View allAll Photos Tagged lithic
And another one: an older negative, printed only now!
I've found this one a bit difficult to print so that it hits my vision for it just right. After quite a few different prints, I ended up with this one and love it a lot. Especially the softness and creamy tone, pure eye candy.
Never before have I used a two bath lith process but I recently read quite a bit about it and decided to try it for myself with this print. To be honest, I couldn't tell you why I mixed my 2nd developer like I did, I was just told it would make sense that way ;)
As was expected, the paper lost its nice and strong warm color in the second developer but I managed to get this nice creamy tone still.
Paper: Agfa Multicontrast Premium MCP 312 RC
Two Bath Lith:
1) Moersch Easy Lith 1+10
2) Rollei RPN Eco + Moersch Lith B 1+1+75
Toned in selenium (Moersch MT 1 1+10) for a few minutes afterwards.
Nikon F3 + Ai-S Nikkor 50mm f1.8 + Ilford XP2 Super
C-41 development by an external lab.
Print scanned on a Heidelberg/Linotype-Hell Saphir Ultra II using Vuescan.
Along Ancona’s hills the shimmering heat,
A tropic tide of air with ebb and flow
Bathes all the fields of wheat until they glow
Like flashing seas of green, which toss and beat
Around the vines. The poppies lithe and fleet
Seem running, fiery torchmen, to and fro
To mark the shore.
The farmer does not know
That they are there. He walks with heavy feet,
Counting the bread and wine by autumn’s gain,
But I,—I smile to think that days remain
Perhaps to me in which, though bread be sweet
No more, and red wine warm my blood in vain,
I shall be glad remembering how the fleet,
Lithe poppies ran like torchmen with the wheat.
Poeme "Poppies on the Wheat"
By Helen Hunt Jackson
This image is included in a gallery "Favourite Landscapes" curated by MK Hardy.
Obsidian Cliff, also known as 48YE433, was an important source of lithic materials for prehistoric peoples in Yellowstone National Park near Mammoth Hot Springs, Wyoming, United States. The cliff was named by Philetus Norris, the second park superintendent in 1878. It was declared a National Historic Landmark in 1996.
The cliff was formed from thick rhyolite lava flow that occurred about 180,000 years ago. The vertical columns are cooling fractures that formed as the thick lava flow cooled and crystallized. The Cliffs stand at an elevation of nearly 7,400 feet (2,300 m) above sea level and go on for about half a mile. The cliffs also extend between 150 and 200 feet above Obsidian Creek. The flow consists of obsidian, a dark volcanic glass. The obsidian is most abundant at the base of the cliff and slowly tapers off to larger concentrations of pumice at the top. Obsidian from this site was first quarried here about 12,000 years ago. Early natives of North America placed a high value on the obsidian that came from this cliff as well as other similar obsidian deposits in the area because numerous tools could be fashioned from obsidian—most popularly, knives, spear/arrow tips, and other sharp-edged objects. In fact, obsidian from Obsidian Cliff was so sought after in early America (before the time of Columbus) that it was traded as far away as Ohio and Canada.
Many studies have been done on the composition of the obsidian from Obsidian Cliff and how the obsidian from Obsidian Cliff was distributed. This research has provided evidence of the direction and extent of prehistoric trade networks.
It is located about 13 miles (21 km) south of Mammoth Hot Springs, on the east side of the Mammoth-Norris section of the Grand Loop Road. The Obsidian Cliff Kiosk, just north, is also listed on the National Register. Obsidian Cliff is also located on the northern end of Beaver Lake in Yellowstone National Park. (Wikipedia)
This was taken while travelling on board a moving coach on the way to see the hot springs and geysers.
I'm back, betch! It took a hurricane to bring me back to SL and flickr...but I haven't had any extra money or time to spend here so... sorry y'all! But anyways I figured I'd make a summer look before the entirety of Texas floods and while I have time off because of it.
---xoxo Orchid
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Scanned Lith Print.
Mamiya 645 ProTL w/ M-S 45 mm/f2.8.
Fomapan 100 in Rodinal 1+100, semistand 1 h.
Lith printed on Kodak Medalist F-3 single-weight FB.
Moersch Easy Lith (15A+15B+100Old Brown+H2Oqs700).
Untoned.
Three Boats in a Row.
Sunday Morning April 27, 2025. So that's the answer of how old this is. Less than one week, not 100 years ;-)
An old lithable FB paper with a lot of pepper grain attitude.
Another view of the very impressive and beautiful Margerie Glacier (Alaska)
----------------------------
Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media
without my explicit permission.
© All rights reserved
----------------------------
Scanned IR Lith/Moersch Polychrome print.
Rolleiflex T w/Tessar 75 mm/f3.5 with Rollei IR filter.
Rollei IR 400 in Rodinal 1+100, semistand 1 h. Summer of 2021.
Lith printed on Fomatone MG 131 (old school = lithable!) and developed in two baths:
1. Moersch Easy Lith 1+10.
2. Siena 25+Ammonium Chloride 15+Potassium Carbonate 15+H2Oqs600).
Toned in Se 1+9 60 sec.
PS borders.
Tasebo Mill in the western part of Värmland, Sweden.
This is a flower longhorn beetle (Strangalia). Though most beetles are round and squat, flower longhorn beetles are long and lithe.
I decided to emphasize the long antennae in this shot as their namesake would imply. They are pollinators in adulthood but wood borers as larva.
The end of a long, but rewarding day at the ACD Festival in Auburn, Indiana. September, 2018. Little did anyone know that in just two short years, our world would be forever changed.
__________________________ ◊ ________________________
1931 Auburn 8-98 Boattail Speedster
Despite the onset of the Great Depression, Auburn was still enjoying brisk sales in 1931 thanks to the 8-98 (8 cylinders, 98 horsepower). While traditional sedans and touring cars made up the bulk of the sales figures, it was a new Speedster that would be the sporting leader of the lineup. With a fabulously sleek body designed in-house by Alan Leamy; the Speedster featured a V-shaped windscreen, sweeping fenders, a disappearing top and a fabulous and flamboyant boat-tail treatment to the rear bodywork. A sportsman’s dream, the new Auburn Speedster stood at a mere 68 inches tall, and thanks to that sleek and lithe bodywork, the Speedster lived up to its name with robust performance and handling. The Auburn Speedster soon became one of the most sought-after motorcars in high society, despite it being one of the most affordable cars in the class, it served as the stepping stone to the Auburn-Cord-Duesenberg Empire.
Hope ya'all enjoy................
Trix in efd
Lithprint on Brovira Brilliant BW111 in Se5 + 2nd tray catechol/NH4Cl /omega + selenium
↓
↓
↓
↓
↓
Base brew + E for grain & tone
Second tray for the lights (difficult here) in order to not have to burn the hell into the misty part, and some colour enhancing
selenium (2mins) because you can with this paper and to get even more form the midtones in the mist
There is a Vulcan and a Lithic Heart at the centre of the images depending which two are meeting in the middle. The Vulcan Heart is a Vulcanised Tyre Heart and the Lithic Heart is made by the Stones coming together. The reflections bring about some excellent wyrd wonders.
There is a Grass Heart and Shadow Heart too. Everyone needs Picnic Heart and a Calm Heart. Well at least I think that we all need a Picnic Heart and a Calm Heart.
[Oh yes and there is a Shadow Dove flying along the centre too, that is it is a Shadow Dove unless you see it as a young cow in which there is a Shadow Coo in the centre grazing not ascending.]
Final point to be made is a suggestion that the metal balance in some of the pictures looks very Dragon Like. Please note Dragon Like, not a Dragon, just an echo calling and falling through the seasons and over the years. Once seen the Dragon Like resemblance is an image to reflect upon especially so with Dragon Lore mentioning the sleepy long slumbers of such mythic beast. In those legendary snooze times surely there might be a little flaking and descaling as fresh ‘solid feathers’, not squalid fetters, regrow, well I am happy to suggest so.
From out the earth it came and return back into it is going.
© PHH Sykes 2024
phhsykes@gmail.com
Westray Heritage Centre
"A stark white ring-barked forest
All tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains,
The hot gold hush of noon.
Green tangle of the brushes,
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops
And ferns the warm dark soil."
All the written information and some superb details in these pictures bring the village of Skara Brae to life in our modern era through the excavations of 1850 and onwards, 1928-1931 and the 1970s. From 1850 the dwellings and significant finds have been opened up. In the picture captioned, “Director of excavations at Skara Brae, Gordon Childe, emerges from a trench...” there looks to be a Kodak Brownie Box Camera to the right of the picture. The Brownie produced square pictures at two and a quarter inch size on No. 117 Roll Film. Brownie’s and other 117 Roll Film Cameras although some are made out of cardboard designed for limited use they can still produce good images today with some slight adjustments.
