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In the streets of Jalalabad, Afghanistan...
The world has been a quiet place for the last few days, but quiet is not always good. Communications with Russia have gone silent. The United States continues its tireless war on terrorism in the middle east and they are slowly gaining the upper hand. Terrorist leaders are being eliminated and their organizations are in disarray. However in Jalalabad, Afghanistan yesterday a group of terrorists detonated a bomb and attacked U.S. soldiers, the terrorist's whereabouts are unknown. The U.S. Army is investigating and believes they may be hiding within an unoccupied warehouse. The U.S. army has sent troops to find the terrorists and eliminate their threat to peace.
Ace: Alright guys, this is the place. I cant see anyone through this window, but there could still be hostiles inside. Alright we go in on my signal. 3...2...1 GO!
The tompouce is a beloved Dutch and Belgian pastry, resembling a rectangular cream slice or a local variation of the French mille-feuille. It's characterized by its distinct construction: two crisp, golden-brown layers of puff pastry sandwiching a generous, thick layer of sweet, bright yellow pastry cream. This rich custard filling provides a smooth, creamy contrast to the flaky texture of the pastry. In the Netherlands, the top layer of puff pastry is famously adorned with a smooth, bright pink glaze, which turns orange for national celebrations. Belgian versions often feature white icing, sometimes with a chocolate drizzle.
Eating a tompouce can be an enjoyable challenge due to its layered structure and soft filling, often leading to various methods of consumption to avoid mess. Despite its potential for disarray, the tompouce remains a staple in Dutch bakeries and supermarkets, widely enjoyed for its satisfying combination of textures and sweet flavors. It holds a significant place in Dutch culinary culture, frequently appearing at coffee breaks, celebrations, and as an everyday treat.
This is the room of my 31-year-old step daughter, who basically moved out in July and has been slowly cleaning her room out since then. At least 10 large bags of stuff have already gone out of the room, yet it still looks like a dog's breakfast. WTF.
#cleanupyourroomffs
For We're Here — Stuff on the Floor.
Put some zing into your 365! Join We're Here!
St Andrew and St Patrick, Elveden, Suffolk
As you approach Elveden, there is Suffolk’s biggest war memorial, to those killed from the three parishes that meet at this point. It is over 30 metres high, and you used to be able to climb up the inside. Someone in the village told me that more people have been killed on the road in Elveden since the end of the War than there are names on the war memorial. I could well believe it. Until about five years ago, the busy traffic of the A11 Norwich to London road hurtled through the village past the church, slowed only to a ridiculously high 50 MPH. If something hits you at that speed, then no way on God's Earth are you going to survive. Now there's a bypass, thank goodness.
Many people will know St Andrew and St Patrick as another familiar landmark on the road, but as you are swept along in the stream of traffic you are unlikely to appreciate quite how extraordinary a building it is. For a start, it has two towers. And a cloister. And two naves, effectively. It has undergone three major building programmes in the space of thirty years, any one of which would have sufficed to transform it utterly.
If you had seen this church before the 1860s, you would have thought it nothing remarkable. A simple aisle-less, clerestory-less building, typical of, and indistinguishable from, hundreds of other East Anglian flint churches. A journey to nearby Barnham will show you what I mean.
The story of the transformation of Elveden church begins in the early 19th century, on the other side of the world. The leader of the Sikhs, Ranjit Singh, controlled a united Punjab that stretched from the Khyber Pass to the borders of Tibet. His capital was at Lahore, but more importantly it included the Sikh holy city of Amritsar. The wealth of this vast Kingdom made him a major power-player in early 19th century politics, and he was a particular thorn in the flesh of the British Imperial war machine. At this time, the Punjab had a great artistic and cultural flowering that was hardly matched anywhere in the world.
It was not to last. The British forced Ranjit Singh to the negotiating table over the disputed border with Afghanistan, and a year later, in 1839, he was dead. A power vacuum ensued, and his six year old son Duleep Singh became a pawn between rival factions. It was exactly the opportunity that the British had been waiting for, and in February 1846 they poured across the borders in their thousands. Within a month, almost half the child-Prince's Kingdom was in foreign hands. The British installed a governor, and started to harvest the fruits of their new territory's wealth.
Over the next three years, the British gradually extended their rule, putting down uprisings and turning local warlords. Given that the Sikh political structures were in disarray, this was achieved at considerable loss to the invaders - thousands of British soldiers were killed. They are hardly remembered today. British losses at the Crimea ten years later were much slighter, but perhaps the invention of photography in the meantime had given people at home a clearer picture of what was happening, and so the Crimea still remains in the British folk memory.
For much of the period of the war, Prince Duleep Singh had remained in the seclusion of his fabulous palace in Lahore. However, once the Punjab was secure, he was sent into remote internal exile.
The missionaries poured in. Bearing in mind the value that Sikh culture places upon education, perhaps it is no surprise that their influence came to bear on the young Prince, and he became a Christian. The extent to which this was forced upon him is lost to us today.
A year later, the Prince sailed for England with his mother. He was admitted to the royal court by Queen Victoria, spending time both at Windsor and, particularly, in Scotland, where he grew up. In the 1860s, the Prince and his mother were significant members of London society, but she died suddenly in 1863. He returned with her ashes to the Punjab, and there he married. His wife, Bamba Muller, was part German, part Ethiopian. As part of the British pacification of India programme, the young couple were granted the lease on a vast, derelict stately home in the depths of the Suffolk countryside. This was Elveden Hall. He would never see India again.
With some considerable energy, Duleep Singh set about transforming the fortunes of the moribund estate. Being particularly fond of hunting (as a six year old, he'd had two tutors - one for learning the court language, Persian, and the other for hunting to hawk) he developed the estate for game. The house was rebuilt in 1870.
The year before, the Prince had begun to glorify the church so that it was more in keeping with the splendour of his court. This church, dedicated to St Andrew, was what now forms the north aisle of the present church. There are many little details, but the restoration includes two major features; firstly, the remarkable roof, with its extraordinary sprung sprung wallposts set on arches suspended in the window embrasures, and, secondly, the font, which Mortlock tells us is in the Sicilian-Norman style. Supported by eight elegant columns, it is very beautiful, and the angel in particular is one of Suffolk's loveliest. You can see him in an image on the left.
Duleep Singh seems to have settled comfortably into the role of an English country gentleman. And then, something extraordinary happened. The Prince, steeped in the proud tradition of his homeland, decided to return to the Punjab to fulfill his destiny as the leader of the Sikh people. He got as far as Aden before the British arrested him, and sent him home. He then set about trying to recruit Russian support for a Sikh uprising, travelling secretly across Europe in the guise of an Irishman, Patrick Casey. In between these times of cloak and dagger espionage, he would return to Elveden to shoot grouse with the Prince of Wales, the future King Edward VII. It is a remarkable story.
Ultimately, his attempts to save his people from colonial oppression were doomed to failure. He died in Paris in 1893, the British seemingly unshakeable in their control of India. He was buried at Elveden churchyard in a simple grave.
The chancel of the 1869 church is now screened off as a chapel, accessible from the chancel of the new church, but set in it is the 1894 memorial window to Maharaja Prince Duleep Singh, the Adoration of the Magi by Kempe & Co.
And so, the Lion of the North had come to a humble end. His five children, several named after British royal princes, had left Elveden behind; they all died childless, one of them as recently as 1957. The estate reverted to the Crown, being bought by the brewing family, the Guinnesses.
Edward Cecil Guinness, first Earl Iveagh, commemorated bountifully in James Joyce's 1916 Ulysses, took the estate firmly in hand. The English agricultural depression had begun in the 1880s, and it would not be ended until the Second World War drew the greater part of English agriculture back under cultivation. It had hit the Estate hard. But Elveden was transformed, and so was the church.
Iveagh appointed William Caroe to build an entirely new church beside the old. It would be of such a scale that the old church of St Andrew would form the south aisle of the new church. The size may have reflected Iveagh's visions of grandeur, but it was also a practical arrangement, to accommodate the greatly enlarged staff of the estate. Attendance at church was compulsory; non-conformists were also expected to go, and the Guinnesses did not employ Catholics.
Between 1904 and 1906, the new structure went up. Mortlock recalls that Pevsner thought it 'Art Nouveau Gothic', which sums it up well. Lancet windows in the north side of the old church were moved across to the south side, and a wide open nave built beside it. Curiously, although this is much higher than the old and incorporates a Suffolk-style roof, Caroe resisted the temptation of a clerestory. The new church was rebenched throughout, and the woodwork is of a very high quality. The dates of the restoration can be found on bench ends up in the new chancel, and exploring all the symbolism will detain you for hours. Emblems of the nations of the British Isles also feature in the floor tiles.
The new church was dedicated to St Patrick, patron Saint of the Guinnesses' homeland. At this time, of course, Ireland was still a part of the United Kingdom, and despite the tensions and troubles of the previous century the Union was probably stronger at the opening of the 20th century than it had ever been. This was to change very rapidly. From the first shots fired at the General Post Office in April 1916, to complete independence in 1922, was just six years. Dublin, a firmly protestant city, in which the Iveaghs commemorated their dead at the Anglican cathedral of St Patrick, became the capital city of a staunchly Catholic nation. The Anglicans, the so-called Protestant Ascendancy, left in their thousands during the 1920s, depopulating the great houses, and leaving hundreds of Anglican parish churches completely bereft of congregations. Apart from a concentration in the wealthy suburbs of south Dublin, there are hardly any Anglicans left in the Republic today. But St Patrick's cathedral maintains its lonely witness to long years of British rule; the Iveagh transept includes the vast war memorial to WWI dead, and all the colours of the Irish regiments - it is said that 99% of the Union flags in the Republic are in the Guinness chapel of St Patrick's cathedral. Dublin, of course, is famous as the biggest city in Europe without a Catholic cathedral. It still has two Anglican ones.
Against this background then, we arrived at Elveden. The church is uncomfortably close to the busy road, but the sparkle of flint in the recent rain made it a thing of great beauty. The main entrance is now at the west end of the new church. The surviving 14th century tower now forms the west end of the south aisle, and we will come back to the other tower beyond it in a moment.
You step into a wide open space under a high, heavy roof laden with angels. There is a wide aisle off to the south; this is the former nave, and still has something of that quality. The whole space is suffused with gorgeously coloured light from excellent 19th and 20th century windows. These include one by Frank Brangwyn, at the west end of the new nave. Andrew and Patrick look down from a heavenly host on a mother and father entertaining their children and a host of woodland animals by reading them stories. It is quite the loveliest thing in the building.
Other windows, mostly in the south aisle, are also lovely. Hugh Easton's commemorative window for the former USAAF base at Elveden is magnificent. Either side are windows to Iveaghs - a gorgeous George killing a dragon, also by Hugh Easton, and a curious 1971 assemblage depicting images from the lives of Edward Guinness's heir and his wife, which also works rather well. The effect of all three windows together is particularly fine when seen from the new nave.
Turning ahead of you to the new chancel, there is the mighty alabaster reredos. It cost £1,200 in 1906, about a quarter of a million in today’s money. It reflects the woodwork, in depicting patron Saints and East Anglian monarchs, around a surprisingly simple Supper at Emmaus. This reredos, and the Brangwyn window, reminded me of the work at the Guinness’s other spiritual home, St Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin, which also includes a window by Frank Brangwyn commisioned by them. Everything is of the highest quality. Rarely has the cliché ‘no expense spared’ been as accurate as it is here.
Up at the front, a little brass plate reminds us that Edward VII slept through a sermon here in 1908. How different it must have seemed to him from the carefree days with his old friend the Maharajah! Still, it must have been a great occasion, full of Edwardian pomp, and the glitz that only the fabulously rich can provide. Today, the church is still splendid, but the Guinesses are no longer fabulously rich, and attendance at church is no longer compulsory for estate workers; there are far fewer of them anyway. The Church of England is in decline everywhere; and, let us be honest, particularly so in this part of Suffolk, where it seems to have retreated to a state of siege. Today, the congregation of this mighty citadel is as low as half a dozen. The revolutionary disappearance of Anglican congregations in the Iveagh's homeland is now being repeated in a slow, inexorable English way.
You wander outside, and there are more curiosities. Set in the wall are two linked hands, presumably a relic from a broken 18th century memorial. They must have been set here when the wall was moved back in the 1950s. In the south chancel wall, the bottom of an egg-cup protrudes from among the flints. This is the trademark of the architect WD Caroe. To the east of the new chancel, Duleep Singh’s gravestone is a very simple one. It is quite different in character to the church behind it. A plaque on the east end of the church remembers the centenary of his death.
Continuing around the church, you come to the surprise of a long cloister, connecting the remodelled chancel door of the old church to the new bell tower. It was built in 1922 as a memorial to the wife of the first Earl Iveagh. Caroe was the architect again, and he installed eight bells, dedicated to Mary, Gabriel, Edmund, Andrew, Patrick, Christ, God the Father, and the King. The excellent guidebook recalls that his intention was for the bells to be cast to maintain the hum and tap tones of the renowned ancient Suffolk bells of Lavenham... thus the true bell music of the old type is maintained.
This church is magnificent, obviously enough. It has everything going for it, and is a national treasure. And yet, it has hardly any congregation. So, what is to be done?
If we continue to think of rural historic churches as nothing more than outstations of the Church of England, it is hard to see how some of them will survive. This church in particular has no future in its present form as a village parish church. New roles must be found, new ways to involve local people and encourage their use. One would have thought that this would be easier here than elsewhere.
The other provoking thought was that this building summed up almost two centuries of British imperial adventure, and that we lived in a world that still suffered from the consequences. It is worth remembering where the wealth that rebuilt St Andrew and St Patrick came from.
As so often in British imperial history, interference in other peoples’ problems and the imposition of short-term solutions has left massive scars and long-cast shadows. For the Punjab, as in Ireland, there are no simple solutions. Sheer proximity has, after several centuries of cruel and exploitative involvement, finally encouraged the British government to pursue a solution in Ireland that is not entirely based on self-interest. I fear that the Punjab is too far away for the British to care very much now about what they did there then.
Per Archer's request...
1. I once fell out of a plane. No, really. The thing is, the plane was on the ground, and I was trying to extricate myself from the seat belt and get out on my own, without the pilot’s help. I was trying to show him how cool I was, and the momentum I had upon rising was too much for me to catch my balance. I ended up flopping right over the wing onto the asphalt below, which was a pretty good drop. Ripped my slacks, bled all over the place, couldn’t walk without limping. I was pretty cool, all right.
2. I also fell out of a swimming pool. (You might be asking yourself how one falls OUT of a pool: let me clarify.) It was one of those above-ground pools, and the edge was probably about 4’ high. I was playing volleyball in the pool with a group of people I didn’t know too well, and since I was the reason the ball flew out of the pool, I volunteered to get it. I hoisted myself to the top, and once again, the old momentum got me, and I flipped right over onto my back on the rocks below. I did not want to open my eyes. But, when I did, everyone was gathered at the edge, looking down at me, and yelling, “I’ll give her an 8!” “No, it wasn’t that good; I’ll give her a 7!” (I might add at this point, that these two humbling experiences occurred within a month of each other, and I landed on the same spot both times…ouch)
3. I have a hard time being the center of attention. I would rather focus on someone else than on myself. Part of that is insecurity, and part is that I see too many people who relish being the center of attention, and it’s not my bag.
4. My sister broke my nose when I was 10; she was 3. She was sitting on my lap in the car, and she threw her head back and smashed my nose. She thought it was the funniest thing in the world. I didn’t.
5. That same sister and I were shopping at the flea market in Athens, Greece. We were in this small shop that sold women’s clothing. We each found something we wanted to try on and asked the owner if there was a dressing room. She took us to this curtain and pulled it back, displaying the broom closet. She said (in her thick Greek accent), “This is the dressing room; try it on in here.” We sort of looked at each other and shrugged, and went into this tiny space. We were struggling to get our clothes off, and once we were both in our underwear and trying to put the new clothes on, my sister lost her balance, put her foot down into a bucket, grabbed me, as I flew sideways against a door which opened, and we fell together onto the floor, with my head landing against a toilet. Of course, we were screaming the whole time. The owner of the store flung back the curtain, looked at us lying there in disarray, and said, while shaking her head, “Ah yes, this is the second time today this has happened.” And then she closed the curtain.
6. I was usually teacher’s pet in elementary school. It’s not that I was so much a kiss-up as it just never occurred to me to misbehave. I was the same way with my parents. One winter day I was walking home from 3rd grade in Austin, MN, and from behind the bushes came Greg Grosz and Billy Barr. They threw me to the ground, held me down, and rubbed snow into my face, as hard as they could. They yelled “Teacher’s pet!” at me, and waited for me to cry, and then they ran away. I think Greg Grosz is now Chief of Police, or something like that. I don’t know what happened to Billy.
7. I never liked to take the time to go to the bathroom (“pee” in the vernacular) when I was a child. I would go to bed at night without going to the bathroom, leave for school without having gone the next morning, go all day at school, and then come home and FINALLY go. Well, that worked…until…until that fateful day I had a Brownie meeting after school. As soon as I walked out of school, I knew I had to go. Real bad. But I figured I only had to go three more blocks to my Brownie leader’s house. I could make it; I knew I could make it! I ended up running, which is not such a good idea, either, and I banged on the door, jumping up and down, going crazy with the urge. Mrs. Thomas opened the door, let me into the kitchen, and immediately I lost it. I mean, I lost it, Big Time. It just kept coming and coming and coming, until I was standing in a huge pool of urine. I was so humiliated, I couldn’t even look at Mrs. Thomas. She said, “My, my! You must have really had to go!” (That was probably the understatement of the century.) She said, “You go on home and change your clothes, and I’ll clean this up, and it will be our little secret!” I thought she was an angel from heaven.
8. I melt when I see a baby smile.
9. I have an extremely difficult time watching movies about animals, whether they’re pets or wild animals. I’m so fearful that something is going to happen to the animal that I’m a nervous wreck all the way through the movie. (And that “It’s just a movie” thing doesn’t work, either.)
10. I used to prefer lakes over any other body of water, me being a Minnesota-Land-of-10,000-Lakes gal. But I have come to love the ocean and its awesome power and beauty, even more than I love lakes. However, it’s hard to beat the rushing of a pristine creek through a mountain forest.
11. I miss my dad…a whole lot.
12. Seems I have lost my identity…I am now introduced as “the minister’s wife.”
13. I am grateful for so many things. Here are just a few: my family, Sadie, a home to live in, close friends, lemon zinger tea, raindrops, chocolate bread pudding, shoes that fit, a body that lets me do most of the things I want to do, flickr, a hot shower, and a running toilet.
14. I’ve always been intimidated by intellectuals.
15. Reading this over, I wonder how much I have actually told you about “me.” Perhaps I have a fear of that, or perhaps if I told you, you wouldn’t want to read it.
16. I used to be a man.
(Just kidding. Honest.)
German widerstandsnest - Utah Beach - Normandy, France.
Utah beach is the codename for the westernmost of the 5 Allied landing zones during D-day. It is the only beach on the Cotentin peninsula and closest to the vital harbour city of Cherbourg. Together with Omaha beach it is the sector where the American forces were disembarked. The amphibious assault, primarily by the US 4th Infantry Division and 70th Tank Battalion, was supported by airborne landings of the 82nd and 101st Airborne Division. These Airborne troops were dropped on the Cotentin peninsula.
In stark contrast with Omaha beach where the landing turned into a near disaster with most of the troops pinned down for hours with heavy losses in both men and material the landings at Utah went relatively smooth. This does not mean the GI's came ashore unopposed: some 200 casualties were suffered by the 4th division.
One of the factors that contributed to this success was that the preliminary bombing of the target areas here was accurate and the German forces - in contrast with what happened at Omaha beach - were in disarray at H-hour, 06:30, when the first wave of 20 landing craft approached the beach. The GI's of the 2nd Battalion, 8th Infantry landed on Uncle Red and Tare Green sectors. What they didn't know initially was that pushed to the south by strong currents they landed some 1.8 kilometres south of their designated landing spot!
Brigadier General Theodore Roosevelt, Jr. was the first high ranking officer that landed and , not discouraged by the dviation, he decided to "start the war from right here". He ordered further landings to be re-routed. As it was this was a good decision because the Americans landed on a relative weak spot in the German defenses. Only one "Widerstandsnest" (WN5) opposed them and it was severely affected by the preliminary bombardments. It took the GI's about an hour to clear the defenses. Today the remains of this German widestandsnest can still be seen and are partly incorporated into the Utah beach museum. Well worth a visit.
After the succesful landings the real difficulties started because of the inundated areas behind the beach and the increasing German resistance which lead to weeks of fighting on the Cotentin peninsula.
On the Photo:
German. Widerstandsnest, Utah beach. Fun fact: one of the last scenes in The Walking Dead - Daryl Dixon was shot on this spot
Tonemapped using three (handheld) shots made with a Fuji X-pro3 and Fujinon 18-55mm f/2.8 lens, augustus 2020.
A set of photo's with notes of Utah Beach and the Cotentin peninsula with the Airborne sectors."
