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Saturday, November 22, 2008
Memorial Day and preparation
The famliy puts posies on the graves in two cemetaries. One is in Amasa the other is in Channing. This is the first time Amasa pictures were taken. I managed to mix them up in the postings.
The ceremony was at the Channing cemetary. The picture with me in it was at the Channing cemetary because I did not go to Amasa.
The reason they go to the Amasa cemetary is because Bazillio is buried there. This bears an explanation. Bazillio was an Italian immegrant of Emil and Mary Piasini's generetion. He never married and did not have children to speak of. Everyone knew who he was and no one ever spoke badly of him. There was so much love for this man that the church could not hold all the people who came to his funeral.
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Our dresses are inspired by women who have changed the world with their artistic talents.
Our Loie dress’ namesake, Loie Fuller, was one of these women. She was the most daring dancer of her time, bold and strong. Audiences were drawn to her, and her stage performances were often called hypnotising.
Loie embodied the art nouveau movement with her use of light and various lengths of silk creating never seen before silhouettes and performances. She was bold and daring and a beautiful inspiration for our Loie dress.
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I just read this news feature from CNN today. It is about Natalie Dylan’s auction for her virginity, the highest bid now amounts to US$3.8M from a 39-year old Australian man. The report states that the woman has no plans to settle the auction yet. Wanting more, perhaps?
Immediately, “Memoirs of a Geisha” came to mind. Intrigued by the title, I randomly picked the book years ago from Powerbooks. It was years before everyone heard about it when it was made into a movie. I was immediately transfixed I finished the novel in no time. As with any other book any one of us read, there is a part/a scene/an idea which lingers. Aside from Sayuri’s blue-grey eyes, which was made the biggest part of her attraction, it was the cunning orchestration of her mentor, Mameha, for the bidding of her virginity which stayed on me… until today. Geishas in Japan were trained since childhood. As the book showed, they had to undergo tough training to become a most sought-after geisha by the rich and influential. In Sayuri and Mameha’s case, their virginity was the prize to the highest bidder. Sayuri broke her mentor’s record and she was able to pay off all her training debts and was adopted by the “Mother” of the geisha house where she was sold as a child.
Do you ever wonder who stands as the victim here? She who sells or he who buys.
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Dhanteras is celebrated on the first day of five days festival, Diwali. On this day people engage in Laxmi Pooja i.e. they worship goddess Laxmi. It is believed as per Hindu mythology that goddess Laxmi visits their home on the first day of Diwali i.e. Dhanteras and bless them with happiness, prosperity, wealth and good health.
Dhanteras is also known as Dhantrayodashi and Pooja is known as Dhantrayodashi pooja in which people worship goddess Laxmi along with Lord kubera, lord of wealth. The Pooja is continued for almost 2 hours where we chant arti, mantras and bhakti songs as well. The Pooja is held with tiny diyas that emphasis the victory of good over evil shadows.
On the day of Dhanteras, people bring home new things that may include; gold or silver coins, jewelry, and new utensils. People also conduct massive cleaning projects at their homes, offices, and temples by decorating them with lights, having new paint of white wash to welcome goddess Laxmi to their lives and take blessings from her.
They believe that goddess Laxmi is not guest in their houses but she owns everything they own in their lives.
You all may think that it is only the Indian psychology that goddess Laxmi visits their homes and bless them with happiness, wealth and prosperity but there are many stories to proves this mythology.
These stories are known as the legend of Dhantrayodashi. Let me start with the first one, where goddess Laxmi was traveling to earth with Lord Vishnu. Before the visit to earth, Lord Vishnu took two pledges from goddess Laxmi that while they are on earth she will not look in the south direction and will never fall for earthy temptation.
She agreed with two conditions and visited the earth. But on her trip to earth, she looked in the south direction and also got fascinated with sunflowers and sugarcane crops as she could not resist herself from the beauty of the earth and she was also popularly known for her curious nature i.e. Chanchal Mann.
Lord Vishnu caught her dressing her hairs with sunflower and enjoying sugarcane juice and thus, punished her to broke all pledges and made her stay on earth for 12 years straight with a poor farmer. From the day she starts living with that poor farmer, he grew in wealth and prosperity.
The years turn out to be the golden period for the farmer and when the time comes when goddess Laxmi has to back with Lord Vishnu, farmer refuses to let her go as she brings happiness, wealth and prosperity in his life.
Even after repeated efforts of Vishnu ji, farmer denied the proposal and let goddess Laxmi ji go away from his lives. Therefore, Laxmi ji has to tell him the truth that who actually she is and why she has to stay with him on earth all these years.
Farmer felt lucky that goddess herself stayed at his home and blessed him with all the happiness in life. As a gesture, goddess Laxmi promised farmer that she will come every year on Diwali for best wishes. Hence, the farmer and now the whole world welcome goddess Laxmi to their homes to have her blessings and lead a happy and healthy life.
The second legend of Dhantrayodashi was the wife of the son of King Hima. On the fourth day of his marriage, a snake forecasted his death by biting him with his poisonous tongue.
The wife of the boy was very smart, she comes up with a plan that escaped his death. While the death king, Yama was on his way to take the life of the boy, his wife doesn’t let him sleep for a while and made a heap of jewelry, ornaments, and coins at her doorstep to block the way of Yama.
She also lighted up diyas and lamps in her room for more brightness and kept reciting stories to his husband so that he should not fell asleep.
The time when Yama arrived a sparkling light of lamps and diyas shine into his eyes so that he was dazzling for a while.
This comes up as an obstacle in his way to take the life of the boy. King Yama tried to climb the heap of coins but failed and finally, spare the life of the boy. This is how, wife saved the life of his husband and the day now celebrated as Dhantrayodashi or Dhanteras because of the goddess Laxmi, i.e. all the ornaments, jewelry, and coins were symbols of her presence and she saved the life of a boy.
The above was the famous stories of legends that lead us to the conclusion that why the first day of Diwali is celebrated as Dhantrayodashi or Dhanteras.
The Pooja is conducted to welcome goddess Laxmi and have her blessings or a happy and prosperous life ahead.
The day is celebrated with full excitement. People wear new clothes, distributes sweets among family and friends.
Every single corner of the houses, office, parking, and temples are cleaned thoroughly. In Puja, they place new bought utensils, jewelry and gold or silver coins.
The festival of Diwali is considered as the festival of light and love that left people with happiness, wealth and prosperity in life.
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Television is full of sitcoms and soaps that revolve around the lives of teenagers. Some of them deal with the woes of growing years, while others live their supernatural eternal teenage years. It is weird, though, how many of the actors who play the beloved teenagers on television are way past their teens. Let us look at some of the adult actors playing teenagers on TV.
10. Bianca Lawson
Bianca has portrayed the role of Maya St. Germaine in the teen drama mystery-thriller. Maya was seen in the first three seasons, and the character met her death at the age of about 17. Bianca, born in 1979, was a 34-year old actor playing the role, making her double the age of the character. She was 31 when she joined the cast. Bianca is also well-known for her regular roles in Saved by the Bell: The New Class and Goode Behaviour. She also has recurring roles is several other popular series.
9. Trevor Donovan
In the teen drama television series, 90210, the fourth series of the Beverly Hills franchise, Trevor Donovan has played the role of the 19-year old boy, Teddy Montgomery. Trevor, born in 1978, was almost 35 when the series ended in 2013, and he started playing the role when he was a few weeks away from turning 30. Trevor has appeared in several other television series such as Days of Our Lives, Melissa & Joey, Awkward, etc., as well as in movies and television films.
8. Paul Wesley
Paul plays the role of Stefan Salvatore, a vampire, in the supernatural drama television series The Vampire Diaries. Technically, Stefan is more than a century old – 167 years, to be precise – but, physically, he is just destined to be 17 for all eternity. So, yes, Paul plays the role of a 17 year old. The actor, who also has also portrayed the characters of Aaron Corbett in Fallen, was born in the year 1982, and he turned 32 on 23rd July, 2014. When the series started in 2009, Paul was 27.
7. Matt Lanter
Born in 1983, Matt is now 31, and is portraying the character of Roman, an alien boy of about 16 years, in the science fiction romantic drama television series, Star-Crossed, which released in 2014. Matt is popular for his role in the coming of age series, 90210, as a teenage Loam Court, when he himself was 25 years old. Matt has appeared in several other movies, including Vampires Suck, a parody of Twilight where he plays the spoof of eternally 18-year old vampire. He was 27 then.
6. Harry Shum, Jr.
Harry has appeared in several dance films such as Step Up 2, Step Up 3D, You Got Served and Stomp the Yard, but is most popular as Mike Chan from Glee. Mike is approximately 19 years old, and Harry, born in 1982, is 32. His first appearance in Glee was in the very first season in 2009 as the high school student, when Harry himself was 27 years old. Aside from his performance in Glee, Harry has worked in several short films, web series, television series, music videos, etc.
5. Mark Salling
Mark is popularly known as the teenaged school jock and musician, Puck, or Noah Puckerman, in the musical comedy-drama television series, Glee. Glee is a coming of age story where Puck is currently about 15 years old, and Mark, being born in 1982, is now 32. When he joined the Glee cast for the pilot episode in 2009, he was almost 27. Apart from portraying Puck Glee where he is now a recurring guest star, Mark is also a musician and has worked in Children of the Corn IV.
4. Tammin Sursok
Tammin portrays the character of Jenna Marshall, a teenage girl of about 17, in Pretty Little Liars. Born in 1983, Tammin is actually 32 years old. She is married, and has a baby, too. She was almost 27 years old when her character was introduced in the first season in 2010. Apart from Pretty Little Liars, Tammin is also known for her roles in Home and Away, and The Young and the Restless. She has appeared in several other series and films, and is also a musician with an album.
3. Cory Monteigh
Cory played the beloved teenaged school sports hero and musician, Finn Hudson of about 19 years, in the television series Glee. Born in 1982, Cory was a 29 year old when he started playing the role of Finn in the first season, back in 2009. He was 30 when he was last seen as a regular character in the 4th season in 2012-13, when he was 30. He did other small gigs in films and television, and had a starring role in Sisters & Brothers. He passed away in 2013, at the age of 31.
2. Jason Earles
Jason shot to popularity as Jackson Stewart, the elder brother of Miley Stewart in the musical comedy series, Hanna Montana. Jason, born in 1977, was 29 years old when he started portraying the role of the 16 year old goofy teenager, thus being 13 years older than his character. The series ended in 2011, and by that time, Jason had reached his mid-thirties. Jason has also appeared in the Disney series Kickin’ It, besides several other TV series, as well as films including Hanna Montana.
1. Crystal Reed
Crystal is best known for portraying the character of 17 year old Allison Argent in the hit television series named Teen Wolf. Crystal was born in 1985, and was 26 when she started portraying the character of Allison. Allison appeared for 3 seasons of the show, and Crystal was 29 when she acted for the 3rd season of Teen Wolf. She has also appeared in several other TV series such as CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, CSI: NY, Drop Dead Diva, etc., and also acted in several movies.
There are several other adult actors portraying the roles of teenagers in television series. Some of them are in their early twenties, making it less difficult to pull off the roles of characters who belong to the age group that they have only recently crossed. For others who have reached their thirties or are approaching the age, it might be a little challenging to do the same, especially because they may start to look more mature. However, with talent, dexterity and diligence, these actors have managed to look and play the part to the best of their capabilities, and created remarkable characters whom the TV buffs, especially the youngsters, absolutely love to watch.
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The importance of a teacher, guru or guide
Once many years ago I asked advice of the I Ching, a Chinese book of wisdom, about someone who asked to be a teacher of mine. The advice was, “Do not follow a teacher that asks you to be his student.” I heeded that advice and then several years later, I met my guru, who invited me to enter her teaching. This time I did not consult the I Ching, but relied upon my own intuition and stayed.
What made the difference? I can only say it was a feeling of knowing. I had doubts about the first teacher, but not about my guru. I felt she was the “real thing.” I still feel that way, which has been borne out by the 35 years I have resided at her ashram.
I have also known of situations where people have trusted their intuition and followed a guru and became disillusioned years later because of what they considered some human failing on the part of the guru. Was it a misstep on their part to follow this guru? While I can’t say, I can only attest that some of them had told me that during their time with him or her, they had made a lot of progress and grown spiritually.
Does that mean all the time spent with this teacher was an utter mistake, or does one separate the wheat from the chaff and appreciate the goodness gained?
Sometimes one has very high expectations of a guru, expecting them to be perfect in all realms. That sounds like expecting a guru to be an “ideal mommy and daddy.” A guru is not meant to be some fantastical all- knowing, all-powerful person who can also give us the lottery numbers. They are signposts and sources of divine wisdom that have the ability, by their mere presence, to bring us into a place of wisdom and knowingness of our selves. The eventual gift to us is that we feel confident in ourselves to make wise, dharmic decisions for ourselves.
How do you feel in your teacher’s presence? Do you feel elevated in some way and a sense of unabiding silence and grace? Do you feel as if you can be a better person just by knowing this person? Are they a shining example of those qualities of love and service that you revere? Once you have answered all these questions, then you might feel ready to take the risk of commitment. Know, however, that the decision is not from the mind, but inevitably arises from the heart, which has its own knowing.
I felt that my guru possessed the qualities requisite for a guru. I had never met anyone in my lifetime who had such a great and constant heart when giving comfort and sustenance to thousands of people who were ailing, both physically and spiritually. She counted them all as her beloveds, endeavoring to serve them as best as she can. She was a hands on, 24 hour guru who had devoted her life to the beckoning of her soul. I was privileged to know this great soul in my lifetime.
Not everyone has a physical guru in the flesh. Some receive their insight and knowing from the spirit or other guides. I do know that if you are a true aspirant, the universe will respond with what is your particular destiny.
How do you know when you’re ready? For myself, it was when nothing “out there” seemed to be the answer, when I was finally ready to look inside. What was the knowing that I had met my guru? It was the feeling that I had come home.
“When the student is ready, the teacher, master or guru appears.”
Yesterday a friend of mine called from South America. A fascinating young lady, she is extremely independent and has sculpted a life that works towards furthering her experiences in expanded awareness and consciousness. She was an ardent student of several spiritual masters and has even lived in austere circumstances with shamans and other purported masters who share her desire for that magical state of mystic consciousness. Along the way, Miriam has ingested a number of substances towards that end. She told me how she had formed an affection for a plant that was known to expand one’s awareness.
However, during her last experience with that plant, she was careless as to the amount taken, and somehow invited an experience that seemed to have taken off a piece of the outer ego that helps us navigate through life. Her consequent openness had made her vulnerable to the entry of some ancient, unknown entity.
At the height of her experience, enmeshed in something that terrified her, she had called me asking for advice. Normally very self-sufficient, I was alarmed at the vulnerability she was exhibiting through her voice. She was looking for some reassurance that she would somehow reconstitute back into her former life.
Many months later when I spoke to her, I heard that she had somehow managed to survive this experience through various means and I was relieved to hear the old Miriam. I actually compared her to Carl Jung, who had made a similar trip down into his consciousness and had also been frightened of what he had encountered. In his case he had the luck of having a guide, who also happened to be his mistress, that faithfully watched out for him.
It reminded me of how important it is to have a guru, guide or teacher when one attempts to broaden one’s experience in life whether it be through yoga, meditation or even consciousness expanding drugs.
Many people represent themselves as experienced teachers of yoga, in particular Kundalini Yoga, without telling their students the consequences of unleashing a power or energy within them as a result of performing some of the exercises. The teachers, themselves not knowledgeable of the possible consequences, teach esoteric techniques and breathing exercises designed to awaken Kundalini power. I wonder how many truly are ready to accept the consequences of a student having an untoward experience in their class.
My conversation with this woman has made me want to share this experience with teachers of yoga so that they know that they need to be mindful and solicitous of their students as they assist them in opening their spirit.
Editor: Maja Despot
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Is the brain hardwired to earn satisfaction and happiness?
I read an article that asked and answered the question about whether people who won the lottery were happier or less happy after their win.
The author of the article concluded that lottery winners and others who get their money without working for it did not get as much satisfaction from their cash as those who earn it.
A study conducted at Emory University measured the brain activity in the stratum – the part of the brain associated with reward processing and pleasure. The study rewarded one group of volunteers for their efforts.
Nothing was required of the second group, but they were rewarded anyway. The brain study results revealed that the brains (the stratum) of the volunteers who had to work for their reward were more stimulated.
When pausing to reflect upon the article, I realized that we really do not need a study to prove this point. I have often found myself tired, but with a sense of satisfaction, when I have put mental and/or physical effort into the accomplishment of a goal.
I have also found that those goals for which I worked seemed to hold greater value for me than those things that I gratuitously received.
If you find yourself feeling dissatisfied in life, try setting a goal and working toward it: volunteer for an organization or cause that interests you, develop a hobby, or engage in sports. It does not matter what activity you choose as long as you are putting effort into it.
There is no need for external reward for your efforts. The internal reward will be fulfilling.
For your own happiness and brain stimulation, find a need and fill it.
Affirmation for the Week:
I choose to live a life filled with stimulating opportunities. I will yield to the call to work for my happiness and satisfaction.
Have a stimulating week!
Mary “Motivator” Rau-Foster
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Who hasn’t been defined by character or ability? “You are very musical”…or athletic, bright, or mathematically inclined, says a teacher. “You are tone deaf, clumsy, average, and have no aptitude for math,” says a grandparent. Defining a child is a common way to identify who he is, to locate something he is good at, to bolster his self-esteem, to place him in the right track in school, to direct his extra-curricular activities. And yet, in this well-intentioned act, we cannot help but place limits on our students. At Ambleside, each child is seen as having vast potential. In fact, we believe that each one, "exceeds our power of measurement." (Charlotte Mason) And so, we refuse to place labels on them. We take them as they are and help them to become even better.
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Nov 3, 2007
Shane McCabe is from Dublin, Ireland and began his artistic career as an actor before later moving to writing and eventually directing. He wrote and directed the short short story film Lucky Escape, about a man, a woman, a restaurant, and being careful about what you wish for.
In 2002, he acted in Jerry Bruckheimer’s Veronica Guerin. He has written six features and is working on lucky #7. In 2005, The Irish Film Board awarded his short film Never Judge a Book funding; it premiered at the 4th Annual Dublin International Film Festival in 2006.
The film has screened in a variety of festivals worldwide, including the Palms Springs ShortFest where it was picked up for distribution. Lucky Escape also screened at the 2007 MergingArts Short Short Story Film Festival, where it was nominated for the Soul of Wit award for exellence in clever wordplay.
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In preparation for the Vivien Leigh and Laurence Olivier weekend in London this coming weekend that I have been looking forward to for months, I am dedicating this week’s Star of the Week honors to that talented and beautiful couple of the stage and screen. Though they were both tremendously gifted actors on both the stage and screen and made 3 very quality films together, it is their tumultuous, difficult, yet immensely loving 20 year marriage that make them truly one of the great romantic couples of the last century.
Each having left their respective spouses due to their love for each other (Olivier had been married to actress Jill Esmond and Leigh had been married to a barrister named Leigh Holman), their marriage was an examination of extreme emotion and volatility. Their devotion to each other was incredibly strong, strong enough to survive Vivien’s very severe case of bipolar disorder, untreatable with medication at the time, which left Olivier horrendously abused by manic episodes of which Vivien would later have no recollection. Often risking his life, Olivier stayed with her for 20 long years, trying desperately to help this woman with whom he was so in love, until concern for his own sanity forced him to leave. Their love continued even after their divorce, staying strong right up until Vivien’s death from tuberculosis in 1967.
Vivien Leigh is undoubtedly best remembered for her role in Gone With the Wind, that won her the Academy Award for Best Actress in 1939. Born Vivian Mary Hartley in Darjeeling, India, on November 5, 1913 to British parents, she was educated in England and enrolled at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in 1931, beginning her formal career as an actress. She married Leigh Holman the next year, and this was followed by her first film role, in a small project called Things are Looking Up. Her daughter Suzanne was born in 1933, and she embarked on a play entitled The Mask of Virtue in 1935. It was during the run of this play that Laurence Olivier first noticed her, and they began to fall in love. After playing opposite each other in Fire Over England in 1937, the deal was sealed, and they began conducting an affair that was, much to the chagrin of both their spouses, not quite secretive. By the time Vivien made Gone With the Wind in 1939 and became the first British actress to win an Academy Award, thus establishing her reputation in Hollywood, she and Olivier were already seeking divorces from their spouses in order to marry.
One of the most famous scenes in Gone With the Wind.
Vivien Leigh accepts her Oscar for Best Actress.
Upon Vivien’s winning an Academy Award, Laurence Olivier was also a great stage star, having acted to great acclaim in plays by Shakespeare and Noel Coward, and had already garnered much respect for his acting style. Born in Dorking, Surrey, on May 22, 1907, Olivier spent his early career in minor theatrical roles before expanding his career to the point where he was playing the great characters such as Hamlet and Macbeth. He married Jill Esmond in 1930, and his son Tarquin was born in 1936. His affair with Vivien was especially felt by Jill, who was a friend of Vivien’s, and though she had legitimate reservations about granting Olivier the divorce he sought, she knew that she couldn’t keep him away from Vivien, so she conceded.
Laurence Olivier in Wuthering Heights, 1939.
The Oliviers married on August 31, 1940, and a Broadway production of Romeo and Juliet was followed by That Hamilton Woman, their first film as a married couple. In 1943, after a trip to North Africa, Vivien came down with what ended up being tuberculosis, a disease that would stay with her throughout the rest of her life. It was also during the mid-1940’s that Vivien began to show signs of serious mental illness–exploding at her husband with no provocation at all, then falling into a deep depression. This affected her career tremendously, limiting the roles she could perform and how often, and as the seriousness of the condition worsened, it took a terrible toll on their married life. Olivier won an Oscar in 1948 for Hamlet, and Vivien won another for A Streetcar Named Desire in 1951, but their personal life was a struggle, and after a nightmarish manic breakdown on the set of Elephant Walk in 1953 (in which she was replaced by Elizabeth Taylor), Vivien’s disorder began to control their life. In varying states of cognizance, she lashed out at Olivier and told of relationships with other actors, notably Peter Finch. According to Olivier, she never remembered these episodes, but would feel very guilty afterward and not know why. Though they officially divorced in 1960, Vivien felt that the marriage was over as early as 1958, when she began an affair with Jack Merivale. Olivier began a relationship with Joan Plowright, and married her soon after his divorce from Vivien. He was married to her until his death in 1989, and Vivien stayed with Jack Merivale until hers from the tuberculosis that had plagued her life since the mid-1940’s, in 1967. Even after their divorce, Vivien and Larry stayed very close and very much in love. Vivien wouldn’t hear of anyone speaking badly about Larry, and he was always the love of her life, and vice-versa.
It is worthwhile to note that Laurence Olivier gets a lot of hate within the Vivien Leigh community due to many of his reactions to Vivien’s episodes. One incident in particular gets a lot of attention, one in which Vivien refused to go onstage at a performance and Olivier slapped her face. However, Vivien slapped him right back, cussed at him, and did indeed go onstage. Vivien was no helpless creature, and Olivier knew that. What is also often overlooked is that through everything, all the lashing out, the sleeping around (part of bipolar disorder), the embarrassments in front of friends and guests, Olivier never left her for nearly 20 long years. That is a true testament to his character, and to his devotion to Vivien. I get upset whenever I hear people hating on Laurence Olivier, because truly, I can’t think of many other people who would do what he did for as long as he did. THAT is love.
At the end of this video, from about 6:43 to the end, he describes what it was like for him, before finally saying he can’t talk about it anymore:
Here are a few gems:
That Hamilton Woman, 1941. Their third film together, and I think it’s their best. Not only do we see these two beautiful people together at the height of their love, but we also get to hear Vivien speak French and Italian, two languages she spoke fluently in real life. Not bad.
Laurence Olivier’s “Hamlet,” 1941, for which he won an Oscar. I consider this to be one of the finest performances ever recorded onscreen. If you see one Olivier film, this is it. Brilliance.
Waterloo Bridge, 1940. I think this is my number 1 favorite Vivien Leigh film (Gone With the Wind is automatically disqualified). One thing I didn’t focus on in this post is Vivien Leigh’s absolutely stunning looks. In fact, I officially consider her the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And this movie shows it. Playing a young ballet dancer who falls in love with a soldier during World War I, she is perfectly comfortable in the part and there are great performances all around. A must-see.
Wuthering Heights, 1939. In the glorious year that was 1939, this is one of the top contenders for the best of the best. Olivier too was at the height of his attractiveness here, and Merle Oberon is perfect as Cathy (even though Olivier wanted Vivien in the part). I know I showed a clip earlier in this post, but it’s worth showing another because it’s just so darn good.
Sidewalks of London, 1938. This is a total B-movie, but I had to add it in here because it’s so funny to hear prim and proper Vivien try to speak in a cockney accent. And there’s also one scene where Vivien tap dances across the floor, which is classic. If you can find this (it’s not easy…) it’s worth a look. Very funny stuff.
I hope you enjoyed! I will be spending this weekend in London for the Vivien Leigh and Laurence Olivier weekend, and I will be checking in as often as I can with updates about the stars of the week! Thank you Kendra, at vivandlarry.com!
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Young Genius Baffles Scientists With His Knowledge Of Mars.
There are people born on this Earth that have absolutely incredible minds. Some can solve complex math problems in a blink of a second. Some have mind-boggling artistic abilities. And others have, well, a more unique type of intelligence. This young boy once told an unbelievable story around a campfire, but eventually, it turned into something much bigger than campfire tales.
A beautiful little boy named Boris Kipriyanovich was born into this world in 1996. After noticing that her son was able to support his own head after only two weeks of life, this doctor-mom knew that her son was something special.
According to his mother, Boris began to speak when he was only a few months old! If you've ever been around a baby, then you already know how uncommon something like that is. But in Boris' case, he was able to read and draw when he was only 18 months old.
When Boris was just two, he started kindergarten, where teachers were shocked by his writing and his incredible memory. It was obviously clear that Boris had a brilliant mind, but people would soon find out just how intelligent Boris actually was.
Oddly enough, Boris had an unbelievable understanding of the inner workings of the universe, even though he had never learned anything about space. Despite the lack of teaching, Boris knew about the stars, the constellations, and the planets. Boris was noted as a child genius, which caused him to receive some crazy looks when he made a strange claim at the young age of seven.
When Boris was seven he went on a weekend camping trip with his parents and their friends. Looking like an average kid wearing a T-shirt and baseball hat, the young boy looked like a wise soul when he asked the grown-ups to quiet down because he had a story that he needed to tell.
Joris Voeten / Unsplash
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“To these four young men God gave knowledge and understanding of all kinds of literature and learning. And Daniel could understand visions and dreams of all kinds.”
– Daniel 1:17 [NIV]
Today’s verse says that God gave Daniel and his friends the knowledge and understanding. Now in this passage, Daniel, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego are all supposed to eat what the king has commanded. It was from the king’s table so one would believe it to be good—fit for a king. However, Daniel “resolved not to defile himself with the royal food and wine,” and he asked if he could eat his own diet of food (v. 8). The official agreed to let Daniel and his friends eat what they wanted for ten days. After the ten days, they were “healthier and better nourished than any of the young men who ate the royal food” (v. 15). This could cause some people to have problems digesting.
So often we look at Daniel and his friends going against the king’s rules and following a special diet of vegetables and water. We conclude that these vegetables and the water provided the four young men with better nourishment, as the passage states, and that is what we take from this passage. However, we cannot forget that it was God who gave these men the knowledge and understanding. God was and is at the forefront.
There are times in our own lives when we use our God given gifts and resources and find great success. We start to attribute this success to our hard work, our talents, etc., but we need already remember that God gave us everything—God gets the glory.
Today remind yourself of what God has given you and take the time to thank Him.
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Time was when all men believed that the earth was flat. It would be difficult now to trace all the errors into which this assumption led the thinking of those days, or to ascertain how many practical comforts and advantages which we now enjoy would have been missed had not this conceit been exploded. The first serious challenge to this theory raised a storm of abuse which came not merely from the vulgar and superstitious but from the leaders of science and religion. It was a grave shock to human vanity to be told that the natural universe did not revolve around the planet which man occupied, that on the contrary, the earth was one of many satellites of a greater sun and that, consequently, there was no solid reason to believe that man was the king of creation.
The material sciences, in which such wonderful progress has been made, have taught us that there is nothing chaotic in the operation of natural forces at play in the universe which are far beyond man’s control, which always operate in the same way and upon whose consistent action man is entirely dependent.
The material sciences have taught yet another powerful lesson, which has led to great achievements. Men have long wanted to fly, but it was not sufficient to manufacture a pair of wings which looked more or less like a bird’s: first they had to discover the natural laws governing the flight of a body through air, having learnt these they had to build a machine which conformed to them. When they succeeded in doing this, they flew. If, however, the aircraft designer failed to conform to natural law, his plane was no better than a stone. In all the material achievements of this age, the principals of progress are the same. First comes the patient search to discover the ways of nature, then the building of machines or the planning of processes in conformity with natural law so that the powerful and consistent forces of nature could work for the gratification of men’s desires.
In face of these established facts, it is strange that people should tacitly accept the view that the relations between human beings in society are governed by chance.
The classical economists during the last two centuries proclaimed their study as a science. The best known and more respected of them reached the conclusion that the poverty and injustice in society were the inevitable result of the operation of natural forces and that nothing could be done about it. Paradoxically, they taught that pestilence and war were nature’s devices for checking the full horror of these natural forces.
Such ideas brought their inevitable reaction. Men came who said that the economists were wrong to call their study a science, it was ridiculous to believe that the operation of these natural forces was inevitable. True, if things were left alone, in accordance with the policy of laissez faire as it was called, these evil consequences would be inevitable, but the task of the economists was constantly to study the tendency of the times and to propose measures for checking its evil inclinations. So the economists set out to do what the physicists, chemists, astronomers and others had shown to be hopeless, they set out to check the operation of natural law. Immediately there sprang up like mushrooms a hundred different quarrelling sects of economists. Acknowledging no principle on which their study operated, their devices were as various as the features of their faces. The result is that today, for every proposition an economist makes, many may be found to contradict him.
It is interesting to observe that the modern schools, which rejected the classical economists because they conceived their study as a science, quietly accept the conclusion of the classical economists that social injustice is of the very nature of things. May it not be that this conclusion was reached as the result of some very grave error of observation or reasoning? May it not be that man has failed to understand the natural forces at work in society or has failed to comply with them?
Certainly the practical action in the social sphere that has resulted from this kind of thought has failed to secure any real advancement. True, many measures have been taken for the alleviation of the suffering of those reduced in poverty. Though the free schools, free medical services and social insurances have improved the health and general standard of life of the people, yet this improvement being slower than that attained in the material sciences, the general standard lags farther and farther behind that which could be achieved. More important, however, with this extension of state services, and even more with the extension of subsidies, quotas and production controls, there has come a decline in initiative, a decline in boldness and the spirit of adventure, and a decline in the level of politics that recently threatened this civilization with disaster.
Clearly, unless men generally come to understand how properly to govern their relations in society, this crisis will recur. They must understand how to use the giant powers which the material sciences have put at their disposal, unless they would continue to be, like boys in a laboratory mixing the coloured chemicals, ignorant and careless of the consequences. To attain this understanding it would seem that a new and more humble approach to the study of social relations is required. First, it is essential to find and measure the natural laws at work in society for they are above man’s control and govern his every activity. An understanding of these laws must reveal the realities of the situation and show the constant factors in social life. Once ascertained, this knowledge will make easy the further understanding of how to shape society so that natural forces may operate to the greatest good.
Man has a freedom of choice for he may choose to do right or wrong. Once having chosen, however, the consequences of his act follow inevitably. The law of gravity is of sovereign good to the whole of natural creation but if a man throws himself from the top of a cliff the operation of this same law will dash him to pieces. In order to progress men must understand the forces which dominate their life, and having understood them they must bring their institutions into conformity with them.
Man and Nature – Excerpt by Leon Maclaren
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Sunday afternoon tea is being poured in the upstairs lobby of the Jefferson Hotel. Decaffeinated classical music plays through the speakers. Downstairs, Richmond composer D.J. Sparr can't get a cup of coffee. He rings a bell and the sound echoes against the bar mirror. He has the slightly rumpled look of a piece of paper that's been folded in a jacket pocket and smoothed out on an airplane tray.
The past week was a busy one. His first opera, "Approaching Ali," was in rehearsal at the Kennedy Center in Washington, so he spent the week in the capital, with another week to go. "I asked to come home for the weekend, so they're flying me back tomorrow morning," Sparr says. He's given up on the coffee and is sitting slantwise on his chair in the empty bar. "Opera people have lots of money," he says.
The 37-year-old is having a busy year. His first album comes out this fall from Centaur Records. He was selected for a residency at the prestigious Yaddo artists' colony, and his status as young American composer in residence at the California Symphony was extended into its third year. An active electric guitarist, he also performs solo and with orchestras.
Two years ago, Sparr and his wife, Kimberly, a violist, sublet their house for the summer to Davis Miller, author of the memoir "The Tao of Muhammad Ali." The book describes the effect the boxer had on Miller's troubled childhood and their friendship as adults.
Later, when Sparr read a news release from Washington National Opera announcing its American Opera Initiative project to commission American-themed works by young composers, he thought of Miller's book and emailed the artistic director, asking if it was interested. He got the commission.
"D. J. is a good self-promoter, the way all artists should be," says Michael Heaston, program director of the American Opera Initiative. "He's got excellent credentials. He more than met our expectations."
For Sparr, a typical day of composing involves three work sessions of two to four hours each, punctuated by walks with the dogs and just enough housework to keep Kimberly satisfied. ("I've figured out the small things that give the biggest payoff," he says, grinning.)
He uses a timer to keep himself strictly on task for 45-minute chunks. Each day, he has a goal of how much music he'll complete, measured in seconds.
"Four months seems like a long time to write an hour-long opera, but it's not," he says. "Writing a minute of music a day is a lot."
To compose "Approaching Ali," Sparr watched all the videos he could find of boxer Muhammad Ali, internalizing the cadence of his voice. He read about Ali's religious practices. He listened to the sound of boxers practicing on the speed bag and worked with scales and harmonies from India.
The opera's libretto was written by Miller and Mark Campbell, one of the most prolific librettists in the United States. The work for six singers and 10-piece orchestra was fully staged with set, lighting and choreography. The performances on June 8 and 9 were reviewed: The Baltimore Sun called his score "imaginative" and "nimble," while the New York Times and Washington Post were distinctly lukewarm in their reception, particularly of elements influenced by Eastern melodic and rhythmic practices.
Sparr isn't a New York darling or avant-garde hero. He has no notoriety or megahits. But compared with five or six years ago, he definitely has more work. On the heels of the opera, Sparr has another commission due, a piece for the piccolo player of the Los Angeles Philharmonic and a choir of flutes. Then he wants to start on a 25-minute orchestral work for the California Symphony.
"The projects have a bigger scope," he says. "There are more people waiting on the other side. The deadlines are firmer."
Despite his increasingly busy life — who flies to Washington from Richmond, after all? — Sparr is slowing his music down. "I've been trying to be influenced by the slower pacing of Eastern music," he says.
Sparr will spend the next few months composing in Colorado, where Kimberly is the assistant principal violist of the Colorado Music Festival Orchestra every summer. In the Rocky Mountains, there's time for slow moments.
"I go to Lookout Gulch and think about music," he says. S
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After turtles mate, the female digs a ditch and lays the eggs there to fend for themselves.The female picks a spot to lay its eggs which can vary between banks, swamps or pools. After the eggs are laid, the female turtle returns back to the water and swims away.
It is estimated that more than 90 percent of snapping turtle eggs are destroyed by hungry predators. The eggs that do survive the growth process still have to make it the water before being snatched away.
Sexual maturity on a turtle is measured more by its size as oppose to its age. These turtles are ready to mate when their shells are approximately 8 inches long.
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The Appointed Time
For the vision is yet for the appointed time, and it hurries toward the end, and won't prove false. Though it takes time, wait for it; because it will surely come. It won't delay. Habakkuk 2:3 WEB
Over twenty years ago the Lord gave me a word that I would be a pioneer of new things in ministry and to prepare myself. I was excited and told some friends, but they just gave me a dumb look and asked if I seriously believed that. Looking back on it, I guess it would have been hard to believe. I was no one, with no education, and from a long family line that did not even attend church. We did own a dust-covered Bible that no one read, and almost everything they told me was in it, was not. Most of what I knew turned out to be the traditions of men and personal preferences.
I later went back to school and earned a degree in theology, but instead of Him putting me into ministry, I worked on computers for the next twenty years. I became skilled at it and owned my own business. Then suddenly that door shut, the business tanked, and the week that we were preparing to move out of our home, I ended up in ministry as a pastor. Now we find ourselves building an online church using the computer skills that I learned along the way, and we are beginning to do new things in ministry.
God rarely calls the qualified, but He qualifies the one that He calls. God's voice brings faith with it, and your friends who did not receive the word will not understand, but that will not matter or change your course. The word is for you alone, and those around you may never understand. Jesus' family did not understand Him either. He said 'A prophet is not without honor, except in his own country, and among his own relatives, and in his own house' Mark 6:4.
When God calls you to do something, He will also give you the faith to complete it. If you feel that He has not yet called you, then volunteer like Isaiah (Isaiah 6:8). Here I am! Send me! Don't give up during the training or when it does not happen overnight. No one can stop God's plan for you, except you.Prayer: Heavenly Father please make the vision clear and me steadfast. Help me to hold on to Your word and give me the grace to get through this. My life is Yours, in the the name of Jesus Christ I pray.
Read more at: www.refreshinghope.org
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I have been re-organizing my work-space of late and in the process I came across my dad’s old drill. This drill was his very first power tool!
He began woodworking part time in a garage. Originally he and my mom refinished furniture, then he started part time woodworking to support his farming income during the winter (corn fields don't require much intervention when they're covered in snow!). Eventually his cabinet business grew and became his primary livelihood. By the time I entered the scene his cabinet business had matured into what it is today, Leman Cabinets.
My first work in the cabinet shop began as a kid with the manufacture of wooden swords and guns with my older brother. In middle school I started working part time in the cabinet shop during the summers (I used to do a lot of sanding!) and after school. I continued working at the cabinet shop during college breaks and for a few years after I graduated.
During this time my artistic curiosity prompted me to start experimenting with furniture design (which I could do since I already had years of woodworking experience at this point). This artistic experimentation was the beginnings of Dust as you see it today!
And you know the rest of the story; when Jessie & I were still dating, she helped me turn my beginning designs into a line of reproducible furniture called 'Dust Furniture'. We ventured off and collected three galleries to carry our furniture. Just a short month after we got married we took Dust to the Buyers Market of American Craft in 2005 which launched our little business from 3 galleries to 30 galleries over a long weekend in Philadelphia.
So, this drill is a special object to me; it represents my dad's beginnings as a woodworker which lead to his cabinet business. And his beginnings gave rise my own beginnings as a woodworker which has lead to Dust Furniture & Uncommon Handmade.
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Saint Peregrine, Servite and priest – returns to Forli and is Miraculously Cured of Cancer
After approximately five years, his superiors sent Sant Peregrine, now a priest, back to Forli, to open a house, there. He was available to everyone who called on him, never too tired to counsel whoever came to him. Because of this, he earned the name, “Angel of Good Counsel.”
An authentic and outstanding priest, he approached all the works of his vocation as gifts and privileges. His life was salvation of souls, and consolation to the suffering and impoverished. And this, he did not only with much devotion, but delight!
He was fervent, as he celebrated the Sacrifice of the Mass. Beginning reverently with the Word, he went on to passionately relive the Eucharistic Prayer. He was back in Capharnaum, with Jesus, as He is telling his followers, He will give them bread and they will never die; he is in the Upper Room with Jesus, as He is giving us the means by which we could have Him until the end of the world; and Peregrine is saying yes, to being that means through which Jesus would be brought to life, to the faithful of his day.
We know Peregrine was a zealot, but he was first and foremost, a servant of God. Jesus said, “Feed My lambs,” and that, Peregrine did with the last ounce of his strength. The same qualities, he had shown as a brash young man, fighting against the Church, he now used fighting for that Church’s people.
He ministered tirelessly to the sick. A plague had broken out in Italy and had spread to Forli. No one was safe, or excused, from the spreading ravages of the disease. Saint Peregrine would not even take time out to be sick. Now, a very tired and sick sixty years old, he could barely stand. A cancerous growth, on his right leg, had spread dangerously, and there was no way out. He had to be operated on!
He had worked among the sick, ignoring his own pain and the seriousness of his illness, for years. Now, it seemed, the Lord was saying, through the doctors, there was nothing that could be done; the leg had to be amputated! Or was that the Lord talking?
All his life, his greatest struggle had been obedience. That was the room of his heart, he would have to hand over to Jesus, again and again. No sooner did he allow the Lord into that part of his will, he would, at the next crisis, shut him out again. He always judged himself the reluctant giver. But the Lord really does not care how you do it; He loves reluctant and willing, the same.
The Lord was waiting for his total surrender! Peregrine turned the entire matter over to Jesus. But, it wouldn’t hurt to pray! If, the next day, when he awakened from the operation, he was to be in the Presence of Jesus and Mary, in his Heavenly home, what better way to prepare for the journey? They would not reject him, as even those he’d helped had. The sight of his sore, and the stench emanating from it, repulsed them. Did he surrender all those hurts over to the Lord and His Mother?
The night before he was scheduled to be operated on, he went into the chapter room of the Priory. He was all alone. He prayed before a fresco of Jesus Crucified. He fell into a deep sleep. He had a vision of the Lord. Our Lord came down from His Cross and reaching out to his cancerous leg, He touched it, ever so gently, with His Healing Hand.
The next morning, he awakened, resigned to the operation. Like with so many of us, the Lord had been just waiting for his yes. Peregrine was amazed! His leg didn’t hurt. He could stand, he could walk, without pain! He was completely healed!
The operation never took place. When the surgeons investigated the leg, they reported there was not a trace of the illness. As Bob likes to say, tell an Italian and you tell the world; news of this miracle spread. People, who knew and loved him, had been following anxiously the progressive deterioration of Peregrine’s health. Imagine when they heard, he had been completely cured! And overnight!
Peregrine lived for another twenty years. People continued to come to him, for help. Before, it had been for spiritual direction and healing of the soul; now they came seeking miracles of the body. Like with his Lord, he didn’t care why they came, he said yes!
There were miracles, even before his death. As we say, in Lourdes, no one went away disappointed. Many were healed of the cancer that attacked their bodies, but we are sure as many, if not more, left cured of the cancer that spreads and kills the soul. Through the Sacrament, he so lovingly administered, that of Reconciliation, they went away with new life. Remembering that Jesus first said, before healing physically, “Your sins are forgiven you,” imagine the next twenty years for Peregrine in the confessional. It had to be the culmination of this faithful priest’s life!
Peregrine was eighty years old, but when he looked upon his Lady, it was like the first time; he was young! The young cavalier in the old priest’s body was ready to ride gallantly forth with his Lady. On May 1st, 1345, consumed now by fever, with his last spark of life, Peregrine’s spirit soared, like a rocket of fire, to his Lord and to the Lady he so loved. She had called him from the world, to life as a religious. Now, Mary was calling him out of the world, to live eternally with her and her Son, Jesus.
All his life as a religious, had been a preparation for this, his entrance into eternal life. We know, as Peregrine called out, “Jesus! Mary!” They lifted him and carried him Home.
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A British Army specification for a light truck was issued in the late 1940’s, inspired by the Jeep but able to perform in all theatres of operation of the British Army. It was considered important that a British-made vehicle was produced in order to reduce the reliance on US vehicles and the foreign expenditure that entailed.
The first production vehicle was completed on 1 September 1951. The Rolls-Royce-designed B40 four-cylinder engine of 2,838cc was fitted, the smallest of the standardised B-Range engines. Approximately half of the contract were to be basic vehicles known as Cargo trucks and the remainder were to be fitted with high-output generators and additional batteries in order to power radio equipment. A few were fitted with additional equipment for use as field ambulances, telephone line-laying vehicles or equipped with armour and a .303in Vickers medium machine gun or .303 Bren light machine gun utilising the built-in pintle mount forward of the windscreen, but the majority served as cargo/personnel carriers or were fitted with radios. As the Champ entered service it became apparent that although it had an outstanding cross-country performance, it was too expensive (£1,200 at 1951 prices), too complex and had limited use outside of the narrow field combat role for which it had been designed. Consequently, the contract with Austin was amended and finally prematurely terminated some 4,000 vehicles short of the 15,000 originally contracted.
This beautifully restored example, now in very good condition throughout represents a fantastic piece of British history.
Offered at No Reserve on 18th May 2019 at Chiswick House.
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“Don’t be alarmed,” he said. “You are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who was crucified. He has risen! He is not here. See the place where they laid him. Mark 16:6 (NIV)
The women who went to treat Jesus´ body with fragrance found a big surprise. Stumbling cautiously into the tomb where they expected to find Him, took a little courage. Something drove those women forward. What was it? What is it that moves a person to seek Christ? Is it a quality that we all possess? Or is it a quality that in itself can be sought? Does it stem from the individual or is it placed there by Another? Does it grow from an awareness within us of an emptiness, a lack a need? Or can it be attained through mental calculations, deductions and conclusions? Does our need for this precious quality of seeking our Lord start when we become aware that we should be looking for Him? At conversion? Or has it been there flowing through our veins throughout the history of our race?
Is there good news for those who are looking for Jesus? Are there some who are still doing that? Who are they? How are they going about their search? What is it that they want to find? Are they looking to join a social group? Do they want to refine their habits? Or is there simply a deep hole within them that steadily yet forcefully needs to be filled? What is It that moves us? Why do we come? Have we stopped lately to consider? Do we go over these sentiments often? Do we go to Him for His approval? Or do we give ourselves all the approval we need?
Is our need to find Jesus limited to just a few individuals? Or is it felt by everyone who wears the body of a human being? If only a few choose to recognize it, should the others want to seek it too? Have we found honesty and found that forceful yearning drawing us to Him? Should those who haven’t recognized it yet, be led to the same conclusion? Are all men willing to relinquish the right to decide where they choose to go to fill their void?
The women who entered the tomb that morning were startled to find a young man in white. They came looking for Jesus and He recognized that in them. He referred to them as looking for Jesus. Would we too like to be referred to in such a way? The messenger gave them the sweetest message of hope. He said, “Jesus is not here! Jesus is risen!” As the ladies left that tomb, was something new burning within their hearts? Had anything changed in their soul´s need to seek Jesus? Or were they now infused with a host of new and exciting sensations? To top off their love for Him and their hearts burning to find our Savior, did they now have hope, urgency and wonder? Are these commendable qualities even for us today? Could we too seek all the wonderful results which come from a genuine attempt to draw near to Jesus?
Dear Jesus, are there still left some who are searching for You? Or are we all sulking behind closed doors morning our losses and mistaking the deep emptiness inside us all. Please awaken us to our need to find You. Let us rest not in our deliberate searching. Let us burn for You and fan those flames to move us in all that we say and do. Let this be what defines us! Let it be clear to see that we are people who are looking for You! This is our prayer today, to be seekers of You. Be with us, assist us, and help us to find You each day as we insistently come. Let our blessed findings, spur us forward to seek You more. More love, more grace and whole lot more of wonder and awe!
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When I was back home last September helping mom go through stuff and pack to move out I discovered these old goodies that she didn't want.
Of course I wasn't going to let her put them in the yard sale! I volunteered to take them off her hands for the following reasons (not in any particular order):
- My obsession with ephemera
- There's history in them there books
- They were grandma Hazels
Actually only two of them have her name on them. The other one has the name "Mrs Ethelyn Bee" stamped on it. I had never heard that name before, but I discovered that she is grandma Hazel's first cousin once removed. I found some photos and newspaper articles on her FamilySearch profile. Poor woman died in an automobile accident.
The Relief Society Magazine is an excellent genealogy and family history resource. Many issues are filled with photographs, true pioneer stories, and other events your ancestor may have been involved with.
For example, there is a section called "Notes From the Field" and this particular photo is in the June 1942 issue:
If you have ancestors that were in the Relief Society, or are just interested, you can read digital copies of some of the Relief Society Magazine issues on the BYU library website.
I have been busy scanning old issues and with my addiction to Geni, you know I had to create a project.
Join the world's largest family tree
The other one is called Young•Woman's Journal and it belonged to Vera Madsen who is a cousin of grandma Hazel. There are a few issues of these at Hathi Trust Digital Library.
I'm sure that these magazines were among the ephemera that grandma Hazel kept. And I'm quite sure that's where my obsession for ephemera gene came from.
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Suzanne M. Henseler
Who Was Suzanne M. Henseler And Why Is Our School Named After Her?
A teacher, state legislator , town council member , school committee member and mother of three who lived down the road from Quidnessett for over thirty years, Suzanne M. Henseler was a model of public service who constantly strove to improve her community. Sue devoted her life primarily to three things: raising her family, educating her students and working to protect the interests of the people of North Kingstown.
Sue served on the North Kingstown School Committee from 1978 through 1982, and in 1982 became a state representative for much of North Kingstown. In 1992 she was named the first woman Majority Whip of the House of Representatives, the third highest position in the General Assembly and at the time the highest-ranking position a woman had ever held. While working at the state house through 2002, Sue sponsored bills that focused on, among other things, education, the environment and women's health issues. She helped pass many laws that have had a positive impact on the people of North Kingstown and citizens of Rhode Island.
At the same time she was serving as a state representative, Sue also worked as a history teacher at St. Rocco School in Johnston. In 2004, Sue was elected to serve on the North Kingstown Town Council. Sue's three sons all attended Quidnessett Elementary School.
In September 2006, Sue died after a courageous battle with breast cancer. As a way to recognize the many years of service Sue had provided the town, in 2008 the North Kingstown Town Council unanimously voted to rename Quidnessett Elementary School in her honor.
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Had an interesting experience today. Darryl and I went to the hospital to visit someone. We couldn’t get into Darryl’s friend’s room (he was otherwise obligated) so we left. On our way in I had seen the sign for the chapel, but never having seen a hospital chapel before, I wanted to see it on the way out. We walked inside, and a woman followed closely behind.
We walked around for a moment, just looking around. It looked like a small healing room to me. The lady that followed us in signed into the “prayer register”, went and sat down, and we signed in behind her. I had an overwhelming urge to go and pray for her, so I asked her if it was appropriate for me to pray for her. She broke down immediately, sobbing from her very core. I could only hold her, I couldn’t stop her sobs.
I felt as though it was her child, and I asked, “Is it your baby?” She related, once she could speak, that she had given birth to her child 2-months prematurely because she had high blood pressure. She didn’t know she was sick. I started to pray for her, and I felt that she was under intense guilt and self-condemnation, as if it were her fault that the baby was born prematurely. I stated this to her, and said, “Don’t let the enemy tell you that it was your fault! Don’t carry that ‘False Responsibility’!”
She said that her boyfriend HAD, in fact, pointed his finger at her and told her it was her fault that the baby was born a preemie. This kind of condemnation and guilt laid on her by her boyfriend could be life altering, potentially destructive, or even lethal.
So, I prayed with her for a while and gave her a box of Kleenex. She asked me for a hug, which I gladly gave her, a great big, Daddy-God hug. I told her that God sent me there to pray for her, and that He wanted her to feel His arms around her. He knew that she needed to feel a touch from Him, feel His love. She just wept and wept. A little while later Darryl and I left.
Driving home, I thought how marvelous is our God? He sent us all the way to the Woodlands for pray for this precious mother, under the guise of visiting another friend in the hospital!
Jehovah Sneaky is on the job. He is moving and shaking already in this new year. Make no mistake. — Edie
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Stephanie Brown was born the daughter of the Cluemaster, one of Gotham City third-rate villains. Stephanie’s father spent most of her childhood in prison or away from the family. Though he claimed to be “rehabilitated” upon his return to Gotham, Stephanie was furious to discover that he was actually returning to crime without his need to leave clues behind. She decided something needed to be done. Stephanie tailored a costume for herself, and called herself the Spoiler. She knew where her father was hiding out, found out his plans, and left clues so that the police and Batman could stop him. Robin (Tim Drake) tracked her down, and she joined in on the capturing of Cluemaster. She also became attracted to Robin, and it annoyed her that he knew her identity but she did not know his.
During the events of “Knightquest”, Cluemaster broke out of prison, along with Czonk and the Electrocutioner. Stephanie learned of the breakout on the news. Her mother, suffering from depression, was struggling with an addiction to painkillers. Steph decided to don her Spoiler outfit and go after her dad. She ran into Robin, and he let her work with him, although they got separated. Spoiler helped Robin out and he gave her a kiss in thanks. Before she could find out if she would see him again, the police arrived and they had to part ways.
Stephanie was kidnapped shortly thereafter by the Gully Carson gang, working with Cluemaster, who was still behind bars. Cluemaster got the idea to use her as insurance, but when the Carson gang withheld his part of the cut, he contacted Batman and Robin and told them that he had been forced to orchestrate their schemes because they were holding his daughter. Batman located the Carson’s lair and Robin freed Stephanie. She insisted on getting her costume and going with him to bring down the rest of the gang–against Batman’s objection. They were successful, and Stephanie decided to pay her dad a little visit in prison. She also made her attraction to the Boy Wonder very clear.
Spoiler next bumped into Robin when he was teamed up with the Green Arrow (Connor Hawke) to take down a street gang selling guns. She told him that she did not think it was fair that he got to have all the fun, so she was going to become the Spoiler more often. She insisted on coming with the two of them as they took down the gang, flirting with Robin as usual. There was no time for that, however, when they went after the real leaders of the gang the following night, as Robin was enraged over the death of a fellow student, Karl Ranck. Steph went to the funeral, unaware that Robin was there (with his girlfriend) in his civilian identity. That night, Spoiler met up with Robin, telling him that she was going to be Spoiler more often, and would help him go against the boy who shot Ranck. They were in over their heads however, but thankfully Batman turned up, saved their necks and ordered Stephanie to go home.
I’m almost fifty percent sure nothing could go wrong.”
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The Certainty of Luke
This morning, Janet, Andrew and I headed north to Tipton where I once again had a guest preaching assignment – week two, having already been there to preach a message last Sunday. Last week, I worked on teaching the book of 3 John, a short epistle written by John near the end of his life. It was dedicated to teaching people that truth was foundational to love and that believers should make sure that they are listening to people who are speaking the truth.
Today, I decided to speak about another writer of the Gospels. Luke was a doctor and wrote to the general population to affirm that the things he was telling the audience were rooted in the truth – the stories in his book were handed down and conveyed by people who had actually walked and talked with Jesus Himself during His time on earth. Luke set forth to write an orderly account of everything that had happened to ensure that people knew that Jesus was the Messiah. He claimed that the stories were told by eyewitnesses, people who had been there with the Messiah.
As an educated man, Dr. Luke did, in fact, write things down in an orderly fashion. He authored two books in the New Testament – the Gospel named for him and Acts – really written as “The Acts of the Apostles”. His gospel proclaimed the deity of Jesus through the various stories that were told there and his second book, Acts, was written to provide a further account of what happened after the ascension of Jesus to the Father.
It is in this book that we find the account of the beginning of the church – the famous chapter 2 that recounts the indwelling of the Holy Spirit on those who attended what we believe to be the first church service. There were many miracles and people were baptized by the thousands. But there was one major issue that had to be learned by the apostles. And that is that Jesus died for everyone – including the Gentiles. You see, up to this time, it was thought that the death of Jesus was for the benefit of the chosen people – the Jews. But through Luke’s account, we uncover a story of inclusion and the desire of Jesus that all people be saved.
We have the account in chapter 8 about the baptism of the eunuch by Philip – proving that pagans can be accepted by Jesus and baptized in His name. In chapter 9, we have the story of the conversion of Paul – a dramatic event resulting in the temporary blindness of Paul and his conversion as one of the staunchest supporters of Jesus. In fact, we are told in Acts that Jesus identified Paul as the apostle who would be charged with ministering to the Gentiles – a highly unlikely ministry given the history of Paul and his persecution of God’s people.
Then, in Acts 10, we have the story of Peter’s vision about eating “unclean” meat. God then admonishes Peter that nothing is unclean that God has made clean. The story continues when Peter goes to the house of Cornelius, a Roman centurion, and witnesses the Holy Spirit descend on all who were assembled and had heard Peter’s message. It was this day that Peter finally realizes that salvation is open to all and that Jesus died for all people. Paul even acknowledges that he is not able to deny baptism to those who have been accepted by Christ.
However, Peter had one more mission to complete. He had to convince the other apostles that it was in the will of God to minister to the Gentiles. He was successful in speaking with the others and the rest, as they say, is history. Paul, under the direction of the mandate of Jesus, became the key apostle who spent the rest of his life leading Gentiles to an eternal life in Christ.
The verse for tonight is the verse that confirms for us that Peter finally understands the message of God and that Jesus died for everyone. We are told, in Act 11:18, “When they heard this, they had no further objections and praised God, saying, “So then, God has granted even the Gentiles repentance unto life.” We are told that this was the response of the other apostles when Peter recounted his story of the visions to them.
My encouragement this evening is to affirm that Jesus wants us to reach out to everyone and spread the good news of Jesus Christ. My prayer is that you will experience a divine peace and a willingness to be used by the God of the universe to bring others into an eternal relationship with Jesus. Have a great day in the Lord, grace and peace…
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Here is just a little info to let you get to know our pub better...
Here is just a little info to let you get to know our pub better...
Here is a little potted history of our pub and the local area... if you have a spare minute or two and maybe a cup of tea (or is that a G&T), we think it's well worth a read.
Surprising as it may seem, in medieval times the entire area from Chester Castle right up to the former infirmary was taken up by religious institutions, their gardens and vegetable plots, as is reflected by the nomenclature of the area- the Black Friars, White Friars and Grey Friars all had monasteries here, as well as the Benedictine Nuns of St.Mary's, whose convent was situated near to the current HQ building. These institutions were all relatively compact in size.
These religious institutions were disbanded during the dissolution of the monasteries between 1536 and 1541, and the convent came into the ownership of the Brereton family, the building and site being granted to Uriah Brereton in 1542.
In a map of 1745, there still appears to be a building standing on the site of the original convent,
but this building had disappeared by 1796, as evidenced by a carefully surveyed map of John Stockdale.
The current pub, which was built as a private residence initially named the Rectory and then St Martin's Villa, was built in what would have been the convent's gardens, called Nun's Field.
The Architect has an interesting history, as it was designed by the renowned classical architect Thomas Harrison as his own home, and he lived here from 1820 until his death in 1829 at the age of 85.
Thomas Harrison was born in Richmond in Yorkshire in 1744, the son of a carpenter, but he showed great aptitude at an early age for mathematics, drawing and mechanics, so much so that a local landowner and businessman, Sir Lawrence Dundas, sent him to study in Italy for several years. While in Rome, Thomas Harrison created a design for Pope Clement XIV of the piazza near the Porta del Popolo, for which the Pope presented him with a gold and silver medal. The Pope ordered his name to be added to the members of the Academy of St Luke, an association of artists, and awarded him a seat on the council of that body.
Harrison returned to England in 1776 and exhibited his drawings from Rome at the Royal Academy. Shortly afterwards, as the result of a successful architectural competition, he was commissioned to build a bridge over the River Lune in Lancaster. The classical design of the bridge, modelled on one he had seen in Italy, had five elliptical arches of a sixty nine feet span, and was one of the first in Britain to be built with a level surface previously, bridges had a hump in the middle. George III laid the first stone of the Lancaster bridge in 1783, and building works were completed in 1788. This bridge later formed the basis of the designs of London bridge and Waterloo bridge by John Rennie.
Even at that stage, Thomas Harrison is described as being 'of Chester', although he undertook a number of further commissions in Lancaster and in 1788 he was appointed architect for the rebuilding of Lancaster Castle. which he undertook in a Gothic style. Before building began, remarkably Harrison had also been appointed to be the architect in charge of the remodelling of Chester Castle, again as the result of a competition. He was given more freedom of expression for this design and his plans were in a Grecian Doric style, his designs including a prison, county assize courts, armoury, exchequer and gateway.
He evidently was under considerable pressure from the volume of work he had undertaken, and his commitment to the Chester castle building work came under scrutiny while he was supervising the Lancaster Castle works, resulting in an irate letter demanding he return immediately to take control of the Chester project. He duly left Lancaster never to return, and work there was suspended for a number of years, in part due to a shortage of funds. The work at Lancaster castle was eventually completed with Joseph Gandy, a former colleague of Harrison, as architect.
Harrison's reputation in Chester was at a low point as a result of his absence, but with diligence he soon re-established himself, and by 1808 he was given the commission to design the new North gate of Chester city walls, which he completed in a simple classical style. In 1815, he was appointed Cheshire County Architect. Work on Chester Castle was completed by 1820, which coincided with the completion of St Martin's Lodge as his residence.
The land on which St Martin's Villa was built was donated to the architect by the County in gratitude for his professional services'.
Thomas Harrison designed and built St. Martin's Villa as his own residence, from where it overlooked the works he had undertaken at Chester Castle. After the completion of the building, work on the Grosvenor Bridge was commenced, although he died before its completion.
The building is a simple villa, built in a somewhat austere style, but is nevertheless beautifully proportioned. Charles Cockerell, fellow architect, described the house as being "well conceived, broad, elegant and simple". It adopts a conventional classical form, influenced by Roman villas and Palladio's villas of Northern Italy which Harrison would have studied on his European tour, and the overall effect is certainly pleasing to the eye and harmonious.
The building has certainly very little in the way of ornamentation there are no cills or lintels, for instance, or Doric columns to the entrance, and similarly the interior is almost minimalist in its lack of unnecessary decoration.
The Tithe map of 1848 indicates that the site of the villa was part of a large plot owned by Mr Matthews and occupied by Joseph Kay. In 1857, the villa was bequeathed to the parish of St. Bridget and St. Martin as the Rectory by Thomas Harrison's daughter Anne. It was named on this map as St Martin's parish, and in a map of 1874, and another of 1911, the building is described as The Rectory.
In 1960, St. Martin's Lodge was purchased by the County Council to form an annex of the Police Headquarters.
Interestingly, at that time Harrison built his house overlooking Chester Castle, the city was still very much a trading port with a long ship-building tradition. Here the Watergate area and the Old Port is described by J. H. Hanshall, the second Editor of the Chester Chronicle, in 1816:
"Beyond the Watergate are Crane-street, Back Crane-street, and Paradise Row, the whole of which lead to the wharfs on the river. For a number of years Chester has carried on a considerable business in shipbuilding."
"Within the last ten years the trade has wonderfully increased, and even now it is not unusual to see ten or a dozen vessels on the stocks at a time. In fact, there are nearly as many ships built in Chester as in Liverpool, and the former have always a decided preference from the merchants. Indeed, Chester lies particularly convenient for the trade, as by the approximation of the Dee, timber is every season floated down from the almost exhaustless woods of Wales, at a trifling expense and without the least risk. The principal shipwright in Chester is Mr. Cortney, but Mr. Troughton's is the oldest establishment. There were lately nearly 250 hands employed in the business, two-thirds of whom were in Mr. Cortney's yard, but the trade is at present flat. Six vessels of war have been built by him, and within the last two years (1814-15) two corvettes and two sloops of war, The Cyrus, The Mersey, The Eden, and The Levant, from twenty to thirty guns each. The firm of Mulvey and Co., formerly of Frodsham, have established a yard near the Crane. Cortney's yard launched a brig in 1804, an East lndiaman of 580 tons in 1810, and in 1813 a West India-man of 800 tons, in addition to the corvettes and war sloops mentioned by Hanshall."
At the beginning of the 19th century, Chester only had a single river crossing, which was the narrow medieval bridge at Handbridge.
Thomas Telford had proposed building a new road from Shrewsbury to Anglesey to encourage trade between England and Ireland, but because of the restricted access across the river Dee at that time, he proposed to bypass Chester completely. Hence Chester magistrates formed a committee to look at plans to establish a new river crossing into Chester so the city might benefit from the increased Irish trade.
Because of its importance as a port, the bridge needed to be particularly tall to enable ships to pass underneath, so Thomas Harrison fashioned a design which had an arch almost 60 feet high, with a span of some 200 feet at the time, the largest single spanned bridge in the world. The bridge cost around £50,000, or some £4 milllion in today's money.
At the time he was commissioned to design the bridge, Thomas Harison was 82 years old, and he died two years into the construction process, and his pupil William Cole completed the works by 1833. The bridge was opened by Princess Victoria.
Reputedly, the arch at the top of the stairs replicated the arch of the Grosvenor Bridge, and you can see the similarity of profile.
One further point of interest is that in the second world war, a Chester vet flying for the RAF, one Jimmy Storrar, piloted his Hawker Hurricane under the bridge.
Thomas Harrison was extremely prolific, and designed many bridges, castles, museums, churches, private houses, prisons and monuments. Wikipedia lists some 70 works undertaken by him in a 45 year career from 1782 to 1828
After managing pubs in the hustle and bustle of Borough Market in London for the last 8 years, Hannah has moved back up to Chester to be nearer to family and has taken the reigns here at The Architect. On her days off you’ll find her out walking Bailey the Cocker Spaniel either on Chester racecourse or back in her home town of Llangollen. Hannah is a fan of all things craft beer related and is enjoying making her way through the 140 gins on the bar.