Skara Brae on Orkney is prehistoric gem. Semi-Subterranean houses and workshops make up the site as it stands today. It is an impressive site much visited and intricately studied as it offers to reveal how prehistoric people lived. The site is said to be built into the community midden, or rubbish dump. The soft midden can be shaped and moulded with stones fitting in the voids to make a very safe stable environment for living and working in. Skara Brae is vaunted as the most complete Neolithic Village in Europe. House 5 as labelled in this picture has had a drain and still shows stone furnishings looking like lithic versions of kitchen dressers, a central hearth and a window too. This once inland village is now perilously close to the sea and needs sea defences to maintain the structure from destruction by wind and sea. It was rediscovered in 1850 after a storm uncovered part of the structure.
© PHH Sykes 2024
phhsykes@gmail.com
Skara Brae, Sandwick, Orkney, KW16 3LR, 01856 841 815
“Long before Stonehenge or even the Egyptian pyramids were built, Skara Brae was a thriving village. Step back 5,000 years in time to explore the best-preserved Neolithic settlement in Western Europe.”
www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/skara-b...
Skara Brae: view of house 5
canmore.org.uk/collection/337194
Skara Brae – the houses
www.nessofbrodgar.co.uk/skarabrae-houses/
Skara Brae Evening Tours
Selected dates from Monday 9 June 2025 to Thursday 28 August 2025
www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/whats-on/event...
Orkney Digital Guide
stor.scot/products/orkney-digital-guide
Skaill House
“Overlooking the spectacular Bay of Skaill, Skaill House is the finest 17th Century mansion in Orkney. Covering thousands of years of history, Skaill House is renowned for its contribution to Orkney’s diverse and exciting past. Today, after careful restoration work, the house is open to the public.”
Aquatic Nocturne
deep in liquid
turquoise slivers
of dilute light
quiver in thin streaks
of bright tinfoil
on mobile jet:
pale flounder
waver by
tilting silver:
in the shallows
agile minnows
flicker gilt:
grapeblue mussels
dilate lithe and
pliant valves:
dull lunar globes
of blubous jellyfish
glow milkgreen:
eels twirl
in wily spirals
on elusive tails:
adroir lobsters
amble darkly olive
on shrewd claws:
down where sound
comes blunt and wan
like the bronze tone
of a sunken gong.
[Acquatic Nocturne-Sylvia Plath]
Cranach made numerous paintings on this subject: some depict Venus with her son, the mischievous Cupid, bow and arrow in hand; others warn of perils of bittersweet love. Here, the goddess is alone, holding us in her gaze. As if mocking at modesty, the jewellery and thin veil only emphasize her nudity. Her lithe, slightly swaying stance and elongated proportions offer an idea of beauty different from contemporary Italian art. Cranach’s many Venuses have become emblems of the German Renaissance.
Scanned lith print.
Mamiya 645 ProTL w/ M-S 120 mm/f4 macro.
Fomapan 100 in Rodinal 1+100, semistand 1 h.
Lith printed on Kodak Polyprint RC surface E and developed in Moersch Eaysy Lith (15A+15B+H2Oqs600).
Untoned.
PS borders.
Still lithable old paper.
Google Maps would probably help you finding the right way here...
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It is a lesser but elegant temple built by Alaungsithu in 1131 A.D. Standing on a high brick platform, the temple faces north and access to it is made by a flight of steps at the north¬west comer. Both the hall and the inner corridor round the central mass have doorways and open windows which freely admit light and air.
The arch-pediments, pilasters, plinth and comice mouldings are decorated with fine stucco carvings. Its history is recorded on two stone slabs set in the inner walls. The lithic inscription in verse is celebrated for the style and elegance of its composition. It is mentioned therein that the temple was completed in seven months.Bagan, located on the banks of the Ayeyarwady River, is home to the largest and densest concentration of Buddhist temples, pagodas, stupas and ruins in the world with many dating from the 11th and 12th centuries. The shape and construction of each building is highly significant in Buddhism with each component part taking on spiritual meaning.
With regards to tour comparison between this immense archeological site and the other significant archeological gem of Southeast Asia, the Angkor sites, this analogy may be helpful:
Angkor ruins are like a Chinese Lauriat banquet where food is presented in spectacular servings with a suspenseful wait between items which are hidden beneath curtains of forests. On the other hand, Bagan is served in Spanish Tapas style, the ingredients exposed to the customer and shown in small bite-size servings, with the next attraction close and visible at hand, in shorter intervals.
Another analogy between Angkor and Bagan Sites when distinguishing temple structures is through their stupa and spire shapes.
An example is gourd for Shwezigon Pagoda and durian for Ananda, Thatbyinnyu, and Mahabodi Temples. In another way of imagining, Bagan temples are like topped with inverted ice cream cones.
What makes the temples look romantic is the process of graceful aging. For some reason, there are no windbreakers around as shown by the barren, desert-dry mountain range to the west past the river, spinning occasional micro twisters that spawn loose dust particles everywhere from the eroded earth to the structures. This phenomenon had peeled off so much the stucco coating of the temples to reveal the brick structural blocks with its rusty, reddish, and sometimes golden brown-like patina when hit by the sun's rays.
Erosion is a significant threat to this area, not only the wind chipping away the buildings' plastering but also water from the mighty Ayeyarwady (Irrawaddy) River threatens the riverbanks. The strong river current has already washed away half of the area of Old Bagan. It used to be a rectangular-shaped piece of enclave protected by a perimeter wall. Now what remains is roughly the triangular eastern half part.
Other images of Bagan which make a lasting impression to tourists aside from the spire-fringed skyline; stupas sporting that tumbledown look yet crowned with glitter-studded golden miter-like sikaras; the ubiquitous pair of ferocious stone lions flanking a temple's door; the spiky and lacy eave fascia woodcarvings lining a monastery's ascending tiers of roofs; tall palmyras or toddy palms with willowy trunks, bougainvilleas, exotic cotton trees, and the likes bringing life to the arid landscape and abandoned ruins; squirrels playfully and acrobatically scampering on the walls and pediments of temples; horse drawn carriages lazily carrying drop-jawed tourists; sleepy moving grandfather's bullock carts grinding on a dust-choked trail; not to mention the garbage left around, stray dogs loitering, longyi clad men spitting betel chews in copious amounts everywhere, overgrown weeds and the pestering dust.
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Delta 400 in EFD
Oriental (probbly) in Se5 + G + selenium + polysulphide
One may observe the leap in oxidation (especially with "E") compared to the last one. So lithing is quiet an intuitive process, more for borderliners ...
Scanned IR lith print.
Rolleiflex T w/ Tessar 75 mm/f3.5 + Rollei IR filter.
Sept 12, 2024.
Rollei IR 400 in Adonal 1+100, semistand 1 h.
Same neg, different paper:
Lith printed on Fomabrom Variant IV 123 BO and developed in Moersch Easy Lith (25A+25B+40D+100OB+H2Oqs900).
Se 1+9 30 sec.
These are the differences between warmtone and coldtone lithable papers.
The Fomabrom Variant IV 123 BO was a "short living" attempt by Foma to make a paper which could be used for Bromoil (and maybe replace the original FB Variant IV 123, which was a very good lithable coldtone paper).
This one worked with both bromoils and lith printing :-).
When lithing coldtone papers, you want the "pepper" to appear. It's by far not as colourful as warmtone papers. But on the other hand not so "high contrasty", so you can get more b&w nuances from the process. Which, btw, is much slower than the warmtone lith process. Expect exposure times to be around 5 min and developing times up to or above 20 (!) min. That of course depends on your "soup".
This was perhaps too much boring information, but if I can pass the knowledge ahead to coming b&w analog printers, it's worth it :-). And I'm of course not taking credit of any knowledge that Wolfgang Moersch possesses. Almost everything I've learned comes from him. Kudos, Wolfgang.
Cranach made numerous paintings on this subject: some depict Venus with her son, the mischievous Cupid, bow and arrow in hand; others warn of perils of bittersweet love. Here, the goddess is alone, holding us in her gaze. As if mocking at modesty, the jewellery and thin veil only emphasize her nudity. Her lithe, slightly swaying stance and elongated proportions offer an idea of beauty different from contemporary Italian art. Cranach’s many Venuses have become emblems of the German Renaissance.
Apparently Flickr hates me. So starting over here. :D
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These pictures from 2024 were taken on one of my best days. As well as the outline of a Large Blue Eye with a distinct blue spherical both iris and pupil there is a shadow at the left centre which casts very interesting even symbolic shades. The Witches' Stone just at the edge of the village of Spott is a good memorial of bad times and deeds. The Witches’ Stone always fills me with commemoration and remembrance of times not so long gone when Witch Hunts were after witches so upsettingly so that we still use the term Witch Hunt no more than ever for a falsely fuelled over active hunt often with vicious entanglements and outcomes.
