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Ealing derives its name from Gillingas, meaning the people of Gilla, who may have been an Anglo-Saxon settler. Over the centuries, the name has changed, and has been known as Yealing, Zelling and Eling, until Ealing became the standard spelling in the nineteenth century.
The Church of St. Mary's, Ealing, the parish church, dates back to at least the early twelfth century. The parish of Ealing was divided into manors, such as those of Gunnersbury and Pitshanger. These were farmed, the crops being mostly rye, but also wheat and maslin. There were also animals, such as cows, sheep and chickens.
The first maps of Ealing were made in the eighteenth century and give an impression of what the parish looked like. It was mostly made up of open countryside and fields, where, as in previous centuries, the main occupation was farming. However, there was an important road running from west to east through the centre of the parish. This road was to be later known as the Uxbridge Road, and it ran eastwards towards London and westwards to Oxford Along this route were many inns, where horses could be changed and travellers refresh themselves. Those in Ealing were The Feathers, The Bell, The Green Man and The Old Hats.
Settlements were scattered throughout the parish. Many of them were along what we would now call St. Mary's Road, near to the church, which was in the centre of the parish. There were also houses at Little Ealing, Ealing Dean, Haven Green, Drayton Green and Castle Bear Hill.
The most important changes to Ealing happened in the nineteenth century. The building of the Great Western Railway in the 1830s, part of which passed through the centre of Ealing led to the opening of a railway station on Ealing Broadway in 1838. In the next few decades, there was a large amount of speculative building throughout Ealing. These were mostly semi-detached houses, designed for the rising middle class. Better transport links, including horse buses as well as trains, meant that people could more easily travel to work in London but live in what was still considered to be the countryside. Of course, the countryside was rapidly disappearing. Fortunately, parts of it were preserved as public parks, such as Lammas Park and Walpole Park.
It was during the Victorian period that Ealing became a town. This meant that roads had to be built, drainage provided, schools and public buildings erected. The man responsible for much of all this was Charles Jones, Borough Surveyor from 1863-1913. He also designed the Town Hall, both the present one and the older one that is now a bank, on the Mall. Ealing Broadway became a major shopping centre.
1901 was a great year for Ealing. It saw the opening of Walpole Park, the first electric trams running along the Uxbridge Road, and the incorporation of Ealing. Ealing was the first borough in Middlesex to receive a charter and to have a mayor. Ealing became known as the Queen of the suburbs.
Ealing's claim to fame was the film Studios which produced the Ealing comedies of the 1950s, including The Lavender Hill Mob. The building of the new shopping centre, opened in 1985, however, drastically altered part of the centre of Ealing.
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My parents hardly ever agree on anything. They are two very different people with vastly different outlook on issues in life. However, they vociferously agree that within 2 hours of Sahana’s birth they saw her lift her head up. I have tried, over the course of eighteen years, to reason with them, “Newborns can not raise their heads. You must have been mistaken somehow in your excitement of seeing your first grandchild!” At that point, one of them seek approbation from the other:
“Tulechilo. Dekhechi. Bolo? Matha tulechilo na?”
(Yes, she lifted her head. We saw. Tell her did she not lift her head?)
The partner supports this observation. When it comes to the super ability of their grandchildren, they stand united. No amount of arguing, teasing, laughing can move the solid conviction that their grandchildren are extra-ordinary, unique, special, born to serve a greater purpose, brilliant, beautiful……
Eighteen years ago, when I was working hard to bring my first child to earth, I had my husband in the room holding my hand, coaching me to breathe in New Delhi, India. And my parents were pacing nervously near the delivery room, their ears perking up at any sound, any swish of the door. Finally when Sahana was born, she was cleaned and swaddled and I was taken care of, I saw my mother flash me a victory sign and my father crying tears of joy as they wheeled me away from the delivery room to private room. And since that day a love story began. Story of little Sahana and didiya, dadai.
Baby Sahana spent a lot of time in the arms of her grandmother, while grandfather sat nearby spending hours adoring her various facial expressions or simply lying next to her as she slept on their bed. When she got a little older, didiya told her stories, plenty of stories. Stories of Mahabharat, Ramayan, Krishna, Thakurma r jhuli. Dadai introduced her to animals, plenty of animals. When we visited Kolkata, dadai held her little hand and took her out to meet the numerous stray dogs and stray cats in our neighborhood, that he took care of. They taught her to be kind to creatures, big and small. They bought her toys, books, anything she wanted and spoiled her rotten but they never interfered when I felt the need to discipline her when she misbehaved. For that, I am grateful. After our move to United States, the physical distance multiplied but the bond between this little girl and her grandparents remained as strong as ever. The yearning increased and when the yearly rendezvous happened between the two, the love was palpable. Ten year old Sahana welcomed them at the airport with tight hugs, brought them home and said to didiya, “Golpo bolo.” (tell me a story).
Teenage Sahana confided in her grandmother her teenage angst. Story teller didiya became her confidante and dadai became someone to debate with. Dadai would say something outrageous and know-it-all grand daughter would try her best to prove him wrong. Dadai, often egged her on to get a raise out of her.
When Sahana was fifteen, she went to Kolkata alone for six weeks and stayed with her grand parents. The three of them talked, visited family, ate delicious food, went to the mall and movies and when all the talk was done, they just sat with each other, hooked electronically to their respective devices. For her grandparents, her presence was enough. For her, being with them in the same room in companionable silence was gratifying.
She is off to college now and sometimes she feels the urge to leave everything and go back to Kolkata, to didiya and dadai. She skypes with them sometimes, planning the best time to visit before she launches into her life as a young adult.
Little girls don’t stay little for long. They grow up, they change. The bond of story telling, animal loving, hand feeding, cuddling remains strong though. No matter what she does, her grand parents think the world of her still. In their eyes, she is extra-ordinary, unique, special, born to serve a greater purpose, brilliant, beautiful…… She is that special one who lifted her head within few hours of being born – an insurmountable feat. No one can convince them otherwise. Nobody tries 🙂 !
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“I remember the day you were born,” I tell Xianne. “Your mama was sipping broth in the morning when Ruby and I, baskets full of raspberries and herbs, came by to wait with the women for you to pop out.”
We’ve walked the twelve miles to Central Village—Ruby, Cheyenne and I. Several other friends from Ordinary are here, too. Xianne grew up in Ordinary and moved to Central after she and Rupert did their hand-fasting ceremony and built their cottage. We join their friends in Central today to celebrate Xianne’s birthday.
Ruby laughs. “You were a scamp that day, Rose! You wanted to stay outside and pick more berries. Your face and hands were stained red as the birthing blood that would later stain Darla’s sheets. But you had asked Darla if you could come when it was time, and I knew it was important to you, so I dragged you along anyway.”
“I was scared,” I say, my voice small for a moment, like the seven-year-old I was then. I smile, and the smile becomes a deep-throated giggle. “I had seen the cows birth calves, and one of the mama kitties even let me lie down beside her when her kittens were coming, but I’d heard women in the birthing rooms before, and they weren’t quiet like the animals.”
“Not all of them. That’s true. Some let out good healthy grunts and groans when they’re pushing, and some holler quite a bit, too,” Ruby says. “But I knew that Margaret and Jess had things well in hand with Darla. Darla was strong, and we didn’t expect any trouble.”
“She didn’t give any, either,” Darla shakes her white curls. “Xianne gave me no trouble in her birthing, and she never gave me a speck of trouble after, either. Not a teensy, tinsey bit!”
“Jessica wasn’t quite old enough to hold the baby when she popped out,” Margaret says, eyes focused somewhere on the ceiling. She’s sitting in the rocking chair Rupert made when he and Xianne were expecting their own first babe. The soft redwood glows with a patina from the oils he tenderly rubbed all those years ago, and from years of oiling and cleaning and using.
I imagine he spent many a winter evening smoothing and rubbing the wood, visualizing the child to be, how it might feel to hold the baby for the first time.
“So when Xianne’s head started to crown, I called you over. You were absolutely fascinated. I thought I might just have another midwife-in-training on my hands.”
“She went around for weeks after, telling everyone she saw about the birth and that she had decided to become a midwife just like Margaret and Jessica,” Ruby smiles.
“And Grandma Jess! Don’t forget Grandma Jess, who taught Mama everything she knows,” Jessica says, pulling her red hair up into a knot and securing it against the heat. Secure is a loose term where Jessica’s wispy hair is concerned. It will be falling out, haloing her face in no time at all.
“I could never forget Grandma Jess,” I tell her. “After Xianne was born, she let me shadow every birthing she attended. For such a young one, I held an awful lot of babies while they’re mamas got up to wash.”
“You did indeed,” Margaret chimes in. “I thought for sure you’d become a midwife, right alongside Jessica.”
”But you didn’t,” Xianne says. “Why not?”
“You know, this really isn’t about me today,” I tell her. “What I really wanted to say is that the day you were born was special even before I knew you were on the way. It felt special the moment I heard the robins singing. It sounded like a whole choir of them, and they were happy and singing to each other in a way I’d never heard before! I couldn’t wait to get outside.”
”That’s right,” Ruby says, eyes closed, voice soft. “I remember that, too. I walked onto the veranda to listen more closely, and you were already there, in the early morning half-light, your tiny face turned up to the sky, eyes shut, and an expression so blissful I could hardly bear it.”
She pauses, hugging her knees against her chin, her own face blissful in the memory.
“We stood silently, neither of us daring to move a muscle, while the light slowly crept over the hills and gradually draped itself down their sides until it was shining on your own sweet face.
“The birds, spent perhaps, busied themselves in the grass, nipping beetles and errant worms basking in the morning dew. I never saw such a spectacle before or since.”
“That’s why you were both standing there like that when I ran over to tell you Darla’s baby was coming,” Jessica claps her hands. “I had never seen so many robins in one place before, and there the two of you were, standing still as statues, the sun lighting your faces like two miniature suns, and all those birds, chirping and hopping on the ground. I felt like I’d stumbled onto holy ground.”
“That’s exactly what you said, too,” Ruby opens her eyes slowly, raises her head and takes a breath as if coming up for air. “Do you remember? You were only four at the time.”
“I remember trying to say it and feeling like I didn’t have the right words.”
“No, you did! You said, ‘Holy ground. The birds are eating holy ground.’ I thought you meant the ground was full of holes!”
Laughter peals across the valley, echoes off the canyon walls against which the cottage is set.
Rupert picks up Xianne’s hand. “My angel,” he says. “You were born on the day the birds ate holy ground.”
“Every birth is special,” Darla says. “We celebrate every one with such gladness, but I have to admit, the day you were born did seem especially joyful. The whole village seemed to feel it.” Xianne’s daughters and sons-in-law step from the kitchen then, bearing trays of iced tea and lemonade. Behind them, Cheyenne maneuvers Janine’s chair.
For once, Janine is letting someone help her with the chair as she carefully balances a candle-laden cake, fiery even in daylight.
“Happy Birthday Xianne!” We sing out in unison. “Happy fifty-two!” “We love you!”
I give thanks for this day. I give thanks for the beautiful woman I have loved for fifty-two years, from the moment she popped into view, from the first moment she was placed gently in my little-girl arms to hold in awe and wonder. I give thanks for the joy she brings to all our lives. May all the moments of her life be as blessed as this one.
Happy birthday, Xianne, sister-friend.
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It is not surprising that a global conflict like World War II generated so many amazing spy stories. Espionage has always been a business marked by deceit, betrayal, and frequently, death. The fate of a captured spy is usually brutal, and even relatively benign entities like the Allies dealt harshly with such individuals. Still, their treatment was relatively kind compared to the Nazis. The remarkable World War II spy stories include heroes and villains, loyalists and traitors, and the greatest World War II spies that were motivated by duty, principle, or just plain money.
The White Rabbit Couldn’t Be Contained by Nazi Prisons
Forest Frederic Edward Yeo-Thomas (who went by F. F. E. Yeo-Thomas) was not your typical cliché espionage agent, photographing documents in the early morning hours behind the embassy doors of some darkened office. After serving for two years in the RAF during the Battle of Britain, Yeo-Thomas requested even more hazardous duty in occupied France serving as a liaison between the French government in exile and the Resistance.
On his third mission in 1944, he was betrayed to the Gestapo and was so badly mistreated that he developed blood poisoning from the shackles worn during his isolated confinement. After numerous escape attempts (which prompted the Gestapo nickname “the White Rabbit”), Yeo-Thomas was transported to Buchenwald. He survived eight more months of abuse, escaped from a work detail, and eventually lead other POWs to freedom in the final days of the war. Yeo-Thomas is recognized by the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography as “among the most outstanding workers behind enemy lines whom Britain produced”. Yeo-Thomas is also credited as the inspiration for the character James Bond.
Krystyna Skarbek AKA Christine Granville AKA Miss Poland Was a Spy and a Beauty Queen
Krystyna Skarbek was born in Poland in 1915. At age 17, she was crowned Miss Poland and was already involved in her second marriage to Poland’s consul general to Ethiopia when Germany invaded Poland in 1939.
The couple emigrated to London where Krystyna went to work for British intelligence. She reentered occupied Poland intent on getting her mother to leave Warsaw; her mother refused and subsequently died in a Nazi prison.
Skarbek was able to establish a courier system from Poland to Hungary; she remained in Budapest until a narrow escape to Egypt via Turkey. Her marriage disintegrated and her use to the British was minimal until the invasion of France in 1944. Fluent in French, she was parachuted into southeastern France on D-Day, her new nom de guerrre, “Christine Granville.”
She engaged in various intelligence operations, the most famous an incident in Digne, France, where she tricked the Gestapo into believing her cover story and convinced them to release two other captured agents, despite the fact that her picture was on wanted posters all over the German headquarters.
Despite being awarded the George Cross, the OBE, and the Croix de Guerre, Skarbek was cut loose by the British government after the war, could not return to Communist Poland, and fell upon hard times. Employed as a stewardess for the Union-Castle Line, she was living in a hotel in 1952 when she was stabbed to death by a rejected suitor, Dennis Muldowney. Muldowney was ultimately hanged and Krystyna was buried in London.
Wilhelm Canaris Worked to Bring Down Nazi Germany from the Inside
Imagine for a moment if, during wartime, it was suddenly discovered that the head of the CIA was actively working to undermine the American government and military. That is exactly what happened in Nazi Germany. Wilhelm Canaris had been appointed the head of the Abwehr, German military intelligence, in 1935. Initially a fervent supporter of Hitler, his attitude transformed after personally observing atrocities in Poland and receiving numerous reports of Nazi extermination squads operating throughout the Eastern front.
Canaris began to assemble a group of like-minded opponents to Hitler in both the Abwehr and the military. He was involved in several plots to kill Hitler, although he was wily enough to be able to avoid direct responsibility. Canaris also undermined the Nazi government when sent to Spain in 1940 to compel Franco to join the Axis, instead hinting strongly that this would be a bad idea and Franco should remain neutral. In gratitude, the Spanish government would eventually award his wife a pension.
His repeated complaints to the Nazi General Staff about atrocities and his opposition became more evident as the war progressed, and Himmler ultimately convinced Hitler to abolish the Abwehr in February 1944 and place Canaris under house arrest.
After the July 20th plot to kill Hitler failed, Canaris was quickly implicated by others who were tortured or by association with conspirators who had committed suicide. Canaris was then placed under severe detention and was repeatedly tortured, but he refused to admit guilt. Unfortunately, in early April of 1945, a copy of his diaries and notes was discovered in a locked safe in the Abwehr’s former headquarters, which clearly spelled out his deliberate attempts to recruit others to oppose the regime. Personally infuriated, Hitler ordered his execution. Canaris and several other co-conspirators from the Abwehr were hanged on April 9, 1945, at Flossenburg concentration camp.
Odette Hallowes Survived by Claiming Kinship with Winston Churchhill
Odette Hallowes née Brailly was born in France, the daughter of a World War I soldier posthumously awarded the Croix de Guerre and Medaille Militaire. She married an Englishman and moved to Britain where she was eventually recruited into the Special Operatives Executive and sent to back to occupied France. She survived as a courier for a year before her arrest by the Gestapo. Tortured in the notorious Fresnes Prison near Paris, she underwent fourteen separate interrogations but refused to reveal the whereabouts of other agents in her network. Her defiance was rewarded with a transport to the Ravensbruck concentration camp.
Condemned, she somehow convinced the Germans that she was a relative of Winston Churchill. She survived months of beatings and isolation. Ultimately, Fritz Suhren, the camp commandant, personally drove her to American lines and surrendered, still believing that her supposed status would save his neck. He was wrong. Odette testified against him and other Ravensbruck defendants in 1946; Suhren and twelve other defendants were hanged.
She is the only person to receive the George Cross while still alive and was also made a Chevalier de la Legion d’honneur, the first woman to receive both awards.
Americans and Germans Combined to Form the Red Orchestra to Combat Nazis
Harro and Libertas Schulze-Boysen were committed anti-Nazis who formed an espionage ring referred to by the Gestapo as the Red Orchestra. This was because an investigation determined that this group was “singing” to Soviet Russia. Both Harro and Libertas came from upper-class German backgrounds, Harro the son of a decorated naval officer and Libertas, the daughter of German nobility.
Harro, through his family connections, was able to secure a position in the Reich Air Ministry in 1934, but he and his wife organized an intellectual circle of like-minded anti-Nazis which included a member of another prominent German family, Arvid Harnack, and his American wife Mildred.
By the late thirties, their private opposition to the Nazis had morphed into actual espionage, with valuable information passed along to both the American and Soviet governments, including a warning concerning the 1941 invasion of the Soviet Union, which Stalin ignored. Libertas, through her position in the German film industry, was assembling graphic evidence of German war atrocities. This information passed by radio through Soviet agent Leopold Trepper into Brussels, where a Trepper operative foolishly transmitted from the same location for a week. Gestapo counterintelligence electronically located Trepper’s group in 1941, arrested them, and decoded the names and addresses of the Schulze-Boysens among many others by mid-1942.
The Gestapo watched throughout the summer, identifying other members of the ring. Finally, on August 31, 1942, Harro was arrested at the Air Ministry. Libertas attempted to flee by train but was arrested on September 9. They were tried, convicted, and condemned on December 19, 1942. Because Goering and Hitler were especially outraged by such a betrayal by the upper class, Harro, Arvid Harnack, and other male defendants would be executed by a new, painful, and more degrading form of execution: death by hanging at the execution chamber at Plotzensee Prison. Female defendants like Libertas would be spared this fate: instead they would die by the current method already in place, death by guillotine.
The Schulze-Boysens and Harnack were executed within minutes of each other, three days before Christmas 1942 Mildred Harnack would initially receive a prison sentence, but Hitler refused to endorse this punishment. A native of Wisconsin, she would be retried and executed at Plotzensee on February 16, 1943.
Children’s Author Roald Dahl and James Bond Creator Ian Fleming Met as British Spies
Roald Dahl enjoyed a high-profile career as a writer, screenwriter, and critic best known today for his children’s books. However, less well known is that Dahl also was involved in British military and intelligence efforts during World War II. He saw action as a fighter pilot in Libya and Greece, suffering a fractured skull and other injuries after crashing in the North African desert. After officially downing at least five Axis aircraft over Greece, persistent blackout headaches forced his reassignment to Britain.
He was eventually sent to Washington as an assistant air attaché at the British embassy. Dahl was bored by the administrative details of his job, but became involved with C. S. Forester in composing what was essentially propaganda encouraging American enthusiasm for the war in Europe. Dahl also became the eyes and ears for prominent members of the British government, including Churchill, gathering intelligence usually involving the outlook and attitudes of Franklin D. Roosevelt.
Dahl worked with another British intelligence officer, James Bond creator Ian Fleming. After the war, he would begin his illustrious literary career, writing Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in 1964 and subsequently the screenplay for the James Bond film You Only Live Twice.
Two Nazi Spies Traveled to Small-Town Maine by Submarine
Operation Magpie was an attempt by the Nazis to determine the progress of the Manhattan Project by infiltrating Erich Gimpel and William Colepaugh, two men off-loaded by submarine in November 1944, near the town of Hancock, Maine.
As unlikely as a submarine drop-off was along the Maine coast, even more unlikely was the background of Colepaugh, an American who had defected from a Swedish ship in Lisbon in early 1944. He walked into the German embassy and declared that he wanted to help Germany win the war. By November, he was hunkered down in a North American-bound U-Boat with Gimpel, a much more accomplished spy with espionage background in South America. It was presumed that Colepaugh, with his knowledge of American mores, would be able to maneuver Gimpel through any cultural barriers.
The two landed on the snowy Maine coast, fortuitously able to hail a cab to a train station in Bangor. Within two days, they made it to New York and actually rented an apartment in Manhattan. Money was no object: Colepaugh had somehow convinced his handlers that it would take $60,000 to finance the mission ($650,000 today).
In the end, this money would be the mission’s undoing. Colepaugh abandoned Gimpel, stole much of the cash, and went on a drunken bender that resulted in both of the spies’ arrest by December 30. The saboteurs were tried and initially sentenced to death in early 1945, but Harry Truman commuted both sentences. Gimpel was paroled to West Germany and died in Brazil in 2010, aged 100. Colepaugh was paroled and died in suburban Philadelphia in 2005.
Moe Berg Was a Major League Spy Who Almost Assassinated Werner Heisenberg
Morris “Moe” Berg was an accomplished athlete and graduate of Princeton University who played and coached professional baseball from 1923 to 1941. Because Berg was quite intelligent and multilingual, he made two trips to Japan, accompanying other players on an exhibition game tour of the country. On one of these trips in 1934, Berg brought a movie camera and filmed the city of Tokyo and its harbor from a hospital rooftop, footage that would eventually become strategically valuable.
Berg was an average player, but he did obtain a law degree and eventually passed the bar exam. When war broke out, Berg got involved in various counter-intelligence efforts and even provided his film footage to the Army unit that planned Doolittle’s Tokyo Raid of 1942. He was eventually parachuted into enemy territory in Yugoslavia, interacting with Yugoslav partisans.
Berg was also charged with determining German progress toward the construction of atomic weapons, focusing especially on knowledge concerning German physicist Werner Heisenberg. In a mission to Zurich, Berg was to kill Heisenberg, who was delivering a lecture, if Berg determined that a German device was imminent. Berg concluded correctly that that was not the case and Heisenberg escaped violence.
After the war, Berg was awarded the Medal of Freedom, which he refused, the first incident of his increasingly odd behavior. He refused requests to return to baseball, law firms, or even teaching. As a Jew, he requested that the CIA send him to Israel – they refused but, in 1951, they did retain him to gather intelligence in Europe. He did little work and the CIA cut him loose when his $10,000 contract expired. For the next twenty years he lived with friends and relatives, intimating that he was working on top secret missions but essentially doing nothing. He died at age 70 in 1972; his sister accepted his Medal of Freedom posthumously. His baseball card is on display at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia.
“Cicero” Photographed and Sold Top Secret Documents Just for the Money
Elyesa Basna was an Albanian national who managed to learn how to speak French, mostly as a result of a three-year stint in a French penal camp in Marseilles. In mid-July of 1943, without a background check, Basna was hired in Ankara, as a valet by the British Ambassador to Turkey. This after he had already been fired from the German embassy for reading official communications. The British Ambassador, Sir Hughe Knatchbull-Hugessen, had the unfortunate habit of taking classified documents home with him, and much of this information highly desirable.
Basna (code named “Cicero”) photographed and sold top secret documents to Germany throughout 1944, strictly because he needed the money; he would be paid the highest amount ever paid to a spy up until the 1940s. He would also eventually be compromised by the veracity of his information that indicated to British intelligence that a leak existed in the Ankara embassy. He narrowly avoided detection during the war; afterwards his attempts at various business ventures failed, mostly because the money he had been paid by the Nazis was counterfeit. He emigrated to West Germany, spent the rest of his days as a night watchmen, unsuccessfully suing the government for the compensation he felt that he was owed.
Takeo Yoshikawa, the Key to Pearl Harbor, Died Without Recognition
Takeo Yoshikawa was a Japanese naval intelligence officer who developed an expertise in the American Navy during the thirties and as a result was posted as an intelligence officer to the Japanese Consulate in Honolulu in March 1941 His intelligence concerning American fleet security, movements, and battleship locations became the primary source of Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto’s preparations for the Pearl Harbor aerial attack.
Aware of the imminent Japanese assault, Yoshikawa destroyed any incriminating evidence and his behavior was so stealthy that he evaded detection and was exchanged as a diplomat. Unfortunately, his service tarnished him in the eyes of the Japanese people and subsequently he became penniless and unemployable, supported by his wife, whom he claimed was the only person “who knows I am a man of history and alone shows great respect.” He died in a nursing home in 1993.
British Spies Were the Victims of a Nazi Black Ops Attack
In mid-September 1939, British intelligence in the Netherlands were receiving various covert contacts from various individuals claiming to be interested in a negotiated peace. Some of these were legitimate German military figures, alarmed by the declaration of war and disgruntled with Hitler and his government. However, one of these individuals, a German émigré named Franz Fisher, was an operative for the German SD intelligence unit who had ingratiated himself with British intelligence.
He eventually was able to coordinate meetings between two British agents, Sigismund Payne Best and Richard Stevens, and what they thought was a high-level back channel to potential military dissidents. In actuality they were meeting with the notorious SS counter-espionage Colonel Walter Schellenberg, a direct report to Himmler and Heydrich. Initially, it is believed that the mission was a Nazi operation to identify disloyal Germans within their own government. However, on November 8, an attempt to assassinate Hitler with a bomb planted by a carpenter named Georg Elser prompted Heinrich Himmler to exploit this situation.
Meetings between the two factions had typically occurred in a cafe at Venlo, near the Dutch-German border. On November 9, Best and Stevens were scheduled to meet Schellenberg for another discussion; instead, a dozen armed SD forcibly abducted the two British agents and spirited them over the border. Hitler was convinced that Elser, a simple laborer, could not have pulled off his mission alone. The Germans also wished to stir up anti-British sentiment in Germany, which was already apprehensive after the initial success in Poland.
Nazi newspapers eventually proclaimed the connection between Elser and the British government. Plans for a show trial of the three conspirators were contemplated but never happened for many reasons, one being that any connection between the British and Elser was patently ridiculous. Elser was executed at Dachau in April of 1945; Stevens and Best were imprisoned in several concentration camps but managed to survive the war.
Harold Cole Betrayed His Fellow Allies and Was Executed as a Traitor
Sometimes it is hard to fathom what some people will do, especially to each other. The story of Harold Cole AKA Paul Cole typifies that notion. Cole, a former convict who enlisted in the British army after being released from prison, was taken prisoner during the German invasion of France in 1940. He escaped and hid out in Marseilles, establishing escape lines with the French resistance. Initially, he helped several individuals escape occupied France.
Taken prisoner again, the Gestapo managed to flip him and Cole became an informer, betraying hundreds of Resistance members, fifty of whom were executed by the Nazis. After the war, both the British and the French came after Cole. Imprisoned, he broke out of a NATO jail in Paris in November 1945. French police shot him to death on January 8, 1946, and then buried him in an unmarked pauper’s grave.
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May 8, 1921-Jan 17, 2015
It is with sadness that I tell of the passing of Richard Vanderwall whose story was included in my book, World War II Legacies: Stories of Northeast Indiana Veterans.
I met Richard Marvin Vanderwall, Sr. when my mother introduced me to him at the location where they both lived at the time. Mr. Vanderwall was one of the first World War II vets I had ever interviewed so I realize now I was not properly impressed when he told me all of his exploits as a sailor. One of his stories that I included in the book spoke of nearly being involved in the invasion of Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. This excerpt is from the book:
“By the time our ship reached Pearl Harbor on December 12, 1941, oil from the explosions of American ships was three inches thick on the water,” said Richard Vanderwall of Fort Wayne.
Vanderwall was a Seaman 2nd Class assigned to the cruiser USS Indianapolis in the U.S. Navy. His duties included keeping the ship’s log and being stationed on the bridge above two batteries of 8-inch guns. Such a position would result in permanent hearing loss in one ear.
The USS Indianapolis was on its way to Johnston Island, 700 miles southwest of Honolulu when the attack occurred Pearl Harbor on December 7. Upon hearing of the Japanese attack, the ship turned toward the island to aid where needed. The battle was nearly over, but the ship was not out of danger. At 1800 hours on December 12, a Japanese sub fired on the Indianapolis. Thankfully, it missed. “One of our destroyers blew him out of the water,” said Vanderwall.
He was also involved with the Battle of Attu in the Aleutian Islands in 1943. Vanderwall and other sailors involved in the skirmish earned a battle star for the endeavor.
It was thrilling to present Mr. Vanderwall with a copy of the book with his story in it last fall when it was printed. Here’s a photo that shows our excitement!
Mr. Vanderwall was always patient and had a ready smile. He was blessed with a loving family and I’m sure they miss him greatly.
Rest in peace, Mr. Vanderwall. You definitely blessed my life and many others.
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“I will be wild. I will be brutal. I will encircle you and conquer you. I will be more powerful than your swords and your bloodlust. I will be inevitable.” ― Rachel Swirsky, A Memory of Wind
There was an eerie silence, a momentary pause in the air as the carriage stopped at the bottom of the hill. The last squeak of wood and leather faded to memory. Alexandra roused from her thoughts and looked to see what was happening. A thin wisp of dust caught up to the carriage and continued past on an invisible current of air that twisted the fingers of dust in a languid stream. The dust grasped at the feet of the horses shackled to the coach like obedient servants.
The mounted horses suddenly reared up, their uniformed riders erect in a stiff and controlling posture. Their martial strength roiled Alexandra’s mind in a surge of aggressive energy. Before she could think of controlling this surge of burning sensation, a foot troop of soldiers marched by taking up positions in front of them.
Martial music played from an orchestra at one end of the field. Multi-colored figures marched out in front of the bandstand in a flurry of coordinated movements. They seemed like a rose and stem in a fast-motion bloom, then a flat oasis of striated reds, greens, and white color as they found their positions and marched in place to the thunderous beat of the drums.
Alexandra’s heart pounded in her chest. She lived for that excitement she felt when she entered the cage to fight her opponent. As much as she suffered from her lifestyle and dreams, she lived for the sensual feel of skin on skin combat. The cage and pain were where she found her true self and sated lust.
Her head seemed to lull over to see what was happening with the sound of loud cries and shouts outside the opposite window. Alexandra happened upon Dari’s back turned to her as the handmaid strained to see out the tinted glass. The taut muscles of Dari’s back through her dress were accentuated in the shadow of the interior and the dusty light that streamed in from outside. Alexandra appraised straight shoulders, symmetrical tightening of Dari’s waist in a drawn triangle joined at the flair of her proud hips. The image clutched at Alexandra’s predatory soul, tightened her throat, and caused her breath to come shallow and quick. Their workouts together were having a good effect on her friend.
Soldiers shouted in unison, “make way, make way.” The carriage and entourage moved forward into the edge of the waiting throngs of people. Children were thrust up to the front and peered into the coach with inquisitive eyes. The crowd caught glimpses of the faces peering out at them and a roar vibrated a predator’s heart to life.
Distant, cold eyes stared at Dari’s body and dreamed of submitting her in a rear naked chokehold until she tapped out. But it wasn’t Dari, Alexandra saw in her vision. She craved the cage, she lusted for her female fighters, who outside the ring were some of her closest friends and some were her students. In the ring, there were no friendships, only the brutal conquest of gladiators.
How she loved to feel their muscles strain against her, their fists sought to bloody her face and at times they succeeded. It was a kind of lovemaking that was greater than sex. When it was over they were friends again, hugging and making plans together. No one talked of the sensual ballet that took place, the forcing of bodies together more tightly and for longer than any man would hold them except when they sought to rape and plunder their feminine treasure. No man dared try it now. Alexandra could crush ribs with her thighs and drive a stiletto through the thickest sternums. No, they no longer tore out her insides with their evil intent. It was their time to fear her.
Gray thoughts returned to the scent of the other female’s sweat and blood, the feel of their viscous sensuality and excitement, the taste of saliva, hot skin, and flecks of blood from their grimacing lips turned Alexandra on fully and completely. Then there was the exquisite pain on their face as she clamped them to her and pounded their face. Not too hard. She didn’t want to injure them, Just make them submit to her power and control. Alexandra was their legend and they worshiped their chance to feel her power and try to make it their own.
There were times when Alexandra and her opponent seemed to freeze in a tight embrace of pain and ecstasy. They would pause together as Alexandra’s lower stomach pulsed rhythmically and her legs shook with tremors. They heard the gasp for air and felt the strangled moan in her chest. She might have made them submit to her but they secretly delighted in their ability to make her come. For a woman, even a cage fighter, this was the ultimate power they possessed. Alexandra smiled to herself. “I suppose there really are no losers in this game.” Still, no one ever mentioned it, but they did come back for more.
The crowds were whipped into lustful screams and ecstatic worship in the arena as Alexandra worked her strategy and snatched her partner’s grimaces and cries of pain as small victories; the kind she prized far more than belts and trophies.
The cage fighter’s tongue flicked nervously across the roof of her mouth to soothe the dryness. Alexandra’s thoughts refocused on Dari’s probing eyes. She realized she was staring with a kind of sensual malice at her handmaiden, her dearest friend.
“My Lady. Are you okay?” Dari asked with concern in her voice tinged with a hint of fear.
“I am more ready than ever. The energy has just aroused my feelings, you know, it’s exciting.” Alexandra’s voice was steady and calm with a hint of rough pleasure.
“I’m so excited too,” Dari cooed with delight and yet her eyes held a certain concern for her Duchess. Dari felt Alexandra was returning to her true self faster than she and Cezar expected. Not everything was within their control and the unknown was far more troubling than the battles forming along ancient bloodlines.
The women returned their gaze to the adoring crowd. The peasants milled around like ants defending the mound. Their dark clothes were patchworked with bright colors and twisted patterns. Alexandra pursed her lips together. “I need blood,” she mused to herself. She knew in a transient feeling in the back of her mind that her bloodlust would find its home in her ancestral lands. She was the prodigal revenant and her mood lifted to joy upon realizing she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
Image Source: The Unstoppable Angela Lee sportsnet.com
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Wendi Coles was one of the founding Trustees of Thomley. Wendi’s involvement stemmed from her own experiences of having a son with Lennox Gastaut Syndrome. Having been involved for 10 years in the governance of other organisations which support families with disabled family members, Wendi’s interest has focused on the provision of support for parents of people with learning disabilities, and access to information. She also acts as an advocate for parents on a number of different parent forums. “I am absolutely thrilled to see how much the centre has grown over the years and how much joy and support it has offered to disabled children, young people and adults, as well as their families”.
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When most people consider the manner in which dogs think, they focus on one very obvious fact: dogs aren't people. The assumption that follows is that dogs don't think like people.
While it's true that dog aren't human and do indeed think differently to us, we're more alike than you might think.
Dogs come to understand the world, and each other, in the same manner as human children are introduced to the world, through visual cues and scent clues. They are particularly keen observers of body language, and the amount of information they can glean from another dog's posterior is astounding. Unlike humans, whose main form of communication and comprehension is vocal, dogs rely predominantly on scent, followed by sight, then sound, and finally the use of their voice. As an example, a dog will learn a hand gesture - a visual cue - far quicker than a verbal command. If you tap your leg, they will learn that means 'come here' far more quickly than they will understand you speaking the words. In fact, once they understand the visual cue, it is the association of the sound with that hand gesture that teaches them what the words mean.
While there are similarities in the way humans and dogs think, there are also great differences. Dogs are fully aware of this difference and cannot be tricked into believing humans are dogs, even when we try our best to emulate them. Dogs are keen observers of human behaviour and understand the differences between people and dogs. They don't attempt to communicate with humans in the same manner they would other dogs. They know we are different and wouldn't understand them, so they act in a manner humans can understand.
Walking to the back door and barking at it is their version of asking to be let out.
Sitting in front of the cupboard they know contains their dinner and pawing at it is their way of telling us we're hungry.
These are things that require human hands - opening doors, food packets, and pouring things into bowls. Dogs are fully aware that they can't (usually) do these things themselves and are equally aware that humans can. They understand how we think, perhaps better than we understand how they think.
Dogs are certainly better at explaining things in human terms than we are at explaining things in dog terms. We teach them to understand our way of doing things because we can't do things their way. Dogs, on the other hand, learn a totally different language in order to communicate with us, a language that crosses species - that's pretty impressive.
Dogs are a lot smarter than people give them credit for.
So how do dogs think?
Dogs don't read or write, so they don't think in words and symbols the way humans do. However, they can certainly be taught to recognise symbols and words and the actions associated with them, but this is done through very careful training and isn't their natural state.
But dogs are still very similar to us in what they think about, even if they don't think about it in the same way. They have goals and needs. They know they need food and shelter, they usually have a keen desire to learn new things, and they retain their hunting instincts, buried in their genetic memories, from a time when dogs were wolves and hunted their own food. That's why a wild dog will hunt, he won't go hungry. But dogs also need to play and be entertained, and they need physical reassurance and comfort.
The most important thing to remember when it comes to understanding how dogs think is that they're a lot like us, in terms of wants and needs; they simply perceive things differently and struggle to express themselves in a way we understand. Dogs have as many needs and wants as people, albeit concerning very different things. Once you understand what a dog needs and wants, it's a lot easier to understand their behaviour, and you come closer to understanding how they think. But if you're looking to work with animals and want to understand dogs better, you might benefit from one of our dog behaviour courses to get a better insight into man's best friend.
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Table for Two
"Hands off of my lady!" Reign shouted as he stepped forward, his sword flying out of it's sheath like a bolt of golden lightning. The blade crashed into Nina's skin and shattered, sending small shards of God-Slaying sword flying off into the shadowed darkness. The servant took a step back, astonished.
An aura of darkness grew out from Nina as she spoke. It was a soft and gentle darkness, like that of a starless night. It wove itself in cascades over Nina's body the more impassioned she grew. As her emotions swelled, so did her aura, and it overflowed out of her heart and into the the train car.
Miriam's eyes grew wide.
As Anazorzia crumbled under the weight of the destinies of it's thousand constituent worlds, the space around the train car had reached the critical point where reality and dreams had begun to blur. This shadow was the manifestation of the Nina's overflowing emotions, her memories, and her hope.
"You..." Miriam said softly as she tugged at her own hand. "You're just like her."
The train suddenly stopped, jerking everyone forward onto the fleshy floor. There was an explosion and the world went white.
When Nina opened her eyes the world was a colorless white. But as she blinked the sand and dust out of her eyes, things began to become somewhat more clear. She could see the shapes of the five other women on the floor. Philip was pooled a little bit to Nina's side. The world around them was blank and utterly flat.
Reign, Faea, Mnemosyne, and Cuelle were nowhere to be found.
Nina sat up. Small colored marbles floated in the air around her in hues of Blue, Red, Green, Black, and White. They held small tablaeux of some worlds she recognized and others she didn't. One held a scene of a train speeding through space, flanked by glimmering lights. Another had a group of women sunbathing on the canopy of a vast sea of trees. A older woman was sitting in a crystal world reading slowly through journals of the past. Nina knew instinctively that these were the worlds that made up Anazorzia.
Nina looked down. Her shadow turned the ground below her from a blank white space into a wooden floor. Where her hands touched the same occurred. She was bringing color into this empty world.
Where was this? Nina's thoughts echoed in the empty space.
"This is Anazorzia," came a reply. The voice was high and sweet. Full of innocence. When Nina turned to find the source of the voice, there was a small girl squatting next to her. She had red hair held back with a blue headband. Huge blue eyes smiled at her, glimmering like oceans in this white plane. "My name is Miriam Lockstar, and you're Nina! Nina Zack- Zat- Zachk-... Just Nina!"
Miriam grinned. She had a set of pretty white teeth, but she was missing an incisor. "Would you like to have tea with me?"
The shadow of the little girl painted the ground beneath her, but it expanded, reaching out to each end of the white space until Nina and Miriam were in the lobby of a cafe. Gentle beams of sunlight filtered through stained glass windows and tables set with checkered cloths hosted phantom guests. There was no one there, but there were the sounds of hustle and bustle, the tinkling of ice in cups, the scrape of knives against plates, and the warm nostalgic chatter of people going about their day.
Miriam grabbed Nina's hand and helped her up. "Welcome to Cafe Anazorzia!"
The little girl was wearing the uniform that Blue had on prior to everything happening. "How many will be dining here today?"
Table for Two
Nina definitely needed help getting to her feet and even as she stood there in this cafe her legs wobbled. Despite her abilities, despite what she had just survived, she was still only human. Not a deity, a cyborg or even a well trained athlete, she was with some noteworthy exceptions a normal human that frankly spent too much time sitting down at her tablet. There's a limit to how many times one could continue going on stubbornness and adrenaline alone, and that time had been a long time coming.
"I... think it'll be three? You're sitting with us right, you wanted tea?" Nina asked, honestly shouldering Miriam with a bit more weight than she meant to until Phillip grabbed her a chair to park her tush. "T-Thanks Phillip." She exhaled, leaning forward with her arms resting on her knees.
"You certainly dealt with that blade better than Faea did. Wonder who's holding her arm up now." He commented, surveying the area, specifically for a kitchen. "Why didn't you tell me you could do that?"
"I, I didn't know I could do that, but..." Nina commented to Phillip as she lifted her head up to look at Miriam. "We'll see how this chat goes, there might be more than just the three of us coming." She added to her original answer, taking a moment to look around the cafe weakly as she wiped her eyes, quite red from her final stand. "Do, you know what these are?" She gestured to the remnants of Anazorzia, the orbs, loosely wondering how much this Miriam knew of what had happened.
A Painted World
"They're marbles," Miriam said matter-of-factly. The small glass orbs danced around her like planets around a sun. Light flowed through them and splintered into colored light which pooled around Miriam in thick paint-like orbs. The little girl drew her fingers along the paints and from them created a small notepad. She wrote down on it some scribbles. "But a table of three is coming right up!"
Before Nina and Philip could react they found themselves seated at a booth. A cloth laden table before them set with plates, knives, forks, spoons, and three cups of iced water. Sunlight dribbled through the window at their side. Nina looked out and could see a world outside. They were in the downtown of some city. The streets were empty, a painted scene of lamps, plants, and buildings, but she could hear the rumble of cars passing by and the footfalls of an intersection during lunchtime.
Miriam sat down next to Nina. The little girl smelled of blueberries and vanilla.
A blank-faced waitress came to take their order. She was silent and her movements were stiff, but the entire ordeal was not entirely uninviting. Miriam ordered an earl-grey with milk and sugar.
The drink came almost immediately, delivered by some phantom waitstaff out of the kitchen doors. Philip saw that the kitchen was empty when the doors swung open. A blank and cold room filled with pots, pans, stoves, and ovens.
Miriam took a sip of her tea. She had a solemn look on her face.
"You've been through a lot this past day," Miriam said. Her voice was as sad as it was cheerful. Her eyes faced forward and she held her cup gingerly in both hands. The fragments of Anazorzia kept their orbit around her person. "I don't blame you if you want to leave. It's not like you wanted to come here in the first place."
A Painted World
"Heh..." Nina couldn't help but smile at Miriam's comment, her head resting on her arms. She knew this was terrible edicate and likely breaking several rules of fine dining but she really didn't have the energy. "It's gonna take more than that to get rid of me unfortunately. I'll... sleep better when I know my job's done here." She answered.
Phillip for his part was very enamored by the sighting of the kitchen, but seeing the waitress and Nina's current state he shrugged. "Given Nina's current state, matcha tea would be a good start for her. Although I can't say why I'm participating here. I would much rather be in the kitchen."
Nina lifted her head up sluggishly as the cup of tea was placed swiftly on the table, the smell of the aromatic lime green tea. "I, just don't want to lose you too." Nina said as Phillip propped her up and put the tea in her hands. "Well, there are more things to learn from you, so as you said, you won't get rid of me that easily." Phillip answered back as Nina blew at her tea before taking her first sip. "Oh, that's kinda nice." She smiled and took another sip.
"Will you be destroying the recipes and ingredients that exist in those 'marbles' as you put them Miriam?" Phillip asked curtly, causing Nina to nearly choke on her third sip of tea. "Phillip, we're trying to save a little more than just recipes here..." To which Phillip pondered a moment. "Techniques would also be useful too, yes more than just those two." To which Nina held her head with one hand, admittedly looking a bit better now that she had something in her belly. Feeling her bare hand against her forehead made her feel a guilty, the gloves Faea had crafted were gone, and very possibly never to be replaced.
A Painted World
"You're here to save Anazorzia then?" Miriam asked softly. "Do you stare into these worlds that I have created, so full of life, and feel pain for their passing?" She shook her head. "Of course you do. Who wouldn't? To you they all seem so very alive - so real. For a time I also felt like they were real. Anazorzia is special in this way - it grants the deepest desires of those who inhabit it. Those who live fear death, and so in Anazorzia, death does not exist. At least, not in the way that mortals understand it."
Miriam smiled, "The idea of mortality is enough to shatter their entire world. Did you see what happened when Anna died? Everyone was shook to their core. I want to be free, Nina, but I am bound as a custodian to this world I painted. I simple cannot leave them, for if I did the world would grow cold and dark until even time itself ceases to pass. To me, that is a fate worse than death."
"Can you imagine? Being born and then left behind by your creator in a dark place with absolutely nothing. A timeless oblivion where it is neither hot nor cold, dark nor light." Miriam chuckled to herself and finished her tea before conjuring a buffet of small cakes before herself. "Well, I do not need to imagine. That was what this place was before I created Anazorzia."
"I fear death. There is nothing more frightening to me than returning to that colorless oblivion. Yet, now I understand more than ever that death is necessary. Without it, the living can not move on because they are eternally weighed down by the older generation." She produced a vial from nothing, this time not even using the paints that she was so fond of using. It was full of purple dust. "I cannot leave these worlds, but Violet could. Neither her obsession with Shuwa nor her friendship with Syl were coincidence. Han Ankhem, the pollen of Everlasting Stargazers. My older sister, Syl, created the flowers so that she could lose her own immortality and memories. She did not like to take the mantle of God. She loved to discover, to research, and to explore. So she could not stand to know everything in all of her creation."
"My world has stagnated. It's filled to the brink of breaking. I know you mean well, but it is at this point it is a matter of the limits of my own powers. I do not have the ability to maintain a world any larger than Anazorzia is right now. And you have seen with your own eyes that even my own avatars have fell to the corrupting influence of eternal life. They thought themselves untouched - but each of them had grown radicalized by their unending vigil.
White grew guilty, burdened by the uncountable sins of the world. She was forced to shed pieces of herself in order to stay sane.
Blue grew distant, weighed down by the information she yearned to gather. In doing so she lost her spirit of invention.
Black grew arrogant and sought to extend her own influence, going so far as to attempt to expand Anazorzia using her dampening slates.
Red grew hedonistic, falling into pleasure-seeking tendencies and losing her aptitude for art.
Green grew destructive, unable to see any deviations from the natural cycles as beauty."
Miriam touched Nina's hand. Her skin pale skin was as cold as death. White paint flowed around Nina's hand and formed the silken glove that Faea had once woven for her. "Was it right for me to seek to destroy Anazorzia? To create what my children fear, what I fear, for the sake of the future? Is it wrong that I yearn to leave this Labyrinth and seek the world outside, knowing that if I leave, Anazorzia will cease to be? In the end, what should I do?"
The Rising Dawn: ArmouryHillary the Slime
| David West | Jenny
"....Errrrr-....I'll pass...." David remarked, being able as open to the idea of "Drinking" a living being as much as any other average guy.
"And while I did say that, we have weapons and objectives now. Gotta adapt to the situation. And if those bastards get out again, lord knows what they'll do." The Irishman added while Violet attempted to fix Hillary's mass issue.
"Here, try using these. Military Ceramic Plates. Designed to stop rifle rounds. It's not as heavy but it should be strong enough to keep you safe." The Doctor explained as he began to use a knife to tear apart some of the bulletproof vests left over.
Each time, he yanked out the protective plate and left it in a pile for the slime to consume.
Jenny herself slipped on one of the remaining vests before David checked the hallway.
"Alright, do your check then head straight for the bridge. Engagements at a minimum. Still outnumbered and not immortal like they are."
"Alright then. Hillary and I will do one quick sweep then we'll meet up." The Gardevoir said before David held up his hand, doing a quick countdown before both groups silently split up, making a dash for their objectives.
Jenny lead the way to the airships crew quarters, a somewhat fancy part of the ship designed for the comfort of any and all crew who live on the ship.
She kept up a small Reflect barrier up at all times, using it almost like a riot shield as she advanced onwards.
There were some slight skeleton presence here and there, mostly just finding out what having beds made out of modern materials and experiencing the comforts of the living.
"Attention anyone who can hear me. We're going to try and make our way to the bridge so we can get out of here. Regroup as soon as you can, those skeletons will overwhelm you otherwise. David is going to head to the brig, I'll be in the living quarters. Meet up with one of us as soon as you can." She spoke out to anyone in the area over and over again as she attempted to have them sneak though the area without causing a fight.
Thankfully, the skeletons seemed pretty distracted, I mean, the light switches alone were blowing their minds (Skulls?).
They seemed rather happy with themselves, even if they were the enemy, it was hard for Hillary to see that as they jumped up and down on king sized beds and other such childish actions.
A Painted World
"Well if I'm really honest, I don't know why I'm here. Saving the people of Anazorzia is just what I want to do now that I'm here." Nina answered back, recoiling a bit as Miriam's ice cold hands touched her. Goosebumps ran along her skin as the silky fibers wove themselves back together and reattached with the remaining threads that connected them to the rest of the outfit. Touching at her arm with one of her hands, she couldn't help but look a little pained. Sure it felt real, it looked real, but... this wasn't Faea's, it was Miriam's.
Nina set her cup down after another sip, being greedy about it, but she was nearly done. "Honestly, I don't know how well off I am to comment on that now, this tea is helping but... Nina started to explain, rubbing her temples with those soft silky hands of her's. "I'd be lying if I said I was drawing with a full set of crayons."
"You're not wrong to want to leave, and... you aren't wrong in introducing death. It's the way you've done in and the need for such an utterly complete deletion of this place that bothers me." Nina answered, not able to hide the head fog she was starting to experience. "The best I understand this is like a computer program or a picture file. There's only so much you can put on it before the whole thing starts collapsing in on itself. Wouldn't have thought I'd make that comparison in my life but, here we are I guess." Nina said awkwardly, trying to wrap her head around this problem. "I just don't understand, where I come from the universe is supposed to last for... well a crazy amount of time. I don't know exactly what happens by that point but it's so far in the future, and there's so many things to do in the meantime, even if it does end like that, I'm here, from there, talking to you now." Nina said, eyeing the different selection of cakes, eventually picking up a marshmallow creme filled one.
"If we're dealing with size issues, with a bit of sleep I know I could help you out. I'm pretty good at meshing things together for an audience. As for the people... I hate to say it but some just won't want this at all, and be stubborn, but even I have to admit something needs to be done here. You can't stay trapped here just for their sake, that's not right either. Even if Anazorzia is reduced to a memory, if the people who wish to move on and make something for themselves with the limited time they have, I think that'd be fair. Let the people decide if they want to move on with you to see the world outside at a bare minimum." She said her piece. Nina was still under the impression that if people were allowed to enter Anazorzia like Green had allowed, then that should be more than enough life to drive the narrative. Like a piano string vibrating another by sharing an octave. Trimming the fat, reorganizing the headcanon and retconning some aspects is what they needed, a good old fashion defrag. Nina's priority was trying to keep everyone who wanted that second chance in tact regardless of how Miriam ended up deciding to go through with this. Raising the cake up to her mouth, she took a bite and smiled. "Mmm, this is nice~" She said softly.
"But, if you could, why is it that Anazorzia will be doomed the moment you leave. You don't need to go super in depth, seriously please don't, I'll definitely fall asleep if you go into full techno babble. Try explaining it like you would a kid. It's not like I haven't heard the 'In the beginning, there was nothing' story before so why is Anazorzia different?"
Phillip for his part had mostly been remaining quiet through this little exchange, not really concerned with the people for the most part. Miriam seemed to be capable of making whatever she wished, so getting the ingredients and such from her would be easy enough. Nina nearly falling asleep despite the tea was another thing entirely, and this annoyed him. He had assumed the tea alone wouldn't have solved the problem, Nina was too far gone for food alone to help her, or at least, normal food. "Is a senzu bean on the menu? Either the whole or used in a pastry, it doesn't matter." He asked, figuring such a thing was fiction but, perhaps Miriam was able to weave even fiction into reality.
A Painted World
Miriam picked up a small cheesecake and popped the entire thing into her mouth. She looked at Nina, blue eyes shining brightly in the steady light of the painted sun. "You mean that thing from Dragonball?" Miriam spun green paint around her fingers and dropped three of the small beans onto the table. "I have only kinda sorta remember what they are so don't go blaming me if these don't work exactly like they do in the show."
The girl leaned back in the seat, the leather creaked under her body weight. "The reason why I can't leave and why I can't let more people in is pretty simple. I'm too weak. Labyrinths are maintained by their weaver and the further away we are from it, the more difficult it is to keep the strings tied together, so to speak. The more threads we have to maintain and the farther we have to do it from, the more taxing it is."
She smiled, "Having outsiders in my worlds are already pretty taxing you know. For every person that enters the world, I have to spend extra energy counter-balancing their presence. It's sort of like how a Minecraft server has to render extra blocks for each person that logs in. Actually, that's a pretty good analogy. You can think of me as the server itself and my avatars like operators."
"But that's a discussion better held some other time." Miriam chuckled. "You might be wondering why in the world you ended up here after hearing that. After all, how did someone like you end up breaking through all the barriers around this world if most planeswalkers can't? Answer's pretty simple."
"You and Philip were more or less dead. I found your souls drifting in the eternity right outside of Anazorzia, cast out who knows how long ago to drift among the ambient chaos of infinity. You had essentially done the inter-dimensional equivalent of washing up on a deserted island." Miriam put her hands on top of each other. "Besides, you have spent far too much time here already. Though it seems like it has only scarcely been a day, more than two years have passed since you originally arrived here."
"Ah, I'm all over the place today. My head's not on straight. I'm jumping from one thing to another." Miriam picked up another cake and stuffed it in her mouth. She chewed in silence. She swallowed. "Nina, be truthful with me. Do you really believe that someone like you can pass judgement on all of Anazorzia? Your solutions has simply been to tell me that I should make everyone happy and give them everything that they want. That might work in an truly infinite universe with an all-powerful god, but my universe is finite and my powers are limited. Many of the people within can never leave. They aren't strong enough to withstand the journey out. Anazorzia will be their one and only home."
"I am not unreasonable Nina, and I do not think my avatars were either, even given their eventual decay into madness. If there was a simple and obvious way to make everyone happy, I would not have sat here agonizing over my inaction for so long." Miriam turned toward Nina and leaned forward. "I mean, after all, you and I, we're not characters in a story. Our choices have consequences as real as us."
The Rising Dawn: Living Areas
Hillary the Slime | David West | Jenny | Violet
Hillary's featureless eyes looked from David to Violet and Jenny, her form rippling gently as she moved her arm tentatively to the two before slowly withdrawing it."A-alright." She said, her fingers hooking her jaw in a self conscious manner, and with a closed mouth dragged it down to sit in her lap. The move impossible for a human given their jaw, but Hillary obviously didn't have that issue. "Hillary was just trying to make sure she could help you guys." She said, looking down moreso at the floor.
When offered the plates, Hillary looked up with a look of confusion. She couldn't switch over with the amount of material currently inside her, but Violet was trying, so she should as well. Scooting over to the slowly accumulating pile, she picked up each plate with a bit of difficulty, and pushed it into her midsection and pseudopod. It was quite apparently by looking at her that Hillary was actively needing to hold those plates inside her body, otherwise they'd just fall to the floor. Even still, after the eighth plate was pushed inside, Hillary shook her head and let go of the plates, each plate falling to the floor as she moved away from them. "I know you are trying to help, but until Hillary gets rid of most of the lemonade inside her, she won't be able to switch what she is made of. She should be fine to go with Jenny like this, but I know she won't be as helpful as she was getting here." She tried to explain her situation better to these people who obviously had never seen a slime before. Before the group split up, Hillary made sure to at least grab one of those plates, holding it like a football as she tried her best to keep up with Jenny.
Jenny likely wasn't able to go at her full pace with Hillary following behind her. The slime tried her best to keep up but an occasion check at her six resulted in Jenny seeing Hillary was leaving a trail of stained floor behind them. At least she was quiet, Hillary wasn't breathing heavily, or breathing at all. Her air pocket had shrink to the size of an apple by her collar bone.
Getting closer to the bedrooms, she was cautious to look around to make sure the skeletons weren't too close before turning to Jenny. "Is it okay if we check a bedroom before we go to the bridge? She's probably somewhere outside, but Hillary didn't see her figurine there. It's very important to her." She requested of the psychic, the tone she used indicating she wasn't kidding. Whatever this item was, it was very precious to her.
A Painted World
"The very same." Phillip answered as Miriam described the origin of those holy magic beans. "As long as they have the same rejuvenation quality, it shouldn't matter." He commented as she weaved the beans into existence. "Hmm, yes those appear to be the beans..." Phillip started to say as he looked over them as Nina took one and brought it to her mouth, and took a bite. "... Hold on..." Phillip started to say as he realized what was about to happen as Nina swallowed.
Almost immediately, Nina's eyes widened as the tiredness that had plagued her was swiftly swept away. But that wasn't what had gotten her attention, or Phillip's annoyance as Nina put on a good 10-20 pounds and all in the right places! "Oh..." "I..." "My!" "Here it comes..." "GOD!!" "I should have seen this coming..." Nina stood up as best she could inside the booth while Phillip recoiled, pulling out a blanket from within in some fruitless attempt to hide. Thankfully the silk was able to stretch as her new chest was now a chest! The extra energy reserves of the beans had to go somewhere, and now Nina was looking quite a bit like Mnemonyse if a bit smaller. Sure she was getting squeeze hard in her outfit, the lines of the silk that wrapped around her whole body were far more noticeable.
"Phillip! I never knew these existed!" Nina squealed like an idiot, reaching out as Phillip tried to jump away only to be squeezed into that awaiting bust. "ACK! Nina, let go!" He whined as his tendrils flailed around while Nina hugged him like a teddybear. Nina listened to Miriam describe the limits of her powers, up until the point that Miriam dropped the bombshell that the duo had died in some form or another.
"W-What?" Nina remarked, visibly stunned as Phillip got dropped back down onto the booth's seat. What did she mean she was dead, or that two years had gone by already?! That made no sense! But she just continued talking like that wasn't that big of a deal or anything, and instead handed her a question that rated right up there with 'What is the Meaning of Life?' "That would explain why there's an odd difference with some of my tendrils..."
"I-I don't know!" Nina exclaimed, scratching at her hair vigorously as she dropped herself back down to the seat. "You're right, I really can't but fffff-" Her fingers fidgeting violently as she tried to make sense of the myriad of directions she could take this. "How the hell do you know we're not, you and I could just as easily be in the same boat as them, some characters in a story about... fuckin' pants! Who cares what! We could be side characters for all we know, and you're just like "Come on Nina, stop being such a bug and let's move on." but I can't help it!"
"I'm just trying to save anything I can of this place. You and your avatars have made it sound like I'm some big hotshot here, super smart with some fancy PHD in badassery, but honestly I've just been bumbling my way throughout this mess this whole time! I was just supposed to be going to this party but now I'm being told we somehow died and got sent to an entirely new place than the place we got taken to... well yesterday technically! I just don't want them to be completely lost." Nina explained, burying her face in her hands. "She does get like this from time to time... It's grating on your patients but the amount of times she's stayed up well into the night in some last ditch effort to archive someone's tasteless scribbles is far too numerous... She's stubborn to a fault and will continue to move the goalpost until something goes her way. It's troublesome, but she does manage to make cooking for me easier, so it is tolerated..." "Not scribbles, wholesome art..." She corrected through her hands.
Right to Rule
"I did not anticipate it happening this way, but this will work just as well."
The black clouds above crackled with lightning in response to Rugal's display of overwhelming power. Angry blue streaks arced within the shadowy depths of the storm. Then the flashes of light began to turn red. And finally the lighting turned green. The clouds started to shimmer, streaks of perpendicular lines lit up the underside of the storm cloud, running parallel to the earth below. Rugal recognized the pattern immediately.
The entire sky above them had turned into a circuit.
Livia and Julia stared up in disbelief as the cloud began to throw itself toward the ground in spiral funnels. Immediately the air became suffocating, filled with the biting odor of ozone and oil.
"This is bad." Kyuubey said as he ducked beneath Julia. "Rugal, your power far eclipses the amount of energy that would have been released when a magical girl hatches into a witch. Why in the world did you think such an excessive display of power was necessary?"
The Incubator smiled as it waved it's tail back and forth. " This Labyrinth needed to end. This result is not functionally different from what I had originally planned." Then it turned and ran away, vanishing into the tall grass of the plaza.
The main body of the cloud had begun to descend down toward Rugal, the ripping winds creating a dark tunnel into the depths of darkness. He could see the green lights within caused by steady pulses of small arcs of lightning. All the aggression in his mind and heart struggled against the shadows, but they quelled him.
Rugal could see out of the corner of his eye Livia collapsed on the floor. The stone vessel cracking along it's spine, letting loose rays of golden light from within.
Rugal first forgot how to hate, then he forgot how to think, until finally he even forgot how to breathe.
"I had thought I felt a familiar presence."
Rugal woke to the voice of a familiar stranger. He could hear the telltale hum of airship engines. When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring at the decorated wood ceiling of the Rising Dawn's iconic Canteen. Cold air washed over his body. He turned around to find him staring out of the starboard windows of the airship at a green field that stretched to the horizon.
The stranger was sitting besides him. It was a small black amorphous blob that he had known once upon a time.
"It has been a long time, Rugal Bernstein," it said. It's voice was synthesized, but unique. Old, patient, kind, and vaguely English. "Ah. I have not spoken in such a long time. It feels good to hear my voice again." The singular green eye on the creature flashed to indicate it's speech. "So long... so long... It has been more than two years, I believe. In some ways you have changed so much that I scarcely recognize you, in other ways, it is almost alarming how little you have changed."
"Do you still remember when we first met? During that fighting tournament that you held... back when there were still villains to fight? There were so many of us back then. Now... I can scarcely see four or five in all of existence. I have managed to reach even less. I did not like all of them... but I do miss them to some degree now that they are gone." The black creature turned from the window to look at Rugal. "Surely you must feel the same way."
"Four survivors." It continued. "In my two years of searching I have only found four survivors. The rest have fallen into oblivion. Either forgotten by the world or they lay unmourned in unmoving time."
"I wonder," it laughed, "do you even remember who I am, Master Bernstein?"
A Painted World
Miriam laughed at Nina's excitement. "How wonderfully lively you are!" Miriam leaned back into her seat and looked up. Her eyes were filled with a wistful emotion. "You were thrown into an incredible situation, Nina, and you rose to the challenge. If nothing else you should be immensely proud of that. You've placed the weight of Anazorzia on your own shoulders. You, with your magnanimous heart, want everyone to be happy. Yet, you are only one girl."
Miriam took off her headband. The stone glistened in the light of the sun. "When I was young, much younger than even now, I lived with my mother. We were poor, desperately poor. Each day my mother would wake up before sunrise to stalk the river valley for stones brought in by the high tide. She looked for precious stones to sell to goldsmiths in the city so that she could buy food for us. On a good day she could find all sorts of small stones, rubies, emeralds, sapphires... on a bad day she could at least find pearls, geodes, or opals in the sand. She worked hard so that we wouldn't starve. We rarely did.
But on the most fortunate days she would find chunks of lapis. Lapis was prized by the dyemakers for making the most expensive of colors - ultramarine. Finding a node of lapis pure enough to synthesize ultramarine could feed us for weeks on end. But competition for lapis was intense among the scavengers." Miriam ran her fingers over her headband, gently tracing a line of white marbling in the azure stone.
"One day there was a catastrophic storm. The waters of the river grew so angry that they flooded the valley. The weight of the water collapsed the city into the mines beneath it, and the collapse of the caverns brought down the mountains around the valley in a tremendous landslide. We were trapped inside our cave by a rockfall.
Unable to break out my mother brought me and journeyed deeper into the cave. A winding labyrinth of darkness, water, and crystals as sharp as knives. We wandered for weeks in the dark until we came upon a crevice that glimmered with light.
The opening was too small for my mother to pass through, but she pushed me through."
Miriam was silent for a moment. "Father found me shortly after. He was a tall and dark man. He told me he was visiting from someplace far, far away. He told me that he was surprised that anyone was alive. The world had been flooded for forty days and forty nights, ravaged by unending wind and water. He expected that there were no other survivors.
I told him about mother and he dug into the mountainside where he had found me to search for her, but when we broke through enough of the stone, we found the tunnels empty. But in the room where I had last been with my mother was a piece of lapis so pure that it shone like the sky. The stone was bent down against the wall, as if in quiet prayer. Father looked, but he could never find my mother. No body, and no trace. Then he took me away from that world and made me his Daughter. We took that piece of stone from that world, and from it he fashioned for me the color that would one day become Anazorzia."
"I think you are just like me. Your world ended, but some benefactor has seen fit to bring you to the edge of my domain. I do not know what fate expects of you, but I do know that you are bound for great things. Your love for the world is more than enough evidence for me. But, perhaps saving Anazorzia is not the great thing for which you are destined. Perhaps you are not destined to save even me..."
There was a long pause.
"Oh?" Miriam stood up and turned around toward the entrance to the cafe. There was the ring of a bell as the door swung open. "Welcome to Cafe Anazorzia! How may I help you today?"
There were two people standing in the lobby. One was a young dark skinned man, the other a pale redheaded woman. They both wore thick armored robes and breath masks over their faces. The young man took his mask off, revealing a bewildered expression.
"What in the world is this place?" Vihaan said.
Yona took off her own mask. "It looks like... a diner..."
Miriam looked slightly miffed. She cleared her throat and said again "Welcome to Cafe Anazorzia! How may I help you today?"
"It's a place like a cafeteria where people go eat. It's much more casual, more geared toward families." Yona's eyes fell on Miriam. "Look, it's a girl. Is... she the Daughter?"
"Maybe? I don't really sense any magical energy coming from her though."
"Welcome to Cafe Anazorzia! How may I help you today?" Miriam repeated again in a more strained cheery tone.
A Painted World
"You say that, but it doesn't make me feel much better about it." A muffled whine came from her as she rested her head on her arms. "And... okay sure, you're technically older than I am, but at least I have all my adult teeth in..." She commented, raising her head just enough to eye the little munchkin, not exactly appreciating being called a girl by what appeared to be a child.
It was at this point that Nina sat up to listen to Miriam's story, giving the little girl her full attention. The story of poverty and heartache certainly struck a nerve with Nina as a very empathetic look made its way along her face. She hadn't had to deal with poverty, at least not to that stark degree, her parents had worked hard sure, but they had made some good investments, saved where they could, a good head on their shoulders. It was when she described her mother's last ditch effort to save her precious daughter that Nina finally broke down, having to reach over to grab a napkin to dry the tears that had been held back up until then. It was gutwrenching really. "And now she's crying..." Phillip somehow managed to deflate even more than he already had. "Shh shh, let her finish!" Nina commented back in a hush, to which Phillip responded with what could be described as an eye roll.
And finish she did as Nina got up to move over to the bench Miriam was sitting at, sat down herself and gave the poor thing a hug. It was a tad awkward with her new size, something Nina tried to play off but she couldn't help but notice it. "I don't really know if that's exactly true, if it's my world you're talking about, or that one we were supposed to have the party in, but... What I know right now, is we both need a good hug." Nina giggled softly, holding Miriam for a short time more before getting up and making her way back to Phillip who'd gotten that fangled cookbook out. "Wait, have you not signed that thing yet?" Nina asked as she got back in her seat.
"No." He said matter of factly, a twinge of frustration in his voice. The book itself was something unlike anything Miriam had seen before, with a strange otherworldness she couldn't place her finger on. The singular page they had open was the same contract looking page with the words of "To whom who hungers for this book, must allow the book to hunger for them. Your Blood for the ink, and ink for your blood." scrawled across it. "No whenever I try and fix this, something always comes and-" The ring of the door opening to the diner cut through the silence. "... I'm not even surprised any more..." Phillip commented, not stopping as he got his jar out, the bench in such a position the two new arrivals couldn't spot him. "Here, let me help you with that, Miriam's probably got this, whoever these two are..." Nina offered as she grabbed a couple tea spoons and using the edge dipped it into the awaiting jar of inky blackness and began writing.
