tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39907666057892608902024-03-05T19:34:34.883-08:00Author Blog Roy A HigginsRoy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-60361873063730565952017-03-10T02:10:00.000-08:002017-03-10T02:10:19.882-08:00Satan's Whiskers Chapter Four.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkS99EBw1c0U5M-QDhRjJfNoVYwlnjPXW2HfyPulxm2lPphdIZiOVAEYZta_kAe3hrrZZD8bB4F_edAzIS_HO8WbKEjlnJPb9DIgoo2hsb1Ye-jCuD3vv1UKj6Bf364fS2XTr_tA0yvPlm/s1600/Book+cover+Whiskers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkS99EBw1c0U5M-QDhRjJfNoVYwlnjPXW2HfyPulxm2lPphdIZiOVAEYZta_kAe3hrrZZD8bB4F_edAzIS_HO8WbKEjlnJPb9DIgoo2hsb1Ye-jCuD3vv1UKj6Bf364fS2XTr_tA0yvPlm/s320/Book+cover+Whiskers.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was eventually
asked to give the police my witness statement regarding the death of the child,
and to my surprise I was also interviewed about the subsequent killings of
Skinner and Short. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Seamus O’Malley
was being held as the prime suspect for the killings, and my testimony, along
with that of other members of the band, was expected to convict him of the
crime. I’d expected to be interviewed in a stark interview room, similar to the
ones I’d seen on television programmes, but on my arrival at the police
station, a constable guided me to a comfortable office room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Detective
Inspector Trimble was leading the investigation; he’d lost most of his hair,
except for a ring of predominantly silver hair which travelled around the back
of his neck, before curling over his collar for want of a recent trim. The inspector
had grown a moustache to compensate for his follicle deficiency, and with a
genial face he looked like the stereotypical image of a favourite grandfather.
A gold half hunter pocket watch, on a rose-gold chain, adorning a three piece
suit, and his shoes were highly polished as if he’d once been in the army. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Trimble sat on a
green leather swivel chair behind a large mahogany desk, where he consulted his
pocket watch frequently, as if he were late for a more important meeting. Due
to its many years of faithful service, not only to Trimble, but to the
generations that came before him, the old desk had seen better days, and the
once vibrant green leather top with gold tooling, had faded to a greenish grey,
never more to return to its former glory. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Framed and
displayed on a blue velvet background, a collection of police badges caught the eye; while around the walls hung
photographs of police football teams, and the inspector shaking hands with
local dignitaries. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">On an inferior
chair, probably one of a set of dining chairs, sat another plain clothes
officer, while a female stenographer, in police uniform, occupied an identical
chair with her back against the wall, her reading glasses perched on the tip of
her nose, and a writing pad lying expectantly in her lap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Please sit
down,” invited the inspector.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Trimble may have
had a genial face, but his colleague, who appeared to be Savage by name and
savage by nature, instigated the interview. His hair was dark and slicked back
using Brylcreem, while a flat moonlike face, coupled with a small pointed nose
and horned rimmed spectacles, gave the impression of an owl waiting expectantly
to pounce. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Detective
Inspector Trimble, and Detective Sergeant Savage in interview with; state your
name please,” said Savage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Raymond Evans,”
I answered, much too loudly due to my nervousness, and I instantly felt
embarrassed at my over-exuberant response. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Not even my
mother called me Raymond unless I was in some kind of trouble, but under the
circumstances Ray would have seemed a little informal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“How long have
you known Seamus O’Malley?” Savage questioned me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I only met him last Saturday for the very first
time. We were involved in a minor road traffic accident and Seamus was a
pedestrian who was injured slightly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Did the accident
occur on the street where O’Malley lives?” asked Savage with a puzzled
expression. It appeared to be his introduction to the concept of a road traffic
accident, and he momentarily floundered while attempting to ask the right
questions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, the accident
happened on the Shadcroft estate, not far from the Manxman public house.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Savage appeared
to be even more confused by my explanation. “Then can you explain how you came
to witness the discovery of a child’s body almost a mile away from the
Shadcroft estate, and on the street where O’Malley lives?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“After the
accident we gave Seamus a lift home and he invited us into his house for a
bottled beer.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Why on earth
would a pedestrian, who you’d never before met, invite you to his house for a
beer?” He leant forward aggressively as he spoke, and invaded my space as if he
didn’t believe a single word of my explanation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I moved my chair
backwards, not because Savage intimidated me, although I have to admit he did,
but to avoid the obnoxious smell of his foul breath. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I personally
had never met him before, but he works on the same building site as Freddie.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Who on earth is
Freddie?” asked Savage, as he shuffled the papers in front of him to discover
the answer to his own question. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Frederick
Cope,” interjected the inspector. He’d been studying the case notes avidly, and
never once had he raised his eyes from the type written pages laid out before
him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What was Seamus
O’Malley’s state of mind when he was told that the child might be dead?” asked
Savage, but before I could answer his question, he added. “Was he angry?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“He appeared to
be angry, he suggested we break into the squat and discover the truth.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Were you angry?” snapped Savage, leaning
forward once again and giving me another whiff of his halitosis problems.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Why should I be
angry? I puzzled. “I didn’t even know the druggies existed until we went to
authenticate Mrs O’Malley’s story.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I suggest that you became angry, on seeing
the body of the child, Mr Evan’s, and that along with Seamus O’Malley, and others, you plotted to kill Thomas Skinner and Teresa Short.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Now wait a minute,” I yelled. “If I’m a
suspect, instead of the witness I was led to believe, then this interview is
over until I have a lawyer present.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I didn’t know
anything about lawyers, or whether I was entitled to have one represent me, but
I’d seen criminals on television react in much the same manner, when the hot
seat appeared to be getting a little too hot, and it always appeared to halt
the proceedings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Detective Inspector
Trimble held up his hand as a signal for Savage to cease his interrogation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You’re not a
suspect, at this stage, Mr. Evans,” said Trimble, trying to defuse the tension
between myself and his subordinate officer. “If you’re in need of a lawyer, at
any time during the interview, I’ll gladly inform you. Now can we continue
please?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I reluctantly
nodded my approval and Trimble took over the questioning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“How did
O’Malley appear when he discovered the child’s body? Was he upset? Did he
become angry? Did he shout or threaten?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“He was stunned
like the rest of us, and upset,” I answered, selecting one of the options made
available to me. “We all were. Seamus collapsed on the floor and began to cry.
I never saw such a tough looking guy break down in tears like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Did he threaten
the lives of Skinner and Short?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“We never saw
Skinner and Short, but he said if he ever set eyes on them they were as good as
dead.”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“He threatened
to kill them?” prompted the inspector, and the stenographer wrote frantically in
shorthand on her writing pad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I could have
bitten my tongue for my indiscretion, and instantly tried to make amends. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“People say
those things all the time, they don’t mean them literally. My mother threatens
to kill me three or four times a week.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Trimble smiled
in recognition. “In your opinion, is Mr O’Malley capable of murder?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I’ve only met him once, so I’m not qualified
to comment.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Trimble lit a
cigarette and offered one to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “No thanks I don’t smoke.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Have you never
smoked Mr. Evans?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I tried them while at school, but they made me feel dizzy and sick so I
never took them up.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What about
Seamus O’Malley, does he smoke?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“He never smoked
in my presence,” I answered truthfully. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Thank you, Mr.
Evans. The sergeant will show you out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Cope and
Cheshire are both smokers by their own admission; so is Bloomfield,” Trimble
told Savage after he’d shown me to the door, “which makes them prime suspects,
but that doesn’t rule out any of the others. If the killer was a non smoker,
and smoked just to imitate the child’s injuries, he would have felt pretty sick
afterwards, there were a lot of burns on the bodies so he must have smoked at
least twenty cigarettes. Unless he vomited in the canal, there is
nothing at the scene to suggest that he was sick. This may indicate that the
killer was a regular smoker, but if he wasn’t I’d like to know about it. Did you get
photographs taken of our suspects as I asked?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes sir, they
were told it was routine when they arrived at the station.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“And did they
buy it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“They did sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Good. Show
their pictures to the local shopkeepers and see if any of our non-smokers
bought cigarettes around the time of the murders.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Over what time
scale,” asked Savage. “Do we know when the deaths actually occurred?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The bodies were
in the second stages of decomposition,” Trimble mused, “my guess would be
within a timescale of a matter of hours of vacating the squat, until about
seventy-two hours ago. We won’t know anymore until we receive the autopsy
report.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As the killer
had bought his cigarettes from a dispenser in The Manxman<i> </i>public house, Savage’s enquires revealed
absolutely nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Seamus O’Malley
remained the primary suspect, despite having been released without charge due
to a lack of evidence. The vigilante, whoever he might be, hadn’t left a single clue as to his identity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
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Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-42174817623257393402017-03-07T02:55:00.000-08:002017-03-07T02:55:20.286-08:00Satan's Whiskers Chapter Three.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkS99EBw1c0U5M-QDhRjJfNoVYwlnjPXW2HfyPulxm2lPphdIZiOVAEYZta_kAe3hrrZZD8bB4F_edAzIS_HO8WbKEjlnJPb9DIgoo2hsb1Ye-jCuD3vv1UKj6Bf364fS2XTr_tA0yvPlm/s1600/Book+cover+Whiskers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkS99EBw1c0U5M-QDhRjJfNoVYwlnjPXW2HfyPulxm2lPphdIZiOVAEYZta_kAe3hrrZZD8bB4F_edAzIS_HO8WbKEjlnJPb9DIgoo2hsb1Ye-jCuD3vv1UKj6Bf364fS2XTr_tA0yvPlm/s320/Book+cover+Whiskers.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Our first
professional engagement was quite a success, considering that we’d only been
together for a few short weeks. The stage proved to be too small to accommodate
us, as I’d predicted it would be, with Freddie and Brian, who being the singers always
fronted the band, spilling onto the dance floor. We were upset by what we’d
witnessed the day before, and I found it difficult to concentrate on something so trivial as playing guitar, but the success
of the booking, which we gauged by audience reaction, helped to raise our
spirits.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After the
performance the publican paid us the agreed pittance, from what must have been
an impressive evening’s takings, judging by the size of the crowd, and he was
happy to honour his handshake contract by booking us to play on alternate Sundays.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’d been
expecting a visit from the Blakewater constabulary throughout the whole of Sunday,
as a constable at the scene had taken our names and addresses after discovering
the baby. He’d asked a few basic questions, the answers to which he’d written
in his notebook, and he informed us that we’d be receiving a visit from plain
clothes division, but no visit had has yet materialised, and no formal statement had
been taken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">While we were
packing away our equipment, after the performance, Freddie received a tap on the shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hi Freddie, you
have a good band there.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A dark haired
young man was offering his congratulations, and intended to make use of his recent sales experience, and past relationship, to take
advantage of the situation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“If you’re
looking for a singer, I’m your man,” he blurted out without embarrassment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was
flabbergasted by the nerve of this guy, and couldn’t help but put him straight
when Freddie and Brian failed to do so. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“We don’t need a
singer,” I told him abruptly. “Freddie and Brian can sing just fine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I just thought the band would be better with a front man to complete the line up.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Well you
thought wrong. Besides we all have a financial investment in this band, every
penny we earn goes into paying higher purchase agreements for our equipment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">There was an
embarrassing silence, during which Freddie and Brian looked uncomfortable, until
the stranger broke the silence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“If you aren't looking for a singer; who manages the band?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“We don’t have a
manager,” answered Brian. “In fact we haven’t even considered one.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I take it this
battered old van belongs to the band?” continued Dominic, for that turned out to be his
name, and after receiving confirmation that his observation was correct, he
continued. “If you give me the job, I’ll buy a new van, as my financial
contribution, and I’ll guarantee that the diary will never be empty of bookings.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">We pondered his
offer individually, until Dominic played his trump card. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Where do you
hold band practise?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The band
practise in Brian’s bedroom,” answered Hank, but I can’t practise with the
others as the room is too small and the drums are too noisy.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You need to
practise together,” said Dominic, stating the obvious, and everyone nodded in
agreement. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I know a
publican,” he went on to say. “I’m sure he’ll let you practise in his function
room; as long as you drink his beer during band practise,” he added as an
afterthought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I noticed that
he didn’t name the pub, perhaps he thought we might go behind his back and
arranged practise nights ourselves.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Will he charge
us?” asked Brian.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You don’t
expect free beer do you?” Dominic quipped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“For the room
you idiot not the beer,” corrected Brian, although he knew Dominic was joking. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“If he does I’ll
pay for the room myself, or I’ll find another venue.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Freddie asked
Dominic to leave while we considered his offer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I think we
should adopt Dominic as our manager on a trial basis,” he suggested. “He could
receive an equal share of the profits, and he’ll buy a new van as his financial contribution." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I agree that we’ll eventually need a
manager,” I admitted, “but I envisioned one with more experience in the music
business.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Dom is the best
salesman I’ve ever met,” Brian informed us, “if anyone can negotiate bookings its Dom.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">We took a vote
and being outvoted by three votes to one, it didn’t much matter whether I liked
the appointment or not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">* *
* *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I read the
coroner’s report in the local newspaper. It confirmed our observations that the
child’s body displayed signs of bruising, partially healed broken bones, and
cigarette burns. The whereabouts of the parents were unknown, and a police
search was currently underway. A verdict of death by systematic abuse and
neglect, by a person or persons unknown, was the coroner’s ruling until more
evidence could be gathered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The local
newspaper reported that Thomas Skinner, the chief suspect in the child’s
murder, had received little schooling as a consequence of his habitual
truanting, while never having done an honest day’s work in the whole of his
life. The reporter had discovered mug shots of the runaways. They appeared to have
been taken while in custody, as they stood in front of a measuring chart and
held what appeared to be an arrest number which had been redacted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The picture
showed that Skinner stood six feet tall, and was as skinny as a lamppost. He
wore dirty clothes and his hair was long, straggly, and unwashed. Skinner was
reported as being eighteen years of age, although he looked much older than his
years due to his drug addicted lifestyle. He’d become addicted to heroin, the
report claimed, having graduated to that particular drug of choice after
experimenting with marijuana, and amphetamines. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The baby’s
mother, Teresa Short, was Skinner’s junior by a couple of years, and a runaway
from local authority care since the age of thirteen, the report went on to say.
Her picture showed that she had matted hair, which she obviously never bothered
to comb, a dirty face, which she never appeared to wash, and spots around her
mouth due to repeated solvent abuse. Addicted to heroin, the report concluded
that Short used the baby, which may or may not have been Skinner’s biological
child, as a begging tool with which to obtain money for drugs. Their current
whereabouts were said to be unknown, but the police would like to interview
them with regard to the child’s death.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">* *
* *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">At the very moment when Seamus
O’Malley crashed through an upstairs window with his digger, Skinner and
Short exited through the back door. A short distance from the house was the
Leeds to Liverpool Canal, the main artery for the transportation of coal from
the south Lancashire coalfields, and raw cotton from the port of Liverpool to the
mill towns of East Lancashire and West Yorkshire, before the nation’s road and
rail network made them largely redundant. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Running along
the towpath until they were clear of the squat, and any search which might take
place, the couple stumbled across one of the many derelict industrial buildings
along the canal side. Skinner tried the latch of a rotting wooden door set into
a factory wall, and to his relief it opened to provide a refuge. Stone steps
descended to an uneven flagged floor some six feet below ground level. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Go down the
steps you stupid bitch,” he told Short, who appeared reluctant to do so, and he
gave her a push to encourage her to descend before closing the door behind
them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The room was in
darkness, except for a shaft of light which shone almost vertically down a coal
shoot to form a pool of light on the cellar floor. Once his eyes adjusted to
the gloom Skinner could see that the cellar contained wooden pallets, stacked
so high that they almost reached the vaulted ceiling. Metal oil drums ate up a
large proportion of the cellar floor, indicating that the coal boiler had been
converted to the use of oil.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Although the
boiler had been converted before the mill’s closure,</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 28.4px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 28.4px;">due to competition from cheaper foreign imports,</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 21.3pt;"> a large quantity of
coal sacks littered the cellar floor, and an old coal shovel </span>leant<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 21.3pt;"> against the
boiler door as if left there only yesterday.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It was late afternoon
as they entered the cellar, and the pair decided to lay low until they were
sure that the hue and cry had died down, but as darkness began to fall and with
nowhere else to go, they were persuaded, by circumstances, to stay the night.
Thomas Skinner began constructing a makeshift bed using wooden pallets, while
Teresa Short ventured onto the towpath, after dark, to fill coal sacks with
grass, which she intended to use as pillows and a mattress. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Being April it
was cold in the cellar once darkness descended, and only the light from the
moon provided intermittent light to a small part of the room, as the moon
disappeared behind the clouds and reappeared again. On the plus side the bed was comfortable, and they had plenty of sacks with which to
cover themselves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">* *
* *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A couple of days
later, the runaways received an unexpected visitor. He knew that wherever the
couple were hiding they would need to feed their drug addiction, so while the
police searched randomly for the runaways in sheds, outhouses and garages, in
an ever increasing circle around the location of the squat, the visitor had set out
to discover their source of pharmaceutical supply. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He found the
local dealer, but the dealer had no information to impart, in fact he denied
knowing the runaway couple, and couldn’t be persuaded otherwise, even with a
financial inducement, but on his second night of questioning the inquisitor met
with an addict with information to sell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I saw Short
filling sacks with grass about a mile down the canal towpath. It’s
my guess they’re holed up in a derelict building because she seemed to be
making a mattress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Where exactly
did you see her?” the inquisitor asked, while hiding his facial features using
a hat and a scarf, although it was unlikely that the addict would have been
able, or willing, to identify his inquisitor had he not worn the disguise. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “There’s a cellar on the towpath,” the addict
told his benefactor, when a monitory note was waved in his face. “You enter
through a door in the factory wall; I’ve used it before for shooting up. “You
can’t miss it because swans have built a nest nearby.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The inquisitor paid the addict for his
information, and from the snitch’s testimony he discovered the cellar with
little difficulty. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">At that moment the
moon came from behind a cloud; peering down the coal shoot the visitor could
make out two figures beneath a pile of sacking. He opened the cellar door and
tiptoed down the steps until he reached the cellar floor. He need have had no
concerns about disturbing them, as the couple were comatose from recent drug use.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Picking up the coal shovel to use as a weapon
should he need one, he poked the man, and waited, shovel in hand, for a
reaction. When the expected reaction never came he dragged the man from his
makeshift bed, and apart from groaning, and a little light resistance, he
was easily subdued and tied to one of the cast iron pillars which supported the
ceiling. The girl was even easier to handle and
offered no resistance at all as he tied her to the pillar alongside her partner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He stripped
them of their clothing and waited patiently for their return to consciousness,
prodding them </span>occasionally<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> to assess their progress. Once aware of their predicament, the visitor
lit the first of a packet of cigarettes with which to begin the planned torture.
He’d gagged the couple with pieces of filthy sacking to stifle their cries for
help, and he alternated the burning with a beating using the coal
shovel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He was not, in his opinion, a violent man, but
God had spoken to him in Exodus 21: 23-25. He read aloud, by the light of the
moon, from a small burgundy coloured bible with gilt edged pages, a
confirmation gift which he cherished and carried with him at all times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Whenever hurt
is done, you shall give life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for
hand, foot for foot, burn for burn, bruise for bruise, and wound for wound.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In the early
stages of the torture he was sickened by his violent actions, especially
against the girl, who was a victim of circumstances and the influence of
Skinner, but after a while he warmed to his task, as he inflicted
bruises and cigarette burns on his victims to mimic the injuries found on the
baby. He discovered, to his surprise, that he wanted to hear their screams, as
they would have heard the baby scream, but
it was essential they remained gagged so as not to attract attention. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He continued to
inflict burns on his victims until his cigarette packet became empty, and then
he carefully gathered up the cigarette butts and replaced them in the empty
cigarette packet. The coal shovel he left where he’d found it. Even if the
police identified the shovel as the weapon used to beat his victims, there
would be no fingerprint evidence, as he’d been careful to wear gloves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">By the light of
a torch, he carefully removed all of his footprints from the dusty cellar floor
using a piece of sacking, as he retreated backwards from the scene of the crime
towards the cellar steps. His shoe size, tread, and manufacture of shoe, would
consequently remain a mystery, so that future comparisons could
not be made between footprints and the footwear that made them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Without a twinge
of conscience he abandoned his victims to suffer the symptoms of withdrawal
from their self administered drug abuse, before dying from the effects of
dehydration, starvation, or from the injuries he'd inflicted on them. Initially he’d
considered ringing the police anonymously, to report their whereabouts, but
the bible had made it clear that the child had died, and so in consequence must the
perpetrators of that death, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for
a life, nothing less would suffice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">* *
* *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Detective
Inspector </span></span>Trimble<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> arrived on the scene, accompanied by a detective sergeant,
after the discovery of the bodies by children playing along the canal towpath. Their
first sensation was of the terrible stench. The corpses were bloated, and
partially eaten by rats, which appeared to have climbed the bodies to reach the choice </span>morsels<span style="font-size: 12pt;">, as the
eyeballs were missing from the corpses, and maggots squirmed in the vacant eye
sockets.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Trimble was a
career policeman nearing pensionable retirement, and the most senior detective
on the Blakewater police force. He’d joined the force as a uniformed officer some forty years earlier, and was fast approaching his sixtieth birthday. He’d
investigated murder cases before, crimes of passion, street stabbings, and
family disagreements gone wrong, but nothing remotely resembling this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I think we’ve
found our runaways sergeant,” Trimble speculated, while covering his lower face
with a handkerchief in a futile attempt to mask the smell of the decaying
corpses. “The burns and the bruises suggest torture, but the perpetrator left
them here to die, he didn’t kill them.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What makes you
think that sir?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Can you see the congealed blood on the
bodies’ sergeant? Their hearts were pumping as they were being eaten by rats.”</span><b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif";">
<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-77933751207809506092017-03-02T08:23:00.000-08:002017-03-02T08:23:27.597-08:00Satan's Whiskers Chapter Two.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkS99EBw1c0U5M-QDhRjJfNoVYwlnjPXW2HfyPulxm2lPphdIZiOVAEYZta_kAe3hrrZZD8bB4F_edAzIS_HO8WbKEjlnJPb9DIgoo2hsb1Ye-jCuD3vv1UKj6Bf364fS2XTr_tA0yvPlm/s1600/Book+cover+Whiskers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkS99EBw1c0U5M-QDhRjJfNoVYwlnjPXW2HfyPulxm2lPphdIZiOVAEYZta_kAe3hrrZZD8bB4F_edAzIS_HO8WbKEjlnJPb9DIgoo2hsb1Ye-jCuD3vv1UKj6Bf364fS2XTr_tA0yvPlm/s320/Book+cover+Whiskers.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">On the return
journey to Brian’s house, a lady driver stopped, quite suddenly, at a
pedestrian crossing. Freddie hit the brakes, but being ineffective, like every
aspect of the old van, which Freddie had purchased with our money, but without
our knowledge, from a local scrap yard, we shunted the lady’s car, pushing it
onto the pedestrian crossing and striking an unfortunate pedestrian on the
shins. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">* *
* *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The van was completely unroadworthy.
The accelerator pedal, along with the accelerator pedal linkage, were both missing,
having been robbed from the van to repair an equally unroadworthy vehicle.
Luckily the engine sat between the front seats, and as the engine cover was
also a missing item, it was a simple matter for the co-driver, who was essential
to the process of driving the van, to accelerate, on the driver’s instruction,
by pulling on a lever attached to the carburettor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I’d also discovered a worrying excavation in
the cargo area. The hole must have been
situated directly above the fuel tank, as the smell of petrol fumes was
overpowering. I speculated that the van might explode if people continued to
smoke, although no one appeared to share my pessimistic view. To make matters
worse the roof panel had become detached above the windscreen, where the spot welds
had failed, and when on the move it flapped like the sole of a hobo’s boot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">* *
* *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The damage
caused by the shunt was indiscernible on the battered old van, but far more
obvious on the lady’s shiny new car, as we crowded around the point of the
collision making unhelpful observations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Who’s going to
pay for the damage to my car,” asked the lady? Who appeared to be distressed
beyond what might reasonably be expected when faced with a dented bumper and a
broken tail light. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Don’t you worry
missus, I saw everyting, so I did,” volunteered the pedestrian. But that was
before he recognised our driver. “Be Jaysus, is tat yourself Freddie?” he
asked, instantly forgetting his role as witness for the prosecution.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Freddie worked on a construction site as a
carpenter, and by coincidence the pedestrian, an Irishman by the name of Seamus
O’Malley, worked on the same building site driving mechanical diggers and
dumpers. His neck was as thick as the top of my
leg and covered with tattoos. They climbed from beneath his T-shirt, reached
the underside of his chin and the back of his ears, while covering his huge
arms and terminating at his wrists.
LOVE was tattooed on the knuckles of his right hand, while HATE was tattooed on
his left, in capital letters, with flying bluebirds situated at the base of each
thumb. Although he’d shaved his head to disguise the fact that he was
balding prematurely, the difference between his shiny dome, where hair
follicles no longer survived, and the shaved area, was easily discernible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“How are you
coping Freddie Cope?” asked Seamus, while laughing at his own pun, the accident
forgotten and the lady driver ignored, as she attempted to remove the damage
from her car by rubbing it with a wet finger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Why are you driving tis battered old van?”
Seamus asked. “You could have feckin killed me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“We’ve formed a
band, and this van is our temporary transport,” Freddie answered. “We’ve just arranged our first commercial
booking at the Manxman.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Fair play to
you Freddie me boy. “Will you still speak to old Seamus when you’re rich and
famous?” He laughed again at his poetical brilliance, as he realised his
sentence rhymed. “I’m a poet and I didn’t know it,” he quipped, and we all
laughed at his remark out of politeness rather than genuine amusement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Never mind the
chit-chat,” said the lady driver. “You promised to be a witness to the
accident.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Oh shut te feck
up missus,” said Seamus. “You backed into tese boys, so you did.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Seamus was in
his early-thirties with an English wife and two small children. He’d crossed
the Irish Sea looking for work, and had never more returned to the island of
his birth. He loved his mother, and kept in touch by letter, and by the odd
telephone call, but she’d re-married after his father died suddenly, and while
Seamus was little more than a boy. He'd missed his father, and refused to accept his stepfather, who
having little interest in children in general, and in Seamus in particular, ignored
him except to physically punish him for the slightest of misdemeanours. Seamus
spent an unhappy couple of years after his mother re-married, and couldn’t grow
up fast enough to leave Ireland, and his abusive stepfather, behind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Can we give you
a lift?” Freddie asked out of guilt, as Seamus hobbled around theatrically rubbing
his damaged shin and making grimacing faces.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Seamus didn’t need to be asked twice, and
climbed into the front seat of the van without answering, while Freddie
exchanged insurance details with the lady motorist and the rest of us climbed
into the back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">On arrival at
his home, Seamus opened five bottles of Guinness using his teeth, as a bottle
opener appearing to be an unnecessary accoutrement in the O’Malley household.