Here's the complete set of photo's made on Pointe du Hoc over the past years
My Omaha beach photo's with several viewpoints, panorama shots and notes on the fighting
These are my photo's and notes of the British and Canadian sectors: Gold, Juno and Sword.
***Ambrosia***Mesh_KIMONO furisode[black rose]
***Ambrosia***Mesh_KIMONO tabi&zouri[pink lace]
^ Both @ Cosmopolitan
Hair: Tukinowaguma Shino 1
Make up: Lovely Disarray: Neri-Oshiroi base w/ liner& red eyeshadow
Zibska~Whisper Lips06
Urquhart Castle;( Scottish Gaelic: Caisteal na Sròine) sits beside Loch Ness in the Highlands of Scotland. The castle is on the A82 road, 21 kilometres (13 mi) south-west of Inverness and 2 kilometres (1.2 mi) east of the village of Drumnadrochit.
The present ruins date from the 13th to the 16th centuries, though built on the site of an early medieval fortification. Founded in the 13th century, Urquhart played a role in the Wars of Scottish Independence in the 14th century. It was subsequently held as a royal castle, and was raided on several occasions by the MacDonald Earls of Ross. The castle was granted to the Clan Grant in 1509, though conflict with the MacDonalds continued. Despite a series of further raids the castle was strengthened, only to be largely abandoned by the middle of the 17th century. Urquhart was partially destroyed in 1692 to prevent its use by Jacobite forces, and subsequently decayed. In the 20th century it was placed in state care and opened to the public: it is now one of the most-visited castles in Scotland.
The castle, situated on a headland overlooking Loch Ness, is one of the largest in Scotland in area.[2] It was approached from the west and defended by a ditch and drawbridge. The buildings of the castle were laid out around two main enclosures on the shore. The northern enclosure or Nether Bailey includes most of the more intact structures, including the gatehouse, and the five-storey Grant Tower at the north end of the castle. The southern enclosure or Upper Bailey, sited on higher ground, comprises the scant remains of earlier buildings.
History
Early Middle Ages
The name Urquhart derives from the 7th-century form Airdchartdan, itself a mix of Gaelic air (by) and Old Welsh cardden (thicket or wood). Pieces of vitrified stone, subjected to intense heat and characteristic of early medieval fortification, had been discovered at Urquhart from the early 20th century.Speculation that Urquhart may have been the fortress of Bridei son of Maelchon, king of the northern Picts, led Professor Leslie Alcock to undertake excavations in 1983. Adomnán's Life of Columba records that St. Columba visited Bridei some time between 562 and 586, though little geographical detail is given. Adomnán also relates that during the visit, Columba converted a Pictish nobleman named Emchath, who was on his deathbed, his son Virolec, and their household, at a place called Airdchartdan. The excavations, supported by radiocarbon dating, indicated that the rocky knoll at the south-west corner of the castle had been the site of an extensive fort between the 5th and 11th centuries. The findings led Professor Alcock to conclude that Urquhart is most likely to have been the site of Emchath's residence, rather than that of Bridei who is more likely to have been based at Inverness, either at the site of the castle or at Craig Phadrig to the west.
The early castle
Some sources state that William the Lion had a royal castle at Urquhart in the 12th century, though Professor Alcock finds no evidence for this.[12] In the 12th and 13th centuries, the Meic Uilleim (MacWilliams), descendents of Malcolm III, staged a series of rebellions against David I and his successors. The last of these rebellions was put down in 1229, and to maintain order Alexander II granted Urquhart to his Hostarius (usher or door-ward), Thomas de Lundin. On de Lundin's death a few years later it passed to his son Alan Durward. It is considered likely that the original castle was built soon after this time, centred on the motte at the south-west of the site.In 1275, after Alan's death, the king granted Urquhart to John II Comyn, Lord of Badenoch.
The first documentary record of Urquhart Castle occurs in 1296, when it was captured by Edward I of England. Edward's invasion marked the beginning of the Wars of Scottish Independence, which would go on intermittently until 1357. Edward appointed Sir William fitz Warin as constable to hold the castle for the English. In 1297 he was ambushed by Sir Andrew de Moray while returning from Inverness, and Moray subsequently laid siege to the castle, launching an unsuccessful night attack. The English must have been dislodged soon after, since in 1298 Urquhart was again controlled by the Scots. In 1303 Sir Alexander de Forbes failed to hold off another English assault. This time Edward installed as governor Alexander Comyn, brother of John, as the family had sided with the English against Robert Bruce. Following his murder of the Red Comyn in 1306, Bruce completed his defeat of the Comyns when he marched through the Great Glen in 1307, taking the castles of Inverlochy, Urquhart and Inverness. After this time Urquhart became a royal castle, held for the crown by a series of constables.
The remains of the 13th-century "shell keep" or motte is the earliest part of the castle to survive
Sir Robert Lauder of Quarrelwood was constable of Urquhart Castle in 1329. After fighting at the Battle of Halidon Hill in 1333, where the Scots were defeated, Lauder returned to hold Urquhart against another threatened English invasion. It is recorded as being one of only five castles in Scotland held by the Scots at this time.[nb 1] In 1342, David II spent the summer hunting at Urquhart, the only king to have stayed here.
Over the next two hundred years, the Great Glen was raided frequently by the MacDonald Lords of the Isles, powerful rulers of a semi-independent kingdom in western Scotland, with a claim to the earldom of Ross. In 1395, Domhnall of Islay seized Urquhart Castle from the crown, and managed to retain it for more than 15 years. In 1411, he marched through the glen to take on the king's supporters at the Battle of Harlaw. Although an indecisive battle, Domhnall subsequently lost the initiative and the crown was soon back in control of Urquhart. In 1437 Domhnall's son Alexander, now Earl of Ross, raided around Glen Urquhart but could not take the castle. Royal funds were granted to shore up the castle's defences. Alexander's son John succeeded his father in 1449, aged 16. In 1452 he too led a raid up the Great Glen, seizing Urquhart, and subsequently obtained a grant of the lands and castle of Urquhart for life. However, in 1462 John made an agreement with Edward IV of England against the Scottish King James III. When this became known to James in 1476, John was stripped of his titles, and Urquhart was turned over to an ally, the Earl of Huntly.
The Grants
The Grant Tower viewed from Loch Ness
Huntly brought in Sir Duncan Grant of Freuchie to restore order to the area around Urquhart Castle. His son John Grant of Freuchie (d.1538) was given a five-year lease of the Glen Urquhart estate in 1502. In 1509, Urquhart Castle, along with the estates of Glen Urquhart and Glenmoriston, was granted by James IV to John Grant in perpetuity, on condition that he repair and rebuild the castle.[20] The Grants maintained their ownership of the castle until 1912, although the raids from the west continued. In 1513, following the disaster of Flodden, Sir Donald MacDonald of Lochalsh attempted to gain from the disarray in Scotland by claiming the Lordship of the Isles and occupying Urquhart Castle. Grant regained the castle before 1517, but not before the MacDonalds had driven off 300 cattle and 1,000 sheep, as well as looting the castle of provisions. Grant unsuccessfully attempted to claim damages from MacDonald. James Grant of Freuchie (d.1553) succeeded his father, and in 1544 became involved with Huntly and Clan Fraser in a feud with the Macdonalds of Clanranald, which culminated in the Battle of the Shirts. In retaliation, the MacDonalds and their allies the Camerons attacked and captured Urquhart in 1545. Known as the "Great Raid", this time the MacDonalds succeeded in taking 2,000 cattle, as well as hundreds of other animals, and stripped the castle of its furniture, cannon, and even the gates. Grant regained the castle, and was also awarded Cameron lands as recompense.
The Great Raid proved to be the last raid. In 1527, the historian Hector Boece wrote of the "rewinous wallis" of Urquhart,[21] but by the close of the 16th century Urquhart had been rebuilt by the Grants, now a powerful force in the Highlands. Repairs and remodelling continued as late as 1623, although the castle was no longer a favoured residence. In 1644 a mob of Covenanters (Presbyterian agitators) broke into the castle when Lady Mary Grant was staying, robbing her and turning her out for her adherence to Episcopalianism. An inventory taken in 1647 shows the castle virtually empty.[25] When Oliver Cromwell invaded Scotland in 1650, he disregarded Urquhart in favour of building forts at either end of the Great Glen.
Broken masonry from the destruction of the gatehouse
When James VII was deposed in the Revolution of 1688, Ludovic Grant of Freuchie sided with William of Orange and garrisoned the castle with 200 of his own soldiers. Though lacking weapons they were well-provisioned and, when a force of 500 Jacobites (supporters of the exiled James) laid siege, the garrison were able to hold out until after the defeat of the main Jacobite force at Cromdale in May 1690. When the soldiers finally left they blew up the gatehouse to prevent reoccupation of the castle by the Jacobites. Large blocks of collapsed masonry are still visible beside the remains of the gatehouse. Parliament ordered £2,000 compensation to be paid to Grant, but no repairs were undertaken.Subsequent plundering of the stonework and other materials for re-use by locals further reduced the ruins, and the Grant Tower partially collapsed following a storm in 1715.
Later history
By the 1770s the castle was roofless, and was regarded as a romantic ruin by 19th-century painters and visitors to the Highlands.In 1884 the castle came under the control of Caroline, Dowager Countess of Seafield, widow of the 7th Earl of Seafield, on the death of her son the 8th Earl. On Lady Seafield's death in 1911 her will instructed that Urquhart Castle be entrusted into state care, and in October 1913 responsibility for the castle's upkeep was transferred to the Commissioners of His Majesty's Works and Public Buildings. Historic Scotland, the successor to the Office of Works, continues to maintain the castle, which is a category A listed building and a scheduled monument in recognition of its national significance.
In 1994 Historic Scotland proposed construction of a new visitor centre and car park to alleviate the problems of parking on the main A82 road. Strong local opposition led to a public inquiry, which approved the proposals in 1998 .The new building is sunk into the embankment below the road, with provision for parking on the roof of the structure.The visitor centre includes a display on the history of the site, including a series of replicas from the medieval period; a cinema; a restaurant; and shop. The castle is open all year, and can also host wedding ceremonies.[33] In 2011 more than 315,000 people visited Urquhart Castle, making it Historic Scotland's third most visited site after the castles of Edinburgh and Stirling.
Urquhart Castle is sited on Strone Point, a triangular promontory on the north-western shore of Loch Ness, and commands the route along this side of the Great Glen as well as the entrance to Glen Urquhart. The castle is quite close to water level, though there are low cliffs along the north-east sides of the promontory. There is considerable room for muster on the inland side, where a "castle-toun" of service buildings would originally have stood, as well as gardens and orchards in the 17th century.[2] Beyond this area the ground rises steeply to the north-west, up to the visitor centre and the A82. A dry moat, 30 metres (98 ft) across at its widest, defends the landward approach, possibly excavated in the early Middle Ages. A stone-built causeway provides access, with a drawbridge formerly crossing the gap at the centre. The castle side of the causeway was formerly walled-in, forming an enclosed space similar to a barbican .
Urquhart is one of the largest castles in Scotland in area The walled portion of the castle is shaped roughly like a figure-8 aligned northeast-southwest along the bank of the loch, around 150 by 46 metres (492 by 151 ft), forming two baileys (enclosures): the Nether Bailey to the north, and the Upper Bailey to the south.[nb 2] The curtain walls of both enclosures date largely to the 14th century, though much augmented by later building, particularly to the north where most of the remaining structures are located.
Nether Bailey
The remains of the gatehouse
The 16th-century gatehouse is on the inland side of the Nether Bailey, and comprises twin D-plan towers flanking an arched entrance passage. Formerly the passage was defended by a portcullis and a double set of doors, with guard rooms either side. Over the entrance are a series of rooms which may have served as accommodation for the castle's keeper. Collapsed masonry surrounds the gatehouse, dating from its destruction after 1690.
The Nether Bailey, the main focus of activity in the castle since around 1400,[36] is anchored at its northern tip by the Grant Tower, the main tower house or keep. The tower measures 12 by 11 metres (39 by 36 ft), and has walls up to 3 metres (9.8 ft) thick. The tower rests on 14th-century foundations, but is largely the result of 16th-century rebuilding Originally of five storeys, it remains the tallest portion of the castle despite the southern wall collapsing in a storm in the early 18th century. The standing parts of the parapet, remodelled in the 1620s, show that the corners of the tower were topped by corbelled bartizans (turrets). ] Above the main door on the west, and the postern to the east, are machicolations, narrow slots through which objects could be dropped on attackers. The western door is also protected by its own ditch and drawbridge, accessed from a cobbled "Inner Close" separated from the main bailey by a gate. The surviving interior sections can still be accessed via the circular staircase built into the east wall of the tower. The interior would have comprised a hall on the first floor, with rooms on another two floors above, and attic chambers in the turrets. Rooms on the main floors have large 16th-century windows, though with small pistol-holes below to allow for defence.
To the south of the tower is a range of buildings built against the thick, buttressed, 14th-century curtain wall. The great hall occupied the central part of this range, with the lord's private apartments of great chamber and solar in the block to the north, and kitchens to the south. The foundations of a rectangular building stand on a rocky mound within the Nether Bailey, tentatively identified as a chapel.
Upper Bailey
The Upper Bailey is focused on the rocky mound at the south-west corner of the castle. The highest part of the headland, this mound is the site of the earliest defences at Urquhart. Vitrified material, characteristic of early medieval fortification, was discovered on the slopes of the mound, indicating the site of the early medieval fortification identified by Professor Alcock. In the 13th century, the mound became the motte of the original castle built by the Durwards, and the surviving walls represent a "shell keep" (a hollow enclosure) of this date. These ruins are fragmentary, but indicate that there were towers to the north and south of the shell keep.
A 16th-century water gate in the eastern wall of the Upper Bailey gives access to the shore of the loch.The adjacent buildings may have housed the stables. To the south of this, opposite the motte, is the base of a doocot (pigeon house) and the scant remains of 13th-century buildings, possibly once a great hall but more recently re-used as a smithy.
-- So currently I am obsessed with the song linked below, I listen to it an astounding 8-10 times a day. (Don't judge me...)
I also do not play League of Legends either, I just think the animations and song is great.So I am going to try to do all the characters but here is the first one Ahri. Of course this one was easier cause she's a kitty and so am I most of the time. This scene is pulled from the music video at 2:09 into it. --
www.youtube.com/watch?v=UOxkGD8qRB4&list=RDUOxkGD8qRB...
On Me:
-Lovely Disarray - The Kitsune Tribe Makeup
-LUXREBEL - Oh Sweetie Lipstick Pack (Catwa)
-{SH} Mashiro Shape (Body Has been adjusted to be longer legged and thinner to fit charachter...face untouched)
-Belle Epoque { Out Of This World } Bodysuit Black
-Yasum*Maitreya*Chaps*Goth Limited
-Lamb. Widowspeak Hair
-+ Nekomata Bento Ears S + {aii}
-+ Kitsune Silver Bell Tail + {aii}
-[ abrasive ] Frisky Kitten Collar - Glitter Black
-[ Conviction ] The Claws - Succubus - Maitreya
_________________________
Backdrop/Props:
-FOXCITY. Photo Booth - Neon City VOL3 - Black
-BackBone Kinky Washing Machine
-{anc} bubble {purple} 1Li
-Silence. - Aged Metal Baskets
_________________________
Pose: Gingerfish Poses Black Love 1 (Adjusted with Animare)
WEEK 25 – College Town Kroger (I)
Here's my favorite remodel shot I think I've ever gotten, haha! I love how the restrooms and exit signs are in complete disarray. This, of course, is due to the fact that this store once had lower ceilings (lending more credit toward the neon and/or wannabe neon theory). Those were removed for the expansion since exposed ceilings are all the rage nowadays, and made for some very odd/cool sights such as this!
(c) 2016 Retail Retell
These places are public so these photos are too, but just as I tell where they came from, I'd appreciate if you'd say who :)
To see details in this drawing, try the largest image size...
The weather was hot, the creeks were spring fed and cold.
There was a BLUE MOON at this gathering! I wrote a long story about our trip, full of run-on-sentences. No names were changed to protect the innicent. All facts are just my opinions. I am not a journalist. Here is the story....
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Rainbow Recollections
1996 Missouri
"Who fears today
His rites to pay
Deserves his chains to wear.
The forest's free!
This wood take we,
and straight a pile prepare.
Yet in the wood
To stay 'tis good
By day till all is still.
With watchers all around us placed
Protecting you from ill.
With courage fresh, then,
Let us haste
Our duties to fulfill......" - Goethe
My daughter Skater (aka: Pixie, Shine, age 13) and I had a grand time at the Missouri Rainbow. We arrived Sunday June 23 and left July 3, and those were 11 magical days! Our drive in was 12 hours, and started with thunderstorms and a downburst in central Illinois that forced us off the road near Springfield. Big booming lightning! Old Mother Nature's power chords! Ba-BOOM!! Ka-Pow!!!!!
We got in about 1 am, drove right past FS road 3173 in the dark. Whoops! When we hit Thomasville we turned around and headed back north. Right exactly at 3 miles on the odometer from Thomasville there was FS #3173 off to the right. We drove on in quietly without seeing a single cop. There was the big green and yellow "Welcome Home" banner and a quiet group with a lone drummer singing and pounding out his heartsongs. We parked in the dark fog and decided to get some sleep in our old pickup until the sunrise. Just before dawn it rained hard for about 45 minutes, and that made the air smell clean and sweet! :)
We got up and meandered through the parking lot and met a lot of kind folks at the front gate. Out in the lot we met Katie and Brian and Althea (shy white Siberian husky puppy with pretty blue eyes) in the green bubbletop "Save the Buses" bus from Chicago. We also shared munchies and explored with Funky (Matt) and Shannon in the green VW camper bus, and met Victor and Kevin. At dawn we started packing for the hike in towards Kiddie Village where we would set up our camp.
It was nearly 3 miles to Kiddie Village. The first mile was dry and hot, then we started crossing the streams and it was like heaven to stop and play in that cold water. There was a steep incline down to the first stream, too steep for bikes to ride, but not too steep for horses. Spring creek was it's name, filled with tadpoles and there were lovely Spicebush and Pipevine Swallowtail butterflies hovering about the banks.
The second creek crossing had MARVELOUS sand!! SO nice on bare feet! The White Dove kitchen settled here and had the secret luxury of a hidden beautiful white portable shitter with a lid. "Pixie" was a frequent stopper at White Dove and we kept their secret close to the vest. Up the hill from the "good sand" crossing was the first clearing, a beautiful meadow with five tipis. The path here was named Hanuman Highway.
The main path crossed Spring Creek again and opened onto the big meadow with main fire circle and C.A.L.M. and good water piped from underground springs. We drank copious amounts of the spring water for 11 days with no problem. Our friend Question Mark happily spent his time filtering the water for anyone patient enough to get that extra protection. The pipe system evolved and grew with the gathering, so that eventually you were always close to a source of underground spring fed clean drinking water. We give an A+ to all who hauled pipe and ran samples for tests. GREAT water is such a luxury! :)
The next creek crossing had a pipe with roaring spring water you could shower in! Fill up the canteens! No waiting! Cold clean showers! The bridge there was called H20 bridge or Rainbow Bridge, and the crossing was called "Copperhead Crossing" after a snake was sighted in the water by some shady bushes. The original location of C.A.L.M. was to the right just after H20 Bridge. Continuing up, the main path was called Son Dance Trail and opened onto another fine meadow.
At the end of the meadow on the left side was Kiddie Village, which eventually grew to a City of Wonder! We parked our camp halfway twixt original C.A.L.M. and Kiddie Village, up into the shade of the tree line in the raspberry bushes by a big broken tree. Flattening out a place for our sleeping tent we ate juicy raspberries as we stomped. There was poison ivy everywhere so we sacrificed a shade tarp to cover the ground for safe lounging and relaxing. We set up a second small dome tent for all our gear and food and clothes and schtuff. We were on the map, had our own gnome home at home!
Pixie donated a pile of her old Golden Books to Kiddie Village. She talked with the smaller kids while I helped a crew installing support poles and guy ropes for that immense circus-tent-sized tarp for the main play area. I was amazed how four folks could hold a 25' ladder firmly in the air while another person climbed fearlessly to the top to adjust rope connections. The kids were having a blast here! There were four teeter-totters and the kids had figured how to "launch" each other, so the adults were trying to calm their butts down. Then we gravitated over to Kiddie C.A.L.M. where she helped Pat take care of several kids. One had poison oak all around his eyes.
Water and Flame were the main healers at Kiddie C.A.L.M., but Pat and the Swedish Bitters woman also put in huge hours there. Pat's dog Gaia was hilarious to play stick with. Gaia would plunge pell mell into high thick weeds and come out in a nanosecond with the very same stick you'd thrown. We trudged back to parking and got a second load of supplies that day. We donated a lot of apple juice and zuzu drink (cola) and that made for heavy loads to haul.
We learned to linger in the shade. In the stretches of sun it was best to conserve energy and keep moving towards the shade. We drank constantly from our canteens and often poured as much on our heads as we put in our mouths. We quickly learned all the places we could get water and paced our water consumption accordingly. It was close to 100 degrees everyday, and only rained one other time just before dawn for about two hours (July 2nd). Two pack loads in one day (and setting up the camp) wore us out, so we collapsed at sunset and slept with rainbow dreams. The Missouri whippoorwills sang us to sleep.