Alan has a rich background in various different locations in Chester. He brings his wealth of experience to The Architect and is always bringing a smile to the crews face! His love for a glass of wine or cider knows no boundaries - grapes and apples are one of your 5 a day? if you cant see Al its due to the speed he moves through the pub, often leaving a blur in his wake.
Junior Deputy Manager
Drew comes from Wales and considers himself to be a proud Welsh man. He claims to be able to put a smile on anyones face (please feel free to test him!) He loves walks, dogs, walks with dogs, food wine and ale which fortunately most of these things can be found at a Brunning and Price pub! A lover of dad jokes-the worse the better, he cares deeply for his crew and would gladly give up his last fruit pastel.
Dan is another Chester stalwart. He has a long family tradition in Hospitality (his mum at Pale Hall in Bala, his brother at the Ivy Manchester) and he has finally found his calling in the pub environment too. Unfortunately he also has a love for Manchester United, but on the plus side, is passionate about good food, wine and beer.... especially the beer!
Nat has worked on and off at The Architect for 3 years taking a break to desert us and live in Oz. She is our very hard working Trainee Assistant Manager who we have been trying to lock into management for some time, we are happy to have finally won her over! however still loves to travel Europe and the world any chance she gets. She is a lover of vegetarian food and most of all - dogs, you can find her petting every dog in our bar area and knows them all by name.
Sophie has worked on and off at the Architect for the past five years when she was not at the pub pulling pints she was down in the big city studying for her fashion degree within recently graduating. She is a big lover of food and wine but most importantly shopping - If its not a glass of wine in hand it’ll be a most likely be a shopping bag!
Jessica is our longest running member of staff having been around since it’s doors first opened back in 2012! When she’s not helping to run the place as one of our supervisor team, she’s our “go to†Live singer, solo or with fellow supervisor Amber, not only for us but across our sister pubs in the North West too. If there is Music and Gin involved, Jess will be there.
Dan is our resident northern wit factory, born and raised in Bolton Dan has been with us for nearly two years now. With a love for the mighty Bolton Wanderers and anything to do with history he’s always got an answer to a question or a question to an answer regarding the architects rich history and other random facts. You can usually find him making friends with the abundance of dogs that frequent the architect
Hal is found at The Architect either serving or imbibing our selection of drinks. He has a passion for everything in the pub industry and spends some of his free time swotting up on the history of different spirits, wines, and beers, this made him the perfect choice to be our supervisor and bar cellar man. A die-hard fan of The Arctic Monkeys, The Alien Movies, and all sorts of literature his love of pop-culture is unstoppable.
Paula is our Admin and Events Co-ordinator. Having worked as Assistant Manager here at the Architect and Deputy Manager at our sister pub The Morris Dancer she is full versed in all things Brunning & Price. Paula has an unusual hospitality background travelling the world looking after the rich and famous on super yachts, she's got some cracking stories to tell, if you ask her nicely. An avid Gin and Craft Ale drinker (she even has shares in Brewdog), she is definitely our organisation queen.
Sam started his career in kitchens straight after leaving school, working in hotels and restaurants honing his skills and working his way up through the ranks. Originally from the Isle of White, Sam has settled in Chester and has been with us for over 2 years. Recently promoted to Head Chef we couldn't be happier he chose The Architect to call home. Whens hes not running our very busy kitchen he spends his time at the Pool.
Jimmy or Jim as he likes to be known (James when he needs telling off) has been a chef for 20 years in and around the North-west. He has been at The Architect as one of our sous chefs for 7 months now and when he can escape the fast paced kitchen he likes to go fishing or watch Liverpool FC.
A.K.A David Dickinson, this man is tan-tastic. Previously a BT engineer, David had a complete career change when he realised he liked food more than tiny wires. A keen golfer, he is very patient on the course and in the kitchen. He keeps the younger guys in check, so is a real asset in any kitchen, especially a busy one.
Use the calendar to book a table. If the time you're after is not available, give us a call and we will try our best to fit you in. We keep some tables for phone bookings.
We don't reserve any of our outside tables so if you enjoy a little alfresco dining these are first come first serve.
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Lazarus bounded over to his sister, his tail high and his eternal smirk on his face. ”Hey Storm!” the black pup greeted her warmly. ”Wanna go play?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his pale gray eyes. He had something in mind, something a little more than mere playing.
Storm had been lying on the ground outside the den, pawing at dead leaves among the frost, but when she heard her brother's voice she looked up. She shied away, knowing that whatever Lazarus had in mind probably wasn't in line with Mother and Father's rules. "I dunno, Lazarus," she said in a small voice, sitting up, but still seemed tightly curled into herself, and was only looking at her brother from the corner of her eye. Then her gaze slowly moved from Lazarus back down to the ground, where the tiny details in the frost seemed to demand her rapt attention once again. "I don't really feel like playing right now." And to her, that was that. The ground was more interesting. Eyes fixed on the dirt, she lay back down and began reshuffling the cold-crisped leaves.
Lazarus glanced at the ground, wondering what was so fascinating about it. It was just a bunch of dirt and frost and leaves. ”Alright, not play.” He bounded right over to her, trotting around her and nudging her with a shoulder, ”an expedition.” His muzzle was close to her ear, ”to discover the secrets of the land...” he grinned.
Though it wouldn'tve been obvious to any who didn't know her, that got Storm's attention. She stopped pawing at the leaves, as if trying to think. The pup looked conflicted. She sure did want to explore...but wasn't that against the rules?? Mom and Dad would surely want her to stay in camp! But at the same time, she couldn't help but feel the beckon of the open woods...
Storm bit her lip and rocked side to side on her paws, seized by great confliction. Ohh, they'll be so mad...! "...Okay," she finally said, "but if Mom or Dad finds out we'll be in big trouble!"
Lazarus narrowed his eyes with a smile of triumph. He knew as soon as she stopped pawing at the leaves that he had gotten her. Storm was not one to break the rules. But she was a thinker. Storm liked to know. And, same as any pup, he had no doubt that she was curious. This was their home, and so much of it was undiscovered to them. How could any wolf resist such a temptation? He trotted forward, circled around, and stood right in front of her, his pale silver eyes fixed on her as he waited for her decision, even if he already knew what it would be.
Lazarus laughed out loud at that answer, as if her concerns were ridiculous. ”We’ll just have to make sure they don’t find out, then, won’t we?” He said, brushing past her with a beckoning flick of his tail. He glanced behind them. Their parents were out, leaving an Arynian as the babysitter. But with eight pups to look after, it was only too easy for Lazarus to lead the pair unseen through the bushes behind the nursery. He was good at slipping away. He snickered as they began their trek into the forest, glancing behind him at Storm. ”See? Isn’t this better than being stuck at camp all day? Out here there is so much going on! So much more than… your frosty leaves on the ground.” He teased.
Reluctantly, Storm picked herself up and paced after him. As she followed, his comment about the leaves didn't pass by her. "But frosty leaves are cool," she murmured. "They're so pretty..." She seemed to retain misgivings about the situation, but her curiosity was now engaged.
As they drew further away from the camp, Storm seemed less and less unsure and more and more outgoing. She began to sniff around every which way, getting distracted by all the little things on the ground and a frozen-looking anthill or two. At one point a bird flew overhead, at which Storm seemed to become enraptured. The sky was becoming more visible as the trees slowly thinned, and the wide blue expanse seemed to deepen and grow broader with every step she took. Storm found herself looking up as she walked, never back at the ground, as her eyes seemed to become entranced with the endless azure. The mountains rose up to touch the pale horizon like majestic alphas, and Storm felt like she could stay out here forever. Forgetting that Lazarus was with her, and not fully conscious of the action, Storm stopped and instead stared up at the sky, lost in its eternity. She slowly sank onto her hind legs, sitting down, never once breaking eye contact with the vastness. "Wow..." she murmured, the word barely formed in her mouth.
Lazarus rolled his eyes in affectionate amusement before focusing back on the path ahead. Only his little sister could find frozen dead leaves on the ground interesting. But whatever. If she found that interesting, just imagine how interesting she would find the world! He looked forward to showing it to her.
Lazarus found he had to keep an eye on her as they bounded through the forest for she was not just going to follow him step by step. He kept a straight, casual path while Storm darted this way and that around him, pausing here to sniff an interesting mount in the dirt, stopping there to admire a bird taking flight. Lazarus watched it all with a pleased smile on his face. How cool it felt to be the one to cause his sister so much joy. But what seemed to impress her the most was the sky. He trotted past her as she paused to admire it, and it took him a moment to realize that she was not following. He looked over his shoulder to see her staring up at the blue expanse. Lazarus glanced up himself, but saw nothing unusual about the normal blue sky that was always there. ’Only Storm could find such awe in something so ordinary.’ Lazarus thought.
He turned and walked to her side, patting her roughly with one of his paws. ”Hey. Are you coming? Or are you going to just daydream until mom or dad comes home? You can see the sky anytime. Now come on!” He made a mental note to take her out sometime during sunset or sunrise. She likes the sky now! Imagine seeing her react when faced with something even he found spectacular! He turned and flicked his tail on her cheek as he continued to lead the way.
Storm snorted at his pat, then shook herself and trotted after him. When she caught up, she remained silent for a moment, but her eyes stayed bright and inquisitive - if mysterious - as usual. Though she kept pace with her brother, for the most part her gaze still swept across the land of Aryn, taking it all in with rapt attention to detail. The mountains far on the horizon, the tall straw-colored grass, and still above it all, the endless pale sky, which grew darker as it swept above her head before fading out again near the tops of the mountains.
After a long moment of walking in silence, she turned her head a little, though still not all the way, to face Lazarus. "Where are we going?" she asked, though still somewhat absentmindedly.
Lazarus trotted along happily, sniffing here and there and glancing around with pale silver eyes. Surely there was something interesting going on today. And then a strange scent entered his nose and he smiled to his sister, ”We’ll see.” He said, veering off suddenly to the side and toward the new scent. He didn’t know the scent, but now was as good a day as any to learn.
Storm craned her neck in curious surprise as her brother suddenly changed course. After a brief moment of hesitation, she quickly followed after him, head low. That sure is vague, she thought, though she kept it to herself. Her focus diverted away from the scenery, her attention was now drawn instead to whatever it was her brother was planning, and a thought began to brim in her mind. Storm's eyes narrowed.
She paced a little faster to catch up to him fully, and side-eyed her brother with cynicism. "You're not gonna get us in trouble, are you?" she asked suspiciously. Knowing Lazarus...he just might be. They weren't even supposed to be outside the camp anyway - but no doubt...if her brother of all people had something in mind, it was probably going to make this already preexisting offense worse.
The black pup gave her a smile, ”Come on, Storm, you know me! When have I ever gotten anyone in trouble?” He asked with a snicker, knowing that his words were far from comforting. The scent was stronger now and Lazarus stopped, holding out a paw in front of his sister to stop her. ”Wait! Do you smell that…? Do you know what it is…?” Lazarus didn’t know what it was himself, but he planned on finding out. It smelled like an animal, earthy, strong… they were close!
Storm narrowed her eyes and looked away uncomfortably, but kept trotting until her brother stopped her. She was silent at first, just listening, until suddenly she perked up as the scent reached her nose as well. "Oh, dear...Ah, Lazarus, I...I don't think this is a good thing..." she mumbled, backing up. Whatever it was they were smelling, it probably wasn't good. She'd had some teaching from other Aryn wolves about scents, but more than anything, how dangerous some of those scents could be. Or rather, how dangerous the owners of those scents could be.
Briefly she felt a little panicked - this was what he was looking for all along, wasn't it?? She'd been right, ohhh boy she had been right, and she hated it - now it was going to spell their doom!
"I think we'd better go, Lazarus," she repeated urgently, nudging him in the shoulder with her head.
Lazarus smiled, amused by her anxiety. ”Relax, Storm, we’re fiiiine” the black pup insisted, trotting forward until he reached a dark hole in the ground. The scent rolled out from the den. Lazarus peered inside curiously, ”Peeee-yew! Storm, come smell this! Someone needs a bath!” Lazarus cried, sniffing deeper into the cave.
A deep growl suddenly sounded from the den and Lazarus stepped back a few paces, lowering his head to peer into the shadows. He barked excitedly and growled in return. The growls turned into loud snarls and then a large badger emerged from the den, its dark eyes fixed threateningly on Lazarus. The wolf pup was around the same size as the badger, but the badger was ferocious with long claws and bared teeth. ”Storm look! Look at it! What IS this thing?” Lazarus did not seem to notice that there was any danger at all as he bowed playfully to the badger, his tail wagging. The badger snarled a warning.
"Lazarus, I don't think that's a good idea....!" she grimaced, feeling unease in the pit of her stomach. Then a deep growl rumbled from the den, and Storm felt her breath catch in her throat as a badger crawled from the shadows - and her brother only seemed completely unaware of the danger.
Storm's eyes flew open and she shrieked. "Lazarus, no!" she cried, leaping forward to grab her brother, but instead stumbled and crashed to the ground beside her brother, right in front of the badger. Storm looked up wildly, but seemed suddenly stricken and paralyzed, as the snarling face of the beast was suddenly right in hers. Whether the badger was truly so dangerous remained to be seen - but Storm's heart refused to let her think rationally, and perhaps for the best. Just as Storm finally regained her senses, the badger lunged forwards and swiped at the place where she had been only a moment before. The puppy stumbled away and struggled to remain on her feet, but in her haze of mind she still saw Lazarus in the way of the lumbering creature. "Laz!" Storm yelped.
Lazarus barked again, his tail wagging as he sprang forward toward the badger, swiping boldly. That was when Storm leaped toward him, landing sprawled on the ground beside him when she stumbled and fell in her panic. He looked at her, startled, ”Woah, careful, Storm, he’ll catch you if you lie down!” He explained brightly, as if this was a prime teaching moment as the badger sprang for his sister. Lazarus scrambled to the side to avoid the large claws, and watched Storm as she narrowly escaped. And then the badger turned toward him and Lazarus realized that maybe it was a bit more dangerous than he thought it would be. Time to bail.
The badger lunged for him and he darted to the side, racing up to Storm. He grabbed her by the scruff and pulled her strongly to her paws, ”Time to go!” He said urgently, but despite the rush they were in his eyes alight with joy, and then he prepared to sprint, waiting for Storm to start running first.
Storm scrambled to her paws as Lazarus dragged her up, then stumbled and charged away, wheezing as her throat started to close up in panic. Fighting to draw air through her windpipe, Storm struggled to keep up the pace as her lungs labored to find enough oxygen. Squeaking as she ran, the pup leaped clumsily through the undergrowth, until her paw struck a root and she hit the ground. The pup scrabbled to get up, but as she heard the badger crashing through the foliage behind her, her mind revved up into a whirl until it shut down - leaving her stuttering and frozen on the ground as if locked up. Everything that she had feared before and more had come true.
Lazarus was racing beside his sister, panting happily as the rush filled his mind and muscles with sweet excitement. But suddenly Storm was no longer beside him. He skidded to a halt, looking behind him, ”Storm, woah, look out!”
The badger was nearly upon her as Lazarus wheeled around, raced forward several long strides, and leaped for it. He sailed clear over where his sister crouched with white-tipped paws outstretched and an exhilarated snarl on his face as he prepared to meet the beast in battle.
Just at that moment a terrible snarl ripped through the air and a huge wall of brown streaked past, taking the badger with it. Their father had arrived, likely just in time to save both his life, and the life of his sister. Lazarus didn’t seem to even fathom that, however, as he landed harmlessly on the ground and spun around to look at Storm, ”Hey, you alright?” he asked her, walking to her side and prodding her with a paw. He was smiling a bit, but for once it was a nervous smile. And that was because in the brush beside them their father was dispatching the badger. And Lazarus would soon have quite a bit of explaining to do.
Storm yelped as Lazarus suddenly whipped around and took a flying leap over her, straight towards the badger's face. She buried her face in her paws with a cry, dreading with baited horror the inevitable sound of her brother's grisly demise - but instead, another, heavier whoosh of fur tore around her, accompanied by a ferocious snarl and the meaty whump of a badger being thrown out of the way. Storm gasped and snapped her head around. Never had she been more relieved to see her father than right then. She could have fainted from the release.
As Alcatraz took care of the badger, Storm finally managed to start calming down. Her heart rate eased and so did her breathing, and was able to nod feebly when Lazarus spoke to her. However, despite her relief at not being badger food, as she sat up another dread soon came over her - realization that, oh, great spirits, she was in big, big, trouble. Storm's fur flattened and she felt like fainting all over again.
Lazarus and Alcatraz
Lazarus watched Storm, that same dumb grin on his face, as she recovered. ”Geez, little sis, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he teased her lightly.
”She nearly did, and became one herself,” the deep voice that Lazarus was dreading growled from the shadows, and then Alcatraz stalked through the brush to stand before them. He looked down at his son and daughter, the blood from the dead badger smeared on his dark brown muzzle, which was crinkled in his displeasure. Lazarus thought it made him look even more like he was going to murder them.
The black pup ducked his head slightly with a helpless smile at the dark wolf, ”Hey dad…”
Storm seemed to register nothing from Lazarus's comment, instead taking on a mortified expression as the bear-like Alcatraz emerged from the brush with blood smeared across his snout. She briefly whimpered something that sounded like it could have been a "hi, Dad", but because her mouth was more or less glued shut nothing more articulate came out. Then, slowly, with a weird sort of strangled wail/sob she toppled over sideways into a dead faint.
Lazarus and Alcatraz
Alcatraz gave them both a good long glare, letting the silence linger ominously. Lazarus cleared his throat slightly, his eyes darting to his father, then to Storm (who looked like she was going to be sick), and then at the forest beside them as he tried to make it seem like he didn’t really care what was going on.
Alcatraz opened his mouth to speak finally, but no sooner did Storm topple over with a small cry, fainting. Alcatraz let out the breath that had intended to carry stern words, letting it hiss through his clenched teeth as he glared accusingly at his son. Lazarus looked over at Storm in shock as she fell, ”Storm!?” he whimpered, and probably for the first time in his life his voice sounded afraid. Now he was really worried. He felt his father’s burning gaze on him and looked up. Oh boy. He was in trouble now alright.
“If I had come but a moment later, this would be permanent,” he pointed with his muzzle at Storm’s motionless form, ”Your own little sister. And it would have been your fault.” Alcatraz knew that his son did not listen to directions or scoldings. But perhaps he listened to his guilt. The Alpha picked his daughter up gentle in his jaws and left Lazarus there as he stalked back to Aryn’s camp, his pace hurried as he rushed to get her to a Vicar.
Lazarus was shaken by the words, finally seeming to understand what had almost just happened… nawwww we would have been fine! Dad’s such a stick in the mud. he insisted forcefully to himself. The true measure of his confusion of what had happened came next. Rarely did he antagonize his father, but this way different, this was sort of scary, and he would do anything to try and diffuse what tension, however inappropriate. ”What about the boar? I’m hungry!” With that a muddle-minded little Lazarus raced after his father and sister. His question was never answered.
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Bonjour! Key Stage 1 held a ‘learn a new skill’ afternoon and invited parents / carers in to share this experience. The children completed four 30 minute stations consisting of French, baking, sign language and skipping.
Key Stage 1 children enjoyed learning the colours in French and then they used their new knowledge with an active activity outside on the yard. Miss Bamford shouted a colour in French and the children ran to that coloured line.
Children also had the opportunity to learn the British Sign Language Alphabet. They were then able to apply this skill to complete an activity using signs to spell words and also sign their own name. Children presented great knowledge knowing that Sign Language is a way of communicating to both deaf people and people with speech difficulties and found this a useful skill.
In small groups Miss Hoskins groups followed the recipe to make a bread dough. The children mixed flour, salt, oil and water in a bowl and split into between their group. They kneaded the dough for five to ten minutes and then they shaped it, ready for baking. Once they have been cooked the children got to try their bread rolls.
Miss Watts group worked with Jodie from Skipping School. The children were taught the techniques of how to hold the rope and skip. Jodie used a train going through the tunnel as a hook to engage the children. The children took turns to all have a go at learning this new skill.
Feedback from the children was extremely positive with all four skills proving to be popular. We are really grateful to parents / carers for taking the time to share these learning experiences. Staff received some really positive feedback such as how important it is to teach skills from a young age as they are sponges and it creates a passion for something and how it is important to be inclusive with all children and to be able to communicate with children that use sign language. We would really appreciate if you could comment below and let us know what yours and your child’s favourite skill was.
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Better known as Rabbit Horror, this 2011 3-D movie from Ju-On director and J-horror pioneer Takashi Shimizu and cinematographer Christopher Doyle, is less a horror movie than a trippy take on Alice in Wonderland. It opens with a splat as 10-year-old Daigo puts a sick rabbit out of its misery with a cinderblock. Daigo is constantly taunted by his classmates and so his mute sister lets him withdraw from school, much as their bereaved father has withdrawn from life and locked himself away in their house. The family is still reeling after Mom’s death, and it’s up to a six-foot-tall, possibly evil bunny to drag the three of them through its zippered belly and into a series of darkly gleaming gothic set-pieces on the path to emotional healing. Although the richly resonant visuals and settings (an abandoned hospital, a nighttime carnival) almost allow the film to transcend its genre, ultimately Tormented winds up as less than the sum of its atmospheric parts.
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Records show that the Cemetery was opened in 1871 with additions being added in 1934 and 1962.
The gentleman to the left of the above picture was called Mr Joseph Wiltshire. Mr Wiltshire was the Cemetery Keeper for a number of years and opened and closed the gates daily.
The gates and railings were cast by a local blacksmith by the name of J. Smith who at that time was precursor of the firm Smith and Hope ironmongers who had their premises in the High Street. When restoration work was carried out several years ago old layers of paint were taken off and Mr J Smith’s name and hometown were revealed.
Did you know that if you are researching your local family history there are burial records for Royal Wootton Bassett Cemetery on this website.
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This sly book showcases the quietly strange, unsettling short fiction of this acclaimed Finnish writer. Jyrki Vainonen is renowned for his Finnish translations of the works of Seamus Heaney, Jonathan Swift, and William Shakespeare. Vainonen's first collection of short stories was awarded the Helsingin Sanomat Literature Prize and his work has been featured in such iconic collections as the Dedalus Book of Finnish Fantasy. This first English-language collection includes stories from Jyrki Vainonen's three collections and is translated by J. Robert Tupasela and Anna Volmari, with one story translated by Hilde Hawkins. Introduction by Johanna Sinisalo.
"The author shows an easy comfort with the odd and disturbing, and sympathy even with his less sympathetic protagonists. The translators have done a masterful job of presenting his work with clarity."–Publishers Weekly
"Vainonen's deceptively cool voice lured me into a world where horrors and wonders lurk just beneath the surface."–Karin Tidbeck, Jagannath
Doctor Klaus Nagel, the director of a remote weather station, disappeared on the night of April 6th. The station was located on the outskirts of the city, atop a low crest of rock. The night was windy, low clouds drifted over roofs and tree tops. In the small hours between four and six, it rained. Water dug small furrows into the dirt road that led up to the station. Behind the station, rainwater rolled down the flanks of the rock.
Meteorologist Johannes Dagny, who was working the night shift, was waiting to go home. He sat half-asleep at his desk in the light of a small lamp and stared out into the yard. Every now and then, his head nodded down to his chest, and he woke with a start. In an attempt to stay awake, he got up to stretch his legs and look out the window. Puddles glistened on the uneven yard. Steam rose from the sand. Raindrops sparkled on the branches of the birch tree right outside the window. Dagny was waiting for Dr. Nagel. He longed to see the lights of Dr. Nagel's red Honda appear from behind the hill and for the car to turn into the yard, swaying as it crossed the puddles, sand hissing beneath its tires.
A clock ticked away on the desk. When Dr. Nagel hadn't shown up by seven o'clock, his colleague presumed that he had overslept and decided to wake him.
The phone rang five times, and then he heard a sleepy voice on the other end. It took him a while before he was able to explain to Marianne, Dr. Nagel's young wife, why he was calling, as she had been deep asleep when the ringing phone had woken her up. "Hold on," Marianne sighed into Dagny's ear.
A few moments passed. The morning news was on the radio. Dagny stirred the cold coffee that was congealing in the cup in front of him. Birds were singing in the woods behind the station. He imagined Marianne shaking her husband awake, handing him the receiver, yawning, stretching her arms, and running her fingers through her dark hair. Dagny had met Marianne once at party hosted by his boss. He would have been happy to exchange places with Nagel and wake up every morning next to a woman like that.
"Hello?" It was Marianne's voice. "He's not here... he must already be on his way."
Dr. Nagel was not on his way to work, however. He was not sitting behind the wheel of his Honda, driving past the market square and the city hall, or turning his car onto the road leading out of the city. After the phone call, Marianne noticed that the clothes that her husband had laid out for work were hanging, carefully folded, over the back of a chair. She slipped out from under her warm blanket and padded barefoot over to the kitchen. Not a soul was there. Not in the hallway or the bathroom, either. After returning to the bedroom and wrapping herself in a robe, Marianne noticed a piece of paper on her husband's nightstand. The note contained a single sentence written in Dr. Nagel's sharp hand: "My dear Marianne! I have vanished from your life to become a part of your life. Klaus."
A few hours later a serious-faced police inspector stood in the Nagels' kitchen, asking Marianne whether she had any idea what the message meant. Marianne shook her head. They heard the sounds of the policemen searching through the apartment: the furniture clattered upstairs as someone moved it, the bookcase was being emptied in the living room. Someone coughed in the bathroom. The young inspector clearly felt uncomfortable. "No need to worry, Mrs. Nagel," he comforted the woman in front of him and lifted his gaze from her chestnut hair to some indeterminate point near the ceiling. "We'll find him."
But the inspector was wrong. Dr. Nagel was not found, even though the investigation was conducted thoroughly and a missing-person bulletin was published in the media. No one seemed to have seen Dr. Nagel after the 5th of April. He had spent that morning at the weather station, and at 3 p.m., the person who had the night shift had relieved him. Nothing unusual had happened during the day before his disappearance. The evening had also passed in a typical fashion, Marianne said. At 11 p.m., Dr. Nagel had kissed her good night and stayed in his study reading a book about the conquest of the North Pole, a book that he'd been engrossed in for the past couple of days. The next morning Mrs. Nagel had woken up alone in their wide marriage bed.
For a moment, the disappearance of Dr. Nagel turned the lives of those it touched upside down. The familiar daily routines at the weather station were thrown into disarray, as work there was constantly interrupted. Reporters, photographers, and news sharks bustled about amid the maps, monitors, and computers. The police hunted for fingerprints with their powder brushes, finding more than enough all over the station. Johannes Dagny had to repeat the events of his shift to the reporters over and over again. He saw himself on television and couldn't help wondering whether that was really how he looked in the eyes of others. The simple act of describing the events momentarily transformed the life of the ever so conscientious Dagny. He came to enjoy the feeling of power he got from sitting in front of the reporters, who hung on his every word. He became more enamored by his own story with each telling and soon began to embellish it with juicy details: the nocturnal rain shower became "the deluge of the century," streams became "rapids," and dull drowsiness into "a slumber populated by strange dreams."
The fuss caused by the disappearance also seemed to bother Marianne. Soon after the disappearance she shut herself in the house and refused to talk to the reporters. The only person she let in was the police inspector. His route did seem to take him rather frequently to Dr. Nagel's house, which stood in a grove of pine trees on the crown of a hill on the outskirts of the city. The inspector's car was seen parked next to the Nagels' red Honda almost daily—even in the evenings, when the blinds had already been drawn and the moon poured its light onto the lawn.
The young wife's reticence was grist for the tabloids' mill. Someone leaked to the press that the Nagels' marriage had been faltering. Marianne was painted as a neglectful, wanton woman, whose hunger for men remained insatiable, even after she'd married Dr. Nagel—for money, according to the tabloids—a man twenty years her senior, whom she'd then murdered and whose body she'd hidden.
Amidst all the fuss, the investigation was going nowhere. Marianne did, however, notice that her husband's backpack and fishing gear were missing, as were some clothes that he used when he went hiking. The police assumed that Dr. Nagel had, for some reason or another, gone out for a nocturnal hike. The possibility of sleepwalking was also considered, though Marianne claimed that her husband spent his nights sleeping, not walking around. The woods around the city were combed, to no avail. No sign of Dr. Nagel was found.
A couple of weeks after the disappearance, the fuss started to subside. The papers had to come up with new headlines and exposés. In the police archives, the file on the disappearance of Dr. Nagel was moved to a tall metal filing cabinet marked "Unsolved disappearances." No one paid attention any longer to the fact that the inspector's car was now parked in the Nagels' yard every day. No one was interested that Marianne, who still seldom left her home, didn't look grief-stricken, but was glowing like a young bride.
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Perhaps more than exercising, I like exercise tracking. I have handful of different exercise and nutrition apps on my iPhone. And as soon as I work up the nerve I’m going to splurge on one of those tracker devices like the Jawbone Up or FitBit that’ll measure miles run, laps swum, calories chewed, swallowed, and burned off.
Which is why this study from the Northwestern University Feinberg School of Medicine, a study that observed the effect of mobile tracking technology on weight loss, caught my eye.
A team led by Bonnie Spring, a psychologist specializing in behavioral medicine, observed a group of 70 exercising adults over one year. All 70 had access to a health and nutrition information class that was held a few times during the year, and all 70 were instructed to keep record of their eating and exercising habits.
One group got to do this using pen and paper, the other group was offered a “PDA” (not an app) in which they could digitally record their progress. In addition to the digital record keeping, those using the PDA had their data tracked remotely by a “health coach” who’d speak with them on the phone every two weeks.
This study found that the group that was assigned them mobile device worked off 8.6 pounds on average, and kept it off for a whole year. Mobile device users who’d attended the optional health education health classes with an attendance rate of 80 percent or more lost 15 pounds. In comparison, the group that recorded their habits on paper did not lose weight. The work is published in the Archives of Internal Medicine.
Spring, the study’s mastermind, acknowledges that it wasn’t solely the digital device that gave that gave the slimming group the edge. “The patients know the coaches are hovering and supportively holding them accountable,” Spring said in a press release. “They know somebody is watching and caring and that’s what makes a difference.”
This is an interesting result to me. I’d assumed that better tracking could have led to better results—if results were obtained at all. The way I’d seen it, you’re less likely to lose your phone compared to a piece of paper that your write your data on. While better equipment might be a factor, it seems like a much more primal motivation—a connection between two human beings—was also at play.
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I have been wondering what I should ask you. Often I ask questions of directors that seem a little stupid, you see, but I don’t want to avoid those, for finally the stupid questions are the ones to which I most want reply. I know that it will be difficult—I don’t think I would be able to answer very well concerning my own films—but I hope that your replies help me to arrive at certain conclusions later. Have you understood?
Yes, I understand.
You know I’m compiling a book on the directing of the non-actor. I am meeting many directors. The book is primarily a way for me to organize my own thinking and to take advantage of the experiences of other directors in order to see how I may be able to create more completely a kind of human existence in front of the camera, without the use of professional actors, and without falling into cinema conventions. The ideas I’m looking for have been discreetly developing for 20 years. So that’s why I’m writing this book, to clarify my ideas. Have you understood?
Yes, very well.
Let me start with a question that may seem stupid—how do you create? Are you aware—even vaguely—of certain recurring processes? What helps you? What pushes you to create? When you want to work, what steps do you take to get started?
What is it that urges me to create. As far as film is concerned, there is no difference between film and literature and poetry—there is this same feeling that I have never gone into deeply. I began to write poetry when I was seven years old, and what it was that made me write poetry at the age of seven I have never understood. Perhaps it was the urge to express oneself and the urge to bear witness of the world and to partake in or to create an action in which we are involved, to engage oneself in that act.Putting the question in that manner forces me to give you a vaguely spiritualistic answer . . . a bit irrational. It makes me feel a bit on the defensive.
Some artists collect information on a subject, like journalists. Do you do this?
Yes, there is this aspect, the documentary element. A naturalistic writer documents himself through his production. Because my writing, as Roland Barthes would say, contains naturalistic elements, it is evident therefore that it contains a great interest in living and documentary events. In my writing there are deliberate elements of a naturalistic type of realism and therefore the love for real things . . . a fusion of traditional academic elements and of contemporary literary movements.
What brought you to The Gospel According to St. Matthew, and once you had the idea, how did you start work on it? Why did you want to do it?
I recognized the desire to make The Gospel from a feeling I had. I opened the Bible by chance and began to read the first pages, the first lines of St. Matthew’s Gospel, and the idea of making a film of it came to me. It’s evident that this is a feeling, an impulse that is not clearly definable. Mulling over this feeling, this impulse, this irrational movement or experience, all my story began to become clear to me as well as my entire literary career.
Once you had this feeling, what did you look for to give it form, to make the feeling concrete?
I discovered first of all that there is an old latent religious streak in my poetry. I remember lines of poetry I wrote when I was 18 or 19 years old, and they were of a religious nature. I realized, too, that much of my Marxism has a foundation that is irrational and mystical and religious. But the sum total of my psychological constitution tends to make me see things not from the lyrical-documentary point of view but rather from an epic point of view. There is something epic in my view of the world. And I suddenly had the idea of doing The Gospel, which would be a tale that can be defined metrically as Epic-lyric.
Although St. Matthew wrote without metrics, he would have the rhythm of epic and lyric production. And for this reason, I have renounced in the film any kind of realistic and naturalistic reconstruction. I completely abandoned any kind of archaeology and philology, which nevertheless interest me in themselves. I didn’t want to make an historical reconstruction. I preferred to leave things in their religious state, that is, their mythical state. Epic-mythic.
Not desiring to reconstruct settings that were not philosophically exact—reconstructed on a sound stage by scene designers and technicians—and furthermore not wanting to reconstruct the ancient Jews, I was obliged to find everything—the characters and the ambiance—in reality. And so the rule that dominated the making of the film was the rule of analogy. That is, I found settings that were not reconstructions but that were analogous to ancient Palestine. The characters, too—I didn’t reconstruct characters but tried to find individuals who were analogous. I was obliged to scour southern Italy, because I realized that the pre-industrial agricultural world, the still feudal area of southern Italy, was the historical setting analogous to ancient Palestine. One by one I found the settings that I needed for The Gospel. I took these Italian settings and used them to represent the originals. I took the city of Matera, and without changing it in any way, I used it to represent the ancient city of Jerusalem. Or the little caverns of the village between Lucania and Puglia are used exactly as they were, without any modifications, to represent Bethlehem. And I did the same thing for the characters. The chorus of background characters I chose from the faces of the peasants of Lucania and Puglia and Calabria.
The Gospel According to St. Matthew
How did you work with these non-actors to integrate them into a story that was not their own, although analogous to their own?
I didn’t do anything. I didn’t tell them anything. In fact, I didn’t even tell them precisely what characters they were playing. Because I never chose an actor as an interpreter. I always chose an actor for what he is. That is, I never asked anyone to transform himself into anything other than what he is.
Naturally, things were a little more difficult with regard to the main actors. For example, the fellow who played Christ was a student from Barcelona. Except for telling him that he was playing the part of Christ, that’s all I said. I never gave him any kind of preliminary speech. I never told him to transform himself into something else, to interpret, to feel that he was Christ. I always told him to be just what he was. I chose him because he was what he was, and I never for one moment wanted him to be anyone else other than what he was—that’s why I chose him.
But to make your Spanish student move, breathe, speak, perform necessary actions—how did you obtain what you wished without telling him something?
Let me explain. It happened that in making The Gospel, the footage of the characters told me almost always the truth in a very dramatic fashion—that is, I had to cut a lot of scenes from The Gospel because I couldn’t “mystify” them. They rang false. I don’t know what it is, but the eye of the camera always manages to express the interior of a character. This interior essence can be masked through the ability of a professional actor, or it can be “mystified” through the ability of the director by means of cutting and divers tricks. In The Gospel I was never able to do this. What I mean to say is that the photogram or the image on the film filters through what that man is—in his true reality, as he is in life.
It is possible at times in movies that a man who is devious and shady can play the part of one who is naïve an ingenuous. For example, I could have taken a professional and given him the part of one of the three magi—an unimportant part—and by the way it is clear that there is a deep candor in the souls of the three magi. But I didn’t use professionals, and therefore I couldn’t have their ability to transform themselves in to others. I used real human beings, and so I made a mistake and misjudged a man psychologically. My error was immediately evident in the photographed image. There is another rather unpleasant example that has sprung to mind—for the two actors who played those possessed by the Devil, I chose actors from the Centro Sperimentale film school in Rome. I chose them in a hurry. Later, I had to cut the scene because I was obvious that they were two actors from the Centro Sperimentale.
In reality, my method consists simply of being sincere, honest, penetrating, precise in choosing men who psychological essence is real and genuine. Once I’ve chosen them, then my work is immensely simplified. I don’t have to do with them what I have to do with professional actors: tell them what they have to do and what they haven’t to do and the sort of people they are supposed to represent and so forth. I simply tell them to say these words in a certain frame of mind and that’s all. And they say them.
To get back to Christ, once I had chosen the person whose essence or interior was more or less that needed to play the part of Christ, I never obliged him to do any specific things. My suggestions were made one by one, instance by instance, moment by moment, scene by scene, action by action. I said to him, “do this” and “get angry.” I didn’t even tell him how. I simply said, “you’re getting angry,” and he got angry in the way he usually got angry and I didn’t intervene in any way.
My work is facilitated by the fact that I never shoot entire scenes. Being a “non-professional” director I’ve always had to “invent” a technique that consists of shooting only a very brief bit at one time. Always in little bits—I never shoot a scene continuously. And so even if I’m using a non-actor lacking the technique of an actor, he’s able to sustain the part—the illusion—because the takes are so brief. And if he doesn’t have the technical ability of an actor, at least he doesn’t get lost, he doesn’t freeze up.
Although I was able to find characters analogous to the wise men or to an angel or to Saint Joseph, it was extremely difficult to find a character analogous to Jesus Christ. And so I had to be content with finding someone who at least came close to resembling Christ externally and interiorly, but actually I had to construct Christ in the cutting room.
Although other directors make tests, I never make them. I had to make one for Christ, though—not for myself—but for the producer who wanted a certain guarantee. When I choose actors, instinctively I choose someone who knows how to act. It’s a kind of instinct that so far hasn’t betrayed me except in very minor and very special cases. So far I’ve chosen Franco Citti for Accattone and Ettore Garofolo for the boy in Mamma Roma. In La Ricotta, a young boy from the slums of Rome. I’ve always guessed right, that from the very moment in which I chose the face that seemed to me exact for the character, instinctively he reveals himself a potential actor. When I choose non-actors, I choose potential actors.
Naturally, Christ was a more difficult thing for me than Franco Citti because Franco, after all, was to play a part that was more or less himself. First of all, this young Spanish student at the beginning was inhibited about playing the part of Christ—he wasn’t even a believer. And so the first problem was that I had playing Christ a fellow who didn’t even believe in Christ. Naturally this cause inhibitions. This young student wasn’t an extrovert or a simple, normal type of person. He was psychologically very complex, and for this reason it was difficult the first few days to get him to win out over his timidity, his restraint, his inhibitions, while for the other actors I didn’t have this problem. The very minute I put them in front of the camera, they acted the way I wanted them to.
What did you do with your Spanish non-believing non-actor to get the results you wanted?
Nothing really. I simply appealed to his good will. He was a very intelligent and a very cultured young man who became bound to me by the friendship that grew up between us in those few days—however, he had the basis of an ideological background and a rather strong desire to be useful to me. It was by this means that he succeeded in overcoming his timidity.
As far as the rest goes, I had him perform in very small segments, one at a time, without even preparing them first. I would suggest the expressions while he acted. Inasmuch as we were shooting without sound, I could talk to an actor while he was performing. It was a little bit like a sculptor who makes a sculpture with little improvised blows of the chisel. While the actor was acting, I said to him “Look here”—and I told him each expression, one by one, and he followed them almost mechanically. I shot everything that way. He had the speech memorized more or less, and he began to say it. He had to—for example—take 10 steps forward, or move, or look at someone. I never told him beforehand, except in a very vague way, what it was all about, and gradually as he performed, I said, “now look at me . . . now look down there with an angry expression . . . now your expression softens . . . look toward me and soften your expression slowly, very slowly. Now look at me!” And so while the camera rolled, I told him these things. I prepared the action beforehand, in a very vague way, so that he would know more or less what he was supposed to do and where he was supposed to go. Whatever the nuances, the little movements, I suggested to him one by one. Prior to the shot, I gave him general movements and told him more or less what he was supposed to do. Then I explained these things more precisely while we shot. Once in a while I would surprise him—I would say to him, “Now look at me with a sweet expression on your face.” And while he did this I would say suddenly, “Now get angry!” And he obeyed me.
Didn’t this request make him attempt to imitate the way an actor he had seen got angry?
No. Actors would be tempted to do this, but one who is not an actor—for example, those whom I chose—would never do this. It’s not possible, because they have never confronted themselves with the technical problems of an actor—that is, he doesn’t have a technical idea of “anger,” he has a natural and genuine idea of anger.
I’ve done this rather often in other films. For example, I would have the person say a line that was not what it was supposed to be in the text. If he was supposed to say “I hate you,” I would have him say “Good Morning,” and then when I dubbed I would put in “I hate you.” Normally, I should have said to him, “All right now, say ‘I hate you’ as if you were saying ‘good morning.’” But this is pretty complicated reasoning for a person who is not an actor. So I simply tell him to say “Good morning,” and then in the dubbing I put in his mouth “I hate you.”
For dubbing, do you use non-actors or professionals?
I do both. That is, I take non-actors who generally reveal themselves to be splendid dubbers. For Christ, I was obliged to use a professional actor, so it depends on the circumstances. More than anything else, I try to balance everything out between the professional and non-professional performances. For instance, the boy in Mamma Roma did his own dubbing. But Franco Citti could not do his own dubbing, for even though he was bravissimo his voice was rather unpleasant. So I had him dub another character.
If you don’t give the non-actor much explanation of character, do you at least tell him the story?
Yes, I do, in two words. Just out of curiosity. But I never go into a serious discussion with him. If he has any doubts . . . if he says to me “what do I have to do here,” I try to explain to him. But always point by point, particular by particular, never the whole thing.
Do you add expressive gestures, which are not normally a part of the non-actor’s personal comportment?
No, I never have him do gestures that are not his. I always let him use the gestures that are natural to him. I tell him what he has to do—for example, slap someone or pick up a glass—but I let him do this with the gestures that are natural to him. I never intervene regarding his gestures.
If I want to underline some act, I do so with my own means, with technical means—with the camera, with the shot, with editing. I don’t have him emphasize it. Actually, I am very careful not to indicate to him the “intention,” because these “intentions” are the phony part of the actor.
The Gospel According to St. Matthew
Do you trick at all, in order to produce emotional responses?
Up to now it has never happened. If it were necessary, I’d do it. It’s never happened to me because my actors do not have petit-bourgeois inhibitions. They don’t care. They do what I tell them, generously. Franco Citti, Ettore Garofolo, the protagonist of La Ricotta, and my Christ as well—they gave of themselves completely, blindly. They don’t have that conventionality or false modesty of hypocrites, so I’ve never had to do this. However, if I had to trick, I’d do it.
Do you see a way of directing the bourgeois-class person who is a non-actor?
I was faced with this problem filming The Gospel. Whereas in my other films my characters were all “of the people,” for The Gospel I had some characters who were not. The Apostles, for example, belonged to the ruling classes of their time, and so obeying my usual rule of analogy, I was obliged to take members of the present-day ruling class. Because the Apostles were people who were definitely out of the ordinary, I chose intellectuals—from the bourgeoisie, yes—but intellectuals.
Although these non-actors as Apostles were intellectuals, the fact that they had to play intellectuals removed, no instinctively but consciously, the inhibition of which you spoke. However, in the case of one’s having to use bourgeois actors who are not intellectuals, I think that you can get what you want from them, too. All you have to do is love them.
How did you work with the intellectuals to rid them of their inhibitions?
The process was identical with that for the lower-class performers. With the former naturally, I used a language that was on a more elevated level. But my methods were the same.
Do you feel the need of knowing your people a long time before shooting, to make friends with them, to learn their natural gestures in order to use them later?
I had known Franco Citti for years, because he was the brother of a friend. I knew his character more or less. On the other hand, Ettore Garofolo of Mamma Roma—I saw him once in a bar where he was working as a waiter. I wrote my whole script around him without speaking to him further. Because I preferred not to know him. I took him and began to shoot after having seen him for just that one minute. I don’t like to make an organized and calculated effort to know someone. If you can intuit a person, you know him already.
Generally I have very precisely in mind what I’m going to do. Because I’ve written the script myself, I’ve already organized the scene in a given way. I see the scene not only as a director but also with the different eyes of the scriptwriter. In addition, I choose the settings. I go to these places and make an adjustment of what I’ve written in my script to fit the place where we are going to shoot. And so when I go to shoot, I more or less know already how the scene is going to go.
I did this for every film except The Gospel. With The Gospel, the thing was so delicate that it would have been easy to fall into the ridiculous and the banal and the typical costume film genre. The dangers were so many that it wasn’t possible to foresee them all. And it being so difficult, we had to shoot three or four times more material than necessary. In effect, most of the scenes I created in the cutting room. I shot the whole Gospel with two cameras. I shot every scene from two or three angles, amassing three or four times more material than necessary. It was as if I had done a documentary on the life of Christ. By chance. With the moviola, I constructed the scene.
Did you seek a particular style in the framing, and was this possible with two cameras going?
Yes, I always have a rather clear idea of the shot I want, a kind of shot that is almost natural to me. But with The Gospel I wanted to break away from this technique because of a very complicated problem. In two words it’s this: I had a very precise style or technique with which I had experimented in Accattone, in Mamma Roma and in the preceding films, a style which is, as I said before, fundamentally religious and epic by its very nature. And so I thought that my style—possessing naturally these qualities of sacredness and epicness—would go well with The Gospel also. But in practice, that was not the case. Because in The Gospel this sacredness and epic quality became a prison, false and insincere, and so I had to reconstruct my whole technique and forget everything I knew, everything that I had learned with Accattone and Mamma Roma, and begin from the beginning. I relied on chance, on confusion, and so forth.
All this was due to the fact that I am not a believer. In Accattone, I myself could tell a story in the first-person because I was the author and I believed in that story, but I could not tell the story of Christ—making him the son of God—with myself as the author of this story, because I’m not a believer. So I didn’t work as an author. And so this forced me to tell the story of Christ indirectly, as seen through the eyes of one who does believe. And as always when one tells something indirectly, the style changes. While the style of a story told directly has certain characteristics, the style of a story told indirectly has other characteristics. That is, if in literature I am describing Rome in my own words, I describe it in one style. But if I describe Rome—using the words of some Roman character—the result is a completely different style because of the dialect, the popular language, and so forth. The style of my preceding films was a simple style—almost straightforward, almost hieratic—while the style of The Gospel is chaotic, complex, disordered. Despite this difference in style, I shot all my films in little pieces all the same. Except the frame, the point of view, the movements of the extras were changed.
I have read that you have said that you have trouble with actors. Why is that?
I wouldn’t like people to take this too literally, not in a dogmatic way. In La Ricotta I used Orson Welles and I got along beautifully with him. In the film I’m making now I’m going to use Totò, a popular Italian comic, and I’m sure everything will work out fine. When I say I don’t work well with actors I’m uttering a relative truth—I want to be sure that this is clear. My difficulty lies in the fact that I’m not a professional director, and so I haven’t learned the cinematographic techniques. And that which I have learned least of all is what they call the “technique of the actor.” I don’t know what kind of language to use to express myself to the actor. And in this sense, I’m not capable of working with actors.
After your directing experiences with Anna Magnani in Mamma Roma and Orson Welles in La Ricotta, what have you learned about using professional actors as distinct from non-actors?
The principal difference is that the actor has an art of his own. He has his own way of expressing himself, his own technique which seeks to add itself to mine—and I cannot succeed in amalgamating the two. Being an author, I could not conceive of writing a book together with someone else, and so the presence of an actor is like the presence of another author in the film.
With Welles, how did you get a result you felt was fruitful?
For two reasons—first of all in La Ricotta Welles did not play another character. He played himself. What he really did was a caricature of himself. And also because Welles, in addition to being an actor, is also an intellectual—so in reality, I used him as an intellectual director rather than as an actor. Because he’s an extremely intelligent man, he understood right away and there was no problem. He brought it off well.. It was a very brief and simple part, with no great complications. I told him my intention and I let him do as he pleased. He understood what I wanted immediately and did it in a manner that was completely satisfying to me.
With Magnani, it was much more difficult. Because she is an actress in the true sense of the word. She has a whole baggage of technical and expressive notions into which I was unable to enter, because it was the first time I had any kind of contact with an actor. At present, I’ve had a little bit of experience and at least can face the problem—but at that time, I couldn’t even face it.
Now that you have experience, have you thought how you may overcome this acting “baggage” of the professional performer? You said you are using Totò in your next film—have you reflected upon your way of directing him?
Yes, I think the way to get around this problem is to use the fact that they are actors. Just as with a non-actor I use a whole series of things unexpected and unforeseen—leaving them to their own vital confusion (for example, when I tell them to say “Good morning” instead of “I hate you”), leaving them to the ambiguousness of their being—so I must use the actor specifically for his actor’s baggage. If I try to use an actor as if he were not an actor, I would be wrong. Because in the cinema—at least in my cinema—the truth always comes out sooner or later. On the other hand, if I use an actor knowing that he is an actor, and therefore using him for that which he is and not for that which he is not, I hope to succeed. Naturally, the character whom he interprets must be adapted to this idea.
It just happens that the characters in my new film are all ambiguous characters who have something real, human, profound about them, and at the same time something invented, absurd, clownish and fable-like. The double nature of the actor, Totò-man and Totò-Clown, this double nature can be used by me for my character. In Totò himself this double nature—man and clown, or man and actor—functions because it corresponds to the double nature of the character in the film.
Do you plan to explain to Totò this double nature you’ve outlined?
Yes, of course. As soon as I met him I explained that I needed a character just like himself. I needed a Neapolitan. Someone profoundly human, who as at the same time this art that is clownish and abstract. Yes, I told him right away.
Are you not afraid that now that he knows, Totò will try to play both the clown and the human being?
No, I told him to make him feel freer. Because I saw that he would worry about it. It’s the first time that he has worked on a film that has this kind of ideological content. Of course, he has made several good films, but they were always on an artistic level, without political commitment. So probably he was a little worried. In order to leave him completely free, I told him—so that he could go on doing what he had always done, so he won’t have to do anything different.
Do you rehearse a lot or do you shoot immediately?
I never rehearse. I shoot right away.
Does this impose simple camera work?
My camera movements are very simple. For The Gospel, I used camera movements that were a little more complicated, but I never use a dolly, for example. I’ve always shot in pieces. Shot by shot,. A few pans and very simple tracking shots but nothing more.
What are your observations about the aesthetic and technical characteristics of film as you have gained experience?
My lack of professional experience has not encouraged me to invent. Rather it has urged me to “re-invent.” For instance, I never studied at the Centro Sperimentale or any other school, and so when the time came for me to shoot a panoramic shot, for me it was like the first time in the history of cinema that a panorama was shot. And so I re-invented the panoramic.
Only a person with a great deal of professional experience is capable of inventing technically. As far as technical inventions go, I have never made any. I may have invented a given style—in fact, my films are recognizable for a particular style—but style does not always imply technical inventions. Godard is full of technical inventions. In Alphaville there are four or five things that are completely invented—for example those shots printed in negative. Certain technical rule-breakings of Godard are the result of a pains-taking personal study.
As for me, I never dared to try experiments of this kind, because I have no technical background. And so my first step was to simplify the technique. This is contradictory, because as a writer I tend to be extremely complicated—that is, my written page is technically very complex. While I was writing Una Vila Violente— technically very complex—I was shooting Accattone, which was technically very simple. This is the principal limitation of my cinematic career, because I believe that an author must have complete knowledge of all his technical instruments. A partial knowledge is a limitation. Therefore, at this particular moment, I believe that the first period of my cinematic work is about to close. And the second period is about to start, in which I will be a professional director also as far as technique in concerned.
But what have you discovered about film in an aesthetic sense?
Well, to tell the truth, the only thing I discovered is the pleasure of discovery.
You’re talking like Godard now.
I answered like Godard because the question is impossible to answer. Look, if I believed in a teleology of the cinema, in a teleology of development, if I believed in an end-goal of development, in progress as improvement . . . but I don’t believe in a “bettering,” an improvement. I think that one grows, but one does not improve. “Improving” seems to me an hypocritical alibi. Now, believing in the pure growth of each one of us, I see the development of my style as a continuous modification about which I can say nothing.
How do you conceive the structure of your films, what makes them move from one end to another?
It’s too demanding a question. For the moment it’s impossible to answer. But I would like for you to read in Cahiers an article I wrote. This question implies not only an examination of my films and my conscience, it brings up the question of my Marxism and my whole cultural struggle during the Fifties. The question is too vast. It’s impossible.
But let me say this now in a very schematic fashion. At this point, the cinema is dividing itself into really two large trunks, and these two different types of films correspond to what we already have in literature: that is, one type on a high level and another type on a low level. While cinema production until now has given us films of both a high and low level, the distribution apparatus has been the same for both. But now the organization or structure of the cinema industry is starting to differentiate . . . the cinema d’essai is becoming more important and will soon represent a channel for distribution through which certain films will be distributed, whereas the remainder of the distribution will take place normally. This will bring about the birth of two completely different cinemas. The high level of cinema—that is, the cinema d’essai—will cater to a selected public and will have its own history. And the other level will have its own story.
In this important change, the selection of non-actors will be one of the most important structural aspects. Probably the structure of this high level cinema will be modified by the fact that no longer will there be an industrial organization hanging over it. And so all kinds of experiments will be possible, including that of using non-actors, and this will transform the cinema even stylistically.
In Cahiers, do you speak of aesthetic structure?
The structure of cinema has a special unity. If the structuralist critic were to describe the structural characteristics of the cinema, he would not distinguish a story cinema from a non-story cinema. I don’t believe that this story distinction affects the structure of cinema; rather it affects the superstructure—I mean the style. The lack or the presence of a story is not a structural factor. I know that some of the French structuralists have attempted to analyze the cinema, but I don’t believe that they have succeeded in making these distinctions.
Literature is unique, it has unity. Literary structures are unique and include both prose and poetry. Nevertheless, there is a language of prose and a language of poetry, although the literary structure is one. In the same way, the cinema will have these distinctions. Obviously, the structure of cinema is one. The structural laws regarding any film are more or less the same. A banal western or a film by Godard have structures that are fundamentally the same. A certain rapport with the spectator, a certain way of photographing and framing are the identical elements of all films.
The difference is this: the film of Godard is written according to the typical characteristics of poetic language; whereas the common cinema is written according to the typical characteristics of prose language. For example, the lack of story is simply the prevalence of poetic language over prose language. It isn’t true that there isn’t a story; there is a story, but instead of being narrated in its integrality, it is narrated elliptically, with spurts of imagination, fantasy, allusion. It is narrated in a distorted way—however, there is a story.
Fundamentally, the distinction to be made is between a cinema of prose and a cinema of poetry. However, the cinema of poetry is not necessarily poetic. Often one may adopt the tenets and canons of the cinema of poetry and yet make a bad and pretentious film. Another director may adopt the tenets and canons of the prose film—that is, he could narrate a story—and yet he creates poetry.
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Bellave Venkatanaranappa was overly enthusiastic about impossible tasks. One such task that he always thought of undertaking was ironing out the printing mistakes in Kannada books. Bellave Somanathayya, one of his relatives had written a work called Rājaśekhara-carita. Somanathayya was an honest scholar and had a strong analytical mind. He authored several other works in Kannada including Śankaracarita-kāla-vicāra. His work Rājaśekhara-carita was prescribed as a text for a certain exam in a particular year. As Somanathayya had passed away by then, Venkatanaranappa took up the task of re-publishing the text. The work ran to about two hundred pages. There were probably about a hundred printing mistakes in the text. Venkatanarnappa was concerned that a work that students were supposed to study had so many errors. Students could mistake the typographical errors as the correct forms and might learn what was wrong. In this manner, whatever was supposed to educate students would work in an adverse manner. Venkatanaranappa felt that the responsibility was a huge one. But what was to be done currently? The book has already been published! He thought about this in detail and came to a conclusion. I have seen his idea taking shape. It was as follows:
At eight every evening, after having had his dinner, Venkatanaranappa sat in his living room. He placed the forme of the book before him. Forme was a bunch of eight printed pages folded together. Starting from his left-hand side, his two sons, two daughters, nephews, and others were to sit around him in a semi-circle. Each one had an Indian ink bottle before him, a pen with a narrow nib, a carbon paper – all this had to be present before him. Venkatanaranappa held the forme in his hand and would read out, “Page 25, fifth line from the top – there is a syllable missing (for instance, “ಯಕ್ಕೆ ಯ- ಒತ್ತು ಸರಿಯಾಗಿಲ್ಲ”); the letter in the seventh line is not printed right – a curve is missing next to the letter. There is a ‘ಪ’ in place of ‘ಮ’ in the fifteenth line. Thus, there are three mistakes in this page!” He called out the mistakes in this manner holding the forme in his had and once done, he passed it on to the person seated next to him. The person right next to him had to rectify the first error only. The one sitting next to the first person had to correct the second mistake only and the third person had to rectify the third one. The fourth person had to fold up the sheets properly and the fifth had to place them in their designated place. This activity went on up to 10 in the night. Doing this for four to five days rectified all errors and the work would be ready for consumption.
The same procedure was employed for editing Śabdamaṇidarpaṇa at the Kannada Sahitya Parishat. Venkatanaranappa was particular and adamant that Kannada books should not come with an errata list once published. Venkannayya and I often argued about this. I would say, “How is that humanly possible? What charm does a lady possess without vermilion on her forehead?” After having heard us out several times, Venkatanaranappa gave his final word – the errata was not to be more than a page long! What did he achieve by saying this? The books anyway came with several typographic errors and we limited the errata sheet to a page. He then took up the task of correcting the remnant errors by hand!
It only added to his workload and his energy was consumed in such activities.
Venakatanaranappa had yet another idea of achieving purity, clarity, and accuracy in rendering a language. He started writing his name as ‘ವೇಂಕಟನಾರಾಯಣಪ್ಪ’ instead of ‘ವೇಂಕಟನಾರಣಪ್ಪ’.
He tried to impose this rule upon us – we were to spell his name in the new format.
We begged him – “Sir! Your name is long, as it is – 7 letters when written in Kannada and you have added one other letter. You have elongated the ‘ರ’ there. Don’t add to our agonies. Your new format takes us a fraction of a second longer to utter the name. It strains us to call your full name!” We gave several different reasons too. He fussed a bit and then, fortunately, agreed with us.
We have all heard a couple of vogue words that often slipped out of Venkatanaranappa’s tongue. He was enthusiastic about the first book that was being published through the Karnataka Sangha. Venkannayya was all the more thrilled about it. The two were obsessed about the following – a smooth and good quality paper, clarity in printed letters, neat print, a beautiful cover-page and more importantly, an error-free publication. Once the published work reached our hands, we were eager to hand over a copy to H H Babasaheb. Venkannayya, Venkatanaranappa, and I hopped on to a horse-carriage and headed to his place. Venkannayya remarked that the book had come out well.
Venkatanaranappa replied, “ನಾಶನವಾಗಿಹೋಯಿತಪ್ಪ” (Literally, “It's all destroyed!” A rhetorical phrase, which, in Venkatanarappa’s vocabulary meant “reached completion”).
More than the word “ನಾಶನ” he often used the word “ಫೈಸಲು” (from the Urdu/Persian word 'faisala' meaning 'verdict;' basically a decision arrived at after a lot of deliberation).
“Is the food cooked?”
“ಫೈಸಲಾಗಿಹೋಯಿತು” he would reply.
“Apparently, her delivery turned out to be difficult”
“It finally got done. ಫೈಸಲಾಗಿಹೋಯಿತು”
“This time, the (Kannada Sahitya) Sammelana is in Belagavi, isn’t it, sir?”
In Venkatanaranappa’s language, ‘nāśana’ meant ‘finish’ and ‘faisalu’ meant ‘conclusion’ (usually after a discussion).
The former councillor of the Mysore State, C S Balasundaram Iyer, who was serving as the chief of the Education Sector, one day called me and said – “Sir! Can you please talk to your honourable friend and tell me his heart. There doesn’t seem to be any scope for Venkatanaranappa to rise above the post he currently holds. The Education Sector badly needs a person of his calibre. If he is happy to join us, I will help him for his growth within my capacity.”
I waited for the right occasion and proposed the matter to Venkatanaranappa. His reply was as follows, “Sir! I have had enough of torture here! I don’t want any other hassles. I'd like to be independent for a while, working on the things I love, in the manner I like. I think I've served enough.”
Thereafter, he took leave from work for a while and later retired. Some of colleagues tried to organize a party to honour him. When this idea was proposed to him, he said the following – “How much more entertainment do you need? What else did you do all these days? I have had enough of that!”
When His Majesty, the king of Mysore felicitated him with the title “Rājasevāsakta” (Devoted to the service of the King), Venkatanaranappa truly rejoiced. His student, Mirza Ismail was the reason behind the honour and this pleased him all the more. Venkatanaranappa was immensely proud and had great regard for his students.
To be continued...
This is the seventeenth essay in D V Gundappa’s magnum-opus Jnapakachitrashaale (Volume 3) – Sahityopasakaru. Thanks to Hari Ravikumar for his thorough review and Smt. Savithri Bharadwaj for her help in preparing the translation.
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We developed the SG Series with a single goal in mind; to create the best electric guitar possible, without any compromise.
The original Yamaha classic SG design looked to improve upon the top guitars at the time of its release. For the new SG Series, every single detail was reconsidered from the ground up. Not only were the body and neck redesigned, but so were the pickups and bridge. In fact, everything right down to the circuitry and strap pins was original. Some features, which are now considered standard on every guitar were first developed for the SG.
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Girl, Interrupted leaves you wondering what exactly Susanna Kaysen makes of her past. Clearly she looks back on it with a sense of surprise, almost wondering whether her memories really belong to her. Her memoir is a series of recollections and reflections on her time in mental hospital. She considers how she got there, and whether she belonged there. Each short chapter focuses on an aspect of her experience, and these are arranged in kind of chronological order, so as to tell her story of the people she met and the treatment she received.
Kaysen's memoir was originally published in 1993, but it portrays events from 1967 to 1969. She signed herself into McLean Hospital at the age of 18, and stayed for nearly two years. Over 20 years after, she hired a lawyer to get access to the medical records giving her diagnosis, and some of these are published in the book. She questions whether she received appropriate treatment, but her answer to her own question is not clear--she certainly does not come out swinging the battle-ax of antipsychiatry. When her memoir was first published, she said in interview that she probably did need some time away from the rest of her life. But she also suspects there was sexism in the judgments made about her, especially about her "promiscuity." She suggests that the confusion she felt at that time in her life was not so unusual or unreasonable.
Kaysen quotes at length the description of Borderline Personality Disorder from DSM-III-R (1987). This is the diagnosis on the admission form, dated April 27, 1967, and also on the discharge form, dated January 3, 1969, although there is also says "recovered." But we do not learn much about why she received this diagnosis. Furthermore, she does not mention that the Diagnostic Manual in use at the time of her entry into hospital was DSM-I, published in 1952.
What was going wrong with her life? She tells us she decided she did not want to go onto college, and she slept with her high school English teacher. A couple of years earlier, she took an overdose and had to have her stomach pumped. But apart from that we learn almost nothing about her family, friends, or her past. She mentions that one boy liked her so much that he remained in contact with her even while she was in hospital; on one of her visits to him on leave from the hospital, he proposed to her, and she accepted. This comes as a total surprise to the reader. She mentions that the marriage did not last, and that she has since had a number of lovers. She decided to have no children. She wanted to be a writer, and she succeeded.
This memoir conveys a sense of detached bemusement. It is not that Kaysen is particularly angry about what happened to her. She describes the other people she as if they were characters in a story, and she doesn't seem particularly concerned about their unhappiness or even their suicides. These events don't amuse or entertain her either. She simply goes along with them. Eventually she gets out, because she is going to be married, but she doesn't even express much relief about regaining her freedom. Yet while she was there, she was clearly going through troubles, and yet the seriousness of them still seems to escape her.
8/24/67 PROGRESS NOTE: The patient suffered an episode of depersonalization on Saturday for about six hours at which time she felt that she wasn't a real person, nothing but skin. She talked about wanting to cut herself to see whether she would bleed to prove to herself that she was real person. She mentioned she would like to see an X-ray of herself to see if she has any bones or anything inside.
