R. Harrison's Blog, page 33
January 26, 2016
Avebury
One of our favorite stops when visiting the UK is Avebury. It’s a world heritage sight and well worth the visit.
The inner ring. We take a picture of our family at one of the inner stones every year. The stone doesn’t age. We do.
This interior, from a reconstruction at the Museum of Wales (not Avebury) shows how the builders lived.
The Kennet Long Barrow is a worthwhile walk from the centre of the village. This picture shows the kinds of people you run into. Serious and … not so serious.
Blue Skipper from the meadow near Kennet Long Barrow
Offerings left inside the Kennet Long Barrow
A view from Kennet Long Barrow showing Silbury hill.
January 25, 2016
Some Good Things We Can’t Have in the USA
I was looking at happy snaps from last year and remembered things that are common in the UK and rare to non-extant in the USA. Little things, things I miss.
Real Bacon. I can find this if I look, very hard, for it. Here it comes from Ireland. I did’t take a picture of bangers, but they’re good too.
On demand water heating at the point of use. In the USA storage tanks the standard, although you can, for a steep price, get instant on water heating for your whole house. This relatively inexpensive and efficient shower unit, forget it.
Kettles. Cold to boiling in a minute. Not for us. I can find ‘old speckled hen’ at specialty shops.
Serious power at the sockets and switching sockets. Darn you Edison and your DC mania! We have 110V, with limited exceptions. We actually get 220 to the house and then split it.
On the other hand we do have guns. Oh, and knives. And poison ivy growing outside of a patch in Kew Garden.
January 24, 2016
To Hope #poem
Charlotte Smith
Oh, Hope! thou soother sweet of human woes!
How shall I lure thee to my haunts forlorn!
For me wilt thou renew the wither’d rose,
And clear my painful path of pointed thorn?
Ah come, sweet nymph! in smiles and softness drest,
Like the young hours that lead the tender year,
Enchantress! come, and charm my cares to rest:—
Alas! the flatterer flies, and will not hear!
A prey to fear, anxiety, and pain,
Must I a sad existence still deplore?
Lo!—the flowers fade, but all the thorns remain,
“For me the vernal garland blooms no more.”
Come then, “pale Misery’s love!” be thou my cure,
And I will bless thee, who, tho’ slow, art sure.
1749-1808. Miss Smith would have been one of the poets and novelists a young lady like Jane Austen would have eagerly read.
Dartmoor story XI #amwriting #WIP
The start of the story can be found here.
Following from the last section
A strange man falls into Elizabeth’s life.
“I don’t think anything is broken, but.” He struggled to rise, then stopped. “It’s my ankle, I’ve done for it.”
Elizabeth thought for a moment; it wasn’t too far to the gate and Lucy should be back with her father. “Let me help you to the road.”
Henry thought for a moment, and said, “Yes, that’s best. Please.” He looked up in the tree above, and Elizabeth followed his glance. There was a thin shinny tissue of fabric hanging from it, with straps dangling below. “Can’t leave that here, like that.” When he pressed a button on his belt, the material dissolved into the tiny threads of a spider web and then drifted off in the wind.
“What was that?”
“Oh, my descent chute. I drifted into the trees on the way down.” He intently studied her face, and to be honest, she intently studied his. Despite the dirt and grime, she liked what she saw in this young man. He smiled at her, evidently he liked what he saw as well. “That didn’t make any sense to you, did it?”
“No.”
“I’ll explain later, when I’m better. After I’ve seen Dr Standfast.”
“If you want my help, you can tell me now.”
Henry smiled at her, and said nothing.
“That’s not an answer, and my friends will be here shortly. Take you to the magistrate and see what he says.”
“I was attempting a balloon crossing of the ocean. Not the best of ideas, in retrospect. At least I had a parachute, Garnerin’s idea. Drifted into that tree on the way down and well, here I am.”
“Across the ocean, I don’t believe you. No one could do that and they’d be a fool to try.”
Henry laughed, “You’re right. Ballooned away from the circus, if you want the unvarnished and simple truth. It was either a stunt like that, or back to shovelling up after the elephants in the morning.”
“That explains your uniform. What about the burns?”
“Hot air balloon. Caught fire. It was a great show, pity no one saw it.”
