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These Pollard Willows are in quite some discussion?
Never mind, my imagination is running wild again! LOL
Pollarding, a pruning system involving the removal of the upper branches of a tree, promotes a dense head of foliage and branches.
In ancient Rome, Propertius mentioned pollarding during the 1st century BCE.
The practice occurred commonly in Europe since medieval times, and takes place today in urban areas worldwide, primarily to maintain trees at a determined height.
Traditionally, people pollarded trees for one of two reasons: for fodder to feed livestock or for wood.
In Flanders it was also against the flooding of the flat lands, since they are very water-absorbant.
Fodder pollards produced "pollard hay" for livestock feed; they were pruned at intervals of two to six years so their leafy material would be most abundant.
We call them “knot-willows, because the head gets so gnarled.
Have a lovely day, M, (*_*)
For more of my work: www.indigo2photography.com
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The passage of time is most likely an illusion even though our senses tell us that time flows.
Consciousness may involve thermodynamic or quantum processes that lend the impression of living moment by moment. According to a certain physicist, time is not real and what we regard as the time is no more than changes that lead to the illusion of time.
8s exposure, liked this angle with the water falling on the moss covered rocks like white silk and the warm light streaming in from the right.
In a rather strange move, Nikon just released a rebranded 1st Gen Tamron 28-75mm f2.8 lens in Z mount at $1,199.95, the lens diagrams for the mirrorless Z and E mount versions are identical with identical MTF and minimum focus distance.
Like some Matrix “black cat” deja vu, Olympus (after being spun off from the Olympus Parent Co) did the same thing previously with the remounted 100-400mm f5-6.3 IS which was derived from Sigma’s older DSLR version of the same lens rather than the newer mirrorless 100-400mm DN version while asking for a price way in excess of the original Sigma DSLR lens!
The newer Sony E mount Tamron 28-75mm f2.8 G2 is currently available for $899 and the superseded version (now rebranded Z version) was released back in 2018 at $800. This makes the rebranded Z mount version 50% (+$400!) more expensive than the 2018 E mount version! Heck, the rebranded Z version is even ⅓ more expensive than the newest 2021 Tamron G2 version! Adding insult to injury, the remounted Z lens won’t get Tamron’s much longer 5 years warranty.
More choice is great but it’s not good to fleece one’s loyal customers so blatantly. The issue is not about who actually made the lens but rather Nikon charging 50% more for a lens that has already been replaced by a newer G2 version which is way, way too much just for native AF compatibility!!
As expected, the usual Nikon Z-ealot fanbois shills are out in full force with hyperbolic rationalization and attempts to warp space-time by suggesting that the Z mount version has some magical secret Nikon sauce for better performance, steering discussions well away from the ridiculous 50% premium for a superseded model! Ludicrous mental gymnastics such as outright denial that it’s the same lens, hallucinating possible addition of Nikon lens coatings or AF motors or that Leica does the same with rebranding Sigma lenses hence this is kosher…..
Nikon Z-ealots were already trying to spin that the Z 24-120mm f4 S is optically superior just because the VR mechanism was omitted! Tamron typically leaves out VR in their mirrorless lenses, perhaps the new Z 24-120mm f4.0 S was also designed by Tamron since this was also announced at the same time as the rebranded Z 28-75mm f2.8!?
Really odd behaviour that we seldom see in folks using other brands, perhaps Z-ealot shills live in the Matrix and hence lost all capacity to discern reality from fiction!
When the equivalent Z lens is markedly larger than other brands’ versions, Z-ealots will tell you that Nikon optimized performance over size! Nikon’s largest Z mount diameter supposedly allows for more efficient lens designs but yet they end up with larger, heavier and more expensive lenses, why?
The likely reason is all about financials. Nikon’s market share has been shrinking for years, their mirrorless market share is even smaller and continues to shrink in a shrinking market. In order to generate enough revenue to offset their higher fixed costs (esp R&D) over diminishing unit sales, they have to charge ever higher margins. As such even if the bigger mount diameter hypothetically does allow for more efficient lens designs, whatever design benefits derived must 1st go towards bolstering the Nikon imaging division’s bottomline hence their Z mount lenses ended up bigger, heavier and more expensive at the expense of the consumer! The Z system does not offer value to the consumer; www.flickr.com/photos/86145600@N07/51134617306/in/datepos...
Nikon has always been behind in releasing and updating lenses as well. This is also a direct consequence of a smaller market share even during the DSLR era. Canon will have version III lenses out when Nikon in many cases never even manage to update to version II.
In the UWA category, Canon had EF 16-35mm f2.8L III while Nikon was stuck with their 1st version at f4 from 2010! Fixed aperture standard zoom Canon EF 24-105mm f4 got version II updates vs Nikon’s single generation AF-S 24-120mm f4. Same for Prime lenses, Canon EF 35mm f1.4II while Nikon never went beyond AF-S 35mm f1.4G from 2010. Canon’s superb variable aperture EF 100-400mm II while Nikon never got beyond their disappointing 1st version 80-400mm zoom from 1996. Even with supertele exotics, Canon EF 400mm f2.8, 500mm f4 and 600mm f4 all reached 3rd generation updates while Nikon only managed 2 generations. Now in the mirrorless age, Nikon’s market share is even smaller, very small in fact. No wonder the Nikon shills have been so frantically spewing misinformation in the gear forums!
The Z 800mm f6.3 PF VR announcement is however much more exciting! This is the area where Nikon appears to have real competitive advantage over others.
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I Do Not Condone Any Acts Of Vandalism Nor Do I Participate In Such Criminal Activity. I Am Simply An Observant and Take Photos Of This Graffiti You Have Come Across. ALSO I Will Not Condone Any Usage Of My Photos To Support Any Legal Matter Involving These Acts Of Vandalism Therefore YOU ARE NOT WELCOME TO VIEW OR TAKE THIS MATERIAL For ANY Purpose...
This composite image contains the aftermath of a giant collision involving four separate galaxy clusters at a distance of about 3.5 billion light years. Officially known as Abell 2744, this system is also referred to by astronomers as "Pandora's Cluster" because all of the different structures found within it. This view of Abell 2744 contains X-ray data from Chandra (blue) showing hot gas, optical data from Subaru and the VLT (red, green and blue), and radio data from the NSF's Karl G. Jansky Very Large Array (red).
Image credit: X-ray: NASA/CXC/ITA/INAF/J.Merten et al, Lensing: NASA/STScI, NAOJ/Subaru, ESO/VLT; Optical: NASA/STScI/R.Dupke
Europe, The Netherlands, Zuid Holland, Rotterdam Zuid, Katendrecht, Fenix 2, Screen, Fence (cut) from B &T).
Hidden behind this very long colourful protective screen and scaffolding is the Fenix 2 veem (harbour storage facility). It is being transformed in the Landverhuizersmuseum . In the BG is the Meneba flour factory.
Fenix 2 once belonged to the HAL (Holland America shipping Line) and was part of the longest building in Europe - the San Francisco veem (harbour storage facility) on the Rijnhaven (Rhine docks). Due to WW2 bombing, it was spilt in two - Fenix 1 and Fenix 2. At the end of the 80s during the big transformation of the Rotterdam harbour due to the global change in maritime transport modes, the Rijnhaven together with the adjacent Maashaven largely lost their harbour function.
After a number of plans and studies in 2012 the municipality decided to redevelop both buildings as an element of the redevelopment/gentrification of the dilapidated Katendrecht quarter, which is an element of the Kop van Zuid urban restructuring masterplan plan which involves all the old harbours on the south bank of the river). Before the start of the transformation, Fenix 2 functioned as the home of the Fenix Food Factory and 'Circuscentrum op De Kaap' created by the Codarts Circus Arts school and Circus Rotjeknor.
This is number 969 of Minimalism / explicit Graphism and 221 of Urban Frontiers.
A couple of Carrion Crows chasing a juvenile female Marsh Harrier. The harriers and crows both like to perch on the same bush in the middle of the reed bed - and there are often skirmishes as a result - although these mostly involve acrobatic chases without any real contact. Good job, as both would probably be injured if they came to actual blows.
Taken early yesterday morning in the golden light, a real treat!
I remember when these birds were almost extinct in the UK due to pesticide use, with just 2 birds in East Anglia. They continue to make a strong comeback - thank goodness!
Taken in Norfolk.
Thanks to those that faved and commented on this shot earlier - noticed some nasty colour fringing on the harriers tail and had to delete it and re-edit - otherwise my OCD would not let me sleep!
Having now captured two locations on our Dartmoor adventure (see two previous uploads) plus the privilege of meeting Burt & Henry, both wonderful moorland characters, it was time to move on and photograph location number three deep into the heart of the moor.🚙
Unfortunately we could not photograph location number three due to a minor incident involving Horace, his nether regions, a rusty nail, a check up at Derriford Hospital, and the impeccable bedside manner of Mrs Trebogus.
Whether I will be able to put that report together at some stage in the future without getting thrown off Flickr is questionable.👨⚕️🙈
With Horace quickly patched up we were on our way again and we headed off to location number four. We don’t scare easily.😷🐷
Due to the geographical challenges of the moor, many of the remote properties and farms have no mains electricity or water, also because of the terrain there is no or very patchy mobile phone coverage.📱📡
In situations like this, Hoof likes to try and cover every eventuality so he had fitted a CB radio in the Land Rover, well just in case in his words.🚙📞
Hoof and Horace dropped me off at location number four, ‘Holne Bridge’, while they decided to take a bit of a drive and explore some of the very remote areas on the moor.🐄🐄🐑🐑
When H & H came to one such location, Hoof thought it wise to test the CB radio, so he spoke into the handset, “breaker 1, breaker 1, this is Midnight Express, has anyone got their ears on”.📞
You may ask where Hoof acquired the handle ‘Midnight Express’, well not long before Hoof started advising NASA on how to man manage space exploration, he did a bit of evening work for ‘The Wells Fargo Stagecoach Company’.🐴🏇🚐
Horace said “you are wasting your time Hoof we need to get on” with that there was a crackle on the CB and a response came back “breaker 1, breaker 1, this is Candy Baa, I am reading you strength 5 and we have a bit of a situation here, is that you Hoof.”📞
Hoof responds “hey Candy Baa are you Jacob the sheep farmer who was covered in chocolate at ‘Widecombe In The Moor’ on our last visit”.👨🌾🐑🐑🐑
“That’s an affirmative Midnight Express”.🚂
Hoof responds “for goodness sake let’s pack in all this CB gibberish and talk properly, what is the situation you mentioned Jacob”.🤔
Jacob says “it’s like this Hoof, my wife Ethel was expecting her first baby in a couple of weeks time but nature has other ideas, she thinks it’s going to happen before we can get her to hospital. As you know there are different time zones on the moor and it is dark here already and our electricity generator has broken down as has our Quad Bike”.🌑
Right oh says Hoof, we are on the way, do you have any Tilley lamps if so get them fired up so we can see what we are doing, plus of course hot water and towels.🔥🔥
On route the CB radio in the Land Rover blasts out, “Jacob here again Hoof, things are moving at pace, I think Ethel is going to give birth any moment please hurry”.😫
Hoof responds don’t worry Jacob, Horace has attended the nearby ‘Duchy College at Stoke Climsland’ where he studied animal science, and birthing was on the curriculum.