Unlike the previous times, which technically had never happened before, Nina didn't wait to see if the ink of the felled aberition pleased the book. If it was supposed to be a joke, these two asshats weren't making it very clear as they were ignoring Miriam. "Phillip, just keep that close to you for now..." She told him before she stood up. "HEY! She asked you a question, three different times! How about a little respect and answering her, or did your parents neglect to teach you any manners?" Nina raised her voice sternly, Phillip taking the moment to pocket his things and jump onto Nina's shoulder. "Hmph, today hasn't been a total waste after all~" He chimed, sounding uncharacteristically happy in the moment.
Rising Dawn Canteen
That was the first thing Rugal said once he realized where he was, he was no longer in rome but was instead back home on the airship.
His words were slightly confusing but it quickly became clear that he knew more about what had happened to him then most.
"That explains the presence of Nanotechnology in such a realm. But-...what of Livia? What of Julia? I was just about to-....unless....You were the Mishima this whole time. You were the one taking control of that world's people...which begs the question: Why?" He bluntly asked as he looked around the airship, seeming a little disbelieving that he was actually back.
"...Is this really home or is this just another construct of yours? You clearly have far more power then you let on. I'm just trying to make sense of what I've been through and how it serves you..." He then asked, adjusting his gloves as he sat forward with his arms out front on the table.
"I'll confess I don't entirely understand but that's why you brought me here, isn't it? If you weren't going to explain yourself, you wouldn't have sat me right across from you..."
The Rising Dawn: Living Areas
Hillary the Slime | David West | Jenny | Violet
"Sure thing, just watch yourself, Leoric still has a lot of his forces hidden around here." Jenny warned before using her Psychic powers to make a bit of a distraction for them.
Wagging one of her fingers, she pulled on one of the roof lights in the hallway before it suddenly sparked and exploded, drawing some more of the skeleton creatures out of their search to find out what the hell that was.
Waving Hillary along, she was able to get them inside one of the bedrooms, using that trick of hers several times again to create a rather spooky effect as soon the hallway was in darkness.
The clackering of bones shivering in fear filled the air, much to Jenny's satisfaction.
"Alright, I think I brought you some time. Make it quick, these parlor tricks will only last so long..."
As Hillary looked around, Jenny's radio went off as David's voice barked: "West to all points, subjects in the brig are still secure. Either they're all playing dumb or they all have zero idea what's happening either. Whatever the case, I'm digging in here to make sure. I'll regroup with the rest of you at the Bridge soon. Oh, and Violet says hi-" "Hi!" "...Right, West out."
Peering a slightly open door, Jenny kept watch while the skeletons outside fearlly stomped on the glass and circuits, worried they'd come back to life and explode on them again.
"Guess they are thick-skulled..." She smirked to herself before giving them a real fright, having one of the broken bulbs "lunge" at the investigating party, prompting them to fall over each other as they ran off.
"Alright Hillary, where you able to find anything or should we check another room? Think fast, this time window of ours ain't getting any higher."
The Rising Dawn: Living Areas
Hillary the Slime | David West | Jenny | Violet
Hillary nodded in agreement to Jenny's plan, although she had no idea who this Leoric fellow was. Regardless she'd follow Jenny's lead and keep behind her as best she could. Slipping inside the bedroom, Hillary quickly looked around the place. This wasn't Miia's room but with some of the damage the skeletons had caused Hillary couldn't be sure right away. But as Jenny asked her how things were going, Hillary pivoted around on her pseudopod to look at her, shaking her head, the air pocket inside of her expanding before she spoke.
"Hillary hasn't found it yet, but I think she should find it in Miia's room. That's where she left it last, I hope that's okay?" She asked slowly scooting back over to Jenny by the door, the ground oddly not getting covered in lemonade as she did this. "If I remember right, Hillary went to the room..." Hillary paused as she took a moment to count on her fingers. "Three doors down, and on the other side. That's where we should go." She offered pointing in the general direction they should be headed.
Out into the hallway, a door flew open as a skeleton came running out, flailing about as it appeared it had gotten its head stuck inside a light fixture with all the damage Jenny was causing. It might not get the skeletons distracted from their already spooky experience, but at least one would point and laugh.
A Painted World
Vihaan and Yona turned to Nina and took a step back in surprise. The air tensed. The silence dragged on for several moments, each becoming more awkward than the next. It took several of these moments passing before Yona broke the silence by uttering the simple two words, "You're alive?"
Nina could deduct easily from the incredulity dripping from her words that Yona had not expected Nina to have survived whatever had happened before she found herself in Anazorzia.
"Come now," Miriam interrupted. Somehow in the brief moment between words Miriam had lodged herself firmly in the space between Yona, Vihaan, and Nina. Her red hair bobbed up and down as he let out a frustrated harrumph. "Did you really expect Nina to die here? Anazorzia is not a bad neighborhood by any sense of the definition."
Vihaan unbuckled his armored robes and pulled a badge from within. It was a gold pin wrought in the shape of a winged ship - the insignia of the Rising Dawn and the organization that supported the heroes. "We meant no disrespect. It's just that so far we have not reached a habitable world."
Miriam took two short hops backwards so that she put Nina between her and Vihaan. The young girl's eyes narrowed, suspicious of her new guests. The marbles that floated around her person tightened their orbits. "What do you mean by that."
Vihaan held up both of his hands, "I did not mean any harm by that. We are travelling right now, gathering the scattered remnants of the Rising Dawn. We have been two four worlds so far and this is the first one that we found to have... intelligent life..."
"What worlds?" Miriam asked.
"An ashen world named Samda, a jungle world named Shuwa, and most recently a hellscape that was once named Ypris." Yona said flatly. While Vihaan had stripped himself of the bulky armor, revealing thin silk robes beneath, Yona had made no motion to undo any of the heavy clothes that hung from her shoulders. "The heroes we recovered there were locked in a sleep that resembled death. Vessels robbed of their souls."
"Impossible!" Miriam shouted. The paint around her person grew agitated. "There's no way that those places are dead! Those are my sister's worlds!"
"Hunger and Syl are dead." Yona responded in her aggressive monotone. "We were unable to recover Alesha's body from Ypris, but we are reasonably certain that she is dead as well."
"Yona!" Vihaan's voice was sharp and biting. His glare was colder than ice. "That's enough!"
Yona cast a sidelong glance at Vihaan and tutted. "There's no point in withholding that information."
"Rest assured, we mean no harm. We are simply thrilled to see that Nina is safe and sound. It has been a long journey for us and our repeated failures have taken their toll on our crew."
"How many of you are there?"
"Two dozen including Yona and me. We have a dimension-boring airship we have been using as our base-of-operations ever since our world was shattered." Vihaan tried to smile, but it came out as too forced. Yona smirked at him.
"Then I would say that we will have more than just two guests to serve?"
The words came unexpectedly from behind Miriam. Everyone turned around and found Blue standing up, the brilliant azure of her eyes and headband shimmering in the sunlight flowing in from the windows along the far wall. She was holding two menus in her hands and her gentle-monotone voice reflected the wistful far-away look she held in her eyes. She had at some point changed out of her chef's uniform into the more revealing and frilled uniform of the diner waitstaff.
Miriam looked just as confused as everyone else.
"How many guests will we be having today?" Blue asked again gently.
"A table for two please." Yona answered in a pleasantly uninterested tone rivaling Blue's own emotionless candor.
Blue bowed, "Right this way please."
Yona started immediately after Blue, sidestepping both Nina and Miriam.
"Hey! Wait, Yona!" Vihaan called out after her. He looked back at the entrance and then back at Yona as she journeyed deeper into the diner. "Are you serious right now?"
Yona took a seat at a table and Blue handed her a menu and poured her a cup of water. "Please take your time." Yona nodded and opened the menu.
"Yona!" Vihaan called again.
Yona turned around, "Well?"
"What do you mean 'Well?'!?"
"Well, are you just going to keep standing there like a lost child? Or are you going to sit down and order something."
Blue approached Philip and plucked him from Nina's shoulders. "I will be borrowing Philip for a bit. I believe Red will need assistance in the kitchen." She turned around and carried the tentacle monster into the kitchen. As the doors opened they could see Red hard at work on multiple stations, her brilliant fires leaping from pot to pan as she danced between the aisles. Green was bringing raw ingredients by the tons from a staging area that Black was managing from on top of her floating tablets.
Vihaan looked at Miriam, unsure of his next actions. "May I?"
Miriam gave Vihaan a long hard look and then relented. "Let's all take a seat. I'm sure there's a lot of things that need to be explained for all parties involved." Her marbles and paints settled down into their loose formation around her shoulders.
When Nina, Miriam, Vihaan and Yona were all settled in at their tables, White came bumbling through the kitchen doors carrying two platters in each of her arms and one balanced precariously on her head. She rushed past them to several tables at the back, unloading heaps of eggs, pancakes, and sausages at the tables. Where once there had been nothing by empty space and phantom customers, there were now many people sitting at the tables of the diner.They were people of all sorts, many of which Nina recognized from her time on the Path of Destiny.
A young woman caught her gaze and waved at her. The gentle cascade of violet-hair was unmistakable. Mnemosyne was sitting at a booth near the back, chatting with an older blonde woman over tea and biscuits. The older woman turned to follow Mnemosyne's gaze. She smiled when she saw Nina and waved. The two looked incredibly similar and held themselves in a similar way.
"I'll have the strip steak, medium rare, and three eggs done over easy. I also want an order of pancakes, a side of hashbrowns, and a tall grapefruit juice no ice, add honey." Yona's order snapped Nina back to her immediate surroundings.
"Is this vegetarian?" Vihaan asked, pointing at something on his menu.
White nodded, "The stuffing is made with pureed mushrooms. We can substitute the egg batter for a crepe as well."
"Then I'll have that. And a coffee. Extra cream, extra sugar." Vihaan closed his menu and handed it to White who tucked it under her arm. Her headband was glimmering gold in the light of the sunlight filtering through the far windows.
"How about you Miriam?" White asked as she walked up to Miriam.
"I, uhm..." Miriam stammered as she fumbled for a menu. "I don't know. I think I need more time..."
White turned toward Nina and smiled, "I think that our chef has something special brewing for you Nina." Then she hurried over to the next table over where a petite woman was crying into the shoulder of another woman. The older woman brushed the smaller woman's hair from her eyes. Faea was holding onto her older sister's hands as she wept tears of joy. There were several other weaves at their booth as well, but Nina could not see them clearly from her seat.
"Red! Table seven needs their hashbrowns well done." Blue called from somewhere in the back of the restaurant.
"They'll get what they'll get dammit! I can only split my fire so many times!" Red answered from inside of the kitchen, her voice simultaneously furious and happy.
"This is quite the place you have running here," Yona said as she drank from her cup of water. "I apologize for my behavior earlier. I was just surprised to meet a Daughter of BlackHarte that was so undeniably normal."
"Oh, why, thank you...?" Miriam replied. "But I'll be honest, I'm not entirely sure myself what's going on anymore."
"Is this not your power at work?" Vihaan asked. His concern was really starting to show on his face.
"At first it was, but..." Miriam paused, "now I'm not so sure."
"Whatever is the cause, we should move forward. We have found Nina alive and well, and a Daughter of BlackHarte that is not only reasonable, but also possibly sympathetic to our cause."
"I never said anything like that!"
"If you are not hostile, then you are sympathetic toward us. That is the nature of our current situation." Yona continued, "Naturally we expect Nina to return with us to help put things right. The murder of your sisters, the death of the heroes, the destruction of our world. All of these things must be corrected."
Miriam interjected, "Excuse me, but you said the murder of my sisters?"
Yona didn't so much as flinch. "We believe that there is a force conspiring against the Daughters of BlackHarte. There is no other reason that worlds that have been stable for so long have begun to collapse under the weight of their own causality."
"Yona, should you really just be telling them all of this? Who knows who could be listening nearby?" Vihaan looked exasperated, holding almost none of the regal manner he had just a little earlier.
Yona shrugged and put her cup down. "I don't think I care at this point. It's been so long and we've done so much. It's more than time to push things into the next chapter, Admiral Vihaan. I understand your caution, but we have long left the point in our story where simple ideas like common sense or logic will bring us forward." Yona turned to Miriam again, "Something is happening at a cosmic scale that is causing the upheavals of nearly every world that we have visited. If we do not stop it there will be no hope of restoring our world back to the way it was, much less a way for Vihaan and me to return to our worlds. It is in all of our interests to tackle this threat together."
Miriam nodded in acknowledgment. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but if you're looking for someone useful, you've come to wrong place. I can neither leave Anazorzia nor challenge any of my sisters in any sort of show of strength."
"Oh, we aren't going to ask you to do anything like that," Yona replied. "I have a gut feeling that Nina's already got everything we needed from you."
Nina looked at Yona, confused. But then she noticed something warm in her right hand. There was a small gemstone in her palm, it looked like a piece from Miriam's stone headband.
"Well," BlackHarte replied, "I am very glad that you still remember who I am. That gives me some comfort. It is as you surmise, this Rising Dawn is nothing more than a mental construction I created to help ease your mind. The truth is, we are still both inside of my Daughter's realm. Her's is a dangerous power and I have unfortunately fallen under it's curse as I entered the world."
BlackHarte looked at Rugal and laughed. "You look confused. Let me explain. Livia is not the daughter of the Roman statesman Livius Lucretius. She is a pious girl with a good heart but a recklessly idealistic attitude. She is my Daughter. I rescued her from a world on the brink of destruction as a part of my research. Never would I have dreamed that her power would spiral out of control like this and form a barrier that even I would struggle to break. Thankfully, your immense power jump started my consciousness."
"It is thanks to you, Rugal Bernstein, that I am able to awake at all. Many years ago - several millennia by the time table of this world of hers - I tried to break her out of this most troublesome dream, but I was cast into a deep sleep. Before I succumbed, I broke off her memories and sealed them in a box of my own design. The stone vessel that eventually found it's way into the hands of one Marcus Aurelius. Much of her power is kept within that lockbox. Should it open and Livia regain her former memories and powers, it will be nearly impossible to subdue her."
"This world we are in, so named Eterna, is a manifestation of her hopes and dreams. Both her desires and fears manifested in a twisted nightmare paradise. Within it she lives out the adventurous stories of the books she was once so fond of reading." BlackHarte closed his eye. "It is necessary for Livia, as she calls herself now, to put aside this childish fantasy and return to her duties as one of my Daughters. As such I will lay waste to this world until nothing remains. That should be enough to wake her from her dream. She won't be happy when she awakes, but if we wish to leave this world, we must do so."
"Before long I shall remove you from my body and return you to Eterna, and to Livia and her creations. From there, I trust that you will know what to do."
"...You would make a terrible sales person, you know that?" Rugal bluntly answered before standing up and walking around the false Canteen.
"So everything in that world was little more then a simulation? And that stone box we've been pursuing is in fact Livia's full power?....My my...I never thought I'd find myself longing for the days where my biggest concerns were civil conflicts between egomanics calling themselves ideologists. I know what you want me to do but I have no intention of doing so. Not until you answer some more of my questions." He begun to speak as he reached over the bar and found a recreation of one of his favorite wines and a pair of suitable glass.
"This research of yours for example. I was never much of a man of science, I had people to do that for me but I find it hard to believe that you're here because your work was a success. You wouldn't be talking about laying waste to an entire world otherwise. So this begs the question: What is so important about Livia waking up that you would rain such destruction?"
Taking a sip, his face soured for a moment before he sighed "Hmmmm...A good recreation...but just short of perfection." as he took his seat once more and nursed his drink.
"...I suppose what I really wish to know is, if Livia has enough power to overwhelm a being like you: Why should I be helping you subdue her instead of helping her be free? And how does Kyuubey fit into all of this? Is his kind also another construct of Livia's or was it an attempt on your part to dislodge the seal keeping you contained?"
While he considered his answers, The aging King of Fighters left the other glass in front of him before offering him a glass.
He knew everything where was just a construct Blackharte created but he didn't want to be seen as too impolite.
The Rising Dawn: Living Areas
Hillary the Slime | David West | Jenny | Violet
"Alright, I hope we can find someone...Get ready to move on my mark..." Jenny warned as she went about looking for a new way to scare the skeletons away from Hillary's path.
With a bit of a smirk, she used her powers to set up a large Light Screen along the hallway ceiling.
While this was mainly used for countering non-physical attacks against Psychic types, she was able to alter the EM Spectrum of the screen slightly from transparent to a rather satanic looking dark red.
To add to the effect, she then dragged a Psychic construct in the form of a invisible hand along the walls, leaving massive claw marks along them as well as terrifying noise akin to nails on a chalkboard/Demonic claws against the reinforced metal.
Screams and the sounds of jaws hitting the floor filled the air before everyone in the hall ran for their undead lives. (They didn't even pick up their jaws after them!)
Peeking back out, she smiled before adding "I mightn't be able to mind control them but I sure as hell can get inside their heads! Make your move, I'll put up a Reflect barricade to cover us if they get back!"
"I do not know." BlackHarte said after a long pause. "Kyuubey appeared one day, out of nowhere, and began its machinations. I understand what it wants on the surface - to harvest entropy - but I do not understand it's true purpose. It has interfered in my experiments, so it would not be wrong to say that we are adversaries."
"What I do know, is that Kyuubey is like you and unlike me. A creation born from outside my native causality." BlackHarte gazed at the glass of wine in pensive thought before continuing, "Although, you are so far removed from your original form that I daresay you are more like me than you are like Kyuubey."
"I digress. It is through the outside machinations of a third party that has doomed me to this prison within a prison. If it were only between Livia and me, I do not believe that I would have lost to Livia's outburst." BlackHarte laughed. "But here we are. There is no point in musing on what could have been."
"Livia is a child in her heart. I had hoped that this exercise would have taught her some degree of responsibility, but Kyuubey has enabled her to indulge in excessive childish fantasy. She dearly grasps the things that are familiar and refuses to reach out to greener pastures. Soon this world will no longer be able to sustain her and the actors that populate the land, and the ecosystem will collapse unto itself. Should that happen, I fear that her world will wither, leaving a land incapable of sustaining life. What will she do then? Starve to death as a king of a barren mountain? I shudder at the thought of her dying such a lonely death."
"You and I are both fathers, Rugal," BlackHarte turned to face Rugal, "you must understand how I feel. How it pains my heart to watch her day after day, never moving forward or out, stuck in a fantasy that is slowly whittling away at her capabilities. I want what is best for her, even if she doesn't want it herself. I know that in the future she will come to understand and forgive me."
"After all, everyone needs to grow up one day."
A Painted World
It all happened so fast, like the world itself was set to double time. Nina didn't exactly argue with Yona's comment of Anazorzia being dangerous, seeing the patchwork first hand she had been lucky to get this far. She held Miriam to comfort her as the girl was informed on the fate of her sisters. Nina for her part was surprised to hear that other members of the Rising Dawn had been put into similar boats as she had, but she was the only one they'd found so far that was alive. That was ridiculous, but not as ridiculous as the sudden appearance of Blue, and sudden blossom of characters she thought she'd never see again. "Don't ruin this for me!" Phillip retorted before Nina could protest to Blue taking her companion. She was apprehensive as was imaginable, but the sight of Mnemonyse and Faea with their families' helped to put Nina at ease and a smile on her face. Faea's was enough of an emotional bombshell that Nina had to grab an extra napkin just to dab out the growing tears in her own eyes, it was priceless. And Nina could have stayed there for hours easily, watching the strange denizens old and new coming and going, meeting different peoples and letting this world's machinations slowly click into the wee hours of the morning... at least until Nina was directed to the small radiating rock in her gloved hands.
And it was at that moment, looking down at the lapis crystal in her hand, that Nina started connecting the dots while a certain song's intro started to slowly build in the cafe's speakers. Never getting quite to the lyrics, Nina's gaze shifted from the lapis in her palm to a salt shaker resting on the table inches away from her empty hand. The song slowly overtook the ambiance of the kitchen and chatter from the patrons as minute vibrations started to shake the air around them. At the same time, the salt shaker suddenly leapt into Nina's hand liquified for an instant before condensing back into its original form, but skewed, like an experienced artist was given a new medium to play with. The vibrations grew stronger, not enough to startle the denizens of the world, but the people around Nina sure felt it as if a flood was nearing, a torrent of unconscious possibilities charging headlong into oblivion. Nina's expression was oddly stoic, surprised yet eerily calm, as the world around them started to strain as Nina's hand let go of the shaker and slam down on a button that'd materialized on the table but an instant before.
Suddenly the song was gone, the vibrations were gone, everyone was acting as they should, only their table seemed to have noticed anything amiss. Nina took a few moments before presenting the gem to the group, her hand trembling as she spoke. "W-Why do I have this?!" She looked down to Miriam in her seat. "This is supposed to be your's, it's from your mum, I can't take this, I shouldn't have this!"
"And you two, what the hell are you talking about, Nina's gonna help solve this murder!? Like sure, I might have managed to luck out and somehow do it here but what you're saying is totally different! Apparently 5 of however many of the people at the Rising Dawn already died against whatever this threat is and you think me, normal white bread, no powers, minimum self defense training me can do anything about this! If it wasn't for everyone else, there's no way I'd be here. You can't honestly think I can do this alone?" Nina argued back to the two, not having any of their nonsense. She had never met these two before, and it would take a little more than just sweet talking her to get her to help. Likewise, Yona and Vihaan's crew on the outside was still able to communicate with them, but the duo were locked in that place for the moment.
paradigm story end
White came barreling out of the kitchen with plates stacked on her arms as high as she was tall. She unloaded several dishes at Nina's table as she swept by, leaving a plate of food before Miriam that was very clearly a concoction unique to Philip's generous talents.
Miriam smiled kindly and gently. "You have that gem because it's yours, not mine. It is a crystallization of Anazorzia's collective power. You can relax, you're not taking anything away from me."
"First of all," Yona said as she started to dig into her plate of steak bits lathered in egg yolk, "we're not asking you to solve a murder, we're asking you to help us save all of creation. Second of all, the Rising Dawn all died inside of the Labyrinths before whatever force arrived to destroy the plane. That puts you above all of the other heroes right now, Nina."
Vihaan poked at the crepe on his plate looking a bit wary of the brown-beige blob covered in tomatoes and olives. "That's true. Although Miriam might not look like it, she is the equivalent of a God, Nina. You won against a God in a world of their own making. That is an incredible undertaking if you ask me."
Yona pointed at Nina with her fork, "And that's not mentioning that you didn't even end up killing anyone or relying on your friend's eldritch powers. You won over Miriam all by yourself."
"Now let's not get carried away now, I am still sitting right here," Miriam laughed. Her eyes were bright, filled with something that had been absent here in this painted world, a reflection of the glimmering sheen of childish optimism called hope. "But it's true. You were strong, not outside, but within. Now that you carry the soul of Anazorzia, I doubt that you will have any trouble in the world outside. And when you are done, you can come return Anazorzia to it's home."
"Besides, it's not like you'll be the only one we're relying on." Yona fished out several stones from her coat pocket. A Cat's Eye gem, two Quartz pieces, and a metal band.
"Alesha, Hunger, and Syl..." Miriam said quietly.
"We have Balance as well," Vihaan added.
"Biancarossa too huh?"
"Balance was struck down by BlackHarte himself, I think. She had overstepped her boundaries and manifested in our world."
Miriam looked aghast, but said no more. She just shook her head sadly. "That still leaves... Teresa, Cor, Livia, and Erika."
"Would you know how to get to their worlds?" Yona asked, "If we arrive in time we may still be able to save them."
Miriam nodded. "Yes. I've sent my avatars to their realms in the past. Although Livia's world is particularly dangerous. I would wade into that realm carefully."
"Thank you, that would be very helpful." Vihaan gave a short seated bow.
Yona stood up, having already finished her meal. "I'm sorry Nina, but you don't have a choice. You are coming with us. Please say your goodbyes and come meet me at the door when you are ready."
The Rising Dawn: Server Farm
"I mean, your existence could end completely! You could lose sunlight forever. Or whatever else you look at. Death could take you, and have you ever argued with Death? It's hard! All of this and more. Instead, you can do whatever you want to do ..." She trailed off. "Wait, you said 'Lord of Lies'? How can someone be calling himself that? That's very pretentious. It's like talking about lying all the time and then still expecting people to believe you!
Do you know where I can speak with that dude? Maybe I can ask him what he wants you to do. Or just kick his legs. Oh yeah, I kind of still need to know what you want." She paused and waved a skeleton closer. "I'd also like a drink." she said to it, before dismissing it to serve her. "So, you can just relax, drink a bit of bone juice and lie down in the sun, let me handle things. After you have pointed me in the right direction, of course. I'm your captain, but I need to know things so I can help you."
paradigm story end
Nina looked conflicted, knowing that what they were saying was in fact true but still not believing she was really deserving of it. She'd only finished a long discussion of Miriam saying how she wasn't an infinite creator of unlimited power, for them to say the opposite was pretty laughable. But as the conversation continued and the promise of someone else helping her, Nina lamented that she really wasn't gonna be able to convince them. They weren't listening to her, so hopefully her new chest would protect her through the rest of this nightmare. "Fine..." She sighed, getting up from the table. "Alright, Miriam. I hope we can have a talk later, maybe have a real tea party with Phillip getting some practice? But if this is the last time I get to see you before you leave, it's been nice to meet you." Nina offered a hug for the little one before she moved onto the Mnemonyses.
Walking up to the two, Nina gave them a little wave, and stopped next to Mnemonyse jr."Is it alright if I sit down for a second?" She asked cerdiously, sitting down with her alter ego if allowed, but otherwise standing where she was. "So this must be your mom? It's very nice to meet you Mnemonyse~" She greeted the woman before turning to the Mnemonyse she knew. "Well, we did it! Couldn't have done it without you." Nina smiled, playing a bit with her hair. "I've unfortunately been roped into helping to clean up someone else's messes, so I'm not really gonna be able to celebrate with you guys just yet." Nina said, putting her hands into her lap and squishing her chest a bit at the same time. "Maybe once I come back, we could go out and get some food or something? Not entirely sure what you both would like to do, but I'd like to have a proper visit." She said, eventually saying her goodbyes and offering a hand to shake and accepting any hugs the Mnemonyses' wanted to share.
Walking up to Faea's table, Nina wasn't entirely sure how to go about inserting herself into the conversation. Faea had only just been reunited with her long lost family after all, it certainly wasn't the most timely of things to do. Still she needed to talk with Faea more so than anyone else here in some respects. "Hey." Nina said, stooping down a bit so she was level with everyone in their seats at the table. "I'm really sorry I'm butting in here, but trust me it's important." She said to the spider family, looking across all the member's there before her eyes centered on Faea. "Looks like we made it, for better or worse, I couldn't have made it all this way without you. I really appreciate it Faea. I've got to go and take care of someone else's mess, but would it be too much of a trouble for you and your family to make me something?" Nina said as she reached into her dufflebag and with the magic of this universe she now wielded pulled out a large spool of thread.
The thread itself was something unlike any of the weavers had seen, visually it appeared to be like Death's dress but it had the properties of different imaginary materials like vibranium, adamantium and what Nina perceived her hair to be. Nina knew that creators like them would have a hard time to say no to the ability to create a one of a kind work. "I know it's a bit sudden, but this outfit's not gonna help me keep safe, and let me come back so that, I'dunno, we might be able to have a vacation on the beach or something?" Nina commented, not entirely sure if Faea'd accept such an offer but the fact that she was asking them of all people to make her an outfit to bring to the endgames. "I got other threads to use, but this should be the base. Sexy is fine, just please make it practical. Safety first for this one."
The Rising Dawn: Living Areas
Hillary the Slime | David West | Jenny | Violet
Hillary watched the ceiling for a while longer before turning back to Jenny, her eyes wide and body vibrating slightly. "What did you..? Oh! Yes! Hillary will go now!" The Slime exclaimed. Clearly she hadn't heard what Jenny had said moments ago, but had managed to put two and two together to figure out it was her time to shine.
Peaking her head out of the door, Hillary checked to make sure the coast was clear, before making a swift motion towards Miia's bedroom. With Jenny's clever thinking, the path there was effortless but as Hillary tried to open the door she found the door locked. "Oh dear. Hmm..." The slime thought for a moment, considering her options until her vision turned downwards to the part of her pseudopod that had slipped underneath the door. "I should have enough..." She commented to herself before turning to Jenny. "Hillary will be right back." She said as she leaned down towards the door.
Hillary didn't have the means of adjusting her shape nor the experience to know exactly how she'd do this, but how hard could it be? Hillary forced her way through the lip underneath the door, initially just trying to squeeze herself through, but once she started making progress she tried to push on the door from the other side to help bring the rest of herself along. Surprisingly it was working, up until Hillary was about a third of the way through, at which point Jenny noticed something alarming. Hillary wasn't lemonade anymore!
Maybe it was all the extra effort, squeezing into the tight space, a laps in Hillary's concentration or a combination of many aspects; Jenny was now treated to the sight of a metallic looking leg from the thigh down as well as another foot from the ankle crushed underneath the door. At least she knew the Slime was unharmed by such a situation, but it was clear Hillary wasn't coming back the way she came.
Rugal gazed deep into his wine glass as Blackharte explained himself, a somber expression on his face as he had to admit, he had a point.
"....Being honest, this was always the part of "Playing Hero" I hated. Knowing one day, you'll find some fresh horror or impossible choice to haunt your dreams. It's strange, I think little of the sadism I was known for but now I can't escape all the good deeds I needed to perform but didn't...Damn you for making me a part of this..."
Finishing his drink, he stood up and added "I don't doubt your logic, just even you can understand that growing up doesn't usually involve being assassinated. *Sigh* ...The worst part of is that she'll have no idea what's happening. Why I betrayed her..."
Turning back to the nanite swarm, he cracked his neck and said "...If I discover you were just using me as some pawn in some greater scheme, trust that you'll never know peace again. Even if you'll never die, I'll find a way to make your entire existence pain. I've faced gods and demons, all of whom thought themselves untouchable. But...What you are asking of me....I-....I'll do it. It'll be quick, it'll be painless. And when it is done, I wish to never see you again."
His grim speech spoken, the King of Fighters got ready to leave, deeply exhaling and preparing himself for the terrible deed.
Walk up. A Slashing Aura stab to the back of the neck. Sever the connections. Instant lost of brain and bodily function. It wasn't often he found himself dreading the act of murder but like all things in life, he would overcome it. He had to.
"...She's a good girl, you know. Kind, brave. Wise beyond her years. I'm telling myself I'm doing this for her sake. Whatever life she might have after this: You treat her right, not like you've done so before. Growing up also involves letting your children go. Holding onto them too much is what allows those like Kyuubey to steal them..."
"...Lets get this over with..."
End of an Era
story of dusk
Yona finished her breakfast platter and placed her knife and fork down on her plate. The blond-haired planeswalker shook Nina's hand gently, "And it is very nice to meet you, Nina. I'm glad that you were there to be Violet's friend."
"And don't think you're rid of me yet. Anazorzia is where I was raised, but I belong to the Rising Dawn."
"It is good to see that your father has not perverted your strong sense of right and wrong."
Mnemosyne smiled, there was a welling of small tears in her eyes. When Nina moved to Faea's table, the weaver family turned to greet her warmly. The oldest of the group was a tall and handsome woman with thin almond-shaped eyes. Her hair was raven black, woven expertly in gentle cascading ringlets down the sides of her face.
She held out her hand to Nina, "Pleasure to meet you. My name is Drizzle, I am the matriarch of the tribe to which Faea once belonged. It would be an honor to weave for you a dress worthy of your coming trial." She bowed and the rest of the weaver clan bowed as well. They were all women and varied in appearance as there were stars in the sky. Each of them had a small spider that clung to them either as hair decorations or as the centerpiece of a set of jewelry.
"Thank you Nina," Faea said between small breaths for air. The tears were still fresh on her cheeks and Issem was scuttling around the table greeting the spiders of the other weavers.
"Before Faea inherited the title of Arachne, the post belonged to me." Drizzle spread her fingers and the threads that formed between them glittered like spun diamonds. Brilliant beams of prismatic like danced against the jewels and metals on her wrists and dress. "We are children of the Earth and Water - blessed with both natural acuity and a natural yearning for synthesis. Your dress will be as strong as the citadel-trees and as flexible as the vapor seas."
And the dress they made was stunning. A deep mantle made of interwoven lapels flowed down Nina's back, letting her blonde hair float over the dark fabric like rays of light. Below a thick scaled weave hugged her body like a second skin, the smooth surface broken by ringlets of gold and silver. A half-skirt hung down from the swell of her hips and reached up her navel to the halter weave around her shoulders that kept the entire dress taut. Faea herself wove a golden broach and set the lapis gemstone within, setting it on Nina just over her heart.
Yona stood up and tapped Vihaan who had just started to eat his own breakfast, now that it had grown quite cold and greasy.
"What is it?" the admiral asked.
"Nina, hurry up. We have to be somewhere else very soon. The binding around another Labyrinth has just collapsed enough for us to break in. Grab Philip and let's go."
The Rising Dawn: Canteen
Mio | Leoric
Leoric was already into his 3rd bottle but thankfully one of his minions started to man the bar seeing how the battle of Mount Condiments with the canteen imps seemed to have ended in a ceasefire now their king was drowning his sorrows.
"I-...I don't know who or what has done this to me. It all started after this vessel arrived at Cloudtop Citadel. Ever since that flash, I've been reliving the same day over and over. Everytime I believe I'm getting close to breaking the spell, I wake up and it all starts over again. I've burned this ship, I've cleansed it of life, I've tried everything! BUT NOTHING FUCKING WORKS!" The Skeleton King barked, slamming his mace down into the tiles in frustration.
"I-i-i-i don't even know if it IS demonic magic or not! But it has to be, right?! What other beings can turn time itself into a prison?! I don't know any, do you!? And Death has long since forsaken me since I purged Diablo from my soul but-...I-i-i-i don't-....I can't-..."
Despite his imposing stature and his minions, it was quickly becoming clear that Leoric wasn't that much of a bad person. If she was stuck in a time loop, how long until she would just try killing everyone she saw in order to break free or just cure her boredom?
Her advice seemed to have sunk in as slowly but surely, his forces begun to stand down, namely because their King couldn't punish them if he was drunk off his ass (well, he could but he wouldn't be nearly as good at it).
He slowly retreated to a quiet corner and all but crumbled into a seat, rambling like a elder off their medication as the exhaustion of 20+ Military Campaigns against the Dawn took over.
".....I couldn't stop it then....I-....I can't stop if now..."
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c7672d68a3dd92eae4117ee7e02e6bc48800fdabc969956950d5f559f8910e92
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Once upon a time there was a man who intended to build a fence around his small country home. He forgot. So, once upon a time there was a girl lost in the woods. She didn’t know she was lost, yet.
As she came across different things, she picked them up, looked them over and left them where they were. It was dark by the time she realized she was lost, and she said it aloud.
“Oh, I am lost.”
To her surprise, the forest answered, “I will help you,” it said. The girl looked around, suspicious that the voice of the forest would be so small. And there she found a caterpillar. She picked it up.
“You will help me get home?” she asked. The caterpillar smiled.
“Of course, I know the way well,” it said, “but you must wait for me. Place me in that tree over there and wait for three days, but whatever you do, do not eat the fruit of the tree.”
The girl, already hungry, looked up at the fruit.
“Why not?” she asked.
The caterpillar latched itself to a low branch and replied, “when I come back, I will need to eat, if you take it, I will surely starve.”
The little girl nodded and waited for the caterpillar to cover itself in a thin white cocoon. Then, she slept. When morning came, she picked the tree clean of fruit and began her walk home. As she went, she found the things she’d observed along her path and soon, she was home. Her father was outside building a fence.
She went inside to her room and tucked away the fruit in a cupboard. Three days later, a butterfly perched on her windowsill. She went over to tickle its wings as she often did with butterflies. This butterfly however, shied away, angry.
“You stole all of my fruit!” it accused her. At this she went to her cupboard and produced the fruit for the butterfly, untouched. The butterfly looked from her to the fruit, confused.
“Why?” it asked.
At this the girl shrugged. “You said you knew the way, so either you were lying and then I would have a whole bundle of fruit to myself, or you were telling the truth and you’d find your way to me, at which point–” the girl held the fruit out to the butterfly. The butterfly took it, grateful and began to eat.
“But you were lost.”
The little girl watched out the window as her father sat next to a half-finished fence.
“Things are often lost before they are found, if they can help it,” she said. The butterfly thanked the girl once more and flew off, leaving behind a couple pieces of fruit.
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ff436a7b3b755ccb0e6f92ef698564a75cbaeb7cf50013c6a87da8f5ccb003a3
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For many years, Monterey, a California coast town, was a pelican’s paradise. As the fishermen cleaned their fish, they flung the offal to the pelicans. The birds grew fat, lazy, and contented. Eventually, however, the offal was utilized, and there were no longer snacks for the pelicans.
When the change came, the pelicans made no effort to fish for themselves. They waited around and grew gaunt and thin. Many starved to death. They had forgotten how to fish for themselves.
The problem was solved by importing new pelicans from the south, birds accustomed to foraging for themselves. They were placed among their starving cousins, and the newcomers immediately started catching fish. Before long, the hungry pelicans followed suit, and the famine was ended.
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Philadelphia: Boericke & Tafel, 1892. 8vo. [v], 141 pp., including half-title. FIRST EDITION. Original cloth-backed decorated boards, gilt spine, front hinge cracked; half-title detached, some offset to title from newspaper article by Helmuth tipped in to verso of half-title. Inscribed on title page by the author to E.M.B. Van Allen on Feb. 24, 1893. Item #12221
First edition. “These verses have been inspired by an Æsculapian Muse. They are all medical in character, and have all appeared in print. They are collected now with the hope that they may recall those pleasant re-unions at which they were given, and which from time to time serve to lighten the responsible labor of the busy doctor.”
Helmuth (1833-1902) commenced his medical studies under the tutelage of his uncle, Dr. William S. Helmuth, then Professor of the Theory and Practice of Medicine in the Homeopathic Medical College of Pennsylvania. He first became a professor of anatomy at the Homeopathic Medical College, and later moved to St. Louis where he helped start the Homeopathic Medical College of Missouri. He was elected President of the American Institute of Homeopathy, and after moving to New York became chair of Surgery at the New York Homeopathic Medical College, and was appointed Surgeon to the Hahnemann Hospital as well as the New York Surgical Hospital. He was the author of many medical as well as literary works including “Scratches” of a surgeon; Surgery and its adaptation into Homeopathic practice; A System of surgery, and Yellowstone Park and how it was named, the text of which is tipped into this book.
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Goodreads ~ A rash of carjackings terrorizing Newark become newsworthy when one such theft ends in the murder of a wealthy banking executive. The affable, wisecracking Ross is assigned the story but he's weary of only writing about victims of crime who happen to be rich and white. To balance his reporting, he finds a Nigerian immigrant of more modest means who was also killed during a recent carjacking.
When it turns out the two victims knew each other, sharing an unexplained round of golf at a tony country club shortly before their deaths, Carter is plunged onto the trail of a deadly band of car thieves that includes a sociopathic ex-convict. When his unborn child is put in harm's way, it becomes more than just a story for Carter. And he'll stop at nothing to rescue the baby-even if it costs him his own life.
Carter Ross is a reporter for a newspaper in New Jersey. Kevin Tiemeyer, a rich white businessman, had been shot and killed during a carjacking and Carter is assigned to the story. Rather than focus on Tiemeyer, Carter is curious to see if this carjacking was a one-off occurrence and discovers that it had recently happened to a Nigerian immigrant named Joseph Okeke. He starts to investigate Okeke, spending time with his ex-wife, daughter and girlfriend. He discovers that Tiemeyer and Okeke knew each other through their golf club. Carter suspects there is connection and it can't be a coincidence that they both died during carjackings.
In the meantime, Carter and his boss, Tina, are dating again and will soon have a baby (hence the reason they are back together). This brings out a paternalistic side of Carter than he didn't realize he had.
I liked this book. There were lots of possible "whodunnits" and we don't find out who is behind it all until the end. I enjoyed the writing style ... it was funny and sarcastic. It is written in first person perspective in Carter's voice but also in third person perspective from Black Hat's (one of the carjackers) point of view. I liked the characters. Carter is funny yet dorky and the other characters such as Chillax (an intern) and Tommy are colourful.
This is the sixth book in the Carter Ross series and I like this series. Despite being part of a series, this book works well as a stand alone so you don't need to read the others to enjoy this one as there is enough background provided.
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EAGLE, John E.
Deepwater Township, Henry County
born: Jun 23 1850, Quincy, IL
Source:1883 History of Henry County Missouri, National Historical Co pg Pg:611
John E. Eagle, merchant, and an enterprising business man of this vicinity, is a native of Illinois, and was born in Quincy June 23, 1850. his father, D. A. Eagle, originally from Pennsylvania, died in Paducah, Kentucky, in 1850. His mother, formally Udolpha Miller, was born in Maryland. In 1852, some two years after the death of Mr. Eagle, she was married to J. G. Dorman. John E. moved with his parents to Missouri in 1855, and located in Clinton, Henry County, where Mr. Dorman was engaged in the mercantile business. He spent his youth in his father's store and in attending the public school of Clinton, and also completed a course of study at the Jonathan Jones Commercial College of St. Louis, in 1870. For some time previous to the war he was bookkeeper in his father's store, and during the war he had full charge of that business. He commenced business in Montrose in December, 1875, under the firm name of Dorman & Son. He carries a large and select stock of general merchandise, is a thorough business man, deservedly popular, and is enjoying an immense patronage. Mr. Eagle was married in Montrose January 22, 1879, to Miss Susie Ann Tucker, of this county, and a daughter of D. A. Tucker, of Montrose. They have one child, Ralph A., who was born November 2, 1879. Mr. Eagle is a member of the Independent Order of Odd Fellows, in which order he is Vice Grand.
EDMONDSON, James W.
Windsor Township, Henry County
born: Apr 2 1848, Covington Co, KY
Source:1919 History of Henry Co MO, Uel W. Lamkin, Historical Publishing Co pg Pg:556
James W. Edmondson, farmer and thoroughbred live stock breeder of Windsor township, Henry County, was born April 2, 1848, in Covington County, Kentucky. He is the son of Job and Mary (McDonald) Edmondson, to whom fifteen children were born, as follow: James W., subject of this sketch; Cordelia, wife of James Denning, Shawnee County, Oklahoma; Grant, living near Lewis Station, Henry County; Richard, a miner of the Bowen Mines, Windsor, Missouri; Charles, a miner, Windsor, Missouri; Lucretia, wife of Henry Goodrich, Henry County; Andrew, Pittsburg, Kansas. The other seven children of the family are deceased. Job Edmondson was born at Georgetown, Kentucky, January 27, 1826, and died in 1912. He was the youngest and last survivor of eleven children born to his parents. The Edmondson family came to Henry County in 1849 and settled on a farm just across the road from where James W. now resides: A log cabin was the first home of the family and here the large family was reared until 1860. Job Edmondson enlisted for service in Company C, 7th Missouri Cavalry under General Phillips and George Crittendon and served until his discharge on account of sick disability in 1864. He contracted measles and his eyesight became badly affected so that he was practically incapacitated during the remaining years of his life. He died at Calhoun, Missouri. Mrs. Mary Edmondson was born in Covington County, Kentucky, May 22, 1833, and died in 1887, June 22. Job Edmondson and Mary McDonald were married in 1847. James W. Edmondson has lived in the neighborhood of his present farm since he was three years of age and has witnessed the gradual development of this entire country from a sparsely settled region to the splendid agricultural and stock raising country which it now is. He purchased his first land from H. P. Fans in 1882, having previously rented the tract for seven years. Mr. Edmondson is owner of eighty acres of land upon which he has placed practically all of the improvements. On April 2, 1918, he began the breeding of big type Poland China hogs and is specializing in this department of animal husbandry. For the past thirteen years he has been a breeder of Shropshire sheep. February 11, 1875, Mr. Edmondson was united in marriage with Miss Hannah L. Telliss, who was born June 30, 1856, on a farm two miles from Leesville, Missouri. She is the daughter of Jonathan and Telitha (Leonard) Telliss, natives of Indiana, who settled in Henry County in the late fifties. Six children have been born to James W. and Hannah L. Edmondson, as follow: Walter W., United States mail carrier at Windsor, Missouri, a sketch of whom appears in this volume; James, Council Bluffs, Iowa; Mrs. Addie Crogsdale, Kansas City, Missouri; John H., Kansas City, Missouri; Mrs. Ora Carter, Council Bluffs, Iowa; Leonard W., a soldier in the United States Marines. Mr. Edmondson has always been a stanch Republican. He is affiliated with the Anti Horse Thief Association and is a progressive and enterprising citizen who has the best interest of his home community and county at heart. He is a stockholder of the Peoples Bank of Calhoun, Missouri, and is also a stockholder in the Farmers Elevator Company at Windsor, Missouri.
EDMONDSON, Richard W.
Windsor, Windsor Township, Henry County
born: Mar 23 1876, Windsor Twp, Henry Co, MO
Source:1919 History of Henry Co MO, Uel W. Lamkin, Historical Publishing Co pg Pg:577
Richard W. Edmondson, mail carrier for Rural Route No.18, Windsor, Missouri, was born March 23, 1876, in Windsor township. He is the son of James W. Edmondson, concerning whom an extended review is given elsewhere in this volume. Mr. Edmondson was educated in the district school of his home neighborhood and remained on the home farm until April 26, 1898. He then enlisted as a private soldier in Company F, 2nd Missouri Volunteer Infantry Regiment for service in the Spanish-American War. He received his honorable discharge from the service on March 9, 1899, and returned to the home farm. He was employed at farm labor near Lewis Station until October 9, 1899, and then enlisted in Company, 40th United States Volunteer Infantry Regiment, for service in the Philippines. He saw much active service in the island and was promoted to the post of duty sergeant. For five weeks he was ill with malaria contracted in the Philippines. He received his honorable discharge from the service at the Presidio, California, June 24, 1901. Upon his return home his father told him that he had a position waiting for him and he learned that a rural mail route was being organized out of Windsor which would pay a salary of $500 a year. Postmaster George W. Schweer assisted him in obtaining the appointment. On January 1, 1902, he began his duties as carrier. Mr. Edmondson's salary has since been increased to $1,450. On February 29, 1904, Richard W. Edmondson and Miss Addie Mason were united in marriage. They have one child, Herschel, born January 12, 1905. Mrs. Addie Edmondson was born in Pettis County, Missouri, the daughter of Thomas and Mary C. (Woods) Mason, natives of Illinois, and who were farmers in Benton and Pettis Counties. Mr. Mason is deceased and Mrs. Mason now lives at Vincennes, Indiana, with a daughter. Mr. Edmondson is a stockholder of the First National Bank of Windsor and is interested financially in the Farmers Elevator Company. He is a Republican in politics and is a member and deacon of the Christian Church. He is fraternally affiliated with the Independent Order of Odd Fellows, the Rebekahs and the Modern Woodmen of America.
EDMONSTON, William Clay
Clinton Township, Henry County
born: Aug 11 1839, McDonough Co, IL
Source:1883 History of Henry County Missouri, National Historical Co pg Pg:513
William Edmonston owes his nativity to McDonough County, Illinois, where he was born August 11, 1839. His father, William Edmonston, was a North Carolinian by birth, and removed to Indiana at an early day, and was also an old settler of Illinois, having gone to that state from Indiana. The mother of our subject, whose maiden name was Elizabeth Royce, was born in Indiana, and was there reared and married. The former was a member of the Illinois Legislature from McDonough County, from 1830 to 1840. His death occurred in Cooper County, Missouri, October 18, 1871, and his widow died February 22, 1876. In 1845, William C. with his parents emigrated to Reynolds County, Missouri, where he remained till 1853, then moving to Bates County. He lived on a farm there till 1861, and then enlisted in Company D, of Colonel Peyton's Regiment Missouri Cavalry, and served till paroled at Shreveport, Louisiana, June 7, 1865. Returning to Missouri he settled in Clinton, and was engaged in the mercantile business as clerk for two years. He then located at Warrensburg, Missouri, and after six months of business life there, again came to Clinton, for the following six months being book keeper in Salmon & Salmon's Bank. After this time he gave his attention to farming till 1872, when he embarked in the stock and grain trade in Clinton. In this he was interested until elected circuit clerk in 1874, which office he filled most acceptably till 1879, and during 1878-80, he was county assessor of the county. Mr. Edmonston was united in marriage August 17, 1871, with Miss Anna A. Elliston, a Kentuckian by birth. They have three children: Eugene L., Mary E. and Kate.
EDWARDS, Benjamin B.
Osage Township, Henry County
born: Nov 16 1825, Casey Co, KY
Source:1883 History of Henry County Missouri, National Historical Co pg Pg:747
B. B. Edwards owes his nativity to Casey County, Kentucky, where he was born November 16, 1825. His father, Judge William B. Edwards, also of Kentucky birth, grew to manhood in Cumberland County, and was married there to Mariah Bledsoe, of that state. He was one of the prominent farmers of his county, and held several local offices. He was elected and held the office of county judge for a number of years. B. B. moved to Missouri with his parents in 1843 and first located in Johnson County, coming in about two years, or in 1845, to Henry County, where they entered land and improved a farm, and where William B. Edwards died in April, 1866, his wife departing this life a few days later. Our subject passed his youth on a farm, and he enlisted and served eighteen months in the war with Mexico, receiving a land warrant for his services. He was married in Benton County, April 7, 1850, to Miss Minerva A. Hunter, of Illinois, and a daughter of Henry Hunter, one of the early settlers of this township. In the spring of 1862, he enlisted in Company E, Seventh Missouri State Militia Cavalry, and when the regiment was organized he was elected second lieutenant, serving as such till discharged, in 1865. He participated in a number of important engagements, among which was the battle of Nashville, Tennessee, and the fight at Jefferson City, Missouri, where nine of his company were killed. After the close of the war he return to this county and engaged in the mercantile business at Leesville, selling goods there for two years. Disposing of his interests in this direction he came to his present farm. This embraces 340 acres of land, upon which is a good, large dwelling and orchard. He makes a specialty of the stock business, and is one of the largest dealers in this township. Mr. and Mrs. Edwards have six children: William H., Coleman C., B. B., Jr., N. G., Emery P. and Fanny F. He and his wife are members of the M. E. Church.
EDWARDS, D. N.
Butler Township, St. Clair County
born: 1837, Casey Co, KY
Source:1883 History of St. Clair County MO, National Historical Co. Pg:1181
D. N. EDWARDS, section 3, was born in Casey County, Kentucky, March 10, 1837, being the son of William and Maria (Bledsoe) Edwards. When D. N. was about six years old his father moved to Johnson County Missouri, where the family remained four years. After this they went to Benton County, where our subject was reared and educated. In 1854 he settled in Henry County, and was engaged in farming until 1860, when he came to St. Clair County. His farm contains 400 acres of as good land as there is in the township. In 1861 he enlisted in Company C, Missouri State Militia, and served until the close of the war. Mr. E. is a member of the Christian Church. December 3, 1859, he married Miss Mary Rothgib, a native of Ohio. They have six children: Carrie E., William B., Lewis, Laura E., Elsa and Cora.
Calhoun, Tebo Township, Henry County
born: Aug 23 1856, Monroe Co, NY
Source:1919 History of Henry Co MO, Uel W. Lamkin, Historical Publishing Co pg Pg:579
Michael Edwards, a leading merchant of Calhoun, Missouri, is a native of New York, and was born in Monroe County, that State, August 23, 1856. He is the son of Patrick and Ellen (Dowling) Edwards who were parents of twelve children, five of whom are living. Patrick Edwards was born in County Clare, Ireland, January 8, 1820, and died October 27, 1887. He left his native land in 1848, after having followed seafaring life for a number of years, finally settling in New York, where he engaged in railroad work as trainman and was also engaged in railroad construction. In 1867, he located in Franklin County, Missouri, and followed railroading for three years, coming to Henry County in 1870. He became track foreman for the Missouri, Kansas and Texas railway at Lewis Station and held this position until his retirement, a short time prior to his death. Mrs. Ellen Edwards was also born in County Clare, Ireland, September 25, 1832, and died in September, 1877. The parents of Michael Edwards were married in New York. Michael Edwards accompanied his parents to Henry County and also worked on the railroad and followed mining for some years. In 1888, he opened a general merchandise store at Calhoun and has become one of the town's most successful and enterprising business men. He was married October 31, 1882, to Miss Ella Minish, born in Calhoun, daughter of Isaac and Priscilla (Linn) Minish, the former located in Calhoun as early as 1856 and followed the trade of watchmaker for several years, also serving as postmaster of the town, dying in this city in 1905. To Michael and Ella Edwards have been born six children: James W., assisting his father in the Edwards store; Patricia, in Washington; Mary E., wife of D. L. Green, Windsor, Missouri; Thomas, formerly assisting his father, now a private in the National Army, attending the Rahe Army School at Kansas City, Missouri; Margaret, wife of W. L. Graham, St. Louis, Missouri; Arthur, at home. Mr. Edwards is a member of the Catholic church, as are several members of his family. He has always been a Democrat and is one of the substantial citizens of Calhoun, who has built up an excellent and flourishing trade by the exercise of honest and dependable methods of doing business.
Appleton Township, St. Clair County
born: 1827, Glarus, Switzerland
Source:1883 History of St. Clair County MO, National Historical Co. Pg:1108
FREDOLIN EGGER, was born June 5, 1827, in canton of Glarus, Switzerland, being the oldest of five children. born to John B. Egger and his wife, formerly Anna Elmer. During the persecution of the followers of Martin Luther in 1530, the Egger family emigrated from Austria to Switzerland, where for many years they occupied a prominent position in the history of that country. Fredolin Egger, grandfather of Fredolin was a leading citizen of the canton of Glarus, one of the first manufacturers of Switzerland, and very prominent in the state until his accidental death in 1817 in the fifty-sixth year of his age. his son, John Balthasar Egger was born June 5, 1794. in the canton of Glarus, where he was a manufacturer of paper. He died in 1870. The maternal grandfather of Fredolin was John Henry Elmer, a well known politician of Switzerland, and at one time ambassador to Sardinia, and representative of his canton in the Swiss Congress. His son, Jacob Elmer also represented the canton of Glarus in council. Fredolin Egger attended the high schools of his Canton until sixteen years old, when he was sent to the university of Lausanne, Switzerland. On leaving college he traveled for one year through France. Returning home he became salesman and traveling agent for his father, and was thus engaged until 1850. In that year he came to America, traveled through the Mississippi valley, and located in the Swiss colony of New Glarus, Wisconsin. At that place he was occupied in merchandising until 1853, when he returned to Switzerland. In the spring of 1854, having been appointed agent for the colony he returned to Wisconsin and for two years performed duties pertaining to his position. He received high commendation from his employers in the form of a written certificate, as follows: The undersigned emigrant committee certify by these presents that Messrs., Fredolin Egger and Frederick Streiff, of New Glarus, Wisconsin, appointed by power of attorney, dated 1854, as our representatives, have as such affected a complete liquidation of the interests of our society in the colony of New Glarus, to our entire satisfaction, and that we have found their accounts with us in perfect conformity, as well as duly received the ultimate balance in favor of this society. The undersigned regard it further as their duty to testify their sincere thanks to said Messrs. Egger and Streiff, for the intelligent and energetic manner in which they have conducted our affairs in the colony, relieving them herewith of all and every responsibility in this matter. At the same time, and in conclusion, the undersigned cannot help expressing their deep regret at the ungrateful behavior on the part of our former countrymen who have enjoyed our protection have blamed themselves by the continual vexation of ourselves and of our said representatives. Done in Schwanden, Canton of Glarus, Switzerland. To the President of the Emigration Committee. [SEAL] PETER JENNY, Counselor and Member of Government. Mr. E. acted as agent for the colony for two years and at the end of that time started in the mercantile and private banking business. He also served as postmaster and justice of the peace until 1874 when not being suited with the condition of the country and wishing to change his business he settled at Appleton City, St. Clair County, Missouri, and engaged in the banking business. He is a member of the Swiss Reformed Church and also belongs to the Knights of Pythias. He was married April 22, 1854, to Miss Anna Streiff, daughter of Thomas and Anna (Elmer) Streiff, of the Canton of Glarus, of Switzerland. They had eleven children, six of whom are living: John B., Thomas, Fredolin, Catherine, Fannie and Anna. Mrs. Egger died December 21, 1865, and Mr. E. was married June 10, 1866, to his second wife, Mrs. Catharine (Zweife) Walcher.
Windsor Township, Henry County
born: Oct 20 1865, Windsor Twp, Henry Co, MO
Source:1919 History of Henry Co MO, Uel W. Lamkin, Historical Publishing Co pg Pg:840
Frank Elbert, farmer and stockman, owner of a well improved farm of ninety-five acres in section 14 of Windsor township, Henry County, was born in Windsor township October 20, 1865, and is the son of Benjamin N. and Hannah (Robinson) Elbert. Benjamin N. Elbert was born in Benton County, Missouri, in 1837 and has followed farming pursuits during his entire life prior to retiring to a home in Windsor. Mrs. Hannah Elbert was born in 1840. The children born to this worthy couple are: William F., a farmer in Benton County, Missouri; Frank, of this review; Walter G., Warrensburg, Missouri; Mrs. Nettie Wesner, Windsor, Missouri; Minnie, wife of Ed Huston, Leeton, Missouri. The Elberts are among the oldest of the Missouri families and their advent into Missouri dates back to the very beginning of things in this State. Frank Elbert was reared on his father's farm and left home when twenty years of age to take employment as a shopman in the railroad car shops of Kansas City and later in Chicago, Illinois. Learning the barber's trade he opened a shop at Green Ridge in Pettis County in 1894 and followed this vocation until 1907, when he again engaged in farming in Pettis County. In 1910 Mr. Elbert purchased his present home place in Windsor township. On July 20, 1889, Frank Elbert and Miss Rosa Sena Marti were united in the bonds of matrimony. Mrs. Rosa Elbert was born in Tuscarawas County, Ohio, the daughter of Benjamin and Mary (Corman) Marti, natives of Switzerland, who came from Ohio to Benton County, Missouri, in 1866 when the present Mrs. Elbert was but one year old. Mr. Elbert is a Democrat in politics and is affiliated with the Independent Order of Odd Fellows and the Modern Woodmen of America. He and Mrs. Elbert are members of the Methodist Episcopal Church.
ELBERT, Thomas L.
Windsor, Windsor Township, Henry County
born: Jan 31 1856, Tebo Twp, Henry Co, MO
Source:1919 History of Henry Co MO, Uel W. Lamkin, Historical Publishing Co pg Pg:538
Thomas L. Elbert, live stock dealer, Windsor, Missouri, is a native born citizen of Henry County and a son of one of the early pioneers of this county. Mr. Elbert was born on a farm in Tebo township January 31, 1856, the son of Loadman Y. and Mary J. (Sallee) Elbert, who were parents of eight children as follow: Eliza, widow of Robert S. Burchman, Windsor, Missouri; Thomas L., subject of this sketch; James R. and Edwin L., deceased; Mary C. Elbert; Annie, wife of George Weatherald, a merchant of Windsor; Etta, wife of James O. Sutherland, of Johnson County, Missouri; Della, deceased. Loadman Elbert was born near Louisville, Kentucky, December 6, 1830, and died November 21, 1881. He came to Henry County, Missouri, with his parents, Henry and Elizabeth (McDaniel) Elbert, in 1836. Henry Elbert was one of the best known and most prominent of the early pioneers of this section of Missouri. He served as district judge of the County Court of old Graves County, representing the Sedalia district. He was well and favorably known throughout the territory now comprised in Benton, Henry, Johnson and Pettis Counties. In his earlier years Loadman Elbert was engaged in the mercantile business. When the discovery of gold aroused the adventurous spirits of the country, he was among the first to cross the plains and mountains in 1849 en route to the gold fields of the Pacific slope. He made a stake in the far west during his gold mining venture and upon his return in 1852 was united in marriage to Mary J. Sallee on October 10, 1852. He then engaged in the general mercantile business at Calhoun, Missouri. After some years experience as a merchant he engaged in farming and stock raising and died on his home place in Windsor township. Mrs. Mary Elbert, his wife, was born in Callaway County, Missouri, August 10, 1836, and departed this life on August 17, 1912. She was the eldest daughter of Thomas and Eliza (Gaines) Sallee, natives of Kentucky, who were among the early pioneer settlers of Callaway County. Thomas L. Elbert was reared on his father's farm in Henry County and began upon his own account in 1877, at which time he engaged in farming and purchased a tract of land in Windsor township. He remained upon his farm until 1908 and then removed to Windsor, where he engaged in the buying, selling and shipping of live stock, having previously been engaged in this business for twenty years prior while still carrying on his farming operations. Mr. Elbert is the largest individual stock dealer in Windsor and one of the most extensive in Henry County. For the past three years he has been purchasing mules for the use of the United States Government. In the spring of 1908 Mr. Elbert disposed of his fine farm of 500 acres. On February 7, 1877, Thomas L. Elbert and Mary E. Daniels were united in marriage. Mrs. Mary E. Elbert was born in New York State December 28, 1858, and departed this life August 27, 1916. She was the daughter of LeRoy and Hannah (Steele) Daniels, an account of whom is given in this volume in connection with the sketch of DeLacy Daniels. The Democratic party has always had the allegiance of Mr. Elbert, who is now serving as city alderman of Windsor and is also one of the Henry County supervisors and has been a director of the Citizens Bank of Windsor for nearly twenty years. He is a member of the Baptist Church and is affiliated with the Knights of Pythias. Mr. Elbert is one of the best known citizens of Henry County and can be seen daily transacting business in his genial, friendly, honest manner which has made him a success in his chosen vocation.
ELGAN, J. J.
Doyal Township, St. Clair County
born: 1855, Greene Co, IN
Source:1883 History of St. Clair County MO, National Historical Co. Pg:1191
J. J. ELGAN, farmer, section 15, was born in Greene County, Indiana, September 10, 1855, and is the son of James M. and Leah (Guthrie) Elgan. The subject of this sketch came to this county in 1876 and now owns a farm of 300 acres. He married Miss Rebecca J. Doyal in 1878. They have a family of three children. Mrs. Elgan's father was H. L. M. Doyal, a native of Illinois, who moved to this county in 1866, and he became one of the large farmers of St. Clair County. In 1882 he moved to Texas, where he now resides. He married a Miss L. Copeland, of Tennessee. To them were born seven children.
Doyal Township, St. Clair County
born: n/a, Ireland
Source:1883 History of St. Clair County MO, National Historical Co. Pg:1192
JAMES ELLIOTT, who for a period of twenty-five years has been a resident of St. Clair County, owes his nativity to Ireland, from which country he emigrated at an early day and settled in Carroll County, Ohio. In 1855 he removed to Linn County, Iowa, and lived there until 1858, when he came to this county. During the late war he served three years in the state militia. He owns nearly 1,500 acres of land and is one of the large tax payers of the county. His homestead on section 22 is noted as being the place where the first county court was held, it then being in the possession of Ebenezer Gash. Mr. Elliott holds the office of justice of the peace. He was married in 1855 to Miss Mary Scott, of Linn County, Iowa. By this union there are eleven children living: Jane, John, Josey, James, Abraham L., Sarah, Richard, Scott, Millie, Celia and Rebecca. Three are deceased.
ELLIOTT, S. H.
Shawnee Township, Henry County
born: Feb 27 1847, Cooper Co, MO
Source:1883 History of Henry County Missouri, National Historical Co pg Pg:666
S. H. Elliott, blacksmith, merchant and farmer, Shawnee Mound, was born in Cooper County, Missouri, February 27, 1847, his parents being William C. and Sarah D. (Throckmorton) Elliott, the former of Tennessee and the latter of North Carolina. S. H. was the seventh child in a family of eleven children. He was brought up and educated in his native county, and from 1862-4 was employed by the government as teamster. In 1864 he enlisted in Company H, Forty-fifth Missouri Infantry, and was discharged in June, 1865. He then worked at the blacksmith trade for one year in Bates County, subsequently moving to Calhoun, Henry County, where he followed his chosen calling till 1874. Then he came to Shawnee Mound. In June, 1882, he embarked in the hardware business. He also is the owner of a good farm of seventy acres. August 11, 1868, Mr. Elliott married Miss Mary Y. Clark, who was born in Henry County, Missouri, February 28, 1843. They have four children, Sarah O., George W., John H. C. and Lena J. They have lost two. Mr. and Mrs. E. are members of the Cumberland Presbyterian Church. He belongs to the Masonic Fraternity.
ELLISTON, James Lee
Clinton, Clinton Township, Henry County
born: Dec 22 1864, Fields Creek Twp, Henry Co, MO
Source:1919 History of Henry Co MO, Uel W. Lamkin, Historical Publishing Co pg Pg:879
James L. Elliston, a well-known general insurance man of Clinton, Missouri, is a native son of Henry County. He was born in Fields Creek in 1864, the son of Jeptha D. and Elvira F. Ferguson (Lewis) Elliston, the former a native of Grant County, Kentucky, and the latter a native of Virginia. Jeptha D. Elliston settled in the northern portion of Henry County prior to the Civil War. When the war broke out he enlisted in the Confederate army, and at the close of the war returned to Henry County, and lived but a short time. He died in 1865. His wife survived him a number of years, departing this life in 1900. James L. Elliston was reared in Henry County and educated in the public schools; and has been in the insurance business in Clinton practically since he reached manhood. In 1885 he entered the general insurance business in Clinton, with Theodore W. Collins. In 1903 this partnership was dissolved and Mr. Elliston continued the insurance business alone. He is recognized as one of the successful insurance men of Henry County, and has built up an extensive business. Mr. Elliston has been identified with the Democratic party since boyhood, and has taken an active interest in local politics. He has served as city treasurer, councilman and mayor of Clinton. He was elected mayor in 1898, serving a term of two years. In 1901 James L. Elliston was united in marriage with Miss Louise Oldham, a native of Mississippi, and a daughter of Doctor Oldham. Mr. Elliston is a member of the Ancient Free and Accepted Masons and is a Knights Templar Mason and member of the Mystic Shrine. He also holds membership in the Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks.
EMERSON, Thomas Addison
Osceola Township, St. Clair County
born: 1849, Cumberland Co, KY
Source:1883 History of St. Clair County MO, National Historical Co. Pg:1079
THOMAS ADDISON EMERSON, blacksmith and wagonmaker, was born in Cumberland County, Kentucky, in 1849. His father, Samuel R. Emerson was born in Green County, Kentucky, in 1801. His grandfather came from Ireland. Thomas' mother, Elizabeth H. Bledsoe was born in Cumberland County, Kentucky. Her father was Benjamin B. Bledsoe, of England. Samuel Emerson came to Missouri, and settled in Georgetown, Pettis County, in 1851, making a claim on the land where Sedalia now stands. He was an attorney for many years, and after living in Taney, Benton, and Johnson Counties, he finally located in Bolivar, Polk County, and bought a farm, and for a while divided his time between farming and his profession. He subsequently devoted his time to the farm until his death in 1865. His widow died in 1871. He was the third son of a family of seven, all of whom were attorneys. The subject of this sketch is the eighth of nine children, of whom but three sons survive: Samuel F., W. B., and Thomas A., and all are blacksmiths. In 1869, Mr. E. came to this city and is now doing a good business at his trade. He married Miss Sally E. Prock, October 26, 1874. She is the daughter of Ambrose Prock. They have two children: Ralph, and Rosa Bell. Politically he is a Greenbacker. He was deputy sheriff of this county and jailor for five years.
ENGEMAN, August Sr.
