View allAll Photos Tagged paramour
On March 31, 2018 at least three male osprey was chasing Esperanza relentlessly, not letting her rest and after two hours of chasing, they disappeared and didn't return.
Zorro began to defend his nest, and later in the evening a new female osprey showed up. Behaving submissively, Zorro courted her and finally sealed the deal.
The next two days the situation is still tenuous with Zorro and his new love. She's uncertain about moving in and Zorro seems a bit uncommitted. Only time will tell as to what will occur at the Manor for the 2018 Osprey season.
Upon review of the first images taken of this season, the female markings is different than the Esperanza we know. So Zorro is living up to his name and being an Osprey paramour.
L’Architecture
Dès sa fondation, St-Pétersbourg fut placée sous l’influence européenne. Fasciné par l’Occident, Pierre Ier rompt avec la tradition moscovite, et invite des architectes étrangers. Le premier venu en 1703 est le Suisse italien Domenico Trezzini qui va dessiner les plans de la cité et construire les premiers édifices, comme le palais d’Été conçu sur le modèle de maisons pour notables (un des quatre types de demeures imposés par le tsar dans sa capitale), la cathédrale de la forteresse Pierre-et-Paul, l’église de l’Annonciation du monastère Alexandre-Nevski et le bâtiment des Douze Collèges, (devenu l’université). Mais c’est le palais Menchikov, construit par l’Italien Fontana et l’Allemand Schädel sur l’île Vassilievski, qui offre le meilleur exemple de ce style baroque pétrovien , avec ses fenêtres à petits carreaux, ses pilastres corinthiens et son toit mansardé à la française. Quant à Peterhof, c’est un Français, Jean-Baptiste Leblond , qui le dessine sur le modèle de Versailles.
Sous les règnes d’Anna Ioannovna et Élisabeth Petrovna, St-Pétersbourg entre dans l’ère du baroque russe . Son représentant le plus illustre est Bartolomeo Francesco Rastrelli qui, pendant trente ans, couvre la ville d’édifices féeriques. Des cariatides, des corniches, des colonnes et des pilastres surgissent de toutes parts, se reflétant dans les rivières et les canaux. Le blanc des colonnes ressort merveilleusement sur le fond bleu et vert – couleurs préférées de Rastrelli. Le palais d’Hiver avec son abondance de moulures et de pilastres, le palais Stroganov qui déploie ses cariatides à l’angle de la perspective Nevski et la cathédrale Smolny qui réussit une heureuse synthèse du baroque italien et de l’architecture russe, sont parmi les œuvres les plus connues du maître. Le palais Catherine de Tsarskoïé Selo constitue l’apogée du baroque rastrellien avec son immense façade bleu azur ornée de colonnes et d’atlantes. Savva Tchevakinski , élève de Rastrelli, construit la magnifique église St-Nicolas-des-Marins.
Possédée par la « fureur de bâtir », Catherine II renvoie Rastrelli et fait appel à des architectes nourris de culture antique. Commence alors la grande époque du classicisme . Vallin de La Mothe conçoit le sobre édifice du Petit Ermitage, destiné à abriter les collections de la tsarine. Antonio Rinaldi est chargé de la construction du palais de Marbre. Le jeune Giacomo Quarenghi , qui ne jure que par Palladio, impose le portique à colonnes corinthiennes soutenant un fronton triangulaire. L’Écossais Charles Cameron , fin connaisseur de l’Antiquité, est invité à dessiner des intérieurs de Tsarskoïé Selo. Les architectes russes sont mis à contribution avec Ivan Starov , auteur du palais Tauride inspiré du Panthéon de Rome, tandis que se développe le goût pour le style chinois .
L’engouement pour l’antique trouve son apogée sous le règne d’Alexandre Ier avec le style Empire chargé d’exprimer la puissance impériale. Les édifices deviennent pompeux : le Français Thomas de Thomon construit une Bourse aux allures de temple grec, Andrian Zakharov reconstruit l’Amirauté sous forme d’un arc de triomphe surmonté d’un temple ionique. Quant à la cathédrale Notre-Dame-de-Kazan, commandée à Andreï Voronikhine , elle prend pour modèle St-Pierre de Rome. Cette époque voit également les premières réalisations de Carlo Rossi , qui entreprend de bâtir de grands ensembles parfaitement homogènes. La couleur jaune des façades se substituant aux teintes bleues et vertes de Rastrelli devient la référence classique. Avec leurs portiques, leurs pilastres corinthiens et leur fronton, le palais Michel et le théâtre Alexandra révèlent le raffinement du style Empire. Après l’accession au trône de Nicolas Ier, Rossi aménage de vastes ensembles comme la place du Sénat qui, avec les bâtiments du Sénat et du Synode réunis par un arc de triomphe, semble conçue pour servir de décor à des défilés militaires. Mais c’est l’État-Major sur la place du Palais, avec son interminable façade semi-circulaire, qui reste son ouvrage le plus spectaculaire.
Au milieu du 19e s., le style Empire se voit supplanté par l’ éclectisme , subtil mélange des styles les plus divers. L’un des exemples en est l’intérieur de la cathédrale St-Isaac édifiée par Auguste de Montferrand sur le modèle de St-Paul de Londres et du Panthéon de Paris. Mélange de baroque et de classique, elle inclut également des éléments russes, italiens, byzantins, etc. Parallèlement, on assiste au développement de l’ historicisme qui opère un retour vers l’architecture d’autrefois. Le néogothique, le néobaroque, le néo-Renaissance sont à la mode et donnent quelques réussites comme le palais Belosselski-Belozerski, œuvre d’ Andreï Stackenschneider , l’église St-Sauveur-sur-le-Sang-Versé édifiée par Alfred Parland , la petite église de Tchesmé, néogothique, construite par Iouri Velten dans la banlieue sud de la ville.
Au tournant du 20e siècle, avec l’ Art nouveau , les façades se couvrent de détails qui font de certaines rues, comme l’avenue Kamennoostrovski, de véritables musées à ciel ouvert. Ce style est surtout présent sur l’île Petrogradskaïa qui voit la construction d’immeubles en pierre à l’époque de son essor. Le pont de la Trinité, construit pour le bicentenaire de la ville sur le modèle du pont Alexandre III à Paris, la maison bâtie par Fiodor Lidval en bas de la perspective Kamennoostrovski, l’hôtel élevé par Alexandre von Goguen pour la ballerine Kchessinskaïa, en sont autant d’exemples. D’autres édifices furent marqués par ce style, comme l’hôtel Astoria élevé par Lidval, le magasin Elisseïev construit par Gavriil Baranovski et même la mosquée qui imite le mausolée de Gour Emir à Samarkand !
Si l’époque soviétique épargna le cœur historique de St-Pétersbourg, elle imposa son style monumental à certains quartiers périphériques de la ville. C’est le cas des quartiers du sud que l’on traverse en venant de l’aéroport par l’avenue Moskovski prospekt, que bordent des immeubles massifs, d’une majesté austère. Au fond de la place Moskovskaïa d’un monumentalisme hors pair, un immense immeuble à colonnes devait abriter le Soviet de Leningrad. En son centre, l’une des dernières statues de Lénine encore debout (cette statue est surnommée le « Lénine dansant » !). L’art officiel soviétique ne fut pas sans réussites, comme les stations du métro, et le monument aux Défenseurs de Leningrad, œuvre du sculpteur Anikouchine .
L’après-guerre fut entièrement tournée vers l’effort de reconstruction. On restaure et on reconstruit à l’identique les palais impériaux des environs. Les quartiers périphériques, détruits par les bombardements, se couvrent de cités-dortoirs composées d’immeubles aux appartements exigus appelés « khrouchtchovki » du nom du successeur de Staline. Sous Brejnev, surgissent des mastodontes où logent les groupes de touristes encadrés. L’avenir de ces établissements reste incertain, car la ville développe aujourd’hui des infrastructures hôtelières à échelle plus humaine, notamment dans des bâtiments historiques, la construction étant interdite dans le centre classé par l’Unesco au patrimoine de l’humanité.
ENGLISH******************************************
The Palaces of Nevsky Prospekt
Belosselsky-Belozersky Palace illuminated at night
On the southern corner of Nevsky Prospekt and the Fontanka river at No.41 is the faded dark red Belosselsky-Belozersky Palace seen here. This was the last private palace constructed on this multi-palatial street and was completed in stages between 1840 and 1848. The prime riverside site having been purchased by Prince Alexander Mikhailovich B-B in 1800.
This unique eye catching elegant rococo building with muscular Atlantes supporting Corinthian columns was the concept of the architect Andrei Stakenschneider, who was born in the nearby city of Gatchina and the son of a German miller.
The pseudo-baroque exterior has two front facing façades, west to the Fontanka river, and north to the street. Like many prominent buildings in the city, this palace has recently undergone extensive restoration in preparation for the tricentennial celebrations.
The interior is as dramatic and elegant as the exterior. In the main rooms the architect used an extensive blend of composite materials for the baroque decor. Many of the walls are carved and all of the doors are decorated. Especially interesting are the front stairs in the entrance hall, the large and small Golden sitting rooms, the Purple, the Green and the White Halls and the Great Mirror Hall which is used for concerts.
Extravagant imperial courts reigned here well into the 20th century, when the palace was the residence of Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich (Alexander III's brutal brother - assassinated in 1905). In 1905, Grand Princess Elizaveta Fedorovna, having just become a num, willed the palace toher nephew, Grand Prince Dmitry Pavlovich, who sold it in 1917. During the Soviet period the grand palace was used as the party headquarters for the Kuibyshev district of Leningrad, but its interiors were preserved almost intact. Nowadays the palace houses the Wax Museum, an art gallery and a concert hall, which holds regular performances of the folk group Petersburg Mozaik, The Wax Museum collection contains 80+ wax figures, including models of many prominent figures in Russian history such as Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Kutuzov, Alexei, Speransky, Kerensky, various tsars and other members of the Romanov Dynasty. On the wall inside the entrance hall of the former Belosselsky-Belozersky Palace there is a plaque which indicates that during World War I the palace housed the Anglo-Russian Hospital.
On the other side of the Fontanka and separated by Quarenghi's Stalls, is the Anichkov Palace at No.39 Nevsky Prospekt. In the 18th century this was a suburban area and the broad Fontanka river was lined with palaces for the elite that were usually accessed by boat. Which explains why the main entrance to this great building faces the river rather than Nevsky. The palace was named for Colonel Mikhail Anichkov who set up his camp on this site at the time of the founding of the city and whose regiment built the original wooden bridge over the Fontanka, now known as the Anichkov Most.
This palace was commissioned by Tsarina Elizabeth as a gift for her lover, Alexei Razumovsky, between the years 1741 and 1750. In continuing with this tradition after Razumovsky's death, Catherine the Great gave this palace to her paramour, Prince Grigory Potemkin. As an able statesman and military officer Potemkin is famous in his own right for his attempts to deceive Catherine about the squalid conditions of the Russian south. He had fake villages built for Catherine's area tour of 1787. The term "Potemkin village" has come to mean any impressive façade that hides an ugly impoverished interior. Not so the Anichkov Palace, which was originally designed by Mikhail Zemtsov and completed by Rastrelli. Little remains of those early Baroque designs as the building has undergone a number of changes and in the early 19th century, Neoclassical details were added by Carlo Rossi.
After Rossi's alterations the palace became the winter residence of the heir to the throne. However when Alexander III became tsar in 1881, he continued to live there, rather than the customary Winter Palace. After his death, his widow Maria Fyodorovna remained there until the revolution.
Many young princes grew up in this palace and in 1935 the premises were returned to children and it was known as the Leningrad Palace of Pioneers. Today is is still occupied by a children's organization and the Anichkov Lyceum. Exhibitions of their works are regularly held in the palace or grounds, where there is a modern theater and concert hall.
The elegant colonnaded (Quarenghi's Stalls) building overlooking the Fontanka to the east had been another addition to the palace, by Giancomo Quarenghi in 1803-05. Initially this was built as a trading arcade where imperial goods destined for the palaces were stored prior to their delivery. This extension was later converted into government offices and was known as the Cabinet.
Born the son of a wealthy Avalonian Mage, Ravel Paramour was nothing but a disappointment to his father.
Useless in Combat, slow to learn and of average almost asexual looks he was not even noticed by most at court.
His failed attempts at magic enraged his father. He had a natural ability to talk to birds but failed at all other attempts to cast spells.
At 15 he grew tired of the beatings and Fled to Nocturnus and into the Welcoming arms of Lord Ssilyrrlith. The Lord set a test for him to seek out the Fountain of Blood and so he quested for a decade to find it at the Fallen Angel in the Temple of Blood. Upon drinking a sip from the fountain the mysteries of necromancy were revealed to him. A further draft tipped her over the edge into Lunacy.
He then quested for the remains of the dishonored Black Falcons led by Evall Falcao a psychopath and founder of the Order of Black Paladins. He dragged their remains from their mass grave in the Ancient Burial Grounds. Summoning them back into unlife by casting their bones into the Fountain.
Now in the civil war he remains Loyal to Lord Ssilyrrlith, he yearns for the day when he can march an undead horde onto Avalonia.
This drawing was originally inspired by a discussion between Lawrence Weschler, Errol Morris, Dr. Kanan Makiya, and W.J.T. Mitchell as part of the Chicago Humanities Festival. The subject was the iconography of war and how people live with and process the myriad tragic and frightening images that have become a part of our everyday experience. It occurred to me that these iconic images fail us, or more that we fail them, in that we continually allow new atrocities to bloom, that we author many or most of these great calamities ourselves, and that we allow history to repeat itself over and over, only with more technological savvy as each new conflict arises so that we are further removed from the killing than we were the last time. When i see photos of depravity, of war, of suffering, of humiliation and dehumanization, such as the photos from Abu Ghraib that so many of us have seen, i want to believe that the images are powerful and profound enough to shock us into action, into some kind of patient and benevolent revolution to actually make the world better, to accept and respect all the differences in cultures and histories and ideologies and live amicably if not peacefully. Clearly i’m either too optimistic or too naive, because we fight, maim, lie and kill in the name of empire, religion, oil, just as we always have and likely always will. And many of us believe what we are told about the righteousness of our crimes and the trueness of our aim with little or no question because it is simply what we are told by those we expect to be in the know.
So the drawing at its inception was a collage of iconic images of war and struggle, a superimposed collection of calamity. It was my hope that the volume of sadness and destruction in this drawing would serve as a reminder for myself, an alarm to help me wake from my own apathy and disillusionment in the face of the grinding and monstrous engine of modern government and the political machine that can apparently function on nothing but the blackest crude, a reminder that i need to let history inform every decision and choice that i make so i’m not simply stumbling and blind as i move through the world, that if i am going to be a part of any change, it should be positive change.
The drawing has changed, however, and is no longer based solely in the literal, in the photo realism of our recent past, but for me it has also begun to acquire a symbolism and metaphorical nature that feels relative to our future. This piece has taken on its own life, separate from me, and i don’t feel like i control it anymore, neither the direction of the imagery used nor the execution of each individual piece of imagery, but rather that i’m slowly opening and receiving what comes in. It feels akin to the process of pollination. Foreign bodies have entered and have had a profound effect, life-changing even, and in realizing that effect, those foreign bodies become familiar and essential.
i’ve rewritten these lines a dozen times and i’m never satisfied with what appears on the page. It could be that for me there is no satisfaction in talking about my own failures as a person living today, or maybe i don’t want to sermonize what i see as the collective failures of everyone. It’s also possible that instead of all this writing and talking, all i can really do is draw a picture and let you do with it what you will.
It was not my goal to make a drawing of ruin, but when i consider where we seem to be going and how desperately we seem to want to get there, i don’t know that i could avoid it. At least, not this time.
3-24-08
Since the 19th of March, when Chicago held its 5 year anniversary rally/march/protest for the invasion of Iraq, a great deal of information has come my way that is causing me a great deal of concern. And fear. And anger. And i don't know if anyone else out there who might intentionally or accidentally stumble upon these paragraphs knows more or less than i do, but my knowledge is only starting to expand regarding where we are as a country and as a society, and even in my peripheral knowledge of the kind of insidious and deep running corruption we're living with and in, i find myself in a state of shock because so few people are responding to this information...which is available, it's definitely out there...and i know so few people who have any sense of outrage at all, who feel that their rights are being taken from them and are not anything more than sarcastic about it. As if they simply expected it and are willing to accept it because, well, what can one person do?
Habeas Corpus is gone. None of the current politicians are talking about that. This scares me. This essential right, now taken away, is one of the major dividing lines between a free society and a police state. And there's so much to say that i can't do it here. There is so so much to talk about. Habeas Corpus is just the literal tip of a vast and murky iceberg that i fear is about to sink our titanic self-image and our possibly vague and misguided ideas about what America is. And i don't want to sink.
8-5-08
Since i last made an entry here, not much has changed. The telecoms have been granted retroactive immunity, which in short means that our channels of communication can be monitored, and done so with no repercussions to those doing the monitoring. Which means we should probably fear that anything critical we have to say about the society we live in could be used against us, but not in a court of law. A closed society, a police state, requires no court of law. Barack Obama supported this retroactive immunity, which elicited a long thin sigh of disappointment from myself and many others. The young people canvassing the streets to raise money for his campaign didn’t have much to say about that, at least not here in Chicago. Some of them didn’t seem to know what i was talking about, to be honest. He may have had his reasons. There may have been other items tacked on to this particular legislation that he wanted to see get “through the system.” But could those reasons really outweigh our civil liberties, our small comfort in thinking we can speak freely? i still think Obama is the only candidate running for president. But i also think he has only used his offices to get to bigger and better offices. He hasn’t done much for Illinois since he’s been Senator because he immediately started running for president. i hope that once he wins that office he’ll be able to get something done, anything, as long as it’s in the opposite direction our current administration has been taking us. Clearly it is the most unsuccessful administration in the history of our young country. The most insensitive, the most rash and unthinking, the most ignorant and arrogant. i’m happy i was around to see it. Witnessing this kind of colossal failure offers an infinitely important challenge to mankind: The chance to fix things. Our fuck-ups have been on a global scale, and we need to make global amends. Coming out of this fog of war and corruption, we have an opportunity. It isn’t the first time we’ve had this opportunity, and if it’s the last then we won’t be here to consider it.
Also:
How about we stop being so silly? The New Yorker cover? It’s satire. We of all people should know what satire is. And it’s ironic that so many of us, including the Obama’s, were so offended by this illustration. We call ourselves the land of the free, yet our country was founded on genocide. Is that not irony? Are we not a satire of what we claim to be? Liberators? Come on. i know it's hard to have a sense of humor in these dark ages, but if we fail to see the absurdity in such situations and responses to those situations it will only add to the already frightening pile of things we've failed at.
More very soon, if you care...
9-22-08
And now, a word from my paramour, Cassandra:
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This is a bit long, but the financial cluster-f#@$ we're in is complicated and it seems the Bush administration would just like Congress to sign off on the bailout, no questions asked, no strings attached. So, if you can't slog through this whole text, could you, would you, please, skip to the end, call your elected officials and tell them you're not okay with signing off on a trillion dollar bailout without knowing the details or that only assists the companies that got us into this mess? And then, feel free to whittle it down, but could you pass it on? In email and/or phone calls to the folks you know that haven't yet crossed the digital divide? Yes, you know them; some of your parents, neighbors, etc. They don't really care for the world wide web, but they still believe in democracy and hopefully, the telephone. It's an awful lot of money that we're being asked to pony up. Wait! We're not being asked! That's why you have to call your Senator!
We've been told that in order to avert a major financial catastrophe, the bailout is necessary and needs to happen immediately. And that may be true, but it seems like we're not being told enough. Will the executives that run these companies that are crashing and burning, still receive their multi-million dollar pay and bonus packages while employees lose jobs, health benefits and retirement funds? Will there be any relief (of course we won't bail out your average working stiff, I'm not THAT naive) for the person who's losing their house, their business, their pension? Where is the money coming from? Where exactly are we borrowing $700 billion to a trillion from? What is the plan after? What will prevent this from happening again in a couple of months? We're going to be on the hook for this money (on top of the crushing debt we're already under) for a long, long, long, long time. Or is this another preemptive strike with no exit strategy? This feels a bit familiar, no? A dangerous set of circumstances that requires swift and bold (shock and awe) tactics to keep us all safe? Calling for nearly unfettered powers, (this time to the Treasury secretary)? "Decisions by the Secretary pursuant to the authority of this Act are non-reviewable and committed to agency discretion, and may not be reviewed by any court of law or any administrative agency." Intense pressure on Congress to pass a rescue measure quickly?
online.wsj.com/article/SB122200573768460503.html
www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/09/20/...
krugman.blogs.nytimes.com/2008/09/20/no-deal/
Even this guy doesn't like the idea:
www.outsidethebeltway.com/archives/trillion_dollar_bailou...
Does anyone remember the S&L crisis? Which cost American tax payers, some estimate, $1.4 trillion dollars? Sound familiar? Some highlights: During the senior George Bush administration, Jeb Bush defaulted on a $4.56 million dollar real estate loan, paid $500,000 back, the $4million balance was paid of by... um... you, the taxpayer. Neil Bush became director of Silverado Savings and Loan in 1985. Three years later the institution was belly up at a cost of $1.6 billion to... you again! The taxpayer bailed them out!
A more thorough account here:
www.city-data.com/forum/politics-other-controversies/4386...
A 1989 Time Magazine article here:
www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,957083,00.html
(Note that Bush Sr. asked Congress to act within 45 days to prevent financial meltdown. Bush Jr. wants this passed tomorrow, Monday Sept 22, 2008. So, please don't wait to phone your elected officials.)