In fact last week Horace delivered a box of duck eggs to Mrs Trebogus so a baby should be no problem.👶👼
H & H roared into Jacobs dear little moorland cottage, sure enough he had the Tilley lamps lit and within no time Horace had delivered Ethels baby, phew, that was a close call.👶
A couple of moments went by and Ethel said “Horace I think there is another one on the way” sure enough she was correct and Horace duly delivered yet another baby.👶
Poor Jacob was in some state by this time and started to poor himself a drink as he could not believe what was happening.👨🌾🍷🍷🍷
Ethel shouts “Horace this is extraordinary, there is yet another one, so again Horace quickly scrubs up and delivers baby number 3 !👶👶👶
With this Horace puts the Tilley Lamps out, “what have you done that for says Ethel”, Horace responds “I think these kids are being attracted by the light”😜
May I wish you all a really good weekend.
Thank you so much for viewing the photos, your comments and banter is much appreciated.
👍🍺🍺🍺🍻🍻🍻🍷🍷🍷🐎🐷😎😂🍷🍷🍷
Just nothing at the moment, enjoying my life as a student which as you might know involves a lot of ;)
It has been a while ago, again. However, once again the same reason! Just enjoying studentlife, going out, doing nothing and most of all working. Furthermore, my internship has finally been arranged from the 1st of September on, a hospitality real estate agency in Utrecht for 10 months for my Bachelor Degree.
This all results in, yes, very little time for photography! And lets be honoust, the weather for my passion; landscapes, just sucks at the moment. I hope once again to now spend some more time on flickr since it still is amd will be my passion. Enjoy your holidays and for the Dutchies, enjoy Queensday. I am off to my workng paradise again; Terschelling.
© Copyright 2012 Jurjen Harmsma Photography, All Rights Reserved, Nobody Is Allowed to Copy Or Reproduce Images Without Permission. Group Invite Comments will be deleted!
Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn , 500px, Google+ , Press L to view on large which is obligatory here, Press F to fave.
Rollei SL66SE, Carl Zeiss Planar 80mm f/2,8, T-MAX 100 Professional (Kodak TMX 6052) developed in Ilfosol S 1+9, digitised by photographing the two original negatives on a light pad - tethered capture, digital development and panorama stitching in Lightroom.
The direct route from Scafell Pike to Scafell involves a rock climb called Broad Stand. As rock climbs go it is short and easy, but a non-climber would put himself in danger - a slip could be fatal. There are two routes for walkers: recommended is Lord's Rake, which follows a line across the crag, and many a walker might think that he was rock climbing here, it being a rough scramble passing through impressive terrain; the other, by way of Foxes Tarn, involves a greater loss of height and is much less interesting.
To anyone planning to visit this great place for the first time I would strongly recommend getting hold of Wainwright's Book 4 (The Southern Fells) and reading the relevant pages thoroughly before going. Of this walk he says "Medals have been won for lesser deeds" - in humour, of course.
I have been working on a series involving people who pass through my life without knowing it. These are fleeting glances of other lives that are on the periphery of my own. This particular image was taken in Baltimore through a window, which not only showed these two men, but also reflected my location.
If you like my photography and are willing to spend a minute to say so, then I am hoping for recognition through the 2010 Baker Artist Awards in Baltimore.
Nature/outdoor photography often involves a great deal of planning and research in advance to find the right conditions, timing, etc to capture a good image. Sometimes all the planning in the world still isn't enough. That said, any landscape/nature photographer who tells you they've never had a certain degree of just dumb luck is either a far better photographer than yours truly, pulling your leg, or a better photographer than yours truly who's also pulling your leg). In this particular instance I have to own up to some definite dumb luck. My lovely wife and I went to Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park near Orick California hoping to see some Roosevelt Elk bulls sparing in the meadow there. However, my hopes weren't high as it was raining and Iâd heard that the powers-that-be in the park were scheduled to burn the meadow as they do every few years. This turned out to be true as the meadow was still smoking when we got there. Add in the very raining conditions and the elk we did see along our journey were mostly bedded down (and largely in people's yards). However, what I did not expect at all for early October at sea level was how many glorious patches of wonderful fall color there would be. I found a trailhead with very few cars parked and braved the elements and came away with a couple pretty images. Rainy days are far and away my favorite time to shoot fall colors so I certainly don't regret the trip down there from our camp in Brookings Oregon that day!
Prints available:
fineartamerica.com/featured/into-the-autumn-woodland-mike...
Dahlia has a rich symbolism: the flower stands for wealth and elegance, and also for love and involvement. For the Aztecs, Dahlia was a religious symbol.
2024-09-07, Day 1
The low-angle light of early evening fills the sky with hints of gold to match the foliage of the autumn willows (Salix spp). The reds contributed by Dwarf Birch (Betula nana) intermingle to paint the tundra with outrageous beauty, Burwash Uplands, Kluane First Nation, Yukon.
Some months following our multi-day off-trail adventure in the mountains of Alberta in 2022, my friend and I began studying maps of the Kluane Range, which still supports the largest non-polar continuous ice sheet in North America. In Alaska this Range is referred to as the St. Elias Range, but in the Yukon the maps once again bear the name of the First Nation people who have made a life here for millennia.
Specifically, my readings and infatuation with the idea of seeing bears, wolves, and immense ice consistently brought me to the Donjek Route. The Route originates more or less from the First Nation town of Burwash Landing, then climbs through the eastern-most flank of the Kluane Range via a difficult and very steep pass, and then up the Donjek River for a glimpse of one finger of the massive ice and the tallest mountain in Canada, Mount Logan (19,551 ft; 5,959 m). The way back to the Uplands and to return to Burwash Landing requires navigating two more passes with scree descents described as “very steep” by Parks Canada, an organization no doubt known as much for its dry sense of humor as its helpful route descriptions. Once the steep scree-laden passes are negotiated, a river crossing is required, and then a short bushwhack up 500 feet to the next drainage where one ostensibly follows the increasingly voluminous creek back to Burwash Landing. In total, approximately 68 miles (105 km) of trail-less wilderness, and constituting a place on earth where one is likely to encounter Grizzly Bear, wolves, moose, caribou, fox, Dall Sheep, Willow Ptarmigan, Golden Eagle, and other resourceful critters. The thought of seeing these species in their native habitat was thrilling, and where Ursus arctos is considered, also the source of a mild form of anxiety. Early this year during one of our frequent night hikes, we resolved to pay our respects while the body is still able.
The arrival into Whitehorse from Vancouver did not unspool quite as planned, and as a result we found ourselves arriving in Burwash Landing at half past 3 o’clock in the afternoon. The easiest way to begin walking the Donjek Route involves traveling along the Alaska Canada Highway for about 6 miles northwest of Burwash Landing to then begin ascending the Duke River toward the Burwash Uplands where a good campsite is another 8 miles distance. At the other end of the Route, the walker finds oneself meeting the Highway 4 miles southeast of Burwash Landing.
To avoid 10 miles of road walking, we thought to enquire at the local convenience store and fuel station whether any of the staff had a friend interested in some cash in exchange for following us to the trail egress where we would leave our rental vehicle, and then ferrying us and our packs to the Duke River Bridge. After discussing this idea with the cashier, she placed a call to her friend Kevin who was interested. In an ancient Subaru with over 250,000 km on it and a broken speedometer, and after dropping the rental car, Kevin managed to ascend 3 km up the gravel road along the Duke River before it became too deeply flooded for him to proceed. He left us to our devices and we commenced negotiating the water, mud, moss, and willows.
At the beginning of the Donjek Route, there is no signage or trail, but one follows clearly defined mining roads that see progressively less use as one ascends to the Burwash Uplands. At length, we found ourselves at tree line on a broad, sloping terrace draped in more moss-rich tundra than I have ever experienced. Oddly enough, neither of us had thought much about autumn color prior to arriving in Whitehorse. However, happenstance delivered peak autumn Yukon hues to the senses along with many hours of low-angle, golden light. The spirit of the place is enchanting. And due to the lateness of the season the risk of snow was counterbalanced by the complete lack of mosquitoes.
On the Clyde for Joint Warrior 2017-1
Joint Warrior is a UK tri-Service multinational exercise that involves numerous warships, aircraft, marines and troops.
The main figures on the Val d'Osne Fountain in Launceston's Prince's Square involve a mythological tale around the sea. Here we see Poseidon (the god of freshwater and the sea; Neptune in the Roman pantheon) and his wife Amphitrite, the queen of the sea. These stories have come down to us primarily through Ovid the Roman poet's great masterpiece of ancient literature, "Metamorphoses" (AD 8).
When Poseidon wanted to marry Amphitrite, she fled to protect her virginity. Poseidon then sent out dolphins to find her. To reward the dolphin's help, Poseidon created the Delphinus constellation. [This may possibly be the link to the Terracotta Dolphin Fountain in the City Park which I showed you a few days ago www.flickr.com/photos/luminosity7/51937571910/in/datepost...
If so, then someone on the Launceston Municipal Council in the 1850s had an extensive knowledge of Greek mythology.]
Now we might still ask, what relevance Poseidon (or Neptune) had for the city of Launceston in the Antipodes. And here may be the clue and the genius of the selection of this particular fountain to celebrate the establishment of Launceston's reticulated water supply. You see the Romans celebrated the festival of Neptunalia in mid-summer, as Neptune (or Poseidon to the Greeks - remember that the Romans adopted almost the entire Greek pantheon), was the god of water supply. If sacrifices were made appropriately, Neptune's job was to supply Romans with a proper water supply through the long heat and drought of summer.
Since Australia is a hot dry land in summer, subject to droughts, this interpretation actually makes sense within the world of pagan Greek mythology. So here Poseidon and Amphitrite converse quietly in the shade of a hot Tasmanian summer, surrounded of course by water.
Urban Search and Rescue involves finding and rescuing people trapped when a structure collapses, for example if a single building collapses or as a result of a major landslide or earthquake.
In New Zealand USAR comes under the umbrella of the New Zealand Fire Service.
It was Five years today September 4, 2015 that Canterbury was first shaken by a major quake, the people of Christchurch gathered on New Brighton beach this morning to mark the anniversary. I went with a friend but she didn't want to get up so early so we missed part of it. New Brighton Christchurch New Zealand at dawn.
There was a person from Radio News interviewing people there about their experiences of the earthquake five years ago and I was on the Radio News and also in a article.
This the link to me on the News www.radionz.co.nz/national/programmes/checkpoint/audio/20...
And this is the article: www.radionz.co.nz/news/national/283264/christchurch-marks...
Uhhhhhhh....yeah.
After much deliberation, and a LOT of teasing from the hubby....ROFL
Erm....I'm back. hee hee.
year two of just.K.
*awww.....crap* right???
Couple a things though:
1. I must have fun or I will stop.
2. I will keep it simple and not get frustrated.
3. I refuse to take part in any drama...so like...don't involve me.
4. I will block any and all footie freaks who get all over my feet for this photo.
just sayin.