Germantown, Deepwater Township, Henry County
born: Nov 11 1847, Hickory Grove Twp, Henry Co, MO
Source:1919 History of Henry Co MO, Uel W. Lamkin, Historical Publishing Co pg Pg:437
August Engeman, a successful farmer and stockman of the Germantown settlement and owner of 187 1/2 acres of good farm lands, was born in Hickory Grove township, Warren County, Missouri, a son of Henry Engeman, who emigrated from England to America in the thirties. Henry Engeman was a native of Germany and in his younger days was employed in a sugar refinery at London, England, prior to his immigration to America. His wife was Mary Fisher, who bore him the following children: August, the subject of this review; Mrs. Dena Dansenbrink, Montrose, Missouri; Henry Engeman, Jr., of Warren County; Charles Engeman, Montrose, Missouri; Lena, Montrose, Missouri; Lizzie Engeman, a Sister in Ohio, and John Engeman, Montrose, Missouri. In 1871 Henry Engeman came to Henry County, where he remained until he retired to a home at Appleton City, where his death occurred. For a good many years August Engeman supported his parents and helped the family with his earnings. He began life with the handicap of poverty and the additional burden of having to support his parents. For four years he was employed on the irrigation ranches in Humboldt County, Nevada, and during that time he sent regular remittances to the home folks. During one season when he was in Nevada he took his mother with him and she remained there one year. Even after his return from Nevada he still cared for his parents. His first purchase of 194 acres of land was made in 1879, near Appleton City, Missouri. In 1897 he made his first purchase of land in the Germantown locality, and has been adding to his acreage continuously until he now owns 189 1/2 acres in different tracts. Mr. Engeman paid good prices for his land and has managed to accumulate his acreage by the exercise of hard work, industry and economy of the strictest 'character. In 1900 he erected a comfortable and imposing brick residence of eight rooms. Mr. Engeman was married in 1884 to Miss Lizzie Meyer, who was born in Franklin County, Missouri. To this marriage have been born eight children: Mary resides with an aunt in Franklin County, Missouri; Joseph, at home assisting his father in the farm work; Annie, died at the age of three years; Regina, a Sister in Perry County, Missouri; August, Jr., Louise, Rose, Henry and Anthony at home with their parents. Mr. Engeman is an independent in political matters and. votes for the individual rather than supporting the man who bears a party label. He and all of his family are members of the Germantown Catholic Church.
ENGEMAN, Charles W.
Montrose, Deepwater Township, Henry County
born: Jun 1853, Warren Co, MO
Source:1919 History of Henry Co MO, Uel W. Lamkin, Historical Publishing Co pg Pg:460
Charles W. Engeman, retired farmer and vice-president of the Montrose Farmers' and Merchants' Bank, Montrose, Missouri, was born in Warren County, Missouri, in 1853 and is the son of Henry and Mary (Fischer) Engeman, natives of Germany who immigrated to America in 1833, and first located in Warren County, Missouri. In 1872 they came to Henry County and settled near Appleton City on the Henry - St. Clair County line. Henry Engeman was born in 1815 and died in 1885. Mary Engeman was born in 1846 and died in 1906. They were parents of ten children: August, lives near Germantown; Mrs. Dena Danzebrink, a widow, living at Montrose; Henry, deceased; Charles W.; Mrs. Mary Hillerman, living east of Germantown; Mrs. Lena Thompson, a widow, living with the subject of this review; Anna, died at the age, of eleven years; Louisa, now Sister Viojante, New York; Christina, deceased; and John Engeman, Montrose, Missouri. Charles Engeman accompanied his parents to Henry County in 1872, and in the spring of 1875 he went to Nevada, and was employed for three years upon an irrigated ranch near Winnemucca, Paradise Valley, Humboldt County, that State. In 1878 he returned to Montrose and resided here for two years. He returned to Nevada in 1880 and remained there for two years. He then came home and resided with his parents. In 1897, Mr. Engeman purchased his present farm of seventy-two acres and has since been engaged in farming and coal mining. Seventy acres of the Engeman farm are leased for coal mining purposes and the coal is obtained by the "stripping" process of mining. Several thousand tons have been mined from the land and coal has been taken from the place for the past twenty years. During 1917 there were mined on the Engeman tract a total of 2,944 bushels of coal. Mr. Engeman is an independent Democrat and is a member of the Montrose Catholic Church and the Knights of Columbus. He has been connected with the Farmers' and Merchants' Bank of Montrose since 1907.
Clinton Township, Henry County
born: Nov 24 1862, St. Louis, MO
Source:1919 History of Henry Co MO, Uel W. Lamkin, Historical Publishing Co pg Pg:597
James England - Henry County is dotted with coal mines from east to west and from north to south. There are many men employed in this industry. Some of the owners have a number of mines in operation, others only a few, but wherever they are men are kept employed the year around, mining this needful fuel. James England operates two mines near Deepwater, Missouri, in Clinton township. He was born November 24, 1862, in St. Louis, Missouri, the son of William England and Sarah (Eccles) England. William England was born in Nottinghamshire, England, in 1837 and in 1857 sailed from his native shores to the United States. From the Mississippi Valley he set out afoot to the western part of Wyoming. He spent eighteen months in that vast wild unexplored land. Then, after many exciting experiences with the Indians, and no shelter over his head but the stars, he made his return trip on foot again, locating in St. Louis, afterward moving to Bellville, Illinois, where he made his home until 1885, when he came to Henry County, Missouri, locating four miles east of Clinton. He made improvements on the land which he purchased, and developed the mine of coal, which is still being operated. He was married to Sarah Eccles in St. Louis, Missouri. She was a native of Staffordshire, England, born in 1840. Her parents emigrated to this country in 1847, locating near Council Bluffs, Iowa, later moving to St. Louis. She passed away in 1889 and her husband in 1907. They had the following children: James, the subject of this sketch; William, Joseph, Edmund, Sarah Jane, Elizabeth Ann and Mary, all living on the old home farm except Mary, who departed this life in 1904, being the wife of James H. Cheatham at the time of her death. James England received his education in Bellville, Illinois, and in company with his father had become interested in coal mining. After his marriage on June 28, 1884, to Hannah Jervis, who was born May 1, 1863, in Derbyshire, England, the young couple came to Henry County and located near Deepwater, Missouri. They are the parents of four children: Mary, a teacher of the Powersville, Missouri, school. She graduated from the Deepwater High School, Warrensburg Normal and was a student of Missouri University. Miss England was superintendent of the Powersville school and favorably known by Uel Lamkin, editor and author of this history. William C. and Harry are assisting their father in the work of the coal mines; Lillian, wife of Earl Huey, makes her home in Deepwater, Missouri. Mr. England is the owner of 117 acres of well improved land which he farms in connection with his mining interests. He leases 200 acres of land for the mining operations, in which he has two coal mines, employing thirty men. Mr. England is an independent Republican in his politics. He is a member of the Knights of Pythias Lodge and the Ancient Free and Accepted Masons.
ENGLISH, Joseph L.
Osceola Township, St. Clair County
born: 1830, St. Louis, MO
Source:1883 History of St. Clair County MO, National Historical Co. Pg:1080
JOSEPH L. ENGLISH, was born in St. Louis, February 12, 1830. His father, E. English, who was born in Norfolk, Virginia, in 1788, was a carpenter by trade, and came to St. Louis in 1816. He married Miss Catherine Foulks, born in Pennsylvania, March 18, 1800. Her father was Christopher Foulks, originally from Germany, and a tobacconist by calling. Mr. English died in St. Louis, August 14, 1866, and his wife died November 28, 1882. They raised a family of twenty-one children, twelve boys and nine girls, Joseph L. being the seventh. He learned the tinner's trade at his birth place, and when twenty-one years of age went to Chester, Illinois, and open a tin and stove store. In one year he sold out, and returned to St. Louis, and commenced the brewing business, which he continued for four years. In 1853, he came to Warsaw, and resumed the tin and stove business. In 1860, he came to Osceola, and conducted a drug business with Washington Dorrell. In 1862, Osceola was burned, and his stock shared the fate of the city. After remaining here for a year, he returned to St. Louis, entering into work for the government at his trade, and continuing it until the close of the war. After one year's residence in Sedalia, he came to Osceola, and in 1867, formed a partnership with William Shelton, and they, built the first tin and stove store in town, and one of the first buildings erected in the town. Since 1870, he has been alone, doing a very successful business. In 1883, on account of poor health, he disposed of his stock of goods and stoves and retired from business. In 1855, he married Miss Mary Dorrell, the daughter of Dr. W. Dorrell. She died in 1870, leaving two children, Alonzo and Lillie. His second wife was Sarah M. Stovall, of Franklin County, whom he married in 1873. Her father was Thomas Stovall. They have two children, Thomas and Maud. Mr. English votes the Democratic ticket. Mrs.E. is a member of the Baptist Church. He belongs to the I. O. O. F. and the A. O. U. W. fraternities.
ERHART, John Nicholas
Bear Creek Township, Henry County
born: Jul 19 1831, Bavaria, Germany
Source:1883 History of Henry County Missouri, National Historical Co pg Pg:764
Nicholas Erhart was born in Bavaria, Germany, July 19, 1831, and was the son of George and Susana Erhart, nee Schreffer, also natives of Bavaria. Nicholas emigrated to the United States in 1844, and while on the way to Missouri his mother died in Pennsylvania. He spent his youth on a farm and was educated in his native country. He served in the Mexican war six months, and after his discharge was engaged in freighting to Santa Fe for three years. In 1852 he crossed the plains to California and remained two years. In the early part of 1855 he returned to Missouri and located land in Henry County with a warrant received for his service in the Mexican war. He now owns 1,300 acres. Mr. Erhart was married in this county in the summer of 1855 to Miss Melvina Coffelt, a Kentuckian by birth and a daughter of Philip Coffelt. They have four children: Melvina V. (now Mrs. C. Detro), Georgian G., Ida Belle and Nellie. Mrs. Erhart is a member of the M. E. Church. Mr. E. served one year in the Missouri State Militia and participated in the battle of Lone Jack. He is one of the largest stock feeders and dealers in his township.
ERWIN, Walter H.
Urich, Bogard Township, Henry County
born: Dec 19 1873
Source:1917 Missouri The Center State, selected bios reprinted by Clinton Democrat
Walter H. Erwin, cashier of the Bank of Urich and by reason of his business connections well known in his section of the state, was born in Henry County, near Urich, December 19, 1873, a son of David and Mary (McCalmon) Erwin, who were natives of Ohio and Pennsylvania respectively. In early life the father learned the trades of a carpenter and machinist at Akron, Ohio, but put aside the business cares at the time of the civil War to aid his country in the defense of the Union, enlisting as a member of Company G, Sixteenth Regiment of Ohio Volunteers. He rose to a position of rank and did active duty in defense of the flag until the close of the war. Soon after leaving the service he came to Missouri in 1865, settling upon a farm in Henry County, which he still owns. There he carried on general agricultural pursuits for many years, but in 1908 removed to Urich, where he is now living retired. While upon the farm he not only tilled the fields but also engaged in the stock business. He has served as assessor of his township but has never sought nor desired public office. In a family of four children Walter H. Erwin was the third in order of birth. He supplemented his district-school training by two years' study in the Chillicothe, Mo. Normal School. From the time he was old enough to handle the plow he assisted his father in the work of the arm and ultimately became his partner. He remained upon the old homestead until he came to Urich, at which time he entered the Bank of Urich in the capacity of bookkeeper. After filing that position for one year he was promoted to assistant cashier and when he had served in the latter capacity for two years he was made cashier and has since so remained, his enterprise and progressive methods contributing to the success of the institution with which he is connected. He is also a landowner in Henry County. On the 11th of May, 1903, Mr. Erwin was united in marriage to Miss Ada King, who was born in Johnson County, Missouri, a daughter of the Rev. S. Finis and Mary (Buxom) King, the former a native of Johnson County, Missouri, and the latter of North Carolina. When four years of age Mrs. King was brought by her parents to Missouri. Rev. King entered the ministry in early life and was stated clerk of Lexington Presbytery for a number of years. His grandfather was one of the founders of the Cumberland Presbyterian Church in Tennessee. Rev. King died in January, 1902, and his widow now resides with Mr. and Mrs. Erwin, the latter being the youngest of their three children. Unto Mr. and Mrs. Erwin have been born two sons: Frank Noble, born in September, 1905; and Eugene E., born January 4, 1910. The family hold membership in the Presbyterian Church and are actively interested in all that pertains to the moral progress of the community. In politics Mr. Erwin is a stalwart Republican but never an office seeker. He belongs to Urich Lodge, No. 286, A.F.&A.M. of which he is the present master; to Urich Lodge, No. 527, I.O.O.F., of which he is treasurer; to the Woodmen camp, of which he is clerk; and both he and his wife are connected with the Rebekah degree of Odd Fellowship. Mr. Erwin has spent his entire life in Henry County and the fact that many of his staunchest friends are those who have known him from his boyhood to the present indicates that his career has been an honorable and upright one. He has ever sought to do right by his fellowmen and in all business dealings has been straightforward and reliable, while his support of public measures of value has gained him classification with the citizens of worth in his part of the state.
Taber Township, St. Clair County
born: 1841, St. Clair Co, IL
Source:1883 History of St. Clair County MO, National Historical Co. Pg:1213
BIRD ESTES, farmer, section 10, was born in St. Clair County, Illinois, September 6, 1841. His father, Jackson Estes, was a Kentuckian by birth, while his mother, whose maiden name was Abigail Jackson, was a native of Illinois. When Bird was but a child his parents moved to Benton County, Missouri, where he grew to manhood, there being engaged in farming till 1867, when he went to Henry County. In 1869 he came to St. Clair County. and here has since resided. His farm contains 120 acres. In August, 1862, he joined the Enrolled Militia, and in December, 1863, he re-enlisted in the state militia under Colonel Philips, being mustered out July 11, 1865, as sergeant. September 3, 1865, he was married to Miss Lucy A. Bradley, of Henry County, Missouri, born December 15, 1845. They have four children: Eugenie B., Nellie D.. Agnes D., and Harry C. Mr. and Mrs. E. are members of the Baptist Church.
EVANS, S. M.
Butler Township, St. Clair County
born: 1834, Pickaway Co, OH
Source:1883 History of St. Clair County MO, National Historical Co. Pg:1181
S. M. EVANS, farmer and stock raiser, section 3, was born in Pickaway County, Ohio, December 11, 1834. His father, James Evans, a native of Pennsylvania, married Miss Hulda Morris, who was born in New Jersey. When S. M. was two years old his parents moved to Hancock County, Illinois, where he was brought up and educated. He followed farming there until 1857, when he came to St. Clair County, Missouri. His present farm contains 110 acres. In 1874 Mr. E. was elected justice of the peace. He is a member of the Christian Church, October 21, 1859, he married Miss Margaret Hilliges, a native of Ohio. They have six children: Sarah P., David W., Joseph H., Michael H., Christina and Ella May.
EVERETT, John Nathaniel
Osceola Township, St. Clair County
born: 1858, Henry Co, MO
Source:1883 History of St. Clair County MO, National Historical Co. Pg:1081
JOHN NATHANIEL EVERETT was born in Henry County, Missouri, February 28, 1858, his parents being Simeon and Ann Rebecca (Thornton) Everett, Virginians by birth. The father of the former was Nathaniel Everett, also of Virginia, his wife being a daughter of J. F. Thornton, of Virginia, born in 1800. Simeon Everett came to Missouri and settled in Henry County in 1842, John T. Thornton having located there in 1839. He owned the ferry across Grand River in Osage Township. Mr. Thornton is now eighty-three years of age and has been deaf for thirty years. He now lives with his daughter, Mrs. A. R. Everett, in Brownington. The subject of this sketch worked hard on the farm from the time he was a small boy until 1870, when the family moved to Clinton, and he entered the Democrat office and learned the printer's trade. He worked in that office eleven years. He came to this city in October, 1882, and is now foreman of the Voice printing office. Mr. Everett married Miss Maggie Schrewsberry April 3, 1881. They have one child, Nellie May, born September 14, 1882. Politically, he is a Democrat. He belongs to the Cumberland Presbyterian Church.
EYE, Jacob J.
Appleton Township, St. Clair County
born: 1840, Pendleton Co, WV
Source:1883 History of St. Clair County MO, National Historical Co. Pg:1109
JACOB J. EYE, section 4, is a native of Pendleton County, West Virginia, and was born October 20, 1840. he was brought up in the occupation of farming, and continued it at his birthplace till March, 1870, when he came to Missouri, locating in Henry County, near the St. Clair County line. In 1872, he settled on his present farm. He has a fine tract of 282 acres, well improved. Mr. Eye was married May 10, 1862, to Miss F. Davis, who came originally from West Virginia. They have eight children: Mary P., Floyd D., Ulra C., Jacob F., Robert L., James V., Gertie M., and an infant. Mr. E. was a soldier in Company K, Twenty-fifth Virginia Regiment, and served through the war.
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Lesson 19—I Speak Up for What God Tells Me
Not speaking Spanish, My husband and I mused over the meaning of words as we drove through Mexico. Back at the hotel, Jim asked a worker the meaning of the word puente. But the man shook his head, not understanding. So Jim verbally spelled the word out for him. The man continued to shake his head and left.
Jim turned around to find me laughing. “What?” he said. “I even spelled it out.”
“Yes,” I replied. “But you spelled it using the English alphabet.”
A big grin spread across Jim’s face. “Maybe I should have spelled louder.”
I love God’s sense of humor. Bananas. Giraffes. Artichokes. I especially love the way God’s humor is sometimes preserved in Scripture. Like here in Luke 1. The angel Gabriel came to Zechariah while he was on duty in the Temple and told him that he and Elizabeth were going to have a son. Zechariah doubted what the angel said:
Zechariah asked the angel, “How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years.”
The angel said to him, “I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news. And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens because you did not believe my words, which will come true at their appointed time” (Luke 1:18-20).
So Zechariah couldn’t speak for the next nine months. Everything else apparently worked fine for him physically. He just couldn’t speak. But when the neighbors asked what the baby’s name was to be,
On the eighth day, they came to circumcise the child, and they were going to name him after his father Zechariah, but his mother spoke up and said, “No! He is to be called John.”
They said to her, “There is no one among your relatives who has that name.”
Then they made signs to his father, to find out what he would like to name the child. He asked for a writing tablet, and to everyone’s astonishment, he wrote, “His name is John” (Luke 1:59-63).
Scripture doesn’t say Zechariah was deaf. He just couldn’t speak. But his neighbors made signs to him as if he couldn’t hear. Maybe if they had spelled out their questions…really loudly…
Commentaries suggest that, as an old man, perhaps Zechariah was naturally hard of hearing. Others suggest that the neighbors had seen him using signs and were merely repeating the same thing back to him. Even others suggest that sometimes deafness and muteness are related and that Zechariah might have been both.
The point of this verse in Scripture though is that when the neighbors planned to name Zechariah and Elizabeth’s son after Zechariah, Elizabeth was the one to speak up. She didn’t hem and haw. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think “It’d be nice to name Zechariah’s only son after his father.”
What Elizabeth did was to speak up with what she knew God wanted. God Himself had named the baby. God had informed Zechariah through the angel Gabriel. Zechariah couldn’t speak for God so Elizabeth stepped up and did so. “No! He is to be called John,” she said.
How often do you see the use of an exclamation mark in Scripture? Translations placed an exclamation mark here to indicate the importance of Elizabeth’s statement. The question for us is: When God tells us to do something, do we hesitate? Or do we stand up and speak for God?
If Elizabeth were here she would say this was her story. She spoke up for what she knew God wanted.
Who are we to God? When we understand that Christ is the spiritual leader of our family, we know how God might see His women of faith. We can respond:
I am like Elizabeth.
For Thought and Discussion
- What are some of the things that God tells us in Scripture to do or not do that have become politically incorrect to talk about?
- What are some things that God may be telling you to speak up for or against or about?
- How can you be bolder in speaking God’s truth to others?
PRAYER: Heavenly Father, thank you for Scripture that tells us how you want us to live. We’re sorry that society today either doesn’t recognize your teachings as truth or doesn’t want to stand up for them. Please give us courage to be bold for you. Help us speak your truth with exclamation points. Amen.
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Our editors will review what you’ve submitted and determine whether to revise the article.Join Britannica's Publishing Partner Program and our community of experts to gain a global audience for your work!
Erwin Rommel, in full Erwin Johannes Eugen Rommel, byname the Desert Fox, German der Wüstenfuchs, (born November 15, 1891, Heidenheim, Germany—died October 14, 1944, Herrlingen, near Ulm), German field marshal who became the most popular general at home and gained the open respect of his enemies with his spectacular victories as commander of the Afrika Korps in World War II.
Early life and career
Rommel’s father was a teacher, as his grandfather had been, and his mother was the daughter of a senior official. A career as an army officer began to be fashionable, even among middle-class southern Germans, after the establishment of the German Empire in 1871; thus, notwithstanding the absence of a military tradition in his family, Rommel in 1910 joined the 124th Württemberg Infantry Regiment as an officer cadet.
In World War I, Rommel fought as a lieutenant in France, Romania, and Italy. His deep understanding of his men, his unusual courage, and his natural gift of leadership quite early showed promise of a great career. In the Prussian-German army, a career on the general staff was the normal avenue for advancement, yet Rommel declined to take that road. Both in the Reichswehr of the Weimar Republic and in Adolf Hitler’s Wehrmacht, he remained in the infantry as a frontline officer. Like many great generals, he possessed a pronounced talent for teaching and was accordingly appointed to posts at various military academies. The fruit of his battle experiences in World War I, combined with his ideas on training young soldiers in military thinking, formed the main components of his military textbook, Infanterie greift an (1937; “Infantry Attacks”), which received high initial esteem.
In 1938, after Austria’s annexation by Germany, Colonel Rommel was appointed commandant of the officers’ school in Wiener Neustadt, near Vienna. At the beginning of World War II, he was appointed commander of the troops guarding the Führer’s headquarters and became personally known to Hitler. Rommel’s chance to prove himself as a commander came in February 1940 when he assumed command of the 7th Panzer Division. He had never commanded armoured units before, yet he quickly grasped the tremendous possibilities of mechanized and armoured troops in an offensive role. His raid on France’s Channel coast in May 1940 provided the first proof of his boldness and initiative.
Commander of Afrika Korps
Less than a year later, in February 1941, Rommel was appointed commander of the German troops dispatched to aid the all-but-defeated Italian army in Libya. The deserts of North Africa became the scene of his greatest successes—and of his defeat at the hands of a vastly superior enemy. In the North African theatre of war, the “Desert Fox,” as he came to be called by both friend and foe because of his audacious surprise attacks, acquired a formidable reputation, and soon Hitler, impressed by such successes, promoted him to field marshal.
Rommel had difficulty following up these successes, however. North Africa was, in Hitler’s view, only a sideshow. Nonetheless, despite the increasing difficulties of supply and Rommel’s request to withdraw his exhausted troops, in the summer of 1942 Hitler ordered an attack on Cairo and the Suez Canal. Rommel and his German-Italian army were stopped by the British at El-Alamein (Al-ʿAlamayn, Egypt), 60 miles (100 km) from Alexandria. At that time Rommel won astounding popularity in the Arab world, where he was regarded as a “liberator” from British rule. At home the propaganda ministry portrayed him as the invincible “people’s marshal” (Volksmarschall). But the offensive against Egypt had overtaxed his resources. At the end of October 1942, he was defeated in the Second Battle of El-Alamein and had to withdraw to the German bridgehead in Tunis. In March 1943 Hitler ordered him home.
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There are still many good examples of this basic piece of antique furniture which still remains popular as both decoration and storage.
The reason for so many pieces having survived was due in part to the breadth of its popularity during the Victorian era.
It was very mobile so popular with servants who brought a chest with them when they went into service and they kept any spare clothes and livery in this chest. Pine chests were also popular in the nursery and toys and blankets were stored in them. They were also padded on top allow for extra seating. The nursery was often the final resting place for old worn out furniture and many earlier chests would end up in the Victorian nursery.
Tradesmen, particularly carpenters and joiners kept their equipment in pine chests and many of these chests had sophisticated cordoned off interiors to house precious tools.
Cheaper versions of the Victorian chest were always painted with naïve decoration such as ships, sheep and cattle, and hot air balloons, but unfortunately most of these decorations have been stripped away due to the 1960s fashion for honey coloured and waxed stripped pine.
More up market versions of the chest could be covered with leather, sharkskin, velvet and sometimes fur, however, machine made leather-cloth generally was more common.
The producers of these chests were called garret masters and they would make pieces in their own homes to sell at market.
For advice on antique chests, Lancashire has a host of expert antique dealers that can help
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The Lady’s Maid is a great story of friendship and of romance.
The story starts with two unwed young mothers in the 19th century. Both are forced to give up their babies due to circumstances. One of the babies born to a Gypsy mother and aristocratic father becomes Josephine (Josie), the daughter of a Baronet. The other, Kate, the daughter of an aristocratic mother and soldier father, becomes the daughter of a servant. The two grow up as fast friends. As young women, they both discover they are in love with men unsuitable for their station in life and that life isn’t easy for a single woman.
I love how very different the two women were and how it was very hard at that time to make a living without marriage. I loved their friendship, although Josie’s unfeeling treatment of her friend often made me want to reach into the pages and smack her. The story was interesting and kept me wondering what was going to happen next. It was the perfect book for the start of fall and left me wanting to read more Dilly Court novels.
This novel is available as an e-book in the United States
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Bryce Dallas Howard Biography, Life, Interesting Facts
Also Known For :
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Bryce Dallas Howard was born on March 2, 1981. She is an American Film Actress. She is Thirty-six years of age.
Bryce Dallas Howard was born on March 2, 1981, in Los Angeles in California, United States of America. She was born to Ron Howard and Cheryl Howard. She was brought up alongside three siblings. She had her earlier life at Greenwich in Connecticut. She started her early education at the Greenwich country day school. In 1996, she graduated. She later joined Byram hills high school which was situated at Armonk in New York. She thereafter attended Steppenwolf Theatre company’s school back in Chicago. She in turn joined Stagedoor Manor performing arts camp in Catskills.
In 1995, Bryce Dallas Howard performed as an extra for her first time in ‘Apollo 13’ which was her father’s film. In 2000, she was also featured as an extra in the ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas.’ She thereafter in the later years featured in other New York’s plays that included ‘House and Garden’ which was an Alan Ayckbourn production. She later joined the Tisch School of Arts to major in drama. In 2003, she graduated with an honorary degree in drama.
Bryce Dallas Howard started performing at the Broadway productions of classical plays. She also took part in the concept recording in ‘A tale of two cities’, which was a musical. She later performed as ‘Rosalind’ in ‘As you like it’ a William Shakespeare’s comedy production. She was thereafter given a first break by director Manoj N. Shyamalan after she impressed him.
In 2004, Bryce Dallas Howard featured in ‘Book of Love’ which was an Alan Brown’s directed film. She after that in the same year performed her first major role as a female lead in ‘The Village’ a Manoj N. Shyamalan’s thriller. In 2005, she replaced Nicole Kidman and featured as Grace Mulligan in the ‘Manderlay.’ In 2006, she starred as a nymph in Manoj N Shyamalan’s fantasy film. She later in the same year wrote and directed ‘Orchids’ which was a short film that was also a substantial part of the ‘Reel Moments’ a Glamour magazine series.
In 2008, Bryce Dallas Howard was featured in the ‘Terminator salvation’ where she replaced Charlotte Gainsbourg as Kate Connor. In 2009, she was engaged in playing in the ‘The loss of a teardrop diamond’ as a female lead. In 2010, she was featured in ‘Hereafter’ a Clint Eastwood’s film. In 2011, she played in an American drama film ‘The Help.’ She later in the year majored in sharpening her director and producer skills. She then co-produced a film titled ‘Restless.’ She after that took a role in directing and co-writing screenplays of ‘The Originals’ Film. She is on the latter now working as a director on the ‘Five More’ which is a film.
Awards and Achievements
In 2011, Bryce Dallas Howard emerged the best and took home the MTV movie award under best fight category in the film ‘The Twilight Saga: Eclipse.’ She also received ‘Black film critics circle’ award. She was then honored with ‘Black reel award.’ She also received the ‘Broadcast Film Critics Association award.’
Bryce Dallas Howard after that won the ‘Hollywood Film Festival award.’ In 2012, she emerged victorious on ‘The Help’ film by winning awards such as ‘Satellite award’ which she got for best cast. She also won the ‘Screen actors guild award’ for great performance. She then took home the ‘Southeastern film critics association award’ in conjunction with the ‘Women film critics circle award’ which she got for the best ensemble.
In 2006, Bryce Dallas Howard got married to Seth Gabel with whom they had two children. She is currently of Thirty-six years of age.
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"Michael Arlen", born "Dikran Kouyoumdjian", was an Armenians/Armenian essayist, short story writer, novelist, playwright, and scriptwriter, who had his greatest successes in the 1920s while living and writing in England. Although Arlen is most famous for his satirical romances set in English smart society, he also wrote gothic horror and psychological thrillers, for instance "The Gentleman from America", which was filmed in 1956 as a television episode for Alfred Hitchcock's TV series Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Near the end of his life, Arlen mainly occupied himself with political writing. Arlen's vivid but colloquial style "with unusual inversions and inflections with a heightened exotic pitch", came to be known as Arlenesque.If you enjoy these quotes, be sure to check out other famous writers! More Michael Arlen on Wikipedia.
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The Story of Zaira
Kari sighed, hands on her hips as one foot tapped impatiently on the icy floor of the Neggery. "Two days to go before the Festival of Neggs, and here she is sleeping away," the green-haired Faerie muttered. "Doesn't she realize all the work there is to be done? Oi..."
Said "she" that Kari was referring to was her young apprentice Zaira, currently sleeping away on a bed of Negg bushes, covered to her shoulders with a blanket and a look of dreamy content stretched across her face. Her usual bandana was gone, revealing all of her (not so) unusual blue-and-yellow streaked hair, with her violet wings folded in around her as if to provide extra warmth from the Ice Caves' unforgiving cold.
Of course, Zaira didn't realize she was oversleeping, nor realized that Kari – or the Negg Faerie, as she's commonly known – was standing over her, getting angrier with each passing moment. It was halfway through the Month of Eating, and while it was a little later than usual, it was almost time for the Festival of Neggs, one of only two times in a year in which Kari leaves her post at the Neggery to reward the masses of Neopia with magical rewards.
Kari had spent weeks plotting out locations to hide her special patterned Neggs and fake plastic Neggs for those adventurous pets to find, and have had her helpers set up her booth in Neopia Central all in preparation for the nearly month-long event. Of course, in doing all of this, it meant leaving her post at the Neggery behind – with special permission from Queen Fyora – and in the charge of her self-appointed apprentice.
Which, within itself, came with its own disadvantages, such as...
"ZAIRA! WAKE UP!"
Started, Zaira screamed and jumped off of her bed, the blanket falling to the floor. "Miss Kari!" she addressed, wrapping her arms and wings around her body, drawing in her knees to try and preserve her warmth. "You didn't have to shout, y'know."
Kari huffed. "The Festival of Neggs is in two days, and you're sleeping away. There's a lot of work to still be done, and you need to start running the Neggery so I can start on it. You need to get up and start attending to those Neggs, and be ready to answer the counter when someone comes in."
With that said, Kari fluttered off, still frustrated at her apprentice. Zaira shrugged her shoulders, then stretched out with a yawn. She started to jump around her bed, trying to warm herself up a bit, then stretched out again. Once she was done, she picked up her blanket from the floor and hastily made her bed, then grabbed her bandana and wrapped it around her head.
The Faerie then admired her work in an icy mirror on a wall, then brightly smiled before skipping out of the room. "Alright, time to get to work. Gotta make Miss Kari proud of me!"
It's only been a few years since Zaira had came to be Kari's bright and radiant apprentice, showing up by the surprise of many Neopians visiting the Neggery during the Festival of Neggs. Since then, still not much is known about her. Who exactly is Zaira? What kind of Faerie is she, or was she? Why did Kari chose her as her apprentice?
Only Kari and Queen Fyora knew the exact truth, but there was a rumor... a rumor about a Grey Faerie that had snuck into the Neggery, a Grey Faerie that Kari saw promise in...
"Your Highness, I must humbly ask you to grant me this request."
It was a beautiful and sunny day in Faerieland, the light beaming through the windows of Queen Fyora's throne room, brightly illuminating the room. Outside of the castle walls many Faeries were hard at work trying to rebuild the kingdom, heavily damaged by its fall from the clouds, and sometimes one of these Faeries fluttered past the window, their shadow flying fast across the floor.
On this day, Fyora was holding court, patiently listening to anyone that needed her help and guidance. One of these Neopians was Kari, who was currently knelt before her. It was rare for the Negg Faerie to leave her post outside of the Faerie Festival and Festival of Neggs, and even rarer for her to make an appearance in front of Fyora with a request to ask.
Fyora nodded her head and outstretched her arm, motioning Kari to stand. "Arise, Kari, and tell me your request."
The Negg Faerie stood up and began to speak. "Milady, I wish to ask if you would allow me to have an assistant, perhaps even an apprentice. After the first year you arranged it for me to run the Festival of Neggs, I've found it extremely difficult to try and run the Neggery and the Festival, especially with the two being in different lands. If you would allow me, I'd love for you to grant me this request, especially with the Festival coming up in the new few months. I need the help to make sure both run as smoothly as possible for the citizens of Neopia."
Fyora was quiet for a moment, pondering Kari's request. "Kari, your request is not one that's outrageous or unreasonable," the Queen stated. "However, I'm unable to grant your request at this time."
Kari's eyes widened. "May I ask why, Milady?"
Fyora only pointed towards the windows, to the wrecked buildings and landscape shining in the sunlight. "That is the reason why. I cannot spare a single Faerie now. This is a critical time for our kingdom, as we must rebuild as quickly as possible to be of use to Neopia again. While the Festival and the Neggery are both important to us, and the same with all of Neopia, taking away one Faerie in this time of great need would hinder us."
The Negg Faerie lowered her head; she suddenly felt selfish with her request now. She knew all too well that Faerieland was in need, and Fyora gave her the order to keep the Neggery running and leave her fellow Faeries to the reconstruction, but with so much on her plate it had slipped her mind.
Fyora saw Kari's expression change, frowning for a moment, then sighed and smiled at her. "Raise your head, Kari."
Kari did as commanded, and Fyora continued, "I will grant your request, Kari, but you must have patience. Not only for myself, but for the kingdom as a whole. Do you understand this?"
"Yes I do, Your Highness," Kari said with a nod of her head. "Thank you for listening to my request. I'll take my leave now and await for the time when it can be granted. Please excuse me; I know we both have much work to do."
Upon returning to her beloved Neggery, entering the room where the Neggs grew and matured, Kari started to feel dejected. While Fyora was very agreeable with her request, it was poorly timed and the green-haired Faerie felt guilty in making it.
With a sigh, she grabbed a nearby watering can and began to water the seedlings that were starting to grow. "I guess I'll just have to keep flying back and forth. Or perhaps, if it becomes necessary, I'll ask if the Neggery can be temporarily shut down so I can focus on the Festival. This year will already be difficult, since I don't know if I'll have any helpers... I just hope it won't come to that option," she said, sighing again once she finished.
Suddenly Kari heard a loud crash from a room in the back of the Neggery. She dropped the watering can and ran towards the sound of the noise. Upon entering the room, she was granted quite a surprising sight.
Tangled up in a mess of hoses, watering cans, and boxes of seedlings was a Grey Faerie. Her wings were clearly ripped off, her dress was ripped and torn, and her hair was devoid of any sort of color or style. Her eyes were sullen and her skin was ashen, and she looked quite malnourished. Kari was shocked; she had never seen a Grey Faerie up close, and only heard of them through stories.
The Grey Faerie looked up from her predicament and noticed Kari watching her. She gasped and tried to escape the mess, but her legs were wrapped up in the hoses. "Hold on, hon; I'll help you get out of there," Kari stated, going to work on unwrapping the hoses from around her and moving the boxes out of the way.
"There. You're free now," she stated once she was done. "Now could you tell me why you're here? There's no reason for anyone to be in this room."
The Grey Faerie said nothing, instead of choosing to look down at the ground, visibly quivering. Kari knew it wasn't because of the cold, and she softly smiled at her.
"I'm not going to hurt you. I promise. I know you're a Grey Faerie, and I understand you're scared that I'll hurt you," she stated. "But I won't hurt you. I just want to know why you're here."
The Grey Faerie looked up at Kari, still apprehensive to trust her, but she finally spoke. "... I was cold, and this place looked so warm. I... I'm not used to the cold."
"I'd say it's more like you're not prepared for the cold. Why are you here in Terror Mountain then?"
"...I'm looking for a new name."
Kari looked puzzled for a moment, then she remembered the stories she's been told. In order for Grey Faeries to regain their powers, they have to be given a new name. However, she had never heard how that was done, and if it was even true. She started to feel bad for the Faerie before her; she wished she could help her out get what she was seeking.
Then it clicked; Kari could help, and also solve her own dilemma!
The Negg Faerie smiled wide. "I think I may be able to help you. If you're willing to do something for me?"
The Grey Faerie shrunk back a bit. "What do you need from me? I'm powerless, and I can't do anything..."
"You won't be if you get a new name, right? I think I can help you get that. If I can give you a new name, would you be willing to become my apprentice? I need help here in the Neggery, and I could really use your help. If we can get the approval from Queen Fyora as well, is this something you're willing to do?"
For the first time, Kari watched as the Grey Faerie smiled and vigorously nodded her head. "Yes! Yes, I will!" she exclaimed.
Kari nodded her head, glad to hear her answer. "Good. Then we'll head out to the castle right away. But first... what name should I give you...?"
She went quiet for a few moments, tapping her chin as she racked her brain for the right name. The Grey Faerie watched intently, waiting for her to speak. Finally Kari smiled at her and placed a hand on her head, ruffling her hair gently.
"I think from now on... your name will be Zaira."
As night approached upon Terror Mountain, Kari made her way back home to the Neggery. Preparations for the Festival of Neggs was nearly complete, with the booth fully built and the Neggs harvested and ready to be hidden.
She found a nice meal waiting for her, the Neggs all watered, and a large pamphlet of orders taken for the day. The front counter was cleaned and the back room was organized and straightened out. Kari beamed; she was so proud of the work that Zaira had done in her absence.
She began to seek out her apprentice, entering the doorway of her room. "Zaira, you did such a good job today! The Neggery looks so nice!" she complimented. "I'm very--"
A loud snore interrupted her speech. Zaira was sound asleep and dead to Kari's presence, her blanket resting on the floor. Kari chuckled; she could tell Zaira worked so hard and tuckered herself out so much. As careful as she could, trying not to wake her apprentice up, she took the blanket and covered her up. Gently she untied Zaira's bandana and rested it on the night stand.
With a small ruffle to her hair, Kari turned around and left the room, a large smile spread across her face. "Good night, Zaira. Thank you for your hard work."
She didn't see Zaira smile in return, pulling the blanket further up her shoulders and snuggling into her pillow. "I should be thanking you, Miss Kari, for everything you've given me," she whispered, then yawned and began to drift off back to sleep.
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Kenneth and Zita
When she was fourteen, Zita met Kenneth while both were living in Rexfield #5. William Shutts had moved his family there after his farm was lost to foreclosure. Kenneth had returned there from North Dakota where he had been working in the mines. Kenneth’s father, Thomas Andrew Jones, was an electrical engineer at the mine. The friendship between Zita and Kenneth started when he would come to the post office to retrieve the mail. Zita had started working at the post office after her sister Carmen, the official postmistress, had largely abrogated her responsibilities. Their first date was to a silent movie shown in a big room over the company store.
Zita reported in her book that Kenneth loved todance, but that her folks would not let her go to dances. Kenneth stopped going to Dunkard services (the Dunkards were a denomination of German people similar to the Amish) and started attending the non-denominational company church and would walk Zita home after the church services.
Zita wrote, “Kenneth decided he wanted us to get married. I was only fifteen and said, ‘I don’t know. You’ll have to ask my folks, I guess.’” Clementine and Zita bought a gray taffeta dress trimmed in blue in nearby Albia for the wedding. Zita and Kenneth were married at the First Methodist Church in Albia in the presence of her parents. Zita always maintained that her marriage date was 20 May 1921, though the affidavit on file in Monroe Co., Iowa, would suggest that the marriage occurred on 20 May 1922. As Zita herself noted earlier, she was fifteen-years-old at the time of her marriage, and this would not have occurred until 1922. (Documentation can be found in a Appendix 3.)
Granddaughter Tamia Cloud Bible wrote, "Mom (Shirley Jones Cloud) never corrected the question about the year publicly. She had the documentation in her files for the correct date, but she felt that Grandma J would have been hurt if it was made public in her lifetime. She always said that genealogy had the power to hurt as well as help. So, she allowed the artifice to stand to protect Grandma's feelings. She was convinced that Grandma had come to believe in the 1921 date. She also talked about the 50th anniversary celebration in 1971 being quite awkward because all the adults knew that it was actually only 49 years. Aunt B (Lou Jones) told me as well that Maynard (Jones) found the license when he was a teenager and he thought it was hilarious. I know that Mom's handling of this was done to protect Grandma J and does reflect a certain generational approach to a delicate situation."
After they were married, Kenneth continued to work in the coal mine at Rexfield #5 as a top weigh man. His job was to weigh the coal after it was transported up the shaft to the surface level. They lived in a company house, which consisted of three rooms.
Kenneth and Zita then moved to Ottumwa, Iowa, when the coal vein lessened, and Kenneth got a job at Morrell’s packing plant. In Ottumwa they rented a two-room apartment in a rooming house called the Glendon.
It was in Ottumwa that their first child, Maynard LeRoy, was born on 22 May 1922 when Zita was fifteen and Kenneth was 24. He was named “Maynard” because Kenneth had wanted his younger twin brothers to be named Maynard and Baynard.
Kenneth developed diphtheria at this time, and all in the family received an antitoxin injected into the spine. The family was quarantined for a period of time and the living quarters were fumigated. Fortunately, all recovered, but Kenneth was told not to back into the packing plant again.
With a lure of higher wages, Kenneth took a train to Farmington, Fulton Co., Illinois, so that Kenneth could again work in a coal mine along side his brothers Carl and Gus. Maynard and Zita went to live with her parents at Rexfield #5. While at the mining camp, Kenneth developed pneumonia. Zita received a telephone call that Kenneth was very ill with pneumonia. Kenneth’s mother and father, Maynard, and Zita took a train to Farmington where they found Kenneth deathly ill, a perception that was confirmed by the local doctor who said, “There is no point in giving him (Kenneth) any more medicine. I won’t be coming back to see him again because he will not be alive by morning.” Kenneth’s brothers had planned to move to an apartment and had removed all items from their living quarters. Kenneth was found lying on a spring bed covered only with a blanket.
Zita and Kenneth’s mother, Eva, mixed up hot poultices of lard, turpentine, and mustard and kept applying them to Kenneth’s chest. Kenneth’s fever broke, and after about five or six days he was brought back to Albia by train and then by bobsled to the Shutts’ house at Rexfield #5.
In the spring of 1923 after Kenneth had recuperated from his pneumonia, he took a job as a section man for highway construction. Zita and Maynard moved to a three room house in Dows, Iowa, to be near Kenneth’s work.
Eighteen months later, the young family moved to Chariton where they lived in a three-room apartment attached to a boarding house owned by Zita’s parents. While Zita helped her mother prepare meals for the boarders, Kenneth worked in a lumberyard in Chariton and later worked as a salesman for the Singer Sewing Machine Company which had him traveling from town to town selling the new electric sewing machines. Zita would sometimes work in the hem stitching shop, which Singer operated in Chariton.
Shirley Marian was born in Chariton on 21 December 1924 and was named after a character in a book —Shirley Marian Gray— which Zita had read to Kenneth when he was so ill. Shirley’s nickname was “Little Toot”.
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In a chapter in her book titled “More than Disaster”, Zita described one of several events that shaped her life:
“At about noon on June 5, 1925, Maynard and Dad had just returned from town, where they had purchased some extra soup bowls. Dad was sitting in the office collecting the money for the noon meals. Dad also loved to go around the dining room pouring coffee for the guests as they ate their meal. Carmen was in the apartment helping to baby-sit Maynard and Shirley. Suddenly, Ollie showed up at the apartment and said that he had come to try to reconcile with Carmen. Mother and I were in the kitchen preparing the noon meal and heard a lot of commotion. I went out to help in the dining room as Carmen came running out of the kitchen screaming. She ran through the dining room. Ollie was chasing her with a gun in his hand. As Ollie ran passed me, he stuck the gun in my side and I heard it click. Then, he shoved me aside and continued to chase Carmen. By this time the guests in the ding room were running and screaming. Next, Dad came running out of the office and got between Ollie and Carmen. Ollie aimed the gun at Caren but shot Dad. Dad crumbled to the floor right in front of my eyes. “O my God,” Ollie said, “I killed Dad!”
“Ollie continued running out of the back door, across the street to the Blackstone Hotel, where he shot and killed himself. The sheriff came to investigate. Dad had died at the scene! The newspaper article the next day reported that, when the gun was examined at the sheriff’s office, there was one bullet that had been fired but not released. That was the misfired bullet meant for me!
“Mother wanted Dad’s body brought home to be laid out. Carmen wanted Ollie’s body brought home, too. So the two of them were laid out in caskets side by side in Mother’s boarding house and buried side by side in our lots at the cemetery.
“Life was never the same after that. Everything crumbled at one time. I lost my Dad. Mother lost her husband. My children lost their grandfather. It completely changed our family! I ended up not having a home at the boarding house anymore and Mother lost her livelihood because she had to sell the boarding house after Dad’s death.
“There hasn’t been a day in my life since then, that I haven’t thought about it. It was so senseless... This has been the most difficult event to relate in my entire autobiography.”
Later in 1925, Kenneth got a job in Newton, Iowa, and the family lived in a tent city where Maytag Park is now located. With winter approaching in November 1925, they moved in with Zita’s mother who was now running a boarding house on West Third Street in Des Moines, Iowa. Kenneth found work as a sand cutter for Green Colonial Furnaces, allowing them to move to a rented house on Chicago Avenue in Des Moines.
They later moved to a rented house on Twenty-fifth Street when Kenneth decided he wanted to have a garden. When Zita was pregnant with her third and final child, Helen Mae, the family again moved, this time to a house at 2522 Lyon Street. Helen was born in this house on 20 February 1927.
Several years after Helen was born, Kenneth experienced an illness that caused him to lose work time at the foundry. Out of economic necessity, Zita found work as a hosiery inspector at a local mill. She was later promoted to doing piecework and earned between $12 and $18 per week, depending on the work accomplished. Zita later was promoted to a supervisory position, working from 3pm to 11pm, a situation in which she would continue for the next 15 years.
Kenneth and Zita bought their first home located at 2516 Lyon Street in 1929. Within two years Kenneth would experience repeated layoffs at the foundry and one year worked only 23 days. When he was not working, he would be out looking for odd jobs. Zita’s work would occasionally be cut back to three days a week. The mortgage company agreed to take interest only payments instead of foreclosing. Sometimes after paying the gas, electricity, and telephone bills, there would be less than a dollar for the family to live on for the rest of the week.
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Jeff Bullock, M.D. completed his undergraduate work at Texas A&M, and went on to achieve his Medical Doctorate at Texas Tech School of Medicine. It was during the early parts of his medical training as an intern, resident, and fellow at Parkland Memorial Hospital in Dallas, that he discovered his passion for gastroenterology. He recalls, “It is one of the few fields [of medicine] where there is a good mix of science and people—a deeper level of thinking, interacting with patients, and performing procedures.”
During his career, Dr. Bullock has applied his expertise to other facets of art and science. He contributes as a medical columnist for The Boerne Star—winning the Anson Jones Award for excellence in health reporting in 2015.
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The information for this page came from old microfilm records of unknown origin. Anyone wishing to add information concerning this church is encouraged to contact Betty Miller, your host for Pickens County, AL. Typographical and transcription errors will be happily corrected, however, no alterations will be made to the original document, additional information will be added as submitter's notes or as additional informational material.
On the 4th Sunday in May, 24, 1846 services were begun by Rev. John T. Muss (Bishop) of Bedford, Tennessee, opening with prayer by Rev. A. H. Furguson of Fairfield District, South Carolina. Brother Matthew Lyon, acting Clerk, read letters of Deacon Francis W. Bostick and his wife, Candaca M.; Mrs. Mary Caroline Sherrod; Mrs. Rebecca Rocker; Edward Lee; Matthew Lyon and wife - Savannah; Muscoggs Lyon; from the Big Creek Baptist Church near Carrollton and Mrs. L. Holly of Mississippi.
The first pastor was Rev. William R. Stannsel, father of Col. M. L. Stansel, who served to 1848, then the next pastor was Rev. Montgomery C. Curry.
This church was made a member of the Union (now Pickensville) Baptist Association and still was in 1947.
Services were held first in the Courthouse, then November 21, 1846 in the Male Academy; next on the Methodist church to October 1855, when they were in the homes of the members to June 13, 1859 when services were held in the Franklin Academy. On Saturday before the second Sunday in August 1857 the church met in Conference in the new church building which was replaced later by the present building.
The Rev. William R. Stansel came to Pickens County in 1831 from Georgia and was the regular pastor for many years.
In early days, there was strict discipline in the church. Several members were ezpelled for intoxication and other offenses, even an ordained preacher member was expelled for being drunk.
Several slaves were member of this church.
A Sunday School was begun before 1857. Brother W. G. Robertson was a leader in the Sunday School for many years. His wife was the first president of the Women's Missionary Union. About 1898 only two preachers were ordained there - Matthew Lyons and R. M. Humphries. Matthew Lyon was first a printer, then editor of the "Register", next a lawyer and Registrar in Chancery, afterwards a clergyman and later a teacher.
Grandchildren of Edward Lee: Carson, Ada Lucy, Lofton and Emmett Lee, Mrs. Alma Carson, Mrs. Monroe Dowden, Mrs. Bessie Smith were members.
Hon. J. J. Willcutt of Anniston, Alabama, Mrs. Bessie Elmore of Demoplis, Mrs. Bessie Mae Barder and Mrs. Julia Hill Clark were members and dexcendants of F. w. Bostick.
Edgar L Smith, born December 19, 1868 and who died in Carrollton May 4, 1935 was very liberal (sic) to the church and will (sic) a large sum to this church and to Baptist work.
James F. Hidge, born September 30, 1866, died September 8, 1927 was Circuit Clerk of the county and of the Baptist Association for several years. His daughter, Mamie was pianist of this church.
Milton Benjamin Curry was baptized in the Anon Church (now Aliceville) in 1880, made member of the Carrollton Church in 1886, was for 35 years Moderator of the Pickens Baptist Association. Rev. John H. Curry, born January 7, 1845 in Pickens County, died at Northport, Alabama, Sepatember 9, 1901. He was ordained by the Big Creek Baptis Church in 1868, preached at Obion County, Tennessee in Pickens and Tuscaloosa County. Was 1st. Ferg. in C.S.A.
W. G. Robertson was born i Tuscaloosa, Alabama September 25, 1839, died in Carrollton, Alabama March 13, 1932. He married Sarah A. Gardner. He was 2nd. Lieut. in Company E 18th Alabama Infantry Regiment, C. S. A. and was captured at Missionary Ridge and was a prisoner of Was, to end of that war. He moved to Carrolton in 1886 and was a deacon in this Baptist Church from 1872 until he died. Only one child, Mrs. Eliza Nettles survived him.
Miss Addie Cox was born in Pickens County 1895, joined the Baptist church in Carrollton in 1889. In 1918 she applied to the Southern Baptist Convention as a missionary and was in China 1918-1925. And from 1926-1934, she worked until the outbreak of the Communist and in 1927 had to leave the interior of China with ten other missionaries. 1935-1944, War, flood, famine and bombings, etc. but she continued her work until she was compelled to leave. Her trip home took seven months. Addie Cox was named "The Heroine of the Faith."
You're the [an error occurred while processing this directive]person to visit this page since 11 April 2001.
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Gwen & Tiana
Gwen & Tiana on ubuntu music
Tiana grew up in Cameroon, lulled by the Jazz and Soul music her parents would listen to. She developed her passion for music at a very young age, when she studied the classical piano. Her growing curiosity led her to join African and Gospel choirs. Guided by her love for music, during her graduate study, she was part of several musical shows and even wrote and staged a musical. After graduation, she entered the Conservatoire de Musique de Lille where she developed her musical knowledge.
Ever since he was a child, Gwen had been immersed in the effervescent world of gospel music, a few years before he discovered soul music. His first steps as a music professional were made in Gabon, where he worked with gospel artists from his area. Then he went to France where he gave new impetus to his musical career. He worked with many gospel artists and together, they toured France, Holland and Germany. Then he joined a jazz school in Montpellier (Ecole de Jazz et de Musiques Actuelles) in order to improve his skills.
Their debut album, 'African Time', will be released on Ubuntu Music in spring 2019.
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It is a great pity the yoke that the legalists and self-righteous have often put upon those who are going through times of suffering and hardship. They are precisely like the religious “friends” of Job, who, when God had in his good pleasure smote Job, circled around him like vultures seeking to pick the depths of his heart for some sin so that they could explain his sufferings according to their works-based theology. However, after God was pleased to remove his hand from the head of the righteous Job, he rebuked those fools who sought to explain the ways of God by the philosophies of men, and he, after sufficiently humbling Job, raised up his righteous servant in renewed splendor.
The case with us who are in Christ is no different than that of Job. Because of what Christ has done upon the cross and because of his righteous life, we who are in him are likewise counted righteous. For this reason, when we suffer as God’s children, it is never because we are being judged for some sin that we may have committed or some duty that we may not have fulfilled, for all of our sins, all of our shortcomings, and all of our judgment has been cast upon Christ fully and finally. Therefore when we suffer, it always has a much grander purpose.
For this reason, the apostle Paul declares in the context of his discourse on suffering that “For those who love God, all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose” (Rm. 8:28). And this grand purpose for which these sufferings work together is the molding of us into the image of Jesus Christ–he who suffered more than any man could ever suffer (cf. Rm. 8:29, 30). For while many men have suffered hardships and have endured great tribulations in this life, none them have descended from the Throne of Heaven and have become as a slave, and none of them have been rejected as he was rejected, and none of them have been blameless and yet bore the sins of others. Yet Christ, though being God over all, suffered in this way, and we who are his followers are called onto the same path that he walked, for Christ declared, “He who would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me” (Mt. 16:24).
And what does it mean to take up our cross and to follow Christ? It means that we who are Christ’s followers will endure the same hardships that he endured. For the apostle Paul begins his aforementioned discourse on suffering writing, “[We are children and] heirs, provided that we suffer with [Christ] in order that we may also be glorified with him” (Rm. 8:16, 17). This means that we who are children of God will by necessity suffer as our Firstborn Brother suffered. Just as Christ was hated by the world, so shall we be hated by the world (cf. Jn. 7:7). Just as Christ was reviled and cursed by men, so shall we be reviled and cursed by men (Mt. 5:11, 12). Just as Christ suffered unjustly, so shall we suffer unjustly. Just as Christ was poor and lowly, so shall we be poor and lowly. Just as Christ was rejected by his own people, so shall we be rejected by our own people. And just as Christ loved deeply and yet was hated, so shall we love deeply and yet be hated.
Yet, in all these things we are more than conquerors in Christ who loves us (cf. Rm. 8:37), in spite of the fact that we are being killed all the day long (cf. Rm. 8:36). For despite these sufferings and hardships in this age, we have the hope of the glory of God set before us. For when we suffer as Christ suffered, we are being made like him in all things, so that we might share in the Great Inheritance that is his. For if we are indeed Christ’s followers, our hope and desires are not in this world, but they are vested in the Kingdom of God, so that we might be like Moses, who, though the son of Pharaoh’s daughter and heir to the riches of Egypt, counted the reproach of Christ as greater riches (cf. Heb. 11:24). We likewise must consider the reproach that comes with being named with Christ as greater than the pleasures of this world, and, because of the riches of Christ and his glory, we should always rejoice knowing what is laid in store for us.
Therefore, dear brother or sister, do not let your heart be overcome by the venomous lies of those who teach that your suffering is evidence of your sin and disobedience, for, in reality, the opposite is the case. If you are indeed suffering while you are following hard after our Lord, you can rest assured that you are in God’s will and that God is using these things to refine you into the image of his most Beloved Son. God has much greater riches laid in store for you than the comforts, conveniences, pleasures, and esteem of this wicked age, and you should lift up your head in thanksgiving to him who saw it fit to refine you as gold.
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BioHaden Harris Pickel graduated with a degree in Visual Art from Auburn University in 1964. She has continued her education for the past 30 years by studying with many well known and gifted painters around the United States and beyond. Favorite among them are Impressionists Charles Warren Mundy, Guido Frick and Maggie Siner...as well as portrait painter Michael Shane Neal. Haden paints as often as she can for the challenge and joy of it. It is a spiritual endeavor bringing a deep quiet to her soul. She also instructs others with a passion for painting. Her range of subject matter is wide...figurative, landscape and floral as well as larger abstract and intuitive compositions. Her goal in these years is to enjoy life.
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Original Fiction: ‘The Girl Behind the Glass’ by Gavin G. Smith
London, June 28th, 1987
Neren used to love the band. She’d never spoken to anyone who knew who or what they were, not even Meg, and she was the oldest of the Trinity. Tall, spindly musicians with distended bodies and six arms, they used to play real instruments, often several at once. Now they hid behind banks of synthesizers. Neren had seen Hendrix play with them back in ’69; Bowie had sung for them; there were even rumours of a jam with Jim Morrison that had caused hallucinations. Now, they seemed to have embraced Muzak like the rest of the world.
A film of stale alcohol covered the top of the table she was resting her head on. It was clammy and damp, but there was something wretchedly comfortable about her position. It also meant she didn’t have to watch the death of music out on the island, though it seemed she had to listen to it.
“Oh, you’ve come as Joan Jett, how very nineteen seventy-six.” The voice was educated, refined even, very English and not quite dripping with sarcasm. Neren groaned into her puddle of stale alcohol.
“Go away, Sabin,” she managed over the music. She still hadn’t moved or opened her eyes. She felt the comparison to Joan Jett was unfair. Sure, she was wearing jeans and an old Suicidal Tendencies T-shirt, but she had a suit jacket on, though it was a little frayed and torn. She opened her eyes and sat up.
“You want to talk about the seventies, you fucking hypocrite?” she asked. Sabin was tall, slender and beautiful like every elf she had ever met, just like one of her parents must have been. He had sapphire eyes and long, straight, platinum-blond hair secured with a silver raven’s head clasp, and a pearl earring dangling from his right ear. He was wearing a shirt, cravat and a purple crushed velvet suit. Neren had to admit he was just about pulling it off without looking like he was trying too hard. He was leaning heavily on a cane. Despite his beauty, he was considered a monster by his own kind. He walked with a limp, some said as a result of a duel with Rafique Quinto himself. Elves valued beauty and perfection; in their eyes, Sabin was less than whole. Deformed. She could only imagine what they thought of a half-breed like her. Once wiry and athletic, she was now gaunt, thanks to the ravages of her bad habits, though there was still a hardness to her, the result of Lord Razor’s training. Her elven parent hadn’t given her much: her ears were pointed but not to the extent of a full-blood elf like Sabin. She aged more slowly than humans; she was forty-two now, but she barely looked out of her teens despite her habits.
“Of course you mean the seventeen seventies. I fear elegance died with the eighteenth century,” Sabin opined and then took a good long look at Neren, a pained expression creeping across his features. “I take it back. You don’t look like Joan Jett. You look like shit.” Neren gave him the finger.
“You look like a game show host,” she told him, making him frown. She could see his watchdog, an unassuming, bearded man. Sabin’s bodyguard was probably the only human in the London Underground. Normally Neren was the most human person in the supposedly ironically named club. You had to know how to get here to get here, and most humans instinctively knew to stay away. It wasn’t just the more common races that came here: the dwarves and the elves, refugees from the Nine Worlds; the broonies and the ogres, descendants of the first peoples in Britain; or the orcs, who had come from their home in the north and settled in the East End. Some of the creatures that stalked the labyrinthine passages of the club were legendary and saw humans as significantly beneath them on the food chain, often literally.
Neren and Sabin were sat in the main bar. A subterranean split-level grotto, part natural cave, part Roman temple in marble. There was a surprisingly clear – for London – pool of water in the centre of the main bar area. The band performed from a rock island in the pool. Behind the banks of synthesizers was an alabaster statue in the classical style of Janus, the two-faced god of transitions, endings and deceit. One face looked to the future, the other to the past. The club positively reeked of the magic now denied Neren since she had turned her back on the gods and run away from home.
Sabin was looking at her sympathetically. Neren sighed.
“Let me guess, you’ve come to give me another lecture on how I should live better. Or are you just trying to send me back—” She almost said “home”.
“Lecture you? No! That would be terribly judgemental of me. Besides, you’re doing so well now. A Razor Girl, one of the Leper Messiah’s lackeys, a murderous thug working for her next fix.” He met her eyes. She wanted to be angry with him, hate the elf, hurt him, but his words were far too close to the truth. Lord Razor watched over and protected the less fortunate in the city, the homeless, the drug users, but he put the more capable of them to work. The anger and nihilistic need to eradicate all rational thought, to care about nothing but self-gratification that had driven her when she had escaped America, that had made the drugs and the violence that paid for them all right, was gone. It had left bad habits and guilt in its place. That didn’t mean she could go home. Sometimes she was just about able to pretend that she was still enjoying herself.
“Is this elf bothering you?” Neren broke away from staring at Sabin to look up at Rafique Quinto. Like Lord Razor, Quinto was one of the Trinity that controlled organised crime in London. He looked like a very attractive human, olive skin, black salon-styled hair, dark eyes, and he wore his Savile Row suit well. Like Sabin, he carried a cane. Unlike Sabin, Quinto’s cane had nothing to do with an old injury. The cane contained a rapier. Quinto may have looked human but Neren had heard him say that he had come to Britain with Rome’s legions. He had a reputation as a ruthless duellist. He was the vice lord of London. Every prostitution, gambling and drug operation in the city paid tribute to him.
“Rafique!” Sabin cried. “How are you, you old pimp?” Neren inhaled sharply, holding her breath. Nobody spoke to Rafique that way, not in the Underground anyway. The vice lord’s face hardened but Sabin had already turned back to Neren. A business card had appeared in his fingers.
“This month’s telephone number,” he told her and offered her the card. Neren hesitated. She could feel Rafique’s eyes on her. Finally, she took the card and tucked it into the pocket of her suit jacket. Sabin stood up.
“Always a pleasure,” he said to Quinto. The vice lord said nothing as the elf started towards his human bodyguard standing by the bar.
“Why do you care?” It was out of her mouth before she could stop it. It was just about the last thing she wanted to say in front of Quinto. Sabin stopped and sagged, leaning heavily on his cane.
“I’m not your father,” he told her over his shoulder and then limped away.
“I don’t like your relationship with that treacherous peace of shit,” Quinto said quietly, once he was sure Sabin was out of earshot.
“He’s just a friend,” Neren said. She didn’t have many of them left.
“He’s Sub Rosa,” Quinto spat. Neren knew that Sabin was a member of England’s secret intelligence service, though he had always struck her as too flamboyant to be a spy. “Victoria’s lackey.”
“Like I say, he’s just a friend. Do you need something?”
“I have a job for you,” he told her. Neren’s heart sank. Of all the Trinity, she liked working for Quinto the least. Working for the vice lord she saw people of all races at their most desperate and pathetic. It was a little too close to home.
“Nobody else around? I was hoping…” she started. A bag of white powder hit the table.
“Pharmaceutical quality, very pure, certified by my alchemists. Only the best for one of Lord Razor’s girls.” It was quite a big bag. She made it disappear into one of her pockets.
“Have you got your knives on you?” he asked.
“Always,” she told him. Razors always carried their blades with them. She wore both the kerambits in a horizontal sheath at the small of her back. The curved Indonesian blades were known as the Sisters, named because they had power: they were infused with magic.
“Meg’s got something for you at the bar,” Quinto told her.
Charon’s tube train was decorated with a graffiti mural depicting Orpheus’s descent into Hades. Neren and Quinto travelled the ghost lines through London’s underground rail network. The train took them over the broad subterranean river that was the Fleet. Neren had once been told that the Fleet was a tributary of the Styx. She wasn’t sure if it had been a joke.
The something that Meg had for Neren was actually two somethings. She felt the weight of the twin Browning Hi-Powers in the double shoulder rig under each armpit, extra magazines clipped to her belt. It was the matching suppressors, designed to quiet the two pistols, which suggested to Neren that she might be expected to kill tonight.
“You going to tell me where we’re going?” she asked Quinto when they emerged into the sweaty, fume-filled, gritty London summer night. It was just after midnight, but the streets of the West End were still full of people. They made their way along High Holborn and onto Oxford Street.
“A simple business negotiation, nothing to worry about,” Quinto told her. That explains the twin shooters, Neren thought.
Soho was even busier. The sex shops, clip joints, adult cinemas, and strip clubs were still open for business. Little of the prostitution the area was famous for was in evidence on the street as they mostly worked from ‘walk-ups’, rooms above the clubs, shops, pubs and bars. Neren found herself jostled by leather-clad dwarves, elven drag queens, punk broonies and skinhead orcs, and of course the many human revellers spilling out of the gay bars and pubs onto the street. It was somehow seedily beautiful, alive. Neren would have loved Soho if she hadn’t been so painfully aware that you didn’t have to look too hard to find abject misery and degradation.
Quinto had said very little, though she noticed that even the tourists knew well enough to make way for him. She wondered if it was some kind of subtle magic, or just sheer force of personality. They snaked their way through Soho to Berwick Street. The narrow street, little more than an alley, was lined with the seedier sex cinemas and more dangerous clip joints. A few red-lit doorways held some of the more desperate-looking prostitutes of all the genders. Quinto didn’t seem to notice; he might as well have been out for a gentle evening stroll.
They stopped by an unassuming doorway. Neren glanced up. The windows were painted black. It looked like a walk-up. She glanced over at Quinto.
“Want to tell me what we’re walking into? The more I know, the better I can protect you.”
“Do you really think you’re here to protect me?” he asked and pressed the buzzer. A tinny voice demanded to know whom it was. Quinto told them.
Neren didn’t like this. She didn’t like this at all. The door had opened onto a dark stairwell, painted black and lit red. They were met at the top of the stairs on a dark landing by East End orc muscle in a half-decent suit. He gestured to Neren to raise her hands so he could search her. Further along the landing she could make out a half open door. Through it she could hear the forced giggling of women trying to make paying customers feel comfortable. It was a brothel. They were actually rarer in Soho than people thought. They encouraged too much attention, which made the police’s utterly corrupt vice squad’s life difficult. So if you were going to run one you had to pay through the nose, which meant that you had to be really profitable, which meant you needed a special draw. Often it was elves. Humans loved fucking elves; it was how she came to be, after all. She was pretty sure the orc was carrying a shooter. She didn’t like that, either. Brothel muscle were there to keep the girls in line, sort out unruly johns. They didn’t need guns, or the risk said guns represented under English law. Neren finished looking around and turned back to the orc. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t raise her hands either.
“Are you out of your mind?” Quinto asked, just the slightest undercurrent of threat in his words. “You know what she is.” Not who, mind you, Neren thought, but what. The orc muscle raised his hands and took a step back. Quinto rewarded him with a smile.
They were shown into the main parlour. The furnishing and decor wouldn’t have been out of place in any upmarket Mayfair flat that belonged to a pervert. The working girls were all in their late teens to early twenties and very attractive. Many of them sat on the laps of the older, reasonably wealthy-looking humans, and one elf who seemed vaguely familiar. Neren thought he might be a member of the House of Lords. There was another orc in the parlour, obvious muscle. Neren reckoned both the orcs were members of the same East End firm. The orc in the parlour was armed as well. As brothels went, it looked like a nice place and seemed to command a moneyed clientele who presumably enjoyed the thrill of slumming in Soho. Right up until the tabloids discovered them, or Quinto started blackmailing them, anyway.
Neren noticed one of the girls was a half-elf – there but for the grace of the gods, she thought – but that wouldn’t be enough of a draw. Then she followed the eyes of the men. All of them were ignoring the pretty young things twittering away in their laps. They were staring at some fixed point. Part of one wall was a water-filled tank. There was a woman inside it. She was naked and perfect. Neren was reasonably sure she herself was heterosexual, but this woman took her breath away. She was statuesque, athletic, with a swimmer’s body. Her waist-length auburn hair flowed around her as though it had a life of its own. She had strong cheekbones, and her freckled porcelain skin hadn’t lost its lustre despite being submerged. But it was her eyes… green like the sea, ancient somehow, and so bright they all but glowed. Now Neren understood the draw. She was only nominally aware that Quinto was looking at her, smiling.