The next morning we found our Lovin' Touch kitchen up in the trees on the hillside in the shade. The big sign said "Kitten Safety Zone, All Dogs On Leashes!" and we met Grace, who had three kittens and a full grown cat! Grace told us how she and Steps had come in on June 10th and started Lovin' Touch in a shady patch of poison ivy. They knew where to find the good spring water, and they brought in a reporter from the West Plains Daily Quill. Grace opened her trunk and showed us the beautiful photo of the start of Lovin' Touch kitchen that made the front page of the June 13th Quill, along with an excellent article. Great public relations!!
Steps gave us the best hugs of the gathering and Piper played his didgeridu, and Lizard had made some great pancakes with apples and strawberries in them. This was OUR kitchen! I helped Justin chop wood and Pixie found every cat and dog in the area and gave em all hello hugs! There was a big tie-dye of a pot frond and hammocks strung all over. John was reciting poetry in the corner and Buddy Paul floated in with his beautiful cutaway Applause guitar and just let anyone play away on it.
The next morning we went to Copperhead Crossing for a shower and to splash in the stream and we met Nancy who was entering 6th grade in the fall. She was lugging around a big heavy bedroll. Pixie and Nancy became best friends instantly. I put her gear in my backpack and we trudged off to her mom's van back in A-camp, then came back to Kiddie Village. On the way they caught 50 tadpoles at the first creek crossing and had them all in a single drinking cup! Nancy slept about half the time in a hammock at Lovin' Touch. Nancy traded for two matching filigree rings and gave one to Pixie, and they changed their names to Sunshine. Pixie was Sun and Nancy was Shine. Nancy showed us where the kids were swinging off a rope into a deep cold spot in the creek. It was too cold for me, but the kids could stand it and had a great time!
There was also a swing/hammock for kids to swing in over the creek, and children's toys scattered about. The milk for Kiddie village was stored in the cold water, a natural refrigerator. Then came early dinner call at Kiddie Village! Many courses! Seconds and thirds for all who wanted!! Filled us up (yummy!) and we went off burping to the main circle to hear all the news and see how big the OM circle was getting. My best guess was two to three thousand at the site on our arrival June 23rd. When we left on Wednesday, July 3rd there were maybe 10,000 and it was growing every hour with the four day weekend approaching.
About Thursday, June 27th, Pixie patiently had sat through another evening main circle and eaten good Rainbow food. She went to her first "Sister Circle" with an older friend. The hot topic was the rape of a sister in A-camp. It turns out a young woman had gotten real drunk and been passed around and passed out. She wasn't with the girls discussing the hearsay at Sister Circle, she was already back getting loaded with those same brothers at A-camp who had taken advantage of her. The news I heard was that she was "consenting" until she passed out, but I wonder how could she consent while unconscious? A sorry story, but she apparently knew and stood by her rapist friends even afterwards. They were her drinking buds. A more tragic story was a pregnant 14 year old who miscarried at the Rainbow. I never met either woman, just passing on what I heard at the site.
The RUMORS on the computer newsgroup alt.gathering.rainbow (when I got home to read it) were really silly! The National Guard was not called out! No one was shot in A-camp. Hillbillies were NOT beating up hippies! The locals thought we were a godsend and treated us kindly with smiles! The police traffic checks were only for driver's license/insurance/registration. We passed in and out many times and most times there was no traffic check, or they just waved us by without stopping. Pixie did catch an ancient box turtle at the gathering, and had it in her lap on our way in when we were stopped. The Forest Service made her set the turtle free, it was a protected citizen of the Irish Wilderness!!
There were about 8 horse cops we met on the main trail and we learned the names of all the beautiful horses. Rebel Command and Ollie were our favorites. The riders were especially courteous, three women and five men, I think. There were about four FS cops on mountain bikes, and they ate a lot of dust from the cars on FS road 3173 going from the site to the police command location about 2 miles down the road. We stopped and greeted the FS and Dept. of Interior police we met and they were all friendly and kind. We even had a FS cop by A-camp get out of his jeep and paw through his supplies to find Pixie a Band-Aid for a finger cut.
One woman (who was a little crazed) climbed on top of a FS jeep and jumped up and down, denting the roof! And she wasn't arrested! Many were openly rude to the cops, calling out "Six UP!" or "Doughnut!!" as they went by. A select few chanted OM towards them. I always asked if all was well, and never heard any problems, although some were nervous and would say, "No problems .... yet!" I give the cops a C+, they are only human. We saw very little of them inside the real gathering, and only on the main trail, and always preceded by shouts of warning. I wish they would have stayed out of the church altogether and turned in their guns. HA!
The main trail crosses Spring Creek again to the right of Kiddie village, and heads upwards past the Animal Rainbow Family first aid for dogs and cats (Arf Arf!!) and Teen Village and Granola Funk Express kitchen. If you follow it all the way to the end there were three ropes tied across the trail and a sign that said "Turn around, Private property". Just before that sign, if you turned left, you could meander down to Cafe Cough Fee (Coffee Coffee) and find the best swimming spot of the gathering! Spring Creek is 12 feet deep here, fifty feet across, and cold cold COLD! The bank on the Coffee Coffee side is full of good mud and music all day. Those who can handle the cold water swim across and scramble up the rocky bank, and the adventurous climb up to dive off rock ledges 20 and 30 feet up.
There was a cave upstream to explore, and some kind souls left an inflatable raft for kids to paddle back and forth. Frisbees hummed back and forth as didgeridus droned and the mud people drew designs on themselves. This was a hopping swim hole! Musicians would gravitate in and stay for hours singing heavenly songs. We met Megan out by Coffee Coffee and she blew Pixie dust on Skater, then told her she was now a Pixie and had Pixie dust in her blood! That's when Skater changed her name to Sunshine Pixie, but she shortened it to Pixie later, and we got some gold glitter dust so she could turn others into Pixies. Skater was a glittering gold-dusted free spirit the last five days we were there. One bottle of glitter covers a LOT of people! :) Sparkling like star dust in the moonlight and sunshine!
Early in the gathering we met Steve and Cheyenne and their daughter. Steve was giving out water about the 1 mile point from A-camp at the end of a long dry path in the hot sun. Each day Steve and Foxfire (aka: Bridge Troll, Pegleg) went on a water run to Birch Tree and brought back water to give out at the water station, as well as "PowerBurst" electrolyte drink. Steve and Cheyenne also brought two riding horses and hung out a sign that read "Horse Camp". They brought a white horse (age 13) named Patches, and another spirited brown horse, both elegant females. Cheyenne took Pixie for a four hour horse ride one day, while I baby-sat their younger girl Kailey. Kailey was 15 months old and an energetic whirlwind. Kailey was born premature at only 1 pound and hydrocephalic, but was obviously doing well and happy to be at her first rainbow!
Cheyenne and Pixie washed the two horses and brushed them and got them water. Then they rode them down the steep path to the first creek for an hour or so and tried to get them to drink. Pixie rode the white horse, Patches. The brown horse drank some and had a coughing fit, Cheyenne thought maybe she had swallowed a tadpole! Then they went up into the first meadow and galloped around the tipis. They decided to take them all the way in to Kiddie Village and back.
In the main circle meadow they walked the horses through the big fire pit and really stirred up some ashes and dust. Then Pixie had to hold on as Patches decided to take off and run some around the main meadow, even leaping over some logs by where the wash station was later set up by the water people. Patches was the type of horse that needed to be ridden firm or whacked a bit with a stick to get going. Pixie was uncomfortable doing that, but she had a great time riding nonetheless. They rode through the thick fog of the gathering at sunset and came back after dark with the fireflies twinkling around them in the mist.
When they returned, Pixie had bowlegs and saddleburns and was worn out! That's when Cheyenne's stomach began to hurt a LOT! She tried some herbal cures from C.A.L.M. but nothing seemed to help. We all felt for her. She wound up going in to the hospital the next day before feeling better, and came back to the Gathering again. After her long ride Pixie volunteered to run the water station. It was dark and she was lit by a lantern and offered weary incoming travelers water or electrolytes or pixie dust. Just about everyone wanted pixie dust! A kind soul gave her a bag of little chocolate bars with the instructions to only give them to girls, but she gave them to everybody! We were given strawberries and watermelon and also changed Kailey's diaper twice! We stayed until after midnight, then closed down the water station and finally wandered back to our tent by the light of the big smiling moon.
One evening after main circle I went to wash our dishes while Pixie played hacky-sack with a group of teens. I met George while washing. His 12-string guitar was autographed by Peter Yarrow (of Peter Paul and Mary) and Stanley Jordan and Kenny Burrell and John Prine and Stevie Ray Vaughan's nephew Roy Vaughan, and about 40 others. He was from Austin and sang me a song he wrote about the Wyoming gathering... "on July 1st there was a fire, on July 2nd there was a fire, on July 3rd there was a fire, on July 4th there was a Raaaaaaainbow!" ...and as he sang the sunset disappeared quickly... where was Pixie?
The hacky-sack group was nowhere to be seen. I started looking for Pixie in her dark purple shirt. I circled the fire twice, the drummers were already roaring, a BIG crowd! I had lost her! I circled inside right next to the fire so Pixie could see me if she was there, I was wearing her giant red & black Dr. Suess hat. Night had come on in a hurry and it was too dark to see faces even up close. Being a parent is a wonderful thing, and I was VERY concerned. The gathering had grown to a sizable city. I wandered away from the fire and hollered out "Ska-a-a-a-a-aterrrrr!!!!" and she called out "Right here, Dad!" right under my feet! What a relief! After that I stuck with her like glue, and brought a white T-shirt for her to wear after main circle sunset!
That night Pixie wanted to stay by the fire, so we crept in close between the drummers and found two saxophone players and sat near them listening to the sounds. Pixie kept wanting to sit closer and closer to the fire and we wound up almost IN the fire! The fire tenders had to walk over us as they added logs, and we were well-done and roasted by the heat of the flames! All our clothes were covered in soot and the next day our throats were sore from breathing so much smoke! But we stayed right in the thick of the drums and dancers and hung in there until that blue moon finally went down behind the trees over the mountainside. Just before the moon disappeared she met her friend Eagle, they talked as the fire crackled and the dark night settled in around us. After about six hours at the main drum circle we crept back to the tent and brushed our teeth and slept.
All that night and most every night we visited the fire there was a big menacing dude like Big Daddy in sinister sunglasses with a shaved head. He apparently thought he was King of the Fire or something and would stop the drums and recite a short poem to tell us to listen to the birds or hear the spirits talk. He also threatened to shove the trombone up the ass of a trombone player! He also would occasionally give slices of sweet melon to everyone in the inner circle of the fire, and maybe also drinks of electric punch. He never bothered us, thank goodness, and Pixie was able to dust him with Pixie dust the last day we were there. Good work, Pixie! We always ended the day by brushing out teeth and started the day by brushing our teeth. We were probably the only two at the gathering that didn't have morning breath!
Three nights later it was a full blue moon! The main circle was filled with pomp and drama, lots of poetry and heartsongs and then a special OM circle where we all laid back and chanted to the sky while holding hands laying down! After the food there was a Rainbow Wedding and we got right up close to observe and take part! The crowd was swept up and chanting "HO!" as the couple exchanged vows and were blessed and covered with incense smoke and then there was a huge group hug and OM chant. Pixie had big stars in her eyes and she said, "Dad, I want a hippie wedding!"
They had piled up a huge pile of logs for the fire, and after the wedding it ROARED into life and there were tons of wild dancers circling the fire. Little blond 13 year-old Eagle came up with half his head shaved and the other half dyed bright green with braided dreads. He raced naked around the fire in circles leaping and cavorting! We were among the first to spot the moon's entrance over the hill, and the drumming soared with that big lunar energy! We hung in with the drums and the fire and wailed on our bells and trumpet and rhythm egg up till the moment of fullness at 10:58 pm, then meandered back listening for vampires and werewolves on the paths!
The full moon night, Pixie was asleep by midnight and I wanted to stay close to the tent but soak up some sounds of the gathering. About 50 feet away by the trail that leads to Lovin' Touch kitchen was a couple of flute players and a drummer that were jamming their asses off. Both flutists were singing and scatting into their flutes as they played, and throwing wild jazz riffs back and forth like two Johnny Heartsman clones with Roland Kirk egging them on! A person nearby with a laser light did a light show at their feet with that eerie flashing red light, and Piper wandered down from Lovin' Touch with his "D" wood flute and joined in.
This was the best music I heard at the gathering, these souls were on FIRE! I nestled up right next to them and leaned on my walking staff and just inhaled the magic for a half hour in delight! Afterwards there was a couple banjos and a guitar and a real fine fiddle over at Tea & Toke kitchen a hundred feet to the north of our tent. I sat down and played on the rhythm egg, and a big golden lab drooled all over me wagging his tail. They were playing real Ozark bluegrass, and they ripped through a dozen tunes and had a captive audience of about 40 clapping for more each time they would stop!
The first day we packed in I was lured into the Popcorn Palace kitchen by the sounds of Robbie playing a mandolin and singing. Robbie was older and his legs were crippled, but he could and did sing like a songbird and played that mandolin all the time beaming a big rainbow smile! He'd also been at the 1980 gathering and told us about how they had finally jailed the guy that killed the two girls hitching to that West Virginia national. While I was talking to him and his friends, a 17 year old named Cheshire Cat was trying to attach himself to Pixie! Cheshire was hard to escape the next two days. He found and followed us wherever we went. Finally Pixie met Eric (age 17) and then it was in reverse, with Pixie dragging Dad all over trying to find and hang out with Eric. After Eric, Dad got dragged around as Pixie hung out with Eagle (age 13) all day.
Eagle had a fake English accent and claimed to have 190 wives. His Mom had brought him to gatherings about every year and also to regional gatherings in-between, and he was a creative soul! After Eagle, a different fellow named Weasel decided to hang with us non-stop and try wooing Pixie. Weasel was 19, but shorter than Pixie by a couple inches, and liked to hang out with the younger kids. Weasel was extremely polite and good company, but he really had no business with a 13 year old just out of grade school. After a couple of days I told Weasel he was a little too old for my girl and he respectfully backed off. Rainbow men are cut of a finer cloth, I think. I had done my utmost patient share of being flexible and mellow and allowing Pixie to meet and mingle with a LOT of folks, all the while never letting her too far out of my sight. I did about seven days of non-interfering chaperoning before explaining to Pixie that we weren't there to chase and be chased by boys. Amazingly, she agreed! The rest of the time we hung together and still managed to have major fun!
Out in the parking lot after an early visit to Steve and Cheyenne to see about riding horses, Pixie serenaded the FS with her trumpet. They drove past in a jeep and stopped right in front of us and asked if she would play them a song. She pulled out her sheet music for "This Land Is Your Land, This Land Is My Land" by Woody Guthrie and blasted them with about three full verses with choruses! I was mighty proud! Afterwards we sang the two banned socialist verses to folks in the lot, and a day later I heard Pixie singing those verses to people at the Bliss kitchen!
"As I was walking, in the shadow of the steeple,
by the relief office, I seen my people.
As they stood there hungry, I stood there whistling..
(whistle melody to "This land was made for you and me")
As I was walking, I saw a sign there!
And on the sign it said, No Trespassing!
But on the other side, it didn't say nothing...
THAT side was made for you and me!"
The Krishna commune in West Virginia sent a bus and a couple of Swiss brown work bulls to the gathering. The bulls were twin brothers named Gita and Bhagavad. They were HUGE! We saw them as they arrived in a big trailer, and later grazing in a meadow. The Krishna's brought their usual assortment of fine musicians, including Indian drums and a harmonium, and put on theater in a stage in the first clearing. They had two big tipis and two large tents. Pixie and I stopped in their first tipi right after it went up, the incense was real fine and sweet and they were singing sweet songs to Krishna.
The inside of the tent had little triangular flags all around in a circle with some of the many names of god written on each flag. I wrote down the name of "Ksamah, one who is patient in all things!" Pixie grew impatient to leave and we tried to wait until their song ended, but it turned out to be an ENDLESS song so we snuck out quietly. They gave Pixie a glossy postcard of a blue lotus Shiva with four arms holding a nice talking drum and a ceremonial spear. Krishna was late arriving this year and we never made it to their kitchen, which opened about July 1st. Their kitchen has a reputation for the sweetest food!!
Josef arrived for the full moon sans his beard, but he brought his bagpipes! He remembered us from the Kentucky gathering where he worked communications and organized healers at the C.A.L.M. tipi. We also met Caribou, who maintains an unofficial Rainbow Family of Living Light homepage on the internet. Also it was a pleasure to meet Running Bear, an elder and cartoonist who posts regularly on the "alt.gathering.rainbow" internet newsgroup.
Early on we met Woody and his niece and her young friend David at the main circle. They were from West Virginia, and Woody told me an interesting tale of searching caves in Belize for artifacts. He was in a tight spot in a cave and poked at a mound of bat guano when a cloud of guano dust burst into the air and right down his lungs. He went into distress almost right away and developed histoplasmosis, a dangerous lung disease. After years of herbal and natural remedies, Woody's histoplasmosis is now in remission. Beware the guano dust in caves!
Woody's camp was near ours but on the other side of the Son Dance Trail and right next to Spring Creek. Woody heard some funny sounds one night and got up with a flashlight to find two armadillos had waddled out of the creek and were rummaging through his camp! He followed them a ways with the light as they waddled slowly off, and the next day he thinks he found their burrow a bit further downstream.
I would have loved to see those critters myself, but had to settle for the armadillos we saw hit by cars on the highway. Pixie and I stopped when we saw our first armadillo road-kill. The poor thing had really been clobbered by cars and we dragged it off the asphalt and into the weeds. Soon after we saw another armadillo in the classic four feet in the air bloated road-kill posture. Woody was a trader and kept business hours by his tent with wares on display luring folks in from the main trail. His demeanor was elegantly mellow and I liked him a lot. He had been at the Kentucky National in 1993, so I brought him some apple juice and a copy of the map I drew of that Gathering. He gave Pixie a beautiful ankle bracelet with bells. Later we brought him a set of juggling balls because the ankle bracelet was so sweet.
Everywhere we went we saw juggling sticks and Pixie was fascinated. The first juggler we saw with them was in Lovin' Touch kitchen, and he was a MOST excellent and smooooth juggler! Eric's friend Sage was playing an extended set of songs on Buddy Paul's guitar, and this juggler was sitting cross-legged in the dirt and working magic with those sticks in time with the music.
Sage was playing Nirvana and other tunes. He was real young but could play like my friend Johnny OH and sing like Kurt Cobain.
Sage and I traded songs later at their camp out by Granola Funk Express. Pixie was embarrassed to hear Dad chomping out bad versions of God Save The Queen (Sex Pistols) and Hey Baby (Hendrix) while she was trying to make eyes at Sage's friend Eric. Eric had a joker's hat and gave Pixie a necklace that came apart later. Pixie was sweet on this guy after getting that necklace! He was a drummer without a drum, promised to meet Pixie by the Kiddie Village swimming hole, but we couldn't find him. It's easy to lose folks at a Rainbow.
Trader's blankets were spread out at all the congested spots on the main trail, slowing foot traffic and bringing the shopping MALL spirit into the church. Call me a relic but I remember in 1980 the traders were NOT allowed to peddle inside until July 4th, when they flooded inside to the main meadow with all their trinkets glittering on their blankets. For many of these traders the Rainbow is just another stop on the flea market trail, and I resent this crass materialistic merchandising. Pixie was constantly drawn to gawk at their wares, and Dad (the Old Grouch) was given to grousing & crabbing & whining & beefing as I tried to pry her from those little portable stores. Jesus threw the bastards out of the temple on their ears, didn't he? Heeheheeheheee! Enough... :)
This was the first national where I didn't squirm my way into blowing the conch shell at main circle to call the family to grub. I must be getting old. The conch blowers I heard were doing their best but weren't getting the volume that the tuba player from Michigan got back in Kentucky in 1993! We had meadow neighbors from Urbana, Illinois, that brought a trombone and blew reveille way too EARLY one morning right next to our camp! Pixie had been sleeping but that blew her right out of the tent into the morning sunshine! Another trombonist at the Gathering liked to haunt the main drum circle and would let anyone pass around his trombone while he wandered off for hours. Way up by Arf Arf!! there was a cackle of five saxophones that regularly gathered in the shady trail and jammed together. They sounded to me like Frank Zappa's "The Eric Dolphy Memorial Barbecue // Dwarf Nebula Professional March & Dwarf Nebula", a real soaring pack of honkers in disarray.
Ours was the only trumpet we saw, and carrying it around a coupla days, we indulged a lot of requests from former trumpet players to play on it! It was played at the swimming holes with didgeridoos, tooted with wandering clarinets on the trail, and covered with fire soot at the main drum circle. We saw hordes of wood and orchestral flutes. There seemed to be a hundred didgeridoos! There were scores of guitars from the precious to the silly variety, and hundreds of big and small drums (the new Rainbow instrument of choice). SOOOO many drummers! Deep in the thundering buffalo stampede of oblivious amateur drumming there lurked a serious core of talented and demented real percussionists. The good drumming would surface and carry the energy in surprising places, even in the Walmart parking lot in West Plains!