TRP - Me and my Jeans. :) (accidental but it still counts.)
Have a good Sunday! *muah!*
LEGAL DISCLAIMER: I Do Not Condone Any Acts Of Vandalism Nor Do I Participate In Such Criminal Activity. I Am Simply An Observant and Take Photos Of This Graffiti You Have Come Across. ALSO I Will Not Condone Any Usage Of My Photos To Support Any Legal Matter Involving These Acts Of Vandalism Therefore YOU ARE NOT WELCOME TO VIEW OR TAKE THIS MATERIAL For ANY Purpose...
Water Milk and Xanthan Gum are the mediums used in this Splash Art Photo. This shot involves the collision of two drops of liquid. Flash Guns are used to stop the high speed action of the collision at the critical moment.
A quick snap of my stats, because I want to know what is going on! I know lots of you think these stats are a waste of time and money, but I am taking my photography seriously, and I see these as a measure of improvement, though I accept that they don't really measure anything other than my actual involvement with Flickr. It's the rather large blip I would like to have explained?
Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.
Concerned about her beau, Selwyn Spencely’s, true affections for her, and worried about the threat his cousin and 1923 debutante, Pamela Fox-Chavers, posed to her own potential romantic plans with Selwyn, Lettice concocted a ruse to spy on Pamela and Selwyn at the Royal Horticultural Society’s 1923 Great Spring Show*. As luck would have it, Lettice ran into Pamela and Selwyn, quite literally in the latter’s case, and they ended up having tea together. Whilst not the appropriate place to talk about Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia, whom Lettice suspects of arranging a match between Selwyn and Pamela, who are cousins, Selwyn has agreed to organise a dinner with Lettice where they can talk openly about the future of their relationship and the interference of Lady Zinnia. However, whilst Lettice waits for the dinner to be arranged, she has a wonderful distraction to take her mind off things.
That is why today we are far from London, returning to Wiltshire, where Lettice grew up at Glynes, the grand Georgian family seat of the Chetwynds, and the home of Lettice’s parents, the presiding Viscount and Countess of Wrexham and the heir, their eldest son Leslie and his new wife Arabella. However, we are not at Glynes, but rather in Glynes Village at the local village hall where a much loved annual tradition is taking place. Every year the village have a summer fête, run by the local women and overseen by Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, to help raise money for a worthy cause in the village. The summer fête is one of the highlights of the village and country calendar as it always includes a flower show, a cake stand, stalls run by local famers’ wives selling homemade produce, games of hoopla, a coconut shy, a tombola and a jumble sale, a white elephant stall and a fortune teller – who is always local haberdasher Mrs. Maginot who has a theatrical bent and manages the Glynes theatrical players as well as her shop in the village high street. All the stalls and entertainments are held either in the village hall or the grounds surrounding it. Not only do the citizens of the village involve themselves in the fête, but also the gentry, and there is always much excitement when matriarch of the Brutons, Lady Gwyneth – Gerald’s mother, and Lady Isobel Tyrwhitt – Arabella’s mother, attend. Neither lady have been well over the last few years with Lady Gwyneth suffering a spate of bronchial infections and Lady Isobel receiving treatment for cancer, so it is a rare treat to have both in attendance. This year’s summer fête is a special one for Arabella in particular, for as the newly minted Mrs. Leslie Chetwynd, she now joins the effort to help run the Glynes summer fête for the first time and has been given the second-hand clothing stall to run as part of the jumble sale.
The Glynes village hall is a hive of activity, and the cavernous space resounds with running footsteps, voluble chatter from the mostly female gathering, hammering and children’s laughter and tears as they run riot around the adults as they set up their stalls. Mr. Lovegrove, who runs the village shop, climbs a ladder which is held by the elderly church verger Mr. Lewis and affixes the brightly coloured Union Jacks and bunting that have been used every year since the King’s Coronation in 1911 around the walls. Lady Sadie casts a critical eye over the white elephant stall, rearranging items to put what she considers the best quality items on more prominent display, whilst removing a select few pieces which she thinks unsuitable for sale, which she passes to Newman, her ladies maid, to dispose of. Bramley, the Chetwynd’s butler arranges and categorises books for the second-hand book stall, perhaps spending a little too much time perusing some of the titles. Mrs. Elliott who runs the Women’s Institute manages the influx of local women bringing in cakes with regimental efficiency. And amongst all the noise, activity and excitement, Arabella busies herself unpacking boxes of old clothes and tries her best to make her trestle an attractive addition to the summer fête. Lettice perches on an old bentwood chair, offering suggestions to her sister-in-law whilst pulling faces as she lifts up various donations before depositing them in disgust where they had been beforehand.
“Here we are then,” Gerald announces as he walks across the busy floor of the hall bearing a wooden tray containing several teacups and a plate of cupcakes from the refreshments stand, narrowly avoiding Mrs. Lovegrove’s two youngest children as they chase one another around his legs. The sound of his jolly call and his footsteps joining all the other cacophony of setting up going on around him. “Refreshments for the hard workers,” he looks at Arabella. “And the not-so-hard-workers.” he looks at Lettice.
“Don’t be cheeky!” Lettice says to him with a hard stare, letting a limp stocking fall from her hand and collapse into a wrinkled pool on the trestle table’s surface.
Gerald puts the three tea cups down where he can find a surface on Arabella’s trestle table, followed by a long blue and gilt edged platter on which sit three very festive cupcakes featuring Union Jacks made of marzipan sticking out of white clouds of icing.
“Mrs. Casterton’s special cupcakes.” he announces proudly with a beaming smile.
“How on earth did you get those, Gerald?” gasps Lettice in surprise, eyeing the dainty cakes greedily. “Mrs. Casterton hasn’t let me take food from her kitchen since I started dining at the table with the rest of the family, never mind pinch anything from her stall for the fundraiser!”
“It helps when you aren’t her employer’s indulged youngest child.” Gerald says, tapping his nose knowingly.
“I was not an indulged child!” Lettice defends, raising her hand to the boat neckline of her frock and grasping her single strand of creamy white pearls hanging about her neck. “You were more indulged by Aunt Gwen than I ever was by Mater or Pater.”
“Oh, just ignore him, Tice!” laughs Arabella from her place behind the trestle. “You know Gerald has always had the ability to charm anything from anyone when he wants to.”
“That’s true,” Lettice replies, eyeing Gerald with a cocked eyebrow and a bemused smile as she picks up her magenta and gilt rimmed cup and sips her tea. “I had forgotten that.”
“What can I say?” laughs Gerald proudly with a shrug of his shoulders.
“It’s not so much what you can say as what you can do, Gerald.” mutters Arabella with a frustrated sigh.
“I am at your service, my lady?” Gerald replies, making a sweeping bow before Arabella and Lettice, who both laugh at his jester like action.
“Be careful what you promise, Gerald.” giggles Lettice.
“Bella would never expect too much from me, Lettice.” Gerald retorts with a smile. “She’s known me all her life and she knows what my limitations are.”
“Well, I was hoping you could help me by working some magic on my second hand clothing stall.” Arabella remarks with another frustrated sigh as she tugs at the old fashioned shirtwaister** blouse with yellowing lace about the collar. “I’ve tried and tried all morning, but nothing I seem to do helps make anything look more modern and more attractive to buy.”
Lettice and Gerald look around at Arabella’s stall. The shirtwaister outfit with its pretty, albeit slightly marked, lace, tweed skirt and leather belt with a smart, yet old fashioned Art Nouveau buckle really is the most attractive piece that she has on display. Around it on the surface of her trestle are a jumble of yellowing linen napkins complete with tarnished napkin rings, a selection of embroidered, tatted*** and crocheted doilies, mismatched pairs of leather and lace gloves and several rather worn looking hats that are really only suitable for gardening now, rather than being worn to church services on Sunday.
“I warned you Gerald.” Lettice says with a knowing wink.
“Don’t you remember how much we all felt sorry for whomever ran the second-hand clothing stall at the fête each year as children, Bella?” Gerald asks.
“It was always the short straw.” Lettice adds.
“Yes, being stuck under the piercing stare of His Majesty.” Gerald indicates to the portrait of King George V, dating back to the pre-war years when the King still had colour in his hair.
“The worst stall to have because none of the villagers ever seem to have anything nice or remotely fashionable to donate, even for a good cause like new books for the village school.” Lettice picks up a pretty primrose yellow napkin. “These are nice at least.”
“Except there are only three of them.” points out Arabella with a disappointed air. “I can’t seem to find a fourth.” She picks up a red dyed straw hat in the vain hope that it will be there, even though she has searched beneath it three times already. “And I’ve looked everywhere.”
“Tea for two, perhaps?” Gerald suggests hopefully as he picks up his own teacup and takes a sip of tea.
“Oh, you two are no help!” scoffs Arabella. “I’ve a right mind to stick you both with these!” She grasps a pair of knitting needles complete with some rather dreadfully made rows of incomplete knitting and a ball of wool and thrusts them through the air between she, Lettice, and Gerald. “They’ll get you working.”
“Even if they do, Bella, we aren’t miracle workers.” remarks Gerald.
All three of them laugh good heartedly.
“Oh I must make the best of it,” Arabella sighs resignedly as she tugs at the left leg-of-mutton sleeve**** of the shirtwaister. “After all, this is my first year as Leslie’s wife, and the first jumble sale I am actively helping to run to help raise funds for the village. I must make this stall a success no matter what.” The steely determination in her voice surprises her as she speaks. “I’m a Chetwynd now, and I can’t disappoint the villagers with a poor show.”
“Nor Mater.” adds Lettice, taking another sip of tea.
“No indeed!” agrees Gerald. “Lady Sadie will be judging you from afar, Bella, rest assured. If your stall isn’t a great success, you’ll hear about it.”
“In a dozen little quips.” Lettice adds.
“More like a hundred.” corrects Gerald.
“Tearing delicately phrased strips off you.” agrees Lettice.
“Inflicting as much pain for as long as possible.” adds Gerald with seriousness.
“Oh stop, Gerald!” laughs Arabella. “She isn’t anywhere near as much of a dragon as you and Tice paint her to be.”
“You’ve only been married to the family for a little while now,” Lettice counters, looking at her sister-in-law over the magenta and gilt painted rim of her cup. “And you and Leslie have your own lives and are left pretty much to your own devices down in the Glynes Dower House from what I can gather. We’ll give you a little while longer to find out the truth about your wicked mother-in-law.” She smiles cheekily.
“I have grown up alongside you, going in and out of your house, Tice,” Arabella replies with a dismissive wave of her hand. “So it’s not like Sadie is an unknown quantity to me.”
“But you’ve never been a recipient of her acerbic tongue either, I’ll wager.” adds Gerald dourly. “You’re far too sweet and compliant a young daughter-in-law for that, but both Lettice and I have.”
“I still don’t know,” Lettice queries, turning her attention to Gerald. “What was it you said to Mater that night of Hunt Ball that set her so against you, Gerald? I’ve never known her to take against anyone so vehemently, except perhaps poor Aunt Egg who can never do any right in her eyes.”