Accountability? Not much. We paid their bad debt and they went on their merry way. No indictments, no jail time, not even garnishments or freezing of assets to re-coup the embezzled money. Jeb even got to keep the building he took out the loan to buy! Bush Sr. wasn't re-elected, but Jeb was later elected Governor of Florida! (Schwing Vote!) An office he held during the Florida Supreme Court ruling that stopped the recount of the 2000 election his brother, W, "won". (Holy Serendipity!) Hey! Here's another interesting side note: did you know that this time last year August 30, 2007 Lehman Bros hired Jeb as an advisor?! Me neither! It's funny how these things go mostly unreported. Wonder why Lehman didn't get in on the bailout deal? Sibling rivalry? If you think your head won't explode, you should go here for Jeb's breathtaking resume:
www.atlargely.com/2008/09/what-is-jeb-bus.html
So, this is just one (eerily familiar) example of how the Bush family and their friends have been fleecing us for generations and we, the voters, the taxpayers, the people that our government is supposed to be "of, by, and for" are letting them have their very greedy way with us. Over and over and over again. They do it, frankly, because they can. We keep letting them fleece us (or another word that begins with "F") and we shrug, or rant, sometimes we take to the streets, but not often. But we don't act. We feel overwhelmed and totally hopeless, so we turn on the television or fire up the internets or find some other, any other diversion not to think about how overwhelming and hopeless it feels. But I am imploring you to call your elected officials, the ones who you took the time to vote into office, the ones you elected to represent you, call them and ask that they do what you elected them to do: Represent you. It's redundant, I know, but I think we forget that they work for US. (Even the ones you didn't vote for, still work for you.) Make them work. Tell them what you think. It'll take minutes. Minutes out of your day to use your voice to not allow our government to spend our money without accountability. Again. And if nothing happens, if we don't manage to start a movement today, that's okay. Because we did move. We stood. We didn't just sit idly by while we got filched. Or another word that starts with "F"...
Find your State Representative: forms.house.gov/wyr/welcome.shtml
Find your Senator: www.senate.gov/general/contact_information/senators_cfm.c...
Patriotically yours,
Cassandra
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9-28-08
A New Delhi-based journalist who has worked with The Guardian and BBC invited me to contribute this image to a brief story about the assassination of Benazir Bhutto on a news-gathering website called NowPublic. Their motto is "Crowd Powered Media," which could be good or bad, depending on the crowd. To be honest, i think the crowd is ok, so i was happy to be invited. Here it is: www.nowpublic.com/world/un-investigate-bhutto-killing
It's small, but it's something. If one person wants to see it, i want them to see it. So thank you, Mr. Jha.
10-28-08
People! If you're still reading this far, please look at this:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=KdNgMKPV9xQ&eurl=http://gobnf...
We can't ignore it. We can't sit back and watch. We need to be active. Informed. Right now. We need to use our power and we need to remake our government, our country, our world.
11-04-08
Let us hope that this is the beginning of a new American era.
Marker on watercolor paper.
Late 2007 – Early 2008
30 x 22
Venus was nothing compared to the girl. Her clothes trailed alluringly across the floor; her satin evening gown with the magnificent broach, her long shiny gloves, gorgeous Sable Fur all were laid out in seductive, overlying curls as she had slinked through the room, leaving behind her the telling path of unmistakably rich prey. The beginning of which held a feast for the tracking predator who knew how to read the signs.
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The study below was derived from facts uncovered while doing research for the following Doctoral dissertation:
Light to the shadows of their mind:
Criminal tactics and strategies
Criminology Department .
Chatwick University
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If there was ever one thing I savored the most about my chosen profession I would have to say it was the lavish receptions, balls and other posh settings where the frills of the filthy rich could be both admired and enjoyed. There was just something about the voluptuous ladies who haunted these venues, dressed up to the silky nines and sporting flashy ornaments, which I found so very mesmerizing.
Take the young lady in whose spell I was currently basking. She was wearing a slinky long satin number that appeared to have been poured along her enticing figure. A diamond brooch sparkled from just below her perky breasts. Her opulent gemstone jewels, surrounded by sparkling diamonds, shone like cat eyes when caught by the lights. I studied her the way one would appraise a painting by an old master, closely examining everything I could that pertained to her. If this work of art went by a name, I would title it: Eileen, a study in opulence.
I could also see that I wasn’t the only one who was paying Eileen attention. The man she was seeing appeared, as usual to be caught up in the ladies enchantment this evening. I had seen the couple together several times, but tonight he seemed to be especially attentive to her. There was definitely electricity in the air between them. Which was good, for tonight would be the night to pounce, paying the witchy young lady and her jewels a long anticipated nocturnal visit in the wee hours of the morning.
I had heard about Eileen through a paid source close by in Sutton. She had been an orphan at a young age and brought up properly by a war-widowed grandmother. The Grandmother had been wealthy, and when she passed on she had left 22 year old Eileen with a small fortune. Along with the Grandmothers wealth, Eileen inherited from the old lady three major facets, a spoiled naivety, a gullible ego, and a massive jewelry collection. Which all together presented a very enticing combination for someone like me.
Eileen wore her grandmother’s jewels with reckless abandonment, so I was told, and that is what made her stand out to those who sell information to people like me. Like a hungry predator, I shadowed Eileen for an entire month as she bounced from night club to private club, from extravagant balls, to ultra-fancy ritzy dances. I got to see her and her collection of jewels in close proximity, and it was love at every sighting. I even stole a dance away from her escort, when he was away making one of his frequent business calls. She was wearing a puffy gown of rich taffeta, with silvery diamonds that flashed as they cascaded down from her ears throat. It was a slow dance and I was able to tune out her constant babbling and concentrate on appraising her jewels. After the dance I kissed her gloved hand with its heavily ringed fingers, and bid au revoir, before quickly getting lost in the crowd before her lover returned.
The whole time I closely watched over Eileen and her latest Beau, a charming man named Claude who spoke with a heavy French accent. I quickly learned everything I could about the pair’s background, their relationship, their friends, their habits. Several times I had left them alone while when they were safely partying out on the town, and did a trail run by the ladies residence. This was a secluded small stone mini-mansion, located deep in the woods on the far outskirts of town that had been her Grandmothers weekend retreat. I had plenty of time to study, so that by the time the evening arrived when I would make my move, I had it all plotted out, taking into consideration every angle. I was ready, and actually had been so for over a week prior to this evening.
I followed the happy couple home that evening, and waited while they got down to business. I was calm, my nerves knew no anxiety. I spirited away back to my car and changed into my proper “ business” attire ( black clothes, gloves and mask). I had witnessed Eileen and Claude putting on the same show for several late evenings, and I knew just when to strike. And, then, strike I did.
Like a shadow I moved, becoming part of the background. Reaching the house I stole in through a basement window which I had loosened the week before. I cautiously moved inside, using my torch only sparingly. I made my way up through the basement to the first level, pausing only for a few precious seconds to observe the pricy landscapes that hung from the walls, but I did not touch, for that was not my game.
I crept up the stairs to the sitting room of the master bedroom, Eileen’s grandmother’s old room. It stood as a shrine to the old lady, right down to her old white cat lying on the primly made bed. The cat watched me untrustingly before hissing and running off into some dark corner. I went over and pulled back a self-portrait of the old lady, behind which was a small wall safe. It’s amazing how easy these things are to spot. The tumblers satisfactorily whirled and clicked home, allowing me to open silently and peek into its small chamber. A number of jewel cases of various shapes and makes were exposed to my torch. Quickly I emptied them, watching as jewel after jewel slithered brightly into my satchel. I replaced each case, and after the last was disposed of its contents, I closed it back up and made my way to the fair Eileen’s boudoir.
Venus was nothing compared to the viixen Eileen. Her clothes laid an alluring path across the sitting room floor; her satin evening gown with the magnificent broach, her long shiny gloves, gorgeous Sable Fur, all were laying in seductive, overlapping curves like a carefully marked out trail leading one to a treasure of promised ecstasy. For Eileen and her paramour, that ecstasy was to be found where the trail ended, in her boudoir. For me, the ecstasy lay where the trail had begun, the spot where she had removed her jewels before giving into the passion of the moment. The expensive pile gleamed invitingly, flickering like so many colorful cat eyes by my torches light. They were perched on her dresser, carelessly discarded for things so valuable, they snaked around the marble bird of prey that, alas, would soon prove a futile guardian.
I looked at the door to her bedroom, it was open a sliver and I could hear the raw animal sounds of their lovemaking. Obviously they were occupied for a while. Unhurriedly I carefully lifted each piece up, savoring their shimmering fire before stowing them safely away to join their mates. I then went to the gown on the floor and lifting it ran it through my fingers, it whispered and felt silky, even through my thin gloves. Reaching the brooch I carefully undid the clasp, pulling the jewel away. Dropping the gown, I then turned and silently retraced my steps. Gaining the cellar I watched out the window for any signs of activity. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t half expecting company.
As I waited I wondered who would be more upset over the loss of the grandmother’s jewelry, Eileen, or her “lover” Claude. For you see, “Claude” was a kindred spirit to my profession. He was known to me as Carl , a slick operator born in Brooklyn. He had also had correctly read the signs that Eileen possessed that made her a temptingly easy mark. For you see, Carl was the inside man for a gang of jet setting thieves. Cultured and handsome, it was his part to lure the chosen rich lady into his web and wine and dine her into complete compliancy in preparation of his actions. Once he had obtained her trust, he would select the perfect evening and “Claude” and his heavily jeweled paramour would be set upon by the thieves shortly after returning home on the designated evening. The Lady would be bound and gagged then be forced to watch as her home was stripped of its valuable treasures. The gang would leave with their haul, melting into obscurity with their treasure. Carl would disappear to his home overseas in New York until the next operation was formed. How Carl had found out about Eileen, I had no doubts. The type of blokes who peddled information on vulnerably wealthy prey have no problems with selling the same tidbits to multiple clients. It does have a tendency to make life a bit more interesting on occasion.
I had kept tabs on Eileen’s crooked paramour and soon learned that Carl’s actual girlfriend, who had been posing as his sister Maxine, had booked passage for two to the United States on a steamer leaving the very next weekend. I realized that my window of opportunity had been forced open. If he was preparing to flee the country on Saturday, as was his way immediately after a job, than I surmised that Eileen would be met with misadventure on Friday night before. This also happened to be the evening of a major charity Ball she had bought tickets for her and “Claude” to attend. So tonight, Saturday one week before the steamer was to leave, I made my own move hoping to beat Carl and his gang of scoundrels to the punch, at least where the grandmothers jewelry collection was concerned. I didn’t know if they would still attempt their plan once they realized the jewels had been lifted from under their noses, although, for Eileen’s sake, I hoped they would abandon them. Both ways, my tracks were covered, and before the sunrise I would be miles away.
I gave myself 15 precious minutes, before leaving via the window and making my escape. Nothing had stirred, in or around the house. So I had interpreted the signs correctly, the raid was not on for tonight. I quickly moved out and made for the tree line, melting into the night, soon losing myself (and Eileen’s Jewels) to the darkness.
**************************************
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
DISCLAIMER
All rights and copyrights observed by Chatwick University, Its contributors, associates and Agents
The purpose of these chronological photos and accompanying stories, articles is to educate, teach, instruct, and generally increase the awareness level of the general public as to the nature and intent of the underlying criminal elements that have historically plagued humankind.
No Part of this can reprinted, duplicated, or copied be without the express written permission and approval of Chatwick University.
These photos and stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.
As with any work of fiction or fantasy the purpose is for entertainment and/or educational purposes only, and should never be attempted in real life.
We accept no responsibility for any events occurring outside this website.
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Copyright: © 2009 Melissa Goodman. All Rights Reserved.
For centuries, hyacinths have filled the spring air with sweet perfume, inspired poets to songs of praise and gardeners to feats of horticultural elegance.
In the mid-18th century, Madame de Pompadour – mistress of France's King Louis XV – ordered the gardens of Versailles filled with Dutch Hyacinths and had hundreds forced "on glasses" inside the palace in winter. The predominant fashion trendsetter of her age, the royal paramour's passion for these sweetly-scented hyacinth bulbs sparked a national rage among the French elite.
Today, the hyacinth remains a symbol of style and elegance, with the grand tradition of large formal hyacinth beds continues in many of the world's great public and private gardens.
Venus was nothing compared to the girl. Her clothes trailed alluringly across the floor; her satin evening gown with the magnificent broach, her long shiny gloves, gorgeous Sable Fur all were laid out in seductive, overlying curls as she had slinked through the room, leaving behind her the telling path of unmistakably rich prey. The beginning of which held a feast for the tracking predator who knew how to read the signs.
*************************************************
The study below was derived from facts uncovered while doing research for the following Doctoral dissertation:
Light to the shadows of their mind:
Criminal tactics and strategies
Criminology Department .
Chatwick University
**************************
If there was ever one thing I savored the most about my chosen profession I would have to say it was the lavish receptions, balls and other posh settings where the frills of the filthy rich could be both admired and enjoyed. There was just something about the voluptuous ladies who haunted these venues, dressed up to the silky nines and sporting flashy ornaments, which I found so very mesmerizing.
Take the young lady in whose spell I was currently basking. She was wearing a slinky long satin number that appeared to have been poured along her enticing figure. A diamond brooch sparkled from just below her perky breasts. Her opulent gemstone jewels, surrounded by sparkling diamonds, shone like cat eyes when caught by the lights. I studied her the way one would appraise a painting by an old master, closely examining everything I could that pertained to her. If this work of art went by a name, I would title it: Eileen, a study in opulence.
I could also see that I wasn’t the only one who was paying Eileen attention. The man she was seeing appeared, as usual to be caught up in the ladies enchantment this evening. I had seen the couple together several times, but tonight he seemed to be especially attentive to her. There was definitely electricity in the air between them. Which was good, for tonight would be the night to pounce, paying the witchy young lady and her jewels a long anticipated nocturnal visit in the wee hours of the morning.
I had heard about Eileen through a paid source close by in Sutton. She had been an orphan at a young age and brought up properly by a war-widowed grandmother. The Grandmother had been wealthy, and when she passed on she had left 22 year old Eileen with a small fortune. Along with the Grandmothers wealth, Eileen inherited from the old lady three major facets, a spoiled naivety, a gullible ego, and a massive jewelry collection. Which all together presented a very enticing combination for someone like me.
Eileen wore her grandmother’s jewels with reckless abandonment, so I was told, and that is what made her stand out to those who sell information to people like me. Like a hungry predator, I shadowed Eileen for an entire month as she bounced from night club to private club, from extravagant balls, to ultra-fancy ritzy dances. I got to see her and her collection of jewels in close proximity, and it was love at every sighting. I even stole a dance away from her escort, when he was away making one of his frequent business calls. She was wearing a puffy gown of rich taffeta, with silvery diamonds that flashed as they cascaded down from her ears throat. It was a slow dance and I was able to tune out her constant babbling and concentrate on appraising her jewels. After the dance I kissed her gloved hand with its heavily ringed fingers, and bid au revoir, before quickly getting lost in the crowd before her lover returned.
The whole time I closely watched over Eileen and her latest Beau, a charming man named Claude who spoke with a heavy French accent. I quickly learned everything I could about the pair’s background, their relationship, their friends, their habits. Several times I had left them alone while when they were safely partying out on the town, and did a trail run by the ladies residence. This was a secluded small stone mini-mansion, located deep in the woods on the far outskirts of town that had been her Grandmothers weekend retreat. I had plenty of time to study, so that by the time the evening arrived when I would make my move, I had it all plotted out, taking into consideration every angle. I was ready, and actually had been so for over a week prior to this evening.
I followed the happy couple home that evening, and waited while they got down to business. I was calm, my nerves knew no anxiety. I spirited away back to my car and changed into my proper “ business” attire ( black clothes, gloves and mask). I had witnessed Eileen and Claude putting on the same show for several late evenings, and I knew just when to strike. And, then, strike I did.
Like a shadow I moved, becoming part of the background. Reaching the house I stole in through a basement window which I had loosened the week before. I cautiously moved inside, using my torch only sparingly. I made my way up through the basement to the first level, pausing only for a few precious seconds to observe the pricy landscapes that hung from the walls, but I did not touch, for that was not my game.
I crept up the stairs to the sitting room of the master bedroom, Eileen’s grandmother’s old room. It stood as a shrine to the old lady, right down to her old white cat lying on the primly made bed. The cat watched me untrustingly before hissing and running off into some dark corner. I went over and pulled back a self-portrait of the old lady, behind which was a small wall safe. It’s amazing how easy these things are to spot. The tumblers satisfactorily whirled and clicked home, allowing me to open silently and peek into its small chamber. A number of jewel cases of various shapes and makes were exposed to my torch. Quickly I emptied them, watching as jewel after jewel slithered brightly into my satchel. I replaced each case, and after the last was disposed of its contents, I closed it back up and made my way to the fair Eileen’s boudoir.
Venus was nothing compared to the viixen Eileen. Her clothes laid an alluring path across the sitting room floor; her satin evening gown with the magnificent broach, her long shiny gloves, gorgeous Sable Fur, all were laying in seductive, overlapping curves like a carefully marked out trail leading one to a treasure of promised ecstasy. For Eileen and her paramour, that ecstasy was to be found where the trail ended, in her boudoir. For me, the ecstasy lay where the trail had begun, the spot where she had removed her jewels before giving into the passion of the moment. The expensive pile gleamed invitingly, flickering like so many colorful cat eyes by my torches light. They were perched on her dresser, carelessly discarded for things so valuable, they snaked around the marble bird of prey that, alas, would soon prove a futile guardian.
I looked at the door to her bedroom, it was open a sliver and I could hear the raw animal sounds of their lovemaking. Obviously they were occupied for a while. Unhurriedly I carefully lifted each piece up, savoring their shimmering fire before stowing them safely away to join their mates. I then went to the gown on the floor and lifting it ran it through my fingers, it whispered and felt silky, even through my thin gloves. Reaching the brooch I carefully undid the clasp, pulling the jewel away. Dropping the gown, I then turned and silently retraced my steps. Gaining the cellar I watched out the window for any signs of activity. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t half expecting company.
As I waited I wondered who would be more upset over the loss of the grandmother’s jewelry, Eileen, or her “lover” Claude. For you see, “Claude” was a kindred spirit to my profession. He was known to me as Carl , a slick operator born in Brooklyn. He had also had correctly read the signs that Eileen possessed that made her a temptingly easy mark. For you see, Carl was the inside man for a gang of jet setting thieves. Cultured and handsome, it was his part to lure the chosen rich lady into his web and wine and dine her into complete compliancy in preparation of his actions. Once he had obtained her trust, he would select the perfect evening and “Claude” and his heavily jeweled paramour would be set upon by the thieves shortly after returning home on the designated evening. The Lady would be bound and gagged then be forced to watch as her home was stripped of its valuable treasures. The gang would leave with their haul, melting into obscurity with their treasure. Carl would disappear to his home overseas in New York until the next operation was formed. How Carl had found out about Eileen, I had no doubts. The type of blokes who peddled information on vulnerably wealthy prey have no problems with selling the same tidbits to multiple clients. It does have a tendency to make life a bit more interesting on occasion.
I had kept tabs on Eileen’s crooked paramour and soon learned that Carl’s actual girlfriend, who had been posing as his sister Maxine, had booked passage for two to the United States on a steamer leaving the very next weekend. I realized that my window of opportunity had been forced open. If he was preparing to flee the country on Saturday, as was his way immediately after a job, than I surmised that Eileen would be met with misadventure on Friday night before. This also happened to be the evening of a major charity Ball she had bought tickets for her and “Claude” to attend. So tonight, Saturday one week before the steamer was to leave, I made my own move hoping to beat Carl and his gang of scoundrels to the punch, at least where the grandmothers jewelry collection was concerned. I didn’t know if they would still attempt their plan once they realized the jewels had been lifted from under their noses, although, for Eileen’s sake, I hoped they would abandon them. Both ways, my tracks were covered, and before the sunrise I would be miles away.
I gave myself 15 precious minutes, before leaving via the window and making my escape. Nothing had stirred, in or around the house. So I had interpreted the signs correctly, the raid was not on for tonight. I quickly moved out and made for the tree line, melting into the night, soon losing myself (and Eileen’s Jewels) to the darkness.
**************************************
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
A beautifully landscaped sim for your inner explorer and photographer! Take pictures, rez your own poses and use the many poses already here! You must be in group to rez!
Exclusive @ DAZZLE ~ Paramour
Lace v-necked bodice, silk mini dress or nightie with a slit on one thigh.
Fits Maitreya/Slink/Belleza
The Chaos by Gerard Nolst Trenité
This is a classic English poem containing about 800 of the worst irregularities in English spelling and pronunciation. Will Snellen wrote a PDF version using the phonetic alphabet. You can hear some of it pronounced mostly correctly by "JimmyJams" in the video The Chaos Of English Pronunciation by Gerard Nolst Trenité on YouTube. You can also skip down to a more complete introduction at the bottom of this page.
Gerard Nolst Trenité - The Chaos (1922)
Dearest creature in creation
Studying English pronunciation,
I will teach you in my verse
Sounds like corpse, corps, horse and worse.
I will keep you, Susy, busy,
Make your head with heat grow dizzy;
Tear in eye, your dress you'll tear;
Queer, fair seer, hear my prayer.
Pray, console your loving poet,
Make my coat look new, dear, sew it!
Just compare heart, hear and heard,
Dies and diet, lord and word.
Sword and sward, retain and Britain
(Mind the latter how it's written).
Made has not the sound of bade,
Say-said, pay-paid, laid but plaid.
Now I surely will not plague you
With such words as vague and ague,
But be careful how you speak,
Say: gush, bush, steak, streak, break, bleak ,
Previous, precious, fuchsia, via
Recipe, pipe, studding-sail, choir;
Woven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, shoe, poem, toe.
Say, expecting fraud and trickery:
Daughter, laughter and Terpsichore,
Branch, ranch, measles, topsails, aisles,
Missiles, similes, reviles.
Wholly, holly, signal, signing,
Same, examining, but mining,
Scholar, vicar, and cigar,
Solar, mica, war and far.
From "desire": desirable-admirable from "admire",
Lumber, plumber, bier, but brier,
Topsham, brougham, renown, but known,
Knowledge, done, lone, gone, none, tone,
One, anemone, Balmoral,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel.