The Witches’ Stone is on the East of Spott village and Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone is at the West of the village. In the village at the Church you can find The Jougs. From standing stone in the East past central stone church to a commemorative stone in the West there are three superb historic lithic sites. The Church has been a focal site to inspire and to contain history of the area and along with local archives there are some superb historic collections, myriad connections, and local recollections.
There are three tall Standing Stones near Spott, Easter Broomhouse, Pencraig Hill and Kirklandhill Standing Stones. Their placement in the landscape of natural bounties and hill forts is a key to some of the smaller monuments, This coastal area is full of life from the sea and the land and the stones stretch into the sky that keeps the seas calm and the lands fertile.
© PHH Sykes 2024 and 2025
phhsykes@gmail.com
Witches of Scotland is a campaign for justice; for a legal pardon, an apology and national monument for the thousands of people – mostly women - that were convicted of witchcraft and executed between 1563 and 1736 in Scotland.
The Witches of Scotland Limited. This tartan can be worn by anyone.
www.tartanregister.gov.uk/tartanDetails?ref=14651
Witches of Scotland podcast
Claire Mitchell QC and Zoe Venditozzi, Author co-host the Witches of Scotland podcast. Over the forthcoming weeks we hope to bring you interviews from those who know about the history, law and stories of those accused of witchcraft. Join our mailing list and we will let you know when a new podcast is out.
www.witchesofscotland.com/podcast
Witches' Stone, Spott
canmore.org.uk/site/57667/witches-stone-spott
Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1492/easter_broomhouse_...
Easter Broomhouse - Standing Stone (Menhir) in Scotland in East Lothian
www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=6706
Spott Church
www.scotlandschurchestrust.org.uk/church/spott-parish-chu...
Welcome to Belhaven and Spott Parish Church
Witches' Stone, Spott
canmore.org.uk/site/57667/witches-stone-spott
Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
canmore.org.uk/site/57622/easter-broomhouse
Pencraig Hill Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
canmore.org.uk/site/56240/pencraig-hill
Witches' Stone, Spott
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/6453/witches_stone.html
Witches' Stone, Spott
www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=8239
Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1492/easter_broomhouse_...
Pencraig Hill Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1494/pencraig_hill_stan...
Pencraig Hill Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=6703
Kirklandhill Standing Stone
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1493/kirklandhill_stand...
I have not been well and failed to keep up with everything. My edits have been ill with me. The Witches’ Stone always fills me with commemoration and remembrance of times not so long gone when Witch Hunts were after witches so upsettingly so that we still use the term Witch Hunt no more than ever for a falsely fuelled over active hunt often with vicious entanglements and outcomes.
The Witches’ Stone is on the East of Spott village and Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone is at the West of the village. In the village at the Church you can find The Jougs. From standing stone in the East past central stone church to a commemorative stone in the West there are three superb historic lithic sites. The Church has been a focal site to inspire and to contain history of the area and along with local archives there are some superb historic collections, myriad connections, and local recollections.
There are three tall Standing Stones near Spott, Easter Broomhouse, Pencraig Hill and Kirklandhill Standing Stones. Their placement in the landscape of natural bounties and hill forts is a key to some of the smaller monuments, This coastal area is full of life from the sea and the land and the stones stretch into the sky that keeps the seas calm and the lands fertile.
© PHH Sykes 2024
phhsykes@gmail.com
Witches' Stone, Spott
canmore.org.uk/site/57667/witches-stone-spott
Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1492/easter_broomhouse_...
Easter Broomhouse - Standing Stone (Menhir) in Scotland in East Lothian
www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=6706
Spott Church
www.scotlandschurchestrust.org.uk/church/spott-parish-chu...
Welcome to Belhaven and Spott Parish Church
Witches' Stone, Spott
canmore.org.uk/site/57667/witches-stone-spott
Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
canmore.org.uk/site/57622/easter-broomhouse
Pencraig Hill Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
canmore.org.uk/site/56240/pencraig-hill
Witches' Stone, Spott
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/6453/witches_stone.html
Witches' Stone, Spott
www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=8239
Easter Broomhouse Standing Stone
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1492/easter_broomhouse_...
Pencraig Hill Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1494/pencraig_hill_stan...
Pencraig Hill Standing Stone (Prehistoric)
www.megalithic.co.uk/article.php?sid=6703
Kirklandhill Standing Stone
www.themodernantiquarian.com/site/1493/kirklandhill_stand...
I have always felt that clouds would represent softness. This montage includes this mornings sunrise (2 photos) plus the spun filiament arrangement of a flower I found recently.
“Do not be hardened by the pain
and cruelty of this world.
Be strong enough to be gentle,
to be soft and supple like running water,
gracefully bending around sudden turns,
lithely waving in strong winds,
freely flowing over sharp rocks,
all the while quietly sculpting
this hard world into ever deeper beauty," L.R. Knost
Scanned 2nd pass lith print.
Mamiya 645 ProTL w/ M-S 45 mm/f2.8.
Late April, 2025.
Fomapan 100 in Rodinal 1+100, semistand 1 h.
Lith printed on Kodak Medalist F-3 single-weight FB.
Moersch Easy Lith (15A+15B+100Old Brown+H2Oqs700).
Bleached in Moersch Copper Bleach for Lith Redevelopment.
Redeveloped in Moersch Easy Lith (2A+2B+700H2O @ 30°C).
An old lithable FB paper with a lot of pepper grain attitude.
This one's perhaps interesting as a fuel price comparison (I'll link to my previous night shot in Nov, 2024 below). The trend is looking good!
Mosteiro de S. Martinho de Tibães
Braga, Portugal.
Lago
_____________
Árvores
O que tentam dizer as árvores
no seu silêncio lento e nos seus vagos rumores,
o sentido que têm no lugar onde estão,
a reverência, a ressonância, a transparência
e os acentos claros e sombrios de uma frase aérea.
E as sombras e as folhas são a inocência de uma ideia
que entre a água e o espaço se tornou uma leve integridade.
Sob o mágico sopro da luz são barcos transparentes.
Não sei se é o ar se é o sangue que brota dos seus ramos.
Ouço a espuma finíssima das suas gargantas verdes.
Não estou, nunca estarei longe desta água pura
e destas lâmpadas antigas de obscuras ilhas.
Que pura serenidade da memória, que horizontes
em torno do poço silencioso! É um canto num sono
e o vento e a luz são o hálito de uma criança
que sobre um ramo de árvore abraça o mundo.
© 1960, António Ramos Rosa
From: No Calcanhar do Vento
Publisher: Lisboa, 1987
______________
Trees
What trees try to say
in their slow silence, their vague murmuring,
the sense they have, there where they are,
the reverence, the resonance, the transparency
and the bright and shadowy accents of an airy phrase.
And the shade and the leaves are the innocence of an idea
that between water and space turned itself to lithe integrity.
Beneath the magic breath of the light they are transparent boats.
I don’t know if it’s air or blood budding from their boughs.
I hear the finest foam of their green throats.
I am not, never will be, far from that pure water
and those ancient lamps of hidden isles.
What pure serenity of memory, what horizons
surrounding the silent well! It is a song in sleep
and the wind and light are the breath of a child
who upon a bough of a tree embraces the world.
© Translation: 2002, Alexis Levitin
Lillian is lithe and extremely beautiful with flawless skin of porcelain. She is thoughtful but not very talkative.
When I asked her where she came from she silently pointed to a place way beyond. I fully understood and we sat for an hour in companiable silence.
View large on black for some contemplative time with her.
Little Wattlebird on Ginger Lily (Hedychium coccineum)
Western Lawn, RBGV Melbourne
These birds remind me of nothing so much as a powerful lithe muscle. Even when they are still, they emanate great energy.
Taken on a lovely walk one summer evening. I was wishing I had a lithe female model wearing a pretty floaty dress but you have to make do with what you have :-)
Flypaper textured.
Another lith re-interpretation of an older negative. I love how this one turned out, very colorful and nice tones overall!
The paper used here was ancient Revue BS 13 RC stock that was completely fogged. I couldn't even make a test strip as it would simply turn 100% black in normal developer. I ended up eyeballing/guesstimating the exposure time instead.
The print has a slight texture of microscopic black dots all over it. You can hardly see it on this upload.
I like this print much better than the direct negative scan I uploaded to Flickr a while ago.
Moersch Easy Lith 1+20
Nikon F3 + AF Nikkor 50mm f1.8 + Kodak Tri-X Pan 400
HOYA Yellow Filter (if I remember correctly)
Expiry date: 1990s (?)
Exposure index: 320
Scanned on a Heidelberg/Linotype-Hell Saphir Ultra II using Vuescan.