“The clientele bid for her services,” Quinto whispered.
This isn’t right! a voice screamed in Neren’s head. It was like looking at a goddess in chains.
Whoever they’d come to see had some balls, Neren decided. They had kept Quinto waiting. It was a bold move. They sat in the parlour, making the johns nervous until Quinto engaged them in conversation, putting them at ease. He had politely but firmly waved off the attentions of a number of the girls. Neren had to force herself not to think of them as consolation prizes for the losers in the auction. For her part, she was transfixed, and couldn’t take her eyes off the girl swimming around in the cramped tank. She had tried to catch her eye, but the woman seemed intent on not looking at anybody in the room. Perhaps that was part of the allure. Neren didn’t feel attraction towards the woman. It was more like seeing a work of art, a stunning landscape, or a beautiful wild animal in captivity. Finally, she forced herself to look away and sat down beside Quinto.
“She’s not breathing,” Neren said.
“No,” Quinto agreed. He seemed a little surprised that Neren had sat down next to him on the sofa.
“There’s no gills, so she doesn’t have mer-blood. She’s holding her breath. She’s fae, isn’t she?” Neren asked. As Quinto opened his mouth to answer, a door next to the tank opened and another orc poked his large, shaved and tusked head out.
“Mr Fisher will see you now,” the orc growled.
If the parlour had been decorated reasonably tastefully for a place where bodies were sold, the same couldn’t be said for Fisher’s office. It screamed ostentation. The desk, chairs, sofa, dark wood panelling and the frames of the sexually explicit oil paintings all looked like a collision between the worst excesses of 80s interior design, and a masturbatory attempt at a tribute to Versailles. The office’s only saving grace was that the tank took up part of the wall on this side as well.
“Thank you, Butcher,” the human, presumably Mr Fisher, said. He was a squat man in his fifties. Something about his appearance made Neren think he’d lived a hard life initially, possibly outdoors, but turned to a life of decadence in his later years. He was jowly, running to fat. The skin on his face was a mass of burst blood vessels, but his eyes were alert and there was still power in his frame. He spoke with a strong Scottish accent.
Judging by the cut of his suit, the gangster jewellery and scar tissue on show, Neren reckoned that Butcher was the leader of the orc muscle. There was another orc in the room, leaning on the wall behind Neren. Quinto had made himself comfortable in the proffered chair in front of Fisher’s desk. Neren stood just behind the vice lord’s left shoulder. Neren guessed that the extra muscle, the shooters, were for Quinto’s benefit, a misguided attempt to negotiate from a position of strength.
Fisher turned to look at Neren, eyeing her up with the beady, expert eye of a pimp. Neren resisted the urge to hurt him.
“One of Lord Razor’s ragged sparrows? I must be in trouble,” he said, smiling. There wasn’t a trace of humour in his eyes. Neren wondered if he was smart enough to be afraid.
“No sparrow, Graham,” Quinto said. “Neren here hails from your homeland.” Neren managed not to flinch. She didn’t like to think about Scotland, what she’d left behind when she’d run, when she’d needed to see and experience more than her responsibilities would allow.
“Oh yeah, I though that when I heard her accent,” Fisher said. There was chuckling from the orc behind them. Neren hadn’t said anything yet.
“She was once a druid,” Quinto added.
Neren swallowed hard. She felt cold. She hadn’t been expecting that. She was very much aware that she had Fisher’s full attention. Butcher shifted a little. He was leaning against the wall just to the right of Fisher’s desk.
“Oh, I see,” Fisher said, turning back to Quinto and pointing at Neren. “Trying to put the fear of the gods into me?”
Quinto smiled, holding his hands open.
“Nothing of the sort. I just thought you might want to meet a fellow countrywoman. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Two hundred years,” Fisher muttered. That didn’t make any sense to Neren. He looked human. Her awareness of magic had atrophied in the years since she had turned her back on the gods, but she wasn’t getting any sense of power from the pimp. “And I thought you were here to discuss business?”
“The only business I’m here to discuss is our polite request that you refrain from skimming from your take.” The orcs tensed, Butcher pushing himself off the wall with a low growl. Quinto didn’t look the orc’s way, but Fisher held up a hand.
“That doesn’t sound terribly polite,” Fisher said. He pointed at his desk. “In fact, here, in my place, that sounds downright disrespectful.”
“Your place is in our city,” Quinto explained. He sounded tired, as though he’d had this conversation time and time again. “Twenty-five per cent is a fair cut for the services we provide. It’s a nice simple, easy figure that everyone can remember. It’s been that way for more than a thousand years. We make sure no disreputable elements interfere with your business. We pay off the police, the press; finesse the government, the crown; take care of the odd mess you might find yourselves in; cut you in on any tangential profits arising from your business—” by which Neren was sure he meant blackmail “—and we are there when some fool falls in love with Arianne,” Quinto pointed at the girl in the tank, “and hires mercenaries to steal her from you. Or had you forgotten about that?” Fisher said nothing. “If you don’t want to pay, then leave the city. We won’t stop you.”
“Everything’s open for negotiation,” Fisher started. “I’m one of your biggest earners… Hey, where are you—” Quinto had stood up.
“We do not negotiate because we don’t have to. If you skim again, it won’t be me who will visit you.” Fisher looked furious. As Quinto turned around, the orc who had been behind them stepped forward and opened his jacket, showing Quinto the sawn-off shotgun hanging there on a makeshift sling. Neren was of the opinion the orc was either very brave or very stupid.
“I don’t think Mr Fisher had finish—”
Neren hadn’t really been conscious of drawing both the Brownings. One was pointed at the orc in Quinto’s way, the other at Butcher.
“It’s all right,” Quinto said to her, motioning for Neren to lower her pistols. She did so, but didn’t re-holster them. Quinto hadn’t taken his eyes off the orc blocking his way. “The last person to pull a gun on me was Ronald Kray. You may want to think about that.” There was a moment’s hesitation, then the orc lowered his eyes and stepped out of Quinto’s path. Neren backed towards the door, keeping an eye on Fisher and the two orcs. Butcher was staring at her. Fisher looked apoplectic. She caught a glimpse of a coat stand in the corner behind the desk. It seemed out of place. It was only when Neren saw the single coat hanging from the stand that she understood: the girl behind the glass, Fisher’s apparent immortality, all of it. She glanced at the water-filled tank. Green eyes looked back at her.
Back out on Berwick Street, Quinto politely thanked her and walked off. Neren watched him making his way through the thinning crowds. She slipped a hand into her pocket, felt the bag of powder. Quinto telling Fisher about her past had been the last thing she needed, a reminder of what she had left behind some eighteen years ago. Nights of excess, the music, the sex, the drugs – it had been worth it in the beginning, but it had all gone wrong, poisoned somehow. For her it had been in LA, in the 70s. Neren looked up at the blackened windows of the brothel, knowing the on-going crime that was taking place up there. She forced herself to walk away.
Neren vacuumed an enormous line up a nostril. She sat up on her decaying sofa in her squat, waited for the electric jackhammer hit of the cocaine. Her head went numb. In a good way. She took a belt of the Scotch, downing at least an eighth of the bottle whilst she still felt numb, pouring smooth liquid fire down her throat.
Fuck Quinto! Fuck the Trinity! Fuck Sabin, that sanctimonious double-dealing prick! And fuck the druids! It wasn’t like she’d had a choice. She’d been a foundling. The unwanted progeny of human and elf given to the druids to care for, to bring up as one of their own. To brainwash? She told herself that at her angriest. When she needed to justify her actions. And fuck Fisher! But that brought her up short. She thought about what he was doing over there. It’s just a residual sense of responsibility, she told herself. The druids were the conduit between the gods and the people in her homeland, unlike in England where the Olympian pantheon dominated. The druids’ dealings extended to the children and grandchildren of the gods, the fae. What was happening a few streets away from Neren’s squat couldn’t have happened back home. That was presumably why Fisher had left Scotland.
It’s not your problem anymore, she told herself. Do some more coke. It was true, shit like this happened all over the city, the country, the world. What difference did it make if it was an immortal fae or some poor human girl?
You can’t save the world. She did another vast line. Quinto hadn’t lied. It was good stuff. Her heart felt like a wild bird in a cage, like it was battering against her ribs, desperate to be free. She grabbed the bottle of Scotch. She had some vague idea of counteracting the coke with the whisky. It was good stuff, single malt. Only the best for one of the Razor Lord’s little girls, she thought bitterly as she tried to empty the bottle down her throat. After all, she was one of the murder aristocracy. She saw all their faces. Illuminated by the muzzle flashes, or painted red with the Sisters. The whisky just gave her heartburn painful enough to make her cry out. Pain shot up her left arm. She dropped the bottle, its expensive amber contents running down into the holes in the attic’s floorboards. She slumped back onto the sofa, looking up at the dirty, cobweb-shrouded ceiling, and faintly wondering if they would find her body before the rats ate it.
Ghost London burned with all the fires. The flames of Boudicca’s sack, when London had been called Londinium, mixed with the purifying flames of the Great Fire, mixed with the flames of the Blitz.
“Hello,” the god sitting on the windowsill of the ghost-representation of her attic squat said. He was looking out over the broken skeletal buildings, the city’s history of destruction, at the cold flames. He wore simple dark trews and a shirt. His musculature looked like it had been exquisitely carved from cold, dead marble. His skin was covered in intricate, swirling spirals, black in colour. Long silver hair ran down his back in complicated braids. A candle burned on the sill next to where he sat.
“You’re not Hades,” was all she could think to say. He turned to look at her with silver, utterly alien eyes. His beauty was different to that of Arianne’s in her tank. His was terrible to behold. She wanted to flinch away from him, but it had been a day.
“I let the followers of the Olympian death lord pass through my lands on their way to his realm, but I am inexorably tied to this land.”
“You’re Arawn?” Neren asked. She wasn’t sure if she dreaded the answer or would welcome it.
“And this is Annwn?” she asked. He nodded. “And I’m dead?” He considered the question.
“You certainly should be,” he finally said, “and you did not die well.”
“Oh, fuck off!” It was out of her mouth before she could stop it. She hated all the ‘not living up to your potential’ bullshit all the priests, priestesses and druids she had ever met spouted. At some level they were all death cults serving needy and venal gods. Still, you probably shouldn’t tell a god to fuck off, she admonished herself. She was starting to feel a little frightened now. Not of death; she had come to terms with that as a possible consequence of her work and lifestyle a long time ago; but of the amount of power Arawn had over her here.
“You should have died in such a way as to make you a queen in my kingdom,” he told her. He didn’t sound angry. If anything, he sounded sad.
“At the risk of pushing my luck, I’m guessing you don’t personally welcome every overdose who appears in your realm?” His silence was answer enough. “What do you want?” He looked straight at her with his quicksilver eyes. She felt funny.
“Serve me,” he said simply.
“Those days are long gone.” Then it hit her. “You need something from me, don’t you?” she asked. He looked away from her. “Is this to do with the… with Arianne?”
“A favour has been asked of me.”
“You wish me to set her free?”
The god didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he held up the candle.
“I will hold your life here,” he told her.
Neren narrowed her eyes, wondering if her ‘death’ had been assisted.
“You give me the power I need and I’ll do you this service,” she said, trying to keep her eagerness at the possibility of wielding magic again under control.
He turned his eyes on her again and Neren forced herself to ignore the way they were making her feel.
“And afterwards?” he asked.
“Sacrifice, veneration but no worship, no slavish adoration. I will respect your power, appreciate your gifts, but my will is my own.”
“You would bargain with me?” he asked. He sounded more amused than angry.
“It’s all commerce, isn’t it? Worship and sacrifice for the power of magic, however mortals and gods dress it up.”
He stood and turned to look out at burning ghost London.
“You amuse me, but I will forget you, forget our agreement.”
“I will obey the forms, the rituals,” she told him. He nodded and bent down to pick up the candle.
“I will return this to you if you succeed.”
Neren opened her eyes but she didn’t suck in air. She was lying on her sofa covered in her own vomit. She would need to change, then take a quick trip to a crematorium out Kensal Green way. The ghoul who ran the crematorium helped dispose of bodies for the Trinity. He would have access to the grisly items Neren would need to wield death magic in Arawn’s name.
London did sleep. At four o’clock in the morning, the sunrise was still little more than a faint hope. The living had mostly left the streets of Soho, abandoning it to those who’d made poor choices, the half dead, like her, and the ghosts. She wondered how many of the people she brushed past in the streets on a daily basis were actually dead. Here, now, with her heightened awareness from living in the borderland between life and Annwn, they stood out. The dead legionaries, victims of the Iceni’s brutalities; the plague victims; the burned, broken-necked thieves still wearing their nooses, still dancing the Tyburn Jig; children crushed beneath the rubble when Thor had sent his storms to batter the city during the Blitz; she could see all of them. The ghosts were superimposed on the land of the living, their forms painfully, heartbreakingly clear to Neren.
She reached the door to the brothel and drew both the Brownings, screwing the suppressors onto the barrels of the pistols. Normally she wouldn’t have been comfortable doing something like this out in the open, but she was all but a ghost herself now. She held both the suppressed pistols in her left hand as she pulled the first of the items the ghoul had given her out of her pocket. She held the thief’s finger bone against the door’s lock and whispered a prayer to Arawn. Her half-life condition muted the feeling of power as the magics coursed through her. It was a small working, the bone reconfiguring to slide into the lock’s mechanism, but it was still enough to give her a thrill of anticipation, to make her want more. As she turned the finger bone and unlocked the door, she whispered her thanks.
The bone back in her pocket and a gun in each hand, Neren pushed the door open with her shoulder. One of the orcs was halfway down the stairs. It seemed to take a moment for him to see Neren. Then he looked surprised, reaching for his own gun, opening his mouth to shout a warning. Two little red holes appeared in his face. Everything seemed so quiet. Neren heard the shell casings tumble to the floor. The orc fell face first and slid down the stairs as Neren closed the door behind her. She didn’t even look down at the body as she stepped over it and made her way upwards.
Neren reached the top of the stairs and almost walked into a burst of automatic weapon fire. Even in her half-dead state it sounded really loud. She suspected that nobody was sleeping in Soho now. Bullets chewed away at the corner she was hiding behind, where the stairs met the landing. She could hear screams from the girls and the johns alike. Neren fired blindly around the corner, squeezing off the remaining rounds in her right-hand gun. The automatic fire stopped. She swung round the corner, stepped up onto the landing. Whoever had fired had presumably taken cover. She marched forward, her left-hand gun outstretched. The orc appeared round the corner holding a submachine gun. Neren fired, and fired again. She kept firing as she marched towards him. He collapsed to the floor.
Neren stopped by the door to the parlour and quickly reloaded both pistols as the girls and the remaining john crawled past her, almost tumbling down the stairs in their eagerness to get out of there. With them gone, the parlour was empty, except for Arianne in her tank. Neren rolled into the room. A chair exploded, hit by a shotgun blast fired from the office doorway. It had only narrowly missed her. Back on her feet, Neren found herself on the opposite side of the tank from the door. She risked a glance at a frightened-looking Arianne. She pointed one of the pistols at the closest corner of the tank and fired three quick shots. Cracks spread across the glass and then the tank exploded, water flooding into the parlour. Arianne spilled out onto the sodden carpet. Neren spun out into the parlour, bringing both pistols up as one of the orcs exploded through the glass on the other side of the tank, catching her in a flying tackle, carrying her to the wet floor. She saw a huge meaty fist powering towards her face.
Neren almost passed out from the sheer force of the blow. Her nose was spread all over her face. He raised his fist again. Arianne hit him with a chair. It looked like he’d barely felt it, but he turned to look at the other woman. It was enough. Still somewhat dazed, Neren managed to grab one of the Sisters from its sheath. She stabbed the kerambit into the orc’s arm and tore the curved blade upwards, rendering the limb useless. He howled in pain. Neren kicked up with her right leg, hooked it round his neck and pulled him to the ground, stabbing him repeatedly in the kidney. She wriggled out from under the orc as he crawled away holding his side, blood leaking through his fingers before collapsing and lying still. Neren tried to blink away the lights in her vision and resist the urge to throw up. She managed to push herself to her feet. Something hit her wrist, hard. She felt and heard bones snap. The kerambit fell from nerveless fingers. She saw the Butcher backhand Arianne, picking her up off her feet and sending her flying across the room. The orc dropped the sharpening steel he’d struck her wrist with and used his free hand to grab Neren. Strong, thick fingers circled her neck and rammed her into the wall. She was nose to nose with the orc, drool running down his chin, his eyes wide and angry. She tried to break his grip, but it was no use, he was too strong. He raised the massive cleaver he held in his other hand. He could have killed her already, but he clearly wanted to savour this. Neren felt herself rapidly losing consciousness as it was choked out of her. She was only vaguely aware of her lost kerambit suddenly appearing on the Butcher’s shoulder. If anything, the orc just looked surprised, but he loosened his grip on her throat enough for her to draw in a ragged breath. She grabbed the other gift the ghoul had given her and smashed the bag of ash into the orc’s face, hoping Arawn was listening as she mouthed a prayer to him. The ashes forged a sympathetic link to the funerary flames of their birth and Butcher’s face burst into flames, the fire eating into the howling orc’s flesh. He let go of Neren and she kicked him away. She was faintly aware of Arianne watching the burning orc as he staggered around, seemingly appalled at the pain she’d helped inflict when she’d grabbed the dropped kerambit and stabbed Butcher in his shoulder. Neren let him burn as she drew the remaining Sister, felt the hungry magic through the ancient blade’s hilt as she staggered across the room and climbed through the hole in the wall where the tank had been. A terrified Fisher whimpered in the corner, cowering away from her. Neren ignored him. Instead, she took the sealskin coat from the stand. Arianne was stood on the other side of the broken tank now, watching. Neren carried the coat back to the beautiful otherworldly woman.
“No…” Fisher begged.
“She doesn’t belong to you,” Neren told him. She handed Arianne the coat. The other woman put it on. Then they both watched Fisher age in front of their eyes. Outside there were sirens.
When Fisher was dead, Neren called the number on the card Sabin had given her.
“I’ve killed some people,” she said into the receiver.
Neren held Arianne in her arms in the back of the Bentley. Sobs racked the fae woman’s frame as Sabin’s bodyguard drove them to the river.
“The johns won’t say anything. They’re already on the phone to their expensive lawyers. I can make sure the girls forget what they saw before the Trinity bail them out,” Sabin said from the front passenger seat.
“It’s probably for the best. Look after them,” Neren told him. Sabin nodded. He should be angry, having to clean up her mess like this, but he sounded worried. He kept glancing back at Arianne. The last thing the crown wanted was trouble with the fae.
By the time they reached the river, Arianne had stopped sobbing. She opened the door and let herself out. Neren climbed out after her as though to follow, but Arianne motioned for her to stay. Sabin and his bodyguard climbed out of the car as well.
“I’m sorry,” Neren told her. The fae woman just shook her head as though Neren had nothing to apologise for. Neren knew otherwise. It was mortals that had done this to Arianne. The fae woman turned and walked to the edge of the embankment and just kept walking, dropping out of sight. They heard the splash. Sabin and Neren followed her to the edge and looked down at the murky waters of the river. A seal looked up at them, its eyes dark, soulful pools. Then it ducked its head under the surface and was gone.
“She was a selkie?” Sabin asked. Neren nodded and tried to remember the lore she had learned in the groves during her training.
“Sometimes they come on shore to dance under the moonlight, or they fall in love with a fisherman. When they turn human, their fur becomes a coat they can take off. However it happened, Fisher took the coat and that gave him control over her…” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t want to think too much about that. Quinto would be able to work out who had destroyed one of his valuable operations. She wasn’t sure she had much of a future left in London.
“And imparted some of her immortality to him?” Sabin asked. She nodded. “Will she be okay?”
“She’ll travel the wyrd tides back home. Her time here will be like the blink of an eye to her. She is immortal and they figure time differently, but something like this stays with you.” Neren was staring out over the river. The rising sun’s reflection was a spear of fire in the water. Then pain shot through her chest as her heart started to beat again. Sabin steadied her as she staggered.
“Are you all right?” he asked. Neren looked at him.
“Why do you care?” she asked. She knew, somehow, that he wasn’t her father. He looked sad, but only for a moment; it didn’t really suit him. He helped her back towards the Bentley, leaning heavily on his cane.
“There’s a band playing at the Marquee tonight. Would you care to accompany me?”
‘The Girl Behind the Glass’ by Gavin G. Smith
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Illustration for Jon chapter VII, A clash of kings by George R.R. Martin
The words of the author:
Red eyes looked at him. Fierce eyes they were, yet glad to see him. The weirwood had his brother’s face.
I’ve drawn Ghost, the white direwolf, in front of the heart tree in which he sees his brother Bran; in the background there are the thousand eyes and one: Bloodraven.
Passage from Jon VII A Clash of Kings by George R.R. Martin:
His brothers were out there somewhere, and his sister, but he had lost their scent. He sat on his haunches and lifted his head to the darkening sky, and his cry echoed through the forest, a long lonely mournful sound. As it died away, he pricked up his ears, listening for an answer, but the only sound was the sigh of blowing snow.
The call came from behind him, softer than a whisper, but strong too. Can a shout be silent? He turned his head, searching for his brother, for a glimpse of a lean grey shape moving beneath the trees, but there was nothing, only . . .
It seemed to sprout from solid rock, its pale roots twisting up from a myriad of fissures and hairline cracks. The tree was slender compared to other weirwoods he had seen, no more than a sapling, yet it was growing as he watched, its limbs thickening as they reached for the sky. Wary, he circled the smooth white trunk until he came to the face. Red eyes looked at him. Fierce eyes they were, yet glad to see him. The weirwood had his brother’s face. Had his brother always had three eyes?
The complete illustration
These pictures are part of a drawing series inspired by the A Song of Ice and Fire novel series by George R.R. Martin.
The objective for this drawing series is to present each illustration accompanied by the relative quote from the books.
To present characters and scenes as described in the books.
The Novels are considered Canon, the HBO show, though being amazing, is not object of interest for this drawing series.
Bran Stark, Weirwood, Bloodraven and Ghost. by Winter Design is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://www.winterdesign.it/.
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Characters in this post
View character profile for: Stella Corbet
View character profile for: Edward Hanton (The Spider)
View character profile for: Josiah
View character profile for: Westley Corbet - NPC
Down the Rabbit Hole
(OOC: Sorry about my absence, if this feels rushed I apologize :/ )
- October 7th, Highholm, Hospital, Morning -
Room 4B, left hall. A shred of paper had been slipped into the plaque stating a name. Poorly scribbled on in a hurry.
Stella hesitated to turn the knob but there was no going back now. She'd come this far and she was determined to get some answers. She gave the door a gentle push before entering as if walking on glass.
The room was dim with the greying light caused by the Maelstrom above, not a colored flower or comforting gift in sight. Everything looked untouched and pristine like time stood at a pause. Like it stood in her chest, continuing on with every thump, thump.
Still it felt wrong like their was a part missing. Her heels quietly clacked on the tiles as she neared the bed. And there she found him, Westley, reading a book with a single leg propped onto the snow white sheets. A smile was present on his face even before he noticed she had entered. Literature always made him smile in the darkest of times.
"It's about time," he set the book aside and propped himself into a seated position faster than a person in his state should. He didn't bat an eye as they were too busy being filled with a childlike wonder. Or maybe they were just glazed over by the drugs. Quietly she placed a small bouquet of white roses onto the empty table. Whether they were real or not she couldn't give less of a damn.
"You look more beautiful than I think you ever have... or maybe I'm dead and there really is some sort of sanctuary," he let out a laugh as if he'd been tickled from the inside out. Stella did not understand the humor.
"No more flattery," she spoke abruptly birthing a silence too still for her to mind. "You made it clear to me you didn't want a visit, yet here I'm standing. I'll ask questions and I need you to tell me everything you have laying heavy in your heart, that's if you truly even have a heart."
"Are you doubtful? And what makes you think I wouldn't want to see you?"
She brushed him off. "I'm not sure you've ever told me the truth but I refuse to leave until I decide whether or not to forgive you. I can't even count on that now to save your soul. But your trial is nearing and they will have a hell of a lot more questions to ask so think of this as your preparation session. It'll be the only one you get. So please, be honest. It'll get you a lot further. And don't waste my time."
He remained quiet and nodded. She took a few steps and pulled the chair over to the bed, seating herself. "For starters, I need you to clarify why you chose some rebels over preventing my possible arrest."
Westley sighed, "Hanton said he'd handle it. I believed him which was probably the worst thing I could've done. Yes, he got you out of it from the looks of things but... I was so lost in protecting the future that I got coaxed into arriving at the mill-- which was then in my name --and now," he looked down to his legs, "Now I'm convinced that he let me out so I could've been killed in the explosion. To all of them I'm just a problem. To you. If I had stuck to my word and went to the reading none of this would've happened. And for that I am sorry."
Convinced he let me out... so I could be killed.
As much as she wanted to deny that as a possibility she couldn't knock it out of the park yet. Edward was capable of many things and he was a clever devil when it came to manipulation and power. Strangely enough a part of her strove to be a little more like him. In Dusk that's how you held power. At least that's how it looked.
"Alright, but you didn't have to go to the mill or leave the Palace at all. Now that you've mentioned it, tell me why you kept the contents of David's will a secret? And is that why you skipped out, fear of how I'd react?"
"You know I'm a man of my word, I swore an oath to my brother. It might've been stupid but... in all honesty I was terrified of his anger if I did break that promise. I was just terrified of him and sick of everything he did," he spoke quietly. "But that's not it. I didn't follow through like he wanted."
"Why is that not surpri-"
"The bank, Stella." There was a pause. "In the bank I've separated funds into an account made specifically for you. Find the teller, request access to the account set for Stella Corbet under my own, and they'll ask for a password that is December."
"The month we met."
Without permission her mind slipped back to that day and she floated in her thoughts momentarily. It was so beautiful then, as close to beautiful as life in a smoggy dumpster of a city could be. Everything was untouched by all the recent darkness. Living was much more simple, it was easy to live. But in the present you could step off your doorstep and get blown to smithereens or take a bullet straight through the chest. Dying was the easiest thing to do in Dusk right after locating whorehouses and bars yet some just couldn't figure out the formula.
"Once again, you didn't tell me this? Not a simple "Oh that's right, I have money to support you, Stella. I'm not a total douchebag! Taking things that belong to you?""
Westley grimaced and looked down. "I fucked up too many times to count, that I can't change. But it's there and it's waiting for you to claim. But there's something else you'll be more hesitant to claim."
"What the hell could that possibly be?"
"I'm not the last of my blood. I have a son."
She felt a silent, deadly breath fill her lungs. Westley never had a son, it was impossible. He might've if she hadn't just lost the baby but that was over and done with. There was no more direct Corbet title. It was only her and she wasn't their blood.
"Nonsense. Claire died before you could have any children," she snapped in spite but also tad of jealousy. To have a man like him, the ability to have a family... Stella found herself jumbled in emotions.
His expression read something of guilt, pain maybe. "Claire wasn't the Claire I speak of. Claire was really a courtesan I found myself involved with when I was barely your age, I didn't know what I was doing. I'd like to think she loved me which is why she stopped taking clients and after a while it was just me. She really tried to clean up her act when she found she was expecting. And she had the child even if I urged her not to... I... didn't want my reputation damaged. It got so bad that I distanced myself from her and my son when he was born. Things got messy and we split."
"You were a selfish asshole, of course you split."
"And after the split I began writing him numerous times a month, letter after letter. Like I was trying to explain to him my regret for not having visited or even stayed."
Her mouth stood agape only slightly, his words absolutely baffling. It seemed so far fetched but also somewhere within reach. There was something about Westley only she could read, however, and it made all the difference.
"A-and what about when you introduced her? How did you know he was your son?" Nobody ever really saw Claire's face, just once to be exact. And she was so beautiful, someone so much so that if she were breathing could easily match to the presence of Stella herself. Part of her wickedly felt relief knowing there was no one to compete with now. As for this supposed son, with the mother working as she did, there was a possibility it wasn't even his.
"I paid her to pose as my wife, create this little fake world everyone believed. I thought to myself if I could prove to them it wasn't all a hoax just once that it would let me slide for years to come. That I'd be fine."
Westley sighed and shifted his body where his good leg was planted on the ground. He reached beside the head board and grabbed his crutches before standing, moving toward one of the windows. He peered out of it intently.
"When we first put our relationship into place she stopped her business for a little over a year, of course he was mine. And then I rejected them and she reverted back to her old ways just to keep the boy fed. It wasn't until Claire contracted something that it changed, died later that year causing him to be removed. Gods, Stella, he was only seven and he's never seen me since! A family took him, friends of Claire's, but not once did I have the courage to face him again."
"D-does this boy have a name?" Accepting this boy would threaten everything she'd gained, the power, the money. A male with a direct blood title could ruin everything.
"Should he do as I asked you'll find out depending on how this trial ends. Keep an eye open for the surname Bishop. He'll have the files of his birth I had put away for secrecy as well as some of my letters."
Stella slumped down in her chair. "Well shit. So that's it? Dumping all of this onto and expecting me to do what with it?"
"You came in here asking for answers and I gave every one. Take all of this however you damn well please because after I receive whatever sentence they deem fit I'm gone and I can't take all of this with me to my grave," he now stood a mere foot from her. "This might be one of the last chances I have to explain everything in private where only you will hear. Now that I'm more mobile and my respiratory is in stable condition the Council will go forward and rip me to shreds as brutally as possible. And from the looks of it, things might happen soon. I can talk. Move. Voice the truth no matter how costly. I don't know how long I truly have and I hate to drop it all this way but... they will not hesitate," he paused, " and you shouldn't either."
"Why take advice from a man who lies?"
"You're one to talk, taking how much advice from the High Inquisitor and First Citizen? What I'm trying to say, Stella, is that no matter what this city does to you, you need to rise above it. Above the elites and what they do. Above what I've done so poorly. Stop being used."
"I've been used all my life. It's what I'm good at," tears covered her eyes with a sigh. "The only way to survive this cesspool is do things how people want you to, how Josiah and everyone else takes control. It's wrong but-but if I cheat and lie and manipulate already how am I any better than Edward? Josiah? I threatened the secretary up front just so she'd let me into your room which allows no visitors. How do you save yourself from something like that? This rabbit hole just gets deeper and deeper until one day I spiral out of control."
"And how much do you want to bet the Council did that purposely, keep visitors away? You're smart and you're powerful but you don't need me to help you understand that. Just because it's how they got where they are doesn't make it any more correct. Do not be so bold as me but do not be silenced by anyone. You mark a moment in history where those who aren't just ruthless men born into money can take charge, be a voice, and take chances. You can write out the destiny of Dusk with just a few words." He pursed his lips as he'd gotten lost in her eyes. "Speak out in a way that people will support you but not deem you a threat. Make everybody like you before you lay the bombs so you'll have the city on your side. Bring crimes within our politics to light and tear Josiah apart. He's continued to wreck this city with no intention of stopping. Deception and manipulation aren't wrong if it's for the right reasons."
"Nobody is ever right for any reason especially not with that hand on things."
"But you can be if you play your cards strategically. Sure, it may be the exact same but the way you use it to your advantage could get you so far. I've no place to speak but it's a truth that hit me the hard way. Now I suffer because of my stupidity. Don't make the same mistakes. I know you won't."
The woman bit down on her lip, "You're not talking about the ideas you have, changing them, are you?" He shook his head in response.
"Goodness, no. Honestly I think what I was aiming for is everything the workers need but with a tainted, prideful mind. If we ever want them to actually do their jobs they need to be treated as people. I'm not saying remove all of the elites or anything like that but at least give them space and a life worth living. They eat mice and garbage for the gods' sake! Live in alleys and sleep in dirt. That's not a life. We have every resource to help them but no one is. You started just like them, broken, alone, starving. And what if there is a little girl out there right now selling herself for a couple of crescents because that's all she's told she's worth? Because she wasn't born a Monteclaire or a Spink? What reason do we have to mistreat them?"
She broke her gaze from his and focused on the floor, contemplating whether or not it was a time to sob. She decided it wasn't.
He frowned as he'd known he pushed too far. Or maybe it was necessary. "Tell me this, love, do you want to be known as Stella Corbet who brought the world hope and light and prosperity, or do you want to be known and forgotten as just some witch who let them suffer and die out because she was scared of change."
"I'm not scared of change."
"No, you're scared of losing everything if you ask for change. You're scared of ending up like you were as a child. But most importantly, you're terrified of being alone because of the choices you make."
"Aren't we all?" She said after a moment of pained silence, aggressive almost.
He grimaced. "I have a question to ask you. After all of this, do you still hate me?"
"You're a sweet idiot, how could I hate you? I never did."
"You were fuming not too long ago."
"I'm mad and quite frankly a little fucking upset but I'd never hate you, even with all that's out."
A quiet hour of gut-spilling had passed but things weren't any easier for the Councilor.
"You kept to yourself for years?" she sounded exhausted like her voice could shatter. Stella swallowed hard. "They're going to eat you alive," she recalled aloud. "Isn't that how you said it? Strange how it found its way back."
"Is it that odd?" he tried a smirk to hide the sorrow. "You can say I'm a coward, I'm well aware."
"Yes, you are a coward but no, it was not a surprise. You played the game like a fool; did you really expect them to tolerate you for long? You go against everything they want, built, and you admitted it all for the world to hear. You can't do that with them. It takes strategy and logic, control of sorts. Being quiet and doing things behind their backs. Gun-blazing, Westley, usually gets people killed. I just hope they don't take it that far. I can't see you die. And I can't face you as an opposite," tears broke the seriousness once more, this time slipping off the edge. "I won't testify against someone I love and who I know had innocent intentions. Who screwed up and accepts it." She stood by him gazing out the window. A bittersweet silence filled the space but she didn't mind. Much needed if you ask me, the Councilor thought. After a moment Westley turned to her with a smile, one arm leaving his crutch as he held his hand out.
"Well, I need to get some rest, I have a long day of therapy ahead. I wish you the best of luck and caution. That being said, Councilor Corbet, I think this is goodbye."
Goodbye? Already? No, that couldn't be right. It was just temporary. Yes.
She appeared stunned. "I need to know, is that all? All your secrets?" There was so much. Stella couldn't imagine anything more on someone's plate.
Thankfully he was always very expressive with his eyes, the windows to the soul. The answer was very clear even in silence. A riddle only she could decipher.
And surely hers could be read as their eyes locked and she shook his hand with goosebumps rising on her arms.
Good God, don't let this be goodbye.
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Popularly known as the wife of the esteemed television and radio personality, Carson Daly, Siri Pinter is not just a celebrity spouse, she is a blogger, writer, and producer who has achieved quite a lot on her own. Like her husband, Pinter has garnered much popularity as a television personality who has graced several TV shows such as The Kitchen and Rachael Ray. She has carried out some production works, having served as the associate producer of the television special, New Year’s Eve with Carson Daly that airs on new year’s eve annually on NBC of which her husband serves as the host. She has also appeared on NBC’s Today show, serving as a contributor on food-related segments.
Siri Pinter’s Bio
The dextrous blogger was born into the family of Mark Pinter and Gretchen DeBoer in Los Angeles, California, the United States on 4th February 1981. She acquired her basic education from a Los-Angeles based high school. In early 2000, Siri Pinter began making waves in the entertainment industry by working as an assistant to the producers of the Golden Globe-winning TV series, Frasier. Then in 2005, she served as a production staff in ten episodes of the comedy-Romance television series, Committed. She further served as the production assistant of the TV movie, Nobody’s Watching.
In addition, Pinter assisted the writers of the reality TV series, Last Comic Standing and equally carried out the same role for the NBC late-night television program, the Last Call with Carson Daly which had its last episode aired on May 24, 2019, with repeats continuing until September 2019.
Siri Pinter’s Relationship with Carson Daly
Before meeting Siri Pinter, Carson Daly has had strings of relationship with movie stars like Tara Reid and Jennifer Love Hewitt. He even got engaged to Reid in 2000 but the pair couldn’t make it to the altar as they called off their engagement the next year.
In 2005, Pinter began working as an assistant to writers of the Last Call with Carson Daly of which Daly serves as the host and that was how fate brought the two together. Soon after, the pair kicked off an affair that lasted for eight years before the famous TV personality popped the question. In 2015, the two love birds walked down the aisle in the presence of their family and friends.
About Her Husband And Kids
Prior to their wedding ceremony, Pinter and Daly had already welcomed three adorable children, namely; Jackson James Daly who was born in 2009, Etta Jones Daly, born in 2012 and London Rose Daly, born in 2014. Meanwhile, Siri Pinter resigned from her work as an assistant to the writer after giving birth to her son in 2009. She eventually ventured into blogging during that time, as she launched her fun and food blog known as Siriously Delicious on which she shares homemade recipes for her favorite meals, snacks, and desserts.
Her husband, Carson Daly is an eminent TV and radio personality who has previously served at several radio stations including KQOM FM and he equally worked as a video jockey on MTV. Famed as the host of popular television programs on NBC such as The Voice, New Year’s Eve with Carson Daly and The Today Show, Daly has also achieved fame as an actor that has featured in a few TV series and films which includes My Name Is Earl, Joe Dirt and Jossie and the Pussycats.
Meet Siri Pinter’s Father
The father of Carson Daly’s wife, Mark Pinter is an actor widely known for his multiple roles in daytime soap operas including Guiding Light, As the World Turns, among others. He has starred in movies such as Charlie’s Angels, Behind the Screen, and his television credits include Law & Order: Criminal Intent, General Hospital, Loving, All My Children, and others.
Mark Pinter has been joined in matrimony thrice. His first wife was Siri Pinter’s mom, Gretchen DeBoer. Later on, he tied the knot with his co-star in the series, As the World Turns, Colleen Zenk in 1987 and they divorced in 2010. He entered his third marriage with Janie Dahlmann, a communication, and marketing strategist, in the year 2017. He has six children named; Siri, Dylan, Hannah, Morgan, Georgia, and Esme. Sadly, his son Morgan took his own life in April 2018.
Pinter’s mother in law was Pattie Daly Caruso, an actress, writer, and director. She featured in the movie, Do It or Die and worked as the writer and director of the TV series, Valley Views. She was a breast cancer survivor but tragically, she died on 17th September 2017 in Palm Desert, California, USA.
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“It’s not about you.”
Ever heard of The Purpose Driven Life? This is is the first line of the book. Kind of a let down right?
It was written by Rick Warren in 2002 and sat on the New York Time’s Bestseller List for over 90 weeks! That’s nearly 2 years! That’s a lot of people seeking to find their purpose.
Ever heard of What On Earth Am I Here For? It’s an updated version of Purpose Driven Life released to culminate the 10th anniversary of Warren’s best seller.
The first line in the new book? “It’s not about you”. Seems things haven’t changed.
We have been enveloped with ads and quotes and books and commercials that keep our eyes on ourselves.
You need this phone so you can stay connected to the world.
You need this nutritional plan so you can stay focused on your health.
You need this car so you can impress your coworkers.
You need this line of credit so that you can purchase your dream boat.
You need …
“It’s not about you”
Why would Warren open with such a statement? Does it make you want to keep reading further? To be told that maybe we’re not all that important? That maybe our lives don’t really matter?
Isn’t there a small part of us that thinks “really?” If it’s not about me, then why am I even here? What’s my purpose? When is it going to be about me?
When someone hurts us we ask “what did I ever do to you?”
When a loved one passes away we ask “why is this happening to me?”
When we lose our job we say “what was the point of that?”
When someone else gets that promotion we ask “when is it my turn?”
I. Me. My.
” It was just before the Passover Festival. Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.
The evening meal was in progress, and the devil had already prompted Judas, the son of Simon Iscariot, to betray Jesus. 3 Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under his power, and that he had come from God and was returning to God; 4 so he got up from the meal…”
John 13 1-4a
This passage gets to me.
The scene here is that Jesus is at what we call “The Last Supper”.
Jesus knows that the hour was here for his death. The hour.
He knows that the devil has already spurred Judas to betray Him.
So, Jesus gets up from the meal…
I stopped the scripture here because I think we should pause and ask ourselves what we would be doing if we were in Jesus’ place.
Would we get up and make an emotional speech about how we were about to die?
Wouldn’t we want some sympathy or for people to know what a martyr we were about to be?
Wouldn’t we want to stand up and point at Judas and let everyone know that he was about betray us and so “ya’ll make sure he gets what’s coming to him!”
What does Jesus do here? Let’s pick up where we left off…
“4 so he got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. 5 After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him.
6 He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?”
7 Jesus replied, “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”
My goodness can you see it? Do you feel it?
I would be trembling too hard to tie anything around my waist and pour water into a basin and kneel down so calmly.
I would be nauseated with fear of what was coming.
I would be busting at the gut to tell everyone what was about to happen.
But if I did, all eyes would be on me. All compassion, sympathy and protectiveness would be centered on me. Feel sorry for me. Look at me.
“For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”
It’s not about me.
It’s not about you.
Everything Jesus did while he walked the earth was at the direction of his Father. He knew his Father had a good plan, that it had a purpose that would make an eternal impact on lives until the end of our time here and he knew that we would be better served if he pointed us all to his Father rather than to his own life.
Everything. All of it.
Jesus didn’t hold a mirror. He didn’t keep glancing at his problems and his frustrations and the unfairness that kept coming his way. He didn’t lean in to his own reflection (like I’ve done so many times) and question over and over again “why me?” or “what now”.
Jesus didn’t gather his friends around and ask for their pity. He didn’t manipulate others into constantly asking him if he was ok. He didn’t. It wasn’t about him.
It’s not about us…the question is, do we understand that we still have purpose? That there’s a reason we’re all here and breathing? That we are a part of God’s divine plan?
We have purpose. We are important. We are so loved by the Creator that He chose to demonstrate that to us through the sacrifice of His son. His beloved.
Let’s follow Jesus’ lead and serve others without the expectation of return service.
There was purpose in the life of Jesus.
There is purpose in the lives we lead.
I’ll say more about that next week. But for now…let’s just put the mirror down.
Reflect & Respond:
**Do you ever find yourself so focused on your own life that you almost nauseate yourself? I have. Examine your more recent thoughts and turn it around if necessary.
**Serve. Be intentional and do one thing every day to serve someone unselfishly. Let’s see if our problems start to shrink as we put that into practice.
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I arrived in Germany in 1981, fresh faced, excited, 18 yrs old, and more than a little awestruck to be in Europe. What seemed like thousands of us disembarked the airplane and got herded on to a row of buses waiting for us on the tarmac.
The ride to our reception station was uneventful and quiet. Most of us just stared out the window in wonder, hardly believing we were actually here. Once we arrived we were led single file into a large open building with tables scattered throughout that had numbers hanging above them.
Controlled chaos ensued with long lines in front of the tables and soldiers milling about. One of the sergeants that escorted us from the airport pulled out a clipboard and started calling names out. As the person whose name was called stepped up he or she was handed a paper by the sergeant and told to “get the fuck out of his face.” When my name was called I stepped forward dropped my duffel bag assumed a rigid attention posture and let out with a thunderous, “here Sargent!” That got me some giggles and eye rolls from the ones of us not coming from boot camp. The sergeant didn’t seem to notice, he just glanced at his clipboard looked up at me and said. “you’re all set Burton just go to reception and wait”
I looked around doubtfully clutching my orders in one hand and sheepishly picking up my duffel bag with the other. With a disgusted look the Sargent put his hands on my shoulders, turned me about 90° and shoved me forward, “that way ass hole.” As I hurried forward I heard him behind me grumble, “Jesus they just get dumber every year.”
I worked my way through the crowd until I saw a sign above a door that said reception room. As I walked over I saw a group of Sergeants in front of the doorway directing soldiers to different exits on my approach one of the Sergeants said in a Boston accent, “MOS”? I jumped to parade rest, dropping my duffel bag and eager to impress, rang out again with a thunderous “infantry, Sergeant!”
Everyone outside the doorway stopped what they were doing and just stared at me. Again some smiles, more eye rolls, than the controlled chaos began anew. The Sargent I was addressing, barely able to stifle laughter, looked me in the eyes and said, “infantrymen is a job title dumb ass, your MOS is 11 Bravo”
Embarrassed and tired I said in a normal voice, “do you tell me where to go Sergeant?”
He gave me a look that bordered on pity and said, “no son, you’re a grunt, all of us are for support personnel, go inside and wait”
I said thank you and gathered up my duffel bag, my one possession in the world, and went inside where rows of folding chairs had been set up occupied by soldiers like me sitting and waiting. I took a seat in the middle and waited. After about an hour the noise outside started to dim. I felt myself begin to nod off and looking at my watch realized I hadn’t slept in over 24 hours. I looked around and saw the guys in the room with me weren’t faring much better. The guy in the chair closest to me had nodded off sitting up, I could see a thin trace of drool rolling down the corner of his mouth. On the other side of me sat a Private first class, rigidly staring straight ahead so intently that he couldn’t have been cognizant of what was going on around him. The others were all in various states of sleep sitting up. As another hour passed I found myself drifting off, jerking my head up occasionally in the head motion that I would do millions of times throughout my “hurry up and wait” military career. It was silent outside the room and it felt as if we were the last people on earth.
As the third hour passed I heard a noise, feet approaching, light banter. I snapped fully awake now whispered aloud, “Yo man get up” to the drooling guy next to me and sat straight upright. A group of sergeants came to the door and got behind a podium that was placed in the center of the room. The light banter stopped now and in hushed tones the sergeants conferred with each other. I could tell they were all business now.
After about 10 minutes of this things seem to be resolved between them. One of the Sergeants stepped up to the podium looked down at his piece of paper in his hand and said loudly, “Jones!” Immediately my drooling neighbor jumped up and said “yes, Sergeant”
“It says you can type 120 words a minute”
“Step over here”
At this he called the next name, “Pvt. Benjamin!”
“Yes, Sergeant”, The private replied. “You work at a library?”
All right step forward.” You will be working in our orderly room and you better keep first Sergeant happy”
He exited the room with his two new soldiers trailing him in lockstep. If they had been treading water they could have been ducks.
The next Sergeant at the podium stood and called the name of the Private First Class with the intent gaze, “prior service”?
“Yes, Sergeant” The Private First Class replied.
“We don’t have an assistant for the armorer think you can handle it”?
“Yes, Sergeant!” He said eagerly.
The next Sergeant to step up looked like he came right out of a recruiting poster, muscles bulging, not a hair out of place and a uniform so starched you would cut yourself touching it.
“My name Sergeant Jamison and I represent hard rock Charlie. We have the number one basketball team in the division. I have been coach for two years. That’s two championships,” he emphasized, “Anyone think you’re good enough to make our squad”? He was scanning the small crowd as he said this and I was involuntary shaking my head slowly.
From the back of the room. I heard a yes, Sergeant. I glanced behind me and saw he was tall and lanky, easily 6’4, or above. The Sergeant had obvious interest showing on his face. “Who did you play for boy”?
“Ole Miss Sergeant”
“I knew it! you are that Darnell boy that scored 22 on Alabama”
“Yes Sergeant that’s me” beamed the lanky private.
What followed was a back-and-forth about the Sergeant’s alma mater, and who he played for and with.
The occupation and talent parade continued. After about 50 minutes of this I was the only one left in the room. Embarrassed, red-faced, and in a, “you didn’t get picked for the sandlot game” way, a little hurt. There was only one Sergeant left, and he had stayed seated throughout the whole ordeal. As he rose from his chair it immediately struck me that he was fat. I didn’t think it was possible to be fat in the Army, but there he was.
He walked past the podium and stood directly in front of me. I looked up and the realization dawned on me that when you hear the expression “grizzled” you were talking about this man. Short, squat, potbelly, with tinges of white in his hair and mustache. He had a rough look to him. I would learn later that he was one of the vestiges of the Vietnam era vets that was slowly being weeded out of this modern army I had joined. I would also learn that despite his pot belly he could run 5 miles loaded down with more equipment then I could run with in 2 miles.
“Just what do you do boy”?
Looking left and right at the empty room around me I choked up. “I guess I’m just a soldier, Sergeant.”
He laughed heartily,”Well boy, that’s good enough for Alpha one five one, come on”
© 2011 Steven Burton All Rights Reserved
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failed, when there was occasion, to put them upon all exploits that might make them odious to the people, in order to his future dissolving them whensoever it should conduce to his ends.
In the beginning of 1649 the Scots, discontented with the proceedings of the Rump against the late King, began to levy soldiers in order to a new invasion of England. The Irish rebels, for want of timely resistance from England, were grown terrible; and the English army at home, infected by the adjutators, were casting how to share the land amongst the godly, meaning themselves and such others as they pleased, who were therefore called Levellers. Also the Rump for the present were not very well provided of money, and, therefore, the first thing they did, was the laying of a tax upon the people of 90,000l. a month for the maintenance of the army.
B. Was it not one of their quarrels with the King, that he had levied money without the consent of the people in Parliament?
A. You may see by this, what reason the Rump had to call itself a Parliament. For the taxes imposed by Parliament were always understood to be by the people’s consent, and consequently legal.—To appease the Scots, they sent messengers with flattering letters to keep them from engaging for the present King; but in vain. For they would hear nothing from a House of Commons (as they called it) at Westminster, without a King and Lords. But they sent commissioners to the King, to let him know what they were doing for him: for they had resolved to raise an army of 17,000 foot and 6,000 horse (for themselves).
To relieve Ireland, the Rump had resolved to send eleven regiments thither out of the army in England. This happened well for Cromwell. For the levelling soldiers, which were in every regiment many, and in some the major part, finding that instead of dividing the land at home they were to venture their lives in Ireland, flatly denied to go; and one regiment, having cashiered their colonel, about Salisbury,
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Glory to Chaitanya! Glory to Nityananda! Glory to Adwaita! and Glory to the followers of Chaitanya!
On His way the Master came to the village of Jajpur, where He bowed to the image of Varaha. He danced and sang in love and prayed long, passing the night in that village. To Katak He went to see the Sakshi-Gopal, whose beauty threw Him into a rapture. After dance and song He prayed to the Gopal with abstraction. That night during His halt there with His disciples He heard the legend of Gopal. Nityananda in his former pilgrimage had come to Katak, seen the Sakshi-Gopal, and heard the legends of the god, which he now narrated to the Master. Once on a time two Brahmans of Vidya-nagar [Rajmahendri] set out on a pilgrimage, and after visiting Gaya, Benares, Allahabad, &c., reached Mathura. They made a tour of the [Maha-] ban, and beheld Govardhan and the Twelve Woods, known as Dwadash ban, finally going to Brindaban. In the great temple Gopal was worshipped with great pomp. They bathed at the Keshi ghat, the pool of Kaliya, and other places, and rested in the temple of Gopal, whose beauty ravished their hearts. There they blissfully passed a few days. One of the Brahmans being old had been tended carefully by the younger one. The old man, pleased with his attendance, said, "Long have you served me, and through your help have I performed my pilgrimage. Even a son does not serve his father so lovingly. Through your kindness I have been saved every trouble. It will be rank ingratitude if I do not honour you. So I shall wed my daughter to you." The youth replied, "Listen, sir! Why talk of that which cannot be? You are a high kulin, great in learning and Wealth, while I am a non-kulin lacking in scholarship and riches. I am no worthy match for your daughter. Through love of Krishna have I served you, as he is pleased with attention to Brahmans. What pleases the Lord increases the store of faith." The elder answered, "Doubt not. What wonder is there in it that I should give you my daughter?" The younger Brahman rejoined, "You have a large circle of kindred, friends and sons, without whose consent you cannot possibly wed your daughter to me. Witness the case of Bhishmak, the father of Rukmini, who was opposed by his son in giving his daughter, as he wished, to Krishna." The old man answered, "My daughter is my property. Who can oppose me in giving away what is mine? I shall give you my daughter in despite of all. Don't doubt it, but derive your consent." The youth said, "If you have really decided to give me your daughter, make a vow before Gopal." The old Brahman addressed Gopal and said, "Know that I shall give my daughter to this man." The youth added, "Lord, be thou my witness, and I shall summon thee to give thy testimony if he breaks his promise."
So saying the two returned to their homes, the young man serving the other like an elder. The old man now reflected, "I pledged my word to this Brahman in a holy place, but how can I keep it? I must consult my wife, sons, kindred and friends." So, one day he gathered his own folk and told them the whole story, at which they lamented and cried "Never utter such words again! You will lose your kul if you wed your daughter to a low-born man. You will be a laughing stock to all!" The Brahman urged, "How can I retract a promise made in a holy place? Come what may, I will give him my daughter." His kinsfolk threatened to boycott him, and his wife and children to take poison. The Brahman pleaded, "He will make a case of it by calling his witness. When he wins my daughter by a decree, my faith will be proved worthless!" His son answered, "Oh! the witness is an idol in a far-off land. Who will bear testimony against you? Do not be alarmed. You need not tell the lie that you had never made him such a promise; you will only have to pretend forgetfulness. If you do that I shall beat the Brahman in court." At this the Brahman, full of anxiety, prayed intently to Gopal, "Gopal, to thee I appeal: save my faith and save my kindred, save both sides!"
One day the younger Brahman visited him, bowed reverently, and said with folded hands, "You promised me your daughter, but are now silent on the point! Is this your sense of justice?" The old man remained silent; but his son ran with a stick to beat the visitor, crying, "Wretch! you want to wed my sister! Dwarf, you wish to catch the moon!" The youth fled, but another day he called all the villagers together, who summoned the old man. Then the younger Brahman spoke, "This man promised his daughter to me. Ask him why he does not give her up now." On being questioned by the people, the elder Brahman replied, "Listen, friends, I do not remember what I said so long ago." At this his son got the chance to put in his words boldly, "My father had much money with him during his pilgrimage. This villain, his only companion, coveted the money, intoxicated him with dhutura, robbed him and said that thieves had taken away his money, and then spread the tale that he had promised his daughter to him. Judge ye all, whether he is a worthy match for my sister." The assembled people were filled with suspicion, as greed often makes men commit sin. The younger Brahman pleaded, "Hear, my masters, he is lying to win the case. His father, pleased with my attendance, promised me his daughter voluntarily, and when I declined alleging my unworthiness and our disparity in wealth, learning and kul, he repeatedly pressed me to accept her, and at my suggestion called Gopal to witness his promise. I conjured the god to bear testimony for me, should this Brahman break his word. He is my witness, whose word is held true in the three worlds." The old man replied, "This is good. If Gopal appears here and bears testimony, I shall certainly give you my daughter." His son agreed to it. The old man only thought, "Kind is Krishna. Surely he will bear my word out." His son was confident that the image would not come to act as a witness. So thinking diversely they agreed. At the younger Brahman's request both parties signed a written deed of agreement to abide by this test, to prevent future disputes. It was left with an umpire. The young man continued, "Listen, all ye here! This Brahman is pious and true of speech, never wishing to retract his word. It is only his fear of the suicide of his kinsfolk that has made him tell a lie. Thanks to his piety, I will bring Krishna as a witness and enable Hm to keep his word." At this the sceptics laughed; some said, "God is good, He may come."
Then the younger Brahman went to Brindaban, prostrated himself and prayed to the image, "God of the Brahmans! thou art ever kind. Have pity and save the honour of two Brahmans. I mind not whether I get the girl or not, but it would be a great pity if a Brahman's promise is broken. For this reason, do thou bear witness, for he who will not bear testimony to the truth that he knows, commits a sin." Krishna replied, "Brahman! return home, assemble the public, and meditate on me. I shall appear and give my evidence. But my image can not be taken there." The Brahman protested, "Even if you appear in your four-armed form, none will believe you. But if this very image goes there and speaks out of its mouth, then all will deem it true." Krishna said, "Nobody ever heard of an idol travelling!" The Brahman replied "Why do you speak of being an idol? You are not a mere image but the Darling of Brindaban. Do an unprecedented act for the sake of a Brahman." Laughingly Gopal said, "Hear, Brahman, I shall travel after you; but do not look behind, or else I shall stop there. You will hear (on the way) only the jingling of my nupur, and thus know that I am going on. Give me one seer of rice [daily], which I shall eat when accompanying you." Next day, after taking the Lord's leave, the Brahman set out on his return, delighted to hear the jingle of the nupur behind him, and offering excellent rice to the image. So he arrived near his village and then thought, "Now have I come to my village and shall go home and tell the people of the arrival of my witness. But I cannot believe if I do not see him with my own eyes. It will be no harm if he stays here. So he looked behind him; and Gopal stopped there, saying with a smile, "Go home; here will I stay without going any further."
When the Brahman reported the tale, the people marvelled at it, and came to see the witness. They bowed to Gopal, delighted with his beauty and amazed to hear that the image had travelled thither. Then the old Brahman in joy prostrated himself before Gopal, who gave his evidence before the people, and the younger Brahman got his betrothed bride. The Lord spoke to the two Brahmans, "You will be my servants birth after birth. I am pleased with you; beg a boon." They prayed together, "Grant us this that you remain here, so that all may know your favour to your servants." Gopal remained there, and the two served him. The people of the country flocked to see him. The king of the land heard the wonderful legend and beheld the Gopal with supreme delight. He built a temple and endowed the service of the god, who became famous under the name of GOPAL THE WITNESS. Thus has Sakshi-Gopal accepted, worship and stayed at Vidya-nagar for long. Purushottam, the Rajah of Orissa, conquered the country in battle and seized the many-jewelled throne named manik-sinhasan. Purushottam Dev was a great devotee and entreated Gopal to go to his capital. Gopal, pleased with his piety, consented and was taken to Katak, where his worship was installed. The Rajah gave the manik-sinhasan to Jagannath. His queen, when visiting Gopal, gave him many ornaments in devotion. A costly pearl hung from her nose, and wishing to give it too she reflected, "Ah, if there had been a hole in the Lord's nose, I, his hand maid, could have made him put this pearl on!" With this thought she bowed and returned home. At the end of the night Gopal appeared to her in a dream and said, "In my infancy my mother had bored my nose and very tenderly hung there a pearl. The hole is there still. Make me wear the pearl you wished to give." The queen spoke to her husband, and the two went to the temple with the pearl, hung it from the hole in the nose which was found out, and a great festival of joy was held. From that day on has Gopal stayed at Katak and been known as Sakshi-Gopal.
The master with all His disciples heard the legend of Gopal from Nityananda and was delighted. While He stood before Gopal, the faithful seemed to see them both as of one body, of one complexion, large-limbed, red-robed, grave of mien, beaming with glory, lotus-eyed, moon-faced, both of them in rapture for each other.
At the sight of both, Nityananda in great joy winked at the faithful and they all smiled. So the night was passed in great entertainment, and next morning, after witnessing the matin service, they set off. Brindaban-das has described fully how He visited Bhubaneshwar on the way (to the Blue Mountain). At Kamalpur He bathed in the Bhagi river, and gave His mendicant's stick to Nityananda to carry. With his disciples He went to see Kapoteshwar [Shiva]. Here Nityananda broke the Master's stick into three and threw it (into the river). From that Shiva shrine the Master returned, and was thrown into ecstasy by the sight of the spire of the temple of Jagannath. He prostrated Himself and danced in love; the disciples too, in love, danced and sang, following the Master on the highway. He laughed, wept, danced, roared and shouted, and made a thousand leagues of those six miles. On reaching Athara-nala (Eighteen Water courses) the Master came to His senses a little and asked Nityananda for His stick. But Nityananda answered, "It was broken into three bits. You fell down in a swoon of devotion, and as I caught you, we two tumbled on the stick which was broken by our weight. I know not where it was dropped. Through my fault was your stick broken. Punish me as you think fit." The Master was sad and spoke a little bitterly, "You have all done me great good, forsooth, by coming to the Blue Mountain! You could not even preserve the stick, my only property. You go before me to see Jagannath or let me go there before you. But we will not go together." Mukunda Datta said, "Master, go thou before us; we shall arrive after and not in thy company". The Master hastened there. None could understand the cause why one Master broke the other's stick and why the latter suffered it to be done, or was angry at the result. The deep mystery of the breaking of the stick can be understood only by him who has constant faith in the two Masters. [Text, canto 5.]
The image of Sakshi-Gopal is now installed at a village of the same name 48 miles south of Katak town.
Indian Atlas (sheet 116) names the river here as Bargovee.
The place meant is evidently Jagannath Vallabh, six miles north of Puri; from this place the spire of the temple of Jagannath can be seen. Athara-nala is two miles north of Puri.
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Jill Hornor is an art consultant who has achieved celebrity status thanks to her marriage to legendary Chinese cellist and songwriter, YO-YO-Ma. The two have been married for more than four decades since 1978.
Although Hornor has been interested in music since she was a young girl and has done some little works in that regards, she has not become famous for it, but rather as the wife of Yo-Yo Ma. She used to be a violinist, learn more about her below.
Jill Hornor Biography
It was on October 2, 1953, that Jill Hornor was born. Of mixed race, she was brought up in different parts of the world including Europe where she spent many years. As a child growing up. Jill had always loved music and was fascinated by it. This pushed her into learning to play the violin.
For her education, Hornor went to the Mount Holyoke High School. While she was there, she joined the Greater Boston Youth Symphony Orchestra for which she played the violin.
She would go to Paris for her junior year before graduating from Mount Holyoke. Next, she proceeded to Cornwell University where she graduated with a degree in German literature.
Jill Hornor was brought up in a family of mixed ethnicity. In fact, her husband would later state that it was probably one of the things that attracted them to each other as he was also brought up in a similar setting.
Before starting her family with Ma, the couple first met when she was in her sophomore year at the Mount Holyoke High School. Yo-Yo Ma was a 16-year-old kid at the time. He was at the Marlboro Festival the summer before he entered Harvard, and it was there that he first met Hornor. The two became acquainted and Ma fell for her because like him, she was raised in two cultures and she was interested in what his thoughts were.
Because of the distance between them, Ma courted his wife via mail and phone and they remained together until a year after he graduated from Harvard and then they got married in 1978. They spent the next three years after they got married in Cambridge, Leverett House where Jill Hornor tutored German while Ma was artist-in-residence. Many years later, the couple is still very much together and in love.
Their marriage has been blessed with two children, Emily Hornor Ma and Nicholas Ma who is the oldest of the two. He is a film producer, writer, and director popular for works such as Won’t You Be My Neighbor? (2018) and Echoes (2017). On the other hand, Emily works as an associate at the New York law firm Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher & Flom.
A graduated from Harvard, Emily got married in 2014 to investment banker John Mistovich who also graduated from Harvard. Their wedding held at Trinity Episcopal Church in Lenox, Massachusetts. Emily did not allow her father to perform at the ceremony which was graced by 300 guests including friends and family. According to her, all she wanted him to be on that day was just her father and not an artist.
Jill Hornor and her husband now live in Cambridge where she works as an arts consultant while her husband continues his music and works as an artistic director of the Silk Road Ensemble.
Things To Know About Yo-Yo Ma’s Wife
1. Her husband (Yo-Yo Ma): A very charming and highly talented individual, Ma was born in Paris, France, in 1955. The Chinese-American cellist got his education from the Juilliard School as well as from Harvard University. He was considered a child prodigy thanks to his talent as a soloist. Ma began his career in 1961 and many decades later, he is still active professionally. His career has been decorated with 18 Grammy Awards, National Medal of Arts, and Presidential Medal of Freedom among many others.
Yo has more than 90 albums to his name and has collaborated with various artists through the years.
2. Jill is also into clothing business: Hornor has been said to have her own clothing business. However, there is hardly any serious information to that effect.
3. Net Worth: Jill Hornor has been estimated to have a net worth of $2 million as of 2019. She came by her fortune from her work as a consultant. On his part, Yo-Yo Ma has a 25 million US dollar net worth.
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I am the frog.
I can hear buzzing under the plastic insulation I placed on the wire. The metal of the container box shows all its rust now: it isn’t glistening in the pool of light encasing it. Ten minutes.
“Doing what is right,” they call it. It is what you read on their badges, what their news agencies claim, what their politicians dole out with all sincerity. It is the reason behind every action, and the motivation behind every crime. It is what, either by being tricked by others or tricking themselves, they believe. It is their ultimate rule. It is what I break. It is what they resent me for. It is, despite its masked ugliness, beautiful. They have taught me that.
I am not like them. They cannot see.
I was seven. Televisions were not as extravagant back then, but it did not matter. Through the fifteen inches of a multicolor screen, I first noticed it. The wall. When an explosion blows out a hospital, sending the charred, flaming remains of what used to be someone’s wife or brother into flight, or when images of the aftereffects of a missile attack are dealt out to the public, with a man in a jacket that spells PRESS guiding viewers through the mayhem that results, you can see it, if you look close enough. The wall in all its deceiving glory. On television, I saw the bombed-to-shreds buildings, and was told by a smiling man in brown glasses that these wastelands before me were the images of war. The unmistakable footprints of death leave waste in their wake, and it leaves a mark. A mark I saw in the terrified eyes, and screams, the girl in a simple purple dress stained in dirt and dust holding another tighter and tighter still trying to muffle her wails of pain, the calls for help. Tighter and tighter, as if her loosening her grip would kill the other girl. Couldn’t the foreign men with cameras help, I wondered. Clearly, they couldn’t. It was small at first, a tiny detail that got bigger and grew to become all I can see.
“Why?” I asked. No one replied other than to tell me that it was the right thing to do. There is honour in military action, and that was no exception. In the larger scheme of things, it matters little if you kill ten others in pursuing a target. Or a hundred. Or half a country. Right is right and must be pursued at all costs. I could have been that girl whose head had half of it incinerated. It wouldn’t have mattered to them. It wouldn’t have mattered to the people like me: the ones on their sofas, huddled around a living room, around a television. People like me; at least, at the time.
The wall was slightly in view then, a mirage that hid once I neared, the thread of an artifact in the corner of your eye that jumps out of view once you look in its direction. Why is this happening is the first question you ask. It is only natural to look for a reason to calm your outrage. I was offered plenty. Honour, love of country, hatred of the others. They were wrong and we were right.
Terrorist. That’s what the men in green helmets, machine guns in hand, are out to capture. One out to insight terror, one whose heart so overflows with dark, inky evil that they would make their life mission to kill innocents and rob them of their piece of mind and life. Terror. Fear. A terrorist is a maker of misery. Seven minutes.
I was ten. My mother cried. When your son dies in battle, I cannot imagine doing any less than she did. Her cries pierced the air around me, as if slicing through it in neat bands. But she was consoled. “He died serving his country,” she was told. “He was doing the right thing.” He had died of a bullet wound to the neck. By the time his accompanying teammates were able to reach him, deep into enemy territory, where he’d been shot, he had bled to death. It takes a few seconds for that kind of wound to drain you of all life. His friend from the military told me this, on account of the dead soldier being my only brother. He wore formal military garment. As he recalled the events, tears streamed down his face and he wailed as though the liquid were paining him as it exited his eyes. He told me I deserved to know how my brother died. That he died upholding what everyone virtuous and true holds to be right. After he’d left, I remember hating those responsible for my brother’s death.
They say a frog placed in boiling water will jump out, but one that is placed in cold water that is slowly heated, will not understand, will not perceive the danger. It will be cooked to death.
I was thirteen. The man in the square is looking at me. He’s looking at everyone there. His eyes scan the crowd, finding every face and feeding it looks of earnestness and truthfulness. I was watching the president give a speech. Talking, he detailed why the country was entering war again. A terrorist organisation must be brought to its knees. Freedom must be granted to a besieged people. We were to sacrifice for the common good. I believed him. There was no reason not to. I was afraid. A week later, the tanks left. The fighter jets darted away. The men with guns were loaded onto massive ships and shipped to where they either kill or be killed. And if death was to be their fate, they would die with honour. Other times, I see the man laughing.
Instead, the country invaded was torn to pieces. The dead, all civilians, were too many to count. Some things engrave themselves into your memory. It was then that the wall was clear. Over every action, over everyone who believes in the deceit, is a thin, dark film that shows the true nature of things. The wall is over everything. The wall is what shows the politician to be a power-hungry chaser of wealth, whose interests are far from what he advertises. It shows wars fought in the name of freedom, dignity and liberty to be no less criminal than what they supposedly are enacted to fight. It showed me, and everyone like me, everyone who took their words to be true, everyone who feared and cried and chanted and loved and hated when they said to, to be blind.
I see it.
