lead, in which are eight bells, a clock, and chimes. The pillars in the church are large and clumsy; the arches low and semicircular in the body, but eliptical in the chancel; but there is no separation between the body and chancel, and the pews are continued on to the east end of the church. In the high chancel, at the eastern extremity of it, beyond the altar, are the seats for the mayor and jurats; and here the mayor is now chosen, and the barons in parliament for this town and port constantly elected.

 

In 1683, there was a faculty granted to the churchwardens, to remove the magistrates seats from the east end of the church to the north side, or any other more convenient part of it, and for the more decent and commodious placing the communion table: in consequence of which, these seats were removed, and so placed, but they continued there no longer than 1689, when, by several orders of vestry, they were removed back again to where they remain at present.

 

The mayor was antiently chosen in St. Peter's church; but by a bye-law of the corporation, it was removed to this church in 1583, where it has ever since been held. In 1706, another bye law was made, to remove, for the sake of decency, all elections from this church to the court-hall, but it never took place. More of which has been mentioned before.

 

From the largeness, as well as the populousness of this parish, the church is far from being sufficient to contain the inhabitants who resort to it for public worship, notwithstanding there are four galleries in it, and it is otherwise well pewed. This church was paved in 1642, but it was not ceiled till 1706. In 1742, there was an organ erected in it. The two branches in it were given, one by subscription in 1738, and the other by the pilots in 1742.

 

Thomas Toke, of Dover, buried in the chapel of St. Katharine, in this church, by his will in 1484, gave seven acres of land at Dugate, under Windlass-down, to the wardens of this church, towards the repairs of it for ever.

 

¶The monuments and memorials in this church and church yard, are by far too numerous to mention here. Among them are the following: A small monument in the church for the celebrated Charles Churchill, who was buried in the old church-yard of St. Martin in this town, as has been noticed before; and a small stone, with a memorial for Samuel Foote, esq. the celebrated comedian, who died at the Ship inn, and had a grave dug for him in this church, but was afterwards carried to London, and buried there. A monument and several memorials for the family of Eaton; arms, Or, a sret, azure. A small tablet for John Ker, laird of Frogden, in Twit dale, in Scotland, who died suddenly at Dover, in his way to France, in 1730. Two monuments for Farbrace, arms, Azure, a bend, or, between two roses, argent, seeded, or, bearded vert. A monument in the middle isle, to the memory of the Minet family. In the north isle are several memorials for the Gunmans, of Dover; arms,. … a spread eagle, argent, gorged with a ducal coronet, or. There are others, to the memory of Broadley, Rouse, and others, of good account in this town.

 

www.british-history.ac.uk/survey-kent/vol9/pp475-548

Catching up on some back shots from the beginning of the year

 

On a walk around the Addington Cemetery with a wonderful Flickr friend. February 13, 2016 Christchurch New Zealand.

 

There is so much damaged in the cemetery because of the earthquake we have had. It is such a pity as I don' think it will ever be fully repaired.

 

The Addington Cemetery was established in 1858 when the Scottish Presbyterians of St Andrew’s Church purchased land for a cemetery in Selwyn Street. Although not the first cemetery in Christchurch, Addington was in fact the first “public” cemetery, “being open to all persons of any religious community” and allowing the performance of any religious service “not contrary to public decency”.

 

The first burial took place on the 10th of November 1858. The cemetery has several persons of note buried within its grounds including activist Kate Sheppard, Christchurch Mayor Tommy Taylor and members of the pioneer family, the Deans.

For More Info:http://my.christchurchcitylibraries.com/addington-cemetery/

Joe Biden has been a good president. I am grateful to him for replacing Trump with decency, grace and skill, but his performance in last week's debate was simply horrible. If he stays in the race, Trump will beat him and democracy here in the USA will be at risk. It's really not about age or wrinkles, it is about vigor and capacity. Time to step aside so a different candidate can prevent another Trump presidency.

 

You will find 200+ of my poems HERE. fno.org/poetry/index.html

  

Wrinkles

 

As age creeps up

Upon us

All of us

Eventually

Think about

And notice wrinkles

Some from smiles

Others from frowns

As well as those wrinkles on shirts

No longer ironed

Or pants

Just hung out to dry

Simply

Like some memories

Not so pleasant

Now faded

Or forgotten

We’ve erased or laid aside

As the end nears

 

We can buy age defying lotions

Can try to erase these marks of times

Of indecisions

And indiscretions

We might pretend these wrinkles are temporary

Botox them and any bad memories away

As if life would permit a clean slate

A fresh start

And a past free of blemishes

But truth is an unwilling player

History a stubborn witness

And wrinkles are here

To stay

  

© Jamie McKenzie, all rights reserved

You will find more of my poems and songs here

and in The Storm in Its Passing and Flights of Fancy.

 

My songs are at

www.youtube.com/user/edtech2008/videos

 

Hi everyone. This was my outfit for a shopping trip around the Designer Outlet at Ashford, Kent yesterday.

It was very nice to visit the Hobbs of London store wearing two of their garments! The dress is Emberley and is quite a heavy pure woollen fabric which is perfect for these colder Autumnal days. The jacket is also from Hobbs but I will be beggared if I can recall the style!

Nylons were my default setting of Gio pointed seams. I think I must have been hard wired somewhere along the line!

 

And now a Taste Warning issued by the Department for Taste, Propriety and Decency at twenty two hours forty on the 6th! There are warnings of sauce in all areas! - Yep - I finally gave in and have gone Flickr Pro. You have been warned!

Spennymoor is a town and civil parish in County Durham, England. It is south of the River Wear and is 7 mi (11 km) south of Durham. The civil parish includes the villages of Kirk Merrington, Middlestone Moor, Byers Green and Tudhoe.

 

The land on which Spennymoor now stands was once a vast expanse of moorland covered with thorn and whin bushes (Spenny Moor). In 1336 its placename was recorded as Spendingmor. The name is probably derived from the Old English or Old Norse spenning and mōr, meaning a moor with a fence or enclosure.

 

Another theory of the place-name's origin is from the Latin spina, meaning thorn (possibly from the Roman influence at Binchester) combined with the Old English or Old Norse mōr. CE Jackson, in his Place Names of Durham published in 1916 suggested a combination of the Old Norse spaan with Old English mar, meaning the moor named after the shingle-hut erected thereon.

 

Neither Britons nor Romans cultivated the moor, but on the site of Binchester, a village about 5 miles (8 km) to the southwest, the Romans built a camp around which grew up the settlement of Vinovium. The name Binchester is the usual Old English corruption or adaptation of the Roman site name.

 

St Paul's Church

This fortress must have been of great strength, for it stood on a height above the River Wear; many coins, urns, altars and pieces of Roman pottery have been found, as well as the remains of a hypocaust of the heating system. Later, Binchester became one of the "vills" of the Earl of Northumberland who held it until 1420 when it passed to the Nevilles who finally forfeited it with other lands in 1569. As is to be expected, the moor itself offers little of historical interest but it is linked with the records of Kirk Merrington, Whitworth Old Park, Binchester, Byers Green and Tudhoe, all of which form a part of the early days of Spennymoor. All these villages had common rights on the moor but, as it became denuded by increasing flocks, some of the local people were induced to relinquish their rights and so, gradually, the common became the property of just one owner – Merrington Priory. The Manor of Merrington belonged successively to the priors, monks and dean and chapter of Durham Cathedral.

 

Today, Merrington church is one of the most prominent local landmarks. It was originally built by the Normans and its splendid strategic position led to it being fortified in 1143 by the Scots intruder, William Cumyn. When he was finally attacked and overcome, the church roof was destroyed but the building remained as one of the most interesting Norman churches in the county until 1850 when it was almost wholly rebuilt – although retaining the form of its predecessor. Inside, the most interesting feature is the screen, a typical example of late-17th century work.

 

The Norman Conquest meant little to the border folk at first, for they had lived with the constant threat of massacre by raiding Picts and Danes, but then William's soldiers "laid waite" the county and distributed the Saxon nobles' estates among themselves. however, William allowed some of the previous owners to retain their lands, and one of these was Whittleworth – now Whitworth – whose first known proprietor was Thomas de Acle who held it in 1183. Nevertheless, the whole of this countryside was made desolate by William's soldiers, and for many years it was the haunt of outlaws and wild animals.

 

On 16 October 1346 David of Scotland was encamped with a great army on the hills near Durham, and raiding bands under a Douglas had been terrorising the neighbourhood. Edward lll was otherwise engaged at Crecy in France at the time, but his Queen, Phillipa, with the Archbishop of York, the Bishops of Durham, Lincoln and Carlisle, and the Lords Neville and Percy and others marched North, and with an array of 16,000 men, moved along the ridge from Auckland to Merrington. Her advance guards clashed with some of Douglas' men near Ferryhill and chased them back to the bridge at Croxdale (Sunderland Bridge). Butchers Race, one of the Five Lanes which meet at Tudhoe Crossroads, was so named after this foray. The next day the main bodies of the two armies met at Neville's Cross, near Durham, and the Scots were slaughtered. During the battle, the prior from Durham and his monks knelt on a little hillock in the Shaw Wood and prayed for an English victory while holding aloft, impaled on a spear, the Holy Corporax Cloth from the Cathedral.

 

In 1420 the Manor of Whitworth and much of the other land in the vicinity, from Raby to Brancepeth, and including Old Park, Byers Green, Newfield and Tudhoe, became Neville property, and the Earl of Westmorland (a Neville) was granted a licence from Bishop Langley to impark 40 acres at Whitworth, and so began the Whitworth park of today.

 

The moor itself comes into the record in 1615 as the result of "a general muster on the moor of all men able to bear arms within the bishopric, between the ages of 15 and 60; the gathering amounted to 8,320" (Fordyce). Some military training seems to have been given, doubtless with a view to the then unsettled state of the country due to the growing tension between Parliament and the King. Quite a few of these men must have been miners, as at that time "coale pits" were being worked at Whitworth, Byers Green and Fernhill. In 1677 the small freeholders and the local gentry divided 243 acres of the moor between themselves, an act which was confirmed by the Chancery Court. The only portion of the common that was left was a small plot reserved for the use of a spring of water.

 

Up to 1800 the moor remained largely barren and the few roads across it were dangerous. The one good road was maintained by tolls collected at turnpike gates. Some of the largest horse-race meetings in the North took place on the moor, and miners and their families attended in all their holiday splendour. These men, early industrial workers, wore their hair long and on these gala days it flowed freely over their shoulders instead of, as usually was the case, being tied in curls. Floral waistcoats and ribboned hats were worn on these highly colourful occasions.

 

Modern Spennymoor was built on mining and has its origins with the sinking of the Wittered pit in 1839. Rough houses were built for the pit workers – houses with two rooms and a loft, more like "piggeries than human habitation" according to Dodd. The first coal from Merrington Colliery was brought up in 1841; a pit with a chequered career which only prospered under the partnership of L.M Reay and R.S. Johnson, who made a fortune out of it. The trade depression of the late 19th century, however, caused its closure in 1882.

 

The coal mining at Whitworth and a small foundry at Merrington Lane were the earliest industries, but in 1853 the Weardale Iron and Coal Company opened its great ironworks at Tudhoe. As a result, many hundreds of immigrant workers came here from the Midlands and more rows of dark little houses were erected. More workers came from Wales and Lancashire, with the opening of the mine at Page Bank (ten lives were lost in a pit fire here in 1858), and with the sinking of a new pit at Tudhoe in the 1880s. The latter resulted in colliery workers' houses springing up on the main Durham Road. Slightly before that, in the 1860s, a rather advanced area of working-class housing had been erected at Tudhoe Grange, built by Marmaduke Salvin to house local workers. These houses were, unusually, semi-detached and arranged in a chequerboard layout, very much in contrast to the dreary terraces that were then the standard.

 

Although these days of rapid industrialisation and rapid growth of population were days of ignorance and squalor, they also saw the 19th century drive for education and religion. A National School was built and opened in 1841; St. Paul's Church was built at Spennymoor in 1858 and all through these formative years the non-conformist churches combined welfare work with prayer. An era of prosperity dawned in the 1860s and 1870s when the miners were earning £1 per day. Spennymoor was ringed with collieries, black furnaces and coke ovens and the new prosperity showed itself in the building of better houses and in the opening of Co-operative stores. The comparative isolation of its moorland situation ended too with the opening of a branch railway from the mainline at Ferryhill in 1876.

 

However, as always in industrial life, boom was followed by "bust" – or "near bust", and by 1879 miners' wages were down to 4s 9d a day and those of ironworkers to a mere 3s a day. On top of these economic misfortunes came the terrible explosion at Tudhoe Colliery in 1882 when 37 lives were lost. A strike, which lasted 13 weeks, paralysed the area in 1892, although out of the enforced idleness came foundations of new growth, for the machinery at the Tudhoe Iron works was then renovated and a new mill laid down. The works then possessed the largest mill in Europe, capable of rolling plates up to 13 feet in width.

 

When, in 1894, Spennymoor and its adjacent villages achieved a measure of self-government on the Spennymoor Urban District Council, the new authority found itself facing a legacy of poor housing. With few exceptions, the housing situation was little better than when Dodd had described the houses as "more like piggeries". In 1874 the then Local Government Board had reported: "Nothing could well exceed the nuisance attendant on the disposal of excrement and refuse in Spennymoor. There are entire streets without any closet accommodation whatever and in its stead open wooden boxes are placed opposite nearly every doorway for the reception of the excrement, ashes and other refuse; an arrangement which, besides being revolting to every sense of decency, is stated to be offensive in the extreme, especially in hot weather. It is impossible to walk between the rows of cottages without being convinced that the surface of the ground is to a large extent composed of the overflowing contents of these midden boxes. The back streets stand deep in filth and mud." These appalling conditions continued into the 20th century and even by 1920 fewer than 10% of the town houses had water closets. In 1923 only four houses were built and there was still massive overcrowding in back-to-back properties. In the next few years only between one and four houses were built in any year and in 1929 the housing situation was still reported as acute which, from the recorded facts, seems self-evident.