✿Hair: [^.^Ayashi^.^] Shiro hair
✿Head: Catwa - Hanako
✿Eyes: Izzie's - Demon Eyes
✿Eyelashes: Okkbye Lithe lashes
✿Ears: ^^Swallow^^ Noldor Elf Ears
✿Face tattoo: + Spirit Dancer Face Paint + {aii}
✿Skin: :Etherion: Gabriella skin (GROUP GIFT)
✿Body: Maitreya - Lara
✿Body tattoo: CUREMORE / Voodoo Tribe / Ritual Paint / RED (@Fantasy Gacha Carnival)
✿Outfit: CUREMORE / Voodoo Tribe / Inkosazana Outfit RARE (@Fantasy Gacha Carnival)
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.
Tonight however, we have followed Lettice’s childhood chum Gerald, also a member of the aristocracy who has gained some independence from his impecunious family by designing gowns from a shop in Grosvenor Street, a business which, after promotion from Lettice and several commissions from high profile and influential society ladies, is beginning to turn a profit. Following Gerald’s little Morris Cowley four-seat tourer* south-west through the illuminated London streets away from his small Soho flat we find ourselves in the tree lined avenue of Hazlewell Road in Putney. Here in a double storey red brick villa with bay windows, set in a garden behind a low brick fence, built just like all the others in the street, lives Gerald’s friend, Harriet Milford, the orphaned daughter with little formal education of a middle-class family solicitor. Gerald met Harriet by chance at a haberdashery one day and they have formed a strong bond of friendship over grosgrain ribbons** and trims, a friendship which Lettice was initially rather jealous of. Since being orphaned, Harriet has taken in theatrical lodgers to earn a living, and millinery semi-professionally to give her some pin money***, but like Gerald’s fashion house, Harriet’s business has taken off substantially thanks to Lettice introducing her to a couple of her friends, who have spread the word about Harriet’s skill. Amongst Harriet’s lodgers she has a handsome young West End oboist named Cyril, who like all of Harriet’s tenants, is a homosexual. Since befriending Harriet and being invited to the Hazelwell Road villa and meeting him, Cyril and Gerald have become lovers, and both of them are pleased to have the protective closed doors of Harriet’s Putney villa as a place where they do not have to keep their illegal homosexual relationship**** secret and can be free and open with one another like any couple.
Earlier this evening, Gerald joined Cyril, Harriet and several of her other lodgers for a special dinner of mock turtle soup***** with suet dumplings****** and Beef Wellington******* followed by a lavish trifle******** in honour of his and Cyril’s third anniversary, and is now staying the night, sharing the narrow bed in the small room with the oriel window up under the eaves of Harriet’s house. The small bedroom is made cosy by a small coal fire burning in the grate. The floor is scattered with the two men’s clothes.
Snuggled under the comforter, Cyril softly sings ‘I'm in Love with You’********* to Gerald.
“Skies were grey, ev’ry day,
Nothing seemed to come my way,
Until you came along.
Then a kiss, it was this,
Turned my sorrow into bliss,
And now I sing this song.
My heart is light, and days are bright,
For I’m in love with you.
And all the while I wear a smile,
For I’m in love with you.
I’m always glad and never sad,
Because you love me, too,
Thru rain or shine, the world is mine,
For I’m in love with you.
Now I’m gay, night and day.
Ev’rything just comes my way.
And we will never part,
No more tears, no more fears.
Only thoughts of after years,
For you are mine, sweetheart.”
Cyril stops singing and leans forward in his lover’s arms, kissing him softly on the lips, the action filled with deep love and affection.
“That was beautiful.” Gerald murmurs with a gentle smile on his lips as he pulls Cyril closer towards him, which in the narrow single bed Cyril occupies, up under the eaves of Harriet’s terracotta tile roof, is not too hard to do.
“Thank you Gerry darling.” Cyril replies softly, his voice woozy with a mixture of affection and red wine served at dinner. “I do love you, you know.”
“I know.” Gerald replies matter-of-factly with a satisfied sigh. He pauses for a moment.
“What?” Cyril asks. Looking across at his lover. Gerald’s handsome face is shrouded in shadow in the weak diffused light cast by the single heavily festooned shaded bedside lamp illuminating the room, and he cannot read his expression. “What is it, Gerry?” He shifts on the pillow, the starched white pillowcase beneath his head rasping crisply as he raises his head.
“Or is it the gold and amethyst cravat pin you love?” Gerald asks dourly.
“Oh Gerry!” Cyril exclaims.
“Or the invitation to ‘The Nest’ I procured for us, so you can meet your beloved Sylvia Fordyce that enamours you?” Gerald goes on, chuckling mischievously, giving away the fact that he is only teasing his younger lover.
“How can you even jest about such a thing?” Cyril exclaims in mock horror, withdrawing his right hand from beneath the blue quilted satin comforter and slapping Gerald kittenishly across his bare chest. “And after I’ve just serenaded you under the moon and stars!”
“What moon and stars?” Gerald laughs more loudly, turning his head to the oriel window that during the day overlooks Harriet’s garden – slightly wilder than the well clipped lawns and trimmed privet hedges of her neighbours – and offers views of sprawling suburban London in both a southern and westerly direction. “It’s cloudy out there.” he opines, staring out through the open curtains. “No moon or stars that I can see.”
“You do know how to spoil a romantic gesture don’t you, Gerry darling?” Cyril pouts, brushing back his sandy blonde tresses with his free right arm, his left being pinned beneath the weight of Gerald’s warm body.
“Well, I could say the same, my dear Cilla!” Gerald remarks, referring to Cyril using his female nickname**********, tapping the tip of Cyril’s pert, freckle spattered nose with the index finger of his left hand playfully.
“What on earth do you mean?” Cyril extricates his left arm from beneath Gerald’s side, and with a groan, rolls himself onto his stomach and looks across at his shade shrouded lover. “I make a beautiful anniversary dinner for us, and saved both the Beef Wellington and mock turtle soup from complete ruination, no thanks to Aunt Sally!” Using his female nickname, he refers to his fellow theatrical lodger at Harriet’s, the Shakespearean actor Charles Dunnage, who after being refused the leading role of King Lear*********** in the Old Vic’s************ forthcoming season, promptly got himself thoroughly drunk on a bottle and a half of Gordon’s Dry Gin*************. “And then I invite you into my boudoir to spend the night – an offer not many men have had I’d like to point out.”
“I should hope not!” Gerald chuckles. “You’re far too young a man to have a trail of broken-hearted lovers, yet. Anyway,” he goes on. “The least you might have done in the last three years is put my picture into a frame before inviting me into your boudoir!”
“What do you mean, Gerry darling?” Cyril repeats.
“Well, how is it,” Gerald sinks back into Cyril’s pillow and turns his head as he points to Cyril’s small simple deal pine washstand, used for his morning and bedtime toilette, on which stands a blue and white floral ewer set, his shaving implements and hairbrushes, hair tonics, pomades, a hand mirror and a few photographs in frames. “That in the three years that we have been familiar with one another, you have yet to get an appropriate frame for my photo – an honour extended to your family who threw you out for being an invert**************, I might add.”
“Picture frames, at least nice tasteful ones, are expensive!” Cyril defends.
Ignoring his protestations, Gerald goes on. “And if that were not bad enough, to add insult to injury, Sylvia Fordyce, a woman whom you haven’t even met – unlike me – has the honour of a frame as well. I’ve a right mind to take her glamour photo out and replace it with mine.”
“Don’t you dare remove my photo of Miss Fordyce!” Cyril gasps, gazing up at the black and white studio portrait of a younger Sylvia Fordyce in profile, modishly dressed in the fashions of the early years of the Great War, her bobbed hairstyle a little softer and curlier than it is now, poking out from beneath an extravagant turban. He lunges and places both his hands on Gerald’s shoulders and tries to straddle him in an effort to pin him down. “Only I’m allowed to touch it!”
“Then get a frame for my photo, or I will!” Gerald insists, allowing Cyril to scramble on top of him under the comforter and sheets. “I think after three years, I’m entitled to one.”
“Oh, do you now, fancy fine?”
“Yes, I do.” Gerald smiles smugly at he leans up and kisses his lover, giving him a quick peck. “Perhaps I should take my anniversary tie pin*************** gift to you back to Finnigans***************, and exchange it for a nice, tasteful frame.”
“Don’t you dare!” Cyril decries, sitting up astride Gerald and reaching across the small divide between the bed and his washstand, where he snatches up the elegant tie pin which lies beside Gerald’s gold pocket watch. He holds the pretty piece of jewellery in the palms of his hands and admires the amethyst mounted in gold as its facets sparkle and glint in the lamplight. “I don’t think I’ve ever been given such a pretty gift before, Gerry darling! I adore it!”