Gerald blushes, remembering the altercation he had with Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, at the ball. In a slightly inebriated state he told her that neither she nor Lettice had any sway over Selwyn Spencely’s choice of a wife, any more than Selwyn did himself, explaining that it was his mother, the Duchess of Mumford, Lady Zinnia, who would choose a wife for him. “I keep telling you, darling girl. I really don’t remember,” he replies awkwardly, covering his tracks as best as he can. “If you remember, I was rather tight***** that night on your father’s champagne.”
“Well,” Arabella says with a sigh. “I’m determined not to incur her wrath, even though I’m sure it’s nowhere near as awful as you two suggest.”
“Oh-oh!” Gerald mutters under his breath to Lettice. “In coming.”
“Oh no.” moans Lettice quietly in return behind the painted smile she places on her face as she, Gerald and Arabella are suddenly set upon by the Miss Evanses, the two spinster sisters who live in Holland House, a Seventeenth Century manor house in the village.
The trio smile benignly as the two sisters twitter to one another in crackling voices that sound like crisp autumn leaves underfoot as they approach them.
“Well, twice in as many weeks, Miss Chetwynd!” exclaims the younger of the Miss Evanses in delight, a joyous smile spreading across her dry, unpainted lips. “Last week at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show, and now here! How very blessed we are to see you again.”
“How do you do, Miss Evans, Miss Evans,” Lettice acknowledges them both with a curt nod from her seat. She glances at the two old women, who must be in their seventies at least, both dressed in a similar style to when she saw them last week at the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show, in floral gowns of pre-war Edwardian era length, their equally old fashioned whale bone S-bend corsets****** forcing their breasts into giant monobosoms down which sautoirs******* of glittering Edwardian style beads on gold chains cascade. Wearing toques with feather aigrettes jutting out of them atop their waved white hair they look like older versions of Queen Mary.
“I’m afraid you are a little early for the jumble sale, Miss Evans and Miss Evans,” Arabella remarks sweetly. “We are still setting up.”
“Oh, thank you! We know, Mrs. Chetwynd.” twitters the elder of the Miss Evanses, surprising Arabella a little as she still gets used to being referred to by her new married name. “I was just remarking to Henrietta this very morning over breakfast that we do so much look forward to the village fête every year.”
“Yes, it’s a nice way for us to be able to support the local community in our own small way, isn’t that right Geraldine?” enthuses her sister, raising her white lace glove clad hand to her wrinkled and dry mouth as she giggles in a rather unseemly girlish way.
“Indeed yes, Henrietta. It is to aid the school this year, is it not?”
“It is Miss Evans.” Arabella confirms. “To help buy new books for the children.”
“A very fine cause, I must say,” the younger of the Miss Evanses remarks indulgently. “Helping the young ones to read and develop their fertile minds. Rather like gardening, wouldn’t you say?”
“It is not even remotely like gardening!” quips her sister. “Stop talking such nonsense Henrietta.”
“We shall of course be glad of your patronage when the jumble sale opens in an hour.” Arabella quickly says in an effort to diffuse any unpleasantness between the two spinster sisters, at the same time emphasising the time the sale begins.
“Well,” adds the elder of the Miss Evanses seriously. “We shall of course come and spend a few shillings and pence when it opens officially, but…”
“Oh!” interrupts the younger of the Miss Evanses. “Is your frock designed by Master Bruton, Miss Chetwynd?” She addresses Gerald in the old fashioned deference of the village and county folk when addressing the children of the bigger aristocratic houses.
“Yes, Miss Evans. Mr. Bruton,” Lettice applies gravatas to the correct reference to Gerald’s name now that he is of age. “Did design my frock.”
“Oh it’s ever so smart!” the younger of the sisters enthuses.
“Thank you, Miss Evans.” Gerald acknowledges her.
“And your hat?” Miss Evans points to the yellow straw hat. “Didn’t I see you wearing that at Master Leslie’s wedding to Miss Arabella?”
“Mrs. Chetwynd, I think you mean, Henrietta.” corrects her sister with a sharpness to her remark.
“Oh yes!” bristles the younger Miss Evans at her sister’s harsh correction, raising her hand to her mouth again. “Yes of course! Mrs. Chetwynd, I do apologise.”
“It’s quite alright, Miss Evans.” Arabella assures her. “I am still getting used to being Mrs. Chetwynd myself.”
“How very observant of you, Miss Evans.” Lettice addresses the younger of the siblings. “I did indeed have my hat made for Leslie and Bella’s wedding. It was made by a friend of Mr. Bruton’s, Miss Harriet Milford.”
“Yes, well thinking of hats, I…” begins the elder Miss Evans.
“Oh it’s most becoming, Miss Chetwynd.” the younger Miss Evans interrupts her sister again as she compliments Lettice in an obsequious manner, followed by another twittering giggle.
“I can send someone down to Holland House this afternoon after the fête with her details if you like.” Lettice replies. “The next time you’re in London, you might pay her a call.”
The two sisters give one another a sour look at the idea, their lips thinning and their eyes lowering as they nod to one another in unison before turning back to Lettice and Gerald.
“Aside from the Great Spring Show, we don’t have much call to go up to London these days, do we Henrietta?”
“Indeed no, Geraldine.” agrees the younger Miss Evans between pursed lips, a tinge of regret in her statement.
“Besides we find the services of Mrs. Maginot’s in the high street to be quite adequate.”
“Good lord!” gasps Gerald, causing the two spinster sisters to blush at his strong language. “Is old Mrs. Maginot still going?” He chuckles. “Fancy that!”
The elder Miss Evans clears her dry and raspy throat awkwardly before continuing. “For our more bucolic, and doubtlessly simple tastes, Master Bruton, we find Mrs. Maginot to be quite satisfactory.” Both sisters raise their lace gloved hands to their toques in unison, patting the runched floral cotton lovingly. “We aren’t quite as fashionable as you smart and select London folk down here in sleepy little Glynes, Master Bruton, Miss Chetwynd, but we manage to keep up appearances.”
“On indeed yes, Miss Evans.” Lettice replies with an amused smile. “No-one could fault you on maintaining your standards.”
“I imagine you will soon be designing Miss Chetwnd’s own wedding frock, Master Bruton.” the younger of the Miss Evanses announces rather vulgarly.
“That’s only if I let her get married, Miss Evans,” Gerald teases her indulgently. “I might like to whisk her away and lock her in a tower so that I can keep her all to myself.”
“After what we all saw with our own eyes at the Hunt Ball, I’m sorry Master Bruton, but I don’t think you are in the running for Miss Chetwynd’s affections!” the younger Miss Evans twittering giggle escapes her throat yet again as her eyes sparkle with delight at the very faintest whiff of any gossip.
“How is Mr. Spencely, Miss Chetwynd?” the elder Miss Evans asks pointedly, her scrutinising gaze studying Lettice’s face.
Lettice blushes at the directness of both Miss Evans’ question and her steely gaze. “Oh, he’s quite well, as far as I know, Miss Evans.” she replies awkwardly.
“As far as you know?” the older woman’s outraged tone betrays her surprise as she looks quizzically into Lettice’s flushed face.
“Well, I haven’t seen Selw… err, Mr. Spencely just as of late.”
“Oh?” the elder Miss Evans queries. “I thought we saw you leave the tent we were in at the Great Spring Show, on the arm of Mr. Spencely.”
“Yes, I’m sure it was him, Miss Chetwynd.” adds the younger Miss Evans as she raises a lace clad finger in thought. “He’s very striking and hard to mistake for someone else.”
Silently Lettice curses the beady eyed observation the two spinster sisters are known for. Of course, they of all people at the bustling and crowded Chelsea flower show, noticed her inadvertent stumble into Selwyn and then her departure with him. Although perfectly innocent, and accompanied by her married friend Margot Channon, and Selwyn’s cousin, Pamela Fox-Chavers, she can see how easily the Miss Evanses can construe the situation to their own advantage of spreading salacious London gossip about Lettice, as daughter of the local squire, around the citizenry of Glynes village.
“I believe you were here for a purpose, Miss Evans.” Gerald pipes up, quickly defending his best friend from any more uncomfortable cross examination.
“Oh,” the elder Miss Evans replies, the disappointment at the curtailing of her attempt to gather gossip clear in both her tone of voice and the fall of her thin and pale face. “Yes.” She turns to Arabella. “I have actually come early today to see you on business, Mrs. Chetwynd.”
“Me, Miss Evans?” Arabella raises her hand to the scalloped collar of her blouse and toys with the arrow and heart gold and diamond broach there – a wedding gift from her husband.
“Yes.” replies the elder of the two sisters. “You see, when I heard that you were running the second-hand stall this year, I did feel sorry for you.”
“Sorry for me, Miss Evans?”
“Yes,” she replies, screwing up her eyes. “For as you know, there is always a poor offering of donated goods by the other villagers, and it makes for a rather sad and depressing sight amidst all this gaiety.” She gesticulates over Arabella’s trestle with a lace glove clad hand, sending forth the whiff of lavender, cloves and camphor in the process.
“Unless you are donating one of your lovely frocks to the sale, Master Bruton?” the younger of the Miss Evanses adds with a hopeful lilt in her voice. “I should buy it, even if it didn’t fit me.”
Gerald splutters and chokes on the gulp of tea he has just taken as the question is posed of him. Coughing, he deposits his cup quickly and withdraws a large white handkerchief which he uses to cover his mouth and muffle his coughs.
“Oh, poor Master Bruton!” exclaims the younger of the Miss Evanses as she reaches out and gently, but pointlessly, taps Gerald on the shoulder in an effort to help him. “Did you tea go down the wrong way?”
“I arrest my case.” her elder sister snaps giving Gerald a steely, knowing look.
“Now be fair, Miss Evans,” Lettice defends her friend, filled with a sudden burst of anger towards the hypocritical old woman, who despite having plenty of money of her own, only spends a few shillings at the fundraiser every year. “Gerald is still establishing himself in London! He cannot afford to give one of his frocks away when he has to pour what little profit he currently makes back into supporting and promoting his atelier.”
“As you like, Miss Chetwynd.” Miss Evans replies dismissively. “It is a pity though that neither Master Bruton, nor yourself could cast something Mrs. Chetwynd’s way, to help make her stall more,” She pauses momentarily as she considers the correct word. “Appealing.”
Lettice feels the harshness of the old woman’s rebuke, but she says nothing as she feels a flush of shame rise up her neck and fill her face.
“Geraldine!” her younger sister scolds her. “That’s most uncharitable of you.”
“Charity, my dear Henrietta, begins at home.” She looks critically at the knotted half completed knitting, the yellow and age stained linen and the mismatched gloves. “And Mrs, Chetwynd, I see that try as you might, you cannot disguise the usually dispirited efforts of the village used clothing drive this year.”
“Oh, well I haven’t really finished setting up yet, Miss Evans.” Arabella defends herself. “There are still some things to unpack from the boxes behind me.” She indicates to several large wooden crates stacked up behind her against the wall under the watchful gaze of the King.
“Which are items that doubtlessly didn’t sell last year, or the year before that have been shuffled away, only to make their annual reappearance.”