Gertrude, German, wind and wind,
Beau, kind, kindred, queue, mankind,
Tortoise, turquoise, chamois-leather,
Reading, Reading, heathen, heather.
This phonetic labyrinth
Gives moss, gross, brook, brooch, ninth, plinth.
Have you ever yet endeavoured
To pronounce revered and severed,
Demon, lemon, ghoul, foul, soul,
Peter, petrol and patrol?
Billet does not end like ballet;
Bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet.
Blood and flood are not like food,
Nor is mould like should and would.
Banquet is not nearly parquet,
Which exactly rhymes with khaki.
Discount, viscount, load and broad,
Toward, to forward, to reward,
Ricocheted and crocheting, croquet?
Right! Your pronunciation's OK.
Rounded, wounded, grieve and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive and live.
Is your r correct in higher?
Keats asserts it rhymes Thalia.
Hugh, but hug, and hood, but hoot,
Buoyant, minute, but minute.
Say abscission with precision,
Now: position and transition;
Would it tally with my rhyme
If I mentioned paradigm?
Twopence, threepence, tease are easy,
But cease, crease, grease and greasy?
Cornice, nice, valise, revise,
Rabies, but lullabies.
Of such puzzling words as nauseous,
Rhyming well with cautious, tortious,
You'll envelop lists, I hope,
In a linen envelope.
Would you like some more? You'll have it!
Affidavit, David, davit.
To abjure, to perjure. Sheik
Does not sound like Czech but ache.
Liberty, library, heave and heaven,
Rachel, loch, moustache, eleven.
We say hallowed, but allowed,
People, leopard, towed but vowed.
Mark the difference, moreover,
Between mover, plover, Dover.
Leeches, breeches, wise, precise,
Chalice, but police and lice,
Camel, constable, unstable,
Principle, disciple, label.
Petal, penal, and canal,
Wait, surmise, plait, promise, pal,
Suit, suite, ruin. Circuit, conduit
Rhyme with "shirk it" and "beyond it",
But it is not hard to tell
Why it's pall, mall, but Pall Mall.
Muscle, muscular, gaol, iron,
Timber, climber, bullion, lion,
Worm and storm, chaise, chaos, chair,
Senator, spectator, mayor,
Ivy, privy, famous; clamour
Has the a of drachm and hammer.
Pussy, hussy and possess,
Desert, but desert, address.
Golf, wolf, countenance, lieutenants
Hoist in lieu of flags left pennants.
Courier, courtier, tomb, bomb, comb,
Cow, but Cowper, some and home.
"Solder, soldier! Blood is thicker",
Quoth he, "than liqueur or liquor",
Making, it is sad but true,
In bravado, much ado.
Stranger does not rhyme with anger,
Neither does devour with clangour.
Pilot, pivot, gaunt, but aunt,
Font, front, wont, want, grand and grant.
Arsenic, specific, scenic,
Relic, rhetoric, hygienic.
Gooseberry, goose, and close, but close,
Paradise, rise, rose, and dose.
Say inveigh, neigh, but inveigle,
Make the latter rhyme with eagle.
Mind! Meandering but mean,
Valentine and magazine.
And I bet you, dear, a penny,
You say mani-(fold) like many,
Which is wrong. Say rapier, pier,
Tier (one who ties), but tier.
Arch, archangel; pray, does erring
Rhyme with herring or with stirring?
Prison, bison, treasure trove,
Treason, hover, cover, cove,
Perseverance, severance. Ribald
Rhymes (but piebald doesn't) with nibbled.
Phaeton, paean, gnat, ghat, gnaw,
Lien, psychic, shone, bone, pshaw.
Don't be down, my own, but rough it,
And distinguish buffet, buffet;
Brood, stood, roof, rook, school, wool, boon,
Worcester, Boleyn, to impugn.
Say in sounds correct and sterling
Hearse, hear, hearken, year and yearling.
Evil, devil, mezzotint,
Mind the z! (A gentle hint.)
Now you need not pay attention
To such sounds as I don't mention,
Sounds like pores, pause, pours and paws,
Rhyming with the pronoun yours;
Nor are proper names included,
Though I often heard, as you did,
Funny rhymes to unicorn,
Yes, you know them, Vaughan and Strachan.
No, my maiden, coy and comely,
I don't want to speak of Cholmondeley.
No. Yet Froude compared with proud
Is no better than McLeod.
But mind trivial and vial,
Tripod, menial, denial,
Troll and trolley, realm and ream,
Schedule, mischief, schism, and scheme.
Argil, gill, Argyll, gill. Surely
May be made to rhyme with Raleigh,
But you're not supposed to say
Piquet rhymes with sobriquet.
Had this invalid invalid
Worthless documents? How pallid,
How uncouth he, couchant, looked,
When for Portsmouth I had booked!
Zeus, Thebes, Thales, Aphrodite,
Paramour, enamoured, flighty,
Episodes, antipodes,
Acquiesce, and obsequies.
Please don't monkey with the geyser,
Don't peel 'taters with my razor,
Rather say in accents pure:
Nature, stature and mature.
Pious, impious, limb, climb, glumly,
Worsted, worsted, crumbly, dumbly,
Conquer, conquest, vase, phase, fan,
Wan, sedan and artisan.
The th will surely trouble you
More than r, ch or w.
Say then these phonetic gems:
Thomas, thyme, Theresa, Thames.
Thompson, Chatham, Waltham, Streatham,
There are more but I forget 'em-
Wait! I've got it: Anthony,
Lighten your anxiety.
The archaic word albeit
Does not rhyme with eight-you see it;
With and forthwith, one has voice,
One has not, you make your choice.
Shoes, goes, does *. Now first say: finger;
Then say: singer, ginger, linger.
Real, zeal, mauve, gauze and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, age,
Hero, heron, query, very,
Parry, tarry fury, bury,
Dost, lost, post, and doth, cloth, loth,
Job, Job, blossom, bosom, oath.
Faugh, oppugnant, keen oppugners,
Bowing, bowing, banjo-tuners
Holm you know, but noes, canoes,
Puisne, truism, use, to use?
Though the difference seems little,
We say actual, but victual,
Seat, sweat, chaste, caste, Leigh, eight, height,
Put, nut, granite, and unite.
Reefer does not rhyme with deafer,
Feoffer does, and zephyr, heifer.
Dull, bull, Geoffrey, George, ate, late,
Hint, pint, senate, but sedate.
Gaelic, Arabic, pacific,
Science, conscience, scientific;
Tour, but our, dour, succour, four,
Gas, alas, and Arkansas.
Say manoeuvre, yacht and vomit,
Next omit, which differs from it
Bona fide, alibi
Gyrate, dowry and awry.
Sea, idea, guinea, area,
Psalm, Maria, but malaria.
Youth, south, southern, cleanse and clean,
Doctrine, turpentine, marine.
Compare alien with Italian,
Dandelion with battalion,
Rally with ally; yea, ye,
Eye, I, ay, aye, whey, key, quay!
Say aver, but ever, fever,
Neither, leisure, skein, receiver.
Never guess-it is not safe,
We say calves, valves, half, but Ralf.
Starry, granary, canary,
Crevice, but device, and eyrie,
Face, but preface, then grimace,
Phlegm, phlegmatic, ass, glass, bass.
Bass, large, target, gin, give, verging,
Ought, oust, joust, and scour, but scourging;
Ear, but earn; and ere and tear
Do not rhyme with here but heir.
Mind the o of off and often
Which may be pronounced as orphan,
With the sound of saw and sauce;
Also soft, lost, cloth and cross.
Pudding, puddle, putting. Putting?
Yes: at golf it rhymes with shutting.
Respite, spite, consent, resent.
Liable, but Parliament.
Seven is right, but so is even,
Hyphen, roughen, nephew, Stephen,
Monkey, donkey, clerk and jerk,
Asp, grasp, wasp, demesne, cork, work.
A of valour, vapid vapour,
S of news (compare newspaper),
G of gibbet, gibbon, gist,
I of antichrist and grist,
Differ like diverse and divers,
Rivers, strivers, shivers, fivers.
Once, but nonce, toll, doll, but roll,
Polish, Polish, poll and poll.
Pronunciation-think of Psyche!-
Is a paling, stout and spiky.
Won't it make you lose your wits
Writing groats and saying "grits"?
It's a dark abyss or tunnel
Strewn with stones like rowlock, gunwale,
Islington, and Isle of Wight,
Housewife, verdict and indict.
Don't you think so, reader, rather,
Saying lather, bather, father?
Finally, which rhymes with enough,
Though, through, bough, cough, hough, sough, tough??
Hiccough has the sound of sup...
My advice is: GIVE IT UP!
Geralt: His desire to live forever and seek out paramours is why he burned your house.
Iris: I don't believe you. He wouldn't have forgotten me so easily.
Geralt: He moved on, probably before you died. Her name is Ciri. Luckily, she came to her senses and left him.
Iris: How am I supposed to stop reliving these memories?
Geralt: Every curse has an anchor. I'll need to remove it before you can move on.
The Palaces of Nevsky Prospekt
Belosselsky-Belozersky Palace illuminated at night
On the southern corner of Nevsky Prospekt and the Fontanka river at No.41 is the faded dark red Belosselsky-Belozersky Palace seen here. This was the last private palace constructed on this multi-palatial street and was completed in stages between 1840 and 1848. The prime riverside site having been purchased by Prince Alexander Mikhailovich B-B in 1800.
This unique eye catching elegant rococo building with muscular Atlantes supporting Corinthian columns was the concept of the architect Andrei Stakenschneider, who was born in the nearby city of Gatchina and the son of a German miller.
The pseudo-baroque exterior has two front facing façades, west to the Fontanka river, and north to the street. Like many prominent buildings in the city, this palace has recently undergone extensive restoration in preparation for the tricentennial celebrations.
The interior is as dramatic and elegant as the exterior. In the main rooms the architect used an extensive blend of composite materials for the baroque decor. Many of the walls are carved and all of the doors are decorated. Especially interesting are the front stairs in the entrance hall, the large and small Golden sitting rooms, the Purple, the Green and the White Halls and the Great Mirror Hall which is used for concerts.
Extravagant imperial courts reigned here well into the 20th century, when the palace was the residence of Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich (Alexander III's brutal brother - assassinated in 1905). In 1905, Grand Princess Elizaveta Fedorovna, having just become a num, willed the palace toher nephew, Grand Prince Dmitry Pavlovich, who sold it in 1917. During the Soviet period the grand palace was used as the party headquarters for the Kuibyshev district of Leningrad, but its interiors were preserved almost intact. Nowadays the palace houses the Wax Museum, an art gallery and a concert hall, which holds regular performances of the folk group Petersburg Mozaik, The Wax Museum collection contains 80+ wax figures, including models of many prominent figures in Russian history such as Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Kutuzov, Alexei, Speransky, Kerensky, various tsars and other members of the Romanov Dynasty. On the wall inside the entrance hall of the former Belosselsky-Belozersky Palace there is a plaque which indicates that during World War I the palace housed the Anglo-Russian Hospital.
On the other side of the Fontanka and separated by Quarenghi's Stalls, is the Anichkov Palace at No.39 Nevsky Prospekt. In the 18th century this was a suburban area and the broad Fontanka river was lined with palaces for the elite that were usually accessed by boat. Which explains why the main entrance to this great building faces the river rather than Nevsky. The palace was named for Colonel Mikhail Anichkov who set up his camp on this site at the time of the founding of the city and whose regiment built the original wooden bridge over the Fontanka, now known as the Anichkov Most.
This palace was commissioned by Tsarina Elizabeth as a gift for her lover, Alexei Razumovsky, between the years 1741 and 1750. In continuing with this tradition after Razumovsky's death, Catherine the Great gave this palace to her paramour, Prince Grigory Potemkin. As an able statesman and military officer Potemkin is famous in his own right for his attempts to deceive Catherine about the squalid conditions of the Russian south. He had fake villages built for Catherine's area tour of 1787. The term "Potemkin village" has come to mean any impressive façade that hides an ugly impoverished interior. Not so the Anichkov Palace, which was originally designed by Mikhail Zemtsov and completed by Rastrelli. Little remains of those early Baroque designs as the building has undergone a number of changes and in the early 19th century, Neoclassical details were added by Carlo Rossi.
After Rossi's alterations the palace became the winter residence of the heir to the throne. However when Alexander III became tsar in 1881, he continued to live there, rather than the customary Winter Palace. After his death, his widow Maria Fyodorovna remained there until the revolution.
Many young princes grew up in this palace and in 1935 the premises were returned to children and it was known as the Leningrad Palace of Pioneers. Today is is still occupied by a children's organization and the Anichkov Lyceum. Exhibitions of their works are regularly held in the palace or grounds, where there is a modern theater and concert hall.
The elegant colonnaded (Quarenghi's Stalls) building overlooking the Fontanka to the east had been another addition to the palace, by Giancomo Quarenghi in 1803-05. Initially this was built as a trading arcade where imperial goods destined for the palaces were stored prior to their delivery. This extension was later converted into government offices and was known as the Cabinet.
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Comme tirer sur des poissons dans un tonneau
Case Study 113 :
Warning, these are the raw, bare unusual facts as originally recorded. Some names, times, places and some facts have , of course been altered.
Name: Angelica D circa 192__
Subject: an unscrupulous light-fingered body thief
Event: A Sisters of Mercy charity sponsored ball
Place: The Hamptons
Time: Warm early Spring Friday Evening
It had been a very busy 3 day working weekend for “poor” Angie, a rather handsome lady with flaming red hair, whose life during these depressive years had forced her too constantly work to sustain herself.
The joint where now Angie found herself was filled with a bevy of ladies and girls dressed up royally for the occasion, A Sisters of Mercy charity sponsored ball. The Ball’s objective was to raise funds for the good sister’s bread lines, Angie’s objective was to raise some funds of her own.
Needless to say, she did not fit in with her present environment. The reason Angie did not fit in was, although she was also dressed up in a sleekly colorful frock of her own, she was probably the only female guest to whom the term “working lady” would be an oxy-moron. Actually, it was almost as If her fellow guests sensed this, almost acting like she did not even exist. As she found out almost as soon as she had entered, two ladies were walking towards her, her, one in a long flowing lavender gown and pearls, the other in a shorter grey satin number with a bouncy skirt and decked out with enough silver trinkets to have drained a small mine. Angie nodded to them, but their noses were so held high they didn’t even see her, and the one in grey satin actually would have ran Angie over if she had not moved quicker, as it was they brushed against one another, and Angie had to actually grasp the Ladies’ wrist with the pearled bracelet,to steady herself. Angie found herself on the end of a few rather severe words of disdain as they looked back at her..
Angie just sighed to herself, and watched the pair saunter off, with a rather thoughtful look in her bright green eyes. Her left hand was clasped, playing with something she was holding in it. She then slipped that hand behind her satin sash, straighten it, she did so favor wearing slick sash’s with her silk party dresses.
It was at that moment that a pristine young lady walked by her. Looking like an escapee from a high society debutant’s coming out affair. Her lithe figure was draped in a gleaming white taffeta gown, its long layered skirt that swirled provocatively as she moved, Her elbow length gloves and purse were made of the same material as her gown. Angie’s eyes travelled up and down the passing enchantress (without moving her head), looking her over head to toe , from the spray of white flowers in her hair, to her clicking white high heels. Surprisingly the only jewelry she was wearing was a thick gold bracelet, set with rubies, as bright as the fire crackling in the mammoth fireplace by the bar.. Waiting ten seconds after the pristine miss was out of her roving eyes view, Angie turned and followed. She did not get far, a male voice called out “Sheila” and the lady was met by a rather charming appearing male of the same age, and smiling, the pair trotted off to the dance floor.
Angie hovered for a bit watching the show put on by the waltzing young couple, as well as their paired co dancers out on the almost 1 acre ballroom floor. As Angie stood watching, mesmerized by her thoughts, she first noticed the opened, wide double glass doors on the far side of the ballroom. Many of the well-dressed guests seemed to be coming and going from this newly discovered area.
It was then that a pretty young thing passed by Angie, heading towards those very same double doors. Although she carried herself well, the charming princess appeared to be a little too young to be wondering about by herself. She was definitely too young to be flitting about unescorted while wearing the costly jewels that glittered a pretty fire as she swished about on her merry way. The girl was expensively attired in an excessively glossy, purple satin blouse, a tailored black satin jacket with rhinestone buttons ,and a long silky black satin pleated skirt that fell spilling out from underneath the matching jacket ,swishing with every step of whispering silk at the heels of her black shoes. Her long soft chestnut hair done up in a long plait, with pearls interwoven throughout its length , held back by a sapphire encrusted clip, sapphires sparkled from all over ; ears, neckline, wrists and fingers, even her jacket had a sapphire brooch shaped like a waning moon. Very pretty Angie observed as the young scamp reached the double doors.
Angie, her curiosity now aroused by what lay past those doors, turned heel and with the girl as an unwary guide, followed her towards them. Now, curiosity may have killed a cat or two, but for Angie, being curious usually put food on her table. She soon discovered that the doors led out onto a wide cement patio, off of which was a rather extensive flower Garden, walled in by a rows of high green hedges. Angie watched as the last wisp of the, surprisingly still unescorted, young lady’s skirt disappeared from view into the gardens. Someone should warn her about going outside alone for walks when dressed like that ! Angie thought to herself, but before moving off with the intention of doing that very thing. But she stopped first, checking her surroundings.
The patio was home to a number of mostly occupied tables. With one exception, all the occupied tables were home to couples in groups of two to six, men in tuxes, their paramours in vibrant gowns that spread out quite nicely, spilling down rainbow like coloures from chairs to the cement floor. As Angie looked around, she observed the array of glittering jewels worn by the happily chatting women. Then Angie darted her eyes the one table that made the exception on the patio. Located in an isolated corner, that table was the only one with a lone female occupant. The occupant was resplendently dressed in a shiny mint green gown of fine satin that literally poured along the shapely curves of her seated figure, before finally splaying out around her feet like a soft, shiny pool. Her many jewels were set with majestic diamonds, especially her earrings, or at least the one Angie could see. For the ladies long hair fell over one heavily mascaraed eye, making the lady appear to be a one eye Cyclops, with an incredibly sparkling bright diamonded earing dripping from her one visible earlobe. Angie scrutinized the scene before her as she pondered a bit. Then, spying a shiny mint green purse dangling from the chair behind the Cyclops, a grin, wider than that of the Cheshire cat’s begins to spread across Angie’s handsomely sly face.
**
Why the grin like a Cheshire cat?
**
Now when a young Angie had first started on her adulthood path, she self -taught herself on how to be a pickpocket, ( body thief, and cutpurse were her preferred terms) and progressed to the point whereupon she was able to make a comfortable living.
Back then, as in the present, women of all ages were her preferred target, for several reasons:
A) Easily more distractible, especially the younger versions.
B) Silken and satiny types of dress, smoothly slick, were far more accommodating when preforming a dip or pick than trying the same maneuvers on the more unforgiving formal attire of their male counterparts.
C) Likewise the possessions of women and girls were more plentiful, and shiningly richer than those of most gentlemen.
Now, as was stated, Angie was self-taught. She did this by discreetly watching the pickpockets who worked the back streets and alleyways off of fancy theatres and dance halls in the area she grew up. She also did research by gleaning information from old newspapers and haunting the local libraries.
(See more of Angie’s background in the Album, Angie picks Chicago)
Angie especially liked the methods employed by cutpurses, and found enough success in this method that she still habitually carried a penknife with a long, finely honed, razor sharp blade. Even though she had not nicked a soft purse in a few years, she was still always up to the challenge.
**
So this, then, was the reason behind the evil grin, and the reason Angie now slipped a hand discreetly behind her colorful dress’s satin sash , extracting the finely honed folded razor, which she opened with one hand and concealed behind her back. She walked up, and looking around, let her hand holding the razor drop and allowed the blade to skim across the bottom of the purse as she walked past. She heard something tingle behind her, and then a muted gasp. Angie turned, quite a natural thing to do, noting the lady was reaching for her purse as its contents spilled out. Angie’s practiced eyes took inventory, a calf skin wallet, gold (solid!) compact, matching lipstick container, expensive tortoise shell comb, and several silky handkerchiefs had fallen out. Angie came to the ladies rescue, effectively cutting off any of the ladies at the nearby tables from doing the same. Their attention quickly turning back to their own personal business, as the rich are happily wont to do.
As the purses owner was bending down, her long hair falling totally straight down, Angie comes up and bumps into her as she leant down also. Apologizing, Angie cordially helped the lady pick up the purses’ strewn contents. Angie chats happily with the girl, easing the tension. The girl looks up into Angie’s face, thanking her, her long hair had fallen back, covering her eye, her only visible earring was swaying, still sending out showers of bright sparkles. Angie willingly accepting the young ladies gracious gratitude, before happily waltzing away, leaving the solitary lady to scratch her head over the ruined purse, as she makes sure all the rather pricey items it had contained are accounted for. Happily she discovers that nothing from her purse is missing.
Angie had not touched one item that had spilled out from the slashed bottom of the small silk purse.
For you see, Angie had graduated from being a common pickpocket of wallets and the contents of expensive purses
( as explained in the stories located the albums, Angie having a Ball @ Angie at Play).
Angie now was able to lift things far more valuable, as evidenced by the shiny diamond earring that Angie now had secreted inside the hidden pocket of her dresses’ her satin sash, the very earring that had been hidden beneath the long silky hair that had made the victim resemble a sexy Cyclops. The clasped earring had been exposed briefly as the distracted young lady had bent down to collect her scattered possession’s, and Angie’s practiced fingers had scooped it up and gently pulled it free from her earlobe, without the unsuspecting lady feeling so much as a prick..
Now Angie could have easily snatched both earrings, or had taken a necklace or bracelet along with it. But if she had, than once discovered, it would have been immediately apparent that something sinister had happened, and she would likely have been at the center point of that suspicion. But, by taking only a single piece of jewelry, it would more likely be surmised it had fallen off in the fracas, or possibly even earlier in the evening.