There was a hilarious handbill posted at info about the telltale warning signs of drum abuse! It's interesting to note that lots of regional gatherings are just called "Drum Circles" now. The domination of the rhythmic ones has beaten the melodic minority to the sidelines! All hail the thumping BEAT!! Just kidding, I like drums a lot. Someday I would like to have a talking drum and a real low pitched booming tabla. I got a chance to play on both at the Shawnee regional in Early October! I didn't see many of either at this years National, but for all I know there were undoubtedly some real fine drums out there lurking in that foggy misty pulsing valley.
Pixie's new Rainbow friend Flipper was 19 and had been married and divorced twice already. Claimed to have already owned a house and had a high powered job at one point. He had a green spiked mohawk that kept lying down without his spray and mouse, and Pixie loved to take her fingers and mess it up! For him life was black leather and tattoos and musical angst (post-Punk) but he was obviously filled with joy and had a happy soul enjoying the Rainbow. He left July 2nd, hitching his way to Colorado with friends. A kind dude!
My Rainbow friend Jarrod had sliced three toes open in a farm accident loading hay bales a week before the rainbow. He wandered into Kiddie C.A.L.M. limping on a cane with no shoes or socks, and had flies crawling in & out of the mud caked around his wound! The Swedish Bitters woman decided he needed to clean that and apply Swedish Bitters. She prescribed Swedish Bitters for everything! We donated a clean sock for him to wear and he kept returning for more Swedish Bitters and cleaning each day. By the end of our stay he was walking without a cane, and new skin was growing on his wound. It was looking 100% improved! We poured through the ancient herbal tomes but never did find out the secret ingredients of Swedish Bitters. What the hay, Jarrod was healing fast! Center for Alternative Living Medicine does it again! May the Goddess praise Swedish Bitters!
A-camp, or Alcoholic Camp, lived up to it's bad reputation as usual. While there were a few kind souls welcoming folks home out on the road before parking, the welcome home info board area was home to a motley crue of sordid motorcyclists and macho self-designated Shanti Sena bosses. There was a giant "my-size" Barbi doll, naked, with duct tape over her mouth greeting everyone. The next day we went by and they were doing rather unspeakable things to her in the grass. I had Pixie turn her head and we walked quickly by.
The next time we went by, there was a crowd trashing a compact car. They had broken all the windows and were kicking in the doors. Some people have their own special forms of amusement, I guess. For a couple days there was a nice three-wheeled motorcycle that looked like a hearse parked right at the front gate, and the cycle gang members who brought it in were loading up on beer before hiking in where their feet would have to carry them.
The woman who had jumped up and down on the FS jeep without being arrested eventually calmed down a lot. We saw her several times being reeeeeally wacky but in better control. That day when she jumped on the jeep she had been hugging people on the trail, then tearing off their metal jewelry and throwing their rings and bracelets off into the weeds. Our friend Funky had his silver ring and silver bracelet thrown down into a ravine filled with poison ivy. Pixie and I and Cheshire Cat climbed down into it and helped him search. The bracelet was found quickly, but it was a long while later when Cheshire finally found the ring. Another brother lost an amulet and necklace and was extremely upset, but did not file charges against the woman.
One brother I met had the handle of "Less Stress". Now that is a good name! We can all use less Stress! Have you heard of "Vermin Supreme"? He is the infamous Disco Ball and giant toothbrush wielding hippie we met in Kentucky. He was here and passing out bumperstickers that said VERMIN SUPREME `96 "Brush Your Teeth, It's The Law!" We ran into him with a group that was asking cosmic questions of a Magic Eight Ball. I asked an important question and the 8-ball gave me the answer I was hoping for, but the exact words were, "Of course, you dork!"
The new summer edition of the 1996 Rainbow Guide was given away at info and there was a big color photo of Vermin Supreme with a shit-eating grin right on the cover! Fame!!! We had met Vermin in Kentucky in 1993. Vermin wandered around at night with a mobile and raucous party entourage. They carried that giant-size disco mirror-ball everywhere they went, shining flashlights on it and calling out for all to "Bow down and worship the Sacred Disco Ball!!" It was too-o-o-o hilarious! :)
Out in the parking lot we met and shared grub and laughs with Geo (George) from Minneapolis. The next night we heard machete whacking sounds back behind our camp in the trees, it seemed to go on all night! It was Geo and several of his Minneapolis friends carving out a shady campsite from the poison ivy and poison oak and raspberry brambles! Wack-a-wack-a-wack!! While we had set up at the tree line and had a tarp for protection from rain, the angle of the morning sun slanted in and heated up our tent in the early morning, ewwwwwwww!!!! Hot! Geo and friends did the extra work and wound up with a fine cool site with all day shade! A few set up tents out in the baking sun, only to move them the next day when they discovered how HOT the sun can be!
Our big hot meadow suddenly FILLED with tents on the weekend of June 29 and 30. An explosion of people arriving really changed the chemistry of the gathering from seed camp to full national homecoming! I crawled from our tent to find both paths we usually took to get to the main trail were now covered by new arrivals. There were tents everywhere!! A German shepherd from out of nowhere took umbrage at my emerging and growled and advanced on me to chew on my skinny leg!! I yelped backwards and grabbed my walking staff, which saved me! Dogs do not like big sticks wielded with a little bravisimmo! This big shepherd belonged to a tent two tents over, turned out to have a name (Nebraska) and took huge shits wherever he pleased.
The next night we tucked Pixie's sandals under the drop tarp next to the door of out tent because they were too raunchy and sandy to bring inside. The next morning Nebraska was using one of her sandals as a chew toy! I took several time outs during the gathering to move and cover other folks dog shit on the main trail. As much as I love cats, the Rainbow just makes me love cats all the more! I saw several people dive in to break up dog fights and almost got bowled over by fighting dogs a few times myself. As Bob Dylan says, "If dogs run free, then why not me? Across the swoop of tiiiiime........"
My favorite dog of the gathering was a three legged little black terrier that thought he was Napoleon! His name was Weasel. He stayed wherever he wanted, and had friends at Lovin' Touch and out at Horse Camp. His owner said he had picked a fight with a big German shepherd and got his leg bit off as a result. I was baby-sitting Kailey out at horse camp when a brother handed me Weasel and pleaded with me to hold him long enough for him to get away with his lady doggie that was in heat. Weasel had been romancing his pooch non stop, haahahaahaha! Who would bring a dog in heat to a Rainbow?
We also saw a beautiful brown/gray Afghan dog roaming without an owner (I like Afghans) and several big wolfhounds. There were a number of real classy fancy doggies whose owners kept them sensibly in tow, but 90% of the dogs just ran free. We came walking down the trail when two dogs locked in intercourse were captured by their owners who tried to separate them, but they were stuck! Pixie's eyes almost popped out of her head! Here were these silly humans pouring water and oil on these two pooches to no avail and trying to pull them apart. Oh the pain! I tried to move Pixie down the trail but all her friends had stopped to gawk at the sight.
Pixie was helping at Kiddie C.A.L.M. when a guy asked her to watch his little black cuddly puppy named Zodax while he ran a quick errand. Three hours later, the guy finally comes back! In the meantime, Pat had diagnosed Zodax as starving and loaded with worms! Pat and Pixie and I marched this guy down to the Animal Rainbow Family (ARF ARF!!) first aid camp. There he got medicine for his puppy and free food and a lecture, but the next day we found out he had given the puppy away. Rainbow people are BAD to their animals! Just my $.02 opinion! We met a family of 3 week old kittens in a sack. The mother had died, they said. They were taking care of them, they said. They had no milk, no food. My heart went out for them and their chances of surviving the Rainbow. :(
We saw lots of kittens but only about four adult cats. Adult cats will not put up with these conditions! Grace had a beautiful black and white cat named Fat Cat that ran free and safe at Lovin' Touch, but there was an uncomfortable and vulnerable black cat on a tied leash at the Popcorn Palace. We saw a couple of people on the trail carrying adult cats as they hiked. We saw people carrying mice and leading goats. Someone brought a rooster that crowed all day long! There were ferrets and pet birds and snakes and baby dwarf rabbits. Pixie caught and released her box turtle, caught and released butterflies and tadpoles. She got bit by a crawfish in the creek. We were all enjoyably nibbled on by little fish.
We both got chigger bites and TRIED not to scratch `em. We still have `em *scratch scratch* to tell ya the truth! There weren't many flies or mosquitoes or spiders. The great paranoia about Lyme disease from ticks was totally overblown. Any black bears or snakes probably fled the area after the first drum circle. Several folks went out of their way to seek out and kill some snakes, and their unlucky hides wound up as wares on the Trader's blankets. There were beautiful little golden finches fluttering around the kitchens and Red Tailed Hawks circling the updrafts above the hills. We spotted some fast little lizards that were black with narrow yellow stripes on their backs and bright blue tails.
I was really happy with the diversity of butterflies! Beautiful butterflies everywhere! Harvesters and Checkerspots and Blues and Viceroys and Fritillaries and lovely Dark Tiger Swallowtails! Saw my first live Zebra Swallowtail ever! And tattoos of butterflies! Tattoos everywhere! Tattoos in progress in the dust of the main trail! Pierced lips and tongues and nipples and belly buttons and ears and genitals and whole body irezumi tattoos. One woman from New Orleans wore an owl foot, alligator teeth, eagle feathers, and a gris-gris bag of zu-zu mamou! The further you got from A-camp, and the closer you got to the great swimming by Coffee Coffee, there were a lot of folks who wore only woven leaves of grape vine, or creative mud designs, or just shone with the light of their smiles! Rainbow spirit embraces all!!
Packing out the tents on our last trip down the trail, we came upon a man pushing his son (Zack) in a baby-buggy with little swivel wheels. The dirt path reached a rocky bUmPy stretch, so we swept the buggy up in the air and Zack was flying down the trail like a bird! We reached A-camp after a block-long flight, and set him back down on the dirt path. Dad suddenly took off and pushed that buggy about 200 yards down the path at a full sprint, with Zack laughing all the way! We were left smiling in clouds of buggy dust!
We saw a couple unloading a cello case from a van, so I asked about it. Sure enough, the kind brother got out his cello and treated us to a Bach concerto right there on the road in A-camp! Marvelous!!! I loooove cello! He was nailing the pitch and playing those hammer-ons and trills and getting those bow-stutters in there. I was in heaven! But soon we were loading the last of our gear into our old pickup truck. We ambled out of parking and onto FS road 3173. Eagle spotted us and ran to say farewell, then we headed out slowly, winding up through the Irish Wilderness towards Route 99. Farewell Rainbow `96!
Here's a partial list of kitchens and campsites we saw by July 3rd:
KITCHENS:
Tea Time
Granola Funk Express
Lovin' Touch/munchateria
Instant Soup
Ship of Love (Diva Diner)
White Dove
Bliss Kitchen
Brew Ha Ha
Popcorn Palace
Jah Love
Milliways (Cafe At The End Of The Universe)
Sun Dog
Musical Veggie
Have a Beautiful Day
The Woderfull Whirrled of OZ
Avalon
Everybody's Whatever Lovin' Ovins/NERT
Kool Aid Coroner
Cofee Cough (no fee, pop free)(Cafe Cough Fee)(Coffee Coffee)
Dee Bakery (Da Bakers)
Beeck Party
Jesus Soup Kitchen
Tow Back Go Kitchen
Krishna Kitchen
Turtle Soup
Dragon Kitchen
CAMPSITES and ORGANIZED MAYHEM:
Kiddie Village
Kiddie C.A.L.M.
C.A.L.M.
Info/Rumor control
Welcome Home
A-Camp
Bus Village
Teen Village
Kiddie Camping
Sorta First Aid
Celestial Tea & Toke
Lost Tribe
Kaw Valley
Mo Love/Dragon Camp
S.H.Y. Camp
Morning Star
Illinois Dysfunctional Family
Yoga Loca
Camp Got A Minute
Be Here Now
Butterflies & Roses
This Camp (Not That Camp)
That Camp (Not This Camp)
Thier Streak - Frier Camp
Sacred Space
Shama Lama Ding Dong
RME RUNE
Top Secret Research Facility
Area 51
Poison Ivy Camp
Teen Barbarian Space
Know Mun Land
FAEREYE Camp
Faerie Camp
Pixie Camp
Multi 4th Dimension
Polka Dot Camp
Safe Love Bowl
Baby Nap
H(({{OM}})) KLA HOMA
Sparrows Nest
Bliss Pit
Madame Frogs
World Peace Pilgrimage
Purple Gang
A.R.F. Animal Rainbow Family
Rest Area
Prop-A-Ghandi Camp
Seven Minit Low
Children Of The Sun
Health Info
Bench March
Calif Cove
Freedome Village L.P.
Camp Calm Union
Kamp U Can't Fine
Fallen Tree Tribe
Flip-N-Tripe E.E.
N.W. - S.W. Western Tribe (Scroll Deaf Tribe)
The Nurd Ick
Mother Ship of F.U.E.L.
NVR NVR LND
Bufins Party
Camp Of Know Repute
Yell Oh Flash Lite
No Feds Tree House
White Hawk
Kumformeee
Ora Gone Camp
Hum Zah
Bah Ree
Bi The Way
Serenity Ridge
Blissters
Cody Massage
Rooster Shack
Blues Party
Mayan Camp
Zoe (Ask For Oness)
High Times
Palm Tribe
Greenwitch Village
Sister Space
Aloha Camp
Om Home
Nowhere
Minnesota Camp
Turk's Head/East Wind
Katuah
No Butt Heads Be Us
The MADD Tea Party
Choc Olate Roomers
All Around The Universe
Coo Cool Ka Chew
Good Space Grove (New Amsterdam)
Well this rambling blathering spew has gone on long enough!
We had a great time and all was good!
The only way to describe a Gathering is to be there, really.
The vision doesn't get through to all,
but enough get the drift to keep this magical thing afloat now for 25 years!
Thanks for your patience and ear,
Lovin’ you,
guano
june 1, 2010
day 152 of 365
...............................................................................................................................................................
so this was probably by far the most i have rearranged my room. and on top of that everytime i have the room in disarray my boyfriend comes home from work. he has just gotten use it now though. he just walks in looks at me, proceeds to call me crazy and walks out. haha. it always makes me laugh. he has also gotten use to the fact that he is not allowed around when im doing a picture. i dont know what it is about having someone i know around but i just go all awkward but if its a stranger i could care less. im weird its totally cool. i think its because i wont see the stranger again so i dont care. i also learned today that i can be such a blond. i learned that if you turn the little ladder i use the long way it doesnt hurt to balance on it. haha. im such a dork. if only i would have figured that out a long time ago. and lastly i want to point out those lovely pictures hanging on the wall. i had my little brothers do those for me when i moved into my house. so they had just turned seven when they did them. i let them draw on what they wanted first with pencil them paint it on. they were so happy that they got to do this and that i was going to be hanging them up in my house. theyre adorable. although they are almost out of that adorable phase. theyll be nine on july fourth. so sad. they grow up too fast. 8 (
today, takes everything you got... wouldn't you like to get away? Sometimes you wanna go...True Story about a snapping turtle's journey. He tried to make his way to the canoe pond. I thwarted his efforts and instead gave him a more suitable spot in the backyard pond. The pond is in disarray but I believe the turtle prefers it that way. Cheers!
Exposure: HDR +2,0,-2, 1/4.5sec at f6.3 ISO 2000
Lens: Sigma 8-16mm F4.5-5.6 DC HSM at 8mm
Sainte Chapelle Lower Chapel
A Chapel under the main chapel (with the high stained glass windows)
The Sainte-Chapelle or 'Holy Chapel', in the courtyard of the royal palace on the Île de la Cité (now part of a later administrative complex known as La Conciergerie), was built to house Louis IX's collection of precious relics of Christ, which included the Crown of Thorns, the Image of Edessa and some thirty other items. Louis purchased his precious Passion relics from Baldwin II, the Latin emperor at Constantinople, for the exorbitant sum of 135,000 livres, though this money was actually paid to the Venetians, to whom the relics had been pawned. The relics arrived in Paris in August 1239, carried from Venice by two Dominican friars and for the final stage of their journey they were carried by the King himself, barefoot and dressed as a penitent (a scene depicted in the Relics of the Passion window on the south side of the chapel). The relics were stored in a large and elaborate silver chest, the Grand-Chasse, on which Louis spent a further 100,000 livres. The entire chapel, by contrast, cost 40,000 livres to build and glaze (until it was completed in 1248 the relics were housed at chapels at the Château de Vincennes and a specially built chapel at the Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye). In 1246, fragments of the True Cross and the Holy Lance were added to Louis' collection, along with other relics. The chapel was consecrated on 26 April 1248 and Louis' relics were moved to their new home with great ceremony.
As well as serving as a place of worship, the Sainte-Chapelle played an important role in the political and cultural ambitions of King Louis and his successors.[2][3] With the imperial throne at Constantinople occupied by a mere Count of Flanders and with the Holy Roman Empire in uneasy disarray, Louis' artistic and architectural patronage helped to position him as the central monarch of western Christendom, the Sainte-Chapelle fitting in to a long tradition of prestigious palace chapels. Just as the Emperor could pass privately from his palace into the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople, so now Louis could pass directly from his palace into the Sainte-Chapelle. More importantly, the two-story palace chapel had obvious similarities to Charlemagne's palatine chapel at Aachen (built 792-805) - a parallel that Louis was keen to exploit in presenting himself as a worthy successor to the first Holy Roman Emperor (Wikipedia).
The royal chapel is a prime example of the phase of Gothic architectural style called "Rayonnant", marked by its sense of weightlessness and strong vertical emphasis. It stands squarely upon a lower chapel, which served as parish church for all the inhabitants of the palace, which was the seat of government (see "palace"). The king was later recognized as a saint by the Catholic Church.
It turns out we haven't left Rundāle Palace in Latvia, after all.
This is a photo of what seems to be German graffiti on one of the palace's marble walls. That's not a beer bottle the solider is throwing; it sure looks like a hand grenade to me.
I came across a trove of photos I took in the palace basement on the way out of the complex.
It's essentially Rundāle Palace's historical society, full of cases of artifacts, photos of the palace when the interior decoration was in a state of great disarray, and many paragraphs of text that explain numerous aspects of the interior.
This is not a sight I have seen here before! NLL services were in complete disarray with the majority of eastbound services being terminated at Canonbury before heading back west again. The 32 minute late 14.31 Clapham Junction - Stratford is one that will be terminated at Canonbury and overtakes 5N60 held in the freight loop.
Equally smart BNMC DF7G diesel 5183 enters the yard at Gongsi with another rake of China Rail wagons.
The works is the building behind and in various stages of disarray a total of five SYs and one JS can be seen in the yard.
Fortunately the painting I most wanted to see was on exhibit:
Caravaggio
The Taking of Christ, 1602
oil on canvas
"Caravaggio painted this extraordinary work for the Roman Marquis Ciriaco Mattei in 1602. Offering a new visual approach to the biblical story, Caravaggio placed the figures close to the picture plane and used a strong light-and-dark contrast, giving the scene an extraordinary sense of drama.
Judas has identified Christ with a kiss, as the temple guards move in to seize Him. The fleeing disciple in disarray on the left is St John the Evangelist. Only the moon lights the scene. Although the man at the far right is holding a lantern, it is, in reality, an ineffective source of illumination. In that man’s features Caravaggio portrayed himself, aged 31, as an observer of events, a device he frequently used in his paintings.
Numerous pentimenti (changes of mind), now visible due to changes over time in the paint layer, are a reminder of the artist’s unconventional way of posing models in tableaux and altering details as he worked.
The painting was a well-documented commission, and was frequently copied by contemporary artists. By the twentieth century, however, the painting had disappeared, having been sold by the family in 1802, and misattributed to Gerrit van Honthorst, a Dutch follower of Caravaggio. Scholars resumed searching for the original in the 1940s, as many of them no longer accepted the authenticity of a painting in the Odessa Art Museum, now known to be a copy made for another member of the Mattei family in 1626.
The painting has now regained its status as a key work by Caravaggio, completed during the artist’s short, but highly productive, period in Rome. It has all the features associated with his great works: a dramatic story, chiaroscuro lighting, expressive figures, combined with a spiritual dimension and magnificent surface detail."
Oil on canvas; 147 x 195.9 cm.
Jean-Baptiste Greuze was a French genre and portrait painter who initiated a mid-18th-century vogue for sentimental and moralizing anecdotes in paintings.
Greuze studied first at Lyon and afterward at the Royal Academy in Paris. He first exhibited at the Salon of 1755 and won an immediate success with his moralizing genre painting of Father Reading the Bible to His Children (1755). Although Greuze’s attention at this time was fixed on a less-pretentious type of genre painting in which the influence of 17th-century Dutch masters is apparent, the favorable attention he received turned his head and established the lines of his future career.