“Very well,” Gerald replies, putting his hands behind his back and exhaling through his nose as he looks up at his younger lover’s face, cast half in soft golden light and half in dark shade as he admires the jewellery in his hands, a look of reverence upon his face. “But I still think I deserve a frame after three years of us having an understanding.”
“Well, just be grateful you didn’t end up in my wastepaper basket like that trollop**************** Paula Young!”
“Why did you banish Paula Young from your wall of actresses?” Gerald asks surprised at the vehemence in tone and language used by his lover, turning his head quickly to cast a momentary glance at the collection of photographs and carte de visites***************** of moving picture and West End actresses that are pinned to the busy Morris patterned paper of the wall above Cyril’s washstand. “What has she done to you?”
“She’s sleeping with the wrong kind of man, that’s what!” Cyril announces indignantly, as he slips the tie pin back onto the surface of the washstand and slides back down under the comforter, pressing his naked body against Gerald’s, leaning down and kissing Gerald deeply. As their passionate kiss concludes, he continues, “Unlike me, who is definitely sleeping with the right kind of man.”
“I’m glad to hear it, Cyril my darling!” Gerald laughs. “But I thought you and Miss Young were friends… of a sort.”
“We are… or rather we were. She seems to have developed some elevated ideas about her status nowadays, and no longer has time to talk to her lowly old friends in the orchestra pit when she was just an unknown chorus girl.”
“Well, regardless of the closeness or lack thereof of your friendship, surely it is Miss Young’s business as to whom she sleeps with, not yours, Cyril my darling.” Gerald strokes Cyril’s tousled waves intimately with his left hand, slipping a stray wave behind his ear.
“It would be if she hadn’t been indiscreet enough to be noticed by Evelyn Laye****************** cavorting at the Café Royal******************* like a common strumpet********************! Evelyn saw her and spread the news like wildfire throughout the wings at Daly’s*********************, which is how it reached my ears.”
“Goodness!” Gerald exclaims. “Who on earth is Miss Young sleeping with then, to be so scandalous?”
“Oh, he’s an awful old lecher really,” Cyril opines as he folds his arms across Gerald’s chest and rests his chin on them, looking Gerald squarely in the face. “More than double her age - an aristocrat rich as Croesus********************** from what I can gather, and certainly well known for his dalliances with pretty Gaiety Girls***********************. For a social climber like Paula, I can well see why she went for him as she did. She thinks, foolishly, that he’s going to marry her and take her away from the theatrical life she leads, but she should know as well as I do, that he just toys with girls and then leaves them when he’s tired of them. He has a string of broken hearts a mile long trailing him.”
“Who the devil is this lothario*********************** then?”
“Oh, no-one you would know, I’m sure, Gerry darling.” Cyril assures him.
“Try me.” Gerald persists. “You’d be surprised, Cyril. We British upper sets, even the likes of the Brutons, who have been sliding down the greasy pole************************* for years now are quite a tightly knit group, you know.”
“Very well then,” Cyril says, sliding off Gerald’s chest and slipping back alongside him, gently gliding his left arm underneath him again. “His name is Sir John something-or-other, Hughes. I can’t quite remember the something-or-other part though. It’s something like nettles or nettling.”
Gerald turns on his side to face Cyril, the old and lumpy horsehair mattress stubbornly giving way reluctantly under him as he shifts his weight. “Sir John Nettleford-Hughes do you mean?”
“That’s him!” Cyril laughs in reply.
“Oh.” Gerald’s face falls.
“Surely you don’t actually know him, Gerry darling?”
“I’m afraid I do, although not by choice, if I’m being brutally honest.”
“You weren’t joking then, when you said that you aristocrats are a tight bunch! How do you know him?”
“Well, originally Sir John was the pseudo godfather of a mutual friend of Lettice’s and mine from the Embassy Club in Bond Street.”
“So Lettice knows him too, then?”
“She does.”
“But you said originally, Gerry darling. What does that mean?”
“Well,” Gerald sighs as he gently runs his left index finger along Cyril’s naked form, tracing the contours of his lithe figure as it is illuminated in the light cast by the lamp. “Lettice and I used to see him on occasion, at parties, balls and that sort of social event, and when our mutual friend married a wealthy American man, at her wedding.”
“Yes?” Cyril breathes, hanging on every word Gerald says.
“Well, a few years ago, Lettice’s mother, Lady Sadie, threw a husband finding ball for Lettice, and Sir John was one of her top contenders as an eligible bachelor – even if he is a significantly older one.”
“No!”
“Yes, Cyril darling.” Gerald sighs and pauses for a moment. “And you mustn’t spread this pillow talk************************** we’re having to anyone, not even Hattie or Aunt Sally.”
“I won’t, Gerry darling! I promise!”
“Well, of course Lettice didn’t choose him that night because he was so much older than she was.”
“Thank goodness!” Cyril replies with a sigh of relief.
“However, after an understanding between Lettice and the eldest son of the Duke of Walmsford, Selwyn Spencely, was broken, she became reacquainted with Sir John. He proposed marriage to her not so long ago, probably catching her at a weak moment, and she accepted him.”
“No!” Cyril gasps and raises his delicate, elongated right hand to his lips. “Do you think she knows about Sir John’s…” He pauses whilst he tries to think of the right word. “Dalliances?”
“Oh, Lettice knows, Cyril darling. Have no fear on that account. Their marriage is not a love match, but rather a business arrangement.”
“A business arrangement, Gerry darling? That sounds utterly tiresome and so un-romantic.”
“Yes, Cyril my darling. Their marriage will be one of convenience, for both of them. He gets a wife who is prepared to tolerate his philandering, and one who has agreed to provide him with an heir, and she gets independence not usually extended to married women of Lettice’s and my class in return.”
“Can she have dalliances of her own?”
“I can’t say I’ve asked Lettice such intimate details, and before you say I should,” He holds a finger to Cyril’s lips to silence him. “I’m certainly not going to ask.”
Cyril kisses Gerald’s finger before muttering, “Spoilsport.”
“But,” Gerald goes on. “Knowing what I do about Sir John, it wouldn’t surprise me if he gives Lettice that freedom too. And the arrangement pleases Sadie at the same time.”
“So, Lettice’s mother doesn’t know about Sir John’s philandering then?”
“No, she doesn’t! She would be fit to be tied if she knew! And you can’t let on that you know anything either when you meet Sir John, either.”
“When I meet Sir John?” Cyril asks in surprise. “When am I, a lowly oboist on the West End, ever likely to meet Sir John Nettleword-Hughes?”
“Nettleford-Hughes,” Gerald corrects Cyril gently. “And you’ll get to meet him when we attend Miss Fordyce’s party at ‘The Nest’. As Lettice’s fiancée, it will be expected that he will be in attendance alongside her, of course, but even more than that, Sir John is a very old and good friend of Miss Fordyce, who met Sir John’s younger sister when they lived together in Germany as young ladies. We’ll all be sleeping under Miss Fordyce’s roof.”
Cyril’s eyes grow wide.
“So, you can’t say anything about his affair with Miss Young.” Gerald repeats his caution dourly. “I’m serious.”
“But if Lettice knows.” Cyril responds.
“No, Cyril!” Gerald inhales a horrified breath. “It would be indelicate, and embarrassing and humiliating for both she and I, if it became known that I had been gossiping idly about my best and oldest chum’s fiancée, even if it is to a confidant like you. Surely you can see that!”
“Yes! Yes of course!” Cyril quickly corrects himself, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I’m sorry Gerry darling. I promise I won’t breathe a word.”
“Good!” Gerald releases a pent-up breath.
In an effort to change the subject, Cyril asks, “Do you think Miss Fordyce would sign my photograph of her if take it along with us, Gerald darling?”
“I’m sure she would, Cyril darling. It’s evident that Miss Fordyce likes holding court and accepting adulation. But don’t you think that’s little gauche?” He looks askance at his younger lover.
“Oh, is that not the done thing?”
“Perhaps not for me, Cyril darling, but if it will make you happy, of course you must ask her.”
Gerald winds his bare, naturally shapely and lightly haired arms around Cyril, the old mattress under him resisting again as he shifts his weight.
“God this bed is uncomfortable, my darling.” Gerald mutters. “Whose room was this, to have such an awful mattress? Even my mattress when I was a boy was more comfortable than this lumpy old thing!”
“Hattie tells me that this used to be her Scottish nanny’s bedroom when she was a little girl. The old nursery is just across the hallway, shrouded in dust sheets.”
“Ahh…” Gerald opines as he glances around critically at the old fashioned, busy William Morris leaves and berries patterned wallpaper around the walls of the tiny room. “That explains a great deal, then.”