See Addendum SS
**
Angie left the sexy Cyclops, retreating back towards the garden. Now I wonder where the inquisitive young miss wondered off too. Someone really should warn her about going outside for a walk alone wearing all those precious jewels ,Angie thought, not really all that concerned about actually warning anyone.
Angie savored gardens and small parks with the feeling that she had done some of her best handiwork in places like that whenever they were haunted by ultra-wealthy fat cats. So it was with some great measure of pleasure that she now took to prowling this particular gardens maze of winding paths as she slowly made her get away, still open for opportunity.
As Angie meandered through the garden, passing many young couples milling about, happily eyeing the various fancily attired and jewel laden ladies that were flaunting their goods about, she remembered about being in a similar Garden not too very long ago, and the amazing luck that she had ended up having that evening.
(See Album “Angie being receptive” to read about that luck)
Angie turned a corner and saw that there was a side path almost hidden from view behind an untrimmed moss rose bush. She turned down it and found the path almost deserted. At the far end was a small alcove. Angie peered inside, it was not empty. The young miss in the purple blouse and black satin jacket and skirt, was knelling, happily admiring some small cement statues of animals she had discovered. Behind her was a small stone bench that lay before the hedge. Angie noticed that some of the hedge’s crooked branches had formed a small opening to the outside. Angie snuck behind one of the bushes that formed the inner wall of the alcove, and watched with open interest . The happily unaware girl’s sapphires glittered beckoningly, especially her sapphire pendent on its long braided silver chain that bounced on and off the front of her thick, glossy satin blouse . The girls black satin jacket was open, and the waning moon brooch was clearly visible, glittering in the lights of a nearby gas lamp. Angie flexed her fingers, waiting for an opening; it really ought to be an easy pick.
But at that very moment a dark figure came silently through the break in the outside hedge. A Gypsyish young female vagabond, wearing a slightly ragged dress with a colourful long scarf came into the pool of light , and crept up to the bench. The young lady had her back to the bench, never heard a thing, and kept on playing blissfully, unaware she now had, good or bad, uninvited company. The female vagabond only looked about a couple of years older, with a stronger figure than that of the well-dressed girl, but physically about the same size. The female vagabond sat on the bench, black eyes darting about, looking like she was being protective of the young lady in shiny satin, and even shinier sapphires.
Angie rose from her crouch; she had not been noticed, and decided to keep it that way. She carefully circled around the entrance to the alcove, without looking back. Her conscious, like most thieves, clear and unworried about the fate, good or bad, that may befall the stylishly attired rich young girl.
Actually, as she carefully snuck off, Angie’s thoughts were dwelling on how she would have distracted that pretty miss long enough to flick open the dangling silver chains clasp, and slip it and its shimmering pendent from around the high collared neckline of the accommodating slippery purple satin blouse. As she played it out, Angie almost turned back to see if somehow she could still accomplish it, it would be that easy. But she didn’t, and headed back past the moss rose bush and entered back on the main path.
Angie continued to nonchalantly prowl along the gardens long paths, staying to the outer edge she discovered several alcoves that were hidden in a similar manner to the one behind the overgrown Moss Rose bush. They all had been empty, until the fifth one she discovered, located behind a statue of a winged Hermes.
She heard the giggling first, and carefully shadowed her way around for a peek through some of the hedges branches., and what she saw made her perk right up. Angie observed a pair of young twenty something missus dressed resplendently in shiny gowns of royal blue and blood red that fluttered fetchingly as they quivered about. . Angie salivated over the copious collection fine jewels the pair was exhibiting, mesmerizingly flashing as the girls giggled in a conspiratorial fashion. All in all, Angie found it to be a most enthralling performance.
Angie watched as they sat their shiny purses(matching their gowns) on the old mossy stone bench and opened them. They began to slip off their rings and bracelets, setting them inside, than peeled off their long satin gloves( also matching their gowns, and laid them alongside. Then as they both looked around, one bent down and lifted up her long gown, revealing a black garter that held a gold cigarette case. Pulling it out, she opened it and both took a cigarette and started to smoke, giggling away the whole time at their daring. The other than looked around, and bending over lifted her long gown, her brooch dangling, and pulled a small flask from her garter! Then the both took long swigs, and started to giggle even more. In the time it took to do all this, Angie had come up with a plan of action designed to relive the young ladies of some of their finery. “Comme tirer sur des poissons dans un tonneau!” Angie murmured to herself.
She edged around till she was on the hedge directly behind the bench. At the bottom was an opening just large enough to crawl through with a little effort. Angie picked up a small stone and threw it as hard as she could at the fountain. Hearing the noise, the girls jump, and go to the entrance of the alcove to investigate, their purses and its valuable cargo momentarily unguarded. As their colorfully shimmering backs are turned, Angie reaches through and pulls one of the purses down, spilling its contents. She reached in the glittering pile and spirits away a long, serpentine bracelet, and the biggest and brightest ring she could find amongst the group. She scattered the rest liberally about and slipped back before the girls turned back.
Angie waited until their curiosity was sated, and the pair came back inside the alcove. They soon began to meander about playfully, blowing puffs of smoke into each other’s faces, laughing at themselves, as their earrings, necklaces and a fine emerald brooch sparkled ever so invitingly to Angie’s shrewd eyes.
Now for the Coup de Gras, Angie thought as she rose, and walked over to the entrance, entering the alcove with a chirpy “why hello there!” The startled princesses jumped, and twirled around, their gowns delightfully coiling and swirling along their fine sanguine figures. Quickly placing them at ease, Angie looked about, and in a co-conspirator tone asked if she could join in a smoke. The girls eagerly obliged and soon all three of them were sending rings spiraling about. Angie admired their necklaces, and they happily lifted them up for her to see,. As the gas lights touched them, the sparklers came to life, sending cascading showers of shimmering fireworks into the night. Angie’s eyes absorbed it all in as she felt a welcoming tingle wash over her, making her shiver inwardly with absolute delight. But on the outside she appeared calm, and as she commented in a rather subdued tone of voice, “ My that is pretty”, she asked the other girl her opinion. As the girl leaned inward, Angie’s fingers darted in, and cupping the girls dangling brooch in her fingers, felt and flicked open it’s clasp, working it off all in one swift motion..
As Angie stashed her brooch in a secret pocket, he other princess, not to be outdone, presented her earrings to Angie, which Angie also cordially admired, secretly acknowledging that that the one hidden in her sash was far more pretty and valuable. But not as pretty or as valuable as her dangling brooch, which Angie had just lifted.
As Angie absorbed the rich fire of the remaining glittery gems the girls wore, she wondered ( not for the first time!) what attracted her more, the jewels, or the cash they may bring. Not that it mattered at the moment, for it was time to make her exit before the pair discovered the chicanery that Angie had caused, both on the bench behind them, and from the very gowns they were wearing so very fetchingly over their svelte figures.
They gave Angie her leave, cheerfully thanking her for joining them. As she walked away, Angie reflected that it had been a bit of a sticky wicket pulling it off, but she had slammed the score so to speak, and it was with a rather upmost felling of confidence in the luck she was experiencing this evening, that she left the alcoves hidden path and started to meander her way back the way she had come, like with any good gambler, with the intention of leaving while she was ahead.
When Angie reached the path outside the statue, she was abruptly snapped out of her musings as she realized that a man was approaching her. For a second Angie was taken aback, should she retreat back up the hidden path before being noticed? . Then she recognized him, and smiled evilly to herself.
It was the man, who earlier in the evening man had swirled “Sheila” , the wayward debutante in white satin ,to the dance floor. He looked up, seeing Angie standing there. She felt his eyes checking her out, and she smiled oh so prettily for him, her mind going a mile a minute. Where could his dance partner be? The man looked back over his shoulder. Ahh, there she was, standing at a rose bush just by a curve in the path. “Sheila” looked up past Angie, and catching her boyfriend’s eye, he called out to her, promising not to be long, and passed Angie without another look, as he marched away down the path. “Sheila” turned, exposing a back covered in sleek white satin, and headed off around the bend. Angie’s eyes meanwhile had been glued on the ruby bracelet, smelling opportunity, the way a fox smells the feathers adorning a plump hen.
Angie followed at a distance, calmly awaiting the prime moment to make her move. “Sheila” traveled quite away s into the depth of the garden, eventually coming along one to an outer wall of the high hedge. At one point she turned to admire a fountain, placing a satiny white glove on its rim, the rubies around her wrist glistening like mad. Angie, darting behind a nearby bush, was able to fully study the bracelet. It was a tiffany piece, with a clasp Angie knew would not put up much effort to stay clasped around the ladies’ slender gloved wrist.
When “Sheila” moved off, Angie shadowed even closer, she now had a plan, the debutante liked water fountains. Soon enough Angie heard the gurgling that meant another was close by. It came into view, an statue of a winged Midas, water pouring out of the flute he was playing. “Sheila” stopped abruptly, and Angie began a careful approach, the young lady, still with her back to Angie, could hear nothing above the murmuring water of the fountain.
Angie came up right behind her, eyeballing the pleasing gown worn in such a fetchingly manner by her prey. The lady stepped back, coming right up against Angie, whose slipping hands did their magic. Her right arm and hand caught the young lady by the waist, steadying her as she teetered in a startled manner, looking back at what was behind her. Angie had gripped the right side, and the lady looked in that direction, her attention away from her left side, and the wrist from which her only piece of jewellery lay. Angie’s left hand reached around and found its mark. Gliding along the satiny white glove, she lifted the bracelet with practiced finger’s, two of which turned it to the clasp, snapping it open and flicking it off “Shelia’s” wrist in one, deft, synchronized effort.
Come to mama Angie purrs as she sees the bracelet land in a soft bunch of leaves under one of the rose bush’s that lined the sparkling fountain. At the same time she was accepting the young ladies apologies, Angie looked “Sheila “ directly, innocently, In the eyes, accepting her apologies graciously, and calmly told her it as no fault of hers. The young lady left, embarrassed, and Angie waited until the coast was clear and then retrieved the bracelet, securing it away, before heading back the opposite way. She had just passed the part of the path where the moss rose bush hid to the little alcove, when she saw “Sheila’s” boyfriend heading her way. she turned and darted down the path. Then remembering the miss in purple and black satin, she thought she should check in on her. Angie reached the little alcove, finding it empty, nothing of interest except that a few of the statuses were now laying on their sides.
Angie reaches the patio, and without looking about, cuts back inside. She calmly heads through the mulling crown and leaving the same way she came.
As she left, Angie decided to walk a bit before hailing a cabby. It was a rough area, but there were a few people milling about and as long as she did not go down any dark alley ways, she should remain untouched. At the thought of dark alleyways she wondered what had happened with the female vagabond that had come into the alcove.
At that moment Angie spies a familiarly dressed figure, a long fluttering black satin skirt nipping at the toes of her heels, wearing a black satin jacket with rhinestone buttons, covering a glossy purple satin blouse. The figure was walking across the street, alone.
Someone should have warned that young lady about going outside for a walk alone, dressed like she was, foolishly displaying all those precious jewels. No one obviously had, Angie smirked to herself. For the girl now wearing the outfit was the young vagabond girl. Angie hoped the rich young lady was okay,( gypsy would had only had enough time to strip the girl of her valuables ) and not catching a chill, for everything she had been wearing, right down to her silky slips, would fetch the young gypsy a handsome price.
Angie had heard stories about Victorian child strippers – unscrupulous women who would cunningly lure unsuspecting children of the well-to-do away from safety in order to strip them bare of their clothing and any other valuables they had with them. The colder the weather the better, for they would be wearing more clothes. She wondered if the gypsy looking vagabond had heard the same stories. Angie shuddered in disgust. She had morals, aside from secreting away jewelry, she would never do anything else to any victim. She looked at the young lady walking haughtily ahead of her, and she had no tolerance for someone who would!
Angie reflected for a moment as she watched the girl swish away. She was glad the she had left when she did. Once the rich scamps plight had been discovered ( as it would soon be she knew) the other guest would instinctively check over their own valuables. Angie knew of a few wealthy ladies in attendance whom would soon become frantic. Angie started to follow the gypsy girl.
The gypsy girl may have decided to wear the fancy clothes, but none of the sapphires … she was too smart to wear those openly in this part of town. Angie had noticed a small bulge in a side pocket of the jacket, and she knew what was making it.
A soft breeze came from down the street, fluttering the young ladies long hair. A gypsy wind, Angie thought, how appropriate. She closed in on the oblivious young girl, her eyes focusing on the bulging side pocket of the shiny jacket. Never before had Angie ever encountered a satiny pocket that deserved to be picked clean as this one, now almost within her reach.
Someone should warn this girl about traipsing about alone dressed like that. Not me, Angie thought unforgivingly as she prepared her fingers to make their move.
Fini?
*************************************************************************************
Addendum SS
Now, one of the observations the author of the phamplet noted was the pretty much any lady who loses a piece of jewelery while out and about will go to great lengts to justify its looss, short of someone actually stealing it from her. Broken clasp, loose fitting, melting away(in the vcase of pearls) slipped off
To the point that they will give any reason to convince themselves that its loss was accidental, and almost turn a stubbornly deaf ear that it may have been otherwise
On one occasion, soley to test his throry, he himself stood next to a lady who was lamenting the loss of a brooch. A brooch he himself had lifted from her gowns sash and still, daruingly, had about his person.
On a whim he suggested that he had seen a stranger lurking about, and wondered if he may have taken it while dancing with her.
She totally poo pooed the idea with a nervous giigle, and placing a hand with well ringed fingers onto his shoulder, said, dear, things like that simply do noy occur.
Tis inherent belief has
been the foundation for lifting a persons valuables.master pickpockets in the generations since
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Like shooting fish in a barrel
comme tirer sur des poissons dans un tonneau
Editor’s Note:
Our Thanks to Mr J. Gardner for pointing out the existence of Mr. Monescu’s 1826 guide
Here are some links to videos depicting females not unlike our Angie
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ls8rw2V1QCU&authuser=0
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAZdjhNVjxk&authuser=0
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4RbLiI9ZFQ8&authuser=0
www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XZ8s-R9vl4
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
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Title
Comme tirer sur des poissons dans un tonneau
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This is a link to a You Tube Video of a thief not unlike our Angie.
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Case Study 113 :
Warning, these are the raw, bare unusual facts as originally recorded. Some names, times, places and some facts have , of course been altered.
Name: Angelica D circa 192__
Subject: an unscrupulous light-fingered body thief
Event: A Sisters of Mercy charity sponsored ball
Place: The Hamptons
Time: Warm early Spring Friday Evening
It had been a very busy 3 day working weekend for “poor” Angie, a rather handsome lady with flaming red hair, whose life during these depressive years had forced her too constantly work to sustain herself.
The joint where now Angie found herself was filled with a bevy of ladies and girls dressed up royally for the occasion, A Sisters of Mercy charity sponsored ball. The Ball’s objective was to raise funds for the good sister’s bread lines, Angie’s objective was to raise some funds of her own.
Needless to say, she did not fit in with her present environment. The reason Angie did not fit in was, although she was also dressed up in a sleekly colorful frock of her own, she was probably the only female guest to whom the term “working lady” would be an oxy-moron. Actually, it was almost as If her fellow guests sensed this, almost acting like she did not even exist. As she found out almost as soon as she had entered, two ladies were walking towards her, her, one in a long flowing lavender gown and pearls, the other in a shorter grey satin number with a bouncy skirt and decked out with enough silver trinkets to have drained a small mine. Angie nodded to them, but their noses were so held high they didn’t even see her, and the one in grey satin actually would have ran Angie over if she had not moved quicker, as it was they brushed against one another, and Angie had to actually grasp the Ladies’ wrist with the pearled bracelet,to steady herself. Angie found herself on the end of a few rather severe words of disdain as they looked back at her..
Angie just sighed to herself, and watched the pair saunter off, with a rather thoughtful look in her bright green eyes. Her left hand was clasped, playing with something she was holding in it. She then slipped that hand behind her satin sash, straighten it, she did so favor wearing slick sash’s with her silk party dresses.
It was at that moment that a pristine young lady walked by her. Looking like an escapee from a high society debutant’s coming out affair. Her lithe figure was draped in a gleaming white taffeta gown, its long layered skirt that swirled provocatively as she moved, Her elbow length gloves and purse were made of the same material as her gown. Angie’s eyes travelled up and down the passing enchantress (without moving her head), looking her over head to toe , from the spray of white flowers in her hair, to her clicking white high heels. Surprisingly the only jewelry she was wearing was a thick gold bracelet, set with rubies, as bright as the fire crackling in the mammoth fireplace by the bar.. Waiting ten seconds after the pristine miss was out of her roving eyes view, Angie turned and followed. She did not get far, a male voice called out “Sheila” and the lady was met by a rather charming appearing male of the same age, and smiling, the pair trotted off to the dance floor.
Angie hovered for a bit watching the show put on by the waltzing young couple, as well as their paired co dancers out on the almost 1 acre ballroom floor. As Angie stood watching, mesmerized by her thoughts, she first noticed the opened, wide double glass doors on the far side of the ballroom. Many of the well-dressed guests seemed to be coming and going from this newly discovered area.
It was then that a pretty young thing passed by Angie, heading towards those very same double doors. Although she carried herself well, the charming princess appeared to be a little too young to be wondering about by herself. She was definitely too young to be flitting about unescorted while wearing the costly jewels that glittered a pretty fire as she swished about on her merry way. The girl was expensively attired in an excessively glossy, purple satin blouse, a tailored black satin jacket with rhinestone buttons ,and a long silky black satin pleated skirt that fell spilling out from underneath the matching jacket ,swishing with every step of whispering silk at the heels of her black shoes. Her long soft chestnut hair done up in a long plait, with pearls interwoven throughout its length , held back by a sapphire encrusted clip, sapphires sparkled from all over ; ears, neckline, wrists and fingers, even her jacket had a sapphire brooch shaped like a waning moon. Very pretty Angie observed as the young scamp reached the double doors.
Angie, her curiosity now aroused by what lay past those doors, turned heel and with the girl as an unwary guide, followed her towards them. Now, curiosity may have killed a cat or two, but for Angie, being curious usually put food on her table. She soon discovered that the doors led out onto a wide cement patio, off of which was a rather extensive flower Garden, walled in by a rows of high green hedges. Angie watched as the last wisp of the, surprisingly still unescorted, young lady’s skirt disappeared from view into the gardens. Someone should warn her about going outside alone for walks when dressed like that ! Angie thought to herself, but before moving off with the intention of doing that very thing. But she stopped first, checking her surroundings.
The patio was home to a number of mostly occupied tables. With one exception, all the occupied tables were home to couples in groups of two to six, men in tuxes, their paramours in vibrant gowns that spread out quite nicely, spilling down rainbow like coloures from chairs to the cement floor. As Angie looked around, she observed the array of glittering jewels worn by the happily chatting women. Then Angie darted her eyes the one table that made the exception on the patio. Located in an isolated corner, that table was the only one with a lone female occupant. The occupant was resplendently dressed in a shiny mint green gown of fine satin that literally poured along the shapely curves of her seated figure, before finally splaying out around her feet like a soft, shiny pool. Her many jewels were set with majestic diamonds, especially her earrings, or at least the one Angie could see. For the ladies long hair fell over one heavily mascaraed eye, making the lady appear to be a one eye Cyclops, with an incredibly sparkling bright diamonded earing dripping from her one visible earlobe. Angie scrutinized the scene before her as she pondered a bit. Then, spying a shiny mint green purse dangling from the chair behind the Cyclops, a grin, wider than that of the Cheshire cat’s begins to spread across Angie’s handsomely sly face.
**
Why the grin like a Cheshire cat?
**
Now when a young Angie had first started on her adulthood path, she self -taught herself on how to be a pickpocket, ( body thief, and cutpurse were her preferred terms) and progressed to the point whereupon she was able to make a comfortable living.
Back then, as in the present, women of all ages were her preferred target, for several reasons:
A) Easily more distractible, especially the younger versions.
B) Silken and satiny types of dress, smoothly slick, were far more accommodating when preforming a dip or pick than trying the same maneuvers on the more unforgiving formal attire of their male counterparts.
C) Likewise the possessions of women and girls were more plentiful, and shiningly richer than those of most gentlemen.
Now, as was stated, Angie was self-taught. She did this by discreetly watching the pickpockets who worked the back streets and alleyways off of fancy theatres and dance halls in the area she grew up. She also did research by gleaning information from old newspapers and haunting the local libraries.
(See more of Angie’s background in the Album, Angie picks Chicago)
Angie especially liked the methods employed by cutpurses, and found enough success in this method that she still habitually carried a penknife with a long, finely honed, razor sharp blade. Even though she had not nicked a soft purse in a few years, she was still always up to the challenge.
**
So this, then, was the reason behind the evil grin, and the reason Angie now slipped a hand discreetly behind her colorful dress’s satin sash , extracting the finely honed folded razor, which she opened with one hand and concealed behind her back. She walked up, and looking around, let her hand holding the razor drop and allowed the blade to skim across the bottom of the purse as she walked past. She heard something tingle behind her, and then a muted gasp. Angie turned, quite a natural thing to do, noting the lady was reaching for her purse as its contents spilled out. Angie’s practiced eyes took inventory, a calf skin wallet, gold (solid!) compact, matching lipstick container, expensive tortoise shell comb, and several silky handkerchiefs had fallen out. Angie came to the ladies rescue, effectively cutting off any of the ladies at the nearby tables from doing the same. Their attention quickly turning back to their own personal business, as the rich are happily wont to do.
As the purses owner was bending down, her long hair falling totally straight down, Angie comes up and bumps into her as she leant down also. Apologizing, Angie cordially helped the lady pick up the purses’ strewn contents. Angie chats happily with the girl, easing the tension. The girl looks up into Angie’s face, thanking her, her long hair had fallen back, covering her eye, her only visible earring was swaying, still sending out showers of bright sparkles. Angie willingly accepting the young ladies gracious gratitude, before happily waltzing away, leaving the solitary lady to scratch her head over the ruined purse, as she makes sure all the rather pricey items it had contained are accounted for. Happily she discovers that nothing from her purse is missing.