Drinking glasses also appeared to be an irrelevance, as we were expected to
drink directly from the neck of the bottles, even though Seamus had inserted
each and every one of them into his mouth to remove the bottle tops. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Seamus rolled up
his trouser leg to reveal a purple bruise, which had rapidly developed on his
swollen shin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Just look at
tat feckin ting,” he complained, while we all laughed, unsympathetically, at
his misfortune. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mrs Seamus
joined the conversation after hanging out her washing in the cobbled rear
yard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You know the druggies who live in the squat
down the street?” she asked her husband, eager to impart her latest snippet of
doorstep gossip. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Seamus grunted,
while displaying a distinct lack of interest in his wife’s commentary, but she
continued regardless of his apathetic response. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I was talking
to her next door, and the rumour is that their baby might be dead. That baby is
filthy and neglected, it’s a crying shame; you can hear it screaming when you
walk past the squat, while the parents are out of their heads on drugs, but no
one has heard it crying lately.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Tere’s only one
feckin way to find out,” called out Seamus, jumping to his feet and accepting
the mantle of investigator without nomination. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Seamus lived in
a row of stone built terraced houses built on a severe slope. Although
re-surfacing of the roads had taken place in the locality a decade earlier, the cobbles on this
particular street remained purposely untouched. This gave the delivery horses,
which were fast disappearing from Lancashire’s industrial landscape, a better
grip as they pulled milk floats, coal wagons, and rag and bone carts up the
steep incline. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Families at the
top of the street were waiting to be re-housed, while at the bottom of the hill all the
families had gone, and the houses were in the process of demolition to make way
for a brave new world of concrete and steel multi-storey flats. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Seamus hurried
down the hill towards the squat, despite his damaged leg, with the rest of us
following in his wake. Once outside of the squat, he began shouting obscenities
through the letterbox, and when no-one answered his challenge he used his
shoulder in an attempt to force an entry.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Seamus was a powerfully built man, and the
door was old and in a poor state of preservation, but despite this apparent
mismatch the door stubbornly refused to give way to his brutal methods of
persuasion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Come out you
druggie bastards,” he called through the letterbox, but the occupants, if
indeed there were any occupants, had little intention of opening the door to a
stocky foul mouthed Irishman with a shaved head, and covered from head to toe
with tattoos.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Go around te
back and see if you can get in tere Freddie,” Seamus ordered. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Freddie did his
bidding, and I accompanied him to offer either moral or physical support,
whichever might be needed. The back door was also locked, and Freddie had no
more success in breaking down the back door than had Seamus at the front of the
house. First he ran at the door using his shoulder and backed away gasping in
pain. Then he tried kicking it in and jarred his knee so badly that he was left
hobbling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You have a go,”
Freddie suggested.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’d seen doors
broken to matchwood on television, by the use of a shoulder, or by kicking it
open in a single attempt with the sole of a boot, but the reality of breaking
and entering using physical force appeared to be a very different proposition.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“After watching
you bust your shoulder and then your knee, you must be joking,” I told him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When we returned
to the front of the house, having failed to gain entry, Seamus headed
towards the construction site, without a single
word as to his intentions. People had gathered in the street on hearing the
ruckus; many of them watching the proceedings from the safety of their front
doorsteps, while others joined the growing number of dissidents gathered
outside the squat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What’s gooin
on?” asked a scruffy individual wearing a grubby waistcoat, a collarless shirt
with rolled up shirtsleeves, a trouser belt far in excess of what was required
to support his trousers, worn in conjunction with braces for good measure,
and a filthy flat cap perched on the top of his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Seamus is
trying to break intut squat,” answered his neighbour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What the ell for?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Somebody towd
him that yon druggies av kilt their babby.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Bloody ell!”
the enquirer replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The crowd turned
in unison in the direction of a rumbling sound approaching from the direction
of the construction site. A bright yellow digger, which had been left
unattended over the weekend, by no other than Seamus himself, was travelling towards the squat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The digger had
the appearance of a modified tractor, which boasted a large hydraulic bucket at
the front, used for pushing soil into piles and loading trucks, and a long articulated
arm supporting a smaller bucket at the rear, for use when digging.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When the digger
reached the squat it stopped abruptly. Everyone in the vicinity stepped back in
anticipation, as Seamus raised the bucket on its long extending arm. The
downstairs windows had been bricked up to deter children from entering the
derelict buildings. Seamus could easily have demolished one of the bricked in
windows with the slightest touch from the digger. Instead, he decided to enter the building via the second floor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The upper floors
were open to the elements, as unruly youngsters found it great sport to throw missiles
through the upstairs windows, making upper floor occupation impossible.
Crashing through an already broken window pane, Seamus dropped the digger’s arm.
The bucket hit the stone windowsill with a jolt, and as the digger moved
backwards bricks and glass crashed onto the street below. Seamus moved forward again, turned off the digger’s engine, and then to everyone’s amazement he exited the
cab and began climbing the hydraulic arm until he reached the bucket. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The roof had
already begun to collapse, and Seamus entered the building through a
dangerously unstable opening. The upstairs rooms appeared to be unused, as
expected, and he descended to the floor below by way of a creaky wooden staircase.
On his downward journey he extracted a turned wooden spindle from the banister rail,
to use as a weapon should he need one, and he brandished it menacingly in
anticipation of an attack. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Reaching the
ground floor unmolested, he had a clear view down the hall and into the
kitchen. He noticed that the back door of the house had been left ajar, as if
someone had left the property in a hurry, which must have been the case, as it
had been locked when Freddie and I had tried to get in a short time before. At
the bottom of the staircase was the front door, and Seamus slid back the bar bolts
and turned the key in the lock to let us in. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Randy and I were
instructed by Seamus, who'd nominated himself to be our leader and was
consequently delivering orders, to search the front room for any signs of a baby, while Seamus investigated
the kitchen, yard, and outbuildings, and the other two searched the back room. A
lighted candle stood on a wooden orange crate in the centre of the room, glued
into position by a mountain of wax, which had solidified over time around the base. Dirty
mattresses, scavenged from other abandoned houses, lay on the floor, as if multiple
occupants had been using the squat. The floor was littered with abandoned needles,
and to my disgust human excrement, but no signs of a baby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After our fruitless search
we met in the hall. “Nothing in there except for used needles and piles of
shit,” I told Seamus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Freddie and
Brian reported a similar scenario, and Seamus suggested that we search upstairs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Is the staircase safe?” asked Randy, eyeing
it with suspicion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I came down the
feckin ting didn’t I,” answered Seamus tetchily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> We climbed the rickety staircase to search the
bedrooms, and Seamus opened a wardrobe to discover a stout cardboard box
advertising a popular brand of washing powder. We could tell from the smell
that it didn’t contain washing powder, as Seamus carefully placed the box on
the floor, and opened it up to reveal its contents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Inside was the
emaciated body of baby girl swaddled in a filthy blanket, and resembling an
Egyptian mummy. Almost a year old, she was malnourished, and so small that she
could have passed for a child of half her age. Her pallor was of a waxy yellow,
more like a waxwork dummy and not like a real child at all, and her lips and
eye rims were tinged with purple. Seamus removed the blanket which bound her,
and we discovered that cigarette burns, and bruises, covering the whole of her
tiny body. I felt a lump rise in my throat, and I struggled to fight back the
tears as we stared at the tiny creature in amazement. This was a scene I had
never envisaged, and will never forget for as long as I live.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Seamus collapsed
in a heap on the filthy bedroom floor, and despite his rough exterior
he cried like a baby. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-7832917392936846482017-02-26T01:44:00.001-08:002017-02-26T01:44:50.769-08:00Satan's Whiskers Prologue.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_XqRd-arNqXOSxF3B440w15Qy2sD1CYoGK6TRGNejLL1VTPkwk41Ho_cAgpm7WpkhFoy7pW5PqixkYJ_jxJUBBHWRptiZq7uTYQ9FXfvYAwkAb4_siP8U8zysVUecc_dn8nCprqsM3e8m/s1600/Book+cover+Whiskers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_XqRd-arNqXOSxF3B440w15Qy2sD1CYoGK6TRGNejLL1VTPkwk41Ho_cAgpm7WpkhFoy7pW5PqixkYJ_jxJUBBHWRptiZq7uTYQ9FXfvYAwkAb4_siP8U8zysVUecc_dn8nCprqsM3e8m/s320/Book+cover+Whiskers.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">George and
Edward Whittaker were brothers, of eleven and ten years of age respectively,
they were the oldest siblings of a large family of children, who shared a
common mother, a number of different fathers, and were the product of a single
parent home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Georgie and
Teddy often vandalised the streets of Blakewater, while their drug addicted
mother appeared to have lost control, if indeed she ever
exerted control in the first place. Once tired of breaking windows in the
derelict properties awaiting demolition, the boys headed towards the canal
towpath, where horses once towed barges laden with coal, to fuel the steam
engines which powered the cotton looms. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A pair of mute
swans had built a nest in the shallow water, where a retaining wall had
collapsed allowing stones from the wall, and soil of the banking, to fall into
the water and create an artificial island. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I wonder if
there are any eggs in that nest.” Teddy queried of his brother, as he threw a
large stone at the pen to scare her from the nest. The pen left
the in a hurry, and Teddy laughed, but he hadn’t taken account of the large cob
swimming serenely on the almost ripple-less water close by. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The angry cob
launched itself at the boys with a flapping of its wings, and with its long
neck outstretched in a gesture of attack. The boys ran for their lives, with
the swan giving chase in fits, starts, and flutters. The boys were scared by
this unexpected attack, and they ran, and they ran, until long after the swan
had given up the chase. As they bent double, while gulping in Lancashire’s
polluted industrial air; they began to laugh hysterically due to the adrenaline
rush of having escaped the angry cob, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Shush, Georgie
ordered. What’s that noise?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Teddy stopped
laughing, at his brother’s command, and listened to the buzzing sound which
appeared to be emanating from a cast iron grate set into the canal towpath
beneath their feet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“There must be a
cellar down there.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Let’s find it,”
said Teddy, with the intent of creating more mayhem.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Twenty feet from
the grate and set into a factory wall, they discovered a planked door of
rotting wood. It had, at some time, been fitted with an asp and a staple,
indicating that it had once been secured against intrusion using a padlock.
Georgie operated the latch, and pushed the door open to reveal a flight of worn
stone steps, fashioned by time, and the footsteps of long forgotten workers. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The buzzing sound became louder as they
descended the steps, accompanied by a squeaking sound which initially they
failed to identify. Georgie went first, in his capacity of older brother, with
Teddy hanging onto his shirt for security, and peering nervously over his brothers' shoulder. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The room would
have been in total darkness, except for a shaft of light which intermittently
flooded through the grated coal shoot on which they’d so recently been
standing. A second shaft of light followed them down the steps from the open
doorway, creating distorted shadows which led them to an uneven flagged floor
in the cellar below.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Can you see anything?” asked Teddy nervously,
while leaning so heavily against his brother, to enable a view, that they
toppled down the last few steps and fell in a heap on the cellar floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You idiot,”
Georgie moaned under his breath, as he examined a grazed knee.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It was becoming
increasingly dark, as they left the light afforded by the open door, but the
boys were aware that the room was cluttered with objects of an industrial
nature, as they felt their way between oil drums, and wooden pallets, to
approach the source of the buzzing sound. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Get ready to
run,” Georgie warned his brother. “It may be a bee’s nest, or even worse it
could be wasps.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What’s that
horrible smell?” Teddy asked, while covering his nose, and mouth, with a rather
unsavoury looking handkerchief retrieved from his trouser pocket. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I don’t know,”
answered his brother, screwing up his face in disgust, “but I think I’m going
to be sick.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Rounding an oil
drum, Georgie imagined he could see the outline of two people standing in the
shadows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I think there’s
somebody over there,” he whispered into Teddy’s ear, and they hid behind a
stack of wooden pallets in total silence for fear of discovery. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“They seem to be
tied up; do you think we should free them?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You do it,”
said Teddy, whose concern for his own safety far outweighed his curiosity,
“I’ll wait here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Georgie crept
closer to the human shapes, while ensuring he remained hidden from view. He
could distinguish the people a little clearer as he approached the light from
the coal shoot. One appeared to be a woman, not much taller than he, and with
long straggly hair. The other one also had long straggly hair, and could easily
have been a woman, but Georgie reasoned the second figure to be a man because of
the height difference. They were standing facing each other in total silence,
and Georgie listened intently to hear if something was being said above the unidentified
buzzing and squeaking sounds. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Suddenly the sun
came out from behind a cloud, and a shaft of light streamed down the coal shoot
illuminating the figures. Flies swarmed all around them, and Georgie could see that
they were tied to one of the iron pillars which supported the vaulted ceiling.
Rats milled around their ankles squeaking excitedly, and the couple stared at
Georgie from eyeless sockets. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-19607527317305033212017-02-26T01:44:00.000-08:002017-02-26T01:44:23.569-08:00Satan's Whiskers. Chapter One.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">APRIL 1964<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkS99EBw1c0U5M-QDhRjJfNoVYwlnjPXW2HfyPulxm2lPphdIZiOVAEYZta_kAe3hrrZZD8bB4F_edAzIS_HO8WbKEjlnJPb9DIgoo2hsb1Ye-jCuD3vv1UKj6Bf364fS2XTr_tA0yvPlm/s1600/Book+cover+Whiskers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkS99EBw1c0U5M-QDhRjJfNoVYwlnjPXW2HfyPulxm2lPphdIZiOVAEYZta_kAe3hrrZZD8bB4F_edAzIS_HO8WbKEjlnJPb9DIgoo2hsb1Ye-jCuD3vv1UKj6Bf364fS2XTr_tA0yvPlm/s320/Book+cover+Whiskers.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In April 1964 the Beatles held the top five spots in
the Billboard top forty singles in America. The Rolling Stones released their
debut album, unimaginatively named the Rolling Stones. BBC 2 began broadcasting
in the United Kingdom. Thieves stole the head from the Little Mermaid statue in
Copenhagen. Twelve of the Great Train Robbers received sentences totalling
three hundred and twelve years, and I joined the rock and pop band Satan’s
Whiskers.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">* *
* *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Soon after the
bodies were discovered, I was questioned by the police, but let me start from the
very beginning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I stood in front
of the bathroom mirror, studying my appearance as I trimmed my unruly eyebrows
using the moustache trimmer attachment on my electric razor. My mother often
chased me around the house with a pair of eyebrow tweezers to rectify the
eyebrow problem, but as she plucked her own eyebrows to destruction, before
replacing them with a thin pencil line, I made sure that she never caught me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> After naming the newly formed band Satan’s
Whiskers, I’d tried, unsuccessfully, to persuade the others to follow my
example and grow whiskers as a gimmick. A week without shaving and the stubble
of the first few days looked a little more beard-like; although I had to
concede that the side growth was disappointing, which would undoubtedly provide
ammunition for the others to ridicule my efforts. On an impulse I shaved the
beard into a goatee. If I didn’t like the final result the whole thing would
have to be removed, but what the hell, easy come, and easy go. I examined my
handiwork in the mirror from every angle, until I was satisfied that the goatee
was an improvement on what preceded it, and looked even more satanic than did a
full beard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">* *
* *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Freddie Cope was
already at Brian’s house when I arrived for band practise. I’d met Freddie and Brian,
for the first time, a few weeks earlier, when I’d gone into Blakewater for a night out with a
friend. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It transpired
that Freddie and Brian planned to form a band, so the conversation inevitably
drifted into that territory. I was the owner of a bass guitar, in fire engine
red, which was currently languishing in my parent’s loft, after a previously
failed attempt to form a band. Being in need of a bass player to turn their
duo into a trio, they asked me to audition. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I wasn’t
confident of my musical abilities, as it had been a couple of years since I
last played the guitar. I practised throughout Saturday, and wished, on a
number of occasions, that I hadn’t agreed to audition for fear of embarrassing
myself, but I needn’t have worried, as I was accepted as a member of the fledgling band
by a unanimous vote.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Hi Ray,” said
Freddie, in his usual cheery way, as I entered the smoky atmosphere of Brian’s
bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Freddie was a
happy-go-lucky character, with a ruddy complexion and curly blond hair. He was
around my height of a couple of inches below six feet tall, but I always wore
high heeled boots which elevated me by a couple of inches.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I can’t breathe
in here,” I told them as I entered the room, open a bloody window.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Open it yourself,” Freddie
told me, as I pushed past him to open a window before I suffocated in the smoky
atmosphere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Brian, who was
the exact opposite of Freddie, in both nature and appearance, grunted a reluctant
“Hello,” while continuing to tune his guitar with a cigarette dangling precariously
from his lips, and smoke drifting into his eyes, which made him blink
continuously and his eyes to water profusely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Because the two
of them were so different in nature I found it difficult to understand how they
had ever become such good friends. Brian Cheshire was dark-haired, with a swarthy
Mediterranean appearance, and a little shorter than Freddie. He
always needed a shave, and even though he assured me that he’d shaved that very
morning, I’m embarrassed to report that his beard growth was more
impressive than was mine after a week of nurturing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Will Hank be
coming to band practise?” I asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Frank Rivers was
our absentee drummer, and known affectionately as Hank. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“No, he works on
Saturdays,” replied Freddie, “but practising in Brian’s bedroom, with a drum
kit, isn’t going to be an option anyway.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">* *
* *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hank had played
drums in a public house, along with an elderly organist, before Freddie
persuaded him to dissolve his partnership and join our newly formed band. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px; text-indent: 28.4px;">Hank and Freddie were maternal cousins, although they were so alike that they could easily have been mistaken for brothers. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 21.3pt;">Hank
had never practised with the band, but we had played together once, at a wedding reception.
The reception had been held in a large hotel in the market square, and when I
say hotel I mean a public house with bedrooms, and named The Queens Hotel
rather than the Queens Arms or the Queens Head.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The booking had
been successful, even though we’d only practised a few numbers, and had to
repeat our first spot of the evening in the second half. I felt embarrassed by
our lack of versatility, but no one appeared to mind, as the booking was
of the easily obtained and unpaid variety, a wedding present from Hank and
Freddie to a common female relative. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The bride’s
father helped to flesh out our limited programme by requesting Eve of Destruction, on
no less than four separate occasions, which could hardly be described as an
appropriate sentiment given the occasion of his daughters’ wedding. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">During the
interval, and on the back of a successful first set, we thought up names for
the band. Many were suggested and just as quickly rejected, until I pointed out
the name of a cocktail on the drinks menu, containing gin, Grand Marnier, sweet
vermouth, dry vermouth, and orange juice, with a dash of orange bitters, and from this observation the band Satan’s Whiskers was born.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">* *
* *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">While we were
practising Randy Bloomfield <i>(1)</i>
entered the bedroom; escorted by Brian’s mother carrying a tray of drinking
glasses filled to the brim with chilled orange juice. Randy was a married man
with a baby daughter, and a wife who at twenty years of age had resigned
herself to becoming a band widow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Randy’s hair had
begun to turn prematurely grey, even though he was barely a year older than his
wife, but his eyebrows remained thick, black, and bushy. Randy had strong
features, with heavy brows, while his nose gave the appearance of having been
remodelled inside a boxing ring, although in truth it was a natural feature on
the landscape of his face. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Randy liked to take people outside of their comfort zone. He found it amusing to
see them squirm, and with that in mind he invited us onto the stage at the Greyhound public house, when we turned up to watch his band play.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“We have another
band in the audience,” he informed the assembled crowd. “If you cheer loudly enough they might be persuaded to come up onto the stage and give us a number.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">We were
dumbstruck, as we’d only practised four songs, and all of them chosen because
they consisted of just three chords, but the audience didn’t appear to notice
our musical inadequacies, and his plan to embarrass us came unstuck when we went down a storm. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He may have been
trying to embarrass us, but he actually did us a favour, as it gave us the
confidence we needed. I in particular would have been reluctant to go on stage
before we were perfect, but after the reception we received, perhaps more for
our bravery than our musical ability, Freddie and Brian were keen to get the
band up and running as quickly as possible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Randy’s band
regularly played at a public house on the estate of council owned properties
where he and Brian lived. The pub was popular with the younger demographic, but
as the booking fee was disappointingly low; Randy was looking to offload this
regular Sunday night venue in favour of the more lucrative offers which were
flooding in, as his bands popularity gained momentum.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’ve got a
proposition for you,” he announced, as he helped Mrs Cheshire with the
distribution of refreshments.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“We’ve been
offered a booking tomorrow night, which I’d like to accept, but we’re obligated
to play at The Manxman. I’ve spoken with the publican, and he’s prepared to
give you a trial, if you’d be interested.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“We definitely
are interested?” Brian blurted out, without any consultation on the matter. “Can
we go and see him right now?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’ll come with
you if you like and introduce you,” Randy volunteered, as he wanted the matter
settled as quickly as possible. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Although the pub
was within walking distance of Brian’s house, we chose to drive, as walking was
never going to be a consideration with transport parked at the front door. The
pub consisted of a large public room divided by folding doors. A red carpet,
covered with a busy pattern, helped to disguise the beer stains caused by
frequent spillages, although it failed to hide the shiny spots of chewing gum,
which had been trodden into the carpet and were accumulating daily around the
bar. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Customers with
drinks insisted, to my annoyance, in congregating around the bar and making it
unnecessarily difficult for others to get served, despite many seats and
tables being unoccupied. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Randy introduced
us<i> </i>to the publican, who was busy
pulling pints of beer behind the bar, which ran down the whole of the wall
with beer pumps and optics at regular intervals along its length. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“This is the
band I was telling you about Jack. They’re available tomorrow, and willing to
stand in if you’re prepared to give them a trial.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Stage is in
there,” the landlord informed us, as he finished serving a customer and came
from behind the bar to push back the dividing doors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mounted on
braked wheels, the tiny stage was a single step above ground level. A backdrop
of vertical silver strips caught the reflected light from a glitter ball, which
the publican switched on for effect, and it sparkled in a myriad of
colours, while he watched in wonder as if seeing it for the very first time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The stage
appears to be a bit small,” I observed. “We’ll never get the four of us and all
our equipment on there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Randy’s band spills onto the dance floor,” we were informed by the landlord, which
Randy confirmed with a nod of his head. “If you’re a success, I’ll book you to
play alternate Sundays, with Randy’s band doing the others<i>.</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">We concluded the
business agreement with a handshake, but I understood why Randy wanted to move
to pastures new, as payment for our musical services was close to non-existent at this venue,
although at this stage of our fledgling career, the money didn’t matter half as
much as laying claim to our first commercial booking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Footnote<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">(1) The character described as Randy Bloomfield went
on to record the single “Looking Good Feeling Bad,” his own composition,
and two country music albums under the
stage name of Randy Blue and Deep Water.</span></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-33472831939986894462017-02-21T02:47:00.000-08:002017-02-22T01:35:52.473-08:00Weekend in Amsterdam Chapter Four<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOu31MXwxH-5Dn3fm1E0Pi3lUTatVN6DIEAbkpfocqKWIm4MUuqJ-x3fLwUV-X8hHYUWBibobk3aqo9up83iosnIZn7OOueGzMaNC4AzBqKs6rNmEhc_bwsvjO5AOV5DGX2VAnMYxsnBUH/s1600/book+cover+Weekend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOu31MXwxH-5Dn3fm1E0Pi3lUTatVN6DIEAbkpfocqKWIm4MUuqJ-x3fLwUV-X8hHYUWBibobk3aqo9up83iosnIZn7OOueGzMaNC4AzBqKs6rNmEhc_bwsvjO5AOV5DGX2VAnMYxsnBUH/s320/book+cover+Weekend.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
awoke the following morning to the sound of my travelling alarm clock. <i>Eloise
</i>was gone. I quickly bathed in the bathroom down the hall, wasting little
time in dressing as it was a freezing cold morning and the heating was still
not on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When I entered the dining room, <i>Oise </i>was
serving Godfrey with his breakfast of two lightly boiled eggs in a double egg
cup. Cheese and ham slices were set out on a platter in two neat rows, and
there was plenty of bread and jam. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Her hair was once more controlled by the
black velvet ribbon, her apron was in place, and the all of buttons on her
blouse were securely fastened once more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Good morning sir,” she said rather formally.
“How would you like your eggs?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Boiled for four minutes please miss,” I
answered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When my eggs arrived the whites were
runny, so I sent them back, explaining that I would like them cooked until the whites
were solid and only the yokes were runny. They re-appeared a few minutes later looking
exactly as before, and admitting defeat I ate them anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After breakfast Godfrey went upstairs to
retrieve his briefcase. As there was only the old German lady in the restaurant
<i>Oise </i>and I<i> </i>could talk freely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Why do you tease me?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You started it with the good morning
sir,” I replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I mean last night.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I had no idea what on earth she was
talking about. “I don’t understand, I haven’t teased you,” I protested.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You kissed me like my father, with the
mouth closed,” she complained.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">French kissing hadn’t really reached industrial
Lancashire, in fact I’d only once tried it and was accused of being disgusting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I’m sorry,” I apologised. “You’ll have to
teach me how to do it properly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Her face changed from a frown into a
broad smile, and she kissed me on the cheek just seconds before Godfrey
re-appeared looking businesslike with his leather briefcase.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">*
* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">At the<i> Valkenswaard </i>factory <i>Dhr Weiner,</i> met us in the reception area. He<i> </i>was short in stature, which ran contrary to many of
the other Dutchmen I’d seen since my arrival, who appeared to be tall, in
general, or at the very least as tall as me. He had the look of a Hollywood
heartthrob of years gone by, with swept back hair, which was black and wavy,
and a pencil thin moustache. He displayed a pleasant and welcoming manner, and escorted
us to his office for coffee, where he asked about our journey and the standard
of our hotel accommodation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The hotel didn’t compare with the <i>Rode
Leeuw</i> in Amsterdam, but this was a small town and the hotel little more
than a family run guesthouse, but the food was good and the hotel, I’d
discovered, had fringe benefits.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dhr Weiner</span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> went on to
offer an overview of the <i>Valkenswaard </i>factory.
Giving Godfrey the opportunity to comment on the factory in England, in which he
showed interest, as they compared notes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After drinking the coffee, which I found
extremely bitter, we were given a guided tour of the factory. It was small, in
comparison to the Vallard factory in Blakewater, which employed four and a half
thousand people, while the Dutch plant employed a fraction of that number. We ended
our tour at a repair workshop, which housed control panels in various states of
repair or modification. A young man was hard at work. He was tall, with dark
hair, but without the dark complexion of our host. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dhr Weiner </span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">introduced us.
“This is <i>Dhr Peeters </i>our electronics repair man,” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“<i>Dhr Peeters, </i>meet <i>Dhr </i>Dale
and <i>Dhr </i>Evans from England.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The young man<i>
</i></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">greeted
us warmly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You
will be working with <i>Dhr Peeters </i>repairing the delay line machines,” he
told me. “We will meet for lunch, when we will dine at a restaurant in the market
square,” and with that he turned and left the workshop with Godfrey trailing in
his wake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Have you brought tools and an overall?”
asked <i>Dhr Peeters</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’d been expecting a conventional training
programme, or at the very least a watching brief, and I was taken aback.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I wasn’t told I would need to,” I
protested lamely.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I will find you an overall and you must
borrow my tools, please.” said <i>Dhr Peeters </i>obligingly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Returning with a brown nylon smock, similar
to his own, but in approximately my size, he passed me a circuit diagram,
written in Dutch, and set me to work repairing one of the machine panels.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was dumb struck; I hadn’t a clue how
the machine worked, or even what it did. Had I been able to oblige, there would
have been little point in my visiting the Dutch factory at all. I wondered if I
should complain to <i>Dhr Weiner</i>
at lunch time,<i> </i>but decided to speak with Godfrey instead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lunch was booked at a cafe next door to
the horse butcher. The menu of ham and cheese, salami sausage, and horse meat,
was to be the staple diet each day, although a different soup with crusty bread
began each meal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Managing to isolate Godfrey from our
hosts I told him of my concerns. Godfrey turned a bright shade of red, as he
often did when faced with a problem he would rather not be required to solve,
or a person who he would rather not have to deal with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Don’t make waves,” he told me, “just
pick up what you can and we’ll sort things out when we get back to England.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This didn’t make me feel any better, I’d
been hoping for a little more support, although I should have known better than
to expect support from Godfrey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">*
* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Godfrey met me in the repair workshop at
five o’clock; he’d had a good day, having spent it in <i>Dhr Weiner’s</i>
office discussing technical manuals and drinking coffee, two of his favourite
occupations. I hadn’t had a good day, and I wanted to discuss my work problems,
but Godfrey only wanted to talk about <i>Oise</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I think she likes me,” he said blushing
at his own revelation. “Last night we talked until midnight and we got on
really, well.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I wondered if I should enlighten him as
to the facts of life, especially as Godfrey had really pissed me off, but on
reflection I decided against it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When we arrived at the hotel, <i>Oise </i>was
in the bar serving the card players with drinks. We both greeted her, and
Godfrey blushed as we ascended the stairs to wash and change for dinner. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When I entered the bedroom I noticed
that something felt different. The clothes that I’d placed in the drawers appeared
to have been removed and re-folded. In the wardrobe my overcoat, jacket, and a
number of shirts, appeared to be in a different order on the clothes rail, and
my electric razor, toothpaste, and toothbrush, all appeared to be in different locations
on a shelf above the washbasin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Someone must have been in my room to
make the bed, I reasoned, perhaps wipe down the washbasin and shelf, which might
account for the rearranging of my toiletries, but why would a maid remove, and
refold, all of my underwear and sweaters, or re-position my hanging clothes in
the wardrobe? I also remembered leaving my suitcase unzipped in the wardrobe, ready
to receive dirty washing destined for home, but it was unzipped no more. I was
convinced that someone had searched my room, but why, and what were they looking
for?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I asked Godfrey if he’d noticed any
differences in how he’d left his room that morning, and how he’d found it on
our return from work that evening, but apart from his bed having been made, Godfrey
hadn’t noticed anything unusual.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The evening was a repeat performance,
with Godfrey talking about radio signals, before repeating his conversations of
the day with <i>Dhr Weiner</i>. <i>Oise</i> and I snatched a few moments alone
when Godfrey left his seat to visit the toilet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is he always such a boring man?” she
asked, breathing out heavily as if she’d been unable to breathe while in his
company.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“He thinks you fancy him,” I giggled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I don’t understand, what is fancy?” She
looked puzzled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“He thinks you’re attracted to him.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I could never be attracted to <i>Dhr </i>Dale,” she said with a shudder. “He
is so boring, and not a very handsome man.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What type of man are you attracted to?”