“I told you, I much prefer the bed at your flat, Gerry darling.” Cyril replies. “It’s a more comfortable feather mattress, and far more capacious, being a double.” He sighs resignedly. “However, we must make the best of it, for tonight at least.”
“Of course, my darling.” Gerald nuzzles his lover, inhaling his scent. “Anywhere you are, I will be happy to be too. However, there is one thing I still don’t understand about your living arrangements here.”
“And what’s that?” Cyril asks.
“Well, if I remember correctly, you told me that you were Hattie’s first border.”
“I was. What of it?”
“Well, why does Charles have Hattie’s father’s old bedroom. It is bigger than this little box room, and surely must have a more comfortable double mattress.”
“I wasn’t going to sleep in the room of a dead man!” Cyril looks at Gerald with wide eyes. “I have no wish to be kept awake by Mr. Milford’s ghost. You’ve seen his photographs downstairs, Gerry darling.” He shudders in Gerald’s arms. “He was such a dour looking old Victorian. He’s positively the stuff of night terrors!”
“Ghost?” Gerald chuckles, not unkindly. “But Hattie’s father didn’t die in his bed. He died in his office.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I never took you for the superstitious kind, my darling.”
“Oh it’s not superstition.” Cyril replies matter-of-factly. “Like Arthur Conan Doyle**************************, I am a firm believer in spiritualism***************************, ever since I went to a séance after my brother died at the Battle of Passchendaele****************************.”
“Your brother?”
“Yes, my elder brother.”
“But… but I… I thought you were estranged from your family, Cyril darling.” Gerald says delicately with a sadness in his voice as he tries to tread carefully around a tender wound of his lover’s.
“Oh, I am now, but I wasn’t then. I probably would still be living at home with Mother and Father if Bartholemew hadn’t gone and gotten himself blown up for King and Country*****************************. I think Bartholemew knew who and what I was, even before I did, and he didn’t care. Bartholemew was always the peacemaker of the family, and tried to help my parents see that whilst I wasn’t good at games like him, I was musically talented. I really have him to thank for my father spending money on oboe lessons for me. After Bartholemew died, and I was wracked with grief and guilt, wishing I’d taken the shelling rather than him, I saw an advertisement for a séance in the newspaper. Madam Demidov was her name.”
“A Russian émigré?” Gerald asks, spellbound by the revelations of his lover.
“Perhaps.” Cyril shrugs his slight, sloping shoulders. “I never enquired. She spoke with a strong, smoky accent, wore strings of jet****************************** beads, a black bandeau******************************* to hold back her hair and had heavily kohl******************************** rimmed eyes. Very dramatic I must say!” He enthuses. “She put me in touch with Bartholemew, and he told me through her, that he is fine on the other side, and that I should go and get on with living my life.”
“Well! There you go.” Gerald remarks with raised eyebrows. “Even after three years, I am still learning new things about you, Cyril my darling.” He chuckles again.
“Stop laughing at my beliefs, Gerry!” Cyril scolds. “That’s beastly, and most unbecoming in you.”
“Oh I’m sorry, Cyril darling.” Gerald apologises. “But I wasn’t laughing at you, or your beliefs. I’ve learned by living away from my own family here in London that the world is made up of all different kinds of people, all with alternative ideas and beliefs.”
“That’s alright then.” Cyril demurs. “Then what were you chuckling about?”
“I was just thinking, even if that room is haunted by Mr. Milford, I don’t think he would dare haunt Aunt Sally tonight as she recovers from the aftereffects of a bottle and a half of gin.”
“Not to mention a box of Bassett’s Liquorice All-Sorts*********************************.” Cyril giggles cheekily.
“Indeed.” Gerald agrees.
The pair chuckle away for a little while like naughty little boys, extremely amused by the idea of a drunken and possibly diarrhoeal Charles Dunnage scaring away any dead spirits with his snores and flatulence.
“Besides, this room was half the cost of old Mr. Milford’s bedroom.” Cyril admits, catching his breath after laughing so much. “And therefore more affordable for a young musician in need of a new home, but with very little in the way of savings.”
“Aha!” Gerald chuckles. “Now we get to the nub of it!”
The pair cuddle one another and laugh before kissing again, their love and passion growing more deeply as they press against one another.
*Morris Motors Limited was a privately owned British motor vehicle manufacturing company established in 1919. With a reputation for producing high-quality cars and a policy of cutting prices, Morris's business continued to grow and increase its share of the British market. By 1926 its production represented forty-two per cent of British car manufacturing. Amongst their more popular range was the Morris Cowley which included a four-seat tourer which was first released in 1920.
**Originating in Seventeenth Century England, the term pin money first meant “an allowance of money given by a husband to his wife for her personal expenditures. Married women, who typically lacked other sources of spending money, tended to view an allowance as something quite desirable. By the Twentieth Century, the term had come to mean a small sum of money, whether an allowance or earned, for spending on inessentials, separate and in addition to the housekeeping money a wife might have to spend.
***Grosgrain ribbon is a type of fabric ribbon characterized by its distinct horizontal ribbed texture, a result of its heavy, tightly woven construction. Derived from the French term for "coarse texture," it possesses a stiff, sturdy, and durable quality with a matte finish. Historically made from wool and silk, grosgrain ribbon was commonly used for trims on garments and banding on hats.
****Prior to 1967 with the introduction of the Sexual Offences Act which decriminalised private homosexual acts between men aged over twenty-one, homosexuality in England was illegal, and in the 1920s when this story is set, carried heavy penalties including prison sentences with hard labour. The law was not changed for Scotland until 1980, or for Northern Ireland until 1982.
*****Mock turtle soup originated in England in the mid 1700s. The soup, which substituted calf heads, brains, tails, and trotters for expensive turtle, to duplicate the texture and flavour of the original's turtle meat after the green turtles used to make the original dish were hunted nearly to extinction. Mock turtle soup became so popular over the years that a character called the Mock Turtle—a melancholy animal with a turtle shell and calf parts—appeared in Lewis Carroll's 1865 Alice in Wonderland.
******Suet dumplings are a traditional British dish, consisting of small, fluffy balls made from a dough of flour, suet (beef or vegetable fat), and water, often with added herbs or seasonings. They are cooked in a simmering liquid, such as a stew or casserole, where they swell to become soft and absorb the surrounding flavours, providing a hearty and comforting addition to winter meals.
*******Beef Wellington, a dish of beef fillet coated with pâté and duxelles (a finely chopped mushroom mixture), then wrapped in pastry, is believed to be named after Arthur Wellesley, the first Duke of Wellington, likely in commemoration of his victory at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815. While the exact origin story is debated, it's generally accepted that the dish is of English or French origin, possibly evolving from the French dish "filet de boeuf en croute".
********An English trifle is a classic, multi-layered English dessert featuring sponge cake or ladyfingers soaked in sherry or juice, a fruit element (often in a jelly), a rich custard, and a topping of whipped cream, sometimes garnished with chocolate shavings or nuts. The dessert is traditionally served in a glass dish to showcase its distinct and colourful layers.
*********“I'm in Love with You” is a popular love song written by John Wolohan, Ben Black, and Neil Moret which was released in Britain in 1925.
**********Historically, queer slang emerged as a way for queer people to communicate discreetly, forming a sense of community and shared identity. Using female names or terms could be a way to signal belonging within this coded language. It was also used for protection, allowing homosexual men to talk about one another discreetly in public without the implication of homosexuality and the repercussions that came with it as a criminal act.
***********The Shakespearean play The Tragedy of King Lear, often shortened to King Lear, is a tragedy written by William Shakespeare. It is loosely based on the mythological Leir of Britain. King Lear, in preparation for his old age, divides his power and land between his daughters Goneril and Regan, who pay homage to gain favour, feigning love. It was regularly performed at the Old Vic theatre in London throughout the 1920s, with seasons in 1920, 1921, 1922 and 1925 to 1928.
************The Old Vic theatre in the London borough of Lambeth was formerly the home of a theatre company that became the nucleus of the National Theatre. The company’s theatre building opened in 1818 as the Royal Coburg and produced mostly popular melodramas. In 1833 it was redecorated and renamed the Royal Victoria and became popularly known as the Old Vic. Between 1880 and 1912, under the management of Emma Cons, a social reformer, the Old Vic was transformed into a temperance amusement hall known as the Royal Victoria Hall and Coffee Tavern, where musical concerts and scenes from Shakespeare and opera were performed. Lilian Baylis, Emma Cons’s niece, assumed management of the theatre in 1912 and two years later presented the initial regular Shakespeare season. By 1918 the Old Vic was established as the only permanent Shakespearean theatre in London, and by 1923 all of Shakespeare’s plays had been performed there. The Old Vic grew in stature during the 1920s and ’30s under directors such as Andrew Leigh, Harcourt Williams, and Tyrone Guthrie.