It was at this time that she bit into her hand, chomping down to the bone. Her friends stopped her before she did any more damage. I am no psychiatrist, but maybe the diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder was not so far off the mark, and maybe her treatment helped her. I am quite sure that today Kaysen's Health Maintenance Organization would not pay for her to spend over 18 months in hospital. Spending so long on a psychiatric ward was probably damaging in many ways, even if it was also therapeutic. So maybe we should be glad that patients such as Kaysen these days rarely spend more than a few weeks, and more often just a few days, in a psychiatric ward. While her time on the ward was no fun, it's not clear what lessons for us now there are to learn from Kaysen's experience over thirty years ago. Even Kaysen doesn't seem to have come to a definite conclusion about it.
Other web sites of interest:
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Schellsburg, PA—Diving into action before anyone knew what was happening, faithful dog Carrot located a malicious piece of roadkill seconds before it became a danger to his master and pinned it to the ground.
Carrot and his master, Fred Gorsuch, a local pawn shop owner, were walking along the shoulder of Lincoln Highway when Carrot caught wind of something nearby.
“I was walking with Fred, and before I knew it, I smelled a danger,” Carrot said in an interview later that day. “I looked all around, aaalll around, and then I saw it, and I ran real fast.”
The dead armadillo lay a few yards up, and Carrot bolted forward, ignoring Gorsuch’s shouts.
“I let him walk without a leash most of the time,” Gorsuch explained. “He’s usually pretty good about staying by me.”
Carrot reached the roadkill and immediately rolled over onto it before it could react. Gorsuch ran to catch up, but Carrot knew better than to release the rogue carcass while it could still do harm.
“A roadkill can be very dangerous,” Carrot explained. “One time, I saw a roadkill scare a little human. I won’t let that happen to MY master!”
Gorsuch made many attempts to coax Carrot away from the roadkill, but Carrot made sure he had thoroughly incapacitated it before getting up. After several more minutes, Carrot concluded the roadkill had been rolled on enough that he was sure it wouldn’t move, and he rose and ran to meet Gorsuch, who had stalked off angrily after failing to draw Carrot away.
“Maybe I didn’t see the roadkill soon enough, and he was mad because I was slow,” Carrot pondered. “But at least I have saved him, and that is what is important. Also, I smell fantastic now.”
The roadkill declined to comment.
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29752e4576a99f68e0b7fc093da8da7511bfd3a310b4e145759e50f2d83e1fd1
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|Original review author(s):||Mapdark|
|Webcomic Name:||Golden Week|
|Start Date:||July 2012|
|Genre:||Gay furry romance Slice-of-life (I guess?)|
|Defining Flaw:||Walls-of-text, storyline that goes on and on and on without anything happening, most characters are completely unlikable and the hero is sort of a pedophile.|
This webcomic was bad at the outset, but recently has gone outright haywire (see below).
Story and Plot
The story follows Derek, a late 20's, early 30's journalist working for a local newspaper in Generic Smallville USA.
At the beginning of the story, the small town where Derek lives is apparently so void of action and important events that he goes on a stroll in the park to interview random teenagers about the state of the town.
While the teen whom Derek interviews tries to be as helpful as possible, Derek mentally rejects each and every one of his answers as useless. This is where we get a first look at how much of a douche Derek is.
After leaving the boy we now know as Scott behind with a business card, Derek goes back to his office and IMMEDIATELY starts breaking the fourth wall and, for no apparent reason, informing us that the teen gave him a boner (Thanks for the TMI there lion-dude!).
He then proceeds to give us (the reader) his whole life story through walls of text rivaling the ones found in Sonichu. We are also given exposure for characters that do not make it into the webcomic at all (Why should we care that his brother is studying to become a doctor if said brother never appears in the webcomic?).
So Derek is gay, blah blah blah, his father hates him for it and doesn't want to have his other kids exposed to his gayness (Apparently Derek's father is Fred Phelps). We are introduced to his roommate, to the fact he writes for the local newspaper (even though this had been made clear earlier), that despite the local gay population being 0, he still doesn't move out to a bigger city, etc.
And we are back to reality where Derek starts talking to himself again.
Derek writes a shitty article about cause and effect of OBVIOUS things like "Pollution causes global warming" and is shot down by his boss for it. He then, for some reason blames Scott for that article since he was the inspiration (Because that's what normal people do, right?).
Arriving home he is invited to a party by his roomie and again, in a wonderfully douchy fashion, starts attacking everything his roomie says with ridiculous preconceptions. He assumes his roommate wants to get a girl drunk to take advantage of her when all he wants to do is dance a bit and chat. And when his roommate suggest he should come along in case he'd find a guy to date, he shoots it down by suggesting that guys in clubs are all sluts who only troll for a shag.
Then, without any warning, FLASHBACK TIME! We are shown what supposedly made Derek so bitter. And this was, apparently, a guy he had mansecks and fell in love with but who didn't reciprocate. Oh the TRAGEDY! Oh and this took place 7 years ago, which means the poor roommate had to endure his shit for 7 whole years!
We are then brought back to the present where Derek's roommate is a bit freaked out because Derek has been spacing out for the last 10 minutes.
Derek wakes up and does his morning routine while talking to himself out loud (previously it was mostly done mentally, so I case his mental health is declining or something).
Derek goes out to jog in the park (same as the one he was in the day before) and surprise, surprise! Comes face to face with Scott and makes horribly terrifying facial expressions while thinking about hitting on him or not. A passerby would certainly wonder if Derek has mental issues. Despite being old enough to be considered from a different generation, Derek decides to go ahead and starts talking to Scott anyway. Scott, since he seems mentally stable, makes small talk with Derek about how he read his articles and liked the ones on how to approach a girl. Derek, being the creeper that he is, tries to find an underlying meaning to everything that Scott says in the hopes that the kid is hitting on him.
After ending that very awkward conversation, Derek heads home where his roommate proposes going out again. And again Derek shoots the idea down saying he met somebody and isn't looking anymore. When asked about who it is, Derek responds that it's that teen he met at the park. Visibly disturbed, his roommate reminds Derek that he is in his late 20's and that the whole situation is insanely creepy. He proposes to meet up with his girlfriend's cousin's roommate whom he thinks would be a nice match for Derek, and around the same age too. Derek, being the douche he is, immediately assumes the guy would only be interested in a one-night stand. His roommate, growing increasingly irritated begs Derek to give the guy a chance and gives him his number.
Derek calls this guy named Mike who is being very nice to him considering the whole matchmaking situation and they set up a meeting date. And this is the last time we ever hear of Mike for the rest of the story.
Derek is being called into his boss' office for what is apparently an urgent matter. This is where professionalism is thrown out the window and Derek's boss asks him what is his opinion of his son's work at the newspaper, his son who is Derek's roommate, by the way. He complains to Derek about his son's performance at work as if Derek had anything to do with it and asks him to talk about it with him DESPITE BEING THE ONE WHO SHOULD DO IT! Finally he asks Derek to tell his son Edward that he will fire him if he doesn't show up the next day to work. The whole scene is very bizarre considering how Derek is in no way Edward's superior and how the only actual supervisor doesn't bother to talk to his employees directly.
On his way out and walking through the park (for some reason, the park seems to be smack dab in the middle of this town and everybody has to go through it) Derek meets with Scott and acts surprised that he'd be there (despite him being there all the time) . Scott gives another article idea to Derek (honestly, would this guy have a job if he didn't bump into people?) and says he should write about guys who are having a hard time to approach girls.
Derek, for the first time in the strip has the good sense of NOT using this story as even his desperate local newspaper wouldn't run such a shitty fluff piece. But he agrees to help Scott privately. And despite the whole plan having an air of a 'Catch a predator' scenario, he accepts the boy's request to meet at his house and to talk about how to make romantic moves on someone else.
Back at his house, Derek runs into Edward and tells him about his father talking to him. Edward reacts understandably irritated that his father would be such a wuss and delegate his dirty work to his unstable roommate. He announces that he plans to quit. Derek reacts negatively, unable to understand why a grown up guy would get tired of working under his father (who's a terrible boss). Edward proceeds to tell Derek that he hates his job, his father and the small town they live in. Derek asks why Edward never told him this, and Edward responds that Derek was basically too busy complaining about his life all the time to listen to other people's problems.
Edward also tells Derek that despite him always trying to help Derek out of his depression, the latter has been very unappreciative and this is starting to get on his nerves. Derek complains that Edward wants to hook him up with nymphomaniacs but is cut short by Edward who says that Derek cannot say that as he has never met any of them. Derek basically tells Edward to go to hell and Edward responds by telling him to do whatever he wants and to get out and stalk that kid all he wants.
Derek ends up at Scott's place and SURPRISE, SURPRISE! His parents are not there. Despite the fact that normal people would realise how wrong this situation is and would walk away, Derek decides to actually step into the house. Scott unsubtly takes it one step further and tells him that they should head to his room. Derek, having a lucid moment again, tells him they should stay in the living room.
They start to talk about girls and Derek, in a classic asshole fashion, tells him that being yourself when flirting with people is bullshit. And that he should be who he wants to be (whatever that means).
Scott offers Derek to get them hot beverages from the kitchen and goes there to do just that. While Scott is making them hot chocolate in the kitchen, Derek acts creepy again by reading into Scott's personal diary, justifying this complete invasion of privacy by telling himself that it's his job to do so. Note to Derek: No, it's not. He finds out that Scott DOES indeed question his sexuality and appears very insecure about it. Scott returns from the kitchen with hot drinks and Derek, the tactful being that he is, straight-out (no pun intended) asks him if he's gay. Scott is shocked and drops a full cup of boiling hot cocoa on Derek's crotch (which ends up being way more satisfying to the reader than it would if we actually cared about Derek).
This is where the story ends at this moment.
When it comes to the characters themselves, the art is not that bad but seems to de-evolve towards the latter pages. It's in a good balance between cartoony and realistic. However, the backgrounds are extremely bland. Interiors are depicted with bland featureless walls and often are reduced to blank backdrops of beige (heck, the webcomic itself could be described as beige). Exteriors are either smudged mixes of green and brown (to depict vegetation) or blue and green backdrops (the grass and sky I guess?). The characters, again, are not badly drawn, but appear to be very generic for some reason. Visually speaking, they don't have a lot of personality and feel more like they should be background characters than protagonists. The art seems to take a dip during the more recent pages and it feels like the artist was rushing through them to post them on time. The line art becomes thicker and simpler and clothes look much flatter than they do in the first pages.
The writing is DEFINITELY the biggest problem with this webcomic. According to the author, this webcomic is based on a written story found here, and it SHOWS, because the artist doesn't even try to adapt his story to the visual medium that comics are and literally dumps everything he's written into strip form in the same order and verbatim. This ends up giving us TONS of narrated text when it could have been SHOWN (because yes, you are supposed to SHOW and not TELL in comics) and a horribly slow pacing that makes you feel like nothing is happening. Remember that at this point, the webcomic has been running bi-weekly for more than a year and yet Derek has only been whining about his situation, talked to his boss twice and stalked a kid in a park for all that time with nothing coming out of it.
The author is also not a native English speaker, which of course is not his fault, but it results in awkward dialogue that sounds like nothing a North American 20-something would sound like. So it makes an already hard-to-read webcomic worse.
Where to start...
Derek is an absolute disaster. While anti-heroes CAN be and often ARE interesting, Derek is nothing like this. He is rude, he verbally attacks his roommate and his roommate's friends for no reason, he talks to himself out loud in public, he assumes a lot about people who don't live their lives like nuns short of calling them horrible soul-less sinners. He thinks it is acceptable for someone in their late 20's to hang around high school kids and does his boss' dirty business without realizing how wrong this is.
In other words, he sounds like an Asperger's syndrome case who goes out of his way to be a dick.
Derek's boss is a wussy waste of space who can't even deal with his personal problems by himself and relies on friends of his son to deal with him. He cannot bring himself to tell Derek that his ideas are dumb as hell, or when he does Derek suffers no consequences.
Scott is WAY too naive and innocent for a 17-year-old MALE teenager. And that somehow makes Derek appear even MORE pedophilic as a result. The fact that he also is hanging out in the park at all times of the day makes you wonder if he either skips school all the time or if he's a hobo, though the second option is negated by the fact that he invites Derek to his parents' house. Not much is known about him despite appearing four times in the webcomic already, because Derek is too busy talking about himself to ask him anything.
Edward is the ONLY seemingly sane character in the comic, and strangely enough, the webcomic's artist seems to want to make him seem antagonistic to a certain level. But the fact remains that he is the only one to call Derek on his emo bullshit, to call him out on the fact that his feelings towards a high schooler are creepy as hell, the fact that both he and Derek work shitty jobs and that Derek is being a complete douche towards people he doesn't even know. In the end, you almost want to cheer on Edward because he's the only character that's passably human and likable. Heck, Edward is like a complete GOOD GUY, because despite Derek being a total douche to everybody, he still tries to help him meet new people.
Some other kid in high school that had an interest in Scott. For some reason, the artist decided to make him turn into a monster of jealousy and after his flirtations with Scott don't go too well, he turns into a stalker and eventually straight up assaults Derek for some reason.
Supposedly a friend of Scott's . she nonetheless HELPS Matthew stalk and spy on Scott and then acts surprised when the whole thing comes crumbling down.
The 2016 Complete Plot Meltdown
As of the second half of 2016, the plot and characterization have lost any kind of consistency and any sort of sense to the storyline has been lost.
Be it Scott's completely inconsistent personality that goes from "I'm an innocent angel that's too pure for this world" to "Imma fuck you all night" or the randomly added characters that don't bring anything to the plot. To the horribly superficial representation of female characters that are barely more than baubles to fill in the plot.
Then you have Matthew, a guy who had a crush on Scott just randomly assaulting Derek because... reasons?
It's like the writer NEEDED a villain and randomly turned one of the characters into a psycho killer instead of writing the whole thing intelligently.
So, in the end, all I can say is that if you want to read a webcomic that has a bloated storyline, goes nowhere and is filled with douchebags, this is the webcomic for you.
Otherwise, avoid at all cost.
- Kimmykun's FA page,
- And his Tumblr page.
- The author is now begging for more publicity and donations to Patreon. (Said donations would be better spent helping real-life lions instead.)
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84d344d1c89938abab480f52ae8976bdaebbddff3027c351cb40f0addee7d520
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1 Wednesday, 6 September 2006
2 [Open session]
3 [The accused entered court]
4 --- Upon commencing at 9.07 a.m.
5 JUDGE AGIUS: Yes, Madam Registrar, could you call the case,
7 THE REGISTRAR: Good morning, Your Honours, this is case number
8 IT-05-88-T, the Prosecutor versus Vujadin Popovic and others.
9 JUDGE AGIUS: I thank you.
10 Just let us make sure first that interpretation is being conveyed
11 regularly. If there are problems, please let us know, as usual. I see
12 representations are okay. And Defence teams, yes, again. The middle man
13 is absent in the Beara team. The rest seems to be full. You would have
14 noticed immediately that Judge Kwon is not with us today. A reason is
15 that he is away with another Judge of this Tribunal on official business
16 and he will be away for the entire week. So we will today, tomorrow, and
17 Friday, we will be sitting as per this composition, Judge Kwon --
18 Judge Prost and myself in virtue of Rule 15 bis, and of course we have
19 Judge Stole as Reserve Judge with us. That's the first piece of news I
20 needed to communicate.
21 Second one is this: I have a personal medical problem that I need
22 to attend to with some urgency today. I need to go to hospital later on
23 in the day so I would ask you to cooperate so that we stop the sitting at
24 1.00 so that I can leave. Which basically means that we will try to work
25 out, Madam Registrar now will do that, we'll try and work out a sitting
1 with one break only, if possible.
2 Tomorrow, everything should be back to normal, as this is nothing
3 serious or that you should worry about but you know how things are here in
4 the Netherlands. If I miss this appointment now it will be another three
5 months before I get another one and that's if I managed.
6 So let's go into private session for a while. I need to discuss
7 something with you.
8 [Private session]
19 [Open session]
20 JUDGE AGIUS: We are in open session. Any preliminaries? I see
22 Madam Usher, please.
23 [The witness entered court]
24 JUDGE AGIUS: Good morning to you, sir.
25 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Good morning.
1 JUDGE AGIUS: Welcome to this Tribunal.
2 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Thank you.
3 JUDGE AGIUS: I notice that you are receiving interpretation in
4 your own language of what I am saying in English. If at any time there
5 are problems with interpretation, with the reception or -- either because
6 it's not reaching you or because of the sound level, please draw our
7 attention straight away.
8 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Yes.
9 JUDGE AGIUS: Yes. My name is Carmel Agius, I am the
10 Presiding Judge. To my right I have Judge Prost, who is one of the Trial
11 Judges. To my left I have Judge Stole. Judge Prost is from Canada, I am
12 from Malta, Judge Stole is from Norway. We are missing one Judge today he
13 will be with us on Monday but hopefully your testimony will be over by
14 then and he is Judge Kwon from South Korea.
15 Very soon you will be starting your testimony here. Our rules
16 require that before you start giving evidence you make a solemn
17 declaration equivalent to an oath in some jurisdictions, that in the
18 course of your testimony, you will be speaking the truth, the whole truth,
19 nothing but the truth. Madam Usher, who is standing next to you is
20 handing you the text of this solemn declaration. Please read it out aloud
21 and that will be your solemn declaration with this Tribunal that your
22 testimony will be the truth.
23 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] I solemnly declare that I will speak
24 the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
25 WITNESS: AHMO HASIC
1 [Witness answered through Interpreter]
2 JUDGE AGIUS: Sir, make yourself comfortable, please.
3 So, within a minute or so, Ms. Soljan for the Prosecution will
4 be -- will start putting a series of questions to you, which we call
5 examination-in-chief. She will then be followed by members of the various
6 Defence teams with cross-examination. It is important that you keep your
7 answers to all questions, irrespective of where they are coming from,
8 Prosecution or Defence, the shortest possible but also as precise as
9 possible. Don't try to answer more than you are being asked. Just answer
10 the question, the whole question, and nothing but the question. Otherwise
11 you will be here for days and days and days. Do I make myself cheer?
12 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] It's clear.
13 JUDGE AGIUS: All right. The other thing is this: If at any
14 time, sir, you are feeling tired or you need a break, you only have to say
15 so and we will have a break, all right?
16 Ms. Soljan.
17 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Very well.
18 MS. SOLJAN: Thank you, Mr. President.
19 JUDGE AGIUS: We will have a break at 10.45, thank you.
20 Examination by Ms. Soljan:
21 Q. Good morning, sir. How are you?
22 A. Good morning. I am very well, thank you.
23 Q. [Previous translation continues] ... questions and we'll carefully
24 listen to your answers. Occasionally I may interrupt you in order to
25 clarify points. Is that okay?
1 A. Yes.
2 Q. What is your name, sir?
3 A. Ahmo Hasic.
4 Q. And what is your date of birth?
5 A. I was born in 1937.
6 Q. And where were you born?
7 A. In Srebrenica, municipality of Srebrenica. I lived in a village.
8 Q. Is that where you spent most of your life?
9 A. Yes. Most of my life. Occasionally I would leave to go for jobs,
10 odd jobs, agricultural work.
11 Q. And are you a Muslim by faith?
12 A. Yes, I'm a Muslim.
13 Q. Sir, where were you living in July 1995?
14 A. In 1995, I was living in Srebrenica, in the town of Srebrenica,
15 because we had been forced by the army or the forces to come down from the
16 villages to the town, so I was living in town.
17 Q. And what were the conditions of life for you and your family
18 during that time?
19 A. It was very difficult because the humanitarian aid came sometimes.
20 Sometimes they would let them pass from Bratunac and sometimes they would
21 stop them or they would keep a couple of trucks for themselves, keep what
22 they wanted, and then leave the rest to go to Srebrenica. This happened
23 in Bratunac. Life was very difficult, especially towards the end. There
24 was a shortage of food. So people had to go to Zepa and get some food for
25 there. They had a little bit more food there. They would bring it in on
1 their backs. It took 11 hours of walking to go there, to bring back some
2 food for your children.
3 Q. Now, can you please tell us about what you did on 11 July 1995?
4 A. There was shelling on the 11th of July, for five days straight
5 actually. They were falling at Srebrenica, around Srebrenica, so on the
6 11th of July we wanted to get to the UNPROFOR. The UNPROFOR was located
7 close to Srebrenica. Their main headquarters were in Potocari so we were
8 walking, running, crossing the streets, the shells were falling, and we
9 saw that we had to leave Srebrenica. They left. They took the wounded
10 and put them on UNPROFOR trucks, and the UNPROFOR transported them to the
11 main headquarters at Potocari. I also went with them and all the people
12 had gathered there. It was a very long column. It stretched from
13 Srebrenica to Potocari, perhaps, and they were getting off the buses at
14 the factories that were there, the factories were full of people who had
15 arrived, men, women, children, and there were as many people outside in
16 front of the factory as there were inside because not everyone could get
17 inside the factory. There was over 30.000 people there. I was among
18 them. I had no possibility to get inside so I was sleeping out in the
19 open, and that's how it was. When we went down there, that first night,
20 the people had assembled together and then the shells were falling around
21 the people, all around the people, because they didn't want anybody to
22 escape, I guess. They kept shelling. And that's how we spent the night
24 We managed somehow and then the next day --
25 Q. [Previous translation continues] ... I wanted to ask you whether
1 you took family members with you from Srebrenica.
2 A. Yes. My family was also there. My grandchildren, my children, my
3 wife, grandmother, they were all there.
4 Q. [Previous translation continues] ... with you?
5 A. I had four grandchildren.
6 Q. And how about children?
7 A. My children left through the forest, two of them. And none of
8 them crossed, none of them managed to cross alive. I buried one of them
9 last year, the doctors found him in a mass grave, and the other one I
10 still haven't found any trace of yet.
11 Q. Thank you. And why did you want your family to leave Srebrenica
12 and go to Potocari?
13 A. The shells chased us out. That's why we wanted to go. If we
14 hadn't left, we would have been killed there. The shells were killing
15 everyone. They weren't looking to see if it was a child, a woman or a
16 man. A shell would just kill indiscriminately. That's why we had to
18 Q. Now, that first night, the night of 11 July, after you arrived in
19 Potocari, where did you spend that night?
20 A. I spent that night out in the open. I had lost my family. They
21 were amongst the people, so I lost them and I don't know if they were
22 inside, but I spent the night out in the open and the shells were falling
23 outside. When we passed that night, the next day a Serb came with a
24 loudspeaker and he said, "People, don't be afraid." He said, "Our
25 soldiers now are going to walk around amongst the people, just to check if
1 anybody has any weapons or anything like that, just to go through, pass
2 around through the people." And that's how it was. Then the soldiers
3 came. A few of them, they were walking around amongst the people. I saw
4 about eight dogs. They were German shepherds. I saw eight dogs walking
5 with them. And that's how it went for as long as it was day. When night
6 fell, you could hear screaming and moaning and the shouting began. They
7 started to take out people one by one, and then when -- then at -- in a
8 certain place, if somebody started screaming, then everybody around them
9 would get on their feet and then after that, after about 15 minutes or so,
10 you could hear moans, a little bit further away from the people, where
11 they were hitting, beating, killing. You could see different sounds, and
12 then they would be getting lower and lower and lower and then that would
13 be it. Sometimes there would be a burst of fire and then you would hear
14 nothing. You wouldn't hear any screams or voices. And that's what went
15 on all night. For a while, we were lying down to go to sleep, but it's
16 not as if the people really wanted to sleep. They just lay down out of
17 fear. Some soldiers came by. There were about -- there were two by two
18 walking around. They would take some sand or dust and throw it on the
19 people who had covered their heads and then when they would raise their
20 heads, they would look to see who it was and if it was a man they would
21 bring him out. And if it was a man, it didn't matter what age that person
22 was, they would lift him and take him away, away from the rest of the
23 people and then you could hear the shouting, the screaming. That's what
24 went on all night.
25 At one point, two soldiers came along, they walked amongst us.
1 One had a bloody hand all the way up to the elbow. It was completely
2 covered with blood. And he was asking the women there if they had any
3 water bottles so he could wash his hands. One of the women asked him,
4 "What happened to you?" And he said, "I hurt myself." And she
5 said, "Well, we don't have water. The river is close by so you can wash
6 your hand there." There went on all night. Nobody was trying to stop it.
7 The moaning, the screaming went on. It couldn't have been worse. I think
8 that it was hell on earth. They say hell is in the other world, but
9 actually there is a hell in this world too, and that night I spent in
11 And then that day, when it was Tuesday, the day Srebrenica fell,
12 then Wednesday, we were also there. I survived. I could see them
13 bringing in bread in a TAM truck and they were throwing the bread to the
14 people. I managed to catch a loaf of bread. I gave it to my
15 grandchildren to eat. And they were filming how this bread was being
16 thrown and filming the people catching the bread. They wanted to show the
17 world how humane they were. But when they were committing genocide they
18 were not taping anything.
19 Q. You say they were filming. Who was the "they"?
20 A. The Serbs, Serbian army. I saw them filming. They had
21 binoculars, they were tossing bread out from the truck, and the Serbian
22 army, the Serbs, were filming that. They were filming all that.
23 Q. Was there enough to eat for the people who were at Potocari?
24 A. It wasn't enough. The quantity was just to be filmed. It wasn't
25 enough. 100 per cent sure it wasn't enough. It was a very small
1 quantity, maybe 100, 200 loaves of bread.
2 Q. So after your second night at Potocari, what did you do the next
3 day, on July 13th?
4 A. On the 11th and the fall of Srebrenica, the 12th, I was in
5 Potocari. I described that. On the 13th, I went out from Potocari.
6 There was a barricade, a check-point, that would let through 200 to 100
7 people at one go, so that to avoid crowds. Approximately 15 metres beyond
8 there was another check-point where people were separated, men from women
9 and children. They were led away to a house. We stayed at that house
10 until it was filled with people. When it was filled with people, one
11 person, Serbian soldier, came and said, "Do you have any felt-tip pen?"
12 One person said, "I have one." The other one said, hurry up, hurry up
13 before the other --
14 THE INTERPRETER: Interpreter's correction: German marks, not
15 felt-tip pen. It sounds the same.
16 A. So he gave him the German marks and --
17 Q. Please go on.
18 A. When the house was filled with men, I was on the ground floor,
19 some people were on the first floor. A bus came and we were told, "You
20 can go." We had spent one hour there. I emerged from the house. There
21 were two buses, waited outside. We boarded the buses and were driven to
23 Q. Sir I'll stop you again.
24 A. Vuk Karadzic.
25 Q. Thank you. You said there were other men with you in that house.
1 Do you know how many men there were?
2 A. There was a room. I couldn't say but there were people upstairs
3 as well. I was on the ground floor in that room. I don't know how many
4 people could be crammed into this room, 40, 50, maybe, I don't know how
5 many were upstairs. They brought two buses. We boarded those two buses
6 and we were taken to the Vuk Karadzic school in Bratunac.
7 Q. [Previous translation continues] ... the house in Potocari?
8 A. Yes.
9 Q. Thank you. Now, while you were in the house, did any Serb soldier
10 ask you for your name?
11 A. Nobody asked me.
12 Q. In the house, did any Serb soldier interview you?
13 A. As far as I'm concerned, I wasn't. I haven't seen any other. I
14 just heard that person seeking money, German marks.
15 Q. [Previous translation continues] ... Why you were being detained?
16 A. Nobody said anything. They would just say that we are being
17 separated, that we are going to be interrogated, and then we are going to
18 be let go to reach Tuzla. This is the only thing they used to tell us,
19 nothing else. They didn't interrogate us on any other matters.
20 Q. And you were starting to tell us about how you were taken to the
21 school in Bratunac.
22 A. We were taken to this school in Bratunac. At Bratunac we reached
23 the service station. Then we took a left turn and reached the Vuk
24 Karadzic school. When we were about to enter the school, we were forced
25 to leave the bags with food in front of the school. I thought, well, I'll
1 take my food when we come back, but when they took us into the school,
2 they never let us out so those bags were left outside. That night, as far
3 as I can remember, maybe one, maybe two nights we spent there, they would
4 take people out and kill them outright, throughout the day, throughout the
5 night, without respite. They were working in shifts, a single shift could
6 not cope with that. It was a 24-hour process. There were people killed,
7 moaning, screaming, outside.
8 One policeman entered the school when we arrived there. A person
9 was there, close to the door. The policeman started kicking him, and
10 while he was kicking that person, another Serb brought a hose, a rubber
11 hose, to him, handed it over, and said, "Use this." And he took the hose,
12 hit him two or three times but found it wasn't very handy, and grabbed a
13 rifle and started hitting that person. He was bloodstained. His face and
14 shirt were bloodstained. That policeman, I believe he was a policeman, he
15 wore a blue uniform. He had a white belt, and a pistol in a white
16 holster. And that beaten person, the beaten man, remained among us, but
17 after one hour, they came back to the door and pointed him out and
18 said, "You, get out with us." Of course, he was hesitant, he knew his
19 fate. They screamed at him, "Get up." And as -- he never came back. We
20 could hear moaning and screaming. We stayed there. Later, they said, as
21 far as I can tell, one day and two nights. And then we were told that we
22 are going to proceed to Tuzla.
23 Q. [Previous translation continues] ... questions about the Vuk
24 Karadzic school. You mentioned that there was a policeman there. Do you
25 know if it was a military or a civilian policeman?
1 A. Well, now, could be a military policeman, judging by his holsters
2 and belt, but judging by the uniform, he looked like a civilian. So I
3 couldn't tell. I was not familiar with the uniforms. White belt, I
4 remember military police wearing white belts, but the uniform was blue,
5 and blue as in the civilian police.
6 Q. Did you also see Serb soldiers in or around the school?
7 A. Yes. They would walk around. They would sometimes enter the room
8 and take people out.
9 Q. Do you know how many Serb soldiers there were?
10 A. I wouldn't know. There were many of them because they had a
11 headquarters there. Most probably there were many of them. They sent
12 people out to catch our people who were trying to go through the woods and
13 they had a detachment of soldiers to take care of us.
14 Q. Were they wearing uniforms?
15 A. Yes. They did. Their soldiers, camouflage uniforms, they looked
16 like soldiers.
17 Q. And for the roughly two nights that you say you spent at that
18 school, can you give an estimate of how many Muslim men were in the
20 A. I can tell you, we were told you are going to Tuzla, we emerged
21 from the school, boarded the buses. We were not permitted to look outside
22 because a soldier or two would be standing next to the driver. They were
23 making sure that we won't look outside so we were supposed to just look in
24 the seat in front of us. At one point, I managed to sneak a peek and saw
25 seven buses, Bratunac-bound.
1 JUDGE AGIUS: One moment, Ms. Soljan, sorry to interrupt you at
2 this stage but I see that you are embarking on another phase in your
3 examination-in-chief and I think there are still several matters that the
4 witness testified about which are not exactly clear. And I'm trying to
5 take them one by one. Perhaps you can ask him first.
6 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Yes, please ask me. Maybe I've
7 skipped something but these are details, minor details. It's not as if I
8 had a script in front of me and I was reading out off it. I may forget
9 certain things.
10 JUDGE AGIUS: I fully understand, Mr. Hasic, and please be patient
11 with us. We are just trying to make sure that your presence here would be
12 made use of to the best possible.
13 Perhaps you can ask him first whether he ever served in the JNA,
14 what he did, and how familiar he was with ranks, insignia, et cetera.
15 Then we can proceed from there.
16 MS. SOLJAN: Mr. President.
17 Q. Sir, did you ever serve in the Yugoslav National Army?
18 A. Yes, I did. In former Yugoslavia.
19 Q. Do you remember when that was?
20 A. 1960, I came back home from national service. During Tito's time,
21 I served Tito.
22 Q. And are you familiar with military insignia?
23 A. Yes. With the former ranks, but with the modern ones, they are
24 being changed, I'm not very familiar with. I was familiar with the former
25 ranks in the JNA.
1 JUDGE AGIUS: Yes. Thank you.
2 Could he describe the uniform of a military police in the army, in
3 the JNA, during peace time, in other words?
4 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Well, in peacetime, they would wear
5 the same uniform as the rest of the soldiers, they would have a white belt
6 and a pistol in a white holster, and this is what distinguished them as
7 military police.
8 JUDGE AGIUS: But the colour of the uniform itself would it be the
9 same colour as that of an ordinary soldier or not?
10 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] As far as I can remember, yes, it
11 was the same uniform. I forgot certain things. I left the army in 1960.
12 JUDGE AGIUS: Was the colour of the ordinary uniform of the
13 Yugoslav army, JNA soldiers, drab olive or what colour was it? Was it a
14 green olive?
15 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Yes, it used to be, while I did my
16 national service.
17 JUDGE AGIUS: So you've told us basically that one -- in peacetime
18 one would distinguish a military police from an ordinary military officer
19 or soldier from the white belt and white pistol holster; is that correct?
20 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Yes, yes. This is how I understood
21 that somebody was a military policeman. Officers had special uniforms.
22 They had either stripes on their sleeves or stars.
23 JUDGE AGIUS: And would a military police officer have any
24 insignia anywhere on his uniform that would also distinguish him as a
25 member of the military police?
1 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Well, I can't really remember
2 anything else, any other insignia.
3 JUDGE AGIUS: All right.
4 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] White belt and white holster, and
5 since this was a long time ago, maybe something else was there, but I
6 forgot because I did my national service and finished it in 1960.
7 JUDGE AGIUS: No problem, Mr. Hasic. Now, I'll take you to
8 civilian police now. What was a civilian policeman's uniform like in the
9 former Yugoslavia?
10 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] It was blue, civilian police was
11 blue uniform.
12 JUDGE AGIUS: Blue uniform. And do you remember the colour of the
14 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] I believe that the belt was an
15 ordinary one.
16 JUDGE AGIUS: And if they carried a holster and a pistol, the
17 colour of the holster would also be ordinary leather? Brown, black,
18 white? What colour?
19 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Well, usually similar to the colour
20 of uniform, maybe blue.
21 JUDGE AGIUS: All right. Now I take you back to one answer you
22 gave to a question that was put to you earlier on, and perhaps you can now
23 explain a little bit as we go along.
24 Madam Soljan asked you -- you mentioned there was a policeman
25 there. Do you know if it was a military or a civilian policeman? And you
1 said, you answered, "Well, now, could be a military policeman" -- one
2 moment let me read it first and then I will ask you the questions. "Well,
3 now, it could be a military policeman judging by his holster and belt but
4 judging by his uniform he looked like a civilian so I couldn't tell. I
5 was not familiar with the uniforms, white belt, I remember military police
6 wearing white belts but the uniform was blue and blue is as in the
7 civilian police."
8 So I will just ask you a simple question. So do I understand you
9 now to say that the person that you saw there in the Vuk Karadzic school
10 had the uniform of a civilian policeman but the holster and belt of a
11 military policeman?
12 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] I don't know now. I cannot get
13 round to it myself, whether he was a military or a civilian policeman but
14 he was a policeman, as long as he wore a gun and a white belt. I remember
15 that well. I noticed it straight away.
16 JUDGE AGIUS: What's a military police in your language? What are
17 the words, the Serbo-Croat words, for military police?
18 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] "Vojni policajac" or "vojna
19 policija," military policeman, or military police if there are more of
21 JUDGE AGIUS: And did you see those words anywhere, either in
22 their full form or in an abbreviated form, VS, on the uniform of that
24 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] I did not see that. I wasn't
25 looking for such. I was quite frightened. I really did not notice such
2 JUDGE AGIUS: All right. I thank you for that information. Now
3 I'm going to take you to another part of your testimony dealing with
4 something completely different and perhaps you can then answer my
5 question. You are referring to the first night when you arrived in
6 Bratunac, when they took you in and didn't let you take your food with
8 And then you said, "That night, as far as I can remember, maybe
9 one, maybe two nights we spent there, they would take people out and kill
10 them outright, throughout the day, throughout the night, without respite.
11 They were working in shifts, single shift could not cope with. It was a
12 24-hour process. There were people killed, moaning, screaming outside."
13 So let's take it bit by bit. How do you know that people were being
14 killed? Did you see anyone being killed?
15 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] I didn't see with my own eyes, but I
16 would hear them moaning and screaming, then I would hear a burst of
17 gunfire and then these people were never taken back to my room or other
18 rooms, most probably they were killing them but I didn't see them with my
19 own eyes. But it is a known fact this is 100 per cent sure. They found
20 some graves in Potocari. They found two mass graves very recently, mass
22 JUDGE AGIUS: Mr. Hasic, please try to understand me that we need
23 to know exactly what happened in Bratunac during those two nights. The
24 fact that they found graves in Potocari and elsewhere does not necessarily
25 mean that those people were indeed killed in Vuk Karadzic school on those
1 two nights when you were there. So you need to be very precise in your
2 testimony. I'm going to hand you back to Ms. Soljan.
3 I think this part needs to be elaborated. We can't have testimony
4 which just assumes and concludes that several people were killed and
5 shifts -- in shifts and -- on a 24-hour basis, et cetera, because at that
6 rate I would imagine that the whole population of Muslims in Vuk Karadzic
7 school would have been exterminated according to the witness so you need
8 to elaborate on this part. Thank you.
9 MS. SOLJAN: I understand, Your Honour. Thank you.
10 Q. Sir --
11 JUDGE AGIUS: And I'm saying because there is no allegation that
12 there was mass killing in Vuk Karadzic school. There is an allegation of
13 opportunistic killing in Karadzic and some other killings but not to the
14 extent -- all right.
15 MS. SOLJAN: Thank you, Your Honour.
16 Q. Mr. Hasic, I'm still asking you questions about your period of
17 time in the Vuk Karadzic school in Bratunac. Can you give an estimate of
18 how many Muslim men were taken out of your room that were not returned to
19 your room?
20 A. I could tell you from my room, some six, seven people were taken
21 out. From other rooms how many people were taken out, I cannot say,
22 really. I wouldn't be in a position to say how big was the school and how
23 many people were imprisoned there but screaming were constant, daytime,
24 night-time. We could hear bursts of machine-gun fire that would suddenly
25 cut the screams. Then sounds of screams would diminish and then stop.
1 Q. Just from your room, how often were people coming -- how often
2 were people taken out of your room?
3 A. Perhaps after about an hour, a couple of hours. It depends.
4 Perhaps in an hour or a couple of hours or in three hours. It depended.
5 Q. And who took these men out of your room?
6 A. The soldiers themselves, in camouflage uniforms, soldiers. They
7 did whatever they wanted. There was nobody there to say, "Stop," to
8 prevent that.
9 Q. Did you ever see any of the men from your room later perhaps, in
10 the buses?
11 A. Of the Muslims?
12 Q. Yes.
13 A. No, no. I never saw them again. It was over. Those people who
14 were there, I didn't see them any more. People that I knew, I didn't see
15 any more. I buried my brother last year. They found him in Pilica. He
16 was identified. That was a brother who was seven years older than myself.
17 Another brother I buried this year, on the 11th of July. He was five
18 years older than me. They were at that time almost 70, the older brother
19 was almost 70, and I was almost 60. I had passed the age of 55. I was
20 almost 60.
21 Q. Thank you, sir. I'll ask awe few more questions about the
22 conditions in the Vuk Karadzic school. While you were there, were you
23 allowed to go to the toilet?
24 A. It was allowed but with escort. They would line up in the
25 corridor, four or five of them, and then as people were passing by on
1 their way to the toilet, as they walked by, they would be hit on the ribs
2 with the rifle butt. This would happen a couple of times, if people
3 wanted to go out and then later people didn't want to go out any more.
4 They were afraid, so they would just urinate where they were. That's what
5 they did. They didn't want to go out any more.
6 Q. Did you see this happen, sir?
7 A. Yes, I did see that, of course. I saw them urinating where they
8 were or to urinate in a bag. The others would rush because they wanted to
9 drink, meaning that there was a shortage of water as well.
10 Q. So did the soldiers give you any water during those two days you
11 were in the school?
12 A. Yes. They did. Had they not given us water, more than half of
13 the people would have perished. They did give water but it was
14 insufficient and they didn't give any food.
15 Q. Sir, did anybody require medical treatment, of the men who were in
16 that school?
17 A. Probably they did require medical treatment, but why would anyone
18 want it when they were probably be taken out and killed? What use did
19 they have then of -- to get medicines? There were such people but what
20 was the point of treating them and then killing them? They didn't let
21 anyone go. Did they let anyone go?
22 Q. Sir, the soldiers, the Serb soldiers did not give -- you did not
23 see them give any medical aid or medical treatment to anybody during those
24 two days?
25 A. No, no, no, not at all. If they felt sorry for people, they
1 wouldn't have done that. Why would they just give people medical
2 treatment? They didn't give any food. They gave insufficient water. The
3 food that the people had was confiscated from them. Why would they bother
4 to provide medical treatment for these people? They were not interested
5 in that. I was living in a village --
6 JUDGE AGIUS: I'll try to help you finish your testimony as early
7 as possible. Try to answer the questions that are put to you with a yes
8 or a no as required without going into further detail. I mean, we all
9 understand here. You don't need to explain certain things to us, but
10 certain questions have to be asked and they need to be answered. If they
11 can be answered with a yes or a no, please restrict yourself to a yes or a
12 no, and you will be out of this place much earlier than you think. Thank
14 MS. SOLJAN:
15 Q. Sir you said you were placed on buses after being taken out of the
16 school in Bratunac. Who all was placed on these buses?
17 A. The Serb soldiers and drivers.
18 Q. Are you saying they alone were on the buses or they were the ones
19 who placed the Muslim people from the school into these buses?
20 A. They put the Muslims in the buses to transport them further. They
21 said we were going to Tuzla. They gave us some bread, couple of slices
22 each. That was all. And then when we set off, we could see we were going
23 in a different direction. We were not going in the direction of Tuzla but
24 in the direction of Zvornik, and then in Zvornik the buses crossed into
25 Serbia, seven buses, so we went through Serbia. And maybe somewhere near
1 Loznica, they crossed back into Bosnia again, over a bridge. At one
2 point, when they were already close to Pilica, they stopped and they
3 stopped for so long that one person lay down in the aisle, this Muslim,
4 and these people started shouting, "lift him up" because then you cannot
5 walk up and down the aisle and they left lifted him up and they were
6 saying, he's dead. They were just thinking that he lay down, just like
7 that, but he actually died and they said, "Just take him out and lay him
8 on the side of the road." And that's what they did. They laid him down
9 on the side of the road and he remained there and then there was a person
10 who asked if he could go out to urinate and the Serb soldier allowed him
11 to go out and he went out and then he started to run, and the Serb
12 soldiers cut him down with a burst of gunfire. He knew that he would be
13 caught like that, but he, I guess, preferred to be killed by a bullet than
14 to be the subject of genocide, and this is what happened.
15 Q. Did you see the man being killed?
16 A. Yes. I did see that. How could I not have seen it when I was
17 sitting in the bus? I was sitting close to him. I was sitting next to
19 Q. Did you actually see him get killed?
20 A. No. I didn't see him. He wasn't killed there. He just died by
21 himself. He died of fear. Perhaps he wasn't healthy. Maybe he would
22 have needed some assistance, but nothing of that happened.
23 THE INTERPRETER: Could the counsel please wait for translation?
24 Thank you.
25 Q. You had mentioned that the -- a man had died and had been taken
1 out of the bus. A man who had helped take him out from the bus asked to
2 be able to allowed to urinate. He then tried to run away, started to run
3 and was killed.
4 A. Yes, yes.
5 Q. Did you see him be cut down with a burst of gunfire?
6 A. I saw him. He was in the woods and there were two bursts, the
7 gunfire. The first one did not get him but the second one cut him down
8 and he fell.
9 Q. Thank you, sir.
10 Now, how long did you stay on these buses?
11 A. We stayed there for about an hour, an hour and a half, and it was
12 already getting dark. I don't know what they were waiting for, and it was
13 dark for about half an hour or so, and then we went to Pilica. We were
14 almost at Pilica, at the entrance to Pilica, and then when we entered we
15 turned to the left to a school or a cultural hall, something like that,
16 and then when it was already dark, we took the stairs to get in, and they
17 forced us there to take all of our caps off, all of us had to take our
18 caps off. Us elderly men we all wore caps. They were the French kind of
19 caps, berets, we were all wearing berets, we took them off there and we
20 entered the rooms and the same thing happened there. They immediately
21 started taking people out, beating them. You could -- killing them. You
22 could hear screaming and moaning. If somebody would get up and look
23 through the window, if I did it or somebody else did it, there would be a
24 burst of fire, gunfire. They were killing outside. You could hear
25 screaming, shouting, moaning, from outside. This went on like this. And
1 I think that if I can remember correctly, I was there for one night or two
2 nights, possibly for two nights, I was there, and then at approximately on
3 the 17th, people were already being taken out for execution.
4 JUDGE AGIUS: I think he just touched on what I was going to refer
5 to now. If he could be precise as to the exact date when they arrived in
6 Pilica, this particular spot in Pilica, if he remembers when they left
7 Bratunac and when they arrived in Pilica, whether it was on the same day
8 and in that case, what was the date?
9 MS. SOLJAN:
10 Q. Sir --
11 JUDGE AGIUS: And when did the events that he is describing
13 MS. SOLJAN: Thank you, Your Honour.
14 Q. Mr. Hasic, do you remember the date you arrived to Pilica?
15 A. I think it was the 15th.
16 Q. Thank you. And could you roughly tell how many Muslim men were in
17 this building in Pilica?
18 A. In the room where I was, the room was full. You couldn't move
19 around. If a person stood up, they couldn't sit down later. There was no
20 space. It was very tightly packed in the room where I was. In any case,
21 the room was full. I didn't go into the other rooms and I don't know how
22 many people there were. You weren't allowed to go out. You didn't dare.
23 If you went out into the corridor, you were hit with the rifle butts. You
24 didn't even dare to go to the bathroom. Many of them didn't dare go to
25 the bathroom. They urinated where they were.
1 Q. Could you tell how big the room was you were being kept in?
2 A. I don't know. Perhaps three and a half metres by five,
4 Q. Okay. And could you roughly tell how old the Muslim men who were
5 being kept in the room with you --
6 A. There were some elderly people there too. Up to the age of 80.
7 That's for sure. 100 per cent. There were also children of 15, 16 years
8 of age. They asked who was 15 or 16 and they said, "Come, line up here so
9 that we can see you." And there were about 12 children like that ranging
10 from 15 to 16 and they said, "We need people or kids like this for Abdic,
11 Abdic is looking for people like that and they took them out. I don't
12 know what they did with them. This is what happened in that room. As for
13 the other rooms, how many of them there were, how many they could
14 assemble, I don't know. Perhaps it was 100, 120 of them that they
15 assembled from the other rooms. In any case, they were taken out and were
16 never heard of again.
17 Q. Sir, you mentioned that they asked who was 15 or 16 and said to
18 come up and line up. Who -- who were the "they"? Who were the people who
19 asked the question?
20 A. Yes. It was the Serb soldiers who were guarding us and keeping us
21 there and doing whatever they wanted with us.
22 Q. Could you tell how many Serb soldiers were around or in the Pilica
23 building, who were guarding the Muslim men?
24 A. I can say that approximately there were about 10 who were there,
25 and there were another 10 at the place where they were killing, where the
1 executions were going on, so the 10 there, the 10 were up there, then
2 there were two or one always on the buses who were escorting and I noticed
3 at the school that there was a deaf and dumb person, and one of our men
4 asked if there was anything to eat, and this other guy said, "We don't
5 have anything to give you." And then after about half an hour or so he
6 brought a loaf of bread and he was breaking off bite-sized pieces and
7 giving them to the people and I think, if I can remember correctly, we
8 spent about two nights there.
9 The following day, after those two nights, it was said that those
10 who wanted to go to Sarajevo and has the money can pay for the bus to go
11 to Sarajevo, and one of them said, "I have 100 German marks and I'm going
12 to pay for my friend, my colleague, my neighbour. We can pay for five of
13 us." And that's how people left. As long as they had the money, they
14 could go, allegedly to Sarajevo. After people ran out of money, then it
15 was said, "You are going to Tuzla," so now it was possible to go even
16 without money. It was possible to get on the bus without money. And then
17 after that, they brought two sheets. They were long ones. And they
18 said, "This has to be torn into strips" and we were going to be tied up
19 and two men were tearing them, this sheet, up, and tying our hands behind
20 our back. And people were leaving, the buses were going quickly, and
21 returning quickly. I thought, well, I was going to get tied up as well.
22 Very few people were left in that room and I placed my hands on my --
23 behind my back and that's how they tied me up. We were going out, and as
24 we were going out, going down the stairs, and when we reached the ground
25 floor, there was a man who was dead there. There was blood, a pool of
1 blood all around him. He was lying at the bottom of the stairs. He was
2 dead. We went outside. We were going towards the buses. There were two
3 buses there.
4 JUDGE AGIUS: One moment. Stop there, Mr. Hasic. Mr. Lazarevic,
5 I noticed you before. Something wrong with the transcript, I imagine.
6 MR. LAZAREVIC: Yes, Your Honour is right. What I have noticed
7 when the witness was giving his evidence regarding this event that he had
8 with Serb soldier, it's on page 28 -- in a moment I will find, yes, well,
9 basically what I heard the witness saying is that Serbian soldiers
10 said, "We don't have enough food for ourselves and that's the reason why I
11 cannot give you food." And if Ms. Soljan can clarify this.
12 JUDGE AGIUS: Yes, Mr. Hasic, you've heard what Mr. Lazarevic has
13 just stated. Is it correct that when the soldier --
14 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] I heard that. That was true.
15 JUDGE AGIUS: Yes, okay. Then we can proceed.
16 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] It's true that he said that.
17 JUDGE AGIUS: All right. Let's proceed, then, with the rest of
18 the examination-in-chief, Ms. Soljan.
19 MS. SOLJAN: Thank you, Mr. President.
20 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] So, when I came down from the first
21 floor, and I said --
22 MS. SOLJAN:
23 Q. I'll just stop you and just take you back to a few more questions
24 about what was happening in Pilica. During the time that you were there,
25 you mentioned that there was also mistreatment, there were killings going
1 on. Did you see any of those killings happen?
2 A. I didn't see anything. All I heard was moaning and the screaming
3 outside. This went on day and night, constantly. It was incessant. They
4 were probably killing in shifts. This is 100 per cent certain.
5 JUDGE AGIUS: One moment, Ms. Soljan, because earlier on when he
6 also said more or less the same thing, let me find it- apart from
7 screaming and moaning which he has repeated now, he also mentioned, at
8 least that's what we have in the transcript, bursts of fire, gunfire.
9 What I would like to know is whether the screaming and the gunfire -- and
10 the moaning that he heard was at the same time he was hearing the fire,
11 the gunfire, or whether it was -- whether it was --
12 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] The screaming and the moaning was
13 before, and then after the screaming, when you hear the burst of gunfire,
14 then there is no more screaming. It's finished. It's quiet. That means
15 that they were get -- being killed. If we were to look through the window
16 or if we were a little bit noisier inside, then the burst of fire would be
17 directed at us, so we didn't dare look out of the window. And that's why
18 we didn't see what was going on.
19 JUDGE AGIUS: Thank you.
20 MS. SOLJAN:
21 Q. Sir, do you recall how many times these bursts of -- or the
22 shooting happened?
23 A. I don't know. It happened many times. I cannot describe it. I
24 didn't count it at the time, but I also heard several voices, moaning, at
25 the same time, when four or five people were taken out at the same time,
1 they were being dragged here and there. I would hear four or five voices,
2 sometimes, and then there would be a burst of gunfire cutting them down
3 and then everything would be quiet and then after a certain interval, more
4 people would be taken out. This is how it happened. And I saw this dead
5 person there when we were leaving the school. I saw the person, the body
6 at the bottom of the stairs as we were going on -- as we were on our way
7 to the buses. One of the buses, I remember very well, was a Sedmo Julac
8 Sabac bus. It belonged to that company, the 7th July company from Sabac.
9 I don't remember who the other bus belonged to. I just remember this
11 Q. How big were these buses? How many men fit inside?
12 A. Maybe about 50 or so. We got to the buses. There were about 10
13 soldiers escorting us to the buses and when we reached the buses I looked
14 across a little bit. I saw four officers standing in the shade. These
15 soldiers were swearing at us, telling us to move forward. They would hit
16 somebody occasionally with a rifle butt. The others they didn't do
17 anything. They were just watching and perhaps saying a few words amongst
18 themselves, and then we entered the buses. When we got on to the buses,
19 and we were tied up, we were told that we were going to Tuzla.
20 JUDGE AGIUS: Ms. Soljan, we've come to a particular stage now in
21 the -- covering the events in Pilica. Until this particular time, when
22 now he is together with others being taken out of the school, to the
23 buses, and from the time he left Bratunac, apart from soldiers that he's
24 been continually referring to, did he ever see military police or any
25 other members of the armed forces or armed personnel?
1 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] I didn't see military policemen. I
2 just saw the regular multi-coloured uniform that they were wearing.
3 JUDGE AGIUS: Whether they were wearing any berets?
4 MS. SOLJAN:
5 Q. Sir, were they wearing any berets?
6 A. We were wearing the French berets, black or blue ones.
7 JUDGE AGIUS: Any of the soldiers wore any berets and whether you
8 could see any ranks, insignia or any identification as regards ranks
9 amongst the soldiers that you saw there.
10 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] I did not.
11 JUDGE AGIUS: Go ahead.
12 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] I was not looking out for insignia.
13 I just noticed their variegated uniforms. There were officers for sure
14 there but I wasn't on the lookout for that. People were being killed.
15 People were terrified. I was terrified whether I would survive or not.
16 There were times that I was counting that -- reckoning that my life would
17 last only seconds.
18 MS. SOLJAN:
19 Q. Sir, up to this point, since you left Bratunac, did any of the
20 Serb military ask you for your name?
21 A. They never asked me personally. They would take out individuals,
22 ask them questions. Some of them returned. Some of them never returned
23 after being led away. Maybe if they knew somebody personally they would
24 ask them questions after taking them out of the room.
25 Q. Thank you, sir. Did any of the Serb soldiers register you with
1 the ICRC at any time since you left Bratunac?
2 A. Nobody registered me. There were people who were registered but
3 never came. The wounded who would be registered but -- he would disappear
4 there -- are no more.
5 Q. Did you see people being registered anywhere from Bratunac to your
6 arrival in Pilica?
7 A. I did not see that. I believe that they did the registration at
8 the headquarters somewhere, where the Dutch government or defence was
9 located. They did some registration there. I heard about that. I never
10 saw that. I -- there are some of my neighbours who were registered but
11 who never came back.
12 Q. Thank you, sir. You said that you were placed, that there were
13 two buses in front of the Pilica building and that you were placed on one
14 of these. Were any of the Serb soldiers on these buses?
15 A. There would be one or two soldiers. There were escorts, they
16 would sit next to the driver. We would be sitting on the seats and were
17 not supposed to look outside the window, just straight ahead of us.
18 Q. Were these the same soldiers you had seen in the Pilica building
19 before that?
20 A. The same soldiers. They would escort us to the bus, we would
21 board the bus and then one or two would enter the bus with us and the rest
22 would stay at the school building. The point where we came to, there was
23 a group of soldiers who would wait for the buses to off-load and then
24 would execute people.
25 Q. Sir, how long did you travel in those buses?
1 A. It wasn't a short -- it was a short journey, two and a half
2 kilometres approximately. We climbed a hill. We heard bursts of gunfire.
3 When we reached the place where there was gunfire, the buses stopped and
4 as soon as they stopped, the doors would open. Serbian soldiers gathered
5 round the buses. Said -- and they were cursing our mothers and us, and
6 Haris Silajdzic's mother as well. They said, "They don't want you. Get
7 out of the bus." And then death -- you could see death in their eyes.
8 Until that point, you feel you never knew what was going, because
9 they would say one thing, do another, and they started -- people started
10 emerging from the buses and after the buses were half empty, they would
11 stop people from disembarking. I was still on the bus and was looking at
12 what was going on. They took the people down a path in the field, there
13 are dead people, bursts of gunfire would cut people down. People fell
14 dead to the ground. When this was finished, they would come back. I
15 emerged from the bus. There were cursing, "Fuck your mother and Alija and
16 Haris." "They don't want you." "Get out of the bus." "Come here." And
17 you reckon there are still a couple of seconds of life left. When
18 everybody disembarked from the buses with their hands tied, including me,
19 we formed a column and there were dead people in the column, there were
20 dead people on the path, you could see them lying on the ground. They
21 didn't even reach the execution site. They were killed in between. One
22 Serb soldier, he was walking in front of me, he said to me, there were
23 some eight of them, walking next to the column, he told me, "Give me some
24 German marks." I told him, "I don't have any." And I was ready to be
25 killed. He kicked me in the stomach. I doubled back and crouched,
1 started screaming, screaming for help, and the Serb soldier who was
2 walking behind me, he called to the first soldier, "Don't perpetrate
3 genocide, be a soldier about it. Take a rifle if you want to kill
4 anybody." I stood up, and started following the column, and the soldier
5 who kicked me asked me, whether I want to convert to and register as Serbs
6 to survive? There are only two people in the column who opted for that,
7 but to no avail. Even those two who opted for this, one of our people
8 from the column asked, "Give us water and then you may kill us." You see
9 how thirsty we were, hungry and thirsty. But to no avail. If somebody
10 felt sorry for us, they wouldn't be leading us to be executed.
11 Q. Sir --
12 A. 100 metres --
13 Q. Was there anything particular about this location, any prominent
14 buildings or other objects that stood out in this location, as you recall?
15 A. Where we disembarked the buses, there was an apple tree. I
16 noticed a garden, and a house in some distance, maybe two. I couldn't
17 notice, I was too terrified. And there was a ditch leading away from the
18 homes, those houses, and there was a glen 100 metres down the path, this
19 is where they executed people. We were put in lines and people lay dead
20 in lines. We reached the people who had been murdered and we passed
21 through the ranks of the dead, through the lines of the dead, and they
22 would be expanding these lines starting from the top. There was an
23 incline where people were killed. I was somewhere in midline. When we
24 reached that point, there was a command, "Turn around, turn your backs to
25 us." We did so. And instead of fire, they commanded, "Lie down." But
1 before somebody issued such a command, they would open fire. I fell
2 immediately. The others fell down when fire was opened at them. When the
3 bursts of fire died down, one of them asked, "Are there any survivors?" "I
4 survived," said one person, and the other one said, "I survived. Kill
5 me." So they -- that person would go from one survivor to another and
6 fired a single bullet to the head. I thought about notifying them that I
7 was alive. I was contemplating if I could free my hands, then I would --
8 if I could not free my hands, then I would yell that I was alive and they
9 would kill me but I reckoned if I could free my hands then I would be able
10 to survive and escape, and there I lay.
11 Q. [Previous translation continues] ... supposed to be reaching our
12 break now.
13 JUDGE AGIUS: Let him finish this part of the testimony.
14 MS. SOLJAN:
15 Q. Please continue, sir.
16 A. So there were seven columns of people that they brought here. I
17 was lying down. Rounds of ammunition hit all around me. Fortunately none
18 of the bullets hit me. They would excavate earth. I was hit by soil, by
19 stones, but lie down, one hit me in the elbow. Nothing else. Seven
20 columns of people were then executed. I noticed that they were dead.
21 There were very few people remaining in my room. Then they took a
22 break to the house where the buses stopped. They would sit down in the
23 shade. I tried to free my hands. Fortunately, I managed to free my
24 hands, and then assumed the same position because I knew that they would
25 be patrolling, and half an hour later, a patrol of five soldiers came. I
1 could hear them speak. I could hear their steps and I would take a peek
2 every now and then. And suddenly I heard, "one of them escaped," "another
3 one escaped." I would hear gun bursts and people would escape. One
4 remained there of the five. Two of them came back after a while and
5 said, "What happened?" The one who left behind asked, "What happened?"
6 And the answer was, "When one of them hid, and the other two are still
7 looking for the other one. So one was killed the other one was still
8 being chased."
9 One of them said, "We committed genocide, the likes of a genocide
10 in Jasenovac in 1941."
11 JUDGE AGIUS: All right. We will have a break now and it will be
12 a 30-minute break. Thank you.
13 --- Recess taken at 10.47 a.m.
14 --- On resuming at 11.21 a.m.
15 JUDGE AGIUS: Yes, Ms. Soljan.
16 MS. SOLJAN: Thank you, Your Honour.
17 Q. Sir, you were just telling us about you lying on the ground after
18 the execution. Could you tell us how you were finally able to get away
19 from the spot, the execution site?
20 A. When they left the place to retreat to the shade, somebody close
21 to me was whispering the second line, I turned around and whispered is
22 there anybody alive? Let's get away. We were trying to ascertain the
23 time before night-time. It was some two hours before dusk. I was trying
24 to see whether there was a forest close by to hide in. People were lying
25 in lines. I knew that they would be bringing earth-moving machinery.
1 They wouldn't -- it was clear to me, they wouldn't try to bury those
2 people manually. So below the field, there was a ditch, the ditch that I
3 mentioned close to the houses, close to the spot where the buses parked.
4 There was some shrubbery, some 150 square metres of shrubbery and trees.
5 I decided to head towards the scrub, the shrubbery. I tried to
6 free my hands to be able to move better. When I freed my hands, I took a
7 look. Two people were crawling into the shrubs, shrubbery. I jumped to
8 my feet to crawl some distance. I was afraid there would be a patrol
9 coming back. I jumped to my feet. I decided to risk it. I trod on dead
10 people, on soil. I tried to avoid treading on dead people but I could not
11 avoid it. And I was listening for a cry, "Look at him, he's running
12 away." I knew that if I were -- was spotted, I would be dead. I crouched
13 and travelled some 20 metres until I reached the bushes. Two other people
14 were crawling and they ended in the same shrubbery. The four of them, and
15 I was the fifth one, we lied. Everybody else was dead. Among -- 1.000,
16 1.500 people that were killed there, in my estimate. So we were concealed
17 in the shrubbery. There was a patrol. They walked around the dead,
18 making sure that nobody escaped. We were close by in the shrubbery. They
19 did not check whether there were anybody -- any survivors in the
20 shrubbery. We lay low until dusk.
21 When darkness fell, they left, and we emerged to the other side
22 from the shrubs. There were dead people in the field as well. I did not
23 know that before. Those were the people who were taken away in the
24 morning, who were presumably paying their way to Sarajevo. They were
25 killed there, probably. There were five of us. We crossed that field
1 until we reached a forest. There was some moonlight. When we reached the
2 forest, I couldn't see anything. I was exhausted by that time, thirsty,
3 hungry, terrified, and I was of an advanced age. The others were younger,
4 ranging from 16 to 25, judging by their appearance. They went away. I
5 was left there alone. I didn't know what to do, where to go. My progress
6 was very slow.
7 Q. Sir --
8 A. Some five minutes --
9 Q. You mentioned these four other younger men who were with you. Do
10 you know who they were, where they were from?
11 A. I asked one. He said that he was from the Jagonje village. I
12 didn't ask him his name. And I don't know it. I asked them whether they
13 reached their target but I couldn't find out. They did not, because I
14 asked whether anybody from that village managed to escape. They told me
15 no. Maybe two years ago, I heard that they were captured, they were led
16 away to Zvornik, and Zvornik is a notorious place.
17 So I continued alone. I reached an ambush because they -- around
18 the place where they executed people, they would set up ambushes to catch
19 those who managed to escape. There was one who managed to escape. I
20 started to cross the road. A soldier cried out, "Who is it? Who is it?"
21 I meant to escape but I reached a village with some civilians living so I
22 could not enter the village. I tried to hide where I was. That patrol
23 started threatening that they would be throwing a grenade. Identify
24 yourself, they yelled. They knew I was somewhere in the dark. I tried
25 not to move. They issued some military-style orders, "Left flank, right
1 flank, turn left," they opened fire, rifle fire. I was keeping very
2 silent and some two hours passed in this manner. They went away. I
3 crossed the road and entered the woods above the road. I could not
4 proceed towards the village because it was very steep. So I traversed the
5 woods throughout the night, over some hills. It was very difficult to
6 make progress. I was exhausted. And it was difficult to walk in the
7 woods, through the thicket. At the crack of dawn I reached a mountain and
8 a meadow. I managed to find some water, some unripe fruit, plums and
9 apples, some wheat. I ate some wheat grains, managed to eat something,
10 fell asleep. And this is how I managed to survive.
11 After that night, I planned to cross a wood to enter a valley that
12 day but I heard some noise, some trucks. It was a truck or a tractor, so
13 it meant I couldn't proceed in that direction because there was somebody
14 there and could be the site of a mass grave. So I hatched a plan to go in
15 another direction. I reached a tarmacked road. I took that tarmacked
16 road some 20, 30 metres to reach another wood, that was the second day.
17 It was one and a half hours before sunset. I reached the tarmacked road,
18 and I took the road towards the woods, some 20 metres, but when I took a
19 look there, the road, the tarmac, was bloodstained, half a metre wide, a
20 flow of blood in the direction of the commotion or noise. And as soon as
21 I reached the woods where I was supposed to take a turn, a truck emerged
22 right -- driving towards me. As soon as I took a look at the truck, I saw
23 it was filled with dead bodies up to the height of the driver's cabin.
24 And somebody shouted from the truck, "Look, there is the one who escaped
1 And the truck stopped, and it took about 30 or 40 metres for the
2 truck to stop. The truck stopped, and since I heard what was said, I
3 didn't dare go into the woods. I just continued walking along the road.