 

These squalid conditions were paralleled by the ever-uncertain economic conditions in industry. Although coalmining continued and the ironworks and engineering businesses were also providing employment, the start of the 20th century saw the start, too, of a long period of depression. The first blow was the closure in 1901 of the ironworks which had been rendered obsolete by the pace of change elsewhere. The effect of the closure was relieved by the sinking of the Dean and Chapter colliery in 1904, but the reliance on this one basic industry was to persist until the 1960s. Even before the big coal strike of 1926 the collieries had begun to close. Three closed in 1924 and the strike saw another two fail. Spennymoor became part of the Southwest Durham depressed area. Although schemes were inaugurated to relieve the gloom nothing could make up for the lack of steady employment. In 1930 the coke ovens which remained on the ironworks site were only working intermittently. Even by 1938 the situation had improved little. The Cleveland iron trade, which used the coal and coke produced at Spennymoor, was depressed. The production of these raw materials at Coulson's engineering works, Kenmir's furniture factory and newly opened brickworks at Todhills were the main, if limited, sources of employment. Unemployment was over 33%.

 

Despite the high levels of unemployment, the housing situation at last took an upturn in the 1930s when the Urban District Council began to use its wider powers to take action on unfit houses. By 1935 the first 66 Council houses had been built, and a year later the first 106 North Eastern Housing Association houses were erected on the Racecourse Estate site. Although these were the only houses built before the war, they did provide some hope and allowed the clearance of some of the worst of the squalid areas. Nevertheless, the situation remained bad and there were still far too many damp, badly lit and ventilated houses opening onto small, paved yards or back streets.

 

World War II had diverse effects upon the town. On the one hand it brought housing efforts almost to a standstill, but on the industry front it saw the resurgence of Spennymoor as a major centre. The main factor was the opening in 1941 of a Royal Ordnance Factory at Merrington Lane and since then this estate has provided a constant source of alternative employment to the coal industry. The end of World War II, however, saw this industrial activity greatly curtailed and hard times returned, although without the severity of the earlier pre-war years. The run-down of the mining industry, however, was nevertheless a serious blow.

 

On 24 December 1944, Tudhoe's cricket ground was hit by a rogue V-1 flying bomb, which had been air-launched by a German Heinkel He 111 and was aimed at Manchester. The explosion cratered the field and blew out the windows of surrounding houses and of St. Charles' Church. This was the furthest north any V-1 landed during World War II.

 

In 1963 changes were indicated and Durham County Council and then Ministry of Housing and Local Government agreed that Spennymoor should be a new "growth point" and that town centre redevelopment should take place; that the Tudhoe ironworks site should be reclaimed; that a major highway scheme should be put into hand; that the Royal Ordnance Factory Industrial Estate should be extended and that the Green Lane Industrial Estate should be developed.

 

Spennymoor shared some brief film success in the early 90's with the production of 'Anymore for Spennymore' starring a few of the locals.

 

There were, of course, early problems, but the new industries became established and, in most cases, began to expand. The coal industry has been replaced by manufacturers of consumer goods, and factories of Electrolux, Thorn Lighting and Black and Decker were established. Rothmans International also had a cigarette factory, employing more than 400 people, in Spennymoor from circa 1980 up until 2000.

 

Housing, too, has made great strides since the end of the War. By the end of 1963 over 1,120 sub-standard houses had been cleared and as many new Council houses built for letting – whilst over 400 houses had been improved by grant aid. In 1963 too there came the first private building developments to take place since back in the days of the 19th century colliery owners. The 800-house estate at Greenways and the 300-house estate at Tudhoe Grange were started, although it was not until the industrial prosperity of the 1970s that private house building reached 100 a year.

 

The greatest project came with the development of the Tudhoe ironworks site – 70 acres that was turned into the Bessemer Park Housing Estate. In 1968 work commenced on blocks of flats and houses there (comprising 1,009 household units in total) and this allowed the clearance of 500 unfit houses as well as the provision of housing for workers coming to the new factories. The blocks of flats on the Bessemer Park Housing Estate were subsequently demolished in the 1980s, due to serious problems with damp in the flats that rendered them extremely unpopular with tenants.

 

In 1966 the town opened a new bus station, between Cambridge Street and Silver Street, to relieve traffic congestion on the High Street. This bus station was subsequently redeveloped as a car park circa 1990. Also in 1966, the nearby Parkwood Shopping Precinct (which included a Woolworths and a supermarket) was opened. In 2016 it was announced that the Parkwood Precinct would be substantially redeveloped due to low tenancy rates in the shops, an escalating issue since the turn of the millennium.

Which is it: is man one of God's blunders, or is God one of man's blunders?

-- Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols (1889)

In former times, one sought to prove that there is no God -- today one indicates how the belief that there is a God arose and how this belief acquired its weight and importance: a counter-proof that there is no God thereby becomes superfluous. -- When in former times one had refuted the "proofs of the existence of God" put forward, there always remained the doubt whether better proofs might not be adduced than those just refuted: in those days atheists did not know how to make a clean sweep.

-- Friedrich Nietzsche, Daybreaks, page 95

Really unreflective people are now inwardly without Christianity, and the more moderate and reflective people of the intellectual middle class now possess only an adapted, that is to say marvelously simplified Christianity. A god who in his love arranges everything in a manner that in the end will be best for us; a god who gives to us and takes from us our virtue and our happiness, so that as a whole all is meet and fit and there is no reason for us to take life sadly, let alone exclaim against it; in short, resignation and modest demands elevated to godhead -- that is the best and most vital thing that still remains of Christianity. But one should notice that Christianity has thus crossed over into a gentle moralism: it is not so much "God, freedom and immortality" that have remained, as benevolence and decency of disposition, and the belief that in the whole universe too benevolence and decency of disposition prevail: it is the euthanasia of Christianity.

-- Friedrich Nietzsche, Daybreaks, page 92, R J Hollingdale, translator

 

As long as a man knows very well the strength and weaknesses of his teaching, his art, his religion, its power is still slight. The pupil and apostle who, blinded by the authority of the master and by the piety he feels toward him, pays no attention to the weaknesses of a teaching, a religion, and soon usually has for that reason more power than the master. The influence of a man has never yet grown great without his blind pupils. To help a perception to achieve victory often means merely to unite it with stupidity so intimately that the weight of the latter also enforces the victory of the former.

-- Friedrich Nietzsche, Human, all too Human, page 122, R J Hollingdale, translator

 

If the Christian dogmas of a revengeful God, universal sinfulness, election by divine grace and the danger of eternal damnation were true, it would be a sign of weak-mindedness and lack of character not to become a priest, apostle or hermit and, in fear and trembling, to work solely on one's own salvation; it would be senseless to lose sight of one's eternal advantage for the sake of temporal comfort. If we may assume that these things are at any rate believed true, then the everyday Christian cuts a miserable figure; he is a man who really cannot count to three, and who precisely on account of his spiritual imbecility does not deserve to be punished so harshly as Christianity promises to punish him.

-- Friedrich Nietzsche, Human, all too Human, page 116, RJ Hollingdale, translator

 

After Buddha was dead, his shadow was still shown for centuries in a cave -- a tremendous, gruesome shadow. God is dead; but given the way of men, there may still be caves for thousands of years in which his shadow will be shown. -- And we -- we still have to vanquish his shadow, too.

-- Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science, page 108, Walter Kaufmann, translator

www.positiveatheism.org/hist/quotes/nietzsche.htm

A scene from the 1966 film "Press for Time", courtesy of the Buses on Screen website (www.busesonscreen.net), as former Bournemouth Corporation 1939 Leyland TD5 open-topper (FEL214) meets a Devon General Leyland Atlantean on the streets of Teignmouth (called "Tinmouth" in the film). The presence on board of Norman Wisdom causes the bus to plunge into Teignmouth harbour and sink.

 

Strangely revered in Albania and also the Isle of Man, where he was long in tax-avoiding residence, Norman Wisdom once enjoyed great popularity during the 1950s and into the mid-1960s for his brand of slapstick comedy served with a hefty dollop of pathos. Charlie Chaplin acknowledged him as a worthy comic successor, and the two native Londoners shared the experience of harsh and impoverished childhoods.

 

In a series of money-spinners for the Rank Organisation, Norman Wisdom played the part of a simpleton who reduced the world around him to chaos, but was redeemed by a basic human decency.

 

Thus it is with "Press for Time", although watching it on YouTube, I did not have the patience to see exactly how the luckless FEL214 ended up in the water. I do remember the August 1966 issue of Buses Illustrated magazine showing the bus making a dramatic splash.

 

Such a fine vehicle was a sad loss to preservation, although as bus snuff movies go, FEL214’s fate was not as dramatic as that of RM1536, which tumbled over a North Kent cliff and exploded, bringing the Young Ones sitcom to a definite end.

“Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds you plant.” ~ Robert Louis Stevenson

  

"Each person has inside a basic decency and goodness. If he listens to it and acts on it, he is giving a great deal of what it is the world needs most. It is not complicated but it takes courage. It takes courage for a person to listen to his own goodness and act on it." ~ Pablo Casals

  

I spent this past week working away from home in Cape Town and was lucky enough to get a drive along the coastline to Hermanus. The rain stopped for a few hours and I saw a rainbow on the side of the road. It was very close and for the first time in my life, I saw where the rainbow touched the ground on both sides! Of course I had to stop and take a photo and think "wow! phew!".

  

Canon 6D. 17/40mm. ISO 640. F9. 1/640 sec.

Queens Of The Stone Age @ The Orbit Room, Grand Rapids, MI

 

p.s. if you are gonna post my copyrighted images elsewhere on the internet at least have the decency to credit me with them or link them back to here, or i'll probably stop posting them or at least start putting big watermarks on them.

The Delphians for Vibullius Polydeukion because of his decency. The hero of Herodes.

Freetown Christiania

Copenhagen

Denmark

French postcard by Editions Lyna, Paris, offered by Corvisart, Epinal, no. 2085. Photo: Sam Lévin.

 

French actress Brigitte Bardot (1934) died on 28 December 2025, at the age of 91. In the 1950s, she was the sex kitten of the European film industry. BB starred in 48 films, performed in numerous musical shows, and recorded 80 songs. After her retirement in 1973, she became an animal rights activist. In the coming weeks, we will continue to post a BB postcard every day to remember her as she once was.

 

Brigitte Bardot was born in Paris in 1934. Her father, Louis Bardot, had an engineering degree and worked with his father in the family business. Her mother, Ann-Marie Mucel, was 14 years younger than Brigitte's father, and they married in 1933. Brigitte's mother encouraged her daughter to take up music and dance. At the age of 13, she entered the Conservatoire Nationale de Danse to study ballet. By the time she was 15, Brigitte was trying to launch a modelling career and found herself on the cover of the French magazine Elle in May 1949. Her incredible beauty was readily apparent, and Brigitte was noticed by Roger Vadim, then an assistant to the film director Marc Allegrét. Vadim was infatuated with Bardot and encouraged her to start working as a film actress. BB was 18 when she debuted in the comedy Le Trou Normand / Crazy for Love (Jean Boyer, 1952). In the same year, she married Vadim. Brigitte wanted to marry him when she was 17, but her parents quashed any marriage plans until she turned 18. In April 1953, she attended the Cannes Film Festival, where she received massive media attention. She soon was every man's idea of the girl he'd like to meet in Paris. From 1952 to 1956, she appeared in seventeen films. Her films were generally lightweight romantic dramas in which she was cast as an ingénue or siren, often with an element of undress. In 1953, she made her first US production, Un acte d'amour / Act of Love (Anatole Litvak, 1953) with Kirk Douglas, but she continued to make films in France.

 

Roger Vadim was not content with the light fare his wife was offered. He felt Brigitte Bardot was being undersold. Looking for something more like an art film to push her as a serious actress, he showcased her in Et Dieu créa la femme / ...And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956). This film, about an immoral teenager in a respectable small-town setting, was a smash success on both sides of the Atlantic. Craig Butler at AllMovie: "It's easy enough to say that ...And God Created Woman is much more important for its historical significance than for its actual quality as a film, and that's true to an extent. The immense popularity, due to its willingness to directly embrace an exploration of sex as well as its willingness to show a degree of nudity that was remarkably daring for its day, demonstrated that audiences were willing to view subject matter that was considered too racy for the average moviegoer. This had both positive (freedom to explore, especially for the French filmmakers of the time) and negative (freedom to exploit) consequences, but its impact is undeniable. It's also true that Woman is not a great work of art, not with a story that is ultimately rather thin, some painful dialogue, and an attitude toward its characters and their sexuality that is unclear and inconsistent. Yet Woman is still fascinating, due in no small part to the presence of Brigitte Bardot in the role that made her an international star and sex symbol. She's not demonstrating great acting here, although her performance is actually good and much better than necessary, and her legendary mambo scene at the climax is nothing short of sensational." During the shooting of Et Dieu créa la femme / And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956), directed by her husband, Brigitte Bardot had an affair with her co-star Jean-Louis Trintignant, who at that time was married to French actress Stéphane Audran. Her divorce from Vadim followed, but they remained friends and collaborated in later work.

 

Et Dieu créa la femme / ...And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956) helped Brigitte Bardot's international status. The film took the USA by storm, her explosive sexuality being unlike anything seen in the States since the days of the 'flapper' in the 1920s. It gave rise to the phrase 'sex kitten', and fascination with her in America consisted of magazine photographs and dubbed over French films - good, bad or indifferent, her films drew audiences - mainly men - into theatres like lemmings. BB appeared in light comedies like Doctor at Large (Ralph Thomas, 1957) - the third of the British 'Doctor' series starring Dirk Bogarde - and Une Parisienne / La Parisienne (Michel Boisrond, 1957), which suited her acting skills best. However, she was a sensation in the crime drama En cas de malheur / Love is My Profession (Claude Autant-Lara, 1958). Hal Erickson at AllMovie: "This Brigitte Bardot vehicle ran into stiff opposition from the Catholic Legion of Decency, severely limiting its U.S. distribution. Bardot plays a nubile small-time thief named Yvette, who becomes the mistress of influential defence attorney Andre (Jean Gabin). Though Andre can shower Yvette with jewels and furs, he cannot "buy" her heart, and thus it is that it belongs to handsome young student Mazzetti (Franco Interlenghi). Alas, Yvette is no judge of human nature: attractive though Mazzetti can be, he has a dangerous and deadly side. En Cas de Malheur contains a nude scene that has since been reprinted in freeze-frame form innumerable times by both film-history books and girlie magazines." Photographer Sam Lévin's photos contributed considerably to her image of sensuality and slight immorality. One of Lévin's pictures shows Brigitte, dressed in a white corset. It is said that around 1960, postcards with this photograph outsold in Paris those of the Eiffel Tower.