I queried expectantly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You have a mirror in your bedroom,” she
said with a cheeky smile. “I suggest you look into it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As Godfrey reappeared I changed the
subject, and asked about the lack of heating in my bedroom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “My father does not put on the heating until
winter arrives,” she informed me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“How much winter does there need to be?”
I complained. “The ice is a foot thick and people are skating.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“My father says that the winter begins in
December, but I could tell him that the English softies would like on the
heating.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It was the 29th November, one more day
and two more nights and the heating would finally be on. I leant forward while
Godfrey was distracted and whispered into her ear. “I can wait for the heating to
come on if you promise to keep me warm in bed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">When Godfrey continued the conversation
where he’d left off, I decided to have another early night. It was ten-thirty
and the card players were beginning to leave the hotel and head for home. The
old German lady, who usually came down to dinner, hadn’t put in an appearance,
and I figured that if I went to bed early Godfrey might be persuaded to do the
same. <i>Oise </i>would then be able close
the hotel and join me in my room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I read for a while, waiting for her to
arrive, until I fell asleep, waking the following morning in a sitting position
with the book still in my hand. <i>Oise </i>hadn’t arrived, and I wondered what
I might have done to offend her. I remembered how annoyed she’d been about the
French kissing, or more accurately the lack of it, had I inadvertently annoyed her
again because I’d left her to cope with Godfrey alone? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She wasn’t at breakfast, and Godfrey hadn’t
seen her since going to bed the night before, so why hadn’t she visited my room?
<i>Dhr Bos </i>appeared to be the waiter, as well as the chief cook and bottle
washer at breakfast. I wanted to ask him what had happened to <i>Oise,</i> but I didn’t want to tip off the
old man as to our relationship. In any case conversations with <i>Dhr Bos</i>
were extremely difficult due to the language barrier, and usually ended in total
confusion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I asked him if anyone, other than the
maid, had been in my bedroom, but although he pretended not to understand, his acute
embarrassment told me that he knew more than he was telling me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I worked throughout the day, my thoughts
wandering back to <i>Oise, </i>and what I might have done to upset her. <i>Dhr Peeters
</i>was more helpful than on the previous day, when he’d appeared to be a
little under pressure, and spent more time talking to me. He told me that he
was married with two small children; both of them girls, but that they were
hoping for a boy next time. He rented his home, and he owned a little yellow
Daff car, which he insisted on showing to me at morning break. He proudly explained
that it was the world’s first belt driven car with continuously variable
transmission. I pretended to be impressed, but every time I looked at it I
couldn’t help visualising Noddy and Big Ears.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">*
* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After lunch, Godfrey left to catch an
evening flight back to England. I was sure that I wouldn’t miss his company,
but surprisingly I felt alone once he’d left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Oise </span></i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">wasn’t in the bar when I returned
to the hotel, and I asked her brother, who was on duty in her absence, where
she was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“She will be down in half an hour to
cycle to her English class in <i>Eindhoven</i>,”
he answered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I bought a small beer and waited until
she appeared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Why didn’t you come to my room last
night?” I asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Did you miss me?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is the Pope a Catholic?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Of course the Pope is a Catholic, why
are you talking about the Pope?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Forget about the Pope, what happened to
you last night?” I wanted to know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“<i>Frau Muller </i>was taken ill, I sent
for the doctor and sat with her until morning.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I thought I’d done something to upset
you,” I said, the relief palpable, despite the fact that poor <i>Frau Muller </i>had
been taken ill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Not
this time,” she laughed, as she retrieved her bicycle from a multitude of other
bicycles parked in racks outside of the hotel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Does everyone in The Netherlands ride a
pushbike?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What is a pushbike?” She looked puzzled
by my adjective.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Sorry, I mean a bicycle.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Why do you call it a pushbike?” she
asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I didn’t have a
clue, so I made up my own explanation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Where I live it’s so hilly, and hard to peddle, so people often
push their bicycles.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I wasn’t trying to be funny, in fact I
was trying to give her the most rational explanation I could muster, but she
became hysterical with laughter and fell off her bicycle. She put her hands on my
shoulders to stop herself from falling, and as I put my arm around her waist to
steady her, our lips came together. I remembered to part my lips and felt her
tongue slip between them and explore the inside of my mouth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“That is better,” she told me. “You
will, however, need some more practising.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Before you leave, who is it that makes my bed
and changes my linen at the hotel?” I asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I do,” she told me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“In that case did you tidy the clothes
in my drawers, and rearrange the hanging clothes in my wardrobe?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I have to make the beds, wash the
linen, serve breakfast, dinner, and lunch, and work behind the bar, why would
you think I have the time, or the inclination, to tidy up your drawers?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Could someone else have done it?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Only I and my father have a key to your
room, and he only cooks and plays cards, I can’t imagine him wanting to tidy
your clothes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She picked up her bicycle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I
will return at nine-thirty,” she called as she rode off towards <i>Eindhoven,</i> looking back just once to
give me a cheery wave.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After a solitary
evening meal I decided to explore the delights of the market square. I entered
the first bar and ordered a pilsner. The barman filled a glass with froth,
before placing it on the bar for my perusal. I waited for the froth to settle, expecting
the barman to fill it, but instead he wiped the froth from the top of the glass
with a wooden spatula and pushed it towards me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is that it?” I asked.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Good top <i>ja</i>?” replied the barman, looking pleased
with his creation and expecting me to feel the same way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“To hell with
good top,” I said angrily. “I’ve paid for beer not froth, fill the bugger up.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“<i>Engels</i>,”
announced the barman loudly. Everyone in the bar nodded and sighed knowingly,
as if that explained my peculiar behaviour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In Amsterdam the
announcement of “<i>Engels” </i>wouldn’t have raised an eyebrow, but in this
small market town it caused quite a stir, and a ripple of conversation began
amongst the previously solitary and silent men. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">One man, who sat
alone at the opposite end of the bar, moved closer to me and in very good
English asked me. “What part of England are you from?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Lancashire,” I answered,
as I didn’t expect him to have heard of Hartbrook, where I lived, or Blakewater
where I worked and played. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is that close to
London?” the man queried.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I decided it
would be far too complicated to explain that Lancashire was in fact a county
and not a town or city, so I picked the name of the closest big city to my
home. “No, it’s nearer to Manchester.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Ah, Manchester
United; Bobby Charlton; Georgie Best; Dennis Law,” and then the Dutchman ran
out of players whose names he could recall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I felt obligated
to buy my new found friend a drink, so I pulled out a few coins, threw them
onto the bar counter, and ordered a Pilsner. Pretty soon I had six new best
friends all of them firing questions at me about England and Manchester United.
Even though their motives were blatantly mercenary, after two nights of discussing
radio signals with Godfrey, I was more than happy with the alternative company.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I left the bar
at ten o’clock and staggered back to the hotel a little worse for wear, I
thought I spotted the man who’d alighted from the<i> Eindhoven</i> bus, but I was so drunk that I could easily have been
mistaken. <i>Oise </i>was behind the bar and she eyed me sternly, as would a
mother chastising a naughty child. I remember ordering a Pilsner<i>, </i>but she gave me a black coffee instead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Drink that and go
to bed,” she ordered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Will you come
and tuck me in?” I asked while trying to wink at her but failing dismally.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She tried hard
to be annoyed, but found it difficult to conceal a smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“If you drink
your coffee and go straight up to bed,” she promised, “I will call to see if
you are asleep when I come up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“And what if I’m
awake?” I asked hopefully, but she didn’t reply.</span><br />
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<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">* * * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left; text-indent: 28.4px;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I'm sorry for any disappointment but my contract with Amazon won't allow me to publish more than 20% of my novel on any other site but their own, so this will have to be my last free chapter. If anyone wants to read the rest of the story then obviously it can be purchased, in e-book form, or paperback, from Amazon, but that is not the object of this exercise.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 28.4px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left; text-indent: 28.4px;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 28.4px;">Publishing the first four chapters has been an experiment to answer questions I wanted answering. </span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 28.4px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; text-align: left; text-indent: 28.4px;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">When you publish with Amazon the book is hidden in the bowels of the company, and no-one ever sees it unless they ask for it specifically. This is not a good system for unknown authors, who sell on average 50 copies, mainly to friends and family, so I'm considering using an agent and a traditional publisher, if I can find one, to raise my profile and boost my sales. Agents, I've discovered, want to read the first 50 pages of a novel before making a decision, but would my first 50 pages be engaging enough? One reviewer has already stated that my novel is a slow burner, so would this be detrimental in getting my novel noticed?</span><br />
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<br />
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<b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">By the Book Reviews</span></b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;"> <b>(Canada)<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This is Higgins’ first novel. According to the book’s cover he
is a retired electrical engineer, which only makes me wish that he’d been lousy
at that job so he could have turned to writing earlier. He has a deftness of
observation, an ear for natural dialogue, and enough narrative bravery that
it’s fair to say he would have carved out a solid career as a novelist with
hearty sales and a couple of fat film rights cheques stuffing his bank account.
Nonetheless, <b>Weekend in Amsterdam</b> has been worth the wait. It’s a damn
good novel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Book Republik (Cairo)<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was
sceptical at first. The opening pages of the book make it a slow burner. It is
foolish to give up on a book so easily and a couple of chapters in I was well
rewarded. The novel suddenly turns into a page-turner and the calm starting
pace is forgotten. A spy tale with a difference ensues. None of the James Bond
stuff here, just down to earth human nature. Roy A Higgins, great job and looking
forward to more from you.</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 28.4px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 28.4px;">Question 1. If my book was on the shelf for all to see, would anyone idly pick it up and begin to read it? Most people judge a book by its cover, so would the cover attract readers to look inside?</span></div>
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Answer. The take up rate to read Chapter One has been 134 people to date, out of 4,800 followers on twitter, only 2.8%, but that had nothing to do with the quality of writing because the other 97.2% didn't even read it. I tried posts with, and without the cover picture, but that didn't appear to influence the take up rate, in fact I got less of a take up with the picture, possibly because it looked more like a book advert and was skipped over.</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 28.4px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 28.4px;">Question 2.</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 28.4px;"> What percentage of readers would want to read Chapter Two after reading chapter One? This would give me an indication of how engaging Chapter one was.</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 28.4px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 28.4px;">Answer. So far 120 people from 134 went on to read chapter two, that is 90% of the original readers. That's encouraging, as I was hoping for, but not expecting 50% of readers to want to continue reading the story. This tells me that what I have written is readable, 10% didn't want to read more but you can't please everyone.</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Question 3. Would readers want to continue reading, knowing that they may never find out what happens in the story without buying it? </span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Answer To date 100 people have stuck with the story through three chapters, but chapter three has not been available for very long, and </span><span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 28.4px;">I expect that number to rise. It's expected that for whatever reason people will fall by the wayside, but the results of my experiment have been positive. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" /></span>
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">If I tell you that my book is good and you should read it, the take up would be very small, because you don't know me and you don't trust me, I'm just the guy who's trying to sell you something. If your best friend enthuses about the book you are more likely to take notice and read it, as you trust your friend and value their opinion.</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Question 4. How many people would take the trouble to tell others that my story is worth reading,?because without an axe to grind these people are more likely to be believed. When I read a novel, especially by an indie author, I always leave a review on Goodreads and Amazon, authors need encouragement, and readers need to know which books are worth buying.</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: red; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Answer. 100 people are still reading my story, so I must assume that they liked it enough to read all three chapters, but only 6 of them bothered to tell their followers by re-tweeting, and only six, perhaps the same 6 clicked the love button, that equates to a disappointing 6%. Is that because they didn't like it enough to recommend it? Did they not realise that authors need help to get their message across to a wary audience, or where they just too lazy to be bothered? This question remains unanswered.</span></div>
</div>
Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-59647784590159519952017-02-16T00:57:00.003-08:002017-02-17T01:02:09.963-08:00Weekend in Amsterdam Chapter Three<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOu31MXwxH-5Dn3fm1E0Pi3lUTatVN6DIEAbkpfocqKWIm4MUuqJ-x3fLwUV-X8hHYUWBibobk3aqo9up83iosnIZn7OOueGzMaNC4AzBqKs6rNmEhc_bwsvjO5AOV5DGX2VAnMYxsnBUH/s1600/book+cover+Weekend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOu31MXwxH-5Dn3fm1E0Pi3lUTatVN6DIEAbkpfocqKWIm4MUuqJ-x3fLwUV-X8hHYUWBibobk3aqo9up83iosnIZn7OOueGzMaNC4AzBqKs6rNmEhc_bwsvjO5AOV5DGX2VAnMYxsnBUH/s320/book+cover+Weekend.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<br />
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<i style="text-indent: 21.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i><i style="text-indent: 21.3pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 21.3pt;">After breakfast we packed our suitcases and
headed for the railway station. Opened to the public in 1889, <i>Amsterdam</i> <i>centraal</i> <i>station</i> was
built to impress. It was a beautiful building of brick and stone construction,
with a number of Dutch gables and towers along its facade.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Look at this,” I said to Godfrey, as I
read from an information sheet in the stations foyer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The station is mounted on three man-made
islands, and resting on over 8,000 wooden piles driven deep into the mud.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I thought it a fascinating fact, but
Godfrey remained unimpressed. We drank a strong coffee in the station cafe,
with which he was impressed, and enjoyed a tasty Danish pastry while awaiting
the arrival of the train to <i>Eindhoven</i>.
The train arrived on time, something unheard of in my hometown, where trains
were often overdue, with no apology or attempt to improve the service. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Godfrey suggested that we share a first
class carriage, even though my junior staff status dictated otherwise. I would
have welcomed the solitude, as I had no idea what topics of conversation to
discuss with Godfrey, and I was nursing a hangover from the night before. I
pointed out that my ticket didn’t state first class, but Godfrey reassured me that
if the inspector challenged us, he’d pay the difference in fares from our
travelling expenses.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Which film did you see last night,” I
asked?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I decided not to go.” he answered. “I
studied today’s itinerary and then I went to bed early.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Soon after settling into the carriage,
two men entered and stored their luggage on the rack. I recognised one of them as
a foreman at the factory where Godfrey and I worked, although the other man I
had no recollection of ever having seen before. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">They said, “Good morning,” before
realising, through conversation, that we all worked at the same Blakewater factory,
although visiting different locations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Are you senior staff?” asked the
tool-room foreman, fiercely conscious of his newly acquired senior staff
status.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes,” answered Godfrey, telling no
lies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The tool-room foreman studied me
closely, and although I looked the part in my new overcoat, suspicion showed on
the foreman’s face as old memories began to form.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“He isn’t,” said the foreman, pointing
his stubby index finger directly at me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“He did some electrical wiring in the
tool-room. You don’t belong in first class young man,” he said, glaring at me
spitefully, “I’m going to call for the ticket inspector and have you removed
unless you leave right now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I hated the class system at the factory.
There were three separate and very different restaurants, one specifically for
senior staff managers and foremen, one for junior staff charge-hands and
maintenance staff, of which I was one, and one for the rank and file production
workers. The factory also had senior staff toilets which the rest of the
workforce weren’t allowed to access, the key to this status symbol being highly
prized amongst the privileged few who held that honour. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The mood in the carriage became tense as
I glared angrily at the tool-room foreman. Godfrey, who knew from experience
what was about to happen next, tried to defuse the situation by explaining our
intention to pay the discrepancy in fares, but I was not in an explaining kind
of mood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You
little shit,” I yelled, “who the hell do you think you are? Get up from your
seat and I’ll knock you down again faster than you can fall.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You can’t talk to him like that,” said his
travelling companion in disbelief. “He’s a member of senior staff.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I don’t give a flying fuck what he is,
or you either for that matter,” I roared. “But if he’s not out of this carriage
in two seconds flat, he goes out of that window and you along with him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The tool-room foreman turned quite white,
he was shaking, and all of his bravado had deserted him. He began gathered his
belongings, and along with his travelling companion they left in a hurry to look
for a carriage with a better class of clientele. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As they were in the process of leaving,
a man in a raincoat who appeared to be searching for a carriage, stopped for a
moment to watch the fracas, but seeing the way in which I’d ejected other
passengers, he decided to move on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The ticket inspector arrived shortly
thereafter. Perhaps it was the foreman’s parting shot, but the inspector had
been expected anyway and Godfrey paid the discrepancy in our fares.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I tried to calm down and forget about
the incident by looking out of the window in search of windmills. I was amazed when
I didn’t see any at all, as I’d been led to believe that The Netherlands was
the land of windmills. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As a child, I’d played spot the windmill
with my parents when visiting the seaside town of Blackpool, a popular holiday resort,
and luckily, for a child like me, on my very own doorstep. My father always declared
that the last one to see the windmill, which surprisingly stood on a housing
estate, would have to pay for the ice-creams. He, of course, was always the
last one to spot it, while I was always allowed to be the first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> After
watching the flat Dutch landscape pass by for over an hour, without spotting a
single windmill, I gave up the challenge and drifted off to sleep, only to
awake as the train pulled into <i>Eindhoven</i>
station.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As we disembarked, I spotted the
tool-room foreman, and his travelling companion, at the far end of the
platform. Leaving Godfrey to guard the suitcases I chased after them. They
panicked as they spotted me bearing down on them, and made a dash for the exit
dragging their heavy suitcases, in a futile attempt to escape my wrath. Leaning
forward, with my hands on my knees as I attempted to catch my breath, I laughed
at their panic stricken retreat, but as they never once looked back, they
failed to realise that I never intended to catch them, and that I’d stopped chasing.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As we left the railway station we
spotted the tool-room foreman, and his companion, hailing a taxi for their
journey to the <i>Eindhoven</i> factory.
Godfrey and I were travelling a further eleven kilometres to <i>Valkenswaard</i>, and to save on travelling
expenses for more important purchases like beer, we caught the service bus. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> It was colder in the Netherlands than on our departure
from England. As we travelled on the bus, I tried to explain to Godfrey that
the Gulf Stream keeps England milder in winter than it would otherwise be,
whilst <i>Eindhoven</i>, although further
south than our home in Lancashire, had no such advantage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">We passed frozen ponds and canals, which
were confidently being used for skating. Skating was a risky occupation in
England, as the ice was rarely thick enough to support the weight of an adult, or
a child, and could never be totally relied upon even on the coldest of winter
days.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The driver called out <i>Valkenswaard,</i> and we alighted in the
market square. It was a market day, and the town was alive with activity. Some
of the stallholders were dressed in national costume, with painted clogs
stuffed with newspapers as insulation against the winter cold.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Clogs were still worn by some Lancashire
people, but confined to the older generation, traditionalists who’d never worn but
clogs since childhood. I’d never worn clogs in my life, as my parents were
affluent enough to buy me shoes. Many of my less fortunate classmates had
little choice in the matter, as clogs were cheaper to buy and lasted longer
when worn on the feet of destructive children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In The Netherlands they made their clogs
entirely from wood, while in Lancashire, although having a wooden sole clad
with irons, rather like a horse shoe, the tops were made from stiff leather and
laced up like a shoe, or fastened with buttoned straps. Some of the stall
holders were selling clogs, or <i>klompen </i>in the Dutch vernacular.<i> </i>They appeared to be made from
plain unvarnished wood, or painted red for local use, but stained and varnished
with transfers of windmills for tourist consumption. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Many had been converted to become table
lamps, with a single clog representing the hull of a barge, while the
elliptical lamp shade gave the appearance of a sail. I’d purchased one of these
lamps for my mother when as a child I’d visited <i>Middleburg</i> on a school holiday. Although she professed to like it, at
its presentation, it had been consigned to a cupboard and never more seen the
light of day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The ground floor, of the hotel Cordial, consisted
of a narrow room with a dark oak bar which ran for three quarters of its
length. It was filled with knick-knacks, as appeared to be the Dutch tradition,
with foreign coins glued to the bar top, while banknotes, from around the world,
jostled for position with photographs of residents and visitors alike around
the walls. Adjacent to the bar were circular tables, with a solitary glass
ashtray centred on each, along with a quantity of beer mats so that drinkers
wouldn’t leave rings on the highly polished table tops. At the rear of the room
the tables were no longer circular but square, laid with crisp white table
cloths, nickel silver cutlery, and with condiments for use by diners.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> There was no reception desk at which to check
in, and except for a group of elderly men who were playing cards and drinking <i>Bols Genever</i>, the room was empty. Among
the card players, a man of late middle age wearing a white shirt with dark
trousers and a food stained apron, welcomed us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“<i>Dhr </i>Dale?” he enquired of me as I
looked by far the more prosperous of the two in my best blue suit and brand new
overcoat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m Dale,” said Godfrey, a little
peeved that he’d been mistaken for the underling, “and this is Mr<i> </i>Evans,” he said, gesturing towards
me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“<i>Dhr Bos</i>,” said the man, patting
his chest to indicate that his name was <i>Dhr Bos, </i>or Mr Forest in
translation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Ah so you’re the boss?” said Godfrey,
mistaking his name for his vocational title. The man failed to correct Godfrey’s
mistake, as being unable to speak a significant amount of English he was
unaware that confusion existed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> We
were hungry, as except for a Danish pastry consumed at the railway station in Amsterdam,
we hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Godfrey tried to make <i>Dhr Bos </i>understand,
by pointing down his throat and saying food very loudly. <i>Dhr Bos </i>wasn’t
in the least bit deaf, but Godfrey, like many British travellers, tended to treat
people as if they were, as it takes less effort to shout than to learn a
foreign language.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“<i>Yah,” </i>said <i>Dhr Bos</i>,
proving the theory that shouting at foreigners really does cross the language
barrier.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dhr Bos</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> disappeared
through a door at the far end of the room, which lead into what I assumed must
be the kitchen. Almost immediately, a carbon copy of <i>Dhr Bos </i>appeared
through the very same door. He was dressed like the man who had exited, but was
much younger, as if the door led into some kind of age reversal chamber.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“<i>Dhr Bos</i>,” he announced.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Now Godfrey really was confused, surely
they couldn’t both be the boss. Recognising his confusion I whispered into his
ear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I think this is probably <i>Dhr Bos </i>junior,
the son of <i>Dhr </i> <i>Bos</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Godfrey turned a bright shade of pink,
as he often did when embarrassed, which happened to be every time anyone spoke
to him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“My father will prepare food,” announced
<i>Dhr Bos</i> junior. “If you would like to
follow me I will show you to your rooms where you may freshen up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He escorted me to a room at the top of
the stairs, and Godfrey to a similar room three doors along the landing. The
bedroom was old fashioned, with a large walnut veneered wardrobe inlaid with
tulips and chrysanthemums. It featured two bow fronted drawers beneath mirrored
doors, which were used to store extra bedding, and judging by the current
temperature of the room I was definitely going to need extra bedding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The beautiful old wooden bed looked like
Santa’s sleigh, with a scroll shaped headboard in highly polished walnut veneer
and a footboard to match. It was decorated with the same floral patterns, which
must once have been inlaid with highly coloured woods, but which had faded over
the years to become almost indistinguishable in colour from each other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> A
cast iron radiator, similar to the ones I remembered from my school days, sat
beneath a window which overlooked the market square, while a second window, on
an adjacent wall, overlooked the “<i>Eindhovenseweg</i>,” the road on which we’d
arrived, and on which we’d return when the time came for our departure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">While looking out of the window, a bus
pulled up at the bus stop, and a man in early middle age, wearing a trench coat
and trilby hat, got off the bus. It was about half an hour since our arrival in
<i>Valkenswaard</i>, and I reasoned that
this must be the next bus to arrive from <i>Eindhoven</i>.
He looked slightly out of place, because of his style of dress, as did Godfrey
and I, a stranger to the town, and the more I watched him the more familiar he began
to look to me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After a little memory searching I was
convinced that I’d seen him on our train from Amsterdam. I vaguely remembered him
looking into our carriage, as if searching for a place to sit, and on seeing
that it was already occupied, he’d quickly moved on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I’d also noticed him on the station
platform, as I rested with my hands on my knees, after chasing the tool room
foreman and his friend. Most of the passengers had been startled to see a
madman chasing passengers, some had appeared scared and others angry, but this
individual was the only person to have remained calm and unruffled, and that
had registered in my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He stood at the bus stop for a very long
period of time, and appeared to be taking a keen interest in the hotel. I
thought that perhaps he was looking for somewhere to stay, him being in a
strange town, but I couldn’t understand how he’d managed to miss our bus and
had to catch the next one, when we’d arrived on the same train. He stared at
the hotel, until he spotted me watching him from my bedroom window. Immediately
he looked away, as if embarrassed by my having seen him, and he quickly
disappeared from view in the crowded market.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The radiator was stone cold, as was the
water in the only tap situated on a triangular washbasin in the corner of the
room. I discovered hot water in the one and only bathroom, which was a short
walk along the landing, and situated next to Godfrey’s room. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dhr Bos </span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">had prepared
coffee, with cream in a small white jug. Cubes of brown and white sugar jostled
for position in a cut glass sugar bowl, with nickel silver sugar tongs on top.
Ham and cheese, sliced salami, and a very pink and rather rubbery meat, which
Godfrey and I failed to identify, were arranged neatly around a huge charger
like toppled dominoes. Godfrey pointed to the rubbery meat and asked <i>Dhr Bos</i>
for identification, only to be met by a blank stare. Godfrey worked his way
around the plate pointing out each item in turn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Ham,” suggested Godfrey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“<i>Yah, ham</i>,” agreed <i>Dhr Bos.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Cheese,” pointed out Godfrey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“<i>Kaas</i>,” corrected <i>Dhr Bos, </i>believing
that what Godfrey required was a Dutch translation of what was on offer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Salami,” said Godfrey, pointing at the pink
circles with flecks in them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“<i>Yah</i>,” agreed <i>Dhr Bos</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Meat,” stressed Godfrey pointing at the
pink rubber. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “<i>Paardenvlees</i>,”
said <i>Dhr Bos, </i>before leaving us to ponder his explanation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Having failed to satisfy our curiosity
about the origins of what was on offer, but being ravenously hungry, we ate the
questionable meat before taking a constitutional around the market square.
Three doors away from the hotel we passed a butchers shop with cuts of meat
displayed on white ceramic tiles in the shop window. Some of the meat looked
rather like the meat we’d just eaten, and I pointed out the shop sign to
Godfrey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<b><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Dhr
Van der Gaag.</span></i></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16.0pt;"> <i>de paard slager.<o:p></o:p></i></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My observation meant nothing to Godfrey until
he noticed what I had already seen, a picture of a horse’s head at each end of
the sign.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Paardenvlees,”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I told him,
“horse meat.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">*
* * *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I came down for my evening meal around seven
o’clock, after indulging in a hot bath in the bathroom along the landing.
Godfrey was already at the bar and talking to a pretty teenage girl who was
serving drinks. She’d tied her blonde hair into a short pony tail, and wore a white
blouse over a dark skirt, along with an apron around her waist and sensible
shoes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“This is <i>Eloise, Dhr Bos’s </i>daughter,”
said Godfrey by way of introduction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I prefer to be called <i>Oise,” </i>said
the girl, pronouncing it as Weese, while looking at me through the prettiest
blue eyes I’d ever seen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I prefer to be called Ray,” I told her,
while holding out my hand for her to take. She held my hand for longer than was
sociably acceptable, until I reluctantly broke contact out of embarrassment,
unable to hold her gaze under the relentless scrutiny of those beautiful blue
eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Oise</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> showed us to our
table, explaining that it would be ours exclusively for the duration of our stay.
I noticed that she filled her uniform to perfection. Some may have commented
that she filled it a little too well, but I wasn’t one of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The evening meal consisted of <i>erwt soep,
</i>which turned out to be a pea soup rather like my grandmother used to make,
but with pieces of salami sausage used instead of the pig’s trotter which she
always favoured. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">This was followed by <i>biefstuk,
gebakken</i> <i>aardappelen en erwten, </i>which we managed to translate, in advance
of its arrival, as probably a steak, which was accompanied by fried potatoes, and
garden peas extracted from a tin. Like the homemade soup it was excellent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I enjoyed that,” I told Godfrey. “The
radiators might be cold, the water in my bedroom certainly is, but if this is
the standard of cooking at least we won’t go hungry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The final course was <i>aardbei ijs, </i>which
after a good deal of wild guesswork remained a mystery until the arrival of
strawberry ice-cream. This would have been welcome had it been summertime, but
in these bitter winter temperature’s something hot with custard would have been
far more appreciated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">After our meal we returned to the bar
and to <i>Eloise</i>. It transpired that during the winter months the hotel was
quiet, we currently being the only guests, except for an elderly German lady
who lived in the hotel on a permanent basis. <i>Oise </i>explained that the
family did not live at the hotel, but because of the old lady’s residency, she
stayed in a spare bedroom on most nights of the week, perchance the old lady,
who was not in the best of health, needed night time assistance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It soon became obvious that despite
having a fiancé in Blakewater, Godfrey was smitten by <i>Oise</i>. He dominated
the conversation<i>, </i>boring everyone to distraction with his talk of radio signals,
while <i>Oise </i>flashed come and rescue me glances. In fairness I did try to
steer the conversation in a different direction on many occasions, but Godfrey always
steered it back to the subject that he knew and loved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">At ten-thirty I admitted defeat. Leaving
<i>Oise </i>to her fate, I excused myself, on the grounds that it had been a
long day, and went to my bedroom to read my novel. The old radiator still wasn’t
working, and the room was freezing cold. I wasn’t in the habit of wearing
pyjamas, in fact I hadn’t even brought a pair with me, so I raided the bedding
drawer for extra blankets, stripped to my shorts and a tee shirt, and put on a
sweater for extra warmth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Propping myself into a sitting position,
I began to read. I awoke around midnight to a tapping sound on my bedroom door.