4 I reached a bridge. The bridge is about ten metres wide and 15 metres
5 long. There is no water beneath it. There is no woods there. It's an
6 irrigation ditch or something. I crossed the bridge, I didn't turn around
7 any more. I walked for a while, and then I looked back. It was going
8 behind me. It reached the bridge, and was standing there and looking at
9 me. I wasn't running or fleeing. I was just walking straight down along
10 the street, and he kept looking at me. He thought I was a Serb, I guess,
11 and at that point, the person turned back and started running back towards
12 the truck. I turned into the ditch so if that Serb was still looking at
13 me I wanted him to see me, that I was not a Serb. I wanted him to see me
14 because he wanted to get me, to throw me on the truck and kill me and put
15 me in the mass grave. I wanted him to see that it was me.
16 Q. If we could go into private session now, please?
17 JUDGE AGIUS: Yes, let's go into private session for a while,
19 [Private session]
11 Pages 1209-1212 redacted. Private session.
23 [Open session]
24 JUDGE AGIUS: We are in open session. Thank you.
25 MS. SOLJAN: Thank you.
1 Q. So sir, you were telling us about how you were in a bus. Where
2 were you being taken to?
3 A. We were brought to Karakaj and we were told to report to the
4 command and we set off to do that and then someone else said, "Go back, go
5 to the truck and you can go together with this guy." It was a two tonne
6 truck covered with tarpaulin. I went to the truck and then I could see
7 that inside there were some other people who had been caught in the woods.
8 There were 27 of them all together. And the two of us also, 29. Then
9 they shouted out that they should all be tied up. And I did not -- I was
10 not tied up. I was given a water bottle and I was told that if anybody
11 wanted to drink, I was supposed to give them water to drink. So I wasn't
12 tied up, and all the others were tied up. We were under the tarpaulin.
13 One of our people said, "It's a good thing that the Red Cross is here.
14 They will be accompanying us." So that's how we set off and we were being
15 escorted by the Red Cross.
16 And we were going through Bijeljina and we reached Batkovic where
17 we were put in a camp. We received pallets there where we would sleep.
18 We were issued two blankets, one we could put on the pallet, the second
19 one we used to cover ourselves. If you had something to put under your
20 head, very well; if not, that was it. That day, we shaved, all of us
21 shaved. We had baths. We had haircuts. The Red Cross was there and they
22 registered us that day. This was the 26th of August, I remember very
23 well, if you want to write that down.
24 Q. And how long approximately were you at the camp?
25 A. The 26th, not August. It's July actually. It was the 26th when I
1 got there.
2 Q. And how long were you there until? What was your last date
3 there? Do you remember?
4 A. The Red Cross was registering us. The last day was actually the
5 24th of December, shortly before new years. That was when the last
6 exchange took place. I spent a full five months in that camp.
7 Q. And sir, where did you go once you were released from the camp?
8 A. We were exchanged. Serbs came from Tuzla and us Muslims were
9 brought from Batkovic, so this was an exchange that took place on the 24th
10 of December, shortly before the new year.
11 Q. And where did you go from there, from the exchange point?
12 A. I went to my family. I had grandchildren, a daughter-in-law, a
13 daughter, my wife. I went to Gracanica.
14 Q. Sir, if I may, I will just -- I'd like to take you back to the
15 13th of July. You were mentioning that on that day, there were
16 separations taking place. Could you tell us about it in a little more
17 detail? Who was separating whom and how?
18 A. There were two barricades, and they were letting through about 150
19 to 200 people who were supposed to go on the buses. They were letting
20 them through. There was another barricade about 15 meters further along
21 down the road and there were soldiers there who were immediately
22 separating the men from the women and the children. That day, I came out,
23 it was Thursday, the 13th of July, and every day people were coming out.
24 This didn't happen just on that day. It went on every day for as long as
25 this was going on. People were leaving every day. And the separation was
1 also something that was ongoing.
2 Q. And who was controlling these separations at both the barricades?
3 A. Serb soldiers in multi-coloured uniforms. They were conducting
4 these separations. That's what they were doing.
5 JUDGE AGIUS: One thing, I just want to make one thing clear for
6 clarity's sake, when the witness says, multi-coloured uniforms, we are
7 referring to camouflage uniforms. I mean, I just want to make sure that
8 one is equivalent to the other. Because most of the time, in other
9 testimonies and other trip transcripts we have camouflage --
10 MR. LAZAREVIC: There was one more thing that I heard from the
11 witness and I don't see it in the transcript, and I believe that the
12 witness said that the separation was going for five days. I believe that
13 is what I heard.
14 JUDGE AGIUS: Is that correct, Mr. Hasic?
15 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Yes. It's correct, because so many
16 people couldn't leave in one day. What I'm saying -- what I'm talking
17 about is what I went through on Thursday. I'm talking about what happened
18 on that day but the same thing was going on during the other days, and the
19 others told about that, that there was the separation that was being done,
20 and these men didn't come. That's what it looked like as I was leaving
21 and it's possible that this was going on throughout that whole period.
22 The people couldn't all leave in one day, 30.000 people or more. They
23 couldn't leave in a day. That's 100 per cent for sure. So it means that
24 it took five days for all of them to leave.
25 MS. SOLJAN:
1 Q. Sir, who was with you? Was any of your family with you when you
2 were making it through these barriers?
3 A. My grandchildren and my daughter-in-law were with me. My wife had
4 fainted and my daughter had taken her to get some medical assistance and I
5 was with my daughter-in-law and my grandchildren. I had a large water
6 bottle with me so -- a canister so that we would have children [as
7 interpreted]. I was carrying water and my small grandchildren were
8 walking in front of me. And I quickly gave the water canister to one of
9 the grandchildren so that they could have water and I turned aside, and
10 the four small grandchildren, together with my daughter-in-law, went off
11 by themselves and I guess they were loaded on to the truck. It was very
12 crowded and people were struggling and pushing in front of the trucks in
13 order to get on to the trucks as soon as possible.
14 Q. And, sir, when you were being separated, do you remember what the
15 person separating you from your family looked like, what he was wearing?
16 A. They were wearing the multi-coloured uniforms, the soldiers'
17 uniforms that the Serbian soldiers were wearing, multi-coloured uniforms.
18 They were soldiers. Five or six soldiers at the barricade, they were
19 holding hands, and if they wanted to let somebody through, they would let
20 them through, women and children to one side, and men to the other
21 side. "Go, you have to go that way."
22 Q. And sir, when you mentioned multi-coloured uniform, you are
23 talking about camouflage uniform?
24 A. Camouflage uniforms, but they didn't have any camouflage on their
25 heads. But just from the head down, they were wearing the multi-coloured
1 uniforms, the Serb multi-coloured uniforms.
2 Q. And do you recall, sir, if these soldiers had weapons on them?
3 A. Well, as far as I can remember, they had rifles slung over their
4 shoulders. They were holding hands and at one place they would let
5 through 150 people and then the next barricade would hold firm and would
6 direct people to go in a direction and they would have their rifles slung
7 over their shoulders.
8 Q. Thank you, sir. One final question: Can you please try to
9 describe for us the impact that your separation, detention and attempted
10 execution had on you, your family, your life?
11 A. Well, I don't feel good, no. The effect -- I look back and think
12 back to what happened. There are many people who have been traumatised,
13 they live with the trauma. Many people will bear consequences, and the
14 children who survived that and who remember what happened. That's it.
15 It's not good.
16 Q. Thank you, sir.
17 MS. SOLJAN: Mr. President, Your Honours, I have no more
19 JUDGE AGIUS: I thank you, Madam.
20 MS. SOLJAN: Your Honour, if I could ask the next witness is
21 waiting at the moment.
22 JUDGE AGIUS: Yes. I don't think there is a point in keeping him
23 here because we haven't started with one cross-examination and I don't,
24 even though you took less than the anticipated time, I'm not that sure
25 that we will be able to finish all the cross-examinations in one hour. So
1 I think Mr. Ruez can leave. Also we have to hand down our decision before
2 he starts giving evidence, which you can expect first thing tomorrow
3 morning. Thank you.
4 So let's do some homework before -- yes, I see Mr. Bourgon.
5 MR. BOURGON: Good morning, Mr. President. I would just like
6 to --
7 JUDGE AGIUS: Good morning to you.
8 MR. BOURGON: In the event we do not finish with this witness
9 today, or that we finish just towards the end, I -- there is one issue I
10 would like to raise with the Trial Chamber which needs to be raised before
11 the next witness. Thank you, Mr. President.
12 JUDGE AGIUS: So what I suggest we do is we start with the
13 cross-examinations now. How much time do you require to raise there
15 MR. BOURGON: No more than five minutes, Mr. President.
16 JUDGE AGIUS: But how much would you expect the Prosecution then
17 to be engaged in it?
18 MR. BOURGON: It is an issue on which we have a disagreement and
19 it deals with the way we will proceed with exhibits. Of course, pending
20 the decision of the Trial Chamber whether the next witness will proceed or
21 not at all, but the way we'll proceed with exhibits I think in five
22 minutes, we can --
23 JUDGE AGIUS: Okay. We'll allow ten minute towards the end. So
24 whoever is cross-examining the witness we'll need to stop ten minutes to
1 Yes, Defence team for Mr. Popovic? Mr. Zivanovic -- Mr. Hasic,
2 the gentleman standing at the moment is Mr. Zivanovic and he is lead
3 counsel for accused Popovic. He will go first. He will be
4 cross-examining you.
5 Cross-examination by Mr. Zivanovic:
6 Q. Good day, Mr. Hasic. I would like to remind you, you remember
7 that you gave a statement to the investigators of The Hague Tribunal.
8 That was in 1996, on the 25th of May 1996, to be more precise. In that
9 statement, apart from other things, when describing the events at
10 Potocari, you stated that the first night, night of between 11th and 12th
11 of July, was tranquil?
12 A. Nobody bothered us. Only the shells struck the perimeter of the
14 Q. So they did not land at Potocari, they landed in the distance,
15 somewhere in the distance, not the place where the refugees were housed?
16 A. Well, the refugees crowded a place and the shells struck outside
17 that area. I did not say that, so they struck the area around.
18 Q. This is not what I meant to say. I meant to say --
19 JUDGE AGIUS: Mr. Zivanovic, I hate to interrupt you but I think
20 we need to slow down, both of you, all right?
21 Mr. Hasic, when Mr. Zivanovic has finished putting the question to
22 you, we need you to pause a little bit before you answer it. The reason
23 is we don't understand your language and it has to be translated to us.
24 So we need that small interval --
25 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Somebody is interpreting?
1 JUDGE AGIUS: Yes. And that's why we need that pause of time so
2 that the interpreters finish their interpretation to us and then you can
3 proceed, all right? So allow five seconds before you start answering any
4 question that -- and the same applies to you, Mr. Zivanovic.
5 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Yes, of course, I will.
6 JUDGE AGIUS: And the same applies to you, Mr. Zivanovic.
7 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Well, I won't count the seconds. I
8 can give them some time.
9 MR. ZIVANOVIC: [Interpretation].
10 Q. So we can conclude that that night, between 11th and 12th of
11 July, the UN facility at Potocari housing the refugees was not targeted
12 by shells?
13 A. Shells landed around, as I told you. At that night when we
14 arrived there, when the people gathered, shells did land around the
15 facility, around the people, around all the buildings, not just one
17 Q. Thank you. Thank you.
18 JUDGE AGIUS: [Microphone not activated] Yes. Mr. Meek for
19 accused Beara will now be cross-examining you.
20 Cross-examination by Mr. Meek:
21 Q. Good afternoon, Mr. Hasic, how are you?
22 A. Good afternoon.
23 Q. I'd like to thank you for coming here to testify and I just have
24 a few matters I would like to clarify with you, if I could.
25 The Prosecutor asked you, sir, if you could estimate the number
1 of Muslim men being held with you at the Vuk Karadzic school in Bratunac.
2 Do you remember that?
3 A. Well, I cannot say. I know that they asked me but I cannot tell
4 you, I know how many people in this -- in my room let alone in the whole
5 school, because I could not get outside my room. They would rifle-butt
6 me and it was impossible to walk around because we were not free to move.
7 We would be risking our heads, our lives. Nobody asked us whether we
8 were guilty of anything or something. Nobody interrogated us,
9 interviewed us. They -- all they know was that we were of a different
10 faith, that we were Muslims, and this is why we treated us so. This is
11 how it went.
12 Q. Mr. Hasic, could you please estimate for me or tell me how many
13 Muslim men were in your room, then, at the school?
14 A. That room, they crammed so many people, as I've said, maybe 150
15 to 200 people. It was so crammed that if you stood up, there would be no
16 place for you to sit down. You could not move around, even move your
18 Q. You also mentioned that throughout the day, at the school, they
19 were continually killing people; is that correct?
20 A. They did kill people. They would lead them away, outside. What
21 I saw was that they beat one person, he was bloodstained. They would
22 take people away. There were screams and moans outside and we could hear
23 bursts of gunfire. We were not supposed to look out the window because
24 we could be then hit by a burst of gunfire.
25 Q. But you testified that the Serb soldiers were taking the men out
1 continually, all day long; is that correct, from not only your room but
2 from other rooms? Was that your testimony, sir?
3 A. Yes. I did say from other rooms as well, they would take out
4 people and kill them, not only from my room. I did not see them taking
5 out people from other rooms but I saw what they did in my room but what
6 happened in my room happened in other rooms so they were not spared.
7 Q. How many other rooms were there, if you know?
8 A. I don't know. I never entered that school in peacetime. I did
9 in wartime. I never had visited that school. I had not lived there. So
10 I don't know it in great detail. There were class rooms and whatever is
11 needed for a school.
12 Q. Thank you. Can you then estimate approximately how many people
13 were taken out of these various rooms and killed while you were there,
15 A. I can tell you from my room, some seven people, from my room.
16 From other rooms, I don't know how many were led away. I couldn't see.
17 But there were moans and screams outside that could be heard, and they
18 were constant, day and night.
19 Q. Sir, you later were taken to another school in Pilica, correct?
20 A. Yes, at Pilica, from Bratunac to Pilica, I was housed in that
21 school and I was taken from Pilica to execution by firing squad.
22 Q. Now, Mr. Hasic, you testified about the Pilica school and you
23 said that in the room where you were being kept, there were some
24 children, 15 or 16 years of age. Is that correct?
25 A. Yes, in my room, I know this very well, some 12 of them. They
1 were lined up, they were looked at, and they said about them, "Avdic
2 seeks people like this, maybe to be soldiers," I don't know. They were
3 led away. How many of such people were in other rooms, maybe 100, 120,
4 and I don't know what happened to them. I can't say whether they were
5 murdered or they were taken to this place or to other place. What counts
6 is that they are no more.
7 Q. Well, frankly, sir, you don't know what happened to them. They
8 could be alive and well and living in France today, correct?
9 A. Well, maybe if they are alive they would have made contact, maybe
10 some of them would survive and would come out to testify that they were
11 at Pilica at that camp but nobody is around to testify that they survived
13 Q. Thank you, Mr. Hasic?
14 A. I cannot say that they were murdered because I did not see it
15 with my own eyes.
16 Q. Thank you. Can you tell me, sir, how you estimate that there
17 were perhaps 100 to 120 children of this age range in the other rooms at
18 the school, if you did not see them?
19 A. I did not see that, but I think that if there were 12 of them in
20 my room, I'm not sure how many rooms there were, but if a dozen emerged
21 from each of those rooms, this is my reckoning, approximate reckoning,
22 that that would make up this number.
23 Q. Thank you, Mr. Hasic. I understand that answer, but you still
24 cannot tell me how you even come up with the estimate of how many rooms
25 were in the building, do you?
1 A. I did not make an estimate, but since we had large class rooms,
2 maybe 10 class rooms were in the building and other rooms. I cannot tell
3 you precisely how many. What I know precisely is that there were 12
4 children in my room.
5 Q. Thank you, sir. Now, was -- it was at Pilica that you learned of
6 people being registered; is that correct?
7 A. Not at Pilica, while I was at Potocari I heard that some people
8 were being registered at Potocari, where UNPROFOR or their headquarters
9 was located, that people are being registered. I know of some who were
10 registered but never came back.
11 Q. Mr. Hasic, I was looking at your testimony on page 33 of today's
12 transcript, where the Madam Prosecutor asked you, "Did you see people
13 being registered anywhere from Bratunac to your arrival in Pilica?" And
14 your answer was: "I did not see that. I believe that they did the
15 registration at the headquarters somewhere, where the Dutch government or
16 defence was located." So is it your testimony now that this was not in
17 Pilica, nor was it in Bratunac?
18 JUDGE AGIUS: I would leave it at that, Mr. Meek, because I don't
19 think anyone doubts where.
20 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] I never saw.
21 JUDGE AGIUS: One moment. No one doubts where the Dutch
22 government as it is in the transcript or defence was located. Everyone
23 knows where they were located.
24 MR. MEEK:
25 Q. Now, Mr. Hasic, you've also testified that there were some Muslim
1 men that were being interrogated. Do you recall that testimony?
2 A. What I saw was that two people were taken out, interrogated,
3 asked questions, and they were brought back. But I didn't see other
4 people being brought back.
5 JUDGE AGIUS: Yes, Ms. Soljan, sorry.
6 MS. SOLJAN: If Mr. Meek could just provides a reference?
7 JUDGE AGIUS: Yes. I don't think you have any further questions
8 on this, have you, Mr. Meek?
9 MR. MEEK: Not really on that.
10 JUDGE AGIUS: If you have you need to be specific, as Ms. Soljan
11 has pointed out. Thank you.
12 MR. MEEK: Page 32, line 20 and 21, Judge.
13 Q. So, Mr. Hasic, how long did the -- did the individuals -- how
14 long were they interrogated or questioned?
15 A. Well, they were taken out, I don't know. They asked a couple of
16 questions. Not long. And they were brought back to that place. I knew
17 those two. They did not come back. They were later captured, taken away
18 and killed because they did not cross over to the other side.
19 Q. And do you believe that there were other Muslim men from other
20 rooms in the school being taken out and questioned also?
21 A. That's for sure.
22 Q. Sir, in looking at your testimony today, it appears that at the
23 first school you went to, you believe that you stayed there one night or
24 perhaps two nights. Correct?
25 A. Correct, Bratunac.
1 Q. And then at the second school, in Pilica, you stayed there either
2 one night, perhaps two nights, you're not sure, correct?
3 A. Possibly two nights. On the 17th, the execution took place, 17th
4 of July.
5 Q. Well, you went to Bratunac on the 12th, correct?
6 A. Can't be the 12th. It is -- it was the 13th, and I said it but
7 you didn't write it down.
8 Q. 13th, and you stayed --
9 A. On the 14th and 15th, I was in Bratunac. Then we were dragged
10 over to Pilica, so around the 17th it was the mass execution that took
11 place, without any questions being asked whether we were guilty or not.
12 Nobody was asked anything. Their aim was for you to cease existing.
13 See, that's how it was.
14 Q. Thank you very much. But you just answered that you could have
15 stayed one night in Bratunac and not two. And now you say it was two.
16 I'm just asking you which was it? Was it one, was it two, or do you
18 A. Maybe one, maybe two. It's possible two nights. It's possible.
19 MR. MEEK: Thank you very much. I have no further questions,
20 Your Honour.
21 JUDGE AGIUS: I thank you, Mr. Meek.
22 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] 12 years have passed. It didn't
23 happen yesterday. Somethings have, you know, lapsed.
24 JUDGE AGIUS: Thank you. Mr. Meek. Thank you, Mr. Hasic.
25 Now, Defence for Mr. Nikolic headed by Ms. Nikolic will go next.
1 Ms. Nikolic.
2 Cross-examination by Ms. Nikolic:
3 Q. Good afternoon, Mr. Hasic.
4 A. Good day.
5 Q. I'd like to ask you a couple of questions if you can assist me to
6 understand some events that took place during the period that you
8 A. Yes. Well.
9 Q. Today, you told us about several officers that you saw in Pilica
10 who were standing in the shade and talking.
11 A. Yes.
12 Q. Do you remember if those officers had automatic rifles with them?
13 A. I know very well. I remember well, it was hot, they were wearing
14 light clothes. Their shirts were unbuttoned and they had an automatic
15 rifle on their shoulder.
16 Q. Thank you very much. When you were at the house, at the
17 beginning of all of these ugly events?
18 A. Yes.
19 Q. You were told all of those who were detained would be
20 investigated and after that you would be taken to Tuzla?
21 A. Yes, they said, yes, would be a little bit.
22 Q. Yes. And you assumed you would be exchanged until you arrived at
24 A. Yes.
25 Q. I'm going to go back with a few questions to the most serious
1 part of the events that you went through. And those are the events on --
2 in the field near Pilica.
3 A. Yes.
4 Q. You said today that according to your estimate, there were about
5 1.000 to 1500 bodies in that field.
6 A. That was my estimate, an approximate estimate, but it was for
7 sure between 1.000 and 1500 bodies. This is definitely 100 per cent for
8 sure. I didn't give you a definite figure. It was an approximate
10 Q. Very well. Thank you. For you it was a very difficult day,
11 which has marked you for the rest of your life and I'm sure you were very
12 frightened and you wanted to leave that place as soon as possible.
13 A. Yes. All I could see was the backhoe loader trying to collect
14 all the bodies.
15 Q. There were many such bodies in the field. You saw a lot of
16 bodies in the field; is that correct, but you could not count them?
17 A. No. I couldn't count them but there were a thousand, between a
18 thousand to 1500, and that is where they found both of my brothers, who
19 were older than me. One of them was five years older than me. The other
20 one was seven years older than me.
21 Q. Thank you, Mr. Hasic. I'd like to ask you a few questions about
22 the exchange from Batkovic, when you were released in late December 1995.
23 MS. NIKOLIC: [Interpretation] Your Honours, since I have a
24 document here from the Srebrenica collection, which is from the
25 republican commission for Srebrenica, and there are names mentioned in
1 the document, I think that perhaps we could move into closed session so
2 that I could put these questions to the witness so that we would not
3 reveal the identity of some people.
4 JUDGE AGIUS: I thank you, Madam Nikolic. That's exactly what we
5 will do. Let's go into private session for a while, please.
6 [Private session]
21 [Open session]
22 JUDGE AGIUS: We are in open session. Thank you.
23 MS. NIKOLIC: [Interpretation] I have no further questions, Your
24 Honour. Thank you.
25 JUDGE AGIUS: I thank you, Ms. Nikolic.
1 Now, Defence team for Mr. Borovcanin, and Mr. Stojanovic will be
2 going next. Mr. Stojanovic.
3 MR. STOJANOVIC: [Interpretation] Good afternoon, Your Honours.
4 Cross-examination by Mr. Stojanovic:
5 Q. Ahmo, I'm going to ask you some questions relating to those first
6 things that happened. Let's try to go in sequence, Tuesday, 11th of
7 July, you said you came to Potocari; is that correct?
8 A. Yes, that was the day that Srebrenica fell.
9 Q. What time was it?
10 A. When I came, perhaps it was around noon or maybe 2.00 p.m.,
11 something like that. I cannot really say exactly what time it was.
12 Perhaps I didn't even have a watch at the time.
13 Q. You said that there were people already inside the factories?
14 A. Yes, that's right.
15 Q. You said that you couldn't get inside?
16 A. No, I couldn't. I was outside.
17 Q. Since we are familiar with the layout, can you please tell us
18 whether you're talking about one building or several buildings where the
19 people were?
20 A. The people were in a number of buildings. I don't know exactly
21 how many but perhaps there were five or six of these buildings,
22 factories, that are there. There is the lead factory, the Zinc Factory,
23 accumulator, Feros, perhaps some other ones. There were some other
25 Q. How far are the buildings, how much apart are the buildings? How
1 much of an area do they occupy?
2 A. They are perhaps 60 metres apart, one factory from another. That
3 was the distance between them.
4 Q. Would it be right if I said that the factories took up an area of
5 a surface of 300 square metres where these buildings were?
6 A. No. It had to be more. You couldn't put them all in an area of
7 300 metres, no.
8 Q. Could you please try to tell us a little more precisely how far
9 the buildings were apart from each other, these buildings where the
10 people of Srebrenica were being placed?
11 A. The people were being placed in these buildings, in the
12 factories. They are quite close to each other. Some are above the road,
13 some are below the road. Maybe they are 50 to 60 metres apart, up to 100
14 metres, depending on the factory. And then there were people again in
15 between the factories, because you couldn't fit 30.000 people into the
16 buildings, all of them. That's quite clear.
17 Q. So you really couldn't see all of the factories and know where
18 all the people were, from the place where you were standing?
19 A. No, I couldn't see everything. This is quite a large compound.
20 I walked around a little bit, I would be bringing water to the children,
21 going looking for water, so I was passing amongst the people. So I know
22 that there were people all over.
23 Q. Well, I would like to clarify something now, something that
24 wasn't clear to me. You said today that you did not enter any of the
25 factories but that you were outside.
1 A. Yes. That night, I stayed by myself. I had lost my family.
2 They were somewhere amongst the people. And afterwards, when it got
3 light, I walked around and I found my family. They were in the factory.
4 The second night, all of us slept outside.
5 Q. Precisely. I would like us to proceed in order. On the 11th, in
6 the afternoon, and that night, you are in Potocari, the night of the 11th
7 and the 12th you were separated from your family and you were sleeping
8 outside; is that correct?
9 A. Yes, those two nights.
10 Q. The night of the 11th to the 12th, the first night, you slept
11 separately from your family?
12 A. Yes. I was separated from my family. The second night I was
13 together with my family outside.
14 Q. So the second night, the night of the 12th to the 13th, you were
15 with your family but you were not sleeping inside any of the factories?
16 A. No. On the 13th I left Potocari and went to Bratunac. Finally I
17 hope it's clear to you.
18 Q. You also told us that that first night, the night of the 11th to
19 the 12th --
20 A. Yes, go ahead, ask me.
21 Q. You did not see that there were any killing or separation of
22 people that night; is that correct?
23 A. No. There was none of that the first night but it did happen on
24 the second night. It was a catastrophe on the second night.
25 Q. This is exactly what I wanted to ask you.
1 A. Yes, go ahead. Ask me.
2 Q. When you're talking about that catastrophe you're talking about
3 the night from the 12th to the 13th, that was the second night that you
4 spent there; is that correct?
5 A. The night of the 12th and the 13th, actually, I know that as the
6 second night. That's what I'm talking about, the 12th to the 13th. In
7 any case, it's the second night, on Tuesday, the 11th, I know very well
8 was when Srebrenica fell. That's when we went down to Potocari. That's
9 the first night. The second night was dangerous for many. Many lost
10 their lives. Many were moaning that night, and the next day after that,
11 on Thursday, Bratunac, Vuk Karadzic, where what food we had left was
12 taken away from us so we would have nothing to eat. Yes, that's how it
13 was. So that we would die of hunger, that we would be feeble, we would
14 have no strength, that we would have nothing. They had the weapons. Our
15 arms were tied.
16 Q. You're talking about Bratunac now?
17 A. I'm talking about Bratunac and wherever you like.
18 Q. I would like us to proceed step by step. It would be easier that
19 way. We are going to stop now because we are going to talk about
20 Potocari now.
21 Those people whose moans and screams you heard on the second
22 night in Potocari, did you see where they were being taken out from?
23 Were they taken from inside the factory or were they taken away from the
25 A. I couldn't see that. I was outside. They were not taking them
1 close by from me, perhaps they were taking away somebody from half a
2 kilometre away and then from some other side completely. But you could
3 hear them. Everybody would jump up around them and they would be saying
4 things and then after that, you could hear the screaming and the moaning
5 of those people who were being killed.
6 Q. So you didn't see that, you just heard it?
7 A. Yes. I just heard that. I trust what I see with my own eyes and
8 what I hear with my own ears. I trust myself. And nobody can tell me
9 that this wasn't so, then.
10 Q. And all of this happened on the second night?
11 A. The second night.
12 Q. Is that right?
13 A. Yes, that is right.
14 Q. Very well. Now, I would like to ask you to help us with this:
15 Where did they take you? Which house? Where is that house in Potocari
16 where you were taken to?
17 A. On the way out, away from the factories, as you pass the
18 factories there was a house to the left side. That's the house where
19 they took us.
20 JUDGE AGIUS: In the direction of which, in the direction of
21 Srebrenica or in the direction of Bratunac?
22 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] In the direction of Bratunac, where
23 we were going. It couldn't have been in the direction of Srebrenica
24 because that's where I came from. Now I was going the other way.
25 JUDGE AGIUS: Thank you.
1 MR. STOJANOVIC: [Interpretation]
2 Q. So to a house on the left side, going in the direction of
4 A. Yes, on the left side, in the direction of Bratunac, passed the
6 Q. How far is it from the main asphalt road?
7 A. Perhaps it's about 15 to 20 metres off from the main road.
8 Q. Was that a house with one floor or two floors, with an attic? Was
9 it just a single-storey building?
10 A. The house had a ground floor and first floor. I don't know if it
11 also had an attic. I wasn't really observing everything and seeing
12 exactly how it looked, and I didn't have a pencil with me to be writing
13 down all the dates and all that was happening.
14 Q. Ahmo, can you help us? Can you remember whether there were any
15 tape, was there any tapes around the UN compound, the check-point?
16 A. I don't know about -- around the check-point, I'm sure that there
17 were, I didn't see any but I'm sure that there were because wherever they
18 did have a check-point, they had some tape or wire around the
19 check-points. There were also sandbags on the -- on the ground. That's
20 how they fortified them. They used sandbags to build up the check-point.
21 Q. And were the people separated by tape, the place where they were,
22 was nylon tape separating the people?
23 A. No. That wasn't there. Then you would have needed to tape off
24 the entire area of Potocari, but that wasn't there.
25 Q. Who told you that? Where did you see that?
1 A. The Dutch.
2 Q. So are you telling us that there were no tapes or that you didn't
3 see this tape?
4 A. I didn't see it. Maybe there was some tape somewhere but not
5 around the entire compound. I don't think so. In any case, I didn't see
6 any. This was a large area that these people were occupying, the people
7 were sitting, lying down, it was a large area. I didn't go around the
8 edges of the area to check if there was any tape there.
9 Q. If I understand you correctly, on the 13th of July, the second day
10 in Potocari, you were outside together with your family, is that right?
11 A. That night, that was the last night at Potocari, on the 13th, I
12 was taken to Bratunac.
13 Q. I'm asking you this because of the following: When did they give
14 out the bread and when you could give that bread to your grandchildren?
15 A. It was the first night, from the 11th to the 12th, we arrived.
16 And on the 12th they gave us bread. And I was out of there on the 13th.
17 It was Thursday, the 13th.
18 JUDGE AGIUS: Mr. Stojanovic, we will be stopping in five minutes'
19 time but before we do that, what are you trying to achieve? Are you
20 attacking the credibility of the witness or what?
21 MR. STOJANOVIC: [Interpretation] No, Your Honour. I want, through
22 the testimony of this witness, I'm trying to position where the unit under
23 the control of Mr. Borovcanin was, according to the indictment, because
24 later on it will be made clear when they came to Potocari, whether they
25 were there from the 11th to the 12th of July, and I'm going to agree with
1 what the witness is saying and it is not my intention to compromise.
2 JUDGE AGIUS: I suggest you go straight to that point because we
3 have been going around and around in circles and I think what you've just
4 said is more important to you.
5 MR. STOJANOVIC: [Interpretation]
6 Q. Well, Ahmo, what I'd like to ask you now is this: The two
7 check-points that you mentioned, do you remember them, at Potocari?
8 A. Yes.
9 JUDGE AGIUS: Yes. I can understand the objection.
10 Yes, Ms. Soljan?
11 MS. SOLJAN: I'm sorry, Mr. President, Your Honours, but his first
12 name is Ahmo. He has a last name and I believe it would be appropriate to
13 address him with respect and address him by his last name. Thank you very
15 JUDGE AGIUS: I don't know. Maybe it's the practice over there
16 but I would tend to agree with you. If you could address him as Mr. Hasic
17 I think it would be better. I mean -- it could lead to incidents. It has
18 led to incidents in other cases, Mr. Stojanovic. In fact, I didn't like
19 it in the beginning when you first started that way.
20 MR. STOJANOVIC: [Interpretation]
21 Q. I will address you as Mr. Hasic.
22 A. Whichever way you want. You can call me a bucket. Whatever.
23 Q. Mr. Hasic, my question pertained to the two check-points that you
24 mentioned. Do you remember that?
25 A. The two check-points of UNPROFOR at Potocari, I know that there
1 was one, I don't know anything about two check-points. I never testified
2 to that. There was the check-point of UNPROFOR where they had their
4 Q. On your way to the buses, how was your progress to the buses
6 A. Well, my movement was that I could move through the throng. I
7 used to fetch water for my family. I could walk. But when -- as we
8 proceeded towards the exit, it was terrible. Everybody was pushing and
9 shoving others. Nobody could be stopped. People were shoving and
10 pushing. But I would have progressed more slowly but I could not, because
11 I was carried by the people and this is how we reached the exit point.
12 There was the check-point, as I said, they would let a certain number of
13 people through, 150, 200, as I testified.
14 Q. My question pertains to that check-point. As you said, barricade
15 or point, where they would let through 150 to 200 people. Would -- were
16 they letting through both men, women and children?
17 A. Yes, all of them but the second check-point, some 15 metres away,
18 was the place where they separated men from children and women. They
19 would point men to go in the direction of the house, and women and
20 children in the direction of buses or trucks.
21 JUDGE AGIUS: Here, if you -- the rest that is the three remaining
22 Defence teams, if you could give me an indication of how much time you
23 would require, Madam Fauveau?
24 MS. FAUVEAU: [Interpretation] Your Honour, between 30 and 45
1 JUDGE AGIUS: Mr. Krgovic?
2 MR. KRGOVIC: [Interpretation] Your Honour, half an hour.
3 JUDGE AGIUS: And Mr. Haynes or Mr. Sarapa?
4 MR. HAYNES: 20 minutes.
5 JUDGE AGIUS: So I reckon Mr. Ruez needs to be here right after
6 the first break tomorrow or rather to play it safe maybe he should be here
7 right from the beginning. Mr. Usher you can accompany the witness out.
8 Mr. Hasic, we will have to stop here and you come back tomorrow. You will
9 be finished tomorrow morning or during the day any way.
10 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Well, I can take a break. It's only
11 one day. I need to take a break, yes.
12 JUDGE AGIUS: Okay. The staff will make the arrangements for you
13 that suit you most.
14 Mr. Hasic, you are not to communicate -- one moment, let me
15 finish. You're not to communicate with anyone between today and tomorrow
16 on the subject matter of the events you are testifying upon or the subject
17 matter of your testimony.
18 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] Okay.
19 JUDGE AGIUS: Thank you.
20 THE WITNESS: [Interpretation] I will not.
21 JUDGE AGIUS: We'll see you tomorrow morning.
22 [The witness withdrew]
23 JUDGE AGIUS: Mr. Bourgon, try to keep it short, please. Yes,
24 Mr. Bourgon, what's the problem?
25 MR. BOURGON: Thank you, Mr. President.
1 JUDGE AGIUS: I thought there were no problems with the next
3 MR. BOURGON: At there point in time, Mr. President, we are
4 awaiting for, of course, a decision from the Trial Chamber.
5 JUDGE AGIUS: We are going to hand a motion down as soon as you
6 finish. If you want to hear it before we can proceed with it straight
8 MR. BOURGON: I anticipate that the witness will be proceeding
9 because you just mentioned a few minutes ago that the witness will be
10 proceeding tomorrow.
11 So with this in mind, Mr. President I would like to address one
12 issue which might bring some difficulties during the testimony of this
13 witness. On 21 August, further to the order issued by the Trial Chamber,
14 the Prosecution filed a submission in which it included a list of exhibits
15 it intends to use with the first witnesses. Now, that includes witness
16 number 1, witness Ruez. On this list, contained about 100 exhibits along
17 with Rule 65 ter number, and in some cases ERN number, and in some cases
18 references to exhibit number in past cases. Now, this allowed us to do
19 the groundwork and to prepare for this witness and we located almost all
20 of these 100 exhibits other than for maybe five to ten.
21 The difficulty arose on the 24th of August, when we received a
22 CD-ROM by the Prosecution and on this CD-ROM is -- you find about 260
23 pictures or exhibits intended to be used with Witness number 1, and on
24 this CD-ROM, there are no longer any ERN numbers, no longer any 65 ter
25 number. So it is not possible for us to make a match as to what the
1 Prosecution wants to use with the list that was initially given to us or
2 with the official list of the Prosecution dating back to 28 April.
3 Moreover, on this CD-ROM, all over the exhibits, there are markings which
4 have been added on the exhibits.
5 Now, this was further complicated on 30th August whether we
6 received an additional CD-ROM with about something like 14 additional
7 pictures and some videos. I'll try to make this short. We are not
8 worried with the markings that were added. We have been informed by -- my
9 colleague has informed us that in order to save time, he would ask the
10 witness to mark -- make markings in advance and if we can save time the
11 Defence is always willing to assist the Court in saving sometime. So
12 that's not our main problem. However, it is our understanding that if the
13 Prosecution wants to use any exhibits, it must be an exhibit which was on
14 its list, on this Rule 65 list dating back to 28 April. Now that's the
15 object and purpose of Rule 65 ter is that -- to allow the Defence to
16 prepare a case knowing which exhibits will be used. That's why, when the
17 Prosecution wants to add new exhibits, it files a motion, like the latest
18 motion was filed to try and add 300 new exhibits.
19 Now, in this case, we have a witness that will appear tomorrow and
20 we have some 280 exhibits and there is no way for us to tell whether these
21 exhibits are or are not either on the e-court list or the Rule 65 list or
22 any other list. I introduced this issue to my colleague last week - maybe
23 we did not understand each other correctly - and we further spoke this
24 morning. There is a misunderstanding, of course, as to what is the object
25 and purpose of the Rule 65 ter. We believe that it must be there right
1 now we can mot proceed without having references to that list.
2 JUDGE AGIUS: All right. I thank you. Point taken.
3 Mr. McCloskey would you like to address it now or tomorrow in?
4 MR. McCLOSKEY: I should address it now, Your Honour. Mr. Ruez,
5 the list that we originally gave them was basically the material used in
6 the Krstic and the Blagojevic, including many video tapes. Mr. Ruez came
7 back from France and gave us a revised list based on that material on a
8 nice CD that had everything on it that we provided the Defence with and I
9 haven't heard any objection on any photo or anything on that list.
10 Defence is correct in that that CD doesn't have, we didn't go
11 through the effort to try to figure out all the -- what 65 ter numbers
12 went with the new CD but I can tell you, after he told me this issue I
13 went with some of our legal help through all the new photos and most of
14 them are repeats of the photos that have 65 ters. Some are stills from
15 the videos that also had 65 ters. Others are a slightly better picture
16 from a better angle or a better quality picture because many of our old
17 exhibits weren't the best quality, frankly and we now had access to a
18 better digital.
19 So I went through each of the -- some 24 crime areas and did not
20 find any surprises, any new pictures, that were -- would have surprised
21 the accused in any way. There are for example, Cerska valley, he's put
22 more Cerska valley pictures, there are more holes in the ground that they
23 dug than were on the 65 ter list but fundamentally I didn't see any
24 surprises. The one thing a couple of pictures were the hills where the
25 column was leaving from which was an issue that had been brought up that I
1 thought and Mr. Ruez thought you may be interested in. There are some
2 pictures of those hills but not just like the ones he's provided. But
3 otherwise I didn't see any surprise. No one's told me of any surprise and
4 if there is some surprise I will consider withdrawing the picture if it's
5 a big deal.
6 JUDGE AGIUS: Mr. McCloskey, I suggest that you continue to try
7 and iron this out between you, between now and tomorrow. I don't
8 anticipate a great problem as we go along, if you identify any of these
9 and if they require a decision to be taken it will be taken. In the
10 meantime let's proceed with anticipated oral version of the decision on
11 the Ruez testimony that I will sign -- I have already signed, will be
12 filed later on. Basically -- yes, are you still standing, Mr. Bourgon?
13 MR. BOURGON: Excuse me, Mr. President, I'd like to reply briefly
14 because there is new material.
15 JUDGE AGIUS: When the problems arise, we will take them in their
16 stride and we will decide accordingly.
17 I have taken the point and then I've heard what Mr. McCloskey had
18 to say as well. I still don't think there will be major problems and, if
19 a problem arises, we will tackle it there and then. So the position is as
20 follows in relation to the Defence motion, joint motion, requesting the
21 termination as to the admissibility of testimony of Jean-Rene Ruez.
22 I've taken note of all the filings and all the submissions. We
23 considered that the Prosecution, first of all we have taken note that both
24 of you declared that you agree and accept the relevant jurisprudence of
25 the -- of the Tribunal. We also take note of the Prosecution's assurance
1 to the Defence, Trial Chamber, that they will neither -- was neither going
2 to ask Mr. Ruez to speculate or make an appropriate conclusion that will
3 not be helpful to the Court to get into the problems, et cetera. That
4 we've also considered that although the transcripts of the evidence given
5 by the witness in previous cases do indeed raise concern regarding the
6 scope and form of his testimony, the Trial Chamber is of the view that
7 there is no need for pre-emptive ruling on the contents of his evidence in
8 the current case. Then ultimately and this is the cornerstone of the
9 decision that we have the overall responsibility under our rules of
10 overseeing the proceedings of trial in light of the principles laid down
11 both in the Statute and our Rules, particularly as described in Rule 90,
12 to wit exercise control over the mode and order of interrogating witnesses
13 and presenting evidence so as to, first, make the interrogation and
14 presentation effective for the ascertainment of the truth, and, second, to
15 avoid needless consumption of time.
16 We do also make a point in our decision that we would have
17 preferred that from -- the Prosecution to have provided the Defence with
18 an early witness statement. That would have facilitated much and probably
19 avoided all this incident. And precisely because of this concern that we
20 have, we do enjoin you to fully explain to the witness, either during the
21 remaining briefing period, if there is any left, or before he is called to
22 give evidence, the substantives of this decision, which we will be handing
24 The rest I think you can safely leave in our hands and we'll take
25 good care of it.
1 Thank you. We will resume tomorrow morning. I would take it that
2 the first session will be still with this witness. Thank you.
3 --- Whereupon the hearing adjourned at 1.03 p.m.,
4 to be reconvened on Thursday, the 7th day of
5 September, 2006, at 9.00 a.m.
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Gary Lewis Beasley, 55, of North Garden, died Thursday, December 13, 2007, at his home. Born December 21, 1951, in Charlottesville, he was the son of Charlotte Morris Beasley and the late Leslie W. Beasley.
In addition to his mother, he is survived by his loving wife, Sharon L. Beasley; two sons, Christopher Beasley and his wife, Sherri Hunter, and Robert Beasley and his wife, Shannon; two sisters, Ann Sandridge and her husband, David, and Lori Beasley; one brother, Timothy Beasley and his wife, Rhonda, and two grandchildren, Claire and Elise Beasley. He also leaves dozens of aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews with fond memories of him.
After decades working in the water and sewer industry, Gary redirected his interests and received a Masters in Education from the University of Virginia Curry School of Education. Gary's favorite activities included music, spending time with his family, dancing with his lovely wife, guiding their two sons into fine young men, and playing with their two grandchildren. Gary was an accomplished musician and recently used his talents to provide therapeutic music to hospital patients. Gary was the leader of his extended family, always providing support to his mother, siblings, and close relatives. His warm and welcoming manner provided the base around which family gatherings grew and revolved.
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In the March and May issues, we mentioned a collision between MARISKA and the auxiliary schooner GERALDINE WOLVIN which occurred on December 27, 1919, at Nantes, France. As it develops, we were not off base when we suggested that there might have been a connection between GERALDINE WOLVIN and Roy M. Wolvin, one of the founders of Canada Steamship Lines, despite the fact that our guess was made without benefit of any knowledge of the ship except a certainty that she had never sailed on the Great Lakes. We sincerely thank Kevin Griffin of Montreal for sending us a copy of an article by Ruth Greene Bailey, entitled "Twelve MABEL BROWN Type Five-Masted Wooden Auxiliary Schooners, Built in 1917", which appeared in the Marine Notebook section of the December, 1978, issue of Vancouver's "Harbour and Shipping" magazine. It sheds much light not only on GERALDINE WOLVIN but also on the management of the Canadian West Coast Navigation Company, her first owner.
After the passing of the Aid to Shipping Act by the federal government in 1916, British Columbia shipyards enjoyed a business boom prompted by a need for tonnage to haul B.C. lumber abroad, a shortage of hulls due to wartime losses, and the high cost of building ships in European yards. Of some 135 vessels so constructed, twelve were auxiliary schooners of the MABEL BROWN type, designed by J. H. Price, launched in 1917, and built at a cost of approximately $150,000 each. Wallace Shipyards Ltd., North Vancouver, built MABEL BROWN, GERALDINE WOLVIN, JESSIE NORCROSS, JANET CARRUTHERS, MABEL STEWART and MARIE BARNARD, while Cameron-Genoa Mills Shipbuilders Ltd. of Victoria constructed MARGARET HANEY, JEAN STEEDMAN, LAUREL WHALEN, ESQUIMALT, MALAHAT and BEATRICE CASTLE. The ESQUIMALT and CASTLE were soon sold to French interests, leaving ten of the schooners in Canadian service.
If the names of some of these boats sound familiar, it is not surprising, for many of them were named for the wives of prominent Canadian vessel men, most of them connected in some way with Canada Steamship Lines. Among these were the Canadian West Coast Navigation Company's president, James Carruthers, its vice-president, Capt. J. W. Norcross, and others who held an interest in C.S.L. including Roy M. Wolvin, J.F.M. Stewart, M. J. Haney, J. P. Steedman and James Whalen. Also involved was Sir Trevor Dawson.
The ten schooners which remained under the Canadian flag were 240 x 44 x 19, approximately 1470 tons, and their twin screws were driven by Bolinder diesel engines. These were good engines but could be troublesome if not operated by competent engineers who were familiar with them. The boats were well built, possessed extremely fine lines, and made excellent speed in light to moderate winds with engines going and the sails drawing well.
"Capt. Peter John Riber Mathieson became master of GERALDINE WOLVIN in May, 1917. and joined her for the first time when she was loading 1,528,000 feet of Oregon pine at Hastings Mill in Vancouver. Nearly one-third of the lumber was carried on deck. He described her as 'a fine-looking vessel with dumpy spars, solidly built, painted lead colour'. Her ten sails had a spread of 11,200 square feet. Later he remarked: 'Never had I been in a vessel with a deckload as high as ours; it was 15 feet, two feet higher than our poop deck. The freight was very good, $28.00 a thousand feet.'
"She sailed from Vancouver on May 23, and arrived at Sydney, Australia, a voyage of 7,130 miles, in 48 days. Tragically, a man was lost overboard during the voyage. This ship had the honour of making the first successful crossing of the Pacific for the Canadian West Coast Navigation Company. Capt. Mathieson was delighted to receive a raise, which he had not requested, bringing his salary up to $185.00 per month.
"On the homeward voyage, the cargo was copra and a deckload of hardwood for San Francisco. GERALDINE WOLVIN's topsides were caulked at a shipyard in Oakland Creek. United States Shipping Board men were making excellent wages and Capt. Mathieson said, 'I later learned that the more men the shipyard owners engaged, the more money they made out of the government, which was paying them 10% above payroll'.
"Cargo aboard the second voyage across the Pacific from San Francisco to Australia was general freight, including crated motor cars. On the return voyage to the United States from Sydney, they loaded sacked wheat, a small deckload of ironbark, horns packed in huge sacks - all kinds of horns: rams, bullocks, cows; crooked, straight and curved - and rabbit skins. The homeward voyage was rather unpleasant with short steep seas; the ship rolled badly. There was engine trouble off Hawaii and they nearly grounded on Vancouver Island in a dense fog.
"Before sailing with Douglas fir for Shanghai on his third voyage across the Pacific, Capt. Mathieson watched the Chemainus Indian tribe, located near Genoa Bay, load his ship. Her fifteen-foot deckload was secured with heavy chain lashings and they took every precaution to see that it was secure. He observed that the stevedores there were the most expert men in handling and stowing timber he had ever encountered on the west coast.
"GERALDINE WOLVIN left Victoria on October 9, 1918. About three weeks after passing Hawaii, the sails were doing practically all the work. The barometer was falling steadily, for there was a typhoon to westward. At night, the weather worsened, the wind increasing to a howling gale. The vessel 'staggered, laboured and plunged'. The barometer was still falling on November 17 and the ship started to leak. The crew were thankful for 'our new and wonderful pump' which Capt. Mathieson had ordered fitted to replace a smaller one. As long as engine number one was driving the pump there was a chance of keeping the bilges dry. Extra gaskets (bonds or cords on the yards of the ship to tie the sails) were ordered. The boom tackles were hauled taut and the chain deck lashings tightened. From the deckload, lifelines were stretched.
"The ship 'did not head up as well as expected' and lay broadside on the wind and seas, heeling over from the force of the wind. She 'strained and twisted visibly as she laboured, rolled and pitched' in the trough. There was some danger of drifting onto the Volcano Islands. Leaking increased but the pump worked ceaselessly. Throughout the night, the storm continued unabated. The barometer ceased falling at midnight. On the 18th, daylight showed a wild scene. The captain secured himself to the spanker shroud with a cord round his waist. The typhoon was in full force and the vessel heeled away over and almost hove herself to with her starboard quarter to the wind. There was fear for the deckload in the event the chain lashings broke, as the whole fabric was moving with a definite snake-like motion.
"Suddenly, the captain's lashings snapped and he was flung against the spanker mast. For a moment, he thought his end had come, but he managed to grab the spanker halyards and hang on. The vessel was shaking as if in a calculated effort to rid herself of countless tons of water. She seemed to be opening up all over; water poured into the hold and cabins, gradually gaining on the pump. It rose in the engineroom and flowed over the hot cylinders, sending up clouds of steam.
"Capt. Mathieson ordered the engineers to pump oil overboard and soon the spindrift tasted of oil. Once again he lashed himself to the spanker stay, with a double gasket this time. Then the tiller broke and it took two hours to mend it. But, gradually, the barometer rose; better weather was ahead. When the weather cleared, they looked at GERALDINE WOLVIN and the sight was heartbreaking. The schooner was smothered in oil. (Just recently, the mate had finished painting the poop and forecastle and the chief engineer had painted the engineroom white!) The deckload was sagging to port and had shifted two feet aft.
"They passed Tokum Shimo Island and at the Yangtse Lightship the pilot came aboard. Surveyors from the customs house in Shanghai noted all the damage and the matter was put into Lloyds agent's hands. Repairs were costly, but JESSIE NORCROSS had an even larger repair bill, for she had suffered an engineroom fire and her crew had been rescued in sampans. She was sunk and, with the fire extinguished, raised. Her hull was surface-charred only.
"This was not a good voyage for WOLVIN. En route to Hong Kong, there was an engineroom fire. It was extinguished but repairs were required. At Saigon, she loaded general cargo for Marseilles, France, which consisted of rice, fish oil in kerosene tins, silk, pepper, alcohol, egg whites in barrels, rubber, and a deckload of teakwood squares. The freight was valued at some $40,000.
"Before she reached France via Suez, GERALDINE WOLVIN had to feel her way through four minefields, one east of Singapore, one at the Port Said entrance to the canal, a third at the Strait of Messina, and a fourth at the entrance to Marseilles. She anchored outside Marseilles harbour on April 7, 1919, 64 days out from Saigon, having been delayed nine days in ports en route. Capt. Mathieson resigned his command and GERALDINE WOLVIN, JESSIE NORCROSS and MABEL STEWART all went up for sale to foreign owners."
We assume that WOLVIN was bought by French interests and operated in local trades without rename. This would account for her presence at Nantes on December 27, 1919, the day of her encounter with our laker, MARISKA. We realize that we have travelled far away from the lakes with this narrative, but we hope that readers have found this item interesting, particularly in view of the connection between GERALDINE WOLVIN and the Wolvins of Great Lakes fame.
(Ed. Note: In the acknowledgements following her article, R. G. Bailey credited "Master of the Moving Sea", the life of Capt. P.J.R. Mathieson, by Gladys M.O. Howlland. We have edited from the quotes much of the author's florid description of the typhoon.)
Reproduced for the Web with the permission of the Toronto Marine Historical Society.
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George W. Akers, who came to Kansas in 1863, had in the course of a long and active career served with credit in two professions, medicine and the ministry. He is now living at Stafford, and was at one time identified with the Stafford County Republican, the paper of which his son, Earl Akers, was proprietor until the latter entered office as state treasurer of Kansas.
George W. Akers was born in a log cabin on Little Walnut Creek in Putnam County, Indiana, March 20, 1839, a son of Thomas and Margaret Akers. His parents were both natives of Kentucky, while the grandparents on both sides were Virginians. His grandfather, Thomas Akers, served in the Continental Army under Washington during the Revolution Following that war he went to Kentucky and located near Boonesboro and assisted in the defense of that place against an Indian sttack.
While a youth George W. Akers attended public schools and Bainbridge Academy at Bainbridge, Indiana, and studied medicine under Dr. J. B. Cross and later in the College of Physicians and Surgeons at Indianapolis, where he graduated. With his experience and training he came to Kansas in 1863, locating at Paola. He practiced for a number of years successfully, and in 1881 entered the Methbodist ministry and in 1882 joined the Southwest Kansas Conference. He was ordained a deacon in 1884 and an elder in 1886. Some of his pastorates were at Little River, Burrton, Sylvia, Sedgwick and Douglass. Owing to failing bealth he gave up the active work of the ministry and removing to Stafford resumed his profession as a physician. He also bought a controlling interest in the Stafford County Republican and was its editor until his son Earl succeeded him.
Doctor Akers cast his first presidential vote for Abraham Lincoln and had been one of the wheel horses of the party in Kansas. President Harrison appointed him postmaster of Stafford in 1888. He was complimented on his effleiemcy in handling that office by Postmaster General John Wanamaker. In later years Mr. Akers had given his time to a general mercantile business with his son Arthur under the name Akers & Son.
He was married at Bainbridge, Indiana, March 22, 1860, to Margaret M. Steele, daughter of Neanian and Joann Steele. They have four living children: L. Nean, a veterinary surgeon at Siafford; Arthur B., active member of the firm of Akers & Son; Earl, former state treasurer, a sketch of whom appears elsewhere; and Lillian D., wife of Dr. W. H. Griffith, a dentist at Protection, Kansas. Doctor Akers served for a number of years as vice president of Nora Larabee Memorial Library at Stafford.
Earl Akers, treasurer of the State of Kansas, is a native of Vermilion County, Illinois, and was brought to the Sunflower State when six years of age.
He had a public school education, and for many years was editor of the Stafford Republican. During 1911 he was chief clerk of the House of Representatives and in 1912 was executive secretary to Governor Stubbs. Mr. Akers in 1912 was elected state treasurer and was re-elected in 1914, his present term expiring in 1917. He is cashier of The Kansas Reserve State Bank at Topeka, president of the Citisens State Bank at Argonia, Kansas; treasurer of the Beggs Motor Car Company (a new million dollar manufacturing plant) at Kansas City, Missouri, now forming and interested in numberous banks and other financial institutions in Kansas.
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Except where noted, this Website is based on the original “Cinquante Quatre” published by Major JB Bailey for veterans of the 54th Kootenay Battalion in 1919. Front pages below.
The 1958 Reunion
Charlie Bradshaw as a young man
Reunion material and the 54th Battalion letter opener image was kindly provided by Barb Ethier
Some members of the Battalion are remembered here
The 54th was re-named the 1st Battalion Kootenay Regiment in the early 1920s. People and government funding had other priorities and though the unit was a reserve infantry battalion it was undermanned until the late 1920s. In the 1930s it was re-rolled as an artillery regiment and in this guise soldiered on up to the mid 1960s.
- A Veteran of Two Wars
- Soldiering was not new to Private George McLean. A rancher from the Head of the Lake Band in the Okanagan district of British Columbia, McLean had served with the Canadian Mounted Rifles during the South African (or Boer) War at the turn of the century. More than a decade later, he became one of nearly 2,000 members of the CEF to earn the Distinguished Conduct Medal (DCM) for distinguished conduct in the field, the second-highest award for gallantry available to non-commissioned officers and privates in the Great War.
- McLean enlisted in Vernon, British Columbia, in October 1916 and sailed for Great Britain almost immediately. He was in France with the 54th Battalion in December.
- In April 1917, during the Battle of Vimy Ridge, McLean launched a daring solo attack on a group of enemy soldiers. He was armed with about a dozen Mills bombs – small grenades nicknamed “pineapples”, which exploded violently.
- McLean’s attack was extremely effective. The private’s citation describes the results: “Single-handed he captured 19 prisoners, and later, when attacked by five more prisoners who attempted to reach a machine-gun, he was able – although wounded – to dispose of them unaided, thus saving a large number of casualties.”
- During this action, McLean was shot in the arm by a sniper and was returned to Canada for medical treatment. He went back to British Columbia, and eventually became a fireman in the Vancouver region. He died in 1934.
- More on Native Canadians in the CEF here
- From University of Victoria BC, Canada
- Lieutenant Colonel Theodore Benning Monk was born in Winnipeg, Manitoba. In 1907, he enlisted with the active militia and in 1908 became a gunner with the 13th Battery, Canadian Field Artillery (Manitoba Regiment). He later went into law and real estate. He moved to Victoria in 1908 and started work in the City Engineer’s Department. He established his own real estate firm with Roger Monteith, and and among other real estate activities sought to develop the coastal town of Clo-ose, B.C. as a resort. In World War I he served with the 54th Battalion and fought in Vimy Ridge. He was Commanding Officer of the Cadet Training Camp at the present campus of the University of Victoria, 1940-1941, and became a liaison officer of the U.S. Army from 1942-1944. From 1930 on, Monk campaigned actively for a uniquely Canadian flag. The fonds consists of Monk’s army service and course certificates and correspondence with the Monk family, records of the commander of the Gordon Head camp, and the Seattle liaison officer concerning the 5th Regiment and other army and business matters; personal records, including correspondence regarding a new Canadian flag, notes on the Monk family tree, insurance and investment records; photographs of Monk with officers and with Sir Arthur Currie, and drawings of proposed new flags for Canada. Finding aid available with box and file level control. University of Victoria Library.
- Rev. Beazer
- Frank C. Beazer was born in Chippenham, England. He left Chippenham in 1912 and worked in Ifracombe, Eastbourne, London and Bath in England. He was a ship’s steward on two trips to East Africa before he became a missionary to the Church of England Camp Mission. The first place he went to as a missionary was the diocese of Caribou in British Columbia. He enlisted in Chapleau, Ontario, in the 227 B Company, on July 26, 1916 and travelled to France with the 54th Battalion where he became assistant to the regimental chaplain. In 1919 he attended Wycliffe College at the University of Toronto and received his ordination on St. Georges Day in 1922 in the Cathedral in Cochrane, Ontario. He resided at Kapuskasing for twelve years. In Kapuskasing he helped to build his church and house. He was also an assistant scoutmaster for the Boy Scouts of Canada in Kapuskasing. In 1927 he married Gertrude Hudson of Toronto. He was the pastor for Oxford Mills, Carrying Place and St. Paul’s Anglican Church in Roslin, Ontario; Christ Anglican Church in Thomasburg, Ontario and St. Luke’s Anglican Church in Peterborough, Ontario. In 1958 Reverend Beazer and his wife visited his two brothers in Chippenham, England. While they were there they were invited to have cocktails with the High Commissioner of Canada George Drew and his wife. Frank was a member of the Masonic Lodge. Reference here
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Long before he delivered the Gettysburg Address, Abraham Lincoln had a brief career in surveying. He set out with a compass, stake ax, marking pins, and a Gunter’s chain to tackle government and private survey projects. Naturally, when he was employed in this centuries-old profession, the world was very different from today. While the lay of the land has changed over time, the basic principles of surveying have essentially remained the same. When Abraham Lincoln worked as a surveyor, he measured the form, boundaries, and position between two points of land, just as a surveyor would do today in the twenty-first century. Surveying tools, however, have changed drastically; and the emergence of technology and its rapid progression has transformed the way we survey the land.
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Michael Cera On Stage - Theater Credits, Bio and Tickets
Michael Austin Cera was born on June 7, 1988 in Brampton, Ontario, Canada, and is perhaps best known for his starring roles in movies such as "Juno," "Scott Pilgrimvs. the World," and "Superbad".
Up until grade nine, Cera attended Conestoga Public School, Robert H. Lagerquist Senior Public School and Heart Lake Secondary School, but then continued his schooling through to grade 12 online. He also took improvisation classes at The Second City in Toronoto.
After appearing in a handful of TV commercials, Cera's first breakthrough came when he landed the role of Larrabe Hicks in the TV series "My Best Friend is an Alien" in 1999. His next major appearance would come in 2002, playing the young Chuck Barris in "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind". This led to Cera being cast as George Michael Bluth in the hit series "Arrested Development" in 2003. He portrayed the character for three seasons and reprised him again in 2013 and 2018.
After playing the role of Michael in the TV series "Clark and Michael" in 2007, Cera's international breakthrough came after being cast as Evan in the popular teen flick "Superbad". He instantly became a Hollywood regular and starring roles in high-profile movies such as "Juno," "Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist," "Extreme Movie," "Year One," and "Youth in Revolt" would follow. His next major hit was the 2010 box office smash "Scott Pilgrim vs. the World" in which he played the titular character. Since then, his most notable screen credits include "Burning Love," "This is the End," "Wet Hot American Summer: First Day of Camp," "Person to Person," and "Molly's Game".
He has also worked regularly as a voice actor over the course of his career, voicing characters in "The Beranstein Bears," "Braceface," "Sausage Party," "Childrens Hospital," and "The LEGO Batman Movie," among others. He is also a keen musician, having toured as the bass player of indie rock band Mister Heavenly and having released his debut studio album "True That" in August 2014.
On stage, Cera took on the role of Warren in Kenneth Lonergan's This is Our Youth at the Sydney Opera House in Australia in 2012 and would reprise the role (and make his Broadway debut) in the Broadway premiere at the Cort Theatre, which ran from August 18, 2014 through to January 4, 2015. He returned to the Broadway stage in the Second Stage Theater production of Lonergan's Lobby Hero (alongside his "Scott Pilgrim vs. the World" co-star Chris Evans) at The Hayes Theater from March 1 through to May 13, 2018, and picked up his first Tony Award nomination for his efforts. Cera's third collaboration with Lonegran in the Broadway premiere of The Waverly Gallery played the Golden Theatre from September 25, 2018 through to January 27, 2019.
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Although Chris Vrenna is best known for his period as drummer with Nine Inch Nails, since leaving Trent Reznor's troupe in 1996, he has been busy creating a good reputation for himself as a talented producer and engineer.
Vrenna first appeared on the Chicago industrial scene in the mid- to late-'80s. Having been briefly a member of Die Warzau, he made a number of valuable contacts in the area. Before long he hooked up with Trent Reznor, who was then in the process of recording his debut album, Pretty Hate Machine. This was the beginning of a six-year partnership, during which time Vrenna remained the only permanent member of Reznor's band. Despite taking a break to temporarily join Stabbing Westward, Vrenna continued to work with Reznor on Marilyn Manson's first three albums.
By 1996, relations between the two had soured and Vrenna left Nine Inch Nails. He soon began a popular producer-for-hire, working with established acts such as Rob Zombie and Skinny Puppy. His skills as a programmer have been utilized by Hole and Guns'n'Roses, and Vrenna has also formed partnerships with Killing Joke and Jack off Jill. Although he has not joined any band as a full-time member, Vrenna continues to be a sought-after producer.
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“Oh, there’s life in the old girl yet.” Graham Green
Relationship Advice: The Seductress in Action. Old women can’t seduce, can’t charm, aren’t desirable?
Society is obsessed with youth. With beauty. What’s the deal with older women? How do they capture the attention of those in the room from their younger counterparts? Despite being stigmatized by society as being “over the hill,” “menopause mamas,” and “ugly and old.” ? Older seductresses are not swayed by these insults. They don’t see them as such. They see them as a challenge to put the dissenters in their place. The back of the room! Succumb to their “age issue? Please. Sassy Bitches roll their eyes at this judgement and forge ahead with their passions and desires. The ones that really get this disarm anyone who doesn’t respect them. How?
- They disarm with brilliant conversation
- Older Seductresses know that men are attracted to older women on a deep level. Men are attracted to their wisdom, wit, maternal nurture and seismic sexuality
Ninon De Lenclos took a lover at the age of 80 as a birthday present. The amusing thing about this? The man had approached her about making love to her when she was in her youth. Finally, tired of rejecting him she told him she would bed him “When I’m 80.” He took her literally and he was on her doorstep the moment she turned 80. Amused, she granted him his desire. Many years earlier she decided to do something about mens’ cluelessness toward women. She opened “The School of Gallantry,” to educate them on all things feminine.
Isabella Stewart Gardner was considered “old and ugly.” Despite this, she landed the hottest, wealthiest bachelor in Boston and had throngs of young men follow her where ever she went.