In 1755 Greuze left for Italy but remained impervious to the influence of Italian painting. In 1759 he became acquainted with Denis Diderot, who encouraged his inclination toward melodramatic genre, and throughout the 1760s Greuze reached new heights of popular acclaim with such works as The Village Betrothal (1761) and The Father’s Curse and The Prodigal Son (both c. 1765).
Greuze submitted to the Salon in 1769 a large, rather dreary historical painting, Septimius Severus Reproaching Caracalla, which he hoped would gain him admission to the academy as a history painter. But the academy would admit him to membership only as a genre painter, and so the resentful artist exhibited his works to the public only in his own studio for the next 30 years. In addition to moralizing genre, he painted young girls in poses of feigned innocence and calculated disarray.
Throughout the 1770s Greuze was kept busy painting moralizing pictures, but by the 1780s his work had gone out of fashion and his income was precarious. By 1785 his once-considerable talent was exhausted. The reaction against his sentimental genre paintings resulted in critical neglect of his drawings and portraits, in which Greuze’s superb technical gifts are displayed with great integrity.
(What is Johnny Kitties? Visit my blog to find out: melissaconnolly.blogspot.com/2010/06/johnnys-kitties-john...)
"We've talked about it for many years, but this was the first project that I ever remember Johnny saying he'd wanted to play this ever since he was a little boy. It was one of those things where the show had a lot of impact on us. Johnny, Michelle (Pfeiffer), and I were there at the time it came out, and we just recall it being a very strong, interesting property." Tim Burton on bringing Dark Shadows to the big screen
Curses!
From Liverpool, the Collins family emigrated to Maine and built their new life in the fishing business during the 1700s. The family's good fortune takes a tragic turn when Barnabas Collins (Johnny Depp) ends his brief affair with servant girl Angelique (Eva Green), who hones her witchcraft to exact revenge. Following the untimely death of his parents, Barnabas Collins inherits and keeps the family business afloat. But seeing his true love Josette (Bella Heathcote) fall off a cliff to her death proves too much to bear. Though he falls after her and crashes into the rocks below, Barnabas survives because Angelique turned him into a vampire on the way down. After transforming him into this monster so that he can suffer eternally, she decides to lock him in a coffin and bury him, giving him a quiet, compact place to think about how he's wronged her. The lesson here is don't upset the help.
Nearly 200 years later, a construction crew discovers Barnabas's coffin. He frees himself from the box and finds that the world has changed. The town of Collinsport is no longer headed by his family but by Angelique, whose influence has reached nearly all corners. It's 1972. The Collins family home is in disarray and occupied by only a few remaining distant relatives, a psychiatrist, and a nanny. Always devoted to family, Barnabas commits to adapting to this new era, rebuilding the business, restoring the tarnished family name, and dealing with Angelique once and for all. Dark Shadows is Tim Burton's comic tribute to the 1960s soap opera, celebrating the generations of weirdos that comprise the Collins family history.
This has got to be better than Twilight.
I'd never heard of Dark Shadows, the soap opera, but the idea of it was intriguing! I was excited to see this movie, primarily because I knew that Dark Shadows was a show that Johnny and Tim Burton both watched as kids. I'm sure it took a bit longer, but it seemed to me that Johnny suggest they make a movie together based on Dark Shadows and about five minutes later, it was done and previews for it were showing up everywhere. (In reality, Johnny first brought up the idea to his director on the set of Sweeney Todd, and it took some time before all the right people got involved and everything clicked into action.)
When I saw my first Dark Shadows preview on TV and discovered that Tim Burton decided to make it a comedy, I was kind of disappointed. If anybody could make a scary vampire movie that I could stand to watch without having nightmares, it's him and Johnny. The previews seemed goofy, and my vision for the project was shattered! The original show was a drama, and its loyal fans were angry about the change, but I still had faith. I had nothing to compare it to, and they had their reasons for sticking a 18th century vampire in the 1970s. "Barnabas extols the virtues of family and rejects people who are insincere and selfish. We wanted to pit this selfless family-first hero against the Me Decade," Producer Graham King says. For Tim Burton, the '70s were the most awkward time in his life and seemed the perfect decade to plant a vampire. "The '70s were weird then, and they're weird now," he says. And how could you not use these two elements to make a comedy? Whatever happened, I was sure Dark Shadows would be a unique experience.
What's to love?
This movie is funny! Capturing the spirit of the original soap opera's campy melodrama, everyone teeters on the edge of really bad acting in this movie, and I love it! "It's a tricky tone, and we all recognize that," Tim Burton says. "When we talked about Dark Shadows, part of the appeal was the weird nature of all the elements that went into it. It was very serious, but it was on in the afternoon, on a daily basis. There were certain reasons why we loved the show, but you couldn't necessarily adopt to a film. It was the weirdest challenge to get the acting tone and the soap opera nature of the tone. That's a weird thing to go for in a Hollywood movie." For Johnny Kitties, I ended up watching Dark Shadows twice on DVD before figuring out what I wanted to draw as tribute. By that time, their overdramatic conversations were cracking me up! In fact, the more I watched, the more moments I caught that tie the story together, and the more I laughed. My advice to you is to watch Dark Shadows more than once. Give it a chance and it will grow on you.
The stars are out. The exciting cast includes Michelle Pfeiffer as the current matriarch of the family Elizabeth Collins Stoddard, Chloe Grace Moretz as her teenage daughter Carolyn, and Jonny Lee Miller as her slimy brother-in-law Roger. Some familiar faces, like Christopher Lee and Helena Bonham Carter, are in this movie too. "I don't know how flattered Helena was to be offered the role of an aging alcoholic psychiatrist, but somebody's got to do it," Tim Burton jokes. Newcomers Gulliver McGrath as Roger's son David and Bella Heathcote as both Barnabas's long-lost love Josette and the nanny Victoria, are impressive, but my favorite casting surprise is Eva Green as Angelique. Best known as a Bond Girl, Eva Green always dreamed about working with Tim Burton and dropped another project to take the role in Dark Shadows. Good choice! She's fantastic as a disgruntled witch seeking revenge! (Diehard fans of the Dark Shadows soap opera will find the original Barnabas Collins, Jonathan Frid, who makes a cameo and his final film appearance in the party crowd.)
It's a Tim Burton movie! Based on its previews, I worried that Dark Shadows would be just too silly, but I was pleasantly surprised that it has a healthy balance of comedy and drama. It looks and feels like a Tim Burton movie all the way through. Yes, there are a few too many "I'm-an-out-of-place vampire-stuck-in-the-'70s" moments in this movie, but it also has its creepy moments with a Gothic backdrop and special effects that only Tim Burton could imagine:
- Johnny's vampire look incorporated Nosferatu's creepy fingernails! "In every film I've been lucky enough to do with Tim, there's always some form of torture," Johnny says. "The nails were Tim's idea." (If you want to see a good vampire, rent that classic. Nosferatu may be silent, but it will still scare you!)
- The ethereal ghosts in this movie reminded me of the beautiful undead characters Tim Burton created for The Corpse Bride.
- My favorite touch is that Angelique's bewitching beauty literally starts to crack under pressure. Seeing her skin turn to eggshells as she gets more stressed brings new meaning to age wrinkles.
- The Gothic family mansion is the perfect setting for the over-the-top, questionable family members who live there. (When I first saw the mansion's grand staircase and window, I knew–for better or worse–I had to include it in the Johnny Kitties tribute.)
It's a family affair. While Dark Shadows was not well received by critics, as a fan, I love that I can instantly tell that this film is a distinctive Tim Burton/Johnny Depp collaboration. In fact, Dark Shadows marks their eighth movie together since they met more than 20 years ago. "I feel as though he's my brother," Johnny says of the director. "It's a weird understanding, this kind of shorthand we have. I truly understand him, I think, just as well as anybody can. He certainly knows me as well as anybody can." I can pinpoint jokes in the movie that they must have come up with themselves, from the closet stash of macrame to the Alice Cooper cameo. "None of us get their jokes," Helena Bonham Carter says. "But they get their jokes, and they're laughing, so whatever." (This may be my favorite quote ever.)
Also, this is the first time I read the opening credits of a movie and recognized nearly everyone, cast and crew, from previous projects. Are these all signs that I 1) know too much about Johnny Depp and Tim Burton and 2) watch too many movies? "A film family is a family, and it's a beautifully dysfunctional family," Tim Burton says. "It's kind of positive on one hand, but everyone has their issues, too." In any case, it's clear that this family effort was a labor of love!
Cat fight!
I think the end of this movie is my favorite part. That's when Angelique is fully exposed as the witch she is, and she and Barnabas battle it out. Here, Angelique (Ashes) is literally cracking up, but she's still poised for a fight. Elizabeth (The Mother Kitty) is prepared to defend her home, but the home may be turning against her since Angelique awakened it in her special way. (Notice the snake banister ready to attack and the portraits laughing at the chaos.) But even Elizabeth's daughter Carolyn (Lily), whom Angelique cursed into a werewolf, is coming down from her room to help save the family. I added Josette (Mini) to this scene just because I liked the ghosts in this movie. Who's to say she wasn't there watching?
Don't you want to know how this turns out? Rent the movie to find out.
What else was going on?
I'm not sure when Johnny sleeps, as he seems busy all the time, everywhere. Here are a few other things he put on his schedule in 2012:
- Play with my friends! Johnny started showing up for his friends' (e.g., Patti Smith, Bill Carter, Aerosmith, Marilyn Manson) concerts, special events, and album recordings to play a little guitar on the side. The most exciting one for me was his appearance at the 2012 MTV Movie Awards, where he picked up some golden popcorn (just for being awesome all these years) and played with The Black Keys (because he and they are awesome).
- Revisit 21 Jump Street. I was torn when I heard that Jonah Hill was making a movie based on 21 Jump Street, but I had to see it because I heard that Johnny and other members of the original TV show cast might make cameo appearances. The previews made me laugh out loud, so I was excited by the time the movie was released....Oh, it's good. You have to see it for yourself.
- Stop in on Family Guy. Johnny showed up in cartoon form as Edward Scissorhands in a Family Guy episode called "Lois Comes Out of Her Shell." It's a very quick cameo that's a bit underwhelming after all the media attention his forthcoming appearance received. I actually think the best part of this episode is Stewie's evil pet turtle.
- Meet a Beatle! Johnny and Paul McCartney are friends!!! Can you believe it? Well, actually, yes, I can; of course, that would happen. In 2012, Paul McCartney asked Johnny and Natalie Portman to star in his video for "My Valentine," during which they present the song through sign language and Johnny plays guitar. Paul McCartney directed the video and released three versions because he's an overachiever: one features Natalie Portman only, one features Johnny only, and one has both Johnny and Natalie together. In 2013, Johnny also showed up (with a zillion other celebrities) in another cool Paul McCartney video, for "Queenie Eye." And, earlier this year, when Paul McCartney won a Grammy for "Cut Me Some Slack," the song he wrote with Dave Grohl, Kris Novoselic, and Pat Smear, he said, "I blame Johnny Depp because he had given me this little cigar box guitar that I was wildly excited to play!" Johnny and Paul McCartney are friends!!!
- Read and write. If you're a Johnny fan, you know that he loves to read. He reads about everything and always has four of five books open at the same time. So, hearing that he was starting a publishing imprint with his friend author/historian Douglas Brinkley wasn't surprising but nevertheless ridiculously exciting! The imprint shares the name of Johnny's production company, Infinitum Nihil, and is part of HarperCollins Publishers. "I pledge on behalf of Infinitum Nihil, that we will do our best to deliver publications worthy of peoples' time, of peoples' concern, publications that might ordinarily never have breached the parapet," Johnny said in a statement. "For this dream realized, we would like to salute HarperCollins for their faith in us and look forward to a long and fruitful relationship together." The first book release was Woody Guthrie's long-lost and only novel House of Earth. Coming in 2015 will be The Unravelled Tales of Bob Dylan. So, add these to your library queue or go support your local bookstore, and start reading.
What's Next?
Johnny gives Tonto some flair and reigns in The Lone Ranger!
To see more images from Dark Shadows, photos of Johnny's side projects, the Paul McCartney videos he participated in, or more Johnny Kitties tributes, visit my original blog post here: melissaconnolly.blogspot.com/2014/05/johnny-kitties-celeb....
When one fence fails, build another on top of it...
This caught my interest due to all the textures in one place.
The Lost World (20th Century Fox, 1960).
youtu.be/h1CLA-gJbmA?t=5s Trailer
Irwin Allen, the producer who would go on to make the disaster film a huge success in the seventies, brought us this Saturday afternoon fodder with giant lizards posing as dinosaurs. Starring Michael Rennie, David Hedison, Claude Rains and Jill St. John.
Intended as a grand sci-fi/fantasy epic remake of Arthur Conan Doyle's classic novel. The first film adaptation, shot in 1925, was a milestone in many ways, but movie making and special effects had come a long way in 35 years. Irwin Allen's Lost World (LW) & 20th Century Fox version was derailed on the way to greatness, but managed to still be a respectable, (if more modest) A-film. Allen's screenplay followed the book fairly well, telling of Professor Challenger's expedition to a remote plateau in the Amazon upon which dinosaurs still lived. Aside from the paleontological presumptions in the premise, there is little "science" in The Lost World. Nonetheless, dinosaur movies have traditionally been lumped into the sci-fi genre.
Synopsis
When his plane lands in London, crusty old professor George Edward Challenger is besieged by reporters questioning him about his latest expedition to the headwaters of the Amazon River. After the irascible Challenger strikes reporter Ed Malone on the head with his umbrella, Jennifer Holmes, the daughter of Ed's employer, Stuart Holmes, offers the injured reporter a ride into town. That evening, Jenny is escorted by Lord John Roxton, an adventurer and big game hunter, to Challenger's lecture at the Zoological Institute, and Ed invites them to sit with him. When Challenger claims to have seen live dinosaurs, his colleague Professor Summerlee scoffs and asks for evidence. Explaining that his photographs of the creatures were lost when his boat overturned, Challenger invites Summerlee to accompany him on a new expedition to the "lost world," and asks for volunteers. When Roxton raises his hand, Jenny insists on going with him, but she is rejected by Challenger because she is a woman. Ed is given a spot after Holmes offers to fund the expedition if the reporter is included. The four then fly to the Amazon, where they are met by Costa, their guide and Manuel Gomez, their helicopter pilot. Arriving unexpectedly, Jenny and her younger brother David insist on joining them. Unable to arrange transportation back to the United States, Challenger reluctantly agrees to take them along. The next day, they take off for the lost world and land on an isolated plateau inhabited by dinosaurs. That evening, a dinosaur stomps out of the jungle, sending them scurrying for cover. After the beast destroys the helicopter and radio, the group ventures inland. When one of the creatures bellows threateningly, they flee, and in their haste, Challenger and Ed slip and tumble down a hillside, where they encounter a native girl. The girl runs into the jungle, but Ed follows and captures her. They then all take refuge in a cave, where Roxton, who has been making disparaging remarks about Jenny's desire to marry him solely for his title, angers Ed. Ed lunges at Roxton, pushing him to the ground, where he finds a diary written by Burton White, an adventurer who hired Roxton three years earlier to lead him to the lost diamonds of Eldorado. Roxton then admits that he never met White and his party because he was delayed by a dalliance with a woman, thus abandoning them to certain death. Gomez angrily snaps that his good friend Santiago perished in the expedition. That night, Costa tries to molest the native girl, and David comes to her rescue and begins to communicate with her through sign language. After Gomez goes to investigate some movement he spotted in the vegetation, he calls for help, and when Roxton runs out of the cave, a gunshot from an unseen assailant is fired, nearly wounding Roxton and sending the girl scurrying into the jungle. Soon after, Ed and Jenny stray from camp and are pursued by a dinosaur, and after taking refuge on some cliffs, watch in horror as their stalker becomes locked in combat with another prehistoric creature and tumbles over the cliffs into the waters below. Upon returning to camp, they discover it deserted, their belongings in disarray. As David stumbles out from some rocks to report they were attacked by a tribe of natives, the cannibals return and imprison them in a cave with the others. As the drums beat relentlessly, signaling their deaths, the native girl reappears and motions for them to follow her through a secret passageway that leads to the cave in which Burton White lives, completely sightless. After confirming that all in his expedition perished, White tells them of a volcanic passageway that will lead them off the plateau, but warns that they must first pass through the cave of fire. Cautioning them that the natives plan to sacrifice them, White declares that their only chance of survival is to slip through the cave and then seal it with a boulder. After giving them directions to the cave, White asks them to take the girl along. As the earth, on the verge of a volcanic eruption, quakes, they set off through the Graveyard of the Damned, a vast cavern littered with dinosaur skeletons, the victims of the deadly sulfurous gases below. Pursued by the ferocious natives, Roxton takes the lead as they inch their way across a narrow ledge above the molten lava. After escaping the natives, they jam the cave shut with a boulder and, passing a dam of molten lava, finally reach the escape passage. At its mouth is a pile of giant diamonds and a dinosaur egg. As Costa heaps the diamonds into his hat, Challenger fondles the egg and Gomez pulls a gun and announces that Roxton must die in exchange for the death of Santiago, Gomez' brother. Acting quickly, Ed hurls the diamonds at Gomez, throwing him off balance and discharging his gun. The gunshot awakens a creature slumbering in the roiling waters below. After the beast snatches Costa and eats him alive, Ed tries to dislodge the dam, sending a few scorching rocks tumbling down onto the monster. Feeling responsible for the peril of the group, Gomez sacrifices his life by using his body as a lever to dislodge the dam, covering the creature with oozing lava. As the cave begins to crumble from the impending eruption, the group hurries to safety. Just then, the volcano explodes, destroying the lost world. After Roxton hands Ed a handful of diamonds he has saved as a wedding gift for him and Jenny, Challenger proudly displays his egg, which then hatches, revealing a baby dinosaur. The End.
The 50s had seen several examples of the dinosaur sub-genre. LW is one of the more lavish ones, owing to color by DeLuxe and CinemaScope. The A-level actors help too. Claude Rains plays the flamboyant Challenger. Michael Rennie plays Roxton, perhaps a bit too cooly. Jill St. John and Vitina Marcus do well as the customary eye candy. David Hedison as Malone and Fernando Lamas as Gomez round out the bill.
The first film version of LW was a silent movie shot in 1925: screenplay by Marion Fairfax. The film featured stop-motion animated dinosaurs by a young Willis O'Brien. Fairfax followed Doyle's text, but Fairfax added a young woman to the team, Paula White. Ostensibly trying to find her father from the first failed expedition, she provided the love triangle interest between Malone and Roxton.
Allen's screenplay tried to stick to Doyle's text as much as Hollywood would allow. It carried on Fairfax's invention of the young woman member of the group as triangle fodder. Fairfax had Doyle's ape men (ape man) but omitted the native humans. Allen had the natives, but no ape men. Allen revived the Gomez/revenge subplot, which Fairfax skipped. Doyle's story had Challenger bringing back a pterodactyl. Fairfax made it a brontosaur who rampaged through London streets (spawning a popular trope). Allen suggested the baby dinosaur traveling to London.
Willis O'Brien pitched 20th Century Fox in the late 50s, to do a quality remake of LW. He had gained much experience in the intervening 35 years, so his stop-motion dinosaurs were to be the real stars. Fox bass liked the idea, but by the time the ball started rolling, there was trouble in studioland. Fox's grand epic Cleopatra was underway, but was already 5 million dollars over budget. Cleo would nearly sink 20th Century Fox when it was finally released in 1963. To stay afloat, all other Fox films' budgets were slashed. Allen could no longer afford the grand O'Brien stop-motion.
Allen's production is often criticized for its "cheap" dinosaurs, which were live monitor lizards and alligators with fins and plates and horns glue onto them. (more on that below) These were already a bit cheesy when used in the 1940 film One Million B.C.. O'Brien is still listed on the credits as "Effects Technician," but all Allen could afford was lizards with glued on extras. Somewhat amusingly, the script still refers to them as brontosaurs and T-Rexes.
The character of Jennifer Holmes starts out promising. She's a self-assured to the edges of pushy, and is said to be able to out shoot and out ride any man. Yet, when she gets to the Amazon jungle, she's little more than Jungle Barbie, dressed in girlie clothes and screaming frequently. She even does the typical Hollywood trip-and-fall when chased by the dinosaur, so that a man must save her.
Bottom line? FW is a finer example of the not-quite-sci-fi dinosaur sub-genre. The actors are top drawer, even if some of their acting is a bit flat. Nonetheless, FW is a fair adaptation of Doyle's
classic adventure novel, given the constraints of Hollywood culture.
The Movie Club Annals … Review
The Lost World 1960
Introduction
There was absolutely nothing wrong with Irwin Allen's 1960 production of The Lost World. Nothing. It was perfect in every way. I therefore find myself in the unique and unfamiliar position of having to write a rave review about a Movie Club movie that was entirely devoid of flaws.
Faced with such a confounding task, I half-heartedly considered faking a bad review, then praying my obvious deceptions would go unnoticed. But the patent transparency of my scheme convinced me to abandon it posthaste. After all, leveling concocted criticisms at such an unassailable masterpiece would be a futile and tiresome exercise, the pretense of which would escape nary a semi-cognizant soul.