“Perhaps you have something appealing,” Lettice emphasises her re-use of the elder Miss Evans’ word as she tries to regain some moral standing against the older woman. “To offer at this year’s second-hand clothing stall, Miss Evans.”
“As a matter of fact,” the elder Miss Evans replies with a self-satisfied smile and sigh. “That is exactly why I am here.”
With a groaning heave, she foists the wicker basket, the handle of which she has been grasping in her bony right hand, up onto the trestle table’s surface. She opens one of the floral painted flaps and withdraws a large caramel felt Edwardian style picture hat of voluminous pre-war proportions from within the basket’s interior. The brim of the hat is trimmed with coffee and gold braid, woven into an ornate pattern whilst the crown is smothered in a magnificent display of feathers in curlicues and the brim decorated with sprigs or ornate autumnal shaded foliage and fruit.
“As I said, charity begins at home, so I thought I would add some style and panache to your stall, Mrs. Chetwynd, with the addition of this beautiful hat.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Evans.” Arabella says with a sweet, yet slightly forced smile as the older woman tears off a smaller blue stiffed lace hat from a wooden hatstand and replaces it with her enormous millinery confection.
“I know it is only a hat from Mrs. Maginot, and not a London milliner,” she looks pointedly at Lettice. “But I dare say it will be more than suitable for our modest little country jumble sale.”
“Oh I’m sure it will be,” Arabella lies politely as she looks in dismay at the old fashioned headwear.
“Geraldine!” gasps her sister in disbelief. “You love that hat! I remember you had Mrs. Maginot make it for the King’s Coronation celebrations at great expense!”
“That’s true, Henrietta, but it just sits in a box at home these days and never gets worn anymore. It seems a shame to hide it away when it could look fetching on another’s head in church on Sunday. No-one will have anything to rival it. Not even you, Miss Chetwynd.”
“I agree with that,” whispers Lettice discreetly into Gerald’s ear, unnoticed by either of the spinster sisters. “I’d rather die than be caught in that ghastly thing. It looks every minute of it’s age.”
“Just a touch Miss Havisham, don’t you think?” Gerald whispers back, causing both he and Lettice to quietly snort and stifle their giggles.
“Well, that really is most kind of you, Miss Evans.” Arabella says loudly and brightly with a polite nod of acknowledgement, anxious to cover up the mischievous titters from her friend and sister-in-law.
“It’s my pleasure.” she replies with a beatific smile. “Well, we shan’t hold you up any longer from doing your setting up of the clothes, Mrs. Chetwynd. Come along Henrietta. Let’s go and make sure Mr. Beatty has my floral arrangement in a suitably advantageous place. I’m not having it shunted to the back like last year.”
“Oh, yes Geraldine.” her sister replies obsequiously.
Lettice, Gerald and Arabella watch as the two old ladies slowly retreat and heave a shared sigh of relief.
Gerald deposits his cup on the trestle’s surface and walks up to the grand Edwardian hat and snatches it off the wooden stand before placing it atop his own head with a sweeping gesture. “Do you think it suits me?” he laughs.
Lettice and Arabella laugh so much they cannot answer.
“Well,” Gerald sighs, returning the hat to the stand. “Even if Hattie could make hats a hundred times more fashionable than this, maybe some local lady who is a bit behind the times will want to take this beauty home.” He arranges it carefully on the rounded block so that it shows off the autumnal themed fruit garland pinned to the wide felt brim.
“That’s the spirit I need, Gerald.” Arabella manages to say as she recovers from laughing at her friend’s theatrical modelling of the hat, and quietly she hopes that someone will buy the hat and everything else she has in her remit to sell, to help raise money for schoolbooks for the local village and country children that attend the Glynes Village School.
*May 20 1913 saw the first Royal Horticultural Society flower show at Chelsea. What we know today as the Chelsea Flower Show was originally known as the Great Spring Show. The first shows were three day events held within a single marquee. The King and Queen did not attend in 1913, but the King's Mother, Queen Alexandra, attended with two of her children. The only garden to win a gold medal before the war was also in 1913 and was awarded to a rock garden created by John Wood of Boston Spa. In 1919, the Government demanded that the Royal Horticultural Society pay an entertainment tax for the show – with resources already strained, it threatened the future of the Chelsea Flower Show. Thankfully, this was wavered once the Royal Horticultural Society convinced the Government that the show had educational benefit and in 1920 a special tent was erected to house scientific exhibits. Whilst the original shows were housed within one tent, the provision of tents increased after the Great War ended. A tent for roses appeared and between 1920 and 1934, there was a tent for pictures, scientific exhibits and displays of garden design. Society garden parties began to be held, and soon the Royal Horticultural Society’s Great Spring Show became a fixture of the London social calendar in May, attended by society ladies and their debutante daughters, the occasion used to parade the latter by the former. The Chelsea Flower Show, though not so exclusive today, is still a part of the London Season.
**A shirtwaister is a woman's dress with a seam at the waist, its bodice incorporating a collar and button fastening in the style of a shirt which gained popularity with women entering the workforce to do clerical work in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.
***Tatting is a technique for handcrafting a particularly durable lace from a series of knots and loops. Tatting can be used to make lace edging as well as doilies, collars, accessories such as earrings and necklaces, and other decorative pieces.
****A leg of mutton sleeve is a sleeve that has a lot of fullness around the shoulder-bicep area but is fitted around the forearm and wrist. Also known as a gigot sleeve, they were popular throughout different periods of history, but in particular the first few years of the Twentieth Century.
*****’Tight’ is an old fashioned upper-class euphemism for drunk.
******Created by a specific style of corset popular between the turn of the Twentieth Century and the outbreak of the Great War, the S-bend is characterized by a rounded, forward leaning torso with hips pushed back. This shape earned the silhouette its name; in profile, it looks similar to a tilted letter S.
*******A Sautoir is a long necklace consisting of a fine gold chain and typically set with jewels, a style typically fashionable in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Centuries.
Whilst this charming village fête scene may appear real to you, it is in fact part of my 1:12 miniatures collection, including items from my own childhood.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Perhaps the main focus of our image, the elder Miss Evans’ camel coloured wide brimmed Edwardian picture hat is made of brown felt and is trimmed with miniature coffee coloured braid. The brim is decorated with hand curled feathers, dyed to match the shade of the hat, as well as a spray of golden “grapes” and dyed flowers. Acquired from an American miniatures collector who was divesting herself of some of her collection, I am unsure who the maker was, other than it was made by an American miniature artisan. 1:12 size miniature hats made to such exacting standards of quality and realism such as these are often far more expensive than real hats are. When you think that it would sit comfortably on the tip of your index finger, yet it could cost in excess of $150.00 or £100.00, it is an extravagance. American artists seem to have the monopoly on this skill and some of the hats that I have seen or acquired over the years are remarkable.
The shirtwaister dummy, complete with lace blouse, tweed skirt and Art Nouveau belt attached to a lacquered wooden base, is an artisan miniature as well, once again by an unknown person. It came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom.
The divine little patriotic cupcakes, each with a Union Jack on the top, has been made in England by hand from clay by former chef turned miniature artisan, Frances Knight. Her work is incredibly detailed and realistic, and she says that she draws her inspiration from her years as a chef and her imagination. Each cupcake is only five millimetres in diameter and eight millimetres in height! The plate on which they stand and the teacups on the table are made by the Dolls House Emporium and are part of a larger sets including plates, tureens and gravy boats.
Miss Evans’ wicker picnic basket that can be seen peeping out near the right-hand side of the picture was made by an unknown miniature artisan in America. The floral patterns on the top have been hand painted. The hinged lids lift, just like a real hamper, so things can be put inside. When I bought it, it arrived containing the little yellow napkins folded into triangles and the hand embroidered placemats that you see on the table in the foreground.
The knitting needles and tiny 1:12 miniature knitting, the red woven straw hat, the doilies, the stockings and the napkins in their round metal rings all came from Kathleen Knight’s Doll House Shop in the United Kingdom. The elbow length grey ttravelling gloves on the table are artisan pieces made of kid leather. I acquired these from a high street dolls house specialist when I was a teenager. Amazingly, they have never been lost in any of the moves that they have made over the years are still pristinely clean.
The wooden boxes in the background with their Edwardian advertising labels have been purposely aged and came from The Dolls’ House Supplier in the United Kingdom.
The Portrait of King George V in the gilt frame in the background was created by me using a portrait of him done just before the Great War of 1914 – 1918. I also created the Union Jack bunting that is draped across the wall in the background.
Disclaimer: The contents of this chapter include very sensitive subject matter involving of death of family and the PTSD that comes with it and may be triggering to some individuals.
...
Vincent lifted his gaze from the picture and leaned his head back against the pillow propped up behind him and closed his eyes. Right now, he was very grateful to his cousin and her bhang concoctions. If not for that, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to get through this today. Honestly he was still uncertain if he still actually could do this.
But as Vincent settled in, a slight smile drew upon his lips as he began to speak as he let him go back four years ago. And as he did, Aiden relaxed more beside him and listened to his story.
"I suppose this story began with my promotion to Captaincy. My uncle is very much a generous man as much as he is proud. He threw a ball to celebrate me. After all, I was the son he never had and it was expected of us. I was to greet and receive endless congratulations by many Captains and their wives, several Lords and Ladies and the worst ones of all." There was a dramatic pause. "Marriage-minded mothers and their daughters."
Vincent actually shuddered which made Aiden laugh softly. But at the same time, it put Vincent in a somewhat new perspective for him: Vincent was not just any ship's captain. He came from a wealthy family; perhaps even possibly related to a Lord or Lady! He supposed he should have realized that last week when Vincent mentioned being required to attend a huge event such as the coming masquerade ball.
"So a couple of hours into my endless parade of greetings and congratulations I happened upon a conversation of a small group discussing horror novels."
"Sounds like something you could get into."
"Indeed. Shh."
"Sorry."
"As I approached, the main speaker turned out to be a woman elaborating about a book she'd read. It turned out to be by the same author who wrote the book you gave me. Her audience had been quite shocked as she spun the summarized tale of how a scorned witch took bloody revenge on all those who'd wronged her. And trust me, it was absolutely tame compared to the novel itself. No one seemed to know what to say. And so when I announced that I knew the novel she was speaking of and that I'd enjoyed it, myself, she'd turned in excitement with such a brilliant smile. She promptly took my arm and, I quote, 'Now HERE'S someone worth talking to! Hello, good Sir, my name is Miss Emily Fenton. It's a pleasure to meet you. Shall we grab some lemonade together?' And as I escorted her away she mentioned the party had been dull until I arrived and that I was right on time."
Both men chuckled softly and Aiden thought to himself that Vincent's wife must have been a very interesting woman. He was very amused that Vincent imitated an enthusiastic young woman's voice quite well.
"She really turned my world upside down. I remember thinking to myself, how did I not notice her before? As it turned out, she was a visiting cousin of an acquaintance of the family. I remember the details of her eyes, those little flecks of green that encircled her iris. How she smelled of lilies which happened to be her favorite flower. She had this sly smile which was so full of mischief and had the most twisted sense of humor which I adored. But you'd never know the depth of her by looking at her. Oh, she would smile and act as a lady should be in public. Well....mostly. She was sharp, witty, and very well-read. She was a scholar and loved to delve into book after book. But her mind and the things that would come out of her mouth! And she'd do it with a straight face too! And you'd never see it coming!"