 

Brigitte Bardot divorced Vadim in 1957, and in 1959 she married actor Jacques Charrier, with whom she starred in Babette s'en va-t-en guerre / Babette Goes to War (Christian-Jaque, 1959). The paparazzi preyed upon her marriage, while she and her husband clashed over the direction of her career

Her films became more substantial, but this brought a heavy pressure of dual celebrity as she sought critical acclaim while remaining a glamour model for most of the world. Vie privée / Private Life (1962), directed by Louis Malle, has more than an element of autobiography in it. James Travers at French Films: "Brigitte Bardot hadn’t quite reached the high point of her career when she agreed to make this film with high-profile New Wave film director Louis Malle. Even so, the pressure of being a living icon was obviously beginning to get to France’s sex goddess, and Vie privée is as much an attempt by Bardot to come to terms with her celebrity as anything else. Malle is clearly fascinated by Bardot, and the documentary approach he adopts for this film reinforces the impression that it is more a biography of the actress than a work of fiction. Of course, it’s not entirely biographical, but the story is remarkably close to Bardot’s own life and comes pretty close to predicting how her career would end." The scene in which, returning to her apartment, Bardot's character is harangued in the elevator by a middle-aged cleaning lady calling her offensive names was based on an actual incident, and is a resonant image of celebrity in the mid-20th century. Soon afterwards, Bardot withdrew to the seclusion of Southern France.

 

Brigitte Bardot's other husbands were German millionaire Playboy Gunter Sachs and right-wing politician Bernard d'Ormale. She is reputed to have had relationships with many other men, including Samy Frey, her co-star in La Vérité / The Truth (Henri-Georges Clouzot, 1960), and musicians Serge Gainsbourg and Sacha Distel. In 1963, Brigitte Bardot starred in Jean-Luc Godard's critically acclaimed film Le Mépris / Contempt (Jean-Luc Godard, 1963) opposite Michel Piccoli. She was also featured along with such notable actors as Alain Delon in Amours célèbres / Famous Love Affairs (Michel Boisrond, 1961) and Histoires extraordinaires /Tales of Mystery (Louis Malle, 1968), Jeanne Moreau in Viva Maria! (Louis Malle, 1965), Sean Connery in Shalako (Edward Dmytryk, 1968), and Claudia Cardinale in Les Pétroleuses / Petroleum Girls (Christian-Jaque, 1971). She participated in various musical shows and recorded many popular songs in the 1960s and 1970s, mostly in collaboration with Serge Gainsbourg, Bob Zagury and Sacha Distel, including 'Harley Davidson', 'Le Soleil De Ma Vie' (the cover of Stevie Wonder's 'You Are the Sunshine of My Life') and the notorious 'Je t'aime... moi non plus'.

 

Brigitte Bardot’s film career showed a steady decline in the late 1960s and early 1970s. In 1973, just before her fortieth birthday, she announced her retirement. She chose to use her fame to promote animal rights. In 1976, she established the Brigitte Bardot Foundation for the Welfare and Protection of Animals. She became a vegetarian and raised three million French francs to fund the foundation by auctioning off jewellery and many personal belongings. For this work, she was awarded the Légion d’honneur in 1984. During the 1990s, she was also outspoken in her criticism of immigration, interracial relationships, Islam in France and homosexuality. Her husband Bernard d'Ormal was a former adviser of the far-right Front National party. Bardot has been convicted five times for 'inciting racial hatred'. More fun is that Bardot is recognised for popularising bikini swimwear, in such early films as Manina / Woman without a Veil (Willy Rozier, 1952), in her appearances at Cannes and in many photo shoots. Bardot also brought into fashion the 'choucroute' ('Sauerkraut') hairstyle (a sort of beehive hairstyle) and gingham clothes after wearing a checkered pink dress, designed by Jacques Esterel, at her wedding to Charrier. The fashions of the 1960s looked effortlessly right and spontaneous on her. Time Magazine: "She is the princess of pout, the countess of come hither. Brigitte Bardot exuded a carefree, naïve sexuality that brought a whole new audience to French films."

 

Sources: Denny Jackson (IMDb), Hal Erickson (AllMovie), Craig Butler (AllMovie), James Travers (French Films), French Films, Wikipedia and IMDb.

 

And please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.

James Stewart ( James Maitland Stewart ) 1908 – 1997)

    

James Stewart was the movies' quintessential Everyman, a uniquely all-American performer who parlayed his easygoing persona into one of the most successful and enduring careers in film history. On paper, he was anything but the typical Hollywood star: Gawky and tentative, with a pronounced stammer and a folksy "aw-shucks" charm, he lacked the dashing sophistication and swashbuckling heroism endemic among the other major actors of the era. Yet it's precisely the absence of affectation which made Stewart so popular; while so many other great stars seemed remote and larger than life, he never lost touch with his humanity, projecting an uncommon sense of goodness and decency which made him immensely likable and endearing to successive generations of moviegoers....

 

by Jason Ankeny

 

www.allmovie.com

  

*

   

American Feuillage.

 

by Walt Whitman

  

AMERICA always!

Always our own feuillage!

Always Florida’s green peninsula! Always the priceless delta of Louisiana! Always the

cotton-fields of Alabama and Texas!

Always California’s golden hills and hollows—and the silver mountains of New

Mexico!

Always soft-breath’d Cuba!

Always the vast slope drain’d by the Southern Sea—inseparable with the slopes

drain’d

by the Eastern and Western Seas;

The area the eighty-third year of These States—the three and a half millions of

square

miles;

The eighteen thousand miles of sea-coast and bay-coast on the main—the thirty

thousand

miles of

river navigation,

The seven millions of distinct families, and the same number of dwellings—Always

these,

and

more, branching forth into numberless branches;

Always the free range and diversity! always the continent of Democracy!

Always the prairies, pastures, forests, vast cities, travelers, Kanada, the snows;

Always these compact lands—lands tied at the hips with the belt stringing the huge

oval

lakes;

Always the West, with strong native persons—the increasing density there—the

habitans,

friendly, threatening, ironical, scorning invaders;

All sights, South, North, East—all deeds, promiscuously done at all times,

All characters, movements, growths—a few noticed, myriads unnoticed,

Through Mannahatta’s streets I walking, these things gathering;

On interior rivers, by night, in the glare of pine knots, steamboats wooding up;

Sunlight by day on the valley of the Susquehanna, and on the valleys of the Potomac and

Rappahannock, and the valleys of the Roanoke and Delaware;

In their northerly wilds, beasts of prey haunting the Adirondacks, the hills—or

lapping

the

Saginaw waters to drink;

In a lonesome inlet, a sheldrake, lost from the flock, sitting on the water, rocking

silently;

In farmers’ barns, oxen in the stable, their harvest labor done—they rest

standing—they are too tired;

Afar on arctic ice, the she-walrus lying drowsily, while her cubs play around;

The hawk sailing where men have not yet sail’d—the farthest polar sea, ripply,

crystalline, open, beyond the floes;

White drift spooning ahead, where the ship in the tempest dashes;

On solid land, what is done in cities, as the bells all strike midnight together;

In primitive woods, the sounds there also sounding—the howl of the wolf, the scream

of the

panther, and the hoarse bellow of the elk;

In winter beneath the hard blue ice of Moosehead Lake—in summer visible through the

clear

waters, the great trout swimming;

In lower latitudes, in warmer air, in the Carolinas, the large black buzzard floating

slowly,

high

beyond the tree tops,

Below, the red cedar, festoon’d with tylandria—the pines and cypresses, growing

out

of the

white sand that spreads far and flat;

Rude boats descending the big Pedee—climbing plants, parasites, with color’d

flowers

and

berries, enveloping huge trees,

The waving drapery on the live oak, trailing long and low, noiselessly waved by the wind;

The camp of Georgia wagoners, just after dark—the supper-fires, and the cooking and

eating

by

whites and negroes,

Thirty or forty great wagons—the mules, cattle, horses, feeding from troughs,

The shadows, gleams, up under the leaves of the old sycamore-trees—the

flames—with

the

black smoke from the pitch-pine, curling and rising;

Southern fishermen fishing—the sounds and inlets of North Carolina’s

coast—the

shad-fishery and the herring-fishery—the large sweep-seines—the windlasses on

shore

work’d by horses—the clearing, curing, and packing-houses;

Deep in the forest, in piney woods, turpentine dropping from the incisions in the

trees—There

are the turpentine works,

There are the negroes at work, in good health—the ground in all directions is

cover’d

with

pine straw:

—In Tennessee and Kentucky, slaves busy in the coalings, at the forge, by the

furnace-blaze, or

at the corn-shucking;

In Virginia, the planter’s son returning after a long absence, joyfully welcom’d

and

kiss’d by the aged mulatto nurse;

On rivers, boatmen safely moor’d at night-fall, in their boats, under shelter of high

banks,

Some of the younger men dance to the sound of the banjo or fiddle—others sit on the

gunwale,

smoking and talking;

Late in the afternoon, the mocking-bird, the American mimic, singing in the Great Dismal

Swamp—there are the greenish waters, the resinous odor, the plenteous moss, the

cypress

tree,

and the juniper tree;

—Northward, young men of Mannahatta—the target company from an excursion

returning

home at

evening—the musket-muzzles all bear bunches of flowers presented by women;

Children at play—or on his father’s lap a young boy fallen asleep, (how his lips

move! how

he smiles in his sleep!)

The scout riding on horseback over the plains west of the Mississippi—he ascends a

knoll

and

sweeps his eye around;

California life—the miner, bearded, dress’d in his rude costume—the stanch

California

friendship—the sweet air—the graves one, in passing, meets, solitary, just

aside the

horsepath;

Down in Texas, the cotton-field, the negro-cabins—drivers driving mules or oxen

before

rude

carts—cotton bales piled on banks and wharves;

Encircling all, vast-darting, up and wide, the American Soul, with equal

hemispheres—one

Love,

one Dilation or Pride;

—In arriere, the peace-talk with the Iroquois, the aborigines—the calumet, the

pipe

of

good-will, arbitration, and indorsement,

The sachem blowing the smoke first toward the sun and then toward the earth,

The drama of the scalp-dance enacted with painted faces and guttural exclamations,

The setting out of the war-party—the long and stealthy march,

The single-file—the swinging hatchets—the surprise and slaughter of enemies;

—All the acts, scenes, ways, persons, attitudes of These States—reminiscences,

all

institutions,

All These States, compact—Every square mile of These States, without excepting a

particle—you also—me also,

Me pleas’d, rambling in lanes and country fields, Paumanok’s fields,

Me, observing the spiral flight of two little yellow butterflies, shuffling between each

other,

ascending high in the air;

The darting swallow, the destroyer of insects—the fall traveler southward, but

returning

northward early in the spring;

The country boy at the close of the day, driving the herd of cows, and shouting to them as

they

loiter to browse by the road-side;

The city wharf—Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Charleston, New Orleans, San

Francisco,

The departing ships, when the sailors heave at the capstan;

—Evening—me in my room—the setting sun,

The setting summer sun shining in my open window, showing the swarm of flies, suspended,

balancing

in the air in the centre of the room, darting athwart, up and down, casting swift shadows

in

specks

on the opposite wall, where the shine is;

The athletic American matron speaking in public to crowds of listeners;

Males, females, immigrants, combinations—the copiousness—the individuality of

The

States,

each for itself—the money-makers;

Factories, machinery, the mechanical forces—the windlass, lever, pulley—All

certainties,

The certainty of space, increase, freedom, futurity,

In space, the sporades, the scatter’d islands, the stars—on the firm earth, the

lands, my

lands;

O lands! all so dear to me—what you are, (whatever it is,) I become a part of that,

whatever it

is;

Southward there, I screaming, with wings slowly flapping, with the myriads of gulls

wintering

along

the coasts of Florida—or in Louisiana, with pelicans breeding;

Otherways, there, atwixt the banks of the Arkansaw, the Rio Grande, the Nueces, the

Brazos, the

Tombigbee, the Red River, the Saskatchawan, or the Osage, I with the spring waters

laughing

and

skipping and running;

Northward, on the sands, on some shallow bay of Paumanok, I, with parties of snowy herons

wading in

the wet to seek worms and aquatic plants;

Retreating, triumphantly twittering, the king-bird, from piercing the crow with its bill,

for

amusement—And I triumphantly twittering;

The migrating flock of wild geese alighting in autumn to refresh themselves—the body

of

the

flock feed—the sentinels outside move around with erect heads watching, and are from

time

to

time reliev’d by other sentinels—And I feeding and taking turns with the rest;

In Kanadian forests, the moose, large as an ox, corner’d by hunters, rising

desperately on

his

hind-feet, and plunging with his fore-feet, the hoofs as sharp as knives—And I,

plunging

at the

hunters, corner’d and desperate;

In the Mannahatta, streets, piers, shipping, store-houses, and the countless workmen

working in

the

shops,

And I too of the Mannahatta, singing thereof—and no less in myself than the whole of

the

Mannahatta in itself,

Singing the song of These, my ever united lands—my body no more inevitably united,

part to

part, and made one identity, any more than my lands are inevitably united, and made ONE

IDENTITY;

Nativities, climates, the grass of the great Pastoral Plains;

Cities, labors, death, animals, products, war, good and evil—these me,

These affording, in all their particulars, endless feuillage to me and to America, how can

I do

less

than pass the clew of the union of them, to afford the like to you?

Whoever you are! how can I but offer you divine leaves, that you also be eligible as I am?

 

How can I but, as here, chanting, invite you for yourself to collect bouquets of the

incomparable

feuillage of These States?

  

_____________________________________________

  

( manipulated by me, using an original photo of my private colection)

 

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 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 is visiting her family home for Christmas and the New Year. She motored down to Wiltshire with her old childhood chum, Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has tried to gain some independence from his family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street. The Christmas tree, cut from the grove of trees on the Glynes estate, adorned with its gold tinsel, satin bows and shiny glass baubles still stands amidst all the grand gilt Louis and Palladian style furnishings of the drawing room: a remnant of the family Christmas, the gaily decorated presents that sat beneath its boughs are but a joyful memory from Christmas Day now, and the tree will be taken down by Bramley, the Chetwynd’s faithful butler and several of the Glynes’ maids tomorrow for Twelfth Night*. Lettice’s sister, Lalage (known to everyone in the family by the diminutive Lally), is also staying at Glynes with her own family, but has gone to visit locally living friends with her husband, Charles, and their three children. However, Lettice’s Aunt Eglantyne, the younger artistic spinster sister of the Viscount (known affectionately as Aunt Egg by all her nieces and nephews), remains at Glynes for the day along with Lettice. The Viscount and Lady Sadie, Leslie and Arabella, and Eglantyne are all gathered in the drawing room at the behest of Lettice, who has mysteriously announced that she has some important news to share, but will divulge nothing more.