My book was open at page one, indicating that I must have fallen asleep
instantaneously. I responded to the intrusion feeling a little disorientated. I
didn’t bother to dress, reasoning that it must be Godfrey on his way to bed and
wanting to discuss work schedules for the following day. Opening the door, only
slightly, as I’d no intentions of letting Godfrey into my room at this late
hour, I was surprised to discover that it wasn’t Godfrey tapping on my door, but
<i>Eloise</i>. Her hair was hanging loose around her shoulders, the apron had
disappeared, and she’d unfastened an extra button on her blouse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-90104336019311109012017-02-12T02:02:00.000-08:002017-02-12T02:02:58.076-08:00Weekend in Amsterdam Chapter Two<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjXv740RvErkXcE9V1QqK3VxvaBkO48wfe2OEDYO51DhKtq5sqMaGBTqDWykUY3jjtDytlcPSRQ4801JV-6BjxYqO0YwHhc2ShUDSi3u6WaNA-_FSYGnzDE9_r8Q8R-WfyUB74Law1Z1bc/s1600/book+cover+Weekend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjXv740RvErkXcE9V1QqK3VxvaBkO48wfe2OEDYO51DhKtq5sqMaGBTqDWykUY3jjtDytlcPSRQ4801JV-6BjxYqO0YwHhc2ShUDSi3u6WaNA-_FSYGnzDE9_r8Q8R-WfyUB74Law1Z1bc/s320/book+cover+Weekend.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">Retracing my steps I passed a couple of
cinemas along the way</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> and wondered which film Godfrey had chosen to </span>watch<span lang="X-NONE">. The western
Shalako was playing at </span>the first <span lang="X-NONE">one, while the science fiction film Barbarella<i> </i>was playing at </span>another<span lang="X-NONE">. I’d heard that Jane Fonda did a<i> </i>striptease in the film Barbarella,<i> </i>while Brigitte Bardot, who co-starred in
Shalako, was </span>in my opinion<span lang="X-NONE"> the sexiest<i> </i>woman on the
planet. I wondered should I go to the cinema, </span>as I wasn’t enjoying myself in Amsterdam, <span lang="X-NONE">but </span>I <span lang="X-NONE">decided against it as I only had a limited amount of time to spend in
Amsterdam</span>, and I could go to the
cinema anytime<span lang="X-NONE">.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">On the<i> Damrak,</i> and not far from my
hotel, I discovered a bar with music and the sound of people’s chatter and
laughing coming from within. I attempted to peer through the window, but my
view was blocked by a heavy, burgundy coloured curtain, supported on a heavy brass
pole. Although I stood on tiptoe in an attempt to peer over the curtain, which
was supported half way up the window frame, I failed to see inside, which should
have served as a deterrent, but it didn't. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Taking pot luck
I entered the bar and found myself in a hallway; there I was greeted by a
doorman who spirited away my overcoat for a second time that evening. The bar
was laid out like a house, perhaps it had once been so, with a staircase to my
right, and a hallway leading to a closed door at its far end. Being directed
towards a doorway halfway down the hallway, and to my left, I entered the front
room, only to discover that the crowd scene, along with the music, was all taped,
and except for the barman, and two bar girls who were hustling sailors,
I discovered the room to be empty. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The girls were
employed to boost the bar’s takings, as Greta had done earlier at the nightclub,
and could well have been offering the same personal services. I was relieved to
discover them to be busy, and although I wanted to leave, I ordered a small <i>pilsner</i> to ensure that I was reunited
with my overcoat when I left. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A few minutes
later a man entered the bar, and although the barroom was almost empty, he
chose to sit on a barstool beside me. He was short in stature, late middle
aged, and although his hair had begun to recede at the temples, there were
absolutely no signs of grey; in fact it was a rather unnatural shade of auburn,
and I speculated that it may be dyed. The man’s face looked crumpled, like an
unmade bed, while his waist line had expanded over the years, probably due to
too many nights spent drinking in seedy bars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He ordered his drink in Dutch, before speaking
to me in perfect English.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You are from
England, are you not?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes I am,” I
answered, wondering how this strange little man could possibly have known my
nationality. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I am from
Russia. My name is Vladimir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Mine’s Ray,” I
answered, and took the proffered hand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Do you work in the
Netherlands, or are you here for your pleasure?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m on my way
to <i>Eindhoven</i>, for work experience.” I
answered. “I’m only staying in Amsterdam
overnight.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Pity,” said
Vladimir, “it’s such a lovely city. What kind of work do you do?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I work for a
company making components for television and radio sets,” I told him, while
wishing the man would go away and pester someone else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Electronics is
the future comrade; Russia is very much in need of young men with technological
knowledge and new ideas.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I began to feel
uncomfortable in Vladimir’s company, as the cold war was currently at its
height. Films and television were awash with spy stories involving Soviet
agents, and calling me comrade sent a shiver up my spine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Why are you in
Amsterdam?” I asked, without really wanting to know the answer to my own question.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Vladimir leaned
forward and whispered into my ear as if it were of national importance. “I am
chief of security at a Soviet radio station here in Amsterdam.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I pictured a
uniformed security guard at a radio station broadcasting Russian folk songs,
with perhaps a little Soviet propaganda thrown in for good measure, but that interpretation
could not have been further from the truth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As he leaned
forward the jacket of his brown double breasted suit gaped open, and I caught a
fleeting glimpse of a small calibre handgun beneath his left armpit. The fact
that he wore a firearm convinced me of his diplomatic immunity, which would not
have been necessary had he been a glorified doorman at a radio station broadcasting
folk songs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The sailors
left the bar, and the bar girls descended on us like vultures. I
was under the impression that I was obligated to buy the girls a drink to avoid
conflict with the management, so I chatted to one of the girls in a friendly
way, while she nuzzled my neck and nibbled at my ear. Vladimir, in contrast,
had no such illusions. He shouted angrily at the girls, who quickly returned to
their seats at the opposite end of the bar. I waited for the fallout from the
doorman, who appeared from the hallway on hearing the commotion. He stared in
our direction, but realising that the Russian was doing the shouting,
he disappeared.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“We are having
such a nice talk,” said Vladimir to explain his outburst. “We do not need to be
interrupted by two silly girls and their inane chatter.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I agreed with
him out of politeness, although I’d been enjoying the company of the girls far
more than that of Vladimir, which I found to be intimidating, although I
couldn’t explain why.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You must be
aware that the Soviet Union will eventually annex Western Europe,” Vladimir
continued, as if nothing untoward had taken place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“It is one land
mass after all, not some foreign land far across the sea like America. This is where the
future of the European countries lies, as part of a unified Soviet Union,
making it the most powerful nation on earth. It would stretch from Vladivostok on
the pacific coast, to Lisbon on the Atlantic coast. Just image the power of
such a nation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I think the
Americans might have something to say about the Soviet Union annexing Europe,”
I told him, feeling a little irritated by the arrogance of this ridiculous
little man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Americans
will not be interested in risking a nuclear confrontation to protect Europe. The
Soviet Union will have overtaken the United States in firepower in less than five
years time, and then you will see how much they care about your tiny island.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I felt more than
a little patriotic, and pissed off with Vladimir’s observations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “The Germans thought they could conquer Europe, but they came unstuck, perhaps the Soviet Union won’t find the annexing of
Europe quite as easy as you seem to think.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Germans
could easily have conquered Europe, if Hitler had not made the same mistake that
Napoleon made over a century earlier,” continued Vladimir confidently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“What mistake?”
I asked, walking straight into Vladimir’s propaganda trap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“By attacking
Russia of course,” answered Vladimir, although he failed to explain that the
terrible winter weather, starvation, and poor logistics had been the major
factors in Napoleon’s defeat on the Russian front. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Most of Europe
had already surrendered,” he continued, “and your little island would not have
been able to resist the might of the German Reich without Russian assistance.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“We weren’t
alone,” I continued, bravely trying to fight my corner even though I was far
from an expert on the subject. “We had the Commonwealth countries and the
Americans fighting alongside us.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“And do you
think that the Americans would have come to your aid if the Japanese had not
bombed Pearl Harbour? Don’t be so naive. Churchill was clever to declare war on
Japan, as America would never have declared war on Germany had he not done so. He
manoeuvred them into the war.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I couldn’t
disagree with his assessment, but I didn’t want the Russian to get the better
of me, so remembering what my father had told me I made my case.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“The Americans
had already come to our aid. Churchill asked Roosevelt for assistance, he was
sympathetic but the American people had no appetite for war, so he came up with
the idea of lease-lend. Russia also benefitted from lease-lend. I seriously
doubt if your country would have been able to contain the Germans on the
Russian front without American armaments.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I think I might
have won that round because he changed the subject. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“That argument
aside, all western politicians are fools, and will be militarily unprepared when
Europe is annexed. Only Enoch Powell has the vision to see the reality of what
it to come, but after his rivers of blood speech he is a discredited man,
branded a racist, and just like Winston Churchill when he warned of the dangers
from Nazi Germany, no one is prepared to take him seriously.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Vladimir
appeared to have a grudging respect for Powell. I was unaware of any concerns he
may have had about national security, although I did remember something of his
rivers of blood speech.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Powell’s
constituents had been expressing their concerns about the number of
Afro-Caribbean’s settling in their area. Kenya had announced repatriation of
its Asian population, and most, because they held British passports, were expected
to settle in Britain. Powell speculated that at the current rate of
immigration, Britain would have accepted seven million coloured immigrants by
the year two thousand, plus the offspring of a generation. He prophesied that
coloured ghettos would inevitably spring up, leaving the white population as a
minority in some areas, unless immigration was halted immediately and
repatriation begun. After his speech he’d been branded a racist, and Edward
Heath, the Tory leader, sacked him from his position as shadow defence
minister. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I knew nothing
of Powell’s involvement in cold war politics, perhaps he’d made a speech about
Soviet expansionism, as a shadow defence secretary it was quite possible he had, but if such a speech had ever been made I was unaware of it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Vladimir
appeared to be concerned that if Powell became powerful, within a future
conservative government, perhaps the next leader of the party, or a future
prime minister <i>(2),</i> it could be
detrimental to the Soviet Union’s expansionist plans, which were going full
steam ahead with the invasion of Czechoslovakia to depose the liberal regime
of Alexander Dubcek.<span style="background: white; color: #252525;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I didn’t like
the direction this conversation was taking, and wondered what all this
political rhetoric was leading up to. I didn’t have long to wait to find out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “We need operatives, friends to help us
achieve our aims.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Are you talking
about me?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Yes of course,”
answered Vladimir, as if it should have been obvious to me from the very
beginning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I work in a
factory making light bulbs and components for radio and television sets. What
possible use could I be to the Soviet Union?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You would be
surprised how valuable you could be. What is more you would be well rewarded
for your services.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I would never
sell out my country,” I responded patriotically,
but Vladimir wasn’t finished.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“If a third
world war were to occur between the Americans and the Soviet Union, it would
not be fought in either of our countries; Europe would become the battleground,
and the prize. Better a peaceful annexing of Europe than its annihilation,
don’t you think? You would be helping to save the European people from
destruction, not betraying them; they would become Soviet citizens instead of
casualties of war. Think carefully about what I have said, we will talk again
on the subject soon.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The bar had
filled, unnoticed, while we’d been talking. Two Gypsy women in traditional
peasant dress, who looked to be mother and daughter, were pedalling their
wares. The older woman was selling roses and telling fortunes, while the
younger one sold trinkets from a peddler’s tray held by a leather strap around
her neck. She wore a long black skirt, which brushed the floor as she moved,
and around her waist she wore a white apron tied with a large bow at the back.
Above the skirt she wore a white blouse with puff sleeves, which was heavily
embroidered around the neck with flowers, as was the apron and the hem of her
skirt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> She glanced at Vladimir as if for his
approval, but when he didn’t react she turned her attentions towards me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“<i>Zijn jullie Russisch</i>?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“She would like
to know if you are Russian,” Vladimir translated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She must have
known who Vladimir was, and it was obvious, from her body language, that she
was wary of him, otherwise why would she seek his approval, and then assume
that I was Russian.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“English,” I
answered, and then as an afterthought I translated. “<i>Engels</i>, one of the few words I’d learned during my short stay.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You buy
necklace for your sweetheart?” suggested the girl, making my Dutch translation redundant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She leant
forward to display the necklace, lifting the pendant with her fingers and
holding it close to my face. At first glance I thought it to be a flying swan
cast in a base metal, although on closer examination it turned out to be a
winged penis complete with testicles. It took me a considerable amount of time
to concentrate on the pendant, as I had a clear view down her blouse as she
bent forward. I found myself transfixed by her nipples, which were dark, and
even darker than her olive skin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I don’t have a
sweetheart,” I protested, after regaining my composure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You buy one for
yourself?” she insisted, unwilling to take no for an answer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“No thank you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She glanced at
Vladimir, and when he showed not the slightest interest in the transaction she
continued with her sales pitch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Fucking
scissors?” she announced, which took me very much by surprise, as I was unused
to hearing a woman swear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She produced a
pair of painted wooden scissors from her tray; they were about ten inches long,
with a naked woman, sporting huge breasts, attached to one of the blades, while
a naked man with an enormous erect penis, almost as big as himself, was
attached to the other. As she squeezed the handles the two naked bodies came
together, and the huge penis disappeared from view, before reappearing as she
operated the scissor action. I politely declined her offer, and she moved away
muttering and cursing under her breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I looked at my
watch; it was after eleven. “I think I’ll call it a night and go back to my
hotel,” I announced, still feeling uncomfortable in the presence of Vladimir. “I have to catch a train in the morning.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You don’t
really want to stay at a hotel?” said Vladimir, phrasing his comment more like
an instruction than a question, before adding, “so impersonal, don’t you think?
Why don’t you stay at my home? I have a nice big bed, big enough for the two of
us, and I can cook us breakfast in the morning.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Suddenly the
penny dropped, a man twice my age with dyed hair, who becomes annoyed because
his companion is receiving attention from a bar girl. He wasn’t annoyed because
she was hustling drinks; he was annoyed because she was flirting and he was
jealous.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I think you’re
barking up the wrong tree,” I told him. “In fact you aren’t even in the right
forest.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I am so sorry if I misinterpreted the
signals,” apologised Vladimir.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> I didn’t know what signals I was sending out,
I didn’t even know that I was sending out signals, but whatever I was doing, if
this was the consequence, I must remember to stop doing it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I hope you are not
offended and we can still be friends.” He held out his hand to shake, and I took
it out of politeness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You will
accompany me to another bar where I know I can find what I am looking for?”
said Vladimir, ending with the word “please,” as if it were an afterthought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I wasn’t sure if
his statement was a request or an order, as Vladimir’s requests often appeared more
like orders, but I decided to go along with him to avoid any unpleasantness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Vladimir
introduced me to a very different type of establishment . The room was long and narrow, barely wide enough to walk around the elliptical
bar counter, which sat in the centre of the room like an island in a sea of
chattering people. Loud music blared out, almost drowning out the noise of the chatter,
which to my uninitiated ear sounded like the stirring music I’d heard played in
the newsreels at Hitler rallies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">A couple behind
the bar counter were dancing a polka, from one end of the bar to the other, and
for the first time since my arrival in the city I was enjoying the atmosphere.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“This is not
what I expected,” I told Vladimir.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s a Bavarian
bar, he informed me, but didn’t elaborate on its true purpose.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Soon after our arrival a skinny teenage boy,
with bleached blonde hair, came into the bar. He scanned the room as if looking
for someone. Spotting Vladimir he waved cheerily, and
approaching kissed him full on the lips to stake his claim, in case I had other
ideas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“This is my
regular boy,” Vladimir explained, putting his arm around the shoulders of the
skinny youth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I felt
uncomfortable witnessing the kissing and cuddling taking place between this
child, and a middle aged man with dyed hair and a face like an unmade bed, but
then I’d felt uncomfortable in Vladimir’s company for most of the evening. I
made the decision that two being company, and three being a crowd, I’d bid them
both goodnight and returned to the hotel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="X-NONE">Footnote
<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>(1) <span lang="X-NONE">In his first
speech to the Conservative Party conference, as Shadow Secretary of State for
Defence, Powell outlined a fresh defence policy, jettisoning what he saw as
outdated global military commitments. He stressed that Britain was a European
power, and should be in an alliance with Western European states against a
possible attack from the East</span></i><i>.<span lang="X-NONE"> He defended<span style="background: white;"> Britain's nuclear weapons program, and argued that
with a weapon so catastrophic, it is possession and the right to use it which
count.</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="X-NONE">(2)</span><span lang="X-NONE" style="background: white;"> Before becoming Shadow Defence Secretary, Powell had stood in the </span></i><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span lang="X-NONE" style="background: white; color: #252525;">party
leadership election. </span></i></span><i><span lang="X-NONE" style="background: white;">He came a distant third, </span></i><i><span style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">behind Edward Heath and Reginald Maudling, </span><span lang="X-NONE" style="background: white;">but</span><span lang="X-NONE"> </span></i><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span lang="X-NONE" style="background: white; color: #252525;"> undeterred
</span></i></span><i><span lang="X-NONE" style="background: white;">he stated that he’d left his visiting card, meaning
that he’d demonstrated himself to be a potential future leader</span></i><i><span style="background: white; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">.</span> </i><i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-88960831087138976062017-02-08T03:58:00.000-08:002017-02-25T07:38:14.866-08:00Weekend in Amsterdam. Chapter One. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In the US
presidential election Republican challenger Richard Nixon defeated the
Democratic candidate Vice President Hubert Humphrey, and American Independent
Party candidate George C Wallace. The Beatles released their self titled album,
popularly known as The White Album. In the third series of Star Trek the first
ever interracial kiss was aired on US national television, between Captain
James T Kirk and Lieutenant Uhura, and I embarked on my planned trip to The
Netherlands.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">* *
* *<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> When the taxi arrived to take me to the
airport, I didn’t have the faintest idea what awaited me in Amsterdam. Godfrey
Hillendale sat comfortably in the back seat of the taxi. Although younger than
I, he was also my boss by virtue of a university degree. He was reputed to be
an electronics boffin, although I’d yet to see any proof of that claim. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm; tab-stops: 21.3pt; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsygH9QrxDWDtOOLcBhpZQ6bHv3xAvaRgWOC0zyleou-6a0DoXrvUqjYE21RoOsk388aHy-YoNXuAvrYGGRXXWM2nyptqd0w6j-CxeDNEYNlgalI3E3C2tMHRzDXTZ4VCfFikC57AXX25F/s1600/book+cover+Weekend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsygH9QrxDWDtOOLcBhpZQ6bHv3xAvaRgWOC0zyleou-6a0DoXrvUqjYE21RoOsk388aHy-YoNXuAvrYGGRXXWM2nyptqd0w6j-CxeDNEYNlgalI3E3C2tMHRzDXTZ4VCfFikC57AXX25F/s320/book+cover+Weekend.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 21.3pt;">Godfrey
was in excess of six feet tall, very slim, with a sharp bird like face. His
hair, which grew over his collar, was wild and red, and receding significantly
at the temples. Godfrey spent most of the working day in his office, with the
door firmly closed against intruders. He drank copious amounts of black coffee,
and had amassed a huge collection of polystyrene coffee cups, which were
stacked in huge towers around his office making it almost impossible to enter. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 21.3pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
couldn’t see the fascination of collecting coffee cups, but apparently they
carried different batch numbers, which made his hobby rather like collecting
train numbers, which I found equally mystifying.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">“Good morning Ray,” called out Godfrey
from the back of the cab.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">“Good morning God,” I replied, a little
less cheerily, as I couldn’t, with the best will in the world, be described
as a morning person. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
Initially <span lang="X-NONE">I’d begun calling him God behind his back, and admittedly in
malice; as I’d been promised the job as head of the department before Godfrey </span>had taken<span lang="X-NONE"> up the post.
After performing that duty for several months, in an unpaid capacity, I’d been
rewarded </span>for my efforts <span lang="X-NONE">by the unannounced arrival of Godfrey to take my place. This </span>had <span lang="X-NONE">resulted in some
unhelpful behaviour on my part</span><span lang="X-NONE"> I’m ashamed to say. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">As we became more familiar with each
other’s strengths and weaknesses, I realised that Godfrey had few</span>, if any,<span lang="X-NONE"> management
skills, and was happy to hide in his office</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> with his precious coffee cup collection,
while I continued to run the department as before. Realising that Godfrey
relied upon me, </span>and was unable to
confront me, <span lang="X-NONE">I soon began to call
him God to his face, and Godfrey seemed happy to accept the promotion.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">To mark the occasion of our trip</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> I’d dressed in my
best blue suit, purchased </span>directly
<span lang="X-NONE">from the retailers shop window, while wearing my brand
new overcoat in an attempt to look businesslike. I was what they termed</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> in the trade, a
stock size, the outfitter explaining that my measurements exactly matched those
of the shop window dummies, so that the display suits fitted me perfectly.
Convinced that they were of a superior quality, and fitted me better than a
made to measure suit, I would regularly ask if </span>any of <span lang="X-NONE">the demonstration suits were for sale,
which they often were, as material runs came to an end and the sample suits
became redundant. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">Godfrey had made no such concessions to
the trip. He wore his everyday grey flannels, blue blazer, and camel coloured
duffle coat with peg buttons, finished off with his university scarf, which he
wore with pride as a badge of academic achievement. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">I had little in common with Godfrey,
and the initial flurry of excited conversation</span>, about the trip, <span lang="X-NONE">quickly dried up. I tried all the subjects on which I felt
knowledgeable, music, television programs, books, history, news, and even
politics, of which I knew </span>precious
<span lang="X-NONE">little, but Godfrey was not what you might call </span>a man of the world,<span lang="X-NONE">
and had little knowledge on any of </span>my
chosen<span lang="X-NONE"> subjects. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">“What do you like to do in your free
time?” I asked</span> him<span lang="X-NONE">, frustrated by his lack of enthusiasm on any of my proffered
subjects for conversation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">“I like to drive onto the moor with my
girlfriend</span>.<span lang="X-NONE">”</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE"> Finally we had something in common, but
Godfrey</span>, being Godfrey, just<span lang="X-NONE"> had to go and ruin it. “To receive and transmit radio signals</span>.<span lang="X-NONE">” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">I was surprised </span>to hear <span lang="X-NONE">that Godfrey
had a girlfriend, but it was of no surprise to discover that she shared his
passion for radio signals. I wasn’t averse to taking </span>my <span lang="X-NONE">girlfriends onto
the moor, but not to transmit and receive radio signals. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">By the time we reached the airport we </span>were <span lang="X-NONE">s</span>itting<span lang="X-NONE"> in silence. I
wondered what on earth we would talk about until Wednesday, the day when
Godfrey was scheduled to return to England</span> leaving me behind<span lang="X-NONE">. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">I was excited about </span>the flight<span lang="X-NONE">. As a child
I’d flown on family holidays to the Isle of Man, in transport planes converted,
by the addition of seats, to become passenger aircraft in the aftermath of the </span>war<span lang="X-NONE">. On this occasion
I was flying, for the first time, on a jet aircraft, something which </span>had been an ambition <span lang="X-NONE">since
BOAC introduced their Comet in the early nineteen-fifties.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE"> Manchester’s airport couldn’t have been more
different from the Squires Gate airport of my childhood, which as memory served
consisted of a single story prefabricated building, akin to the ones where
fighter pilots scrambled from battered old armchairs during the war years. This
airport was of ultra modern design, built in concrete and steel</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> and of enormous
proportions, with huge chandeliers of droplet shaped glass cascading from the
ceiling in the departure lounge. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">Godfrey and I became separated on the
aeroplane</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> as Godfrey was graded </span>as
<span lang="X-NONE">senior staff. This entitled him to travel business
class, while I travelled economy as my reduced status dictated. I sat next to a
boy of </span>perhaps <span lang="X-NONE">eight or nine years of age, who although travelling with his
mother, shared my enthusiasm for flying, and insisted on holding </span>my<span lang="X-NONE"> hand</span><span lang="X-NONE"> as the plane took
off for Amsterdam.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
* * * *<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">I met up with Godfrey at the baggage
collection, and we caught a service bus into the city of Amsterdam. We were booked
into the </span><i><span lang="NL">Rode Leeuw</span><span lang="NL"> </span></i><span lang="X-NONE">or Red Lion, which was situated on </span>a road known as <span lang="X-NONE">the <i>Damrak. </i>The <i>Damrak</i>
appeared to be the main artery of the city,<i>
</i>with many of the large stores and hotels situated along its length. Trams<i> </i>ran to and from the railway station</span> at its commencement,<i> </i><span lang="X-NONE">and with hindsight I
wish</span>ed<span lang="X-NONE">
that we’d caught one</span> of them<span lang="X-NONE">, but without knowledge of the hotel’s location</span> <span lang="X-NONE">, or </span>a <span lang="X-NONE">command of the Dutch
language, we chose to walk in the hope that </span>the hotel<span lang="X-NONE"> wasn’t </span>very <span lang="X-NONE">far. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">The hotel had a large reception desk</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> with a<i> </i>number of female receptionists to
welcome guests. Uniformed porters, wearing pork pie hats,<i> </i>were fighting for suitcases to enhance their meagre salaries by
way of tips, and I felt uncomfortable because of </span>all <span lang="X-NONE">the attention being lavished upon us.<i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">Against my wishes</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> the porter took our
suitcases into the nearest lift. The lift operator</span>,<i> </i><span lang="X-NONE">who sat on a high stool beside a panel of buttons, enquired of the
porter which<i> </i>floor the gentlemen
would like, and I learned that we were expected<i> </i>to tip</span>, not only the
porter, but<span lang="X-NONE"> the<i> </i>lift
operator on each and every occasion we travelled in the lift.<i> </i>With this realisation I resolved to</span> always <span lang="X-NONE">use the stairs.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">My room turned out to be spacious, with
a king<i> </i>size</span>d<span lang="X-NONE"> bed, a sitting area
with two comfortable armchairs, a coffee table, tea and coffee making
facilities, and a bathroom with a separate shower. The decor was<i> </i>modern</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> but impersonal</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> in creams and white, with pictures<i> </i>on the walls so boring that no one </span>even <span lang="X-NONE">noticed what<i> </i>they depicted. A single chocolate had
been positioned on each pillow as a welcome gift, </span>and <span lang="X-NONE"><i> </i>I made a cup of coffee, sat in one of<i> </i>the comfortable armchairs, and greedily
devoured them both.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">Once resuscitated I unpacked my
suitcase, showered, and putting on my best blue suit and a pair of suede
Chelsea boots,<i> </i>which were currently
the height of fashion, I met up with Godfrey in the restaurant for dinner. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">We were given an English language menu
and I chose whitebait for a starter, simply because I’d never<i> </i>tried it before, while for my main course
I chose <i>Weinerschnitzel </i>for the very
same reason. I wasn’t keen on either of my<i>
</i>choices</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> and decided to play it safe by ordering <i>apfelstrudel</i> for desert. This selection turned out to be made using<i> </i>raisins, nuts, cinnamon, and alcohol</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> along with the apples,
but tasty none-the-less.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">Amsterdam’s prostitutes sat in
illuminated windows to ply their<i> </i>trade,
I’d been told, and I determined to witness th</span>is<span lang="X-NONE"> spectacle for myself. Godfrey refused to
accompany me</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> and decided to take himself off to the cinema instead. I’d no idea
in which<i> </i>direction I would find the
red light district, and being too embarrassed to ask</span>,<i> </i><span lang="X-NONE">I turned right as I exited the hotel, which proved to be entirely the
wrong direction.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">I felt uneasy, and not for the first
time since arriving in Amsterdam. Convinced </span>that <span lang="X-NONE">I<i> </i>was
being followed, although I had </span>absolutely
<span lang="X-NONE">no reason for<i> </i>thinking
anything of the kind, I frequently turned abruptly</span>, <span lang="X-NONE">in an attempt to
spot someone behaving suspiciously. I told myself I was being paranoid, but
still the<i> </i>feeling of unease
persisted. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">Following the<i> </i>crowds I found myself in <i>Rembrandtplein</i>,
a square which<i> </i>had little connection with Rembrandt, other than the proximity of his statue, which occupied the centre
of the square.<i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">The square was surrounded by bars,
restaurants, and nightclubs, with<i> </i>doormen
resembling gorillas in evening suits</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> cajoling<i> </i>punters to
enter their establishments in preference to the establishments of others.<i> </i></span>For a long time<span lang="X-NONE"> I resisted the carefully rehearsed
pitches, but after a complete circuit of the square, and feeling extremely cold
in the winter weather, I succumbed to the pressure and accepted the next
invitation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">The doorman, who followed me into the nightclub,
insisted on<i> </i>helping me off with my
overcoat, which he spirited away so that a change of mind, on my part, wouldn’t
likely occur. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">The nightclub consisted<i> </i>of a single room</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> with a curved bar in<i> </i>one corner which ate up a quarter of
the room. Bench seating<i> </i>surrounded
the remaining walls, w</span>ith<span lang="X-NONE"> a handful of tables<i> </i>and
chairs increas</span>ing<span lang="X-NONE"> the seating capacity nominally. Five or six men<i> </i>occupied the shadows, all of them
alone, as was</span> I<span lang="X-NONE">, and all of them wondering how the hell they’d let themselves be
suckered into</span> entering <span lang="X-NONE">the nightclub. I approached the bar and ordered a <i>pilsner, </i>which I knew from
advertisements to be a beer.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">“Shorts only,” grunted the barman
rudely.<i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">“Bacardi and coke then,” I grunted
back. I’d never </span>drunk<span lang="X-NONE"> Bacardi, and didn’t know if I liked it, but I did know I liked cola so how bad could it be?<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">After paying an extortionate price for
my drink, which tasted of cola and little else, I positioned myself on<i> </i>a high bar-stool. The barman reached
under the counter, flicked a switch,<i> </i>and
a spotlight flooded the dance floor with </span>a bright <span lang="X-NONE">light. Immediately<i> </i>a door </span>beside the bar
<span lang="X-NONE">opened, and a girl of perhaps sixteen</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> or seventeen years
of age</span>, entered the room<span lang="X-NONE"> to
dance in the glow of the spotlight. She wore a red<i> </i>cowboy hat, cowboy boots, a red leather waistcoat,</span> with tassels,<i> </i><span lang="X-NONE">leather cuffs,</span> also with tassels,<span lang="X-NONE"> and leather chaps, which
showed her cheeky </span>bare<span lang="X-NONE"> bottom through cut-outs at the rear. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">In my limited experience of strip clubs,
strippers who labelled<i> </i>themselves
exotic dancers</span>, only<span lang="X-NONE"> wiggled while removing items of </span><i> </i><span lang="X-NONE">clothing, but this girl could really dance. Twirling a lasso she
jumped in<i> </i>and out of the loop,
sending it </span>high above<span lang="X-NONE"> her head</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> and back down </span>again <span lang="X-NONE">to her ankles. At one stage she dropped the<i> </i>loop over my head</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> and pulling it tightly she trapped my arms against my sides. She
danced away </span> <span lang="X-NONE">while holding onto the end of the rope, then shorten</span>ed<span lang="X-NONE"> the distance
between us using climbing hand movements along the rope. </span>S<span lang="X-NONE">he wiggled her </span>small <span lang="X-NONE">breasts</span> in my face<span lang="X-NONE">, before releasing
me from my captivity, and </span>my <span lang="X-NONE">acute embarrassment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="X-NONE"> </span></i><span lang="X-NONE">Removing her
leather cuffs, she dropped them, one by one,<i>
</i>at my feet. This was followed after a lengthy spell of<i> </i>teasing, exposing one breast and then the other, before the
removal of her waistcoat. The chaps came off<i>
</i>with one almighty tug</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> to reveal a red leather gee-string, which she<i> </i>inched up and down </span>using
her thumbs <span lang="X-NONE">to<i> </i>tantalise
the assembled audience. Sitting on a bar stool she removed her boots,<i> </i>and danced wearing only the hat and the
smallest of red leather garments imaginable.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">Her hair was hidden beneath the cowboy
hat, which she<i> </i>removed to cover
herself</span>,<span lang="X-NONE">
as she unfastened the gee-string and drop</span>ped it <span lang="X-NONE">to the floor. Her hair was long, and as she removed the hat it
tumbled to her waist. It was chestnut brown in colour, and completely<i> </i>natural in hue, as I was able to verify
by comparison from my privileged position.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">The music stopped, the lights went out,
and everyone<i> </i>clapped politely, but
instead of disappearing,<i> </i></span>she<span lang="X-NONE"> perched on </span>a<span lang="X-NONE"> bar-stool beside me.