Minette Helvetius didn’t see her wrinkles and moles at 61. She saw all the life that was to be lived! She had weekly jamborees at her salon in Paris. She would greet all the men…the scholars, statesmen, poets and philosphers with delight. These were the most sought after men in Paris and they wouldn’t miss a party thrown by Minette! Seventy year old Benjamin Frankin felt like a young boy in her presence and was completely infatuated. She repeatedly refused his offers of marriage. She told him she was devoted to her salon and personal freedom. Check out Raucous Royals for a fab article on Minette Helvetius.
Diane de Poitiers: King Henry the II never made a decision without consulting Diane and couldn’t live without her. Despite Diane being 20 years older him. Despite her “menopausal malady.” Which was attacked by the young and comely Queen Catherine de’ Medici. Queen Catherine failed in her attempts to rid herself of Diane.
Mae West would hand pick her studs for the night. What was her secret? No late nights, alcohol, cigarettes and sunlight. She ate lots of healthy food, drank lots of bottled water and loved to exercise. Mae was so orgasmic she could climax in thirty seconds. Uhm…WOW!
Late nineteenth century no place for an independent woman? Have you ever heard of Mrs. Frank Leslie? She made out with men and money. She used a mans’ name to rake them all in: success, husbands, lovers and money. She was in her prime for all those pleasures in her sixties! Don’t think you can have a Marquis and a Prince coming to blows over you in your sixties? Mrs. Frank Leslie did in her parlor one night. You are not living your ecstasy, honey… up your Sassy Bitch!
So the next time anyone makes you feel old, ugly or inadequate…remember these HOT Mamas. They took the insults hurled at them and spun them into success and sexy GOLD. When any lady does this, young OR old…this is power. Use it wisely. (Warm and Sassy Smile) Love, Goddess
Suggested Reading and a Course for ACTION!
- My Course: Bridge the Gap Between Mars and Venus!
- One of my FAVE books! Seductress
- Bitch Lifestyle Home
© S Stevens Life Strategies
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Tim Wieland, a veteran employee of CBS4, KCNC-TV, has been News Director since June 2004.
Wieland brings 20+ years of broadcast journalism experience to CBS4. His most recent tenure at KCNC-TV began in 2001 when he was hired as Assistant News Director. Since joining KCNC, the News Department has received several industry honors, including the prestigious George Foster Peabody Award in 2006, three national Edward R. Murrow Awards, several regional Murrow Awards including the award for Overall Excellence, and dozens of Emmy Awards.
Before that, Wieland was a Newscast Producer and Field Producer for CNN based in Atlanta. As field producer, he traveled to stories such as the Columbine High School shooting in 1999 and the Democratic and Republican National Conventions in 2000. Before CNN, Wieland spent seven years at KCNC writing and producing newscasts and was later promoted to Executive Producer. He started his broadcast journalism career as a reporter at KREX-TV in Grand Junction, Colorado.
Wieland is active in the Denver community and is involved in several philanthropic organizations. He is on the board of the Adoption Exchange, currently serving as vice chair. He is a member of the Advisory Board for the University of Colorado journalism program, and is a mentor for the “Boots to Suits” program which helps military veterans return to the workplace. Wieland is also on the board of Habitat for Humanity of Metro Denver and was proud to serve on the Host Committee for the 2013 Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter Work Project.
An Emmy Award winning journalist, Wieland is a 1991 graduate of the University of Colorado with a B.S. in Broadcast Journalism. He is also a graduate of the Newsroom Management program at the Poynter Institute, and now serves as Guest Faculty at Poynter for Leadership seminars. In 2010, Wieland was recognized by the Denver Business Journal as a “Forty Under 40” winner for his leadership in business and the community.
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Shana Agid, presented to the class his research into the field of service design and social change. the attached PDF are the images from this class presentation. What was really interesting for us, is how it is that he is working with students at Parsons the New School of Design, and in his own research with Critical Mass. He responded to the prompts of- why do you work in this area? And, how did you get here?
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Grace Alone - Grace is Receiving What We Need
Pastor Fred begins a new series entitled “Reformed? Relevant?”, based on the 5 Solas of the Reformation. He begins with “Grace Alone - Grace is Receiving What We Need”.
The message is based on…
Genesis 4:1-16: Cain and Abel
4 Adam made love to his wife Eve, and she became pregnant and gave birth to Cain. She said, “With the help of the Lord I have brought forth a man.” 2 Later she gave birth to his brother Abel.
Now Abel kept flocks, and Cain worked the soil. 3 In the course of time Cain brought some of the fruits of the soil as an offering to the Lord.4 And Abel also brought an offering—fat portions from some of the firstborn of his flock. The Lord looked with favor on Abel and his offering, 5 but on Cain and his offering he did not look with favor. So Cain was very angry, and his face was downcast.
6 Then the Lord said to Cain, “Why are you angry? Why is your face downcast? 7 If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must rule over it.
8 Now Cain said to his brother Abel, “Let’s go out to the field.” While they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him.
9 Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
10 The Lord said, “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground. 11 Now you are under a curse and driven from the ground, which opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. 12 When you work the ground, it will no longer yield its crops for you. You will be a restless wanderer on the earth.”
13 Cain said to the Lord, “My punishment is more than I can bear.14 Today you are driving me from the land, and I will be hidden from your presence; I will be a restless wanderer on the earth, and whoever finds me will kill me.”
15 But the Lord said to him, “Not so; anyone who kills Cain will suffer vengeance seven times over.” Then the Lord put a mark on Cain so that no one who found him would kill him. 16 So Cain went out from the Lord’s presence and lived in the land of Nod, east of Eden.
8 For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—
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There are often many challenges and headaches that come with running a small businesses, and finances are definitely one of them. Trying to keep tracking of expenses, costs and profits while also managing day-to-day operations. Having a CPA makes sense for a small business for many reasons, here are some of the reasons why:
1) A CPA is able to help you track key metrics
A CPA is invaluable for a small business because they are able to identify and track key trends based on your business and industry. This will help you establish key metrics to measure the growth of your business, and understand where the trends are and how to make your business more profitable.
2) Paying taxes becomes that much easier
Businesses, especially small ones, often struggle around tax time. It may seem easy to file, but there are nuances and ways to save when it comes tax time that a CPA will be able to help you with. Business taxes are often complicated, and it is very simple to make mistakes – costly ones at that. A CPA is key in helping you understand what expenses are tax-deductible, and what the best options are for your business.
3) Financial advice tailored to you
A CPA is able to give you tailored and sustainable financial and business advice, especially when looking at long-term business growth. A CPA will know your business inside and out, as well as the general market and will be a valuable resource for advice if you decide to grow your business. Understanding the financial implications of decisions such as expansion, or entering a new market are just some of the issues a CPA will be able to advise you on.
Hiring a CPA for a small business makes perfect sense, it helps your business grow and become more profitable while allowing owners to focus more on long-term growth as well as day-to-day management of a small business without being overwhelmed.
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Must a loan be repaid in front of witnesses?
When the original loan was made without witnesses, there is certainly no need for witnesses at the time of repayment. If, however, there were witnesses at the time when the loan was made, we find a difference of opinion in the Gemara. Rav Papi quotes Rava as saying that in such a case the repayment must be made in front of witnesses, while Rav Papaquotes Rava as saying that it does not need to be made in front of witnesses unless there was a specific condition made by the lender at the time that the loan was made. Even in such a case, if the borrower claims that he paid the loan back in front of witnesses, he will be believed even if he cannot produce them (e.g. if he says “I paid you back in front of witnesses but they have since traveled across the sea.”).
Although our Gemara concludes with Rav Papa’s statement that the borrower would be believed to say that he paid the loan back in front of witnesses, some of the rishonim had alternative readings of the Gemara. Rabbenu Hananel as well as the Ri”f and the R”i miGash had manuscripts that concluded with Rav Papa saying that the borrower is not believed to make such a claim. On the other hand, Rav Sa’adia Ga’on has the reading that appears in our Gemara, and the Rambamclaims that he found 500 year-old manuscripts in Egypt that have that reading.
The Sefer Hafla’ah suggests that that the difference of opinion on this matter stems from different understandings of the meaning of the condition that the lender made at the beginning of the loan. According to the Rambam, he simply was insisting that the repayment be made in a formal way – in front of witnesses – and if the borrower insists that he fulfilled that condition, we have no reason not to believe him. The Ri”f, however, understands that the original condition that was made showed that the borrower was not trusted by the lender, which is why he insisted on witnesses to the repayment. Thus, if the witnesses cannot be found, the borrower cannot be believed.
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Authors: Jennifer Weiner
“But Uncle Mel’s going to help,” Sarah said.
At the sound of his name, Bethie flinched, as if her uncle had reappeared in the kitchen and grabbed at her again. Her mother didn’t notice. Sarah’s lips were pressed so tightly together that they were in danger of vanishing. She breathed deeply, sighed, and said, “Dad and I never told you about this, but once, years ago, your father had a chance to go in on a business opportunity. He and two of his friends were going to buy a Laundromat. Just one at first, and if it worked out they’d buy more. Henry Sheshevsky was one of the fellows. Your father would have been
Jo was nodding. Bethie could vaguely remember Henry Sheshevsky, who was short and portly and almost as wide as he was tall, with a bald head and small, even white teeth and cheeks that always prickled with stubble. He had been a regular guest, right after they’d moved to Alhambra Street. “Country living!” he would say, climbing out of his car, which would rise a few inches once he’d exited. Henry would raise his head and his nostrils would flare as he took a comically deep breath, remarking on the freshness of the air, the green grass, and the wide-open space. He carried quarters and butterscotch candies in his pocket to give to Jo and Bethie, because he was a bachelor with, as he said, “no little girls to spoil.” Sarah would set an extra place, and Henry would join them at the table, sharing whatever they were having—whitefish baked on a bed of onions, or meatloaf and mashed potatoes, or roast chicken and stuffing. Henry Sheshevsky ate daintily, holding his silverware with the tips of his fingers, cutting his food into small pieces and chewing each bite thoroughly, and he never took seconds, not even of mashed potatoes and gravy, Bethie’s favorite, which made her wonder how he had gotten so stout.
“All of the men were going to invest some of their own money. Your father didn’t have a lot of savings—we’d just bought the house—so he asked his brother for a loan. Not a gift, a loan. He’d pay it back, with interest, but Mel wouldn’t agree.”
“Why not?” asked Jo.
Sarah looked down at her cigarette. “He said his responsibility was to his mother, that he had to be conservative with his money, so that he could take care of her.” Bethie thought about Elkie, who had her own bedroom and bathroom in Uncle Mel’s house, and wondered how much care she required. “But he said he wants to do something for us now,” Sarah said. She turned to Bethie. “He asked if you could come once a week and help Shirley out. Babysitting, and helping around the house. He’ll pay you ten dollars every week. What do you think?”
Bethie knew that she must have looked stunned and stupid. Ten dollars a week was a fortune. Most girls only made twenty-five cents an hour babysitting. And she knew they needed the money. Her mother had made it clear. Bethie turned to her sister, hoping for help, but Jo had gone back to the sink, and was standing with her back to Bethie, and Sarah was looking at her with her eyes wet and her mouth curved in a tremulous, hopeful smile. “Sure,” Bethie said, and made herself smile at her mother. “Sure.”
* * *
The buses in Southfield didn’t run as regularly as they did in their neighborhood—probably because everyone there had their own car, Bethie thought—but they did run. After school on a Wednesday afternoon a week and a half after her father’s death, Bethie took the bus to the corner of Lahser and Quarton Road and walked up the street to her uncle Mel’s house, a single-story ranch-style house that sat on a big lawn on top of a rise halfway up the block. She tucked her schoolbooks under her arm and knocked at the door.
“Bethie!” Aunt Shirley sounded like she was happy to see her. “Come on in!” Aunt Shirley led her past the living room, where her cousins were watching Soupy Sales, and into a kitchen that was big and gleaming and easily twice the size of Bethie’s family’s kitchen and living room combined. A new pale-yellow Mixmaster stood on the Formica counter. There were potted orchids on the windowsill that looked out over the backyard, and the green linoleum on the floor looked brand-new. Bethie smelled chicken baking. Through the window, she could see the new in-ground swimming pool she’d overheard Uncle Mel bragging about at Passover a few months ago, in the world where her father was still alive. In the dining room she could see the Negro girl setting the table, wiping each fork with her apron before setting it down. In Bethie’s neighborhood, there were a few Negro families, with kids who went to Bethie’s school, unless they were Catholic and their parents sent them to Our Lady of the Angels, but in Southfield, she suspected
that the only Negro people were the ones who worked here and who took the buses back to their own neighborhoods at the end of the day.
“Can I get you a snack?” Aunt Shirley asked. “Something to drink?”
Bethie thought that was strange, because she was there to help Aunt Shirley, not to be waited on, but she was thirsty after the ride and the walk on a warm afternoon. “May I have some water, please?”
Aunt Shirley filled a glass at the sink. She wore a yellow blouse, a few shades darker than the Mixmaster, and a gray-and-cream-colored tweed skirt. Her brown hair looked freshly washed and set. Bethie sipped, wondering what, exactly, she was supposed to be doing, because it seemed like dinner was in the oven, the Negro girl was setting the table, and the TV set was babysitting the kids, but Aunt Shirley was ready with the answer.
“I wonder if you’d mind helping me go through the children’s clothes. We can put away all of their winter things and separate the things that they’ve outgrown.” Aunt Shirley led Bethie to the bedrooms, where brightly colored cardboard storage boxes sat empty on the kids’ beds. The two of them worked together, emptying the dresser drawers, sorting through the clothes, which took all of thirty minutes. They proceeded to the linen closet in the hall. “We’ll put things in three piles: things that are so worn we can just throw them out, things that might have some wear left in them, that can go to the clothing drive at the synagogue, and anything that’s a little worn, but still in good shape . . .” Aunt Shirley paused. Bethie knew that those items went to her family. She and her sister had spent their lives sleeping under Audrey’s and Joanne’s discarded comforters, on top of their cast-off sheets.
“It’s fine,” she murmured. She carried a stack of washcloths to the girls’ bedroom. Aunt Shirley watched from the doorway as Bethie began to sort them, then said, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” That project took just ten minutes, with Bethie
maliciously slipping a few new-looking towels into the stack that would go to her family. When she found her aunt in the kitchen, Shirley was smoking a cigarette, reading
, and she looked surprised to see her niece. “You can just wait in the TV room,” she said, nodding in that direction. “Mel will take you home.”
Bethie hoped that her flinch wasn’t visible. “Oh, I’m happy to take the bus.”
“Oh, no. And you’ll have all of those sheets and towels to take with you. I wouldn’t dream of it!”
, thought Bethie, as her numb legs carried her into the TV room, where Soupy Sales had given way to the five o’clock news.
Crap, crap, crap.
She sat on the couch, barely moving, as her three cousins turned their heads to look at her, then turned back to the screen. Her mouth was dry, her heart pounding, as she heard the automatic garage door roll up, the door into the house open and close. “Kids!” her uncle called, and her cousins ran to greet him. Bethie listened to the girls say, “Daddy, Daddy,” and the sound of Aunt Shirley’s quieter voice. Finally, Uncle Mel came into the living room. “There you are, Bethie!” he said, and opened his arms for a hug. He wore a white lab coat, with his name stitched in blue on one side. His hair was cut short and combed neatly. His face was clean-shaven, and both his glasses and his bald spot gleamed, but when he kissed her, his breath was still foul. She wondered how his patients endured it, how Aunt Shirley did.
“Hi, Uncle Mel.”
“Ready to head home?”
Bethie gathered her pocketbook, her schoolbooks, the box of sheets and towels Aunt Shirley had given her. When she climbed into Uncle Mel’s boat of a Cadillac, she piled everything on her lap, but when Uncle Mel said, “Let’s put those things in the trunk,” she didn’t know how to refuse. She felt naked, even though she’d worn her least-sheer cotton blouse over her most heavily padded bra, with a sweater on top, even though it was June, and warm outside.
Bethie was worried that her uncle would want to talk, but all he did was whistle along to the radio while he drove through the late-afternoon sunshine, bobbing his head and bouncing the palms of his hand against the steering wheel in time to the songs. “I’ll never let’cha go, why, because I love you,” he sang, when Frankie Avalon came on.
My father used to sing like that
, Bethie thought, and her heart gave a great, miserable twist. At a red light, Bethie felt Uncle Mel looking at her. She crossed her arms over her chest, turned her head toward the window, and clenched her jaw hard. When they turned onto Alhambra Street, Bethie’s right hand was on the door’s handle almost before Uncle Mel had put the car in Park, and her left hand was grabbing for the house key she wore on a ribbon around her neck. “Thank you, Uncle Mel,” she was saying when Uncle Mel reached across her, pulling the door shut.
“Hold on, now! You don’t want to run off before I’ve paid you!”
, Bethie thought. Her stomach twisted. Her mother had sold the Old Car and taken her father’s car as her own, and it wasn’t in the driveway, because Sarah had gone for a job interview at Hudson’s, and Jo was still probably at tennis practice, or at her friend Lynnette’s. Her uncle pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and handed Bethie a ten-dollar bill that was still warm from his body. She wanted to pinch it between her fingertips. She wanted to drop it on the floor of the car. She wanted to leap out onto the driveway and run for the front door. Instead, she made herself fold up the bill, slip it into her pocket, and say, “Thank you.”
“Bethie,” said her uncle. “Poor little Bethie.” Once, at a picnic, Bethie had spilled lemonade on her arm. She’d mopped up the mess with a paper napkin and had forgotten all about it until Laura had pointed at her, squealing, and Bethie had looked and seen the tiny black ants seething over the sticky spot, so many of them, packed so densely that her skin looked black, and she’d screamed and screamed and rubbed her arm against the grass, scraping the
ants into mush. “How are the three of you holding up?”
“Fine,” Bethie said, in a small voice. “We’re doing fine.”
“Oh, you don’t have to be brave with me. I’ll bet you miss your daddy, don’t you? Poor Bethie. Poor little thing.” His voice was thickening. He stretched out his arm. Bethie cringed, leaning away from him, trying to disappear into her car door, but Uncle Mel wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her across the bench seat, until the side of her body was smashed right up against his. “Poor Bethie.” He pressed his cheek against the top of her head and held her even more tightly. From the outside, it might have looked like an uncle comforting his niece. That wasn’t how it felt. Not with his cheek pressed against her scalp and her cheek squished against his chest, and his horrible stinky breath filling the car with its smell. His hand meandered along the side of her breast, and the point of his chin dug into the top of her head. “Poor little Bethie. I’m so sorry. You must miss your daddy so much. But don’t worry. I’m here for you.”
“I have to go.” She tried to wriggle free, but his arms felt like bars of iron. “I need to start dinner . . .”
“There’s no rush. I’ll bet you’re lonely. And, look, no one’s home yet. We have time.” He was using his knuckles to rub at the side of her breast, and he had lapsed into a horrible, lisping baby talk. “I don’t want my poor widdle Bethie to be all alone in the big dark house.”
Bethie hated that the house was empty, that Mel was right, that she would be all alone. She wished, with a panicky desperation, for her mother to come driving down the street, or for her sister to ride up on her bike. She tried to shrink, to make her body smaller. “Please, Uncle Mel, I need to go do my homework.”
“My Bethie’s a scholar!” He sounded proud of her as he rubbed his chin up and down against the part in her hair.
“Uncle Mel, I need to go now!” With a great wrench, she pulled away from him, hopped out of the car, kicked the car door shut, and raced for the front door, yanking her key out from underneath her blouse. For a minute, she imagined that she could
feel his breath on the back of her neck. Her hands were shaking, and it took her three tries to fit the key into the lock, but she finally got it there, just as she heard the sound of Uncle Mel’s footsteps behind her, like a monster in a horror movie. Bethie turned, reluctantly, and saw that he was holding her books and the cardboard box of towels. “Don’t want to forget these!” His voice was cheery, and his expression was pleasant, like he hadn’t done anything wrong. And maybe he hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d hugged her, rubbed the top of her head, brushed the side of her breast, but maybe by accident? Or maybe she’d imagined it? Bethie examined her memories, hearing Uncle Mel whistling again as he strolled back to his car. As he drove past her, he tapped the horn, giving two cheery honks—beep, beep! Bethie jumped and turned, just in time to see him waving and hear him call, “See you next week!”
She walked into the empty house, setting the towels by their own, far less spacious linen closet, dumping her schoolbooks on her bed. She left Uncle Mel’s money on the kitchen table. In the bathroom, she stripped off her clothes and stood under the hot water and she scrubbed until her skin was bright red. She still felt dirty, like there was an oily residue all over her skin, sticking to her like cling wrap, like she would never be clean again.
In the kitchen, she seasoned a chicken, feeling her stomach roll as she touched its pimply skin and pulled the pinfeathers out of its wings. She and her mother and her sister would have roast chicken for dinner, chicken salad for lunch, and chopped-up cooked chicken baked under a coating of Velveeta cheese or cream of mushroom soup for dinner the following night. Bethie scrubbed two baking potatoes, pricked their skins with a fork, and put them in the oven, and she cut up the remaining quarter head of iceberg lettuce that Sarah had left in the crisper. In the very back of the refrigerator was a bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough. This was Jo’s treat. Jo loved chocolate chip cookies, and on weekends she’d make a double batch of dough at Lynnette’s house, bring it home, and bake a few cookies every night. With
all the exercising she did, Jo could eat all the dessert she wanted and not see it show up on her thighs, but Bethie and Sarah both watched their weight, and the most Bethie ever ate was one.
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This post came about when Lady Devon and I were talking about how handsome Robbie Burns was, and then I had the idea to give you a series of Regency men who cut a striking image back in the day!
George IV, The Prince Regent, or more affectionately…Prinny
George IV was born George Augustus Frederick in 1762, but when his father George III began to descend into “madness” he was named Prince Regent, and ruled in his father’s stead. It was those years which he ruled as Regent that gave us the Regency Era. He led an extravagant lifestyle, and was a patron of the arts, fashion and architecture.
He also drank excessively, had numerous mistresses and had horrible relationships with both his father and his wife. Yet despite these flaws of character, Prinny was somehow known as “the first gentleman of England”, of course that was until his frivolous spending began to create contempt from many people, and dimmed the prestige of the Monarchy as it had been in his father’s reign.
Regency Boyfriend rating: 3 – he could take you places, pamper you with fine silks and jewels, but you weren’t the only girl he was allowing to dote on him. Also, considering his wife Caroline’s constant and notorious affairs, Prinny might have been a bit of a cold fish in the sack.
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Red Gate Farm has served as the home of two prominent local families: The Kilcawleys and the Manchesters.
The farm dates to at least 1830, when it was bought by Asher Squier. His daughter Rose A. Squier married Hugh A. Manchester, and the couple lived on the farm. A newspaper article states that "since 1810 the members of the Manchester family have been prominent in the affairs of this area as farmers, landowners, lawyers, teachers and public officers."
Hugh Manchester's family is traced to Thomas A. Manchester, who came to America in 1638 and helped form the first non-native settlement in Rhode Island.
Hugh and Rose raised four sons on the farm: I.A., William C., Leroy A., and Curtis A. They also raised a daughter, identified only as Mrs. C.E. Bowman. William, Leroy and Curtis each became lawyers. William worked in Detroit.
Leroy had what was described as a "brilliant legal career" and became one of Youngstown's most prominent figures. He was general counsel for Youngstown Sheet & amp; Tube Co. and was a partner in a law firm, which became Manchester, Bennett, Powers & amp; Ullman. A parade in Youngstown was cut short in 1930 after the city's mayor learned that Leroy had died earlier that morning.
Curtis was a senior partner with Manchester, Bennett, Powers & amp; Ullman and was a member of the Youngstown school board, president of the YMCA and the chamber of commerce, vice-president of the children services bureau and director of the local Red Cross.
Curtis campaigned for the adoption of the charter form of government in Youngstown. He died in 1951.
One of Curtis' two sons, Hugh W. Manchester, also was a senior partner with Manchester, Bennett, Powers & amp; Ullman and was recording secretary for Youngstown State University trustees for more than 40 years. He died in 1988.
The Manchester family sold the farm to William H. Kilcawley in 1945. Kilcawley and his wife, Mattie, lived in an estate called "Raccoon Acres" on Raccoon Road and then at a home on High Street in Canfield before moving to the farm.
The couple's only child, Anne, married Byron Christman in 1937 and moved to Illinois.
William worked as secretary-treasurer of Standard Slag Co., which he founded with L.A. Beeghly and W.E. Bliss in 1916. He served as president and treasurer of the Canfield Fair and raised sheep and cattle on the farm.
A gate at the fairgrounds was named for Kilcawley after his death in 1958.
Mattie served as a YSU trustee and was a member of several community organizations. She helped oversee donation of $300,000 from a family trust to the university for construction of Kilcawley Student Center. Mattie died in 1972.
Anne and Byron returned to the farm in 1967 and raised pigs and sheep and grew grain. Anne was a member of the board of the Butler Institute of American Art and a trustee of Stambaugh Auditorium Association. Little was reported about Byron., who died in 1983.
The couple had no children. Anne died in April 2002 at age 92.
Source: Vindicator records
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Over the next 12 days, we will explore different names that were given to Jesus. Today, we explore the name of Jesus; The Word. We hope that you find this series enlightening and that you will decide to explore the names of Jesus in depth.
The Word is God and because Jesus is God in the flesh and He was explained to be The Word in the Gospel of John. The greek translation for Word of God is Logos and by using this common phrase, John knows that every Jew will understand the meaning. By explaining Jesus in this way, he is declaring that Jesus is God.
Jesus is, always was, and always will be God. Everything John writes after this first verse goes back to the knowledge that Jesus is God.
The Word became Flesh
Jesus is God come to earth in the flesh. In John 1:14, the passage explains this,
“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.”~John 1:14
John is telling us about his personal experience with Jesus in this passage. He is also explaining that Jesus came from God to walk the earth. The Word that “was God”, now came into being as flesh, that is, he exists as a human. In truth, God became Jesus!
When Jesus was created, the infinite God took on the form of a tiny unborn baby boy. Jesus did not stop being God when he became a man. He added humanity to His deity. Therefore, He was fully God and fully man.
Therefore, imagine God moving in human arms, breathing with human lungs or blood pumping with a human heart. It really is quite incredible if you think about it in those terms.
John 1:14 reveals three amazing facts: Jesus became a man; Jesus lived among us and Jesus revealed his glory while He was on Earth.
How does knowing that Jesus is God impact how you approach your relationship with God?
To read the entire series
12 Names of Jesus, click HERE.
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Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Percy Bysshe Shelley (4 August 1792 – 8 July 1822) was an English poet of the early nineteenth century. He is widely thought of as one of most important poets of the Romantic movement in English literature. Some of his poems, like Ozymandias and Ode to the West Wind, are among the most famous in English.
Shelley was born in Horsham, Sussex. He was the son of a member of Parliament. He attended the University of Oxford, for only one year; he was expelled for being an atheist. In his own time Shelley was very unpopular for his political and religious views and for his personal conduct. He married young, but left his wife to run away with Mary Godwin. After Shelley's first wife committed suicide, Shelley married Mary Godwin; she later became famous as Mary Shelley, the author of the novel Frankenstein.
Shelley left England and spent much of his life travelling in Europe, especially in Italy. He became a close friend of poet Lord Byron, who also left England and travelled in Europe because of sexual controversy at home. Shelley continued to write poetry throughout this time; he wrote several major works, like the verse drama The Cenci and long poems like Alastor and Adonais, as well as many shorter poems.
About a month before his 30th birthday, Shelley drowned in a boating accident off the coast of Italy. He was one of three important English Romantic poets of the same generation who died young; the other two were Lord Byron and John Keats.
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CASE STUDY #6: University Level Outline
By the time a student gets to college they are hopefully developed a strong enough skill set to process information needed at this advanced level but they also need to be able to work independently and to manage time effectively. A longtime student of mine, Dan, went off to college and quickly found that the volume of information was a challenge for him. He had learned some outlining techniques working with me during high school but he hadn’t though of them as organizational tools (more so a smaller scale information management usage). He connected with me asking for ways to combine with the note taking techniques that he had learned with the outline skills that he has as well.
“I found that each of the different types of outlines like flow charting and circle outlining where most effective because the information – especially in the sciences and history – tended to flow and organize in that way.”
He went back and redid most of his class information this way and within a week he told me that his workload was easier to handle and that he felt more control of things. He also found that the outlines not only helped the him to learn the material but they also made it much easier to review and to study the material when needed.
“It was a great help. I knew putting the time into the outlines would reward itself multiple times because I kept coming back to them when I reviewed. And I actually enjoy making them since it makes information more visual which helps me.”
CASE STUDY #5: High School Outline
Organizing a term paper can be a daunting process for any high school student. Amy had to write a 16 to 20 page term paper for history class comparing the rules and regulations of various monarchies of Europe. “Collecting and researching this information alone was a big process, but organizing it and making it useful was even harder. I was able to make different outlines for each source while my friends were using little 3×5 cards. I used a few different outline types but mostly the indent type and the concept maps.” Amy received a 97 on her term paper and she reported that the actual writing was the easy part because her research and other needed information is so accessible.
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A clear alcoholic spirit originating in Russia, made from grain.
Vodka has been around for quite some time, but few know the true history of the beverage.
There is some debate as to where vodka originated. It has been documented that Russia first produced vodka in the latter part of the 9th century, with the first identified distillery being reported in 1174 in the Vyatka Chronicle. Poland also lays claim to having first produced vodka in the 8th century. However, what Poland refers to as vodka may actually have been a distilled wine that was more like brandy. Polish vodkas first came onto the scene in the 11th century. At that time, they were referred to as ‘gorzalka’ and were used for medicinal purposes.
Even the name vodka is up for debate. There are sources that claim that the word comes from the Slavic word that means ‘water’, therefore vodka itself translates to mean ‘little water’. Other sources also claim that the word is Slavic, but comes from the verb that means ‘to distill with water’. Various regions that produce vodka also are said to have come up with the word. In Russian, ‘voda’ stood to mean water, as did the Polish word ‘woda’. The word used in the Baltics and the Ukraine is derived from the verbs that they use to mean ‘to burn’, which may actually be a homage to the distillation process or the way that vodka feels when it comes in contact with the palate.
When vodka first came onto the scene, it wasn’t a popular drink like it is today. Instead, the liquid was used mostly as a medicine, as well as for producing gunpowder. It wasn’t until the 14th century that vodka became popular as a drink. At that time, Moscow’s British Ambassador described the liquid to be the national drink of Russia. Some years later, in the 16th century, it became the national drink in both Finland and Poland.
Vodka soon became a popular staple drink choice, especially in the northern parts of Eastern Europe, because it had a very low freezing point and could easily be transported in the coldest of weather conditions. Not only could it keep residents warm on a cold day, it was a basic ingredient that could be easily flavored with whatever might be on hand, and could also be mixed with various ingredients.
Vodka may have helped to quench thirst and warm cold bodies, but it also played other roles. While the Tsars were in power, the beverage was used to increase revenue. In addition, vodka is held responsible for the widespread alcoholism that occurred.
Vodka is created through a process during which simple sugars derived from a mash created by vegetable matter or pale grains is fermented then distilled. Popular ingredients used to create vodka are potatoes, grains, beets, molasses, and/or various plants, although wheat and rye are the most popular.
The type of ingredients used depend on the region in which the spirit is made. For example, those created in Poland most often use a rye mash, while those from Russia use wheat.
The container used during the distillation process is key to the final product. The varieties that come from a column still will be colorless, clear, and will have a neutral flavor. Those created in a pot still will carry a slight note of flavor from the crop that was used to produce it, and may even have a higher proof since many batches are rectified, or redistilled.
It is somewhat unusual to see a vodka that has been aged for long periods or stored in a wooden cask, although some brands will use these methods. But, what is becoming more popular is adding flavors to vodka, such as spices, fruits, and herbs.
Europe has had the pleasure of sampling vodka for several hundred years, but during that time the spirit wasn’t seen in many other areas of the world. It has been in the last century or so that vodka has made its way to other regions, opening up a larger market and boosting its popularity.
In 1917, after the Russian Revolution, some Russians fled, and those refugees took their vodka skills with them to various areas worldwide. The United States first saw vodka when the Smirnoff Company launched in the 1930s. Vodka may not have been at hit at first, but by the 1950s it was gaining the love and recognition it deserved.
It wasn’t until later, during the 1960s and ’70s that the West truly began embracing vodka, when more brands began showing up in both the UK and the USA. Today, you’d be hard pressed not to find vodka has a key staple in bars, restaurants, and households throughout the world.
Browse all 2196 Vodka Drink Recipes
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Few create as much difference in their long life as Swami Vivekananda did in a short span of thirty-nine years (1863-1902).
It was in the year 1983 that he came into lime light at the Parliament of Religions held in Chicago. His deep spiritual insight and excellent conversation skills were well supplemented by his in-depth knowledge of Eastern and Western cultures. People who had the opportunity to interact with Swami Vivekananda even once respected him for his clarity of thought and power of expression.
A mystic, a philosopher and a poet, his ideas are soul stirring and an inspiration in today’s age when man is continuously searching for answers.
Life is Beautiful:First, believe in this world – that there is meaning behind everything. Everything in the world is good, is holy and beautiful. If you see something evil, think that you do not understand it in the right light. Throw the burden on yourselves!
This article was recorded by Ida Ansell in shorthand. As, however, Swamiji's speed was too great for her in her early days, dots are put in the articles to indicate the omissions, while the words within square brackets are added by way of linking up the disconnected...
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“If I see you once, you’re my friend,” Virginia Dell Clinton Kelley once said, according to the Washington Post. “If I see you twice, I’ll more than likely hug you.” Kelley passed her people-loving nature on to her son, Bill Clinton, but it was her tenacity, optimism, and resilience in the face of adversity that was likely Kelley’s most important legacy to her famous son. After fun-filled teenage years in Hope, Arkansas, Kelley studied to be a nurse and married William Jefferson Blythe, Jr., who left to serve in World War II soon after their wedding. He returned unscathed, only to die in a car accident just months before the birth of his son, whom Kelley named William Jefferson in his memory. Leaving her son with her parents for two years, Kelley continued her studies in New Orleans, determined to give him a better life. Her bad luck in marriage continued, though: her second husband, car salesman Roger Clinton, Sr., was an abusive alcoholic. Often eyeing the bullet hole his stepfather had left in the wall during one of his rages, young Bill grew protective of his mother and new brother, Roger Jr., eventually warning Roger Sr. that he would stand the abuse no longer. The marriage ended, but when Kelley quickly remarried Roger out of pity, Bill Clinton took his stepfather’s last name to show respect for her decision. As Clinton excelled, motivated to fulfill his mother’s dreams, Virginia worked to pay for his top-notch education and turned her living room into a shrine to his achievements. “Bill protected me and took responsibility at such an early age,” Virginia once said, according to the Post. “There is no way I can describe to you what he has meant to me.” Kelley, who died in 1994, lived long enough to celebrate Christmas at the White House with her son.
Photo credit: Everett Collection : Shutterstock.com
Please feel free to contact us with any comments or questions.
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Ronald Keith “Monk” Hayden, 73, of Troy and formerly of Caseyville, Illinois, passed away at 7:01 a.m. on Thursday, January 28, 2016 at his home.
He was born January 4, 1943 in East St. Louis, Illinois, the son of the late William R. and Dolores (Barbeau) Hayden.
He married Donna J. (Karlak) Hayden on July 2, 1966 at Holy Rosary Catholic Church in Fairmont City, Illinois and she survives.
He retired in 2002 from Hayden Wrecking Corporation as the owner and operator after working in the family business from his childhood.
Ron was a well respected owner of his family’s successful demolition and dismantling firm. He enjoyed the relationships with his employees and clients and was a leader in the industry.
He served his country for four years as a member of the Missouri National Guard and was a member of St. Jerome Catholic Church in Troy.
He enjoyed his days of golfing, hunting, fishing, being on his many family travels and had a special love of the family farm in Goreville. The years enjoyed with the “Monk Avenue Supper Club” will never be forgotten.
He will be remembered for the love and special times shared with his family and friends.
In addition to his beloved wife, he is survived by four children and their spouses, Brian Hayden of St. Louis, Kristine and David Martinez of Laguna Niguel, California, Nicholas Hayden and Fiance, Kim Meyer of Highland and Ben and Stacy Hayden of Edwardsville; seven grandchildren, Blake and Carter Hayden, Isabella, Max and Minka Martinez and Jack and Lizzie Hayden; sisters-in-law and brothers-in-law, Arlene and Tom Harrison of Troy and Diana and Bruce Yasitis of Duluth, Georgia; many nieces; nephews; other extended family and friends.
In addition to his parents, he was preceded in death by his father-in-law and mother-in-law, Chester and Verna Karlak
In celebration of his life and in accordance to his wishes, Ronald donated his body to St. Louis University School of Medicine.
A memorial visitation will be held at Irwin Chapel, 591 Glen Crossing Road in Glen Carbon on Friday, February 5, 2016 from 4:00 p.m. until 8:00 p.m.
Visitation will continue at St. Jerome Catholic Church in Troy on Saturday, February 6, 2016 from 10:00 a.m. until time of mass at 11:00 a.m. with Father Paul Habing as celebrant.
Memorials may be made to the Wounded Warrior Project, Shriner’s Hospital for Children, Hospice of Southern Illinois or as masses and may be accepted at the funeral home.
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Bless Me, Ultima is about the social-psychological maturation of a Mexican-American, or Chicano, boy living on the eastern plains of New Mexico during the 1940s. The novel begins with Ultima, a curandera,or folk healer, going to live with the Márez family during the summer that Antonio is six years old. Antonio is preoccupied with and anxious about attending school and having to be separated from his mother. Related to these concerns is his engrossment with knowing his destiny. This concern is exacerbated by his mother's desire that he become a priest to a community of farmers, where her family lives. At the same time, Antonio is concerned about realizing the wandering desire that stems from his paternal lineage.
Antonio is nearly at the point of starting religious study for his first holy communion and is becoming concerned with good and evil in the world. Early in the novel, he witnesses the killing of Lupito, a war veteran, and fears that his father may be punished by God for being with the men who killed Lupito. Antonio is deeply concerned about the fate of Lupito's soul.
As the novel develops, Antonio's fears and concerns intensify and become woven together as he struggles to understand the events surrounding his life. He becomes preoccupied with questions about his destiny, life and death, and good and evil. Ultima conveys an indigenous viewpoint to him that provides guidance when he loses confidence in parental viewpoints and the teachings of the Church. Ultima tells him the stories and legends of his ancestors, and he comes to understand how the history of his people stirs his blood. Through her, Antonio learns the "old ways" and develops a new relationship with nature. This relationship opens him to the contemplation of the possibility of other gods.
Antonio learns there are powers in the world that differ from those honored by the Catholic faith. He helps Ultima perform a healing that saves the life of his Uncle Lucas, who had been bewitched by the Trementina sisters. Later, he witnesses another healing performed by Ultima and begins to understand the world differently; he learns to overcome his fears, especially his fear of change. In the end, Antonio understands himself and the world around him better, and he learns to accept life and the many challenges that it presents.
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Back when I was at school we simply wrote book reports. I’m impressed by and appreciate Mother Syamali’s creative literature projects. As of lately, Upper Elementary students were asked to choose one of the major characters in their independent reading book, and plan a dynamic scrapbook. Using key events and characters from their novels, they made a collection of hand-drawn photos, representing special memories. Each photo was accompanied by a caption of at least three sentences, explaining the image’s connection to the story. Students also included a variety of different artifacts to represent the events and characters, decorating each page to match the theme of their texts. What a genius way of reviewing and representing the main events!
Most recently, students created unique board games to showcase their independent reading. The artwork, content, and overall theme of the board games was inspired by characters, conflicts, and events in their selected novels. Students were given permission to use any combination of hand-drawn and computer generated images and follow a specific list of requirements. The results were remarkable. Students designed and crafted the board and the counters. Some even made their own dice. They deliberated the rules of the game and its strategies. Some also prepared question cards based on the books. And the bonus? After presenting their finished products, students had the opportunity to sit together and put the games to the test! What an original way of reflecting on and expressing an understanding of literature!
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The little painting on the right is also inspired by the Times. But this time, there is a touch of hopefulness in the photograph that shows a Syrian refugee family fleeing Syria for Turkey (b). They hope the gate will open to what could be a new home. I am taken by all of the facial expressions -- apprehension, curiosity, optimism, exhaustion, peacefulness, tension. I love the way the child seems so secure in her mother's arms. She is able to stretch far out to see more of what is ahead for her. There is something very real here, but also something that seems so off. The photographer's camera distorts the scene, just like history seems to have distorted the lives of these people. I want to capture that distortion in what I draw, but I also want to get right the basic shapes of these people, the basic shape of humanity.
These photographs have their own distinctive power. They also have power gained through links with earlier art. I couldn't look at these photographs without thinking about earlier images of adults and children, earlier forms of the Pieta and Madonna and Child. I am sure those earlier forms influenced the contemporary photographers, consciously or unconsciously, as they took their pictures.
From the first day of working on these little paintings, I knew I had to display them in a way that would show links across time, across artists, across human experiences. The triptych form struck me as right, a triptych that would contain a version of an old painting. Triptychs are often meant to be devotional objects, meant to inspire meditation on the human condition. I think they also emerge from the artist's own process of meditation. My Syrian paintings became part of a group with my rendition of a Madonna and Child by the Venetian Renaissance artist, Giovanni Bellini, between them (c). There are many Renaissance Madonna and Child paintings, but this one with the baby Jesus so clearly prefiguring the dead Christ seemed especially fitting.
By the time I was working with the Bellini, Christmas was upon us. I turned the triptych into a piece to share during the holidays. While working, it was easy to remember those many, many Christmases ago, when as a very young girl, I copied the images on the Christmas cards that came into our home. My favorite cards to copy were those with angels and with the mother and child. Amazing how so much changes, and so much remains the same ...
(a) The photograph was taken in Aleppo by Zein Al-Rifai, Agence France Presse/Getty Images. It appeared in the February 5, 2014 issue of the New York Times.
(b) This photograph was taken at Turkish border by Ulas Yunus Tosun/EPA. It appeared in the September 22.2014 issue of the New York Times.
(c) There are many reproductions of this Bellini painting in books and on the internet. Looking across a number and seeing how they differed from one another, I wished I could see the painting "up close and in person." I searched the internet to find the current location of the painting.
Lo and behold, it is in New York, at the Metropolitan Museum. I dropped whatever I was doing, jumped on the subway, and stood and looked at the painting for as long as I needed to. The joys of living in New York City.
Below is a slideshow that gives a closer view of each part of the triptych.
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Zane Kendrick has finally returned home after being in the Army for twenty-two years. Empty he isn’t sure what his future holds for him until he runs into Zoë Duncan working in her father’s shop. When he sees her again, out, he realizes she’s no longer the little girl who followed her brothers and his around. This Zoë was all woman. And his feelings for her have changed.
Zoë Duncan has loved Zane forever. He’s been the object of all her fantasies and when the opportunity arrives for her to experience him for real, she can’t refuse. However, a one-night stand doesn’t change anything in her mind. He’s still off limits, she’s not about to risk the relationship between their families for her own desires.
Zane, isn’t a man who lets go of what he wants and he wants Zoë. He’ll have to work to get past her defenses. When trouble arrives at her door, he’s there but will it be enough for him to convince her to give them a shot? Can he make her see it’s always been her?
This title is a re-release. The previous publisher closed. The story has been edited for TEP. New books in the series will be forthcoming.
Zane Kendrick stopped his full-size truck at the crest of the final hill leading into his hometown. Eight years was a long time to be away without a single time back yet during his last stint of being gone the place hadn’t changed much. Springwood was a ranching community and he could hear the lowing cattle and smell their pungent scent on the air.
He’d missed it. The picturesque setting, friendly neighbors. More important than that even, he missed his family. The last time he’d been home was for a brief time when he and his brothers buried their father. A car accident took him way too soon. They’d lost their mother when they were just boys.
The eldest Kendrick brother, Nate, had taken over the ranch with the help of their youngest brother, Cade. Zane’d been the only one not able to return full-time. Now he had. Cool autumn air flowed through the open windows of his three-quarter ton dually.
He needed to drop it off at the shop since it was running with some hesitations. Hopefully, Duncan’s Garage is still in business. He didn’t know of a better place to leave his vehicle. Having been sitting for the past two years while he’d been fighting over in The Sandbox, he could accept its necessity for a tune-up. But, it had gotten him home.
He was looking forward to nights in a real bed without worrying about poisonous creatures climbing in on him, the enemy, and all the other crap that came with returning home from being over there. Bad enough to be there for a short time but he’d pulled many duties and had seen more than he cared to recall as well as too much for him to ever forget.
Shifting into gear, he worked the pedals and rolled down the road. The afternoon sun bathed the town in a golden glow. Maybe, just maybe, he could get over the nightmares.
As he progressed through town he noticed the differences—a few new stores—and the familiar—brick storefronts in the shadows of the tree-lined sidewalks. Outside on the other side of town, fences replaced stores, restraining large herds of cattle. A grin lifted one corner of his mouth as he spied the old sign across the driveway of his destination, wooden and scarred with age. The Rocking K Ranch. Their brand had rocking chair skids on the feet of the capital letter K, and was ensconced by a circle. His truck rattled over the cattle guard and on up the long, winding drive.
He passed the barns and the cattle staging area. The large house filled his vision as he steered around the final corner. He parked before the garage and killed the engine.
Zane climbed out and snagged the olive-green duffel carrying his worldly possessions. Slinging it over one shoulder, he strode to the front door, paused, then depressed the handle and entered his home.
“Nate? Cade? Anyone here?”
“Holy fucking hell, is that you, Zane?”
His brother Cade strode into view. Zane dropped the bag and hugged him. He smiled, grateful, once more, to be home.
“Thought you weren’t arriving until tomorrow.” Cade pounded him on the back. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”
He returned the gesture before stepping away from the embrace. “Good to be seen. Where’s Nate?”
“Town, picking up some things. Although if you ask me he’s just wanting to catch some time with Angela Cricton.”
The name was familiar. “Didn’t her family used to run the drugstore?”
“They still do. Angela is no longer redheaded and freckle-faced, however.” Cade waggled his eyebrows.
He snapped his fingers. “Ah, shit, I remember her now. We called her Pippi.”
Cade laughed. “She is all grown now and Nate is all over that.”
He didn’t begrudge his brother any happiness and smiled. “Good for him. Are the Duncan’s still the best garage in town?”
“Absolutely. Something wrong with your truck?”
Shoulders rising with a simple shrug, he replied, “Been parked for a few years. I need to take it in for a tune-up.”
“Well, let’s go drop it off now. We had planned for a big dinner with you tomorrow and just hitting the diner tonight. I’ll follow you then you can ride with me.” He paused, his expression turning thoughtful. “Unless you want to stay here and scrounge something up.” Cade flashed a smile. “I’m good with either.”
“I’ll be fine. Let’s go.” He fished his keys from his pocket and twirled them.
“All right. I can’t wait to see Nate’s face when you walk in.”
Back in his truck, Zane started the engine, frowning once more over the hesitations. He followed his brother to Duncan’s Garage. Hopping down, he strode through the open bay door.
“Hello! Anyone here?” Old school R&B, The Isley Brothers, played in the shop.
“What do you need?”
He blinked and stared down by the older Chevy Caprice, a pair of legs were sticking out. The voice sounded familiar but he couldn’t place it. Softer than the male tone he’d expected to hear. Perhaps there was a young man working there.
“I looking to get a tune-up on my truck. If you have time. Are any of the Duncan boys around?”
“Sorry, not this afternoon. Just me.” Rolling out on the creeper, the speaker showed themselves.
It was a woman. Could it be?
She had an expression of surprise. “Zane? You’re back?” Her shock vanished as swift as it had arrived, as did another emotion he couldn’t decipher.
Recognition slammed him. “Zoë? I don’t believe it.”
She grinned, making him recall the imp she’d been at one time. “That’s me. You wanna leave your keys? I’ll have one of them working on your truck in the morning.”
Zoë Duncan was the youngest in her family. She’d not been home when he’d returned for the funeral so he’d not seen her since aside from once after he’d left to join the Army. Eighteen years ago. When he’d been home, she’d been elsewhere. Her coveralls swallowed her, and her backward cap exposed a grease-smudged face. He was reminded of the little afro-haired girl who always wanted to be included in their shenanigans. Only briefly for something else hit him, an emotion he wasn’t sure what to do with.
“What are you doing down there?” He reached out a hand.
She waved him away and rose easily on her own. “Working.” A brilliant smile filled her face as she stepped by him. “Hey, Cade.” She gave his brother an easy hug.
“Hey, darlin’.” Cade leaned back against the car she’d been working on.
Zoë cleaned her hands off on a rag she’d withdrawn from the pocket of her coveralls. “Anything specific you want them to check?”
“Them?” Cade spoke up glancing between the two. “Why aren’t you doing it, Zoë?”
She gave an apathetic shrug and waved it off like she didn’t give a damn one way or another. “He mentioned my brothers, figured he’d want one of them or Dad on it.”
Zane didn’t like them talking about him as if he wasn’t even there. How did Cade rate a hug when Zane’d been the one gone for years and barely got a smile? Cade shot him a glare and he lifted his shoulders in confusion. “You want to work on it, Zoë, go ahead. I have no problem with that. You work in your daddy’s garage. So if he hired you, I know you’ve got the skills. I know your daddy wouldn’t let anyone in here who couldn’t hold their own.”
Something foreign flashed in her eyes before she gave another offhand shrug. “Either way, makes no never mind to me. I can check it tonight and leave you a message if it needs more than what I can do tonight.”
“It’s Friday,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for a date?” He crossed his arms. “Or did the combination of both our brothers scare them all off?”
A brief, nearly nonexistent smile. “Something like that.” She held out her hand. “Keys?”
“Sure thing.” He dropped them into her open palm, realizing there was no way to touch her without looking as if he was seeking out the contact. She walked toward the back of the shop and he shoved his hands in his pockets.
“She looks so young.” And innocent, and yet at the same time, there was something different about her. Something that intrigued him more than he wished to admit. Or that I should be thinking.
Cade nodded. “Yep. Come on.”
He shadowed his brother to Cade’s SUV. The green Tahoe had dirt and mud covering the outside. He slid over the seat and saw Zoë heading for his truck. Another bay door rose as she climbed in his vehicle after placing a plastic covering on the seat and floorboard.
She never once glanced at them. Cade drove away as she nosed his truck into the garage. Zane wondered why her distance bothered him so much, then wondered why he was even concerning himself with it.
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Kindergarten Students Like Trucks Coloring
Students of kindergarten school are taught basic things, such as singing, drawing, coloring, etc. They are also introduced to many basic things, they start to learn numbers, colors, alphabets, things (objects), and many more. They do fun activities at school. The teachers have to make sure that the kids always have time during their time at school. One of the fun activities that they do at kindergarten school is coloring. All of them enjoy this. In this activity, the teachers will give them coloring pages and ask them to color coloring pages with coloring pencils or crayons. The pictures are usually animals, popular characters, cartoons, dolls, etc. There are things or objects which are favorited by the kids, one of them is vehicles, such as trucks, cars, motors, trains, etc. Trucks coloring is also favorited by most of kindergarten students because they see the real objects almost everyday, so that they are familiar already with them.
Kids at their age are at the level of comprehending new things and recognizing things that they have learned. In coloring activity, they will like to color the pictures of cars, trucks, buses, or other objects that they are familiar with. In their daily life, they often see trucks, so that they will be happy to have the pictures in their coloring book. Trucks coloring is one of their favorite activities in coloring class. Both the teachers and the students like to have trucks coloring in their class activities.
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a5a176e4ad176f971d9b6625bb58acb1f0bde23aa085b372fd1e623f1ad989c6
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William Castle, who made millions producing and directing films that horrified audiences and often left critics muttering about poor taste, suffered a heart attack at his home in Beverly Hills, Calif., Tuesday night and died at the University of California at Los Angeles Medical Center. He was 63 years old.
“Rosemary's Baby” was his most renowned production. The 1968 film was not only a smash box‐office success, but also was widely acclaimed by critics, including a reviewer for Time magazine, who called it “superb suspense.”
Mr. Castle's latest work, “Bug,” about giant, incendiary cockroaches that overrun los Angeles after an earthquake, which he wrote and produced in 1975, was described by Richard Eder, a critic for The New York Times, as “sick, and literally sickening.”
Lloyd's of London Policy
Some of his greatest financial success came with a series of low‐budget horror films in the late 1950's and early 60's, to which he attracted huge audiences with extravagant promotion and gimmickry.
Three of the films—“Macabre,” “The House on Haunted Hill” and “The Tingler”—reportedly grossed nearly $6.5 million. In promoting “Macabre,” he presented ticket‐holders with a Lloyd's of London insurance policy promising $1,000 to anyone “who died of fright,” and in the lobby a model wearing a nurse's uniform dispensed “nerve‐steadying pills.”
In “The House on Haunted Hill”—a skeleton suspended on a wire flew out from the screen at the audience and for “The Tingler” some theater seats were wired to produce mild electric shocks.
Directed Joan Crawford
“I've modeled my career on (P.T.) Barnum,” Mr. Castle told an interviewer in 1960. Exploitation's the big thing in the picture business today. Stars and contents don't mean much at the box office any more. The people who go to see pictures because of what's in ‘em, they're a minority. Gimmicks, surprise, shock—that's what draws the crowds.”
A few years later, Mr. Castle apparently changed his mind about stars, for in 1964 he produced and directed “Strait‐Jacket” with Joan Crawford in the lead role.
Mr. Castle, who was born in New York City, got a small part in a Broadway show when he was 15 years old by falsely representing himself as a nephew of Samuel Goldwyn. After a series of acting, producing and writing jobs he went to work in Hollywood in 1939. He directed or produced more than 100 films. He also produced a number of television shows, including the hourlong series “Circle of Fear” in 1972.
In 1976, his autobiography, “Step Right Up! I'm Gonna Scare the Pants off America,” was published by G. P. Putnam's Sons.
At his death, Mr. Castle was producing a Metro‐Goldwyn‐Mayer film entitled “200 Lakeview Drive,” which the studio described as “a contemporary suspense drama which takes place in the world's most elegant high‐rise apartment complex.”
Mr. Castle is survived by his wife, Ellen, and two daughters, Georgie and Terry. Funeral arrangements had not been completed last night.
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6946843a546cdd8bdb66d79690fd560e5b0ff80094e5ce228151157456eaa193
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Lake Gyges (Greek: Γυγαíη λíμνη): lake in western Turkey, northwest of Sardes.
Lake Gyges is mentioned in Homer's Iliadnote[Homer, Iliad 20.391.] and this name has been taken as evidence that at least a part of the famous poem was written after the reign of Gyges, who was king of Lydia from about 680 to 644 BCE. However, this point cannot be forced. If Γυγαíη is indeed a rendering of a Lydian name, which is by no means certain, it is still possible that the Greeks rendered two different names identically, or that two individuals had the same name.
Nowadays, the lake is called Marmara Gölü.
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d91ccb21cce161a5a12d21b8f1dbe98f709f3ef0c0be2fb251085cd7a7b31a9b
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Before there was North Vancouver, there was the forest. Towering stands of fir, cedar, and hemlock covered the slopes of the North Shore. For the first European settlers, timber was a treasure to be exploited. Wielding axes and crosscut saws, the forests were felled by hand. It was an effort which required brute strength, ingenuity, daring, and which cost many lives. Timber transformed this landscape, drove the economy, and shaped the North Shore we know today.
Drawn by timber, the area’s first sawmill opened in 1863. Around the mill the small community of Moodyville began to grow. Timber was the reason the settlement began, and timber shaped its contours. The trails, skid roads and flumes which pushed into the forest sketched, in draft, its later roads. Feeding the mill cleared the land, and in logging’s aftermath came settlers, land speculators and town planners. Homes sprang up as the forest receded – though many a massive stump stood as a reminder in the ‘Lynn Valley gardens’ of the early 1900s.
Many loggers came during the gold rush – from back East and across the Pacific. They were hard men, used to labouring from first light until dark. Fearless, they were also highly skilled. A high-rigger like Charlie Koske would climb trees over 60 metres tall, chop of its top, and hang on in the hurricane that followed. Many were young, like Delmar Germyn, who worked as a ‘skid greaser’: scampering in front of several tonnes of moving logs, he greased the skids with rancid dog-fish oil. Young and old, these men toiled in the bush camps, their dangerous and difficult work rewarded in ‘jack’ – often spent in town on women and drink.
Perched on springboards, using double headed axes and crosscut saws, a big tree could take two men forty minutes to fell. Cut where they lay, the enormous logs were hauled out of the forest by teams of horses along ‘skid’ roads. Or they were reduced to ‘bolts’ and sent racing down miles of flumes. By the 1910s, steam powered ‘donkey’ engines had replaced horses. Clanking, smoking, and shuddering, they tore logs out of the bush on steel cables; first along the forest floor, later suspended on wires high in the trees. This ‘high-leading’ system brought speed but increased danger. And, of course, there were the wilderness train trestles and precarious logging roads to face.
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5ae4d9e4004bdcd86e53f1415f1da57368b6fdd41626bcaf5f565322c7a1cd73
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Ronald Ossory Dunlop was born in Dublin to a Scottish-Irish Quaker family. He studied at Manchester School of Art, at Wimbledon College of Art and in Paris, having spent some time working in an advertising agency. He became a prolific exhibitor, venues including the Royal Academy, the New English Art Club, Leicester and Redfern Galleries, the Royal Society of Arts, the Royal Hibernian Academy and the Royal Glasgow Institute of the Fine Arts.
His first one man show (1928) was at the Redfern Gallery in Cork Street, London. In 1923 he had founded the Emotionist Group of writers and artists, and his own work is characterised by a painterly exuberance. He joined the The London Group of artists in 1931.
Most of his life was spent in England, latterly at Barnham, West Sussex, close to Chichester. He achieved fame in his lifetime, having been elected a full member of the Royal Academy in 1950, and his work is instantly recognisable, as are the many fakes which have appeared on the market over the past thirty years or so! Alex Fraser of Vancouver was Dunlop’s dealer in London and again later in Canada once Fraser had emigrated in the 1940s.
Dunlop’s mother, Eleanor (née Fitzpatrick) was herself a watercolour artist. His father Daniel Nicol Dunlop (1868–1935), was a great friend of W. B. Yeats, James Stephens and George Russell.
Artist Ronald Ossory Dunlop’s paintings can be seen at the Crawford Gallery in Cork, at the Tate Gallery in London, at the Cheltenham Art Gallery and Museum and the National Portrait Gallery, London.
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2b5f4561c6ddbe5844672777c682d81bda9421a53ebabe88c5e0de171796a9f5
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I had an idea I don't know the beginning of the story well but I want feedback
The room was cool and had a slight breeze from the windows. Phillip’s warm, gloved hand strokes against my baren one. The floor was wooden, the celling has a rectangular green and white-colored section and there were long windows with majestic curtains, the windows were open letting in a lovely breeze. Me and Phillip were on the side with most of the people, most of Phillip’s family is in the center. As I look around I see mostly puras and puros I look around but I see something else, Malin? That’s odd Phillip says that they wouldn’t be around in here. One could get in if no one knew and someone in Phillip’s family knew them, that’s how I got in here.
“Phillip,” I said “there is a malin here,” I whisper.
“Well, of course, your just counting yourself,” he says in a sweat cheerful voice.
“No, Phillip that’s not how that works,” I believe Phillip ignored me, as he looks onto the main floor.
“Sarah may we dance now?” he asked, “I’ve taught you had to do it and it took longer than it should.” He grabs my hand and smiles after he says his snappy remark to almost make up for it.
“Actually, I would like to follow that man, he’s malin and I thought they weren’t supposed to be here,” I said.
“Sarah it’s fine, look we have a wonderful way to make sure people with malicious intent don’t do anything bad, don’t worry I invited you here, taught you to Walz and had to teach you basic customs just so I could dance and bring you here. Can we please go?” he begged
“Phillip I’m not going to until I find out until that man is safe,” I snapped. Phillip sighed angrily he would go on for more but he wouldn’t want to cause a scene. More people came onto the floor as I left to go see this man. I squeezed through people going in the counter-clockwise in a circular motion. I saw the Malin he had black hair, he was tall and had a small build. He had a brownish-red coat and a white shirt that had a knot for his shirt collar.
He stopped and looked at me in a puzzled look, “Who are you?” he said his voice has gruff. His eyes are a deep green, his skin is pale, he has a slight 5 a-clock shadow, he had slight backs under his eyes. “I asked a question who are you and what are you doing here?” he demanded. “Did they bring you here to replace me?” he asked, my heart pounded. Who is he and why does he want to know these things? If he does something I’ll be dead, people will accuse me of helping him because we are both the same. A million thing go in and out of my head.
“I’m Sarah and I was going to ask what are you doing here until you asked a similar question,” I snapped trying to hide my fear. He doesn’t know what to say not like I made him speechless but he is unsure if I side with him. He jolts my hand away and down the dimly lit hallway. I tried to pull away from him but I’m unable too a million things rush into my head and time seems to slow down. As I try to let out a cry something happened I am unable to open my mouth. I try to jolt away with all my might everything I have in my body. This man is strong and I’m weak. If I have to use my magic I will, I take a long exhalation through my nose and try to go into my mind, everything is loud and all I can think about is this.
I should of listen to my teacher and trained more and now I’ll probably die in some isolated room now and I have no way of telling Phillip, his family or the guards. At least Phillip will notice that I was gone and he’ll do something or maybe he is still mad at me.
He throws me into a completely dark room, I still can’t talk or move. I’m laying on the hard and wooden ground. The door closes and I can barely see the man, all I hear is breathing, and his slow footsteps towards me.
“It’s okay darling,” he whispers in an eerily calming voice as he grabs my face. “It will all be over soon,” he drops his hand as I hear something slide from below me. I try to squirm away from him but I can’t, I’m unable to do anything. I feel the tears I’ve been trying to keep in pour down my face. I’m going to die with Phillip still angry at me, with someone dead because I was unable to run away from this man because I didn’t listen to my teacher about training harder.
I feel a strong beating and push from him, I hear start to get up and walk away. The light from the hallway although dim felt brightly painful to look at. The floor seemed to wobble below me as everything went to fuzz. As the world began to blacken out I felt my eyes start to close as I go to sleep for the last time.
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There are some episodes that you remember more vividly than the other, what day it was I can’t recall, but I do remember that it ended in a much grander way than the rest of the days, I went home pumped up and enlightened that evening. Some people get fixed in your heart only to leave you completely baffled, transfixed. They make us think about things we generally avoid, making us question our own existence and purpose in life. They are the breathing lessons, sent our way so that we can mend our ways.
That day I was to meet my friend in Connaught Place for lunch, we had not already decided upon the place of meeting, so we spent some time in the summer heat coming up with a name, locating it and walking all the way from one corner to another. Let me tell you, the sun was particularly unkind that afternoon. And when we finally reached our destination we let out a sigh of relief, but no sooner did we sit, than the waiter broke the unfortunate news that because of some issues they were serving only starters that day, so no main course. It was a famous Chinese place and I wanted to gorge on the hot noodles and manchurian, like old times. Choosing that particular restaurant was a much thought out decision because we were tired of having pastas all the time. I don’t experiment much, so my orders are almost always the same. We blamed our fate, and since had no energy to shift to another cafe, we remained seated, and ordered some of the starters, and hungrily ate.
By the time we were finished, it was late afternoon, and the temperature had already started sinking like the sinking sun, so after wrapping up, we decided to sit on one of the benches outside. Little did I know that I was chosen to witness two magical moments and that too back to back, it was surreal, what played out first I don’t remember, all I know is that both of them made me think, and learn.
Incident one, (it can be the second too) involved three hungry street dogs and two kind ladies. I saw compassion dressed as humans lovingly feeding the canines, compassion is a word that’s not meant to be just written or read, it’s a word that should live in our eyes, in our hands, in our actions. The wagging tails of the joyous dogs was what they were getting in return. Compassion for compassion. It always pays off. The second incident, (it can be the first though) was equally magical, it started like any other ordinary encounter, a little boy walking up to us and requesting us to buy a few pens. Let me be honest I don’t always purchase from them, but more often than not I do. Pens are something that I keep buying and losing, the process is never-ending, so I am perpetually in need of new ones. On that particular day I didn’t want to buy and instead just support the child monetarily. So I gave him some money, and asked him to keep the pens with him, but no, this boy was not looking for charity, he insisted that I should take the pens, I agreed to keep one, but he wanted me to keep both. And that was not enough. When I accepted his plea, he started counting the money before my eyes. And after he had counted he found out I had paid him one extra rupee. And as soon as he discovered that, he made no delay in offering to return. I smiled and affectionately requested him to at least keep that with him, he smiled back and agreed. That child’s dedication and professionalism is what made me realise, that integrity is something that can neither be beaten by poverty nor be bought by wealth. It made me think how even some of the wealthy people think not twice before cheating others for their own benefit, or before looting the public who had put their trust in them. However, no matter how shrewd they are, in the end they always end up filling their insatiable bellies with fire, and losing their peace of mind.
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Old Sarum – Map: County Series 1:2500 1881
Old Sarum, in Wiltshire, was a parliamentary constituency in England from 1295 to 1832. The constituency was on the site of what had been the original settlement of Salisbury, known as Old Sarum.