Angie had not touched one item that had spilled out from the slashed bottom of the small silk purse.
For you see, Angie had graduated from being a common pickpocket of wallets and the contents of expensive purses
( as explained in the stories located the albums, Angie having a Ball @ Angie at Play).
Angie now was able to lift things far more valuable, as evidenced by the shiny diamond earring that Angie now had secreted inside the hidden pocket of her dresses’ her satin sash, the very earring that had been hidden beneath the long silky hair that had made the victim resemble a sexy Cyclops. The clasped earring had been exposed briefly as the distracted young lady had bent down to collect her scattered possession’s, and Angie’s practiced fingers had scooped it up and gently pulled it free from her earlobe, without the unsuspecting lady feeling so much as a prick..
Now Angie could have easily snatched both earrings, or had taken a necklace or bracelet along with it. But if she had, than once discovered, it would have been immediately apparent that something sinister had happened, and she would likely have been at the center point of that suspicion. But, by taking only a single piece of jewelry, it would more likely be surmised it had fallen off in the fracas, or possibly even earlier in the evening.
See Addendum SS
**
Angie left the sexy Cyclops, retreating back towards the garden. Now I wonder where the inquisitive young miss wondered off too. Someone really should warn her about going outside for a walk alone wearing all those precious jewels ,Angie thought, not really all that concerned about actually warning anyone.
Angie savored gardens and small parks with the feeling that she had done some of her best handiwork in places like that whenever they were haunted by ultra-wealthy fat cats. So it was with some great measure of pleasure that she now took to prowling this particular gardens maze of winding paths as she slowly made her get away, still open for opportunity.
As Angie meandered through the garden, passing many young couples milling about, happily eyeing the various fancily attired and jewel laden ladies that were flaunting their goods about, she remembered about being in a similar Garden not too very long ago, and the amazing luck that she had ended up having that evening.
(See Album “Angie being receptive” to read about that luck)
Angie turned a corner and saw that there was a side path almost hidden from view behind an untrimmed moss rose bush. She turned down it and found the path almost deserted. At the far end was a small alcove. Angie peered inside, it was not empty. The young miss in the purple blouse and black satin jacket and skirt, was knelling, happily admiring some small cement statues of animals she had discovered. Behind her was a small stone bench that lay before the hedge. Angie noticed that some of the hedge’s crooked branches had formed a small opening to the outside. Angie snuck behind one of the bushes that formed the inner wall of the alcove, and watched with open interest . The happily unaware girl’s sapphires glittered beckoningly, especially her sapphire pendent on its long braided silver chain that bounced on and off the front of her thick, glossy satin blouse . The girls black satin jacket was open, and the waning moon brooch was clearly visible, glittering in the lights of a nearby gas lamp. Angie flexed her fingers, waiting for an opening; it really ought to be an easy pick.
But at that very moment a dark figure came silently through the break in the outside hedge. A Gypsyish young female vagabond, wearing a slightly ragged dress with a colourful long scarf came into the pool of light , and crept up to the bench. The young lady had her back to the bench, never heard a thing, and kept on playing blissfully, unaware she now had, good or bad, uninvited company. The female vagabond only looked about a couple of years older, with a stronger figure than that of the well-dressed girl, but physically about the same size. The female vagabond sat on the bench, black eyes darting about, looking like she was being protective of the young lady in shiny satin, and even shinier sapphires.
Angie rose from her crouch; she had not been noticed, and decided to keep it that way. She carefully circled around the entrance to the alcove, without looking back. Her conscious, like most thieves, clear and unworried about the fate, good or bad, that may befall the stylishly attired rich young girl.
Actually, as she carefully snuck off, Angie’s thoughts were dwelling on how she would have distracted that pretty miss long enough to flick open the dangling silver chains clasp, and slip it and its shimmering pendent from around the high collared neckline of the accommodating slippery purple satin blouse. As she played it out, Angie almost turned back to see if somehow she could still accomplish it, it would be that easy. But she didn’t, and headed back past the moss rose bush and entered back on the main path.
Angie continued to nonchalantly prowl along the gardens long paths, staying to the outer edge she discovered several alcoves that were hidden in a similar manner to the one behind the overgrown Moss Rose bush. They all had been empty, until the fifth one she discovered, located behind a statue of a winged Hermes.
She heard the giggling first, and carefully shadowed her way around for a peek through some of the hedges branches., and what she saw made her perk right up. Angie observed a pair of young twenty something missus dressed resplendently in shiny gowns of royal blue and blood red that fluttered fetchingly as they quivered about. . Angie salivated over the copious collection fine jewels the pair was exhibiting, mesmerizingly flashing as the girls giggled in a conspiratorial fashion. All in all, Angie found it to be a most enthralling performance.
Angie watched as they sat their shiny purses(matching their gowns) on the old mossy stone bench and opened them. They began to slip off their rings and bracelets, setting them inside, than peeled off their long satin gloves( also matching their gowns, and laid them alongside. Then as they both looked around, one bent down and lifted up her long gown, revealing a black garter that held a gold cigarette case. Pulling it out, she opened it and both took a cigarette and started to smoke, giggling away the whole time at their daring. The other than looked around, and bending over lifted her long gown, her brooch dangling, and pulled a small flask from her garter! Then the both took long swigs, and started to giggle even more. In the time it took to do all this, Angie had come up with a plan of action designed to relive the young ladies of some of their finery. “Comme tirer sur des poissons dans un tonneau!” Angie murmured to herself.
She edged around till she was on the hedge directly behind the bench. At the bottom was an opening just large enough to crawl through with a little effort. Angie picked up a small stone and threw it as hard as she could at the fountain. Hearing the noise, the girls jump, and go to the entrance of the alcove to investigate, their purses and its valuable cargo momentarily unguarded. As their colorfully shimmering backs are turned, Angie reaches through and pulls one of the purses down, spilling its contents. She reached in the glittering pile and spirits away a long, serpentine bracelet, and the biggest and brightest ring she could find amongst the group. She scattered the rest liberally about and slipped back before the girls turned back.
Angie waited until their curiosity was sated, and the pair came back inside the alcove. They soon began to meander about playfully, blowing puffs of smoke into each other’s faces, laughing at themselves, as their earrings, necklaces and a fine emerald brooch sparkled ever so invitingly to Angie’s shrewd eyes.
Now for the Coup de Gras, Angie thought as she rose, and walked over to the entrance, entering the alcove with a chirpy “why hello there!” The startled princesses jumped, and twirled around, their gowns delightfully coiling and swirling along their fine sanguine figures. Quickly placing them at ease, Angie looked about, and in a co-conspirator tone asked if she could join in a smoke. The girls eagerly obliged and soon all three of them were sending rings spiraling about. Angie admired their necklaces, and they happily lifted them up for her to see,. As the gas lights touched them, the sparklers came to life, sending cascading showers of shimmering fireworks into the night. Angie’s eyes absorbed it all in as she felt a welcoming tingle wash over her, making her shiver inwardly with absolute delight. But on the outside she appeared calm, and as she commented in a rather subdued tone of voice, “ My that is pretty”, she asked the other girl her opinion. As the girl leaned inward, Angie’s fingers darted in, and cupping the girls dangling brooch in her fingers, felt and flicked open it’s clasp, working it off all in one swift motion..
As Angie stashed her brooch in a secret pocket, he other princess, not to be outdone, presented her earrings to Angie, which Angie also cordially admired, secretly acknowledging that that the one hidden in her sash was far more pretty and valuable. But not as pretty or as valuable as her dangling brooch, which Angie had just lifted.
As Angie absorbed the rich fire of the remaining glittery gems the girls wore, she wondered ( not for the first time!) what attracted her more, the jewels, or the cash they may bring. Not that it mattered at the moment, for it was time to make her exit before the pair discovered the chicanery that Angie had caused, both on the bench behind them, and from the very gowns they were wearing so very fetchingly over their svelte figures.
They gave Angie her leave, cheerfully thanking her for joining them. As she walked away, Angie reflected that it had been a bit of a sticky wicket pulling it off, but she had slammed the score so to speak, and it was with a rather upmost felling of confidence in the luck she was experiencing this evening, that she left the alcoves hidden path and started to meander her way back the way she had come, like with any good gambler, with the intention of leaving while she was ahead.
When Angie reached the path outside the statue, she was abruptly snapped out of her musings as she realized that a man was approaching her. For a second Angie was taken aback, should she retreat back up the hidden path before being noticed? . Then she recognized him, and smiled evilly to herself.
It was the man, who earlier in the evening man had swirled “Sheila” , the wayward debutante in white satin ,to the dance floor. He looked up, seeing Angie standing there. She felt his eyes checking her out, and she smiled oh so prettily for him, her mind going a mile a minute. Where could his dance partner be? The man looked back over his shoulder. Ahh, there she was, standing at a rose bush just by a curve in the path. “Sheila” looked up past Angie, and catching her boyfriend’s eye, he called out to her, promising not to be long, and passed Angie without another look, as he marched away down the path. “Sheila” turned, exposing a back covered in sleek white satin, and headed off around the bend. Angie’s eyes meanwhile had been glued on the ruby bracelet, smelling opportunity, the way a fox smells the feathers adorning a plump hen.
Angie followed at a distance, calmly awaiting the prime moment to make her move. “Sheila” traveled quite away s into the depth of the garden, eventually coming along one to an outer wall of the high hedge. At one point she turned to admire a fountain, placing a satiny white glove on its rim, the rubies around her wrist glistening like mad. Angie, darting behind a nearby bush, was able to fully study the bracelet. It was a tiffany piece, with a clasp Angie knew would not put up much effort to stay clasped around the ladies’ slender gloved wrist.
When “Sheila” moved off, Angie shadowed even closer, she now had a plan, the debutante liked water fountains. Soon enough Angie heard the gurgling that meant another was close by. It came into view, an statue of a winged Midas, water pouring out of the flute he was playing. “Sheila” stopped abruptly, and Angie began a careful approach, the young lady, still with her back to Angie, could hear nothing above the murmuring water of the fountain.
Angie came up right behind her, eyeballing the pleasing gown worn in such a fetchingly manner by her prey. The lady stepped back, coming right up against Angie, whose slipping hands did their magic. Her right arm and hand caught the young lady by the waist, steadying her as she teetered in a startled manner, looking back at what was behind her. Angie had gripped the right side, and the lady looked in that direction, her attention away from her left side, and the wrist from which her only piece of jewellery lay. Angie’s left hand reached around and found its mark. Gliding along the satiny white glove, she lifted the bracelet with practiced finger’s, two of which turned it to the clasp, snapping it open and flicking it off “Shelia’s” wrist in one, deft, synchronized effort.
Come to mama Angie purrs as she sees the bracelet land in a soft bunch of leaves under one of the rose bush’s that lined the sparkling fountain. At the same time she was accepting the young ladies apologies, Angie looked “Sheila “ directly, innocently, In the eyes, accepting her apologies graciously, and calmly told her it as no fault of hers. The young lady left, embarrassed, and Angie waited until the coast was clear and then retrieved the bracelet, securing it away, before heading back the opposite way. She had just passed the part of the path where the moss rose bush hid to the little alcove, when she saw “Sheila’s” boyfriend heading her way. she turned and darted down the path. Then remembering the miss in purple and black satin, she thought she should check in on her. Angie reached the little alcove, finding it empty, nothing of interest except that a few of the statuses were now laying on their sides.
Angie reaches the patio, and without looking about, cuts back inside. She calmly heads through the mulling crown and leaving the same way she came.
As she left, Angie decided to walk a bit before hailing a cabby. It was a rough area, but there were a few people milling about and as long as she did not go down any dark alley ways, she should remain untouched. At the thought of dark alleyways she wondered what had happened with the female vagabond that had come into the alcove.
At that moment Angie spies a familiarly dressed figure, a long fluttering black satin skirt nipping at the toes of her heels, wearing a black satin jacket with rhinestone buttons, covering a glossy purple satin blouse. The figure was walking across the street, alone.
Someone should have warned that young lady about going outside for a walk alone, dressed like she was, foolishly displaying all those precious jewels. No one obviously had, Angie smirked to herself. For the girl now wearing the outfit was the young vagabond girl. Angie hoped the rich young lady was okay,( gypsy would had only had enough time to strip the girl of her valuables ) and not catching a chill, for everything she had been wearing, right down to her silky slips, would fetch the young gypsy a handsome price.
Angie had heard stories about Victorian child strippers – unscrupulous women who would cunningly lure unsuspecting children of the well-to-do away from safety in order to strip them bare of their clothing and any other valuables they had with them. The colder the weather the better, for they would be wearing more clothes. She wondered if the gypsy looking vagabond had heard the same stories. Angie shuddered in disgust. She had morals, aside from secreting away jewelry, she would never do anything else to any victim. She looked at the young lady walking haughtily ahead of her, and she had no tolerance for someone who would!
Angie reflected for a moment as she watched the girl swish away. She was glad the she had left when she did. Once the rich scamps plight had been discovered ( as it would soon be she knew) the other guest would instinctively check over their own valuables. Angie knew of a few wealthy ladies in attendance whom would soon become frantic. Angie started to follow the gypsy girl.
The gypsy girl may have decided to wear the fancy clothes, but none of the sapphires … she was too smart to wear those openly in this part of town. Angie had noticed a small bulge in a side pocket of the jacket, and she knew what was making it.
A soft breeze came from down the street, fluttering the young ladies long hair. A gypsy wind, Angie thought, how appropriate. She closed in on the oblivious young girl, her eyes focusing on the bulging side pocket of the shiny jacket. Never before had Angie ever encountered a satiny pocket that deserved to be picked clean as this one, now almost within her reach.
Someone should warn this girl about traipsing about alone dressed like that. Not me, Angie thought unforgivingly as she prepared her fingers to make their move.
Fini?
*************************************************************************************
Addendum SS
Now, one of the observations the author of the phamplet noted was the pretty much any lady who loses a piece of jewelery while out and about will go to great lengts to justify its looss, short of someone actually stealing it from her. Broken clasp, loose fitting, melting away(in the vcase of pearls) slipped off
To the point that they will give any reason to convince themselves that its loss was accidental, and almost turn a stubbornly deaf ear that it may have been otherwise
On one occasion, soley to test his throry, he himself stood next to a lady who was lamenting the loss of a brooch. A brooch he himself had lifted from her gowns sash and still, daruingly, had about his person.
On a whim he suggested that he had seen a stranger lurking about, and wondered if he may have taken it while dancing with her.
She totally poo pooed the idea with a nervous giigle, and placing a hand with well ringed fingers onto his shoulder, said, dear, things like that simply do noy occur.
Tis inherent belief has
been the foundation for lifting a persons valuables.master pickpockets in the generations since
*************************************************************************************
Like shooting fish in a barrel
comme tirer sur des poissons dans un tonneau
Editor’s Note:
Our Thanks to Mr J. Gardner for pointing out the existence of Mr. Monescu’s 1826 guide
Here are some links to videos depicting females not unlike our Angie
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ls8rw2V1QCU&authuser=0
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAZdjhNVjxk&authuser=0
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4RbLiI9ZFQ8&authuser=0
www.youtube.com/watch?v=9XZ8s-R9vl4
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
The Watcher in the woods
Pursuing the Posh
A Cat Burglar Saga
From the files of Chatwick University Criminology Department.
C.B. Case Study 13 , File B
Subset Source: Journal
Subject “Harley Q” -- Real name?
ORIGINATION STORY:
flic.kr/p/BcnW2J
Synopsis:
The young lady was approaching sweet sixteen if I estimated accurately. She was clad in a tailored dress of bronze velvet that shone richly over her lithe figure. Her long blonde hair tied in back, flickered like a horses’’ tail. She had come bounding from a ladies powder chamber, one of several located at either end of the grand ballroom that sat off the formal dining rooms.
I fell in step behind her, watching as her splendid jewelry bounced merrily as she pranced along like some untried colt, sorry filly. Her pearls were lovely things, a matched set, double strands all, real diamond clasps, shone gleaming with a pristine whiteness that reminded me of fresh snow.
The pearls were a sweet lure, of that there was no doubt; but apologies if I am prattling n a bit about them, for after all, what is a jewel thief who fails to notice a ladies jewels? A starving bugger, that’s who.
Now I have found out during my times here on the earth that I can make quite a profit from burgling the safes of wealthy ladies whilst they slept peacefully within their fancy chambres. But I had started out walking my morally tainted chosen path by picking the pockets of the unwary along the way. It was my fate to eventually discover the delightfully chilling sensation that was experienced when lifting the very jewels displayed by unsuspecting female targets. And this was still my guilty pleasure, to the point that I would still take that far riskier venture of lifting worn jewelry whenever opportunity arose, which was quite often in my travelled circles.
So, that is why I habitually started to follow this meandering youth, only because of her jewels, which I found to be quite vexing. Especially her earrings, a dangling set held to her ears by genuine diamond studded hinge clasps. I had seldom attempted sets of worn earrings, not for the lack of desire, and with this one’s head just reaching me chest, it was a very tempting prospect to try and pluck em both off just to see?
Fortunately, for her (not me), this pretty miss was a bit too young for my standards to make any attempt to lift from her any of the swinging pearls, earrings or otherwise. I do prefer my marks to be a bit older, a bit wiser, a bit more of a challenge to my abilities, thank you very much! Besides, I had already had my eye on a few other, challenging female prospects wearing some rather nice pieces in their own right. Including one sapphire laden Lass in a silky frock that had greatly provoked my attentiveness.
So I just followed this young one while she skirted the ballroom and entered a dining area. There she rejoined, what were quite obviously, her parents.
There were, it appeared, just the three of them, no older jewel laden siblings in sight. But, speaking of appearances, the Mother certainly presented a rather nice one, and so I stopped to drink it all in.
The mother/wife was fluidly clad in an all so elegant purple satin number, poured rather snugly along her still quite lovely figure. Said figure had been made even more eye catching (especially for me) by being emblazon with a matching set of jewels, all set with small 1 caret white diamonds, encircling her neck, wrists and fingers with energetic ripples of fiery colour.
She was with her husband, a distinguished looking gent in tails who may have passed as a Barrister, for which all I knew he was. Now Sandwiched in between was their charming young daughter, who was happily chatting away without a care in the world. Her pristine pearls still dangling, mocking me it would seem, to just make the one exception and attempt to take them home with me. I just smiled to wickedly to myself, maybe someday I would I promised them, once their young mistress had grown up a bit, then we would see who was mocking whom from the wickets!
But I did not dwell too long on such thought’s , or on the pretty family either, for, like I have revealed, I had other fish frying, and only am mentioning this particular incident because of what would occur in two days hence. So after a bit I turned and began wandering off.
But then, speaking of starving jewel thieves, I observed at the precise moment I turned away, a most stunning red head wearing a long black gown that fluttered about, here and there, in a most alluring fashion. She was making a beeline towards the very same powder chamber I had just passed. She was obviously in a rush to reach it, and once I laid my eyes on the pearls she was wearing, I moved towards her in an equally purposeful stride. I intercepted her, letting her bump against me, as I stepped on the hem of her long gown. She stopped abruptly, and I momentarily placed an arm around her smooth waist, steadying her as I apologized and begged the ladies pardon for my clumsiness.
She begrudgingly accepted my apologies, and I watched as she scurried off, having already pocketed the pearled bracelet I had slipped from her red satin gloved wrist, and made my own path. I smirked to myself that the bracelet was some consolation for not having an unscrupulous go for the pearls that had hung around the young daughter’s throat, hung from her ears, and encircled one petite wrist, as I stole one last look back towards the pretty families’ table.
I walked away, turning my attentions back to relocating a certain lady elegantly wearing a silky frock, displaying those magnificent sapphires. I was watching, waiting for her to leave, in order to follow to her next stop, eventually hoping to be led to her last, having decided to acquire the fair damsel’s collection of jewels enmasse!
***** Two productive evenings later ****************
It was at a wedding reception the 2 evenings later that I again, quite un-expectantly, spied the Barrister and his entourage.
I had been having a delightful chat with the newly minted wife of the titled Scion of a rather old family. I had won the sweepstakes of receiving a dance with the charming Miss. But alas my chat was cut short as she was whisked away to dance with yet another admirer. I watched as she swept off, my hand reaching into me breast pocket, fingering a still warm diamond brooch. That jewel had been merrily dangling down from her satin gowns’ cleavage, over shadowed by her ample bosom. As we had danced, I had managed to work open its silvery clasp, and lift the brooch cleanly away. My hidden vest pocket also contained at the time a rather pretty ring with a blue carbuncle surrounded by sparkly diamonds. Said ring had been wrapped around the finger of a rather vexing long raven haired lass. I had admired the silken dress she was wearing, and as she had happily swirled and twirled to give me a better look, I had taken the opportunity to relieve her finger of its burden. Since I was only allowing meself a couple of prospects with an affair this small, I now made my way, leisurely, contentedly, towards an exit (stage right as they say in the trades).
But, no sooner had I put me back to the dance floor, than whom do I spy across the room? That rather delightful miss with a long blonde ponytail, who was now dressed elegantly in cream lace, that I had spied at dinner a few evenings back. It was the very same young lady, wearing the same set of mocking white pearls, and as I discreetly draw near, I soon spied her parents.
The “Barrister” was dapper in crisp white shirt and tux, with a fancy gold pocket watch and fob at his waist. The daughter’s look alike mother was now smartly encased in a fitted red gown that shimmered delightfully as it swished about. She was also wearing a nice display of brite emeralds to boot.
This time I took closer notice of the Mothers Jeweles. Between the emeralds today and the diamonds the night before, this lady in red could be a nice meal ticket if the stars were aligned properly. And so it turned out they very happily (for me) did.