I’d<i> </i>watched her</span> with interest<span lang="X-NONE"> as she
danced, but I<i> </i>now found it impossible
to look at her</span>, <span lang="X-NONE">even though<i> </i>I wanted to
do so.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">“Would you like to buy Greta a drink?”
she asked in</span><span lang="X-NONE"> </span><span lang="X-NONE"> heavily accented English.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">Obviously she’d been briefed as to my
whereabouts</span>,<i> </i><span lang="X-NONE">and </span>to <span lang="X-NONE">my nationality.
Perhaps she’d been deliberately<i> </i>chosen
to dance because she spoke my native tongue.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="X-NONE"> </span></i><span lang="X-NONE">The doorman,
who’d enticed me </span>to enter<span lang="X-NONE"> the club, approached the girl carrying a </span>pink <span lang="X-NONE">silk<i> </i>dressing gown. As she alighted from the
bar stool</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> she gave me one<i> </i>last look
at what was on offer as she put on the dressing gown,<i> </i>leaving it wide open</span>,
<span lang="X-NONE">just for </span>just <span lang="X-NONE">a moment</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> as she flicked her long hair over<i> </i>the collar. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">The doorman stayed close by until I
ordered the requested<i> </i>drink, which
was green</span> in colour <span lang="X-NONE">and served in a wine glass. It appeared to be a spirit, possibly
chartreuse or crème de menthe</span>.<span lang="X-NONE"> I’d </span>once <span lang="X-NONE">tried a drink of similar colour</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> served flaming like the<i> </i>brandy on a Christmas pudding. Foolishly I’d burned my<i> </i>mouth on the glass, never realising
that it might have heated<i> </i>up in the
flame.<i> </i>There was no way that this
drink would light, because<i> </i>although
it cost an extortionate price</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> it was not a<i> </i>spirit, but
a peppermint drink known as green sticky.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">“I have a room upstairs if you are looking
for a good time”<i> </i>Greta announced.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">I wasn’t expecting to be propositioned.
I</span>’d<span lang="X-NONE">
believed the scam to be charming punters into buying overpriced drinks, never<i> </i>realising that this girl had been
forced into<i> </i>prostitution to pay for
her travel arrangements from Eastern Europe, and her overpriced lodgings. Greta
was beautiful; her lifestyle having had insufficient time to take its toll on
her youthful body and pretty face. I was sorely<i> </i>tempted </span>to take her
up on<span lang="X-NONE"> her offer, but considering<i> </i>the extortionate price of drinks,</span> in this establishment,<span lang="X-NONE"> I was concerned about
the cost of her personal services, and<i> </i>what
would be the consequences should I be unable to pay the bill.<i> </i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="X-NONE">Another punter entered the club, and
soon the lights came on to herald the next<i>
</i>stripper. Greta left her drink </span>untouched
<span lang="X-NONE">on the bar</span>,<span lang="X-NONE"> and silently slipped away.<i> </i>The
new stripper was twice </span>the age of <span lang="X-NONE">Greta. She was dressed as a Turkish belly dancer, and<i> </i>I waited until the last of her seven
veils had fallen to the </span>floor
<span lang="X-NONE">before finishing my drink, retrieving my overcoat, which I
worried I might never see again, and leaving the warm smoky atmosphere of the
club to inhale the<i> </i>cold fresh air of
the </span>square<span lang="X-NONE">.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-48668967156919106802015-10-17T03:12:00.000-07:002015-10-17T03:13:53.323-07:00An October walk in the Ribble Valley.<div class="" style="clear: both;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonxYLvWLFnDL3R76Alj8s1bTasSewXrOmQVYHCADFq3X9EJW0Bf4odJkc73EXFvcUJH8pvDfy4HtXh41YbjglWdoov5gj2w-7sd8M2HuTLXx-Wes-lwovEQEXLe7uEUz-1uKnFtJxjZG8/s1600/Autumn+colour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonxYLvWLFnDL3R76Alj8s1bTasSewXrOmQVYHCADFq3X9EJW0Bf4odJkc73EXFvcUJH8pvDfy4HtXh41YbjglWdoov5gj2w-7sd8M2HuTLXx-Wes-lwovEQEXLe7uEUz-1uKnFtJxjZG8/s320/Autumn+colour.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>At this time of year it's about the turning of the leaves from the greens of summer, to the reds and golds of Autumn. It's nature's swansong before winter finally sets in. The days are getting shorter, the nights are getting colder, and the leaves are beginning to turn into the beautiful colours of autumn, as the chlorophyll, which keeps the leaves green throughout the summer, retreats for the winter.</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrfyoAbRMMGffog7sNBq3LognFyE5atDI7-zFH3SJQDa8w0m1oJdblUfktz8xIMUN0rhWzdgjk06FlyQ9P0xMX6BP6FRyfNqIq4ls9tijVleMTedC2Mwv1Iwdfe1maCzL1mDVdeFTXrPiB/s1600/Maple+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrfyoAbRMMGffog7sNBq3LognFyE5atDI7-zFH3SJQDa8w0m1oJdblUfktz8xIMUN0rhWzdgjk06FlyQ9P0xMX6BP6FRyfNqIq4ls9tijVleMTedC2Mwv1Iwdfe1maCzL1mDVdeFTXrPiB/s320/Maple+-+Copy.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This is a field maple, and like all maples is one of the most impressive of trees when in autumn colour. When you think of maple you think of maple syrup and the Canadian national flag, and of Japanese maples sold in pots for use in gardens, but we do have maples of our own, as you can see.</b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtBU5pFrhyphenhyphenlOIHcA6w6PTleMYwRNLVTRud6CBhPg72_C-D_HEDnvVoQz0GwnsQFXC2ChEoSLDsU7UCvfcZqz-HI4tXJaj2iXGzbN7OhQofXqehKAAlCCqMTI3TZhlS9EVDTmq_fn7XOkvz/s1600/Virginia+creeper+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtBU5pFrhyphenhyphenlOIHcA6w6PTleMYwRNLVTRud6CBhPg72_C-D_HEDnvVoQz0GwnsQFXC2ChEoSLDsU7UCvfcZqz-HI4tXJaj2iXGzbN7OhQofXqehKAAlCCqMTI3TZhlS9EVDTmq_fn7XOkvz/s320/Virginia+creeper+-+Copy.jpg" width="251" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I spotted this Virginia creeper growing up a farmhouse wall. It isn't strictly a native to the Ribble Valley, as its name suggests, but then neither am I and we both seem to thrive here. Perhaps the climate here is not too dissimilar to that of Virginia.</b></span></div>
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<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvJ34eQDEZu3XLb6sCvfltsxCpZ3a_xc3OEbjliKok6oBTDAS6PidK_IqXP9MaDtxuyH4LWTlZMHcs7iCCMIKFd4MOMwqIL3WV76V220hVNYT9BJlQasCU4IcjjpZH0CqNpg3xgenX7CJB/s1600/Bracket+fungus+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvJ34eQDEZu3XLb6sCvfltsxCpZ3a_xc3OEbjliKok6oBTDAS6PidK_IqXP9MaDtxuyH4LWTlZMHcs7iCCMIKFd4MOMwqIL3WV76V220hVNYT9BJlQasCU4IcjjpZH0CqNpg3xgenX7CJB/s320/Bracket+fungus+-+Copy.jpg" width="264" /></a></span><b></b><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></b>
<b><b><span style="font-size: large;">Last month was about the berries, but this month it's predominantly about fungus, which is everywhere. This is a bracket fungus, it grows on the trunks of trees, and sticks out rather like a bracket attached to a wall. I'm not an expert on fungus but most fungi can be eaten, I'm led to believe, but without expert knowledge its a risk too far, as the consequence's of making a mistake can be devastating. </span></b></b></div>
<b>
</b></div>
</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Here are a few more I spotted.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8i2tgd1QcxStTJtcDxu1C5xu-_aYyXJ5L8o50-uOayJ_30PpfmtpG2zz2Nar9LSlGFL6Eahgw_AA0LZ1770tjubY-__OLgXxzMfqnhHQzxKB4uK1MCwFBq0ssgynoCtSYjn6s9KhjuujB/s1600/Cep+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8i2tgd1QcxStTJtcDxu1C5xu-_aYyXJ5L8o50-uOayJ_30PpfmtpG2zz2Nar9LSlGFL6Eahgw_AA0LZ1770tjubY-__OLgXxzMfqnhHQzxKB4uK1MCwFBq0ssgynoCtSYjn6s9KhjuujB/s200/Cep+-+Copy.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZUvIwpFFPNFZF6CD3mMVcTbcu-atgbwjRN5OrHLTIuyOO4dSxA1wfzBXzAxFPfmPVNZUEiQQU4rDCo6ZPddCkYEJfsT2f1coECQHmyPCIAQ1bpB-KEJi7P2KxZ8iTMH3tfUXoFr1w-xX/s1600/Honey+fungus+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZUvIwpFFPNFZF6CD3mMVcTbcu-atgbwjRN5OrHLTIuyOO4dSxA1wfzBXzAxFPfmPVNZUEiQQU4rDCo6ZPddCkYEJfsT2f1coECQHmyPCIAQ1bpB-KEJi7P2KxZ8iTMH3tfUXoFr1w-xX/s200/Honey+fungus+-+Copy.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Honey Fungus </span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-size: large;"> Cep</span></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-size: large;"> Shaggy Inkcap</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Russila </span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-size: large;"> The Deceiver. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-size: large;">I wonder why its called that?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Pd3Ii6887_LbtInBUSceeu7nZJb5BMcdnG58eL6vWqvtF402vPMWyyRFLLXToAeHIOm0OSWs6IzqHOH03uvXzb71m7lfZ4AKEJQBvP-bcyEJw8QK9Kidm-N_qpytU0uymdFMZqAGJzS1/s1600/FOX+ON+THE+RUN.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Pd3Ii6887_LbtInBUSceeu7nZJb5BMcdnG58eL6vWqvtF402vPMWyyRFLLXToAeHIOm0OSWs6IzqHOH03uvXzb71m7lfZ4AKEJQBvP-bcyEJw8QK9Kidm-N_qpytU0uymdFMZqAGJzS1/s1600/FOX+ON+THE+RUN.jpg" /></a><b><span style="font-size: large;">I spotted this fox crossing a field, it was a long way away but I put the camera on full telephoto and placed it on a fence post for support. The depth of field is quite narrow but at least the head is in focus. I once went to Bournemouth for Easter and urban foxes were commonplace, but foxes in the countryside are more illusive and I was pleased to get this one. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">These are the seeds of the horse chestnut tree. As a boy we used to soak them in vinegar to make them hard enough to win conker competitions. A hole was bored through the conker and then it was used to smash someone else's conker before yours was broken. You received a few rapped knuckles but it was great fun. Playing conquers seems to be banned today as being too dangerous, like walking to school and playing outside with other children. Sad, don't you think?</span></b></div>
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<br />Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-54567895027951973182015-10-07T09:06:00.000-07:002015-10-08T08:14:48.495-07:00Publishing your masterpiece on a shoestring<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">It's much easier to publish that book you always intended to write than at any other time in history, but it can be very expensive to do so. It seems to me that we have three options when it comes to publication, and I have tried them all. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">OPTION ONE</span></b></div>
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<b><b><span style="font-size: large;">The first option is to use a conventional publisher, but interesting a conventional publisher in a book by an unknown author is about as likely as winning the lottery. My first two books were published in this way some years ago. I was asked to pay the cost of professional editing from my advance on sales. I'm not saying that professional editing is not a good thing, I'm sure that it is if you want the book to be the best that it can be, but unless you are confident that you have a best seller on your hands, the probability is that you will never re-coup your investment. </span></b></b></div>
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<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOAQJXFPeWUZLgl548JOGOTPcVASs5ZwCEQu0ehJCcE0sMcb-WBWXuxwXfjkHTAEzQ5okVr5cZrXERhm0G87XGIvk5SLtJImHmM8AwvnRNtjzLx9R9eib1V4O4YsX-vX8PPPBXY0iMr-MA/s1600/003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOAQJXFPeWUZLgl548JOGOTPcVASs5ZwCEQu0ehJCcE0sMcb-WBWXuxwXfjkHTAEzQ5okVr5cZrXERhm0G87XGIvk5SLtJImHmM8AwvnRNtjzLx9R9eib1V4O4YsX-vX8PPPBXY0iMr-MA/s320/003.jpg" width="244" /></a></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><b>My books were sold at £7.50 each, and my royalty share was 10% of sales, or 75 pence per copy. After tax that left me with 60 pence per copy if they all sold at full value. If the editing bill happened to co</b><b>me to £1000, which in this day and age is a very conservative estimate of costs, I would have to sell 1,666 of each book just to cover the cost of the editing.</b><b> I resolved this problem by offering my editor a writing credit, and 2% of my book royalties. The publisher designed the book covers, printed the books, did all of the marketing, and I received an annual check for a decade.</b></span></b></div>
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<b><b><span style="font-size: large;">OPTION TWO</span></b></b></div>
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<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFCngKZXgQa8grOXf7dVN9Q24FpJGqzo1oz1ne4sq460r9WVg2TIC4q03VL0GjWQ44zfMpulh9busH38WWLNySHjnJhfUhK9nNvI8zaf6hGU2UVFY1J0y2dNR8QbSHrA_XGGamziqT0lxo/s1600/001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFCngKZXgQa8grOXf7dVN9Q24FpJGqzo1oz1ne4sq460r9WVg2TIC4q03VL0GjWQ44zfMpulh9busH38WWLNySHjnJhfUhK9nNvI8zaf6hGU2UVFY1J0y2dNR8QbSHrA_XGGamziqT0lxo/s320/001.jpg" width="212" /></a><b><span style="font-size: large;">When I retired from full time employment, and decided to try my hand at writing novels, I approached a print on demand publisher after responding to an advert. This method of publishing would have been described as vanity press not so very long ago, because the author is expected to foot the bill for pretty much everything. The publisher did produce the book at zero cost, except for a nominal charge for "administration," but I quickly discovered that this kind of publisher makes their money from selling services to authors, rather than selling books to the reading public, so I cancelled my contract when sales dried up after just 35 copies had been sold.</span></b></b></div>
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<b><b><span style="font-size: large;">OPTION THREE</span></b></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">This is the option which I currently favour, unless of course one of the conventional publishers would like to take a chance on an unknown like me. In this option the author is also the publisher, and marketer, so it involves a lot of time, work, and commitment to bring the book to fruition. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">How to get started? assuming that you have finished writing your manuscript, it will need to be edited, and edited, and then edited some more. You will be surprised how many mistakes you have made and some you won't even recognise as mistakes, but Microsoft Word will find some of them for you and there are other free download programs to help you to look for mistakes. Professional editing will resolve these problems but at a cost. To avoid editing fees I employed the services of two of my friends to search for mistakes, and at the end of the day it only cost me two signed copies and a curry at the local Indian restaurant. Editing is more than searching for spelling and grammar mistakes, it includes context and running order, all kinds of things in fact, so I joined YouWriteOn, where you can submit your manuscript for a critical assessment, but to receive an assessment you must be prepared to do the same thing for someone else. The feedback is very useful, if you are thick skinned enough to accept it, because some of the comments can be brutal. I learned from the process that I'd included too much unnecessary detail, and that my story didn't grab the reader from the beginning, and took too long to get going, so I took on board the comments, analysed my story, re-arranged it, and removed about 80 pages worth of waffle, which is the kind of thing that an editor might do. I am very happy with the result.</span></b></div>
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<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaB6eSrNtR1EMQmoPdEmzrvEFJYFde-WRaHgQSI1zIyMZ_j_iYGapNuc7hnMJGUhhk_1KosCQoZNkstq6IyuN5A8mUZzICa6kBOjBdesJ-95S-YwhaGZQW2GNmdcb6AG7DPMDZIWeChY5K/s1600/bigstock-Electric-Guitar-7628782+%25282%2529+-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaB6eSrNtR1EMQmoPdEmzrvEFJYFde-WRaHgQSI1zIyMZ_j_iYGapNuc7hnMJGUhhk_1KosCQoZNkstq6IyuN5A8mUZzICa6kBOjBdesJ-95S-YwhaGZQW2GNmdcb6AG7DPMDZIWeChY5K/s320/bigstock-Electric-Guitar-7628782+%25282%2529+-.jpg" width="240" /></a></b></div>
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<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvXh1zMgI2Uv5UHtYq9Hy_PyTJLXNl6T5gqi0EX_uDfakQfvYPF533JMvHvUjUb9hESPtTswvsUEKKjC2-fprOn4JdjPB7BRBRQkXE_j2yy7h83AFx6JhVEH_-yc3ZMfNk0u1h73MllqvC/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvXh1zMgI2Uv5UHtYq9Hy_PyTJLXNl6T5gqi0EX_uDfakQfvYPF533JMvHvUjUb9hESPtTswvsUEKKjC2-fprOn4JdjPB7BRBRQkXE_j2yy7h83AFx6JhVEH_-yc3ZMfNk0u1h73MllqvC/s320/1.jpg" width="212" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">A book is no good without a cover. A cover helps to sell a book and could be the difference as to whether a book sells or not, so it must look professional. Book designers will produce a good cover but again at a cost, but it doesn't need to cost a fortune to produce a decent book cover. I bought the rights to use the photograph on the left on-line, for about £30. My novel is about a band which crashes and burns after being connected to a series of killings, so the picture seemed to be appropriate.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>On Microsoft Word, you can select insert from the tool-bar, and then Word Art. There you can choose your text design, and colour. Save the result as a PDF, in your Word document, which will easily convert to a JPEG on a free download. I use free PDF to JPEG converter. It's a bit primitive but it does the job. </b><b>For the back cover select page layout from the tool-bar in Word, and then select a page colour. You can use Word Art, or simply chose a text style to complete the cover blurb. You can now self publish your book as an e-book on Amazon Kindle, or as a paperback on Createspace for free.</b></span><br />
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<b>When I discover how to market on a shoestring I'll let you know.</b></span></div>
Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-12676444862786642732015-09-13T02:56:00.000-07:002015-09-14T06:53:35.991-07:00A September walk in Lancashire's Ribble Valley.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu6_yQtUN1RXU0DjoTsO968U-Gt9rRvI-RBdKNvH6wmYfJrF0QCTFpUzOY9eiky67kRjPdDctUw7Nwbz-o_Q7aJZPAY0UupqHwWUM1XD4Box7B2jcWHsn6b3bUzzD3VovhSVVivVMfdoPw/s1600/Newchurch+Church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu6_yQtUN1RXU0DjoTsO968U-Gt9rRvI-RBdKNvH6wmYfJrF0QCTFpUzOY9eiky67kRjPdDctUw7Nwbz-o_Q7aJZPAY0UupqHwWUM1XD4Box7B2jcWHsn6b3bUzzD3VovhSVVivVMfdoPw/s320/Newchurch+Church.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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We are meeting today at St Mary's church in the village of Newchurch in Pendle, and walking to St Leonard's church at Downham.<br />
The Demdike family of witches lived at Newchurch, although at the time the village was called Goldshaw Booth. The eye of God is carved into the clock-tower to monitor witch activity.<br />
If you look to the right of the porch you will see a sign. This informs us that the grave situated there is the witches grave. It is reputed to be the grave of Alice Nutter, who was hanged as a witch, although it's debatable whether the church would allow a convicted witch to be buried in consecrated ground.</div>
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Alice lived in the village of Rough Lee, which is close to Newchurch in Pendle, and to the best of my knowledge this is the house in which she lived.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisw6U-RK2QPUzcGeVbKBseK0031gD_fX-W8nw8ZCzBU7tqWd_k-VqkdU_or3kkL2weQwSdlSuBFxnF_xGVCMAfsFGK_0nasYqo7x6gkyR5lVrUG7jYLCRutwN7hCz6UL2SdQoGL1-iJtYZ/s1600/witches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisw6U-RK2QPUzcGeVbKBseK0031gD_fX-W8nw8ZCzBU7tqWd_k-VqkdU_or3kkL2weQwSdlSuBFxnF_xGVCMAfsFGK_0nasYqo7x6gkyR5lVrUG7jYLCRutwN7hCz6UL2SdQoGL1-iJtYZ/s320/witches.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Newchurch is now a tourist village for witch finders, and I discovered a coven of them sitting outside of a souvenir shop which sells all manner of witch related items. I've purchased two books there in the past, Mist over Pendle by Robert Neill, and The Lancashire Witches by Harrison Ainsworth. I can recommend both of them. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9FQXX3dKYmcMNbMwpI6eL8ORw3ABLDQhf1wQCtMwiozXNQhoHgb_G0QgLvCAztHY2kmB1tUuCSz69T85j2YwvvS3YwU0t2uP5nKZHlgIRyygZNgAQ9PCxhT_zGF9yWREXoe5TyrMI0R_y/s1600/PENDLE+HILL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9FQXX3dKYmcMNbMwpI6eL8ORw3ABLDQhf1wQCtMwiozXNQhoHgb_G0QgLvCAztHY2kmB1tUuCSz69T85j2YwvvS3YwU0t2uP5nKZHlgIRyygZNgAQ9PCxhT_zGF9yWREXoe5TyrMI0R_y/s320/PENDLE+HILL.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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You may have realised by now that we are not in the Ribble Valley at all, but in the neighbouring district of Pendle. The road from Newchurch, which is situated at the foot of Pendle Hill, travels over the hill until it arrives in Downham village, which also sits at the foot of Pendle Hill on the other side in my home district of the Ribble Valley. You may be able to make out the village of Downham in the valley below, it looks a long way off, but at least it's all downhill. On sunny days, some rather more daring people than I, para-glide from the top of the hill and float on the thermals.<br />
Pendle Hill dominates both the Pendle and Ribble Valley landscapes, and is regarded by locals with affection. Listen to the folk song 'Old Pendle' recorded by the Pendle Folk. </div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://youtu.be/sen_hMItaSI" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/sen_hMItaSI</a></span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSPkI8AAHyDOiQUkYunQtqjbciSpKZ21HRMojfCWSbS0gNOFwEUtyg4ztxHn_noVrBV1JWtUdXRSYaITIjR6yjYyXAtSGLvNLHozOS-ttLmPB5wMjf8BKtGJiLPCJIulmElhfTik_phwEk/s1600/Blackberries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSPkI8AAHyDOiQUkYunQtqjbciSpKZ21HRMojfCWSbS0gNOFwEUtyg4ztxHn_noVrBV1JWtUdXRSYaITIjR6yjYyXAtSGLvNLHozOS-ttLmPB5wMjf8BKtGJiLPCJIulmElhfTik_phwEk/s320/Blackberries.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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At this time of the year the summer flowers are beginning to come to an end, and it's all about the berries. The one you probably know the best is the blackberry. There is nothing quite like home made blackberry pie, or even better apple and blackberry with custard. When we were kids we would spend whole afternoons, with a Tupperware box, collecting blackberries, but no matter how long we spent collecting them the container never seemed to fill. Perhaps that's because we ate more than we collected, grubs and all.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvJxvY4o5RnNcz6u7yJlpuQTKbN-WCBWH5UlGfpuIWzWezkRtM_57Y5T42wwHwAmOj3Oig8fN9kwcUqBhflHVCAEhnWKB-bfpEgGgrV7J_5Lkl8PtS2AMWyPL63dtsAHeoFxTgBBpKmFoX/s1600/Dog+Rose+hips.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvJxvY4o5RnNcz6u7yJlpuQTKbN-WCBWH5UlGfpuIWzWezkRtM_57Y5T42wwHwAmOj3Oig8fN9kwcUqBhflHVCAEhnWKB-bfpEgGgrV7J_5Lkl8PtS2AMWyPL63dtsAHeoFxTgBBpKmFoX/s200/Dog+Rose+hips.jpg" width="200" /></a>Rose hips are the fruits of the dog rose, and can be used to make Rose hip syrup, jam, herbal tea, wine, and as it's high in vitamin C, vitamin C supplements.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq73wpeos_OA8tGYRIvzvzOo26rBEFOg_uW6f-ERqIIbSLjT2NQHtl-UgZxqQdHQBxePzNGr55kjb8z8Wl13XsK7pOpXjDgtyt1uh0LX8gjU_GIKH7teyDqVPO9HV0SV54gn1DGpfynITb/s1600/Blackthorn+berries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq73wpeos_OA8tGYRIvzvzOo26rBEFOg_uW6f-ERqIIbSLjT2NQHtl-UgZxqQdHQBxePzNGr55kjb8z8Wl13XsK7pOpXjDgtyt1uh0LX8gjU_GIKH7teyDqVPO9HV0SV54gn1DGpfynITb/s200/Blackthorn+berries.jpg" width="200" /></a>Sloe's are the fruit of the blackthorn and can be used to make sloe gin, brandy, jam or chutney.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqN-Srb2-ZneN0keilAUftWU5deYSdlE8mqbWNHtA4i0jeMfjNJfQ7SLFdooX62DGtKC7bXDwiYn7RzKIFXdfD9_wQE698XyYGXM6KPlQ5giTMJBuCwkDCdUfFYn0YhU8Xc0QgJVKqF1ps/s1600/Hawthorn+berries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqN-Srb2-ZneN0keilAUftWU5deYSdlE8mqbWNHtA4i0jeMfjNJfQ7SLFdooX62DGtKC7bXDwiYn7RzKIFXdfD9_wQE698XyYGXM6KPlQ5giTMJBuCwkDCdUfFYn0YhU8Xc0QgJVKqF1ps/s200/Hawthorn+berries.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Hawthorn berries are winter food for the Blackbird and thrush species of birds. Redwing's and Fieldfare's visit us from Scandinavia to feast on our winter supply of berries. They are also used to treat high blood pressure and angina.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwru5wFEsWKsAVUnfJtEMXcf23zh06sv1Tkf0i51gH_cvCsEu0f5y4rkdDcXjeKSmMWYbpQeqczwdjNHxn9gwt4NGJTNV5uwfGYYMg1ZUyDXyMfIehrDNend5Iw4I54toBm16NJ45ZUP4c/s1600/Elder+berries.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwru5wFEsWKsAVUnfJtEMXcf23zh06sv1Tkf0i51gH_cvCsEu0f5y4rkdDcXjeKSmMWYbpQeqczwdjNHxn9gwt4NGJTNV5uwfGYYMg1ZUyDXyMfIehrDNend5Iw4I54toBm16NJ45ZUP4c/s200/Elder+berries.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
Elderberry wine, or Sambucus, is a favourite, and elderberries are reputed to ward off the winter flue and alleviate allergies.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UGauIAS70JhkgAv_dASKNEE9mjES4rLAuZvLJxq1BhGHXqOa4C2t3T5_MrN5pW_xLL2RkL83VZ4snPFP3JOlDaxN4uDDqqtGbbcbbN5Ag_Yp6uvB1GwnTtibNy4N-U1Flb29OtkQGoJv/s1600/Downham.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UGauIAS70JhkgAv_dASKNEE9mjES4rLAuZvLJxq1BhGHXqOa4C2t3T5_MrN5pW_xLL2RkL83VZ4snPFP3JOlDaxN4uDDqqtGbbcbbN5Ag_Yp6uvB1GwnTtibNy4N-U1Flb29OtkQGoJv/s320/Downham.jpg" width="214" /></a>We have arrived in Downham, our destination, the church, can be seen at the top of the hill.<br />
Richard Assheton, my 11th great uncle, bought the village of Downham from Ralph Greenacres in 1558, and bequeathed it, along with the village of Whalley, to his nephew Ralph, my 10th great grandfather, on his demise in 1579. The Assheton family still own the village of Downham to this day.<br />