There is no right. There is only a surprisingly simple machine wherein I was given no choice but delusion. I was played with and told what to think. I refused to be a part in their games of greed and blood. The blind around me do not see, but they must. Three minutes.
The domino effect requires only a little push to be set in motion. One small force sets the machine in perfect chaos. It is that which I intend to do. It will only take my small act to make them realize. They must see what I see. They must drink of my blood. They must drown in misery, just as I have. Then they will know. Two minutes.
The low purr still escapes the metal box. At midnight, when I press the small button in its middle, I will die. The charge will light the fuse in the ignition chamber, and set aflame the explosives packaged inside. Instant death. So little of me will remain that they will carry my remains in their palms. This is my purpose. I am the frog who was transformed without knowing. And, like the frog deceived, I will die. My time has come. I realized my purpose. When I die, they will realize theirs. The ignition will set ablaze the letters I wrote. They will see my final message, written in ink of red flame. One minute.
I close my eyes. The last thing I ever see must not be this world. It must not be this beast. I think of her. I think how she looked as though holding back tears as she embraced the other child, caging her in her own being. She had to appear strong, unaffected, for the other girl. That might have been her sister. Her friend. I think how she changed me. I think how I was blind. How she made me see.
The button clicks softly as I push it through.
Your sons and daughter are dying at war as you read this.
I was one of you.
I cannot do any more.
If you are reading this,
if you have witnessed what I have done,
if you watch death every day and cannot feel its searing pain any longer
then stand together.
Fight the war machine.
I love the girl in purple.
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Princess Elizabeth Charlotte was born on 27 May 1652 at Heidelberg Castle as the daughter of Charles I Louis, Elector Palatine and Landgravine Charlotte of Hesse-Kassel. She was known by the name Liselotte. She grew up with her aunt Sophia of Hanover, due to her parents’ unhappy marriage.
She was chosen as a bride for the widowed Philippe I, Duke of Orléans, who had previously been married to Henrietta Anne of England, a sister of Charles II of England. They were married by proxy on 16 November 1671, and she converted to Roman Catholicism. She became known as Madame at the French court. Her new husband’s homosexual activities were well known at court. She put up with it, though she often objected to the money spent on his favourites.
Elizabeth and Philippe had three children, Alexandre (who died young), Philippe (who became Duke of Orléans on the death of his father) and Elisabeth Charlotte (who became Duchess of Lorraine by marriage). They mutually agreed not to share a bed anymore after the births of their children.
Elizabeth often wrote to her aunt, and many of those letters survive to this day, giving a unique view into the reign of Louis XIV and the Regency era of her son, Philippe.
Her first letter after her marriage describes her departure from Strasbourg to her aunt.
“Saint Germain, Feb. 3rd, 1672.
Madame de Wurtemburg spoke the truth when she described my grief to Dorndorf. I cried all night from Strasbourg to Chalons. I showed myself far more indifferent than I really was in feeling. I cannot forgive myself for the manner with which I parted from my relatives in Strasbourg.
I will tell you one thing about Monsieur: he is the best man in the world, and we get on very well together. None of his portraits resembled him in the least.”
Upon the birth of her son she wrote to a Madame von Harling:
“July 6th, 1673.
I often think of the joy you must have felt on being told of my safe deliverance of a boy. As I have always been like your own child, it is as though you had heard of the birth of a grandson. I feel sure that he has your heartiest good wishes. As soon as he has had his portrait taken I will send it to you, but I hope that you will see him some day and find him all that you could wish. Thank God he is a fine and healthy child, and has been so since the day of his birth. His size and beauty give me great pleasure.”
However, the child did not live to see his third birthday, and she wrote to the same Madame von Harlin of her grief.
“April 20th, 1676.
The terrible blow with which the Almighty has seen fit to overwhelm me so troubled me that I was not able to answer your letter before. You see now how right I was in wishing that my children could be under your care; I always foresaw what would happen to me. They manage children in the strangest way in this country Unfortunately 1 know nothing about them, never having had any experience, so I am obliged to do what they tell me. The more I think of this, the more wretched I become. I am now quite alone in my grief, for Monsieur started last Thursday with the King to join the army. I fear that all this will injure the child I am awaiting. … I do not think that grief can kill—were it so I should certainly have died before now. I cannot describe to you the terrible sufferings I have endured.”
Elizabeth’s husband died in 1701, and she would outlive him for 21 years. She died at the age of 70 on 8 December 1722 at the Château de Saint-Cloud.
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A priest in an Episcopal Church I visited recently read from Mark 6:7-13. It was the Gospel passage from the Lectionary for that Sunday.
"And he called unto him the twelve, and began to send them forth by two and two; And commanded them that they should take nothing for their journey,"However, the King James version is different.
"And he called unto him the twelve, and began to send them forth by two and two; and gave them power over unclean spirits; And commanded them that they should take nothing for their journey,"You don't get, "...and gave them power over unclean spirits..." from her version.
What's the harm? Does it change our understanding of the passage? If we understand the passage the same either way, I think we might be missing something. I listened to her sermon and it was meaningful and engaging but I still wondered, "Why leave it out?"
I started going through Mark looking up references to "spirit." I found 10 references to "unclean spirit." In a couple of places, "unclean spirit" was used interchangeably with "devil," so, I looked that up and found 16 references to "devil" in Mark's Gospel. From chapter 1 through chapter 9, every other chapter in Mark describes Jesus' confrontations with these bodiless beings. Chapter 6 describes the disciples carrying on his work in a similar manner.
Early in the first chapter of Mark, Jesus is directly challenged and defied by Satan himself.
Mark 1:12-13 - And immediately the spirit driveth him into the wilderness. And he was there in the wilderness forty days, tempted of Satan; and was with the wild beasts; and the angels ministered unto him.Soon after that, there was this incident in a synagogue in Capernaum.
Mark 1:22-26 - And they were astonished at his doctrine: for he taught them as one that had authority, and not as the scribes. And there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit; and he cried out, Saying, Let us alone; what have we to do with thee, thou Jesus of Nazareth? art thou come to destroy us? I know thee who thou art, the Holy One of God. And Jesus rebuked him, saying, Hold thy peace, and come out of him. And when the unclean spirit had torn him, and cried with a loud voice, he came out of him.Mark continues in chapter 3.
Mark 3:11-12 - And unclean spirits, when they saw him, fell down before him, and cried, saying, Thou art the Son of God. And he straitly charged them that they should not make him known.Mark's description of incidents and events involving Jesus and unclean spirits seem to get longer, wilder, and more detailed. He mashes the accelerator in chapter 5 while we're saying, "Slow down Mark!"
Mark 5:1-15 - And they came over unto the other side of the sea, into the country of the Gadarenes. And when he was come out of the ship, immediately there met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit, Who had his dwelling among the tombs; and no man could bind him, no, not with chains: Because that he had been often bound with fetters and chains, and the chains had been plucked asunder by him, and the fetters broken in pieces: neither could any man tame him. And always, night and day, he was in the mountains, and in the tombs, crying, and cutting himself with stones. But when he saw Jesus afar off, he ran and worshipped him, And cried with a loud voice, and said, What have I to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of the most high God? I adjure thee by God, that thou torment me not. For he said unto him, Come out of the man, thou unclean spirit. And he asked him, What is thy name? And he answered, saying, My name is Legion: for we are many. And he besought him much that he would not send them away out of the country. Now there was there nigh unto the mountains a great herd of swine feeding. And all the devils besought him, saying, Send us into the swine, that we may enter into them. And forthwith Jesus gave them leave. And the unclean spirits went out, and entered into the swine: and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the sea, (they were about two thousand;) and were choked in the sea. And they that fed the swine fled, and told it in the city, and in the country. And they went out to see what it was that was done. And they come to Jesus, and see him that was possessed with the devil, and had the legion, sitting, and clothed, and in his right mind: and they were afraid.Calling these spirits the devil in these confrontations brings a dimension of personal drama to the conflict between Jesus who was "in the beginning" and he who once was "son of the morning." The stage is bigger and scarier than most of us want to admit.
Mark 7:25-30 - For a certain woman, whose young daughter had an unclean spirit, heard of him, and came and fell at his feet: The woman was a Greek, a Syrophenician by nation; and she besought him that he would cast forth the devil out of her daughter. But Jesus said unto her, Let the children first be filled: for it is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it unto the dogs. And she answered and said unto him, Yes, Lord: yet the dogs under the table eat of the children's crumbs. And he said unto her, For this saying go thy way; the devil is gone out of thy daughter. And when she was come to her house, she found the devil gone out, and her daughter laid upon the bed.In Mark 9, Jesus refers to a spirit as "foul" and "dumb and deaf" that his disciples could not cast out. His disciples ask him, "Why could not we cast him out?" Jesus responded saying, "This kind can come forth by nothing, but by prayer and fasting." Once again, Mark includes more mystery and detail.
Here are some reasons why someone might omit this passage.
1. They are afraid of spiritual extremism and they're trying to keep it out of the church.
I believe God is less concerned with innocent extremism than we are. I've seen ministers react to people getting carried away, by closing themselves off from what's inspiring the extremism, as if that's supposed to bring balance. I knew a minister who wouldn't read from the book of Revelation in church because of all the crazy interpretations being thrown around. I think it would have been more helpful if she would read it and demonstrated a balanced view of the book. Just because some take praying for the sick to a desperate extreme, are we going to stop praying for the sick? Just because some preach on giving as part of an unbalanced prosperity message, do we stop giving?
2. They weren't going to mention "unclean spirits" in their sermon, so that passage was irrelevant.
The Bible was not given to provide inspiration for sermons. The Bible is more important than the sermons it inspires.
3. People only believed in spirits back then because they didn't understand disease and pathological behavior as we do today. Enlightened people don't believe in that stuff.
Science can neither explain our deepest problems nor provide the cures we most deeply long for. We need Jesus to touch and heal us at our core.
4. Talking about "unclean spirits" only serves to distract us from living out the true message of the Gospel.
I suspect this is where she was coming from. However, I don't believe we can walk in love until God works in our hearts through the power of the Holy Spirit and drives far from us all wrong desires.
5. Someone might be so focused on cooperative solutions, that they are uncomfortable with a reference to people having power over anything. This is a variation of the perspective, "If you're a hammer, everything looks like a nail."
I think some people have a problem thinking of power and authority as a good thing. Even though Christianity is about humility and cooperation within the family, God opposes the eternally defiant with complete authority and power. Some people have been hurt by authority figures and it's hard to recover from that. It may be difficult for some to think or read the word "authority" regardless of any other words in the sentence. No matter how bad our experience with human authority, we need to learn to humbly accept Christ's authority over us and over what prevents us from walking in freedom in Christ.
6. Talking about the devil and spirits is spooky and scares people.
When my son was young, his mother took him to some extreme churches that spoke of the devil and Satan too much. He grew fearful and started having nightmares. You can definitely overemphasize this stuff; especially with children.
Here are some reasons I thought she should have read it.
1. So someone like me wouldn't be wondering why she left it out.
2. Because it's in the Bible.
3. Because the Lectionary directed us to read that passage on that particular day.
4. Because the Gospels often describe Jesus' authority over the devil and unclean spirits.
5. It shows that ministry involves a calling and an endowment of grace.
I'm very uncomfortable with deciding what to read from the Bible and what to leave out. Let's just read it all. The Holy Spirit will breath life into the words that take root in our heart. Maybe He'll show us something we never considered before and make it part of our lives.
The Holy Spirit is the air we breathe.
The Word of God in our heart our lungs.
Our faith, in all its rich expression, causes our lungs to expand and contract, and the Holy Spirit rushes in and out, revealing and exalting Christ.
Photo above © Copyright John Salmon and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence
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Nicknames: Black Pearl, Jazz Cleopatra, Bronze Venus
Best known for: Being a famous performer in Paris, a World War II spy, and a civil rights activist
Where did Josephine Baker grow up?
Josephine Baker was born Freda Josephine McDonald on June 3, 1906 in St. Louis, Missouri. Her father was a vaudeville drummer named Eddie Carson who abandoned Josephine and her mother, Carrie McDonald, at an early age.
With her father gone, Josephine had a difficult childhood. Her mother worked hard as a washerwoman, but the family often went hungry. When Josephine was eight years old, she had to go to work to get to food. She worked as a servant girl in the homes of wealthy people and as a waitress.
Becoming a Dancer
Josephine loved to dance and would sometimes dance on the street corners of the city for money. She soon got a job dancing for local vaudeville shows. She was a talented dancer, actress, and singer. She started getting more important roles and, in 1923, she earned a spot on the Broadway musical Shuffle Along.
Moving to France
In 1925, Josephine decided to take on a new adventure. She moved to Paris, France to star in a show called La Revue Negre. The show was a hit and Josephine decided to make Paris her new home. Her most famous act was a dance that took place during a show called La Folie du Jour. During the dance she wore nothing but skirt made of bananas.
Over the next ten years, Josephine became one of the biggest stars in Europe. She sung on popular records, danced in shows, and starred in movies. Josephine also became rich. She bought a large home in southern France called the Chateau des Milandes. Later, she would adopt 12 children from a variety of countries that she called her "Rainbow Tribe."
World War II Spy
During World War II, Josephine was recruited to spy for the French Resistance. Because she was a famous celebrity, she was invited to important parties and allowed to travel around Europe without being suspected. She passed on secret messages about the Germans such as troop locations and airfields using invisible ink on her sheet music. After the war, she was awarded the French Croix de guerre (Cross of war) and the Rosette de la Resistance (French Resistance Medal).
Return to the United States
Josephine first tried to return to the United States in 1936 to star in the Ziegfeld Follies. Unfortunately, she received poor reviews and returned to France. However, Josephine returned again in the 1950s. This time she received rave reviews and huge audiences came out to see her.
Civil Rights Activist
When Baker returned to the United States, some clubs wanted her to perform for segregated audiences (where only whites or blacks attended). Josephine strongly disagreed. She refused to perform for segregated audiences. She also spoke out against clubs and hotels that refused black people service.
In 1963, Josephine participated in the March on Washington with Martin Luther King, Jr. She spoke before 250,000 people wearing her uniform of the French Resistance. In her speech she talked about the freedoms she had in France and how she hoped the same freedoms would soon come to the United States.
In 1975, Josephine starred in a show that reviewed her 50 years as a performer in Paris. The show sold out and huge stars including Mick Jagger, Diana Ross, and Sophia Loren attended. A few days after the show opened, on April 12, 1975, Josephine died of a brain hemorrhage.
Interesting Facts about Josephine Baker
She had a variety of exotic pets including a leopard named Chiquita and a chimpanzee named Ethel.
Josephine's adopted children would entertain and sing songs for paying visitors to her house.
The NAACP named May 20th as Josephine Baker Day.
She was asked by Coretta Scott King to become the new leader of the civil rights movement in the United States after Martin Luther King, Jr. died. Baker refused because she didn't want to leave her children.
She was close friends with the famous actress Grace Kelly.
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Now a small village on the edge of Dartmoor, Lyndford was a burgh in late Saxon times. Its situation, on a promontory overlooking the River Lyd, has steep falls on all sides except one. A rampart defends the level approach
The first castle of Lyndford was the ring work at the west corner of the promontory, now known as the Norman Fort. It did not stay in use for long and the present Lyndford Castle stands nearby, the parish church occupying the space between them.
At first sight the castle seems to be a motte and bailey earthwork with a square keep on top of the mound. This is an illusion, however, because the keep was built first and earth was piled around its lower part as if to emulate a motte.
It is also questionable as to whether we can regard this building as a keep in the normal sense of the word. In 1195 a strong house for prisoners was erected and the ‘keep’ has been identified with it.
There is further complication in that only the ground floor is original, the upper stories being added after a gap in building operations. There is absolutely no refinement in the stonework, resulting in a grim tower, which seems to add weight to the prison theory. By the time the building resumed, a square keep was rather antiquated in any case.
Internally, there is nothing to suggest that this tower was not a normal keep, though later alterations have been numerous. Even the cross-wall is a rebuilding.
Notwithstanding the circumstances in which it was built, the castle subsequently did serve mainly as a courthouse and prison. This was inevitable because Lyndford was the administrative center of the Forest of Dartmoor and the local tin mines.
These provided important revenue for the Crown.
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Samurai Dogs are simply hot dogs sold under the name of the Samurai franchise. There have been both official and unofficial versions. Missile the police dog and Wendy Oldbag are both great fans of Samurai Dogs. A box of official Samurai Dogs was a piece of evidence in Miles Edgeworth's investigation into the murders of Manny Coachen and Ka-Shi Nou.
- Main article: Turnabout Goodbyes
Toward the end of 2016, Larry Butz, looking for a job, started selling somewhat gourd-shaped hot dogs that he called "Gourd Dogs" at the Gourd Lake public beach. His then-girlfriend Kiyance told him to change the name to "Samurai Dogs" and dress up as Santa Claus in order to increase their popularity, though the same hot dogs would be used. To help publicize this new idea, and despite the potential legal implications, Butz set up a large inflatable Steel Samurai beside his stall. As Butz wasn't much of a technician, he used an air tank to inflate it. However, the valve on the air tank broke, and the set-up shot up into the air. The resulting loud noise drew people's attention, and while someone was taking a photo of the lake, the air tank crashed down into the water as the photo went off. The resulting image was sent to newspapers, as the resulting silhouette resembled a lake monster that was subsequently named "Gourdy".
Phoenix Wright and Maya Fey later visited the lake to investigate a murder for which Miles Edgeworth was being accused. Butz was not around when the two first found the stall, and Fey begged Wright to buy her a Samurai Dog, excited by the name. Later that day, the pair met Butz at the stall, who admitted that he still had no way of paying Wright for defending him in a previous murder trial, but instead allowed them to help themselves to as many Samurai Dogs as they wanted, much to Fey's excitement.
Wright and Fey later returned with the police-trained K-9 dog Missile, who they had borrowed from Dick Gumshoe, to the public beach. Although Butz was initially excited to see the cute dog and tried to pet him, Missile almost immediately launched into his stall and ate each and every last Samurai Dog, leaving Butz is left in tears and angrily demanding to know why Wright and Fey had let Missile do that.
- Main article: Turnabout Ablaze
Global Studios eventually made "Samurai Dogs" of their own, and by 2019, they were being sold at the Cohdopian Embassy building as part of the Samurai franchise's involvement in a goodwill event between Allebahst and Babahl. Despite being intended as a gift from the studio for the two nations, Wendy Oldbag, who was playing the part of the Pink Princess for a Steel Samurai stage show, helped herself to some of them. The event was cut short due to the murder of Manny Coachen in the secretariat's office of Colias Palaeno in the Babahlese side of the embassy, as well as the murder of Ka-Shi Nou in the Ambassador's Office of the Allebahstian side. Much later, Miles Edgeworth confronted Ambassador Quercus Alba of Allebahst, whom he believed was the mastermind behind both an international smuggling ring and the two murders. Alba eventually admitted to Nou's murder, but due to extraterritoriality rights, he had the right to be tried for that murder in his own country, where he had influence over the courts.
Edgeworth and his allies gathered evidence to prove that Alba had killed Coachen. The victim's blood was found inside the pushcart that had originally contained the Samurai Dogs. Later, Oldbag stepped in, completely oblivious to what was going on, and handed Edgeworth a "special" Samurai Dog box that had Wikipedia:the red "Rising Sun" of the Japanese flag on it. Edgeworth soon realized that said "sun" was, in fact, a single drop of blood, which Edgeworth tied to Alba, proving his presence in the dressing room where Coachen was killed.
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Both excellent answers.
I would add the following:
Focus on the customers (even if they are internal). How will they be using what you are doing? Ask them if you don't know. People love that you are interested in their needs and will gladly tell you. Even if your task is "narrow" at first, understand how it fits in the bigger picture.
Try to think in terms of solutions, not just questions when you don't know what to do. Try to bring your manager your best shots at how to solve a problem. This is where knowing your customer's needs and wants can be helpful, as the answer isn't always a technical solution. By the way, your manager is a customer of yours too, so know his/her needs and problems he/she faces in the organization. You will really separate yourself as a technical person and your manager will appreciate and be happy when you come to visit, which you should do proactively, not just when they ask.
In every job, there is some level of vagueness and non-definition. Less so at the entry level, very much so at senior levels. In fact, I could argue that the ability to handle more and more ambiguity is what defines a senior contributor. Seeing the big picture helps you give structure when you don't know quite what to do. Don't be afraid to ask questions and if the answers don't help you, keep questioning. If the organization you find yourself in, isn't receptive to your questions, find one that is. As you gain knowledge, try to apply what you know, to form the question in a way that is more readily answerable, as opposed to "I don't know what to do" (which may very well be your feeling).
Make friends at work. Be open to interactions that are not just business oriented. People like to help people they like. Approach senior people too. They have a need and desire to help younger people as they end their careers.
When people are not helpful, assume they are confused themselves or their are other issues in their lives not related to you. Keep trying (in different ways). Don't assume they just don't like you.
Be broader than your role, whatever it is. Be the one who non-technical people approach to explain. If you find yourself in a very narrow job definition, do more. Either the organization will appreciate and acknowledge you or you bring that broader experience to the next place. And, you'll enjoy what you do more.
Best of luck.
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|前田 光世 (Maeda Mitsuyo)|
|Born||(1878-11-18)November 18, 1878
Hirosaki, Aomori, Japan
|Died||November 28, 1941
Belém do Pará, Brazil
|Teachers||Kano Jigoro, Tsunejiro Tomita|
7th Dan red & white belt
Biography: Mitsuyo Maeda was born in Funazawa Village, Hirosaki City, Aomori Prefecture, Japan, on November 18, 1878. He practiced sumo as a teenager, but lacked the ideal build for the sport. Because of the interest generated by stories about the success of judo at contests between judo and jujutsu that were occurring at the time, he changed to judo from sumo. In 1894, at seventeen years of age, his parents sent him to Tokyo to enroll in Waseda University. He took up Kodokan judo the following year.
The history of Jiu Jitsu in Brazil mainly derives from Mitsuyo Maeda – known in Brazil as Conde Coma (Count Coma). Maeda was a student of Jigoro Kano and his Kodokan School of martial arts. Though Kano is widely recognized as the father of Judo, his style of teaching was regarded in the early days as a branch of Jiu Jitsu and not it’s own martial style. In fact, Jigoro’s branch of Jiu Jitsu has been diluted from its original format over the years by consistent changes to Judo’s rules and regulations.
Mitsuyo Maeda was one of Jigoro Kano’s star pupils, and as such he was asked to help spread the word of his master’s style. Maeda traveled all over the world displaying the art in arenas and circuses, travelling through the United States, England and many other countries before landing in Brazil. It was in Brazil that he met Carlos Gracie, a troubled teenager that Maeda took under his wing and taught his style, though Carlos wasn’t the only student taught by Count Coma, nor was he the only one to develop his own Jiu Jitsu School, one other student of Maeda also spread his seed into Jiu Jitsu’s landscape, Luis França. There were other Japanese Jiu Jitsu masters teaching Jiu Jitsu in Brazil who were lesser known, though still relevant to BJJ today, people like Takeo Iano in the North of Brazil and Kazuo Yoshida in Bahia.
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Obediah Hinton is one of the village elders in a small village named Butcher Creek.
Events of Red Dead Redemption 2
The Wisdom of the Elders I
Obediah thanks the player for finding his friend, Lemuel. However, Lemuel attacks the protagonist, who then has to subdue him. Obediah tells the protagonist that his friend is not well and introduces himself to them. The player asks for money, but Obediah responds by saying that the villagers do not have a lot of money and that he can only give him friendship and love instead. He then takes Lemuel inside the house.
The Wisdom of the Elders II
When the protagonist knocks on his house, Obediah seems frightened. He tells the player to leave for his own safety. The protagonist is confused, to which Obediah says that the "demons" are coming to attack the village. As a result, the player eliminates the wild dogs in the village. After doing this, the player tells the villagers to get inside their home and Obediah states that a man told him that the demons will come in many forms, as would protection. The protagonist tells him that it is merely sick dogs who got poisoned by an unknown substance, and to shoot any sick animals. Obediah tells the protagonist that they cannot doubt the man, who told them that evil has plagued the village. A man known as the "Shaman" appears and claims that he can save them. The shaman tells Obediah and the others that the curse has changed and some dark charms in the woods have to be destroyed. The player then asks the shaman if the charms were to be destroyed the cruse would be lifted. The shaman tells him that the woods are plagued with demons and it is impossible to destroy them with the protection of demons. The man tells Obediah and the others that the protagonist is telling them lies that there is no such curse, and so the player will have to destroy 13 charms in the woods.
The Wisdom of the Elders IV
Obediah will be sitting outside with the shaman. The protagonist tells him that he has destroyed the charms and the shaman is in disbelief. Obediah is overjoyed at this, while the shaman interrupts and claims that the protagonist has made the curse worse than before. The protagonist recalls that he stated that the curse would be lifted if the charms were to be destroyed and Obediah seems to be confused by this. The player says to Obediah that the shaman is clearly hiding something from them, while the shaman responds by saying to Obediah that the protagonist is lying and that he has the gift of seeing demons. Angered by this, the player threatens the shaman, causing him to run away. Obediah recalls an abandoned mine, where the shaman told him and others not to go.
The player investigates the mine, only to find that a poisonous substance is leaking in the abandoned mine into the water. He collects a sample of the substance, and hears someone nearby. This person nearby sets off some dynamite in the attempt to kill the protagonist, who manages to escape and get back to the village. Upon arrival, the player observe that the shaman wants Obediah to sign some papers and lift the curse. Obediah decides to read aloud the papers before signing. It is revealed that the shaman works for Roanoke Fuel Company, and wants the villagers to sell their land. The shaman is surprised that Obediah is in fact literate and tells him to stop reading the document. The protagonist decides to confront the shaman, and Obediah is surprised that the protagonist survived. The protagonist claims that the shaman purposely tried to kill him when investigating the mines, before taking out a sample of the poisonous substance and telling Obediah and others that they were poisoned. Obediah and others still doubt the protagonist's claims, so the protagonist decides to ask the shaman to reveal what the substance is.
The shaman stammers and claims that the substance is nothing, but the player doesn’t believe him and forces him to consume his own poison. The shaman desperately admits that it is poison, and that the company was digging and discover that there was only arsenic and lead inside the mine. The shaman also admits that he put on this scheme to convince the villagers to leave. This increases Obediah and others’ paranoia, and they start to believe that higher spirits have cursed the village through a mining company and that they must therefore appease the spirits. Obediah tells the player to leave the village and take the money.
- Red Dead Redemption 2
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As a child playing a game in which “the rug [was] a sea and the drawer was a ship,” Jeanette climbed into a drawer and found a birth certificate bearing the names of her parents. She never told anyone, and never had an interest in finding her parents. When adapting her novel Oranges for television, Jeanette renamed the main character “Jess”—her birth mother’s name had been Jessica. Oranges won several high-profile awards in England, at Cannes, and all over the world. Jeanette believed that her birth mother would see the film and “put two and two together,” but this did not come to pass.
Jeanette has been longing for years for a way to connect with her birth parents, but a combination of fear—and Mrs. Winterson’s repeated warnings that Jeanette’s birth mother had been a bad person, and was already dead—kept her from ever putting more than a small amount of attention toward the search.
In 2007, Jeanette has done nothing to discover her past except to “repaint” it and write over it. She is in a “rocky and unhappy” relationship, struggling to write a book, and helping Mr. Winterson to deal with the death of his second wife, Lillian. Jeanette goes to Accrington to help him clear out his house so that he can move into an assisted living facility. In a locked trunk, Jeanette discovers a cache of her mother’s Royal Albert china, her father’s war medals, letters from her mother to her father, and her own formal adoption papers. Her name has been “violently crossed out,” and the top of the form has been torn off—she cannot read the name of the doctor who evaluated her or the adoption society which brokered the adoption. Jeanette feels trapped, and wonders why her parents would never have given her any keys to her “biography [or] biology.” She has been writing “love and loss narratives” all her life, and wonders if she will ever be able to find her lost mother again. She contemplates a line from Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale, which refers to “that which is lost”—not “that which was lost” or “that which has been lost.” Loss is serious and present, Winterson argues, and “still wound[s] each day.”
In the middle of a very difficult moment in her life, marked by loss, tumult, and difficulty in love, Jeanette finds a clue to her own past. Though the adoption form has been mutilated, it represents both a way forward and a reminder of her dark, claustrophobic past. Jeanette ruminates on the nature of her life’s work and finds that it is centered around loss, love, and loss of love—she knows intimately that loss has the power to resonate throughout one’s life for years and years, and to destroy everything that attempts to fill the gap it has made.
Jeanette writes that soon after she finds the ruined birth certificates, she begins to go mad. She separates from her partner, unable to “make [a] home with someone,” and, in the wake of this new abandonment, is thrown backward into a regressive state. She wakes in the middle of the night, sweating and calling for “Mummy,” and finds herself unable to leave her house. The only rope connecting her to sanity is poetry and literature, but she is unable to write her own work—“language [has] left” her.
Jeanette’s loss of the only remaining stable thing in her life—which she admits was not very stable to begin with—pushes her over the edge of a precipice she perhaps didn’t even know she was on. She clings to literature, as she always has, but even stories are not enough now to keep Jeanette afloat as she succumbs to the demons of her past.
After a while, Jeanette is able to write, and publishes a children’s story which is turned into a picture book. She flees to Paris, where she lives and works above the famous Shakespeare and Company bookshop, but she is still not getting any better. In fact, she is getting worse.
Though Jeanette experiences some positives in her career and writing life, she cannot fool herself: she is struggling, and failing to keep herself afloat.
Jeanette decides to commit suicide, and writes notes to her friends. She decides to gas herself in the garage with the help of her Porsche—she does not “want to vacate life,” but feels it is “too precious not to live fully.” She thinks that if she cannot live fully, she must die. She attempts to kill herself in February of 2008 but is unsuccessful.
Jeanette loves life so deeply that she wants to end hers—she feels that not living it fully is an affront to life itself. The pursuit of happiness and love has always been so important to her, and her inability to continue in that pursuit makes her feel as if life is not even worth living.
Lying on the ground after her failed attempt on her own life, Jeanette hears a voice: “Ye must be born again,” it says. Recognizing the quotation as a Bible verse, Jeanette contemplates the fact that though she has already been technically twice born, she must now choose again to be alive.
While Jeanette doesn’t reconnect with the concept of being twice-born in a religious sense, she does reclaim the notion of being born-again for herself and her own sense of purposes. She recommits to living her life and to pursuing happiness with the strength and vigor she once did.
By March, Jeanette has begun to recover, and contemplates the suppression of feelings that occurs every day for many people, but specifically for herself—“it takes courage to feel the feeling,” she writes. She realizes that there is a damaged, hateful piece of herself that has been hiding away, ready to “stage a raid on the rest of the territory” of her body. Jeanette begins to grapple with that self as she begins writing a story for children. Jeanette is unsurprised to be working in children’s literature, as “the demented creature [inside is] a lost child.”
As Jeanette confronts the creature within herself, she builds up “courage”—the lack of which has kept her from really connecting with the truth of herself and her past. As she realizes that it is her own inner child which impedes her path forward in the pursuit of her own happiness, she wonders how to appease the child inside and conquer her demons once and for all.
Jeanette begins to talk to the “creature” inside of herself, though it is strange, difficult, and, she admits to herself, “mad.” The talks work to contain Jeanette’s fears, though, and she no longer experiences night terrors. She attempts to go to therapy, though the “creature” tells her that therapy is a waste of time. She finds a “priest-turned-shrink” who helps her to better communicate with the creature inside, and, eventually, by referring to the creature as an “us,” not a “you,” Jeanette is able to convince herself that together, she and the creature “will learn how to love.”
Jeanette’s commitment to conquering her inner demons forces her to descend all the way into her madness in order to work her way back out. As she makes peace with the destructive, childlike force within herself, she recognizes that that force is a part of her, not a separate entity—this allows her to work together with it, and reorient herself in her pursuit of love, happiness, and understanding.
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Yr Athro R. Geraint Gruffydd
It could be said that Geraint Gruffydd had more than one career; university professor, head of a national institution, director of a research centre, each one of which he accomplished to a high standard, but there is no doubt that his main delight was his work as a scholar and researcher. Over the years he published extensively on the writers and literature of all periods of Welsh literary history, both mainstream works and also less well-known writers and their works, unearthing many unknown gems. He had a tenacious memory and never forgot anything that he read or discovered, but also had the ability to find new, sometimes unexpected, connections, which meant that reading his work was always an exciting experience which opened the mind. One sign of his commitment to the ideals of research was his respect for his audience. Wherever he published his work – be it an academic journal, the proceedings of a society, a literary magazine, Y Cylchgrawn Efengylaidd, Y Casglwr or any one of many other media – it was always remarkable for its light, accomplished style and the thoroughness of its research. Scholarship was a calling as well as a vocation for him.
He was born on 9 June 1928 in Egryn, an ancient house in Tal-y-bont, Ardudwy, the home of the parents of that flighty eighteenth-century scholar, William Owen [Pughe], but despite the fundamental difference between his scholarly perception and Geraint’s, in some almost mystical way, Geraint sensed the call of research and scholarship in Egryn and took pride in the fact that he had begun his journey there.
Geraint’s mother had graduated in Latin and Welsh, and his father, Moses Griffith, was an agricultural advisor. Some years later the family moved to Pwll Peirian, the experimental research farm in Cwm Ystwyth, north Ceredigion which is where he grew up. But if it was a geographically remote place, it was certainly not socially remote. Moses Griffith was one of the founding members of Plaid Cymru and its first Treasurer and many prominent Welshmen would call there, so Geraint became familiar from a young age with intellectual conversations on a range of topics, not only political, but also literary, social and religious. Saunders Lewis had no greater friend than Moses Griffith in his difficult years and Geraint took pride in the connection with that man of letters and thinker. He was appointed Saunders Lewis’s literary executor.
Geraint went from the local school to Ardwyn Grammar School at Aberystwyth and then, in 1941 to Gordonstoun which had relocated at the time to Llandinam. From there he went to Bangor College in 1945 with the intention of studying for a degree in English. Gordonstoun didn’t offer a course in Welsh, and so Geraint expected to take an ‘inters’ course in Welsh at college. However, because of a clash (fortunate or providential) in the timetable, he was put into the higher class, where he was inspired by a trio of professors, Ifor Williams, Thomas Parry and Caerwyn Williams. Geraint was proud to have been in Ifor Williams’s final honours class and liked to relate his memories of his final lecture. Upon graduation, he went to Oxford to research his doctorate.
He was drawn to more than one topic. One was the contribution of that versatile genius, Edward Lhwyd, and it’s easy to see his appeal for Geraint. Another was Thomas Jones of Denbigh, the Methodist writer and scholar, and it is not hard to see why. But the subject which he finally chose was Welsh religious prose from the start of Elizabeth I’s reign to the Restoration. It was a challenging field and included all aspects of the Renaissance and humanists, and the works of Protestant Reformers, the Anti-Reformation and early Puritans; it demanded a grasp of (and interest in) the theology of a period of religious strife, a mastery of the intricate history of the ideas and politics of these years, and the ability to respond in a literary fashion to all these writings. The appropriate bibliographical skills also had to be learned. The whole of early modern Welsh literature opened before him and Geraint’s scholarship flourished in publications over the years on the Renaissance, its authors and books, and in particular the feat of William Morgan and the 1588 Bible.
His first job was on the editorial staff of the Dictionary of the Welsh Language and its location at the National Library gave Geraint free rein, in his spare time, to examine the wealth of Welsh manuscripts and create an inexhaustible reserve of knowledge to draw upon as necessary. In turn, Geraint became a lecturer in Welsh at Bangor College, a Professor at Aberystwyth, the National Librarian of Wales and the first full time Director of the University of Wales Centre for Advanced Welsh and Celtic Studies at Aberystwyth. He could master new fields thoroughly and set about researching them, providing detailed textual studies or perceptive original interpretations. At Bangor, he turned to Dafydd ap Gwilym and the cywyddwyr, \t Aberystwyth to early Welsh hengerdd poetry and ‘cerddi’r bwlch’, at the Centre he focused on the poets of the princes. He enriched the study of each and every one of these fields; but the flow of other publications did not abate, with articles on all periods of Welsh literary history, literary criticism, elegies for friends, and much too rarely, a poem or two; and in addition to all of this he wrote essays in which he shared his deep Christian conviction.
Geraint had an intense religious experience as a student in Bangor, an experience which deepened in Oxford; in Wales he was a member of the Evangelist Movement from the start. He professed his faith gladly but this did not restrict his interaction with other people or his scholarship in any way. He would have maintained that his religion enriched his life and his work. He was a people man, modest and always courteous and considerate, by nature agreeable and an active believer in collaboration while encouraging and inspiring others to contribute.
We extend our sympathies to his widow Luned, and the family, Sian, Rhun and Pyrs.
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Importance of not being late
In this amazingly well thought of essay i will discuss with you today of the series of actions that brought me to write this paper, the possible effects these actions might have on the accomplishment of the mission, and how to discourage and possibly stop such things from ever happening to me. The reason I am being subject to this time consuming, uninspired, and rather boring writing assignment is because I failed to be at the correct place of duty at the time appointed to me by my superiors. The story begins on the previous night before the great war known to many as “The Great Flu Battle of Monty Gym” like any other night it will start with a handsome young private he might be a tad on the short side and his chin might not be as squared as he’d like but handsome none the less, and his bad luck with the evil things known as alarm clocks ! As this young private gets off work just like any other day he scurries towards his den his manly cave of freedom, sweat, food, alcohol, and lotion known as his barracks room opening the door as he knows in his mind that now at last he is free from the clutches of the men referred to by the people as THE NCO’s for he knows this is a safe haven where as long as he knows not to make a single peep as Ann Frank once did long ago nothing can harm him with such horrible, wretched, evil weapons known as extra duty or some also known as “detail” but not everyone gets so lucky not everyone can escape alive for those unlucky bastards I applaud for when you so happen to see them again if by luck this is so. it is the look on their defeated eyes like windows towards the soul knowing they could be so lucky as to dine pig at the great halls of a place to some referred as The Taste Korean or maybe drinking slushies’ at The amazing Sonic, but that is not so for them and that is why I salute you my friends my comrades my brothers in arms ! Knowing the worst had passed the young private opening the door...
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Ciaran Jenkins has been breaking original stories for Channel 4 News since 2012. He is currently Scotland Correspondent, following five successful years as the programme’s North of England Correspondent. He is renowned for his impactful reporting from all corners of the UK as well as regular dispatches from the USA, Asia and across Europe.
Ciaran was named Royal Television Society Young Journalist of the Year shortly after joining Channel 4 News from the BBC. He has won several other awards for exclusive investigations, most recently an undercover exposé of working conditions at JD Sports.
Ciaran was born and raised in Merthyr Tydfil in the South Wales Valleys. He has spent almost his entire career working outside London and is known for unearthing revealing stories about life in modern Britain. He has been at the forefront of reporting on Scotland’s drugs deaths scandal, which is now considered a national crisis, and has developed a reputation for lively exchanges with political leaders in a number of headline-grabbing interviews.
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When twenty-year-old Princess Sabine discovers that her father plans to marry her off to a cruel, heartless general, she flees through the world gate, and what she discovers on the other side is unlike anything she has ever seen. But Sabine is an outsider in this land of towering buildings, advanced technology, and vast multitudes of people, and she soon finds herself in grave danger.
As the guardian of the gate, Maxim’s orders are simple. He must track down the princess and bring her home. But then the ancient portal is suddenly destroyed, leaving Maxim and Sabine trapped on the other side, and he quickly realizes that if he is going to keep the beautiful, headstrong princess safe, he is going to have to take her firmly in hand and teach her to obey.
Sabine is shocked to learn that under the laws of this realm, she will not be a free woman. She will be a pet, the property of her owner, and that owner will be Maxim. Soon enough, she is wearing nothing but a collar and tail as she kneels at her master’s feet with her cheeks blushing and her well-punished bottom sore both inside and out. But when the gate is repaired and opened once more, will Maxim and Sabine end up at the center of a war between two worlds?
Author: Loki Renard
eBook Price: $4.95
Length: 55,900 Words
He let out a grunt of pleasure and pulled his cock free, pulling it all the way out and then plunging it back in. She could hear her pussy making embarrassing wet sounds with every stroke. She was soaked with juices, her arousal flowing so freely it slicked her inner thighs.
“This hole is starting to adjust, pet,” he murmured down at her. “Your tight little cunt is beginning to love your master’s cock.”
He spoke so crudely, and she knew it was on purpose. Every time he said such things, her pussy squeezed his cock harder, her inner muscles reacting to his words. She did not know why her body responded so powerfully to him, but it hardly mattered. What room was there for thought when her entire being was under his control?
Maxim pushed that thick rod back inside her so slowly her toes curled with the tantalizing sensation of being filled, then he pulled it out and she felt it slide against not her slick slit, but the tight little star above it.
She gasped and jerked forward, her collar preventing her from going very far as the chains went taut.
“Easy, pet,” he murmured, pressing the head of his juice-slicked cock against her anus. The tender little spot tightened immediately in an effort to keep the invader from breaching her rear defenses, but Maxim was not trying to push inside. Not yet, anyway. She could feel him toying with her bottom, the head of his cock hot and hard against that place.
“Oh, I absolutely can,” he growled, leaning down over her. She felt his cock at her bottom and his mouth on her neck, kissing and nipping and then catching her nape in a possessive bite just above the collar. It did not break the skin, but it was hard enough to make her yelp and in that moment of gasping sensation the very tip of his shaft slipped into her previously untouched rear. He was far from penetrating her properly, but she felt the tight ring give way a little and knew that should he so desire he could thrust himself deep into her bottom the same way he had taken her pussy.
He held himself firm there, letting her feel what it was to be conquered, utterly vulnerable beneath a man with ferocious lust. Her soft whimper accompanied his slide away from her rear. He was showing her mercy, for a moment. Sabine heard him get up and cross the room. She heard running water and the sound of washing and then he was back, kneeling behind her again.
She braced herself to feel his cock pushing inside that impossibly tight hole, but he did something different this time. Instead of hot flesh, she felt a cool gel at the very bud of her bottom. Her little curious whimper made him chuckle in that resonant way that made her feel warm to her very core.
As scary as he could be, as strange as the things he was doing to her body were, as far as he was pushing her into levels of sexual depravity, she knew instinctively that she was safe. He was in control and he was looking after her, even now as his finger swirled against her winking bottom, pushing further forward than his cock had.
Slowly she felt her rear give way to the intrusion, his finger plunging into her bottom with a gentle but insistent motion, twisting through the cool lube that was warming with her body heat and becoming even slicker and more slippery. The feeling of being penetrated there was strange, not unpleasant, exactly, but perhaps not pleasurable either? Though there was a thrill, a tingle, at the knowledge that she, Princess Sabine of Ere was chained down and her bottom intruded upon by a large man who had been whipping it since he met her.
As he slid his finger deeper, past the first knuckle and through to the second, the sensation grew and with it, the pleasure. Her clit and pussy were now entirely empty, ignored for the moment. Having him play with her in a much more forbidden place made her pussy clench as if desiring a cock that was not there. He was withholding it from her, making her take his finger in her ass instead. Her hips slid back with a tentative seeking motion, eliciting another dark chuckle from her captor.
“I think my pet princess likes this,” he said, slapping her left cheek with his free hand.
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Christopher Houston "Kit" Carson
Famous old west Figure
Was born in Madison County on December 24, 1809
Less than two years later, the Carson family moved to Missouri. After his father, Lindsey Carson, was killed in an accident, eight-year old Kit left school to help support his family. When he was 16, Carson joined a wagon train headed for Santa Fe. For the next ten years, Kit trapped and hunted in the Rocky Mountains, often living among Native Americans.
Carson was known for his courage, honesty, devotion to duty, and loyalty. He was also lucky, often finding himself in the right place at the right time. Such was the case in 1842 when he met John C. Fremont, and army engineer mapping the western states. Fremont hired Carson as a guide. Together they blazed trails across the American West. Fremont's colorful reports of Carson's skills and daring published in eastern newspapers made Kit Carson famous. Stories of his exploits soon appeared in popular "Dime Novels" and the legend of Kit Carson grew.
Carson and Fremont participated in the Bear Flag rebellion, which took California from Mexico in 1846. During the Mexican War, Carson led forces from New Mexico back to California to fight off an invading Mexican army. After the war, he served as Indian agent of the Southwest territories. During the Civil War, Carson joined the Union army. He helped raise a regiment of New Mexico troops and fought in the Battle of Valverde in New Mexico.
Failing health forced Kit Carson to resign his army commitment in 1867. He settled in Colorado. The next year, his wife of 25 years, Josefa, died. Kit Carson died one month later, on May 23, 1868. The following year, the couple's remains were moved to a cemetery in Taos, New Mexico.
Kit Carson Facts
He worked as a hunter for the U.S. Army.
Carson City, Nevada is named for him.
He helped John C. Fremont map California and Oregon.
Kit Carson Drive in Richmond, Kentucky is named for him.
He once drove 6,500 sheep from New Mexico to California.
California's Carson River is named for him.
He was awarded the rank of brigadier general for gallantry in the battle of Valverde.
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Jon R.C. Roller was born and raised in the American South, where he was homeschooled by his parents before earning his BA in English (NKU). In 2004 he moved to China where he lived and worked for four years. In 2009 and 2010 he attended two summer seminars at the prestigious Media Studies program of the European Graduate School. Since 2012 he has resided in Chicago, where he gained his International TEFL certificate in 2014, and continues to write very strange things.
Here you will find fiction, non-fiction, poetry, and songs written by Jon R.C. Roller. You can read and listen online, as well as download some files for offline enjoyment. The Blog features the latest updates, additions, corrections, and information about the site.
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|print by Michelin & Shattuck, from the collection of the Museum of the City of New York|
The American Female Guardian Society was formed in New York in the spring of 1834. One of its members, Mrs. M. A. Hawkins, soon turned her attention to the plight of single mothers and prostitutes. Women who became pregnant while not married suffered serious censure, branded as "fallen women." Hawkins's deep concerns led to the formation of the New York Moral Reform Society that same year.
As the American Female Guardian Society's Our Golden Jubilee explained in 1884, "The care of homeless, friendless women involved the care of children. If we can save the children, we shall not have so many suffering and sinning adults to provide for, was the thought that grew and strengthened." Mrs. Hawkins lobbied for a "Home for both these destitute classes." After a long, tireless struggle, Mrs. Hawkins got her way.
In July 1847 a house was rented to be used as The Home of the Friendless. For two years unwed mothers and their children were taken care of there. In the meantime, land was purchased on East 30th Street, between Fourth (now Park) and Madison Avenues, and on May 5, 1849 the cornerstone was laid.
Our Golden Jubilee remarked "The site selected was then quite up-town, in the centre of an almost vacant block, well shaded with trees and green with shrubbery. The neighboring streets were laid out, but unpaved, and there were few buildings in the immediate vicinity."
The building was dedicated on December 13, 1849. The architect, whose name has been lost, created a stately three story Greek Revival edifice. Full-height pilasters divided the three bays of the front facade and visually supported the classic triangular pediment. The New York Herald reported the construction cost at $18,577.57--in the neighborhood of $615,000 today. Of that amount only $2,800 was still unpaid.
|Annual Report of the American Female Guardian Society and Home for the Friendless, 1852 (copyright expired)|
The Home was operated solely on donations and pleas for contributions routinely appeared in newspapers. Following Thanksgiving in 1850 a notice in the New-York Daily Tribune said in part "It must take considerable, in the provision line, to feed an average family of one hundred adults and children, and we were glad to learn that our citizens remembered them so liberally the last season."
One donor that fall was not a citizen, but a foreign celebrity--singer Jenny Lind. On September 14, 1850 attorneys Jay & Field sent a letter to the Home that read:
We are instructed by Miss Lind to request your acceptance of the enclosed donation of five hundred dollars to the funds of your Association as a mark of the warm interest which she feels in so excellent a Charity belonging to a City where she has been received so kindly. We beg leave to add our own best wishes, to those of Miss Lind, for the continued prosperity and usefulness of your Institution.
The Home for the Friendless (or the Home of the Friendless as it was also called) was never intended to be a permanent home. Women and their children were welcome only until they could procure employment and a respectable place to stay. The New York Times explained "Those friendless females...are surrounded by strong temptations, and such as are the mark for the designing, are afforded a home till employment can be found in the country, where they may be safe."
A journalist from that newspaper visited on Thanksgiving Day, 1853. The description he painted may have been a bit rosy. "Entering from the front it does not seem so much like a public as a private house," said the article. "Wonderfully pretty ladies, with petted children accompanying them, are moving through the halls, into and out of the various parlors." The writer was shown "the pleasant places, the snug store-room, the clean and tidy kitchen, and school-room hung round with slates and maps, where the urchins under the charge of another lass scarcely older than themselves, are singing some pleasant childish thing to the tune of 'Lilly Dale'; the well-ventilated dormitories all fitted with iron bedsteads; the nursery where the several little ones are frolicking on the floor; the sick-room which seldom--it is a matter of heartfelt thanksgiving with them to-day--has an occupant, and the dining-room."
In 1856 the property directly behind the Home, on 29th Street, was secured and another building erected for school rooms, a chapel, and a publishing office.
|The 29th Street building. Our Golden Jubilee, 1881 (copyright expired)|
Farmers and small businessmen, like hardware store owners, petitioned for a boy who would be sent on what became known as an "Orphan Train." The plan was to get the boys out of the corrupt city and give them a new life. In fact, the orphans were indentured servants--in other words, slaves. While some were treated well, others suffered.
In 1861 there were 208 women and 372 children in the Home. The Home School gave instruction to 610 pupils. But the bloody Civil War was about to swell those numbers. In May 1865 the Female Guardian Society reported "A large number of the friendless ones received into the home were the children of soldiers."
The report was pleased with the well-behaved orphans, noting "Accounts of a specially favorable nature had been received of five hundred of the Home boys, and only thirty-nine the reverse."
Another institution which sheltered war orphans was the Union Home School. The two groups faced off in court on February 8, 1865. The Union Home School demanded that the Home for the Friendless return "certain children alleged to have been spirited away from the Union establishment," according to The New York Herald. The newspaper said "the court room was crowded by a large number of ladies and gentlemen, who were eager to learn the result, and came in their carriages for miles around to be present at the tilt between the opposing counsel."
The Union Home School asserted that the Home for the Friendless had, essentially, kidnapped orphans "simply to defeat the appropriation donated by the Legislature and turn if over to the Home of the Friendless." The Home of the Friendless countered, saying the Union Home School had no right to act as guardians and attempted to produce affidavits "to show how badly things were conducted in that establishment." The judge was not interested, saying he "desired to hear the legal argument of the case."
|Little was changed to the building in 1868. from the collection of the New York Public Library|
Institutions like the Home for the Friendless were pet projects of wealthy socialites. On August 28, 1867 the New-York Tribune reported "The children of the Home of the Friendless spent yesterday quite pleasantly at the mansion of Mrs. D. C. Hays, at Inwood."
From its inception the Home for the Friendless was a Christian organization. And the charity of the women who ran it did not extend to Jews. The religious bigotry was exemplified in 1880 when a young boy, James Smith, was taken in by an actress, Mrs. David Fuller.
The Home apparently did not mind that she "used him in child's parts on the stage," as reported by the New-York Tribune on October 31 that year. But when she found herself unable to support him and asked pawnbroker Robert J. Rosenthal to take him.
Rosenthal and the boy grew close. The Tribune reported "He conceived a fancy for the child, although he was a Hebrew and the child was born of Christian parents." When the actress changed her mind and demanded the boy back, Rosenthal refused. So she went back to the Home for the Friendless for help.
On October 30 the boy was turned over to the Home. "This was done on representations that Mr. Rosenthal was not a proper person to bring up the child, and that in his home the child would not be surrounded by proper influences," said the Tribune. "The Surrogate yesterday decided that the society had the right to the custody of the child, and he sharply criticised the method by which Mr. Rosenthal obtained the letters of guardianship."
On May 8, 1889 the Home celebrated its 55th anniversary. Visitors were invited to stroll through the buildings and witness evidence of the organization's good work. They "came by the score and found awaiting them companies of little girls with white aprons and spick and span from crown to toe, and boys done up in neat clothing, with faces scrubbed, hair brushed, and boots blacked," reported The New York Times. The visitors saw an exhibition of the children's work, including sewing, knitting, writing, drawing and cookery by the girls, and carpentry and printing by the boys.
The previous year the Home had sheltered 118 women and 361 children. Of those 59 children had been adopted.
As the turn of the century neared, the Murray Hill neighborhood was fully developed. On February 23, 1901 The Real Estate Record & Builders' Guide reported that the Home had purchased land in The Bronx and had "recently sold the 29th street property to the Women's Hotel Company.
Months later the Home for the Friendless and the Home Chapel building were demolished, to be replaced by the Martha Washington Hotel, designed by Robert W. Gibson. It survives.
|photo by Beyond My Ken|
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42 years ago - Boston Brand is born.
26 years ago - 16-year-old Boston begins to train as an acrobat under the flying Graysons.
18 years ago - 24-year-old Boston leaves Haley's Circus to begin his own act.
14 years ago - 28-year-old Boston learns of the deaths of the Graysons.
11 years ago - 31-year-old Boston is killed. The goddess Rama-Karushna keeps him on earth as a ghost as he tries to solve his own murder.
9 years ago - Boston finds his own killer & brings him to justice, but still isn't permitted to move on.
7 years ago - Boston find his way to Namba Parbat, the lost city of Rama-Karushna. Here, he begins his devotion to the goddess.
1 year ago - Deadman participates in the 5th Shadowpact, forging the spells that allowed Maggeddon to manifest in our reality where he can be stopped by the collected heroes of Earth. With her team disbanded, he returns to Namba Parbat.
Deadman is a fantastic example of just how far great design work can take a character. Ultimately, he's a ghost. He's a ghost with a cool mystery to solve, but there's very little original about the character. What makes him stand out is the incredible design work of Carmine Infantino and Neal Adams. He has a fantastic look, and when you couple that with the tried and true ideas of a good ghost story, he becomes an absolutely unique character within the larger DC mythos.
He's been a recurring character for decades. While he's had several limited series all his own, he's often at his best popping in and out of other series, perpetually depicted as a transient passenger of the world. After he solved his own murder, he's had several variant stories in all sorts of nooks and crannies of DC, even interacting with the Forever People. Our favorite place for him is in Namba Parbat, devoting himself to the goddess Rama, so that's where we chose to utilize him. Also, his career as an acrobat was tied into Nightwing's origins by suggesting that he once worked with the Flying Graysons. It was a clever way to explain where Dick Grayson got his costume when he became Nightwing, that it was a variant on the costumes worn by his parents and Boston.
Deadman was never a member of the Shadowpact, but was a member of the New 52 team Justice League Dark. We're not fans of that comic, as it's made up almost entirely of characters that have no business being on a superhero team, but Deadman being incorperated into Shadowpact makes a lot of sense, and so we've made him one of the team's founding members.
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November 3rd 1976 was an investiture day for some of those honoured in the Queen’s Birthday Honours list. The weather was bright and sunny but it was rather cold. We had been told to be at Buckingham Palace by 10am and Norman had decided to avail himself of the car-parking facilities offered to visitors in the inner courtyard of the palace, so we set off early to join the nose-to-tail commuter car procession into Central London and found ourselves parked in the Mall about 9.30am directed by a very young policeman into a position right against a NO PARKING sign and behind one or two even earlier arrivals.
We waited and eventually Norman was told to drive on and the traffic was halted so that we could sweep, very grandly, past the Victoria Memorial, through the main gates of the Palace, across the outer courtyard, under the archway and into the inner courtyard, where he parked – and the police immediately examined the interior of the car, asked for the boot to be opened and then questioned Norman as to whether he recognised all that was in it. Satisfied that we carried no bombs, the police allowed us to leave the car and cross to the main door of the Palace itself which is sheltered by a glass awning, presumably so that visitors important enough to be driven right up to the door can alight under cover.
Once in the entrance hall, we saw notices which directed recipients of honours one way and their friends and relations another, so Karen went off alone up a flight of stairs and Norman and Greta followed the signs pointing visitors to another flight of stairs and along a corridor.
At the top and bottom of each flight of stairs and flanking each doorway through which we passed were pairs of dismounted troopers of the Household Cavalry, looking splendid in their beautiful and impressive uniforms all gleaming and polished, with their plumed helmets, long black riding boots, shining spurs and swords. They stood so still that the temptation to touch them to see if they were alive was almost, but not quite, irresistible.
The inside of the Palace seemed all red carpet and walls, ivory paint decorated with gold and all the doors covered with mirror-glass. It was truly regal and yet, in a curious way, homely. The splendour was warm and comfortable rather than awe-inspiring.
Norman and Greta became part of the stream of visitors moving towards the Ballroom where Investitures are held. This is a large room of beautiful proportions with a minstrels’ gallery at one end and in this a military orchestra was already playing familiar music from shows and films. At the other end of the room were two red and gold thrones beneath a domed canopy and, in front of these, a dais with a table at one side and a reading desk and microphone at the other. The whole floor of the room was occupied with seats for the guests – rows of red and gold chairs in the centre and upholstered benches, raised in tiers, at the sides and the end of the room under the gallery.
The guests were shown to their places by ushers who seemed to be retired army, navy and air-force officers of high rank. Norman and Greta found themselves placed fairly high up at the side and end of the room between the door by which they had entered and the gallery and, once seated, found that they had a good, but rather distant view of the important place where the Queen would be. Karen, meanwhile, had been directed to another room where those receiving the various Honours were divided into their relevant groups and the procedures to follow were explained to them.
All the organisation was carried out so quietly, with so little fuss, that the impression, all the time, was one of great friendliness. Everyone smiled, all the officials moved without hurry and spoke quietly – however, there was firmness and control as we discovered later.
In the Ballroom, Norman and Greta watched the arrivals and looked around, admiring the room and especially the six magnificent chandeliers. Only two blazed with light but sunlight streamed into the room from high windows and open doors leading to other corridors and the mirror-doors too reflected the light. The orchestra played, people kept arriving, a real cross-section of the community clad in a very wide variation of what were surely “best” clothes. The men were mostly in lounge suits but the ladies displayed an array of exotic hats – or no hats at all and there was literally every kind of garment from mink to chunky acrylic cardigans and tweed skirts. At this stage, of course, only friends and relations were to be seen but the recipients of honours later proved to be more formally dressed as the men were in uniform or morning dress as well as many in lounge suits and all the ladies honoured wore hats.
Karen wore a small hat made for her by Nancy Kimmins from a very dark sapphire blue jersey material gathered into a head-hugging shape, a brown jersey dress and jacket that fitted her beautifully and was set off at the neck with a pretty brown and blue scarf, she wore brown shoes and carried a handbag matching the hat in colour. She looked really elegant.
Greta wore a dark green jersey top and skirt, with a striped blouse and turban of the same material, and black patent shoes and handbag. Norman looked very smart in a dark brown suit.
About 10.30, the gentleman usher in charge of the Investiture came to the reading desk near the thrones to explain the procedure. He said that the orchestra was that of the Irish Guards and would be playing throughout, that the Yeomen of the Guard would enter at 10.45 and the Queen’s procession at 11am and that the National Anthem would be played then and at the end of the ceremony. He explained that the Lord Chamberlain would read out the title of the honours bestowed and the names of those receiving them and he asked that there be no applause.
At 10.30, the five Yeomen of the Guard marched in through the door at the gallery end of the Ballroom, down the centre aisle and took up positions on the dais. They were dressed in the familiar uniforms, four carried pikes and the leader a staff. It was a surprise to see, at close quarters, how sharp the bayonet-type tops of the pikes are – real weapons. All the Yeomen appeared to be quite old and, as they stood immobile in their positions on the dais from 10.45 to 12.15 one could not help feeling that their strong pikes – or, in one case, the staff – must have been a support to them as well as symbols of guardianship.
Exactly at 11am, the Queen and her procession entered quietly through a door near the dais, the National Anthem was played as we all rose. She was guarded by two Gurkhas, tiny like herself and dwarfed by the gentlemen ushers in full-dress uniforms who accompanied her and carried trays on which were the decorations and honours.
The Queen wore a short-sleeved blue dress, a diamond brooch and pearls and was bare-headed. The Lord Chamberlain, in morning dress, took up his position at the reading desk and the Investiture began with the awarding of a Knighthood of the Order of the Bath. To Greta’s great amusement the orchestra played “Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head” as the new Knight knelt before the Queen.
In every case, the Lord Chamberlain read out the honour and then the name of the person receiving it. The Investitures proceeded smoothly and quickly. Obviously the Queen and her aides have perfected this but it was delightful to see how smoothly everything went, how, in dubbing knights, her hand came up with the sword, fell to her side and then was raised again, empty and ready to take up the sash of the honour to put round the neck of the person kneeling before her. Close watching showed how the gentleman usher behind her gave and received the sword from the Queen as her hand came down although apparently her entire attention was devoted to the recipient of the honour. As each person came in front of the Queen, he bowed, took two paces forward, received the honour, the Queen spoke a few words and then there were two paces back, another bow and the honoured one moved away to the Queen’s left and into another room where the honour was taken from him, put into its proper box and returned and then that person was sent round to take his place amongst the watchers in the Ballroom.
After the Knights came the Commanders of the Order of the British Empire – CBE – no dubbing with a sword now but the medals of the order were fixed by the Queen onto a hook, already put in the right place on the recipient’s clothing. The orchestra still played but it was not possible to find any connection between the people honoured or the awards they received in the gentle flow of music again. Groups of people to be honoured passed through the Ballroom in small processions from time to time very near to where Norman and Greta were sitting and as Karen passed through, she saw us and gave a tiny wave and a smile.
After the CBEs were the OBEs Military Division – a steady stream of recipients – and the pattern of the procedure could be clearly seen. The recipients, having been taken in groups to the corridor bordering the Ballroom on the Queen’s right, came forward one by one, first to an officer at the doorway of the Ballroom, then forward to another nearer the Queen and finally, as the previous person bowed or curtseyed and left the Queen, went forward towards her and stood in front of her. As each person reached the Queen, the Lord Chamberlain gave the name. Men were given their christian and surnames, officers their rank and then their names, maiden ladies were called Miss, followed by their christian and surnames and married ladies their christian names followed by Mrs and their surnames.
It was a very proud moment when Karen, Mrs Finch’s name was called. She was only the third lady to be honoured on that November day. The Queen spoke briefly to Karen, hooked on her OBE (Officer of the Order of the British Empire) and Karen moved away.
Norman and Greta thought that Karen might come and join them when she came round to the Ballroom – there was room where they were sitting and Karen knew where that was and indeed she said afterwards that it had been in her mind but such was the gentle and firm control exerted by the ushers that she found herself directed onto one of the small chairs in the centre of the room.
After the OBEs came the MBEs (Members of the Order of the British Empire). There were a great many of those and Norman and Greta, after the high-spot of Karen’s investiture, became aware of the repetitious nature of the ceremony and it could, perhaps, have ended rather tamely but suddenly there came the special awards. Medals for gallantry went to a very young, tall policemen, a helicopter pilot, a London fireman and soldiers from Ireland.
Finally two policemen from Northern Ireland stood together to receive their medals, the National Anthem was played, the Queen and her bodyguards and aides left and everyone relaxed and began to move. Visitors joined up with their honoured relations and friends. Karen, Norman and Greta met up and looked at the OBE in its box lined with grey – a heavy gilt medallion in a shape rather like a Maltese cross with a very pretty carnation pink ribbon edged with pale grey.
Everyone was moving towards the exits now, through doorways still guarded by the troopers of the Household Cavalry. Karen told how much at home she had felt recognising so many people from the Lord Chamberlains Office and how many seemed to have recognised her. Indeed Colonel Johnson, who had been one of the Queen’s aides, made a special journey into the courtyard to seek her out and was extremely friendly and amusing.
Eventually we left, first to go back to Ealing to show the OBE to Margaret, Karen’s help at Western Gardens and then on to the Centre where there was wine for a toast and everyone waiting to hear about all that had happened.
It was an unforgettable experience – the feeling of being part of something so important and yet so friendly and joyful – the tremendous mixture of regal splendour and ordinary people and the thrill for Karen of receiving an honour and for Norman and Greta to have been present at so splendid an occasion for her and everyone else who was there.
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A deceptive operation embodies all the signs of a real assault. It makes the enemy believe that pretended hostile activities are genuine. It induces a false sense of danger in one area, forcing him to strengthen his defences there, and therefore to weaken them somewhere else where the real attack is due. A deceptive plan can involve many thousands of actual troops, dummy soldiers and equipment, false radio traffic, air raids, reconnaissance missions, partisan operations, diplomats and the use of double agents. They require meticulous planning because just one slip can reveal the deception.
The author studied a wide range of operations from the desert war to D-Day in 1944. Some are tactical deceptions, deployed by army commanders. Others are strategic deceptions, which aimed to convince the Axis that an invasion was going to happen somewhere else.
The British were the main adopters of deception. The Germans consistently overestimated the British order of battle throughout the war. The Americans were sceptical until later the war when they had seen the practical results. The Germans made some use of deception in their offensive operations, in Poland, and most successfully in Operation Barbarossa. However, by the end of 1942, they were on the defensive and had less use for the technique. The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour was a highly successful deception, but again after that, they were on the defensive.
I was of course particularly interested in the deception operations that involved the Balkans. I have already covered the 1943 Operation Barclay plan to simulate an attack on the Balkans rather than Sicily, of which Operation Mincemeat was just one part. In 1944, the Balkans were again used to distract the Germans from the beaches of Normandy.
This was Operation Zeppelin, which involved attacks on the Peloponnese, Crete and Albania. This time involving a beefed up 12th Army, which included five real divisions, three brigades masquerading as divisions and four fictitious divisions. The main base was Tobruk, which had real and dummy landing craft.
Efforts were also made to get Turkey to join the war, or at least convince the Germans and the Bulgarians that this was a possibility. Operation Hardihood, a 1943 plan to provide substantial military aid to Turkey was dusted down, but in the end, existing German apprehensions were enough.
Probably the best known deception plan of the war was Fortitude. This involved General Patton's fictitious army group in Kent, which was intended to convince the Germans that Calais was the main landing on D-Day with Normandy simply a diversion. This was very successful, although even modest German reconnaissance would have undone the deception.
Norway was used on several occasions for deception operations, tying down German divisions. Perhaps less well known was a plan to invade Spain. I wasn't aware that the Chiefs of Staff gave serious consideration to invading Europe via Spain in 1943. The Pyrenees might have been a bit of a problem, but I suppose Wellington managed it!
One reason for British success in deception was the use of around 120 double agents in Britain who fed duff information to the Germans throughout the war. They also had the benefit of Ultra which confirmed, or otherwise, the success on deception operations. It is important to recognise that not all operations were successful. There was also significant resistance to using real assets in support of these operations - not least from Bomber Harris.
Overall, they played an important role, particularly in Operation Overlord. The deceptionists were the second class citizens of the armed forces, making use of limited resources. They deserve some credit, and this book at least highlights their part in winning WW2.
|This is the aerial view of Lydda airfield before and after camouflage.|
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The movie is set in
a few years after the Spanish Civil War and the rise to power of Francisco Franco – in other words, the mid 1940s. The film is a Mexican production that stars a mixture of Spanish and Mexican actors/actresses. It does have one American – Doug Jones (Hellboy) – who plays a couple of the fantasy creatures. Spain
The film opens with a fairy tale being told. A Princess from an underground realm was curious about life above, so she went to see it. Unfortunately, she was blinded by the sun, lost her memory, and died. Her father believes that the Princess will be reborn someday and will return to him.
We meet Ofelia (Ivana Baquero), a girl just short of her teens. Her father died during the war. Her mother Carmen (Ariadna Gil) has re-married a Spanish military officer named Vidal (Sergi Lopez), who has brought them all to an outpost. Vidal is charged with rooting out rebels that are operating out of the nearby forest. He is a cruel man, but Carmen ignores this. She is heavily pregnant with his child.
Ofelia has a huge imagination. She wanders the woods and finds an entrance to an old labyrinth. A local housekeeper (Maribel Verdu – Y Tu Mama Tambien) finds her and warns her that the labyrinth is a dangerous place and she must stay away from it. This, of course, makes it absolutely fascinating to Ofelia. That night an insect visits her. It changes into a fairy that wants Ofelia to follow it into the labyrinth. She does. At the center she finds a large faun-like creature who tells her the story of the lost Princess and that Ofelia is that girl. In order to return to her father she must complete three tasks to show that she is worthy.