And Vincent was laughing! Aiden grinned and he listened, painting this picture in his head of the eventual Mrs. Emily Dubois. She seemed quite the character! She sounded like someone Vincent could easily get along with and clearly did.
Vincent's laughter quickly settled and he licked his lips before reaching for the cup of bhang tea beside him and drained the rest of it. He knew by the end of this, he was going to need it in his system. It had been a couple of years since he'd really talked about any of this. The last time had been to Damien and it hadn't given him as much closure as he'd have liked. Of course, Damien had been there to witness the majority of it all and hadn't needed explanations. He'd simply been there as a shoulder for Vincent to lean on. Sure, talking to Damien HAD helped and eventually he was able to get through each day again but...something about this time was different. He was able to let it flow differently this time as he got to tell the actual whole story to someone for the first time. It felt good to finally talk about it.
"You have to know something about me. Well, about who I was. I was married to my career. I loved everything about my life in the sky and had everything I wanted. I had no need for marriage at the time. I was young; only twenty-three. I wasn't expected to look for a wife for several years and even so I didn't have to. I was a captain! I could live my life completely in the air if I wanted to! And it was what I did want. My thirst for knowledge paired beautifully with my love of travel and I could chart any course and go anywhere and learn anything I wanted when I wanted. I knew what my life would be. That was until I met Emily.
"I hadn't realized how much sharing the joys of sharing one's life with another person could be until I found myself in her presence nearly every day. She was a fascinating woman and very knowledgeable and well read. She was always happy to hear about places and things I've seen. In turn, I was happy to listen to her talk about her novels and things she'd learned in her studies and we shared deep, intellectual conversations. We became fast friends, but I knew it was more than that. I found myself waking every day with her in my thoughts. She had quickly become someone I had to keep in my life and she seemed to fit perfectly somehow. I felt alive in a new, different way.
"Of course it was perfectly possible for me to have a wife and live my life too. After all, I had grown up watching the love between my uncle and aunt and they had married young as well. My uncle was gone most of the time; home during Summers and occasionally throughout the year for important holidays and still does it to this day. And every time they are together, you can see the love and happiness they share together. It's as clear as day. And they are more in love than the day they married. And even then, I knew it. So I knew I could make it work with Emily if she were willing. Of course, fate would have it that I found out that Emily was due to return home and would be leaving the capitol the following week. It would be a long time before we would see each other in person. After all, she didn't live in a major port and I was due to start my first trip as captain soon. I was expecting to subject myself to written correspondence with her. But when I saw that forlorn look in her eyes and how she admitted that she'd miss seeing my face? Well, what else could I do but ask her to marry me?"
Vincent blinked and tears slid down his cheeks in memory of Emily as he saw her in her bridal gown and how she'd glowed that day. "We were happy. I knew my life would be perfect. Emily understood me and the expectations of my life. No, we wouldn't be together every day but we'd see each other more often than if she was going back to her hometown. She was happy and eager to get our lives started together. She'd made friends with my cousins and had her own cousin in town as well. She'd have a happy life here and once we had children, her days would be more joyful. She was looking forward to becoming a mother one day."
How wonderful Vincent made it seem! Of course, Aiden knew how this story would end. But it was important, he realized, for Vincent to talk about this...about her and their life. Something told him he'd not told this story before. Not like this. Aiden felt his heart go out to Vincent and he continued to listen to Vincent's story.
"As you can imagine, it was a very short engagement and a small wedding. I'd gotten us a place big enough for us and a little one for when we were ready. With all the excitement of a ball held in my honor, wooing my lady, and becoming a husband, I'd taken time off from work for quite some time. But it was time for me to get back into the swing of life and provide for my wife and our home together. So the day finally came where Damien and I were to set off for our first cargo trip on Leon's Claw. And that's when she gave me this."
Vincent leaned over and reached for the compass and brought it to his lap and opened it up. He held it along with the picture frame and just stared for a long moment. Aiden gazed at the compass over Vincent's shoulder with new appreciation. He'd noticed the slight smoothness of the spots where Vincent's fingers had rubbed it when he'd repaired it a few months ago. It was a well loved piece to have so much wear in such a short amount of time. And he'd certainly not forgotten Vincent's distraught expression when it had broken.
"'Though pleas`d to see the dolphins play, I mind my compass and my way,'" * Vincent recited the inscription inside the compass. "She said that it was to help me remember to stay my course; to seek to enjoy life and all it has to offer and to always help me find my way home. She was worried I'd find it silly and corny but I loved her for it."
"It was a thoughtful gift."
"It really is. I was touched."
Vincent closed the compass and held it tight in his hand for a long moment. He licked his lips and then glanced up at Aiden who gave him a small encouraging smile. But Vincent saw that something was off about Aiden and how he was smiling. A small part of him wanted to turn and reassure Aiden...but what was there to reassure him about? He wasn't sure what was wrong but he just seemed a little...despondent. Perhaps it was because he knew it was a sad story? Or was there something else bothering him?
"So what happened next?" Aiden inquired softly, not realizing that Vincent was reading him so well. Vincent gazed at him for another long moment, blinking a couple of times as he allowed himself to tuck this mental inquiry about Aiden away to think about later.
"What happened next? Well, I started my new life as Captain. I felt like I was living my best life! I was having a grand time with one of my best friends and got to live my dream every day. It was everything I hoped it would be. Though, I admit that for somewhat selfish reasons, we didn't stray too far from home." Vincent chuckled slightly to himself which drew a small smirk from Aiden. "Damien was pretty annoyed with me, I think. I had made him wait and wait while I courted my wife and then we were only gone not even a full two months before we came home again. And that's when I found out that I was to become a father." Aiden could see the joy through the sadness and tears that were forming in Vincent's eyes.
"Six months or so later my daughter was born: Lily. She...she had my eyes and hair and her mother's nose and mouth. Lily was so small but she was healthy and perfect. She was my pride and joy." The tears spilled down Vincent's face as he let out a soft sob and yet he still managed a bittersweet smile as he gazed up at Aiden. "I wish I could show you...she was so beautiful and sweet. She never cried and loved being held. I never realized that I could be that happy. And then...then much too soon it was time for me to go."
And here Vincent's smile faded and he drew his knees up a little and his shoulders sunk. His gaze returned to the photograph. Aiden knew what was going to happen next. This was where Vincent's world would be ripped from him.
"There had been talk of illness in neighboring countries with major air and sea ports. In my line of work, I was at risk but it wasn't like I could stop with a family to provide for. And we lived in a city of massive commerce. She was scared of never seeing me again but I still chose to go."
Beside him, Aiden felt his heart suddenly clench even worse. He remembered all too well when that happened just over three years ago. There had been rumors and people were scared. But it never seemed to come and people began to wonder if maybe it was just a hoax. Then suddenly it hit with ferocity everywhere that had air and sea ports, rumored to have come thanks to commerce and the critters that resided on the ships. Aiden's hometown was a city of commerce and sure enough it had claimed many lives there including that of his own mother who was prone to illness more easily than others.
"It was the hardest farewell I'd ever had to make," Vincent continued painfully. "I kissed my wife and baby and went on my way." Vincent inhaled deeply and let it out sharply before swallowing hard and gave a small nod. Aiden had a feeling he was having to push himself to keep talking at this point.
"Then 'this,'" Vincent grumbled and gestured aggressively towards his blind and damaged eye, "happened." He inhaled slowly and deeply through his nostrils as fresh tears began to pool in his eyes. "While Damien and I were recovering, news came that the capitol had been ravaged by the illness; especially in the poorer parts of town. I prayed that my family would be safe, all of them. But then that's when I got the letter from Emily. Our little Lily was sick, but it had been dated a couple of weeks earlier! I wanted to get home right away but no one was flying or sailing out; especially to the capitol. And, of course, mail was not getting out nearly as quickly anymore.
"We weren't far from here but it wasn't close at all if you traveled on land. And, of course, Leon's Claw needed repairs and Damien had suffered a severe trauma with losing his arm saving me. I was stuck! It took a week to get the proper repairs done so I could fly home myself. Thankfully Damien was fitted for his arm and I could get home to my wife and daughter! I prayed to whatever powers may be that Lily would be okay. I STILL hadn't heard from anyone even though I'd sent letters! Not Emily, my cousins, nor my aunt. Nothing. All I knew was my baby was sick! And when we arrived at the capitol, my cousin Abigail was waiting for me. I knew it the moment I saw it was her waiting there for me; not Emily. I was too late!"
At this point, Vincent was just letting it all out. Now that he was talking and crying, he just couldn't seem to stop! Aiden felt like he couldn't breathe as his heart kept breaking more and more for Vincent.
"It wasn't only my little Lily that I'd lost! I'd lost Emily, too! Emily died the day before I arrived home and Lily three days before! It's not fair! I lost them BOTH!!! Lily and Emily died ALONE while I was stuck two cities away! I wasn't there with them! She asked me to stay but I didn't! What kind of a man am I?! I should have stayed!"
Aiden cried silently beside Vincent as he gazed at the distraught man. What could he say? What could he do? What could possibly console Vincent with something as heartbreaking as this?
So this was why Vincent had spoken to him the way he had when they had met, Aiden realized. He was remembering as he repaired the compass Vincent had spoken to him about Aiden's convictions and determination to leave home. Vincent had tried to convince him that it would be better to stay home with his family. But Aiden had been determined that he wanted this. The feelings and reasonings that Aiden had come back with that had apparently convinced Vincent to hire him seemed like they would be something the late Emily would have encouraged. And quite possibly, it seemed, Vincent had seen a bit of himself in Aiden at the time.
Aiden swallowed hard as the realizations hit him. It took him a minute but he finally got his thoughts together before he spoke softly.
"But at least you have that final memory of them. Of kissing them goodbye and-"
"NO! I DON'T! Just...don't even! You have NO idea!"
Aiden had jumped at Vincent's strangled, sudden outburst! Then Vincent suddenly gave a wrenched sob as he pressed his hands to his face and sobbed even harsher than Aiden had heard thus far. Seconds later, he wrapped his arms around his knees and pulled them quite painfully towards his chest. In his agonized state of being, as well as the intoxication from the bhang, Vincent didn't care about the physical pain flaring to life in his abdomen! Aiden wanted to stop him but right now he didn't dare say or do anything as he stared wide eyed at Vincent.
"You just don't know, Aiden!" Lifting his gaze, he stared up into Aiden's eyes desperately. Aiden had the impression that Vincent was almost pleading with him to understand.
"I wanted to remember them forever like that. Of my wife's smile and my daughter looking so perfect in her arms as I kissed them farewell. I would have that memory and all our happy memories to sustain me. I felt like I was in a daze as I made my way home. Then that's...that's when..."