The village was used in the filming of the 1961 film Whistle Down the Wind, with Hayley Mills and Alan Bates, and the BBC television series Born and Bred, starring James Bolam, Richard Wilson, Clive Swift, Nigel Havers and John Henshaw, was filmed there. The building that you can see on the right was used as the doctors surgery and cottage hospital.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcURjUVW_1abLfbLzNkEc4BBK8gkTDPU916wAlvepbjwI2dwf3GF4xU9FxavXNnurQkeZ4fyzDXU6-JYa2ay9CVI-cH3rHWHo__b7STehHOFCCBLtpT9cV0ihmIgPNVQYQzogfLL6gCzzA/s1600/St+Leonards+church_edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcURjUVW_1abLfbLzNkEc4BBK8gkTDPU916wAlvepbjwI2dwf3GF4xU9FxavXNnurQkeZ4fyzDXU6-JYa2ay9CVI-cH3rHWHo__b7STehHOFCCBLtpT9cV0ihmIgPNVQYQzogfLL6gCzzA/s320/St+Leonards+church_edited.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
St Leonard's church, our destination. Around the back of the church, and out of sight, where you would least expect to find it, is the tomb dedicated to members of the Assheton family.<br />
The Assheton Arms, which was named, I think, the Railwayman's Arms, or sum such, in the television series, even though there isn't a railway line to be found for miles, let alone a railway station, is situated directly across the road from the church, and that, as you might expect, is our final destination.<br />
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Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-50354631436074561062015-08-27T02:34:00.000-07:002015-08-29T06:50:42.844-07:00Another August walk in the Ribble Valley<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAndDE64aFUj5jgo2GXCx7buYS45-3ksGE3ijMAZxnYS6rkrcm4tOB5Fc-6IwevkFIwY_gizS5mbtI9o4jadwSEKCPusPyXfdLnNiNeEjozMo-T5ocsuR6XzvQ5QEhqALUITGGyC9rtz3Y/s1600/Scan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAndDE64aFUj5jgo2GXCx7buYS45-3ksGE3ijMAZxnYS6rkrcm4tOB5Fc-6IwevkFIwY_gizS5mbtI9o4jadwSEKCPusPyXfdLnNiNeEjozMo-T5ocsuR6XzvQ5QEhqALUITGGyC9rtz3Y/s320/Scan.jpg" width="214" /></a><br />
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<b> Earlier in the month we walked to the Black Bull. Today, in total contrast, we will be walking to the White Bull.</b></div>
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<b> I've parked my car at Dinkley and I'm walking down Kenyon lane towards the River Ribble. You can just see Dinkley Hall at the bottom of the lane. It's a grade 11 listed building which was originally a timber framed building and built around 1600, but it's now encased in sandstone and partly rendered. It boasts impressive arched oak beams and has been sympathetically converted to modern living, it's currently on the market for £1.3 million should you require a desirable residence by the river. How's that for estate agent speak, have I sold it to you?</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg3O_osksp8dQyxgHgUGFDfYh6_rt371EtQOjv4WmrtbzVs-Q74SHhlr2k5bvYgrVn7Y0iJhIUoss_9SrVh5JKDREa4PBHlMfhoo_0rGjHq2bp7tywQ8cPbDp72Ro31vRqY_AcRQg2TrZT/s1600/Greater+bindweed+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg3O_osksp8dQyxgHgUGFDfYh6_rt371EtQOjv4WmrtbzVs-Q74SHhlr2k5bvYgrVn7Y0iJhIUoss_9SrVh5JKDREa4PBHlMfhoo_0rGjHq2bp7tywQ8cPbDp72Ro31vRqY_AcRQg2TrZT/s320/Greater+bindweed+-+Copy.jpg" width="320" /></a><b>The hedges are full of greater bindweed at this time of the year, and have been since June. Only the British would class such a beautiful climber as a weed. If it were called a clematis instead of bindweed it would be sold in garden centres in pots and supported on bamboo canes for about £6 a pop. It scrambles through everything for support and is one of those plants which is impossible to eradicate, as the slightest bit of root left in the ground and it will re-appear. But why would you want to eradicate it?</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi40Q2C3VdeQoV-e8OAhK3iZGGzWeG4I6L4u89DAOuPPLIF0mPtzC0Kq8WbCMJv814Y46RPnRG-vTv3KwD2AMnNm2BMzyJFjKGXe3bo94uyhVfQUS3jaQOZ0gLaFTM_7RStdG4ANMWqPmnz/s1600/Female+Meadow+brown+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi40Q2C3VdeQoV-e8OAhK3iZGGzWeG4I6L4u89DAOuPPLIF0mPtzC0Kq8WbCMJv814Y46RPnRG-vTv3KwD2AMnNm2BMzyJFjKGXe3bo94uyhVfQUS3jaQOZ0gLaFTM_7RStdG4ANMWqPmnz/s320/Female+Meadow+brown+-+Copy.jpg" width="256" /></a><b> I noticed this butterfly on one of the flowers, it's a meadow brown. Not the most attractive of butterflies I must admit, but I decided to see how many varieties of butterflies I could spot. on my walk Apparently butterfly numbers are in serious decline due to a loss of habitat. Buddleia's are a favourite food plant for many adult butterflies, while nettles are an essential food plant for the </b><b>caterpillars of many different varieties. Perhaps we should all turn a small corner of our gardens over to these food plants to preserve these beautiful insects before they are lost to us forever. </b><br />
<b> A few years ago, at this time of the year, I would have been in my garden with a book and a beer, and I would be sitting among clouds of butterflies of all persuasions. I still grow buddlia's, but a public footpath which flanks my house, has been cleared of nettles to allow access to walkers and the butterfly numbers have dropped dramatically</b><br />
<b> Here are a few more varieties which I spotted, or at least the ones I managed to photograph. Have you ever chased butterflies around a field waiting for them to land, and then open their wings and pose for a photograph?</b><br />
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<b>PAINTED LADY PEACOCK SMALL HEATH </b> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvvxxgjnzmkDjYBuroF1NZbOIDd56vhL3B-iI1TbnVsG_nhRvcyk0G_ZT6TDKkHvm5eRkF2pGLkd9lS3TmPAgADWLYCyDzv1pg3EqaMeOYPA7e0bNkyQtG79i9GEuN0yJY2C87Q-2LuYkm/s1600/019+%25282%2529+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvvxxgjnzmkDjYBuroF1NZbOIDd56vhL3B-iI1TbnVsG_nhRvcyk0G_ZT6TDKkHvm5eRkF2pGLkd9lS3TmPAgADWLYCyDzv1pg3EqaMeOYPA7e0bNkyQtG79i9GEuN0yJY2C87Q-2LuYkm/s200/019+%25282%2529+-+Copy.JPG" width="160" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_LXb5TmeGcg3NxTpFbjW5-ziX_q3eBAkDhA3fjJJz4b_oLrAbhdW8iGp__ifKcz3CkQ8C9egMuLW7C2DnxLv7Sh3DL_CMZxaYSIP2p1I6Ww6ZrzNPdYU09lYpiI3M8mKoScHGGN4Amfo1/s1600/001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_LXb5TmeGcg3NxTpFbjW5-ziX_q3eBAkDhA3fjJJz4b_oLrAbhdW8iGp__ifKcz3CkQ8C9egMuLW7C2DnxLv7Sh3DL_CMZxaYSIP2p1I6Ww6ZrzNPdYU09lYpiI3M8mKoScHGGN4Amfo1/s320/001.jpg" width="320" /></a><b>In our July walk we crossed the suspension bridge on our journey from Marles Wood to Hurst Green, and I explained that the bridge replaced the ferryman back in the 1950's. Today we must cross it again as we need to be on the opposite side of the river to walk along the river bank to Ribchester.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYZYn-NOIcpbXg57NpNaVAtLxiYrXkYisYHV8SerZEF9p7jTaEcm97RrSMRrneORchyhFG-xHDcdmzY0ZPzil9XcEc-L57mPsEiKPCNSKUXBG7KD6jsFrh5hAY3Ya1OiybhXnlyJi8sIP/s1600/002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYZYn-NOIcpbXg57NpNaVAtLxiYrXkYisYHV8SerZEF9p7jTaEcm97RrSMRrneORchyhFG-xHDcdmzY0ZPzil9XcEc-L57mPsEiKPCNSKUXBG7KD6jsFrh5hAY3Ya1OiybhXnlyJi8sIP/s320/002.jpg" width="217" /></a><b> We must leave the river bank, as it's too steep and dense with woodland, and cross a field of sheep, with the bridge visible in the background. We are following a public footpath, which is part of the Ribble way, and must pass through a wooded area. A</b><b>nother footbridge straddles a stream which feeds into the river. It may look a little rustic in comparison to the suspension bridge, but it appears picturesque in the dappled shade, don't you think?. </b><br />
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<b>Back on the river bank for about half a mile and we reach the road bridge which takes the traffic in and out of Ribchester. This Jacobean house is close to the bridge and on the outskirts of Ribchester. It's not exactly on our journey but it can be seen from where we stand on the bridge. I remember Ribble Valley Borough Council putting it up for sale for just £1 in the 1970's. Why didn't you snap it up? I hear you ask. Well it was in a dreadful condition and any potential buyer had to prove that they had the wherewithal to bring it up to the required standard of preservation. I didn't.</b><br />
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<b> We've arrived in Ribchester and I've had to miss out so many things that I photographed along the way. Ribchester is built on the site of a Roman fort. Every town or city with a reference to chester, was once a Roman fort, and the most elaborate Roman helmet ever discovered was found by two small boys while playing in the river at Ribchester. It's now in the British Museum in London, but a copy takes pride of place in Ribchester's Roman museum. </b><br />
<b> Tony Robinson visited the village a few years ago to excavate for the television programme Time Team. Because the whole of the Roman fort is buried beneath the village, they had to dig in peoples gardens to discover the layout of the fort. Some of the foundations, found in communal areas of the village, have been left exposed for visitors to see, with explanations as to what the visitor is looking at.</b><br />
<b> The pillars holding up the portico of the pub, which was once a coaching inn, as you can see by the addition of stables at the far end of the building, are said to be excavated Roman pillars, and used in the construction of the pub way back in 1707.</b></div>
Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-48097262782184047832015-08-09T03:41:00.000-07:002015-10-29T02:15:46.633-07:00An August walk in the Ribble Valley.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFROULKHVjKwDQmO1isls4tuXCetnVZm_G9flvNREKGqTAVSzYAVfjMe21oOoLg8th0Kl6X6Au443vBwKnfBUw55EUTOXdP8xWIvy5beAb01UIFHmOevIAtKLJH0zTisrf0Nj6GdT8CWEv/s1600/Bullseye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFROULKHVjKwDQmO1isls4tuXCetnVZm_G9flvNREKGqTAVSzYAVfjMe21oOoLg8th0Kl6X6Au443vBwKnfBUw55EUTOXdP8xWIvy5beAb01UIFHmOevIAtKLJH0zTisrf0Nj6GdT8CWEv/s320/Bullseye.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<b>Today I'm walking to the Black Bull pub at Old Langho if you want to come along, but what I didn't expect to meet on the journey was the real thing, and he doesn't look very pleased to see me. Perhaps it's my red polo shirt? You know the old saying, like a red rag to a bull, but I've been told that bovines only see in monochrome, and that it's the movement which provokes them to attack, let's hope for my sake that's true, I'm too old to run anyway. I think I must have been a little distracted when I took this photograph, because I've only just noticed a nice shot of Pendle Hill in the background.</b></div>
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<b>In days of yore hay-making was a once a year, activity performed by whole families or villages using scythes. The hay was gathered up and made into the rather attractive haystacks that some might remember in children's storybooks. That is why school holidays lasted for six weeks, so that the winter feed, for livestock, could be cut and gathered during the summer months. Now it takes one man one day to do an entire field using a tractor and a bailer, consequently the fields are now cut twice in the year in June, as soon as the grass is long enough, and a second cut in August. I don't think that too many children will be complaining that they no longer need six weeks holiday to do the hay-making.</b></div>
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<b>I noticed these three plants growing in close proximity to each other. Can you guess what they are? If you said sweet peas you wouldn't be far wrong. To the left we have the common vetch, in to centre the meadow vetch, and to the right purple vetch. You will have guessed by now that vetch is the horticultural name for the pea family, and that these plants are all wild peas.</b></div>
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<b>Today the Pendle witch is flying very low. You can see the fire in the burner so that he can gain enough height to get over the trees. My family booked me on a balloon flight a couple of years ago as a Christmas present, because I kept banging on about it every time this, or any balloon other, flew over. We were supposed to take off from Stoneyhurst College, but after half a dozen cancellations over a six month period, which were blamed on the, weather, wind speed, or wind direction, the flight was transferred to Lower Bentham, in North Yorkshire, one late September evening. Here is a short video if you would like to see it. I did film the whole of the journey but this video is just the take off part. I can be spotted operating the blower to inflate the balloon. </b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5TQfYdhZcc4" target="_blank">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5TQfYdhZcc4</a></span></b></div>
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<b>I can hear croaking in the grass, and on examination there are dozens of grasshoppers. Some are green and some were brown, some were tiny and some are quite big. Grasshoppers are a well known insect to most of us because of cartoons on television and fairy stories in books, but how many of you have actually seen a grasshopper in the flesh, other than crickets in pet shops destined to be fed to lizards and snakes.</b></div>
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<b>Here we are at the Black Bull. We started our journey with a black bull, and we've finished our journey with another black bull, but this one is a far more welcome sight, cheers.</b></div>
Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-10157684578458909622015-07-22T06:53:00.000-07:002015-07-22T06:53:09.480-07:00Another July walk in the Ribble Valley <div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9feNmOYsDG9itZnA2dw_izNH8R6BPnEd7D-Ezu7DTkjGK1DzCgPw4FZjE-Pu9tcYP87n6vzerCGYErx0ioKarqO1Aq4hd2GFQzLZ7JqJSqTfvP6irBRX4C7vVDyYSSA7MViE8LT10oF0U/s1600/gtmtn9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9feNmOYsDG9itZnA2dw_izNH8R6BPnEd7D-Ezu7DTkjGK1DzCgPw4FZjE-Pu9tcYP87n6vzerCGYErx0ioKarqO1Aq4hd2GFQzLZ7JqJSqTfvP6irBRX4C7vVDyYSSA7MViE8LT10oF0U/s1600/gtmtn9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9feNmOYsDG9itZnA2dw_izNH8R6BPnEd7D-Ezu7DTkjGK1DzCgPw4FZjE-Pu9tcYP87n6vzerCGYErx0ioKarqO1Aq4hd2GFQzLZ7JqJSqTfvP6irBRX4C7vVDyYSSA7MViE8LT10oF0U/s320/gtmtn9.jpg" width="320" /></a><b>Today I'm walking from Great Mitton, where Hodder and Ribble's fair waters do meet, according to a line from the song, Old Pendle. </b><br />
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<b>There are two grand halls in Mitton, one in Little Mitton, on the Lancashire side of the river and now a hotel and restaurant, and one at Great Mitton, north of the river, and in Yorkshire until the boundry changes of 1974. A carved stone set into the fabric of the bridge indicates the old boundary between the two counties. Both halls are now in Lancashire. Great Mitton Hall was originally built to house monks I believe, and was once used as a hospital, but it is now a private home and the gardens are open to the public under the National Garden Scheme.</b></div>
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<strong>Next to the hall stands All Hallows Church, which dates back to 1103, but it would have been a timber building at that time. Turner spent a lot of time painting in the Ribble Valley, and he was so impressed by this church that he did a detailed pencil drawing of the interior. He also painted a canvas depicting the interior of Little Mitton Hall.</strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcVkx4Rc82_HijKelHfTMRrNhfwbsylGeee6cEhKNMjNJo8bmulYmw1uReFBHQN9qM47tD4dnnUcIsiOnQOQTlK4uwkAnYmNEqEsV3vnWaWNxFYFJWD3sIp3SmG0zpy3zg7qJ7aWdWbnho/s1600/019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcVkx4Rc82_HijKelHfTMRrNhfwbsylGeee6cEhKNMjNJo8bmulYmw1uReFBHQN9qM47tD4dnnUcIsiOnQOQTlK4uwkAnYmNEqEsV3vnWaWNxFYFJWD3sIp3SmG0zpy3zg7qJ7aWdWbnho/s320/019.jpg" width="218" /></a><b>Some people are a little squeamish about graveyards, but personally I can't resist them. First of all you get the most fantastic views of the oldest surviving buildings in Britain, and they are havens for wildlife, which seems to be much more approachable in churchyards and public parks than anywhere else. This churchyard was full of rabbits on my visit, which were quite happy to pose for photographs.</b><strong></strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpM_Vd8TqU9NmVSMRo9twODeKYjSYWUHKS_BEE0mQjyh5gA9P3KpiBha5I0fiLyINDTdYOdMkUtA-wtkccU__S5KJZc__mlnlt0_ww2oYb6WpaBugySxA237U0ryfSR75ziceBZlI04u8R/s1600/016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpM_Vd8TqU9NmVSMRo9twODeKYjSYWUHKS_BEE0mQjyh5gA9P3KpiBha5I0fiLyINDTdYOdMkUtA-wtkccU__S5KJZc__mlnlt0_ww2oYb6WpaBugySxA237U0ryfSR75ziceBZlI04u8R/s320/016.jpg" width="320" /></a><b>I also discovered this wasp's nest in a hedge. Late July and August are the months for wasps, as anyone who has tried to eat or drink outdoors in summer will have realised, and the little bleeders think nothing of stinging you just for the hell of it. The only thing that can be said in their defence is that they kill a lot of garden pests, now not a lot of people know that.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpsiFOlu9ck0I9fk51YApkFOGq8oXwdV-TiE6wrg6sQWqXpn_hJrpkUHCRCZc87CBKz_P5LMCjCZh0XVE4J7ZVAUo80g7ESN8imxnVhJfSsdPi6KTAGhzCAcYPY_VlHVLafXmDdO0ON7Cu/s1600/001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpsiFOlu9ck0I9fk51YApkFOGq8oXwdV-TiE6wrg6sQWqXpn_hJrpkUHCRCZc87CBKz_P5LMCjCZh0XVE4J7ZVAUo80g7ESN8imxnVhJfSsdPi6KTAGhzCAcYPY_VlHVLafXmDdO0ON7Cu/s320/001.jpg" width="320" /></a><strong>Time to leave Great Mitton and head for Bashall Eves, but I want to make a short diversion to show you Cromwell's bridge, a pack horse bridge built in 1561, which crosses the river Hodder. Cromwell crossed it in with 8,000 men in 1684 on his way from Gisburn to Preston. The Battle of Preston took place the following day and the Royalists were routed. Cromwell states that he held a council of war at the bridge.</strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuIeMxhjI80TUu5yDBa7sC7kgI1z10rYSAYPKuohPgqB0Dn870jUg6U_ozfG_96z4McnoMYOkjCTbbYAOq9wPmXb8dImPS8kUdiBqH-7ImbnrtxJYkDidfl18vOW4OXbbasdCEL0T15Xxx/s1600/002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuIeMxhjI80TUu5yDBa7sC7kgI1z10rYSAYPKuohPgqB0Dn870jUg6U_ozfG_96z4McnoMYOkjCTbbYAOq9wPmXb8dImPS8kUdiBqH-7ImbnrtxJYkDidfl18vOW4OXbbasdCEL0T15Xxx/s320/002.jpg" width="320" /></a><strong>We have finally reached Browsholme Hall at Bashall Eves and I can now reveal my real reason for undertaking this walk. It's actually a genealogical journey for me. The present house was built in 1507 by Sir Edmund Parker, my 13th great grandfather although a house built by my 18th great grandfather, Richard Parker, stood on the site from around 1400. My 10th great grandfather Roger Parker didn't inherit and became the Dean of Lincoln Cathedral, but his son Thomas was christened at Mitton and married in Whalley. I had hoped that there might be a family connection to Great Mitton Hall, but it would appear not.</strong></div>
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Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-31368699703692652342015-07-05T06:55:00.000-07:002015-07-05T06:55:32.912-07:00A July walk in the Ribble Valley <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
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<b> Today I asked you to meet me on the car park at Marles Wood, because we are walking along the banks of the river Ribble to the village of Hurst Green. A stepped path leads through the wood and down to the river bank, with a fence on either side to limit erosion. Because light has been allowed to enter by cutting through the woodland, foxgloves now grow along the stepped path and in the perimeter of the wood. </b></div>
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<b> Foxgloves, or Digitalis, can, I'm told, be used in the treatment of heart conditions, but as an overdose could be fatal, self administration is not recommended by this author. I do love them and grow them in my own garden, along with a cultivated white variety. They look good growing together but I much prefer the wild native.</b></div>
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<b> This part of the river is called the sail wheel. Some people even refer to Marle's Wood, as Sail Wheel Wood. At this bend in the river the water travels in a vortex, rather like the water going down a plug hole. I assume that this circular motion of the water accounts for the reference to a wheel, but what a sail wheel is I have absolutely no idea, unless it's a reference to the wheel of a sailing ship. I'm not even sure if I've used the correct spelling of the word.</b></div>
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<b> Today we have a fisherman. You can just about make him out through the trees. People seem to fish here often, perhaps it's easier to catch the fish just before they disappear down the plug hole?</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKs8G12HXJgFx4xex8qpWRldbu8jZn_0S9cA3qh7vdIxPgVx4pptVqiRLYYB-k65HOnsweo1YQ7pWiL6VOuCR0Thzkoe_yRbYXK0Ad62spJilOrvyXmjmQT0YZHjEq_4DcF6dnjoenC7NR/s1600/002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKs8G12HXJgFx4xex8qpWRldbu8jZn_0S9cA3qh7vdIxPgVx4pptVqiRLYYB-k65HOnsweo1YQ7pWiL6VOuCR0Thzkoe_yRbYXK0Ad62spJilOrvyXmjmQT0YZHjEq_4DcF6dnjoenC7NR/s320/002.jpg" width="320" /></a><b> We are now walking along the Ribble Way, a designated ramble from its source at Ribblehead, to Lytham StAnnes, where it enters the Irish sea. I've just been watching a kingfisher diving from a branch and catching small fish. I've had numerous attempt to photograph it, but unfortunately it's too fast for me, and too far away to get a decent picture. I did get a picture of this ewe and two well grown lambs, they appear to be trying to get out of the sun in the shade of a fallen tree. There hasn't been enough sunny days to satisfy me this year, and I have no intentions of staying in the shade when a sunny day does come along, but then I'm not wearing a fleece.</b></div>
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<strong> We've reached the footbridge, which will take us across the river. There's a sand and gravel beach close by, which is popular with picnickers, and with children who want to paddle with their fishing nets, and jam jars, while attempting to catch minnows. </strong></div>
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<strong> The suspension bridge was built in the 1950's, and replaced a ferryman with a rowing boat. I don't know how much foot traffic travelled between Dinkley and Hurst Green in the 1950's but I wouldn't have thought his business enterprise to have been very lucrative, even before the construction of the bridge.</strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMRq_ID4fFQaFt8cbxr5QJQbCjOVE5JjTD388RcfGgDIXazeJAYi2G6aclwHL7vU85mTnHEZScQt7_YHNkAftIkomCoRjPEF2PkRLD5vnMMkxbnGoCCpUKa0JMQZqXogJoSp6vVkQ1HPZo/s1600/Woody+Nightshade+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMRq_ID4fFQaFt8cbxr5QJQbCjOVE5JjTD388RcfGgDIXazeJAYi2G6aclwHL7vU85mTnHEZScQt7_YHNkAftIkomCoRjPEF2PkRLD5vnMMkxbnGoCCpUKa0JMQZqXogJoSp6vVkQ1HPZo/s320/Woody+Nightshade+-+Copy.jpg" width="243" /></a><strong> This plant is called Woody Nightshade, and is sometimes referred to as deadly nightshade. It's a member of the potato family with similarly shaped, but differently coloured, flowers. The red berries are extremely poisonous, and they are reported to have been used by the Pendle Witches to induce sickness, and kill livestock, in retaliation for a refusal, or verbal abuse, received while begging. Thrushes eat the berries without any problems at all, and distribute the seed for the plant. This must be part of a symbiotic relationship between the plant and just one species of birds, as the thrushes seem to be immune to the poison.</strong><br />
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<strong> We are now at Hurst Green and visiting Stonyhurst college. It was once the family home of the Shireburn family, before becoming a boarding school run by Jesuit monks. It's most famous old boy, worldwide, must be Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the author of the Sherlock Holmes novels. Inside the college you can discover the names of other boys in his year, Moriarty is one of them. </strong><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_tP8XgFCln96JQQuYsDD42sWhhdvqur38vA_j5yl735MXp34x5gxdXRQuubATGEGgbm1GFn7n7m4oXdjcKz5wGGREzOY6A0_LuRdKxDPnk3aCwjVS__vK4-e-LrPgIdIJYRWufg9i2MVu/s1600/001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_tP8XgFCln96JQQuYsDD42sWhhdvqur38vA_j5yl735MXp34x5gxdXRQuubATGEGgbm1GFn7n7m4oXdjcKz5wGGREzOY6A0_LuRdKxDPnk3aCwjVS__vK4-e-LrPgIdIJYRWufg9i2MVu/s320/001.jpg" width="320" /></a><strong> The son of JRR Tolkien also attended the school. It is thought that his father wrote his Lord of the Rings trilogy while visiting his son at Stoneyhurst, and used locations within the Ribble Valley in his stories. There is a Tolkien trail in the Ribble Valley, but I haven't followed it. Perhaps I will, very soon?</strong></div>
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<strong></strong><br />Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-67398593064773475322015-06-05T03:07:00.000-07:002015-06-05T03:34:39.849-07:00A June walk in the Ribble Valley<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FK6I32_ujPqbzRNB_RFmhyo966GdxqzhWzmNULH14AdBL_oqSteK6HI9A_XENlrJo7Tgw-Ls7CaXeI917vge346YnG8f1HFTC_6Y-izn1Nk6khXO4Olo1GnhJCH671MOWyq0LeSuimn6/s1600/005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9FK6I32_ujPqbzRNB_RFmhyo966GdxqzhWzmNULH14AdBL_oqSteK6HI9A_XENlrJo7Tgw-Ls7CaXeI917vge346YnG8f1HFTC_6Y-izn1Nk6khXO4Olo1GnhJCH671MOWyq0LeSuimn6/s320/005.jpg" width="320" /></a><b> This month I'm meeting you in Whalley, because I have a dental appointment. A while ago I was stopped by a television camera crew in Whalley, and interviewed about the proposed hydroelectric plant to be sited on the weir. I'm all for renewable energy, as opposed to burning fossil fuels, but they always tend to impact negatively upon the landscape, and as in so many cases this project fails to enhance the view. I noticed this chap sitting on a wall by the weir. This is definitely not a native duck. He must be native species somewhere, but it isn't here. I assume that he, or she, belongs to one of the cottages nearby and is allowed to roam freely. He's playing it cool and pretending that I'm not taking his photograph.</b><br />