 

“Where the devil is she then?” asks the Viscount irritably as he sits on an upright gilt salon chair embroidered with fine petit point by his mother, his arms folded akimbo across his chest. “The bloody cheek of her!”

 

“Language, Cosmo.” chides Lady Sadie from her seat across the fire from him, her usual place in the Glynes drawing room, where she quietly sits and embroiders some roses on a piece of linen stretched across her embroidery hoop.

 

“Well!” blusters the Viscount. “I think I have a right to be irked, Sadie. Lettice goes on about wanting to make some important announcement, telling us we all need to be present, being irritably mysterious about it,” He unfolds his arms and gesticulates before him. “And then she doesn’t even have the decency to show up at the time she asks us all to be here. Leslie and I need to be attending to the estate, not pandering to her and playing her silly games!”

 

“Pappa is right. It is rather selfish of Tice, Mamma.” Leslie adds in a slightly kinder, yet serious tone, uncharacteristically critical of his youngest sibling. “The estate doesn’t stop just because it’s New Year, and Pappa and I have business at Willow Wood Farm, and that’s on the far side of the estate.”

 

“If Lettice says it’s important, it’s important, Cosmo dear.” Eglantyne insists coolly from her seat on a sofa, toying distractedly with the long black glass bead sautoir** cascading down the front of her dramatic russet coloured Delphos gown***, her usual choice of frock, as she flips through Lady Sadie’s latest copy of Horse and Hound****. “She isn’t prone to over dramatisation.”

 

“No, but she does enjoy being the centre of attention.” mutters the Viscount.

 

“Wherever might she get that from?” Eglantyne asks rhetorically as she looks up at her brother from over the top of the magazine, watching him redden, bluster and shift uncomfortably in his seat under her astute observations, causing her to smile behind the pages of equestrian events held up in front of her.

 

Lady Sadie glances at the delicate Dresden china clock on the drawing room mantle. “I’m as put out as you Cosmo. Arabella and I have business in the village to attend to, don’t we Arabella dear?” When Arabella nods her ascent with a shallow nod, Lady Sadie goes on. “But it is only just after eleven. Let’s give Lettice a few more minutes.”

 

As the Viscount coughs and grumbles his reluctant agreement, folding his arms akimbo again across his golden yellow shepherd’s check***** vest, a loud rumbling from outside begins to break the tense atmosphere of the drawing room. “What the blazes…” the Viscount falters.

 

Lady Sadie puts aside her embroidery, rises from her seat and walks across the drawing room carpet to the full length windows that afford unobstructed views of the driveway. She discreetly moves the scrim curtain slightly and sighs heavily. “It’s Sir John in that ghastly, vulgar and showy car of his.”

 

“He’s come down in his Torpedo******?” Leslie pipes up, pulling himself out of his languid position by his wife’s side on the sofa, sitting upright in excitement. “I say! How ripping!”

 

“A racing car for a racy lifestyle.” opines the Viscount disparagingly in a quiet voice. “The old letch.”

 

Not hearing her husband’s denigrating comments about Sir John, Lady Sadie replies to her son’s remark. “Irritating is more like it. This really is too tiresome!” She sighs again. “What on earth can he want?”

 

“I thought you liked, Sir John, Sadie.” Arabella remarks, looking up from an old copy of The Tatler******* in her hands.

 

“Oh I don’t mind him, dear,” Lady Sadie responds with a huff, dropping the edge of the lace scrim curtain and turning back to face the room, whilst outside the front door Sir John energetically leaps elegantly from his Bugatti. “It’s just that being our neighbour… mmm… of sorts, and of influence in the district, whatever his business is, it will take precedence over Lettice’s news, however important she may think it, and that means we will be later in visiting the Miss Evanses.”

 

“Heaven forbid we should miss visiting the Miss Evanses.” Arabella remarks sarcastically, glad that she is facing away from her mother-in-law and into the room as she rolls her eyes upwards and smirks cheekily at Leslie, who smirks back as they share their mutual dislike of the two genteel gossipy spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house, in Glynes village.

 

“Arabella!” Lady Sadie chides. “You know as well as I do that both the Miss Evanses have been sick with head colds since before Christmas.”

 

“That didn’t stop them trudging up here from the village with their beastly head colds to see the Christmas tree in the hall,” Leslie gripes. “Snuffling and coughing all over the place, and making a general nuisance of themselves with their simpering ‘only if it’s not too much trouble to get us a chair, give us an extra snifter or two of brandy, have Harris take us home’.” He rolls his eyes this time.

 

“Well, whatever they may or may not be, Leslie,” Lady Sadie counters. “The Evanses live in our village, and as lady of the manor, and your wife the future lady, Arabella and I have a duty to pay sick visits to them and see to their wellbeing. It’s just the same for you, as the presumptive heir, have a duty to visit the tenant farmers at Willow Wood Farm with your father.”

 

“I think Lettice should accompany us to the Miss Evanses, since she is putting us out like this.” Arabella says sulkily. “Perhaps three against two will make our sick visit a little more palatable. Even when they are sick, they can still whitter away nineteen to the dozen********. It’s exhausting.”

 

“Arabella!” Lady Sadie scolds. “That is most uncharitable.”

 

“But true.” smirks Leslie.

 

“Nothing will ever kill Geraldine or Henrietta Evans.” mutters the Viscount disgruntledly. “And at this rate, with infernal Sir John here as well, Leslie and I will never get to Willow Wood Farm.”

 

“Now, now!” Ladie Sadie replies as she walks back across the room. “Be polite. Stop slouching,” She flips her bejewelled hand in her husband’s general direction, causing him to sit up straightly in his seat. “And mind your manners, Cosmo.” She lowers herself elegantly into her seat and smooths down the tweed of her skirt over her knees as she prepares to receive Sir John with a painted smile on her face. “It’s not Sir John’s fault that you have better things to do than sit down and chat about county business with him.”

 

At that moment, the door to the Glynes drawing room opens and Bramley walks in.

 

“Err… Sir John Nettleford-Hughes, Milord.” the butler announces stiffly, but with a slight awkwardness as he speaks and steps aside to allow Sir John to enter.

 

Sir John strides in, oozing the confidence of male privilege that his sex, class and enormous wealth bestows with every step, wearing it every bit as well as the smart and well-cut Jermyn Street********* tweed suit he is dressed in. As he does so, Lettice follows closely in his wake, smiling a little shyly as she then steps alongside him and slips her left hand into his right. He turns his head ever so slightly to her and squeezes her hand in return in a most intimate fashion as his confident smile strengthens ever so slightly.

 

Arabella gasps as does Leslie, the married couple exchanging surprised glances at what they see. The pages of Horse and Hound in Eglantyne’s hands shiver with astonishment as she stares with her wide green eyes as her niece and Sir John approach them all.

 

“Sir John,” the Viscount says, rising to his feet. “How do you do. To what do I owe the..” The strangled gasp of surprise coming from his wife as she rises from her seat with trembling elegance distracts him momentarily. He turns away from his guest and sees Lady Sadie’s face drain of colour, as her blue eyes like cold aquamarine chips grow wide. He frowns at her, then quickly returns his attention to Sir John and concludes his sentence. “The unexpected pleasure?” It is then that he notices his youngest daughter as she slips alongside Sir John. “Oh good! There you are Lettice.” he says with false bonhomie. “Look who’s here!”

 

“Err.. Cosmo.” Lady Sadie manages to utter in a strangulated way as she steps from her seat to her husband’s side.

 

“How do you do, Lord Chetwynd,” Sir John turns his attention momentarily to the Viscount’s wife. “Lady Sadie.” He nods curtly. “It’s not really so unexpected a visit.” he continues, cutting off anything Lady Sadie might be about to say with his well elocuted syllables, his confident smile broadening a little more.

 

“Cosmo.” Lady Sadie tries to interject again.

 

“You see,” Sir John concludes. “I’ve come here at Lettice’s behest.”

 

For nearly a year Lettice had been patiently awaiting the return of her beau, Selwyn Spencely, son of the Duke of Walmsford, after he was sent to Durban by his mother, Lady Zinnia in an effort to destroy his and Lettice’s relationship which she wanted to end so that she could marry Selwyn off to his cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers. Lettice was subsequently made aware by Lady Zinnia that during the course of the year, whilst Lettice had been biding her time, waiting for Selwyn’s eventual return, he had become engaged to the daughter of an Australian, Kenyan diamond mine owner, whilst in Durban. Fleeing Lady Zinnia’s Park Lane mansion, Lettice returned to Cavendish Mews and milled over her options over a week as she reeled from the news. Then, after that week, she knew exactly what to do to resolve the issues raised by Lady Zinnia’s unwelcome news about her son. Taking extra care in her dress, she took herself off to the neighbouring suburb of Belgravia and paid a call upon Sir John Nettleford-Hughes.

 

Old enough to be her father, wealthy Sir John is still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intends to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. As an eligible man in a aftermath of the Great War when such men are a rare commodity, with a vast family estate in Bedfordshire, houses in Mayfair, Belgravia and Pimlico and Fontengil Park in Wiltshire, quite close to the Glynes estate belonging to her parents, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, invited him as a potential suitor to her 1922 Hunt Ball, which she used as a marriage market for Lettice. Selwyn rescued Lettice from the horror of having to entertain him, and Sir John left the ball early in a disgruntled mood with a much younger partygoer. Lettice reacquainted herself with Sir John in the last year at an amusing Friday to Monday long weekend party held by Sir John and Lady Gladys Caxton at their Scottish country estate, Gossington, a baronial Art and Crafts castle near the hamlet of Kershopefoot in Cumberland. To her surprise, Lettice found Sir John’s company rather enjoyable. She then ran into him again at the Portland Gallery’s autumn show in Bond Street, where she found him yet again to be a pleasant and attentive companion for much of the evening. As well as lavishing her with his attentions, Sir John made a proposition to her that night: he offered her his hand in marriage should she ever need it. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them. Turning up unannounced on his doorstep, she agreed to his proposal after explaining that the understanding between she and Selwyn was concluded. However, in an effort to be discreet, at Lettice’s insistence, they have not made their engagement public, allowing the dust about Selwyn’s break of his and Lettice’s engagement to settle, until now.

 

“At… Lettice’s behest?” the Viscount queries, cocking an eyebrow as he looks uncomprehendingly at his daughter. “What’s this about, Lettice? Enough with your silly games of intrigue! Leslie and I don’t have time for this, when we have estate business to attend to.”

 

“Err… Pappa.” Leslie ventures.

 

“Cosmo.” Lady Sadie tries again, reaching out and touching her husband’s arm, and indicating to her youngest daughter’s hand.

 

“You might think otherwise, Lord Chetwynd, when you hear what I’ve come here about.” remarks Sir John matter-of-factly.

 

“We’re engaged, Pappa!” Lettice blurts out, unable to contain herself any longer, her painted lips broadening into a bright smile as she shows her perfect white teeth. “Sir John and I!”

 

Lady Sadie, Leslie, Arabella and Eglantyne all draw their breath as one.

 

“What?” the Viscount’s face falls.

 

“Sir John and I are engaged, Pappa.” Lettice repeats.

 

“You… you and… Sir John?” the Viscount stammers, looking uncomprehendingly between his daughter and the older man.

 

“Lettice and I are announcing our engagement, Lord Chetwynd.” Sir John says, his confident smile strengthening as he tenderly raises Lettice’s left hand in his right one, the intimate movement sending a shock through Lady Sadie. He proudly proffers Lettice’s hand to the Viscount and Lady Sadie, where a beautiful and surprisingly dainty Victorian engagement ring sits on Lettice’s ring finger, a large square cut emerald********** surrounded by smaller diamonds set in platinum sparkling gaily in the light cast by the electrified chandelier above.

 

Leslie and Arabella gasp, rising quickly to their feet and scurrying across the drawing room carpet to inspect the ring. Never one to be rushed, Eglantyne slowly rises with poise and elegance, but says nothing, her lips pursed, and her face twisted into a look of disgusted intrigue, before slowly sauntering the few paces to join her nephew and his wife at Lettice and Sir John’s side.

 

“I wish you every happiness Tice***********!” Arabella cries with enthusiasm, throwing her arms around her sister-in-law, her exuberance breaking the stunned silence of the others.

 

“Yes, every happiness, Tice!” Leslie adds, following his wife’s response and hugging his sister. Yet as the felicitations fall from his lips, his voice betrays the concerns he has. As he holds her at arm’s length, his sparking pale blue eyes and slightly quavering smile are full of unspoken questions. Lettice smiles confidently in return and silently squeezes her eldest brother’s forearms as an indication that everything is alright, even if the news of her engagement is a shock to him. Leslie’s smile strengthens a little, his face taking on a slightly resigned look as he continues with a huff, “Good old Tice! After seeing all the fuss of our wedding, and how beautiful Bella looked, you just couldn’t resist, could you?”

 

Lettice releases the breath she had been holding, laughing anxiously as she does. “No, you’re quite right, Leslie! I had to be the next one in the family to get married! Heaven forbid one of Mamma’s cousins usurped me.”

 

“I say, congratulations old bean!************” Leslie says, turning his attention to Sir John and slapping his right upper arm with his left hand in a kind fashion and shaking his hand enthusiastically. “You’ve picked yourself a beautiful and intelligent bride.”

 

“Thanks ever so, old chap.” Sir John replies with a happy smile of gratitude towards his future brother-in-law.

 

“Yes, congratulations, Sir John.” Arabella says kindly. A little unsure as to whether to kiss him or not, she falters before him. “Tice inherited the looks and the brains in the Chetwynd family,” She turns to Leslie and smiles. “Unlike my husband.”

 

“Cheeky!” Leslie laughs as he looks at his pretty wife.

 

“Thank you, my dear Mrs. Chetwynd.” Sir John replies to Arabella, proffering his right cheek for her to kiss, assisting her in her indecision. “Now, if we are to be family, you really must address me as John.” His right cheek grazes Arabella’s left cheek.

 

“If we are to have you as our brother-in-law, you must call us Leslie and Bella.” Leslie pipes up.