Vincent closed his eyes and tears slid down his cheeks as the memory came back so painful and fresh as if it happened just yesterday. When he opened them, he was gazing back at Aiden and continued, this time his voice more calm but every bit as heart-wrenching as he said in a near whisper, "I came home as their bodies were being carried out of the building and tossed onto the cart with the other corpses. And the workers they...they just were talking so casually about them and the way they tossed their bodies onto the pile I- I just-"
And he cut himself off and buried his face in his knees and sobbed. He found that he just couldn't stop. Beside him, Aiden sat in shock as all this unfolded. Vincent was inconsolable, but he needed this. Who knew how long he'd kept this torment inside? Surely, he'd never broken down like this before! This seemed too fresh. Aiden wasn't sure what to say to any of that. What could someone say to that?
"And every time I sleep, the dreams always end the same way! I kiss them goodbye and then I see their corpses like that! EVERY! TIME! And I know how alone she was! How miserable and scared she must have been! I should have been there with them! What did I do to deserve this?! I don't want to do this anymore, Aiden! I should have died with them! I don't want to be here anymore! I want to die but I'm too much of a coward to end it all myself!"
And suddenly Vincent was wrapped in the warmth of Aiden's strong embrace before he was gently but firmly held close.
"Shh...shh..."
"Let go!"
At first Vincent started to push him off, but as he felt Aiden's hand come to cup the back of his head, he felt all his walls break down as he allowed himself to lean against Aiden's chest and actually clung to his shirt. The sobs came all over again, but this time they just did not stop coming. Aiden simply held him and pressed his nose and lips to the top of Vincent's head and closed his eyes. He didn't know what else to do but let him get it all out.
Some time had passed. Neither man had paid attention to the time, but eventually Vincent's sobs quieted and he hiccupped as he just leaned against Aiden in a quiet daze as he came down from all that. Aiden gently slid his hand down and rubbed Vincent's back. He wasn't in a hurry to let Vincent out of his arms right now. Once Vincent's breathing was back to normal, Aiden lifted his head and pressed his chin gently atop his head.
"I'm glad you're here, Vincent," he told him softly. "I'd miss you terribly if you were gone."
"Bet you wouldn't miss days like this."
"I'd not be anywhere else."
"You can't really mean that."
"Look at me."
And Vincent did. He sniffed and lifted his head from Aiden's chest and gazed up into his eyes. In a slightly bold move, Aiden reached up and gently brushed away Vincent's tears before stating calmly, "I'd not be anywhere else but here. I will always be here no matter what; whether that be a shoulder to lean on or-... or if you need a poking to lighten up and laugh once in a while. You are important to me, Vincent. You're my best friend."
Vincent's eyes widened and he felt his stomach flutter to life with butterflies. Aiden must truly feel strongly about their bond! Of course, Vincent knew of friendships like this. He had a small group of people he trusted and he was so thankful that Aiden was part of that circle now. And he had to admit that he loved that Aiden could speak his thoughts so freely with him and threw caution and vulnerability to the wind. And Vincent felt like he could as well and it felt liberating each and every time. He felt more free to do so around Aiden than...well, he couldn't even remember!
"You're one of my closest friends too. I'm lucky to have you in my corner, Aiden. I don't know what I did to deserve you. but thank you."
"Of course. I'll always have your back. Always."
Aiden wanted to tell Vincent the truth of his romantic feelings. He truly did. However, he knew that right now was not the time for it; especially not after Vincent's awful breakdown over his dearly missed wife. And as for Aiden, when he'd asked Vincent to talk about Emily, he hadn't expected to compare himself to her the way he unintentionally had. It was hard not to feel a touch of doubt considering he wanted to win Vincent's heart, himself. Aiden and Emily were quite different people. Would Vincent even want him, a man? Would he be open to finding love again to begin with?
Aiden still had every intention of wooing Vincent and telling him the truth one day. He just needed to go about things differently now that he understood how deeply Vincent was hurting.
However, Vincent still needed him as his friend, so romance was not an option right now, but perhaps one day, Aiden thought. He'd just have to be part of his life and hopefully one day things would work out so that Vincent would come to feel he needed Aiden the same way that Aiden needed him.
A very short time later once Vincent was more settled, Aiden released him from his arms and they moved back into the positions they had been in before Bernadette's departure. Vincent was grateful for Aiden's help shifting around before the young man settled in, himself. Vincent had wrenched his body around during his breakdown and now his ribs ached badly. Though thankfully soon after, he wasn't even paying attention to anything else but his new book as his body settled down from all the excitement and the pain became more bearable again.
When Bernadette returned from her errands, she found the men where she'd left them: content and happy beside each other with Vincent nose-deep into his book and Aiden scribbling in his notebook. And she thought silently to herself with a smile, 'Is it just me or are they sitting closer than before?'
At one point very soon after, Vincent needed a moment of privacy to use the bedpan. But as soon as he was done and the bedpan cleaned? Well Aiden was back on the bed beside his best friend and enjoying his company. But what really gave Aiden a reason to smile was when Vincent actually refrained from opening his book and turned to ask Aiden what he was doing in his notebook.
"I'm designing upgrades for Pete!"
"Pete?"
"Pete the Spider Lantern! You met him already."
"Wait. Are you talking about that lantern that came with you to find me?"
"That's the one!"
And that was when Aiden launched into an explanation about Pete and showed him the sketches he'd made of Pete with little added parts to enhance him. Vincent had almost forgotten about the lantern that had come to the tower with Aiden. He remembered now that Aiden had come back from one of his shopping trips a while back with the lantern and declared that he had a project he wanted to work on with it. That was the last Vincent had seen or heard of it until last week when Aiden came to rescue him with it as at his side.
A couple of minutes later there was a knock at the front door to which Bernadette went to answer it. She wasn't expecting anyone else today so who could it be? Surely, not Damien. It was Aiden's turn this evening to babysit Vincent with her tonight. However, it DID turn out to be Damien after all and in his arms were two bags of groceries!
"Damien! We weren't expecting you but thank you! You're spoiling us." She grinned up at him and closed the door behind him.
"You're welcome. And what do you mean? I'm helping out with dressings tonight, remember?"
"Oh!" She paused as she reached to help with the groceries as she thought about it, arms outstretched. "Wait...are you sure?"
At that second, there was a burst of laughter from the other room that belonged to Aiden. Damien glanced towards the room then looked back at Bernadette with a slight smirk and handed her both bags and replied, "Of course I am! You must be tired. Don't worry, Bernie. I'm sure you'll be able to catch up on rest soon." Damien patted her on the shoulder and turned to head towards the bedroom to see what was going on in there.
Bernadette blinked and stood there with the bags of groceries as she stared at his departing backside. She opened her mouth then closed it before looking at the weighty bags in her arms. Feeling a bit confused and a touch irritated, she turned and made her way towards the kitchen and grumbled, "Asshole."
Then a moment later...
"What do you think you're doing?!"
Aiden jumped and blinked as he looked up and around to see who shouted. It was Damien at the door and he looked pretty upset! Why was Damien here anyway? Today was his day off, wasn't it? Aiden opened his mouth but beside him, Vincent was faster to respond with a slightly stern tone, "What's the problem?"
Damien kept his eyes on Aiden and elaborated, "You shouldn't be on the bed! What if Vincent gets hurt worse because of your jostling!"
"Damien, I'm fine!" Vincent cut in before Aiden could even respond and rolled his eyes with a chuckle. "Relax! Here, have some bhang tea."
"I don't want tea!"
Damien scowled and folded his arms over his chest as he glared at the two of them. Vincent narrowed his eyes at Damien and sat up a bit straighter and gave him an even stare. Beside him, Aiden shrank where he sat. He wasn't going to get in the middle of this.
"What's really the problem?"
"I already told you!"
"No, you didn't but fine. Do you trust me?"
"Vincent-"
"Do. You. Trust. Me?"
"Well, yes, but-"
"Then trust me when I say I am fine! I'm not fragile! And in case you haven't noticed, Damien, I can handle a little bit of jostling." Vincent sarcastically gestured towards his beaten body. Then after a moment his gaze softened and he smiled a bit as he gestured towards Aiden's notebook. "Besides, Aiden is showing me his sketches! And he brought me a present! See?"
Instead of looking at whatever Vincent was holding up, Damien's gaze shifted towards Aiden who went a deep shade of red and brought his hand up to run through his hair with a shy chuckle and smile. Damien stared at him for a long moment before turning to look at what Vincent was holding out to him impatiently. Upon seeing what it was, Damien scoffed and chuckled, "Another book. Heh. Well, isn't that nice of him?"
Aiden blinked and made a slight face as he was feeling a little offended. And honestly? A little surprised. 'Another book?' he wanted to ask. Did he not know his own supposed best friend enough to know how much he loved and valued books? Surely, he had to! But even Aiden (who didn't enjoy novels the way Vincent did either) understood and appreciated what it meant to the man. And thankfully, it seemed, Vincent was of the same mind and jumped in his defense!
"It is, in fact! Look at it! Look! See who it's by?!" Vincent exclaimed eagerly with a grin. "It just released today!" In his excitement, Vincent had already brushed aside the intensity of Damien's arrival. He was used to Damien's worrywart personality by now and wanted to show off his present!
Aiden however, hadn't brushed it off yet. He knew he'd get over it, but right now he was still feeling a little sour towards Damien. 'What's with this guy?' he wondered silently as he watched Damien approach and ruin their alone time.
Damien finally took a seat on the chair beside Vincent. Even though he was looking at Vincent and listening to what he was saying, his mind was processing what he'd happened upon and the realizations that came with it.
So, Vincent had a brand new book and he hadn't shoved Aiden out the door? Not only that, he wasn't nose deep into it like Damien was used to him doing. His experiences had always taught him that Vincent liked to be left alone while reading, especially with a new book. So, why the Hell was Aiden allowed to be here? Damien certainly wasn't allowed to be! And wasn't this the second time Aiden had brought him a gift?
...was there something else going on between them that he didn't know about?
* "Though pleas`d to see the dolphins play, I mind my compass and my way." - Matthew Green
Inscription on the 'Madpea Compass' by MadPea which you can find on Marketplace!
---
Shout out to Stephen King and his book 'Carrie' for inspiring the book that Emily and Vincent were discussing during their meet-cute!
...
NEXT PART:
www.flickr.com/photos/153660805@N05/52441785152/in/datepo...
To start from the beginning or to read another chapter, here's the album link:
www.flickr.com/photos/153660805@N05/albums/72157717075565127
***Please note this is a BOY LOVE (BL/yaoi/gay) series. It is a slow burn and rated PG13!***
***
Special thank you to Vin Aydin Raven-Mysterious for collaborating with me on this series and co-starring as The Captain!
And a special thank you to our guest star: Khetas Nova as our spunky Emily Dubois!
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Some time before (and at least 2 years before the creation of the ES) the CIA and the US government commissioned a project involving superhumans and supersoldiers,
after discovery of the rise of powers being developed in 10% of the human population. The sole intent of Project Ceres was activating/generating powers in 90% of the population (which as a result most powers granted to a human will stay with in the body forever, and most characters in the series have some powers).
However only 20% of people received powers, as a less than expected result, with the 70% of power being converted to energy and serums, and was kept inside various labs, in deep, secret bases that could be describe as outside the grid and would be extremely hard to find By the time it went into deeper levels of production, various companies vied for control of the project, and competition was high—-their goals of making money and creating superhumans was a top priority.