<b><br /></b><b> In the novel, <i>The Lancashire Witches, by Harrison Ainsworth,</i> Anne Redfearn, one of the witches who was hanged at Lancaster, is dragged down the lane to the weir, where she's ducked in the river as a punishment for harassing parishioners while attending church.</b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW8NS5rzHTyGgdzcJm5Nqz_sEESH2Z6H6I7cP4hPDVwWvBbTpunS60irKGI5THN8g7IbdsaaalZSvJHg7qidep_OSJgo14j1gPG2M0c9uIOWDDrbFnsYvuCY9RoF0Xbyh66066ywrsqWkK/s1600/002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW8NS5rzHTyGgdzcJm5Nqz_sEESH2Z6H6I7cP4hPDVwWvBbTpunS60irKGI5THN8g7IbdsaaalZSvJHg7qidep_OSJgo14j1gPG2M0c9uIOWDDrbFnsYvuCY9RoF0Xbyh66066ywrsqWkK/s320/002.jpg" width="217" /></a><b>I'm not sure if there was once a ducking stool sited at the weir, or if they just threw her in, I can't remember, as it's been a long time since I read the story, but ducking was a common punishment for people accused of witchcraft. If they drowned they were innocent and received a Christian burial, and if they didn't drown they were deemed witches and hanged for witchcraft, or burnt at the stake.</b><br />
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<b> There is usually a heron fishing in this fast flowing, shallow water, but not today. Perhaps he doesn't fish here anymore since the hydroelectric plant has been built? But at least they've built a fish ladder so that migrating fish can come up the river to spawn. </b><br />
<b> Some of the eagle eyed amongst you may have noticed that there aren't many leaves on the trees for early June. I have a confession to make, I actually took this picture in May, but I didn't get the opportunity to use it.</b></div>
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<b> Honeysuckle has begun to appear in the hedgerows, it's a climber which scrambles through the hedge for support, but it's not quite ready for bursting into flower, as it's been a particularly cold April and May. </b><br />
<b> This appears to be the red and cream variety, but there is also a yellow and white variation, which grows in equal quantity. The flower of the honeysuckle, once it bursts from its buds, appears quite exotic for a British native, and honeysuckle plants are being sold in garden centres and supermarkets, but if you want want for your garden, just break off a non flowering runner and stick it into a pot, it's that easy.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIRqFGBr9ifYs9aiumjBpRG4fzbTWF33cf88eU59dlaggMQCkjTVpwY1jnXrbSF8IjvE4p87vHVpimhCqsSr7RrweE_8sOymdFNuNfg1gMc_CtxkCoIVINkmVQwO_oE26J36CUQhi5SoA5/s1600/whalley+abbey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIRqFGBr9ifYs9aiumjBpRG4fzbTWF33cf88eU59dlaggMQCkjTVpwY1jnXrbSF8IjvE4p87vHVpimhCqsSr7RrweE_8sOymdFNuNfg1gMc_CtxkCoIVINkmVQwO_oE26J36CUQhi5SoA5/s320/whalley+abbey.jpg" width="214" /></a><b> Let's wander through Abbey Mews, and take a look around the ruined Whalley Abbey. </b><b>In the abbey grounds is a cafe, a gift shop, and a small museum. Displayed there is a history of the abbey, with an impressive scale model of how the abbey looked in its heyday.</b><br />
<b> T</b><b>he Cistercian monks from Stanlow Abbey, on the banks of the river Mersey, often suffered severe flooding, it appears, and in 1296 Henry De Lacy, the tenth Baron of Halton, agreed to move the abbey to Whalley at his own expense. I assume that he owned lands in and around Whalley, as he was also the 7th Lord of Bowland, and probably owned pretty much everything for miles around. A pub in Whalley still bears his name, with his armoury depicted on a pub sign above the door. </b><br />
<b> The abbey closed in 1537, as part of the dissolution of the monasteries ordered by King Henry the Eighth, </b><b>and the last abbot of Whalley, Abbot Paslew, was executed in the same year </b><b>for high treason. Harrison Ainsworth, in his novel, tells us that he was captured, by men and dogs while attempting to escape by wading across the river Calder.</b><br />
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<b> In the crevices of the stone walls, and paths, grows Ivy leaved toadflax. Reference to my idiots guide informed me that this is a native of southern Italy and Sicily, but it must be as tough as old boots to live in Lancashire. The book informs me that it's a very invasive species, and has colonised almost every country in the world. I've only ever seen it growing in sunny positions. Perhaps it uses the residual heat from the stone walls to form a micro-climate? As stone walls heat up and retain heat like a storage heater.</b><br />
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<b> This is a picture of the manor house, built within the grounds of the abbey by Sir Richard Assheton of Lever in 1553. The abbot's house, and the infirmary, built by Paslew, were demolished to make way for the manor house in the picture. The house passed into the hands of Sir Richard's nephew Sir Ralph Assheton, my 10th great grandfather, on his death, as Richard died without issue. </b><br />
<b> In the 17th century most of the remaining church buildings were demolished, and in some instances only the foundations remain.</b><br />
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Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-69282072605627358942015-05-24T06:59:00.000-07:002016-10-16T08:45:19.117-07:00Another May walk in the Ribble Valley<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7H5nSM0ugovvWMyBi6F8hquKP4j5hbsUIyfiXVgW7jVTEr-CxwotLaw5E26KGhzxIfo0fybY8UloZYSd_IrRlf-nUBpZ7w6aRWs4mruE79QFBjM06cBZD-eMyft9-l8ueQtjZOPgxLMP9/s1600/Horse+and+pond.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8zXaMKPNIx-Tr9D0zn1KuomE_oCJ6j5Fz5szGBW9TOdoruFfr6fP20ypBq1ZaCaUABn7_MdZs3kICwYz5l-BjC48wEq6oBieu_EI5UQJvcfDoIvh5vIDRzyJxXXGTgOHIczRweB_DyE53/s1600/Hawthorn+blossom+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8zXaMKPNIx-Tr9D0zn1KuomE_oCJ6j5Fz5szGBW9TOdoruFfr6fP20ypBq1ZaCaUABn7_MdZs3kICwYz5l-BjC48wEq6oBieu_EI5UQJvcfDoIvh5vIDRzyJxXXGTgOHIczRweB_DyE53/s320/Hawthorn+blossom+-+Copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b>Today, I am on my usual daily walk. Although some of you came with me on this walk in April things can change noticeably from month to month. The most obvious change is that the blackthorn has now gone over and Hawthorn dominates the hedgerows. Hawthorn blossom is traditionally known as May blossom, and there is a saying, "Ne'er cast a clout till May is out." For the uninitiated this means don't put away your winter clothes until the Hawthorn blossom appears. While Hawthorn blossom is attractive, I wouldn't put it in a vase in my living room, as it smells like a rotting corpse. This is because the flowers are pollinated by flies.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhevWkVjsSxflM1qLE-9GQl_1MMmyKHHFXKuD56XaQhqyyjUOBCAh2uRGnfKCnxSFseKJWU3VtC18_wS1rhij6FH_GDRalRrbAnvoyVFFJ2HeYJMDewe6bVzJX7eBOix1LBLqpb5BGq8QU1/s1600/Horse+and+pond+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhevWkVjsSxflM1qLE-9GQl_1MMmyKHHFXKuD56XaQhqyyjUOBCAh2uRGnfKCnxSFseKJWU3VtC18_wS1rhij6FH_GDRalRrbAnvoyVFFJ2HeYJMDewe6bVzJX7eBOix1LBLqpb5BGq8QU1/s1600/Horse+and+pond+-+Copy.jpg" width="245" /></a><b>I noticed this horse through a gap in the hedge. I thought that it made a good focal point for a photograph, especially with a pond in the foreground. My daughter once asked me to walk her Labrador dog while out at work. He didn't walk well on the lead but was perfectly well behaved off it. On this particular occasion he smelled the water long before it came into view and he was gone. By the time I reached this pond he was swimming and the young woman who owns the horse gave me a dressing down for not keeping my dog under control. I never took him with me again.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilGmhyyDyuhA2GUn0Il6t1rXx9t2dauByyeds8gjnea1p1mWUHF1wNFBX6rd_K0tTn_Dbyi44crC5HFR5alKkkkJ0nhMmxGN1zjCxRyZBBoJfCSWj3MElwih-UEwSxoGKLNIE2O35ZhKaA/s1600/Peek+a+boo+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilGmhyyDyuhA2GUn0Il6t1rXx9t2dauByyeds8gjnea1p1mWUHF1wNFBX6rd_K0tTn_Dbyi44crC5HFR5alKkkkJ0nhMmxGN1zjCxRyZBBoJfCSWj3MElwih-UEwSxoGKLNIE2O35ZhKaA/s1600/Peek+a+boo+-+Copy.jpg" width="243" /></a><b>I often meet her while she's out riding. Someone told me that she's a mounted police officer. I have no way of knowing if that's the case, but she certainly appeared comfortable while tearing me off a strip for my neglect. </b><b>The young woman also owns a white pony, which she may have ridden as a girl, but its current function is as company for the horse. In addition to meeting her while riding I sometimes meet her while walking the pony, as others might walk a dog. Perhaps it doesn't get enough exercise in the field and needs to be encouraged to walk? While taking the photograph of the horse I suddenly had the feeling that I was being watched.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQKDQgWjJMHWfAakMVbgn3R4TdzBka967Sn3AB1TmGmTW18eqJQlbJjhdH83DcHorGL70iUGIVamnLZmhfN-KXt5Q8ZMb9wPSCQUSL_i_qEyHoJ-eqE3eJrqILh9efATB53tZ9RxtQk9eC/s1600/Crab+apple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQKDQgWjJMHWfAakMVbgn3R4TdzBka967Sn3AB1TmGmTW18eqJQlbJjhdH83DcHorGL70iUGIVamnLZmhfN-KXt5Q8ZMb9wPSCQUSL_i_qEyHoJ-eqE3eJrqILh9efATB53tZ9RxtQk9eC/s1600/Crab+apple.jpg" width="245" /></a></div>
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<b>By the side of the road I noticed this tree in flower. It looks like an apple tree to me and it must be at least a couple of hundred years old. That got me thinking, how did it come to be growing in a hedge. Was an apple core, a remnant of a plowman's lunch, carelessly thrown into the hedge by a farm worker, or was it a snack discarded by a traveller on the road from Ribchester to Whalley.</b><b> Or did a blackbird simply eat a rotting windfall in the autumn and spread the seed in its droppings? Whatever happened to plant this tree it took place a hundred or more years before any of us were born.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd3lSGc00ABHSGQojiFRESE5lHCJT7vzgsmX7nYgOWESvAFVwZwrm7VXpHIbDwSVAR57GCAvLSmiMENkIItSvEKmuVrZqLz_y4mr04m1I7a7DPKcINLnvnCD4Dy6EkMOlMhDfP9_966dL7/s1600/Fratileries+Galore+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd3lSGc00ABHSGQojiFRESE5lHCJT7vzgsmX7nYgOWESvAFVwZwrm7VXpHIbDwSVAR57GCAvLSmiMENkIItSvEKmuVrZqLz_y4mr04m1I7a7DPKcINLnvnCD4Dy6EkMOlMhDfP9_966dL7/s1600/Fratileries+Galore+-+Copy.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">This plant is not a plant that you see every day, but growing close to the old apple tree there were hundreds of them growing in a rainwater ditch. It appears to me to be a fritillary, so I looked it up in my idiots guide. Apparently Britain boasts just one native </span>fritillary<span style="font-family: inherit;">, (The Snakes Head Fritillary), but to be honest the picture in the book didn't appear to be an exact match. I've discovered that The Snakes Head Fritillary grows in just a few meadows in Southern England and the Midlands, so if I have identified it correctly what is it doing so far north? </span><span style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">Perhaps someone can tell me what this plant is? </span></span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqrYzwiWXv3bhJhQfR9Dgpyd33PKib4GSQxyA6I6F3GR39gx4HxaPYJYJwqbQMn5xkTD9BjuXgctNrXnfrRpdXmOOT6cDu3-CJBaQzzhB40CG4Z_q8YcdAV9aIeKfQI5CM69LpuXZayzP/s1600/Pendle+hill+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqrYzwiWXv3bhJhQfR9Dgpyd33PKib4GSQxyA6I6F3GR39gx4HxaPYJYJwqbQMn5xkTD9BjuXgctNrXnfrRpdXmOOT6cDu3-CJBaQzzhB40CG4Z_q8YcdAV9aIeKfQI5CM69LpuXZayzP/s1600/Pendle+hill+-+Copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #2a2a2a;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">This picture </span></span></span></b><b style="text-align: justify;">shows Pendle Hill in the far distance. Its summit is 557 metres (1,827 ft) above sea level. There is a saying locally that if you can see Pendle it's going to rain, and if you can't it's already raining. In 1652, during the early years of the Quakers, George Fox, a founding father, claimed to have had a vision while on the top of Pendle Hill.</b></div>
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<span style="line-height: inherit;"><i>As we travelled, we came near a very great hill, called Pendle Hill, and I was moved of the Lord to go up to the top of it; which I did with difficulty, it was so very steep and high. When I was come to the top, I saw the sea bordering upon Lancashire. From the top of this hill the Lord let me see in what places he had a great people to be gathered.</i></span></div>
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—<i>George Fox: </i><br />
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<b>I wonder if George's vision included a Mexican themed restaurant sitting on the top of the hill, or a dry ski slope and a ski lift, or perhaps he envisioned young men jumping from the top and paragliding in the thermals? If so he truly had a vision of the future.</b></div>
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<b style="text-align: start;">Here are a few of the wild plants that I photographed during the month of May. </b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJOJ_HUl-FEo2ICAsynM3Q-gkneYqwwi4MrcQ4MejUMduDFxpvh-L8ottX92PbqEXZpy34sIEL670_pkD7HoksxKPlUAe_BHlSnHtZ0AWsQeCz1z4OT9oilPI-0-33ieYABdOaenbxwUXH/s1600/Herb+robert+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJOJ_HUl-FEo2ICAsynM3Q-gkneYqwwi4MrcQ4MejUMduDFxpvh-L8ottX92PbqEXZpy34sIEL670_pkD7HoksxKPlUAe_BHlSnHtZ0AWsQeCz1z4OT9oilPI-0-33ieYABdOaenbxwUXH/s1600/Herb+robert+-+Copy.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Herb Robert</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQT9yHJliPMk3fFg5dSqLnYayh04O_FmCtUzqKK8t6kaylJcEmwRnugc5qMFCmMrG7tSPorOq-DJnt6LbCBVZn_otWTqVmLRFQyOXTETPbUnf1GVSe0uTRVPZ0xbed3lgLBhcaI3SjhQF7/s1600/Three+Bugles+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQT9yHJliPMk3fFg5dSqLnYayh04O_FmCtUzqKK8t6kaylJcEmwRnugc5qMFCmMrG7tSPorOq-DJnt6LbCBVZn_otWTqVmLRFQyOXTETPbUnf1GVSe0uTRVPZ0xbed3lgLBhcaI3SjhQF7/s1600/Three+Bugles+-+Copy.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Bugle</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuQlku4cLdBTHlI2Z_W4hi5UBVgqZ-KwCsIYoNvTjZo7UXmxr373bZwfo31H5E-3j9T0wVsEySdQClOqGX3Slv05U4ywti8G1F3l_7mKepzlhhTvkc1KEzTWwVFDM87wZXAQEWWISwVJqm/s1600/Red+Campion+flower+-+Copy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="200" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Red campion</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcn4_twnF7UJ6d9B6NAATCZl6cEtx068mYmePVt9Nt5t4ezWMOXbaR7cZJKCPOPRmSb-N1gg6kiJN72kR9k6xBiX3cjWCDTwQKarFS3-_NbJrkXxRuzbp4nOFp-A0NU46hMhyphenhyphenC6LLpxXP2/s1600/Ladies+Smock+flower+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcn4_twnF7UJ6d9B6NAATCZl6cEtx068mYmePVt9Nt5t4ezWMOXbaR7cZJKCPOPRmSb-N1gg6kiJN72kR9k6xBiX3cjWCDTwQKarFS3-_NbJrkXxRuzbp4nOFp-A0NU46hMhyphenhyphenC6LLpxXP2/s1600/Ladies+Smock+flower+-+Copy.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ladies smock</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0MG7Eew0wCXtuomrQTtjwWEDlnUEnlOGZ_dlCDRI4MQ6bgyf_fEc6GW3qfBsb6I2tTLG-BSeY-Bx3v53wkrNpEw6D0SRHNzS6mii-8sJ45HN5xhpxcNUONoLAHJKCwAxOmbHgtBuTNop/s1600/Greater+Stitchwort+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0MG7Eew0wCXtuomrQTtjwWEDlnUEnlOGZ_dlCDRI4MQ6bgyf_fEc6GW3qfBsb6I2tTLG-BSeY-Bx3v53wkrNpEw6D0SRHNzS6mii-8sJ45HN5xhpxcNUONoLAHJKCwAxOmbHgtBuTNop/s1600/Greater+Stitchwort+-+Copy.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Greater stichwort</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimiOnfsTdpDuc-_Gl9voQRmd-E-X1rraAVQonPKA8SHmoihi_CIggrp4P35KeOX7E6yMm5FowOE02p-8nGH1_TEHavkRgLsMZYlt1elbH9szC4CP28Z5HLXGzv0701MvC_z8mmUkgpisq_/s1600/Ivy+Leaved+Toadflax+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimiOnfsTdpDuc-_Gl9voQRmd-E-X1rraAVQonPKA8SHmoihi_CIggrp4P35KeOX7E6yMm5FowOE02p-8nGH1_TEHavkRgLsMZYlt1elbH9szC4CP28Z5HLXGzv0701MvC_z8mmUkgpisq_/s1600/Ivy+Leaved+Toadflax+-+Copy.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Ivy leaved toad flax</b></td></tr>
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<b>Today I have a doctors appointment in Whalley. Usually I walk into Whalley and catch the bus back, but today I intend to use my bus pass and spend some time in and around Whalley. If you'd like to come along I'm sure that I can sneak you onto the bus unnoticed. </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWDP9VsZPPQ36PhgXkxhOHUa025ZeSY4Ql6r0mKWm7Uc8khQuZqjaVpuoZRJNUcbQR_e0CiuyDWnw3KgRtRTg9lRkFsS7ARV_4a50F2YV_0UDhlrTtOtag7PDBOzkUwFmCwpYTThqWJPMX/s1600/spring+wood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWDP9VsZPPQ36PhgXkxhOHUa025ZeSY4Ql6r0mKWm7Uc8khQuZqjaVpuoZRJNUcbQR_e0CiuyDWnw3KgRtRTg9lRkFsS7ARV_4a50F2YV_0UDhlrTtOtag7PDBOzkUwFmCwpYTThqWJPMX/s1600/spring+wood.jpg" height="220" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>May always say's bluebells to me. Everybody in the UK remembers a bluebell wood fondly from their childhood, and they invariably call it bluebell wood because they have little idea of it's real name. This is Spring wood, my bluebell wood. Spring wood is very popular with dog walkers and picnickers alike. There is a car park, a toilet block, picnic tables, and an ice cream van which parks there daily, in both winter and summer. I don't know how much ice cream he sells during the winter months, but he's always there, perhaps his contractual arrangements require him to be there or he will lose his license to trade. A path runs around the perimeter of the wood, which borders the golf course, and in the deepest darkest part of the wood there is a small pond which is fed by a waterfall when it rains. At this time of year the pond teems with smooth newts, all trying to pass on their genes to a future generation.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzpKt5aXEDseVpy0hqCNrnCAKV1ljwsGAJJU0IE0BIN1yVFpVIbQFFVS_9kUspAY_SmYioRuLqXsnphSyYcfGoOUA4L2TVXjwBLeCicxa78T6et3PkBtfZzUI-g7vC9Fbps8EQ2-Dixho/s1600/squirrel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyzpKt5aXEDseVpy0hqCNrnCAKV1ljwsGAJJU0IE0BIN1yVFpVIbQFFVS_9kUspAY_SmYioRuLqXsnphSyYcfGoOUA4L2TVXjwBLeCicxa78T6et3PkBtfZzUI-g7vC9Fbps8EQ2-Dixho/s1600/squirrel.jpg" height="320" width="216" /></a></div>
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<b>From Spring wood it's possible to walk along the banks of the River Calder to Whalley Nab, a steep sided hill which dominates Whalley village. That is where I came across this cheeky little fellow sitting on a post and playing with his nuts. I see squirrels almost every day during the spring and summer months, and especially in Autumn, but they are usually in retreat and not willing to pose for a photograph. I only carry a pocket camera on my walks, and as I didn't want to scare the little fellow away, I had to ignore the distance between us and use the necessary </b><b>magnification</b><b>. The picture still had to be heavily cropped, and I'm afraid that the quality isn't great in consequence of this, but I thought he looked cute sitting on his post and I had to include him.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRa2Hi5XHzaKoq_pAgYJbBSUDcH1EOd81ku7qcD31v94L0g1bZCbTVngTWrIEFYdm0WoHXX_qJHk_6HHpXC79ciuLengpd_D-87OP4OdADKJTwdUzpDK2-2esFdfn2u6UlZ5k_O-d87GPq/s1600/Blackthorn+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRa2Hi5XHzaKoq_pAgYJbBSUDcH1EOd81ku7qcD31v94L0g1bZCbTVngTWrIEFYdm0WoHXX_qJHk_6HHpXC79ciuLengpd_D-87OP4OdADKJTwdUzpDK2-2esFdfn2u6UlZ5k_O-d87GPq/s1600/Blackthorn+-+Copy.jpg" height="238" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>Blackthorn blossom dominates the hedgerows in late April and early May, the flowers open before the hedge comes into leaf, and the hedgerows become white as if covered in snow. By late Autumn the blossom, if pollinated, has formed into large berries, which look a little like purple grapes, and which people, for generations, have collected to ferment into sloe gin.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqhkxPPxyJPf2PBqw87aBVBGljOLC8qQspfRXcL5ROGyrv0ZKOgKJRA92zEGZ1RTZAKceM8o2vmYYglrUkMAUu7bvRxdkpfcdVKFENmVra7C_dplZRTKZnB82woGwBpylsLvHHijFyRwt/s1600/Exit+tunnel+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMqhkxPPxyJPf2PBqw87aBVBGljOLC8qQspfRXcL5ROGyrv0ZKOgKJRA92zEGZ1RTZAKceM8o2vmYYglrUkMAUu7bvRxdkpfcdVKFENmVra7C_dplZRTKZnB82woGwBpylsLvHHijFyRwt/s1600/Exit+tunnel+-+Copy.jpg" height="237" width="320" /></a><b>Behind the hedge I discovered a stream, which had been culverted, a century or more ago, to allow farm vehicles, and animals, to enter the field beyond. At this time of the year wild garlic is as prolific as are bluebells, and it grows in similar locations where spring light is replaced by cool darker conditions once the tree canopy develops. This wild garlic once grew in a shady position but the telephone company have recently cut down a number of trees, as they were interfering with the telephone lines, and the plants will now be exposed to the summer sunshine. Will they survive, the answer is I don't know.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg1A23Y0K504W21WcPOPpC3QebfLGZ7IhkIWI9T4TwcwP79sZHPjURxmbr2Tn1KXZunp_gxtSd9mS8K9wxtMw0OhVYenn-c-6-lVT09JfS7q6rMUqBMosFRd-Z5itkhu7KwezOkB_yF_9r/s1600/whalley+church.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg1A23Y0K504W21WcPOPpC3QebfLGZ7IhkIWI9T4TwcwP79sZHPjURxmbr2Tn1KXZunp_gxtSd9mS8K9wxtMw0OhVYenn-c-6-lVT09JfS7q6rMUqBMosFRd-Z5itkhu7KwezOkB_yF_9r/s1600/whalley+church.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<b>We are heading back towards the bus station now, but if you look through this arch you will see the parish church of St Mary and All Saints. A church existed on this site in Anglo Saxon times and there are three well preserved Anglo Saxon crosses in the churchyard. Most of the present church was built in the 13th century, with the tower being added in the 15th century. This is the southern gate, but the northern gate was designated as the devils gate by locals, and was only used by people who wished themselves to be regarded as witches. In Harrison Ainsworth's novel The Lancashire Witches, the witches congregated around this gate, on Sunday mornings, to intimidate parishioners.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pKWXDbBLyz6Z3gR016YiEWGuzEuPCtErL9K5LOsbfb3qvYjbkbMVuse0Xts_NCmO8ndBxTCidvqkKHbXFyy51W17cW9Fb3nti73JDnN6vJInWojwFuhofTXUxC6suHIlAZgJylb1t6m0/s1600/whalley+grammar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pKWXDbBLyz6Z3gR016YiEWGuzEuPCtErL9K5LOsbfb3qvYjbkbMVuse0Xts_NCmO8ndBxTCidvqkKHbXFyy51W17cW9Fb3nti73JDnN6vJInWojwFuhofTXUxC6suHIlAZgJylb1t6m0/s1600/whalley+grammar.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a><b>Before we leave Whalley we just have time to view the 18th century Whalley old Grammar School across from the bus station. It is currently being used as an adult </b><b><b>education centre where I once attended watercolour painting classes. I'm quite good at drawing, even if I say so myself, and I thought that I would also be good at painting. It turned out that I was the newby and among a large group of women, and only one or two men. I did okay, but I'm better at drawing than painting. The other class members were all more experienced watercolourists, and not wanting to be regarded as the dunce of the painting class I chickened out, after only a few weeks, and began writing novels instead.</b></b></div>
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<b><b>There is much more to see in Whalley village, including the ruined abbey, and I will be returning. When I do I'll let you know so that you can come along if you wish.</b></b></div>
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<b>Catkins appear on willow trees in April, we used to call them pussy willow when we were kids. I'm not quite sure why. probably because the the name is derived from the obsolete Dutch word, katteken, meaning kitten. The seed heads look nice photographed against a blue sky, don't you agree, but I have two large willow trees growing behind my house and they are the bane of my life. Soon the catkins will begin to fall, and they always seem to fall in my garden, bucket loads of them. On windy days the seeds blow around like snow and it's impossible to sit out in the sunshine for two whole weeks of the year. To make matters worse seedlings grow everywhere. I'm still digging out last years and soon the new ones will seed. I wish someone would cut them down and turn them into cricket bats.</b></div>
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<b>Hazel catkins are also abundant in the hedgerows during April, as children we called these lambs tails, for obvious reasons. Have you ever watched a lamb when it's feeding? It wiggles it's tail happily, and when the wind blows the hazel catkins wiggle like the tails of lambs. </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8KqVoKdSs80yrzZGWe8L-GcZnYGO5-y5pMvG3H4Gf5bIAy2udPu3dLKzlb5_KN6afvNImeHbZ5I96I4AWatNtLpPGq1j3bO203q8bzZfUy_lkY8yzI8-KwIbpcjHnVsL2N9oj1KtFVKOz/s1600/In+the+bushes+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8KqVoKdSs80yrzZGWe8L-GcZnYGO5-y5pMvG3H4Gf5bIAy2udPu3dLKzlb5_KN6afvNImeHbZ5I96I4AWatNtLpPGq1j3bO203q8bzZfUy_lkY8yzI8-KwIbpcjHnVsL2N9oj1KtFVKOz/s1600/In+the+bushes+-+Copy.jpg" height="216" width="320" /></a><br />
<b>These animals are young bullocks awaiting slaughter. If you've ever walked a dog through a field of bullocks you'll know just how curious they are. They will follow, and if you stop they will stop, keeping a safe distance. If you walk towards them they will back up, but when you continue on your way they will follow for as long as the field boundaries will allow. This group were so curious that they broke down the fence while trying to check me out.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKNYPGOLvY2OSfS-Rff1D3Aw4eCTMA2SBr7Rtu-HkFKXkn3YeuwdypXbsYc71S6aBD0tlB8OHkUIjRhhApvm65Y6Nd3FmZvWAZw96D5XFFpg62WsYxZ8ojm7albG7QGTYezdb4B1FblbIp/s1600/Leser+Celandine+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKNYPGOLvY2OSfS-Rff1D3Aw4eCTMA2SBr7Rtu-HkFKXkn3YeuwdypXbsYc71S6aBD0tlB8OHkUIjRhhApvm65Y6Nd3FmZvWAZw96D5XFFpg62WsYxZ8ojm7albG7QGTYezdb4B1FblbIp/s1600/Leser+Celandine+-+Copy.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a><b>The woodland floor is carpeted with celandine at this time of year, taking advantage of the available light before the woodland canopy casts them into relative darkness. Even though the leaves are not yet on the trees I had to use a flash to take this picture. I bet some of you think I know what I'm talking about, come on admit it, but I've bought an idiots guide to spotting wild flowers with which to identify them.</b></div>