With a few discreet questions from some acquaintances quickly garnered for just such information, I found out where my “Barrister” and his family were spending their late evenings asleep. It so happened that they were staying in a penthouse suite 3 floors above my own modest single. So instead of leaving the reception to scout out a way to gain easy access to their rooms, I could stay and enjoy myself, already being all too familiar with the place. Which I did, later acquiring a gold jeweled bracelet from a charming maiden attired delightfully in teal satin, who had kept flaunting her jewels in me face as she told me all about her perfect self. Another jewel added for my growing collection of the evening.
Now, don’t ask me why I was so familiar with my hotels’ penthouse suites, being a cat burglar, the reasons should be quite clear! So when the pretty family left the reception early, around 9 pm returning to their rooms, I was able to follow them with less discretion then I usually do, but still with growing eager anticipation. Also, even more remarkably, they were in bed and asleep by 10:30 pm, which allowed me a much earlier window of opportunity than I had grown accustomed to having.
And so it was, that soon after the stroke of midnight, with the happy family deep in their slumbers that I, wearing my black burgling attire, climbed onto the balcony of their rooms. After jimmying open the double glass doors with my Fairborn dagger, I found myself in a small sitting room. Carefully allowing my torch to search around I spied a door on the far end. Opening it cautiously, the first thing I see are the daughters pricey pearls piled loosely on a vanity by the bed where she lay sleeping, dressed in white, looking ever so like the angel she is. I picked up the necklace of pearls, eyeing them as I watch the slumbering figure on the bed. But I passed the pretty things up, for even though I am a thief by nature, I do possess some scruples, albeit maybe a little warped! Besides, those taunting pearls had led me to the small treasure trove that was awaiting me in her Mothers’ chambers. So with a silent thanks, I replaced them upon the vanity, and move off…
The parents were found in the next room, soundly sleeping off their alcohol induced haze. The mother was draped over her husband, fetchingly clad in a long satin nightdress that looked almost like an evening gown. Her vulgarly large wedding diamonds flickered pleasantly from her finger as I let my torch sneak up along her shimmering figure. On the bed stand laid the “Barristers” gold watch and a rather pleasing selection of his wife’s gold “day” jewelry, but I passed the lot up, my eyes looking for the good stuff that would be snuggled inside the small room safe that I knew would be behind a false door in one side of the oak dresser ( having already discovered that fact a year previously in a different room of the same hotel)!
I went directly to it, and opening the cabinet door, began to use my finely attuned skills to crack it. It was a simple American lock and only took me a minute to have open. I than emptied the small collection of jewel cases ( lovely things) placing them into my small sack. I also find inside the mothers small clutch purse made expensively of red silk and rhinestones, that had been at her side all evening. Out of curiosity (why in the safe?) I placed it inside my bag with the jewels. After checking that the parents were still out cold, I closed the safe, flickering my torch around one last time, it settles upon her red gown, and its emerald rhinestone clips coming blazing into lively flame. I passed on them, and headed back out towards the door. I had almost regained it, and my freedom, when the husband let out a loud snort, and I heard rustling going on in the bed behind me. I froze and carefully looked back. Neither had woken, but the wife had turned onto her side, and her left hand was now hanging limply over the side of the bed. I watched as the diamonds set in the gold ring encircling her slender finger blazed into life (the ring was somewhat loose I keenly noticed)! Blimey, there was enough dosh in the value of that ring that would have paid for all the expenses of the Cardiff C.C. for an entire season, perhaps 2! But, Bird in the Hand, I am always telling meself, so I left the pretty thing dangling there, and finished my careful retreat. I made it out without further incident.
Passing the daughters room ( and her pearls again), I checked in. The young filly was still was sound asleep in her own pleasant dreams, her taunting pile of pearls still on the vanity, where they would remain. I regained the balcony and slipping over, made my way down to the window of my own room.
Back in my room I empty my sack, the pile of jewels flickering in a frenzy of colours. I admire the little darlings briefly before stashing them. I than pick up the purse and open it. Inside amongst the usual feminy items, I found a letter. Looking at it my heart, already beating quickly from the exhilaration of being on the prowl, skipped one beat, for it was addressed to the lady whose jewels I now possessed, and it was an address of an area I knew quite well. I thought about her address, the house she presumably shared with husband and daughter, the house which should be empty seeing its owners were sleeping just three floors above me. A house that was little over an hour away, only about ¾ of that hour by driving my Lotus. It was a house that I figuratively knew; being in the same neighborhood (relatively speaking) of a house I had reconnoitered and quite lucratively burgled the previous spring.
It was perfect. While the family was asleep snug in their beds here, I could reach their abode, with its jewel laden safe ( they all had jewel laden safes in that area), ½ hour to creep the place, an hour to do the job proper and I would be back in time to catch a two hour kip and be checked out and on my way before the pretty family have had breakfast. It, bears repeating, was perfect.
I looked at the envelope, was its contents that valuable that she felt the need to lock it up. More than mildly curious, I pulled it out and read it. It was from someone named Samuel. In no uncertain terms, he was informing the lady that for only ₤5000 sterling he would leave for the States and never bother her Daughter Claire again. I thought of the young girl asleep in the suite I had just left. What kind of Scoundrel would lure a young girl like that into his clutches with the intent of extorting her parents! For a moment I pondered this bit of information, before deciding that the opportunity was too ripe to pass up just because I felt a small twinge of compassion. Besides, if the parents could afford to cough up a cool 5 thousand, they weren’t hurting in the financial department.
I changed, and quickly gathered my things and headed out quietly via a back entrance. Placing my burgle kit (containing the ladies jewels) into the boot of me two seater, I fired up the lotus’s engine and was off on my little undertaking!
A half hour away I turned down a little used rutty road/path. Pulling over I grabbed my burgle kit and headed down to some ancient stone ruins. Checking to make sure none of my warning snares had been tripped, I entered a small stone building. Going down into one of its old, crumbling basements, I uncovered a small cubby and added the jewels to the growing collection of my recent takings.
Included in the collection were sets of pearls burgled from a coach stop overnight room occupied by a pair of fairly insufferable spinster sisters. Other burgled items were a rather pretty , if not vulgarly large, diamond set obtained from a naive damsel who thought hiding them under the pillow she slept on was safer than a safe, (always happy to enlighten someone upon the error of their ways that’s me), and of course the sapphires that the lass in the silky frock had been wearing 2 nights previous ( along with some rather nice sets of rubies and diamond adorned amethysts that had lain in the same safe, located above her soundly sleeping figure! ) The rest of the lot consisted of items I had “picked up” while on the prowl: a nice collection of brooches, rings, bracelets, and an eye-catching sapphire pendent hanging from a diamonded chain.
I than closed everything up, rechecked my warning snares, and headed back to my Lotus.
Another 30 minutes and I had reached my destination.
The house itself was pretty secluded, located by an intersection of two lanes. I drove its perimeter than doubling back found a pull off. I backed up and turned down and off the road hiding the small sports car in a grove of pines.
Already wearing some of my burglar attire, (black military trousers and sweater), I placed a hood over my head, pulled out my small kit, fastening a torch and military knife to my belt, I was off. The house appeared to be deserted, I found the servants quarters located at the back of the house over a small barn, the only cars were a small sports car in a shed, and a roadster sitting out front. A large garden surrounded by hedges lay to the west of the house, a larger Tudor, with several porches and balconies. Using the hedges as cover, I shimmed up an old tree located by a balcony, and slipping onto the balcony proper, I made my way to the door. Shimmed the latch with my Fairborn commando knife, and then entered into a side bedroom. I was looking for the master suite, and this was not it, the daughter’s by all appearances. I spied a small ornate silver box on a table, but passed it up , on the search for bigger game!
Turning on my torch I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. At the end was a set of double mahogany doors and this is where I set my sights. Along the hallway wall were several rather nice paintings (not copies) and I let the pool of my light flicker along them. Included in the lot was a small painting of a young fox, half asleep, eyeing something in the distance? I stood for precious seconds admiring it, and then turned my attention to the mahogany doors. They were not locked, and I cautiously, very slowly, opened one. Pay dirt! A large empty canopied bed stood in the middle of the room, a love seat to one side, a settee on the other, and directly across from the bed a large ornate sideboard with mirror. Along one side of the wall was a series of chains with different rooms labelled underneath, presumably connected to bells in those rooms. It definitely belonged to the mistress of the house, and, hopefully, her jewels.
I let my light flow over the room, avoiding the window and glass door that led out onto another balcony. I soon spotted the location of the safe; it was behind an old painting of a Harlequin. Said Harlequin was standing on a black and white checked tile floor, as he looked inquisitively into his own reflection from an ornate wall mirror. The painting was located on the wall between the corner and the intricately carved oak sideboard. I slid back the painting on its hinges, exposing the small safe.
It was exactly the same safe as their neighbors, the ones I had burgled clean in the spring. Quickly getting to work I spin the tumblers, listening intently for the correct paths of clicks. Bingo! , it opened up like a dream. Inside I found a bonanza of about a dozen small jewel cases handedly printed with the jewelers names (Cartier and Tiffany’s amongst them! ) I quickly open and empty their contents into my kit, pouring out a delightfully pricey array of colorful gems of all types and styles. Replacing the empty cartons, I rummage around, finding a small stack of gold and silver coins and a couple of bundles of notes, currency of the realm. I favorably pocket the lot.
Suddenly I freeze, hearing the unmistakable sounds of muffled giggling from down the corridor. Closing the safe and picture I back off and hide inside a closet, wishing I had had the foresight to have opened the balcony door to see if that had offered escape, but I had been so sure I would be alone that evening that I had let me guard slacken a bit. I hoped that whoever it was they were heading off to bed.
They were off to bed, problem was it was the bed in the room I was in for which they were heading. I heard the door open, and from the crack in the closet door, I saw a young couple come in, tipsy and fondling the heck out of one another. The female was obviously an older daughter of the house, a mini version of the mother and her sister. She was resplendent in a long flowing cream satin evening gown; her paramour was a beady eyed, weasely faced chap in loose fitting tux and tails. It must have been his roadster outside; the couple must have been snogging in the garden, and drinking wine, judging from the smell and the way they were acting. Again I kicked myself for not checking the grounds more thoroughly. But why hadn’t the bloody twit of a daughter been at the wedding with her family where she belonged? But a bit later I was to reason that if she had, I would have been tempted to lift a diamond bracelet, and me path may have ended there. Missing out entirely, the opportunity to burgle the contents of 2 bedroom safes, master and penthouse!
They headed right to the bed, (doing it on the parents bed, and old cracker that was) the lady not even taking off her long satin gloves, just falling onto the bed with her doe wide eyes gleaming, while her beady eyed lover was falling all over her. Oh god! Samuel, I heard her mummer in passion. My eyes were opened, this must be the daughter Claire, and the beady eyed bloke was the infamous Samuel. Now it made a little more sense, but not any less wicked. I watched them in a new light, my mind going a full mile a minute trying to see a way out of the situation. . “Si vous voulez faire rire Dieu , faire des plans” I muttered an old saying in French, chastising myself inwardly for taking on such a gamble rushed for time.
Now, I am certainly no voyeur, and my belief that some things private, are, well private! But actually, in this instance, there was no choice. I tried not to watch, but the couple’s raw, animal like lovemaking and all its trimmings were happening just feet away. I began to amuse myself by watching the flashy show put on by the daughter’s sparkling jewels and the fluidly movement of her shiny, slinking gown as they were caught in the moonlight that streamed thru the glass of the balcony door. It was the type of show that engrosses any jewel thief worth his salt (hell, any bloke worth his salt for that matter). My mind also kept going back to the letter that I had found in the red silk purse and I hoped that a way would open to cause “Mr.” Samuel some sort of grief.
Beady eyes comes onto her, driving her mind off everything but what he is doing, as her eyes are closed tight, his are open, looking about. I slink in a little more into the shadows, keeping his face in my view. Occasionally a white satin gloved hand appears, rings and bracelets sparkling in a frenzied flickering as her fingers grip his face. Suddenly his eyes open wide as he looks towards the painting of the Harlequin. Cripes I mutter as I look there also, for on the floor lies a diamond bracelet, the fancy bugger must have slipped out as I scurried to my hole. I prepare to bolt like a fox hiding close to where the hounds are heading (my mind went to the painting of the watchful fox in the hallway outside the bedroom).
But beady eyes says nothing..
He finished the job, with her squealing like a piglet, before she slumps back exhaustedly onto the bed. Her eyes were closed, her breathing became heavier as she lost all drink induced conscious. I watched as her lover’s half closed eye stayed focused on the bracelet, as he listened to her breathing become heavier. When he was sure she was asleep he slipped off and heading to the vanity scooped up the bracelet and placed it inside a pocket of his tux’s vest. He then crawls back next to her, gently fingering her diamond rings before (finally) joining her into heavy, wine induced sleep alongside.
It seemed like hours, but the whole episode, by me watch, lasted only a ¾ of hour, but it was a precious time I could ill afford to have lost atoll.
I was running late, but knew what I had to do next. Walking over to the pair I watched them for a few seconds, plotting my next course of action. Her jewels were flickering nicely in the moon’s light.
I reached down an lifting ever so gently one still gloved lifeless feminine hand, I slipped off a couple of sparkly rings from satin clad fingers, and unfastened a tight cuff bracelet emblazon with diamonds from around her wrist. Then I lifted the other hand, easily gliding off another brace of glistening rings from her fingers, and a second diamonded bracelet from her limp wrist. Than lifting her necklace of diamonds, I pulled it gently around admiring the way they rippled fire along her throat, till its jeweled clasp was exposed. Then I slowly pry open the jeweled clasp, and slipped the necklace away, watching it sway in the moonlight like a glistening snake. They were both still out cold, It wasn’t really very much of a challenge, not that I was complaining mind you.
I happily pocketed the lot, except for a cheaper ring. I swapped that ring for the diamond bracelet in Samuel’s vest pocket, hoping that the outcome would prove interesting. In the process of placing the ring in the Sammy boy’s vest, I came across his fat pocketbook, which I gladly lifted and added to the collection in my own now bulging pocket.
I then left the room, leaving quietly by stepping upon the soles of my feet. As I pass the small painting of the watching fox, I pull it off and stick it into my kit, a bonus for me extra worries. I than slip back through the daughter’s bedroom, its door now slightly ajar.
In a corner of the room lay the small silvery jewelry case I had passed up earlier thinking it was the younger daughters. But, I hesitated, wondering to which daughter the room belonged, for someone had slightly opened the door for a reason? I shook my head, no chances. But, wait a minute, I grinned as my thoughts grew ever more pleasing. I walked over to the small table that held the ornate silver jewel case (casket was what my Gram had called hers), above it was a small picture of the family daughters in full riding regalia, the older daughter, Claire, had a small pin of a fox in her shiny white satin caveat.
I bent down and opening the small case. There on top was the fox pin, glittering with brownish Sardonyx gemstones and bright red ruby eyes. I plucked it up and added it to my sparkling collection. Then I admired the shimmery collection of gold and pearled jewelry (no lowly silver for this lass). Selecting the better ones I placed them with the fox pin and the Mothers jewels in my kit, then scooping out the rest, I placed them in unceremoniously in a side pocket.
I then went back out the balcony and down the tree. I headed over to the roadster out front and taking out a few of the lesser jewels I had scooped into me pocket, and I began placing them in and underneath the passenger seat of the vehicle.
Finished I admired my handiwork, then looking leisurely around, let out a deep sigh of absolute relief, mixed with exquisite feelings of pleasure of an adventuer winningly pulled off, before melting off into the shadows of the woods. I soon reached my lotus, gunned the engine to life, and then proceeded to slowly drive off without headlights until I reach the main road.
I once again stopped at my hidden cubby and deposited my burglar’s kit and purloined jewels with the rest of my stash, reset my snares, and headed quickly back to the hotel.
I reached my destination just at cock crow, went upstairs and finished packing. It was later than I had anticipated, so no kip for the sinners. I just loaded my luggage into the boot of the two seater, checked my key in at the desk, settled my bill, and headed for a quick breakfast.
But I wasn’t quick enough, for about halfway through my breakfast The “Barrister” and his family came down to have the same. They appeared to be calm, so I knew that my activities earlier that morning had not been exposed yet.
I pushed aside my almost finished plate and standing, walked past them, allowing the daughter, who was clad in a silky skirt and matching satiny top, and wearing those taunting white pearls of hers, to bump into me as she pranced to their table. Steady girl I says, catching her as I eye for the last time her dangling jewelry. So sorry sir, she replied apologetically. I complimented her parents on their charming daughter. The father, in a formal suit and tie, grunts his thanks. The mother, in a scintillatingly swishing long red skirt, and heavy cream silk blouse, blushes prettily. I look over her plentiful “everyday” jewelry as I take their leave. What she was wearing for a normal day of activates was expensive enough to catch any thief’s desire to acquire.
As I walked away, a vision of her walking the streets, dressed as she was, back in Dickens London formed in my thoughts. She attracted the notice of a small street urchin, his devious heart pounding as he left huis vigil from the wall he had been leaning against too closely follow her as she swished by. Catching up to her in the hopes of brushing against her and with a sorry ma’am, walk away with some of it.
This was actually from a memory of mine ( long after Dickens time though) about an incident I had witnessed while working at my old uncles “eel and mash” shop.
A finely decked out young couple (the long haired lady wearing pearls as it so happened) had been inside the shop and finishing their meal, had walked out across the street. A street youth had been hanging out by the shop and had followed them across the street close on their heels. They all turned a corner, so I never knew what had happened, if anything ( which I sincerely doubted)! But that image had plagued many an unsettling adolescent dream with images of finely dressed ladies bending down to a begging young grimy faced lad, well ringed fingers and bracelets jangling as a coin was offered, gold lockets or pearls swaying out from tightly satin clad breasts to just within the reach of his grubby fingers….
I have come to believes that it was the seeds planted in my mind by those dreams that may have very well guided and nudged me onto the course I have continued following to this day.
So, naturally I guess, as I walked away my train of thoughts took a similar course as those dreams/nightmares. I imagined the mother I had just left, walking along a street alone, dressed as she was last evening, the jewels that were now in a cold small cubby, once again upon her figure, glittering their fiery beacon. Then suddenly her daughter, dressed as she was now, was strolling alongside her. The street urchin I had seen that morning so long ago was here also, following close, eyeing the ladies reflected jewels in a storefront window as they walked past……
But at that point in my daydream I realized that I had reached and was standing beside my two seater, and shaking my head clear of such thoughts (once again, sadly not seeing the outcome) I happily hopped over the door and into the driver’s seat, firing up the engine, and quite eagerly pulled away from the hotel and roared down the road.
I stopped by my secret cubby, and without haste, fully on the alert, made my way down to the basement. I collected my stash and made it back to the Lotus without incident. Lighting me pipe, I smiled to meself, promising a nice stiff one once I got back to the abode. I pulled away, slowly, cheerfully, driving down the warm sunlit road. I was now on to new quests, filled with promises of many lucrative acquisitions.
One of those quests was wrapped around a young lady in Soho, who recently had inherited a jewellery collection worth ₤25,000 which she loved wearing out in public, flaunting the richly jeweled pieces all about whenever she could. The quite, almost vulgarly rich, young lass had so many Beaus seeking her affections that she was being invited out almost weekly out to some special dress up affair. This all made her overly ripe for the plucking by some jewelry procurement minded thief. And being one meself, a jewel thief that is, I intended to be the first in line.
Once I returned home, I first visited my London banks strongbox to deposit my newly acquired ” glittering with fire” trophies to let them “cool” down a bit. Then I made sure the Yard received an anonymous post. Said post containing a red silk evening clutch, inside which was beady eyes’ pocketbook( sans money) along with the letter incriminating one certain rogish gent by the name of Samuel for attempting extortion of 5000 pounds sterling from the fair Claire’s Mother. I know how the chaps in the inspector’s squad so love a mystery!
And so, for now dear journal, I bid farewell, adieu.
************************************
Si vous voulez faire rire Dieu , faire des plans
Roughly translated:
If you want to make God laugh, Make plans
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
Title:
“If I die young bury me in satin” Samantha just could not keep from playing that song in her head.
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Lyrics to the sonnet appear after the story
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Samantha shook her head to clear her mind. Here she was on a deadly serious operation and a silly old song was all she could think about. She should have worn velvet tonight, she reasoned without any logic.
This was her third attempt out undercover. The only nibble so far had been a two bit second rate mugger on their first attempt. Sam remembered the look in his drooling eyes, he had figured that he had hit the jackpot as he forced, at knifepoint, Samantha to hand over her pricy jewels. Boy was he surprised when Sam’s team paid his seedy apartment a visit a few hours later as he was celebrating his good fortune with his cronies. Then she heard it….
Suddenly, all thoughts of songs and adolescencent punks were driven from her mind. Sam’s sixth sense was tingling; she had picked up a follower. She had heard him in the woods one the other side of the deserted lane. He was good, she hadn’t been aware of being followed until the muffled snap of a twig reached her ears. She shivered deliciously, come to momma she said to herself, not giving any outward sign that she had heard…….
**
The unknown assailant That Sam was trying to lure had been making a practice of preying on wealthy, unchaperoned women. Carefully selecting his victims based solely on the jewels they were exhibiting. Following them home as they left the upper class parties they were attending. He would then ambush them, tying up the hapless victim, then looting the house of anything small, but valuable, including whatever jewelry could be found on his bound, usually wriggling victim.
His fifth target had been taken a month ago on Halloween night. She had been a blonde mistress of a titled junior minister, who had set her up in his summer cottage, which overlooked the channel. She had been seized, bound, gagged and robbed inside the small cottage. In her struggles against her bindings she had choked to death. That had made it murder. That made it Sam’s problem. With the heat being put on by the junior minister Sam had been given carte blanche. But, by the manner with which Sir Mister ” junior” minister had been squawking, one would assume he was more concerned over the jewels that had been nicked than the untimely demise of his sexy young paramour!. The vain prig probably already had another one lined up and installed at the small cottage, waiting to be adorned with the jewels once they had been recovered Sam figured wryly. But, an assignment was an assignment no matter what her feelings were about the matter. So, Sam had assembled her team, supplied them with the very latest in technology, and had gone hunting him down.