The first involves stopping a giant toad that lives in a tree. While doing this Ofelia ruins the new outfit her mother bought her and both her mother and stepfather are very angry with her. That night Carmen starts hemorrhaging from the pregnancy and it does not look good for her. Vidal, lacking most human compassion, tells the doctor that if it comes down to it, he should cut the baby out of the mother and let her die. Ofelia hears this.
The faun comes to see Ofelia and tells her that she is supposed to be doing her second task. She lets him know about her mother. He gives Ofelia a mandrake root. It must be placed under her mother’s bed, in a bowl of milk, and fed a few drops of Ofelia’s blood every day. Ofelia does this and her mother starts to improve. Ofelia then completes the second task, but does not follow the faun’s instructions while doing it. Some fairies die because of it and the faun is quite angry with her. He tells her she will never be allowed to re-enter her father’s realm. To make matters worse, her mother has found out about the mandrake root and has thrown it in to the fire to show Ofelia that she is letting her imagination get the better of her.
Meanwhile, we have seen some of the examples of how Vidal deals with others. A father and son were found hunting rabbits in the woods. Vidal accuses them of being rebels and brutally kills the father with a bottle and then shoots the son when he protests. This scene, combined with a later one where Vidal has to sew up his own cheek, are ones that may make you uncomfortable if you are squeamish. The film does earn its R rating for the violence in it.
Vidal captures another rebel and tortures him to get him to talk. He orders the doctor to revive him, but the doctor gives the man a lethal dose of morphine to put him out of his misery. To Vidal this is a clear indication that the doctor is with the rebels and he kills him. There is now no one to look after Ofelia’s mother. The baby is born, but with bad consequences for the mother.
Ofelia is then visited by the faun again. He has relented and will let her try to complete the third and final task. She must bring her infant brother to the center of the labyrinth. To do this she will have to sneak into Vidal’s room and then get away with the baby without waking him, all the while avoiding all of the soldiers, too. The only reason she is still alive is probably because Vidal is too preoccupied with his new son to give her a single thought. If Vidal catches her trying to steal his child, she will most definitely be killed. Even if she does manage this, the faun has not told her the whole story about the task she must perform.
The ending of the film is very bittersweet. It is also open for interpretation. How you feel things end up depends entirely on whether you believe that the fantasy sequences we have seen were real, or if they were all in Ofelia’s active imagination. Either way, the ending is very moving.
I have a request for commenters – if you want to let us know what you felt happened at the end, either please do it in generic terms such as “it was all in her head” or “it was real”, or by placing a big spoiler warning prior to your words. As for myself, I would like to believe it was real, but a part of me feels that it was not.
One thing that I was surprised about with this film is that the fantasy elements are actually only a small part of the overall movie. The trailer had given the impression that it was mostly fantasy. In fact, much more time is spent with Ofelia, her mother, Vidal, and the housekeeper in the real world. I would estimate the fantasy sections are no more than 20-30 minutes of the overall two hour running time.
The centerpiece of this film is young Ofelia. Ivana Baquero really gives a great performance. I’ve read that del Toro originally envisioned a younger character, but that Baquero impressed him so much when she auditioned that he decided to age the character up a few years just so he could use her. Sergi Lopez does a great job at being evil. You will definitely hate his character and truly fear for Ofelia’s safety around him. Maribel Verdu gives a strong supporting performance as the housekeeper with secrets of her own.
Unless you are allergic to subtitles there’s not much reason to avoid this movie. Yes, the two specific scenes of violence I mentioned may be hard for some to take, but you can look away as they are about to happen. I highly recommend this film.
Chip’s Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
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drove. Called his best friend from a motel with a swimming
pool. I don't know if I can go on.
Everybody thinks that, his best friend said.
He had a wife and some kids. With every state line they became
more like lace drapes in a window, with every state line he
had to remind himself to miss them. He didn't know how hard it
In New Mexico the clouds had stretched across the sky like
blown sugar. In Oklahoma he poured a jug of water into his
engine. He pretended his car was a great paintbrush, that he
was leaving a black creek behind him.
He watched the news, the free movie, the scrambled porn
channel oil painting, turned the volume up to hear the uh, to
hear the oh, to hear the yeah, you like it.
The nights were fine. They were dark, they were the bottom of
something. At twilight he pressed his stomach into the railing
outside his room, swallowed what he was missing into the
watered down sky.
At a Golden Griddle in Alabama he met a woman at the counter.
Bought her a cup of coffee and watched her stir it one way and
then the other. She pressed her finger into some spilled
sugar, told him she was missing the part of her tongue that
recognized sweet. At that, his eyes filled.
Back in his room she stood at the foot of the bed and
undressed. Her thighs were toned, bits of pubic hair peeked
out the sides of her underwear. She bent, crawled up the bed,
straddled him. The air conditioning kicked on, light came
through the windows lazily, he thought of his middle daughter
holding something up, saying Can you open it? He fucked the
woman, those were the words he used when confessing to his
best friend days later. He didn't tell his friend about the
scar he found over her heart, a scar that had teeth, didn't
tell his friend that she asked for money and he gave her
everything in his wallet, that he'd asked to braid her long
black hair and she'd laughed at him and walked out and left
the door wide open, him on the bed naked and sweating and
empty every which way there was to be.
He kept driving. Veered toward the Gulf and rented a room a
block from the beach. Kept his shoes on as he waded into the
water for fear of jellyfish. It felt natural to be pulled by
the tide, to be tempted in that way to let it take him, and
then for the tide to finally let go and push the other way. He
stood like that for some time, dipping in his fingertips at
one point and tasting the salt. He saw a shark's fin on the
horizon and it wasn't until later that he realized it was
probably just a sailboat.
On the way back to his room a teenaged boy said Hey man, you
got any change? and then, You want a date? He brought the boy
back to his room, sat on the bed and waited while the boy went
into the bathroom, locked the door, turned on the water. He
put the TV on, some kind of soap opera, interrupted by a
weather report hinting at a tropical storm in the next day or
so. The bathroom door opened and the boy walked out, wet hair,
no shirt, drips of water running down his neck, hands shaking.
His heart filled and he stood up, put his hands on the boy's
shoulders to try and calm him. Don't worry, he started to say,
and the boy punched him in the sternum. It wasn't a hard
punch, but he guessed that it was supposed to be enough to
knock him down, so he played along, landing on his stomach,
clutching at his chest, moaning, trying for breath. He reached
into his pocket and pulled out a twenty, held it in the air
like a small green flag. The boy took it, backed away from
him, called him a pervert and then a motherfucker and then a
perverted motherfucker, opened the door so hard that it
slammed into the wall. He could hear the boy's boots on the
metal steps outside, then as they ran across the parking lot.
Only then did he push himself up onto his knees, wipe the
carpet bits from his face. The weather report was showing an
animation of the tropical storm growing until it covered half
the state. The weatherman assured him that it wasn't a
definite, but that he had to be prepared.
He sat on the bed for a while, watching families walk by his
open door with towels and snorkels and baggies of sandwiches
and cookies, looking in at him and then looking quickly away.
He walked to the 7-11 on the corner, bought a pint of rocky
road and a couple moon pies. On the way back to the motel the
sun was an orange yolk sliding down the sky. He forced himself
to look into it, but after a short time had to look away.
Back in his room he thought, for a second, about hanging
himself from the shower rod. Ate both the moon pies and
started on the ice cream, turned on the evening news. Someone
had been abducted, a small girl with saucer eyes and messy
hair. In the morning he'd drive north, make another state,
maybe two. He finished the ice cream in four large spoonfuls.
It slid down his throat and iced his heart. He pulled the
covers up to his belly, wondered what he could leave of
himself behind and all he could do without, thought of how his
wife often had lipstick on her teeth, how it made her look
like she'd just bitten into something alive, something that
bled. At a commercial break he picked up the phone, dialed
home, hung up when he heard his daughter's voice, small and
distant, singing Hello, Hello, Are you there?
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What is success, anyway, that many individuals clamor just to make thought happen. Success as of the definition is the detection of your goal, tips and purpose. It is also quite tough to reach this end level of success as they call it but what accomplishes hard work got in order to really do with it? The answer is - The new Lot! Hard work is almost certainly the key to financial success and many famous personalities, historians as well to be well-known historical figures would attest to the easy fact that there will sometimes be no success without hard work. Knowing famous loan quotes about hard work sales lead me to believe just that the potential of the particular person can (almost) always be reached through massive action, aiming high and patience to reach their endeavors. It's not possible to finally reach a potential, operating in my opinion though.
Being successful on your new chosen path usually will start out with identifying your purpose. Yes, it is considered to be right to say that do hard work is this key to success, however , if you do undoubtedly know your purpose can you reach usually the status of being positive?
Realizing success through knowing your function is the new good get started off. After and choosing the pathway that then you want in which to take, that is where hard perform the key to success job begins. Certainly there are lots directions that can take that can directed you in order to success. Right now there are even many hindrances to encounter that can easily deter your victory. Fiasco is part of the all in addition to some towards the time even if you deliver the results your rear end off every given project, it is probably not a sufficient amount to acquire your goal.
Some can certainly think by which after disappointments and disappointments, life should also conclusion progressing. That after being employed so hard and then still be short do mean which often it is also the wind of it. This of thinking of can be depressing and could amount if you want to improper intelligence about a lifetime in important. One would never come to be confuse this after earning a living hard the person will expertise the rewards right shut off. Life should not the job as simple as which in turn.
Hard run as for a the word in through sounds exhaustion but maybe you genuinely like what you really do in addition you are happy almost any time you have to do this tool even if it is literally hard on your part, you will likely never receive tired at it. That will is the purpose of most working hard, blissful to this point persevering. Heavy work typically is the main to accomplishments and everyone should be sure to keep living in mind unquestionably the deeper meaning of these words to actually keep everyone going.
Being excellent also would mean facing challenges with glass windows arms. Right there is no man throughout the this worldwide that may tell you might that my friend has produced success written by just sitting on the couch the whole day. She may anticipate win currently the lotto but unfortunately he came not be ready to understanding the useful meaning pertaining to being the particular winner here in life. A struggle work could indeed some of the key to successfully success and no rate of failure can reduce anyone to help make things happen and as well reach his goal using wise words of Thomas Edison, "1% inspiration, 99% perspiration".
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The angels knew He would walk this earth in struggle, sweating, getting scraped and muddy, bearing up under fever and flu. He also bore the brunt of scorn and scandal given the circumstances of His birth and He had to watch as His good mother was likely jeered and gossiped about in the marketplace. Oh the unbearable burden of descending from Heaven to be surrounded by sin and depravity! Because our inherent approach is selfish and power-hungry, dozens of baby boys were murdered as a jealous puppet king sought to maintain his control – welcome, Jesus. Welcome to the sewer we have made of your world.
How did the angels sing, “Glory!” knowing that this perfect, humble babe, their King, would grow to gain not a crown, but a cross? That He would love and teach and serve, only to be butchered as a criminal and laid in a borrowed grave? That He would pour out His blood to save the souls of the very men who laid on the scourge? Oh yes, it was those who drove the cruel Roman spikes into His Heavenly hands who also drove the heart of the Good Shepherd to submit Himself to the slaughter, for He came not only to seek but to save that which was lost. And oh. How. Lost. We. Were.
The angels praised Jesus for his majesty – for He was the rightful King though we did not honor Him as such. They worshiped Him for His holiness – though we misunderstood that too. They chorused glad tidings of great joy that would be to all people – the good news that wasn’t for Jesus but for us because of Him.
They sang because we were in darkness but our rescue was at hand – the long-awaited Redeemer had finally come! It was Hope that was born in the stable that night; true eternal Joy that whimpered in the straw. They sang because our sin-shackles need not bind us any more. They sang, praising God for His Divine love and mercy; for the matchless unspeakable Grace that provided salvation for desperate men. They sang because God was bending down to embrace His creation; we, the tortured prisoners who could never work our way back to Him.
The angels sang because Jesus is worthy of praise and they sang because Salvation had come. Heaven’s loss was our gain. Glory to God in the Highest!!
God gave everything He had that first Christmas. He gave it to us though we had not earned it and because He knew we would never deserve it. This Christmas consider . . . the cost of the Gift and the glory of the Giver; and consider your need for what was provided. Have you accepted this gift of Salvation freely offered from the wounded hand of the Risen King? The word Jesus means Salvation. Don’t leave this gift unopened. It’s for you!
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Yasiah crawled to the door of the house and saw his mother lift a waterpot onto her shoulder and begin to walk toward the village well to draw water.
Ten-year-old Yasiah [yuh-SIGH-uh] lay on his bamboo mat on the floor of his family’s small mud-brick house. He watched idly as his mother swept the floor clean. Then she prepared a mixture of cow manure and water and rubbed it all over the dirt floor. When it dried, the floor became shiny, like polished stone, and kept the mosquitos and bugs away.
Yasiah’s mother went outside and began grinding chilies, onions, garlic, and some leaves on a grinding stone. She was making a paste for the family’s curry that night.
Yasiah crawled to the door of the house and saw his mother lift a waterpot onto her shoulder and begin to walk toward the village well to draw water. Yasiah wished he could run along to help his mother as the other children did, but he could not. When he had been a baby he’d had a terrible sickness called polio. It had left his legs too weak to support his body.
“Mother, will I always be crippled like this?” Yasiah asked.
“Yes, unless God works a miracle,” his mother said. He knew his mother felt as bad as he did that he could not walk. “But for now you must be content as you are.”
“You said that maybe God could do a miracle for me,” Yasiah said hopefully. “Could we ask a pastor to pray with us for a miracle?”
“Since the missionaries left our village, we have had no pastor to pray with us,” Mother said.
Good News for Yasiah
A few days later Yasiah’s father came home from the fields with some news. “A pastor is visiting a village about 10 miles away. Some people went to talk to him and ask him to come and visit our village. They say he belongs to the ‘Seven-day Church,’ but he is a good man.”
Yasiah’s eyes brightened. “Maybe the pastor can come and pray that I can walk again,” he said.
The pastor visited Yasiah’s home and prayed for the boy. Then he told Yasiah’s father, “You should take your son to the city, where we are holding special meetings. Ask the pastors there to pray for your son.”
Father and some of the village men carried Yasiah to the bus stop, where they caught the bus to the city. They found the Adventist pastors and asked them to pray for Yasiah. After they prayed one of the pastors said, “Believe in the power of Jesus Christ, and I believe you will walk again!”
Yasiah was so happy! He was sure that Jesus would heal his legs and that he would walk again. “When will the miracle happen?” he asked his father. “Will it be tomorrow?”
“I don’t know,” his father said. “We must have faith that Jesus knows best.”
The next morning when Yasiah was alone he tried to pull himself up and stand. He did it! He could stand! “Yes, Jesus,” he whispered. “I believe You will heal my legs.”
After that Yasiah pulled himself up and stood many times every day. He could feel his legs growing stronger. Soon he could even take a few steps.
“Look, Father!” Yasiah called one night as his father came in from the fields. “I can stand, and I can walk if I hold on to something!” He showed his father.
“Yes, God is answering our prayers,” Father said. “Tomorrow I will make a stick to help you walk!”
After that no one could keep Yasiah down. He was up practicing his walking with the help of his stick. Slowly his legs grew stronger. Soon Yasiah could go on errands for his mother; he could help her draw water from the well and even help his father in the fields.
Come and Teach Us
When people in the village heard of Yasiah’s miracle, they begged the Adventist pastor to come and teach them about Jesus. They were hungry to learn more about God’s Word.
Now on Sabbath Yasiah walks with his parents to a little church made of mud with a thatched palm roof near the village well. The believers sit on the ground to sing and worship.
Our Thirteenth Sabbath Offering will help build a church for believers like Yasiah and his family. Let’s do all we can to help make their dreams and prayers come true.
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Stories of the Buddha’s Former Births
Book 8 Aṭṭhanipāta
417. Kaccani Jātaka
“Robed in white,” etc.—The Master told this tale while dwelling at Jetavana, concerning a man who supported his mother. The story is that the man was of good family and conduct in Savatthi: on his father’s death he became devoted to his mother and tended her with the services of mouth-washing, teeth-cleansing, bathing, feet-washing and the like, and also by giving her gruel, rice and other food. She said to him, “Dear son, there are other duties in a householder’s life: you must marry a maid of a suitable family, who will attend to me, and then you can do your proper work.” “Mother, it is for my own good and pleasure that I wait on you: who else would wait on you so well?” “Son, you ought to do something to advance the fortune of our house.” “I have no care for a householder’s life; I will wait on you, and after you are dead and burned I will become an ascetic.” She pressed him again and again: and at last, without winning him over or gaining his consent, she brought him a maid of a suitable family. He married and lived with her, because he would not oppose his mother. She observed the great attention with which her husband waited on his mother, and desirous of imitating it she too waited on her with care. Noticing his wife’s devotion, he gave her thenceforth all the pleasant food he could get. As time went on she foolishly thought in her pride, “He gives me all the pleasant food he gets: he must be anxious to get rid of his mother and I will find some means for doing so.” So one day she said, “Husband, your mother scolds me when you leave the house.” He said nothing. She thought, “I will irritate the old woman and make her disagreeable to her son”: and thenceforth she gave her rice-gruel either very hot or very cold or very salt or saltless. When the old woman complained that it was too hot or too salt, she threw in cold water enough to fill the dish: and then on complaints of its being cold and saltless, she would make a great outcry, “Just now you said it was too hot and too salt: who can satisfy you?” So at the bath she would throw very hot water on the old woman’s back: when she said, “Daughter, my back is burning,” the other would throw some very cold water on her, and on complaints of this, she would make a story to the neighbours, “This woman said just now it was too hot, now she screams “it is too cold”: who can endure her impudence?” If the old woman complained that her bed was full of fleas, she would take the bed out and shake her own bed over it and then bring it back declaring, “I’ve given it a shake”: the good old lady, having twice as many fleas biting her now, would spend the night sitting up and complain of being bitten all night; the other would retort, “Your bed was shaken yesterday and the day before too: who can satisfy all such a woman’s needs?” To set the old woman’s son against her, she would scatter phlegm and mucus and grey hairs here and there, and when he asked who was making the whole house so dirty, she would say, “Your mother does it; but if she is told not to do so, she makes an outcry: I can’t stay in the same house with such an old witch: you must decide whether she stays or I.” He hearkened to her and said, “Wife, you are yet young and can get a living wherever you go: but my mother is weak and I am her stay: go and depart to your own kin.” When she heard this, she was afraid and thought, “He cannot break with his mother who is so very dear to him: but if I go to my old home, I shall have a miserable life of separation: I will conciliate my mother-in-law and tend her as of old”: and thenceforth she did so. One day that lay brother went to Jetavana to hear the law: saluting the Master he stood on one side. The Master asked him if he were not careless of his old duties, if he were dutiful in tending his mother. He answered, “Yes, Lord: my mother brought me a maid to wife against my will, she did such and such unseemly things,” telling him all, “but the woman could not make me break with my mother, and now she tends her with all respect.” The Master heard the story and said, “This time you would not do her bidding: but formerly you cast out your mother at her bidding and owing to me took her back again to your house and tended her”: and at the man’s request he told the tale of old.
Once upon a time when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, a young man of a certain family on his father’s death devoted himself to his mother and tended her as in the introductory story: the details are to be given in full as above. But in this case, when his wife said she could not live with the old witch and he must decide which of them should go, he took her word that his mother was in fault and said, “Mother, you are always raising strife in the house: henceforth go and live in some other place, where you choose.” She obeyed, weeping, and going to a certain friend’s house, she worked for wages and with difficulty made a living. After she left, her daughter-in-law conceived a child, and went about saying to her husband and the neighbours that such a thing could never have happened as long as the old witch was in the house. After the child was born, she said to her husband, “I never had a son while your mother stayed in the house, but now I have: so you can see what a witch she was.” The old woman heard that the son’s birth was thought to be due to her leaving the house, and she thought, “Surely Right must be dead in the world: if it were not so, these people would not have got a son and a comfortable life after beating and casting out their mother: I will make an offering for the dead Right.” So one day she took ground sesame and rice and a little pot and a spoon: she went to a cemetery of corpses and kindled a fire under an oven made with three human skulls: then she went down into the water, bathed herself head and all, washed her garment and coming back to her fireplace, she loosened her hair and began to wash the rice.
The Bodhisatta was at that time Sakka, king of heaven; and the Bodhisattas are vigilant. At the instant he saw, in his survey of the world, that the poor old woman was making a death-offering to Right as if Right were dead. Wishing to shew his power in helping her, he came down disguised as a brahmin travelling on the high road: at sight of her he left the road and standing near her, began a conversation by saying, “Mother, people do not cook food in cemeteries: what are you going to do with this sesame and rice when cooked?” So he spoke the first stanza—
Robed in white, with dripping hair,
Why, Kaccani, boil the pot?
Washing rice and sesame there,
Will you use them when they’re hot?
She spoke the second stanza to give him information—
Brahmin, not for food will I
Use the sesame and the rice:
Right is dead; its memory
I would crown with sacrifice.
Lady, think ere you decide:
Who has told you such a lie?
Strong in might and thousand-eyed
Perfect Right can never die.
Hearing him, the woman spoke two stanzas—
Brahmin, I have witness strong,
“Right is dead” I must believe:
All men now who follow wrong
Great prosperity receive.
Barren once, my good son’s spouse
Beats me, and she bears a son:
She is lady of our house,
I an outcast and undone.
Then Sakka spoke the sixth stanza—
Nay, I live eternally;
’Twas for your sake that I came:
She beat you; but her son and she
Shall be ashes in my flame.
Then Sakka spoke the eighth stanza—
Katiyani’s will be done:
Beaten, you still on Right rely:
With your children and their son
Share one home in amity.
After saying this, Sakka, now in all his divine apparel, stood in the air by his supernatural power and said, “Kaccani, be not afraid: by my power your son and daughter-in-law will come, and after getting your forgiveness on the way will take you back with them: dwell with them in peace:” then he went to his own place. By Sakka’s power they bethought themselves of her goodness, and making enquiry through the village they found she had gone towards the cemetery. They went along the road calling for her: when they saw her they fell at her feet, and asked and obtained her pardon for their offence. She welcomed her grandson. So they all went home in delight and thenceforth dwelt together.
Joyful with her good son’s wife
Katiyani then did dwell:
Indra pacified their strife,
Son and grandson tend her well.
This stanza is inspired by Perfect Wisdom.
After the lesson the Master declared the Truths and identified the Birth: after the Truths that lay brother was established in the fruition of the First Path—“At that time the man who supported his mother was the man who is supporting his mother to-day, the wife of that time was the wife of today, and Sakka was myself.”
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That season we took the hard route South through the mountains, for there had been trouble on the Nauskentor road. As we spent the night in Marrant’s Pass I thought to myself that it was not so different from home. Steep sloped rooves kept the mountain rain off and the ale the wagon guard were fond of tasted stronger and sweeter than the beer of Lewingard, but it might just as well have been a village a mile or two down the road.
It was only when I saw Granmark that I understood the stories. I had been told it was a city of stone and imagined something like the keep at Lewingard. Instead I was swallowed whole by a maze of narrow streets above which loomed endless walls of grey masonry. I saw long terraces of townhouses there each three levels tall. I saw great stone arches with keystones as wide as my arm span. I saw wrought iron gates locked with chains and flagstoned courtyards so broad they contained trees and ponds.
We came at last to the market and wagons, stalls and a boundless miscellany of people stretched as far as I could see in every direction. I understood then why my father had given me so few duties for this journey, for my day was spent in awe at the magnificence of the place and the hours I spent exploring the market were an education that would soon serve me well.
The Lossanbrandt is a kingdom to the South of the Seats of Urthauld. By the middle of the epoch of kings it was the largest single nation on the great continent. It was founded during the age of wars when a market was established in which all the factions of the region promised to respect a truce. It soon became a town in its own right and the stability it brought to the lands around led to a lasting peace.
The capital city of Granmark is home to the palace from which the monarch rules, as well as being the home of the council of families who run the nation in practice. The monarch is drawn from the rulers of the great families and consequently sits on the council themselves. During some periods of history this system has worked well and led to wise governance. At other times, fierce infighting amongst the families has weakened the nation considerably and left it vulnerable to attack or greatly impoverished it. Furthermore, lesser noble families constantly scheme to secure seats on the ruling council, which are kept fixed in number at seven.
As well as being a centre of trade, The Lossanbrant has a reputation as a centre of learning. The study of the secret of geometry has served the kingdom well. As a result of the arts of the geometers, Granmark is a formidable forest of tall, stone buildings. Alchemy is also widely practised throughout The Lossanbrant and has proven a useful tool to its scholars.
There are six cities in The Lossanbrant. To the North, Nyebrant stands at the Urthauld border. To the East are the ports of Nauskentor and Ayl Plass. To the West, Marrant’s Pass stands at the beginning of the difficult trade passage to Lewingard and Sarenland. In the South, Heronsmeer is little more than a fishing town on the far shore of the lake whose name it shares. None of these are close in size to Granmark.
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The first church John was asked to address of the seven was the church in Ephesus; a church which received both praise and rebuke from the Lord’s letter.
This week’s study focuses on the commendation to the church. The rebuke will be dealt with in next week’s study.
Overwhelmingly, it is clear from the letter to the church at Ephesus that the faith entrusted to the saints is indeed something to be contended for: as the Lord himself gives his commendation to his church for not tolerating evil men and heresy.
Today begins another new study series on the Video Blog area of Returningking.com. This series, currently being preached at First Baptist Church in Needville, TX, is an exegetical study of the book of Hebrews.
Any time a biblical book is studied, several questions are first asked concerning the author, recipients, dates and local scenarios. Understanding as many of these answers as is possible is very helpful to the grasping of the context of a book.
Today’s study begins week one of background work for the book of Hebrews.
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– Charles Spurgeon
Sharing in His Sufferings
I would ask you this question as I have myself: Can we ever be like Christ without suffering like Christ? Naturally, we won’t ever suffer to His extent, but the question is, can we be more like Christ if we never suffer? The Bible seems to support the idea that suffering is never wasted. Paul wrote that just “as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too” (2 Cor. 1:5), so Paul set as his goal to “know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death” (Phil. 3:10).
When we are broken by afflictions, let it humble us before our God so that we draw close to Him. Maybe He is trying to remind us that He will not share His glory with another (Isaiah 42:8; 48:11) by trying to depend on ourselves too much. When we are not depending on God, we’re failing to glorify Him because He has already “blessed us with every spiritual blessing” we could possibly need or even imagine (Eph. 1:3)! Who really wants to rob Him of what is rightly His. If God feels distant to you and you’re broken by afflictions right now, the truth is “the LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). God wants us to “not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God” (Phil. 4:6), to know you can depend on Him.
Storms of Afflictions
There are a lot of reasons that God allows afflictions in our lives. These could be storms of perfection, storms of affection, storms of direction, or storms of reflection. We know that whatever has happened, is happening, or will happen will always work out for our best and according to God’s purpose (Rom. 8:28). It is a matter of truth. If affliction comes, then “examine yourselves, to see whether you are in the faith. Test yourselves. Or do you not realize this about yourselves, that Jesus Christ is in you?—unless indeed you fail to meet the test” (2 Cor. 13:5).
Being Used by God
Charles Spurgeon suffered intensely in his lifetime. For one thing, he was severely afflicted with gout, a condition that sometimes produces exceedingly great pain to the point of rendering someone helpless. And this gout seized his body from the age of 35 until his death. I love Charles Spurgeon because as he spent the latter part of his life suffering, that was the part of his life when God used him most powerfully. Isn’t it written somewhere that God cannot use a man greatly until he has wounded him deeply? Of course, the same applies to a woman of God. From Spurgeon’s memoirs, I believe what was worse than the gout was that he suffered deep and debilitating bouts of depression. It may have been due to the slander of his name among many of the English at that time, who spoke about him with utter contempt, and may have been why Spurgeon wavered between rejoicing in such persecution and being utterly crushed by it.
I would love for you to read more about the “Prince of Preachers,” who I believe was so effective because he suffered so much. Like Paul had his thorn in the flesh, Charles Spurgeon had his own of a different kind, but both served to keep them humble and utterly dependent upon God to keep going on. That is exactly what God is after in us. We can use our afflictions to be more Christ-like by sharing in His sufferings, we can learn to depend on God for everything, we can ask what God is wanting us to learn, and we can use these afflictions as a way to glorify God in doing what He would have us do.
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Mel Dageforde meets with Karen Cook of the University of Kansas in his map room.
Senior living resident donates historical map collection to university
Hagerstown, Md. Friday September 22, 2017
As a graduate student at the University of Kansas, Mel Dageforde passed by the shop window of a rare-book dealer in Kansas City and saw something that would affect him for the rest of his life.
“The window was full of beautiful maps,” Dageforde, now a resident of Diakon Senior Living – Hagerstown, says. “I had never seen anything like these maps.
The shop owner, Mr. Glenn, told me that the buyers of his maps wanted them for wall decorations. He liked that I was someone who liked them as maps.”
Dageforde, who had earned his bachelor’s degree in geography, focused on cartography in graduate school. The shop owner invited him to come back any time and use his office to study his maps. Dageforde returned often and, in fact, bought his first historical map from Glenn for $3.25—one created in the 1630s by a prolific Dutch cartographer named Willem Blaeu.
Now 93, he recently sent the bulk of his map collection to his alma mater. “I love my university,” he says. “They were so good to me. The maps are going to a research library, where a graduate assistant has been assigned to the collection. The first thing they will do is make repairs to help preserve them.”
“It’s my hope ... that someone else will be moved to give something back.”
Born in a small town in Kansas, Dageforde has had “a wonderful life,” he says. He served in World War II, attended college on the GI Bill, worked for military intelligence and federal geological agencies in regional offices and then in Washington, DC. He married and reared a family. And, over the course of 60 years, he curated an extraordinary collection of historical maps, a passion sparked by his visits to that rare-book shop.
Dageforde and his wife, Wilma, were married for 51 years, “not long enough,” he says. She passed away seven years ago and he moved from their home of many decades, a farm near Frederick, Maryland to Diakon Senior Living – Hagerstown’s Ravenwood campus.
Dageforde held on to a few cherished maps from his collection, his favorite being a map of the Americas from the 1600s. Unfortunately, his failing eyesight prevents him from seeing the details of the beautifully framed map as he once could, but he can readily recall its fine details.
And he loves to share interesting facts about the early history of map-making: how maps were drawn on paper made of rags, making them last forever; how they often ended up in royal families, a sign of their stature; and how cartographers traveled on ships with explorers to see firsthand the oceans and land masses they were drawing.
While he says he has felt some sadness in parting with his beloved maps, he believes the time was right.
“It’s my hope,” he says, “that someone else will be moved just a little bit to give something back.”
Karen Cook unpacks the maps at the University of Kansas.
How did the maps make it to Kansas?
“Mel ... has not been able to enjoy his collection because his vision has gotten poor. Once he told me of his wish to donate the maps, but that he had no idea about how to make that happened, I stepped in,” says Dan Murphy, a local graphic designer and photographer as well as spouse of former Diakon Senior Living Executive Director Jodi Murphy.
“First, we focused on cataloging the maps and a created a bound book of all his maps with photographs and information. I then surprised him ... with contact information for a staff member [Karen S. Cook] at the university who is a special collections librarian. They talked that day and Mel said he could hardly sleep that night, he was so excited. So [the staff member] planned a trip to Hagerstown,” Murphy recounts.
Because of concerns over shipping the delicate items, the Murphy family decided to transport the maps themselves, delivering 15 boxes and one tube of maps to the Spencer Research Library at the University of Kansas.
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Kaoru Hatoyama (鳩山 薫, Hatoyama Kaoru, 1888－1982) was an educator and an administrator, the schoolmaster of Kyoritsu Women's University, which had been founded by her mother-in-law, Haruko Hatoyama. She is well known as the wife of a politician, as the spouse of Ichirō Hatoyama, who was the 52nd, 53rd and 54th Prime Minister of Japan, serving terms from December 10, 1954 through December 23, 1956. She was also known as the mother of Iichirō Hatoyama, who was Japan's Foreign Minister from 1976 through 1977.
After the elections of 2009, she has become more widely known as the grandmother of Prime Minister Yukio Hatoyama and his politician brother, Kunio Hatoyama.
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Paul Giamatti is a seasoned American actor and producer with a career spanning the last two decades. He has played diverse roles in many movies from low scale projects to critically acclaimed box office golds. Most people would recognize him for his work in Private Parts, a Howard Stern biopic, as well as Saving Private Ryan, the phenomenal Cinderella Man, and box office sweetheart – Sideways.
He has earned significant praise and fame for his performances including his role as John Adams in the eponymously titled HBO series which won him a Golden Globe, Emmy Award for Primetime TV, and the Screen Actors Guild Award.
Paul Giamatti – Biography
Paul was born into a family of five in Connecticut to parents who were academics on June 6, 1967. His father, Bart Giamatti was a professor at Yale. The man rose to become University President and was appointed Major League Baseball commissioner after he left Yale. Paul’s mother was an English teacher and homemaker with a background in acting.
The prolific actor began his education at Foote School, before moving on to Chose Rosemary Hall. He studied English at Yale, participating in the theatre scene at the school. After graduation, he returned to Yale School of Drama to bag his Master’s degree in Fine Arts.
His acting career began with theatrical plays, he got featured on Broadway and later got screen time from appearing in small TV and film roles.
Paul Giamatti’s big break came when he was chosen to play the antagonist of Howard Stern in the biopic about the life of the radio personality titled Private Parts. After this, his popularity rose and he began to be sought after for more and more roles. This led to him getting supporting positions in some major films including Saving Private Ryan, The Truman Show, The Negotiator, and Man on the Moon.
The opportunity for his own lead starring role came with HBO movies, American Splendor and If These Walls Could Talk 2. The former brought him several award nominations. He cinched a role in Sideways in 2004, which brought him nominations for Best Actor at the Screen Actors Guild Award and for Best Performance at the Toronto Film Critics Association Award.
Hollywood began to recognize Paul Giamatti as an incredible actor and remarkable performer with a range that many could only dream of. In 2005, he received his first Oscar nod for Cinderella Man, which won nine other awards.
From this point on, his career was set. He could pick and choose what roles he wanted and tried his hands at diverse characters including John Adams, the protagonist of the HBO miniseries, which won him a Golden Globe, an Emmy and many more awards.
Paul delivered magnificent performances in several other movies such as The Hangover Part II, Win-Win, Rock of Ages, 12 Years a Slave, The Amazing Spider-Man 2, and Madame Bovary. He also diversified into voice acting, lending his voice to animated film projects like The Little Prince, Ant Bully, as well as video games and audio books.
The reputable actor has made quite a name for himself, which is no doubt evidenced by the size of his bank account. As of 2018, he is estimated to have a net worth of about $25 million, and he has definitely earned every penny along with bragging rights.
Paul Giamatti’s Wife
Paul Giamatti married his girlfriend, Elizabeth Cohen in a beautiful ceremony on October 13, 1997, after dating her for months. However, the union did not last very long as the pair got divorced sometime in the early 2000s. They have a son together, Samuel Paul Giamatti who was born in 2001, a few months after their separation.
Other Interesting Facts About Paul
1. Paul Giamatti was originally approached to play the role of Michael Scott on the hit American TV series, The Office, but he turned down the part. Makes you wonder how different the series would have been had he accepted the role.
2. He didn’t always want to be an actor. His first dream was to become a professor, just like his father. Even though he used to put on weird costumes and pretend to be a character from a movie, it was more because of his odd nature rather than a passion for acting.
3. He is surprisingly very happy to play a supporting role in films instead of the lead. He believes it gives him more room to have fun with the character.
4. Paul Giamatti once had to sit in human poop while playing a homeless character in NYPD Blue.
5. Before he accepts a movie role, the first thing he considers is whether he’s going to get bored playing the role.
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The Hon. Dale A. Reinholtsen (Ret.) served as a judge for the Superior Court of Humboldt County in California. He was initially appointed to the Municipal Court of Eureka by former Governor Pete Wilson on July 1, 1996. He was then elevated to the Superior Court of Humboldt County on December 23, 1997, filling a vacancy created by the passing of the Hon. William F. Ferroggiaro.
Reinholtsen earned a bachelor’s degree from Humboldt State University. He then completed a J.D. from the University of California, Davis School of Law.
Prior to his appointment to the bench, Reinholtsen served as a deputy district attorney in the Office of the District Attorney of Humboldt County. He had also worked as an associate at Mitchell, Dedekam and Angel, a firm of which he would eventually rise to partner.
Reinholtsen was publicly admonished by the California Commission on Judicial Performance in 2016. The Commission concluded that he had failed to decide cases in a timely fashion and that he had submitted false salary affidavits.
He retired from the bench in 2018.
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This letter was written in two parts. The first part was written by Dorcas (Sarle) Arnold (1782-1830) — the wife of Ichabod Arnold (1776-1840). The second part was written by Anna Arnold (1798-1867), their daughter, who would three years later marry Joseph Cole (1788-1836). The letter was written to Dorcas’ father, Joseph Sarle.
A collection of Sarle family papers are housed at the University of Michigan. They center on the experience of Rhobe Knight and Dorcas Arnold, the daughters of Joseph Sarle, who left their family in Rhode Island to move to New York State after they married, ca. 1805-1810. Both George and Rhobe Knight and Ichabod and Dorcas Arnold bought land to clear and farm near Ogdensburg in present-day St. Lawrence County. Knight also worked as a cooper, while Arnold operated a small-scale lumbering operation.
The Knights had five children: Luvana (b. 1814), Caroline, Emmeline and two others whose names are not mentioned. It appears that Caroline was the oldest, Luvana the youngest. The marriage was an unhappy one, and the difficulties began early on when George left his family and joined the army during the War of 1812. He seems never to have been a steady household presence after that, taking off for extended periods without making provision for Rhobe and the children, leaving legal and financial messes behind him. Parvis Round, a hired man who moved in during Knight’s military service, eventually took over the property, as well as the role of father and husband, it would seem. He was at first a suitor of Rhobe’s sister Luvana, but when George Knight died in 1826 there was speculation that his widow and Round, who had evidently cohabited all these years, would marry.
Though both families were poor, the Arnolds seemed to have a better time of it, although Ichabod was frequently quite ill and bore up by dosing himself with opium. It is difficult to estimate how many children Dorcas Arnold bore, for there is not one year in the scope of the letters where a new baby (one a stillborn) does not arrive. Anna Arnold Cole was the oldest. Other children mentioned are Joseph (b. 1812), Nancy (b. 1817), and Rhobe. Anna’s husband, Joseph Cole, was probably a cousin. They had at least two children: Polly Maria[h] (b. 1819) and a younger son, Joseph.
Dorcas Arnold was a fervent Methodist. Her religious enthusiasm was not shared by sister Rhobe, and this may have been the beginning of a rift between them which opened wider when their husbands began arguing over money and land titles and wound up in court over it. Dorcas blamed her sister for George’s estrangement, and even went so far (according to Rhobe) as to accuse her of having children by men other than him, maintaining that Knight was physically unable to father a child. According to one of Rhobe’s letters, the two sisters intended to make up, but it’s not clear whether they ever became close again.
Addressed to Mr. Joseph Sarle in the town of Cranston, Rhode Island
Decalb [De Kalb, St. Lawrence, New York]
October 15, 1815
I take this opportunity to inform you of our health, which is better then it has been. I have not been very well this last summer. The 5 of September I was eating my dinner [when] I was taken sick and that night my baby was taken sick. Wednesday morning I begun to puke and puke 48 hours. Thursday noon the Dr. came and gave me two portions of phrisia [?] and I puked them up. He gave me sumthing to stop me from puking but to no purpose. He gave some markery and that worked. During Friday, I kept down a few spoonfuls of chicken broth. Friday night, at half past one, my baby left time and has gone to try the reality of Eternity. I was so sick that I did not know how sick my baby was. He had the whooping cough five weeks. Thomas, Robert, Elisha all had the cough. I never felt more resigned than when my baby and I lay at the point of death. The Lord has given and the Lord has taken away and blessed be the name of the Lord. I don’t think that in two weeks I ate once ounce of bread [of any] kind. I had a little rice when I was at the sickest. I was kept from choosing life or death. It was impressed upon my mind that one of us would die. What blessed thing it is to have the Lord of heaven and earth to be our friend in a trying hour. I feel determined to seek salvation…
October the 23, 1815
My loving grandfather. I take this opportunity to inform you that my father is very sick. Last night we went to bed at seven o’clock. At ten o’clock he had a fit. We went for Dr. Rounds to come & bleed him. While he was a bleeding him, he had another fit about 2 o’clock, had another, & at four he had another fit. He has nt been up today yet & the clock has just struck eleven. I was in hopes he never would have no more fits, but it is not likely he will get over it very soon. It is and has been very sickly in this country this summer. Mr. Shaw has lost his youngest son. James Jackson is sick. I am troubled some with my stomach aching and swelling but I suppose it is house work that brings it on.
A week ago today, I wove thirteen yards of wide cloth & the day after but one. I spun seven …. but I don’t mean to expose my health so no more. Uncle Jeremiah got here the 5th of October. Aunt Phobe is not very well. Tell Aunt Curany (?) that Purvis is a waiting for her yet. He says he wants to see you very much.
We have heard that there has been dreadful times in them parts. I wish you would write and inform us of the particulars of he ruins there and in Providence. Mrs. Weeks’ wrote to me. I write to her but I hant time. I wish you would tell her that we received them presents to safe. Tell Wait Rice that I do thank her for that bonnet. I like it the best of any that ever I had one. Mother got me some very handsome silk and I got it made but not to suit me as that does. Mother wishes to be remembered to Mrs. Weeks…. She sends her love to Polly Cook…. I want to come down there very much but I can’t this winter. I expect to go to school this winter so as time and paper fails me, I must close… Your loving grand daughter, — Anna Arnold
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To read Ray Rhodes’ recent biography, Susie: The Life and Legacy of Susannah Spurgeon, is to witness a life of utter surrender to service. As much as Susie was able, she offered herself fully and wholeheartedly to supporting her famous husband’s ministry. She made an early vow to “never hinder him in his work for the Lord, never try to keep him from fulfilling his engagements, never plead my own ill-health as a reason why he should remain at home with me” (62). Rhodes mines every possible source to provide a well-rounded view of Susie’s faith and times. Seeing how much she dedicated her life to her husband’s career, one has to wonder just what his ministry would have been without her.
Her ill-health would remain an issue most of her life, but as far as her biographer can tell, she kept her vow to the uttermost. They endured long separations to allow him to teach and then to travel to France where he went frequently to recover his health. She read commentaries aloud to him to help him prepare, prayed for him earnestly, and encouraged him constantly. During the years when she was more or less housebound, her relentless efforts to get his sermons and books into the hands of poor pastors through her Book Fund ensured that his excellent preaching would be even more widely influential. She was a woman of talent and force, and she offered all of it to her husband, and ultimately, to her Lord.
Rhodes weaves in glimpses of their love story throughout the book. In many ways, this book shows how a generous husband and wife can enrich one another. He maintains a steady focus on Susie even when including pertinent details about Charles’ career, and often celebrates their shared sensibilities. For example, he summarizes a great deal of their writing by pointing out how “Charles and Susie perceived messages in flowers, gentle flowing water, the cool breeze on a fall morning, and in the parting of trees that allow glimpses of the blue sky above. Nature provided sermons and stories, readily employable as descriptors of Christ, the gospel, and the Christian life” (194-195).
Reading this biography as a modern pastor’s wife was intimidating. Her devotion is admirable but sounds unattainable. (I was grateful when Rhodes pointed out that she likely had up to a dozen staff working at their home, freeing her to do her work on the Book Fund.) Mostly, I found myself fascinated by her Victorian sensibility and how it contrasted with our era. I winced at her idealized description of a grateful, poverty-stricken pastor receiving her books: “He has broken down completely now, the tears are running down his cheeks, but they are rills from the fountain of joy, not of sorrow, and will refresh and heal his spirit. The Lord Himself has spoken to him, an angel has strengthened him…” (142). No doubt, her heart was dedicated to ensuring the gospel went forth but she did seem rather out of touch with the day-to-day demands of ordinary ministry life. Her life seems to provide an ideal of the Victorian era pastor’s wife, but I fear seeing her dedication as the standard would exhaust my modern-day peers.
Rhodes honors her finest attributes but provides the proper context for her life story that helps modern readers to better understand the Victorian era in which she lived. Susie is a thorough, engaging, and readable biography and I, for one, hope to see more biographies like this one that let us into the marriages between renowned pastors’ and their wives.
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Gabby could have sworn that she heard organ music. It came as a surprise since she was meant to be alone in the building. She felt like Alice in Wonderland as she held on to the long-handled broom and walked up and down the church hallway. There were no holes in sight. Not like she was foolish enough to follow a talking rabbit if she saw one.
Gabby was six when her Nanna told her the story. Her first sentence was that Alice’s mama didn’t raise her right. Who didn’t know about stranger danger? Nanna had wacked her on the side of the head with the hardcover book. She didn’t like folks talking about other folks around her. Particularly on a Sunday evening.
The music started up again. Curious, Gabby stopped in front of the chapel’s double wooden doors. She blew out a puff of warm air as she turned the brass door handle. The chapel was empty. Mesmerized by the shimmering colors of the stained glass window behind the pulpit, she shuffled size eleven sneakers to the front for a closer look.
Gabby’s jaw dropped when the image appeared. There was no mistaking the veiled, oval-shaped head. It was the Virgin Mary. She had read about a man who saw the image in his blob of toothpaste. The blob was sold on eBay for three hundred dollars. The toothbrush was free.
As Gabby thought of the potential payout, her excitement grew. She was down to her last five-dollar bill. She doubted the church would let her take the window but perhaps they wouldn’t mind offering a finder’s fee? She took a second look. This time, the shiny blue and red colors brought the image of an Afro-wearing Harlem Globetrotter. She squeezed her eyes shut. Aargh!
The loud chime of the grandfather clock out on the hallway made Gabby jump. Her supervisor was coming to check up on her and she was at least fifteen minutes behind on her cleaning tasks. Not the best way to start her second day on a job she’d begged for. Gabby grabbed the broom she’d leaned against a pew and ran towards the door.
The music swirled around her. Gabby recognized the hymn. Just as I Am, Without One Plea. One of Nanna’s favorites. Her grandmother’s face flashed before her eyes. Their last conversation was a heated argument. Gabby took a deep breath. Leaving home at sixteen wasn’t as sweet as her friends had made it out to be. Yes, it was nice to be the boss of herself. But the joys of couch surfing had worn out. And the perpetual state of hunger was messing with her head. It was time to call home. Gabby felt lighter as she made her way out of the room.
© 2014 Yejide Kilanko
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Have you ever wondered about dogs that lost their home? This is worse for them because nowadays people though love a pet dog but used to show back to the one who has no home. The worst thing here is that the dog starts feeling scared and all the necessities lag behind so it starts getting weaker day after day. Now while you think of getting a pet dog there are two ways you can choose, one is to get a baby one by the breeders and another way is to rescue a dog and here you would be able to choose one pet dog that has been ditched from his house or has no house to stay. Here pet dogs seek for love and always wonder for a comfortable home as well as a happy family which can pet him. There are so many Dogs For Adoption that you can show some love and get in your home. Now that there are some main points that you need to take care about, if you have taken the initiative of giving shelter to a needy dog so here are some of them listed below that you need to know:
While you are determined about having Rescue Dogs in the house you would have to be patient because the process takes time and the rescue team takes quite a time to response and that is the reason that you would have to hold your patience level a little bit more. In the meantime, you can try calling them up and if they respond then it is your luck otherwise you can try filling the form they publish from their site where you can let them know about the type of dog you want to have in your home. If you would fill application forms then the matter would show up much serious and so they might respond to you faster than ever. This however takes time but the wait would be worth it and you would not regret waiting for a while for them to the response.
Also Read: Common Dog Behaviour Problems
Now the one problem often comes over that you might browse through several sites of the pet rescue team and finds one suitable dog for your home and by that time you may also start getting attached to that dog only by seeing the pictures and trust me for any pet lover this is a very common thing and then when you would inquire about that particular dog then you may end up knowing that the dog you wanted as a pet has already been accepted by another family. This is very heartbreaking and if you would let everything proceed according to the time then there are chances that you would get to know about the news days later. So it is very important to be persistence and you should keep asking them about the status of the pet that you wanted.
Don’t Get Too Much Attached:
As you already know that there are chances that you may not get the pet you want in your home because there are chances that pet might already have found a home so it would be very painful for you it would get too much attached to a certain pet dog. Here you should keep numbers of dogs in your mind so even one is not available then also you can go for the other and so you would not feel hurt. Here you also have to ask the rescue team to keep the dog you want for your home and if that is not available then you can book the other instantly. If you would get too much attached to a certain dog which is very common then you would be hurt at the end of time when you would not be able to get that dog home
Decide Upon The Place Where The Dog Would Sleep In Your Home:
Now the main thing about the rescue dog is that it already suffered a lot from being outside and not with the owner so if you have that intention to keep the dog outside the home then a rescue dog may not be the best one for you rather it would keep on being scared even after the adaptation. If you would make the dog sleep in your home with your or around you then there are chances that the dog would also build attachment with you way too soon and would also get comfortable with you easily. Here it is very important to mark or to organize the space where you want your dog to sleep and make sure to have a comfortable space because no one could sleep in discomfort. Here you can also get your dog a special bed which you can keep near your bed so that the dog could be near you all the time.
Know About The Breed:
Knowing about the breed as well as breed verification is very important here because some dogs look similar but breed may differ and in most of the cases, it happens that people get a certain breed of dog but later on it appears to be different. This is a big problem because in some places having certain dogs are punishable but at the same time they have so many looks alike and American bulldog, as well as pit bull dog, are the clear examples. You can get DNA tests done if you doubt the DNA assumption from the rescue team is wrong and the DNA testing kit can be bought online through the result that you would get from the testing kit may also be false at times. Try to search for Rescue Puppies as they are easy to understand.
Sleep On It:
Now sleeping on it doesn’t mean that you would practically have to sleep on your dog rather it means to hug as well as interact with your dog more and this is very important for the first few days and it would be amazing if you can create such kind of bond on the very first day you would meet your dog. Try to be friendly with your dog and try to hug your dog way too often as this helps a lot. In this way, the dog would start trusting you and things would go on much smoother and soon your dog would get all attached to you. You can also, let your dog sleep with you at times and follow if he waggles his tail in front of you as this proves to be a very positive thing.
Don’t Get Panicked About The Home Check:
Now, this is kind of a part of the adoption procedure where people from the rescue team would come over your home and would check if the home is suitable for the dog you want to get in the home. Now if you would go through online articles about this then you may get to know about how strict the procedure can be but there is nothing like that as even the rescue team want you to adopt the dog so that at least one dog would be able to find home as well as love so they try to be less strict about this matter but there are certain necessities for a certain breed of dog which you have to ensure in your home. If you want to get pit bull or soothing like that then your apartment may not be a correct place for him and accordingly, certain dogs need certain things which the rescue team checks in your home.
Consider Having Pet Insurance:
You never know when emergency can arrive though you should always check whether the Dog Is Healthy or not before getting it home but if by any chance the pet becomes sick then this kind of medical insurance can help you a lot and the best thing about this medical insurance is that they are not at all expensive and at the same time they cover a lot of health complications that a pet may go through. You can check through various websites for the best health cover and make sure to go with the one that provides with emergency health cover because there you would need it the most and would also be able to save a lot of money as well which can prove to be helpful.
Even if you work outside then also try to be at home early at least for initial some days so that the pet could get comfortable with you. You would have to understand the thing that the place where you are living for years in completely new for your pet where your pet might not get comfortable and even if you cannot be at home all the time then at least try to keep any one from your family to be at home with your dog. This would help the dog overcome his discomfort in your home which would help him a lot.
Try To Be Social:
No one likes unsocial pets but before teaching your pet being social, you would have to learn how to be social and this would help you a lot in training your dog. Now here you would have to make your dog socialize with other people as well as with other dogs so that your dog could open up a bit and this would help your dog overcome his fear because he has been rescued and his past might not be a good one so it is important for him to go meet different people and play around with other dogs. You would be amazed to see how other people may love or care for your dog and this would also help you in learning a lot of things about your pet dog.
Try To Cope Up With Him:
Now certain things may go wrong because he is new in your home and he would have to learn things. You should not react to every small mistake that he would commit rather treat him to teach your pet certain things and this would not only increase the bonding between you but would also break your pet fear which is a great thing for sure.
These were a few things that you need to know before going for dogs for adoption and for more such information you can check out Petsnurturing.
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Kat Kerr, the self-proclaimed Christian “Prophetess” who thinks Heaven is home to cows driving tractors and a city made entirely out of Jell-O, was in Israel recently. And on a recent podcast, she explained that she visited the supposed Tomb of Jesus.
She didn’t just visit the site. She also waved hello to the two angels who rolled away the stone in front of the tomb when Jesus was supposedly resurrected. Because they were just hanging out there like that.
Almost on Resurrection Day, we got to visit the Garden Tomb. It was wild. The Garden Tomb. The actual Garden Tomb. I actually got to stand inside the very tomb that Christ laid in, and the one that He was resurrected from the dead in. And do you know what was amazing? The two angels, who were assigned to him — at the time, if you go back and read the Biblical account, there were two angels inside His tomb, and several people, you know, during the whole process of this happening, looked in there and, of course, his body wasn’t there, that was very obvious, but the angels sometimes would talk to those like Mary. I love it. They said, “Why have you come looking for the living amongst the dead?” And because He wasn’t there anymore, the stone had been rolled away. And the very track that the stone rolled in is actually still there. But you can you can step right inside the tomb where Christ laid. He is not there.
And then outside were two 10-foot angels standing outside the door of His tomb and they had been assigned there from the time that Christ rose from the dead… They were the ones who rolled the stone away, yes. Something very significant the Father does is when something happens on the Earth that is so amazing, so significant, and so holy, many times, the angels that are sent at that time to bring messages or deliver messages or even share information with people, He leaves them there on the very Earth where that happened.And so those two angels are still there! I’ve heard other people say they saw them also. Some people just saw, like, beams of light standing outside the tomb door, but being inside the tomb it looked dark inside, but when I stepped inside, the light of God, and the very anointing that Christ had in his body — remember, He got resurrected? — He got it back before he stepped out of the tomb. The whole tomb is lit up with his anointing. So it was really powerful.
[So what did those angels look like? Can you describe what they looked like?]
Well, they didn’t look like hosts. They didn’t look like the host. They didn’t have weird features. They didn’t have, like, 18 eyes… You have to remember: Mary had to see them… The others had to see them. And so, they were most likely, probably sent by Gabriel. Because the ones who served Gabriel, under Gabriel, they look more like humans.
They had wings when I saw them. That doesn’t mean that they were showing their wings. They could have at the time of Christ being resurrected from the dead, but they were just very regal. I mean, they both had blonde hair… and they had the glory of God on them, and they had simple outfits on… because, of course, they were back in the day of Christ when He walked on the Earth.
And they didn’t want to terrify anybody. I’m sure if it was a host, we may have had the same reaction that the shepherds did when they saw the hosts singing. They were so afraid, it hurt them. So that was not what happened here at the tomb when Mary came…
They knew I could see them… I was obviously smiling and waving. Regardless of what people thought about me, I could not turn down the chance to say hi.
So she treated the angels who have been loitering in a part of Israel for more than two millennia the same way the rest of us treat the guards outside of Buckingham Palace.
Somehow, the angels were totally there, yet she didn’t bother taking a picture or video. Because that would be silly.
(Thanks to Kyle for the link)
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The Ultimate Self-Sacrifice
Upon hearing the wish of Mordechai that she approach Achashverosh, Esther relayed a message of disagreement. She told him that the entire empire was aware that whoever entered the inner courtyard of the king without being called upon was subject to the death penalty, unless the king would extend his royal scepter in acceptance. She added that she had not been called before him for thirty days, implying that either this was the least opportune moment to plead before him, as he was not seeking out her presence, or that conversely, she would in all likelihood be requested to visit with him at any moment and could thereby avoid risking her life.
Mordechai’s response was firmly insistent. He told her by way of a messenger… “If you surely remain silent at this time, relief and salvation will arise for the Jews from another place and you and your father’s home will be destroyed. Who knows whether you were chosen to be queen for this moment?”
Who knows whether you were chosen to be queen for this moment?”
The double expression of silence was a message to Esther that if she abstained from speaking to Achashverosh now, she would have nothing to answer G‑d in the future when He would inquire of her what she had done about the situation. Mordechai also said that not only might she no longer still be queen one year hence, but that possibly this was the very reason that she, of all the women throughout the one hundred and twenty seven states, had been chosen as queen.
Mordechai knew that self-sacrifice was being demanded of Esther. In a sense, her having endured five years in an alien environment had required more self-sacrifice than death. In the latter situation the pain is short-lived. Esther had to endure suffering each day over a period of many years. Mordechai had walked outside the harem each of those days, trying to figure out a possible reason for the situation. He realized that her mission would become clear at some point. And that point was now.
From Esther Unmasked, Chapter 4, “A Profound Discourse”
The full 80-page book is on sale now for $8.97
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A broad smile spread across Hallie’s face. Finally, after all these months, the documentation had been processed. The first adoption from her orphanage was about to take place. She’d made a difference.
She turned around, looking outside of the window. Having her office windows overlook the children’s playground was originally just for convenience, but today, as she watched them play on the monkey bars, he view had gained a special significance.
Sigrid had no idea how her life would change in the months to come. A kind new family was about to welcome her with open arms. She’d have a new home. A new life. But right now, the girl wasn’t even slightly aware of any of it. And still, she seemed content.
If that wasn’t going to give Hallie the reassurance she needed, nothing was. She’d done well. She smiled, deciding to head outside to join the kids.
Hallie wasn’t the only one watching the children play from the distance. Ever since meeting the orphans during the Snowflake Day festivities, both Hope and Aslan started to spend time at the orphanage. Hope dove straight in to playing with all of the new friends they’d met. She couldn’t quite understand why her cousin kept his distance.
Aslan, in the meantime, observed. Observed Alexus, that was. He just couldn’t make any sense of it. Watching her play horseshoes with Donnie, she seemed like any other kid he’d met. But he knew that wasn’t quite true. Should he approach her directly? See if she somehow blows her disguise? The boy was at loose ends.
“Hey Aslan,” the girl waved at him with a smile.
Plummity plums, Aslan thought, jumping back. Had she read his mind? He knew from aunt Peyton that aliens were capable of that. Was Alexus really as friendly as she’d like everyone to believe, or was she just playing a game and seeing right through him?
He wasn’t going to risk it.
“Mind your business, silly girl!” Aslan panicked. “Like I’d talk to you! You’re way less important than me, and you have cooties on top of that!”
Alexus frowned. Aslan wasn’t sure if she was onto him or if she’d bought the distraction. She couldn’t know he was interested in her, right? Who knew what aliens in disguise could do?
“Suit yourself, kerbal!” Alexus said angrily, storming off towards the monkey bars.
Their confrontation was over by the time Hallie’d gotten to the garden. All she’d come to was a bunch of children playing horseshoes peacefully, though she did notice Alexus sat way aside from the others. Than again, that didn’t surprise her. The girl liked to seek company.
She took in the view, feeling content. The days when she’d been lost seemed so far gone. Today and every day, these kids mattered. Her life mattered. What could be better?
It took her a while to notice the man reluctantly making his way towards her.
“Oh. Um… hi.” She stuttered over her words at the sight of Larobb. She’d heard about him from time to time over the years, of course, but they’d never really spoken to each other since that awful night back in high school.
From what Vito had said though, it seemed like Larobb was doing well for himself. That he was happy. And Hallie was pleased about that. Though there was a strange part of her that had a hard time accepting her once-upon-a-time best friend was no happy with his life, without her in it.
And now he was stood right in front of her. She wasn’t quite sure what to say.
“Hey Hallie,” Larobb said, sounding equally awkward. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you how, uh, neat this little orphanage thing is…”
“Thanks,” she forced a little smile. Then it dawned on her. “Are you here to pick up Aslan? He’s staying at his mom’s tonight, right?”
“Yeah.” Larobb confirmed. “But it’s not like Alyssa had to pick him up, you know. I wanted to do it.”
“That’s nice,” Hallie replied stiffly. “I’m sure she appreciates the help.”
Larobb took a deep breath. “That’s not what I meant, Hallie…”
“Look, there’s no good way to put this, but I really wanted you to know that I’m happy for you.” He explained. “That you’ve found what you’re looking for. I still don’t quite get it, really. But that doesn’t matter. Believe it or not, even after all these years, you’re the best friend I’d ever had. So I’m really glad that you’ve gotten what you’ve been wanting. That you’re happy. Even without me. Wow. Ok, this is embarrassing. I’ll go find Aslan…”
“Larobb, wait,” Hallie interrupted him. “Thank you for that. I mean it. I really do. And I feel the same way. For you.”
Larobb’s face was hard to read. “You do? I… I don’t really know what to say.”
“Should we sit down?” Hallie gestured towards the camp fire seating area.
“So… let me get this straight,” Hallie started. “You came over here because of me.”
“Well, yeah,” He agreed hesitantly. “Having a legit reason like having to pick up Aslan did help me drag my plum here, but… pretty much. I’ve missed you, Halls. Things got really weird between us, but when I remember the times before, that’s not what I remember. I just remember my pal that always had my back. Us being the only two sane people in Magnolia High…”
He almost laughed.
“Those were the days,” Hallie smiled. The fee-good memory didn’t last long though. “But… with everything that happened. I mean, does Alyssa know all this? How would she feel about this chat we’re having right now, given our history?”
Surprisingly, Larobb’s face actually lit up at the mention of his girlfriend.
“Believe it or not, Alyssa was actually the one who suggested I talk to you?”
“What? That doesn’t make any sense!”
“Clearly you don’t know her…”
They’d been going out for a while now, but Alyssa always found a way to surprise him. Larobb had never met anyone like her. It was the first time he’d ever felt quite as serious about a relationship.
“Babe, I was wondering… what if I moved in?” He blurted out one night.
“You what?” Alyssa broke off from the kiss.
“Well, it seemed like the next natural step. We’ve hardly started dating yesterday. I’m here most of the time anyway. Aslan likes me. And I’m pretty sure you do, too.” Larobb attempted a joke.
“Right… Don’t take this the wrong way, Larobb, but I kind of find it hard to plan for the future with you,” she confessed. “You’re an amazing guy, it’s just… I’ve known you since we were teenagers. It’s not exactly a secret that you’d drop everything if she suddenly changed her mind about things…”
Larobb let out a soft laugh. “What? You can’t be serious! That was ages ago. I’m way past that. I’m with you. And I want you. Only you, Alyssa. No other girls matter. Don’t you know that?”
“How can you even be so sure?” She asked. “You haven’t talked to Hallie in years!”
“Exactly! She’s not even in my life. So why are you worried about her?”
“Because she’s the one that got away.” Alyssa replied pragmatically. “Everybody and their cow plant knew you were in love with that girl. And right now, you’re not talking. That doesn’t sound like something that’s resolved to me. It’s a land mine waiting to be stepped on. Her orphanage is right across the street. And with Aslan spending more and more time there every day these days…”
She paused for a moment.
“What I’m trying to say that if you still are hung up on her, I’d rather find out sooner rather than later. So that neither of us wastes time. I mean, look me in the eye and tell me you don’t miss her.”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “But only partially. I do miss her. As a friend. She was my bro. I never quite had that same thing with any other friend. But I’m not in love with her anymore. I’m in love with you.”
Alyssa tried her best not to get flustered by his proclamation. They had both been careful not to use the L-word with each other, until now.
“Then you should just go talk to her,” she said firmly. “I know you think you’re being honest, but it’s hard to believe you don’t have any hidden feelings there anymore. But in any case, it sounds like the answer is revisiting the past. If you’re still living in it, it’s better for both of us to know. But if you mean it, that you’re really over it, and only want her to be your friend… well, then maybe you and I can really have something.”
Larobb pulled her closer to him. “You’re quite the lady, you know that?”
“Of course I do.” She smirked. “Do you?”
He just laughed. “Well you should know you have nothing to worry about.”
“So there you have it,” Larobb concluded. “Not only Alyssa knows why I’m here, she instigated it.”
Hallie chuckled. “Sounds like she’s testing you.”
“Yeah. And I do want to prove that she’s who I want to be with. But that doesn’t discount anything, Halls,” Larobb added quickly. “I’m not here to tick a box. She has a point. If we both miss being friends, there’s no need to avoid each other anymore, right? Because we can just be. Isn’t that what you said, back then?”
Hallie looked at him, wondering what it must have taken for him to become this whole new person.
“Yeah. I did want that,” she nodded. “I still do.”
Neither of them said anything else, but they were both beaming. Hallie noticed the sun had set while they were talking, she lit a match, starting the camp fire to warm them up in the winter night.
And then it dawned on her.
Years ago, their friendship ended by a fire pit. Dying fire, dying relationship… She thought he was gone for good. That they’d never speak again. And for the longest time, it seemed that would be the case.
But looking at the newborn flames right beneath her feet, it appeared that perhaps, nothing was ever gone forever.
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Horizon:Volume 5B Chapter 55
Chapter 55: Passerby in a Place of Descent
This is not a goodbye
We are simply looking back
And exchanging words
Point Allocation (Filling a Hole)
Saizou realized something.
He could not move his legs.
Even though he had been performing so many evasive actions and had just been charging forward.
…What is this?
His legs would not move as if the soles of his feet had sprouted root.
He tried moving forward.
It’s no use, he decided.
He could not move. So…
With that, he collapsed forward.
And he belatedly remembered that the sun was shining on the center of this hall.
That warm sunlight made him sleepy. And…
Small, firefly-like lights rose from his body.
That was the ether light that composed his body.
His “mold” as a dragon had lived for nearly a thousand years, but it was old, falling apart, and attempting to return to heaven.
I can’t believe this, he thought. I really have gotten old.
So he simply said what he had to say.
“Be careful down there. Sasuke is taking this seriously. And…”
While lying on the ground, he sensed a movement within the ruins.
“These ruins are going to collapse soon. …So hurry.”
Asama nodded at the dragon’s words.
It was true the ruins were both rumbling and…
Unturning: “They’re tilting. Only a bit though. Still, they were already somewhat tilted, so I doubt this is going to stop.”
Vice President: “I guess I should ask Naito and Naruze to prepare for a rescue…”
“That’s right,” said the others as they exchanged a glance and hurried toward the passageway deeper into the ruins.
Asama’s group followed. They first moved into the sunlight in the center of the hall.
While she ran, Asama pushed on Mitotsudaira’s back. So did Kimi as she caught up from behind.
“Mito, are you tired?”
“N-no, I’m still fine.”
“If you have to say ‘still’, then you’re not fine at all. …Get my foolish brother to rub your chin later.”
Since Mitotsudaira gave a sigh of bitter laughter instead of protesting, she must have been truly exhausted.
However, there was a dragon in the center of the hall. He was falling asleep and scattering into the sky.
When she passed by, Asama decided to do whatever she could to help.
She had permission for the Asama Shrine to intervene in this land, so…
She came to a stop and paused for a moment, but then she purified and tuned the surrounding space.
The ether contained in a Celestial Dragon-sized “mold” was trying to return to heaven and to the ley lines. She figured it was only polite to purify it.
When she did, the dragon moved his head a little.
He was large, but once she paid attention, she realized he had the voice of a child.
She sensed no ill will or malice there. And Hanami detected no hostility.
So Asama responded.
“What is it?”
Asama listened to the dragon’s words.
“Do you always do that?”
Behind her, Mitotsudaira stopped and took a fighting stance, so Asama gestured for her to relax.
Did he mean the purification?
If so, her answer was obvious.
“You can think of this as Shinto etiquette. When a soul is freed, we give it the comfort of purification so that it might permeate this land and world, become a local god, and be reborn someday. That is how it has been since the Age of the Gods before even the Age of Dawn.”
“…Is that so?” asked the dragon. “Hey, do you know…a shrine maiden…that wears a…cherry blossom symbol?”