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<b>Easter has already passed us by, but then all photographs are retrospective. I was intrigued by this symbol of Easter purposely erected on the top of a small hill to represent Calvary. It appears even more poignant because of the gorse, with its thorny crown, growing around the base of the cross. I wonder if the architect of this scene felt the same way, or if it was just a happy accident.</b></div>
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<b>I've reached a signpost pointing the way back home. You can just see Whalley Nab in the distance, with the television and radio booster mast sitting on top. It's time that Pendle Forest transmitter and the Whalley Nab booster were updated, as reception is chronic around Whalley, and very few freeview channels are currently available. I bought a DAB radio a couple of years ago but it will only play on FM. What's the point of that?</b><br />
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<b>On our first internet walk 200 people turned up, 84 from Russia, 49 from the UK, 41 from the USA, 22 from France, and 1 from Bulgaria, Spain, Hong Kong, and the Ukraine. If you enjoyed this walk through the Ribble Valley please share this post with your friends on Facebook and Twitter, and let's see if we can attract an even bigger crowd this time.</b><br />
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<b>Some wild flowers photographed during April.</b>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr12UnUwVpRwzm5RL_9j3QS1uC5D-XHGDxkXt5al4Gdkzd0ygeQAv1rZhT-zi71H5lVALmagUv_dSowx2s-gdrNAxQDS0WJ8TmpTLZyz2MXGni7MyHBzu2_WhbGUX3GNDoVsBUCk3p4em3/s1600/Gorse+-+Copy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr12UnUwVpRwzm5RL_9j3QS1uC5D-XHGDxkXt5al4Gdkzd0ygeQAv1rZhT-zi71H5lVALmagUv_dSowx2s-gdrNAxQDS0WJ8TmpTLZyz2MXGni7MyHBzu2_WhbGUX3GNDoVsBUCk3p4em3/s1600/Gorse+-+Copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Gorse</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Forget-me-not</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Common daisy</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Dandelion</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9Mx1SwXWeDyVovqnmf2SgkcTr9xl92LmlQ9yMjwy-DLw8Zo2KKSR8kP_oFrEpf1yifhfV4ql2B5nQPMUiUrsspPjI4KMknURJETDPYALtIm9LmQ4js2RJuDCDdRfDXIzMmJcj0qy3q1e/s1600/Wood+Anename+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9Mx1SwXWeDyVovqnmf2SgkcTr9xl92LmlQ9yMjwy-DLw8Zo2KKSR8kP_oFrEpf1yifhfV4ql2B5nQPMUiUrsspPjI4KMknURJETDPYALtIm9LmQ4js2RJuDCDdRfDXIzMmJcj0qy3q1e/s1600/Wood+Anename+-+Copy.jpg" height="237" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Wood Anemone</b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhamKaYoRuEx1SlLEGGUJTYdneZCR-H0P7JqfsP1rMIs8tiXgQmNMAOGelJnA-hJFm8rLqruicRa_Az_cS6vlaF3ez7VWvJGJJFq6Q_PF0d0O27PHLHOu3D_uz4abO4kgcN3JTaynd2GiY/s1600/Garlic+Mustard+-+Copy.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhamKaYoRuEx1SlLEGGUJTYdneZCR-H0P7JqfsP1rMIs8tiXgQmNMAOGelJnA-hJFm8rLqruicRa_Az_cS6vlaF3ez7VWvJGJJFq6Q_PF0d0O27PHLHOu3D_uz4abO4kgcN3JTaynd2GiY/s1600/Garlic+Mustard+-+Copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Garlic Mustard</b></td></tr>
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<b> For health reasons I have to walk on a daily basis, wind, rain, hail, or shine, I must partake in my daily exercise. I've decided to take with me a pocket sized Kodak camera to record anything that interests me. If you would like to accompany me on my monthly internet walks you are more than welcome to come along.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzQDzifXvQYI7IOvco4-9MUALXWicqsxWJN5SOSOCgTVSPCxh48HeQH3VVBw99m7cdmNvDcZdtuNRyLqnSKa3-53J0qn9SNZhMNuDvyB0YMoI7Z1U2IuJNDUE0mX4rUtUJiEWhMGix_QdU/s1600/Growing+wild+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzQDzifXvQYI7IOvco4-9MUALXWicqsxWJN5SOSOCgTVSPCxh48HeQH3VVBw99m7cdmNvDcZdtuNRyLqnSKa3-53J0qn9SNZhMNuDvyB0YMoI7Z1U2IuJNDUE0mX4rUtUJiEWhMGix_QdU/s1600/Growing+wild+-+Copy.jpg" height="237" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>Daffodils are synonymous with April, so I must begin my journey through April with them. In Britain we have wild daffodils, they are small and grow in woodland, but the ones in the photograph are not of the wild variety, but garden escapees. How do daffodils escape from gardens you may well ask. One thing is for certain they didn't decide to relocate. I can understand seeds being carried on the wind or via the guts of birds, but it's difficult to understand how bulbs ended up growing by a stream, unless of course someone planted them, but why? </b> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC2iZCxzYIOEo5cw7EikB4NDbWZS9w0bSm1665xACC-TnZR1XbhqJsDvLvMJo3Da1gB69hhlRFVuEN63vt0h1cnlRsqcpnTSNiNBygsEZFCbfkTKJltwEf4buTN0iTHkQtH0W0mLo9P3_m/s1600/The+Black+Bull+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC2iZCxzYIOEo5cw7EikB4NDbWZS9w0bSm1665xACC-TnZR1XbhqJsDvLvMJo3Da1gB69hhlRFVuEN63vt0h1cnlRsqcpnTSNiNBygsEZFCbfkTKJltwEf4buTN0iTHkQtH0W0mLo9P3_m/s1600/The+Black+Bull+-+Copy.jpg" height="235" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> Local councils tend to plant daffodils along grass verges and on traffic islands, but not in a field next to a stream. </b></span><b style="font-family: inherit;">These daffodils have been planted by Ribble Valley Borough Council on a grass verge outside of the Black Bull public house at Old Langho. They used to make great hoagies at the Black Bull with minted yogurt, perhaps they still do I'll have to re-visit and find out.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3hv0ktHFWcp3dOovATMZ-EHY8fWLqs-MsjLO8Q0mh6HmeDQk3Iff-t8v1DH35k_JJ1tSk0_RF2CsjdDBqHiROZQqszmBBjc1I30jr3jNzXWjicHJTqe_a8EtwgiM5orhA9pniu32PZ8tp/s1600/St+Leonards+Old+Langho+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3hv0ktHFWcp3dOovATMZ-EHY8fWLqs-MsjLO8Q0mh6HmeDQk3Iff-t8v1DH35k_JJ1tSk0_RF2CsjdDBqHiROZQqszmBBjc1I30jr3jNzXWjicHJTqe_a8EtwgiM5orhA9pniu32PZ8tp/s1600/St+Leonards+Old+Langho+-+Copy.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> This is a picture of the church of St Leonards at Old Langho. The church was built in 1557. The stonework, windows, and many of the fittings, are thought to have been recycled, by local people, from nearby Whalley Abbey, following the dissolution of the monasteries by order of Henry V111, after a tantrum because the Pope refused to grant him an annulment from his wife Catherine of Aragon, which would enable him to marry his mistress Anne </span>Boleyn<span style="font-family: inherit;">.</span></b><span style="color: #252525; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"> </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJhIxYlDLGYniRArMzbHGKAfJNGJznDfqyxTlgYyDj-pKRCXr_DqYEkeNSZr1V1d9_NfgebwobfSQ3LeFrhw5Xk7BQcsB3tFo0arupy-rVozgechphF4ZLATRJ5lOgcRGZ3TM95b3ILDD_/s1600/Wild+primrose+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJhIxYlDLGYniRArMzbHGKAfJNGJznDfqyxTlgYyDj-pKRCXr_DqYEkeNSZr1V1d9_NfgebwobfSQ3LeFrhw5Xk7BQcsB3tFo0arupy-rVozgechphF4ZLATRJ5lOgcRGZ3TM95b3ILDD_/s1600/Wild+primrose+-+Copy.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<b style="color: #252525; font-family: inherit;"> In woodland and hedgerows grow wild primroses. Our gardens are full of primroses, of every hue, at this time of the year, given to mothers by small children on Mothers Day, to sit on windowsills in pots, or plant outside in borders or planters along with miniature daffodils, but this is the native variety and you can have it in any colour just as long as it's pale yellow.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih6cWsUC4zIx70LvrgordvtyW2vvwBzm5HJEX-pO2uJ3uDj1cbyDmGHlGaibEHZYyXlkBXtLngK5qBATemzXaLiJnkGjuFKUDSxJrj325Anks23m-cM4LWOtnKDa6l5rru7r-IphDnx1LO/s1600/Two+families+-+Copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih6cWsUC4zIx70LvrgordvtyW2vvwBzm5HJEX-pO2uJ3uDj1cbyDmGHlGaibEHZYyXlkBXtLngK5qBATemzXaLiJnkGjuFKUDSxJrj325Anks23m-cM4LWOtnKDa6l5rru7r-IphDnx1LO/s1600/Two+families+-+Copy.jpg" height="225" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #252525; font-family: inherit;"><b> This is the time of year for births in the animal world, and lambs are being born in large numbers during March and April. Farmers try to ensure that as many ewes as possible give birth to twins, for maximum profit at the auction, and here we have two such families wondering if I'm a threat.</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: #252525; font-family: inherit;"> Many calves have also been born, but we don't see them, as dairy herds are still undercover until the weather settles. This </span><span style="color: #252525;">Friesian</span><span style="color: #252525;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> cow, and her calf, are enjoying a warm day outside. I don't know who the little brown one belongs to, perhaps the same mother. He's got his ears tagged and will probably be sold on the continent for veal, as the British are a bit </span>squeamish<span style="font-family: inherit;"> about eating anything cute. He's certainly very interested in me. </span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #252525;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> This field is on Chapel Lane and when I came to live in the Ribble Valley in 1971 a chapel stood on this site, there are certainly no signs that it ever existed now. Perhaps Time Team will one day come to dig it up.</span></span></b></div>
Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-72039176804515861122015-03-27T02:52:00.000-07:002015-03-27T02:52:22.272-07:00Springwatch, Part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQkHGZ9rhX7QTz5fYQPOGAYy0A3Bwi0ybDjEM0IN6m6IS5pUrdonPkhPvYpQpOjRAxMqLwIqX1mas-9oezg3xJYMiif1nRPJ0rZSACAsIFNPxlnjDl7RtO9BYaygr9NbRomMfTUL44aRh/s1600/Forsythia_flower_1r.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQkHGZ9rhX7QTz5fYQPOGAYy0A3Bwi0ybDjEM0IN6m6IS5pUrdonPkhPvYpQpOjRAxMqLwIqX1mas-9oezg3xJYMiif1nRPJ0rZSACAsIFNPxlnjDl7RtO9BYaygr9NbRomMfTUL44aRh/s1600/Forsythia_flower_1r.jpg" height="253" width="320" /></a></div>
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The first of the years flowering shrubs have begun to burst into colour in the garden. The yellow Forsythia and the pink flowering currant, Ribes. This is an exciting time as it indicates to me that spring has definitely arrived and from this point onwards there will be no turning back.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRRO0fODNAlor650E4bIWyINvSX0N0ByqoYyhyphenhyphenDK3KipG9aGBwCILfcXR2KJcpYMR3BHH9ENH_p0mpK1tOIByKxX8FJs0xZrdmbg0SMb8cdihmmhY2eKIcrvDVQSR7nGMRGEZvAhJiNlwR/s1600/magpieUK_1520223c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRRO0fODNAlor650E4bIWyINvSX0N0ByqoYyhyphenhyphenDK3KipG9aGBwCILfcXR2KJcpYMR3BHH9ENH_p0mpK1tOIByKxX8FJs0xZrdmbg0SMb8cdihmmhY2eKIcrvDVQSR7nGMRGEZvAhJiNlwR/s1600/magpieUK_1520223c.jpg" height="200" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">A blackbird is building a nest in one of the flowering currants at the front of the house while a magpie is repairing last years nest in a tall willow tree at the back. Magpie's are predatory birds and if they discover the blackbird nest they will steal the eggs, and the chicks, to feed their own brood, and I'm afraid it will be bye bye blackbird.</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Frogs have begun to spawn in the pond, I'm finding them all over the garden and I've had to lift the net to allow them access to the pond. The females, swollen with spawn, carry the smaller males on their backs, sometimes two at a time, as the males jostle for the privilege of mating. It's all just a waste of time, although I'd never tell them so, because as soon as the tadpoles emerge the fish will eat them and few, if any, will survive.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSqnsY27bKHFmkKPjLSaipPiR5f0Rm7PlZhJFS0EXMlpirQ0OyfJzlCcU9I4NHradpGFi67M-SypzBhfJtdxo851t4oSPUSYHxE6P6m26ey0OERklwABl0g_sdhvgQnNXyXkzJAGS0ebK/s1600/water+shrew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpSqnsY27bKHFmkKPjLSaipPiR5f0Rm7PlZhJFS0EXMlpirQ0OyfJzlCcU9I4NHradpGFi67M-SypzBhfJtdxo851t4oSPUSYHxE6P6m26ey0OERklwABl0g_sdhvgQnNXyXkzJAGS0ebK/s1600/water+shrew.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a><span style="text-align: justify;">A saw a shrew the other day nosing about in the leaves. I assume it was looking for worms or woodlice. A while ago I saw one attack a frog twice its size. The frog jumped into the water and submerged with the shrew still attached. I expected the shrew to let go and return to the surface, as did the frog I suspect, but it didn't. It may have been a water shrew, they have a venomous bite and can stay underwater for long periods of time. I waited for ages but I never saw either one of them return to the surface. Did the shrew drown or did the frog die from the bite, I don't know, but if the shrew killed the frog, how the hell would it get it to the surface? Perhaps it would leave it on the bottom and keep returning to feed, I'll have to make enquiries. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjooBOUvLugHVq8CNlfrIXVeVs3wzVCQFOO5PlWxxBfWDPeM03ui2y7YoKiIZsOOKzFxzSFLxoX6xABS7zNb5ohpnMXb78oVHDXJWQkZSn1384rLDHJeR2LZksWxc6o8ZByZYzeN5qZ80N_/s1600/blue_tit_flight_2_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjooBOUvLugHVq8CNlfrIXVeVs3wzVCQFOO5PlWxxBfWDPeM03ui2y7YoKiIZsOOKzFxzSFLxoX6xABS7zNb5ohpnMXb78oVHDXJWQkZSn1384rLDHJeR2LZksWxc6o8ZByZYzeN5qZ80N_/s1600/blue_tit_flight_2_.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a><span style="text-align: justify;"> When I was young sparrows and starlings dominated the bird table, but both of these species have suffered a decline, while blue tits and great tits have become the most common birds in my garden. I tend to treat them with contempt, as I once did with the humble house sparrow, but they are attractive little birds and have a lot to offer the observer, as they search among the shrubbery for grubs and caterpillars to feed their offspring. I'll have to put up a bird box so that I can watch them more closely, maybe one with a camera inside? </span></div>
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Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-26529597598524641562015-03-15T04:44:00.001-07:002016-10-16T08:14:15.084-07:00No Charge<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>A boy handed his mother a piece
of paper. It read, <o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>For washing up, 50p<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>For making my own bed, 50p<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>For going to the shop, 50p<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>For taking out the rubbish, 50p<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>For getting a good report card, £1<o:p></o:p></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>Total owed £3.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>His mother picked up the pen, and
she wrote,<o:p></o:p></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>For bringing you into this world,
there’s no charge.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>For comforting you when you cried,
no charge.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>For bathing you and changing nappies there isn't a charge.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>For washing your clothes and for
wiping your nose there’s no charge.<o:p></o:p></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>For hugs and sticking plasters on your knees, still no charge.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>For loving you, unconditionally, even when your naughty, there’s
no charge.<o:p></o:p></b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">Total owed, nothing.</span></b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>On Mothers day give a card and flowers, no charge.</b></span><br />
<b style="text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial black" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14.0pt;">G</span><span style="text-indent: 0cm;">ive some of your precious time, no charge. </span></span></b><br />
<b style="text-indent: 0cm;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><span style="text-indent: 0cm;">You will never be able to repay the debt you owe.</span></span></b><br />
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This blog has been inspired by the song, No Charge.Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-67262391847048726032015-03-04T03:22:00.000-08:002015-03-04T03:22:06.143-08:00Springwatch<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwQI7SvEHEcdXfCw736w4JvIaPTra5XuzmYkUUb-sWCfnkaraJIoZ1McsvwW_6eQli3vMnAdrafLwwT7qv2BVioxeU8r71gXMeML72rwLhcMTduKd5PCU8UmAOpO0rA7aJtAESOckcEG4/s1600/daffs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHwQI7SvEHEcdXfCw736w4JvIaPTra5XuzmYkUUb-sWCfnkaraJIoZ1McsvwW_6eQli3vMnAdrafLwwT7qv2BVioxeU8r71gXMeML72rwLhcMTduKd5PCU8UmAOpO0rA7aJtAESOckcEG4/s1600/daffs.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
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It may not feel like spring, and officially it isn't, in fact it's been hailing and snowing for most of the week, but daffodils are flowering in my garden and I always associate daffodils with spring. By the law of Higgins the year is divided into four equal monthly parts. June, July and August constitute summer. September, October, and November, autumn, December, January, and February, are definitely the winter months, so consequently March, April, and May, must logically be labelled as spring.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31TROr6oihdpYgzJx0LWysJrGi8pDPI2Uzw2Q7H2cIZCjH0t04il5htRKpJnkiaKfr5d47F81CkX8DApw3SLSjGjeAd0QdvfnxOeqPfZFYg-ciEmhRx8zLuKTjMSbncQAwkir5INvx9L7/s1600/squirell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg31TROr6oihdpYgzJx0LWysJrGi8pDPI2Uzw2Q7H2cIZCjH0t04il5htRKpJnkiaKfr5d47F81CkX8DApw3SLSjGjeAd0QdvfnxOeqPfZFYg-ciEmhRx8zLuKTjMSbncQAwkir5INvx9L7/s1600/squirell.jpg" height="240" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a>Birds will be nesting soon, so it will be time to stop feeding peanuts, so that parents will have to search for more suitable food to feed their chicks. I stopped feeding peanuts a while ago because squirrels were coming into my garden from the trees across the road, balancing on my larch lap fencing, like tightrope walkers, and making their way to the bird table around the back of the house. Now I have no problem with that except that two of them have been run over, and to discourage them from crossing the road I've discontinued feeding peanuts. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQBrcqp0vuZRR0pP7UIYcDVvmsgDHMbiDHRWQzSIjhwPXhsgv_n4kc4Ry3kXTipFRdYziYk3mt9Fo2JE7YqhE69RPE-_mOZFCdxmSa8y3nY3f1WBFRaL210_FUb2lZqi2VEDNpQv5BcmT/s1600/long+tail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKQBrcqp0vuZRR0pP7UIYcDVvmsgDHMbiDHRWQzSIjhwPXhsgv_n4kc4Ry3kXTipFRdYziYk3mt9Fo2JE7YqhE69RPE-_mOZFCdxmSa8y3nY3f1WBFRaL210_FUb2lZqi2VEDNpQv5BcmT/s1600/long+tail.jpg" height="238" width="320" /></a>Last week I had a flock of long tailed tits in my garden. I only see them once or twice a year. They arrive in huge flocks, which can take fifteen or twenty minutes to pass through as they hop from tree to tree, bush to bush, and branch to branch, searching for food. They arrive suddenly and just as suddenly they disappear again for another year.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA6eK1HnKxEHmeMOu8mMssvcBSGDBR2uIqy33kc4fkTm8_jRQb_mleJ3Qfp5aBb0VQK-xWVAcDQ6tXPViP6hab7XsV5JHSENRFOylhbburoCzrVMnRbyubQnD-UFNbaCr85lfQ2AczGVct/s1600/Snail-WA_edit02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA6eK1HnKxEHmeMOu8mMssvcBSGDBR2uIqy33kc4fkTm8_jRQb_mleJ3Qfp5aBb0VQK-xWVAcDQ6tXPViP6hab7XsV5JHSENRFOylhbburoCzrVMnRbyubQnD-UFNbaCr85lfQ2AczGVct/s1600/Snail-WA_edit02.jpg" height="320" width="246" /></a>When I was at school we visited the Ribble Valley to see the Roman museum at Ribchester. On that trip I was more intrigued by the colourful snails, which I had never seen before, than the Romans, although the full face helmet, discovered in the River Ribble is something to behold. Now that I live in the Ribble Valley the snails are less of an attraction and I am intent on eradicating them from my garden. During my post winter tidy up I've discovered hundreds of them overwintering on fences, walls, my greenhouse and even beneath the soil. It looks like it will be war again this year.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1_m61etftwQGWkXYfENoIhqLBSpQeCbToeC1D6NMT-ERg5r3TfVIzfPRfL-vHbZla_RrJFL6SBulRLXmRkHWdN-JyuFm5kD0Elso698aB_V8KAXnGtngUqE19nzRLGjq5TQ4elCLxPHro/s1600/tawny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1_m61etftwQGWkXYfENoIhqLBSpQeCbToeC1D6NMT-ERg5r3TfVIzfPRfL-vHbZla_RrJFL6SBulRLXmRkHWdN-JyuFm5kD0Elso698aB_V8KAXnGtngUqE19nzRLGjq5TQ4elCLxPHro/s1600/tawny.jpg" height="320" width="286" /></a>Across the street we often have a visitor, a tawny owl which sits on a street lamp and hoots incessantly throughout the night. You might think that the sound of an owl at night is a little eery, and unnerving, but I've become accustomed to its nighttime calling and barely notice it at all. If it's intention is to rid my garden of the many field mice which inhabit it then it's failing miserably in its duty.</div>
Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3990766605789260890.post-2178705982123636402015-02-22T03:20:00.001-08:002015-02-22T06:47:14.604-08:00Winterwatch Part Two<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZVME5Z_dXp0G8McRRMHEsEKtcLquEcFztkHcze8EMtXkpnmZT62leqx0JlIIlxUbkV25B2WKUbL4THM0nCrN_tB3mbArDoM1Vsp6utl5LEgA4DuvYruefpcJXLS82eMH56YIVCYob1G5v/s1600/crocuses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZVME5Z_dXp0G8McRRMHEsEKtcLquEcFztkHcze8EMtXkpnmZT62leqx0JlIIlxUbkV25B2WKUbL4THM0nCrN_tB3mbArDoM1Vsp6utl5LEgA4DuvYruefpcJXLS82eMH56YIVCYob1G5v/s1600/crocuses.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><br />
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I had thought that Spring was on it's way, the garden was a carpet of snowdrops and crocuses have begun to open on sunny days, but the last few days have put paid to that idea. A few days ago the sun was shining and temperatures were nudging double figures, but not anymore. While the weather was spring like I continued with my clear up in the garden, and soon discovered that I had a new best friend.</div>
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We associate robins with winter and even put their images on Christmas cards, but robins find the winter a very stressful time and many of them die in consequence. They are largely carnivorous birds and as insect and grub life is in short supply during the winter months, when I began disturbing the soil and trimming the dead foliage from last years perennials the robin must have felt that it was its birthday. Each time I reached for my border fork he, or she, as both sexes appear the same, was sitting on the handle, and as soon as I moved on to another location the robin was picking over the soil. When I reached for my wheelbarrow to fetch more compost for top dressing there he was sitting on one of the handles of my wheelbarrow.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8rk8bQWkPS3pHUVa6m-baCfI5MF05Ycc3baCCT1_oNuQxx4GOknAUThaYoy2lxckrkK0vPG52gxOfWy0Od_rzVuqnmAm1XEzUMqN18J9Mvb3HxkIi9IrZspAWHz6qxQc_CpuP0Iqgf1PP/s1600/Grey-Heron-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8rk8bQWkPS3pHUVa6m-baCfI5MF05Ycc3baCCT1_oNuQxx4GOknAUThaYoy2lxckrkK0vPG52gxOfWy0Od_rzVuqnmAm1XEzUMqN18J9Mvb3HxkIi9IrZspAWHz6qxQc_CpuP0Iqgf1PP/s1600/Grey-Heron-3.jpg" height="218" width="320" /></a></div>
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I've been having a few problems by losing goldfish from my pond and I put it down to the neighbours cat, but as the water is deep and the fish are semi-hibernating at the very bottom I figured they'd be safe throughout the winter months but I couldn't have been more wrong. When I went to the back of the house, with my wheelbarrow, there was a grey-heron helping itself to my prized fish only yards from my kitchen door. The heron flew away, on seeing me, but it will be back so I've been forced to net the pond until the water lilies grow and cover the surface of the pond.<br />
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In the wintertime roe deer often come down from the surrounding hills. I often see them on grazing land but sometimes they come into the village in the early hours of the morning. I discovered evidence of deer activity in my garden, they'd been scratching on the garage wall and leaving tufts of hair behind. Children, waiting for the school bus, were upset, one morning, because one of the poor creatures had been killed outside of my house. It must have walked, or run, straight out of my drive and in front of moving traffic, as there was blood and hair on the road where the collision had occurred, but the poor creature had managed to cross the road and lay dying on the grass with blood running from its nose. Roadkill deer never stay for very long because the next time I looked out of the window it had gone, probably into someones freezer, or more likely to be sold at the kitchen door of a local restaurant.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQWZlhhH4o7CjMXhAk0d1dYFWczxbtSjX68R4C9rAS7fpf1xhufLu7DZ_nGbb4p6uNpbZfL63XGoJTs8rBUmT797RQIcSxZ4x-T6zmEXM0tOuU-JPrbYBhvju_T4E1WWsyVZ81YTWJTKgK/s1600/field_mouse.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQWZlhhH4o7CjMXhAk0d1dYFWczxbtSjX68R4C9rAS7fpf1xhufLu7DZ_nGbb4p6uNpbZfL63XGoJTs8rBUmT797RQIcSxZ4x-T6zmEXM0tOuU-JPrbYBhvju_T4E1WWsyVZ81YTWJTKgK/s1600/field_mouse.jpeg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
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My greenhouse is like mouse city during the winter. Field mice bury into pots containing overwintering plants and create tunnels. From their tunnels and chambers they nibble away at the roots of my plants and any new shoots on the surface. They also eat their way through the plastic bag which contains food for my goldfish and devour my fish food. They are only being mice, and being field mice they never come into the house, but they will have to go. I've bought an ultrasonic rodent repeller and plugged it into a power socket in the greenhouse, That seems to have done the trick.<br />
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I'm looking out of the window as I write this blog and watching the snow. This blog should have been entitled Springwatch, but it's definitely still winter. </div>
Roy A Higginshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05697262445988097933noreply@blogger.com0