 

“Yes… yes of course, Leslie and Bella.” Sir John chuckles distractedly in reply, accepting another congratulatory handshake from Leslie. Yet his eyes drift from Leslie’s gaze to his fiancée as she stands looking somewhat forlorn before her parents. Although her back is turned to him, Sir John can tell by her stance that Lettice is anxious. Her shoulders are stiffly upright, and her hands are clasped in front of her beseechingly.

 

“I wish you every happiness, Lettice my dear.” Lady Sadie remarks as she places her arms firmly on Lettice’s forearms and proffers her an air kiss of congratulations. “Although this is somewhat of a surprise, I must say.” she adds with an awkward laugh, releasing her daughter and staring across at Sir John.

 

“Engaged?” the Viscount asks in disbelief again.

 

“Please say you aren’t cross with me, Pappa.” Lettice addresses her crestfallen looking father with a mewling pout. “With us. I mean, I know we didn’t actually ask your permission, but we didn’t think you’d mind,” She prattles on. “And I am of age, after all.”

 

“Of course you are, Lettice my dear.” Lady Sadie replies on behalf of her husband, filling in the awkward silence between father and daughter. “I must say, you certainly took your time about it though.” She tuts. “Twenty-four, out in society and still on the shelf.” She smiles, but like Leslie there is concern in her blue eyes, causing her usual hard brilliance to mellow into a softer hue as worry fills them. “Still, you have chosen,’ she gulps. “Chosen well. Sir John is every bit of a catch as you are. It’s… it’s just come as something of a surprise, hasn’t it, Cosmo, my dear?”

 

“Please say you’re happy for me, Pappa!” Lettice implores.

  

“But when?” the Viscount manages to ask his daughter in a voice hoarse with emotion, looking at her with questioning eyes, seeing Lettice as a young woman for the first time, rather than a little girl. “How?”

 

“Oh, in the usual way, Lord Chetwynd.” Sir John says brightly, taking a few steps, leading him out of Leslie and Arabella’s orb of conversation and intruding into Lettice’s one with her parents. “I proposed, and she said yes.”

 

“Well, it kind of snuck up on us and surprised us, didn’t it, John darling.” Lettice says awkwardly, gulping and breathing heavily as she does.

 

“Yes!” Sir John chuckles a little awkwardly, thrusting his left hand deep into his trouser pocket as he rolls up and down slightly upon the balls of his feet. “Yes, I suppose it did.”

 

“So how did it happen,” Eglantyne asks as she steps up to her niece and fiancée, speaking for the first time. “Exactly?” There is an edge of hostility to her voice as she speaks, and as she glides elegantly up alongside her brother, she blows a cloud of acrid smoke from the Black Russian Sobranie************* she has lit and placed in her amber and gold holder, into Sir John’s face as she speaks. “It’s a story I should very much like to hear.”

 

“Aunt Egg!” Lettice exclaims, fanning her face with her hand to dissipate the heavy fug of smoke that envelops them.

 

“Really Eglantyne!” Lady Sadie snaps. “Must you smoke in here? You know how much I disapprove of men smoking indoors,” She looks askance at her sister-in-law with her hennaed red hair and bohemian dress drawing upon her cigarette. “Never mind women! It’s undignified!”

 

“Yes, I must, Sadie, even if it sticks in your craw. If my niece is announcing her surprise engagement, I think I must insist on smoking, short of being offered a very stiff drink by you to dull the surprise.” Eglantyne snaps back.

 

Lettice looks at her aunt with hurt eyes. “Aunt Egg!”

 

Ignoring Lettice, Eglantyne folds her arms akimbo and fixes Sir John with her appraising green eyes, smiling as she draws deeply on her cigarette through her holder. “Please, do go on, John. Regale us with the tale of your proposal.”

 

“Well, you were actually there, Eglantyne my dear,” Sir John replies with confidence, giving Lettice’s forearm a gentle comforting and protective squeeze, drawing her closer to him, determined not to be intimidated by Eglantyne, ignoring her evident hostility.

 

“I was?” Eglantyne asks in surprise, sending forth another plume of acrid greyish blue smoke.

 

“You were.” he assures her. “It was the night of the Portland Gallery’s autumn show.”

 

“Lettice?” Eglantyne queries, turning in surprise to Lettice. “Why did I not know about this?” she asks with a mixture of resentment and bitterness in her voice.

 

“Well, Lettice doesn’t have to tell you everything, Eglantyne.,” Sir John retorts. “Even if you are her favourite aunt.

 

“Well it didn’t quite happen that night, Aunt Egg” Lettice tries to explain in an apologetic tone. “It is true that John did propose to me that night, or rather he made me a proposition…” She pauses. “Of sorts.”

 

“A proposition?” Lady Sadie asks in concern, glancing first and Lettice and then more skeptically at Sir John. “What did you mean, child?”

 

“Well, I offered her my hand in marriage that night, should she ever need it.” Sir John replies.

 

“But that was…” Lady Sadie calculates the dates in her head. “But… didn’t you… you and Selwyn… still have an understanding then?” she manages to falter as she blushes, looking questioningly at her daughter.

 

“I did, Mamma.” Lettice replies.

 

“And that, my dear Eglantyne is why you wouldn’t have heard about my proposal that evening.” Sir John says cheerfully. “There was nothing to say on the matter. Lettice was still engaged to young Spencely at the time. I’d only asked Lettice to consider my proposal that evening, not accept it, and then, only in the event should circumstances with young Spencely ever change.”

 

“And how fortuitous for you that her circumstances changed, dear John.” Eglantyne remarks caustically.

 

“Aunt Egg!” Lettice looks askance at her aunt.

 

“Fortunate for us both, dear Eglantyne.” Sir John replies, pulling Lettice a little closer to him.

 

“I never took you for the marrying kind, John.” Eglantyne opines.

 

“Well,” Sir John bristles. “I didn’t take you as being a woman who put such faith in society gossip, Eglantyne.”

 

“Eglantyne!” Lady Sadie echoes Lettice’s admonishment.

 

“I was merely making an observation.” Eglantyne retorts, raising her bejewelled gnarled hands in defence, sending a trail of curling cigarette smoke into the air as she does. “I meant no offence.”

 

“Well, your opinions on the institution of marriage are well known, Eglantyne.” Lady Sadie quips, shaking her head slightly at her sister-in-law as she eyes her with an inscrutable look with hard eyes. “So let that be an end to it!”

 

“I shall say no more.” Eglantyne replies, withdrawing and standing next to Leslie.

 

“The main thing is, I proposed.” Sir John says defiantly.

 

“And I accepted, willingly.” Lettice says with a sudden steeliness in her voice. “And” She looks earnestly into her father’s face. “I hope you will give us your blessing, Pappa. Will you?”

 

Everyone in the drawing room suddenly looks at the Viscount as he stands in silence before his daughter. His look is indecipherable as he stares at her, his eyes sparkling with the unshed tears he holds back. His hands tremble almost imperceptibly at his side. The silence is palpable, and the longer it goes on, only broken by the gentle ticking on the clock on the mantle, the more awkward everyone becomes.

 

“Cosmo?” Lady Sadie asks uncertainly, gently reaching out and grasping his slumping shoulder.

 

“Pappa?” Lettice asks tentatively, her eyes filling with tears that threaten to spill at any moment.

 

He doesn’t reply at first, seemingly frozen in his stance as he gazes with a questioning look at his daughter. The unanswered question by his daughter finally reaches into the Viscount’s consciousness and breaks his silence. He coughs and stammers. “Well… well, your mother has said it already, but this news..” He pauses. “This welcome news..” he corrects. He lets out a shuddering breath as he speaks the two words. “Has come upon us rather suddenly. But you are of age, Lettice, so you do not need my permission. You may marry whomever you wish.”

 

“Indeed!” pipes up Lady Sadie. “You certainly took your time about it, Lettice. You aren’t getting any younger. You’re twenty-four now.”

 

“But will you give us your blessing, Pappa?” Lettice asks again, wrapping her left hand in Sir John’s right hand and squeezing it. When he squeezes it comfortingly in return Lady Sadie’s eyes to widen slightly and she shudders again at their obvious intimacy, which she is not used to.

 

“Are you happy with your choice, Lettice?” the Viscount asks.

 

Lettice doesn’t answer for a moment. Her mind is awash with a mixture of emotions: anger and resentment for Lady Zinnia, heartbreak and disappointment for Selwyn at his betrayal of her, gratefulness to Sir John for his proposal of marriage and his willingness to be truthful to her. “Of course I am, Pappa!” she finally answers with steeliness in her voice, chuckling as she finishes speaking. “We both are, aren’t we, John darling?” She turns to her fiancée.

 

“Indeed we are, Lettice.” he agrees, nodding his assent.

 

“Then we must open some champagne to celebrate!” the Viscount replies, blinking and smiling brightly at his daughter. “After all it isn’t every day that my youngest daughter announces her engagement, is it?” He opens his arms welcomingly to her.

 

“Oh Pappa!” Lettice exclaims with relief, releasing the pent-up breath she didn’t even realise that she was holding on to.

 

“Thank you!”

 

As Lettice falls into her father’s arms, burying her head into his shoulder she lets the tears of happiness and relief fall from her eyes as she closes them and inhales the familiar scent of her father, a mixture of musky eau de cologne and the scent of books. What she does not notice is the Viscount’s own tears and the trace of concern in his face and eyes as he pulls her close to him.

 

“Are you really sure, Lettice.” he whispers quietly in her ear.

 

“I am, Pappa.” she answers back in equally hushed tones, tightening her closed lids and smiling.

 

Releasing her from his embrace, the Viscount approaches Sir John. Sniffing he blusters, “Well, what is it they say, Sir John? I’m not losing a daughter, but gaining a son.” He reaches out his big hand and firmly shakes Sir John’s, slapping him firmly on the upper arm in a chummy way. “Isn’t that right?”

 

“Indeed it is, Lord Chetwynd,” Sir John says with a sigh of relief, not quite yet feeling comfortable or familiar enough to release the formality and call him, Cosmo.

 

“Congratulations!” the Viscount says with a half-smile, shaking Sir John’s hand.

 

“Yes, congratulations.” Lady Sadie echoes her husband, smiling politely at Sir John before allowing her gaze to dart back to her youngest child.

 

“Well!” the Viscount booms. “We must celebrate! Sadie! Ring for Bramley!” He claps his hands. “We must have champagne!”

 

A short while later Bramley and Moira the head parlourmaid arrive, as instructed, with two bottles of the finest champagne from the Viscount’s cellars in silver coolers and a tray of champagne flutes on a silver tray. They place them upon the ornate galleried gilded rococo table placed in the centre of the cluster of sofas and chairs.

 

“If I may wish you and Sir John my heartiest congratulations, My Lady.” the old retainer says to Lettice.

 

“Thank you, Bramley.” Lettice replies with a satisfied smile. “If you’d be good enough to share the news with all the staff below stairs, I’d appreciate it.”

 

“Certainly, My Lady.”

 

Amid the hubbub of slightly subdued chatter around the table, the Viscount pops the cork of one of the bottles and fills several of the glasses, draining the bottle before opening the second and filling the remaining flutes and passing the glasses around.

 

“A toast!” the Viscount announces, clearing his throat.

 

“Oh, it’s a shame that Lally and Charles aren’t here for this.” Blurts out Arabella.

 

“Well, we’ll just have to have another round when they get back from their visit to Bowood**************.” Leslie says. “Won’t we?”

 

“A toast!” the Viscount says again, raising his flute of sparking champagne and smiling at Lettice. “To the marriage of my lovely youngest daughter, Lettice and her fiancée, our friend and neighbour, Sir John. Nettleford-Hughes”

 

He, Lady Sadie, Leslie, Arabella and even Eglantyne, albeit a little begrudgingly, toast the newly engaged couple. “To Lettice and Sir John.” As the party sip their congratulatory champagne, Lady Sadie cannot help but shudder again as she watches Lettice’s and Sir John’s lips meet in a chaste kiss.

 

The company then break up into smaller groups and chatter animatedly as they sip their champagne. Sir John talks with Eglantyne on one of the sofas, their faces serious and their conversation animated. The Viscount and Leslie mill next to the drawing room’s impressive chinoiserie screen discussing the fact that it is now unlikely that they will get to Willow Wood Farm today. Lady Sadie wanders around, never quite settling, joining the fray of conversations, but then moving on, going from one armchair or sofa to another until she finishes her glass of champagne and quietly slips out of the drawing room. Arabella and Lettice put their heads together conspiratorially, giggling girlishly.

 

“Oh Tice!” Arabella sighs. “That is such a stunning engagement ring!”

 

“It was John’s mother’s ring.” Lettice answers. “His younger sister, Clemance has been keeping it safely aside for him.”

 

“I didn’t know Sir John had a sister, Tice.” Arabella admits.

 

“John, Bella my dear.” Lettice corrects her sister-in-law.

 

“Yes, of course: John!” Arabella replies, blushing as she does.

 

“John actually has quite a number of siblings, Bella, but I think Clemence is his favourite. She lived with her husband abroad for many years, in Paris mostly, but when he died last year, she returned to England, which is probably why you’ve never heard of her. She lives in London now, so when he announced our engagement, she gave him the ring, saying that she had kept it safely for him until he finally found the right young lady to give it to.”

 

“And that was you, Tice! You!” Arabella laughs.

 

“You are a hopeless romantic, Bella!” Lettice laughs, grateful to have at least one member of her family happy about her engagement. “Quite hopeless!”

 

“You know me, Tice!” Arabella giggles in response. “How delightful Sir… I mean, John’s sister sounds.”

 

“Oh, Clemance is lovely, Arabella. I’m sure you’ll like her when you meet her.”

 

“Just look at the way that emerald sparkles!” Arabella adds, lifting Lettice’s hand, causing the stones to wink and sparkle. “It’s magnificent.” she breathes with excitement. “It speaks of exotic climes and thrilling adventures.”

  

“Do you know, Bella, that emeralds are purported to be the revealer of truths?” Lettice asks her sister-in-law, speaking loudly enough for her father to hear. When Arabella shakes her head, Lettice goes on, “Emeralds reputedly could cut through all illusions and spells, including the truth or falsity of a lover's oath. Some believed it could also dampen lust. However, that is contrary to what they thought in ancient Greece and Rome, where emeralds were said to be the gemstone of the goddess Venus, purveyor of love and hope.”

 

“Who told you that, my clever girl?” the Viscount interrupts, drawing up alongside his daughter and daughter-in-law, his half empty glass of champagne in his hand.