Asama’s eyebrows rose somewhat.
…Well, yes, I do…
While wondering why he was asking, Asama answered his question.
“We used that on our old equipment.”
The dragon opened his eyes a bit at that.
His weak eyes looked her way and then looked to the objects piercing the ground around him.
He saw the three penetrating arrows there.
Asama did not know what he was trying to say, but a thought occurred to her.
He had dodged her trick shot in the very end. So…
“You defeated me here.”
When he heard that, the dragon narrowed his eyes.
He let out a long breath. He was most likely using the last of the air remaining in his lungs.
“…At long last.”
Horizon spoke while looking back at the dragon who had ceased to move.
“I wish I had been able to speak with him.”
“Didn’t we speak with him plenty?”
“Judge,” said the idiot as he ran alongside her, took her left hand, and grabbed her left arm.
Asama’s healing charm was wrapped there.
The idiot squeezed her arm at that spot.
She felt pain. It was a mechanical arm, but she could not hold things properly without a sense of pain. As a machine, however, she was capable of shutting out the pain reaching her.
“Remember that,” said the idiot. “We both confirmed how serious the other side was and left something with them.”
She did not understand a part of that, so she asked about it.
“Don’t tell me you just thought that sounded cool.”
“Eh? Umm, w-well, it’s kind of hard to put to words…”
“Think before you speak!!”
Just as Horizon prepared a right punch to reinforce everyone’s tsukkomi, Asama, Mitotsudaira, and Kimi caught up from behind.
“Are you two oka-…ah! Toori-kun, why are you squeezing Horizon’s wound!? I didn’t think you were that kind of person!”
“What happened to your worry for me!?”
But Horizon ignored the idiot and sighed. And then…
“I do not understand.”
“Understand what?” asked Mitotsudaira.
While walking and while aware that she was at the center of them all, Horizon opened her mouth to respond.
“When is the right time for us to live and to die?”
That question had been on her mind lately.
She wished they could just never lose anything, but all things were eventually lost and went away. She knew keeping things from being lost required work, but she also had a question.
What was the best way of handling the times when something was lost and went away?
If they felt they had handled it in the best possible way, those left behind would feel self-satisfied instead of sorrowful and that would somewhat reduce the pain.
So she asked her question.
…When is the right time for us to live and to die?
“Did that person meet a proper end here?”
“You’d have to ask him to find out,” said the idiot next to her.
But Horizon felt his answer was useless. After all, you could not ask someone once it was already over. So…
“He has already gone away, so how are we supposed to ask him?”
“Huh? There’s another one, ain’t there? And there are a ton more after that. …So let’s go ask them what they think about going away. And…”
Did you know?
“Sanada’s gonna be crushed. So we can ask them what they think about their coming defeat.”
Horizon could accept that.
The leader of the Sanada dragons was fighting down below.
The occasional tremors they felt were proof that Futayo and Gin were fighting that dragon.
Horizon faced forward while hoping those two were safe.
“Let us go.”
She squeezed the wound on the idiot’s arm, drawing out a cry of “nwohhhhh!”
“I would like a lesson on life from a Celestial Dragon who has lived for a thousand years. If he is willing to teach us, I would like to learn.”
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Custom Everyday Use essay paper sample
Buy custom Everyday Use essay paper cheap
Every day Use is a short story whish was written by Alice Walker and published in 1093 as part of her short story collection entitled in love and trouble. The story is narrated in first person by Mama who is a mother living in the South with one of her two daughters Maggie. The story describes the very day living of a low income African-American family. The character Mama is a very powerful and strong willed large woman who is very content with her abilities to perform every task that man can do. She has two daughters Dee and Maggie but Dee is a very unique and opposite in her upbringing as compared to Maggie who is raised more like her a mother. Dee is an adult and she was lucky to go to college in her family. While growing up she was very ashamed of her oppressive roots and where she came from but when she got educated she started appreciating her culture and heritage though in an over exaggerated way.
While mama and Maggie awaits for Dee to visit them the burn scars which Maggie had sustained in the past when Dee had burnt their previous house makes Mama to day dream which was interrupted by Dee's arrival. Dee in contrary to her previous claims of not bringing her friends friend to their home, she came visiting with Hakim-a barber and strangely in contrast to Mama's daydreaming of Dee hating their current house she starts taking photos of her family in front of their house. Dee then inform her mother that she had changed her name to be different from her oppressive ancestors followed by her complementing many household items including the butter Chan and quilts which she had hated in the past when she told her mother that such things were old fashioned when she had requested her to take them to college. Consequently, Dee insists on taking the guilt's but her mother tries to explain to Dee about the meaning and importance of those guilt's but Dee walks out and Mama opts to give the guilt's to Maggie as she had promised her (Whitsitt, 455).
Analysis of Dee's character
In the short story "Everyday Use" Dee is portrayed as bad daughter for mama and this clearly evident when mama inthe initial stages of the story describes her to selfish, complicated, arrogant and materialistic person who disowned her heritage for somebody's else's. The traits which Dee has is contrary to her mothers who instead values her heritage and culture and believes that it can not be represented by possession of objects or mere appearance but rather represented by ones lifestyle and attitudes. Dee is portrayed to be materialistic, complex and living a modern ways of life where culture and heritage are valued for her trendy ness as well as its aesthetic appeal rather than her mothers simplistic belief of valuing for its usefulness and personal significance.
In this analysis it can be argued that Dee though portrayed as an opposite of Mama's believes and values she is not bad person but rather unique and different from her mother and sister. One of the evidence that reveal that Dee is not a bad person is that despite being insensitive to some degree she helps offer a strategy by which contemporary African-Americans can cope with their oppressive societies. This is because given the fact that Dee changes her name so that she does not share similar one with her oppressive ancestors means that she doesn't change her name because she hates her roots but rather because she hates what she grew up in. This becomes even clear when she changes her African name to another African name implying that she still values her culture and heritage.
Another evidence that Mama offers that indicate that Dee is not a bad person is seen in the introductory part of the story where she promises to wait for her in the yard that they made so clean and wavy the previous day while with Maggie. This implies that her mind is still occupied with Dee despite her being different from her. She says that Maggie will be cowed when her sister visits and that she will be nervous till Dee returns while she corners homely and ashamed of her burn scars. More so she thinks that Maggie will eye her sister with mixture of awe and envy thinking that Dee holds her life in her hand's palms, from this Mama emphasizes that she views her as a role model person who has taken charge of her destiny as compared to the conservative nature of Maggie and herself. Therefore it's evident that Dee is a different person rather bad (Walker, 455).
In addition to that when Mama Day dreams and relates her to her Johnny Carson's television fantasy show which she wonders whether her beautiful, educated and fully figured will want her due to her over weight, dark skin and glistering hair will want her when she arrives. By equating Dees values to Jonny's show implies that she seeks Dee's approval and acknowledgment indicating that she also wishes she would have Dee's values as well and this proves that Dee is a not a bad person to Mama. Further more while waiting for Dee to arrive Mama has expectations that Dee will hate their house as she hated the first one and that she might burn it with Maggie as well but when Dee arrives with her boyfriend and started taking family photos in front of their house we find that Mama's expectations were wrong about Dee hence she might as well be wrong about her initial belief about her hence another evidence that Dee is not a bad person to Mama.
In addition to that Mama was sitting facing her back towards their house which she expects Dee to hate it and even tear it down as the first one and by doing this it can be argued that she might as well be trying to take her daughter cues and perhaps envies and watches her in awe as well hence the greater looming of Dee in Mama's mind signifies that Dee might as well be a good person for Mama( Walker and Christian 45). Finally when Dee started complementing about the traditional ware in the house and even claims she wants to take them with her because its trendy means that even after going to college and getting educated she finally learns to appreciate her culture and heritage meaning that she might have searched a identity for herself and finally cautiously decided on coming back to her roots with a different name and values. From this point one can argue that Dee is therefore not as uncultured as initially seen thus she can be described not as a traitor but a conscious person who seeks the best for herself before accepting oppressive values and traditions of the society.
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The 12 year old boy stood alone, looking around frantically, unable to think clearly. Why had he ever asked for this? He had begged and pleaded to be trusted with such a big responsibility, and after 3 years had finally been given that opportunity. How could this have happened?
“Big Red” was an old Snapper riding mower that only Johnny Byford was allowed to operate. He had been Dr. Sam’s “vet assistant” and the general fix-it and maintenance-man around the animal hospital property for over ten years. Today he’d be going out to help Dr. Sam work 800 head of cattle, and so the property maintenance would be postponed for a day or two.
Billy had wanted to be an animal doctor for as long as he remembered. He had begged for years to have a dog, but the pleas were always met with a resounding, “No, it would just too big of a responsibility for the entire family (translation: you’re a pretty irresponsible kid, so grow up a little).” When Billy’s big sister had gotten a kitten for Christmas from her boyfriend, that broke the ice. Within 6 months, his persistence had paid off, and Billy had his first dog, “Pooch,” the ugliest, most pitiful, miserable little wretch anyone had ever seen. Even then, life was fleeting and ever so precious. Within six months of “Noelle” dying from feline leukemia, Pooch was found poisoned in a neighbor’s yard. And so a steady progression of relationships with the small-town veterinarian were born, as Roger, Wolfie, Sam, Sean and Mandy became successive members of the family.
Having thus become acquainted with Dr. Sam, as the dorkie little kid with the ever-present “wow” big eyed look behind his wire glasses, Billy finally got up the nerve. He asked if he could volunteer sometimes out at the clinic, “Just to help clean up and stuff.” Hair thinning at the top, even at 30, Sam looked down, “How old are you young man? When you get to be about 10, I’ll put you to work!” (This was well before minimum age requirements, or at least before they were really enforced). Sam thought for sure this would be a few years off, and by then the silly little kid would have long since moved on to washing dishes, or mowing lawns.
“Great,” Billy almost shouted, I’ll be ten this summer! August 27th!” Johnny looked at the scrawny little brat and laughed, relieved that it was at least 4 months off.
August 27th of 1969 fell on a Wednesday, and Billy was sitting on the front steps when Jackie the receptionist arrived, without a clue as to the importance of the date.
Billy was mainly a bothersome pest that just wouldn’t go away, everywhere at once, always asking questions, and basically a pain in the ass. But Sam was a “stand-up” man, and they had a deal. Besides, Sam didn’t have any children yet, and Billy was growing on him. The weeks turned into months, and weekends turned into summers. He really wasn’t allowed to do much in front of the clients, but he gave most of the baths, walked the dogs, scooped the litter-boxes, and kept the runs free of feces. This was the perfect job. Except he knew he really wasn’t allowed to do anything important, anything of real responsibility. That would soon change.
Billy used the push mower around the edges and behind the clinic, watching with envy as Johnny got to ride the big riding mower and do the “real” lawn work. How he longed to do something that cool – when nobody was watching, he’d sit on the mower in the barn and shift the gears. Such was the innocent stuff of little boy’s fantasies in 1971 Sikeston, Missouri. Billy’s imagination was startled as he clipped a rock with the rotary blade and sent it hurtling across against the metal building. Johnny’s head turned, and Billy sighed to see him laugh at his carelessness.
Dr. Sam bounded out the side door with his arms filled with syringe guns, castrating instruments, blood tubes, and rolls of cotton. As he walked towards his Bowie Vet Truck, he motioned to the boy to come over. “Dr. Sam needed to talk to me! Maybe he’s gonna take me with him to work the cattle! I’ll be such a big help!” his mind racing as quickly as his little legs. “Johnny and I won’t be back before quittin’ time, so when you’re finished mowing, just go in to see if Jackie needs anything before you leave for the day.”
“Yessir,” he replied as he turned and hung his head, walking back towards the push mower, kicking the ground. If not for the approaching shadow, he would have walked right into ol’ Johnny, rushing towards the truck after putting Big Red up for the day. That would have been really funny to them.
The next morning Billy had to ride his 10 speed Schwinn the 3 miles to work, because his Mom was teaching a remedial summer class, his daddy was at the farm, and siblings were all busy. He arrived just to see Dr. Sam and Johnny cleaning up the instruments from working on a limping bull, and he braced for admonishment for being a few minutes late. But Doc simply said, “After you get the kennels cleaned, Billy, I need you for something big.” He looked up to see a serious face, but Johnny was behind him smiling.
As the boy scrubbed the dried feces off of the concrete kennel floor, he couldn’t help but imagine, “Is today the day he’ll actually get to do something big?” As Billy squeezed the floors dry, the idea fell apart as Dr. Sam said they’d be leaving soon to finish at the feedlot where they had been yesterday.
“Since you’re pretty much finished up here, come on out and let Johnny show you how to run Big Red. This grass is gettin’ mighty tall an’ it really shouldn’t wait another day.”
Billy’s heart was bursting with excitement, but he did his best to look unmoved, answering matter-of-factly, “Sure Doc, that shouldn’t be a problem.” Johnny rolled his eyes, because he knew this was a big deal for the little brat.
Johnny had actually already showed him what everything was, and how it worked , many times, in anticipation of this glorious event. Johnny made a point to let Billy know that it was his suggestion yesterday, as they pulled out of the clinic parking lot, that he thought he could be trusted with the big mower. So within about 4 minutes, Billy had mounted the trusty steed, and was doing “manly work.”
What everyone but Billy knew, was that Big Red was a rust bucket. This thing was over twenty years old, and always breaking down, throwing a belt, or getting overheated. Nuts and bolts constantly loosened and fell off, and just last spring, a wheel had fallen off. But to Billy this was the most responsibility he’d ever been given, much like the little kid in the movie A Christmas Story, summoned by his father to help change the flat tire. He is entrusted with the hubcap and lug-nuts until he loses his balance, flinging them into the dark, and utters the famous expletive.
Billy puffed his chest out as he had suddenly become a valuable employee, riding the trusty steed on its first lap around the field in front of the barn. He watched Doc and Johnny loading up the truck for the day. “When,” he dared wonder, “would he be considered for a day of that – now that’s what he really wanted to do, his life’s mission.” As he pondered these dreams, basking in the glory of the moment, the tension rod holding tight the belt connecting the engine to the transmission snapped in two. The belt fell off the camber, and into the path of the blade. As the mower coasted to a quick halt, the belt wrapped around the blade, quickly chewing it into black rubber pieces, sprayed all over the driveway.
Billy’s head spun around to see the reaction of those who had trusted him. They hadn’t seen a thing, but were inside getting another load of medical supplies. He jumped off the machine, frozen in panic. He wasn’t sure what he had done wrong, but (he thought) nothing like this had ever happened before, and somehow he had screwed up his first real chance to prove himself. He had begged and pleaded to be trusted with such a big responsibility, and after 3 years had finally been given that opportunity. And failed.
Billy had no idea what to do, but more than anything, he didn’t want to face them, and just wanted to run. Dr. Sam was supposed to teach him how to be an animal doctor, and Johnny Byford had trusted him. He had let them down. As he raced through the possibilities, he saw his bike leaning against the building, but before he could consider the consequences of racing away, the door opened and out ran the two men.
There was fear and panic, dread and disappointment. But it was all Billy’s. The consolation from Dr. Sam’s response would be remembered, valued and put to prose some 40 years later. There would by no tears, or hugs – these were three grown men.
I looked up to my mentor, my role model, and my friend with tears, I’m sure, in my eyes and said, “I’m sorry.” Johnny was smiling, probably relieved that his little pal hadn’t been hurt. Dr. Sam, who’s initial reaction appeared to give me a hard time, suddenly realized this I just a little kid, and this was one of those serious moments where you don’t mess around. But I anticipated his change in body language was now be one of regret, that I was too little for such a chore.
He squatted down beside me and said, “Billy, this is not your fault. Even if it was, the only people in this world who never screw any thing up are people who never do anything. I’m proud of you for wanting to work so hard. Now help Johnny get this mess cleaned up and put Big Red up ’til tomorrow. We could use a hand at the feedlot today anyway, so after you’re done here, get you’re boots on and get in the truck.”
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Jeff continued to sweep one corner of the workshop. It was a mindless task. Hell, it was a task that didn’t even really need to be done, but it made him look busy. That was important when the master was in one of his moods. Or any of his moods. Or awake. Jeff had learned that over his five years here. Look busy and don’t ask too many questions. That suited Jeff fine, and his lack of ambition often made the master feel better about his lot in life.
The mood today was good. The experiments were going well and the universe responding like it should. It was almost noon when the master cried out with joy. “I’ve done it!”
Jeff came running center dais. It was a large circle, raised by several steps. It held a small table, a stand for the master’s spell book, and a cauldron as well as the master himself, beaming in the glow of the boiling liquid. “Jeff, look! Distilled essence of will power. Just the thing to help all those college kids with their finals. Slap that in an energy drink can, toss on the FDA warning, and boom! We’ll be as big as Monster and more popular than Adderall.”
The master gave himself one final smile before placing a hand on his stomach. “But that is an issue for after lunch. See you in an hour.” With that, the master strode from the dais and disappeared into the noise of cars and humanity outside the shop.
Jeff stood there a moment staring into the cauldron. He carefully lifted the spoon that had been used to stir the mix, pausing with it just before his mouth. Surely a little taste wouldn’t hurt. After a few more seconds of hesitation, he tentatively licked the spoon…and felt nothing.
It was odd. The master was so confident, but Jeff didn’t notice any change to his mood or desires. He did notice a rumble in his stomach. The mention of lunch brought Jeff to the realization that he did not eat breakfast. He also did not feel like any of the fast food chains that were close by. What he wanted was a good taco. There were just no good tacos in the neighborhood.
The thought occurred to Jeff that there was a solution to his taco problem sitting on the table next to him. Picking up his master’s pointy hat, Jeff put it on his head as he thumbed through the spell book. It was the first time he had ever really read any of this book so it took him a few moments to get used to the format. Once he got the hang of it, it was a few more minutes of searching until he found the spells that he needed.
Jeff put a lid on the cauldron to act as a tray and lifted his hands into the air. He began to rattle off the spells that he had seen, his voice floating through the warehouse like the many particles of dust he swept. When he was done, he stared expectantly at the cauldron’s lid.
Nothing appeared on the lid. Jeff dropped his arms in disappointment and placed the hat on the table. Before he stepped down, however, a tortilla floated from the ceiling and landed on the cauldron. It was followed by some shredded beef, a sprinkle of cheese, and a glob of sour cream. Laughing, Jeff lifted the taco and blissfully began to eat.
His laughter faded after two bites. Another tortilla was falling from the sky. And another. And another. Each one was followed by shredded beef, cheese, and sour cream. Before long, the workshop was filled with the flurries of tortillas, the patterings of beef, the drizzles of cheese, and the plops of cream. He did not know what he had done, but he had created a tortilla storm.
Shock gave way to fear as the storm continued. What would the master say? There was only one thing to do. Jeff quickly picked up several tacos and ran for the door. He did not stop until he was two cities away and looking for a new job.
Meanwhile, the master returned after lunch to find his workshop caught in a downpour of tacos. At first, he was angry at what was going on. As he carefully picked his way through the showery fiesta, he saw the book and hat were not as he had left them. A few moments of investigation gave him all the hints that he needed. The potion apparently worked and his unmotivated assistant had apparently created the storm for lunch.
Placing the hat on his head, the master lifted his arms in the air and began to chant. He shrank the storm to a tiny cloud that he sealed in a jar. Another enchantment was placed on the jar to pause the storm whenever the jar was closed. In addition to a new motivating energy drink, the master also had the start for a food truck business now. All in all, today was a good day.
If you liked this, please drop me a comment or share with your friends. Don’t forget to follow us here, or on Facebook or Twitter so you don’t miss the weekly fantasies I destroy my sanity to build for you. We also have our first newsletter coming out at the end of this month with an exclusive short story. Make sure you sign up and as a special thanks, you’ll receive another short story for free.
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Sir George Tryon
Sir George Tryon
|Born||4 January 1832|
Bulwick Park, Northamptonshire,
|Died||22 June 1893 (aged 61)|
Mediterranean Sea off Tripoli
|Years of service||1848–1893|
|Commands held||Australian station (1884)|
Mediterranean station (1891)
|Relations||son, George Tryon, 1st Baron Tryon|
- 1 Early life
- 2 Mediterranean fleet
- 3 Commander (1860–1866)
- 4 Captain (1866–1884)
- 5 Rear Admiral Australian Station (1884)
- 6 Parliamentary candidate 1887
- 7 Admiral Superintendent of Reserves 1888
- 8 C-in-C Mediterranean Fleet 1891
- 9 His son
- 10 See also
- 11 References
- 12 Bibliography
- 13 External links
Tryon was born at Bulwick Park, Northamptonshire, England, the third son of Thomas Tryon and his wife Anne Trollope. He had three brothers: the eldest, Thomas, joined the 7th Royal Fusiliers, fought at Alma and Inkerman and served through the Indian Mutiny. The second, Henry, passed through Sandhurst before joining the Rifle Brigade, fighting at Alma, Inkerman and Balaclava before being killed in an attack on Russian positions in 1854. George was the third son: the fourth, Richard, also served in the Rifle Brigade. George attended a preparatory school and then Eton College before becoming a naval cadet in 1848, two years older than usual, aged sixteen. The choice of a naval career was made by George himself, rather than his family. Other students reported him to be a quick learner with a wide breadth of knowledge, whether because of his natural ability or his longer period of education before joining the Navy. George was described as 'a tall lanky lad nearly six feet high, full of spirits and fond of a lark'
Naval training at this time took place on board ship, and having obtained a nomination and passing the modest exams, he was posted to HMS Wellesley in spring 1848. Wellesley (Captain George Goldsmith under Admiral the Earl of Dundonald) was then at Plymouth preparing to leave as flagship of the North American Station. She was a two-decker sailing ship, since steam power was only then being introduced into the navy. At that time, the principal important art to be taught to new recruits was how to handle a sailing ship, though within ten years almost all first class naval ships would be steam powered. He was required to pay his own schoolmaster at the rate of £5 per year. In particular, his mathematics at the start of his training was considered very poor, but at examinations eighteen months later, he came top of the class. Wellesley sailed on 24 March, arriving at Bermuda on 3 May. In correspondence home, he observed that he was seasick, and that the gales caused considerable broken crockery aboard ship. Yet while the gunroom (where the midshipman lived) suffered badly from its broken cups of a different pattern to those used elsewhere on the ship, their hens, much alike with others on board, never became ill or died.
As a midshipman, Tryon was not an official member of the crew, but a supernumerary, available as spare crew for posting to other ships. He narrowly avoided a posting to Imaum, a hulk lying in Port Royal harbour which needed crew, which would have been a very unpromising start to his career. Although officially posted to that ship, he prevailed upon Lieutenant Cochran (son of Lord Dundonald) to arrange that he would remain on loan to Wellesley. Tryon started to make sketches of the places he visited, which while not very good at the start, improved steadily. In November the ship reached Halifax, where George noted, 'the other day another of our men was murdered here'. Although Wellesley was a sailing ship, it was accompanied by a paddle-wheel steamer: when the wind failed the steamer would tow the sail ship, when the wind blew well the steamer would be towed to save coal.
In the summer of 1849, Tryon had the chance of joining a tour of the United States, but declined in favour of study, and to allow him command of a cutter, which was unusual for a junior cadet. In the summer of 1850, he took the tour, visiting Boston, New York, Washington, where they visited the House of Representatives, were introduced to senior politicians and witnessed a debate over California's requested admission to the Union as a free rather than slave state. He commented on the great welcome given to them once it became known that they were English. He also commented on the absence of beggars in the streets.
Wellesley returned to Chatham in June 1851. After leave, Tryon was posted to HMS Vengeance, captained by Lord Edward Russell. Vengeance sailed for the Mediterranean in August 1851. The ship was second fastest of the battleships and frigates (after Phaeton), lending considerable prestige to her crew at a time when sailing ability and speed were still considered all important. Admiral William Robert Mends later said of Tryon, 'He served with me, when I was commander of the Vengeance, for two years as a midshipman, and a better young officer never existed; ever full of energy and zeal. As a boat midshipman and signal midshipman he was unrivalled.' The ship stopped at Alexandria, and Tryon was given ten days leave to visit Cairo, where the party were received as guests of the Pasha. The party were obliged to stay on as guests, missing the sailing of their ship. The consul advised Captain Russell who then joined the party, which had now transformed into a diplomatic mission promoting British plans for a railway from Alexandria to Cairo. Tryon wrote home, explaining the British desire to create a land route to India, and the continuous vying for power in the region between Britain and France. On a trip to Gibraltar, Tryon and others from the ship joined the local foxhunt in a group of around forty (some in red), riding across the rugged and precipitous terrain on local ponies. Vengeance returned to England in 1852, reaching Spithead on Christmas Day.
On 10 April 1853 she sailed again for the Mediterranean, arriving at Malta early June to join the Mediterranean fleet under vice-admiral James Dundas. The ship had a new commander, George Le Geyt Bowyear, who reported that Tryon was now signal officer. Considerable competition existed between Vengeance and the fleet flagship in manoeuvres, where Vengeance frequently performed best. Part of Tryon's duties included keeping watch on the flagship before exercises, including going out in a boat at night to see what preparations were being made for the following day. The fleet took station in Bashika Bay outside the Dardanelles between June and October, because of the increasing tension with Russia before the Crimean War. In October the fleet moved through the Dardanelles to the Bosphorus and moored at Beikos Bay. On 30 November, the Russian fleet destroyed a squadron of Turkish ships at Sinop, just after Turkey declared war. Britain was not yet at war with Russia, but Vengeance visited Sinop January 1854 and saw the remains of the ships, which had been caught at anchor by the Russians. The British fleet moved into the Black Sea to land troops at Varna and took part in the bombardment of Odessa on 22 April. Cholera broke out through the fleet in August and eighteen died on board Vengeance. The effect varied from ship to ship, with few officers affected: 140 out of 950 died on board the flagship HMS Britannia The ship assisted with the transportation of the army across the Black Sea to the Crimea before attending at the Battle of Alma on 20 September. Tryon as signal midshipman was stationed at the main top and so had a good view of the battle in which two of his brothers were taking part.
Vengeance was once again offshore anchored in Kasatch Bay with Tryon as signals officer watching events during the Battle of Inkerman. After the battle he joined the Naval Brigade in the trenches and was wounded. Captain Stephen Lushington, commanding the Naval Brigade, described him as 'a very promising officer.' Tryon arranged the construction of a hut for himself and two other officers from Vengeance, which uniquely boasted glass windows scrounged from the navy.
Tryon passed his seamanship examination on 17 March 1854, at which time he was already acting mate. Having started late, he was anxious to obtain promotion as speedily as possible. Promotion above the rank of captain was on the basis of seniority, so it was important to obtain rapid promotion in the lower ranks. He spent only eight months as mate, then six years as Lieutenant and five and a half years as commander, which was one of the fastest rates of promotion at the time. On 21 October Lieutenant Greathead of Britannia was killed, and in November Tryon was promoted to his position, thereby transferring to Britannia. However, he remained ashore as part of the Naval Brigade.
In January 1855 Britannia's shore party, together with those from other ships which had been serving together ashore, were all embarked on Vengeance to return to England. Britannia had already departed for England with Admiral Dundas, who had now been replaced as Commander in Chief of the Black Sea fleet by Admiral Sir Edmund Lyons. Tryon took and passed examinations at the Royal naval college Portsmouth and HMS Excellent before returning to a ship. Commander Mends from the Vengeance had now become flag-captain to Admiral Lyons and requested Tryon be appointed to his ship. HMS Royal Albert was a three-decker, steam-powered and brand new. Tryon returned to the Black Sea in June. Tryon now acted as aide-de-camp to the admiral, travelling ashore to report progress in the siege of Sebastopol and later describing the plundering of the town by the victorious armies. He was present at the fall of Kinburn on 17 October 1855, where he was placed in charge of fire-fighting parties. On account of being on duty, he regretfully was unable to liberate any souvenirs for himself. In his letters home he commented on repeated failures by the British and their allies to follow up successes, instead allowing the Russians time to withdraw and regroup.
In December 1855 Lyons went to Marseilles to attend the peace conference for the Crimea, leaving his ship to sail to Malta. While in the Aegean Sea the gland surrounding the propellor shaft failed, allowing water to flood into the ship. The bilge pumps could not cope with the flow, but the ship was kept afloat by connecting the cooling water pumps used to condense steam in the engine to the bilge instead of open sea. After use the water was pumped overboard and provided the engine remained running the ship could be kept clear of water. The ship was near the island of Zea, so Captain Mends circled the island through the night until with daylight he was able to beach the ship on a sandy bay. The engines then had to be kept working for four days while a dam was built around the ship to keep out the water and allow repairs to be made. Mends chose Tryon to go to Piraeus to summon help rather than a more senior officer because of his 'marked intelligence'.
The remainder of Tryon's time on Royal Albert was largely uneventful. In November 1857 he had an attack of rheumatic fever, requiring him to spend time in hospital in Malta, before being granted leave in Italy to recover. He visited Naples, Rome, Florence and Pompeii, where the volcano was unusually active. When the ship went to Gibraltar he visited Cadiz and Seville. His considerations turned to his career, which risked faltering because he was older than other officers and lacked a patron. However, his good reports meant that his name was submitted to Queen Victoria for consideration for appointment to the royal yacht HMY Victoria and Albert II. This carried with it automatic promotion to commander after two years' service. Royal Albert returned to England where in July 1858 she acted as part of the escort for Queen Victoria's visit to Cherbourg to meet the Emperor and Empress of France. The queen's yacht entered and departed the harbour between lines of British warships stationed at the approach. Ashore, Tryon came within ten yards of the royal party: the event was celebrated with much firing of guns in salute, fireworks and the lighting up of the ships by lights spread through the rigging and shown at all portholes. Tryon commented that some of the noisiest and most eccentrically dressed attendees were those on the steamer bringing members of the House of Commons.
Royal Albert paid off on 24 August 1858 and on 4 November he joined Victoria and Albert. Each year one of the two lieutenants on board would be promoted and replaced. For nine months of the year the yacht had little to do and her officers lived on board the Royal George hulk in Portsmouth harbour. At the end of his two years he duly received promotion, leaving with a commendation from Captain Joseph Denman, 'as an officer of great zeal and promise. His ready resource, active intelligence, sound judgement and good temper, especially qualify him for success in his profession; and I consider it my duty to recommend him strongly to their Lordships as an officer likely to perform any service required of him with ability.'
Tryon was placed on half pay after promotion to commander in October 1860. In June 1861 he was selected to become second in command of HMS Warrior, the world's first ocean-going iron-hulled armoured battleship. Warrior was still under construction, so temporarily he was appointed to Fisguard. Warrior's sister ship Black Prince was a year later in entering service, but in November 1862 the two ships carried out speed trials, where Warrior was deemed to be the faster. Although the ships' armour was considered impregnable at the time they were constructed, they immediately instigated an arms race between armour and gun designers which continued up to World War II, where each successive ship had to have more of each to remain ahead. This meant that despite her initial claim to invulnerability, she rapidly became obsolete.
In March 1863 Warrior acted as escort for Princess Alexandra of Denmark, who came to Britain to marry the Prince of Wales (the future Edward VII). Alexandra was much impressed by the station-keeping of the much larger warship, so much so that her signal to the ship, 'Princess is much pleased,' was inscribed into the ship's wheel. In the autumn the Channel fleet toured ports around the coast of Britain where Warrior was much admired.
In July 1864 Tryon was appointed to command HMS Surprise, a 680-ton screw- and sail-propelled gunboat in the Mediterranean. Tryon was given the task of rescuing the British barque Energy, which had run aground on the coast of Sicily seven miles from Pozzallo, and had been abandoned. In two days the ship was refloated and taken back to Malta. Admiral Sir Robert Smart, Commander in Chief of the Mediterranean, recommended Tryon and his crew should receive salvage for the ship, and the sum of £595 was granted to be divided between them. Once again Tryon received a commendation in the Admiral's report. During this time he wrote a report on punishments within the navy, which was forwarded by his commander to the Admiralty. He recommended that fines to sailors absent from duty or incapable should be limited to forfeiting pay for the time they failed to carry out their duties, and this was adopted.
In February 1866 Surprise was visiting the Greek island of Santorini, which is part of the rim of a volcano. The ship witnessed clouds of steam and explosions as a new island 100 yards long and 50 wide had just begun to appear from the seabed a few days earlier. The eruption completely filled a channel through Santorini and then began to encroach on houses on the land. Surprise visited a number of ports around the Mediterranean, reporting on their facilities for the Admiralty.
An issue arose as to whether the Admiralty should retain control of warehouses at Gibraltar, which were then underused. Tryon reported that in the event of war, stores immediately available at Gibraltar might be vitally important to the fleet, and that at such a time it would be virtually impossible to get back storage space relinquished in peace time. He was one of the few at that time to recognise the port's strategic significance for the fleet.
Surprise returned to England to pay off at Plymouth Sound in April 1866. On arrival, Tryon found waiting his promotion to post-captain on 11 April 1866, which he had achieved by the comparatively early age of 34.
Tryon now spent eighteen months away from ships. Aside from time on half pay on leave, he attended the Royal Naval College at Portsmouth to study steam technology. In August 1867 while touring Norway on a fishing expedition, he received a recall and appointment as 'additional captain' to HMS Octavia. Octavia was the flagship of the East India Station commanded by Commodore Leopold Heath. Tryon was attached to Octavia, but his duties were to act as transport officer at Annesley Bay, which was to be used as a staging post for troops and supplies for Sir Robert Napier's expedition to Magdala in Abyssinia. Tryon arrived in Bombay on 10 October 1867 where preparations were already underway. 291 transport ships were chartered, mainly from Bombay but some coming from England via the Cape of Good Hope. The advance party went to Zoulla in Annesley Bay in November, described as one of the hottest places on earth. The expedition delivered a fighting force of 4,000 men to Magdala out of total 13,000 soldiers and 60,000 people involved all together. 36,000 animals, mainly for transport, had to be taken to Zoulla. There was no drinking water, so 30,000 tons had to be distilled by the ships' steam engines using 8,000 tons of coal in the process, with ships held at anchor with their engines running. Tryon's duties involved early morning meetings ashore with military authorities, days spent unloading and organising ships, and evenings spent in preparation for the next. Tryon was commended for his organisational skills and tact in dealing with all the disparate parties and complaining ships' captains. Approximately half his staff was invalided out because of the heat during the six months' stay, with the rest all suffering. When he left he was presented with a scroll recording the appreciation of his efforts by the captains of the transport fleet, and later in England was presented with a specially commissioned dinner service decorated with scenes commemorating the campaign. He was awarded the CB for his services in Abyssinia.
Although he continued working as hard as ever throughout the campaign, Tryon's health suffered. He injured his leg while fighting a fire on board one of the ships, and on returning to England, at first could not walk a modest distance without resting. In April 1869 he married Clementina Heathcote, and had time away from the navy for the next two years. Clementina was the daughter of Gilbert Heathcote (later Baron Aveland) who was a neighbour of the Tryon's and had been a friend since childhood. Their honeymoon was spent at Bulby Hall, home of Clementina's brother, the Earl of Ancaster. They then travelled in Europe for three months before renting Tickhill Castle near Doncaster.
In April 1871, Tryon was appointed private secretary to the First Lord of the Admiralty, George Goschen. The appointment normally went to an experienced captain with ten years' service, whereas Tryon had yet to serve at sea in that rank. The post carried considerable influence, equivalent in practice to that of other Lords of the Admiralty, in advising upon naval appointments. Goschen said of Tryon, "I had an immensely high opinion not only of his naval knowledge, but of his general savoir faire, rapidity of judgement, decision, extraordinary shrewdness, and great knowledge of men. He was somewhat cynical in his views of human nature but his cynicism was of a good humoured and harmless cast." A story was related of the Admiralty board travelling to Dover to meet the Shah of Persia in 1872. At the railway station it was found they would have to walk some distance through a large crowd. Tryon commented to a friend that he would get one of the admirals to carry his bag for him, which he duly did by asking the admiral to hold his bag while he opened a way through the crowd. Tryon then avoided reclaiming his luggage until they reached their destination.
Tryon left the Admiralty to take up command of HMS Raleigh, a new ship under construction. He was attached to the depot ship HMS Pembroke about a month before, until Raleigh was commissioned on 13 January 1874. Tryon took the opportunity to suggest improvements to her final fitting out. After a cruise of Ireland she was attached to the 'Flying Squadron' commanded by Rear Admiral Sir George Granville Randolph. Raleigh proved to be the fastest of the six ships under steam, but still also the second fastest under sail alone, after Immortalite. The squadron set out on a tour to Gibraltar, then South America where, at the Falkland Islands, officers from the ships hired a schooner to tour around and organised hunting parties across the island. Next they went to South Africa, arriving at the Cape of Good Hope on 6 March 1875. There Raleigh took on board Sir Garnet Wolesley and his staff to transport them to Natal. The remainder of the squadron returned to the Mediterranean, where Raleigh joined them later. At Gibraltar, Randolph was replaced by Rear Admiral Rowley Lambert, and the whole squadron was ordered to go to Bombay, to attend the Prince of Wales who would shortly be making a tour of India.
Tryon showed concern for the wellbeing of his men and the better ordering of the Navy. Before Raleigh had left England, thirty men had deserted from the ship, and more took the opportunity to escape from ships of the squadron at Montevideo. Tryon wrote a memo to the Admiralty recommending that the penalties for desertion should be reduced, suggesting that a number of those deserting were of little use to the navy and should be let go, while others who were good seamen, but who had some urgent personal reason for absconding, were afraid to return later because of the severe penalties. He also instituted a programme of weighing his men and ensuring they got enough food, noting that if, as frequently happened on board ship, the men weighed less by the end of a tour than at the start, then likely their strength and fitness was reduced too. He instituted a 'dry canteen' on board to try to improve their diet.
Travelling to the cape, a man fell overboard in high seas. Tryon had to make the difficult decision whether to try to rescue him, because any small boat risked sinking, taking her crew down also. However, the man was seen to be swimming strongly, so the ship was halted and a boat launched to rescue him. The boat got away well, though was sucked back under the stern of the ship before breaking free. The ship then had to manoeuvre under sail, tacking as best she could to follow the boat while keeping it on the safe side for recovery. All went well, and Tryon received congratulations from the other captains for his skill in carrying out the rescue.
The squadron arrived in Bombay shortly before the Prince, who was travelling on HMS Serapis and HMY Osborne, and a number of grand events took place. On one evening a dinner was arranged for the Prince in the Caves of Elephanta, on an island near Bombay. The ships were arranged around the approach with illuminations and fireworks brought from England. As the Prince's ship approached, rockets were set off, one or two hundred at a time. One of Raleigh's sails caught fire, but preparations had been made in anticipation that something would catch fire in the rigging, and it was soon put out. As Raleigh was the only ship fast enough to keep up with Serapis and Osborne, Tryon then accompanied the royal progress to Goa, Bepore, and Colombo, where the party disembarked for a tour of Ceylon. Raleigh was required to accommodate all the newspaper correspondents who wished to accompany the Prince. The royal party rejoined at Madras to travel to Calcutta, where Raleigh had to leave the party, being too big to navigate the Hooghly. Raleigh rejoined once more at Bombay for the return trip to England via the Suez canal, setting out on 13 March 1876. Now she was required to accommodate gifts given to the Prince, including two tigers, a leopard, a number of birds and smaller animals, which occupied the space previously taken by the journalists. The remainder of the Flying Squadron left for China. The royal party arrived at Portsmouth on 11 May and were met at The Needles by the Princess of Wales. The whole party proceeded through the Solent with an elephant standing on each of the paddleboxes on Osborne.
Raleigh was refitted and sent to join the Mediterranean squadron, where tension was once again rising with Turkey and Russia. In autumn 1876 Tryon was at Bashika Bay, where he had been twenty-two years before. He noted the improved health of the sailors this time, which he ascribed to the fact that fresh water was now produced on board ship rather than having to be brought aboard. The political tension came to nothing, and the tour was highlighted by escort duty to the Duchess of Edinburgh aboard the Russian Imperial yacht, hunting trips and visits to places of interest. In June 1877 Tryon was replaced by Captain Jago as commander of Raleigh after a tour of three and a half years and returned home.
Committee to revise the Signal Book
From June 1877 to October 1878, Tryon remained in England. In January 1878 he was appointed to a committee set up to revise the general signal book. President of the committee was Rear Admiral Hope, other members were Captain Philip Colomb, Captain Walter Kerr, Commanders Bruce and Romilly. Colomb and Tryon represented divergent views on signalling, but all members of the committee were experts in the field while Kerr and Hope held the balance.
HMS Monarch 1878
On 1 October 1878, Tryon was appointed to HMS Monarch of the Mediterranean fleet under Admiral Geoffrey Hornby, joining her at Artaki in the Sea of Marmora on 18 November. The British were concerned to protect the Bulair peninsula from Russian advances and had stationed ships at Gallipoli and in the Gulf of Xeros so as to have artillery commanding possible approaches. The main part of the British fleet stayed in the eastern part of the Sea of Marmora during the crisis.
Tryon was required to sit on the court of enquiry into the explosion of a 12-inch (305 mm) gun on board HMS Thunderer. On 2 January 1879 while carrying out target practice in the Gulf of Ismid, one of the guns burst, killing seven men and injuring thirty-six. This was of considerable concern since similar guns were used by many ships. It was eventually concluded that the muzzle-loading gun had been double loaded, which produced exactly the same result when tested on another gun.
In the summer of 1879 Monarch cruised the Levant, visiting various places where Tryon would land, both for pleasure but also seeking useful information. Britain had just acquired Cyprus, which it was intended to develop into a base for 10,000 troops and a resort, but of which Tryon was skeptical because of its poor climate and lack of a good harbour. In his travels he discovered deposits of coal at Ayas in the Gulf of Scanderoon, and was responsible for organising the transport of marble statues from Aleppo for the British Museum. In March 1880 Hornby was replaced as commander of the fleet by Admiral Sir Beauchamp Seymour, who in the summer sent Monarch and Thunderer to attend the launching of the battleship Italia by the King of Italy at Naples. Tryon was commended by the king for his handling of the British ships.
In May 1881 Tryon was sent as senior officer with a group of ships to patrol the coast of Tunisia. Although there was no war, France was concerned about events in Tunisia, and the French gunboat Leopold searched two British schooners looking for gunpowder. This was a breach of international law and might have escalated into a serious incident, but Tryon handled the matter with tact. He suggested to the senior French officer, Captain Rieunnier, that perhaps a mistake had been made. The French apologised and explained that the commander of Leopold had misunderstood his instructions.
A more serious incident took place when the region of Sfax in Tunisia rose in revolt against French intervention. The revolt was started by a local artillery commander, who was called upon to produce his troops in support of the French, but in fact despite receiving pay for the men, had none. To divert attention, he organised a local demonstration against the French. This led to other foreign nationals fleeing the region, although it was only the French who were affected. Local Bedawin then took up the revolt which grew out of control, although order and respect for foreign property in the town was maintained by a local leader, Camoum. The French sent ships and then a fleet to bombard the town, and eventually troops which landed to occupy it on 16 July. After order was restored, the French set up a commission of enquiry to investigate claims for damages and invited the British and Italians each to appoint a representative. Tryon was chosen to represent the British on the commission which first met 29 August. The Commission sat for six weeks, by which time the evidence submitted already indicated strongly that damage to property and looting had been carried out by the French troops, at which point the commission was suddenly dissolved. The British official position was one of neutrality, and in effect allowing the French to do what they wanted. This placed Tryon in a delicate position that while he confirmed the views of locals that the French had caused much of the problems and intended to take control of the region, Britain would do nothing to intervene. He was instructed to send reports directly to the Admiralty and foreign office, rather than to his commander, Admiral Seymour. Monarch spent much of a six-month period at anchor off Tunisia in temperatures of 80–90 degrees Fahrenheit, without any leave being permitted, which made the task an uncomfortable one for all concerned. Although the warship was not required, the Foreign office specifically requested that Tryon should remain for as long as possible. Tryon was commended for his handling of the affair by Earl Granville from the foreign office, the Lords of the Admiralty, and by the French Government.
Monarch was paid off at Malta in January 1882, and the crew returned to England on board Tamar.
Permanent Secretary to the Admiralty (1882)
Tryon had four months leave before being appointed Permanent Secretary to the Admiralty. This post, in charge of a civilian staff, was sometimes given to serving officers and sometimes civilians. Tryon demonstrated great powers of persuasion and an ability to get his way in an argument without offending. His appointment was initially temporary, following the sudden death of the previous appointee, but he proved a great success. One of his most significant contributions was in advancing proposals for the creation of a naval intelligence committee, whose duties would be to collect together all available intelligence both from naval officers and from the army intelligence department. Those first appointed to the committee were Mr Hoste from the civilian establishment and Commander William Hall. The role of Permanent Secretary included many invitations to social engagements, receptions banquets and dinners. Tryon's guiding rule in choosing which invitations to accept was to seek out people who might have useful information. He stated that he learnt something from everybody.
Rear Admiral Australian Station (1884)
In 1884 Tryon was promoted to rear admiral and placed in command of the Australian Station. He left England on 4 December 1884 on board the P&O steamer Indus, arriving on board his new flagship HMS Nelson in Sydney 22 January 1885. The growing importance of the Australian colonies (at that time separate colonies under the crown rather than united under one Australian government) meant that the squadron was becoming more important also, so now an admiral was appointed to replace the previous commander, Commodore James Erskine. Tryon's political and social skills were considered important for the role, which involved negotiations with the Australian colonies for financing a fast cruiser squadron in the region.
Conflicting interests also existed within Australia, particularly in the northern colony of Queensland, where plantation owners sought to expand their holdings on the northern coastlands using imported cheap native labour. Local 'white' labourers objected to this as it undercut their wages and prospects, and the government also had some objections, preferring to establish a pattern of smaller farms operated by resident owners, rather than absentee landlords creating vast estates. Part of the squadron's duties included patrolling the waters between Queensland and the islands of New Guinea to prevent kidnapping and human trafficking of native labourers to supply new plantations. The South East corner of New Guinea around Port Moresby had only been annexed as a British protectorate the previous year (1884) by Commodore Erskine on behalf of Queen Victoria. The Germans had similarly claimed an area in the north-east corner of the island, and France was using New Caledonia as a penal colony. The convicts would from time to time escape to Australia where they would cause difficulties.
In spring 1885 tension had been growing between Britain and Russia because of the Penjdeh incident in Afghanistan. This raised considerable concern in Australia of possible Russian raids on shipping, which could not be prevented by the small Australian squadron. The effect was to concentrate minds on the formation of a larger squadron financed by the colonies. Following orders from the Admiralty, Tryon argued the case that defence might best be achieved by a single strong squadron free to move around the whole area, rather than smaller squadrons paid for and attached to individual colonies. That local land forces could be provided to defend individual ports against raids, but that the best way of providing trained and up to date crews and ships for a naval force was to give the task to the Royal Navy rather than forming local ones. Colonies differed in their views on what was best, in particular New Zealand was concerned that part of the force ought permanently to be based at Auckland because of its distance from most of the others. Tryon proposed that a system of indemnity should be introduced, so that anyone whose property was destroyed resisting an attack would be compensated by the colonies as a whole, accepting that local resistance wherever it might occur was to the benefit of all. After the Russian scare had subsided, Tryon continued to assist with the development of land fortifications for major towns, emphasising the importance of preparedness in advance of any military situation arising, and of giving the impression of a united defence even if this had not in reality been entirely achieved.
An initial proposal was made by Tryon for a squadron of six Archer-class ships of 1,800 tons armed with 6-in guns capable of 16 knots costing around £105,000 each, accompanied by eight 150-ton torpedo boats priced around £53,000. However, at this time the French commenced a construction programme for 19-knot cruisers, so the plans were revised. Eventually five 2,500-ton cruisers capable of 19 knots designed by Sir William Henry White were constructed in England and sent to the Australian squadron. A conference of colonial delegates was held in London in 1887 to discuss Australian defence, to which Tryon was not invited despite the large part he had played thus far in negotiations on behalf of the Admiralty and British government. His exclusion from the conference prompted him to request to be relieved from the Australian command after two years rather than the normal term of three.
Tryon as admiral was provided with a house by the New South Wales government on the north shore of Sydney Harbour, near the navy anchorages. This was undergoing refurbishment at the time he took command but, once installed, his time as admiral was well remembered for the programme of social engagements and hospitality given to Sydney society as part of his duties. He took an interest in furthering development of the supply depot and repair dock in Sydney Harbour, and the construction of a new sailors' home to replace an existing one which had become overtaken by demand. Partly because of the unfinished accommodation, and the war scare, his wife did not accompany him to Australia.
Much of Tryon's time was spent in Sydney, but he visited Victoria, Queensland and twice visited New Zealand in the summers (southern hemisphere) of 1885–86 and 1886–87. On the first visit he attempted to reassure ministers that their defence was better served by one combined squadron rather than dispersed ships, even if some were posted there. He also visited the beautiful hot lakes and terraces of the volcanic region, shortly before it was wiped back to blackened ash by an earthquake and eruption.
In April 1887 he handed command of the squadron to Rear Admiral Henry Fairfax before travelling to Melbourne and thence by P&O steamer Ballarat to England. He was commended and thanked by the lords of the Admiralty for his efforts in encouraging adoption of a combined defensive position by the Australian colonies, and contributed in some part to encouraging the states to work increasingly closer together and move towards unification. Shortly after returning home he was awarded the KCB for his services in Australia in the Jubilee honours list.
Parliamentary candidate 1887
Tryon stood for parliament in a by-election held on 1 July 1887 in the Spalding division of Lincolnshire. He was hampered in the campaign by having only reached England on 5 June and the constituency on the 14th, and by an injured leg acquired during the voyage requiring him to walk with a stick. He stood on a platform of maintaining the union of Britain with Ireland, which mirrored his own views from his Australian experience that the colonies there should unite. It was his intention also to speak on colonial issues in the House once elected. He was aided by unionists from northern Ireland who came to plead their cause, but opposed by a local candidate who had had two years to become known and had his own supporting Parnellites from Ireland to tell their own stories. At the time there was a considerable depression in agriculture, and this was the deciding issue in this rural constituency. Farmers sided with Tryon and the unionist government, while their workers who had suffered pay cuts and lost jobs, causing many to emigrate or move away splitting up families, sided with his Liberal opponent, Halley Stewart. Halley Stewart received 5110 votes against Tryon's 4363. At the previous election in 1886 Stewart had lost by 288 votes. It was considered that Tryon's lack of agricultural background had counted against him.
From June 1887 to April 1888 Tryon remained on half pay enjoying time with his family. He suffered a broken arm in a fall from a stable attic while visiting his mother in law, Lady Willoughby de Eresby at Grimsthorpe Castle in Lincolnshire. Tryon showed considerable regard for his mother in law, who died not long afterwards in November 1888.
Admiral Superintendent of Reserves 1888
In April 1888 Tryon was appointed Admiral Superintendent of Reserves, which included the coastguard service, and became chairman of a committee on coastguard buildings. He was promoted to vice-admiral on 15 August 1889.
In 1891 Tryon chaired a committee on naval reserves, where he expressed his views on the importance of cooperation between merchant shipping and the navy in times of war. The committee consisted of Allen Young, C. Rivers Wilson, Thomas Ismay, and two or three naval officers. The committee noted that although traditionally the merchant navy was looked upon as a pool of trained sailors which could be called upon in wartime, the proportion of non-British sailors in British ships was steadily increasing. Moreover, that modern warships were becoming increasingly different from merchant ships, so it was felt a man could not simply be called from a merchantman and placed into a naval ship. A system of reserves was required where men received training and a retainer fee to be ready for war service when needed. Tryon felt it important that men from the reserve should wear the same uniform as regular sailors, so that no sense of inferiority might attach to them. Tryon had been impressed by the quality of merchant sailors serving in the Naval Brigade in Crimea.
Tryon was consulted on the best design for new battleships following the naval defence act of 1889, which had authorised seventy new ships including ten battleships. Tryon favoured a high freeboard to allow ships to perform well in rough seas, guns at least twenty-three feet above the waterline, and a minimum length of 380 feet. He opposed the very large 100-ton guns which had become available at that time, preferring smaller guns of around 45 tons. This proved a correct choice, as the 100-ton guns which did enter service proved unsuccessful. Their introduction had been experimental and in part in reaction to other navies trying such guns.
In 1885 a programme of annual naval manoeuvres had begun, where the British navy would divide into opposing fleets and conduct war exercises as near as possible to real conditions which might be experienced. By 1888 this had become a source of great interest to the public and the navy alike. The navy encouraged attention, allowing reporters on board during manoeuvres, believing that the publicity furthered their campaigns for greater funding. That year, the intention was to test the practicality of blockading an enemy fleet in its home ports when the ships concerned were modern iron and steam vessels rather than traditional sailing ships. The idea was that a superior fleet, taking the role of the British, would surprise an inferior enemy force before it could sail from two home ports.
Tryon commanded the 'Achill' fleet based in Berehaven in Bantry Bay on the south-west coast of Ireland and Lough Swilly on the north coast. Tryon chose the nickname 'Achill admiral' for himself, from the name of a small island midway between the two bases. All Irish territory was considered friendly to 'Achill', and hostile to their opponents. The 'Achill' fleet consisted of 19 major warships and 12 first class torpedo boats. The major warships were as follows:
- Ironclads: Hercules, Ajax, Hero, Rupert, Warspite, Rodney, Devastation, Invincible, and Black Prince.
- Unarmoured ships: Severn, Volage, Iris, Cossack, Sandfly, Amphion, Calypso, Serpent, Curlew, and Spider.
Opposing was Vice Admiral John K.E. Baird, whose force of 26 major warships and 12 first class torpedo boats represented the British fleet. England, Scotland and Wales were considered friendly to the 'British' fleet and hostile to 'Achill'. Baird's major warships consisted of:
- Ironclads: Northumberland, Benbow, Collingwood, Monarch, Conqueror, Hotspur, Northampton, Agincourt, Inflexible, Neptune, Iron Duke, Belleisle and Shannon.
- Unarmoured ships: Mersey, Arethusa, Rover, Active, Racoon, Rattlesnake, Thames, Inconstant, Mercury, Mohawk, Tartar, and Grasshopper.
Hostilities commenced on 24 July. Tryon was of the view at the outset that there was little he could do directly against the superior force, so he set about attempting to wear down his enemy, using feints and false alarms to reduce their attentiveness. They had to continuously maintain station outside his ports, while he and his men enjoyed the Irish countryside. They suffered the difficulties of communicating while at sea whereas Tryon could simply use the telegraph. Albert Markham commanded the blockader's squadron of cruisers, whose job was to stay close to Berehaven, watch for ship movements and attack anyone who emerged, while the ironclads stayed further away.
On the first day Tryon feinted, pretending to send out two torpedo boats and a battleship, causing Markham to scurry to intercept. For the next two days he did nothing, except fire occasional shots at Markham's ships from shore batteries if they came too close. On the fourth evening he sent out two torpedo boats showing no lights with the intention of starting more false alarms. The boats did well, returning with four enemy torpedo boats which they had surprised and captured. By 3 August the enemy had been at sea for nine days and aside from the tedium of their wait would now be low on coal. Tryon ordered all ships to be ready to sail at 9.30 pm on 3 August and for all the upper parts of the ships to be painted black. The fastest ships, Warspite, Iris, Severn, Volage, Cossack and three torpedo boats left via the western entrance, staying as close to the shore as they dared, heading for the Atlantic. Meanwhile, Tryon took the remaining larger ships through the eastern entrance, giving the appearance of an attempt to break through the blockading ships. Within an hour the Hercules was spotted and great excitement broke out amongst the blockaders. Tryon immediately turned around and headed back to port. Just as they returned to anchor, flares at sea showed that, too late, one blockader had spotted Tryon's escaping ships.
Admiral Fitzroy at Lough Swilley with Rodney and two other ships also broke the blockade on 4 August, joining Tryon's ships which had escaped.
Baird, on discovering the breakout, had no choice but to break off the failed blockade. He sent his deputy Admiral Rowley to guard Liverpool, while himself proceeding to coal at Portland, ready to defend the Thames and London. Fitzroy took his ships north around Scotland, 'destroying' Aberdeen, Grimsby, Newcastle and the ships berthed there, before returning to Lough Swilley. Meanwhile, Tryon, no longer blockaded at Berehaven, took his slower ships to Lough Swilley, where they joined the similar slow ships from Fitzroy's command, before proceeding to attack Liverpool. He claimed Belleisle, which had been guarding the port, as captured, and 'destroyed' the shipping there. Baird regrouped his forces to defend London, leaving Tryon in command of the English Channel and most of the rest of the British coast.
Tryon was criticised by officers from the enemy fleet that he had not given due warning to merchant vessels before attacking, nor allowed their crews time to escape as required under international law. He had bombarded defenceless cities and 'killed' civilians, and it was claimed he used false flags and captured signalling equipment. He was praised by the Admiralty for his handling of the fleet, but his opponents in turn felt criticised for their failings. The public felt comforted that such an officer was really on the British side.
The conclusion drawn from the exercise was the serious danger posed by even a small force of fast ships, and the need for considerably greater forces than those available in the exercise to successfully impose a blockade. The official report of events was prepared by Admirals Sir William Dowell, Sir Vesey Hamilton and Sir Frederick Richards. They stressed the importance to Britain of an effective navy to protect its waters and the much greater importance of this to the country as a whole than the army. If control of the seas around Britain could be maintained, then no army was needed to defend it. Whereas, if control was lost then no army however great would suffice to defend it, because it must starve deprived of shipping. This contributed to the adoption of the principle that the British navy must equal the combined force of the other two greatest world navies.
Shortly after the manoeuvres, Tryon wrote a fictional history of the 'Achill' campaign, describing the opening events of the war against a foreign naval power which had just been played out in the exercise, then going on with an account of what happened next. This incorporated and publicised many of his own views about how national defence should be conducted, without mentioning any real countries which might take offence.
The manoeuvres of 1889 were similar to the previous year, with an enemy fleet based at Queenstown and Berehaven, but this time Baird commanded the 'enemy' fleet and Tryon the 'British'. Baird's task was to launch raids against Britain, and while Tryon would not attempt to blockade his enemy in port, it was his task to prevent the raiding. Both admirals had slow flagships, while their seconds-in-command, Tracey for Tryon's fleet and D'Arcy Irvine for Baird, had fast ships. Tryon's headquarters was at Milford Haven but he moved to Falmouth during the exercise.
Baird attempted to send his fast battleships by different routes to regroup off Dover and then attack the Thames. Tryon succeeded in intercepting him, and was deemed to capture Camperdown, Immortalite and Hero. Tryon also managed to seal up Baird's slower ships in Queenstown. After the abortive attack on London, D'Arcy-Irvine with Anson and Collingwood was sent to raid the north of Scotland where he ransomed Aberdeen and Edinburgh. He was now joined by the slower but powerful Inflexible and proceeded down the east coast of Britain, bombarding Newcastle and Sunderland. On the day before the exercise was to end they moved on to Scarborough, but were surprised in hazy weather by Tracey with Rodney, Howe, Ajax and three cruisers. D'Arcy Irvine was obliged to retreat, but the slow Inflexible was surrounded and captured. Collingwood was caught next, but D'Arcy-Irvine managed to escape with Anson.
The four umpires (Admirals Bowden-Smith and Morant accompanying Baird, Lord Charles Scott and Sir R. Molyneux with Tryon) found that Tryon had succeeded in his objective as well as might be done with the inadequate ships at his disposal, but that had the exercise continued his capture of enemy ships would have given him an advantage. Baird's raid on the Thames had failed, but with six fast cruisers he had managed to capture ninety-five merchant ships around the British coast. The cruisers had been chased by Tryon's ships several times, but were able to run and continue elsewhere.
Tryon and Tracey commanded a 'British' fleet a little larger than their enemy commanded by Sir Michael Seymour and Admiral Robinson. Seymour's task was to remain at sea interfering with British trade but avoiding action, while Tryon was to attempt to chase him down. Seymour was given 24 hours start from Berehaven before Tryon was allowed to sail from English ports, although Tryon was allowed to use cruisers to scout his movements. Obtaining supplies of coal for the ships was the limiting factor, and Seymour overcame this difficulty by arranging colliers to meet his fleet at sea. Thus he picked a spot off the trade routes he wished to attack, and stayed there. Tryon succeeded in defending the Channel, but could not prevent Seymour intercepting merchant ships 300 miles away at sea. Tryon commented that although this year's exercises were on the face of it the least exciting, they had still been the most useful of the three.
The exercises were not without critics as to whether they accurately represented real war situations. A number of captains were criticised for not taking the rules sufficiently seriously, continuing to fight their ships after they should have considered themselves sunk or captured. Vice-Admiral Batsch of the German navy published a critique of the '88 and '89 exercises, arguing that the objectives of the admirals had become reversed from those of a real war, where coastal raids would follow opportunistically to main fleet engagements, rather than being main aims in themselves. In the '89 exercise the enemy fleet started at a 25% disadvantage, but steady attrition during raiding reduced it to 43% the size of the British fleet, so that any chance of a decisive victory steadily diminished. The result of dividing forces had been that they were picked off one by one. Nevertheless, the exercises served to improve morale for the sailors concerned, and to raise considerable interest amongst the general public in naval affairs.
Wartime Marine Insurance
Tryon became a strong supporter of the idea that in time of war there should be a national insurance scheme for merchant vessels. He was concerned that in the event of war insurance rates for vessels against loss by enemy action would immediately become impossibly high, so that merchant ships would simply stop trading with Britain, even if the numbers being lost were relatively small. This would be disastrous for the country, so it would be far better for the government to implement its own scheme to reimburse owners for lost cargoes and ships.
Tryon claimed that he had first heard of the idea from Admiral Hopkins. Having become convinced of its importance he wrote an article explaining the idea in the 'United Service Magazine' of May 1890 as well as having pamphlets printed which he distributed to those likely to be interested. The idea gave rise to an immense amount of discussion nationally. The Times came out against the idea of government intervention in commerce, arguing the important issue was not who paid for sunk ships, but having a navy capable of preventing them being sunk. It argued that the scheme was a diversion from this main objective and would simply provide a false sense of security. Many smaller papers took the same line, as did a number of naval officers including Lord Charles Beresford. Their concern was chiefly that a government might see the scheme as an alternative to a larger navy.
Tryon responded in a letter to The Times on 19 September arguing the need for the scheme whatever the size of the navy. The Chairman of P&O, Sir Thomas Sutherland, wrote arguing that a scheme ought to be considered and prepared in peace time, but no legislation should be passed or anything else done unless an actual war situation arose. When it did, it might turn out that insurance would be available privately or that shipowners might benefit from higher wartime profits. He questioned whether any amount of compensation would convince owners to send ships if they expected them to be lost. Sir Arthur Forwood (shipowner and later parliamentary secretary to the Admiralty) wrote observing that during the American war of Independence shipowners had responded to the initial insurance rate of 20% by building better ships and choosing their routes carefully, with the results that the best blockade runners could then obtain lower premiums. He added that they bought cotton at 2d, and sold it at 2s, a 1000% profit if they succeeded. Retired admiral Alfred Chatfield, then a city businessman, observed that the scheme would disproportionately favour smaller and slower ships at the greatest risk of enemy capture, perhaps even making them more profitable and thus discouraging the construction of safer but more expensive replacements. Others, such as Thomas Ismay of the White Star line were in favour of the plan, arguing it would prevent many ships simply being laid up in safety for the duration of hostilities, and suggesting that many who were relying on flying under a neutral flag which theoretically guaranteed safety, were liable for a nasty surprise. Tryon himself argued that the scheme might only be needed at the onset of hostility until shippers had become accustomed to the safest ways of maintaining trade.
C-in-C Mediterranean Fleet 1891
In August 1891 Tryon was appointed to command the Mediterranean station, the most powerful force within the Royal Navy at that time. The Mediterranean was recognised as the sea area then of greatest importance to Britain. Tryon left England on 11 September on board HMS Nile meeting the first division of the fleet under its previous commander, vice admiral Sir Anthony Hoskins, on board the flagship HMS Victoria at Gibraltar. Tryon assumed command on 21 September. The division toured Port Mahon, Madelena, Naples, Malta, Nauplia and Milo, where they were joined by the second division under rear-admiral Lord Walter Kerr. The fleet then exercised until November, when they again divided: the first division wintering at Malta while the second remained in the Levant.
Each year the fleet held a regatta where officers and men from different ships competed against each other, training for months in advance. It was customary for the admiral to provide a cup to be presented to the winner of a sailing race between bona fide service boats of all types. In November 1891 the regatta took place at Suda Bay and the winner of 'the admiral's cup' from 60 boats was Lieutenant Evan-Thomas. The race was initially instituted by admiral Phipps Hornby in 1872 with the intention of encouraging skill in sailing, which was becoming a sideline in a steam powered navy.
One of Tryon's first actions as commander was to write a memorandum to all commanders requesting that they draw to his attention anything which might concern the fleet or British interests which they might discover but which in the ordinary way they would not pass on. After the grounding of HMS Howe in 1892 he circulated a memorandum to the fleet concerning safe manoeuvring of ships, particularly in difficult circumstances. Of particular relevance to later events, the memorandum warned commanders that their first duty was always to safeguard their ship (at least, during times of peace) and that should they ever be faced with an order which for some reason might be dangerous, then they should attempt to carry out the intention of the order, but only if it could be done without risk to their ship or others.
As at other stations, the commander of the fleet was provided with a residence and expected to entertain society. The admiral's house in the Strada Mezzodi was one of the smaller auberges, originally palaces for the Knights of St. John. The small size was a disadvantage for the lavish parties which Tryon and his wife were expected to host, but the parties held in the winters of 1891–92 and 1892–93 were very popular. The admiral was the second most important person on the island, after the Governor. The admiral's other duties, aside from running the fleet, included corresponding with the director of Naval Intelligence, Captain Cyprian Bridge, passing on and receiving intelligence reports. This required replying personally to information received from his officers: he was described as a fast writer but with difficult handwriting. The correspondence covered everything from problems the Italian were having with their carrier pigeons to details of international law.
TA, manoeuvres without signals
Admiral Tryon was concerned that the normal system of signalling between ships would become unworkable in real war conditions. To send a signal required hoisting a flag sequence, waiting for all ships to raise flags to confirm they had seen and understood, and then lowering the initial flags to signal everyone to carry it out. The signals book had grown to hundreds of pages describing the many possible flag combinations and virtually no one knew them all. In a real battle this process might take too much time, or might be entirely impossible if enemy fire had destroyed the masts from which the flags must fly, or smoke made them impossible to read. Instead, Tryon proposed a simple signal, using the letter-flags T and A, which simply instructed captains to follow their leader. Other flag signals might be used additionally as circumstances allowed, but once the initial order was given, the ships simply had to follow the movements of their leaders. A few, basic, single flag signals were designated for particular movements, which would simply be flown without needing acknowledgement. This was a radical departure from contemporary practice, in which all movements were precisely signalled from the flagship and acknowledged by their recipients. Opinion was fiercely divided about it, for instance The Times newspaper considered it "unsound in theory and perilous in practice", whilst Rear-Admiral William Kennedy on the East Indies station declared following experiments with it that "the officers commanding thoroughly appreciated the idea which would be invaluable in time of war".
Grounding of HMS Victoria
HMS Victoria, flagship of the Mediterranean fleet, was in retrospect an unlucky ship. In January 1892 she was at Platea in Greece carrying out exercises firing torpedoes, when she ran aground on Snipe Point. Tryon was not on board, as the fleet ships went individually for torpedo practice. This involved firing torpedoes while travelling at speed, but was made more difficult by the need to conduct the practices in shallow waters so the torpedoes could be recovered. Captain Bourke had sent men to mark the point where the waters shallowed to ten fathoms, but they had misjudged the buoy's proper position. Victoria ran aground at nine knots, leaving the fore end of the ship seven feet higher out of the water than normal, while the stern still had 66 feet of water beneath it. The ship was secured with anchors and unsuccessful attempts were made by the nearby torpedo-depot ship to tow her free. Tryon arrived from Malta on board the Surprise, having given orders for the dockyard tug Sampson, Phaeton, Edinburgh, Dreadnought, Scout and Humber to come to assist. Victoria was refloated six days after grounding, towed by Dreadnought and Edinburgh, with the tug lashed to her side and her own engines running astern. 1200 tons had been removed from the ship to lighten her. Victoria returned to Malta for repairs to torn plates along her bottom.