It was a so-called ‘rotten borough’ (or ‘pocket borough’) with an extremely small electorate that was consequently vastly over-represented and could be used by a patron to gain undue influence. Rotten boroughs were one of the curiosities of the British electoral system, where fathers passed on constituencies (and the power as an MP that went with this) to their sons as if they were personal property. In many such boroughs the very few electors could not vote for whom they truly wanted due to the lack of a secret ballot or simply due to the lack of a candidate desirable to their political philosophy. The term rotten borough came into use in the 18th century. The word “rotten” had the connotation of corruption as well as that of long-term decline.
Rotten boroughs had very few voters. For example, Old Sarum, in Wiltshire, only had three houses and a population of seven people. It was a possession of the Pitt family from the mid-17th century to 1802, and one of its Members of Parliament was Prime Minister William Pitt the Elder. In 1802 the Pitt family sold it for £60,000, even though the land and manorial rights were worth £700 a year at most.
Examples of rotten boroughs in 1831 include the following:
||Houses in Borough
||Voters in 1831
|Old Sarum, Wiltshire
||Earl of Caledon
||Sir Mark Wood
|Bramber, West Sussex
||Duke of Rutland
|Newton, Isle of Wight
||Sir Fitzwilliam Barrington
With just a few individuals with the vote and no secret ballot, it was easy for candidates to buy their way to victory.
The constituency of Old Sarum was abolished under the Reform Act 1832
Indications of prehistoric settlement at Old Sarum have been discovered from as early as 3000 bc. An was erected around 400 bc, The site continued to be occupied during the Roman period. The Saxons took the British fort in the 6th century and later used it as a stronghold against marauding Vikings. Later the Normans constructed a motte and bailey castle, a stone curtain wall, and a great cathedral. A royal palace was built within the castle for King Henry I and was subsequently used by Plantagenet monarchs. This heyday of the settlement lasted for around 300 years. By the early 13th century the population had moved to New Sarum at the foot of the hill, now known as the cathedral city of Salisbury and the long neglected castle was finally abandoned by Edward II in 1322.
To buy this map, or maps of your area, go to: Cassini Downloads
Simply enter a postcode, or place name, follow the instruction and download your map in minutes.
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Henry Atwell Thomas (1834 -1904) was an American artist active in the middle to late 19th century. Thomas worked primarily in watercolor, printmaking, and lithography. Thomas was most active in New York City where he was known for theatrical portraiture. Initially he operated as 'H. A. Thomas Lithographer'. Eventually Thomas acquired various partners with publications under as 'Thomas and Eno' and 'Thomas and Wylie'. He subsidized his theater work with general interest prints and paintings related to monuments and historical events. In 1886, he was recognized with an art, music and drama festival at the Academy of Music presented as a "Testimonial to Henry A. Thomas, Artist."
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Model Railroad Academy is excited to announce our newest contributor: Martin Tarnrot. Martin is a professional model railroader from Sweden and has been a railfan from a young age. We sat down with Martin to learn more about him and his model railroad journey!
I was born in Stockholm, Sweden in 1970. My father had been working since late 40s within the medicine industry and were often travelling for business to Germany. He then sometimes brought back H0-scale trains, which at the time were very precious toys for any kid in Sweden. We together started to build my first “own” model railroad when I was seven years old.
My father was also a dedicated photographer. He had a Super 8 camcorder, which he used to capture every family event. His super 8 camera and collection of “Annual Book of Photography” has laid the ground for my interest in photo and film. I still today have his camera hanging on the wall in my studio with the editing device he used to cut and glue the strips of film together.
My mom was active in several different charity communities, but probably had a bit of remorse over the time she spent there instead of spending the time with me. I had to come along on numerous meetings every month. However, the good part about this was that she bought me a H0-scale house kit for each meeting, so I had something to pass the time with. The layout therefore quickly got populated with houses and structures.
Model Railroading has been my platform of friendship and learning my entire life. I discovered the world of electronics back in 1981, when I got help to design and build my first signal mast using 3mm LEDs. This triggered me to learn electronics design, first analogue and later digital. Ten years later I graduated from school as an electronics design engineer.
I was then working for 30 years as an application engineer explaining to customers what they need to know about motion controllers for industrial robotics. How to set up Night vision compatible displays in helicopters, how to optimize the user ergonomics in excavators and studio broadcast equipment, and how to achieve EMC in a Cell phone test chambers.
When YouTube came online back in 2005, I noticed that they were missing someone who knew a bit more about model railroading than most, who knew how to set up the light and a camcorder properly and who could explain how to build model railroad in a simple and inspiring way. I followed that route and it has been two years working full time as diorama artist making how-to videos.
Making How-to videos is not about “knowing it all” or “being the best”. It´s about spreading inspiration, which enables the viewers to push their creations to the next level. Which is what I hope to do at Model Railroad Academy.
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High Tide - excerpt
They usually brought Ieva in first. The prison’s hotel room was a long, narrow bedroom with a window at the end of it looking out onto the inner prison wall. Two beds against opposite walls. Two bare, ugly nightstands. No frills.
She was always sitting on the bed when the guards brought Andrejs in. He liked to think that she sat because her trembling knees would give away her excitement. But maybe she sat so she’d resemble a painting. Because she knew full well—in this empire of ugliness she looked so unnaturally beautiful. Who the hell knows. He was never able to fully understand Ieva.
He already had the feeling back then that she was slowly pulling away from him, that she was already associating with people who stayed out of trouble. And it was only the prison with the clanking of its hundreds of doors, the jangling of keys, narrow hallways, the spots of light on the guards’ uniforms, Andrejs’s shaved head and large eyes in his gaunt, dark face that fused them together—the way only prison can do.
When she stopped coming, he spent the next four years entertaining the thought of killing her once he got out. But that lasted only four years, not longer. No emotion lasts longer than four years without support from God. It was around then he found that book by the stove in the prison boiler room, read it and calmed down. For life. The only thing he asked of God was to never see Ieva again. Now he’s always on edge whenever he goes to Riga to visit their daugh-ter. Ieva is probably around somewhere. Why shouldn’t she be?
Just as alive as back then.
[. . .]
Ieva’s visits were beautiful in their slow pace. There was no rush. “We’ll be back tomorrow at ten!” the guards would remind them as they left. And then time would suddenly start back up for Andrejs, whose life orbited a bewitched circle, where the same actions took place every morning, every night, and every year, forever winding up back at the beginning; a life where the mirrors are frozen and always reflect the same image. He had been shunned from time both physically—in prison—and spiritually—within himself.
But then one morning Ieva would show up and time would start again.
Even the guards noticed it because they said they’d be back in the morning to separate them. Andrejs suddenly became worthy of keeping track of time—this body the court had sentenced to age hidden from sight. Something overflowed and pushed out, the floodgates burst open—a powerful torrent rushed forward from 10 a.m. through 10 a.m. the next day, and it took his breath away to see how elastic and shifting time was, how material and flowing it was.
On those days he hated the clock. On those days the clock once more had meaning, and it mocked him as much as it could, like someone born to be a prison guard—someone with tormenting in their blood, someone who makes sure you’ll never forget them.
He and Ieva would sit and exchange unhurried words, they could see the prison wall from the window and watch inmates wander around the yard like livestock, like a dazed flock in bluish parkas or white shirts, depending on what season it was. Sunspots moved across the floor. They talked about neighbors, Ieva’s job, his friends and prison life, their parents, money, and Monta. Andrejs would look at photographs of his daughter, if Ieva had been able to conceal them well enough in her clothes, and say he’d put them in a plastic binder. He had an entire collection of photographs like these hidden under the false bottom of his nightstand.
Andrejs would study how time had changed his daughter’s face. When she was born she had looked exactly like him, like she’d been shaped in a mold, a tiny copy of him, an imprint in dark metal. Then her face started to change, jump from his features to Ieva’s expressions and back again. Of course a lot depended on the angle of the photo and the lighting, but in the end Monta became Monta. It was impossible not to notice it.
He’d timidly beg Ieva to bring Monta with her. And Ieva would firmly answer that her daughter would never set foot in a prison or ever breathe this prison air.
“And if I die?” he asked.
And that’s how she was, a straight-up bitch. It was because of her Andrejs was in prison, because of her and that ass Aksels, but see, she made herself to be this noble, white dove who visited him like a dream once a season. But she was absent at the same time. Naiveté—or rather, what was it called again?—immaturity. Exactly.
An immature infant. And a bitch. She comes to prison, but doesn’t breathe the air! That idiocy comes from books, of course. I am what I am, and where I am is where I am. But see—it’s easier to deny reality, to linger in the dream, to pretend, to observe.
Independence and betrayal. The entire breed of book readers are traitors! Because they use words however they see fit, and they’re as sly as foxes. They’ll forever twist the world into something they like better. Everyone else sees black, but they say it’s just the opposite of white. Obviously you can say it like that, too, but it will always be connected to a selfish purpose so tangled it’s sickening.
That was when the fight started. The time when he gave her his shirt as she left because it was pouring outside. May showers—loud and spattering, or in a gleeful disarray.
And she never came again. Just sent back the shirt with a note—Everything’s over for real now. Ieva.
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This most prominent of the Stoic philosophers studied in Athens with Kleanthis, and perhaps with Zeno as well, and wrote 500 lines per day, resulting in a total production of some 705 works, about half of which were dialectical writings, though only a few fragments have been saved.
He style was rather dry and ungraceful. He was the thinker who formulated Stoic doctrines, and who guided the school towards a scientific orientation. He believed that nothing was by chance, and that if the cause of something was not apparent, it still existed, that diseases served some divine agenda, either as punishment or as an opportunity to act morally. The universe was seen as one, ruled by divine Reason.
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Today’s Apostle is for the Holy Fathers, in this case of the 7th Ecumenical Council which we celebrate today. As many will know it was the 7th Council which settled the dispute over the legitimacy of icons. I say ‘settled’ because it was actually about another century before the decisions of the Council were universally accepted.
The Apostle is actually the final seven verses of St Paul’s epistle to Titus. The Epistles to Timothy and Titus are sometimes called the ‘Pastoral Epistles’ because they are addressed specifically to people, to people who are pastors and Paul, out of his experience as a pastor advises and encourages two of the next generation of church leaders.
Timothy and Titus were not apostles, but they have been called ‘apostolic men’. Timothy led the Church in Ephesus, and Titus the Church in Crete. Today they would have been referred to as bishops, but at that time the office of bishop was not entirely clear and the terms ‘bishop’ and ‘presbyter’ are often used interchangeably.
So in this portion of the Epistle Paul is setting out his final message before signing off. It is for Titus in his church, says Paul, to insist on ‘these things’, that is the particular matters about which he has been writing in the epistle. The reason is ‘so that those who have believed in God may be careful to apply themselves to good deeds; these are excellent and profitable to men.’
So there is a basic Gospel that Paul has proclaimed among them, and that Titus is to uphold: but Paul is also aware that the early Christians can be easily sidetracked. They are to avoid stupid controversies, genealogies, dissentions, and quarrels over the law’.
These ‘stupid controversies’ are the kind of things that the Jews considered to be very important. Genealogies were important to the Jew because those who could trace their ancestry to some prominent person in the past were often honoured in the present. Just as two obvious examples we could quote the Royal House of Judah, the descendants of David, and the Priestly Family, the descendants of Aaron, some of whom inherited the priestly office, and some of whom assisted the priests in the Temple. There were no doubt others, but the point is that in the Church, neither descent from David, or from Aaron were of any significance whatsoever. They conveyed no privileges to Christians, and to treat them as being of any importance was, in Paul’s words unprofitable and futile.
The other matter that Paul mentions is quarrels over the Law. That is the Jewish religious Law – the Law of Moses. This was a matter which had been of concern to Paul since he became an Apostle and a Christian missionary. As we read his epistles , and the Book of the Acts of the Apostles we find that time and time again he is having to show that the Gospel in most respects has superceded the Law. In many places Christian Jews were insisting that Gentile converts must accept the Law in all respects, and on one occasion Paul was forced to stand up against Peter, who had given in to Jewish pressures, and was no longer eating with Gentiles. These things are unprofitable and futile.
If such a person is found supporting these matters he is to be admonished twice, but if he ignores these admonitions he stands self-condemned. Paul does not draw the conclusion to this statement, but what we are to understand is that such a person is to be excluded from the Fellowship.
Paul’s Gospel is at the same time very simple and very clear. The Gospel that he declares is Christ, and Christ Crucified. Paul preached the Cross, but also the Resurrection whilst recognising that this was foolishness to the Greeks with their sophisticated wisdom and philosophy. In Athens the learned Greeks laughed at Paul, but at least some wanted to hear him further and were convinced.
But the Cross and the Resurrection of Christ were to be worked out in the lives of Christians who, after believing were to be baptised, and in that act entered themselves into the death and resurrection of Christ. To go down into the water, to be submerged in it was death and burial with Christ to be taken up out of the water was resurrection with him. That is what Christians celebrate every Pascha. It is not merely the remembrance and celebration of an historical event. It is a making present of an act in which we re-engage as we celebrate it once more.
And every time we celebrate the Eucharist, the Divine Liturgy, these events are again made present among us and also, with Christ, we present them before the heavenly altar, an act in which we can engage because we receive the Body and the Blood and in so doing renew and strengthen our relationship with him; our being in him.
In case we should feel superior, having understood all this, I have to point out that, although there are mainly different matters, for people to get hot under the collar about today there are real live issues.
Let us just briefly consider the temptations which might arise in Orthodox congregations in our day.
Nationalism within congregations where people feel that, although worshipping in Britain they are in touch with the Old Country and its customs. Then there is the phenomenon by which, for instance Roman Catholic converts become, as we say, more Catholic than the Pope. The same thing can happen among Orthodox converts. The insistence on customs which have perhaps originated amongst one particular stream of Orthodoxy: perhaps even the introduction of customs which do not belong to Orthodoxy at all, which may in themselves be neutral but can also be divisive.
Let us hold to the Gospel that we have received, perhaps many years before discovering Orthodoxy, and let us gladly receive and employ the many aids available in the Orthodox Church to enable what we have received to come to maturity within us.
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I spent my first night in the desert with an international cross section of people: A Swiss couple in their late 70s who had just circumnavigated the globe in a sailboat, three Australian law students on holiday (two men, one woman), one Aussie dropout with baby dreads (man), Lithuanian newlyweds, two dating thirty-somethings from Chile and Mexico who are grad students in Holland, and a solo young man from Japan en route to Times Square to see the ball drop. Together we rode through dunes on pungent camels and the entire way I was kicking myself for being so stupid. How did I get myself caught in this herd of tourists? What did I agree to that included a string of dromedaries and an “authentic” desert Berber decked out in Sean John jeans and a neon blue turban? I was the only rider not machine gunning my camera. Top it off with the guy on the camel behind me who, when he wasn’t trying to imitate the sound of a camel fart, kept making comments about scoring some weed. I fumed as the sun set the dunes on fire.
I battled my thoughts. I was a tourist, sure. But I was different. Right? Wrong. I was no better or worse than the rest of the crew: wide eyed with soft hands and a pocketful of money and opportunity. We all needed this sort of spoon-fed experience because otherwise, we’d probably not spend much time in the Sahara. I mean really, would I actually try and hoof it for miles into the dunes all alone? I’d probably get lost or be too scared to go big and disappear for a week. To see the Sahara I needed both transportation and information, and alone I had neither. If I was being honest with myself, I needed to admit that I actually enjoyed having people around. Not so much for companionship, but for the noise that humanity makes. I wasn’t special or different, and I needed an attitude adjustment.
We all sat around a giant table and waited for dinner. Cats swarmed and sat on laps. They knew food was coming. When the sun set, an erratic generator kicked in and illuminated the tent with inconsistent bursts of soft light. Our faces flickered as we took turns draping ourselves in woolen blankets. We waited two hours for soup and tagine, during which time folks told stories about themselves. The Swiss sea captain was like everyone’s grandfather. As he talked, his wife sat submissively next to him and only chimed in when he couldn’t remember the name of a port, which was often. “That was Sydney, dear,” or, “I think that was Algeria.” He told us he was in the Red Sea during the last big tsunami, and that later, when he sailed over the quake’s epicenter near Sumatra, he lost the use of all his instruments for six hours. He was 77 and didn’t start sailing until he was 60. Took him seven years to go around the world.
The Japanese man sat quietly, listening to everyone talk. The cats loved him, but he didn’t seem well-versed in cat, nor was he interested. Rather than push them off his lap, he just sat with a disgusted posture, looking down his nose at the overly-affectionate felines. His fancy camera sat on the table in front of him and he occasionally gave it a look, then brushed off cat hair that floated and landed on its body and lens.
The Aussies could have easily been characters in a film. They kept conversation alive by asking questions or making jokes. I found their dynamic curious. Both men seemed to be fond of the woman, Eva, but Eva seemed to be interested in only one of them—a guy named Zac with the nickname, “Bushy.” A mating dance ensued. There seemed no obvious jealousy between the men, but they both sought her attention. Bushy’s efforts never fell flat.
Before the sun was up, I awoke to the sound of two kids in the camp. I joined them by the warm coals of last night’s fire. They were maybe five and eight years old and named Yusef and Nora. We did our best to communicate, then I grabbed my notebook and drew pictures of animals which Nora promptly translated into Berber.
As the sun started to rise, I climbed to the top of a high dune and took a seat in the sand. Bushy and Eva joined me. Eva used her finger to write Z-A-C in the sand. She looked to him and he smiled. Then she wrote a ‘B’, then a ‘U’, then stopped and looked at him again. She continued with two Ts and poked a period at the end. “I bet you thought I was going to write ‘Bushy’?” He looked at the sand and said, “Zac Butt. That’s real cute.” They got up and raced to the water well where Bushy pulled up a bucket of murky water. In the desert you can hear voices from far away; I heard him say, “Do you think I should take a sip?” She laughed, then he dropped the bucket and they watched it fall to the bottom. Then ran off behind the tents.
Watching them reminded me how fantastic it is to feel new love. Odds are the best part of their story was what was happening right there. He was off to study in the Netherlands and she had a steady guy down under. If I had been alone, I’d have missed their careful display, their savoring of each moment, and that would have been a shame.
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Uncle Jeremy's Household
From The Arthur Conan Doyle Encyclopedia
Uncle Jeremy's Household is a short story written by Arthur Conan Doyle first published in The Boy's Own Paper between 8 january and 19 february 1887. Also published as The Mystery of Uncle Jeremy's Household.
In july or august 1885, Conan Doyle sent the manuscript of the story to Blackwood's Magazine but was returned on 10 august 1885.
- in The Boy's Own Paper (8 january - 19 february 1887 [UK]) 4 illustrations by Richard Caton Woodville
- in The Boy's Own Paper (february-march 1887 [UK])
- in Every Boy's Magazine (february-august 1907 [UK]) 3 illus. by Richard Caton Woodville
- in Notre-Dame de la mort (1905, Félix Juven [FR]) as Notre-Dame de la mort
- in Nouveaux Mystères et Aventures (1910, P.-V. Stock [FR]) as Notre-Dame de la mort
- in Adventure World No. 12 (Мир Приключений) (1912 [RU]) as Жрица тугов (Priestess of the tugs)
- in Nouveaux Mystères et Aventures (ca. 1920-1923, L'Édition Française Illustrée [FR]) as Notre-Dame de la mort
© Illustrations courtesy of Martyn Sutton.
Plot summary (spoiler)
Hugh Lawrence, a medical student, spend several weeks in the country house of the uncle of his friend John H. Thurston. Among the house's employees, he discovers two interesting characters: the young Indian housekeeper, Miss Warrender, and the private secretary of uncle Jeremy, Mr. Copperthorne. As the days pass, he discovers that these two diametrically opposed characters actually maintain a mysterious relationship. The secretary has a power on the young woman and she hates him. By observing and watching the two employees he realizes that the secretary projects to kill the uncle of his friend. Mr Copperthorne knows that Miss Warrender is a member of the Thug sect, an Indian caste of assassins. Using blackmail he persuades her to kill the uncle on the evening. Lawrence hide at a location where he can prevent the murder. He sees Mr Copperthorne waiting for Miss Warrender when suddenly an Indian man appears from nowhere and kills Copperthorne then disappears in the night. In the meanwhile, Miss Warrender fled to London, never to be seen again.
Uncle Jeremy's Household
My life has been a somewhat chequered one, and it has fallen to my lot during the course of it to have had several unusual experiences. There is one episode, however, which is so surpassingly strange that whenever I look back to it it reduces the others to insignificance. It looks up out of the mists of the past, gloomy and fantastic, overshadowing the eventless years which preceded and which followed it.
It is not a story which I have often told. A few, but only a few, who know me well have heard the facts from my lips. I have been asked from time to time by these to narrate them to some assemblage of friends, but I have invariably refused, for I have no desire to gain a reputation as an amateur Munchausen. I have yielded to their wishes, however, so far as to draw up this written statement of the facts in connection with my visit to Dunkelthwaite.
Here is John Thurston's first letter to me. It is dated April 1862. I take it from my desk and copy it as it stands:
"My dear Lawrence,—if you knew my utter loneliness and complete ennui I am sure you would have pity upon me and come up to share my solitude. You have often made vague promises of visiting Dunkelthwaite and having a look at the Yorkshire Fells. What time could suit you better than the present? Of course I understand that you are hard at work, but as you are not actually taking out classes you can read just as well here as in Baker Street. Pack up your books, like a good fellow, and come along! We have a snug little room, with writing-desk and armchair, which will just do for your study. Let me know when we may expect you. "When I say that I am lonely I do not mean that there is any lack of people in the house. On the contrary, we form rather a large household. First and foremost, of course, comes my poor Uncle Jeremy, garrulous and imbecile, shuffling about in his list slippers, and composing, as is his wont, innumerable bad verses. I think I told you when last we met of that trait in his character. It has attained such a pitch that he has an amanuensis, whose sole duty it is to copy down and preserve these effusions. This fellow, whose name is Copperthorne, has become as necessary to the old man as his foolscap or as the 'Universal Rhyming Dictionary.' I can't say I care for him myself, but then I have always shared Caesar's prejudice against lean men—though, by the way, little Julius was rather inclined that way himself if we may believe the medals. Then we have the two children of my Uncle Samuel, who were adopted by Jeremy—there were three of them, but one has gone the way of all flesh—and their governess, a stylish-looking brunette with Indian blood in her veins. Besides all these, there are three maidservants and/the old groom, so you see we have quite a little world of our own in this out-of-the- way corner. For all that, my dear Hugh, I long for a familiar face and for a congenial companion. I am deep in chemistry myself, so I won't interrupt your studies. Write by return to your isolated friend,
"JOHN H. THURSTON."
At the time that I received this letter I was in lodgings in London, and was working hard for the final examination which should make me a qualified medical man. Thurston and I had been close friends at Cambridge before I took to the study of medicine, and I had a great desire to see him again. On the other hand, I was rather afraid that, in spite of his assurances, my studies might suffer by the change. I pictured to myself the childish old man, the lean secretary, the stylish governess, the two children, probably spoiled and noisy, and I came to the conclusion that when we were all cooped together in one country house there would be very little room for quiet reading. At the end of two days' cogitation I had almost made up my mind to refuse the invitation, when I received another letter from Yorkshire even more pressing than the first.
"We expect to hear from you by every post," my friend said, "and there is never a knock that I do not think it is a telegram announcing your train. Your room is all ready, and I think you will find it comfortable. Uncle Jeremy bids me say how very happy he will be to see you. He would have written, but he is absorbed in a great epic poem of five thousand lines or so, and he spends his day trotting about the rooms, while Copperthorne stalks behind him like the monster in Frankenstein, with notebook and pencil, jotting down the words of wisdom as they drop from his lips. By the way, I think I mentioned the brunettish governess to you. I might throw her out as a bait to you if you retain your taste for ethnological studies. She is the child of an Indian chieftain, whose wife was an Englishwoman. He was killed in the mutiny, fighting against us, and, his estates being seized by Government, his daughter, then fifteen, was left almost destitute. Some charitable German merchant in Calcutta adopted her, it seems, and brought her over to Europe with him together with his own daughter. The latter died, and then Miss Warrender — as we call her, after her mother—answered uncle's advertisement; and here she is. Now, my dear boy, stand not upon the order of your coming, but come at once."
There were other things in this second letter which prevent me from quoting it in full.
There was no resisting the importunity of my old friend, so, with many inward grumbles, I hastily packed up my books, and, having telegraphed overnight, started for Yorkshire the first thing in the morning. I well remember that it was a miserable day, and that the journey seemed to be an interminable one as I sat huddled up in a corner of the draughty carriage, revolving in my mind many problems of surgery and of medicine. I had been warned that the little wayside station of Ingleton, some fifteen miles from Carnforth, was the nearest to my destination, and there I alighted just as John Thurston came dashing down the country road in a high dog-cart. He waved his whip enthusiastically at the sight of me, and pulling up his horse with a jerk, sprang out and on to the platform.
"My dear Hugh," he cried, "I'm so delighted to see you! It's so kind of you to come!" He wrung my hand until my arm ached.
"I'm afraid you'll find me very bad company now that I am here," I answered; "I am up to my eyes in work."
"Of course, of course," he said, in his good-humoured way. "I reckoned on this. We'll have time for a crack at the rabbits for all that. It's a longish drive, and you must be bitterly cold, so let's start for home at once."
We rattled off along the dusty road.
"I think you'll like your room," my friend remarked. "You'll soon find yourself at home. You know it is not often that I visit Dunkelthwaite myself, and I am only just beginning to settle down and get my laboratory into working order. I have been here a fortnight. It's an open secret that I occupy a prominent position in old Uncle Jeremy's will, so my father thought it only right that I should come up and do the polite. Under the circumstances I can hardly do less than put myself out a little now and again."
"Certainly not," I said.
"And besides, he's a very good old fellow. You'll be amused at our ménage. A princess for governess—it sounds well, doesn't it? I think our imperturbable secretary is somewhat gone in that direction. Turn up your coat-collar, for the wind is very sharp."
The road ran over a succession of low bleak hills, which were devoid of all vegetation save a few scattered gorse-bushes and a thin covering of stiff wiry grass, which gave nourishment to a scattered flock of lean, hungry-looking sheep. Alternately we dipped down into a hollow or rose to the summit of an eminence from which we could see the road winding as a thin white track over successive hills beyond. Every here and there the monotony of the landscape was broken by jagged scarps, where the grey granite peeped grimly out, as though nature had been sorely wounded until her gaunt bones protruded through their covering. In the distance lay a range of mountains, with one great peak shooting up from amongst them coquettishly draped in a wreath of clouds which reflected the ruddy light of the setting sun.
"That's Ingleborough," my companion said, indicating the mountain with his whip, "and these are the Yorkshire Fells. You won't find a wilder, bleaker place in all England. They breed a good race of men. The raw militia who beat the Scotch chivalry at the Battle of the Standard came from this part of the country. Just jump down, old fellow and open the gate."
We had pulled up at a place where a long moss-grown wall ran parallel to the road. It was broken by a dilapidated iron gate, flanked by two pillars, on the summit of which were stone devices which appeared to represent some heraldic animal, though wind and rain had reduced them to shapeless blocks. A ruined cottage, which may have served at some time as a lodge, stood on one side. I pushed the gate open and we drove up a long, winding avenue, grass- grown and uneven, but lined by magnificent oaks, which shot their branches so thickly over us that the evening twilight deepened suddenly into darkness.
"I'm afraid our avenue won't impress you much," Thurston said, with a laugh. "It's one of the old man's whims to let nature have her way in everything. Here we are at last at Dunkelthwaite."
As he spoke we swung round a curve in the avenue marked by a patriarchal oak which towered high above the others, and came upon a great square whitewashed house with a lawn in front of it. The lower part of the building was all in shadow, but up at the top a row of blood-shot windows glimmered out at the setting sun. At the sound of the wheels an old man in livery ran out and seized the horse's head when we pulled up.
"You can put her up, Elijah," my friend said, as we jumped down. "Hugh, let me introduce you to my Uncle Jeremy."
"How d'ye do? How d'ye do?" cried a wheezy cracked voice, and looking up I saw a little red-faced man who was standing waiting for us in the porch. He wore a cotton cloth tied round his head after the fashion of Pope and other eighteenth-century celebrities, and was further distinguished by a pair of enormous slippers. These contrasted so strangely with his thin spindle shanks that he appeared to be wearing snowshoes, a resemblance which was heightened by the fact that when he walked he was compelled to slide his feet along the ground in order to retain his grip of these unwieldly appendages.
"You must be tired, sir. Yes, and cold, sir," he said, in a strange jerky way, as he shook me by the hand. "We must be hospitable to you, we must indeed. Hospitality is one of the old-world virtues which we still retain. Let me see, what are those lines? 'Ready and strong the Yorkshire arm, but oh, the Yorkshire heart is warm?' Neat and terse, sir. That comes from one of my poems. What poem is it, Copperthorne?"
"'The Harrying of Borrodaile'," said a voice behind him, and a tall long-visaged man stepped forward into the circle of light which was thrown by the lamp above the porch. John introduced us, and I remember that his hand as I shook it was cold and unpleasantly clammy.
This ceremony over, my friend led the way to my room, passing through many passages and corridors connected by old-fashioned and irregular staircases. I noticed as I passed the thickness of the walls and the strange slants and angles of the ceilings, suggestive of mysterious spaces above. The chamber set apart for me proved, as John had said, to be a cheery little sanctum with a crackling fire and a well-stocked bookcase. I began to think as I pulled on my slippers that I might have done worse after all than accept this Yorkshire invitation.
When we descended to the dining-room the rest of the household had already assembled for dinner. Old Jeremy, still wearing his quaint headgear, sat at the head of the table. Next to him, on his right, sat a very dark young lady with black hair and eyes, who was introduced to me as Miss Warrender. Beside her were two pretty children, a boy and a girl, who were evidently her charges. I sat opposite her, with Copperthorne on my left, while John faced his uncle. I can almost fancy now that I can see the yellow glare of the great oil lamp throwing Rembrandt-like lights and shades upon the ring of faces, some of which were soon to have so strange an interest for me.
It was a pleasant meal, apart from the excellence of the viands and the fact that the long journey had sharpened my appetite. Uncle Jeremy overflowed with anecdote and quotation, delighted to have found a new listener. Neither Miss Warrender nor Copperthorne spoke much, but all that the latter said bespoke the thoughtful and educated man. As to John, he had so much to say of college reminiscences and subsequent events that I fear his dinner was a scanty one.
When the dessert was put on the table Miss Warrender took the children away, and Uncle Jeremy withdrew into the library, where we could hear the dull murmur of his voice as he dictated to his amanuensis. My old friend and I sat for some time before the fire discussing the many things which had happened to both of us since our last meeting.
"And what do you think of our household?" he asked at last, with a smile.
I answered that I was very much interested with what I had seen of it. "Your uncle," I said, "is quite a character. I like him very much."
"Yes; he has a warm heart behind all his peculiarities. Your coming seems to have cheered him up, for he's never been quite himself since little Ethel's death. She was the youngest of Uncle Sam's children, and came here with the others, but she had a fit or something in the shrubbery a couple of months ago. They found her lying dead there in the evening. It was a great blow to the old man."
"It must have been to Miss Warrender too?" I remarked.
"Yes; she was very much cut up. She had only been here a week or two at the time. She had driven over to Kirby Lonsdale that day to buy something."
"I was very much interested," I said, "in all that you told me about her. You were not chaffing, I suppose?"
"No, no; it's true as gospel. Her father was Achmet Genghis Khan, a semi-independent chieftain somewhere in the Central Provinces. He was a bit of a heathen fanatic in spite of his Christian wife, and he became chummy with the Nana, and mixed himself up in the Cawnpore business, so Government came down heavily on him."
"She must have been quite a woman before she left her tribe," I said. "What view of religion does she take? Does she side with her father or mother?"
"We never press that question," my friend answered. "Between ourselves, I don't think she's very orthodox. Her mother must have been a good woman, and besides teaching her English, she is a good French scholar, and plays remarkably well. Why, there she goes!"
As he spoke the sound of a piano was heard from the next room, and we both paused to listen. At first the player struck a few isolated notes, as though uncertain how to proceed. Then came a series of clanging chords and jarring discords, until out of the chaos there suddenly swelled a strange barbaric march, with blare of trumpet and crash of cymbal. Louder and louder it pealed forth in a gust of wild melody, and then died away once more into the jerky chords which had preceded it. Then we heard the sound of the shutting of the piano, and the music was at an end.
"She does that every night," my friend remarked; "I suppose it is some Indian reminiscence. Picturesque, don't you think so? Now don't stay here longer than you wish. Your room is ready whenever you would like to study."
I took my companion at his word and left him with his uncle and Copperthorne, who had returned into the room, while I went upstairs and read Medical Jurisprudence for a couple of hours. I imagined that I should see no more of the inhabitants of Dunkelthwaite that night, but I was mistaken, for about ten o'clock Uncle Jeremy thrust his little red face into the room.
"All comfortable?" he asked.
"Excellent, thanks," I answered.
"That's right. Keep at it. Sure to succeed," he said, in his spasmodic way. "Good night!"
"Good night!" I answered.
"Good night!" said another voice from the passage; and looking out I saw the tall figure of the secretary gliding along at the old man's heels like a long dark shadow.
I went back to my desk and worked for another hour, after which I retired to bed, where I pondered for some time before I dropped to sleep over the curious household of which I had become a member.
I was up betimes in the morning and out on the lawn, where I found Miss Warrender, who was picking primroses and making them into a little bunch for the breakfast-table. I approached her before she saw me, and I could not help admiring the beautiful litheness of her figure as she stooped over the flowers. There was a feline grace about her every movement such as I never remember to have seen in any woman. I recalled Thurston's words as to the impression which she had made upon the secretary, and ceased to wonder at it. As she heard my step, she stood up and turned her dark handsome face towards me.
"Good morning, Miss Warrender," I said. "You are an early riser, like myself."
"Yes," she answered. "I have always been accustomed to rise at daybreak."
"What a strange, wild view!" I remarked, looking out over the wide stretch of fells. "I am a stranger to this part of the country, like yourself. How do you like it?"
"I don't like it," she said, frankly. "I detest it. It is cold and bleak and wretched. Look at these"—holding up her bunch of primroses—"they call these things flowers. They have not even a smell."
"You have been used to a more genial climate and a tropical vegetation?"
"Oh, then, Mr. Thurston has been telling you about me," she said, with a smile. "Yes, I have been used to something better than this."
We were standing together when a shadow fell between us, and looking round I found that Copperthorne was standing close behind us. He held out his thin white hand to me with a constrained smile.
"You seem to be able to find your way about already," he remarked, glancing backwards and forwards from my face to that of Miss Warrender. "Let me hold your flowers for you, miss."
"No, thank you," the other said, coldly. "I have picked enough and am going inside."
She swept past him and across the lawn to the house. Copperthorne looked after her with a frowning brow.
"You are a student of medicine, Mr. Lawrence?" he said, turning towards me and stamping one of his feet up and down in a jerky, nervous fashion, as he spoke.
"Yes, I am."
"Oh, we have heard of you students of medicine," he cried in a raised voice, with a little crackling laugh. "You are dreadful fellows, are you not? We have heard of you. There is no standing against you."
"A medical student, sir," I answered, "is usually a gentleman."
"Quite so," he said, in a changed voice. "Of course I was only joking." Nevertheless I could not help noticing that at breakfast he kept his eyes persistently fixed upon me while Miss Warrender was speaking, and if I chanced to make a remark he would flash a glance round at her as though to read in our faces what our thoughts were of each other. It was clear that he took a more than common interest in the beautiful governess, and it seemed to me to be equally evident that his feelings were by no means reciprocated.
We had an illustration that morning of the simple nature of these primitive Yorkshire folk. It appears that the housemaid and the cook, who sleep together, were alarmed during the night by something which their superstitious minds contorted into an apparition. I was sitting after breakfast with Uncle Jeremy, who, with the help of continual promptings from his secretary, was reciting some Border poetry, when there was a tap at the door and the housemaid appeared. Close at her heels came the cook, buxom but timorous, the two mutually encouraging and abetting each other. They told their story in a strophe and antistrophe, like a Greek chorus, Jane talking until her breath failed, when the narrative was taken up by the cook, who, in turn, was supplanted by the other. Much of what they said was almost unintelligible to me owing to their extraordinary dialect, but I could make out the main thread of their story. It appears that in the early morning the cook had been awakened by something touching her face, and starting up had seen a shadowy figure standing by her bed, which figure had at once glided noiselessly from the room. The housemaid was awakened by the cook's cry, and averred stoutly that she had seen the apparition. No amount of cross-examination or reasoning could shake them, and they wound up by both giving notice, which was a practical way of showing that they were honestly scared. They seemed considerably indignant at our want of belief, and ended by bouncing out of the room, leaving Uncle Jeremy angry, Copperthorne contemptuous, and myself very much amused.
I spent nearly the whole of the second day of my visit in my room, and got over a considerable amount of work. In the evening John and I went down to the rabbit-warren with our guns. I told John as we came back of the absurd scene with the servants in the morning, but it did not seem to strike him in the same ridiculous light that it had me.
"The fact is," he said, "in very old houses like ours, where you have the timber rotten and warped, you get curious effects sometimes which predispose the mind to superstition. I have heard one or two things at night during this visit which might have frightened a nervous man, and still more an uneducated servant. Of course all this about apparitions is mere nonsense, but when once the imagination is excited there's no checking it."
"What have you heard, then?" I asked with interest.
"Oh, nothing of any importance," he answered. "Here are the youngsters and Miss Warrender. We mustn't talk about these things before her, or else we shall have her giving warning too, and that would be a loss to the establishment."
She was sitting on a little stile which stood on the outskirts of the wood which surrounds Dunkelthwaite, and the two children were leaning up against her, one on either side, with their hands clasped round her arms, and their chubby faces turned up to hers. It was a pretty picture and we both paused to look at it. She had heard our approach, however, and springing lightly down she came towards us, with the two little ones toddling behind her.
"You must aid me with the weight of your authority," she said to John. "These little rebels are fond of the night air and won't be persuaded to come indoors."
"Don't want to come," said the boy, with decision. "Want to hear the rest of the story."
"Yes — the 'tory," lisped the younger one.
"You shall hear the rest of the story to-morrow if you are good. Here is Mr. Lawrence, who is a doctor he will tell you how bad it is for little boys and girls to be out when the dew falls."
"So you have been hearing a story?" John said as we moved on together.
"Yes — such a good story!" the little chap said with enthusiasm. "Uncle Jeremy tells us stories, but they are in po'try and they are not nearly so nice as Miss Warrender's stories. This one was about elephants—"
"And tigers—and gold—" said the other.
"Yes, and wars and fighting, and the king of the Cheroots—"
"Rajpoots, my dear," said the governess.
"And the scattered tribes that know each other by signs, and the man that was killed in the wood. She knows splendid stories. Why don't you make her tell you some, Cousin John?"
"Really, Miss Warrender, you have excited our curiosity," my companion said. "You must tell us of these wonders."
"They would seem stupid enough to you," she answered, with a laugh. "They are merely a few reminiscences of my early life."
As we strolled along the pathway which led through the wood we met Copperthorne coming from the opposite direction.
"I was looking for you all," he said, with an ungainly attempt at geniality. "I wanted to tell you that it was dinner-time."
"Our watches told us that," said John, rather ungraciously as I thought.
"And you have been all rabbiting together?" the secretary continued, as he stalked along beside us.
"Not all," I answered. "We met Miss Warrender and the children on our way back."
"Oh, Miss Warrender came to meet you as you came back!" said he. This quick contortion of my words, together with the sneering way in which he spoke, vexed me so much that I should have made a sharp rejoinder had it not been for the lady's presence.
I happened to turn my eyes towards the governess at the moment, and I saw her glance at the speaker with an angry sparkle in her eyes which showed that she shared my indignation. I was surprised, however, that same night when about ten o'clock I chanced to look out of the window of my study, to see the two of them walking up and down in the moonlight engaged in deep conversation. I don't know how it was, but the sight disturbed me so much that after several fruitless attempts to continue my studies I threw my books aside and gave up work for the night. About eleven I glanced out again, but they were gone, and shortly afterwards I heard the shuffling step of Uncle Jeremy, and the firm heavy footfall of the secretary, as they ascended the staircase which led to their bedrooms upon the upper floor.
John Thurston was never a very observant man, and I believe that before I had been three days under his uncle's roof I knew more of what was going on there than he did. My friend was ardently devoted to chemistry, and spent his days happily among his test-tubes and solutions, perfectly contented so long as he had a congenial companion at hand to whom he could communicate his results. For myself, I have always had a weakness for the study and analysis of human character, and I found much that was interesting in the microcosm in which I lived. Indeed, I became so absorbed in my observations that I fear my studies suffered to a considerable extent.
In the first place, I discovered beyond all doubt that the real master of Dunkelthwaite was not Uncle Jeremy, but Uncle Jeremy's amanuensis. My medical instinct told me that the absorbing love of poetry, which had been nothing more than a harmless eccentricity in the old man's younger days, had now become a complete monomania, which filled his mind to the exclusion of every other subject. Copperthorne, by humouring his employer upon this one point until he had made himself indispensable to him, had succeeded in gaining complete power over him in everything else. He managed his money matters and the affairs of the house unquestioned and uncontrolled. He had sense enough, however, to exert his authority so lightly that it galled no one's neck, and therefore excited no opposition. My friend, busy with his distillations and analyses, was never allowed to realise that he was really a nonentity in the establishment.
I have already expressed my conviction that though Copperthorne had some tender feeling for the governess, she by no means favoured his addresses. After a few days I came to think, however, that there existed besides this unrequited affection some other link which bound the pair together. I had seen him more than once assume an air towards her which can only be described as one of authority. Two or three times also I had observed them pacing the lawn and conversing earnestly in the early hours of the night. I could not guess what mutual understanding existed between them, and the mystery piqued my curiosity.
It is proverbially easy to fall in love in a country house, but my nature has never been a sentimental one, and my judgment was not warped by any such feeling towards Miss Warrender. On the contrary, I set myself to study her as an entomologist might a specimen, critically, but without bias. With this object I used to arrange my studies in such a way as to be free at the times when she took the children out for exercise, so that we had many walks together, and I gained a deeper insight into her character than I should otherwise have done.
She was fairly well read, and had a superficial acquaintance with several languages, as well as a great natural taste for music. Underneath this veneer of culture, however, there was a great dash of the savage in her nature. In the course of her conversation she would every now and again drop some remark which would almost startle me by its primitive reasoning, and by its disregard for the conventionalities of civilisation. I could hardly wonder at this, however, when I reflected that she had been a woman before she left the wild tribe which her father ruled.
I remember one instance which struck me as particularly characteristic, in which her wild original habits suddenly asserted themselves. We were walking along the country road, talking of Germany, in which she had spent some months, when she suddenly stopped short and laid her finger upon her lips. "Lend me your stick!" she said, in a whisper. I handed it to her, and at once, to my astonishment, she darted lightly and noiselessly through a gap in the hedge, and bending her body, crept swiftly along under the shelter of a little knoll. I was still looking after her in amazement, when a rabbit rose suddenly in front of her and scuttled away. She hurled the stick after it and struck it, but the creature made good its escape, though trailing one leg behind it.
She came back to me exultant and panting. "I saw it move among the grass," she said. "I hit it."
"Yes, you hit it. You broke its leg," I said, somewhat coldly. "You hurt it," the little boy cried, ruefully.
"Poor little beast!" she exclaimed, with a sudden change in her whole manner. "I am sorry I harmed it." She seemed completely cast down by the incident, and spoke little during the remainder of our walk. For my own part I could not blame her much. It was evidently an outbreak of the old predatory instinct of the savage, though with a somewhat incongruous effect in the case of a fashionably dressed young lady on an English high road.
John Thurston made me peep into her private sitting-room one day when she was out. She had a thousand little Indian knickknacks there which showed that she had come well-laden from her native land. Her Oriental love for bright colours had exhibited itself in an amusing fashion. She had gone down to the market town and bought numerous sheets of pink and blue paper, and these she had pinned in patches over the sombre covering which had lined the walls before. She had some tinsel too, which she had put up in the most conspicuous places. The whole effect was ludicrously tawdry and glaring, and yet there seemed to me to be a touch of pathos in this attempt to reproduce the brilliance of the tropics in the cold English dwelling-house.
During the first few days of my visit the curious relationship which existed between Miss Warrender and the secretary had simply excited my curiosity, but as the weeks passed and I became more interested in the beautiful Anglo-Indian a deeper and more personal feeling took possession of me. I puzzled my brains as to what tie could exist between them. Why was it that while she showed every symptom of being averse to his company during the day she should walk about with him alone after nightfall? Could it be that the distaste which she showed for him before others was a blind to conceal her real feelings? Such a supposition seemed to involve a depth of dissimulation in her nature which appeared to be incompatible with her frank eyes and clear-cut proud features. And yet, what other hypothesis could account for the power which he most certainly exercised over her?
This power showed itself in many ways, but was exerted so quietly and silently that none but a close observer could have known that it existed. I have seen him glance at her with a look so commanding, and, as it seemed to me, so menacing, that next moment I could hardly believe that his white impassive face could be capable of so intense an expression. When he looked at her in this manner she would wince and quiver as though she had been in physical pain. "Decidedly," I thought, "it is fear and not love which produces such effects."
I was so interested in the question that I spoke to my friend John about it. He was in his little laboratory at the time, and was deeply immersed in a series of manipulations and distillations, which ended in the production of an evil-smelling gas, which set us both coughing and choking. I took advantage of our enforced retreat into the fresh air to question him upon one or two points on which I wanted information.
"How long did you say that Miss Warrender had been with your uncle?" I asked.
John looked at me slyly, and shook his acid-stained finger. "You seem to be wonderfully interested about the daughter of the late lamented Achmet Genghis," he said.
"Who could help it?" I answered, frankly. "I think she is one of the most romantic characters I ever met."
"Take care of the studies, my boy," John said, paternally. "This sort of thing doesn't do before examinations."
"Don't be ridiculous!" I remonstrated. "Any one would think that I was in love with Miss Warrender to hear the way in which you talk. I look on her as an interesting psychological problem, nothing more."
"Quite so—an interesting psychological problem, nothing more."
John seemed to have some of the vapours of the gas still hanging about his system, for his manner was decidedly irritating.
"To revert to my original question," I said. "How long has she been here?"
"About ten weeks."
"Over two years."
"Do you imagine that they could have known each other before?"
"Impossible!" said John, with decision. "She came from Germany. I saw the letter from the old merchant, in which he traced her previous life. Copperthorne has always been in Yorkshire except for two years at Cambridge. He had to leave the university under a cloud."
"What sort of a cloud?"
"Don't know," John answered. "They kept it very quiet. I fancy Uncle Jeremy knows. He's very fond of taking rapscallions up and giving them what he calls another start. Some of them will give him a start some of these fine days."
"And so Copperthorne and Miss Warrender were absolute strangers until the last few weeks?"
"Quite so; and now I think we can go back and analyse the sediment."
"Never mind the sediment," I cried, detaining him. "There's more I want to talk to you about. If these two have only known each other for this short time, how has he managed to gain his power over her?"
John stared at me open-eyed.
"His power?" he said.
"Yes, the power which he exercises over her."
"My dear Hugh," my friend said, gravely, "I'm not in the habit of thus quoting Scripture, but there is one text which occurs irresistibly to my mind, and that is, that 'Much learning bath made thee mad.' You've been reading too hard."
"Do you mean to say," I cried, "that you have never observed that there is some secret understanding between your uncle's governess and his amanuensis?"
"Try bromide of potassium," said John. "It's very soothing in twenty-grain doses."
"Try a pair of spectacles," I retorted, "you most certainly need them;" with which parting shot I turned on my heel and went off in high dudgeon. I had not gone twenty yards down the gravel walk of the garden before I saw the very couple of whom we had just been speaking. They were some little way off, she leaning against the sundial, he standing in front of her and speaking earnestly, with occasional jerky gesticulations. With his tall, gaunt figure towering above her, and the spasmodic motions of his long arms, he might have been some great bat fluttering over a victim. I remember that that was the simile which rose in my mind at the time, heightened perhaps by the suggestion of shrinking and of fear which seemed to me to lie in every curve of her beautiful figure.
The little picture was such an illustration of the text upon which I had been preaching, that I had half a mind to go back to the laboratory and bring the incredulous John out to witness it. Before I had time to come to a conclusion, however, Copperthorne caught a glimpse of me, and turning away, he strolled slowly in the opposite direction into the shrubbery, his companion walking by his side and cutting at the flowers as she passed with her sunshade.
I went up to my room after this small episode with the intention of pushing on with my studies, but do what I would my mind wandered away from my books in order to speculate upon this mystery.
I had learned from John that Copperthorne's antecedents were not of the best, and yet he had obviously gained enormous power over his almost imbecile employer. I could understand this fact by observing the infinite pains with which he devoted himself to the old man's hobby, and the consummate tact with which he humoured and encouraged his strange poetic whims. But how could I account for the to me equally obvious power which he wielded over the governess? She had no whims to be humoured. Mutual love might account for the tie between them, but my instinct as a man of the world and as an observer of human nature told me most conclusively that no such love existed. If not love, it must be fear—a supposition which was favoured by all that I had seen.
What, then, had occurred during these two months to cause this high-spirited, dark-eyed princess to fear the white-faced Englishman with the soft voice and the gentle manner? That was the problem which I set myself to solve with an energy and earnestness which eclipsed my ardour for study, and rendered me superior to the terrors of my approaching examination.
I ventured to approach the subject that same afternoon to Miss Warrender, whom I found alone in the library, the two little children having gone to spend the day in the nursery of a neighbouring squire.
"You must be rather lonely when there are no visitors," I remarked. "It does not seem to be a very lively part of the country."
"Children are always good companions," she answered. "Nevertheless I shall miss both Mr. Thornton and yourself very much when you go."
"I shall be sorry when the time comes," I said. "I never expected to enjoy this visit as I have done; still you won't be quite companionless when we are gone, you'll always have Mr. Copperthorne."
"Yes; we shall always have Mr. Copperthorne." She spoke with a weary intonation.
"He's a pleasant companion," I remarked; "quiet, well informed, and amiable. I don't wonder that old Mr. Thurston is so fond of him."
As I spoke in this way I watched my companion intently. There was a slight flush on her dark cheeks, and she drummed her fingers impatiently against the arms of the chair.
"His manner may be a little cold sometimes—" I was continuing, but she interrupted me, turning on me furiously, with an angry glare in her black eyes.
"What do you want to talk to me about him for?" she asked.
"I beg pardon," I answered, submissively, "I did not know it was a forbidden subject."
"I don't wish ever to hear his name," she cried, passionately. "I hate it and I hate him. Oh, if I had only some one who loved me—that is, as men love away over the seas in my own land, I know what I should say to him."
"What would you say?" I asked, astonished at this extraordinary outburst.
She leaned forward until I seemed to feel the quick pants of her warm breath upon my face.
"Kill Copperthorne," she said. "That is what I should say to him. Kill Copperthorne. Then you can come and talk of love to me."
Nothing can describe the intensity of fierceness with which she hissed these words out from between her white teeth.
She looked so venomous as she spoke that I involuntarily shrank away from her. Could this pythoness be the demure young lady who sat every day so primly and quietly at the table of Uncle Jeremy? I had hoped to gain some insight into her character by my leading question, but I had never expected to conjure up such a spirit as this. She must have seen the horror and surprise which was depicted on my face, for her manner changed and she laughed nervously.
"You must really think me mad," she said. "You see it is the Indian training breaking out again. We do nothing by halves over there—either loving or hating."
"And why is it that you hate Mr. Copperthorne?" I asked.
"Ah, well," she answered, in a subdued voice, "perhaps hate is rather too strong a term after all. Dislike would be better. There are some people you cannot help having an antipathy to, even though you are unable to give any exact reason."
It was evident that she regretted her recent outburst and was endeavouring to explain it away.
As I saw that she wished to change the conversation, I aided her to do so, and made some remark about a book of Indian prints which she had taken down before I came in, and which still lay upon her lap. Uncle Jeremy's collection was an extensive one, and was particularly rich in works of this class.
"They are not very accurate," she said, turning over the many-coloured leaves. "This is good, though," she continued, picking out a picture of a chieftain clad in chain mail with a picturesque turban upon his head. "This is very good indeed. My father was dressed like that when he rode down on his white charger and led all the warriors of the Dooab to do battle with the Feringhees. My father was chosen out from amongst them all, for they knew that Achmet Genghis Khan was a great priest as well as a great soldier. The people would be led by none but a tried Borka. He is dead now, and of all those who followed his banner there are none who are not scattered or slain, whilst I, his daughter, am a servant in a far land."
"No doubt you will go back to India some day," I said, in a somewhat feeble attempt at consolation.
She turned the pages over listlessly for a few moments without answering. Then she gave a sudden little cry of pleasure as she paused at one of the prints.
"Look at this," she cried, eagerly. "It is one of our wanderers. He is a Bhuttotee. It is very like."
The picture which excited her so was one which represented a particularly uninviting-looking native with a small instrument which looked like a miniature pickaxe in one hand, and a striped handkerchief or roll of linen in the other.
"That handkerchief is his roomal," she said. "Of course he wouldn't go about with it openly like that, nor would he bear the sacred axe, but in every other respect he is as he should be. Many a time have I been with such upon the moonless nights when the Lughaees were on ahead and the heedless stranger heard the Pilhaoo away to the left and knew not what it might mean. Ah! that was a life that was worth the living!"
"And what may a roomal be—and the Lughaee and all the rest of it?" I asked.
"Oh, they are Indian terms," she answered, with a laugh. "You would not understand them."
"But," I said, "this picture is marked as Dacoit, and I always thought that a Dacoit was a robber."
"That is because the English know no better," she observed. "Of course, Dacoits are robbers, but they call many people robbers who are not really so. Now this man is a holy man and in all probability a Gooroo."
She might have given me more information upon Indian manners and customs, for it was a subject upon which she loved to talk; but suddenly as I watched her I saw a change come over her face, and she gazed with a rigid stare at the window behind me. I looked round, and there peering stealthily round the corner at us was the face of the amanuensis. I confess that I was startled myself at the sight, for, with its corpse-like pallor, the head might have been one which had been severed from his shoulders. He threw open the sash when he saw that he was observed.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you," he said, looking in, "but don't you think, Miss Warrender, that it is a pity to be boxed up on such a fine day in a close room? Won't you come out and take a stroll?"
Though his words were courteous they were uttered in a harsh and almost menacing voice, so as to sound more like a command than a request. The governess rose, and without protest or remark glided away to put on her bonnet. It was another example of Copperthorne's authority over her. As he looked in at me through the open window a mocking smile played about his thin lips, as though he would have liked to have taunted me with this display of his power. With the sun shining in behind him he might have been a demon in a halo. He stood in this manner for a few moments gazing in at me with concentrated malice upon his face. Then I heard his heavy footfall scrunching along the gravel path as he walked round in the direction of the door.
For some days after the interview in which Miss Warrender confessed her hatred of the secretary, things ran smoothly at Dunkelthwaite. I had several long conversations with her as we rambled about the woods and fields with the two little children, but I was never able to bring her round to the subject of her outburst in the library, nor did she tell me anything which threw any light at all upon the problem which interested me so deeply. Whenever I made any remark which might lead in that direction she either answered me in a guarded manner or else discovered suddenly that it was high time that the children were back in their nursery, so that I came to despair of ever learning anything from her lips.
During this time I studied spasmodically and irregularly. Occasionally old Uncle Jeremy would shuffle into my room with a roll of manuscript in his hand, and would read me extracts from his great epic poem. Whenever I felt in need of company I used to go a-visiting to John's laboratory, and he in his turn would come to my chamber if he were lonely. Sometimes I used to vary the monotony of my studies by taking my books out into an arbour in the shrubbery and working there during the day. As to Copperthorne, I avoided him as much as possible, and he, for his part, appeared to be by no means anxious to cultivate my acquaintance.
One day about the second week in June, John came to me with a telegram in his hand and look of considerable disgust upon his face. "Here's a pretty go!" he cried. "The governor wants me to go up at once and meet him in London. It's some legal business, I suppose. He was always threatening to set his affairs in order, and now he has got an energetic fit and intends to do it."
"I suppose you won't be gone long?" I said.
"A week or two perhaps. It's rather a nuisance, just when I was in a fair way towards separating that alkaloid."
"You'll find it there when you come back," I said laughing. "There's no one here who is likely to separate it in your absence."
"What bothers me most is leaving you here," he continued. "It seems such an inhospitable thing to ask a fellow down to a lonely place like this and then to run away and leave him."
"Don't you mind about me," I answered, "I have too much to do to be lonely. Besides, I have found attractions in this place which I never expected. I don't think any six weeks of my life have ever passed more quickly than the last."
"Oh, they passed quickly, did they?" said John, and sniggered to himself. I am convinced that he was still under the delusion that I was hopelessly in love with the governess.
He went off that day by the early train, promising to write and tell us his address in town, for he did not know yet at which hotel his father would put up. I little knew what a difference this trifle would make, nor what was to occur before I set eyes upon my friend once more. At the time I was by no means grieved at his departure. It brought the four of us who were left into closer apposition, and seemed to favour the solving of that problem in which I found myself from day to day becoming more interested.
About a quarter of a mile from the house of Dunkelthwaite there is a straggling little village of the same name, consisting of some twenty or thirty slate-roofed cottages, with an ivy-clad church hard by and the inevitable beerhouse. On the afternoon of the very day on which John left us, Miss Warrender and the two children walked down to the post-office there, and I volunteered to accompany them.
Copperthorne would have liked well to have either prevented the excursion or to have gone with us, but fortunately Uncle Jeremy was in the throes of composition, and the services of his secretary were indispensable to him. It was a pleasant walk, I remember, for the road was well shaded by trees, and the birds were singing merrily overhead. We strolled along together, talking of many things, while the little boy and girl ran on, laughing and romping.
Before you get to the post-office you have to pass the beerhouse already mentioned. As we walked down the village street we became conscious that a small knot of people had assembled in front of this building. There were a dozen or so ragged boys and draggle-tailed girls, with a few bonnetless women, and a couple of loungers from the bar—probably as large an assemblage as ever met together in the annals of that quiet neighbourhood. We could not see what it was that was exciting their curiosity, but the children scampered on and quickly returned brimful of information.
"Oh, Miss Warrender," Johnnie cried, as he dashed up, panting and eager, "there's a black man there like the ones you tell us stories about!"
"A gipsy, I suppose," I said.
"No, no," said Johnnie, with decision; "he is blacker than that, isn't he, May?"
"Blacker than that," the little girl echoed.
"I suppose we had better go and see what this wonderful apparition is," I said.
As I spoke I glanced at my companion. To my surprise, she was very pale, and her great black eyes appeared to be luminous with suppressed excitement.
"Aren't you well?" I asked.
"Oh, yes. Come on!" she cried, eagerly, quickening her step; "come on!"
It was certainly a curious sight which met our eyes when we joined the little circle of rustics. It reminded me of the description of the opium-eating Malay whom De Quincey saw in the farmhouse in Scotland. In the centre of the circle of homely Yorkshire folk there stood an Oriental wanderer, tall, lithe, and graceful, his linen clothes stained with dust and his brown feet projecting through his rude shoes. It was evident that he had travelled far and long. He had a heavy stick in his hand, on which he leaned, while his dark eyes looked thoughtfully away into space, careless apparently of the throng around him. His picturesque attire, with his coloured turban and swarthy face, had a strange and incongruous effect amongst all the prosaic surroundings.
"Poor fellow!" Miss Warrender said to me, speaking in an excited, gasping voice. "He is tired and hungry, no doubt, and cannot explain his wants. I will speak to him;" and, going up to the Indian, she said a few words in his native dialect.
Never shall I forget the effect which those few syllables produced. Without a word the wanderer fell straight down upon his face on the dusty road and absolutely grovelled at the feet of my companion. I had read of Eastern forms of abasement when in the presence of a superior, but I could not have imagined that any human could have expressed such abject humility as was indicated in this man's attitude.
Miss Warrender spoke again in a sharp and commanding voice, on which he sprang to his feet and stood with his hands clasped and his eyes cast down, like a slave in the presence of his mistress. The little crowd, who seemed to think that the sudden prostration had been the prelude to some conjuring feat or acrobatic entertainment, looked on amused and interested.
"Should you mind walking on with the children and posting the letters?" the governess said. "I should like to have a word with this man."
I complied with her request, and when I returned in a few minutes the two were still conversing. The Indian appeared to be giving a narrative of his adventures or detailing the causes of his journey, for he spoke rapidly and excitedly, with quivering fingers and gleaming eyes. Miss Warrender listened intently, giving an occasional start or exclamation, which showed how deeply the man's statement interested her.
"I must apologise for detaining you so long in the sun," she said, turning to me at last. "We must go home, or we shall be late for dinner."
With a few parting sentences, which sounded like commands, she left her dusky acquaintance still standing in the village street, and we strolled homewards with the children.
"Well?" I asked, with natural curiosity, when we were out of earshot of the visitors. "Who is he, and what is he?"
"He comes from the Central Provinces, near the land of the Mahrattas. He is one of us. It has been quite a shock to me to meet a fellow-countryman so unexpectedly; I feel quite upset."
"It must have been pleasant for you," I remarked.
"Yes, very pleasant," she said, heartily.
"And why did he fall down like that?"
"Because he knew me to be the daughter of Achmet Genghis Khan," she said, proudly.
"And what chance has brought him here?"
"Oh, it's a long story," she said, carelessly. "He has led a wandering life. How dark it is in this avenue, and how the great branches shoot across! If you were to crouch on one of those you could drop down on the back of any one who passed, and they would never know that you were there until they felt your fingers on their throat."
"What a horrible idea!" I exclaimed.
"Gloomy places always give me gloomy thoughts," she said, lightly. "By the way, I want you to do me a favour, Mr. Lawrence."
"What is that?" I asked.
"Don't say anything at the house about this poor compatriot of mine. They might think him a rogue and a vagabond, you know, and order him to be driven from the village."
"I'm sure Mr. Thurston would do nothing so unkind."
"No; but Mr. Copperthorne might."
"Just as you like," I said; "but the children are sure to tell."
"No, I think not," she answered.
I don't know how she managed to curb their little prattling tongues, but they certainly preserved silence upon the point, and there was no talk that evening of the strange visitor who had wandered into our little hamlet.
I had a shrewd suspicion that this stranger from the tropics was no chance wanderer, but had come to Dunkelthwaite upon some set errand. Next day I had the best possible evidence that he was still in the vicinity, for I met Miss Warrender coming down the garden walk with a basketful of scraps of bread and of meat in her hand. She was in the habit of taking these leavings to sundry old women in the neighbourhood, so I offered to accompany her.
"Is it old Dame Venables or old Dame Taylforth to-day?" I asked.
"Neither one nor the other," she said, with a smile. "I'll tell you the truth, Mr. Lawrence, because you have always been a good friend to me, and I feel I can trust you. These scraps are for my poor countryman. I'll hang the basket here on this branch, and he will get it."
"Oh, he's still about, then," I observed.
"Yes, he's still in the neighbourhood."
"You think he will find it?"
"Oh, trust him for that," she said. "You don't blame me for helping him, do you? You would do the same if you lived among Indians and suddenly came upon an Englishman. Come to the hothouse and look at the flowers."
We walked round to the conservatory together. When we came back the basket was still hanging to the branch, but the contents were gone. She took it down with a laugh and carried it in with her.
It seemed to me that since this interview with her countryman the day before her spirits had become higher and her step freer and more elastic. It may have been imagination, but it appeared to me also that she was not as constrained as usual in the presence of Copperthorne, and that she met his glances more fearlessly, and was less under the influence of his will.
And now I am coming to that part of this statement of mine which describes how I first gained an insight into the relation which existed between those two strange mortals, and learned the terrible truth about Miss Warrender, or of the Princess Achmet Genghis, as I should prefer to call her, for assuredly she was the descendant of the fierce fanatical warrior rather than of her gentle mother.
To me the revelation came as a shock, the effect of which I can never forget. It is possible that in the way in which I have told the story, emphasising those facts which had a bearing upon her, and omitting those which had not, my readers have already detected the strain which ran in her blood. As for myself, I solemnly aver that up to the last moment I had not the smallest suspicion of the truth. Little did I know what manner of woman this was, whose hand I pressed in friendship, and whose voice was music to my ears. Yet it is my belief, looking back, that she was really well disposed to me, and would not willingly have harmed me.
It was in this manner that the revelation came about. I think I have mentioned that there was a certain arbour in the shrubbery in which I was accustomed to study during the daytime. One night, about ten o'clock, I found on going to my room that I had left a book on gynecology in this summer-house, and as I intended to do a couple of hours' work before turning in, I started off with the intention of getting it. Uncle Jeremy and the servants had already gone to bed, so I slipped downstairs very quietly and turned the key gently in the front door. Once in the open air, I hurried rapidly across the lawn, and so into the shrubbery, with the intention of regaining my property and returning as rapidly as possible.