 

“The language tutor you engaged to teach me French, Pappa.” Lettice laughs.

 

“What has the meaning of emeralds in ancient times to do with French?” the Viscount retorts in surprise, guffawing as he does.

 

“Nothing, but I did find that Monsieur Bertrand did have a secret passion for allegory as we took our lessons.”

 

“Not so secret, evidently, Tice.” giggles Arabella.

 

“Well, I hope he taught you about allegory in French, my dear.” the Viscount chortles.

 

“Bien sûr, Pappa!” Lettice laughs, the joyous sound making her father smile sadly.

 

“I’m so happy for you, Tice my dear!” Arabella enthuses again. “Sir John really is quite the catch.”

 

Father, daughter and daughter-in-law chuckle for a moment before the Viscount says, “My dear, I’m sorry to intrude on your conversation with Arabella, but I have a word with you?”

 

“Of course, Pappa.”

 

“In private.” he adds.

 

“Of course, Pappa.” Lettice says, nodding as she gives her sister-in-law an apologetic look.

 

“Please excuse us, Arabella my dear.” the Viscount apologises as he leads Lettice away from the cluster of his family gathered in clusters around the gilded galleried table, to a sofa further away where they can have a discussion without the fear of being eavesdropped upon. “Please.” He indicates for her to sit.

 

“This is all rather cloak and dagger, isn’t it Pappa?” Lettice titters as she does as she is bidden, and sinks down upon the soft gold satin upholstery with figured patterns upon it.

 

“This is no laughing matter, Lettice.” the Viscount acknowledges, his crumpled and wrinkled face looking dark. “Now this is serious, my dear. I want to talk to you.”

 

“Pappa!” Lettice’s face clouds as she sips her half empty flute of champagne. “You’re worrying me.”

 

“No need to be worried, my girl.” The Viscount takes a mouthful of champagne before continuing. “However, I do need to ask you something.”

 

“Yes,” Lettice replies, instantly taking a more dour stance. “What is it, Pappa?”

 

“Now, you know that I’m not one who is very good with expressing my emotions,” the Viscount blusters awkwardly. “But I hope that you do know I love you. Don’t you, my girl?”

 

“Oh Pappa!” Lettice scoffs, waving her hand, the emerald catching the Viscount’s eye as it and the surrounding diamonds winks and sparkle. “Of course I do!”

 

“And that I only want the very best for you.” He wags his index finger at her.

 

“Of course, Pappa.”

 

“Then please understand that what I’m about to ask and say, only comes from my love and concern for you and your happiness?”

 

“Goodness!” Lettice exclaims with a mixture of trepidation and frustration. “What on earth is this about Pappa?”

 

“Well,” the Viscount confesses. “I just want to make sure that you are quite certain.”

 

“Of marrying John?”

 

“Of marrying Sir John.” he agrees.

 

“Oh really Pappa!” Lettice mutters. “You must start calling him John, if we are to be engaged. You can’t very well call my husband Sir John all our married life.”

 

“Yes, quite. Err… John.” he coughs awkwardly. He pauses and takes another mouthful of champagne, swilling the fizzy liquid around in his mouth. Sighing he adds, “This is all very sudden, Lettice.”

 

“I knew you’d say that, Pappa, but it’s been long enough, and I’ve made up my mind,” Lettice replies defiantly. “No matter what you and Aunt Egg may think.”

 

“Now, now. Don’t be too hard on us, my girl. It’s just that this has all come as rather a shock to us. You mustn’t expect hearty congratulations when we had no idea this arrangement between the two of you was even a possibility.”

 

“Why do you call it an arrangement, Pappa?” Lettice asks hotly.

 

The Viscount doesn’t answer straight away. “No reason my girl. A poor choice of words on my part. An understanding then.” he concedes. “Anyway, you can hardly expect your aunt to be pleased no matter who you choose to marry. You know she’s a free spirit and doesn’t conform to society like the rest of us.” He looks across at Eglantyne as she talks with Sir John on the sofa. “I mean, Eglantyne wasn’t exactly thrilled when Leslie announced he was marrying Arabella,” He chuckles. “And we’d been voicing that possibility within her earshot for years before he finally asked her to marry him.”

 

“Well, she seemed a little happier about Leslie’s engagement than mine.” Lettice sulks. “She needn’t have been quite so openly hostile.”

 

“You’re her protégée, my girl, and you are my favourite daughter.” The Viscount chuckles again. “Just don’t tell Lally that by the way.” He wags a finger at Lettice. “We just want to be sure that you are happy, and that this isn’t something you are just rushing into. Give us both time. Eh?”

 

“Alright Pappa.” Lettice acquiesces.

 

“Good girl.” The Viscount smiles at his daughter before going on. “He’s a lot older than you, isn’t he? Sir John, I mean.” the Viscount continues. “He’s closer to my age than he is yours.”

 

“You’re concerned about the age difference between us?” Lettice asks.

 

The Viscount bites the inside of his bottom lip in concern. He’s felt for a long time now that Sir John was quite a lecherous man, paying undue attention to younger women at the social functions he and the Viscount attended in the district at the same time. Then there were the whiffs of scandal, implying that he may have gone off with one or two of them. There was even the rumour that he went home with a much younger partygoer at the 1922 Hunt Ball held at Glynes, purportedly because Lettice had spurned his attentions that evening, preferring those of Selwyn Spencely. All this whilst uncomfortable to think about, was at least at arm’s length when Sir John had his life, and the Viscount and his family had theirs, yet now the two have been catapulted together with the announcement of Lettice’s engagement to Sir John. These circumstances have brought the Viscount’s disparaging thoughts and the rumours about Sir John to the front of his mind. He stares at his daughter: a young lady yes, but still such an innocent as she looks at him with her defiant gaze. Does he share his concerns with her?

 

“Well, I…” he stammers. “Well it’s just that…”

 

“Pappa?”

 

“I just don’t want you feeling that you have to get married. I… I mean… I mean your mother and I want you to marry of course, and marry well.” he huffs. “And I know… John is a most eligible bachelor, but that doesn’t mean I want you to settle for Sir… err John, just because…”

 

“Settle?” Lettice interrupts.

 

“I want to make sure that that there is no undue influence, I mean. You know,” He gesticulates in the space between them. “Upon your decision, I mean, to marry him.”

 

“Undue influence?” Lettice looks at her father in surprise. “What on earth does that mean?”

 

“Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear!” The Viscount sighs heavily as he rubs his big hand over his wrinkled and weathered face. “This isn’t coming out quite the way I wanted it, my girl.” He pauses and tries again. “You know words are not my strongest suit. Look, let me speak plainly.”

 

“I wish you would, Pappa.”

 

“I know back in twenty-two, your mother saw Sir John as a good match, and I know that you had your reservations about him being… well, being too old and stuffy. Of course you were attracted to young Spencely with all his charms.”

 

“What on earth has this to do with undue influence, Pappa?” Lettice asks. “This makes no sense.”

 

The Viscount lowers his voice. “I just want to make sure that you haven’t changed your mind about Sir John, because of something,” He turns and glances over his shoulder, unable to see his wife, who still hasn’t returned since he saw her deposit her empty champagne flute on the silver tray before quietly leaving the room with her head bowed in concern. He turns back to Lettice. “Something your mother might have said, or suggested, after young Spencely ended your engagement so suddenly.”

 

“Well, Mamma has hardly hidden her displeasure at my current status of remaining unmarried, Pappa at twenty-four. When I announced the understanding between Selwyn and I, it was obviously a relief to her.”

 

“I know your mother has put a great deal of emphasis on you being out in society for a while now, and anxious about you being stuck on the shelf. But I…”

 

“Pappa, please stop.” Lettice sets her now empty champagne glass aside and holds up her hands. “I can assure you that there was no undue pressure or influence from Mamma, or you in my decision.”

 

“No! No of course not.” he stammers in reply. Sighing he continues, “Well, that’s a relief. And.. and John?”

 

“Well, aside from him making his proposal at the Portland Gallery, which would weigh heavily on any girl’s conscience, there has been no pressure from him to decide.”

 

“It does seem a little bit odd, don’t you think?” the Viscount shakes his head as he screws up his face in distaste.

 

“Odd, Pappa?”

 

“Yes. It seems a rather rum business*************** what with him making the proposition to you as he did at the gallery, and then shortly after, Lady Zinnia announcing that Selwyn is marrying that horrible Antipodean**************** heiress in Durban.”

 

“Kitty Avendale” Lettice sighs heavily.

 

“Is that her name?”

 

“Yes.” Lettice answers laconically, focussing her attention on her toe of her shoe as she uses it to rub the pile of the Oriental carpet beneath it distractedly.

 

“Ghastly name, for a ghastly girl. “Treacherous trollop!”

 

Lettice allows herself a sad chuckle before going on. “Well,” she sighs. “I shan’t disagree with you about her name Pappa, but no, I don’t believe that John and Lady Zinnia are in any way conspiring. When John offered his proposal of sorts, he knew perfectly well that Selwyn and I were planning to get married upon his return from Durban.”

 

“Are you quite sure about that?”

 

“What are you implying, Pappa?”

 

“Nothing, my girl. I just want to make sure that you’re sure, and that… that this isn’t a result of some arrangement between Zinnia and John. She never wanted you to marry young Spencely, and wanted to end your romantic involvement with him, no matter what the cost, and Sir… err John and his proposal seems the perfect solution, if she knew that John was interested in you.”

 

The Viscount’s words hang between father and daughter.

 

“No, Pappa.” Lettice says resolutely. “John is not contriving with Lady Zinnia. He even encouraged me to hold onto hope that Selwyn was coming back to me. He said that I should only consider his offer if circumstances between Selwyn and I changed,” She sighs heavily. “And that is exactly what has happened, Pappa. Circumstances have changed, and none of them have to do with any scheming from John or Lady Zinnia. I’m quite sure of it. John was quite content to remain unmarried.”

 

“That’s what I mean, my dear girl!” His eyes light up. “Pardon me for saying this, but it seems so incredibly at odds with his behaviour to date.”

 

“But why should John wish to enter into a marriage he doesn’t want for Lady Zinnia’s ends, Pappa? It makes no sense that he would do that.”

 

“I concede, I can’t answer that.”

 

“Has it ever occurred to you, Pappa, that I might be the one who stirred his heart?”

 

“Well, of course it has, my dear!” he assures her hurriedly. “I think there are a great many men whose hearts you could stir”

 

“You’re so kind Pappa.” Lettice lowers her gaze. “I promise you that John says that he admires me for far more than my beauty, and her certainly isn’t a fortune hunter.”

 

“I’m quite aware of the latter, my dear. He is richer than Croesus*****************.”

 

“He admires me for my mind, my wit, and my business acumen. As he says, he’s a businessman at heart, so he wants to marry someone with a similar mind. We’ve already discussed the difference in age between us, and what that means for both of us. You also may be surprised, and hopefully pleased, to hear that he has no wish to stop me from continuing my endeavours in my interior design business.”

 

The Viscount’s face shows his pleased amazement. “I must confess that does surprise me.”

 

“That’s what I mean by John being a businessman at heart, Pappa. He has remarked, on a number of occasions, that the last kind of woman he wishes to attach himself to is one who is bord and bone idle.”

 

“I see.”

 

“Or one who becomes jealous if he has to go away on business trips. He admires industry and fruitfulness. His offer is a very generous one. I am able to enjoy being Lady Nettleford-Hughes and all the status and wealth that accompanies the title. I shall be chatelaine of his properties and enjoy them. He will even allow me to hang what he calls my ‘daubs’ on the walls of his houses if it so pleases me.”

 

The Viscount chuckles at Sir John’s adroit term for the style of modern paintings Lettice has a preference for.

 

“And all the while I will still have my own business to run: a business he not only supports, but encourages.” Lettice goes on.

 

“And you’re quite sure that the understanding between you and Selwyn is ended, my girl?” the Viscount asks seriously, lowering his head. “I mean, quite sure?”

 

“I am Pappa.” Lettice replies adamantly. “He’s engaged. That feels like a very definite action in order for him to end things with me. If he’d really wanted to marry me, now the year of separation imposed upon us by Lady Zinnia is at an end, he could have communicated it with me. They do have a telephone exchange in Durban, even if he was delayed in sailing back to me. But I’ve heard nothing from him at all. His silence speaks volumes.”

 

“I see.” the Viscount lowers his eyes momentarily. “No chance then?”

 

“Pappa!” Lettice gasps with exasperation. “How many times must I tell you before you believe me? Yes, I’m quite sure it is done with Selwyn and there is no chance for us. I saw the proof for myself: a whole cache of newspaper articles and clippings showing Selwyn and Miss Avendale smiling together with headlines emblazoned beneath them touting their engagement. What more proof do I need?” She holds up a hand. “And before you say it, Pappa, I will not suffer the indignity of hearing it directly from him. I would die of shame and embarrassment.”

 

“No of course not, Lettice.” He pauses for a moment and then adds. “But these wretched newspaper men often mistake their facts in an effort to get their stories out quickly. And,” he continues. “Such things as newspapers can be forged you know, especially for a woman as wealthy and influential as Zinnia is.”

 

“I know Pappa, and in my heart of hearts, I did consider it.”

 

“And I wouldn’t put anything past that scheming Zinnia. She’s a horrible, ghastly and despicable woman with eyes only for intrigues and forwarding her own interests!”

 

“You are kind to defend me Pappa, and I don’t disagree with your frank observations of her, which I adore. Lady Zinnia is no friend to me. Please forgive me for saying this Pappa, and for being so frank, but,” She smiles sadly. “It does sound rather like you are a drowning man clutching at straws.”

 

The Viscount looks his daughter earnestly in the face. “When did you grow up to be such a wise young lady, Lettice? You know me so well, my dear.” The Viscount chuckles sadly. “It is true that both your mother and I had high hopes for the match with young Spencely. He… well, he seemed like such a good match for you. It seemed perfect. He’s handsome. You are similar in age. He comes from an excellent family, Lady Zinnia and her intrigues notwithstanding. Even the fact that he designed houses made the whole thing seem preordained. He could have designed the houses and you could have decorated them.”

 

“I agree, Pappa.” The pain of Selwyn’s betrayal bursts within her like a blossom blooming, filling her heart with pain, and her eyes well with tears she is determined not to shed. She gulps before continuing. “Selwyn seemed to be the perfect match, but evidently it wasn’t, if he has decided to marry Miss Avendale.”