Thus, having retreated from my would-be descent into literary intrigue, I start this review in earnest by borrowing a quote from the legendary Shelly Winters, spoken during the 1972 filming of Irwin Allen's The Poseidon Adventure:
"I'm ready for my close up now, Mr. Allen.” Shelly Winters, 1972
Review
A bit of research into the casting choices of Irwin Allen, who wrote, produced, and directed The Lost World, begins to reveal the genius behind the virtuosity.
The first accolades go to Irwin for his casting of Vitina Marcus, the immaculately groomed Saks 5th Avenue cave girl with exquisite taste in makeup, jewelry, and cave-wear. No finer cave girl ever graced a feature film.
Vitina Marcus, as The Cave Girl
She was the picture of prehistoric glamour, gliding across the silver screen in her designer bearskin mini-pelt, her flawless coiffure showing no signs of muss from the traditional courting rituals of the day, her perfect teeth the envy of even the most prototypical Osmond. Even her nouveau-opposable thumbs retained their manicure, in spite of the oft-disagreeable duties that frequently befell her as an effete member of the tribal gentry.
By no means just another Neanderthal harlot, Vitina had a wealth of talent to augment her exterior virtues. Her virtuoso interpretation of a comely cave girl in The Lost World certainly didn't escape the attention Irwin Allen. In fact, he was so taken with her performance that he later engaged her services again, casting her as the Native Girl in episode 2.26 of his Voyage to The Bottom of The Sea TV series.
Leery of potential typecasting, Vitina went on to obtain roles with greater depth and more sophisticated dialogue. This is evidenced by the great departure she took from her previous roles when she next portrayed the part of Sarit, a female barbarian, in episode 1.24 of Irwin Allen's The Time Tunnel TV series.
Vitina, as Sarit
Vitina's efforts to avoid typecasting paid off in spades, as she was soon rewarded with the distinctive role of Girl, a female Tarzanesque she-beast character, in episode 3.14 of The Man From U.N.C.L.E. TV series.
Lured back from the U.N.C.L.E. set by Irwin Allen, Vitina was next cast in the role of Athena (a.k.a. Lorelei), the green space girl with the inverted lucite salad bowl hat, in episodes 2.2 and 2.16 of the revered Lost in Space TV series.
And with this, Vitina reached the pinnacle of her career. For her many unparalleled displays of thespian pageantry, she leaves us forever in her debt as she exits the stage.
For those who would still question the genius of Irwin Allen, I defy you to find a better casting choice for the character of Lord John Roxton than that of Michael Rennie. Mr. Rennie, who earlier starred as Klaatu in The Day the Earth Stood Still, went on to even greater heights, starring as The Keeper in episodes 1.16 and 1.17 of the revered Lost in Space TV series. Throughout his distinguished career, Mr. Rennie often played highly cerebral characters with
unique names, such as Garth A7, Tribolet, Hasani, Rama Kahn, Hertz, and Dirk. How befitting that his most prolific roles came to him through a man named Irwin, a highly cerebral character with a unique name.
The selection of David Hedison to play Ed Malone was yet another example of Irwin's uncanny foresight. Soon after casting him in The Lost World, Irwin paved Mr. Hedison's path to immortality by casting him as a lead character in his Voyage to The Bottom of The Sea TV series. Although Voyage ended in 1968, Mr. Hedison departed the show with a solid resume and a bright future.
In the decades following Voyage, Mr. Hedison has been a veritable fixture on the small screen, appearing in such socially influential programs as The Love Boat, Fantasy Island, Knight Rider, The Fall Guy and The A Team. Mr. Hedison's early collaborations with Irwin Allen have left him never wanting for a day's work in Hollywood, a boon to the legions of discerning fans who continue to savor his inspiring prime time depictions.
Irwin selected Fernando Lamas to play Manuel Gomez, the honorable and tortured soul of The Lost World who needlessly sacrificed himself at the end of the movie to save all the others. To get a feel for how important a casting decision he was to Irwin, just look at the pertinent experience Mr. Lamas brought to the table:
Irwin knew that such credentials could cause him to lose the services of Mr. Lamas to another project, and he took great pains to woo him onto the set of The Lost World. And even though Mr. Lamas never appeared in the revered Lost in Space TV series, his talent is not lost on us.
Jay Novello was selected by Irwin Allen to play Costa, the consummate Cuban coward who perpetually betrays everyone around him in the name of greed. In pursuing his craven calling, Mr. Novello went on to play Xandros, the Greek Slave in Atlantis, The Lost Continent, as well as countless other roles as a coward.
Although Mr. Novella never appeared in the revered Lost in Space TV series, his already long and distinguished career as a coward made him the obvious choice for Irwin when the need for an experienced malingerer arose.
Jill St. John was Irwin's pick to play Jennifer Holmes, the "other" glamour girl in The Lost World. Not to be upstaged by glamour-cave-girl Vitina Marcus, Jill played the trump card and broke out the pink go-go boots and skin-tight Capri pants, the perfect Amazonian summertime jungle wear.
Complete with a perfect hairdo, a killer wardrobe, a little yip-yip dog named Frosty, and all the other trappings of a wealthy and pampered prehistoric society, Jill's sensational allure rivaled even that of a certain cave girl appearing in the same film.
With the atmosphere rife for an on-set rivalry between Jill and Vitina, Irwin still managed to keep the peace, proving that he was as skilled a diplomat as he was a director.
Claude Rains, as Professor George Edward Challenger
And our cup runneth over, as Irwin cast Claude Rains to portray Professor George Edward Challenger. His eminence, Mr. Rains is an entity of such immeasurable virtue that he is not in need of monotonous praise from the likes of me.
I respectfully acknowledge the appearance of Mr. Rains because failure to do so would be an unforgivable travesty. But I say nothing more on the subject, lest I state something so obvious and uninspiring as to insult the intelligence of enlightened reader.
Irwin's casting of the cavemen mustn't be overlooked, for their infallibly realistic portrayals are unmatched within the Pleistocene Epoch genre of film. Such meticulous attention to detail is what separates Irwin Allen from lesser filmmakers, whose pale imitations of his work only further to underscore the point.
To be sure, it is possible to come away with the unfounded suspicion that the cavemen are really just a bunch of old white guys from the bar at the local Elks lodge. But Irwin was an absolute stickler for authenticity, and would never have allowed the use of such tawdry measures to taint his prehistoric magnum opus.
In truth, Irwin's on-screen cavemen were borne of many grueling years of anthropological research, so the explanation for their somewhat modern, pseudo-caucasian appearance lies obviously elsewhere. And in keeping with true Irwin Allen tradition, that explanation will not be offered here.
1964 - Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea, Season One, Episode 7 - "Turn Back the Clock", featuring Vitina Marcus as The Native Girl. Produced by Irwin Allen.
And then there was Irwin Allen's masterful handling of the reptilian facets of The Lost World, most notably his inimitable casting of the dinosaurs. His dinosaurs were so realistic, so eerily lifelike, that they almost looked like living, breathing garden variety lizards with dinosaur fins and horns glued to their backs and heads.
The less enlightened viewer might even suppose this to be true, that Irwin's dinosaurs were indeed merely live specimens of lizards, donned in Jurassic-era finery, vastly magnified, and retro-fitted into The Lost World via some penny-wise means of cinematic trickery.
But those of us in the know certainly know better than that, as we are privy to some otherwise unpublished information about The Lost World. The lifelike appearance of the Irwin's dinosaurs can be attributed to a wholly overlooked and fiendishly cunning approach to the art of delusion, which is that the dinosaurs didn't just look real, they were real.
While the world abounds with middling minds who cannot fathom such a reality, we must follow Irwin's benevolent leanings and temper our natural feelings of contempt for this unfortunate assemblage of pedestrian lowbrows. In spite of Irwin's superior intellect, he never felt disdain toward the masses that constituted his audiences. He simply capitalized on their unaffectedness, and in the process recounted the benefits of exploiting the intellectually bereft for personal gain.
The purpose of all this analysis, of course, is to place an exclamation point on the genius of Irwin Allen, the formation of his dinosaur exposé being a premier example. Note how he mindfully manipulates the expectations of his unsuspecting audience, compelling them to probe the dinosaurs for any signs of man-made chicanery. Then, at the palatial moment when the dinosaurs make their entry, he guilefully supplants the anticipated display of faux reptilia with that of the bona fide article.
Upon first witnessing the de facto dinosaurs, some in the audience think they've been had, and indeed they have. Irwin, in engineering his masterful ruse, had used reality as his medium to convey the illusion of artifice. His audience, in essence, was blinded by the truth. It was the immaculate deception, and none but Irwin Allen could have conceived it.
Indeed, the matter of where the live dinosaurs came from has been conspicuously absent from this discussion, as the Irwinian technique of fine film making strongly discourages the practice of squandering time on extraneous justifications and other such trite means of redundant apologia. For the benefit of the incessantly curious, however, just keep in mind that Irwin Allen wrote and produced The Time Tunnel TV Series, a fact that should provide some fair insight into his modis operandi.
Carl R.
In the far reaches of northern Scotland, within a village where time meanders at its own tranquil pace, a series of images unfolds, painting a tableau of life's relentless march amidst the shadows of climate's dismay and the distant rumbles of war that threaten to engulf Europe. It is a Wednesday evening, draped in the quietude of rainfall, a scene reminiscent of an Edward Hopper collection—imbued with solitude, emptiness, yet a profound continuance.
A Poem:
In this hamlet 'neath Scottish skies so wide,
Where the rains whisper and the winds confide,
Looms the spectre of a world in disarray,
Yet within these bounds, life finds its way.
Upon the cusp of night, shadows merge and dance,
In the pub's warm glow, eyes steal a glance.
The hearth's soft crackle, a comforting song,
In this northern retreat, where hearts belong.
The world outside may churn and roar,
With climates wracked and the drums of war.
Yet here we stand, in this time-suspended place,
Where tomorrow's worries are but a trace.
The local pub, our living room, our sphere,
A sanctuary from doubt, from dread, from fear.
We'll return come dusk, as sure as the tide,
In the rhythm of the ordinary, we take pride.
For what are we, but passengers in time,
Through days mundane, through nights sublime?
The question lingers, in the air, it floats,
Is this all there is? In whispers, it denotes.
Yet, as we stand 'neath the gentle pour,
We find beauty in the repeat, in the encore.
For in these moments, life's essence we distill,
In the quiet of the village, in the peace, so still.
A Haiku:
Rain veils the night's face,
Quiet pub bids farewell—
Life's quiet march on.
in the bustling heart of palma’s placa mayor, the spectacle of preparation for the EM public viewing takes a comedic turn. a large screen precariously balanced on coca-cola crates speaks volumes about the improvisational spirit of the local eateries. patrons lounge under the protective canopy, seemingly oblivious to the haphazard setup just a few feet away. the tattooed figure fiddling with a phone and the bemused expressions of onlookers add to the scene’s unintentional irony. this black-and-white capture isn’t just about a community gearing up for a shared event; it’s a snapshot of delightful chaos, where professionalism is a distant afterthought, and creativity reigns supreme in the most unexpected forms.
There are few birds so swift and agile on the wing as terns. I am constantly amazed by their ability to change direction almost instantaneously, plunging from the sky at great speeds, plucking morsels of food from the water's surface. On an evening, at low tide it is just about impossible for me not to grab my camera and watch. Though I have thousands of in flight photos of terns I am never left dissatisfied at what I see. This common tern takes a dive in the opposite direction. It's an aerial ballet! #ILoveWildlife #ILoveBirds #ILoveNature #WildlifePhotography in #America #Nature in the #USA #Birds #Birding #Terns #CommonTerns #LBI #LongBeachIsland #NewJersey
This ground is always thick with leaves. Not this year's, no, but last's and the ones before that. A permanent pale orange carpet, arranged in perfect disarray. Speckled with pebbles and soon a new layer, all this coming winter to fade and blend together. I'm so low and small down here that you'd be forgiven for forgetting I'm tall. What in the world does that matter next to trees and cliffs? Even this old dam does nothing but dwarf me. You never fully grasp your insignificance until you're out in big country. That's almost anywhere, really. Even if you head to the prairies, you might be the highest things for miles, but then the endless distance swallows you. Here, it's the closeness that captures, benevolent for now. Like the plover bird safe in a crocodile's mouth, only for a while.
October 7, 2021
Bear River, Nova Scotia
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Tyne Cyclist and Pedestrian Tunnel runs under the River Tyne between Howdon and Jarrow in Tyne & Wear, England. Opened in 1951, heralded as a contribution to the Festival of Britain, it was Britain's first purpose-built cycling tunnel. The original cost was £833,000 and the tunnel was used by 20,000 people a day. It consists of two tunnels running in parallel, one for pedestrian use with a 3.2 m (10 ft 6 in) diameter, and a larger 3.7 m (12 ft 2 in) diameter tunnel for pedal cyclists. Both tunnels are 270 m (884 ft) in length, and lie 12 m (40 ft) below the river bed, at their deepest point. The tunnels are over 60 years old and are Grade II listed buildings.
At each end, the tunnels are connected to surface buildings by two escalators and a lift. The Waygood-Otis escalators have 306 wooden steps each, and are the original models from 1951. At the time of construction, they were the highest single-rise escalators in the UK, with a vertical rise of 85 feet (26 m) and a length of 197 feet (60 m). In 1992, escalators with a higher vertical rise of 90 feet (27.4 m) and 200 feet (61 m) in length were constructed at Angel station on the London Underground. The Tyne Tunnel escalators remain the longest wooden escalators in the world.
20,000 people a month used the pedestrian tunnel in 2013.
Refurbishment
Two arched openings lead to two sloping tunnels, heading underneath the Tyne. The lower half of the walls are tiled green, the upper half with white and the floor a dark orange.
In a refitting phase the escalators and lift shafts were due to be upgraded by October 2010 to early 2011 at a cost of £500,000. A £6,000,000 refurbishment was due to take place in 2011, but multiple delays pushed the reopening date to summer 2019.
In 2012, contractor GB Building Solutions of Balliol Business Park, Newcastle, was appointed to carry out the £4.9 million refurbishment which included the replacement of two of the original four escalators with inclined lifts and the replacement of the tunnels' ageing mechanical and electrical systems. However, GB Building Solutions went into administration in 2015, delaying the project.
The two remaining escalators, which are original and of historical significance, will be opened up to public view and illuminated with feature lighting.
New lighting, CCTV, control and communications systems were installed, in addition to carrying out repairs to the tunnel structure itself and to the historic finishes within the tunnel such as the tiling and panelling. The concrete floor sections were also refurbished or replaced. During the closure, a free, timetabled shuttle bus for pedestrians and cyclists was in operation between 6am and 8pm, seven days a week, 364 days a year.
The tunnel reopened at midday on 7 August 2019, operating initially for 14 hours a day until installation of the new inclined lifts was completed when the service would have been 24 hours. By December 2019 monthly journeys were above 20,000 with around 25% of users being cyclists. People using the tunnels can link with cycle routes at either end, namely NCN 14 and 72. The 317 bus service for Wallsend or Whitley Bay from the north end or take a short walk to the Jarrow bus and Metro station from the south end. Mobility scooters can access the tunnels and dogs on leads are allowed.
As of spring 2024, neither of the inclined lifts has been completed, and the dismantled escalator channel at each end of the tunnel remains fenced off. Pedestrians can still use the other escalator, albeit that these are permanently stopped and so function only as long staircases. The vertical lift at each end remains in operation.
The River Tyne is a river in North East England. Its length (excluding tributaries) is 73 miles (118 km). It is formed by the North Tyne and the South Tyne, which converge at Warden Rock near Hexham in Northumberland at a place dubbed 'The Meeting of the Waters'.
The Tyne Rivers Trust measure the whole Tyne catchment as 2,936 km2 (1,134 square miles), containing 4,399 km (2,733 miles) of waterways.[3]
The North Tyne rises on the Scottish border, north of Kielder Water. It flows through Kielder Forest, and in and out of the border. It then passes through the village of Bellingham before reaching Hexham.
The South Tyne rises on Alston Moor, Cumbria and flows through the towns of Haltwhistle and Haydon Bridge, in a valley often called the Tyne Gap. Hadrian's Wall lies to the north of the Tyne Gap. Coincidentally, the source of the South Tyne is very close to those of the Tees and the Wear. The South Tyne Valley falls within the North Pennines Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB) – the second largest of the 40 AONBs in England and Wales.
Tyne
From the confluence of the North and South Tyne at Warden Rock just to the north west of Hexham, the river enters the county of Tyne and Wear between Clara Vale (in the Borough of Gateshead on the south bank) and Tyne Riverside Country Park (in Newcastle upon Tyne on the north bank) and continues to divide Newcastle and Gateshead for 13 miles (21 km), in the course of which it flows under ten bridges. To the east of Gateshead and Newcastle, the Tyne divides Hebburn and Jarrow on the south bank from Walker and Wallsend on the north bank. The Tyne Tunnel runs under the river to link Jarrow and Wallsend. Finally the river flows between South Shields and Tynemouth into the North Sea.
Howdon is a largely residential area in the eastern part of Wallsend, Tyne and Wear, England. It consists of High Howdon and the smaller settlement of East Howdon. Much of the High Howdon area was formerly called Willington prior to post-World War II urbanisation. The North Tyneside ward population at the 2011 Census was 11,129.
Howdon was an industrial settlement on the north bank of the River Tyne estuary, to the north of Howdon Pans (a Tyne water feature) and to the north-east of Willington Quay. In the mid-nineteenth century, it consisted of Old Howdon Pit situated on what is now the northern toll area of the Tyne Tunnel; and to the east, Howdon Bank Top, nowadays given the appellation East Howdon.
A separate area, High Howdon was built after the Second World War, as the consequence of a drive for improved, low-cost housing for working-class families. This housing was mainly in the public sector, being owned and maintained by the local council. It was built on what had been agricultural land to the north of the main railway line (from Newcastle to Tynemouth) that was to separate the new council housing from the earlier Howdon Pit, Pans and Hill Top sites locations, and from the older, industrial area of Willington Quay, where a great deal of housing had either been destroyed by wartime bombing, or by programmes of slum clearance.
Although most of the housing in High Howdon belonged to the local council, a number of privately owned and rented properties always existed in the centre of the area. Since right-to-buy legislation was introduced in the 1980s, many former council tenants have bought their homes, which has resulted in a large percentage of former council properties becoming privately owned.
Apart from the railway, High Howdon was separated from the industry of Willington Quay by Howdon Park, that featured tennis courts, bowling greens, a children's play area (including a paddling pool) and flower beds. This fell into disarray but was partly restored, due to pressure from the local community, during the 1990s.
Jarrow is a town in South Tyneside in the county of Tyne and Wear, England. It is on the south bank of the River Tyne, about 3 miles (4.8 km) from the east coast. The 2011 census area classed Hebburn and The Boldons as part of the town, it had a population of 43,431. It is home to the southern portal of the Tyne Tunnel and 5 mi (8.0 km) east of Newcastle upon Tyne.
In the eighth century, St Paul's Monastery in Jarrow (now Monkwearmouth–Jarrow Abbey) was the home of The Venerable Bede, who is regarded as the greatest Anglo-Saxon scholar and the father of English history. The town is part of the historic County Palatine of Durham. From the middle of the 19th century until 1935, Jarrow was a centre for shipbuilding, and was the starting point of the Jarrow March against unemployment in 1936.
Tyne and Wear is a ceremonial county in North East England. It borders Northumberland to the north and County Durham to the south, and the largest settlement is the city of Newcastle upon Tyne.
The county is largely urbanised. It had a population of 1.14 million in 2021. After Newcastle (300,125) the largest settlements are the city of Sunderland (170,134), Gateshead (120,046), and South Shields (75,337). Nearly all of the county's settlements belong to either the Tyneside or Wearside conurbations, the latter of which also extends into County Durham. Tyne and Wear contains five metropolitan boroughs: Gateshead, Newcastle upon Tyne, Sunderland, North Tyneside and South Tyneside, and is covered by two combined authorities, North of Tyne and North East. The county was established in 1974 and was historically part of Northumberland and County Durham, with the River Tyne forming the border between the two.
The most notable geographic features of the county are the River Tyne and River Wear, after which it is named and along which its major settlements developed. The county is also notable for its coastline to the North Sea in the east, which is characterised by tall limestone cliffs and wide beaches.
Minolta XK - Rokkor MD 50mm f/1.4 - Ilford HP5 (possibly slightly expired) - processed and scanned by a local camera shop
After years of asking, my dad finally let me have the camera I started with that he loaned me for class in high school years ago -- a Minolta XK. These are from the first roll. A few mistakes, a few camera issues, and a little to get back up to speed with film after years of digital.
I haven't posted lately due to a move, and my office/workstation is still in disarray but haven't stopped shooting and now have over 7,500 digital images to sort through. Since I haven't posted I figured I'd post these straight from the photo lab.
Some shots of the Scary Dairy from behind the fence...