I had hardly passed the little wooden gate and entered the plantation before I heard the sound of talking, and knew that I had chanced to stumble upon one of those nocturnal conclaves which I had observed from my window. The voices were those of the secretary and of the governess, and it was clear to me, from the direction in which they sounded, that they were sitting in the arbour and conversing together without any suspicion of the presence of a third person. I have ever held that eavesdropping, under any circumstances, is a dishonourable practice, and curious as I was to know what passed between these two, I was about to cough or give some other signal of my presence, when suddenly I heard some words of Copperthorne's which brought me to a halt with every faculty overwhelmed with horrified amazement.
"They'll think he died of apoplexy," were the words which sounded clearly and distinctly through the peaceful air in the incisive tones of the amanuensis.
I stood breathless, listening with all my ears. Every thought of announcing my presence had left me. What was the crime which these ill-assorted conspirators were hatching upon this lovely summer's night.
I heard the deep sweet tones of her voice, but she spoke so rapidly, and in such a subdued manner, that I could not catch the words. I could tell by the intonation that she was under the influence of deep emotion. I drew nearer on tip-toe, with my ears straining to catch every sound. The moon was not up yet, and under the shadows of the trees it was very dark. There was little chance of my being observed.
"Eaten his bread, indeed!" the secretary said, derisively. "You are not usually so squeamish. You did not think of that in the case of little Ethel."
"I was mad! I was mad!" she ejaculated in a broken voice. "I had prayed much to Buddha and to the great Bhowanee, and it seemed to me that in this land of unbelievers it would be a great and glorious thing for me, a lonely woman, to act up to the teachings of my great father. There are few women who are admitted into the secrets of our faith, and it was but by an accident that the honour came upon me. Yet, having once had the path pointed out to me, I have walked straight and fearlessly, and the great Gooroo Ramdeen Singh has said that even in my fourteenth year I was worthy to sit upon the cloth of the Tupounee with the other Bhuttotees. Yet I swear by the sacred pickaxe that I have grieved much over this, for what had the poor child done that she should be sacrificed!"
"I fancy that my having caught you has had more to do with your repentance than the moral aspect of the case," Copperthorne said, with a sneer. "I may have had my misgivings before, but it was only when I saw you rising up with the handkerchief in your hand that I knew for certain that we were honoured by the presence of a Princess of the Thugs. An English scaffold would be rather a prosaic end for such a romantic being."
"And you have used your knowledge ever since to crush all the life out of me," she said, bitterly. "You have made my existence a burden to me."
"A burden to you!" he said, in an altered voice. "You know what my feelings are towards you. If I have occasionally governed you by the fear of exposure it was only because I found you were insensible to the milder influence of love."
"Love!" she cried, bitterly. "How could I love a man who held a shameful death for ever before my eyes. But let us come to the point. You promise me my unconditional liberty if I do this one thing for you?"
"Yes," Copperthorne answered; "you may go where you will when this is done. I shall forget what I saw here in the shrubbery."
"You swear it?"
"Yes, I swear it."
"I would do anything for my freedom," she said.
"We can never have such a chance again," Copperthorne cried. "Young Thurston is gone, and this friend of his sleeps heavily, and is too stupid to suspect. The will is made out in my favour, and if the old man dies every stock and stone of the great estate will be mine."
"Why don't you do it yourself, then?" she asked.
"It's not in my line," he said. "Besides, I have not got the knack. That roomal, or whatever you call it, leaves no mark. That's the advantage of it."
"It is an accursed thing to slay one's benefactor."
"But it is a great thing to serve Bhowanee, the goddess of murder. I know enough of your religion to know that. Would not your father do it if he were here?"
"My father was the greatest of all the Borkas of Jublepore," she said, proudly. "He has slain more than there are days in the year."
"I wouldn't have met him for a thousand pounds," Copperthorne remarked, with a laugh. "But what would Achmet Genghis Khan say now if he saw his daughter hesitate with such a chance before her of serving the gods? You have done excellently so far. He may well have smiled when the infant soul of young Ethel was wafted up to this god or ghoul of yours. Perhaps this is not the first sacrifice you have made. How about the daughter of this charitable German merchant? Ah, I see in your face that I am right again! After such deeds you do wrong to hesitate now when there is no danger and all shall be made easy to you. Besides that, the deed will free you from your existence here, which cannot be particularly pleasant with a rope, so to speak, round your neck the whole time. If it is to be done it must be done at once. He might rewrite his will at any moment, for he is fond of the lad, and is as changeable as a weather-cock."
There was a long pause, and a silence so profound that I seemed to hear my own heart throbbing in the darkness.
"When shall it be done?" she asked at last.
"Why not to-morrow night?"
"How am I to get to him?"
"I shall leave his door open," Copperthorne said. "He sleeps heavily, and I shall leave a night-light burning, so that you may see your way."
"Afterwards you will return to your room. In the morning it will be discovered that our poor employer has passed away in his sleep. It will also be found that he has left all his worldly goods as a slight return for the devoted labours of his faithful secretary. Then the services of Miss Warrender the governess being no longer required, she may go back to her beloved country or to anywhere else that she fancies. She can run away with Mr. John Lawrence, student of medicine, if she pleases."
"You insult me," she said, angrily; and then, after a pause. "You must meet me to-morrow night before I do this."
"Why so?" he asked.
"Because there may be some last instructions which I may require."
"Let it be here, then, at twelve," he said.
"No, not here. It is too near the house. Let us meet under the great oak at the head of the avenue."
"Where you will," he answered, sulkily; "but mind, I'm not going to be with you when you do it."
"I shall not ask you," she said, scornfully. "I think we have said all that need be said to-night."
I heard the sound of one or other of them rising to their feet, and though they continued to talk I did not stop to hear more, but crept quietly out from my place of concealment and scudded across the dark lawn and in through the door, which I closed behind me. It was only when I had regained my room and had sunk back into my armchair that I was able to collect my scattered senses and to think over the terrible conversation to which I had listened. Long into the hours of the night I sat motionless, meditating over every word that I had heard and endeavouring to form in my mind some plan of action for the future.
The Thugs! I had heard of the wild fanatics of that name who are found in the central part of India, and whose distorted religion represents murder as being the highest and purest of all the gifts which a mortal can offer to the Creator. I remember an account of them which I had read in the works of Colonel Meadows Taylor, of their secrecy, their organisation, their relentlessness, and the terrible power which their homicidal craze has over every other mental or moral faculty. I even recalled now that the roomal—a word which I had heard her mention more than once — was the sacred handkerchief with which they were wont to work their diabolical purpose. She was already a woman when she had left them, and being, according to her own account, the, daughter of their principal leader, it was no wonder that the varnish of civilisation had not eradicated all her early impressions or prevented the breaking out of occasional fits of fanaticism. In one of these apparently she had put an end to poor Ethel, having carefully prepared an alibi to conceal her crime, and it was Copperthorne's accidental discovery of this murder which gave him his power over his strange associate. Of all deaths that by hanging is considered among these tribes to be the most impious and degrading, and her knowledge that she had subjected herself to this death by the law of the land was evidently the reason why she had found herself compelled to subject her will and tame her imperious nature when in the presence of the amanuensis.
As to Copperthorne himself, as I thought over what he had done, and what he proposed to do, a great horror and loathing filled my whole soul. Was this his return for the kindness lavished upon him by the poor old man? He had already cozened him into signing away his estates, and now, for fear some prickings of conscience should cause him to change his mind, he had determined to put it out of his power ever to write a codicil. All this was bad enough, but the acme of all seemed to be that, too cowardly to effect his purpose with his own hand, he had made use of this unfortunate woman's horrible conceptions of religion in order to remove Uncle Jeremy in such a way that no suspicion could possibly fall upon the real culprit. I determined in my mind that, come what might, the amanuensis should not escape from the punishment due to his crimes.
But what was I to do? Had I known my friend's address I should have telegraphed for him in the morning, and he could have been back in Dunkelthwaite before nightfall. Unfortunately John was the worst of correspondents, and though he had been gone for some days we had had no word yet of his whereabouts. There were three maid-servants in the house, but no man, with the exception of old Elijah; nor did I know of any upon whom I could rely in the neighbourhood. This, however, was a small matter, for I knew that in personal strength I was more than a match for the secretary, and I had confidence enough in myself to feel that my resistance alone would prevent any possibility of the plot being carried out.
The question was, what were the best steps for me to take under the circumstances? My first impulse was to wait until morning, and then to quietly go or send to the nearest police-station and summon a couple of constables. I could then hand Copperthorne and his female accomplice over to justice and narrate the conversation which I had overheard. On second thoughts this plan struck me as being a very impracticable one. What grain of evidence had I against them except my story? which, to people who did not know me, would certainly appear a very wild and improbable one. I could well imagine too the plausible voice and imperturbable manner with which Copperthorne would oppose the accusation, and how he would dilate upon the which I bore both him and his companion on account of their mutual affection. How easy it would be for him to make a third person believe that I was trumping up a story in the hope of injuring a rival, and how difficult for me to make any one credit that this clerical-looking gentleman and this stylishly-dressed young lady were two beasts of prey who were hunting in couples! I felt that it would be a great mistake for me to show my hand before I was sure of the game.
The alternative was to say nothing and to let things take their course, being always ready to step in when the evidence against the conspirators appeared to be conclusive. This was the course which recommended itself to my young adventurous disposition, and it also appeared to be the one most likely to lead to conclusive results. When at last at early dawn I stretched myself upon my bed and I had fully made up my mind to retain my knowledge in my own breast, and to trust to myself entirely for the defeat of the murderous plot which I had overheard.
Old Uncle Jeremy was in high spirits next morning after breakfast, and insisted upon reading aloud a scene from Shelley's "Cenci," a work for which he had a profound admiration. Copperthorne sat silent and inscrutable by his side, save when he threw in a suggestion or uttered an exclamation of admiration. Miss Warrender appeared to be lost in thought, and it seemed to me more than once that I saw tears in her dark eyes. It was strange for me to watch the three of them and to think of the real relation in which they stood to each other. My heart warmed towards my little red-faced host with the quaint head-gear and the old-fashioned ways. I vowed to myself that no harm should befall him while I had power to prevent it.
The day wore along slowly and drearily. It was impossible for me to settle down to work, so I wandered restlessly about the corridors of the old-fashioned house and over the garden. Copperthorne was with Uncle Jeremy upstairs, and I saw little of him. Twice when I was striding up and down outside I perceived the governess coming with the children in my direction, but on each occasion I avoided her by hurrying away. I felt that I could not speak to her without showing the intense horror with which she inspired me, and so betraying my knowledge of what had transpired the night before. She noticed that I shunned her, for at luncheon, when my eyes caught hers for a moment, she flashed across a surprised and injured glance, to which, however, I made no response.
The afternoon post brought a letter from John telling us that he was stopping at the Langham. I knew that it was now impossible for him to be of any use to me in the way of sharing the responsibility of whatever might occur, but I nevertheless thought it my duty to telegraph to him and let him know that his presence was desirable. This involved a long walk to the station, but that was useful as helping me to while away the time, and I felt a weight off my mind when I heard the clicking of the needles which told me that my message was flying upon its way.
When I reached the avenue gate on my return from Ingleton I found our old serving-man Elijah standing there, apparently in a violent passion.
"They says as one rat brings others," he said to me, touching his hat, "and it seems as it be the same with they darkies."
He had always disliked the governess on account of what he called her "uppish ways."
"What's the matter, then?" I asked.
"It's one o' they furriners a-hidin' and a-prowlin'," said the old man. "I seed him here among the bushes, and I sent him off wi' a bit o' my mind. Lookin' after the hens as like as not, or maybe wantin' to burn the house and murder us all in our beds. I'll go down to the village, Muster Lawrence, and see what he's after," and he hurried away in a paroxysm of senile anger.
This little incident made a considerable impression on me, and I thought seriously over it as I walked up the long avenue. It was clear that the wandering Hindoo was still hanging about the premises. He was a factor whom I had forgotten to take into account. If his compatriot enlisted him as an accomplice in her dark plans, it was possible that the three of them might be too many for me. Still it appeared to me to be improbable that she should do so, since she had taken such pains to conceal his presence from Copperthorne.
I was half tempted to take Elijah into my confidence, but on second thoughts I came to the conclusion that a man of his age would be worse than useless as an ally.
About seven o'clock I was going up to my room when I met the secretary, who asked me whether I could tell him where Miss Warrender was. I answered that I had not seen her.
"It's a singular thing," he said, "that no one has seen her since dinner-time. The children don't know where she is. I particularly want to speak to her."
He hurried on with an agitated and disturbed expression upon his features.
As to me, Miss Warrender's absence did not seem a matter of surprise. No doubt she was out in the shrubbery somewhere, nerving herself for the terrible piece of work which she had undertaken to do. I closed my door behind me and sat down, with a book in my hand, but with my mind too much excited to comprehend the contents. My plan of campaign had been already formed. I determined to be within sight of their trysting-place, to follow them, and to interfere at the moment when my interference would have most effect. I had chosen a thick, knobby stick, dear to my student heart, and with this I knew that I was master of the situation, for I had ascertained that Copperthorne had no firearms.
I do not remember any period of my life when the hours passed so slowly as did those which I spent in my room that night. Far away I heard the mellow tones of the Dunklethwaite clock as it struck the hours of eight and then of nine, and then, after an interminable pause, of ten. After that it seemed as though time had stopped altogether as I paced my little room, fearing and yet longing for the hour as men will when some great ordeal has to be faced. All things have an end, however, and at last there came pealing through the still night air the first clear stroke which announced the eleventh hour. Then I rose, and, putting on my soft slippers, I seized my stick and slipped quietly out of my room and down the creaking old-fashioned staircase. I could hear the stertorous snoring of Uncle Jeremy upon the floor above. I managed to feel my way to the door through the darkness, and having opened it passed out into the beautiful starlit night.
I had to be very careful of my movements, because the moon shone so brightly that it was almost as light as day. I hugged the shadow of the house until I reached the garden hedge, and then, crawling down in its shelter, I found myself safe in the shrubbery in which I had been the night before. Through this I made my way, treading very cautiously and gingerly, so that not a stick snapped beneath my feet. In this way I advanced until I found myself among the brushwood at the edge of the plantation and within full view of the great oak-tree which stood at the upper end of the avenue.
There was someone standing under the shadow of the oak. At first I could hardly make out who it was, but presently the figure began to move, and, coming out into a silvery patch where the moon shone down between two branches, looked impatiently to left and to right. Then I saw that it was Copperthorne, who was waiting alone. The governess apparently had not yet kept her appointment.
As I wished to hear as well as to see, I wormed my way along under the dark shadows of the trunks in the direction of the oak. When I stopped I was not more than fifteen paces from the spot where the tall gaunt figure of the amanuensis looked grim and ghastly in the shifting light. He paced about uneasily, now disappearing in the shadow, now reappearing in the silvery patches where the moon broke through the covering above him. It was evident from his movements that he was puzzled and disconcerted at the non-appearance of his accomplice. Finally he stationed himself under a great branch which concealed his figure, while from beneath it he commanded a view of the gravel drive which led down from the house, and along which, no doubt, he expected Miss Warrender to come.
I was still lying in my hiding-place, congratulating myself inwardly at having gained a point from which I could hear all without risk of discovery, when my eye lit suddenly upon something which made my heart rise to my mouth and almost caused me to utter an ejaculation which would have betrayed my presence.
I have said that Copperthorne was standing immediately under one of the great branches of the oak-tree. Beneath this all was plunged in the deepest shadow, but the upper part of the branch itself was silvered over by the light of the moon. As I gazed I became conscious that down this luminous branch something was crawling—a flickering, inchoate something, almost indistinguishable from the branch itself, and yet slowly and steadily writhing its way down it. My eyes, as I looked, became more accustomed to the light, and then this indefinite something took form and substance. It was a human being—a man—the Indian whom I had seen in the village. With his arms and legs twined round the great limb, he was shuffling his way down as silently and almost as rapidly as one of his native snakes.
Before I had time to conjecture the meaning of his presence he was directly over the spot where the secretary stood, his bronzed body showing out hard and clear against the disc of moon behind him. I saw him take something from round his waist, hesitate for a moment, as though judging his distance, and then spring downwards, crashing through the intervening foliage. There was a heavy thud, as of two bodies falling together, and then there rose on the night air a noise as of some one gargling his throat, followed by a succession of croaking sounds, the remembrance of which will haunt me to my dying day.
Whilst this tragedy had been enacted before my eyes its entire unexpectedness and its horror had bereft me of the power of acting in any way. Only those who have been in a similar position can imagine the utter paralysis of mind and body which comes upon a man in such straits, and prevents him from doing the thousand and one things which may be suggested afterwards as having been appropriate to the occasion. When those notes of death, however, reached my ears I shook off my lethargy and ran forward with a loud cry from my place of concealment. At the sound the young Thug sprang from his victim with a snarl like a wild beast driven from a carcase, and made off down the avenue at such a pace that I felt it to be impossible for me to overtake him. I ran to the secretary and raised his head. His face was purple and horribly distorted. I loosened his shirt-collar and did all I could to restore him, but it was useless. The roomal had done its work, and he was dead.
I have little more to add to this strange tale of mine. If I have been somewhat long-winded in the telling of it, I feel that I owe no apology for that, for I have simply set the successive events down in a plain unvarnished fashion, and the narrative would be incomplete without any one of them. It transpired afterwards that Miss Warrender had caught the 7.20 London train, and was safe in the metropolis before any search could be made for her. As to the messenger of death whom she had left behind to keep her appointment with Copperthorne under the old oak-tree, he was never either heard of or seen again. There was a hue and cry over the whole countryside, but nothing came of it. No doubt the fugitive passed the days in sheltered places, and travelled rapidly at night, living on such scraps as can sustain an Oriental, until he was out of danger.
John Thornton returned next day, and I poured all the facts into his astonished ears. He agreed with me that it was best perhaps not to speak of what I knew concerning Copperthorne's plans and the reasons which kept him out so late upon that summer's night. Thus even the county police have never known the full story of that strange tragedy, and they certainly never shall, unless, indeed, the eyes of some of them should chance to fall upon this narrative. Poor Uncle Jeremy mourned the loss of his secretary for months, and many were the verses which he poured forth in the form of epitaphs and of "In Memoriam" poems. He has been gathered to his fathers himself since then, and the greater part of his estate has, I am glad to say, descended to the rightful heir, his nephew.
There is only one point on which I should like to make a remark. How was it that the wandering Thug came to Dunkelthwaite? This question has never been cleared up; but I have not the slightest doubt in my own mind, nor I think can anyone have who considers the facts of the case, that there was no chance about his appearance. The sect in India were a large and powerful body, and when they came to look around for a fresh leader, they naturally bethought them of the beautiful daughter of their late chief. It would be no difficult matter to trace her to Calcutta, to Germany, and finally to Dunkelthwaite. He had come, no doubt, with the message that she was not forgotten in India, and that a warm welcome awaited her if she chose to join her scattered tribesmen. This may seem far-fetched, but it is the opinion which I have always entertained upon the matter.
I began this statement by a quotation from a letter, and I shall end it by one. This was from an old friend, Dr. B. C. Haller, a man of encyclopedic knowledge, and particularly well versed in Indian manners and customs. It is through his kindness that I am able to reproduce the various native words which I heard from time to time from the lips of Miss Warrender, but which I should not have been able to recall to my memory had he not suggested them to me. This is a letter in which he comments upon the matter, which I had mentioned to him in conversation some time previously:
"My dear Lawrence, — I promised to write to you re Thuggee, but my time has been so occupied that it is only now that I can redeem my pledge. I was much interested in your unique experience, and should much like to have further talk with you upon the subject. I may inform you that it is most unusual for a woman to be initiated into the mysteries of Thuggee, and it arose in this case probably from her having accidently or by design tasted the sacred goor, which was the sacrifice offered by the gang after each murder. Any one doing this must become an acting Thug, whatever the rank, sex, or condition. Being of noble blood she would then rapidly pass through the different grades of Tilhaee, or scout, Lughaee, or grave-digger, Shumsheea, or holder of the victim's hands, and finally of Bhuttotee, or strangler. In all this she would be instructed by her Gooroo, or spiritual adviser, whom she mentions in your account as having been her own father, who was a Borka, or an expert Thug. Having once attained this position, I do not wonder that her fanatical instincts broke out at times. The Pilhaoo which she mentions in one place was the omen on the left hand, which, if it is followed by the Thibaoo, or omen on the right, was considered to be an indication that all would go well. By the way, you mention that the old coachman saw the Hindoo lurking about among the bushes in the morning. Do you know what he was doing? I am very much mistaken if he was not digging Copperthorne's grave, for it is quite opposed to Thug customs to kill a man without having some receptacle prepared for his body. As far as I know only one English officer in India has ever fallen a victim to the fraternity, and that was Lieutenant Monsell, in 1812. Since then Colonel Sleeman has stamped it out to a great extent, though it is unquestionable that it flourishes far more than the authorities suppose. Truly 'the dark places of the earth are full of cruelty,' and nothing but the Gospel will ever effectually dispel that darkness. You are very welcome to publish these few remarks if they seem to you to throw any light upon your narrative.
"Yours very sincerely,
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2015 Advent Message #2 !
Once upon a forest, three little trees stood and dreamed of what they wanted to become
when they grew up. !
The first little tree looked up at the stars and said, “I want to hold treasure. I want to be
covered with gold and be filled with precious stones. I will be the most beautiful treasure
chest in the world!" !
The second little tree looked out at the small stream nearby trickling by on its way to the
ocean. "I want to be traveling mighty waters and carry powerful kings. I will be the
strongest ship in the world!” !
The third little tree looked down into the valley below where busy men and women
worked in a busy town. “I don't want to leave the forest at all,” that tree said. “I want to
grow so tall that when people stop to look at me they will raise their eyes to Heaven and
think of God. I will be the tallest tree in the world.” !
Years passed. The rains came, the sun shone, the little trees grew tall. One day three
wood cutters entered the forest. !
The first wood cutter looked at the first tree and said, "This tree is beautiful. It is perfect
for me." With a swoop of his shining ax, the first tree fell. "Now I shall make a beautiful
treasure chest. I shall hold wonderful treasure!" the first tree said. !
The second wood cutter looked at the second tree and said, "This tree is strong. It is
perfect for me." With a swoop of his shining ax, the second tree fell. "Now I shall sail
mighty waters!” thought the second tree. “I shall be a strong ship for mighty kings!” !
The third tree felt its heart sink when the last wood cutter looked its way. It stood
straight and tall and pointed bravely to Heaven, but the wood cutter, never looking up,
muttered, "Any kind of tree will do for me.” With a swoop of his shining ax, the third
tree fell. !
The first tree rejoiced when the wood cutter took it to a carpenter's shop. But the
carpenter fashioned the tree into a manger - a feed box for animals. The once-beautiful
tree was not covered with gold or filled with treasure. It was coated with saw dust and
filled with hay for hungry farm animals. !
The second tree smiled when the wood cutter took it to a shipyard, but no mighty sailing
ship was made that day. Instead, the once-strong tree was sawed and hammered into a
simple fishing boat. It was too small and too weak to sail an ocean, or even a river. It was
taken to a lake.
The third tree was confused when the wood cutter cut it into strong beams and left it in
a wood pile. "What happened?" the once-tall tree wondered. "All I ever wanted was to
stay in the forest and point to God.” !
Many days and nights passed. The three trees nearly forgot their dreams. But one night,
golden starlight poured over the first tree as a young woman placed her newborn baby in
the feed box. "I wish I could make a cradle for him,” her husband Joseph whispered. The
mother, named Mary, squeezed his hand and smiled as the starlight shone on the
smooth and sturdy wood. "This manger is beautiful for Jesus,” she said. Suddenly the
first tree knew it was holding the greatest treasure in the world. !
One evening several years later a tired traveler and his friends crowded into the fishing
boat. The traveler fell asleep as the second tree quietly sailed out onto the lake. Soon a
thundering and a thrashing storm arose. The little tree shuddered. It knew it did not
have the strength to carry so many passengers safely through the wind and the rain. The
tired man, who the others called Jesus, awoke. He stood up, stretched out his hand, and
said, “Peace. Be still.” The storm stopped as quickly as it had begun. Suddenly the
second tree knew it was carrying the King of Heaven and earth. !
One Friday morning less than three years later, the third tree was startled when its
beams were yanked from the forgotten wood pile. It flinched as it was carried through
an angry, jeering crowd. It shuddered when soldiers nailed a man's hands and feet to it.
It felt ugly and harsh and cruel as on it, a man named Jesus was crucified. !
But on Sunday morning, when the sun rose and the earth trembled with joy, the third
tree knew that God's love had changed everything. It had made the third tree strong,
and every time people thought of the third tree, they would think of God. That was
better than being the tallest tree in the world. !
That story is called The Three Trees. It ends with the thought that the next time you feel
down because you did not get what you wanted, sit tight and be happy because God is
thinking of something better to give you. !
That thought - that story - leads us to today’s Bible passages, which tell of two people
who got more than they expected. Better than they expected. More than they hoped for.
Two people who were at least as common as what the three trees were made into. Two
common people who were also used for the Lord’s purposes. !
The two people? Mary, who we will think about first, and Joseph. !
For Mary, we will begin in chapter 1 of the Gospel of Luke. Beginning with verse 26 of
Luke 1, here is what is recorded about her. !
The angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth, to a virgin
betrothed to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name
was Mary. !
Right away we have a picture of Mary - and of Joseph. The picture comes from the
description of where they lived. !
You see, Galilee was the unpopular, disrespected northern province of the Jewish
homeland. Nazareth was a small town, meaning it was an unimportant town in that
unpopular, disrespected province. In fact, so unimportant was Nazareth, it was the
general belief that nothing good ever had or ever would come from that town. !
Add to that the fact Mary was a young girl, probably early- to mid-teen in age. A young
girl already betrothed. Engaged is how we would word it today, though a betrothal was
more binding. A young girl already engaged to be married to Joseph. He was older than
Mary, but he was also not important in the eyes of the world. !
Mary was a common girl in a small city in a disrespected area of the Jewish homeland.
Relating that to The Three Trees story, Mary might earlier have hoped for some
importance in her life, but by the time of Luke 1, I am sure she was convinced she was
destined for nothing spectacular. !
However, God, for some reason, had noticed her and decided to favor her with a special
assignment, which was announced to her by the angel Gabriel. !
The announcement? Continuing with verses 28 through 31, “Mary, you are favored and
the Lord is with you. As proof of that, in a short time you will conceive and, nine months
later, give birth to a baby. The baby is going to be a boy. You will name Him Jesus.” !
Remember that Mary was just a common girl. Even the news that she was favored must
have sounded strange to her. I mean, her residence and her lifestyle certainly did not
point to any kind of divine favor. !
And the news she was soon going to conceive did not make sense because she was going
to be married in the future, but she was not married yet. Until she was married, she had
no intention of being intimate with Joseph. Mary certainly had no intention of being
intimate with anyone else. !
What Gabriel announced was obviously impossible. And what else did He say? Verses 32
and 33. Her son would be great. So great He would be called the Son of the Most High.
Her son would be given a throne - the throne of David. Of her son’s kingdom there
would be no end. !
Neither did those parts of the announcement make sense to Mary. Again, she was just a
humble girl from a humble place. Why would her baby be anyone special? !
And that part about her son having a kingdom that would never end. That was
confusing. Mary knew every ruler dies sometime. !
Nothing Gabriel said to Mary made any sense. I wonder. Did Mary think she was just
dreaming, or maybe hallucinating? !
In case it was not a dream, Mary decided to answer Gabriel, which she did with a
question. She asked, “How shall this be? How shall I conceive and give birth to a son
since I have no husband?” !
Gabriel had the answer ready. The Holy Spirit was to come upon her and the power of
the Most High was to overshadow her, both of which mean the plan was for her to
become pregnant in an other-than-normal way. !
Gabriel added the challenge that she believe in strange things. One evidence of that was
Mary’s relative Elizabeth who, at an old age, was currently pregnant for the first time in
her life. That was the result of a promise by God. As Gabriel added, “With God, nothing
To that, Mary had more to say, which began with an expression of her love for God. Love
displayed in obedience. Mary identified herself as “the handmaid of the Lord.” That
means she knew her role was to be obedient to whatever her master - whatever God -
told her to do. She added, “Let it be to me according to your word” - according to what
Gabriel had told her. !
With that, Gabriel left, and soon, Mary had proof she had not been dreaming or
hallucinating that day. A short time later, she was pregnant. Not by being intimate with
Joseph or any other man. Instead, just as Gabriel had predicted would happen, the Holy
Spirit had come upon her and the power of the Most High had overshadowed her. And
no, I do not have a clue how either of those things happened. It really was a miracle that
Mary had conceived. !
Shortly after that - shortly after Mary became pregnant - she traveled from Nazareth in
Galilee to a town in Judea near Jerusalem to visit her relative Elizabeth. Maybe she
traveled to check out what Gabriel had told her. Maybe she wanted to visit with another
woman who had been directly affected by God. Mary went to visit Elizabeth. !
Upon arriving, Mary greeted Elizabeth. It is recorded that at the sound of Mary’s voice,
the baby in Elizabeth leaped. He leaped with joy. That caused Elizabeth to say more than
“hi” to Mary. She touched Mary as she exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you,
Mary, among women. Blessed are you because you believed there would be a fulfillment
of God’s plan announced by Gabriel. Blessed is the fruit of your womb.” !
How did Mary respond to that? She responded by making a number of statements. !
First, she said “her soul magnified the Lord and that her spirit rejoiced in God her
Savior.” In other words, her whole being was happy that she had been chosen by God to
give birth to the Son of the Most High. !
Mary admitted her low estate. That was an admission she did not feel worthy of being
chosen by God to give birth to the one who would have a kingdom that would never end.
But then she praised God for being mighty. Might shown not only by exalting her in her
low estate, but also by humbling those who were powerful. Maybe that referred to so
many other women being much more important. Maybe it referred to those who
misused their power. But Mary proclaimed that God humbles those who are proud. !
Mary stayed with Elizabeth f0r three months. It was then time for her to return home,
by which time Mary had a problem. The problem was that it had become evident she
was pregnant. !
That fact was going to be troubling in general. Can we imagine how active the rumor
mills would become in Nazareth? !
And what about Joseph the one Mary was not married to, but engaged to? Wouldn’t he
be surprised when he found out Mary was pregnant. And it would not be a happy or a
pleasant surprise. He had not been with Mary before she had left to visit Elizabeth. She
had been gone for three months. Apparently right after she had left, she had been
unfaithful to him and been intimate with someone else.
Or maybe a Roman soldier had taken advantage of her. There were a lot of Roman
soldiers around. There were at least occasional incidents when Roman soldiers attacked
Jewish women. !
However it might have happened, Mary’s baby was not Joseph’s baby. In reality, it was
not. It was God’s baby. But yes, Joseph was going to be surprised with a very unhappy
surprise. Either Mary had been unfaithful or she had been attacked. Either way, the
plans Joseph had with Mary seemed doomed. How could he be expected to marry
someone already pregnant with a baby that was not his? That is certainly not what
Joseph had bargained for. !
Which takes us chapter 1 of Matthew. !
I wonder if, upon her return to Nazareth, Mary tried to explain to Joseph what had
happened. I would guess that even if she did, how was he to be expected to believe the
explanation “You’re pregnant? And God did it? God is the father? Right.”
If all that had been confusing to Mary, it would be to Joseph, too. !
Joseph decided to end his engagement to Mary. But there apparently was love in their
relationship. A love that continued, even in the situation they faced. Joseph decided to
end the engagement, but to divorce her quietly so she would not be put to shame.
When that decision was made, Joseph fell asleep. While he slept, he had a dream, in
which an angel of the Lord appeared to him. !
The angel is not identified, but it might have been Gabriel, the one who had earlier
talked to Mary, because the message once again had to do with Mary being chosen by
God to conceive and give birth to a son to be named Jesus. !
The message was this. Joseph was to continue with his plans to make Mary his wife. “Do
not be afraid to do that,” the angel said. Why? Because, the angel explained, her baby
had been “conceived by the Holy Spirit.” !
As mentioned, Mary might have tried to explain that to Joseph, but now Joseph heard it
from an angel. He heard that, along with the news the baby would be a boy who was to
be named Jesus.
And - this is also exactly what Mary had been told - Jesus would grow up to save people
from their sins - His people, as in those who would accept Him as the Savior. !
What the angel told Joseph was as incomprehensible to him as what Gabriel had said to
Mary. Joseph was a poor man from a small town in a disrespected part of the Jewish
homeland. Again, no one from there - indeed, no one who was poor - could ever hope to
be much of anything according to the world’s standards. And that stuff about being
conceived by the Holy Spirit? That did not make sense. !
But remember that Mary loved God so much she obeyed the message He had sent to her
via Gabriel. Joseph apparently loved God, too. So much that He, too, obeyed. When he
woke up after his dream, he did as the angel had commanded him. He stayed with Mary,
continuing their betrothal, eventually marrying her. !
Shortly before Jesus’ birth, Mary and Joseph traveled from Nazareth to Bethlehem, a
town five or six miles south of Jerusalem. It was in Bethlehem Jesus was born, which we
are going to talk about in greater detail next week. For now, let me just give a few detail. !
There was an inn in Bethlehem, but there were no rooms left when Mary and Joseph
They were sent to a barn. That was better than being out in the open under the stars, but
they were sent to a barn where animals were kept each night. It was there Mary gave
birth to her son, who she and Joseph did name Jesus. !
Remember The Three Trees story? When Jesus was born, He was placed in a manger - a
feeding trough - made from the wood of the first tree. The tree that had wanted to hold
treasure, which it did the night of Jesus’ birth. The greatest treasure of all. !
The two other trees were also used by Jesus, one for a time Jesus showed His
miraculous power over nature, the other to hold the sacrifice for our sins. !
But the point - remember the point - is that even though we, like the trees and we, like
Mary and Joseph might have our own plans - for the trees, to be important, for Mary
and Joseph, to just lead quiet, normal lives - while we might have our own plans,
sometimes God has other plans. Better plans. !
Which leads us to the key word for today. The word is “prepare.” Are we prepared - will
we be prepared - to be like Mary and Joseph and follow what God has in mind? Are we -
will we be - prepared to be like the trees, allowing ourselves to be molded and fashioned
and used however God wants us to be used? Even if we have to wait a while for that to
happen? Do we love God enough to be used for Jesus? !
The promise is that loving God and being used for Jesus will make our lives better, now
and forever. !
Today’s closing carol reminds us of what Gabriel told Mary and what Joseph was told
about who Jesus would be - who He is for us. It is Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus. !
Come, Thou long-expected Jesus, born to set Thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us; let us find our rest in Thee.
Israel’s Strength and Consolation, Hope of all the earth Thou art;
Dear Desire of every nation, Joy of every longing heart. !
Born Thy people to deliver, born a child and yet a King,
Born to reign in us forever, now Thy gracious Kingdom bring.
By Thine own eternal Spirit rule in all our hearts alone;
By Thine all sufficient merit raise us to Thy glorious throne. !
Isaiah 60. “Arise, shine. For your light has come, and the glory of the LORD has risen
upon you.” !
That light is Jesus. May we be like Mary and Joseph, and yes, like the trees in the story.
May we be prepared to be us
ed by Him and for Him. May His will and His purpose be
our way. Amen. !!
Posted on Wed, December 23, 2015
by George Cook
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What are some of your earliest entrepreneurial stories?
I did not particularly set out to be an entrepreneur or dream of it. However, I always wanted to do something that I would drive myself and be independent and do things my own way. Basically, do my own thing. That has felt much more important to me than being an entrepreneur. I did what came to me or interested me intellectually or I felt passionate about. And at a certain point, I passionately wanted to build this product and realized for the way that I wanted to work, being an entrepreneur was probably the right path for me. So to me, entrepreneurship was an accident. That’s the reality.
What were your interests in school or did you start anything when you were young?
I did a lot of different activities, from drama to debate to sports. And I’ve always been the sort who got groups started, that’s how I explore a field. Like when I went from cognitive psychology and neuroscience to human-computer interaction [HCI], I started the East Bay chapter of the BayCHI. All along the way, I’ve created groups of like-minded people.
You mentioned moving over from cognitive psychology to HCi. How did that happen?
I earned a PhD in cognitive neuropsychology at Brown University. While I was there, I took some computer science courses with Andy van Dam, so I had some exposure to the HCI way of thinking. I took a really interesting course in designing educational software. I learned to love programming and was able to use what I knew about human beings to design this educational software. That was my first experience.
Then I came to UC Berkeley to do a post doc, and I always say it’s the Bay Area water that got me to turn to HCI. It happened in a very specific manner. I was reading about recommender systems and Amazon’s way of suggesting items to you based on another item you like. There were a lot of different recommender systems that were getting popular in music and other domains. The article talked about the algorithms and how to build the systems. And I thought, “These are problems of psychology, of understanding how human beings think,” and it really interested me. It felt like something I would love to understand and do.
So I met with some computer science professors on the UC Berkeley campus who were focused on this, and they said that having people with a psychology background working on these problems made a lot of sense. So I switched from the psychology department to the School of Information. Professor Marti Hearst and Ken Goldberg brought me over and helped me in the transition. It happened really fast. I read about recommender systems, found it interesting, and within a month was at the School of Information. I worked for awhile with Marti Hearst doing research on search systems and recommender systems, basically to understand information processing. I worked with a team of computer scientists mostly and brought in the perspective of how people think, how to design systems, and how to test those systems.
What projects during that tenure stick out to you particularly?
I wrote some papers on recommender systems about how there’s more to them than just the algorithms. Because that design problem is a really hard one. Recommender systems do not just say that this is the most relevant thing, but that this is the best thing for you. The challenge is to have it not come off as creepy. Or like there was a joke about when you searched for a particular book on Amazon and they’d recommend you some underwear. These mistakes can happen, and people have a hard time understanding why the system recommended this when they searched for that. So by working on that problem, I really understood those systems and how to design them so you feel like you understand the logic of the system.
I also worked with Marti on metadata search engines, and that’s still a difficult design challenge. You can have all these different types of metadata, how do you make it easy for people to browse them?
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Acts 10:38 ”How God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Ghost and with power: who went about doing good, and healing all that were oppressed of the devil; for God was with him.”
When I was a child, I remember hearing my mother repeatedly telling me to shut the door. I was a slow learner! She would say things like, “Were you born in a barn?” or “Are you trying to heat the outside?”. Closing that door represented security. Closing that door represented a safe environment within our home. Closing that door represented keeping the good in and keeping the bad out. Now that I have children of my own, I find myself saying those same things and reminding my boys to shut the door. The Bible gives us many stories of devils being cast out of people who were possessed by them. The man in our text gives us such an example. He was possessed with a legion of devils. Every aspect of his life was affected by this devil possession: he lived in the tombs, he was in pain and anguish, he was separated from society, he was unclean and mankind tried to put him in bondage. Jesus cast the devils out of him delivering him from the bondage he was in. What a great change took place in his life! At salvation, we are set free from the bondage of sin and Satan. If we are not careful, we leave the door open to those things that held us in bondage before we were saved to entangle us again. We can leave the door cracked or open through the wrong kinds of music, wrong friends, revisiting places that we should not go, listening to gossip or criticism. Sometimes, we simply open the door to see what is out there. The devils is a liar, cheater and destroyer. Learn to close the door behind you as you have decided to follow Jesus – no turning back!
Pastor Dennis Morrello
Lighthouse Baptist Church, Huntington, WV
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Part 2 : Adventure
Adventure: an unusual and exciting, typically hazardous, experience or activity. (Another definition: daring and exciting activity calling for enterprise and enthusiasm.)
Frank lived for adventure and every day was just that if you were with him. If you went riding in the woods with him, you’d better take food and water because you never knew how long you would be gone or what unusual or exciting activity you would experience.
Sometimes it was bland stuff like photographing some animal or insect in the wild, or getting stuck in a bog he tried to navigate with his four- wheel-drive truck.
Other times it was down right nail-biting.
One time we went for a ride in the woods on a weekend afternoon. He was home on R&R from his job in Saudi Arabia and wanted to see some Florida greenery. We had our oldest daughter with us. She was four years old at the time, and I was expecting our son.
As usual, during our ride we talked about animal habitats and behavior patterns. I learned a lot. He liked catching the animals with his bare hands and looking them over before he let them go. If a sow pig crossed the road with her babies, he’d stop, catch one, scratch its little belly, and let us pet it before sending it back to its mama.
On this particular trip, though I was not aware of it until after the fact, he was looking for a particular animal. A friend of his had been having trouble with thieves stealing tools out of the back of his truck. He asked Frank for advice on an anti-theft device. Frank had the perfect solution and it slithered into the middle of the road that day right in front of our truck.
Frank stopped, got out, and walked circles around the 5 foot diamondback rattler. He broke a piece from a large dead limb nearby and used it to help him catch her. ( I am not sure how he knew it was a female, but he said, “she.”)
Once he caught her, one hand gripped just behind her head and the other supporting her large body, he told me to bring him the empty feed sack from the back of the truck. As I said before, I was expecting and our young daughter was in the seat with me. So I slid off the truck seat, shut the truck door behind me securely to keep her inside, got the feed sack, and threw it toward him. I didn’t want to be within twenty feet of that thing.
Frank looked at me oddly, as if to say “Why’d you do that?” He then held the snake toward me and said, “If I let her go now, she will bite me. Pick up the sack, hold it open, and I will put her in it. When I pull my hands out, close the sack.” He never broke a sweat, and spoke with confidence. His whole demeanor said,”I’m in control here.”
I did as instructed, and he took the bagged snake from me. Then I began to breathe again. I got back in the truck and my whole body turned to jelly. When he got in the truck, I told him the next time he did that, she could just bite him. He’d better never put me in that position again!
He laughed and said I wasn’t adventurous enough.
I believe being married to him proved I was adventurous enough.
I knew that he knew a whole lot more than I did about animal behavior and … I learned to trust him. He got bit a few times by different types of animals, but nothing dangerous or poisonous. He gave respect when it was due.
He took the snake to his friend, who used it as a theft deterrent. I never heard if the thief lived.
I’m concerned life may be dull now.
How do I live, really live …
without you, Frank?
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I have been spending a lot of time in one of the fourth grade classes. The teacher and I have a nice relationship and she and I have fun working together. The great thing about this teacher is her willingness to try new things and take risks. This is a teacher who has been teaching for many years, knows what she knows and is not afraid to admit what she she doesn’t. So, she and I spend time in her class trying out new things together. We are currently preparing for a Mystery Skype call so we wanted the children to compile a list of facts about our state so they would be ready to answer the other class’s questions. Fortunately the class just completed their study of our state so the skype call will be a great way to purposefully use what they learned and do it in a fun way. We were going to have them just create a Word document and then merge the contents but at the last minute I thought, “let’s try using a backchannel.” Since the teacher and I have that kind of relationship, she said to go ahead and do it (not knowing what I was really talking about). I set up a Today’s Meet room for our facts, showed the kids how it works and they were off and running. The facts were quickly popping up and the kids were excited to see their classmates ideas in real time. I sprinkled in a few reminders and suggestions along the way and the kids responded to these. By the time we were finished we had quite a list. At that point we took the facts and tried to see which ones were useful in narrowing down our location on a map since those are the type of questions we will probably be answering. We printed out our transcript so she could take a closer look at which students were participating, what facts they each added to our list, etc.
What we saw from this activity is how much the students remember and also how easily the kids were able to jump into trying out this tool. The teacher and I immediately talked about other ways she could use this site and she is excited to try it with the Thomas Jefferson movie she shows.
Why this kind of relationship works is because she and I are able to brainstorm together, we are able to laugh and she is able to let go of hesitation and try something new.
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Just when I was sure things couldn't get any worse I heard a commotion behind us. I turned around just in time to see Pieter slip through the grasp of one of the deputies and bolt out of the courtroom. Carl started after his new son but was cut off by the same officer.
Cindy and I were exchanging worried glances when we heard his high-pitched scream from the hallway. "Calm down, no one will hurt you," came big Ronnie's voice. "Quit squirming, I don't want to drop you!" he pleaded. We looked back toward the door as he stepped into the room, with an armload of frightened kid. Pieter buried his face in the man's shoulder when he saw the cops.
Edwardo and Ruben, completely white-faced were right behind being escorted by Mary. The already huge knot in my gut tightened and grew when three more deputy sheriffs came into view right behind them.
"Would someone care to tell me what I going on here?" Rodriguez again asked.
"We've had a security breach," one of the new cops answered. "These people tried to smuggle a weapon into the building, and hidden in a kid's clothing," he continued as he held out what I was sure was Mark's gavel. "Two of them ran on us, but we'll find them."
"The brat claimed some judge told him to bring it to court," a tall, overweight female officer sneered. "Sure, that's why he ran on us."
I saw red when Mary snarled, "He ran because you slapped him! And as I told you, Judge Rodriguez did, , ,"
I didn't realize I was lunging toward the big cop until Rodriguez face appeared an inch or so from mine. "Doctor! Doctor, control yourself!" he barked. I started to push him out of the way until I saw his gigantic bailiff and two more cops right behind him.
"You hit my s, , ," I began.
"Did you strike Mark? You struck a twelve year-old boy?" the judge cut me off.
"I did not! He lunged to get his weapon back and ran into my hand. And that other brat kicked me, and tried to bite me! And that brat, , ," the big women began, pointing at johnny began.
"You struck him, and his mouth is bleeding," Mary thundered.
"She did Dad, she hit Mark right in the mouth!" Johnny cut her off as he pushed under my arm. "She was gonna hit him with that thing too she was!" he added, pointing a mace can on her gun-belt.
"Judge, I need to, talk to you in your chambers immediately," I proclaimed, handing Johnny off to Cindy.
"Doctor Owens, I'm afraid, , ,"
"NOW! It's an emergency!" I barked as I pushed past the bailiffs. A little to my surprise the judge followed behind me.
"Mark, Ronnie, please come here," I began after the two of us entered the office. I ignored Rodriguez questioning look and tried, "Just Judge Rodriguez and I are here, it's okay. Please Mark, I understand you are hurt."
A couple of seconds later I was about to try again when we saw the chair behind the judge's desk moved slightly, then slowly rolled away from the desk. After a tense second or so a small amount of golden blond hair appeared behind the desk. It ever so slowly grew until a pair of frightened, almost animal-like eyes appeared and glanced around the room, then quickly disappeared.
"Come on guys, it's Pop, it's okay, I promise," I risked.
I was trying to decide if I should walk behind the desk when two crops of hair appeared. Very slowly the tufts of hair grew into a pair of identical faces, then the rest of my sons. Mark whimpered something I couldn't understand and pushed even more tightly against his brother when I started toward them. I gasp when I saw a red spot on his cheek.
"Come here guys, everything is alright, I promise," I risk, extending my arms toward them. They reluctantly shuffled to me, but fell into my grasp as I pulled them into a hug. "It's okay, Dad's here, everything is going to be okay," I whispered to the top of their heads.
A minute or so later I ushered them to a nearby chair and sat down. I tried to guide Mark to stand between my legs so I could examine his face and mouth, but ended up with a lapful of him instead. I stroked his back and shoulders for the better part of a minute before I finally managed to pry his pixie little face off my chest enough to have a look.
I had just convinced him to open his mouth when Rodriguez' voice distracted me. "Is he injured? Should we summon he paramedics?"
My eyes bugged slightly when I looked over to answer. Ronnie's back was tightly pressed against the old man's stomach, the majority of his body buried in the man's judge's robe. Rodriguez was clutching the boy's thin chest with both hands as affectionately as the most loving grandfather would.
I took a second to look inside Mark's mouth before answering, "He's okay, his braces cut the inside of his cheek slightly. Do you have a first-aid kit? I just need a couple of gauze pads." The old man gave Ronnie a quick squeeze before rushing to a nearby filing cabinet.
"Do you have any wax?" I asked my sons after I pushed a piece of gauze between Mark's cheek and appliances. "Braces wax?" When they both shook their heads that they did not I added, "Ronnie, go see if any of the other kids have any."
"Is that urgent?" Rodriguez asked. When I looked he had resumed his cuddle with Ronnie. "Mark, did the deputy strike you?" Mark's only response was a whimper as stuffed his face into my chest and shoulder.
"She did!" Ronnie declared. "She smacked him and told him to shut up and she was gonna again!"
Rodriguez' dark, Hispanic facial complection turned ghost white and I could have sworn I saw heat waves coming off the top of his head. "Please go tell everyone that your brother is okay, and try to locate what your father requests," he told his snuggle partner, his voice very professional even though it seemed to lower the room's temperature several degrees.
"Wax, remember?" I answered Ronnie's lost expression. He darted out into the courtroom, Rodriguez right behind.
"Bailiff!" the judge thundered, so loud I'm sure the horses heard it. "Contact the Sheriff and asked him to come here immediately," I heard him say in a quieter voice. "Tell him if he's not here in ten minutes I will issue a Bench Warrant on him. And get that bull dike out of my courtroom, find her a holding cell." He didn't wait for an answer, slammed the door and walked to Mark and I.
"Should we continue the hearing, or do you think he can go forward?" he asked me. "Can you, and the other parties, do you think everyone is up to going forward?" he added before I could answer.
"Do you want to go home?" I asked the back of my second skin's blond hair.
"You may, but I think your friends would like to get new parents today, it would provide an excellent beginning to the weekend. However, I cannot go forward without your help." I bit my lip when I saw the old judge holding a gavel out.
"It's up to you son, but I think you should look at someone and answer them when they address, talk to you."
Mark's face was priceless as he reluctantly looked up. His mouth dropped onto his chin before he snatched the gavel and pulled it against his chest. My chin dropped when the judge leaned over and kissed the top of the boy's head and retrieved the gavel. "Go wash your face and fix your clothes, I must polish this before you use it," he instructed.
Once the hearing finally got underway everything moved along surprisingly quickly. Right after Mark hammered the court into session and we did a few seconds of formalities, Rodriguez and Ronnie disappeared into the judge's chambers. A couple of minutes later the boy came back into the courtroom and assumed his traditional role, escorting the other kids in one at a time in, then standing guard at the door between the chambers and courtroom. He was so precious I had to wipe my eyes when he escorted Pieter, despite his all but panicked complaints, inside the office to see the judge and reappeared, smiling, a second later.
Rodriguez came into the courtroom a few minutes later with Pieter tucked under his arm. He nodded at my eldest son, who led the other kids into chambers, tucking Pieter under his arm on the way. The judge pushed a chair in front of our table and motioned the state's attorney to move to our table.
"I have one concern regarding the Sanchez case," he began, making my throat sink into my stomach and Cindy stiffen so quickly the table shook. "This petition prays that Doctor Julio Sanchez be named guardian of the minor children Edwardo and Ruben, with the intention to adopt same. According to Doctor Owens' pre-adoption investigation, Doctor Sanchez and his brother Ronald live together both here and in Virginia, as they have all of their adult lives, that they intend to share the parental responsibilities of these children. Is this correct?"
The tension in the room was so thick it was hard to breathe as all of us tried to figure where he was going. "Yes sir," Cindy finally answered almost in a whisper.
"Doctor Owens further states that Mister Ronald Sanchez has moved to San Antonio, but Doctor Sanchez is currently commuting to Virginia, and will continue to do so until he can dissolve his professional commitments there. May I ask how long this will take?"
I could feel several pair of eyes drilling into my skull. I somewhat wished they would penetrate and take me out of my misery as began to realize I had screwed up probably the most important evaluation I had ever written.
"I would estimate about three months, sir," Jay said. "However, after a month or so, I will be spending only one or two days a week away."
Rodriguez grunted in acknowledgment, then scanned a couple of documents before him. "It is the court's opinion this sort of situation would not be in the best interest of the children, I'm a little disappointed Doctor Owens recommended it," he stated. My heart sank down to my toes as he slid the decree back to Cindy.
"Mister Sanchez, you have expressed a willingness to assume a moral obligation regarding the children's rearing, would you be willing to accept a legal commitment?" he asked toward Ronnie.
"Yes sir, I would be honored to."
"Does either council have any objection to having Doctor Sanchez named the children's guardian, and Mister Sanchez being granted a managing conservatorship of them?"
Both lawyers quickly agreed. "So ordered, petitioner will draft, submission by close of business." I was trying to interrupt what he had said when he continued.
"Now, on to other business to save the court's time. In regards to the minor child Pieter, the court has a petition before it to remove this child from INS custody, and name him a ward of this court such that adoption proceedings can begin. After speaking with the child, I, , ," he stopped in mid-sentence, his face flushing with anger. "Bailiff, I ordered this courtroom sealed, what is that man doing in here?" he roared.
When I turned to follow his gaze I saw a man with a huge gold badge on his almost gaudy western style shirt, along with somewhere between a cannon and a pistol on his hip, standing just inside the door. "Sheriff Zapata, you sent for me sir," the man boomed, flashing a politician's smile that would have made Jimmy Carter spend hours in front of the mirror refining his.
"You will seat yourself in the hall until I summon you! Bailiff, remove this man immediately!" the judge thundered. I felt a little sorry for the big bailiff as he hustled what I was sure was his boss out of the room. I almost felt sorry for the sheriff when Rodriguez turned to me and snarled, "Rest assured I will deal with the incident involving Mark.
"Please excuse the interruption," he continued, cutting a glare toward his bailiff. "Regarding Pieter, after speaking with him, he is either going to be adopted or end up in one of Doctor Owens' rubber rooms. Further Doctor Owens investigation completely justifies adoption as the best interest of Pieter. Is there any reason for us to conduct two hearings, that I should not grant Doctor and Mrs Roberts guardianship while we are here?"
The state's attorney immediately agreed. When Cindy didn't reply I glanced at her; she was staring into space with her mouth agape. "Councilor?" the judge asked.
"No sir, of course not," Cindy gasp. "Ah, I, ah took the liberty of preparing such a decree," she stuttered as she dug in her portfolio.
The elderly judge scanned the document she handed him for a brief second before his usually stoic face broke into a gin, then wide smile. He seemed to start to say something to us, but broke into laughter, almost gaging as he tried to calm down. "I am very tempted to sign this!" he finally stammered between chuckles. He glanced back down at the document, shook his head and tossed it to me.
I felt Cindy lean over and push against my arm as I turned the papers over and looked down at them. "I'm very sorry, your honor, I, that is the wrong one, I prepared it as a, joke!" she cried.
She began riffling through the stack of papers so frantically I was distracted from reading whatever I had be given. "I apologize, your honor, this the correct one," she sheepishly offered.
It was my turn to gasp, then chuckle when I finally looked down at the document - 'Adoption Decree, en re the minor horse, Ginger Owens' it read. "If Ginger, or Johnny get wind of this you might not have any choice but to sign it!" I snorted.
As the boys filed back into the courtroom a couple minutes later Mark flashed a slight grin and waved his gavel toward me as he started toward the Judge's high desk. He froze briefly, bugged his eyes and paled slightly when Rodriguez called him over. His face quickly developed an impish grin when he old man bent over and whispered something to him, then scampered up behind the desk.
Johnny and Ronnie slipped under my arms as the other boys lined up in front of their new parents, Junior and Jennifer tucking next to Cindy and Carl.
"I have said this before, but hearings like this are what make my job such a joy," the judge began. "Some more than others," he grinned, looking at Johnny and I.
"Edwardo, Ruben, do you understand enough about the laws in this country to understand what we are doing here? That if I order it, Ronald Sanchez and Julio, Jay Sanchez are your parents, that you have to love and obey?" earned him a pair of bashful yes sirs. "So ordered," he said, nodding his head slightly as he glanced over his shoulder. Mark flashed an almost blinding smile slammed his gavel down.
Rodriguez held his hand up when the brothers started to giggle and turn toward their new parents. "Pieter, do you understand this, what I just asked the other boys?" The boy whimpered something I couldn't understand, but seem to satisfy the judge. "Your new mother will explain the change of plans to you, but it is the order of this court, well congratulations, you are now legally a member of the Roberts family. Now Mark!"
The youngster struck the desk so hard I thought he might have broken his hammer, then dove off the front of the high desk and slammed into a group hug with his brothers and I. The bailiff started to call for order, but gave up when Rodriguez rushed forward, shaking hands with all the adults and hugging all the kids. As he shook my hand and thanked me for my assistance I didn't notice he had picked up Ginger's paperwork until he stuffed it inside his robes and snickered, "I think I'll hang onto this, I might frame it." His eyes lit up slightly before he added, "And, one never knows when one might get in a signing mood."
This sucks! I told myself a few minutes later as I drove in the middle of our little caravan toward the ranch. Come on woman! Seventy-five miles-per-hour, give me a break! I'd like to get home before morning! I groaned as we began to leave the city behind and traffic thinned. I had to back off the accelerator pedal as I realized I was very closely tailgating Cindy's Suburban, unthinkingly try to prod her to increase her speed.
Pass the bitch, get ,me out of this shit! my neck demanded when I turned my head slightly to look in the rear view mirror and my starched shirt scratched it. I considered its request for an instant and was about to swerve around her and give my big cat her legs when Cindy's brake lights made me push on my brake pedal. Bitch! I thought. Oh well, I thought a few seconds later as we passed a state trooper running radar.
Although I didn't count them, what appeared to be all sixteen horses were waiting for us at the fence, and began snorting and neighing as we waited for the gate to open, a chorus cheering and hooting kids answering as they hung out the windows of our vehicles. To my surprise the boys waived at their mounts as they bailed out of the car, but then rushed into the house instead of going to the pasture gate.
No, this place is NOT normal, I told myself as I watched Ginger. At first she gave her boy a dirty look, but when Johnny stopped and looked at her for a split second she shifted her legs and twisted her neck side to side quickly before she turned toward the other animals and snorted. A couple of the other steeds shook their neck, and a few of them bristled their hackles and manes. I agree, get me out of this shit! my neck complained.
The kids were just starting to filter downstairs, everyone in their tight Levis when I went back into the family room after jumping into a pair of well worn jeans and tee shirt. After ravaging the sizable stack of cookies Mary and laid out, along with absorbing what had to be a couple of gallons of milk like NASA grade sponges, they were heading out the patio door when Cindy called Pieter back.
"Wear it a couple of hours, you must start getting used to it," she told him, holding out a plastic pouch. The youngster blushed as he accepted the bag and pulled a headgear out. After looking around rather sheepishly he wrestled with its facebow for a second or so before finally connecting it to his back teeth and began stretching its straps around his head.
"Look Ruben, his new mom is making him wear a bridle!" Edwardo proclaimed. Pieter's little face flared so red the steel sticking out of his mouth seemed to turn almost the color of Johnny's hair as he shot his friend what was nothing less than a death glare, then lunged toward him. "They made me say it Karl! They did!" Edwardo cried as he dodged his attacker.
Johnny's loud giggle, followed by Junior and Mark's, distracted both of them. "Johnny! I'm gonna kill you!" Pieter declared as he charged toward his foe. Everyone broke out in laughter as we watched a red streak of light blast out the door and toward the pasture, a platinum lightening bolt in hot pursuit.
"Well, Bridle Boy, aren't you going to go save your brother?" I teased Junior, cupping his bony shoulders from behind.
"From your new brother?" Cindy injected. "Headgear boys, and get Johnny's for him." Junior, Mark and Ronnie rushed upstairs still giggling. "I cant believe how far he has come," she added toward me as we watched Johnny darting between the horses, Pieter still in right on his tail.
"What did I miss?" Jay asked a second later as the other boys left to ride. Jay and his mate looked away and took deep breaths almost in unison as we explained how, innocently from lack of culture when he first visited the ranch, Johnny earnestly thought Junior's orthodontic appliance was a controlling bridle like the horses are fitted with. I too took a deep breath as I remembered the collars and restraints an FBI agent had shown me what seemed like a hundred years ago.
"I'm ready for a cold beer!" I announced. No one objected as I started toward the bar.
"Doctor Owens, paging Doctor Owens," I heard Jay say with a rather poor imitation of an electronic voice as I was getting our drinks. "Paging Doctor Owens, you have a patient waiting at gate one," he continued.
I convulsed slightly trying to contain my laughter when I rejoined them with our drinks and saw Zeus, now saddled, staring, or better put snarling at the patio door. "Yes, Doctor, this is serious," I stammered. After a long swallow of beer I answered, "I think you better scrub Doctor." Turning to Miguel and Carl I added, "You too Doctors, time to go to work. We will probably need a Dietitian, and never leave home without your Lawyer. Let's saddle up people, there is work to be done!" I released my pony tail, downed most of the rest of my beer and started toward the pasture without waiting for a response.
Zeus galloped at full speed for the better part of an hour before he began to calm down. I was having such a good time feeling the wind in my face and exhilaration of speed and considered prodding him to run more, but decided go see what the kids were up to. When we joined them and the other riders cruising the pasture, Miguel and his sons were with the boys, now dressed in jeans but no Cindy. Jay informed me that she had stated she had some work to do.
A few minutes later big Ronnie excused himself, saying he and Mary were working on a project, and I decided to ride with him back to the house. None to my surprise the pit was bellowing smoke. When I glanced a huge brisket was all but smiled back at me.
Cindy met us at the door with a smile so wide I wondered if she was about to tear her lips. "Look, they are here, both of them! He signed them and they just faxed them!" she all but screamed, thrusting a stack of papers toward us.
I scanned the documents, then Cindy's face. Yeah, why not! I decided. "Go get in a pair of jeans, we need to go for a ride." I told her. Without waiting for an answer I turned to Ronnie. "Ask Mary to join us for a ride. Please it is important, you can put your meal on hold. Then go saddle horses for Mary and Cindy."
I ignored his questioning glare, rushed to my study and dialed open my safe. After a quick trip to my bedroom closet for a backpack I stopped behind the bar for a few things.
I ignored the other adults questioning glares as we rode to meet the kids and other riders a few minutes later. "Hi guys, please follow me," I asked.
Mary and Miguel groaned and muttered a little as they endured the steep climb up to my mountain, but settled a little as the land leveled and rode behind me toward the summit. I chuckled as Zoe snorted in response to my mimicking salute to her FBI trouser flag and she gave me a knowing glance. I've got to work with Johnny, and learn to speak horse! I thought. Are you loosening it? I wondered.
"Welcome to my little piece of heaven," I began as everyone followed my lead and dismounted. "Mary, Cindy, would you mind?" I asked, handing them my backpack. I paused for a minute or so, as everyone absorbed the vista of beauty below of us, the mid afternoon Texas sun performing its magic on what seemed like most of south Texas below us.
Jay and Carl gave me questioning looks as I handed them small packages. I cupped Johnny and Pieter's shoulders and began, "This is a very special place to me, and I have only shared it with a few special friends. But now, it's for family."
I pulled the Sharks teeth for my sons from my package and held them out before continuing, "I would like to give you boys these, as a token representing our new family, and our new life together." All the kids looked at each other's necks as we fastened the charms around their necks.
"Are these from Sufuentez the, , , how do you say, the jewel maker?" Edwardo gasp, looking wide eyed at his brother's necklace.
"Jeweler, and yes they are," Miguel answered.
"We cannot wear these, only the, the most very wealthy people would dare to enter his shop! It is impossible for us to ever own something from Sufuentez! This must be an, an error!" the boy exclaimed.
Seven dollars each? That's wealth? I asked myself. "But you are very wealthy now," I countered. I reached over and pulled Edwardo next to me before continuing. "You now have a family, that loves you completely, and an extended family that loves you as much as your new parents do. How could you be any wealthier?"
He looked up at me with tears welling in his saucer sized eyes. "But, Doctor, , , I, , ," He buried his face in my chest without finishing his statement. I held him against me and stroked his back and shoulders for several seconds. "I love you Doctor, Doctor Pappa," he whispered.
"I love you, I love all of you," I answered. Ruben, then Pieter and the other boys pushed into a group hug as I kissed the top of Edwardo's head.
"Here boys, everyone take a cup, but do not drink it yet," big Ronnie interrupted as he, Mary and Cindy began passing out small plastic glasses to everyone. A couple of the kids giggled as they sniffed their drink and bubbles popped into their noses.
"To our new family, and to our new life together," I toasted, raising my cup.
"Here, here," Miguel answered, joining in the other adults comments.
"Wonderful, this is superb stock," our guest chef commented after taking a second sip. He stepped over to the backpack and pulled the bottle most of the way out of the ice chilling it. "You have excellent tastes, Adam. Roederer, and of this vintage, is an extremely rare find. I wish we could offer it, even in our best locations!"
Miguel coughed trying to keep from choking. "Louis Roederer?" he coughed.
"1969!" Ronnie answered, offering the bottle toward his father.
The usually reserved elder physician gawked somewhat as he looked at the label. He glanced back at his cup, then roared out a deep guttural laugh. "Only in Texas!" he snorted, trying to compose himself. "We traveled on horseback up a God-awful mule trail, to be served six-hundred dollar a bottle champagne, chilled in a camping pack and served in plastic cups?" He took a deep breath before raising his cup. "Here, here, indeed to a new life!" he toasted.
Six Hundred Dollars a Bottle?!? I silently gasp. Six-hundred dollars for that bottle? I thought for a second or so, but decided not to tell them I hated champagne, that I had been given that bottle as a gift when I graduated from Medical School, and assumed it was a bottle of ten-dollar crap from some grocery store.