*************Gordon's London Dry Gin was developed by Alexander Gordon, a Londoner of Scots descent. He opened a distillery in the Southwark area in 1769, later moving in 1786 to Clerkenwell. The Special London Dry Gin he developed proved successful, and its recipe remains unchanged to this day. The top markets for Gordon's are (in descending order) the United Kingdom, the United States and Greece. Gordon's has been the United Kingdom’s number one gin since the late Nineteenth Century. It is the world's best-selling London dry gin.
**************Sexual inversion is a theory of homosexuality popular primarily in the late Nineteenth and early Twentieth Century. Sexual inversion was believed to be an inborn reversal of gender traits: male inverts were, to a greater or lesser degree, inclined to traditionally female pursuits and dress and vice versa.
***************A tie pin, also known as a stick pin or tie tack, is a decorative pin with a needle-like shaft and a decorative element on top, used to secure the folds of a cravat or tie and keep it in place against the shirt. Tie pins were most popular and widely worn during the Nineteenth Century, beginning in the 1830s and continuing until the 1920s, though they also saw a resurgence in the 1950s and 1960s. Initially a functional accessory to secure cravats, they became decorative symbols of wealth and status for wealthy gentlemen before designs became mass-produced and even adopted by women. Their popularity waned with the advent of more modern tie clips after the Great War, but remained a stylish element in men's fashion in the post war years. A tie pin pierces through the tie, through the shirt, and is then secured with a backing or a T-bar and chain, providing a polished and decorative finish.
***************The House of Finnigans was a British luxury luggage and trunk maker established in 1830, originally in Manchester and in New Bond Street in London in 1879. The House of Finnigans manufactured and produced a wide range of luxury products, including trunks, bags, fashion, jewellery, timepieces, and silverware. In 1968, Finnigans closed its New Bond Street store. The company remained a family-run business until it shut down its last store in 1988.
****************The term "trollop" was introduced in the early 1600s, with the earliest known evidence of its use appearing in the writings of George Wither in 1615. The term, a noun, was already established in the English language by that time.
*****************The carte de visite (which translates from the French as 'visiting card') was a format of small photograph which was patented in Paris by photographer André Adolphe Eugène Disdéri in 1854, although first used by Louis Dodero in 1851.
******************Evelyn Laye was an English actress and singer known for her performances in operettas and musicals. Born into a theatrical family, she made her professional début in 1915 aged fifteen and quickly established herself in musical comedy. By 1920 she was starring in leading roles in the West End at Daly's Theatre and other popular theatres, becoming London's highest-paid star.
*******************The Café Royal in Regent Street, Piccadilly was originally conceived and set up in 1865 by Daniel Nicholas Thévenon, who was a French wine merchant. He had to flee France due to bankruptcy, arriving in Britain in 1863 with his wife, Célestine, and just five pounds in cash. He changed his name to Daniel Nicols and under his management - and later that of his wife - the Café Royal flourished and was considered at one point to have the greatest wine cellar in the world. By the 1890s the Café Royal had become the place to see and be seen at. It remained as such into the Twenty-First Century when it finally closed its doors in 2008. Renovated over the subsequent four years, the Café Royal reopened as a luxury five star hotel.
********************The word "strumpet" was introduced in the early Fourteenth Century (around 1327), with its earliest recorded attestation in the Oxford English Dictionary. Its origin is uncertain, though it is thought to derive from Latin roots related to "disgrace" or "whoredom," such as stuprum.
*********************Daly's Theatre was a theatre in the City of Westminster. It was located at 2 Cranbourn Street, just off Leicester Square. It opened on the 27th of June 1893 and was demolished in 1937. The theatre was built for and named after the American impresario Augustin Daly, but he failed to make a success of it, and between 1895 and 1915 the British producer George Edwardes ran the house, where he presented a series of long-running musical comedies, including The Geisha (1896), and English adaptations of operettas, including The Merry Widow (1907). After Edwardes died in 1915 Daly's had one more large success, The Maid of the Mountains (1917), which ran for 1,352 productions, but after that the fortunes of the theatre declined; Noël Coward's play Sirocco (1927) was a notable failure. By the mid-1930s Leicester Square had become better known for cinemas. Daly's was sold to Warner Brothers who demolished it and erected a large cinema on the site.
**********************The idiom “richer than Croesus” means very wealthy. This term alludes to Croesus, the legendary King of Lydia and supposedly the richest man on earth. The simile was first recorded in English in 1577.
***********************Gaiety Girls were the chorus girls in Edwardian musical comedies, beginning in the 1890s at the Gaiety Theatre, London, in the shows produced by George Edwardes.
************************A lothario is a man who behaves selfishly and irresponsibly in his sexual relationships with women.
*************************The phrase "climbing the greasy pole" was coined by Benjamin Disraeli, a British statesman and Prime Minister, in 1868 when he remarked, "I have climbed to the top of the greasy pole," after achieving his ambition of becoming Prime Minister. Disraeli used this metaphor to describe the difficult and slippery path to the top of a profession or political career.
*************************Although gaining popularity between 1935 and 1940, and then again after the release of 1959 Universal Pictures Hollywood film by the same name starring Rock Hudson, Doris Day and Tony Randall, the term “pillow talk” was first recorded in the Oxford English Dictionary in 1914, making Gerald’s use of it as a fashionable young man of the 1920s, quite appropriate.
**************************Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a staunch believer in spiritualism, which he saw as a "New Revelation" from God, embracing it fully after the deaths of his wife and son. He became a prominent leader and advocate for the movement, traveling the world to give lectures and write extensively on spiritual phenomena like séances, spirit mediums, automatic writing, and even the existence of fairies and spirits in an unseen world.
***************************Spiritualism is a system of belief or religious practice based on supposed communication with the spirits of the dead, especially through mediums. There was a significant increase of interest and belief in spiritualism in Britain after the Great War with so many young men killed on the front, by mothers, fathers, widows and siblings wishing to find peace and come to terms with the loss of their loved ones.
****************************The Third Battle of Ypres, also known as the Battle of Passchendaele, was a campaign of the First World War, fought by the Allies against the German Empire. The battle took place on the Western Front, from July to November 1917, for control of the ridges south and east of the Belgian city of Ypres in West Flanders, as part of a strategy decided by the Allies at conferences in November 1916 and May 1917.
*****************************"For King and Country" was an English battle cry, a slogan used by soldiers during the Great War who were willing to sacrifice their lives for their sovereign and nation.
******************************Jet jewellery is made from jet, a form of fossilized wood, creating a unique, lightweight, and dark black gemstone. It is considered an organic gemstone, and the most famous type, Whitby jet, comes from the Yorkshire coast of England. Historically, jet was widely used, especially during the Victorian era for mourning jewellery after Queen Victoria popularized its use. The stone can be carved, polished, and faceted into various jewellery pieces like beads, crosses, and brooches.
*******************************A bandeau is a narrow band worn round the head to hold the hair in position.
********************************Kohl is a cosmetic product, specifically an eyeliner, traditionally made from crushed stibnite (antimony sulfide). Modern formulations often include galena (lead sulfide) or other pigments like charcoal. Kohl is known for its ability to darken the edges of the eyelids, creating a striking, eye-enhancing effect. Kohl has a long history, with ancient Egyptians using it to define their eyes and protect them from the sun and dust, however there was a resurgence in its use in the 1920s and 1930s. In the 1920s, kohl eyeliner was a popular makeup trend, particularly among women embracing the "flapper" aesthetic. It was used to create a dramatic, "smoky eye" look by smudging it onto the lash line and even the inner and outer corners of the eyes. This contrasted with the more demure, natural looks favoured in the pre-war era.
********************************* George Bassett & Co., known simply as Bassett's, was an English confectionery company and brand. The company was founded in Sheffield by George Bassett in 1842. The Sheffield Directory of 1842 records George Bassett as being "wholesale confectioner, lozenge maker and British wine trader". In 1851, Bassett took on an apprentice called Samuel Meggitt Johnson, who later became Bassett's son-in-law. His descendants ran the company until Gordon Johnson retired as chairman in the 1970s. Bassett's was first listed on the London Stock Exchange in 1929. They opened up a factory in Broad Street, Sheffield in 1852. The site moved in 1933 to Owlerton in another district of the city and remains there today. Unclaimed Babies were being produced during the Nineteenth Century, especially in the North West of England. In 1918, Bassetts launched their own range of the soft sweets which they called Peace Babies. They were re-launched as Jelly Babies in the 1950s and were allegedly thrown at the Beatles during concerts as they were a favourite of George Harrison. The Liquorice All-Sorts variety was created by accident when Bassett salesman Charlie Thompson dropped the samples of several different products in front of a prospective client. The client was taken by the idea of selling the sweets all mixed up and in return for the success, the company allowed the client to name the new brand. Barratt & Co. Ltd. was acquired in a friendly takeover by Bassett's in 1966. In 1989, the combined firms were acquired by the then-united Cadbury-Schweppes company in a deal brokered for ninety-one million pounds. In 2016, all the products were re-marketed under the Maynards Bassett dual branding.