From Wikipedia.org - The Scary Dairy is an old dairy farm adjacent to the former Camarillo State Mental Hospital, now California State University, Channel Islands.[1] It was run and maintained by the staff and patients of the hospital as a form of work experience and additional income to the hospital. In the mid-1900s (around the 1960s) the dairy was closed and the buildings fell into disarray and have since been heavily vandalized.
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edwardcondephotography.tumblr.com
Tyne Cyclist and Pedestrian Tunnel runs under the River Tyne between Howdon and Jarrow in Tyne & Wear, England. Opened in 1951, heralded as a contribution to the Festival of Britain, it was Britain's first purpose-built cycling tunnel. The original cost was £833,000 and the tunnel was used by 20,000 people a day. It consists of two tunnels running in parallel, one for pedestrian use with a 3.2 m (10 ft 6 in) diameter, and a larger 3.7 m (12 ft 2 in) diameter tunnel for pedal cyclists. Both tunnels are 270 m (884 ft) in length, and lie 12 m (40 ft) below the river bed, at their deepest point. The tunnels are over 60 years old and are Grade II listed buildings.
At each end, the tunnels are connected to surface buildings by two escalators and a lift. The Waygood-Otis escalators have 306 wooden steps each, and are the original models from 1951. At the time of construction, they were the highest single-rise escalators in the UK, with a vertical rise of 85 feet (26 m) and a length of 197 feet (60 m). In 1992, escalators with a higher vertical rise of 90 feet (27.4 m) and 200 feet (61 m) in length were constructed at Angel station on the London Underground. The Tyne Tunnel escalators remain the longest wooden escalators in the world.
20,000 people a month used the pedestrian tunnel in 2013.
Refurbishment
Two arched openings lead to two sloping tunnels, heading underneath the Tyne. The lower half of the walls are tiled green, the upper half with white and the floor a dark orange.
In a refitting phase the escalators and lift shafts were due to be upgraded by October 2010 to early 2011 at a cost of £500,000. A £6,000,000 refurbishment was due to take place in 2011, but multiple delays pushed the reopening date to summer 2019.
In 2012, contractor GB Building Solutions of Balliol Business Park, Newcastle, was appointed to carry out the £4.9 million refurbishment which included the replacement of two of the original four escalators with inclined lifts and the replacement of the tunnels' ageing mechanical and electrical systems. However, GB Building Solutions went into administration in 2015, delaying the project.
The two remaining escalators, which are original and of historical significance, will be opened up to public view and illuminated with feature lighting.
New lighting, CCTV, control and communications systems were installed, in addition to carrying out repairs to the tunnel structure itself and to the historic finishes within the tunnel such as the tiling and panelling. The concrete floor sections were also refurbished or replaced. During the closure, a free, timetabled shuttle bus for pedestrians and cyclists was in operation between 6am and 8pm, seven days a week, 364 days a year.
The tunnel reopened at midday on 7 August 2019, operating initially for 14 hours a day until installation of the new inclined lifts was completed when the service would have been 24 hours. By December 2019 monthly journeys were above 20,000 with around 25% of users being cyclists. People using the tunnels can link with cycle routes at either end, namely NCN 14 and 72. The 317 bus service for Wallsend or Whitley Bay from the north end or take a short walk to the Jarrow bus and Metro station from the south end. Mobility scooters can access the tunnels and dogs on leads are allowed.
As of spring 2024, neither of the inclined lifts has been completed, and the dismantled escalator channel at each end of the tunnel remains fenced off. Pedestrians can still use the other escalator, albeit that these are permanently stopped and so function only as long staircases. The vertical lift at each end remains in operation.
The River Tyne is a river in North East England. Its length (excluding tributaries) is 73 miles (118 km). It is formed by the North Tyne and the South Tyne, which converge at Warden Rock near Hexham in Northumberland at a place dubbed 'The Meeting of the Waters'.
The Tyne Rivers Trust measure the whole Tyne catchment as 2,936 km2 (1,134 square miles), containing 4,399 km (2,733 miles) of waterways.[3]
The North Tyne rises on the Scottish border, north of Kielder Water. It flows through Kielder Forest, and in and out of the border. It then passes through the village of Bellingham before reaching Hexham.
The South Tyne rises on Alston Moor, Cumbria and flows through the towns of Haltwhistle and Haydon Bridge, in a valley often called the Tyne Gap. Hadrian's Wall lies to the north of the Tyne Gap. Coincidentally, the source of the South Tyne is very close to those of the Tees and the Wear. The South Tyne Valley falls within the North Pennines Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB) – the second largest of the 40 AONBs in England and Wales.
Tyne
From the confluence of the North and South Tyne at Warden Rock just to the north west of Hexham, the river enters the county of Tyne and Wear between Clara Vale (in the Borough of Gateshead on the south bank) and Tyne Riverside Country Park (in Newcastle upon Tyne on the north bank) and continues to divide Newcastle and Gateshead for 13 miles (21 km), in the course of which it flows under ten bridges. To the east of Gateshead and Newcastle, the Tyne divides Hebburn and Jarrow on the south bank from Walker and Wallsend on the north bank. The Tyne Tunnel runs under the river to link Jarrow and Wallsend. Finally the river flows between South Shields and Tynemouth into the North Sea.
Howdon is a largely residential area in the eastern part of Wallsend, Tyne and Wear, England. It consists of High Howdon and the smaller settlement of East Howdon. Much of the High Howdon area was formerly called Willington prior to post-World War II urbanisation. The North Tyneside ward population at the 2011 Census was 11,129.
Howdon was an industrial settlement on the north bank of the River Tyne estuary, to the north of Howdon Pans (a Tyne water feature) and to the north-east of Willington Quay. In the mid-nineteenth century, it consisted of Old Howdon Pit situated on what is now the northern toll area of the Tyne Tunnel; and to the east, Howdon Bank Top, nowadays given the appellation East Howdon.
A separate area, High Howdon was built after the Second World War, as the consequence of a drive for improved, low-cost housing for working-class families. This housing was mainly in the public sector, being owned and maintained by the local council. It was built on what had been agricultural land to the north of the main railway line (from Newcastle to Tynemouth) that was to separate the new council housing from the earlier Howdon Pit, Pans and Hill Top sites locations, and from the older, industrial area of Willington Quay, where a great deal of housing had either been destroyed by wartime bombing, or by programmes of slum clearance.
Although most of the housing in High Howdon belonged to the local council, a number of privately owned and rented properties always existed in the centre of the area. Since right-to-buy legislation was introduced in the 1980s, many former council tenants have bought their homes, which has resulted in a large percentage of former council properties becoming privately owned.
Apart from the railway, High Howdon was separated from the industry of Willington Quay by Howdon Park, that featured tennis courts, bowling greens, a children's play area (including a paddling pool) and flower beds. This fell into disarray but was partly restored, due to pressure from the local community, during the 1990s.
Jarrow is a town in South Tyneside in the county of Tyne and Wear, England. It is on the south bank of the River Tyne, about 3 miles (4.8 km) from the east coast. The 2011 census area classed Hebburn and The Boldons as part of the town, it had a population of 43,431. It is home to the southern portal of the Tyne Tunnel and 5 mi (8.0 km) east of Newcastle upon Tyne.
In the eighth century, St Paul's Monastery in Jarrow (now Monkwearmouth–Jarrow Abbey) was the home of The Venerable Bede, who is regarded as the greatest Anglo-Saxon scholar and the father of English history. The town is part of the historic County Palatine of Durham. From the middle of the 19th century until 1935, Jarrow was a centre for shipbuilding, and was the starting point of the Jarrow March against unemployment in 1936.
Tyne and Wear is a ceremonial county in North East England. It borders Northumberland to the north and County Durham to the south, and the largest settlement is the city of Newcastle upon Tyne.
The county is largely urbanised. It had a population of 1.14 million in 2021. After Newcastle (300,125) the largest settlements are the city of Sunderland (170,134), Gateshead (120,046), and South Shields (75,337). Nearly all of the county's settlements belong to either the Tyneside or Wearside conurbations, the latter of which also extends into County Durham. Tyne and Wear contains five metropolitan boroughs: Gateshead, Newcastle upon Tyne, Sunderland, North Tyneside and South Tyneside, and is covered by two combined authorities, North of Tyne and North East. The county was established in 1974 and was historically part of Northumberland and County Durham, with the River Tyne forming the border between the two.
The most notable geographic features of the county are the River Tyne and River Wear, after which it is named and along which its major settlements developed. The county is also notable for its coastline to the North Sea in the east, which is characterised by tall limestone cliffs and wide beaches.
I had never been to New Orleans before, so on my recent road trip I made sure to take some time out to see the city since I was going to be fairly close by. I know that there was still a lot of damage left over from Hurricane Katrina but its hard to get a grasp on just how much of the city is still in disarray until you see it with your own eyes.
As most of you know one of my main interests in photography is abandoned buildings, so you would think I would be shutter happy in a place like New Orleans, but thats not the case. I have way too much respect for the people and the tragedy that they went through. The last thing they need is some idiot with a camera reminding them of what they went through only to get in his car and drive away.
The night I arrived in New Orleans and the following day I did a lot of driving around the city trying to take it all in (it was honestly hard to absorb it all). I got to see wards 1-9 and 15 for the day I was there. It was amazing how the damaged buildings started a block after nice upscale businesses and then continued for many many blocks.
I only stopped twice to take photos. These were taken in areas where there were no signs of any people around that I may offend.
I think I feel this way because my parents house (the house I grew up in) was destroyed in a tornado about eight years ago and I know that the last thing I would want in the days following while I was rummaging through insulation, drywall and various other debris looking for personal items is sightseers setting cameras on a tripod to take photos.
My parents were lucky enough to have their insurance company cover the rebuild, I saw way too many people in New Orleans that called the underpass of I-10 their new home that are not nearly as lucky.
Nikkon D70, Nikkor 18-35mm, New Orleans, LA
BOX DATE: 1995
MANUFACTURER: Mattel
MISSING ITEMS: 2 hair extensions
PERSONAL FUN FACT: All things considered, I'm shocked that so many of our Cut and Style Super Salon accessories survived. It helps that my sister and I each had one growing up. They were our second Barbie playsets...I was probably four when I got mine (she would have been 8 going on nine). Shockingly, so many of the tiny pieces survived years of play. We also had major home renovations at one point, when my grandmother moved in with us in 2000. So our doll stuff was in complete disarray for a while. Somehow, most of these Super Salon items survived. I know we don't have two complete sets. I know for sure we are missing the nail file and scissors to one of them. Fortunately, I only needed one set of things for this photo. The hair extensions were the first thing to go. We didn't have any Cut and Style dolls as kids. So the extensions weren't useful. They have velcro, which is supposed to attach to the back of the Cut and Style dolls. I mostly recall them being extremely tangled in our bins/drawers of doll stuff. They attracted EVERYTHING, since they were such long kanekalon. Forks, knives, shoes, guinea pig shavings, and guinea pig poo were among the treasure trove of items you could find in an extension. You're probably wondering about the guinea pig shavings and poo...rightfully so. Well, Peter and Tina (our childhood piggies) lived in my bedroom. They were quite messy, and tossed their shavings around. Sometimes the shavings would end up in my doll bins. Later, when we were relocated to the basement when Memere moved in, the guinea pigs were on a dresser (where we stored doll stuff). That explains the cross contamination. I should also note that the extensions sold with this set are the reason I have an extreme distaste for doll hair pieces. I would even say it verges on a phobia. I've slowly gotten better about it, but for many years the sight of a hair extension would trigger a guttural reaction from me. I'm not sorry they are gone, to say the least. Although, some of my Cut and Style dolls (that I've found as an adult), do have their extensions...but they stay on their heads and have been sanitized. The other accessories are fabulous. I think part of why we didn't lose more of them was because Mom bought us each a little organizer for our small doll stuff. That actually inspired the way I chose to store all our accessories as an adult collector...it's super safe and easy to find things!
St Andrew and St Patrick, Elveden, Suffolk
As you approach Elveden, there is Suffolk’s biggest war memorial, to those killed from the three parishes that meet at this point. It is over 30 metres high, and you used to be able to climb up the inside. Someone in the village told me that more people have been killed on the road in Elveden since the end of the War than there are names on the war memorial. I could well believe it. Until about five years ago, the busy traffic of the A11 Norwich to London road hurtled through the village past the church, slowed only to a ridiculously high 50 MPH. If something hits you at that speed, then no way on God's Earth are you going to survive. Now there's a bypass, thank goodness.
Many people will know St Andrew and St Patrick as another familiar landmark on the road, but as you are swept along in the stream of traffic you are unlikely to appreciate quite how extraordinary a building it is. For a start, it has two towers. And a cloister. And two naves, effectively. It has undergone three major building programmes in the space of thirty years, any one of which would have sufficed to transform it utterly.
If you had seen this church before the 1860s, you would have thought it nothing remarkable. A simple aisle-less, clerestory-less building, typical of, and indistinguishable from, hundreds of other East Anglian flint churches. A journey to nearby Barnham will show you what I mean.
The story of the transformation of Elveden church begins in the early 19th century, on the other side of the world. The leader of the Sikhs, Ranjit Singh, controlled a united Punjab that stretched from the Khyber Pass to the borders of Tibet. His capital was at Lahore, but more importantly it included the Sikh holy city of Amritsar. The wealth of this vast Kingdom made him a major power-player in early 19th century politics, and he was a particular thorn in the flesh of the British Imperial war machine. At this time, the Punjab had a great artistic and cultural flowering that was hardly matched anywhere in the world.
It was not to last. The British forced Ranjit Singh to the negotiating table over the disputed border with Afghanistan, and a year later, in 1839, he was dead. A power vacuum ensued, and his six year old son Duleep Singh became a pawn between rival factions. It was exactly the opportunity that the British had been waiting for, and in February 1846 they poured across the borders in their thousands. Within a month, almost half the child-Prince's Kingdom was in foreign hands. The British installed a governor, and started to harvest the fruits of their new territory's wealth.
Over the next three years, the British gradually extended their rule, putting down uprisings and turning local warlords. Given that the Sikh political structures were in disarray, this was achieved at considerable loss to the invaders - thousands of British soldiers were killed. They are hardly remembered today. British losses at the Crimea ten years later were much slighter, but perhaps the invention of photography in the meantime had given people at home a clearer picture of what was happening, and so the Crimea still remains in the British folk memory.
For much of the period of the war, Prince Duleep Singh had remained in the seclusion of his fabulous palace in Lahore. However, once the Punjab was secure, he was sent into remote internal exile.
The missionaries poured in. Bearing in mind the value that Sikh culture places upon education, perhaps it is no surprise that their influence came to bear on the young Prince, and he became a Christian. The extent to which this was forced upon him is lost to us today.
A year later, the Prince sailed for England with his mother. He was admitted to the royal court by Queen Victoria, spending time both at Windsor and, particularly, in Scotland, where he grew up. In the 1860s, the Prince and his mother were significant members of London society, but she died suddenly in 1863. He returned with her ashes to the Punjab, and there he married. His wife, Bamba Muller, was part German, part Ethiopian. As part of the British pacification of India programme, the young couple were granted the lease on a vast, derelict stately home in the depths of the Suffolk countryside. This was Elveden Hall. He would never see India again.
With some considerable energy, Duleep Singh set about transforming the fortunes of the moribund estate. Being particularly fond of hunting (as a six year old, he'd had two tutors - one for learning the court language, Persian, and the other for hunting to hawk) he developed the estate for game. The house was rebuilt in 1870.
The year before, the Prince had begun to glorify the church so that it was more in keeping with the splendour of his court. This church, dedicated to St Andrew, was what now forms the north aisle of the present church. There are many little details, but the restoration includes two major features; firstly, the remarkable roof, with its extraordinary sprung sprung wallposts set on arches suspended in the window embrasures, and, secondly, the font, which Mortlock tells us is in the Sicilian-Norman style. Supported by eight elegant columns, it is very beautiful, and the angel in particular is one of Suffolk's loveliest. You can see him in an image on the left.
Duleep Singh seems to have settled comfortably into the role of an English country gentleman. And then, something extraordinary happened. The Prince, steeped in the proud tradition of his homeland, decided to return to the Punjab to fulfill his destiny as the leader of the Sikh people. He got as far as Aden before the British arrested him, and sent him home. He then set about trying to recruit Russian support for a Sikh uprising, travelling secretly across Europe in the guise of an Irishman, Patrick Casey. In between these times of cloak and dagger espionage, he would return to Elveden to shoot grouse with the Prince of Wales, the future King Edward VII. It is a remarkable story.
Ultimately, his attempts to save his people from colonial oppression were doomed to failure. He died in Paris in 1893, the British seemingly unshakeable in their control of India. He was buried at Elveden churchyard in a simple grave.
The chancel of the 1869 church is now screened off as a chapel, accessible from the chancel of the new church, but set in it is the 1894 memorial window to Maharaja Prince Duleep Singh, the Adoration of the Magi by Kempe & Co.
And so, the Lion of the North had come to a humble end. His five children, several named after British royal princes, had left Elveden behind; they all died childless, one of them as recently as 1957. The estate reverted to the Crown, being bought by the brewing family, the Guinnesses.
Edward Cecil Guinness, first Earl Iveagh, commemorated bountifully in James Joyce's 1916 Ulysses, took the estate firmly in hand. The English agricultural depression had begun in the 1880s, and it would not be ended until the Second World War drew the greater part of English agriculture back under cultivation. It had hit the Estate hard. But Elveden was transformed, and so was the church.
Iveagh appointed William Caroe to build an entirely new church beside the old. It would be of such a scale that the old church of St Andrew would form the south aisle of the new church. The size may have reflected Iveagh's visions of grandeur, but it was also a practical arrangement, to accommodate the greatly enlarged staff of the estate. Attendance at church was compulsory; non-conformists were also expected to go, and the Guinnesses did not employ Catholics.
Between 1904 and 1906, the new structure went up. Mortlock recalls that Pevsner thought it 'Art Nouveau Gothic', which sums it up well. Lancet windows in the north side of the old church were moved across to the south side, and a wide open nave built beside it. Curiously, although this is much higher than the old and incorporates a Suffolk-style roof, Caroe resisted the temptation of a clerestory. The new church was rebenched throughout, and the woodwork is of a very high quality. The dates of the restoration can be found on bench ends up in the new chancel, and exploring all the symbolism will detain you for hours. Emblems of the nations of the British Isles also feature in the floor tiles.
The new church was dedicated to St Patrick, patron Saint of the Guinnesses' homeland. At this time, of course, Ireland was still a part of the United Kingdom, and despite the tensions and troubles of the previous century the Union was probably stronger at the opening of the 20th century than it had ever been. This was to change very rapidly. From the first shots fired at the General Post Office in April 1916, to complete independence in 1922, was just six years. Dublin, a firmly protestant city, in which the Iveaghs commemorated their dead at the Anglican cathedral of St Patrick, became the capital city of a staunchly Catholic nation. The Anglicans, the so-called Protestant Ascendancy, left in their thousands during the 1920s, depopulating the great houses, and leaving hundreds of Anglican parish churches completely bereft of congregations. Apart from a concentration in the wealthy suburbs of south Dublin, there are hardly any Anglicans left in the Republic today. But St Patrick's cathedral maintains its lonely witness to long years of British rule; the Iveagh transept includes the vast war memorial to WWI dead, and all the colours of the Irish regiments - it is said that 99% of the Union flags in the Republic are in the Guinness chapel of St Patrick's cathedral. Dublin, of course, is famous as the biggest city in Europe without a Catholic cathedral. It still has two Anglican ones.
Against this background then, we arrived at Elveden. The church is uncomfortably close to the busy road, but the sparkle of flint in the recent rain made it a thing of great beauty. The main entrance is now at the west end of the new church. The surviving 14th century tower now forms the west end of the south aisle, and we will come back to the other tower beyond it in a moment.
You step into a wide open space under a high, heavy roof laden with angels. There is a wide aisle off to the south; this is the former nave, and still has something of that quality. The whole space is suffused with gorgeously coloured light from excellent 19th and 20th century windows. These include one by Frank Brangwyn, at the west end of the new nave. Andrew and Patrick look down from a heavenly host on a mother and father entertaining their children and a host of woodland animals by reading them stories. It is quite the loveliest thing in the building.
Other windows, mostly in the south aisle, are also lovely. Hugh Easton's commemorative window for the former USAAF base at Elveden is magnificent. Either side are windows to Iveaghs - a gorgeous George killing a dragon, also by Hugh Easton, and a curious 1971 assemblage depicting images from the lives of Edward Guinness's heir and his wife, which also works rather well. The effect of all three windows together is particularly fine when seen from the new nave.
Turning ahead of you to the new chancel, there is the mighty alabaster reredos. It cost £1,200 in 1906, about a quarter of a million in today’s money. It reflects the woodwork, in depicting patron Saints and East Anglian monarchs, around a surprisingly simple Supper at Emmaus. This reredos, and the Brangwyn window, reminded me of the work at the Guinness’s other spiritual home, St Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin, which also includes a window by Frank Brangwyn commisioned by them. Everything is of the highest quality. Rarely has the cliché ‘no expense spared’ been as accurate as it is here.