 

“I didn’t expect of him what has transpired. He seemed like a very decent fellow with a good character.”

 

“I don’t disagree with you, Pappa. As you know, I’m as surprised and upset by it as anyone, as I think as the jilted party, I have the right to be.”

 

“Oh of course you do, my dear! Of course!”

 

“And Gerald, who of course knows him from the club they both share, said the same thing as you. I cannot explain it, other than he fell in love with Miss Avendale.” She lets out a remorseful sigh. “For a little while after I received the news of Selwyn’s engagement from Lady Zinnia, I must confess that I held out a candle for Selwyn. I hoped that he would contact me and tell me that it was all some mistake, or a fabrication of some kind by his mother,” She looks seriously up at her father. ‘But he didn’t, did he?”

 

“Well, then I suppose there is very little left to be said on the matter, is there?” the Viscount says resignedly.

 

“Don’t be so downhearted, Pappa. Be happy for me. Be happy for both of us. John is a good man. Yes, he’s older that Selwyn, and no, he’s not perfect, but he’s good, and most importantly he isn’t lying to me, Pappa.” It is her turn to look her father squarely in the face. “I won’t be dissuaded from this marriage, Pappa. I intend to marry him.”

 

“As long as you are sure, my girl.”

 

“I am.” Lettice replies resolutely. “Quite sure, Pappa.”

 

“And he makes you happy, Lettice? You know that your happiness in paramount to me, whatever your mother may feel about titles and social standing.”

 

“He does Pappa.”

 

“Well then, I guess there is little more to say on that matter, either.”

 

“Where is Mamma, by the way?” Lettice looks over her shoulder where Eglantyne and Sir John are still engaged in their conversation, whilst Leslie and Arabella share a confidence together, standing by the galleried table, heads down and giggling together.

 

“I saw her leave a little while ago.” the Viscount states. “Is she not back?” He looks and still can’t see her. “Perhaps she went to shed her tears of joy at your engagement in private. You know how your mother feels about showing too much emotion…” He pauses and then adds, “In public anyway. I shall go and find her, and then, Lettice my dear, we will open another bottle of champagne. After all, it isn’t every day that my youngest daughter announces her engagement.”

 

“Then you are happy for me, Pappa?” Lettice asks hopefully.

 

“Your happiness is all that matters, my dear. So, if you are happy, I will be happy for you. Although it will take a little while for me to get used to having a son-in-law who is the same age as me, you have my blessing.”

 

“Oh Pappa!” Lettice leaps out of her seat and embraces her father gratefully. “Thank you!”

 

The Viscount lingers for a while, enjoying the moment of intimacy with his favourite child before he releases her, and holds her at arm’s length, smiling at her. “I’ll be back with your mother shortly.” he says, excusing himself.

 

*Dating back to the fourth century, many Christians have observed the Twelfth Night — the evening before the Epiphany — as the ideal time to take down the Christmas tree and festive decorations. Traditionally, the Twelfth Night marks the end of the Christmas season, but there's reportedly some debate among Christian groups about which date is correct. By custom, the Twelfth Night falls on either January 5 or January 6, depending on whether you count Christmas Day as the first day. The Epiphany, also known as Three Kings' Day, commemorates the visit of the three wise men to baby Jesus in Bethlehem.

 

**A sautoir is a French term for a long necklace that suspends a tassel or other ornament.

 

***The Delphos gown is a finely pleated silk dress first created in about 1907 by French designer Henriette Negrin and her husband, Mariano Fortuny y Madrazo. They produced the gowns until about 1950. It was inspired by, and named after, a classical Greek statue, the Charioteer of Delphi. It was championed by more artistic women who did not wish to conform to society’s constraints and wear a tightly fitting corset.

 

****Horse and Hound is the oldest equestrian weekly magazine of the United Kingdom. Its first edition was published in 1884. The magazine contains horse industry news, reports from equestrian events, veterinary advice about caring for horses, and horses for sale.

 

*****Shepherd’s check is a popular pattern for a rather sturdy tweed, commonly worn in the country. Coming in various colours and pattern styles, the small check version in black and white is commonly known as Pepita check in Germanic countries.

 

******Introduced in 1922, the Type 30 was the first production Bugatti to feature an Inline-8. Nicknamed the “Torpedo” because of its similar look to the wartime munition, at the time Bugatti opted to move to a small two-litre engine to make the car more saleable, lighter and cheap. The engine capacity also made the Type 30 eligible for Grand Prix racing, which was a new direction for the marque. Despite the modest engine capacity, the power output was still remarkable thanks to the triple-valve arrangement. Also benefiting the Type 30 was good road handling, braking and steering which was common throughout the marque. The Type 30 was also the first Bugatti to have front brakes.

 

*******Tatler was introduced on the 3rd of July 1901, by Clement Shorter, publisher of The Sphere. It was named after the original literary and society journal founded by Richard Steele in 1709. Originally sold occasionally as The Tatler and for some time a weekly publication, it had a subtitle varying on "an illustrated journal of society and the drama". It contained news and pictures of high society balls, charity events, race meetings, shooting parties, fashion and gossip, with cartoons by "The Tout" and H. M. Bateman.

 

********We are all familiar with the phrase “ten to the dozen’” which means someone who talks fast. However, the original expression is actually “nineteen to the dozen”. Why nineteen, you ask? Many sources say we simply don’t know, but there are other sources that claim it goes back to the Cornish tin and copper mines, which regularly flooded. With advancements in steam technology, the hand pumps they used to pump out this water were replaced by beam engines that could pump 19,000 gallons of water out for every twelve bushels of coal burned (much more efficient than the hand pumps!)

 

*********Jermyn Street is a one-way street in the St James's area of the City of Westminster in London. It is to the south of, parallel, and adjacent to Piccadilly. Jermyn Street is known as a street for high end gentlemen's clothing retailers and bespoke tailors in the West End.

 

**********The first diamond engagement ring can be traced back to 1477 when Archduke Maximillian of Austria proposed to Mary Burgundy. This exchange began a tradition that caught on in elite societies. However, engagement rings didn’t become popular among the masses until the mid-1900s. In 1947, British-owned diamond company, De Beers, premiered a new advertising campaign. This campaign featured the slogan, “A diamond is forever,” and helped diamond engagement rings to soar in popularity. Within three years of the launch of this campaign, diamond engagement ring sales increased by fifty percent and the numbers continued to skyrocket. In fact, in 1939, only about ten percent of engagement rings included diamonds. Thus, Lettice’s Victorian engagement ring, taken from Sir John’s mother’s collection of jewellery featuring an emerald as the predominant stone, would not have been unusual.

 

**********In more socially conscious times it was traditional to wish the bride-to-be happiness, rather than saying congratulations as we do today. Saying congratulations to a bride in past times would have implied that she had won something – her groom. The groom on the other hand was to be congratulated for getting the lady to accept his marriage proposal.

 

************Gaining popularity by the younger upper-class set between the wars, “old bean” was a phrase used as a friendly reference to a man. It arose in the trenches of the Great War, used by the Tommies, but was always tinged with upper-class stuffiness, which is possibly why it caught on more with the upper-classes of society.

 

*************The Balkan Sobranie tobacco business was established in London in 1879 by Albert Weinberg (born in Romania in 1849), whose naturalisation papers dated 1886 confirm his nationality and show that he had emigrated to England in the 1870s at a time when hand-made cigarettes in the eastern European and Russian tradition were becoming fashionable in Europe. Sobranie is one of the oldest cigarette brands in the world. Throughout its existence, Sobranie was marketed as the definition of luxury in the tobacco industry, being adopted as the official provider of many European royal houses and elites around the world including the Imperial Court of Russia and the royal courts of United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Spain, Romania, and Greece. Premium brands include the multi-coloured Sobranie Cocktail and the black and gold Sobranie Black Russian.

 

**************Bowood is a Grade I listed Georgian country house in Wiltshire, that has been owned for more than two hundred and fifty years by the Fitzmaurice family. The house, with interiors by Robert Adam, stands on extensive grounds which include a garden designed by Lancelot "Capability" Brown. It is adjacent to the village of Derry Hill, halfway between Calne and Chippenham. The greater part of the house was demolished in 1956.

 

***************Rum is a British slang word that means odd (in a negative way) or disreputable.

 

**************** Antipodean is a term relating to Australia or New Zealand (used by inhabitants of the northern hemisphere).

 

*****************The idiom “richer than Croesus” means very wealthy. This term alludes to Croesus, the legendary King of Lydia and supposedly the richest man on earth. The simile was first recorded in English in 1577.

 

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 I have collected as an adult, as well as one that was especially made for me.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The gilt Louis Quatorze chairs and sofa, the gilded Rococo chinoiserie central table and the gilt swan round tables and matching pedestal are made by the high-end miniature furniture maker, Bespaq.

 

The gilt high backed salon chair in the foreground to the left 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. She also made the footstool you see in the right foreground. In addition, she also painted the Bespaq chest of drawers you can see in the background to the far right of the photo. She has painted an idyllic English school Eighteenth Century picnicking scene on its front, making it a very special one of a kind.

 

The beautiful gold and bronze decorated black chinoiserie screen in the background is a very special 1:12 miniature screen created especially for me, and there is no other like it anywhere else in the world. It was handmade and decorated over a twelve month period for me as a Christmas gift two years ago by miniature artisan Tim Sidford as a thanks for the handmade Christmas baubles I make him every year. Tim’s miniature works are truly amazing! You can see some of his handmade decorated interiors using upcycled Playmobil, found objects and 1:12 miniatures here: www.flickr.com/photos/timsidford/albums/72157624010136051/

 

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 pedestal to the left of the screen stands a blue and white hand painted vase which I acquired from Kathleen Knights Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom. Standing on the hand painted set of drawers to the right of the photo stand are two miniature diecast lead Meissen figurines: the Lady with the Canary and the Gentleman with the Butterfly, made by Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces, The pair have been hand painted and gilded by me. Also on the chest of drawers stand two large lidded urns and a pedestal bowl. These three pieces were made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures. All the pieces in the cabinet in the background are also made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik.

 

The silver champagne bucket, wine cooler and tray on the central chinoiserie tea table, have been made with great attenti

From the back cover:

 

THE PEOPLE in this book are THE GIFTED in many ways. They are young, attractive, and have a great deal of money. They make free use of one another, they defy all rules of decency -- and think they will breeze through life.

 

But special Fates catch up with each of them . . .

. . . with Gertrude, who cared about nothing after her stepfather seduced her

. . . with Peter, who lost all illusions before he was old enough to vote

. . . with Cecile, who lost everything.

 

Graphic Video and Images of Pilot Whale Slaughter in the Faroe Islands

 

VIDEO :

 

youtu.be/V7NVmvjV88g

 

The Bloody Horror of the The Ferocious Isles

 

Commentary by Captain Paul Watson

 

The Danish Navy and the Faroese Police are strict in enforcing the laws that protect the whalers but there seems to be a lack of concern and enforcement to the violation of the laws for the killers. Illegal killing techniques are seen in this video, shot by Sea Shepherd in the Faroes yesterday. The use of the knife and the intentional infliction of suffering to the whales. The Faroese say the whales are killed instantly and do not suffer yet the intense pain experienced can be seen in the long bloody thrashing of dying whales.

This video exposes the lie of the 2 second kill, the myth that the Faroese constantly parrot in their justification of this horrific slaughter.

It is illegal to stress the animals yet the driving of these whales onto the beach to be killed is intensely stressful.

Last year, Sea Shepherd crew were charged with stressing the whales by interfering with the intent to kill them and this year it is now illegal to sight whales and not report them to the whale killers. Sea Shepherd volunteers or any tourist can now be charged for not reporting whales to the whalers.

Denmark has laws against cruelty to animals, but not in the Faroes. The killing of whales is illegal under European Union regulations but the Faroes, despite annually receiving millions of Euros in subsidies are exempted from these laws.

It is illegal to feed toxic meat to the public and especially to children but despite the dangerously high levels of methyl-mercury in pilot whale meat the Faroese do so without investigation or warnings.

Ripping fetuses from the wombs of the mothers, mutilating the bodies, hacking out the teeth, having children play and and mutilate the bodies, carving numbers into their flesh, stabbing with knives, ripping their flesh with boat props, decapitating them, stressing the animals with bang poles and forcing these gentle intelligent social sentient beings to witness the slaughter of their family members around them in their own blood before they are slain is viciously barbaric and has no place in any civilized society.

Why does Denmark subsidize this? Why does the Danish Navy and the Danish police defend this? Why do the Danish people tolerate this horrific cruelty and this disgracefully primitive violence that masquerades under the pretense of culture and postures under the justification of tradition.

The world must condemn this crime against nature, and Denmark must say to these killers that as a compassionate nation such an abomination of ecological principles and common decency should be tossed upon the dustbin of history with the likes of slavery and animal brothels.

 

Photo : Sea Shepherd

  

Yugoslav postcard by Studio Sombor, no. 202.

 

French actress Brigitte Bardot (1934) died on 28 December 2025, at the age of 91. In the 1950s, she was the sex kitten of the European film industry. BB starred in 48 films, performed in numerous musical shows, and recorded 80 songs. After her retirement in 1973, she became an animal rights activist. In the coming weeks, we will continue to post a BB postcard every day to remember her as she once was.

 

Brigitte Bardot was born in Paris in 1934. Her father, Louis Bardot, had an engineering degree and worked with his father in the family business. Her mother, Ann-Marie Mucel, was 14 years younger than Brigitte's father, and they married in 1933. Brigitte's mother encouraged her daughter to take up music and dance. At the age of 13, she entered the Conservatoire Nationale de Danse to study ballet. By the time she was 15, Brigitte was trying to launch a modelling career and found herself on the cover of the French magazine Elle in May 1949. Her incredible beauty was readily apparent, and Brigitte was noticed by Roger Vadim, then an assistant to the film director Marc Allegrét. Vadim was infatuated with Bardot and encouraged her to start working as a film actress. BB was 18 when she debuted in the comedy Le Trou Normand / Crazy for Love (Jean Boyer, 1952). In the same year, she married Vadim. Brigitte wanted to marry him when she was 17, but her parents quashed any marriage plans until she turned 18. In April 1953, she attended the Cannes Film Festival, where she received massive media attention. She soon was every man's idea of the girl he'd like to meet in Paris. From 1952 to 1956, she appeared in seventeen films. Her films were generally lightweight romantic dramas in which she was cast as an ingénue or siren, often with an element of undress. In 1953, she made her first US production, Un acte d'amour / Act of Love (Anatole Litvak, 1953) with Kirk Douglas, but she continued to make films in France.