This rather cluttered and untidy scene may look real to you, but it is in fact made up entirely with miniatures from my 1:12 miniatures collection, including pieces I have had since I was a teenager.
Fun things to look for in this tableau include:
Central to our story, the gold and amethyst tie pin, which you can see glinting in the light at the very front of the washstand next to Gerald’s pocket watch is amongst the smallest pieces I have in my collection. I acquired it along with a selection of other tiny pieces of jewellery as part of an artisan jewellery box from a specialist doll house supplier when I was a teenager. Amazingly, none of the pieces have been lost over the passing years since I bought them even though they are only around two millimetres in diameter. The blue and white floral ewer set, I acquired at the same time as well as the pretty lace and floral fan you can see behind it and the painted paper Victorian fan with the wooden handle. Both are miniature artisan pieces. Gerald’s gold pocket watch I acquired from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House shop in the United Kingdom.
Cyril’s shaving brush with its brass handle and real dyed hog’s hair bristle brush, lather bowl and brass safely razor are all artisan miniatures I acquired through the Little Green Workshop in the United Kingdom who specialise in high end, high quality miniatures.
The baby blue Bakelite photograph fame containing Sylvia Fordyce’s photo is an authentic replica of a real sized Art Deco photo frame. An artisan piece, it comes from Doreen Jeffries Small Wonders Miniature store in the United Kingdom.
Cyril’s ornate Edwardian silver hairbrush and comb are part of a larger set of dressing table silver which have been made with great attention to detail, and come from Warwick Miniatures in Ireland, who are well known for the quality and detail applied to their pieces. His eau-de-nil hand mirror and nail file are part of a larger dressing table set also. Made with incredible detail to make the pieces as realistic as possible, they are part of a Chrysnbon Miniature set. The mirror even contains a real piece of reflective mirror. Judy Berman founded Chrysnbon Miniatures in the 1970’s. She created affordable miniature furniture kits patterned off her own full-size antiques collection. She then added a complete line of accessories to compliment the furniture. The style of furniture and accessories reflect the turn-of-the-century furnishings of a typical early American home. At the time, collectible miniatures were expensive because they were mostly individually crafted.
All the photographs you can see – family photos, the photo of Sylvia Fordyce, the photo of Gerald and all the photos, tinted postcards and carte de visites stuck up on the wall are all real photos, produced to high standards in 1:12 size on photographic paper by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire. The frames you can see are almost all from Melody Jane’s Dollhouse Suppliers in the United Kingdom and are made of metal with glass in each.
Cyril’s box of Gillette Blue Blades, Beau Brummell Hair Lotion and tube of Brylcreem have all been made with great attention paid to the packaging to make it as authentic as possible. 1:12 artisan miniatures they were also made by Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire.
Gillette introduced its revolutionary disposable blade safety razor in 1903, after King Camp Gillette filed a patent for the concept in 1901. This system featured a reusable handle and a thin, disposable double-edge blade, making shaving more convenient by eliminating the need to sharpen blades. The initial production run in 1903 saw the sale of fifty-one razors and one hundred and sixty-eight blades, paving the way for Gillette to become a dominant force in the shaving industry, especially after supplying the razors for World War I troops. Gillette blue blades were dipped in blue lacquer. They became one of the most recognisable blades in the world.
Marlo Products in Cleveland, Ohio began its life in the Nineteenth Century, producing a wide range of consumer products. They are best known for their Epsom Salts. Amongst other items, they produced Beau Brummel Hair Lotion which was claimed to prevent dryness and keep stubborn hair firmly in place if massaged into the hair after shampooing. Today, Marlo Products has left behind its consumer brand and is known for modern industrial water treatment equipment after a significant evolution in the business from their early consumer products to specialized industrial solutions.
The washstand is made from deal pine and was supplied by Streets Ahead Miniatures.
The William Morris leaves and berries wallpaper was scaled down to size and printed by me.
Sρoᥒsorᥱd
♱ The Cryptid Event
Taxy: The Cryptid Event maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Banished%20Souls/129/183/1611
♱ [VARC] Lithe Face Tattoos - Bom Lel EvoX
♱ [DECAY] // IMMORAL EYES
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Derdieb / You Set
Taxy: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/She/115/33/3518
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Sabbath Event
Pixel Art - Pierce
Taxy: maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/SABBATH/219/121/26
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Oh, Glubs [1993-2010]
LINES WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF A GOLDFISH
I forget how many companions
You saw off.
Was it just one?
I seem to think more…
At least two, maybe three.
Or is that me
Constructing for you
A determination to be
The one and only?
I was never often
Directly your carer and provider.
Just on those rare times,
Left alone in the house with you,
I had to feed you,
Switch on your tank light,
Switch it off,
Watch your lithe
Orange-bodied movements,
As you played a dance
With that nightly pinch
Of food confetti.
But that does not diminish
The love I had for you
Or make me feel less wretched
That you are gone.
Burying you in the garden,
I couldn’t help but think
Of your very first arrival
In this house,
So newly ours,
You so newly hers,
Who had wanted you so long
And been promised,
‘When we move, when we move…’
We moved.
We kept our promise.
Since when you have been
Such a significant household member
It will take a long time
To register you are gone.
And I never did get
A decent photo of you!
© Michael Thorn
First ever family portrait. It was agony making them behave.
L to R: Huxley Harmonie (HH) Caramelle Coeur (CC) Myrth Moire (MM) Birkin Way Teagan (BWT) Gamine Rio (GR) Petra Dish Amandine (PDAm) Pristine Aix-Melusine (PAM) Vixie-Leia (VL) Vedette Minstrelle (VM) Ninjane Moll (NM) Moxie Rilkean Malt (MRM) Minx Skylove Rue (MSR) Marzipanne Lithe Currant (MLC)
-- farmland near Gisborne, in Victoria.
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NO GIFS AND ANIMATED ICONS, PLEASE!
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A poem, that gives a hint of the wide variety of subject matter covered in the poetry of Dorothea Mackellar. Although well remembered for her exceptional insight into the "Beauty and Terror" of the Australian landscape, Dorothea also understood the landscape of the mind. The frustrated hopes of life and love.
My Country
The love of field and coppice,
Of green and shaded lanes.
Of ordered woods and gardens
Is running in your veins,
Strong love of grey-blue distance
Brown streams and soft dim skies
I know but cannot share it,
My love is otherwise.
I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of droughts and flooding rains.
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel-sea,
Her beauty and her terror -
The wide brown land for me!
A stark white ring-barked forest
All tragic to the moon,
The sapphire-misted mountains,
The hot gold hush of noon.
Green tangle of the brushes,
Where lithe lianas coil,
And orchids deck the tree-tops
And ferns the warm dark soil.
Core of my heart, my country!
Her pitiless blue sky,
When sick at heart, around us,
We see the cattle die -
But then the grey clouds gather,
And we can bless again
The drumming of an army,
The steady, soaking rain.
Core of my heart, my country!
Land of the Rainbow Gold,
For flood and fire and famine,
She pays us back threefold -
Over the thirsty paddocks,
Watch, after many days,
The filmy veil of greenness
That thickens as we gaze.
An opal-hearted country,
A wilful, lavish land -
All you who have not loved her,
You will not understand -
Though earth holds many splendours,
Wherever I may die,
I know to what brown country
My homing thoughts will fly.
Dorothea Mackellar
9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.
Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.
Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.
11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time.
Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!
Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.
My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure.
I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.
For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.
Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.
The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.
12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!
We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.
I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you?
Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.
I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.
My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny.
13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.
People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.
I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.
Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.
Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.
I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.
Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.
14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.
Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.
I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me.
I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.
Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!
Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware!
15.4.09
I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip.
On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.
John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.
I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.
There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!
I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.
I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah!
Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.
At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.
That's all for England!
Credits
****************
-CLOTHES-
!gO! Lady Marmalade jacket & tie
Blueberry - Cake - Tight Leggings
-ACCESSORIES-
.::C.C. Kre-ations::. *Look at me*. glasses
Kibitz - Love rings
-HAIR-
pr!tty - Yuri
-MAKE UP-
{S0NG} :: Hope Eye
-[TWC]- Soft Spell
[okkbye] Lithe Eyelashes
-POSE-
*{( konpeitou )}* pose collection
-PROPS-
{moss&mink} Love Hideaway - Curtain
-WINDLIGHT-
Naminaeko