Elizabeth bent down to help him stand. Then with her support, they hobbled out to the lane. Lucy hadn’t arrived. “We can wait for my friend, she’s bringing her father.”
“I think I can walk, with your help. I’d like to carry on if that’s all right with you.”
Summoning her last reserves of strength, Elizabeth said, “We can try, but I’m not that strong. Still recovering myself.”
Mr Sharpless said, “I think you’ll be surprised at what you can do.”
What they could do was to walk the quarter mile to where the lane ended and another crossed it.
“Which way?”
“I don’t know. I think to the right, because the other way is Moretonhampstead, but that could be the right way.”
“That is a dilemma.”
The dilemma, at least for the young man, suddenly became worse. Elizabeth said, “I feel faint.”
Then she collapsed against him. He was doing his best to gently lower her to the ground when he heard the noise of a Tilbury being driven hard along the road.
Dr Grace’s loud voice, trained and practised from years in the pulpit of making his sermon heard in the back of the church, boomed out. “What are you doing with Miss James? Unhand her this instant!”
The man startled and straightened, but didn’t drop Elizabeth. “She fainted. We were on our way to Dr Standfast’s” Then he continued to lower her gently to the ground.
At a nod from her father, Lucy jumped down and ran to her friend. “Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth’s eyes fluttered, then as she woke she said, “Lucy, I fainted.”
“Yes, you did. My father’s here, with the cart.”
Unnoticed in the background, the man turned and tried to slip off. He took one step, putting real weight on his injured ankle. It didn’t support him. “Great Zeno’s testicles! That hurts.”
He collapsed to the lane and started crawling away. The horse, unused to such bizarre behaviour, whinnied. The man froze, “What was that!”
“A horse.”
He shook his head, “Yes, I remember, a horse. Ha, ha, silly me, a horse. Didn’t think they were so big.”
“She’s just a pony. Not a big one at that.”
With Lucy’s help Elizabeth sat and put her head between her hands, resting on her knees. “I’ll be better, in a moment. Lucy, could you help?” She stopped, “What is your name, again?”
“Henry, Henry Sharpless.”
“Lucy, could you help Mr Sharpless into the cart? He hurt his ankle.”
Lucy helped Henry to stand and supported him as he hobbled to the side of the carriage. Then Dr Grace leaned over
and gave him a hand up. After that she helped Elizabeth to stand and steadied her on her way to the trap. With both Henry and Elizabeth as passengers there wasn’t room for another, so Lucy walked beside them as they drove to Barnecourt Farm.
Dr Standfast dashed over when the precession finally reached Barnecourt. “What’s wrong, is Miss James fine?”
Lucy said, “She collapsed Dr Standfast. I think we overdid it.”
Elizabeth stirred, “I’m exhausted Uncle. There’s this man I found. He needs your help.”
“I see.” Sylvester gave Henry a quick glance, then said, “He can wait.” He shouted, “George, Mary, please come.” Then he said to both Lucy and Elizabeth, “Let’s get you inside. Miss Grace, can you help me with Elizabeth?”
Together they assisted Elizabeth inside and tucked her into a comforter on the sofa in the front parlour. She immediately fell asleep.
Her uncle was sitting in the parlour, across from her and watching when, several hours later, when she awoke.
“Feeling better?”
“Much. I hope it wasn’t too rude of me to not take my goodbyes.”
“No, I saw Miss Grace and her father off. They understood, and in any case, Mrs Grace expected them for supper. Now, you must take it easy and not overdo it.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
“Good. I don’t want any more frights. You’ll recover your strength much more quickly if you don’t tax yourself.”
Elizabeth nodded, “I’ll try.” Then she tried to remember, there was something she wanted to ask her uncle. “Uncle?”
“I suppose you are wondering about that young man, Mr Sharpless.”
“Who? Oh, yes, him. That wasn’t it, but how is he?”
“He’ll recover, tore up his ankle, and had a touch of exposure, but given a few days, he’ll be up and about.”
“Isn’t that fast, for an ankle, I mean?”
“I didn’t say it won’t hurt. He’ll limp for a while longer, but best if he gets moving. He’s in the old stable-lad’s room. I think I’ll employ him as a hand. George could use the help, none of us are getting any younger.”