3 months later, the project eventually fell into the hands of the black market, hackers, smugglers, assassins—-remaining in top secret. These secrets eventually went up to the ears of two powerful sides, with Mr North (posing as a tech mogul for the business) and Recoil Labs. RL and North’s competition came to a close when the labs bought it for their highest bidding, eventually gaining their hands on it.
The board commissioned top level and intelligent scientists to work on a prototype on it after discovering the project was slightly damaged on its delivery, and quickly ordered two science and tech teams. One half helped develop the prototype, while the other half worked on the original to repair and restore it.
Around one night (presumably one month after RL’s acquisition of the project), Dr Edens, (a character as shown in the prequel novel, the Equinox Coup) a high ranking scientist, was finishing his final touches on the project. It was also the night that the company’s discovery how dangerous it was and sent their soldiers/security assassins to terminate the project, silencing all witnesses. Edens, who was aware of what happened, managed to back up the data and files, securing the project after it generated. He eventually escaped and went into hiding with his team.
Days after the incident, which the lab had blown up, North came by the base secretly, ordering his men to take the original project, which was destroyed in the base but was still functioning at a big despite taking a lot of damage. What happened to Project Ceres after that is unknown, as a rumour claims that a journal might actually contain the records and further history of the project......
Lightning photography involves a certain amount of serendipity, and this exposure, just one second, illustrates this. I saw the flash about the same time as my brain registered the sound of the shutter opening, so I closed it as fast as I could to avoid any partial flashes in the frame should another bolt come along sooner than later. Seeing it on my LCD screen was very satisfying; I knew this one would be one of the night’s better results and it is my first upload from the 2015 monsoon season.
A brief moment, forever held still.
Lightning, 2015.07.06, 2651.
Thoughts?
I don’t do many shots that involve a lot of empty space but I figure every thousand shots or so I can allow myself one. As I noticed the golden light from the sunset behind me hitting the Tomorrowland sign and the moon up above I wanted to create a composition that included both. At the time all my gear was packed away in a locker except for the lens I had on camera, the Nikon 28 1.4. With that in mind this was the first and only composition I attempted for this shot. Despite its simplicity I am very pleased with the end result and the final color palette enhanced by the warm colors of the sunset against the approaching blue hour sky.
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A photographic project involving a gentleman with Parkinson's Disease who has been photographed over the last four years by 145 different photographers.
A real challenge as he has already had his portrait taken by some of the best known photographers in the uk.
The ‘Sundial of Human Involvement is an ‘analemmatic sundial and is located at Mt Annan Botanical Gardens, Mt Annan, New South Wales, Australia.
Student introduction games, involving two teams, a ball, a water bottle, and beer ..
Vondelpark 19 september 2021
Exploring a lake branch on Day 5.
Astronauts from five space agencies around the world are taking part in ESA’s CAVES training course – Cooperative Adventure for Valuing and Exercising human behaviour and performance Skills.
The two-week course prepares astronauts to work safely and effectively in multicultural teams in an environment where safety is critical.
As they explore the caves of Sardinia they will encounter caverns, underground lakes and strange microscopic life. They are testing new technology and conducting science – just as if they were living on the International Space Station. The six astronauts relying on their own skills, teamwork and ground control to achieve their mission goals – the course is designed to foster effective communication, decision-making, problem-solving, leadership and team dynamics.
This year is the first international space cooperation to involve astronauts from China, Russia, Japan, ESA and America, with cosmonaut Sergei Vladimirovich, ESA astronaut Pedro Duque, taikonaut Ye Guangfu, Japanese astronaut Aki Hoshide and NASA astronauts Ricky Arnold and Jessica Muir taking part.
Follow CAVES via twitter @ESA_CAVES or with #CAVES2016 or on the CAVES blog.
Credits: ESA-V.Crobu
On the Pouso Alegre ranch. Work involves transporting workers and visitors around the vast, swampy expanses of the ranch.
50814 307-5
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All images are the property of the photographer and may not be reproduced, copied, downloaded, transmitted or used in any way without the written permission of the photographer who may be contacted by registering with flickr and using flickrmail
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photo rights reserved by B℮n
Wat Si Phan Ton is known for its beautiful architecture and the use of gold-colored sheet metal to cover the buildings and structures. This gives the temple its distinctive shiny golden appearance, which contributed to its nickname Golden Temple. Buddhist monks live in Wat Si Phan Ton, including the venerable monk Chao Abbot. In Thai temples such as Wat Si Phan Ton, monks perform several roles: Prayer and Meditation, Buddha's Teachings, Community Service, and Almsgiving. Monks may be involved in community service, such as providing spiritual guidance to those in need, attending ceremonial events, and providing moral support. They follow a strict set of precepts and devote their lives to the pursuit of spiritual development, meditation and spreading the Buddha's teachings. Monks spend a significant portion of their time in prayer and meditation. This enables them to achieve inner peace and gain profound insights. Monks can be involved in community service, such as providing spiritual guidance to those in need, attending ceremonial events, and providing moral support. In Buddhism, it is considered virtuous to give food and donations to monks. Monks often enter the community early in the morning to receive alms as a way to promote spiritual connection. Monks lead a simple lifestyle and have minimal material possessions. They wear traditional orange robes and shave their heads as a sign of renunciation of worldly vanity. Wat Si Phan Ton is not only a place of worship, but also a cultural and historical site.
Wat Si Phan Ton is a striking Buddhist temple located in Nan, Thailand, and it is sometimes affectionately referred to as the Golden Temple because of its dazzling golden appearance. The temple is an important spiritual and cultural site in Nan. It is not only a place of worship and meditation, but also a symbol of the region's rich Buddhist tradition and cultural heritage.
Wat Si Phan Ton staat bekend om zijn prachtige architectuur en het gebruik van goudkleurige bladmetaal om de gebouwen en structuren te bedekken. Dit geeft de tempel zijn opvallende glanzende gouden uiterlijk, wat heeft bijgedragen aan zijn bijnaam Golden Temple. Er wonen boeddhistische monniken in Wat Si Phan Ton zo ook de eerbiedwaardige monnik Chao Abt. In Thaise tempels zoals Wat Si Phan Ton, vervullen monniken verschillende rollen: Gebed en Meditatie, de leer van Boeddha, Gemeenschapsdienst en Aalmoezen. Monniken kunnen betrokken zijn bij gemeenschapsdienst, zoals het bieden van spirituele begeleiding aan mensen die dat nodig hebben, het bijwonen van ceremoniële gebeurtenissen en het bieden van morele ondersteuning. Ze volgen een reeks strikte leefregels en besteden hun leven aan het nastreven van spirituele ontwikkeling, meditatie en het verspreiden van de leer van Boeddha. Monniken besteden een aanzienlijk deel van hun tijd aan gebed en meditatie. Dit stelt hen in staat om innerlijke vrede te bereiken en diepgaande inzichten te verwerven. Monniken kunnen betrokken zijn bij gemeenschapsdienst, zoals het bieden van spirituele begeleiding aan mensen die dat nodig hebben, het bijwonen van ceremoniële gebeurtenissen en het bieden van morele ondersteuning. In het Boeddhisme wordt het als deugdzaam beschouwd om voedsel en donaties te schenken aan monniken. Monniken gaan vaak in de vroege ochtend de gemeenschap in om aalmoezen te ontvangen als een manier om spirituele verbondenheid te bevorderen. Monniken leiden een eenvoudige levensstijl en hebben minimale materiële bezittingen. Ze dragen traditionele oranje gewaden en scheren hun hoofd als teken van verzaking van wereldse ijdelheid. Wat Si Phan Ton is niet alleen een plek van aanbidding, maar ook een culturele en historische plek.
3/4 back view.
The LL-856 Hammerhead was used by the Federation to measure the gravitational and magnetic fields of planets, moons, and planetesimals, revealing vital information about their sub surface structures, composition, and dynamics. The wide hammerhead fins, packed with delicate, encased sensors, facilitated extremely fine spacial resolution in all directions, unimpeded by the main body of the craft.
More shots! The tail started with the desire to integrate that extremely strange part 4746, the sort of tapered engine nose, which you can see three of at the back (see note on picture). Most of my builds involve trying to bring together two or three ideas I've had like this.
Not so prolific, compared to other years, but then, a lot of projects involving bricks were not mocs and weren't shared on any kind of social media. So in the end, 2015 was a good year.
...interviewing former child soldiers in the Liberian refugee camp of Buduburam, Ghana
IMPORTANT !!!!
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The inhabitants of Buduburam Refugee Camp in Ghana urgently need our support: please consider signing the petition that is currently available on the following page:
For Increased Involvement of the UNHCR on behalf of the refugees in Buduburam Camp, Ghana
Queries and comments are more than welcome!
This photograph appears in a NowPublic news story: War Child: Ending Recrutiment of Children.
Stocks are devices used internationally, in medieval, Renaissance and colonial American times as a form of physical punishment involving public humiliation. The stocks partially immobilized its victims and they were often exposed in a public place such as the site of a market to the scorn of those who passed by.
The stocks are similar to the pillory and the pranger, as each consists of large, hinged, wooden boards; the difference, however, is that when a person is placed in the stocks, their feet are locked in place, and sometimes as well their hands or head, or these may be chained.
With stocks, boards are placed around the ankles and the wrists in some cases, whereas in the pillory they are placed around the arms and neck and fixed to a pole, and the victim stands. However, the terms can be confused, and many people refer to the pillory as the stocks.
Since stocks served an outdoor public form of punishment its victims were subjected to the daily and nightly weather. As a consequence it was not uncommon for people kept in stocks over several days to die from exposure.[citation needed]
The practice of using stocks continues to be cited as an example of torture, cruel and unusual punishment. Insulting, kicking, tickling, spitting and in some cases urinating and defecating on its victims could be applied at the free will of any of those present. The hapless feet were also taken advantage of by such savage cruelties as inserting burning materials between the toes or by such nuisances as carefully rubbing feces all over the feet and hair.
One of the earliest reference to the stocks in literature appears in the Bible. Paul and Silas, disciples of Jesus, were arrested. Their treatment by their jailer was detailed in the Book of Acts: "Having received such a charge, he put them into the inner prison and fastened their feet in the stocks." The Old Testament's book of Job also describes the stocks, referring to God: "He puts my feet in the stocks, he watches all my paths."
The stocks were also popular among civil authorities from medieval to early modern times, and have also been used as punishment for military deserters or for dereliction of military duty. In the stocks, an offender's hands and head, or sometimes their ankles, would be placed and locked through two or three holes in the center of a board. Offenders were forced to carry out their punishments in the rain, during the heat of summer, or in freezing weather, and generally would receive only bread and water, plus anything brought by their friends.
The stocks were popular during the Colonial days in America. Public punishment in the stocks was a common occurrence from around 1500 until at least 1748. The stocks were especially popular among the early American Puritans, who frequently employed the stocks for punishing the "lower class."
In the American colonies, the stocks were also used, not only for punishment, but as a means of restraining individuals awaiting trial.
Photo taken at Bewdley Museum, Bewdley Worcstershire.