 

Roger Vadim was not content with the light fare his wife was offered. He felt Brigitte Bardot was being undersold. Looking for something more like an art film to push her as a serious actress, he showcased her in Et Dieu créa la femme / ...And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956). This film, about an immoral teenager in a respectable small-town setting, was a smash success on both sides of the Atlantic. Craig Butler at AllMovie: "It's easy enough to say that ...And God Created Woman is much more important for its historical significance than for its actual quality as a film, and that's true to an extent. The immense popularity, due to its willingness to directly embrace an exploration of sex as well as its willingness to show a degree of nudity that was remarkably daring for its day, demonstrated that audiences were willing to view subject matter that was considered too racy for the average moviegoer. This had both positive (freedom to explore, especially for the French filmmakers of the time) and negative (freedom to exploit) consequences, but its impact is undeniable. It's also true that Woman is not a great work of art, not with a story that is ultimately rather thin, some painful dialogue, and an attitude toward its characters and their sexuality that is unclear and inconsistent. Yet Woman is still fascinating, due in no small part to the presence of Brigitte Bardot in the role that made her an international star and sex symbol. She's not demonstrating great acting here, although her performance is actually good and much better than necessary, and her legendary mambo scene at the climax is nothing short of sensational." During the filming of Et Dieu créa la femme / And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956), directed by her husband, Brigitte Bardot had an affair with her co-star, Jean-Louis Trintignant, who at the time was married to French actress Stéphane Audran. Her divorce from Vadim followed, but they remained friends and collaborated in later work.

 

Et Dieu créa la femme / ...And God Created Woman (Roger Vadim, 1956) helped elevate Brigitte Bardot's international status. The film took the USA by storm, her explosive sexuality being unlike anything seen in the States since the days of the 'flapper' in the 1920s. It gave rise to the phrase 'sex kitten', and fascination with her in America consisted of magazine photographs and dubbed over French films - good, bad or indifferent, her films drew audiences - mainly men - into theatres like lemmings. BB appeared in light comedies like Doctor at Large (Ralph Thomas, 1957) - the third of the British 'Doctor' series starring Dirk Bogarde - and Une Parisienne / La Parisienne (Michel Boisrond, 1957), which suited her acting skills best. However, she was a sensation in the crime drama En cas de malheur / Love is My Profession (Claude Autant-Lara, 1958). Hal Erickson at AllMovie: "This Brigitte Bardot vehicle ran into stiff opposition from the Catholic Legion of Decency, severely limiting its U.S. distribution. Bardot plays a nubile small-time thief named Yvette, who becomes the mistress of influential defence attorney Andre (Jean Gabin). Though Andre can shower Yvette with jewels and furs, he cannot "buy" her heart, and thus it is that it belongs to handsome young student Mazzetti (Franco Interlenghi). Alas, Yvette is no judge of human nature: attractive though Mazzetti can be, he has a dangerous and deadly side. En Cas de Malheur contains a nude scene that has since been reprinted in freeze-frame form innumerable times by both film-history books and girlie magazines." Photographer Sam Lévin's photos contributed considerably to her image of sensuality and slight immorality. One of Lévin's pictures shows Brigitte, dressed in a white corset. It is said that around 1960, postcards with this photograph outsold in Paris those of the Eiffel Tower.

 

Brigitte Bardot divorced Vadim in 1957, and in 1959 she married actor Jacques Charrier, with whom she starred in Babette s'en va-t-en guerre / Babette Goes to War (Christian-Jaque, 1959). The paparazzi preyed upon her marriage, while she and her husband clashed over the direction of her career

Her films became more substantial, but this brought a heavy pressure of dual celebrity as she sought critical acclaim while remaining a glamour model for most of the world. Vie privée / Private Life (1962), directed by Louis Malle, has more than an element of autobiography in it. James Travers at French Films: "Brigitte Bardot hadn’t quite reached the high point of her career when she agreed to make this film with high-profile New Wave film director Louis Malle. Even so, the pressure of being a living icon was obviously beginning to get to France’s sex goddess, and Vie privée is as much an attempt by Bardot to come to terms with her celebrity as anything else. Malle is clearly fascinated by Bardot, and the documentary approach he adopts for this film reinforces the impression that it is more a biography of the actress than a work of fiction. Of course, it’s not entirely biographical, but the story is remarkably close to Bardot’s own life and comes pretty close to predicting how her career would end." The scene in which, returning to her apartment, Bardot's character is harangued in the elevator by a middle-aged cleaning lady calling her offensive names was based on an actual incident, and is a resonant image of celebrity in the mid-20th century. Soon afterwards, Bardot withdrew to the seclusion of Southern France.

 

Brigitte Bardot's other husbands were German millionaire Playboy Gunter Sachs and right-wing politician Bernard d'Ormale. She is reputed to have had relationships with many other men, including Samy Frey, her co-star in La Vérité / The Truth (Henri-Georges Clouzot, 1960), and musicians Serge Gainsbourg and Sacha Distel. In 1963, Brigitte Bardot starred in Jean-Luc Godard's critically acclaimed film Le Mépris / Contempt (Jean-Luc Godard, 1963) opposite Michel Piccoli. She was also featured along with such notable actors as Alain Delon in Amours célèbres / Famous Love Affairs (Michel Boisrond, 1961) and Histoires extraordinaires /Tales of Mystery (Louis Malle, 1968), Jeanne Moreau in Viva Maria! (Louis Malle, 1965), Sean Connery in Shalako (Edward Dmytryk, 1968), and Claudia Cardinale in Les Pétroleuses / Petroleum Girls (Christian-Jaque, 1971). She participated in various musical shows and recorded many popular songs in the 1960s and 1970s, mostly in collaboration with Serge Gainsbourg, Bob Zagury and Sacha Distel, including 'Harley Davidson', 'Le Soleil De Ma Vie' (the cover of Stevie Wonder's 'You Are the Sunshine of My Life') and the notorious 'Je t'aime... moi non plus'.

 

Brigitte Bardot’s film career showed a steady decline in the late 1960s and early 1970s. In 1973, just before her fortieth birthday, she announced her retirement. She chose to use her fame to promote animal rights. In 1976, she established the Brigitte Bardot Foundation for the Welfare and Protection of Animals. She became a vegetarian and raised three million French francs to fund the foundation by auctioning off jewellery and many personal belongings. For this work, she was awarded the Légion d’honneur in 1984. During the 1990s, she was also outspoken in her criticism of immigration, interracial relationships, Islam in France and homosexuality. Her husband Bernard d'Ormal was a former adviser of the far-right Front National party. Bardot has been convicted five times for 'inciting racial hatred'. More fun is that Bardot is recognised for popularising bikini swimwear, in such early films as Manina / Woman without a Veil (Willy Rozier, 1952), in her appearances at Cannes and in many photo shoots. Bardot also brought into fashion the 'choucroute' ('Sauerkraut') hairstyle (a sort of beehive hairstyle) and gingham clothes after wearing a checkered pink dress, designed by Jacques Esterel, at her wedding to Charrier. The fashions of the 1960s looked effortlessly right and spontaneous on her. Time Magazine: "She is the princess of pout, the countess of come hither. Brigitte Bardot exuded a carefree, naïve sexuality that brought a whole new audience to French films."

 

Sources: Denny Jackson (IMDb), Hal Erickson (AllMovie), Craig Butler (AllMovie), James Travers (French Films), French Films, Wikipedia and IMDb.

 

And please check out our blog European Film Star Postcards.

The phrase 'In life, as in art, the beautiful moves in curves' was coined by Edward Bulwer-Lytton who was a popular Victorian novelist, poet, playwright and politician. Apparently he also coined the phrases "the great unwashed", "pursuit of the almighty dollar", "the pen is mightier than the sword", "dweller on the threshold" as well as the infamous opening line "It was a dark and stormy night". The man deserves some props for such wordsmithery. Anyway if we fast forward about 150 years we find Sir Mix-A-Lot's seminal hit 'Baby got back' which has the immortal opening line 'I love big butts and I cannot lie'. Personally I think Mr Lot was merely expanding on Bulwer-Lytton's line of thinking in his 1992 paean of decency and good taste but I have little to prove this theory. Apart from this picture. Which I think is compelling enough. Case closed.

 

This piece is another of our upcycled pieces and was, I think, originally a print of the Mona Lisa but when I found it it had some kind of pink wash on it and a hastily drawn stick figure face. Given my proclivity for wombling this was clearly not something that I could overlook and just leave lying forlornly in the street so I scooped her and took her home for some much need care and attention at the id-iom art hospital.

 

Cheers

 

id-iom

You know, I never thought I would find myself saying this, but I feel a little bit like Sally Field. " They liked me." I think I have to say, "They really liked me." Why else would all those people have stopped to pick me up, and taken me into their homes (in Seattle, in Regina, in Montreal), and treated me with such kindness (and don't forget the hippies with the $50 station wagon). I must have put off a fairly decent vibe, back in the day.

I have a few folks I'd like to thank. Thank you, ART_NAHPRO, for putting me up to this exegesis, with a typically ill-thought-out, blurted out comment, "When are you going to tell us about being at Woodstock." I hope you got more than your money'sworth, like you went in to Blimpey's (isn't that what you English feebly call a hamburger?) and got served an eleven-course, three-star Michelin feast.

And thanks to Elisa in Seattle (ezook on flickr) for taking some photos for me, and offering moral-support, in general.

And a last thank you to jennie (jaggitha here on flickr), who also took a photo for me, of a lovely sunset in Vancouver. I had asked jennie to tell me the name of a charity she might like for me to contribute to, and she named the Downtown Eastside Women's Center, in Vancouver. Jennie told me that, "As may or may not have been apparent during your visit back then, there is a huge poverty and drug problem in Vancouver, mainly caused by the stranglehold of Hell's Angels and other gangs in Vancouver. Vancouver really is, as you said, such a beautiful [city] . . . , so it's very shameful that there should be so many people in the downtown core who are in such rough shape.

I'm going to send my small contribution to the DEWC, and I would ask you, if you have enjoyed my little (okay, not little) peregrination, that you might consider sending your own contribution to the DEWC (you can find out about donating here). or, alternatively, that you consider donating to a women's shelter in your own community. A third alternative would be that you might consider donating to some worthy cause, either locally, nationally, or globally. I would only ask that you not donate to organizations that might further the ideals of the Ku Klux Klan, jihad, Russian oligarchs, or fast-food franchise proselytizers, most specifically McDonald's or Kentucky Fried Chicken (now known as KFC). A fourth alternative would be that when you see me, you buy me a beer, and, if you are feeling really generous, a large sausage, mushroom, and pepperoni pizza. If you are a vegetarian, you could get half mushrooms only.

When I got to the bus station in Cambridge (Ohio, if you haven't been paying attention), I called home and my mother probably drove out to get me. No doubt she shed a few tears---she's like that. I don't remember my reunion with my long-time girlfriend, but she didn't dump me, I can tell you that.

It would be the next summer that my relationship with my family would fall apart. My sister told my mother off, and we loaded up all her stuff into a rented U-Haul and together drove up north to our grandmother's (my father's mother's) house. I didn't speak to my Mother and stepfather for some time after that (though, of course, my mother continued to pay the bills.) And my girlfriend and I drifted apart (an outcome that seems now, in retrospect, inevitable).

I knew, even at the time, that what I had seen in Montreal, the warmth and familial decency of Ginette's family, which I have so inadequately conveyed here, was the real lesson of my trip. The next summer I would spend some weeks living with a German family in Bavaria, and I got a mammoth second helping of Wonderful Family.

I think, like Moses, I saw The Promised Land, but didn't quite have the tools to get there. Sex and Drugs and Rock & Roll are nice enough, in their way, but they are no substitute for the love of your friends and family.

And, as Porky Pig would say, "Th-th-th-that's all folks!" Add Roy Rogers in there: "Happy Trails to you, until we meet again."

This print, by York Show Prints in York, AL was hanging in the office at Annie Mae's Place (Burkville, AL) when we visited this weekend for the annual Okra Festival.

 

I had heard of York Show Prints before, as they've (or maybe more correctly, he's) been represented at Kentuck Festival of the Arts before. York is run by Amos Paul Kennedy, Jr. and the business doesn't have a phone...so I'll have to write him a letter (York Show Print, P.O. Box 154, York, Alabama, 36925) about getting a copy of this "proceed and be bold" print.

 

((Other really neat show print houses include Nashville's ultra-famous Hatch Show Print and (I especially like) Yee-Haw Industries of Knoxville.))

 

"Proceed and Be Bold!" is a catchphrase used by the incredibly talented Samuel "Sambo" Mockbee, cofounder of Auburn's Rural Studio (and winner in 2000 of a MacArthur 'genius' grant, among other awards).

 

The Rural Studio was developed within the Auburn School of Architecture with intent to get students out of the classroom and in to hands-on experience with members of a community that would actually be utilizing their work. In the past, the students' hands-on experience consisted of them building temporary works...a beam or truss, which would later be torn down. D.K. Ruth, who hired Mockbee at Auburn, discussed with Mockbee that one could take such materials and (rather than a temporary exercise) they could "build something substantial". The idea for Rural Studio was less pre-conceived notions of what architecture is - be it for glass skyscrapers or McMansions - and more a noble architecture of decency for poor people - beautiful whether built with carpet squares, car windshields, or tires. Mockbee died December 30, 2001 but left behind were stunning, noble works for people in one of the poorest areas in the country.

 

The Rural Studio is still going strong.

 

Here are a couple of excerpts from Rural Studio, Samuel Mockbee and an Architecture of Decency:

 

..."And here we are in the twenty-first century," Mockbee says, "and we're still ignoring the problem and southern blacks are still invisible." He concludes that addressing problems and trying to correct them is "the role an artist or architect should play."

 

..."The best way to make real architecture is by letting a building evolve out of the culture and place. These small projects designed by students at the studio remind us what it means to have an American architecture without pretense. They offer us a simple glimpse into what is essential to the future of American architecture, its honesty."

This shot sort of blew up but I didn't have the heart or the decency to delete it.

A family of ducks swam into view while I was try to get a few decent shots of the smaller, faster birds....at least this fellow had the decency to pose for me ;-)

 

Taken at the Adriana Hess Wetland Park in University Place, Washington, USA

 

Thank you everyone! You helped this photo make Explore on May 10th 2007!