"I am glad we can enjoy it together," I answered, trying to keep from groaning.
After spending a few more minutes enjoying each other's company and the view, Mary and big Ronnie announced they had to return to the house and tend to the pit. The boys split off into a couple of groups as all the other adults mounted their animals and made our way down the mountain.
"May I ride with you into town tomorrow morning for your rounds?" Jay asked as we approached the pasture gate. "John now has several of our patients at Central Baptist, and I would like for you to evaluate the site Dad and I are proposing for our new clinic."
"Of course, but I leave fairly early, I would like to leave by about seven-thirty," I answered.
"Are horses awake that early?" he asked. I was trying to figure out what he was asking when he added, "Ronnie is right, it is splendid to ride the animals between our houses, I would imagine an early morning ride would be fantastic!"
"I see we have been able to drain at least some of the Yankee out of you Doctor!" I teased. "Twenty year or so of intense training, and we might be able to turn you into a Texan! Well, maybe a Texas immigrant."
"Ignore him, Doctor," Carl countered. "Any proper Texan would chill Roederer in his saddlebag, never in a backpack." We all broke into laughter when Zeus replied by letting out a soft neigh and wiggled his haunches in protest.
A presence more than anything else disturbed my slumber the next morning. I was still trying to force my eyes to focus when I heard a soft, high pitched whisper I could not understand, but from somewhere in my bedroom. "Please Buddy, you must. He will not be angry with you," it added a second later. The muffled sounds of kids playing in the pool made me begin to wake up a little more.
"I wont be angry with you either," I mumbled. "Come here, I don't bite." I sleepily extended an arm, still trying to decide if the voice was Pieter's or Ruben's. Instantly I had a face full of black nose and wet tongue attacking me. "Good morning Buddy," I chuckled. "And good morning to you too!" I said toward the patch of platinum hair and red faced kid standing next to my bed. "Come here, is anything wrong? Why are you up so early?" I asked as gestured toward my bed.
He hesitated, then jumped into my arm and hugged my neck. "I was frightened that, , , I mean, well, Doctor Sanch, , , Doctor Jay and Doctor Grande have already arrived, and I was frightened you would not have to time to swim. Will you go swim with me, please Pappa?"
"I don't know," I answered. I let him stew an instant as I felt his shoulders tighten. "This hug feels so good, I might just keep you here all day!" I told him, scratching his naked back. He giggled softly and cuddled more tightly against me, pushing his forehead into my neck.
"I love you Pappa," he whispered.
"I love you Pieter, I love you a bunch." I enjoyed his snuggle for a minute or so. "You go jump in, let me go to the bathroom and I will join you."
He seemed to tense again. "You must bathe? You will bathe before we may swim?"
"No son, I must go to the, , , I must toilet first," I tried.
I felt his forehead warm I'm sure from it turning red. "I am sorry. My English is not perfect sir," he whimpered.
No, I'm the one that needs to learn to speak English, instead of American, I thought, cupping his head and cuddling it. "You English is excellent. Go jump in the pool, I will be right there I told him." He hugged me briefly then hopped out of bed and rushed toward the patio door, Buddy right behind.
I was enjoying watching his tight little Speedo clad backside run across the bedroom so much I didn't realize he was wearing his new headgear until he was out to door. "Pieter, take, , ," I didn't bother finishing when I heard a splash from the patio. He is definitely, or officially Junior's brother! I chuckled as I hurried into the restroom.
The site Miguel and Jay showed me after we finished at the hospital was indeed ideal. Formerly a combination photographic studio and wholesale film processing plant, much of the building was already plumbed and wired in a way that would make it easy to remodel into treatment and examination rooms. I was equally impressed with its location, much closer to the edge of town and our ranches than my current office, little more that a stones throw from Cornerstone Academy, but with easy access to Central Baptist Hospital. Jay already had a set of plans for the remodeling that seemed ideal with plenty of room for expansion.
"Let's do it," I said as we concluded our tour. "But, can we add a stable and corral out back?" I teased. I found myself wondering what they had up their sleeves as Jay and his dad exchanged wily grins. The two continued their stares with seemingly the same mental telepathy Ginger and Johnny have. After what seemed an eternity, I finally broke the silence. "Well, are you two going to say something or am I going have to guess at what you have decided?"
Miguel broke out into a belly laugh and Jay was fighting to keep from doing the same. Miguel composed himself and spoke. "I think your idea of building a stable is a wonderful idea, but not here. I would like to reduce the amount of land you purchase from me by about 25 acres or so. In addition to the stable and corral, I would like to build a clinic there also."
"Ah, Miguel," I stammered trying to digest his statement. "I have a clinic already, I don't picture one at the ranch. Besides, there's enough nut cases, both two and four legged out there already, I don't want my patients there!"
Then it was Jay's turn to cut loose with laughter. "No Adam," Jay started. "I think you misunderstood what my father was referring to. The clinic isn't for people, it's for animals. We have been discussing the idea of having our other brother moving out here so he could care for all our animals as well as starting a new veterinary practice."
"We haven't said anything, because if my grandson, well now I guess I should say the grandson in Virginia found out, Jay ane Ronnie would have their nephew living with them tonight!" Miguel injected.
"Hey, Steven could give us family discount." Jay quipped.
"Family discount? I got that with the kids braces. They bumped the fees up fifteen percent, then gave me ten percent off," I teased. "That sounds like a great plan. How long will it take for him to get his things in order back home?"
"We're not sure," Jay answered. "Angel is handling those details. We can keep you posted on what we learn from her."
"Actually, we might find out more shortly," Miguel injected. "I forgot to tell you she called while you were on rounds, Steven and Angel are on the way here, they should arrive later in the morning."
We had made our way out of in-town traffic, and I was beginning to give my big cat her legs and think about getting home to the ranch and my favorite water jet when I noticed in the rear view mirror that Miguel had answered his cell phone. "Adam, Angel and Steven are about to land, would you mind picking them up before we return to your ranch?" he asked.
"If he can land this thing," Jay retorted. When I glanced at him his eyes were glued to the instrument panel.
"Not a problem, eighty-five is just below takeoff speed!" I tittered. "If time is tight, I could make a U-turn instead of slowing down." I ignored my new colleague's scowl as I backed off the accelerator pedal and steered toward the next freeway exit.
I don't think anyone was surprised when not only Steven and his wife were waiting for us, but Stevie, dressed in his best fitting Levis. After a quick round of hugs we were loading their luggage into the car when the youngster pushed against me. "Were are Ronnie, and Junior?" he quietly asked. "And everyone."
"They have been attending school. Your new cousins too," Miguel answered for me. The devious gleam in his eye told me not to interrupt. "Texas has some fantastic private schools," the old doctor added. He turned his attention back toward helping us fit the suitcases into the trunk and very casually continued, more toward the baggage then anyone, "Texas schools offer excellent boarding facilities, much better than Virginia. I am so impressed that I will insist any of my grandchildren that live in Texas attend one of these private schools." he told one of the bags. "Jay, Adam, do you know when Cornerstone Academy releases their students for their next vacations at home?"
I had to clinch my jaw as I digested Miguel's monolog, and the now petrified little statue, still pressed tightly against me's reaction to his grandfather's comments. Another glance at Grande told me how to answer.
"I'm not sure Miguel, I think for Christmas," I began. "But let me check," I offered. I made a show of opening my PDA and leaning it against Steve's motionless body before continuing, "I apologize, they, , ," I hoped my hesitation didn't show as I tried to keep a straight face. "I think they will be allowed to remain home from school for Thanksgiving Day, and perhaps through the weekend after."
"You were right, moving to Texas is going to be wonderful!" Angel chimed in. "Cornerstone Academy sounds like a perfect choice, and we will see you again soon, every two or three months!" she bubbled. I felt my stomach tighten with guilt as she ushered the ghostly, stick puppet remains of what a couple of minutes ago was her vibrant, excited son into the rear seat of my car.
It almost seemed as if the horses were playing into our practical joke when my white fence came into sight; the only animals to be seen were a couple of Jay and Ronnie's mares. Young Steve seemed to come back to life slightly, moving his neck side to side and scanning the pasture as I drove up the long driveway.
When we climbed out of the car, the youngster gave the pasture fence a longing look I'm sure looking for Raven. After a couple of seconds he shuffled behind us into the house. After he looked around briefly and found out no one else was about, I could almost see the last rays of hope leave the boy's thin body as he gazed out the patio door at my empty pasture.
I started to feel concerned that we had gone too far as I watched him stand motionless in front of the door for probably two minutes. " I think Raven is still here, why don't you go down and call her, she might come to you." He shrugged his bony shoulders ever so slightly, and after glancing at his mother more crawled than walked outside.
"You are an evil person, Miguel, evil through and through," I snickered as we watched the lad slowly shuffle down the hill, his chin dragging on the ground a couple of feet behind him.
"He deserves it, every bit of it," Angel answered. "He overheard Steven and I talking about moving here the other night, and has been driving us crazy, a world class brat ever since."
"My grandson, a brat? Never!" Miguel countered. "I will take care of this," he said. After pausing briefly for effect he added, "I will spoil him all weekend, then send him back to you as a new child, fully refreshed!" The gleam in his eye told us young Stevie was not the only one to be picked on.
A bit of movement at the back of the pasture turned everyone's attention back outside. Stevie had just reached the pasture gate and had reached up to open it, but stood frozen as one, then several more mounted horses came into sight, galloping toward the house like they were in the home stretch of the Kentucky Derby. I couldn't resist, and stuck my head out the door and yelled, "Got'ch!"
The youngster jumped, then turned back toward the house. He twisted his thin neck between the us and the approaching animals a couple of time, each time casting us a harsher 'Up Yours!' look before he bolted through the gate and sprinted head long toward the herd of thundering steeds.
"This calls for a beer," I announced as he watched the mass reunion of hugs and high fives. "And I'm getting in the pool!"
"Actually, we need to meet for a few minutes, and then probably go for a ride," Angel informed me. Shit I thought as I looked around and realized I was out voted in my own home. "Cindy should be here any minute. You might want to put on jeans," Angel added as I started toward my bedroom. Who's the fool that said a man's home is HIS castle? I asked myself.
Angel's great meeting went quicker, and better than I had expected. Cindy and her husband had arrived when I joined the others on the pool deck after changing. I started to worry when I saw both ladies had portfolios next to them, but relaxed when I learned they contained the final documents regarding our land purchases.
Their final plan was perfect. They had cut out fifty acres near the highway for Angel and Steven's new home and his veterinary clinic, twenty-five from the land I was about to acquire, twenty-five from what Jay and Ronnie were about to. The land cooperative agreement was worded more perfectly than I could have hoped for, committing all of our lands not only to mutual use between the families, but to a deed restriction assuring all almost 2000 acres would remain rural for the next hundred years.
"Sign these, and it is a done deal," Cindy announced as she passed out documents to us.
"And I have these!" Angel bubbled, holding out a set of keys. "We have accepted possession of the property, let's go look at our land, and get rid of some gate locks!" I was signing the last of my paperwork when she added, "Site work on the Boys Ranch is going to begin Monday, and in a few months we will have quiet a few young men enjoying the fruits of our venture."
I have to have a talk with her, and him, I thought as I handed the last of the signed paperwork back to Cindy; several saddled but riderless horses were lined up at the pasture fence, and Ginger was rather pointed staring directly at me as she impatiently pawed the ground with her front hoof. A long talk, about reading my mind, and soon! I thought when Zeus, then a couple more horses trotted out of the barn, now saddled.
I took the lead and told the boys that we had purchased some more land, and were going to look around it for a few minutes, as our mass group rode away. "I want you to be very careful, but you can ride here too now," I explained as we waited for Cindy to unlock and open the gate to our new communal properties.
"Wow! We can ride here now?" my Ronnie exclaimed as we trotted into the new property.
"Yea! This is neat we really can?" Mark hooted. I was about to respond when he added, "Yeah, now we can go to the cave, and the haunted shack whenever we want!"
"Yeah, and the skinny dippi, , , ah, swimming lake, ah I mean ah, , ," Junior began. When I looked over at him he was not only ghost white, but not breathing.
I understood why as I followed his frightened gaze to my Ronnie, firing death glares at him that made me want to steer Zeus out of the danger zone. On your few, and brief vacations from your new school, in Afghanistan, I silently answered.
To my surprise, Johnny seemed to recover first. "Well, we heard they was here," he whimpered. "Well we think they is, I mean are here, we read it at school sir!" he blushed as red as his hair. "Maybe, can we go riding sir, I mean Dad?" he tried.
"I feel so reassured that we are moving Steve and Angelina to such a well structured environment!" Angel quipped as the boys rode away.
"Yes, with all those degrees, Doctor Owens can handle any situation! Total control of the children under is care!" Cindy all but giggled.
Don't you feel like a little exercise? I silently begged my big stallion. Run boy, run! I thought as Zeus bolted into a gallop.
The kids and several of the adults were already in the pool when I went back to the house an hour or so later. I didn't argue with their offer to join them and changed into my swim trunks in what had to be record time.
Young Steve swam over and sat next to me a split second after I settled back against my favorite water jet. "That was mean, I'm going to hate you forever!" he proclaimed a he leaned against my side.
"If you must, but hate is a very harsh word!" I answered. When he didn't answer I lifted him over my thigh, depositing him on my lap. "What about getting even with me instead?" I suggested, wrapping my arms around his thin tight torso and pulled his back against my stomach and chest.
His only answer was a soft giggle as he leaned against me, grasping my hands and pulling my arms more tightly into our cuddle. "I'm gonna," he almost whispered. "Well, but maybe laters. I love you Pop, it's gonna be totally awesome to live here!"
I didn't realize I, or we, had drifted off until the youngster started squirming in my lap. "Come on Doctor Pop, its yummy time!" he announced. When I looked around the picnic table had already been set, and a dozen or so hungry faces were glaring at me. The youngster squirmed more into my lap before adding, "Please, I'm hungry!"
"You mean you'd eat that boarding school food?" He answered with a soft squeal and pushed away, dashing toward the bank.
After the kids cleared the table their busy day and overstuffed bellies seemed to take their toll, and they decided to groom the horses instead of going for another ride. Shortly one or two at a time freshly scrubbed kids began reappearing from upstairs, each of them carrying double arm-loads of blankets and pillows.
Cindy and Carl excused themselves for the evening, and after enjoying a couple of rounds from a huge pitcher of Margarita their brother magically appeared with, Angel and Steven hinted they were ready to leave. "Take the Hummer, we will ride home," Jay told them.
"After sharing what, a gallon of Margaret, you are going to ride home on horseback, at night? There might be hope for you Doctor!" I quipped.
"Yes, but I want to watch him find the animal's headlight switch," Miguel quipped.
"I want to see what happens when he twists it! Does Texas have a RUI law?" Ronnie injected, holding his glass out to his mate.
"Just be sure Zeus doesn't see you mount one of his mares," I answered. I'm sure my face reddened in time with the hush that fell over the patio as I realized the other way my comment could be taken.
Everyone roared in laughter when Ronnie responded, "If he tries, Zeus will be the least of his worries!"
"I believe it is your serve, Son!" Miguel chuckled, slapping Jay's knee.
We chatted and enjoyed a couple more drinks under the bright Texas night sky for the next hour or so. From the stillness through the patio door it was clear all our little ones had drifted into dreamland, and I excused myself, saying I was going to tuck everyone in. Jay and Ronnie joined me without asking as I started toward the door.
All three of us stood motionless for several seconds after we stepped inside. The bright Texas moon, softly filtering into the room, accented the row of hair tufts and foreheads peeking out of their long nest of blankets so perfectly that only God could have aimed it. I had to blink and gasp in a breath when Ronnie pointed at the coffee table, and the line of engraved Shark's teeth carefully arranged on it, grouped in pairs.
And all this started with two little guys wanting to lay in bed and watch a movie, weekend visitors, I recalled. In a little rat-hole apartment. I felt my stomach tighten as I remembered the paperwork I had signed earlier this evening. Shit, and they are talking about sixty boys living next door, at the new Boys Ranch? I thought. I glanced around the room briefly, then back down at my boys, all nine of them. Well, we could take out a wall I suppose, I decided.
END (of sorts. . .)
Notes from the Author:
This ends Patient John Doe, but not the adventures of the boys, their horses and the Owens/Sanchez clans. I would like to thank everyone for your support, and the over a thousand notes of praise and encouragement during this project (and yes, well over a thousand emails). I was 'running out of steam' toward the end, I hope it doesn't show too much in my work, but I shed more than a few tears as I wrote the conclusion. Thanks again, Gary
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“I can’t blame you for that. I apologize for our methods, but if we’d taken the time to explain everything, Lachlan would have woken up long before we were through.”
I noticed he’d totally ignored the “who are you” part of my question. I decided to try a different tack. “Let’s pretend I believe you. Why are you ‘helping’ me? How do you know who I am? How did you know where to find me?”
“One question at a time!” Ethan said, and again it sounded like he was teasing me.
I ground my teeth, wishing it weren’t so dark so I could see if my glare was having any effect on him. This whole kidnapping thing might seem like a big joke to him, but after everything that had happened to me since my plane had landed, I wasn’t in much of a laughing mood. I rubbed my tired eyes. I couldn’t focus my thoughts enough to choose one question to ask. Thankfully, Ethan took pity on me and chose one himself.
“Your father and your aunt are both hoping to be appointed Consul when the current Consul’s term has ended. Whichever one has you in their power could stand a much greater chance of being appointed.”
“What?” I cried. “Why?”
“That I’ll have to explain a little later. But I will explain, I promise. Anyway, in answer to your question of why Kimber and I are helping you, we would prefer not to see Grace Stuart as Consul. She’s one of the top contenders, and having you under her control could cement her victory. It’s well past time for Avalon to enter the twenty-first century, and she’s as old-school as they come. Your father isn’t exactly progressive, either, but he’s better than Grace. I don’t know what she told you to explain why she locked you up, but there’s a good chance you would never have been heard from again if we hadn’t gotten you out of there.”
“Are you saying she was planning to kill me?” I squeaked. I might not have liked or trusted Aunt Grace, but the idea that she might kill me had never entered my mind. It seemed so far-fetched as to be ridiculous. But then, so did a lot of stuff that had happened so far.
“She probably wouldn’t kill you,” he admitted. “Unless that was the only way to keep you from your father.”
The wagon came to a stop, and Ethan used that as an excuse not to elaborate. “I’ll answer as many questions as you like, once we get you to safety,” he said. “But until then, I need you to be quiet.” He mumbled something under his breath.
I knew without having to test it out that my voice had just taken another vacation.
I sure was glad there were no mirrors around when I climbed out of the back of that wagon. Aside from the fact that my clothes were all wrinkled from being slept in, and my hair was badly in need of a brush, I was also covered in little bits and pieces of straw. Ethan, though he’d been sitting in the same wagon, must have been wearing some kind of straw-repellant, because he looked as perfect as he had when he’d climbed in. He decided to rub it in by reaching out and plucking a piece of straw from my hair. When I glared at him, he just winked at me and reached for my hair again. I batted his hand away, but then couldn’t resist running my hands through my hair, trying to smooth it down and remove any remaining straw.
I looked around and discovered that I was in a gated flagstone courtyard, surrounded by low brick townhouses. The townhouses looked much less exotic than most of the other buildings I’d seen so far in Avalon, though the stone courtyard did add a bit of atmosphere.
A figure dressed all in black detached itself from a pool of shadow and approached. I couldn’t see him very clearly, because he wasn’t looking my way, but any brief hope that he might help me died when Kimber mutely handed him the horse’s reins. I guessed this was the wagon’s owner, Ethan’s horny friend, and I was really glad when he gave Ethan a brief nod, then led the horse and wagon away instead of sticking around.
“Student housing,” Ethan explained, indicating the buildings around us with a wave of his hand. “The university is just down the road. That’s my flat,” he said, pointing at one second story window, “and that’s Kimber’s.” He pointed at a window directly across from it. I took another glance at Kimber, but she still didn’t look old enough to have her own “flat.” Of course for all I knew she was some kind of weird Fae that stopped aging at sixteen and she was actually older than my mom. Then Ethan grinned again. If Fae got laugh lines, he would be wrinkled up before he was thirty. “But that’s not where we’re going.”
Kimber had come up behind me while he talked. She didn’t touch me, but I knew she was ready to grab me if I gave her half an excuse. Ethan pushed up the sleeves of his long-sleeved T-shirt and adjusted his stance like he was about to lift something heavy. Only there was nothing there to lift.
Behind me, Kimber snorted. “Stop being a show-off and get on with it.”
Get on with what? I wondered.
Ethan took a deep breath, then held his hands out in front of him at about chest level, palms down. Something made a scraping sound, like rock sliding against rock. Ethan took another breath, then slowly raised his hands a few inches.
My jaw dropped open when a set of flagstones lifted from the floor of the courtyard. Ethan moved his hands to the side, and the flagstones moved with him, revealing a ladder that disappeared into a dark pit. He set the flagstones down, then blew out his breath in a big whoosh. He was sweating and out of breath, but he smiled.
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5872d9acd5fc79103c1e56546c41469c5ee4db2d1aa6f9e30424283a67aa080a
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Wife of Declaration Signer Dr. Matthew Thornton
Hannah Jack was born in 1742, daughter of Andrew and Mary Morrison Jack of Chester, New Hampshire. Her family had emigrated from Londonderry, Ireland, but they were originally Scottish. Matthew Thornton was born in 1714 in Northern Ireland, and was brought to this country at the age of three years by his parents, James and Elizabeth Jenkins Thornton. Their family is said to have been among the 120 families who in five small ships, arrived in Boston, Massachusetts, on August 17, 1718, and in the fall of that year went to Maine. When their ship landed in Maine in mid-winter, the passengers had no place to live, so they remained aboard ship.
The Thornton family settled first outside Brunswick, Maine, on a plot of land overlooking Maquoit Bay. In 1720, Brunswick was an outpost on the frontline that stood between the aspirations and momentum of three major cultures, each of which was seeking its own territory. This triangle of struggle consisted of:
The English in Boston and Falmouth to the West
The Native American peoples to the North and in the interior
The French of Acadia, Nova Scotia and the St. Lawrence to the East
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From the analysis of St. Augustine Confessions and Beowulf, it is clear that the two authors, St. Augustine and the poet respectively, differ on their views of death, which helps to paint a better picture of the world that each writer lived in. In Augustine’s writings, death plays a major role in life; it serves as the stepping stone to a greater existence in heaven. In Augustine’s world, Christianity and God both play an important role in how death is viewed. In the poets writings we see a different perspective, one in which the time you spend on earth is of great importance; very little thought is given to life after death.
Although God is mentioned and discussed throughout the writing, it is a very different perspective than the one shown by Augustine. In the writing of St. Augustine, the reader gets a small glimpse of what life was like in the Roman Empire in the forth century, and more particularly how death was viewed during this period. According to the Confessions, life, though valued, was just a time spent before God chose to bring your soul to heaven; contingent of course on the fact that you were a Christian.
‘Yet in a moment, before we had reached the end of the first year of a friendship&. took him from this world (Confessions, 75). ‘; ‘When all hope of saving him was lost, he was baptized as he lay unconscious (Confessions, 75). ‘; This passage about St. Augustine’s friend helps to illustrate that as death drew near in Augustine’s time, thoughts went to the after life in heaven. This hypothesis is furthered when Augustine writes about the death of his mother. ‘And so on the ninth day of her illness, when she was fifty-six and I was thirty-three, her pious and devoted soul was set free from the body (Confessions, 200).
Some might argue that the sorrow that Augustine describes at both the deaths of his friend and mother illustrates that death was not looked on as a passage to life in heaven, but as a very sorrowful and deplorable event. Though Augustine admits to feeling great sorrow at the death of those close to him, he goes on to point out that these feelings are merely of the imperfect body. When one lets go and listens to his soul he will see that all things begin and end with God.
For the senses of the body are sluggish, because they are senses of flesh and blood&They are limited by their own nature (Confessions, 80). ‘; Augustine is pointing out that though death is a sad event, it is the passage of the soul to god, once one gets passed the ‘sluggish senses of the body’; they realize and grow content. We can see this in the passage ‘Our Life himself came down into this world and took away our death. He slew it with his own abounding life, and with thunder in his voice he called us from this world to return to him in heaven (Confessions, 82).
If you were a Christian in Augustine’s world, death was a passage that one should look to once it arrives, as the joyous return to heaven; not a loss but a great gain. It is clear that death played an important role in the world of St. Augustine. When we look at the world of the poet of Beowulf, we see a very different world. In the world of the poet, life is seen as very important; almost no thought is given to where the soul goes after dying. Making the most of ones life, while you are living, it seems is unparalleled in importance.
My father was a noble leader well known among nations&He lived through many winters, and was an old man when he departed from this world (Beowulf, 10). ‘; Beowulf speaks of his father’s long life and notoriety as if that is all that is left of him. There is no mention of his faith or the transcendence of his soul, as one would come to expect in the Confessions. ‘They set a golden banner high over his head; then they gave him to the sea and let the water carry him away. Their spirits were saddened, their hearts mournful.
Men on earth, even the wisest of counselors, do not know how to tell who truly received that cargo (Beowulf, 4). ‘; This passage clearly points to the insecurity and skepticism of life after death that existed in the world of the poet. This insecurity seems to be the reason that the characters of Beowulf spend all their lives trying to do great and noble deeds so as to be remembered always. Some might argue that the continual references to god as the almighty power and the decider of each person’s fate as a parallel to the beliefs of the Romans of St. Augustine’s time. nd fight for my life, enemy against enemy; he whom death takes there must trust to the judgment of the Lord (Beowulf, 14).
However, this passage alone, though it does contend to a belief in god much the same as in Augustine’s work, loses much of its validity when the rest of the piece is considered. ‘At times they made sacrifices to idols in heathen temples, entreating the devil to help them relieve the distress of the people (Beowulf, 7). ‘; This passage is a clear indication that the faith in god held by the people of the poet’s time was much weaker and of a different sort than that of forth century Rome.
The uncertainty of death is strengthened by the desire of the people to have elaborate burials and great monuments built after their death so that they will never be forgotten. ‘After I have been burned on the fire, have the warriors raise a splendid mound at the promontory of the sea; it shall be a remembrance to my people towering high on Hronesness, so that afterwards the seafarers who drive ships far over the dusky sea will call it Beowulf’s barrow (Beowulf, 72).
This vanity shown moments before his death contrasts sharply with the piety shown by St. Augustine’s mother just before her death. he had no care whether her body was to be buried in a rich shroud or embalmed with spices, nor did she wish to have a special monument or a grave in her own country&All she wanted was that we should remember her at your altar, (Confessions, 204). ‘; This is a very strong example of how different the worlds of St. Augustine and the poet were. From the limited view of the life presented by the authors of the Confessions and Beowulf, it is easy to see that the worlds in which they lived were very different. The world of St. Augustine seems well ordered and compact with cities and government officials.
It seems to be a highly intellectual culture strongly influenced by religion and God. The world of the poet seems much different in nature than that of St. Augustine. The poet’s world seems to be much less organized and vast, with various kings as opposed to government officials. It seems to be populated with many roaming bands, and the people seem to be much less intellectually and religiously motivated. It seems they lived simple lives in a constant search for glory and notoriety. With such different cultures it is not difficult to concede that their respective views on death would be as diverse as the cultures themselves.
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Holly started after the man who had collided with her, angry and intending to tell him off But before she reached the intersection, a gray-an red pickup erupted over the brow of the hill, as if fired out of a giant slingshot. She halted at the curb.
The scream of the truck engine was a magic incantation that slowed the flow of time, stretching each second into what seemed to be a minute From the curb, she saw the stranger sweep the boy out of the path of the pickup, executing the rescue with such singular agility and grace that almost appeared to be performing a mad, slow-motion ballet in the street She saw the bumper of the truck strike his left foot, and watched in horror as his shoe was torn off and tossed high into the air, tumbling end over end. Peripherally, she was aware of the man and boy rolling toward the gutter, the truck swerving sharply to the right, the startled crossing guard dropping the paddlelike "stop" sign, the truck ricocheting off a car parked across the street, the man and boy coming to rest against the curb, truck tipping onto its side and sliding downhill in cascades of yellow and blue sparks-but all the while her attention was focused primarily on the shoe tumbling up, up, into the air, silhouetted against the blue sky, hanging at the apex of its flight for what seemed like an hour, then tumbling slowly, slowly down again.
She couldn't look away from it, was mesmerized by it, because she had the macabre feeling that the foot was still in the shoe, torn off at the ankle, bristling with splinters of bone, trailing shards of arteries and veins. Down it came, down, down, straight toward her, and she felt a scream swelling in the back of her throat.
Down. . . down. . .
The battered shoe-a Reebok-plopped into the gutter in front of her, she lowered her eyes to it the way she always looked into the face of the monster in a nightmare, not wanting to see but unable to turn away, dually repelled by and attracted to the unthinkable. The shoe was empty.
No severed foot. Not even any blood.
She swallowed the unreleased scream. She tasted vomit in the back of her throat, and swallowed that too.
As the pickup came to rest on its side more than half a block down the hill, Holly turned the other way and ran to the man and boy. She was the first to reach them as they started to sit up on the blacktop.
Except for a scraped palm and a small abrasion on his chin, the child appeared to be unhurt. He was not even crying.
She dropped to her knees in front of him. "Are you okay, honey?" Though dazed, the boy understood and nodded. "Yeah. My hand hurts little, that's all.”
The man in the white slacks and blue T-shirt was sitting up. He had pulled his sock halfway off his foot and was gingerly kneading his left ankle. Though the ankle was swollen and already inflamed, Holly was still surprised by the absence of blood.
The crossing guard, a couple of teachers, and other kids gathered around, and a babble of excited voices rose on all sides. The boy was helped up and drawn into a teacher's arms.
Wincing in pain as he continued to massage his ankle, the injured man raised his head and met Holly's gaze. His eyes were searingly blue and, for an instant, appeared as cold as if they were not human eyes at all but the visual receptors of a machine.
Then he smiled. In a blink, the initial impression of coldness was replaced by one of warmth. In fact Holly was overwhelmed by the clarity, morning-sky color, and beauty of his eyes; she felt as if she were peering through them into a gentle soul. She was a cynic who would equally distrust a nun and Mafia boss on first encounter, so her instant attraction to this man was jolting. Though words were her first love and her trade, she was at a loss for them.
"Close call," he said, and his smile elicited one from her.
Holly waited for Jim Ironheart in the school hallway, outside the boys' restroom. All of the children and teachers had at last gone home. The building was silent, except for the periodic muted hum of the maintenance man's electric buffer as he polished the vinyl tile up on the second floor. The air was laced with a faint perfume of chalk dust, craft paste, and pine-scented disinfectant wax.
Outside in the street, the police probably were still overseeing a couple of towing-company employees who were righting the overturned truck in order to haul it away. The driver had been drunk. At the moment he was in the hospital, where physicians were attending to his broken leg, lacerations, abrasions, and contusions.
Holly had gotten nearly everything she required to write the story: background on the boy-Billy Jenkins-who had nearly been killed, the feel of the event, the reactions of the eye-witnesses, a response from the police and slurred expressions of regret mixed with self pity from the inebriated driver of the truck. She lacked only one element, but it was the most important-information about Jim Ironheart, the hero of the whole affair Newspaper readers would want to know everything about him.
But at the moment all she could have told them was the guy's name and that he was from southern California.
His brown suitcase stood against the wall beside her, and she kept eying it. She had the urge to pop the latches and explore the contents of the bag, though at first she didn't know why. Then she realized it was unusual for a man to be carrying luggage through a residential neighborhood; reporter was trained-if not genetically compelled-to be curious about anything out of the ordinary.
When Ironheart came out of the restroom, Holly was still staring at the suitcase. She twitched guiltily, as if caught pawing through the contents of the bag.
"How're you feeling?" she asked.
"Fine." He was limping. "But I told you-I'd rather not be interviewed.”
He had combed his thick brown hair and blotted the worst of the dirt off his white cotton pants. He was wearing both shoes again, although the left was torn in one spot and battered.
She said, "I won't take much of your time.”
"Definitely," he agreed, smiling.
"Oh, come on, be a good guy.”
"Sorry, but I'd make dull copy anyway.”
"You just saved a child's life!" "Other than that, I'm boring.”
Something about him belied his claim to dullness, although at first Holly could not pinpoint the reason for his strong appeal. He was about thirty-five, an inch or two under six feet, lean but well-muscled.
Though he was attractive enough, he didn't have the looks that made her think of movie stars. His eyes were beautiful, yes, but she was never drawn to a man merely because of his looks and certainly not because of one exceptional feature.
He picked up his suitcase and began to limp along the corridor.
"You should see a doctor," she said, falling in at his side.
"At worst, it's sprained.”
"It still should be treated.”
"Well, I'll buy an Ace bandage at the airport, or when I get back home.”
Maybe his manner was what she found so appealing. He spoke softly, smiled easily, rather like a Southern gentleman, though he had no accent.
He also moved with unusual grace even when he was limping. She remembered how she had been reminded of ballet when, with the fluidity of a dancer, he had swept the little boy out of the path of the hurtling truck.
Exceptional physical grace and an unforced gentility were appealing in a man. But neither of those qualities was what fascinated her. Something else. Something more elusive.
As they reached the front door, she said, "If you're really intent on going home again, I can give you a ride to the airport.”
"Thank you. That's very kind, but I don't need a ride.”
She followed him onto the porch. "It's a damned long walk.”
He stopped, and frowned. "Oh. Yeah. Well. . . there's got to be a phone I'll call a cab.”
"Come on, you don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not a serial killer. I don't keep a chainsaw in my car.”
He stared at her a beat, then grinned disarmingly. "Actually, you look more like the type who favors bludgeoning with a blunt instrument.”
"I'm a reporter. We use switchblades. But I haven't killed anyone this week.”
"Last week?" "Two. But they were both door-to-door salesmen.”
"It's still homicide.”
"Okay, I accept your offer.”
Her blue Toyota was at the far curb, two back from the parked car in which the drunk driver had slammed. Downhill, the tow truck was just hauling away the totaled pickup, and the last of the policemen was getting into a patrol car. A few overlooked splinters of tempered glass from the truck's broken windows still glimmered on the blacktop in the late-afternoon sunshine.
They rode for a block or so in silence.
Then Holly said, "You have friends in Portland?" "Yeah. From college.”
"That's who you were staying with?" "Yeah.”
"They couldn't take you to the airport?" "They could've if it was a morning flight, but this afternoon they were both at work.”
"Ah," she said. She commented on clusters of brilliant yellow roses that hung from vines entwining a split-rail fence at a house they passed, an asked if he knew that Portland called itself the City of Roses, which he did After another silence, she returned to the real conversation: "Their phone wasn't working, huh?" "Excuse me?" "Your friends." She shrugged. "I just wondered why you didn't call a cab from their place.”
"I intended to walk.”
"To the airport?" "My ankle was fine then.”
"It's still a long walk.”
"Oh, but I'm a fitness nut.”
"Very long walk-especially with a suitcase.”
"It's not that heavy. When I'm exercising, I usually walk with handweights to get an upper-body workout.”
"I'm a walker myself," she said, braking for a red light. "I used to run every morning, but my knees started hurting.”
"Mine too, so I switched to walking. Gives your heart the same workout if you keep up your pace.”
For a couple of miles, while she drove as slowly as she dared in order to extend the time she had with him, they chatted about physical fitness and fat-free foods. Eventually he said something that allowed her to ask, with ,complete naturalness, the names of his friends there in Portland.
"No," he said.
"No what?" "No, I'm not giving you their names. They're private people, nice people, I don't want them being pestered.”
"I've never been called a pest before," she said.
"No offense, Miss Thorne, but I just wouldn't want them to have to be in the paper and everything, have their lives disrupted.”
"Lots of people like seeing their names in the newspaper.”
"They might enjoy talking about their friend, the big hero.”
"Sorry," he said affably, and smiled.
She was beginning to understand why she found him so appealing: his unshakable poise was irresistible. Having worked for two years in Los Angeles, Holly had known a lot of men who styled themselves as laid-back Californians; each portrayed himself as the epitome of self possession, Mr.
Mellow-rely on me baby, and the world can never touch either of us; we are beyond the reach of fate but none actually possessed the cool nerves and unflappable temperament to which he pretended. A Bruce Willis wardrobe, perfect tan, and studied insouciance did not a Bruce Willis make. Self confidence could be gained through experience, but real aplomb was something you were either born with or learned to imitate-and the imitation was never convincing to the observant eye.
However, Jim Ironheart had been born with enough aplomb, if rationed equally to all the men in Rhode Island, to produce an entire state of cool, unflappable types.
He faced hurtling trucks and a reporter's questions with the same degree of equanimity. Just being in his company was oddly relaxing and reassuring.
She said, "That's an interesting name you have.”
"Jim?" He was having fun with her.
"Ironheart," she said. "Sounds like an American Indian name.”
"Wouldn't mind having a little Chippewa or Apache blood, make me lists dull, a little bit exotic, mysterious. But it's just the Anglicized version of the family's original German name-Eisenherz.”
By the time they were on the East Portland Freeway, rapidly approaching the Killingsworth Street exit, Holly was dismayed at the prospect of dropping him at the airline terminal. As a reporter, she still had a lot of unanswered questions. More important, as a woman, she was more intrigued by him than she had been by any man in ages. She briefly considered taking a far more circuitous route to the airport; his lack of familiarity with the city might disguise her deception. Then she realized that the freeway signs were already announcing the upcoming exit to Portland International; even if he had not been reading them, he could not have failed to notice the steady air traffic in the deep-blue eastern sky ahead them.
She said, "What do you do down there in California?" "Enjoy life.”
"I meant-what do you do for a living?" "What's your guess?" he asked.
"Well. . . one thing for sure: you're not a librarian.”
"Why do you say that?" "You have a sense of mystery about you.”
"Can't a librarian be mysterious?" "I've never known one who was." Reluctantly she turned onto the airport exit ramp. "Maybe you're a cop of some kind.”
"What gives you that idea?" "Really good cops are unflappable, cool.”
"Gee, I think of myself as a warm sort of guy, open and easy. You think I'm cool?" traffic was moderately heavy on the airport approach road. She let it slow her even further.
"I mean," she said, "that you're very self possessed.”
"How long have you been a reporter?" "Twelve years.”
"All of it in Portland?" "No. I've been here a year.”
"Where'd you work before?" "Chicago. . . Los Angeles. . . Seattle.”
"You like journalism?" Realizing that she had lost control of the conversation, Holly said, "This isn't a game of twenty questions, you know.”
"Oh," he said, clearly amused, "that's exactly what I thought it was She was frustrated by the impenetrable wall he had erected about himself, irritated by his stubbornness. She was not used to having her will thwarted. But he had no meanness in him, as far as she could see, and no great talent for deception; he was just determined to preserve his privacy As a reporter who had ever-increasing doubts about a journalist's right intrude in the lives of others, Holly sympathized with his reticence. When she glanced at him, she could only laugh softly. "You're good.”
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Here is an excerpt from All or Nothing, from the chapter named Strong Word.
If you want to read more, you can purchase the book on Amazon.
Late Saturday morning Ben opened Presley’s front door after rapping his knuckles on it. “You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked,” he said, scolding her.
“Sorry, I actually unlocked it for you. But I can kick you out, lock it and make you knock again if it will make you feel better,” she said sarcastically when she walked into the living room.
He chose to ignore her. “So what did you want to do today?”
“How about shopping?” she said with a bright smile.
“How about no,” he replied back with just as big of a grin.
Her smile faltered. “Why not?”
“I hate shopping.”
She drew her eyebrows together. “Hate is an awfully strong word.”
“Yes, it is.” There was very little that could get him to a mall. On a Saturday, no less.
She tilted her head to the side and slithered toward him. Slithered was the best way to describe the way her hips swayed, the way her arms and legs moved fluidly, until she stopped within a foot of him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I can make it worth your while.”
Interesting. He might be able to use this to his advantage. But he still wasn’t sure it was going to be worth it. Nothing was worth going to the mall. “Oh really. What do you have in mind?”
She leaned up on her toes, placed her mouth over his ear and whispered, “It’s a surprise. But I guarantee one hundred percent satisfaction.”
His body started to stir instantly. “I’m going to hold you to that,” he said, his arms coming around and pulling her body tight against his.
Thirty minutes later, he was cursing and wondering why he agreed to this. The parking lot was completely full and he had been driving around the large mall for over ten minutes. “What the hell is going on today?”
She turned her head and looked at him, dumbfounded. “Yesterday was Black Friday. So today is notoriously busy, too.”
He drew his eyebrows together. “What’s Black Friday?”
She threw her head back with a laugh. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-two. What does that have to do with anything?”
She shook her head. “Have you lived under a rock for the last thirty-two years?”
He snorted. “Hardly.” But he was beginning to wonder because, whatever this Black Friday was, he had a feeling he was in trouble.
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Cast to hell as a sacrifice, Stella meets Apollo, a ghost-like demon whose body is trapped in a sealed tower in the underworld. He saves her life, but at a price. She must give him her soul and become his servant.
Apollo then takes the young girl as his ward, training her to use magic. As she matures, Apollo develops loving feelings for his captive, a love that could prove dangerous for the young girl. He asks her to take him to the surface world, a place demons were banished from, and vowed to use his magic to make her a perfect life there, something Stella had never had.
But Stella’s silver-tongued, demon master had been banished for good reason, and releasing him on the surface may have disastrous consequences. Not to mention he knows a huge secret about Stella, one that he would do anything to keep from her.
“We both know she’s not just the Gateway. From the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew exactly who she was.”
- Horror, Dark Romance
- Available in ebook and paperback
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Just over 900 years ago today, on 20th July 1101, Duke Robert of Normandy landed at Portsmouth with an invading army from Normandy. Though numerically smaller than his father’s mighty invasion force had been in 1066, Robert’s invading army still posed a major threat to Henry I, King of England. What had caused this political and military crisis in England?
- Duke Robert and King Henry I were both sons of King William I: Robert being the eldest son and Henry the youngest son. King William I’s middle son was also called William (nicknamed Rufus). Robert and William had shared out the territorial spoils when their father, William the Conqueror, died in 1087. Robert succeeded to the Dukedom of Normandy, while William became King William II of England. Henry, the youngest son, had to make do with a massive payoff; maybe as much as three thousand silver marks. Henry’s two elder brothers had excluded him from political power: their cavalier treatment of Henry in 1087 perhaps sowed the seeds of the later sibling strife between Henry and Robert.
- As it was, for the next dozen or so years, Henry had to wait in the political wings, while Robert and William enjoyed the prestige that went with political office. Sexual liaisons seemed to have totally occupied Henry. Indeed, Professor Judith Green estimates that Henry fathered the amazing total of 19 illegitimate children between 1086 (when he was knighted) and 1100 (when he became King of England).* Henry was catholic in his choice of mistresses: Ede, Ansfrida and Edith were all well-born Anglo/Saxon ladies. Ansfrida was clearly more than just a passing fancy for Henry, as the couple had three children (their liaison began after Ansfrida had been widowed). Another of Henry’s mistresses, Nest, was a Welsh Princess; while yet another mistress, Isabel, was a well-born Norman lady (daughter of Count Meulan).
- Even so, it would be incorrect to dismiss Henry as merely a sexual adventurer. As the very reliable contemporary chronicler, William of Malmesbury, remarked about Henry: “He was early instructed in the liberal arts, and so throughout imbibed the sweets of learning that no warlike disturbance and no pressure of business could ever erase them from his noble mind.” [EHD, Vol. II, page 319] It seems likely that Henry had always closely followed political events in England and Normandy, to see how he could further his own interests. His chance finally came in August 1100, when William II died in an accident whilst hunting in the New Forest (see my forthcoming August Blog). The political situation in early August 1100 was uniquely favourable to Henry: William II of England had just died, while his elder brother, Robert, was still many miles away, returning from his participation in the First Crusade. Henry took his chance, seizing the English Crown. Why did Henry not also try to appropriate the dukedom of Normandy in August 1100? The answer seems to be that he initially needed to consolidate his position as King of England; as Professor Carpenter has sagely remarked about King Henry I: “he knew when to stop.” **
- Duke Robert returned to Normandy in the autumn of 1100. He immediately set about making plans to invade England, to dispossess Henry I of the English Crown. In February 1101, his cause was greatly aided by the arrival in Normandy of Ranulf Flambard. Flambard had been William II’s chief administrator. Henry I had imprisoned Flambard after his accession to the Crown in August 1100. Flambard now took his revenge against Henry, helping Robert, Duke of Normandy, to mastermind the Norman Invasion of England, which finally took place in July 1101.
- Duke Robert’s invasion Force posed a supreme challenge to King Henry I. To begin with, Duke Robert had assembled an invasion fleet of at least 200 ships. Secondly, Flambard bribed Henry’s English seamen to allow Duke Robert’s invasion fleet to land on English soil unopposed – which they did, at Portsmouth, on 20th July 1101. Finally, once Duke Robert and his invasion army had set foot on English soil, many of Henry’s Tenants-in-Chief began to desert him. It looked as if an action-replay of the 1066 Hastings Campaign, fought thirty-five years earlier, was about to happen. The then Duke of Normandy was successful in 1066: the question was would the new Duke of Normandy be equally successful in 1101?
- Yet King Henry I probably had more acumen than King Harold. To begin with, Henry had the unswerving support of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the justly renowned Anselm. Anselm privately stiffened the loyalty of any magnates who were uncertain whether or not to support Henry. Secondly, Henry sensibly used all means at his disposal to maximise the size of his army. Like all Norman monarchs, he demanded that his tenants-in-chief (those that were still loyal) fulfil their feudal obligations to provide him with mounted knights. In addition, Henry utilised the Anglo/Saxon fyrd. He summoned his Englishmen to muster at Hastings (possibility deliberately invoking memories of 1066). The fact that Henry, alone of William the Conqueror’s sons, had been born in England (possibly in Selby), and that he had married an Anglo/Saxon Princess (Queen Edith Matilda) doubtless encouraged English troops to muster in the fyrd. Finally, Henry himself was a talented leader. Back in 1066, at the Battle of Hastings, King Harold had failed to properly discipline the English shield wall against William the Conqueror’s invading army. King Henry displayed no such military shortcomings. As the fyrd gathered at Hastings in July 1101, Henry himself repeatedly passed through the assembled ranks of the English soldiers. He personally instructed them how to repel a cavalry charge by maintaining their shield wall, and returning their enemies’ blows. Here indeed was a leader in action.
- The result was a military stand-off between the two armies; yet such a stalemate would ultimately favour Henry, as it would mean that the political initiative would return to him. That is what happened. With the help of mediators, Henry and Robert agreed to make peace, enshrined in the ‘Treaty of Alton’, which was formally ratified at Winchester on 2nd August 1101. It cannot have been lost on contemporaries that this was exactly a year since the death of King William II, close to Winchester, in the New Forest. The Treaty of Alton was a major boost for Henry I. By this Treaty, Robert formally renounced the English Crown. In return, King Henry I had to pay Robert a huge pension, possibly as much as £2,500. The latter tribute smacked of Henry imitating the Anglo/Saxon King Aethelred a hundred years earlier when the latter monarch paid the Danegeld; but such a comparison would be false. It is true that Henry gained a much needed breathing space by the Treaty of Alton; but he aimed to use the respite by further consolidating his regime in England, and then make his own bid for Normandy. That this was probably the case is supported by the fact that although Robert renounced the English Crown at the Treaty of Alton. Henry for his part was careful not to renounce his claim to the Dukedom of Normandy.
It seemed that by the Treaty of Alton, the sibling strife between Robert and Henry had given way to brotherly bliss; yet their rivalry remained. This Blog entry is the first of a trilogy of Blogs concerned with Henry I’s accession and retention of power between 1100 and 1106. The final sibling struggle was to be acted out on the playing fields of Tinchebrai, in Normandy, in 1106 (the subject of my September Blog entry). There, King Henry I sealed his triumph, becoming Duke of Normandy, as well as King of England. By 1106, Henry had effectively staked out his claim to be the most successful son of King William the Conqueror, a claim he was to make good in the thirty or so years after 1106.
Henry’s fecundity in fathering illegitimate offspring is still relatively unknown. What British monarch traditionally has ben regarded as being the father of numerous illegitimate children?
*Henry I by Judith Green. CUP. 2006
**The Struggle for Mastery by David Carpenter. Allen Lane. 2003
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The evening began with anticipation as the workshop was described as a ‘practical, interactive and playful session.’ I’m always one for being a team player, but something told me this would not be a regular workshop. I arrived flustered as the directions as to where the workshop was wasn’t particularly great, and only happened to stumble upon the workshop by tip-toeing into a large building to ask for directions. The workshop was run by Jude Clayborne (photo above), she is an actress, writer, facilitator and linguist. The workshop was help by Academy at the Hub who hold workshops, classes and events to develop and support entrepreneurs.
After finally finding my feet I found that I was 1 of 5 people which resulted in a very personal workshop. It was great to see that there were people from different professions wanting to better their skills at public speaking. Jude, the workshop leader was fantastic at making everyone feel relaxed and immediately put me at ease.
The first exercise we did in the workshop was to introduce ourselves and explain why we were there, and what happens when we speak publicly. This was actually really interesting and nice to hear why other people were also there. This also allowed Jude to understand what sort of problems we faced. My favourite exercise seemed extremely unorthodox and felt (at first) really silly. We stood in a circle and with direction yelled quotes from a very retro Eastenders cast. Quotes included “Get out of my pub” (pretend pint pulling included) various Phil Mitchell impersonations and “Ricky!”. A variation of “Wellard!” was discussed, but never used (unfortunately). The yelling was structured in such a way that one quote was in reply to another. It was sort of a ‘round robin’ game in which we had to be on our toes. This exercise allowed each of us to accept that mistakes could be made without persecution and were in fact in this exercise celebrated! Doing this as a first exercise was like jumping in the deep end (literally) most of our deep fears of Speaking Publicly (Looking silly) was being shoved into the limelight. Although daunting, it was really affirming and helpful.
The most helpful exercise was when we were instructed to harness a particular energy, for example pretending as if you’re speaking as an Evangelical Christian, speaking to young children or a being secret gossip. We first practiced using this energy in a bombastic, almost over the top way, which was then followed by using the same energy but in a less obvious way. This technique seemed to inset a sort of energy into the way we spoke in which we found comfortable and helpful. Each person had a different technique which was highlighted for each person.
When one speaks publicly, one always appears to be afraid that the worst is going to happen, that they are going to get eaten alive, that they (heaven forbid) make a mistake and look silly. One (of many) thing(s) I learned is that there is nothing wrong with looking silly – It’s not the end of the world.
The rest of the workshop was spent finding and then harnessing a particular method that enabled us to speak publicly with diction, heartfelt enthusiasm and a secret energy. Everyone had a different method, and a workshop with a small number of participants allowed us to work with Jude to identify it. Some parts of the workshop had a Mr. Miyagi moment, at which at first one thinks ‘why on earth am I doing this’ only to have it unravel at a later point, showing how important and poignant that particular exercise was.
Overall, the workshop was enlightening and most definitely helpful. Jude’s personality and nature really helped the workshop become a learn and play exercise. I feel like I was able to take away some really useful tips from this workshop. That you shouldn’t be afraid to make a mistake, we are all human and can’t deliver spotless, perfect speeches or pitches (yet). That imagination will take you further than you think, visualising that big lump in your throat dissolving will actually make it feel like it has disappeared. Having a secret energy that allows to you speak easily and energetically about your subject will do wonders to relax you and enable to you speak efficiently and comfortably. But most of all, posture and warming up your muscles will make a huge change! It was a wonderfully different workshop which was most certainly worth the energy and effort put in.
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MMFA offers rare look at Zelda Fitzgerald's work
For the first time in more than 40 years, the fragile works of Zelda Fitzgerald have come out of the archives and were on display Saturday at the Montgomery Museum of Fine Arts.
Although Zelda's oil paintings are a part of the MMFA's permanent collection, her watercolors, made on paper rather than canvass, are rarely seen because of their fragile condition and can be damaged by too much exposure to the heat from the lights.
Twenty-five of Zelda's works, including her rare watercolors, will continue to be on display at the museum through August and is the second largest collection of Zelda's paintings.
Saturday's Tea and Talk opened the exhibit to the public with the painter's favorite treats, peaches, tea and biscuits along with experts who talked about Zelda's life, her struggles with mental illness and the abstract form of her art.
Although those raised in Montgomery are familiar with the intricate and tragic lives of famous author F. Scott Fitzgerald and his wife, Zelda Sayre Fitzgerald, Zelda's story has gained renewed interest in recent years.
That is one of the reasons the museum decided it was time to show her works publicly again.
"People are starting to look at Zelda not just as an anomaly of a time period or an expression of a time period when excess was the norm," said Willie Thompson, executive director of the Fitzgerald Museum. "People are looking at her much more as a woman who was struggling to come into her own as an artist."
Zelda was diagnosed with schizophrenia around the 1930s, which led her to art as a way of therapy. Now, thought to have suffered from bipolar disorder, she also struggled against societal norms for women, trying to find her creative niche.
"Her life has become of greater interest, I think in the last couple of decades among feminist historians," said Margaret Ausfeld, MMFA's curator of art. "They have really taken up her cause because they see her as an individual with great passion and great creativity who was stymied by the fact of the morality of her time, to suppress her creativity and be subordinate to her husband."
Now her creativity is being appreciated.
On display are several works from the 1940s influenced by the Roaring Twenties in America and nods to Spanish and French styles. The pieces depict fairy tales, religious scenes and paper dolls she began making her daughter, Scottie Fitzgerald Smith.
Thompson described her work as "abstract, surreal and impressionistic."
"Her works have been called 'dream-scapes,' because there is a real effort in these works not to represent things in a realistic fashion," Thompson explained.
Although Zelda, like her husband, was also an author and wrote several short stories during her lifetime, her paintings show raw emotion and release from the pain of her mental treatments, Ausfeld said.
"This artwork is a tangible example of her creatively and her ability to express herself," Ausfeld said. "That makes it all that more poignant to have this work here."
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Edward Hart was born 30 July 1847, the son of William Hart, a Christchurch taxidermist. His father had become interested in natural history as a boy and passed on his skills, and later his business 'William Hart & Son, Preservers of Birds and Beasts', to his son, Edward. Unlike the cases produced by William which were quite crude by modern standards, Edward's Work was of very high quality and demonstrated his skills in painting and plant modelling.
William had opened his first taxidermy shop, which was situated in Bridge Street, in 1834. Two years before the birth of Edward in 1845, William built a Fusee watch chain factory at West End, an area later known as Bargates. This was one of three major Fusee industries in Christchurch and although taxidermy remained as interest, watch chain manufacture became William's main occupation.
William opened another taxidermy business close to the Fusee Chain factory and presumably the shop in Bridge Street closed. It was around this time that the young Edward Hart started to become interested in taxidermy. 'In 1857 I shot three of these birds and afterwards mounted them, little thinking at the time that this attempt at taxidermy was to be the beginning of making my collection, which has been my fortune to accumulate principally from Hampshire'. Edward worked at William's new premises for several years, learning the art of taxidermy, until he opened his own business at 23 High Street (The Bow House).
As well as preparing animals and birds for local sportsmen, Edward started his own collection. Most of his specimens were taken between 1867 and 1897. In 1866, his collection was large enough to open a museum in 'The Bow House', which is now the Portman Building Society.
Hart's Museum received many visitors, including Sir Robert and Lady Baden-Powell in March 1914. The building was described as 'warm, well-lit and very clean, the ideal of a private museum, every part of which is crowded with rare and beautiful birds.' A chart drawn up by Edward Hart for Bournemouth Corporation gave some indication of the space taken up by the cases. The total length of the bird cases was 270 feet (82 metres) with a height of 10 feet (3 metres). In addition the mammal cases extended another 30 feet (9 metres).
Over the years Hart's Museum grew in size to include 'upwards of 420 cases, containing 1350 specimens of birds, 2000 birds' eggs, 1000 fossils and flint implements, besides sea weeds, ferns, mosses, moths and butterflies and various specimens of horns, skulls, etc., and other interesting articles.' Most of the specimens were procured by Edward himself, and he kept detailed notebooks of where and when he found them. Other specimens were collected by local people, notably Mr. T Pike 'whose friendship I was so long privileged to enjoy.'
In addition to keeping notebooks, Edward took great pride in his work. Many of his cases, in particular the rarities, have backgrounds of local scenes depicting where the birds were shot. In addition to having examples of local bird records, the cases give a glimpse to how Christchurch looked towards the end of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries. The backgrounds were described in 1903 as giving 'semblance of life and reality, and it is difficult sometimes for the spectator to believe that he had not the living bird in its natural surrounds before him.'
Throughout his life, Edward was in close contact with other naturalists and one of his more valuable specimens, the Little Egret, was described by Yarrell (1856) in his History of British Birds - 'This lovely bird, whose name is so familiar on account of its plumage, was shot near the town of Christchurch in 1822 and is one of only three known specimens in England.'
Although ornithology was his main interest, Edward also prepared a number of mammals. These included squirrels, rats, shrews, stoats and dormice, the latter being recorded as 'very numerous between early spring and October.' In common with many taxidermists of the time, Edward occasionally arranged mammals into what he called 'Grotesque Groups', which depicted animals, usually squirrels, in human situations. These dioramas included 'Prize Fight' ( six scenes), 'Leap Frog' and 'The Barber' amongst others.
Although Edward Hart's attitudes to wildlife seem almost barbaric by modern standards, it should be remembered that Victorian naturalists did not access to binoculars or cameras. Often, the only method of identifying specimens was to shoot first and study afterwards. As there were great numbers of wildlife, it seemed inconceivable to Victorian naturalists that they could have any damaging effects on the populations of birds and animals. It is interesting to note that while Edward acknowledged the need for protecting rare birds from extinction, he killed the last pair of Choughs to inhabit the Isle of Wight stating 'Other people were after them, and if I has not added them to the museum somebody else would have got them.'
Unlike many naturalists of his time, Edward came to realise the effects of the increasing numbers of visitors to the area on the local wildlife. He supported Acts of Parliament which prevented shooting during the breeding season and noted ' should game ever come to be left to the tender mercies of the masses, a sorry day it will be for animated nature'. In later years, Edward was able to note the beneficial effects of the Wild Birds Protection Act. 'The finches are undoubtedly increasing in numbers. I have noticed a large addition to the flocks in this district during the last ten years and this I attribute to the Wild Birds Protection Act….'
Despite the popularity of his museum, Edward became increasing disenchanted with the public and bemoaned the surge of visitors from London, complaining '….decency should compel them to leave their brazen-throated gramophone and music hall songs in their own homes, and not intrude on the lonely reaches and quiet creeks of our rivers.' In 1903 Edward offered his entire collection, provided that it remained intact, to Bournemouth Corporation for £4000. He also offered to curate the collection once relocated and to bear the cost of adding specimens and supplying cases once in-situ. The Corporation were keen to acquire the collection to form the nucleus of a Public Natural History Museum for Bournemouth and the neighbourhood.
On the advice of the Natural History Museum, Bournemouth Corporation invited Mr. Edward Gerrard to come and inspect the collection. Unfortunately Edward Gerrard's visit was unannounced and Edward Hart was unable to show him the most valuable pieces of his collection which were housed separately. Despite a low estimate of the value of Hart's collection which did not include 88 cases of birds and animals, Bournemouth Corporation agreed to try and raise the £4000 required by Edward Hart. The Corporation set aside £1700 half of Gerrard's estimate) and started a campaign to raise the remaining £2300. The first list of subscriptions raised £290 with the proviso that if the committee had not reached their target in 6 months, the money would be returned. Although the campaign generated interest both locally and nationally amongst naturalists, the money was not raised and the collection remained unsold.
Shortly before Edward's death in 1928, the collection was offered for sale. Most of the cases were purchased by John Hall of Stafford. For the next few years until his death, Edward Hart corresponded with John Hall, a keen ornithologist, sending batches of bird records to him for checking and answering enquiries regarding some of the cases of birds.
After the death of John Hall, the collection was passed to Stowe School in Buckinghamshire where they remained until 1923. The collection was, by this time, in a sad state of neglect and staff at Leicester Museum took them on for conservation and safe storage. Unfortunately a number of cases were beyond repair and had to be disposed of. In the early 1980's, Stowe School offered the collection for sale and they were purchased by the Horniman Museum, Leicester Museum and Hampshire County Council Museums Service (HCCMS). Twenty two cases were purchased by the latter and chosen, not only as fine examples of taxidermy, but also because the backgrounds show Christchurch at the time the birds were shot.
In addition to the twenty two cases of Edward's Work, HCCMS also holds examples of specimens prepared by his father, William. Although William's work is not of the quality produced by Edward, they still represent good examples of early 19th century taxidermy.
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- Darkwing is a Decepticon.
Darkwing has just as dim a view of existence as his partner Dreadwind, he's simply more proactive about it. After all, he figures if everything is pointless, depressing, and inevitably leads to a life of painful and ceaseless suffering anyway, he might at least make sure others are getting it a lot worse than he is. You can always count on Darkwing to attempt to make a bad situation worse for everyone involved, and to complain about it all loudly while he's at it.
Darkwing's Panavia Tornado GR1 fighter jet mode abilities mirror Dreadwind's almost exactly. Darkwing combines with Dreadwind to form the vehicle Dreadwing, so they are not so much two jets as two halves of the same jet. Fast and deadly, Darkwing is similarly laden with weaponry, the most deadly of which are his two laser-guided electro-kinetic blasters, which turn an enemy's power against its owner. The more powerful the foe, the more Darkwing can hurt him. Unlike Dreadwind, he is mobile and lethal in robot mode, specializing in hand-to-hand combat.
Darkwing hates combining to form Dreadwing, and is often distracted by continually bickering with Dreadwind.
|“||Things are never as bad as they seem -- usually they're worse.||”|
Generation 1 cartoon continuity
The Transformers cartoon
Darkwing and Dreadwind fight against Optimus Prime.
May 30 - Encounter in the Rust Sea
Darkwing, reporting. Me and Banshee were sent out on patrol over the Rust Sea, when we encountered Knightmare and Takedown near a recently revived energon lake. We landed and questioned what they were doing out so far, as we'd received no reports they'd been assigned there. Then Banshee noticed neither were wearing their Decepticon sigils and demanded to know why. Dreadwind, who had also been dispatched after us, arrived at that point and assumed command...sort of. Knightmare made it clear that she considered herself and the Dominicons to no longer be Decepticons; she said something about not wanting to follow, uh, weak leaders. And that she claimed the energon lake. She didn't provide a lot of details, but didn't seem that threatened. She did say something about officers not living up to Decepticon ideals like hers or some slag like that. Things looked like they were headed for a fight, but Knightmare didn't seem interested in attacking, even after Banshee opened fire on her...missing. We communicated to Commander Starscream the situation, but were forced to withdraw, as we were outnumbered after Knightmare summoned the other Dominicons to join her. Seemed smarter to come back with reinforcements than let them wreck us piecemeal.
December 18 - "Attack on Autobot City"
- French: Ailenoire (Canada)
- Darkwing was originally played by User:Double0snake.
- In May of 2017 Darkwing was taken over by mythperceptions.
- For the Attack on Autobot City, Darkwing was @emitted by User:Sunder9x9.
| This page uses content from Transformers Wiki. The original article was at Darkwing.|
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gibberishtwist wrote:Definitely not as good as I thought it would be. Maybe the person who came up with the word didn't like that smell. Also, Firefox doesn't recognize the word. Odd.
I agree, it's a really unmusical word. Firefox doesn't recognize most rare words, and "petrichor" is pretty darn rare.
The etymology's pretty good though; it was definitely coined by people who liked it.
A.Word.A.Day wrote:[From petro- (rock), from Greek petros (stone) + ichor (the fluid that is supposed to flow in the veins of the gods in Greek mythology). Coined by researchers I.J. Bear and R.G. Thomas.]
midden: a trash heap that indicates human settlement, especially in archaeology.
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CHRIST WALKING ON THE SEA
When the people had seen the miracle that Christ did in feeding so many with so few loaves, they felt sure that He was one of the old prophets that had come again, and they would have taken Him by force to make Him king. So He sent His disciples by boat towards Capernaum, and He went, alone, up into a mountain to pray.
When it was dark, the disciples found themselves alone upon the sea, opposed to strong winds, which tossed the boat upon high waves. Then Jesus went out to them, walking upon the waves; but when the disciples saw Him they thought it was a spirit, and cried out with fear. But Jesus said, "Be of good cheer: it is I; be not afraid." Peter answered Him saying, "Lord, if it be Thou, bid me come unto Thee on the water." And He said, "Come," and Peter stepped over the boat's side and walked on the water towards Christ. But when he saw the angry waves around him and heard the roaring of the winds, Peter was afraid and began to sink. He cried out, "Lord, save me." And Jesus, stretching out His hand, caught him, and said, "O thou of little faith, why didst thou fear?"
When Jesus and Peter had got into the boat, the wind dropped, the sea became calm and the waves still, and immediately they were at the place where they wanted to land. Then they worshipped him, saying, "Truly Thou art the Son of God." And they came into the land of Gennesaret, where the people knew Him and brough to Him all that were sick, or blind, or lame, that they might touch His garment and be made well.
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