Up at the front, a little brass plate reminds us that Edward VII slept through a sermon here in 1908. How different it must have seemed to him from the carefree days with his old friend the Maharajah! Still, it must have been a great occasion, full of Edwardian pomp, and the glitz that only the fabulously rich can provide. Today, the church is still splendid, but the Guinesses are no longer fabulously rich, and attendance at church is no longer compulsory for estate workers; there are far fewer of them anyway. The Church of England is in decline everywhere; and, let us be honest, particularly so in this part of Suffolk, where it seems to have retreated to a state of siege. Today, the congregation of this mighty citadel is as low as half a dozen. The revolutionary disappearance of Anglican congregations in the Iveagh's homeland is now being repeated in a slow, inexorable English way.
You wander outside, and there are more curiosities. Set in the wall are two linked hands, presumably a relic from a broken 18th century memorial. They must have been set here when the wall was moved back in the 1950s. In the south chancel wall, the bottom of an egg-cup protrudes from among the flints. This is the trademark of the architect WD Caroe. To the east of the new chancel, Duleep Singh’s gravestone is a very simple one. It is quite different in character to the church behind it. A plaque on the east end of the church remembers the centenary of his death.
Continuing around the church, you come to the surprise of a long cloister, connecting the remodelled chancel door of the old church to the new bell tower. It was built in 1922 as a memorial to the wife of the first Earl Iveagh. Caroe was the architect again, and he installed eight bells, dedicated to Mary, Gabriel, Edmund, Andrew, Patrick, Christ, God the Father, and the King. The excellent guidebook recalls that his intention was for the bells to be cast to maintain the hum and tap tones of the renowned ancient Suffolk bells of Lavenham... thus the true bell music of the old type is maintained.
This church is magnificent, obviously enough. It has everything going for it, and is a national treasure. And yet, it has hardly any congregation. So, what is to be done?
If we continue to think of rural historic churches as nothing more than outstations of the Church of England, it is hard to see how some of them will survive. This church in particular has no future in its present form as a village parish church. New roles must be found, new ways to involve local people and encourage their use. One would have thought that this would be easier here than elsewhere.
The other provoking thought was that this building summed up almost two centuries of British imperial adventure, and that we lived in a world that still suffered from the consequences. It is worth remembering where the wealth that rebuilt St Andrew and St Patrick came from.
As so often in British imperial history, interference in other peoples’ problems and the imposition of short-term solutions has left massive scars and long-cast shadows. For the Punjab, as in Ireland, there are no simple solutions. Sheer proximity has, after several centuries of cruel and exploitative involvement, finally encouraged the British government to pursue a solution in Ireland that is not entirely based on self-interest. I fear that the Punjab is too far away for the British to care very much now about what they did there then.
St Andrew and St Patrick, Elveden, Suffolk
As you approach Elveden, there is Suffolk’s biggest war memorial, to those killed from the three parishes that meet at this point. It is over 30 metres high, and you used to be able to climb up the inside. Someone in the village told me that more people have been killed on the road in Elveden since the end of the War than there are names on the war memorial. I could well believe it. Until about five years ago, the busy traffic of the A11 Norwich to London road hurtled through the village past the church, slowed only to a ridiculously high 50 MPH. If something hits you at that speed, then no way on God's Earth are you going to survive. Now there's a bypass, thank goodness.
Many people will know St Andrew and St Patrick as another familiar landmark on the road, but as you are swept along in the stream of traffic you are unlikely to appreciate quite how extraordinary a building it is. For a start, it has two towers. And a cloister. And two naves, effectively. It has undergone three major building programmes in the space of thirty years, any one of which would have sufficed to transform it utterly.
If you had seen this church before the 1860s, you would have thought it nothing remarkable. A simple aisle-less, clerestory-less building, typical of, and indistinguishable from, hundreds of other East Anglian flint churches. A journey to nearby Barnham will show you what I mean.
The story of the transformation of Elveden church begins in the early 19th century, on the other side of the world. The leader of the Sikhs, Ranjit Singh, controlled a united Punjab that stretched from the Khyber Pass to the borders of Tibet. His capital was at Lahore, but more importantly it included the Sikh holy city of Amritsar. The wealth of this vast Kingdom made him a major power-player in early 19th century politics, and he was a particular thorn in the flesh of the British Imperial war machine. At this time, the Punjab had a great artistic and cultural flowering that was hardly matched anywhere in the world.
It was not to last. The British forced Ranjit Singh to the negotiating table over the disputed border with Afghanistan, and a year later, in 1839, he was dead. A power vacuum ensued, and his six year old son Duleep Singh became a pawn between rival factions. It was exactly the opportunity that the British had been waiting for, and in February 1846 they poured across the borders in their thousands. Within a month, almost half the child-Prince's Kingdom was in foreign hands. The British installed a governor, and started to harvest the fruits of their new territory's wealth.
Over the next three years, the British gradually extended their rule, putting down uprisings and turning local warlords. Given that the Sikh political structures were in disarray, this was achieved at considerable loss to the invaders - thousands of British soldiers were killed. They are hardly remembered today. British losses at the Crimea ten years later were much slighter, but perhaps the invention of photography in the meantime had given people at home a clearer picture of what was happening, and so the Crimea still remains in the British folk memory.
For much of the period of the war, Prince Duleep Singh had remained in the seclusion of his fabulous palace in Lahore. However, once the Punjab was secure, he was sent into remote internal exile.
The missionaries poured in. Bearing in mind the value that Sikh culture places upon education, perhaps it is no surprise that their influence came to bear on the young Prince, and he became a Christian. The extent to which this was forced upon him is lost to us today.
A year later, the Prince sailed for England with his mother. He was admitted to the royal court by Queen Victoria, spending time both at Windsor and, particularly, in Scotland, where he grew up. In the 1860s, the Prince and his mother were significant members of London society, but she died suddenly in 1863. He returned with her ashes to the Punjab, and there he married. His wife, Bamba Muller, was part German, part Ethiopian. As part of the British pacification of India programme, the young couple were granted the lease on a vast, derelict stately home in the depths of the Suffolk countryside. This was Elveden Hall. He would never see India again.
With some considerable energy, Duleep Singh set about transforming the fortunes of the moribund estate. Being particularly fond of hunting (as a six year old, he'd had two tutors - one for learning the court language, Persian, and the other for hunting to hawk) he developed the estate for game. The house was rebuilt in 1870.
The year before, the Prince had begun to glorify the church so that it was more in keeping with the splendour of his court. This church, dedicated to St Andrew, was what now forms the north aisle of the present church. There are many little details, but the restoration includes two major features; firstly, the remarkable roof, with its extraordinary sprung sprung wallposts set on arches suspended in the window embrasures, and, secondly, the font, which Mortlock tells us is in the Sicilian-Norman style. Supported by eight elegant columns, it is very beautiful, and the angel in particular is one of Suffolk's loveliest. You can see him in an image on the left.
Duleep Singh seems to have settled comfortably into the role of an English country gentleman. And then, something extraordinary happened. The Prince, steeped in the proud tradition of his homeland, decided to return to the Punjab to fulfill his destiny as the leader of the Sikh people. He got as far as Aden before the British arrested him, and sent him home. He then set about trying to recruit Russian support for a Sikh uprising, travelling secretly across Europe in the guise of an Irishman, Patrick Casey. In between these times of cloak and dagger espionage, he would return to Elveden to shoot grouse with the Prince of Wales, the future King Edward VII. It is a remarkable story.
Ultimately, his attempts to save his people from colonial oppression were doomed to failure. He died in Paris in 1893, the British seemingly unshakeable in their control of India. He was buried at Elveden churchyard in a simple grave.
The chancel of the 1869 church is now screened off as a chapel, accessible from the chancel of the new church, but set in it is the 1894 memorial window to Maharaja Prince Duleep Singh, the Adoration of the Magi by Kempe & Co.
And so, the Lion of the North had come to a humble end. His five children, several named after British royal princes, had left Elveden behind; they all died childless, one of them as recently as 1957. The estate reverted to the Crown, being bought by the brewing family, the Guinnesses.
Edward Cecil Guinness, first Earl Iveagh, commemorated bountifully in James Joyce's 1916 Ulysses, took the estate firmly in hand. The English agricultural depression had begun in the 1880s, and it would not be ended until the Second World War drew the greater part of English agriculture back under cultivation. It had hit the Estate hard. But Elveden was transformed, and so was the church.
Iveagh appointed William Caroe to build an entirely new church beside the old. It would be of such a scale that the old church of St Andrew would form the south aisle of the new church. The size may have reflected Iveagh's visions of grandeur, but it was also a practical arrangement, to accommodate the greatly enlarged staff of the estate. Attendance at church was compulsory; non-conformists were also expected to go, and the Guinnesses did not employ Catholics.
Between 1904 and 1906, the new structure went up. Mortlock recalls that Pevsner thought it 'Art Nouveau Gothic', which sums it up well. Lancet windows in the north side of the old church were moved across to the south side, and a wide open nave built beside it. Curiously, although this is much higher than the old and incorporates a Suffolk-style roof, Caroe resisted the temptation of a clerestory. The new church was rebenched throughout, and the woodwork is of a very high quality. The dates of the restoration can be found on bench ends up in the new chancel, and exploring all the symbolism will detain you for hours. Emblems of the nations of the British Isles also feature in the floor tiles.
The new church was dedicated to St Patrick, patron Saint of the Guinnesses' homeland. At this time, of course, Ireland was still a part of the United Kingdom, and despite the tensions and troubles of the previous century the Union was probably stronger at the opening of the 20th century than it had ever been. This was to change very rapidly. From the first shots fired at the General Post Office in April 1916, to complete independence in 1922, was just six years. Dublin, a firmly protestant city, in which the Iveaghs commemorated their dead at the Anglican cathedral of St Patrick, became the capital city of a staunchly Catholic nation. The Anglicans, the so-called Protestant Ascendancy, left in their thousands during the 1920s, depopulating the great houses, and leaving hundreds of Anglican parish churches completely bereft of congregations. Apart from a concentration in the wealthy suburbs of south Dublin, there are hardly any Anglicans left in the Republic today. But St Patrick's cathedral maintains its lonely witness to long years of British rule; the Iveagh transept includes the vast war memorial to WWI dead, and all the colours of the Irish regiments - it is said that 99% of the Union flags in the Republic are in the Guinness chapel of St Patrick's cathedral. Dublin, of course, is famous as the biggest city in Europe without a Catholic cathedral. It still has two Anglican ones.
Against this background then, we arrived at Elveden. The church is uncomfortably close to the busy road, but the sparkle of flint in the recent rain made it a thing of great beauty. The main entrance is now at the west end of the new church. The surviving 14th century tower now forms the west end of the south aisle, and we will come back to the other tower beyond it in a moment.
You step into a wide open space under a high, heavy roof laden with angels. There is a wide aisle off to the south; this is the former nave, and still has something of that quality. The whole space is suffused with gorgeously coloured light from excellent 19th and 20th century windows. These include one by Frank Brangwyn, at the west end of the new nave. Andrew and Patrick look down from a heavenly host on a mother and father entertaining their children and a host of woodland animals by reading them stories. It is quite the loveliest thing in the building.
Other windows, mostly in the south aisle, are also lovely. Hugh Easton's commemorative window for the former USAAF base at Elveden is magnificent. Either side are windows to Iveaghs - a gorgeous George killing a dragon, also by Hugh Easton, and a curious 1971 assemblage depicting images from the lives of Edward Guinness's heir and his wife, which also works rather well. The effect of all three windows together is particularly fine when seen from the new nave.
Turning ahead of you to the new chancel, there is the mighty alabaster reredos. It cost £1,200 in 1906, about a quarter of a million in today’s money. It reflects the woodwork, in depicting patron Saints and East Anglian monarchs, around a surprisingly simple Supper at Emmaus. This reredos, and the Brangwyn window, reminded me of the work at the Guinness’s other spiritual home, St Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin, which also includes a window by Frank Brangwyn commisioned by them. Everything is of the highest quality. Rarely has the cliché ‘no expense spared’ been as accurate as it is here.
Up at the front, a little brass plate reminds us that Edward VII slept through a sermon here in 1908. How different it must have seemed to him from the carefree days with his old friend the Maharajah! Still, it must have been a great occasion, full of Edwardian pomp, and the glitz that only the fabulously rich can provide. Today, the church is still splendid, but the Guinesses are no longer fabulously rich, and attendance at church is no longer compulsory for estate workers; there are far fewer of them anyway. The Church of England is in decline everywhere; and, let us be honest, particularly so in this part of Suffolk, where it seems to have retreated to a state of siege. Today, the congregation of this mighty citadel is as low as half a dozen. The revolutionary disappearance of Anglican congregations in the Iveagh's homeland is now being repeated in a slow, inexorable English way.
You wander outside, and there are more curiosities. Set in the wall are two linked hands, presumably a relic from a broken 18th century memorial. They must have been set here when the wall was moved back in the 1950s. In the south chancel wall, the bottom of an egg-cup protrudes from among the flints. This is the trademark of the architect WD Caroe. To the east of the new chancel, Duleep Singh’s gravestone is a very simple one. It is quite different in character to the church behind it. A plaque on the east end of the church remembers the centenary of his death.
Continuing around the church, you come to the surprise of a long cloister, connecting the remodelled chancel door of the old church to the new bell tower. It was built in 1922 as a memorial to the wife of the first Earl Iveagh. Caroe was the architect again, and he installed eight bells, dedicated to Mary, Gabriel, Edmund, Andrew, Patrick, Christ, God the Father, and the King. The excellent guidebook recalls that his intention was for the bells to be cast to maintain the hum and tap tones of the renowned ancient Suffolk bells of Lavenham... thus the true bell music of the old type is maintained.
This church is magnificent, obviously enough. It has everything going for it, and is a national treasure. And yet, it has hardly any congregation. So, what is to be done?
If we continue to think of rural historic churches as nothing more than outstations of the Church of England, it is hard to see how some of them will survive. This church in particular has no future in its present form as a village parish church. New roles must be found, new ways to involve local people and encourage their use. One would have thought that this would be easier here than elsewhere.
The other provoking thought was that this building summed up almost two centuries of British imperial adventure, and that we lived in a world that still suffered from the consequences. It is worth remembering where the wealth that rebuilt St Andrew and St Patrick came from.
As so often in British imperial history, interference in other peoples’ problems and the imposition of short-term solutions has left massive scars and long-cast shadows. For the Punjab, as in Ireland, there are no simple solutions. Sheer proximity has, after several centuries of cruel and exploitative involvement, finally encouraged the British government to pursue a solution in Ireland that is not entirely based on self-interest. I fear that the Punjab is too far away for the British to care very much now about what they did there then.
I found this stashed in my garage wrapped in a really dirty trash bag. It's all clean on the inside. I had forgotten about it. At one time I had made a little Christmas store, but over the years it all came unglued and I threw the store away but kept the contents. That's where the big green shelf and the wrapping paper station came from. I think I was trying to make Santa's workshop here, but never finished.
William Hogarth, London 1697 - 1764
Nachher - After (1764)
Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge
"Before" the first of these two works by the British artist William Hogarth owes much to a tradition of painting that developed in France in the 18th century, in which attractive young men and women flirt in idyllic outdoor settings.
"Before" shares these characteristics. In a shaded glade, a charmingly coy mistress makes a show of embarrassment at the advances of a handsome young gallant. If one looks closely there are hints at what is to come: rosy apples tumble from the girl's apron, the young man's knee is suggestively placed - is that a bulge in his trousers that catches the light? But it is superficially all rather polite and the physical realities of sex are discreetly hidden.
"After" turns all this on its head. Here the protagonists' clothing is in disarray and their faces flushed. The expressions that Hogarth gives the pair are superbly telling: the girl seems anxious and seeks reassurance from her beau, who stares into the middle distance, his face a mask of post-coital bewilderment. The haste of their coupling is suggested by her stockings which are still held up by their garters. Her mottled inner thighs are exposed and - most surprisingly - the man's unbuttoned breeches reveal a tuft of pubic hair and his penis, chafed red from its exertions.
Although all this is implicit in "Before", where we know exactly what the young man is proposing, the candour of "After" is wholly unexpected. Not that early 18th century England was a particularly sexually repressed society. There was a lusty literary tradition of which John Cleland's 1740s novel Fanny Hill is perhaps the most famous example. Prints were made of the sex scenes from this book, scenes which make "After" look restrained in comparison. But one simply does not expect such frankness in a painting of this period. Indeed when the work first came to the Fitzwilliam the man's genitalia had politely been painted over.
Is there a moral here? Is the girl in "After", with her apples spread over the floor, to be seen as a fallen woman, a new Eve? Are we, as viewers, supposed to lament this hasty, opportunistic coupling? Or are we simply meant to be amused? To enjoy a witty subversion of a popular genre? Or even just a slightly smutty belly laugh?
There is no internal evidence in either painting to suggest that the couple's lovemaking will have any lasting consequence. Once they have got their breath back and rearranged their clothes, there is no reason to believe that either will suffer as a result of what has happened.
But contemporary anxieties about the the vulnerability of young women were on Hogarth's mind in the early 1730s, when he was developing what he called the 'modern moral subject.' In 1732 he completed "The Harlot's Progress" a series of paintings, later to become hugely popular prints, in which an innocent country girl is utterly ruined by the predatory attentions of London men.
Source: Fitzwilliam Museum, Oxford
Ristorante Italiano, New York City. danicoristorante.com/
From my journal:
"30 Nov 2005--Off to NYC [from Columbia SC to LGA]-- now in the 50-seat airplane, people getting on, worrying about luggage. Much mechanical disarray with the kiosk system earlier, but all OK.
The opera tonight [La Boheme at the Met]--should be a big adventure.
Lunch-- Italian. "Da Nico", marvelous.
[starter for Richard] Fried calamari--very light, crispy.
[starter for John] Fried zucchini--hot, crispy lots of crust, both with fresh tomato sauce
Italian beer: "Peroni"
Old favorites on tape: "I'll Take Manhattan" "Moonlight Reverie" "What a Wonderful Day" "'s Wonderful, 's Marvelous" "Night & Day" "A Nightingale Sings"
[entrees]
R: pizza (4 slices), prosciutto, peppers, artichoke, mushrooms
J: calamari * (again!0 on linguini-- tomato, spicy, a bit peppery excellent Garlic
Pretty busy in here and one of the men in charge every now and then breaks into song along with the music--
* "Calamari Fra Diavolo"
...and he brought us a plate of fried dough...which we REALLY need now
At the restaurant when the waiter takes all the glasses up to clear the table and then wads up all the napkins together and rolls the tablecloth up, sticks it under his arm, and takes everything to the back...it's sad, he's taking away all those lingering memories of that dinner that somebody was having.
I was in the kitchen making dinner last night and William our oldest son was sitting at the counter doing some work on his computer. He was listening to music as he worked. I smiled to myself because what he was listening to was praise and worship. I thought to myself, boy he's come a long way and I'm so thankful.
There were many years when all he listened to was dark rebellious music. Those were tough years for our family. There was a lot of anger in William and it came out in these awful outbursts. It broke my heart as his mom. You wonder what went wrong. We wanted to see our son soar and become all God intended for him to be and yet he was destroying his life and the lives of those around him.
A few years ago things in his life came to a head and he wrote down what music meant in his life. He actually felt he needed to give up music for a time. Here's some of what he wrote:
"Its an idol, it has been an idol since grade 7. It has fuelled all the problems in my family and in my life; it has fuelled my rage and anger. When I used to get into that place of hatred, that place of anger; that unstoppable rage that flew through my body, it was the music coming through. There's no doubt, I did have a choice but I never made it. I let the music take over and became a slave to it. The screaming and disarray of the genre's of music I listened to captivated me. In a sick sense it calmed me down, I felt at peace when I listened to it. It wasn't peace though, it was just wood to the fire, stoking it till the next time someone set me off. As much as I wanted to tell myself that music didn't affect me, and that it just went in one ear and out the other, I knew what was right."
And so he gave up his music and life changed, his heart changed. Now you can see why last night brought a smile to my face and a peace to my heart. It can be tough raising our kids and there can be times when you feel like you're failing but persevere they do grow up and God will use even those dark rebellious times for His glory.
Last night as my husband and I were driving home from a worship concert we noticed a woman walking along the highway. It seemed strange, it was dark, she was in a skirt and heels carrying her purse. So we stopped to see if she needed a ride, she said she didn't. I pressed in and asked again and then asked if anything was wrong, she said she just wanted to go home but still didn't want a ride. So I offered to walk with her and pressed into her space as we walked and then she broke. Her heart was breaking for her 25 year old son. I don't know many of the details but she was in pain and I knew that pain as a mom of a son who broke my heart. She decided to take us up on our offer to give her a ride and so we took her home. Before she got out of the car I asked if we could pray for her and she allowed us to. As we were leaving I told her where we lived if she ever needed anything.
Sometimes as a mom life can be tough, by their actions and choices our kids can break our hearts and we can experience such deep pain but for me there is hope and His name is Jesus...the redeemer...the restorer and how do I know this is true, last night in the kitchen there was living proof ;-)