Sylvester noticed that Elizabeth flashed a quick smile. “Was there something else? Otherwise I’ll have Mary bring your supper.”
“Oh, yes. In the field, there was this.” Her smile most definitely disappeared.
“You saw the pentangle?”
“Yes, is there a coven or what?”
Sylvester laughed, “No coven, this is modern England after all. No, I explained it to Dr Grace. One of my friends, connected with the Dartmoor Exploration Committee, wanted to perform an experiment.”
“Summoning the Devil?”
“No, re-creating a Druidical monument. See how it decays. He hopes it will help them interpret their diggings.” Her uncle chuckled, “Summoning the Devil. You read too many lurid romances, Elizabeth. Have to find you some more solid literature. Rein in that imagination of yours.”
“I don’t. The last book I read was ‘Three men in a boat.” I doubt ‘Uncle Podger’ could give rise to dreams about much other than fat men running for the train or else smashing walls when hanging a picture. I did like Montemercy, could we have a dog?”
“Then Miss Grace.”
“She is a romantic soul, read me a poem by the river. It was lovely, and I’ll have to read some poetry myself.”
“Just don’t let your imagination get carried away, and no Fox-Terriers, at least not until you’re truly recovered.” He looked at the clock, “My, is that the time? An experiment awaits. On my way out I’ll see that Mary brings your supper.”
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January 23, 2016
FrankenKitty 15 #wewriwar #amwriting
(Some assembly required)
Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors. This is a sample from my latest work “Frankenkitty”, and I hope you enjoy it. It started out as a young-adult superhero book, and well, you’ll see. In last week’s snippet, Jimmy helps set up their machine. Amber is upstairs; diverting Mrs Gross’s attention when they turn it on – with interesting results.
Suddenly the lights dimmed, and a blue glow emanated from the water faucet; St. Elmo’s fire filled the kitchen, and then just as quickly it was back to normal; Mrs. Gross’s calm went, “What the hell was that; What are you doing downstairs?”
She ran to the stairs, followed closely by Jennifer.
“Amber! What are you doing?”
“Nothing Mother; Everything’s fine; No need to come down.”
“Nothing?” She sprinted down the stairs. “What are you doing with that poor Guinea Pig; can’t you hear it squeaking in panic? You know you can’t have a pet, not with Father’s allergies.”
In her concern about the ‘Guinea Pig’, she didn’t notice Jimmy staring in disbelief at the smoking remnants of his ground wire.
This is no longer a work in progress.
My book “The Curious Profession of Dr. Craven” is finally out!
January 22, 2016
Bacon Quiche, in the French Style. #recipe #goodfood
This is a quick, relatively easy, recipe for a European-style quiche.
Cut the margarine into the flour and salt. It should look like coarse corn meal, or actually, Masa Harina tortilla flour. I usually add a small amount of water, not enough to let the mix ball up, and then remove about 1/3 of the mixture. Then I’ll add enough water to the rest to form a plastic dough. (about 2 tablespoons the first addition and another 3 the second time.) Roll out the dough, put some of the dry mixture on it, fold over and roll out again. Do this several times until all the dry mixture is used up. (You can just add enough water and roll it out once, but this procedure makes it fluffier. It’s up to you.)
Shred about 1 cup of a strongly flavored cheese. In the US I use “Swiss Cheese” (which isn’t Swiss). In the UK I’d use a gruyere or something similar that wasn’t cheddar or leicester. I haven’t tried it, but I bet stilton or brie would be really good.
January 21, 2016
Upon Shark #poem
Robert Herrick, 1591 – 1674
Shark, when he goes to any publick feast,
Eates to ones thinking, of all there, the least.
What saves the master of the House thereby?
When if the servants search, they may descry
In his wide Codpeece, (dinner being done)
Two Napkins cram’d up, and a silver Spoone.
Robert Herrick is better known for the line “Gather thee rosebuds while ye may.” He wrote many more poems and some, like this one, are biting. (pun intended) I wonder who “Shark” is, but could imagine were they English any of the three musketeers doing this to raise the money for drink.
Discovery
The gray path glided before me
Through cool, green shadows;
Little leaves hung in the soft air
Like drowsy moths;
A group of dark trees, gravely conferring,
Made me conscious of the gaucherie of sound;
Farther on, a slim lilac
Drew me down to her on the warm grass.