Sam had felt a bit James Bondish wearing jewels with an array of tracking devices carefully hidden in amongst the tiffany quality Gems. Her rented cottage, an old keep for a bygone ancient castle, was also outfitted with ultra-sensitive listening devices. Her team could track every move and hear every word spoken as Sam was out on her prowl.
**
And now she was being carefully followed. Instinctively she knew that whomever it was, it wasn’t a two bit hood this time. Another twig snapped, closer and, Sam thought, deliberate. She turned around to look, hand to mouth, in all appearances she was the slightly drunk and vulnerable, wealthy brunette that was her role on this case . But, unnoticeably, on the inside, Samantha ‘s whole demeanor changed, becoming cold and alert, Knowing it was her job to bring this piece of venom to justice. Bring it on she thought to herself, hoping this was the one. Then she turned and made her way to the keep, her senses prickling….
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"If I Die Young"
If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
Uh oh, uh oh
Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh,
And life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no
Ain't even grey, but she buries her baby
The sharp knife of a short life, oh well
I've had just enough time
If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
The sharp knife of a short life, oh well
I've had just enough time
And I'll be wearing white, when I come into your kingdom
I'm as green as the ring on my little cold finger,
I've never known the lovin' of a man
But it sure felt nice when he was holdin' my hand,
There's a boy here in town, says he'll love me forever,
Who would have thought forever could be severed by...
...the sharp knife of a short life, oh well?
I've had just enough time
So put on your best, boys, and I'll wear my pearls
What I never did is done
A penny for my thoughts, oh, no, I'll sell 'em for a dollar
They're worth so much more after I'm a goner
And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singin'
Funny when you're dead how people start listenin'
If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song
Uh oh (uh, oh)
The ballad of a dove (oh, uh)
Go with peace and love
Gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket
Save 'em for a time when you're really gonna need 'em, oh
The sharp knife of a short life, oh well
I've had just enough time
So put on your best, boys, and I'll wear my pearls.
*******************************************************************
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
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STAND4LOVE. Open Your Mind. Open Your Heart.
LOGO by Valentine "Sachy" Rexen
The Watcher in the woods
Pursuing the Posh
A Cat Burglar Saga
From the files of Chatwick University Criminology Department.
C.B. Case Study 13 , File B
Subset Source: Journal
Subject “Harley Q” -- Real name?
ORIGINATION STORY:
flic.kr/p/BcnW2J
Synopsis:
The young lady was approaching sweet sixteen if I estimated accurately. She was clad in a tailored dress of bronze velvet that shone richly over her lithe figure. Her long blonde hair tied in back, flickered like a horses’’ tail. She had come bounding from a ladies powder chamber, one of several located at either end of the grand ballroom that sat off the formal dining rooms.
I fell in step behind her, watching as her splendid jewelry bounced merrily as she pranced along like some untried colt, sorry filly. Her pearls were lovely things, a matched set, double strands all, real diamond clasps, shone gleaming with a pristine whiteness that reminded me of fresh snow.
The pearls were a sweet lure, of that there was no doubt; but apologies if I am prattling n a bit about them, for after all, what is a jewel thief who fails to notice a ladies jewels? A starving bugger, that’s who.
Now I have found out during my times here on the earth that I can make quite a profit from burgling the safes of wealthy ladies whilst they slept peacefully within their fancy chambres. But I had started out walking my morally tainted chosen path by picking the pockets of the unwary along the way. It was my fate to eventually discover the delightfully chilling sensation that was experienced when lifting the very jewels displayed by unsuspecting female targets. And this was still my guilty pleasure, to the point that I would still take that far riskier venture of lifting worn jewelry whenever opportunity arose, which was quite often in my travelled circles.
So, that is why I habitually started to follow this meandering youth, only because of her jewels, which I found to be quite vexing. Especially her earrings, a dangling set held to her ears by genuine diamond studded hinge clasps. I had seldom attempted sets of worn earrings, not for the lack of desire, and with this one’s head just reaching me chest, it was a very tempting prospect to try and pluck em both off just to see?
Fortunately, for her (not me), this pretty miss was a bit too young for my standards to make any attempt to lift from her any of the swinging pearls, earrings or otherwise. I do prefer my marks to be a bit older, a bit wiser, a bit more of a challenge to my abilities, thank you very much! Besides, I had already had my eye on a few other, challenging female prospects wearing some rather nice pieces in their own right. Including one sapphire laden Lass in a silky frock that had greatly provoked my attentiveness.
So I just followed this young one while she skirted the ballroom and entered a dining area. There she rejoined, what were quite obviously, her parents.
There were, it appeared, just the three of them, no older jewel laden siblings in sight. But, speaking of appearances, the Mother certainly presented a rather nice one, and so I stopped to drink it all in.
The mother/wife was fluidly clad in an all so elegant purple satin number, poured rather snugly along her still quite lovely figure. Said figure had been made even more eye catching (especially for me) by being emblazon with a matching set of jewels, all set with small 1 caret white diamonds, encircling her neck, wrists and fingers with energetic ripples of fiery colour.
She was with her husband, a distinguished looking gent in tails who may have passed as a Barrister, for which all I knew he was. Now Sandwiched in between was their charming young daughter, who was happily chatting away without a care in the world. Her pristine pearls still dangling, mocking me it would seem, to just make the one exception and attempt to take them home with me. I just smiled to wickedly to myself, maybe someday I would I promised them, once their young mistress had grown up a bit, then we would see who was mocking whom from the wickets!
But I did not dwell too long on such thought’s , or on the pretty family either, for, like I have revealed, I had other fish frying, and only am mentioning this particular incident because of what would occur in two days hence. So after a bit I turned and began wandering off.
But then, speaking of starving jewel thieves, I observed at the precise moment I turned away, a most stunning red head wearing a long black gown that fluttered about, here and there, in a most alluring fashion. She was making a beeline towards the very same powder chamber I had just passed. She was obviously in a rush to reach it, and once I laid my eyes on the pearls she was wearing, I moved towards her in an equally purposeful stride. I intercepted her, letting her bump against me, as I stepped on the hem of her long gown. She stopped abruptly, and I momentarily placed an arm around her smooth waist, steadying her as I apologized and begged the ladies pardon for my clumsiness.
She begrudgingly accepted my apologies, and I watched as she scurried off, having already pocketed the pearled bracelet I had slipped from her red satin gloved wrist, and made my own path. I smirked to myself that the bracelet was some consolation for not having an unscrupulous go for the pearls that had hung around the young daughter’s throat, hung from her ears, and encircled one petite wrist, as I stole one last look back towards the pretty families’ table.
I walked away, turning my attentions back to relocating a certain lady elegantly wearing a silky frock, displaying those magnificent sapphires. I was watching, waiting for her to leave, in order to follow to her next stop, eventually hoping to be led to her last, having decided to acquire the fair damsel’s collection of jewels enmasse!
***** Two productive evenings later ****************
It was at a wedding reception the 2 evenings later that I again, quite un-expectantly, spied the Barrister and his entourage.
I had been having a delightful chat with the newly minted wife of the titled Scion of a rather old family. I had won the sweepstakes of receiving a dance with the charming Miss. But alas my chat was cut short as she was whisked away to dance with yet another admirer. I watched as she swept off, my hand reaching into me breast pocket, fingering a still warm diamond brooch. That jewel had been merrily dangling down from her satin gowns’ cleavage, over shadowed by her ample bosom. As we had danced, I had managed to work open its silvery clasp, and lift the brooch cleanly away. My hidden vest pocket also contained at the time a rather pretty ring with a blue carbuncle surrounded by sparkly diamonds. Said ring had been wrapped around the finger of a rather vexing long raven haired lass. I had admired the silken dress she was wearing, and as she had happily swirled and twirled to give me a better look, I had taken the opportunity to relieve her finger of its burden. Since I was only allowing meself a couple of prospects with an affair this small, I now made my way, leisurely, contentedly, towards an exit (stage right as they say in the trades).
But, no sooner had I put me back to the dance floor, than whom do I spy across the room? That rather delightful miss with a long blonde ponytail, who was now dressed elegantly in cream lace, that I had spied at dinner a few evenings back. It was the very same young lady, wearing the same set of mocking white pearls, and as I discreetly draw near, I soon spied her parents.
The “Barrister” was dapper in crisp white shirt and tux, with a fancy gold pocket watch and fob at his waist. The daughter’s look alike mother was now smartly encased in a fitted red gown that shimmered delightfully as it swished about. She was also wearing a nice display of brite emeralds to boot.
This time I took closer notice of the Mothers Jeweles. Between the emeralds today and the diamonds the night before, this lady in red could be a nice meal ticket if the stars were aligned properly. And so it turned out they very happily (for me) did.
With a few discreet questions from some acquaintances quickly garnered for just such information, I found out where my “Barrister” and his family were spending their late evenings asleep. It so happened that they were staying in a penthouse suite 3 floors above my own modest single. So instead of leaving the reception to scout out a way to gain easy access to their rooms, I could stay and enjoy myself, already being all too familiar with the place. Which I did, later acquiring a gold jeweled bracelet from a charming maiden attired delightfully in teal satin, who had kept flaunting her jewels in me face as she told me all about her perfect self. Another jewel added for my growing collection of the evening.
Now, don’t ask me why I was so familiar with my hotels’ penthouse suites, being a cat burglar, the reasons should be quite clear! So when the pretty family left the reception early, around 9 pm returning to their rooms, I was able to follow them with less discretion then I usually do, but still with growing eager anticipation. Also, even more remarkably, they were in bed and asleep by 10:30 pm, which allowed me a much earlier window of opportunity than I had grown accustomed to having.
And so it was, that soon after the stroke of midnight, with the happy family deep in their slumbers that I, wearing my black burgling attire, climbed onto the balcony of their rooms. After jimmying open the double glass doors with my Fairborn dagger, I found myself in a small sitting room. Carefully allowing my torch to search around I spied a door on the far end. Opening it cautiously, the first thing I see are the daughters pricey pearls piled loosely on a vanity by the bed where she lay sleeping, dressed in white, looking ever so like the angel she is. I picked up the necklace of pearls, eyeing them as I watch the slumbering figure on the bed. But I passed the pretty things up, for even though I am a thief by nature, I do possess some scruples, albeit maybe a little warped! Besides, those taunting pearls had led me to the small treasure trove that was awaiting me in her Mothers’ chambers. So with a silent thanks, I replaced them upon the vanity, and move off…
The parents were found in the next room, soundly sleeping off their alcohol induced haze. The mother was draped over her husband, fetchingly clad in a long satin nightdress that looked almost like an evening gown. Her vulgarly large wedding diamonds flickered pleasantly from her finger as I let my torch sneak up along her shimmering figure. On the bed stand laid the “Barristers” gold watch and a rather pleasing selection of his wife’s gold “day” jewelry, but I passed the lot up, my eyes looking for the good stuff that would be snuggled inside the small room safe that I knew would be behind a false door in one side of the oak dresser ( having already discovered that fact a year previously in a different room of the same hotel)!
I went directly to it, and opening the cabinet door, began to use my finely attuned skills to crack it. It was a simple American lock and only took me a minute to have open. I than emptied the small collection of jewel cases ( lovely things) placing them into my small sack. I also find inside the mothers small clutch purse made expensively of red silk and rhinestones, that had been at her side all evening. Out of curiosity (why in the safe?) I placed it inside my bag with the jewels. After checking that the parents were still out cold, I closed the safe, flickering my torch around one last time, it settles upon her red gown, and its emerald rhinestone clips coming blazing into lively flame. I passed on them, and headed back out towards the door. I had almost regained it, and my freedom, when the husband let out a loud snort, and I heard rustling going on in the bed behind me. I froze and carefully looked back. Neither had woken, but the wife had turned onto her side, and her left hand was now hanging limply over the side of the bed. I watched as the diamonds set in the gold ring encircling her slender finger blazed into life (the ring was somewhat loose I keenly noticed)! Blimey, there was enough dosh in the value of that ring that would have paid for all the expenses of the Cardiff C.C. for an entire season, perhaps 2! But, Bird in the Hand, I am always telling meself, so I left the pretty thing dangling there, and finished my careful retreat. I made it out without further incident.
Passing the daughters room ( and her pearls again), I checked in. The young filly was still was sound asleep in her own pleasant dreams, her taunting pile of pearls still on the vanity, where they would remain. I regained the balcony and slipping over, made my way down to the window of my own room.
Back in my room I empty my sack, the pile of jewels flickering in a frenzy of colours. I admire the little darlings briefly before stashing them. I than pick up the purse and open it. Inside amongst the usual feminy items, I found a letter. Looking at it my heart, already beating quickly from the exhilaration of being on the prowl, skipped one beat, for it was addressed to the lady whose jewels I now possessed, and it was an address of an area I knew quite well. I thought about her address, the house she presumably shared with husband and daughter, the house which should be empty seeing its owners were sleeping just three floors above me. A house that was little over an hour away, only about ¾ of that hour by driving my Lotus. It was a house that I figuratively knew; being in the same neighborhood (relatively speaking) of a house I had reconnoitered and quite lucratively burgled the previous spring.
It was perfect. While the family was asleep snug in their beds here, I could reach their abode, with its jewel laden safe ( they all had jewel laden safes in that area), ½ hour to creep the place, an hour to do the job proper and I would be back in time to catch a two hour kip and be checked out and on my way before the pretty family have had breakfast. It, bears repeating, was perfect.
I looked at the envelope, was its contents that valuable that she felt the need to lock it up. More than mildly curious, I pulled it out and read it. It was from someone named Samuel. In no uncertain terms, he was informing the lady that for only ₤5000 sterling he would leave for the States and never bother her Daughter Claire again. I thought of the young girl asleep in the suite I had just left. What kind of Scoundrel would lure a young girl like that into his clutches with the intent of extorting her parents! For a moment I pondered this bit of information, before deciding that the opportunity was too ripe to pass up just because I felt a small twinge of compassion. Besides, if the parents could afford to cough up a cool 5 thousand, they weren’t hurting in the financial department.
I changed, and quickly gathered my things and headed out quietly via a back entrance. Placing my burgle kit (containing the ladies jewels) into the boot of me two seater, I fired up the lotus’s engine and was off on my little undertaking!
A half hour away I turned down a little used rutty road/path. Pulling over I grabbed my burgle kit and headed down to some ancient stone ruins. Checking to make sure none of my warning snares had been tripped, I entered a small stone building. Going down into one of its old, crumbling basements, I uncovered a small cubby and added the jewels to the growing collection of my recent takings.
Included in the collection were sets of pearls burgled from a coach stop overnight room occupied by a pair of fairly insufferable spinster sisters. Other burgled items were a rather pretty , if not vulgarly large, diamond set obtained from a naive damsel who thought hiding them under the pillow she slept on was safer than a safe, (always happy to enlighten someone upon the error of their ways that’s me), and of course the sapphires that the lass in the silky frock had been wearing 2 nights previous ( along with some rather nice sets of rubies and diamond adorned amethysts that had lain in the same safe, located above her soundly sleeping figure! ) The rest of the lot consisted of items I had “picked up” while on the prowl: a nice collection of brooches, rings, bracelets, and an eye-catching sapphire pendent hanging from a diamonded chain.
I than closed everything up, rechecked my warning snares, and headed back to my Lotus.
Another 30 minutes and I had reached my destination.
The house itself was pretty secluded, located by an intersection of two lanes. I drove its perimeter than doubling back found a pull off. I backed up and turned down and off the road hiding the small sports car in a grove of pines.
Already wearing some of my burglar attire, (black military trousers and sweater), I placed a hood over my head, pulled out my small kit, fastening a torch and military knife to my belt, I was off. The house appeared to be deserted, I found the servants quarters located at the back of the house over a small barn, the only cars were a small sports car in a shed, and a roadster sitting out front. A large garden surrounded by hedges lay to the west of the house, a larger Tudor, with several porches and balconies. Using the hedges as cover, I shimmed up an old tree located by a balcony, and slipping onto the balcony proper, I made my way to the door. Shimmed the latch with my Fairborn commando knife, and then entered into a side bedroom. I was looking for the master suite, and this was not it, the daughter’s by all appearances. I spied a small ornate silver box on a table, but passed it up , on the search for bigger game!
Turning on my torch I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. At the end was a set of double mahogany doors and this is where I set my sights. Along the hallway wall were several rather nice paintings (not copies) and I let the pool of my light flicker along them. Included in the lot was a small painting of a young fox, half asleep, eyeing something in the distance? I stood for precious seconds admiring it, and then turned my attention to the mahogany doors. They were not locked, and I cautiously, very slowly, opened one. Pay dirt! A large empty canopied bed stood in the middle of the room, a love seat to one side, a settee on the other, and directly across from the bed a large ornate sideboard with mirror. Along one side of the wall was a series of chains with different rooms labelled underneath, presumably connected to bells in those rooms. It definitely belonged to the mistress of the house, and, hopefully, her jewels.
I let my light flow over the room, avoiding the window and glass door that led out onto another balcony. I soon spotted the location of the safe; it was behind an old painting of a Harlequin. Said Harlequin was standing on a black and white checked tile floor, as he looked inquisitively into his own reflection from an ornate wall mirror. The painting was located on the wall between the corner and the intricately carved oak sideboard. I slid back the painting on its hinges, exposing the small safe.
It was exactly the same safe as their neighbors, the ones I had burgled clean in the spring. Quickly getting to work I spin the tumblers, listening intently for the correct paths of clicks. Bingo! , it opened up like a dream. Inside I found a bonanza of about a dozen small jewel cases handedly printed with the jewelers names (Cartier and Tiffany’s amongst them! ) I quickly open and empty their contents into my kit, pouring out a delightfully pricey array of colorful gems of all types and styles. Replacing the empty cartons, I rummage around, finding a small stack of gold and silver coins and a couple of bundles of notes, currency of the realm. I favorably pocket the lot.
Suddenly I freeze, hearing the unmistakable sounds of muffled giggling from down the corridor. Closing the safe and picture I back off and hide inside a closet, wishing I had had the foresight to have opened the balcony door to see if that had offered escape, but I had been so sure I would be alone that evening that I had let me guard slacken a bit. I hoped that whoever it was they were heading off to bed.
They were off to bed, problem was it was the bed in the room I was in for which they were heading. I heard the door open, and from the crack in the closet door, I saw a young couple come in, tipsy and fondling the heck out of one another. The female was obviously an older daughter of the house, a mini version of the mother and her sister. She was resplendent in a long flowing cream satin evening gown; her paramour was a beady eyed, weasely faced chap in loose fitting tux and tails. It must have been his roadster outside; the couple must have been snogging in the garden, and drinking wine, judging from the smell and the way they were acting. Again I kicked myself for not checking the grounds more thoroughly. But why hadn’t the bloody twit of a daughter been at the wedding with her family where she belonged? But a bit later I was to reason that if she had, I would have been tempted to lift a diamond bracelet, and me path may have ended there. Missing out entirely, the opportunity to burgle the contents of 2 bedroom safes, master and penthouse!
They headed right to the bed, (doing it on the parents bed, and old cracker that was) the lady not even taking off her long satin gloves, just falling onto the bed with her doe wide eyes gleaming, while her beady eyed lover was falling all over her. Oh god! Samuel, I heard her mummer in passion. My eyes were opened, this must be the daughter Claire, and the beady eyed bloke was the infamous Samuel. Now it made a little more sense, but not any less wicked. I watched them in a new light, my mind going a full mile a minute trying to see a way out of the situation. . “Si vous voulez faire rire Dieu , faire des plans” I muttered an old saying in French, chastising myself inwardly for taking on such a gamble rushed for time.
Now, I am certainly no voyeur, and my belief that some things private, are, well private! But actually, in this instance, there was no choice. I tried not to watch, but the couple’s raw, animal like lovemaking and all its trimmings were happening just feet away. I began to amuse myself by watching the flashy show put on by the daughter’s sparkling jewels and the fluidly movement of her shiny, slinking gown as they were caught in the moonlight that streamed thru the glass of the balcony door. It was the type of show that engrosses any jewel thief worth his salt (hell, any bloke worth his salt for that matter). My mind also kept going back to the letter that I had found in the red silk purse and I hoped that a way would open to cause “Mr.” Samuel some sort of grief.
Beady eyes comes onto her, driving her mind off everything but what he is doing, as her eyes are closed tight, his are open, looking about. I slink in a little more into the shadows, keeping his face in my view. Occasionally a white satin gloved hand appears, rings and bracelets sparkling in a frenzied flickering as her fingers grip his face. Suddenly his eyes open wide as he looks towards the painting of the Harlequin. Cripes I mutter as I look there also, for on the floor lies a diamond bracelet, the fancy bugger must have slipped out as I scurried to my hole. I prepare to bolt like a fox hiding close to where the hounds are heading (my mind went to the painting of the watchful fox in the hallway outside the bedroom).
But beady eyes says nothing..
He finished the job, with her squealing like a piglet, before she slumps back exhaustedly onto the bed. Her eyes were closed, her breathing became heavier as she lost all drink induced conscious. I watched as her lover’s half closed eye stayed focused on the bracelet, as he listened to her breathing become heavier. When he was sure she was asleep he slipped off and heading to the vanity scooped up the bracelet and placed it inside a pocket of his tux’s vest. He then crawls back next to her, gently fingering her diamond rings before (finally) joining her into heavy, wine induced sleep alongside.
It seemed like hours, but the whole episode, by me watch, lasted only a ¾ of hour, but it was a precious time I could ill afford to have lost atoll.
I was running late, but knew what I had to do next. Walking over to the pair I watched them for a few seconds, plotting my next course of action. Her jewels were flickering nicely in the moon’s light.