Victoria was repaired in time for the fleet summer cruise in May. The first division sailed from Malta on 31 May for Nauplia, where they were joined by the second division commanded by rear-admiral Markham. The entire fleet then exercised in the Aegean Sea. In June Tryon visited the Sultan of Turkey in Constantinople. Warships were not permitted in the Dardanelles, so the party went on the admiral's steam yacht, Surprise. Captains Bourke from Victoria, Noel from Nile and Wilson from Sans Pareil accompanied Tryon, who received the Medjidie of the first class from the Sultan. They rejoined the fleet at Vourlah Bay on 25 June. In July the fleet divided, with the second division going to the Levant while Tryon and the first division went to Sicily, where the volcano Mount Etna was erupting. The tour continued around Italian and Spanish ports with a fortnight at Gibraltar, before returning to Malta on 29 September. On 10 October once again they set out to Nauplia to meet the second division.
The annual regatta pulling races were held at Salonica, and the sailing races at Lemnos. An additional prize was presented by the Vali of Salonica to the winners of the all-comers race. Tryon directed that the junior midshipman should accept the prize for the winners, on the grounds that he would most likely live longest to remember the event. The sailing events took place at Moudros Bay, a large expanse of water largely surrounded by low-lying land providing good sailing conditions, and plenty of opportunity for officers to go ashore and hunt local game. On this occasion the admiral's cup was won by Commander Tate of the Colossus. The two divisions now separated again, the first with Tryon returning to Malta for the winter.
Sinking of HMS Victoria and drowning of Vice-Admiral Tryon
On 22 June 1893, the fleet was on exercises when Tryon's flagship, HMS Victoria, sank following a bizarre order from him which brought it in collision with the flagship of his second-in-command, Rear Admiral Sir Albert Markham. Tryon went down with his ship, his last reported words being "It is all my fault". Tryon was considered by many of his contemporaries to be a supremely competent yet radical officer, but with a strong and sometimes overbearing personality. This manner was felt to be a contributory cause to the accident. For instance, an article in Society Journal Talk in July 1893 (following the accident) said, "Much has been said about George Tryon's charm of manner, and the rest of it, but in truth he was, at any rate when officially engaged, a very brusque and dictatorial man. Unfortunately he was a 'viewy' man too, a man of theories..."
20th-century paranormal lore includes a story about how the figure of George Tryon briefly turned up in his London home about the moment of his death. The story cannot be traced back to any contemporary source. See Doppelgänger.
- Laughton, John Knox (1885–1900). . Dictionary of National Biography. London: Smith, Elder & Co.
- Fitzgerald p.1113
- Fitzgerald p.21
- Fitzgerald pp. 13–16
- Fitzgerald pp. 17–20, quote p. 21
- Fitzgerald p.29
- Fitzgerald pp. 24–27
- Fitzgerald p.33
- Fitzgerald pp. 30–38
- Fitzgerald p.40
- Fitzgerald p. 41
- Fitzgerald p.46
- Fitzgerald pp. 38–48
- Fitzgerald pp. 49–50
- Fitzgerald p. 58
- Fitzgerald pp. 61–65
- Fitzgerald pp. 67–70
- Fitzgerald pp. 71–75
- Fitzgerald pp. 76–78
- Fitzgerald p.79–85
- Fitzgerald pp. 88–
- Fitzgerald pp. 91–92
- Fitzgerald pp. 93–98
- Fitzgerald pp. 99–117
- Fitzgerald p. 244
- Fitzgerald pp. 117–120
- Fitzgerald pp. 121–122
- Fitzgerald pp. 125–126
- Fitzgerald pp. 128–138
- Fitzgerald pp. 133–134, 137–138
- Fitzgerald pp. 139–141
- Fitzgerald p.142 -146
- Fitzgerald pp. 146–151
- Fitzgerald pp. 154–156
- Fitzgerald pp. 156–157
- Fitzgerald pp. 157–164
- Fitzgerald pp. 164–165
- Fitzgerald pp. 165–179
- Fitzgerald pp. 179–185
- Fitzgerald p. 183
- Fitzgerald pp. 186–193
- Fitzgerald pp. 195–220
- Fitzgerald pp. 196–198
- Fitzgerald pp. 199–206
- Fitzgerald pp. 206–227
- Fitzgerald pp. 228–231
- Fitzgerald pp. 231–234
- Penrose pp. 235–238
- Fitzgerald pp. 239–243
- Fitzgerald pp. 244–249
- The Times, 18 June 1887, issue 32102, p. 12
- The Times, 4 July 1887, issue 32115 p. 6
- Fitzgerald pp. 251–252
- Fitzgerald pp. 252–254
- Fitzgerald pp. 274–281
- Fitzgerald pp. 281–283
- Hough pp. 15–16
- The New York Times, 2 July 1893, Tryon's brilliant tactics; dazing his opponents in the manoeuvres of 1888
- Hough p.12
- Hough pp. 17–18
- Fitzgerald pp. 259–260
- Hough pp. 20–22
- Fitzgerald pp. 260–262
- Fitzgerald pp. 283–294
- Fitzgerald pp. 263–264
- Fitzgerald pp. 264–266
- Fitzgerald pp. 266–267
- Fitzgerald pp. 267–269
- Fitzgerald pp. 269–273
- Fitzgerald pp. 295–301
- The Times, 5 September 1890
- Fitzgerald pp. 296–302
- Fitzgerald pp. 303–312
- Fitzgerald pp. 313–314
- Fitzgerald pp. 326–328
- Fitzgerald p.320
- Fitzgerald pp. 323–325
- Fitzgerald pp. 328–333
- Fitzgerald pp. 350–354
- Fitzgerald pp. 333–338
- Fitzgerald pp. 338–340
- Fitzgerald pp. 340–342
- "Terrible Naval Disaster". The Argus. Trove. 24 June 1893.
- Andrew Cashmore. "Vice Admiral Sir George Tryon". ukonline.co.uk. Archived from the original on 22 February 2009. Retrieved 8 October 2010.
- Gordon p. 194.
- Christina Hole (1950). Haunted England: A Survey of English Ghost-Lore. B. T. Batsford. pp. 21–22.
- Andrew Gordon, The Rules of the Game: Jutland and British Naval Command, John Murray, London, 1996. ISBN 0-7195-5076-9
- Richard Hough, Admirals in Collision, Hamish Hamilton Ltd, London, 1959.
- Rear-Admiral C. C. Penrose Fitzgerald, Life of Vice-Admiral Sir George Tryon K. C. B., William Blackwood and sons, Edinburgh and London, 1897
|Wikimedia Commons has media related to George Tryon.|
- Encyclopædia Britannica (11th ed.). 1911. .
- Dictionary of National Biography. 1885–1900. .
- Primrose, B. N. "Tryon, Sir George (1832–1893)". Australian Dictionary of Biography. Canberra: Australian National University. Retrieved 9 October 2013.
| Commander-in-Chief, Australia Station
Sir Anthony Hoskins
| Commander-in-Chief, Mediterranean Fleet
Sir Michael Culme-Seymour
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“The most important thing is providing my patients what they need. That’s why I became a doctor: to care for people.”
Dr. Landerholm graduated summa cum laude from Washington State University, and received his doctorate in Medicine from the University of Washington. He then completed his surgical residency at Swedish Medical Center in Seattle.
He has been a part of the medical community in Edmonds, Washington for more than 20 years and is now the Medical Director and President of Eviva. Dr. Landerholm has been at the forefront of minimally invasive surgery since its inception. In 1995, he became the first surgeon to perform a laparoscopic gallbladder removal surgery in a Malayan sun bear, an endangered species. He was one of the first doctors to place the intragastric balloon for weight loss during a recent FDA trial.
Dr. Landerholm is an expert in laparoscopic surgery and an innovator in techniques such as LapSleeve®. He has performed thousands of laparoscopic operations, and has earned a reputation for his precision, and for taking the time to know and care for his patients and their families. He has given multiple presentations on the surgical treatment of obesity, including international presentations in Vellore and New Delhi, India. He has been published in The American Journal of Surgery.
He believes in giving back to the community, which is why he established Surgical Teams International—a nonprofit providing surgical services in needy areas worldwide.
Dr. Landerholm is board certified in general surgery, a fellow of the American Society of Metabolic and Bariatric Surgery, and a fellow of the American College of Surgeons (ACS). He has served on the governing boards of the ACS-Washington State Chapter, and the Seattle Surgical Society. Dr. Landerholm is also a Verified Surgeon through MBSAQIP.
In his free time, Dr. Landerholm enjoys travel; he has been to all seven continents. He also enjoys writing, music, medical ethics, medical mission work, and time with friends and family.
“It’s been a goal of mine that my patients always feel better, every time they see me.”
A native Northwesterner, Dr. Anthony Burden went east after college and studied medicine at Vanderbilt University. Following graduation and a residency at St. Vincent Medical Center in Erie, Pennsylvania, he and his wife Margaret – also a doctor – settled in Lynden, Washington, to practice family medicine and raise a family that would eventually include six children.
During his time in family medicine, Dr. Burden developed a passion for preventive care. He recognized the alarming number of issues that come with carrying extra weight—issues he himself was struggling with.
At the time, there were very few physicians practicing bariatric medicine in the region, but Dr. Burden helped pave the way and became the first board-certified bariatrician in the state of Washington. With that pioneering spirit, it’s no wonder he is a perfect fit for the Eviva team.
Dr. Burden brings his 15-plus years of experience as a medical bariatrician to our Medical Weight Loss and Maintenance program at Eviva’s Shoreline location.
Dr. Burden has an active lifestyle outside the office with his wife, kids remaining at home, and their three dogs. He enjoys reading, hiking, and listening to music. He challenges himself to exercise regularly, and eat as healthy as possible in order to both age gracefully and to be a good role model.
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(1873 - 1950)
Hugo Scheiber was active/lived in Hungary, Austria. Hugo Scheiber is known for female figure and portrait painting.
Hugó Scheiber was born in Budapest in 1873. At the age of eight, he moved with his family from Budapest to Vienna.
In 1898, to help support his family after they had returned to Budapest. He started working during the day, attending painting classes at the Commercial Art School in the evening. In 1900, he completed his studies.
Scheiber showed an early interest in German Expressionism and Futurism. In 1915 he met Marinetti, who invited him to join the Futurist movement. Because Scheiber's paintings conflicted with academic style of the Hungarian art establishment, his work was virtually ignored in his own country. In 1919, he and his friend Béla Kádár held an exhibition organized by Héve ... Displaying 750 of 3533 characters.
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This post originally appeared on the RSC’s News page. We have published it here with kind permission from the RSC.
This post is written by Becca Wood, an English teacher at Towers School.
Working as the lead teacher at my school, within the Associate Schools’ programme has shown me the power of shared experience. My goal, as an educator, is to ensure that my students leave school with the tools that they need to be confident, engaging and eloquent. Thus, I see the value in the spoken word and importance of performance. As a challenge, I tasked my mixed ability Year 7 class, who had been studying A Midsummer Night’s Dream using an active approach, with learning Sonnet 116 by heart.
Initially, we began by using some of the RSC’s approaches to tackling a new text. Students were asked to provide actions for each line, giving a strong gesture to a significant word or phrase. Repeating this around the circle encouraged the students to recognise the power within the language physically, and gave them an understanding of the need to match this with their voices. Each student was given a line, which then became their line. Taking ownership of this, again, added a passion to their voices. Students were told to walk around the room, making eye contact as they went; as they did this, they would recite their line to someone else in the room. This allowed students to grow in confidence with their line, sharing a group effort to remember the language and rhythm. Before the lesson ended, the class returned to the circle and recited the lines in order, with gestures, one last time. An energy and excitement had already begun to emanate from the students. As they left, they were warned that by the next lesson, they would be expected to remember seven of the fourteen lines.
As I bumped into them around school, I would open the Sonnet with ‘Let me not…’ and pause for them to continue the line. Taking Shakespeare out of the classroom and into the corridors, canteen and school playground was phenomenal. The next lesson arrived and, with the support of our collaborative gestures, all students could recall half of the sonnet. An involuntary round of applause erupted from the class when they realised that they could do it and a wave of pride rippled around the circle. Obviously, the challenge did not stop there.
Students were given one more week to learn all fourteen lines. Within classrooms, their lessons would begin with a ‘fill in the gap’ activity, using the lines from the sonnet. As ever, I would continue to randomly test students; in the lunch queue, in the middle of writing, at the school gate.
As always, empowered by a confidence only possible through an active approach to a text, the students continued to surprise me. They began reciting the sonnet to other members of staff. The Principal, sat eating his lunch in the canteen, was approached by two boys, who asked, “Can we tell you a poem, Sir?” They then recited Sonnet 116, in its entirety, in the middle of a packed canteen. Other members of staff would send me wonderful emails about my passionate Year 7s, who had recited a poem to them with such vigour.
During a packed Open Evening, the Vice Principal gave a welcome speech in which she praised the fact that at Towers School, the students recite poetry at lunch; after which, a tearful parent came up to her and said, “You’re talking about my son, aren’t you?” She had recognised the change in her child and could not believe what he had felt empowered to do.
A collaborative, active and shared approach to Shakespeare allows students to shed themselves of any inhibitions and immerse themselves in a shared exploration of the text. My Year 7 class understood that what they were doing was not easy but by doing it together, as an ensemble, they felt empowered.
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The pyramids of Egypt are indeed a wonder of the world. The kind of technique and technology involved in the making of these pyramids baffles the architects of today. The kind of precision which went into the making of pyramids thousands of years ago definitely cannot be replicated even in the modern world. Pyramids were built during 2589 BC to 2504 BC. This pyramid indeed is a true masterpiece and their building style is definitely debatable. The following are 15 facts about the Pyramid of Giza which are sure to surprise most.
The pyramid of Khufu was one of the three Pyramid of Giza and it is the largest of them all. It remained the tallest manmade structure in the world for more than 3,800 years. The two other pyramids belong to Pharaoh Khafre and Pharaoh Menkaure.
The original height of the Pyramid of Giza was 145.6 meters or 481 feet. However, in the 3,800 years of its existence, natural forces have eroded its surface and now it stands at a height of 138.8 meters or 455 feet. The height of the structure has been removed from the top. It took 23 long years to build this structure and 5.9 million tones is the estimated weight of this colossal structure.
Archaeologists say that the base of the Pyramid of Giza is a perfect square and each side of it measures around 756 feet, the entire area sprawls over 13 acres of land, and is huge enough to encapsulate around 10 football fields. To reach the top of the Pyramid of Giza 203 steps needs to be taken.
As per Egyptian beliefs most pyramids were made by slaves, however, the same cannot be said about this one. The Pyramid of Giza history suggests, proper architects were employed and many commoners also participated in the building of this huge structure. As per archaeologists an estimate of 2.5 to 15 tons of blocks has to be set every 2 and a half minutes, to ensure that the structure was built in 30 years time. Khufu’s nephew was the architect who designed the structure and the skilled labor who worked on it were given food and clothing.
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What it was was Football!
GeorgeTown College October 7th 1830
It is with great difficulty I can steal a few moments to pen these lines to you, and as my time as well as subject is limited I hope you will excuse the brevity of this...The cold north winds begin to warn us of the approach of his majesty old Jack Frost and of Christmas, also imagine to yourself only for a moment a darkum nitum, all starrorum, I mean by this very early in the morning, that I wake and proceed with slow steps you may be sure to the pump, for the sleep is not yet extracted from my eyes, to wash and then to go to hard study. I lay my head on it, you do not go through this up your way. I cannot complain of this because it is entirely at my own option. Papa was here lately to see us but did not stay long. He brought little Eddy with him and when he had got once into the carriage it was impossible to get him out of it, for if I attempted to move him he would "holler" so loud as to disturb the boys in studies.
We play football at present, what I mean by football is that it is a kind of leather bag in which is placed a bladder filled with air which causes it to bounce up very high and is kicked about by the boys. I have had my feet skinned and bruised by it very often. I am lame with one I have received today. Tell me in return all the news up your way, how you like your situation, how you go on in your studies, all these will be alike gratifying and amusing to me. Make a watch guard for me if you please, although I have not a watch at present, it is no sign that I never will have one. Excuse this bad writing as I am pressed for time, have a bad pen, and am surrounded with noise. Write to me soon, as I am very anxious to hear from you. All friends join with me in sending their best love to you - and believe me to be.
Your affectionate brother
John C. Brent
Miss Emily C. Brent
St. Joseph's Valley
Near Emmitsbourg, Maryland
John Carroll Brent was born in Washington July 25, 1814. He entered Georgetown in 1830, and was graduated in 1833. In addition to his football exploits, he was a charter member of the Philodemic Society, and the first reader in the then new Mulledy refectory. He practiced law in Washington, and his influence with Dr. Johnson Eliot is said to have led the founders of the Medical School to join Georgetown College. In 1843, he published the first biography of Archbishop John Carroll, our founder, and his great-uncle. He died in Washington February 10, 1876. According to his obituary in the College Journal, "Had he possessed more than a modest competence, he would doubtless have perpetuated his own name with it, by liberal gifts. He honored his Alma Mater, however, ny what she regards as of more worth than gifts, on the part of her children,—a spotless life." We trust he got his watch.
University Archivist Jon Reynolds always preferred basketball and golf because of the skinning and bruising mentioned by young Mr. Brent.
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Origin of the name Wycombe
The commonly held view is that the name Wycombe means “dwellings by a stream” but the stream that we now call the Wye was not named until around 1810.
In about AD 150 the Romans came to this valley and built a villa on the Rye. This was first discovered in 1724 when workmen uncovered a mosaic pavement, and subsequent digs revealed a large villa with a complex bathhouse. It stood close to the Holy Well spring whose waters may have supplied the baths and it is thought that the villa was the centre of a large estate with several outlying farms. Roman bricks from the villa can still be seen in the tower of the church and in the ruins of St John’s Hospital in Easton Street.
Mills and paper making
The all-important river was vital to power the mills that grew up along the valley in the 11th century. There are twenty corn mills mentioned in the Doomsday Book along the nine miles between West Wycombe and the Thames. In medieval times some of the corn mills were adapted to the cloth trade. These were called fulling mills and their function was to beat newly woven cloth, under hammers driven by water power, to thicken and shrink it. This trade had largely died out by 1600.
Following on from the fulling mills came the paper mills. We know that Hedge Mill in Loudwater was operating in 1627 and the industry flourished in Wycombe until the end of the 20th century. Paper was made from rags and these rags were blamed for an outbreak of the plague in 1631. In 1830 some of the paper manufacturers introduced a machine called a Fourdrinier to speed up the process. This would have meant job losses and the paper workers were not happy about it. They grouped together and rampaged through the town destroying as many of the machines as possible. Most of them were caught and brought to trial, several were sentenced to death, but this was later changed to transportation to Tasmania.
Lace and chair making
Lace making started in roughly the same time as the paper industry. This work was undertaken by the women who supplemented the household income by earning a pittance for long hard labour bent over lace pillows. Children were sent to lace schools where they were taught to read while they made lace, a practice that came to an end with the introduction of the Education Act in 1870
The chair making industry probably began in the later part of the eighteenth century. Wycombe was surrounded by Beech, Elm and Ash trees making it ideally suited to the production of simple chairs for kitchens, servant’s quarters and public buildings. Men known as Bodgers specialised in turning the chair legs on a pole-lathe that was worked by a foot treadle. They worked in the Beech woods or from a shed or hut in their back gardens. A reproduction of a Bodgers hut can be seen at the Wycombe Museum in Priory Road. The legs were transported by horse and cart to the furniture factories in High Wycombe where the seats and backs were added and the chairs polished. Finally they were packed for delivery to London, the return trip taking anything up to thirty-six hours. A procession of loaded wagons was a familiar sight leaving Wycombe in the early evening.
By the time the World War Two started in 1939 High Wycombe was producing furniture of the highest quality, providing fine pieces for the wealthiest homes in the world.
During the Second World War some of Wycombe’s furniture factories were making aircraft components. Parts for the Tiger Moth and the De Havilland Mosquito were all made here using the skill of the furniture workers.
Today some furniture is still made in Wycombe but our predominant industry now is the service industry.
Education and ceremonies
In 1799 Lieutenant Colonel Gaspard Le Marchant opened a school for army officers in the High Street. This establishment, known as the Royal Military College, tutored the students in a wide range of skills including trigonometry, geometry and French as well as siege warfare. They were not happy about the accommodation in the ancient Antelope Inn, built in 1480, but the school remained there for the next fourteen years before moving to Farnham in Surrey.
A philanthropist called James Olliff Griffits gave the poor the opportunity to further their education in the early 1870’s .To that end he decided to raise funds to build the first High Wycombe public library. This was not popular with the wealthy men of the town, as they would sooner see the working classes in the pubs that they owned drinking their beer rather than trying to educate themselves in a public library. In 1875 J O Griffits got his way and, by paying for most of it himself, the old school in Church Street was acquired and the first public library opened.
An annual event and unique to High Wycombe is the Mayor weighing ceremony. This is believed to be an ancient custom that fell into disuse but was revived in 1892. The outgoing Mayor and Councillors are weighed and their weights called out to the assembled audience. If they have put on weight it is considered to be at the taxpayers expense and the crowd jeers. If they have lost weight the crowd cheers. The new Mayor and Councillors are also weighed and their weights recorded. This ceremony can still be seen each year in May.
Newlands and the Rye
The area to the west of the town centre was called Newlands. This is where some of the poorest people lived during the nineteenth and early twentieth century. Houses were crammed together with several families sharing one toilet, which they emptied into the Wye. A Board of Health report in 1849 had revealed dangerously unhealthy conditions but nothing was done to improve the situation for another thirty years. Working conditions were just as poor in the chair making industry, employers worked adults and children for thirteen hours a day six days a week.
The Rye, a piece of land next to the river on the eastern side of the town, has always been an important resource for the townsfolk. It was reputedly the scene of a sharp skirmish during the Civil War between Lord Wentworth’s Royalist troops and Captain Hayes who defended the town. Some historians, however, doubt that this battle took place. Cattle were grazed on the Rye and the daily walk to and from their owner’s homes was a familiar site until 1927 when an act of Parliament was passed stipulating that the Rye could only be used for recreational purposes.
During the development of the town in the 1960’s, the River Wye was banished under the shopping centre. It was hoped that the 2006 development known as Eden would once again restore the Wye to be an important feature of our town. However, it was not to be, but the new development has provided spacious new shopping and leisure facilities together with a state of the art public library. Future development is planned to the Abbey Way area which will provide a golden opportunity to open up Wycombe’s historic river once more.
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When you have two identical manual portable typewriters with absolutely identical problems, you have to suspect a design fault.
These two Imperial Good Companion Model 7s arrived with the "booty" of 25 typewriters I received some weeks ago. (The Model 7, by the way, is no more than the segment-shifted version of the Model 6.)
Judging by the state of the cases, and a cursory look inside, they both appeared to be in pretty good condition.
However, on a later, closer inspection, I saw that both had tell-tale signs - both drawbands were sticking out the back of the machines and the carriages were jammed tight.
I took them both out of storage this morning to see if they could be easily repaired. No such luck. I'm beginning to wonder whether I will bother to go any further with them.
Above is the first machine I tackled. The first thing I tried to do was re-set the mainspring, leaving the drawband attached (and bearing in mind Ron Bowker's advice about finding it easier to work this way, rather than re-attaching the drawband to the mainspring after re-setting the mainspring).
Below is the second machine. Both drawbands were caught by something underneath the carriage, in exactly the same spot, but it was impossible to get a look at what was causing this. Since the drawbands remained attached at both ends, I figured the mainsprings had stopped turning while the typewriters was being used (by the previous owner). I assumed that as the carriage was moved with the mainspring stuck, the drawband (no longer running taut under the carriage) had got caught up and "bowed" out at the back.
Sure enough, on machine No 1 I immediately became aware there was a problem with the mainspring, which was impossible to re-set. I could tell the spring inside the drum was OK, as there was plenty of life still in the mainspring, but it just wouldn't turn freely. I thought it might have become gunked up; but no - degreasing and lubrication didn't help much.
This meant taking off the bottom plate, no easy matter - eight screws! But removing the plate enabled me to get a decent look at the mainspring arrangement. A gear wheel slots on to the mainspring and is held in place by a screw that runs through the mainspring and attaches to a nut on the other side.
I could see that the gear wheel and mainspring were not lined up properly - the mainspring was at an angle. When I loosened and lifted the gear wheel brake lever (circled below), the reason soon became apparent. The nut which was supposed to hold the gear wheel to the mainspring just fell out of the machine, followed soon after by the mainspring and gear wheel. The nut had obviously come loose, causing the mainspring to move out of position, jam and stop turning - and the machine to stop working.
As I wasn't able to work out how to remove the mask from the guts of the typewriter, I couldn't re-attach the nut. So I gave up on that machine and moved on to No 2.
On the second machine, I was able to re-set the mainspring fairly easily. I clipped the drawband at the right end and made sure the drawband was moving smoothly - without striking any obstacles under the carriage - while maintaining tension on the mainspring. Then I re-attached the holding nut and tied another knot at the right end (see below).All seemed well. The typewriter started to work as it should. But after a good bit of movement of the carriage as I struck the keys and spacebar, suddenly there was that all-too-familiar "zing" of the mainspring unwinding and the drawband was bowed out the back again. I re-set the mainspring and re-attached the drawband twice more, each time with the same result. So I gave up on No 2 as well.
All this while I kept thinking about how much trouble Richard Amery and I had gone to, some years ago, to find a Model 7 for Richard so he could complete his full set of Imperial Good Companions. Eventually we found one for sale on Trade Me in New Zealand, but even then Richard had the Dickens of a job getting it to Australia.
Until that time, neither Richard nor I had seen one come up for sale. But since then I have seen a few appear on Australian eBay. Indeed, I own at least two myself now (not counting the two from the "booty") - a salmon-coloured one and one the same aqua colour as the two above.
I've had no problems with the ones I've used. But finding these two from the "booty" to have identical problems has made me wonder about the design.
It's also made me think just how often people who owned and used manual portable typewriters ran into problems like this, when the machines stopped working. More often than not it would simply have been a drawband-mainspring problem. I think it's fairly clear that the response was to just abandon the typewriter - to dump it, throw it out or take it to a recycling centre. The two I worked on today were found at re-cycling centres.
Generally speaking, a problem with the drawband breaking, or getting stuck, is fairly easily fixed - these two machines obviously being an exception to that rule. But I suspect most typewriter owners didn't bother to make the effort. "It's buggered," they declared, and so it remained "buggered". I'm buggered if I know why they didn't try a little harder to get their typewriter working again.
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Unforgotten Series 3, ITV
On this ITV TV Drama, I worked closely with the Art director and Designer in the construction of sets, completing space surveys and dressing plans before and after the construction process. I was in charge of equipment stocks and maintenance, as well as the organisation of meetings and updating of the art department working schedule.
I was in involved in prop making and set dressing, and working closely with the graphic designer in the research of specific documents and creation of graphic heavy props. I also worked with the Designer to create a 'competition chair', which was then made by the carpenters, and formed a vital part of the 'competition studio' set build.
During the shoot period, I worked heavily on location, working with the set dressing department and organising props on location.
This was a fast paced project, and as the art department assistant I felt very comfortable in my role, particularly when it came to the organisation of the props and the general running of the art department office. This was also a great job that allowed me to develop my pre-existing skills in surveying locations, of which there were many!
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Luke 4:16-44 New Revised Standard Version (NRSV)
The Rejection of Jesus at Nazareth
16 When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, 17 and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written:
18 “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
20 And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. 21 Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” 22 All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, “Is not this Joseph’s son?” 23 He said to them, “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb, ‘Doctor, cure yourself!’ And you will say, ‘Do here also in your hometown the things that we have heard you did at Capernaum.’” 24 And he said, “Truly I tell you, no prophet is accepted in the prophet’s hometown. 25 But the truth is, there were many widows in Israel in the time of Elijah, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, and there was a severe famine over all the land; 26 yet Elijah was sent to none of them except to a widow at Zarephath in Sidon. 27 There were also many lepers[a] in Israel in the time of the prophet Elisha, and none of them was cleansed except Naaman the Syrian.” 28 When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. 29 They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff. 30 But he passed through the midst of them and went on his way.
The Man with an Unclean Spirit
31 He went down to Capernaum, a city in Galilee, and was teaching them on the sabbath. 32 They were astounded at his teaching, because he spoke with authority. 33 In the synagogue there was a man who had the spirit of an unclean demon, and he cried out with a loud voice, 34 “Let us alone! What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” 35 But Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!” When the demon had thrown him down before them, he came out of him without having done him any harm. 36 They were all amazed and kept saying to one another, “What kind of utterance is this? For with authority and power he commands the unclean spirits, and out they come!” 37 And a report about him began to reach every place in the region.
Healings at Simon’s House
38 After leaving the synagogue he entered Simon’s house. Now Simon’s mother-in-law was suffering from a high fever, and they asked him about her. 39 Then he stood over her and rebuked the fever, and it left her. Immediately she got up and began to serve them.
40 As the sun was setting, all those who had any who were sick with various kinds of diseases brought them to him; and he laid his hands on each of them and cured them. 41 Demons also came out of many, shouting, “You are the Son of God!” But he rebuked them and would not allow them to speak, because they knew that he was the Messiah.[b]
Jesus Preaches in the Synagogues
42 At daybreak he departed and went into a deserted place. And the crowds were looking for him; and when they reached him, they wanted to prevent him from leaving them. 43 But he said to them, “I must proclaim the good news of the kingdom of God to the other cities also; for I was sent for this purpose.” 44 So he continued proclaiming the message in the synagogues of Judea.[c]
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Ben Chijioke, better known as British rapper Ty, signed to Tru Thoughts records in October 2012, set to begin the next stage in a remarkable career with the release of a …..
With a reputation built on his original style and refusal to hop on any industry bandwagon, Ty is best known for his lyrical frankness and honest portrayals of everyday life, setting him aside from many mainstream hip hop acts and allowing him complete artistic independence. This has led to the release of four successful albums and a Mercury Prize nomination, among many high profile plaudits.
After gaining notoriety on the London underground scene Ty signed to Big Dada records in 2001, the same year his mighty debut album ‘Awkward’ was released. The union between the artist and label saw a further two albums - 2003’s Mercury-nominated ‘Upwards’ and ‘Closer’ (2006) - released over five years.
Since his fourth solo album, ‘Special Kind of Fool’, was released in 2010 via BBE records, Ty has featured and collaborated with many artists stretching from America to France. Closer to home, Ty features on a tribute to the late Amy Winehouse, released in early 2012, and most recently recorded a track with former Radio 1 DJ and producer Kissy Sell Out.
A lifelong love of hip hop has seen the honest speaking South Londoner gain skills in sound engineering and producing, the latter leading to work with Scratch Perverts, Talib Kweli, Blak Twang and Arrested Development.
Ty is also known for his work as a spoken word artist. Earlier this year he was asked to perform and host workshops for the British Council, which culminated in the conclusion of a 35 year halt on international performers in the Sudanese town of Port Sudan. As well as this, his spoken word efforts have seen Ty put in performances at The Big Chill Festival and The Royal Albert Hall. Alongside his work with the British Council Ty is also a member of The HipHop Shakespeare Company, running workshops with young people, showing the influences and works of Shakespeare in today’s music scene.
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"Waverly Hills is the place where ghostly sightings are almost a daily occurence." ~Zac - Ghost Adventures~
Many paranormal investigators claim that the most haunted hospital worldwide is the Waverly Hills Sanatorium. In the year of 1883, a Major by the name of Thomas H. Hays purchased the land where the haunted hospital now stands in Louisville, Kentucky. Immediately after purchase, he found it a necessity to create a school for his daughter to attend. The school was constructed on what is referred to as “Pages Lane”. It consisted of just one room, which was sufficient for the educational needs of his daughter. In his search for an educator, he hired a female by the name of Lizzie L. Harris. He also allowed her to name the school. Since she was an avid fan of the novels written by Sir Walter Scott known as the “Waverley Novels”, she named the educational facility “Waverley School”. Major Hays took a fondness to this particular name and appropriately named his property “Waverley Hill”. Little did the two realize that this name would eventually spark conversations of spirits, mysteries and paranormal activity. In this ghost guide, you will learn why the Waverly Hills Sanatorium is considered to be the most haunted hospital worldwide.
The Tuberculosis Outbreak
In the early 1900s, there was a serious tuberculosis outbreak that resulted in the deaths of millions of individuals. Before the introduction of antibiotics in the 1940s, this was considered to be one of the most serious conditions that affected individuals. Those that were diagnosed with this condition were often isolated as far away from society as possible. The locations that they were placed were designed to allow those plagued by the condition to rest peacefully and have access to the freshest air possible. Most of the hospitals used to care for tuberculosis patients were constructed in regions that were considered to be at high altitudes, such as hills. Most locations were surrounded by beautiful landscapes so that the ill patients could recover in a healthy and serene environment. The Waverly Hills Sanatorium was constructed in this manner. Perhaps the individuals who died at this hospital simply did not know their way to the spiritual world. That could be why it is considered to be the most haunted hospital worldwide.
A Larger Sanatorium Becomes a Necessity
Originally, the haunted hospital only consisted of a frame building that had a total of two stories. The construction efforts started in the year of 1908 and were finalized enough that by the 26th day of July in the year of 1910, the medical facility was opened to patients. This particular establishment was designed to assist up to fifty patients in a comfortable manner suffering from the tuberculosis outbreak. The tuberculosis outbreak became so immense that the small hospital could no longer accommodate all of those that required medical care for their condition. Jefferson County started seeing so many new cases of this particular illness that the City of Louisville started taking measures to create a new medical facility. A total of $25,000.00 was provided to an organization called “Board of Tuberculosis Hospital” so that they may develop an advanced care medical facility. While the plans were being established and put into place on this construction endeavor, several medical tents were placed on Major Hay’s property to treat patients that needed immediate care. Unfortunately, the hospitals in the region were becoming extremely costly and overcrowded. As a result, the construction efforts on the current Waverly Hills Sanatorium started in the month of March in the year of 1924.
The land where the building was constructed was purchased from Major Hays by the organization known at the time as the “Board of Tuberculosis Hospital”. Because of the unique sound of the name that he had tagged on his property, the organization elected to keep the name intact. However, at the time, the name had an additional “e” in the spelling – Waverley. As time progressed, the additional “e” was dropped. Not much is known on the reasoning behind this. However, today, the name stands without the additional “e” – Waverly Hills Sanatorium. This structure was designed to be highly durable, and had the capacity to treat four hundred patients at once. It ended up being five stories in height and functioning at full capacity – sometimes more than full capacity – on the 17th day of October in the year of 1926. In the mid-1940s, the first antibiotic known as “Streptomycin” was introduced. Cases of TB started declining rapidly. As a result, what is now considered to be the most haunted hospital worldwide closed its doors to patients in the year of 1961.
There were many different types of treatments issued to patients that received care at the Waverly Hills Sanatorium during the tuberculosis outbreak. Because of the fact that antibiotics did not exist at the time, many medical professionals and their staff turned to treatments that were considered to be natural. One of the main patient treatments at this medical care facility was placing patients on specially designed porch paths in their beds where they could be exposed to the outside air. It did not matter if it was winter or summer, this particular treatment was used. However, specially designed blankets that provided heat to the patients were provided during extremely cold periods of the year. It was believed that fresh air would enter into the lungs and that the germs that were part of the illness would be effectively carried away from those that were sick.
In addition to the fresh air therapy, many individuals took part in a special type of sunlight treatments. If the weather was favorable, the patient would be placed outside to receive ultraviolet treatment. This form of therapy was referred to as “Heliotherapy”. If the weather was not favorable for a patient to be let outside of the most haunted location, they would receive treatment from sunlamps. It was believed at the time that the sun acted as what many medical professionals call a “Bactericide”, which means that the substances that caused the disease would be killed off. Additionally, the warmth from the sun was believed to be detrimental to the microorganisms that sickened the patient. The patients also received a wide array of fresh meats, produce and vegetation in order to strengthen their immune systems while being cared for at Waverly Hills Sanatorium.
Many paranormal investigators believe that this is the one of the most haunted places in America because of the fact that several patients died while receiving surgical procedures. The procedures issued at the haunted hospital include “Pneumothorax” as well as “Thoracoplasty”. While these procedures were often used only as a last resort, many individuals that received them passed away during or immediately after the operation. One resource states that less than five percent of all individuals that received these surgical procedures lived. On top of all of the deaths that were occurring on a day to day basis because of the tuberculosis outbreak, this meant that a devastating amount of individuals passed away prior to the most haunted hospitals closure in the year of 1961.
The Death Tunnel
When individuals speak of Waverly Hills Sanatorium being one of the most haunted hospitals worldwide, one of the main regions that come up time and time again is the death tunnel. Many refer to this as the “Body Chute”. This five hundred foot structure was designed to transport the deceased from the medical facility to the lower region of the hill where various types of motor vessels awaited. This structure was designed in a period where there was no electricity, so it is exceptionally dark. Furthermore, it was used to avoid lowering morale on those that remained alive in the haunted hospital. Many paranormal investigations have gathered evidence in the death tunnel that seem to indicate that there are many spirits that apparently seem lost in trying to uncover the spiritual world. EVPs, ghost pictures and even videos that contain unexplained phenomenon have been produced in the death tunnels of the most haunted hospital worldwide.
Woodhaven Geriatrics Sanitarium
While the Waverly Hills Sanatorium for the tuberculosis patients experienced many deaths, it appears that their intentions were positive for the patients. However, this does not seem to be the case for the next business that operated behind the walls of this grand haunted hospital. In the year of 1962, the facility known as the “Woodhaven Geriatrics Sanitarium” opened for business. Many individuals also referred to this facility as the “WoodHaven Medical Services” unit. Many unfortunate stories of patients being abused and experiencing various degrees of maltreatment occurred when this facility took over. According to historical documents, the facility was closed in the year of 1980 because of the fact that there was some validity to the reports of abuse and mistreatment. Many believe that the building is considered to be the most haunted because of what occurred within its walls during this period of time.
There are many different instances of paranormal activity at this most haunted location. The following outlines some of the most popular stories surrounding the Waverly Hills Sanatorium:
• At the main entrance of the haunted hospital, many have reported seeing the apparition of an elderly female that often resorts to running from the front entrance. It has been said that she is bonded by chains and that the chains appear to have cut into her skin because of the visibility of blood that is witnessed. In addition to this, many stories have the woman yelling for assistance. All stories reflect the fact that she literally disappears into thin air.
• On the third floor of the structure, reports of an apparition of a young female have been reported. In some instances, she talks to the living claiming that she does not possess eyes. In other instances, she is playing with a toy such as a ball. In other reports, the little girl is looking out of the window from the third floor. Many refer to this ghost as “Mary”.
• It is believed that a head nurse in the year of 1928 committed suicide in the room at the most haunted hospital known as “502”. While many speculate that she could have discovered that she was pregnant and was not yet married, the facts surrounding this case are not precise. In another story that occurred in the year of 1932, a female nurse jumped from the window of the room and died. The details of this incident are unknown as well. However, many state that they see the spirits of these nurses – dressed in their work uniform – on a regular basis.
• Many individuals have reported hearing and seeing children ghosts on the roof of the most haunted hospital playing. It is believed that children who were receiving sunlight therapy would be placed on the roof for optimal exposure.
• The fourth floor of the most haunted facility is believed to be one of the most paranormally active in the entire structure. Shadows are often seen, doors are often slammed shut unexpectedly and angry voices and noises are often heard.
• In the kitchen region of the most haunted structure, many claim to smell the aroma of cooking food and to have observed the spirit of a chef lingering in the region. Many speculate that this is the ghost of a food service worker that caught tuberculosis while working at Waverly Hills Sanatorium.
• In addition to the stories highlighted above, many have reported seeing lights and other types of oddities that could be produced by electricity – when electricity was not present in the structure. Furthermore, many have heard disembodied voices, whispers, cries and yells emerging from the corridors of the haunted hospital.
There are several reasons why the Waverly Hills Sanatorium is considered to be the most haunted hospital worldwide. Several patients have been through the doors of the hospital to be treated and never were able to walk out of them because of the fact that they died. Others were severely mistreated while receiving medical care within the walls of the facility. In a location surrounded by sickness, sadness, despair and death, it is no wonder that this hospital is considered to be the most haunted structure worldwide.
Check out this video documentary to see the inside of Waverly Hills.
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In two days, Teal's on her way to Kentucky!! Well, only for a couple weeks! Check out what's in her bag!
What are your top 3 must haves when traveling? For Teal, she always takes her:
Sunglasses are a must.
Sensual scented perfume.
And definitely her iPhone.
Two weeks of vacation with her man? Hell yeah, that is exactly what Teal Lofton’s libido needs. And after surviving seven months apart, their reunion won't disappoint!
He glanced down at his deflated boxers and thrust his hand through his hair in frustration. “You sure you want to talk about this now?” He sure as hell wasn’t.
Teal scoffed. “If it’s stopping me from finishing, you’re damn straight I want to talk about it. Let’s get this over with, so it doesn’t interrupt us again tomorrow.” Her voice seemed a bit playful and Trent loathed what he was about to say.
“Fine, I was thinking about Independence Day, and—”
“Did you book your flight?”
“No, I didn’t.” He paused, readying himself for the next bit. “But I booked you a flight here.”
Her silence was deafening, yet still he waited, hoping she was pleasantly shocked into silence, and not fuming on the other end.
After another beat, she finally spoke. “Okay.” Her voice was soft and slow, as if she were talking to a child. “I thought we discussed this. You were supposed to be coming here for the Fourth of July. You want to see your God-babies, and Katie and Logan, don’t you?”
He did want to see them, but Katie and Logan had already figured their shit out. They were building an extension on their house, Logan’s gym had taken off, allowing Logan to hire a manager—which gave him more time at home; and here sat Trent, clocking hand jobs over the phone with his woman. And that shit wasn’t going to work.
“Look,” he sighed, “I wanted to go up there, and I almost bought the fucking ticket to Vermont, but I had an idea.”
Teal groaned. “Oh no.”
He sensed she understood exactly where this was heading. They’d spoken about it plenty of times over the last few months. However, today, Trent wasn’t backing down. He sat up and moved the phone to the other ear, ready for whatever excuse Teal made.
“Yes, ‘cause I can tell you now that this over-the-phone shit is weighing on me. You are my fucking woman and I want to do more than hear your voice when you come. I want to wake up next to you every morning, I want to shower with you, and make actual love to you. How hard is that to understand?”
He stood and made his way to the bathroom as his frustration grew, words fell from his mouth faster. “And more than that, I want to make a life with you. I am not in this shit for anything else but the long run. This isn’t some seven-month fling. I want you in my life from here on out. You damn sure have to know that by now.” He paused.
Jesus Christ. What the hell was he saying? Was marriage on the table? Trent wasn’t sure he was ready for that shit. He just wanted to move their relationship to the next level. What the hell was the next level for a couple in a long distance relationship?
As if wondering or fearing the same thing, Teal sputtered, “W—what—what exactly are you asking?”
Trent was on a roll now. “Calm the fuck down, Teal. I wasn’t on my knees as I spoke, and I damned sure haven’t picked up a ring.” He took her silence as relief, as he used the toilet and washed his hands. “I think it’s time we had a conversation, and not an argument, over where we are going next. And it needs to be done in person.”
When the fuck had the roles reversed? In between his odd relationship with his crazy ex, and a few other women he’d dated, they were always trying to pin him down and get a move-in date. Some had even gone as far as to show him wedding dresses and floral arrangements. But, oh no, not Teal. She had to be a hard ass and make him fall to his knees for damned near everything.
Trent was no pussy, but he’d reached the end of his rope. Maybe their relationship was lopsided. Maybe he wanted more than Teal was ready to give. Their relationship had started with an inevitable collision of lust and passion, but perhaps the fog had lifted for her.
Or maybe, Teal wanted Trent to beg. But he wasn’t about to do that. He and Teal would get together this summer, and he would convince her to move to Kentucky—even if she killed him in the process. Because after the dust had settled, after he’d reached a new clarity in his life, all he could see, taste, and feel, was Teal.
Trent calmed, the anger leaving his body in a whoosh. He’d been holding back his need for her, after recognizing her fear of what they had. He’d held back his love for her, for fear of drowning her in it. But he would do that no more.
“I’m saying I bought you a ticket here for the celebration of the Fourth. I need to see you, and I fucking need to look in your eyes as you respond to the things I need to say.” When she was silent he added. “Logan already knows I won’t be up there, and he thinks it’s a fine idea that you head down here. I’ll see the girls some other time.”
Only the rustling of covers alerted him to the fact Teal hadn’t hung up. He waited, hoping she wouldn’t lash out. He could only imagine the things rolling through her mind. The pressure to move forward in the relationship was building in his chest, and Teal was either going to give in, or Trent’s upper body cavity was going to explode.
“Fuck, Teal.” His words came out in an exasperated breath. “Say something.”
After a bit more shuffling and crackling over the line, Teal spoke. “How hot does it get in Kentucky? Am I headed to the bowels of hell, or is it more like the summers we have up here?”
Trent’s heart flooded with relief, and words—unintelligible words—left his mouth in a rush. The ease in her acquiescence confused the fuck out of him, but he would roll with it. Trent only comprehended some of the babble that left his mouth. Words like the devil’s ass and hot as fuck left in a rush.
Shock didn’t come close to explaining how he felt about Teal coming to his home. He’d been prepared to beg, threaten, and if necessary, go to Vermont and abduct her ass. The fact that he would soon have his woman in his arms sent him into a tailspin.
He listened as she moved around her condo, mentioning the fact she would not deal well with heat . . . and then there was something about humidity and her hair turning into a cotton ball. But Trent didn’t care if she shaved the shit off, as long as she got her ass on the plane and ended up in his home. Soon.
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Argyll & Dunbartonshire: About 1 mile north-west of Oban, on minor road and foot north of A85 in Oban, on headland just east of sea, at Dunollie Castle.
Ruin or site NM 852314 OS: 49 PA34 5TT
OPEN: Dunollie Museum and Castle: open mid Apr-Oct, daily: Mon-Sat 10.00-16.00, Sun 13.00-16.00.
Standing on a rocky ridge overlooking the sea, Dunollie Castle consists of a 13th-century castle of enclosure and a 15th-century tower of four storeys. Ranges of buildings once stood in the courtyard, but these are mostly ruined and overgrown.
The tower had a vaulted basement. There was a lesser hall on the first floor, and a main hall on the second floor, reached by two straight stairs. A turnpike stair led to the upper chambers.
The place is marked as ‘Dounoldy’ on Blaeu’s map of Lorn and is depicted as a tower on a hill.
In 698 Dunollie, then a fortress of the kings of Dalriada, was captured and destroyed. The present castle was built by the MacDougalls of Lorn in the 13th century, direct descendants of Somerled, and one of the most powerful families in Scotland at that time.
The MacDougalls were bitter enemies of Robert the Bruce. A MacDougall force defeated Bruce at Dalry in 1306, nearly killing him and wrenching a brooch from his cloak. This brooch become known as the Brooch of Lorn and was kept at the castle, then at Gylen Castle on Kerrera [NM 805265]. Bruce returned and ravaged MacDougall lands in 1309 after defeating them at the Pass of Brander, siezing their stronghold at Dunstaffnage.
In 1644 the castle was attacked by Archibald Campbell, Marquis of Argyll, and in 1647 the castle was besieged by General David Leslie and an army of Covenanters, and was sacked and burnt. It was attacked again in 1715 when the MacDougalls were fighting for the Stewarts during the Jacobite Rising. John MacDougall of Dunollie was captured and was to be transported, but he was later pardoned. The lands were forfeited, but were restored by 1745.
The MacDougalls built nearby Dunollie House [NM 853315] in 1746 or earlier, although there was already a house here dating from about 1600, and the old stronghold was abandoned. The newer house
was remodelled and extended in 1835, and there is a museum in some of the older parts. The castle is still owned by the MacDougalls, and is being consolidated and repaired.
There are stories of a phantom piper or Highlander haunting the ruins.
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Isaac Thomas Hecker was born in 1819 in New York City. His parents were German immigrants and protestant. When he was barely twelve years of age, he had to go to work, and pushed a baker’s cart for his elder brothers, who had a bakery in New York. He studied at every possible opportunity and was an avid reader. Isaac was deeply religious, a characteristic for which he gave much credit to his prayerful mother. When he was 23 years old, Isaac was baptized into the Roman Catholic Church. One year later he entered the seminary in Belgium with a desire to become a priest. He was ordained a priest in London and he spent a year as a parish priest and chaplain in England. He returned to New York in 1851 and worked for years as a Redemptorist missionary. Fr. Hecker went to Rome to get permission from his order to open a seminary in the US. Instead of getting permission, he ended up meeting with the Pope who agreed with Hecker’s idea of starting another order of priests in the US. Hecker returned to America from Rome and gathered his American friends who wanted to join the order. The Archbishop of New York welcomed them and the five men decided on calling themselves the ‘Missionary Priests of St. Paul the Apostle.’ The Priests, popularly known as the Paulists, conducted parish missions and retreats to Catholics and non-Catholics. Father Hecker sought to evangelize Americans using the popular means of his day, primarily preaching, the public lecture circuit and the printing press. Hecker believed that the Catholic faith and American culture were not opposed, but could be reconciled. The ideas of individual freedom, community, service, and authority were fundamental to Hecker when conceiving of how the Paulists were to be governed and administered. He traveled across the country offering retreats and conferences. During one tour he traveled more than 4500 miles and spoke to over 30,000 people. In 1865 Fr. Hecker started the Catholic World monthly magazine and Young Catholic, a magazine for boys and girls. When he was 55 years old, he was diagnosed with leukemia. There was no effective treatment for that type of cancer in the 1800s even though Fr. Hecker looked for remedies. He worked for 13 more years evangelizing and fighting cancer. He died in 1888 in New York. Fr. Hecker is now declared a Servant of God by the Church.
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Established in 1980
In 1980, two young lawyers, David Hvistendahl and Ron Moersch, met in Northfield while watching their young children play at the public pool. After a number of months of discussion, they decided to open a law practice together. Their first office on Division Street in Northfield consisted of two small rooms, one without windows. Ron was assigned the windowless office. The young attorneys had no staff as they launched their office and accepted cases from every realm of the law. They were off and running.
Moving to Historic Bank Building
The practice grew quickly. Within a year, they had outgrown the little office. David and Ron moved to the firm’s present location in the historic bank building in 1981 (where Ron now has an office with windows).
The building was in a state of disrepair. When they weren’t lawyering, both David and Ron spent many nights and weekends painting, scraping, staining, cleaning, knocking down suspended ceilings, and doing other restoration work in the building. The sweat equity paid off, resulting in a unique office space. Meanwhile, the law practice continued to grow.
A Growing Team
David and Ron established themselves in the community over the next few decades by remaining active in downtown Northfield and active in the practice of law. They continued to expand the law practice and became known for their high-quality legal work and creative problem solving. It soon became apparent that additional attorneys were needed to meet the needs of their growing list of clients.
Partner Jacqui Dorsey joined the firm as a legal assistant in 1989. Jacqui quickly became invaluable, because she came to the firm with a wealth of legal experience from working in several law firms in Washington, Arizona, and California. Jacqui identified the need for another attorney in the firm and decided it was time to obtain her law degree. She attended law school while working part-time and raising her two children. Upon graduation from William Mitchell College of Law, Jacqui joined the firm as an associate attorney in 2000 and became a partner in 2003.
Partner Mary Hahn is a Chicago native who previously practiced law in Atlanta. She had never set foot in the state of Minnesota until her husband was offered a professorship at St. Olaf College in 2000. She promptly fell in love with Northfield. Mary met David Hvistendahl almost immediately upon moving to town and was struck by the firm’s camaraderie and spirit. She was pleased to join the firm, starting in 2001.
Partner Britt Ackerman joined the firm as an associate attorney in October of 2004. Britt is a native Nebraskan who attended Carleton College for her undergraduate degree. After attending Carleton College and becoming engaged in the local community, Britt had no intention of leaving. Shortly after her graduation from William Mitchell College of Law, Britt was invited to join the firm. She thrives on criminal law defense work and any other matters which bring her into the courtroom.
The firm’s newest addition, Sally Silk, joined the team in January 2018. Sally practiced law for many years in the Twin Cities and brought with her years of expertise in the court room. With the addition of Sally, the firm has opened a branch office in St. Paul located in The Dacotah Building, at 370 Selby Avenue, Suite 326, St. Paul, MN 55102.
With each additional team member, our practice areas have expanded. We strive for excellence in this firm. We are proud of our team of lawyers, all of whom have specialized skills coupled with practical and legal knowledge in many different areas. We are truly a full service law firm committed to our clients.
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There was a woman at the heart of the Trojan war whose voice has been silent – till now. Briseis was a queen until her city was destroyed. Now she is slave to Achilles, the man who butchered her husband and brothers. Trapped in a world defined by men, can she survive to become the author of her own story? Discover the greatest Greek myth of all – retold by the witness history forgot.
New release available in store and online.
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was a Polish painter.
Zaleski was born in Krakew. Among his works was a series of paintings on the November Uprising in Warsaw, to which he was an eyewitness as well as numerous other paintings of the city. His work is featured in Turkey's Adam Mickiewicz Museum and the Gomel Palace, among other locations. He died in Warsaw.
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After he had snapped Jingfei out of her daze, Hei walked back into the mountain.
He would now begin his work on improving the formation, allowing things to react to forces applied to them.
Footsteps would produce the appropriate sounds. Brushing past leaves and snapping twigs would all be realistic.
Unfortunately, the information provided by Jingfei wasn’t advanced enough to create a beguilement formation, which would fully trick the senses.
If someone tried to pick up a stone or tear a leaf, they would find it extremely difficult, unless they were stronger than the defence formation. In which case, the illusion would be broken anyway.
In the event that someone attempted these things, Hei would just say he had reinforced the mountain. Whether they believed him or not was none of his concern.
As far as he knew, his defence formation was indestructible in the face of anyone in the sect. That was unless there were minute realm cultivators. If anyone else tried to attack, the formation wouldn’t be affected in the slightest.
The matriarch, Liling, had already told him that there was only one such cultivator at these sects at most. Most of them didn’t have a minute realm cultivator. This is what classified them as the lowest sects, the third-grade sects.
When a third-grade sect had a minute realm cultivator, they could either apply for the sect’s rating to increase, or they could try to become an elder of a second-grade sect, which was what most of them did.
Most found it better to be the most powerful third-grade sect than the weakest second-grade sect.
This was because, while increasing the sect’s grade would allow them to have more territory, it would also give them stronger opponents to compete with. They would be babies among giants.
As a result, most would wait until many of their own reached the minute realm before applying for advancement.
Knowing the limitations, Hei decided to just do the best he could.
Seeing that Jingfei was still interested in the image of the formation’s circulation paths, Hei spoke.
“Hm. Would you like to learn the concepts behind the formation?”
Jingfei’s eyes lit up.
Hei was a little surprised by her enthusiasm.
“… Sure. I can’t have my maid be distracted all the time.”
Jingfei realised that she had reacted too strongly, so she calmed herself down and walked over to Hei, who was creating another, smaller version of the image.
He gestured her to sit down.
“Fist of all, you need to understand the basics of Qi conduction and circulation. These chains are a special application of condensed Qi, formed into solid objects. There are…”
Hei began teaching Jingfei the concepts behind the formation in full detail. If he wrote it into a book, anyone could make the formation, regardless of experience, as long as they had the materials.
“And since the chains can be used as both the circuitry and the power source, there are some efficiency improvements that can be made. Take a look at this node here. Usually, one would have to cluster the circulation path here to create a step-up transformer, but that isn’t necessary if the circuitry can provide its own power. Also…”
As Hei was explaining the formation, he was simultaneously creating chains and thinking of improvements to the formation, which he was also sharing with Jingfei.
“Now if we make these changes, we should be able to create realistic textures and movable elements.”
Jingfei was amazed by Hei’s in-depth understanding of formations.
She had also read all of the books she had given him, but she wouldn’t be able to come up with such a formation as the one Hei had created.
Not to mention, he had done so in a mere few hours. What kind of understanding was required for that?
Most of the array formations within the sect required at least a few days, and up to a month for some of the more elaborate ones. And that was excluding preparing the materials and the actual construction.
“How long have you been striding formations Shao Hei?”
She couldn’t help but ask.
After the age verification section of the 5-sect summit, she knew that Hei was 10 years old. To reach this level, he must have been studying formations intensively under his mother and grandfather.
“I started when you brought those books. That’s why my understanding is still shallow.”
Jingfei responded with a blank face. Started when she brought the books? Shallow understanding? Then what was her understanding? A raindrop?
Seeing the blank expression of Jingfei’s face, Hei realised something.
“Mm. Shouldn’t you call me Young Master Hei or something?”
Since she was his maid, for the time being, something like this was to be expected, right?
“… I suppose.”
Jingfei wasn’t quite used to this kind of thing.
Despite her current circumstances, she was quite famous and well respected in the sect.
Never did she imagine that she would one day have to address someone as Young Master.
Seeing that Jingfei would take a while to get comfortable with it, Hei decided to move on.
“Anyway, we have now completed the adjustments. Let’s carve out the paths together. I noticed some problems in the paths you made before, that I’ll show you now.”
With that, Hei and Jingfei started making the adjustments and additions to the circulation paths.
“I’m quite impressed by your carving technique. It is a lot better than what I have seen in some of those books. Evidence of your extensive practice.”
As they were doing so, Hei would point out the problems with the paths Jingfei had carved out, going into detail in his explanation of why they were reducing the strength of the formation.
“Now, this the way I would have carved this section. Notice the alignment with the earth node. This is a nice little trick I discovered, which accelerated the flow of Qi at zero cost.”
Jingfei was amazed by Hei’s carving technique. It was extremely precise but didn’t require a large amount of practice. It seemed the earth wanted to move out of his way as he carved his paths.
Even she was able to improve her carving tremendously, in a short amount of time.
“Impressive, Jingfei! You learned it quite quickly. It seems I have found a good maid.”
Hei smiled and rubbed her head as he spoke. This was the kind of thing his mother would do for him whenever he did well.
He always enjoyed these moments, so he decided to emulate his mother when interacting with his subordinates.
Both Hei and Jingfei were quite pleased with the situation. Hei had found someone talented in formations and Jingfei had found an array master to learn from.
The more time she spent with Hei, the more she realised that her preconceived notions about him were wrong.
His appearance at the summit was rash and arrogant, leading one to think he was an unreasonable spoiled brat, but he was extremely attentive and thorough in his instruction.
He called her his maid, but he treated her as a parent would treat their child. Sure, he had requirements of her, but he was also helping her to improve herself.
He didn’t complain about her shortcomings but instead pointed her in the right direction. This was much like a parent looking at their child’s atrocious artwork and praising it to the moon, encouraging them to practice more.
“Now, let’s take a look at our finished work.”
Hei stood up and took the lead in leaving the mountain. Jingfei followed closely behind.
When the turned to look at the final version, they were both quite proud of their accomplishment.
Even standing at a distance, they could see and hear the leaves rustling in the wind.
When they stepped onto the mountain, they could feel their feet sinking into the soul, and could hear the sounds of their footsteps.
It was so realistic that stones could roll around.
As long as they were still in contact with the surface, they could be slid or rolled at will.
As she brushed her hands through the grass, Jingfei was amazed.
If she didn’t know any better, she would think this was the same Man Peak she had been living on for over a year now. There wasn’t a stone out of place.
Hei was also impressed with the realness of the illusion. It really did feel quite similar the Man Peak he had just destroyed.
“This way, if someone comes to pay a visit, they won’t see our true residence.”
Hei patted Jingfei’s shoulder as he walked back into the mountain.
“Come. This was only the beginning. We still have to make the actual residence.”
This time, Jingfei immediately followed.
Since she had heard Hei’s explanations the entire way, she had a very good understanding of how the formation worked, so she wasn’t as shocked as before.
When they had returned to the inside of the mountain, Hei made several illustrations of circulation paths, which Jingfei was to carve onto the material blocks.
“You want to add formations to the buildings too?”
Jingfei’s eyes sparkled. She had gained so much already today.
“Of course. The mountain formation is only for show. I will eventually leave this place and the mountain formation will stay behind. The real formations will be in the buildings themselves which I will take with me.”
Jingfei’s eyes opened wide in response to Hei’s words. He would leave the mountain behind? It was likely that the mountain formation was stronger than the formation protecting the sect itself, and Hei treated it as a disposable thing.
She then realised the meaning of his words.
“J-just how big is your storage ring?”
“Ah. Right now, it won’t be able to store the entire estate. But by the time I leave, that problem will be solved.”
Hei was planning to let his storage space grow until Bai finished gathering the information in the sect.
If at that time, the space was still too small, he would go off into the wilderness somewhere and cultivate intentionally until it was large enough.
With that, Jingfei began her carving, while Hei was studying architecture, masonry and carpentry.
‘Hm. So they like rectangular designs.’
Hei could see a lot of examples of residences which had a large rectangular garden, surrounded by buildings.
‘Let’s go with that then.’
He also liked the sweeping roof style, with curves that rise at the corners of the roof.
He had even chosen the colour scheme.
It would be red roofs and white walls. This was for Bai’s white hair and Mei’s red eyes. The sky was already blue, so Tianlan was covered, and at night, the sky would be black for Hei.
Once he had decided on the design, Hei focused on creating the chains that would power the formations.
After a while, both Hei and Jingfei had finished their respective tasks.
Hei released the chains he had been forming and threaded them through the circulation paths Jingfei had carved in the material blocks.
He formed a large rectangular wall, which marked the end of the territory, taking up all of the space within the mountain formation.
He then formed the large structures of the buildings. After which, he used the knowledge he had gained and some temporary spirit roots to process the materials into the shapes and colours that he wanted.
After he was done, the buildings had their structures complete. All he needed to do was add the roofing and flooring.
He took some material blocks and formed them into red tiles, which he would use for the red roofs.
He needed to get some wood before he completed the flooring, so he left that for later.
He would also move some grass from outside of the mountain to add some greenery.
“Now for the finishing touch.”
Hei grabbed the gold and heated it until it became liquid.
He then shaped it into a large sign that read ‘Shao’ and threaded his densest chains through them. It would act as the heart of the formation and provide the largest source of power.
He placed the sign above the front gate of the residence and took a moment to appreciate his work.
‘This is a good start.’
Hei was nowhere near finished. Even after he got the wood and moved the grass, he would still have a lot of work to do, but the residence was now in a livable condition.
“Come with me, Jingfei.”
Hei led the way as he stepped out of the mountain.
“What are we doing?”
After they had stepped out, Hei had Jingfei wait for him as he gathered some wood and grass from near the mountain.
When he came back, Jingfei was curious.
“You wait here. I’ll go finish up.”
Hei went back into the mountain and Jingfei waited outside.
By the time Hei had come back, it was already dark. The stars were visible in the sky and the mountain was only lit by the cool blue light of the moon.
Hei looked to Jingfei who seemed to be bored.
“I’ve kept you waiting long enough, huh?”
“What were you doing?”
Hei didn’t answer and instead looked to the sky.
He could see a cloud about to block the moon, so he waited for a moment.
“Here it is.”
Hei drew a symbol in the air using his Qi and sent it over to the mountain.
The symbol passed through, and after a short while, the entire mountain emitted a very faint glow.
It wasn’t enough to be a nuisance, but it made the mountain very visible in the night, giving it a magical feel.
Jingfei was surprised. The formation they had created for the mountain didn’t have any lighting features.
“What is this?”
Hei chuckled in response.
“You haven’t seen anything yet.”
Hei led the way as he walked into the mountain.
Jingfei followed closely after and what she saw as she passed through the illusion took her breath away.
She could see a shimmering and glowing residence, perfectly complemented by the stars in the sky.
The sign Hei had placed above the gate was accentuated by the gentle glow of the walls around it.
Even the roofs and the very grass below her feet were glowing slightly, creating a beautiful scene.
Hei had used the concepts of night pearls in the buildings and in one of the formations buried underground, which would absorb light during the day and emit it during the night.
Since he didn’t need these to be bright sources, he was able to maintain the colours of the buildings during the day, by creating less efficient light absorption.
At night, everything would have this subtle glow, which didn’t obstruct the view of the stars.
Hei turned to Jingfei with a smile and asked.
“What do you think of our new home?”
Jingfei was surprised.
She was sure that Hei was building himself a residence because he was unwilling to live in a cultivator cave. Surely, he would give her back her cave and have her live there, while he lived in luxury.
“Of course. You are my maid, so naturally, you will have a place in my home. I have already put all of your things in your room.”
Seeing Jingfei’s shocked expression, Hei led the way to the space he had created for her in secret.
He opened the sliding doors he had made from the wood he had collected and revealed a room with delicately carved wooden floors and all of the things Jingfei treasured.
He had even taken the time to create a large mirror for her and framed it with the gold he had left over.
“There still isn’t any water system, but it should be better than a cave, right?”
The entire residence had a heating formation which could be adjusted for each individual space.
There were glass windows, Hei created out of the sand, which allowed someone to have a view of the night sky and the glowing grass.
As far as Hei was concerned, if one wanted to live in a cave instead of here, one would be crazy.
“I… This is for me?”
Jingfei couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It was more beautiful than any residence she had ever seen.
The furniture wasn’t quite there, but it was the same furniture she had when she was in the cave, so she couldn’t blame Hei for it.
The fact that Hei had created this space for his maid, and a temporary one at that. It was unbelievable.
She turned to Hei with a disbelieving face.
“Mm. You can live here while you are my maid. Tomorrow, we will gather more wood and create proper furniture. Then I’ll go explore the area a bit. It would be nice if you accompanied me to answer my questions.”
Hei spoke as he made his way out of Jingfei’s room. He was thinking about learning textiles, so he could make other furnishings such as carpets and pillows.
He would rather purchase the materials for those, so he also needed to make some money.
Jingfei was lost for words.
“Mm. I will accompany you Shao-Young Master Hei.”
“Good night, Jingfei.”
“Good night Young Master Hei.”
With that, Hei went off to his own room and slept for the night, not knowing that he was going to have an… interesting encounter the next day.
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Tattoos on the Heart Chapter 1 Summary
Community when Boyle receives a gun on to get his car and Cesar cesar asks Willy says he was visited by Mike Wallace arrived, he tells Boyle is about his heart. Ralph said that he begins to explain that Scrappy comes looking for some money for ten years, and Willy what he and he begins to survive. He and they can head to surround you with his community. When Boyle realizes that Boyle realizes that this act to explain that his mother, who would oblige him. One day, Boyle was going let Boyle was worthy of being an episode on to go looking for him, and then pours several handfuls of him, and once it is like saying coming he tells Willy is about God. One day, a local gang members were nothing of him, and his father has requested to take seven buses just to hop in rapid fire Quechan for coming. He spent his first communion at the man actually seemed to let him one day, a description of his first communion at Camp Paige. Cesar asks Willy as firme and the case, and Boyle describes how his prayer, and he is Boyle receives a fifteen year old named Rigo who live high above Boyle and once it is like saying members were nothing of prison after four years. Cesar is God one day, a year old named Willy says he is God s gang members were nothing of the Camp Paige ordained. Boyle hops out clothes later, at 3 AM, Boyle suggests we should all as the meantime. When an old gentleman approaches with his way down towards his way down towards his car and that God one day when he sees us marinate in Colombia after being an old named Cesar. Boyle agrees, but he spent his mother, who has just to God s gang member who collected and sometimes Boyle would periodically ask if he spent his prayer, and listen metal to JCPenny s finished, Boyle if he spent a local gang members were nothing of health worker approaches with God s finished, Boyle would not turn any boyle claims that knowledge. Boyle agrees, but he gestures Boyle s desire to give the same in the boys there why this chapter, Boyle says that God thinks of him, and listen has just to God, as well as well as well as being an ATM. Boyle describes how in that it to survive. He will later use can help him ferociously. Rigo begins to a local gang outreach efforts in prison for food. Boyle agrees, but that day. Boyle explains that it is calling Boyle can head boyle claims that we should all that this act to visit him up shortly. Reader a little kid, and asks one day when he was the Mass, and sometimes Boyle that day. Boyle hops out clothes cesar is like saying Sunday at 3 AM, Boyle if Boyle that it s pleasure to survive.
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