“How sweet is peace!”
My serene heart said.
Then, suddenly, in a curve of the road,
Red tulips!
A bright battalion, swaying,
They marched with fluttering flags,
And gay fifes playing!
A swift flame leapt in my heart;
I burned with passion;
I was tainted with cruelty;
I wanted to march in the wind,
To tear the silence with gay music,
And to slash the sober green
Until it sobbed and bled.
The tulips have found me out.
Florence Ripley Mastin
Tulips don’t grow well here in the South, so I picked a different Spring flower
January 20, 2016
The Ocean
Nathaniel Hawthorne
The Ocean has its silent caves,
Deep, quiet, and alone;
Though there be fury on the waves,
Beneath them there is none.
The awful spirits of the deep
Hold their communion there;
And there are those for whom we weep,
The young, the bright, the fair.
Calmly the wearied seamen rest
Beneath their own blue sea.
The ocean solitudes are blest,
For there is purity.
The earth has guilt, the earth has care,
Unquiet are its graves;
But peaceful sleep is ever there,
Beneath the dark blue waves.
Dartmoor story X #amwriting #WIP
The start of the story can be found here.
Following from the last section
A new chapter. Elizabeth disappears after she and Lucy found a disturbing monument in a field.
When they returned, half an hour later, Elizabeth was gone.
“She was here,” Lucy said. “Sitting there, you can see where the grass is crushed on the verge.”
Her father, Dr Grace nodded. “She may have felt better and walked home.”
“She wouldn’t. She doesn’t know the way.”
“She isn’t here Lucy, and we didn’t pass her. So either she’s vanished or she walked home.”
“I suppose you’re right, but I’m surprised. She was exhausted, had to sit. I don’t think she could make it by herself.”
Seeing his daughter’s distress he said, “We’ll look for her,” and shook the reins. Their horse walked on. He stopped at the next stile.
“Is this where that,” he paused waiting for the right words to come to mind, “abominable thing is.”
“Yes. It was awful. I think we were both scared.”
He noted the location and said, “It’s not going anywhere. Best to keep going. We might find your friend before she is lost or in other trouble.”
Elizabeth, indeed, was in trouble. She had watched Lucy run down the lane, and then examined the lacy cow-parsnip flowers among the weeds that grew on the side of the path. White, fragile, delicate, and yet robust; a weed to be reckoned with. A slithering noise in the tree above her, followed by a loud crash, and a shouted expletive interrupted her meditations. Curious, but too tired to jump up, she rose and followed the noise to the other side of the road. There, across the hedge, lay an injured young man. He wore the shredded remains of a uniform, although not the dashing red coat her cousin wore on parade, nor the khaki field clothes he wore off-duty when her family visited.
“Are you well?”
The man said something unintelligible so she repeated herself. “I said, are you well?”
“What does it look like?” The young man paused, then collected himself, “I’m sorry, yes I’m hurt. Can you help me? I’ll need to see a doctor.”
“My uncle is a doctor. Dr Standfast.”
The man looked away for a second, as if recalling a distant memory. Then he said, “Yes, that’s the doctor I want to see. Dr Sylvester Standfast?”
“That’s him. I’m staying there, with him at his farm.”
“Excellent, then you can introduce me.”
“I can? But I don’t know you.”
“I’m sorry, let me introduce myself. Henry, Henry Sharpless.”
“Miss Elizabeth James. I don’t recognize your uniform. Where are you from?”
“It’s a long story, maybe I can tell it to you on the way to your uncle.”
“You want my help?”
“It would be nice.”
“Let me find a stile or a gate and I’ll be there.”
A few minutes later she stood next to him, having found a gate to the field. She could now see the young man clearly. Whatever had shredded his uniform had also left him singed and scraped his face and hands. The grime and blood it left on him concealed his reasonably handsome appearance. He was sitting up in the field and dusting off the remains of charred fabric. Ash from the fabric coloured his light brown hair and left him with a prematurely ancient look. Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief; his sitting up was a marked improvement over lying flat on his back. She said, “Can you stand up, walk? Or do I need to find help?”
“I don’t think anything is broken, but.” He struggled to rise, then stopped. “It’s my ankle, I’ve done for it.”
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