I reached down an lifting ever so gently one still gloved lifeless feminine hand, I slipped off a couple of sparkly rings from satin clad fingers, and unfastened a tight cuff bracelet emblazon with diamonds from around her wrist. Then I lifted the other hand, easily gliding off another brace of glistening rings from her fingers, and a second diamonded bracelet from her limp wrist. Than lifting her necklace of diamonds, I pulled it gently around admiring the way they rippled fire along her throat, till its jeweled clasp was exposed. Then I slowly pry open the jeweled clasp, and slipped the necklace away, watching it sway in the moonlight like a glistening snake. They were both still out cold, It wasn’t really very much of a challenge, not that I was complaining mind you.
I happily pocketed the lot, except for a cheaper ring. I swapped that ring for the diamond bracelet in Samuel’s vest pocket, hoping that the outcome would prove interesting. In the process of placing the ring in the Sammy boy’s vest, I came across his fat pocketbook, which I gladly lifted and added to the collection in my own now bulging pocket.
I then left the room, leaving quietly by stepping upon the soles of my feet. As I pass the small painting of the watching fox, I pull it off and stick it into my kit, a bonus for me extra worries. I than slip back through the daughter’s bedroom, its door now slightly ajar.
In a corner of the room lay the small silvery jewelry case I had passed up earlier thinking it was the younger daughters. But, I hesitated, wondering to which daughter the room belonged, for someone had slightly opened the door for a reason? I shook my head, no chances. But, wait a minute, I grinned as my thoughts grew ever more pleasing. I walked over to the small table that held the ornate silver jewel case (casket was what my Gram had called hers), above it was a small picture of the family daughters in full riding regalia, the older daughter, Claire, had a small pin of a fox in her shiny white satin caveat.
I bent down and opening the small case. There on top was the fox pin, glittering with brownish Sardonyx gemstones and bright red ruby eyes. I plucked it up and added it to my sparkling collection. Then I admired the shimmery collection of gold and pearled jewelry (no lowly silver for this lass). Selecting the better ones I placed them with the fox pin and the Mothers jewels in my kit, then scooping out the rest, I placed them in unceremoniously in a side pocket.
I then went back out the balcony and down the tree. I headed over to the roadster out front and taking out a few of the lesser jewels I had scooped into me pocket, and I began placing them in and underneath the passenger seat of the vehicle.
Finished I admired my handiwork, then looking leisurely around, let out a deep sigh of absolute relief, mixed with exquisite feelings of pleasure of an adventuer winningly pulled off, before melting off into the shadows of the woods. I soon reached my lotus, gunned the engine to life, and then proceeded to slowly drive off without headlights until I reach the main road.
I once again stopped at my hidden cubby and deposited my burglar’s kit and purloined jewels with the rest of my stash, reset my snares, and headed quickly back to the hotel.
I reached my destination just at cock crow, went upstairs and finished packing. It was later than I had anticipated, so no kip for the sinners. I just loaded my luggage into the boot of the two seater, checked my key in at the desk, settled my bill, and headed for a quick breakfast.
But I wasn’t quick enough, for about halfway through my breakfast The “Barrister” and his family came down to have the same. They appeared to be calm, so I knew that my activities earlier that morning had not been exposed yet.
I pushed aside my almost finished plate and standing, walked past them, allowing the daughter, who was clad in a silky skirt and matching satiny top, and wearing those taunting white pearls of hers, to bump into me as she pranced to their table. Steady girl I says, catching her as I eye for the last time her dangling jewelry. So sorry sir, she replied apologetically. I complimented her parents on their charming daughter. The father, in a formal suit and tie, grunts his thanks. The mother, in a scintillatingly swishing long red skirt, and heavy cream silk blouse, blushes prettily. I look over her plentiful “everyday” jewelry as I take their leave. What she was wearing for a normal day of activates was expensive enough to catch any thief’s desire to acquire.
As I walked away, a vision of her walking the streets, dressed as she was, back in Dickens London formed in my thoughts. She attracted the notice of a small street urchin, his devious heart pounding as he left huis vigil from the wall he had been leaning against too closely follow her as she swished by. Catching up to her in the hopes of brushing against her and with a sorry ma’am, walk away with some of it.
This was actually from a memory of mine ( long after Dickens time though) about an incident I had witnessed while working at my old uncles “eel and mash” shop.
A finely decked out young couple (the long haired lady wearing pearls as it so happened) had been inside the shop and finishing their meal, had walked out across the street. A street youth had been hanging out by the shop and had followed them across the street close on their heels. They all turned a corner, so I never knew what had happened, if anything ( which I sincerely doubted)! But that image had plagued many an unsettling adolescent dream with images of finely dressed ladies bending down to a begging young grimy faced lad, well ringed fingers and bracelets jangling as a coin was offered, gold lockets or pearls swaying out from tightly satin clad breasts to just within the reach of his grubby fingers….
I have come to believes that it was the seeds planted in my mind by those dreams that may have very well guided and nudged me onto the course I have continued following to this day.
So, naturally I guess, as I walked away my train of thoughts took a similar course as those dreams/nightmares. I imagined the mother I had just left, walking along a street alone, dressed as she was last evening, the jewels that were now in a cold small cubby, once again upon her figure, glittering their fiery beacon. Then suddenly her daughter, dressed as she was now, was strolling alongside her. The street urchin I had seen that morning so long ago was here also, following close, eyeing the ladies reflected jewels in a storefront window as they walked past……
But at that point in my daydream I realized that I had reached and was standing beside my two seater, and shaking my head clear of such thoughts (once again, sadly not seeing the outcome) I happily hopped over the door and into the driver’s seat, firing up the engine, and quite eagerly pulled away from the hotel and roared down the road.
I stopped by my secret cubby, and without haste, fully on the alert, made my way down to the basement. I collected my stash and made it back to the Lotus without incident. Lighting me pipe, I smiled to meself, promising a nice stiff one once I got back to the abode. I pulled away, slowly, cheerfully, driving down the warm sunlit road. I was now on to new quests, filled with promises of many lucrative acquisitions.
One of those quests was wrapped around a young lady in Soho, who recently had inherited a jewellery collection worth ₤25,000 which she loved wearing out in public, flaunting the richly jeweled pieces all about whenever she could. The quite, almost vulgarly rich, young lass had so many Beaus seeking her affections that she was being invited out almost weekly out to some special dress up affair. This all made her overly ripe for the plucking by some jewelry procurement minded thief. And being one meself, a jewel thief that is, I intended to be the first in line.
Once I returned home, I first visited my London banks strongbox to deposit my newly acquired ” glittering with fire” trophies to let them “cool” down a bit. Then I made sure the Yard received an anonymous post. Said post containing a red silk evening clutch, inside which was beady eyes’ pocketbook( sans money) along with the letter incriminating one certain rogish gent by the name of Samuel for attempting extortion of 5000 pounds sterling from the fair Claire’s Mother. I know how the chaps in the inspector’s squad so love a mystery!
And so, for now dear journal, I bid farewell, adieu.
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Si vous voulez faire rire Dieu , faire des plans
Roughly translated:
If you want to make God laugh, Make plans
Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
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A view of the Château Fontainebleau from across the lake. In the foreground is a small lake house in the middle of the lake. You can just imagine rowing out there in a boat with your paramour...well some can imagine that.
The Palaces of Nevsky Prospekt
Belosselsky-Belozersky Palace illuminated at night
On the southern corner of Nevsky Prospekt and the Fontanka river at No.41 is the faded dark red Belosselsky-Belozersky Palace seen here. This was the last private palace constructed on this multi-palatial street and was completed in stages between 1840 and 1848. The prime riverside site having been purchased by Prince Alexander Mikhailovich B-B in 1800.
This unique eye catching elegant rococo building with muscular Atlantes supporting Corinthian columns was the concept of the architect Andrei Stakenschneider, who was born in the nearby city of Gatchina and the son of a German miller.
The pseudo-baroque exterior has two front facing façades, west to the Fontanka river, and north to the street. Like many prominent buildings in the city, this palace has recently undergone extensive restoration in preparation for the tricentennial celebrations.
The interior is as dramatic and elegant as the exterior. In the main rooms the architect used an extensive blend of composite materials for the baroque decor. Many of the walls are carved and all of the doors are decorated. Especially interesting are the front stairs in the entrance hall, the large and small Golden sitting rooms, the Purple, the Green and the White Halls and the Great Mirror Hall which is used for concerts.
Extravagant imperial courts reigned here well into the 20th century, when the palace was the residence of Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich (Alexander III's brutal brother - assassinated in 1905). In 1905, Grand Princess Elizaveta Fedorovna, having just become a num, willed the palace toher nephew, Grand Prince Dmitry Pavlovich, who sold it in 1917. During the Soviet period the grand palace was used as the party headquarters for the Kuibyshev district of Leningrad, but its interiors were preserved almost intact. Nowadays the palace houses the Wax Museum, an art gallery and a concert hall, which holds regular performances of the folk group Petersburg Mozaik, The Wax Museum collection contains 80+ wax figures, including models of many prominent figures in Russian history such as Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Kutuzov, Alexei, Speransky, Kerensky, various tsars and other members of the Romanov Dynasty. On the wall inside the entrance hall of the former Belosselsky-Belozersky Palace there is a plaque which indicates that during World War I the palace housed the Anglo-Russian Hospital.
On the other side of the Fontanka and separated by Quarenghi's Stalls, is the Anichkov Palace at No.39 Nevsky Prospekt. In the 18th century this was a suburban area and the broad Fontanka river was lined with palaces for the elite that were usually accessed by boat. Which explains why the main entrance to this great building faces the river rather than Nevsky. The palace was named for Colonel Mikhail Anichkov who set up his camp on this site at the time of the founding of the city and whose regiment built the original wooden bridge over the Fontanka, now known as the Anichkov Most.
This palace was commissioned by Tsarina Elizabeth as a gift for her lover, Alexei Razumovsky, between the years 1741 and 1750. In continuing with this tradition after Razumovsky's death, Catherine the Great gave this palace to her paramour, Prince Grigory Potemkin. As an able statesman and military officer Potemkin is famous in his own right for his attempts to deceive Catherine about the squalid conditions of the Russian south. He had fake villages built for Catherine's area tour of 1787. The term "Potemkin village" has come to mean any impressive façade that hides an ugly impoverished interior. Not so the Anichkov Palace, which was originally designed by Mikhail Zemtsov and completed by Rastrelli. Little remains of those early Baroque designs as the building has undergone a number of changes and in the early 19th century, Neoclassical details were added by Carlo Rossi.
After Rossi's alterations the palace became the winter residence of the heir to the throne. However when Alexander III became tsar in 1881, he continued to live there, rather than the customary Winter Palace. After his death, his widow Maria Fyodorovna remained there until the revolution.
Many young princes grew up in this palace and in 1935 the premises were returned to children and it was known as the Leningrad Palace of Pioneers. Today is is still occupied by a children's organization and the Anichkov Lyceum. Exhibitions of their works are regularly held in the palace or grounds, where there is a modern theater and concert hall.
The elegant colonnaded (Quarenghi's Stalls) building overlooking the Fontanka to the east had been another addition to the palace, by Giancomo Quarenghi in 1803-05. Initially this was built as a trading arcade where imperial goods destined for the palaces were stored prior to their delivery. This extension was later converted into government offices and was known as the Cabinet.
A summer stroll with my wonderful girlfriend Gorgeous Gillian – what could be nicer? As you may know, the river in London is tidal, and this shot was taken at low tide!!
...Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames,
Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems,
Was painted all with variable flowers,
And all the meads adorn'd with dainty gems
Fit to deck maidens' bowers,
And crown their paramours
Against the bridal day, which is not long:
Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.
[Edmund Spenser, 'Prothalamion']
Lots more to come soon, but bye bye for now! Kisses to all my wonderful friends!
xxxxxxx
Rebecca
More pics in blog <3
Skin: [MUDSKIN] - Minju Skin [Icy]
Head: LeLUTKA - Avalon Head
Body: eBODY - Reborn
Boobs: eBODY REBORN - Waifu Boobs
Rolls: eBODY REBORN - Juicy Rolls
Hair: [monso] Lucy Hair [@ Fameshed] NEW!!!
Eyeshadow: YINN. Paramour Eyeshadow [@ Sabbath Event] NEW!!!
Outfit: Normandy - Ripley [@ Sabbath Event] NEW!!!
Leg Tattoo: DAPPA - Lucipurr Tattoo [@ Sabbath Event] NEW!!!
Heels: ~Lavu - Shereka heels [@ Sabbath Event] NEW!!!
Poses: dovely - Yandere [@ Hentai Fair] NEW!!!
German postcard by Filmbilder-Vertrieb Ernst Freihoff, Essen, no. AX 6510.
Singer Mary Wilson (1944), who co-founded the Supremes as a 15-year-old in a Detroit housing project and stayed with the fabled, hitmaking Motown Records trio until its dissolution in 1977, died on Monday night at her home in Las Vegas. She was 76. The Supremes were always known as the ‘sweethearts of Motown.’ Mary, along with Diana Ross and Florence Ballard, came to Motown in the early 1960s. After an unprecedented string of No. 1 hits, television and nightclub bookings, they opened doors for themselves, the other Motown acts, and many, many others. Just two days prior to her death, Wilson put up a video on her YouTube announcing that she was working with Universal Music on releasing solo material.
The Supremes is still the most iconic female singing trio of all time. With lead vocalist Diana Ross and founding member Florence Ballard (and with Ballard’s replacement Cindy Birdsong), Mary Wilson appeared on all 12 of the Supremes’ No. 1 pop hits from 1964-69; during that period, the act – the biggest of Motown’s vocal groups' thanks to their silken sound – charted a total of 16 top-10 pop singles and 19 top-10 R&B 45s (six of them chart-toppers). If Ross became renowned as the group’s international superstar and Ballard, who died prematurely at the age of 32 in 1976, came to be memorialized as its tragic figure, Wilson was its steady, omnipresent, and outspoken driving force — though many views her as little more than a supplier of the backup hooks that supported Ross’ lead work. After Ross departed the group in 1970 for solo stardom, Wilson remained its linchpin, and dutifully backed up a succession of front women. Though the Supremes never recaptured their dominance of the ‘60s, they still managed to collect a 1970 R&B No. 1, “Stoned Love,” and returned to the pop-top 20 five times. The act’s image of glamour and offstage sisterhood that was carefully crafted by Motown was belied by Wilson’s scathing depiction of bandmate Ross in a bestselling 1986 memoir, “Dreamgirl: My Life As a Supreme,” the first tell-all tome by a member of the so-called “Motown Family.” In the book, Ross – referred to pointedly throughout by her birth name of Diane – was portrayed as an attention-seeking and backstabbing diva who used her relationship with Motown founder-chairman Berry Gordy to get what she wanted professionally and personally. Opening the book with an episode in which Ross literally shoved her aside onstage during a taping of the 1983 taping of the NBC anniversary special “Motown 25,” Wilson wrote, with some mixed emotion, “She has done many things to hurt, humiliate, and upset me, but, strangely enough, I still over her and am proud of her.” Wilson, who released two solo albums and toured successfully with a solo act that combined cabaret with renditions of her old Supremes hits, was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame as a member of the group in 1988.
Mary Wilson was born in 1944, in Greenville, MS. After moving to St. Louis and then Chicago with her parents, she was sent at the age of three to live with her aunt and uncle in Detroit, and she grew up believing she was their daughter. She only learned who her real parents were at the age of six when her mother came to Detroit to live with the family. She moved with her mother several times until she settled in at the Brewster-Douglass Housing Project at 12. Wilson had already briefly sung in a group led by Aretha Franklin’s younger sister Carolyn when she was approached by Ballard, a charismatic neighbor in the Brewster projects, to form a new group that would serve as a “sister act” to the Primes, a male quintet that included Paul Williams and Eddie Kendricks, both future members of the Motown unit the Temptations. The two girls were soon joined by Ross (who would only take the professional name “Diana” after the group’s first hits). With fourth member Betty McGlown and her successor Barbara Martin, they would perform as the Primettes until they rechristened themselves as the Supremes in early 1961. After auditioning unsuccessfully for the rising Detroit label Motown, the group cut a pair of tracks for another hometown imprint, LuPine; Wilson sang lead on the single B-side “Pretty Baby,” but, like Ballard, she was soon displaced in front by Ross. Finally brought on board at Motown, they struggled to find their musical niche, recording songs (by Smokey Robinson and others) that either languished on the charts or sat in the vault. In 1963, fourth member Martin exited the unit. The trio finally began to hit pay dirt when the songwriting team of brothers Brian and Eddie Holland and Lamont Dozier became their principal cleffers. After reaching No. 2 on the R&B side with the writers’ “When The Lovelight Starts Shining Through His Eyes” in late 1963, the Supremes simultaneously climbed to the pinnacle of both the pop and R&B lists with the foot-stomping “Where Did Our Love Go” during the summer of 1964. With Ross now installed as the lead vocalist, the trio rivaled the Beatles for radio and chart ubiquity over the course of the next three years. Their pop No. 1’s of 1964-67 included “Baby Love,” “Come See About Me,” “Stop! In the Name of Love,” “Back in My Arms Again,” “I Hear a Symphony,” “You Can’t Hurry Love,” “You Keep Me Hanging On” and “Reflections.” In mid-1967, the increasingly unreliable Flo Ballard, wracked by alcoholism, drug abuse, and depression, was expelled from the Supremes and replaced by Birdsong. Gordy – who already envisioned a career in Las Vegas, TV, and films for Ross, with whom he was now involved romantically – established his paramour’s supremacy by rebranding the group as Diana Ross & the Supremes that year.
The writing was truly on the wall for the Supremes after Ross began recording as a soloist in 1968, and late the following year it was announced that she would be departing the group. The act’s swan song with its founding lead singer, “Some Day We’ll Be Together,” topped the pop and R&B charts in December 1969, and Ross made her exit after a heavily stage-managed farewell show at Las Vegas’ Frontier Hotel in January 1970. The single marked the act’s last visit to the top of the U.S. pop chart. The Vegas show introduced Jean Terrell – sister of heavyweight prizefighter Ernie Terrell, and a singer in his group the Knockouts – as the Supremes’ new lead vocalist. Astonishingly, Berry Gordy swiftly tried to replace Terrell with Stevie Wonder’s wife Syreeta Wright, but, according to Mark Ribowsky’s tart, dishy 2009 history of the group, Wilson intervened; while Terrell remained, the Supremes never enjoyed the kind of budgets or promotion they had with Ross in the fold. With Terrell taking the lead, the Supremes maintained some momentum: Beyond “Stoned Love,” they reached the R&B Top 10 with “River Deep, Mountain High,” “Nathan Jones” and “Floy Joy. But Wilson remained the lone constant in an ever-shifting lineup after 1972, and by the late ‘70s the trio was mired in lightweight disco material – some of it supplied by the returning Holland-Dozier-Holland team. The Supremes folded their tents with a London farewell show in June 1977. Wilson’s self-titled solo LP for Motown (which Marvin Gaye had planned to produce before his divorce wrangle with Gordy’s sister Anna scuttled it) failed to scratch the national album chart, and its lone single peaked at No. 95. Except for her appearance on the ’83 Motown special, Wilson was little heard from until her eyebrow-raising memoir was published. (She would go on to write two more books about the Supremes, in 1990 and 2019.) The title of “Dreamgirl” was inspired by the hit 1981 Broadway musical, which the singer claimed was a largely accurate depiction of the tumult within the Supremes during Ross’ tenure. Defending herself in a 1986 interview in Jet magazine against potential charges of serving up sour grapes, she said, “I’m sure people will have their own opinions about that, but I really don’t care. My main thing is that when I was in the group I maintained my position and I didn’t step into Diane’s position. I’m no longer in the group now. I have my own position to uphold and it’s not in the background.” An attempt to reunite Wilson with Ross and the other surviving members of the Supremes for a 2000 tour came to a naught after a protracted and public wrangle over Wilson’s fee for the trek. Mary Wilson’s album “Walk the Line” was released on the CEO label in 1992; she issued a pair of live DVDs in the new millennium. In 2015, she released what was to be her last single, “Time to Move On,” which reached No. 23 on the Billboard dance chart. Her publicist said that she had been working on trying to get a U.S. postage stamp designated for Ballard. Wilson’s activism included traveling to Washington, D.C. to lobby for the Music Modernization Act, which was passed into law in 2018. She is survived by her daughter Turkessa and grandchildren (Mia, Marcanthony, Marina); her son, Pedro Antonio Jr, and grandchildren (Isaiah, Ilah, Alexander, Alexandria). Both children are from her marriage to the Dominican businessman and former Supremes manager Pedro Ferrer, whom she divorced in 1981. In 1994, the couple’s 14-year-old son Rafael was killed and Wilson was injured when her Jeep flipped on the road between Las Vegas and Los Angeles. Wilson is also survived by her sister Kathryn; her brother, Roosevelt; her adopted son/cousin Willie and grandchildren (Erica (great-granddaughter, Lori), Vanessa, Angela).
Source: Chris Morris (Variety).
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they have been dancing for a long time, sharing their own music, on a stretch of embankment - quite oblivious to the rest of us ---
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.
.
The stranger
I would like to become your stranger,
be done with your politeness,
withdraw from your ABC,
emigrate from our moments of intimacy.
Beyond the solid core
I will sail in other waters
unfamiliar and far away.
I would like to become your stranger
and shock an inexistent time.
Unpublished letters,
dated, beaten,
from the heart to the quill.
Washed out words,
of generous spirit
living warmth lived.
... unfamiliar and far away
from everything, far away from you,
far from there and beautiful!
I would like to become your stranger,
from the heart to the quill.
I would like to become your stranger...
I would like to become your stranger,
from the heart to the quill...
your stranger...
Cryptic towards your idioms,
towards your precarious paramours,
I would like to become a stranger
to your humour and
your singular whims.
Equestrienne in exile,
embedded in two thousand flowers,
here or preferably elsewhere.
... unfamiliar and far away from you
far from me and far from everything,
and beautiful...!
I would like to become your stranger,
from the heart to the quill...
© 17 Hippies, Hipster-Records 2011
M / T: Max Manila (Christopher, Kiki)
translation: Matthew Partridge
Album: PHANTOM SONGS