Feeling Good?

Where did you get that hat?

The ZSL (Zoological Society of London) was very excited and pleased at the birth recently of this baby Victoria crowned pigeon.

The pigeon (named after Queen Victoria) is native to New Guinea, and the recent addition was part of a European programme to breed a "reserve population" in the event that that the species ever went extinct in the wild.

Apart from the outstanding millinery on display here, just look at that eye-liner on the youngster.

However, by the look on his face, I am not sure this young white-crested laughing thrush is impressed :

I'm sitting in the railway station

OK yes too much of this could get boring, but I could not let this day in 1958 go without mention. A certain family by the surname Brown found a bear at Paddington railway station in London in the first of a series of books that was published on 13th October in that year.

Michael Bond created Paddington Bear and many a child has grown up hearing about his adventures since then - including stories of him having a sticky situation with some pastries in the station buffet, or causing chaos on the London Underground, or getting lost in a large department store. I, of course, met my own ‘Paddington Bear’ at the same station and we have had many adventures of our own, many of which I will record in some future publication. However, Jon does not wear a bush hat, red wellington boots or have a label attached to his lapel. Hmm correction, he has adorned one of those things once, but that is a different story. He may have had a few sticky situations with pastries at some time or other too – we all know Jon does like his pastries.

Anyway Happy Birthday, Paddington Bear!

Oh I have just noticed that Margaret Thatcher and Paul Simon share their birthday with the bear from darkest Peru. One is a gifted songwriter and musician, the other, well .........

12th October 1915

From time to time I like to look back at those 'what happened on this day' pages you find on the internet. Today's date brought a vague connection with me via my daughters. Firstly, the hospital in Peterborough where Shosh was admitted to have grommets put into her ears is named after this particular woman, and secondly Stamford High School, where both Shosh and Olivia spent their secondary education, has her name as one of the four in their house system. Each of their houses is named after famous women renowned for their courage, talent and great determination to succeed - Anderson, Beale, Eliot and Cavell. Elizabeth Garrett Anderson (1836-1917) was the first female doctor in Britain and a committed feminist. Dorothea Beale (1865-1915) was one of the first students at Queen’s College for Women and their first woman Mathematics Tutor - she later became the Vice-President of the Central Society for Women’s Suffrage. George Eliot (1819-1880), born Mary Ann Evans, was a successful author of eight hugely popular novels, and was the highest paid Victorian novelist and an idol of her time. Edith Cavell (1865-1915) trained as a nurse at the London Hospital and became the first Matron of the Berkendael Medical Institute in Brussels.

It is the latter of these four women about whom this posting is written today. Edith Cavell was born on 4th December 1865 near Norwich, and became known as one of those women throughout history who tirelessly helped others without regard for her own safety.

During the First World War, after the German occupation of Brussels, she helped 200 soldiers escape to Holland and was arrested on 3rd August 1915 charged with harbouring Allied soldiers. She was held in St Gilles prison for 10 weeks, the last few weeks in solitary confinement and was court-martialled for treason. She was executed on this day, 12th October, 1915 at the age of 49. After the war, her body brought back to England for a memorial service at Westminster Abbey and then to Norwich, to finally be laid to rest at on May 19, 1919, near the memorial that had been unveiled in October 1918 by Queen Alexandra in the grounds of Norwich Cathedral.

The night before her execution, she told the Reverend Stirling Gahan, the Anglican chaplain who had been allowed to see her, "Patriotism is not enough, I must have no hatred or bitterness towards anyone." Her final words to the German prison chaplain, Paul Le Seur, were recorded as, "Ask Father Gahan to tell my loved ones later on that my soul, as I believe, is safe, and that I am glad to die for my country."

Great sorcery

As you will know, I met Tony Shiels for the first time in the middle of September when Jon, Max and I went to Ireland. I had heard much about the man from Jon and had spoken to him on the telephone a couple of times before then, but I was still not really sure who he was until I came face to face with him. It was a bit like meeting your future father-in-law for the first time – you are a trifle scared and build up a mental picture of what you think he is going to be like. Over the days before the intended rendezvous, you imagine all sorts of misfortune and, of course, you subconsciously add a few thoughts of general scariness into the picture. Hopefully, when you finally meet, the scary parts you had imagined will dwindle and you will get on famously.

Therefore, as we made our way from Woolsery to Killarney all sorts of thoughts were racing through my head. Was the ex-Wizard of the Western World going to be like Saruman, or like Gandalf? He was neither really I guess (well how could he be? They are fictional characters – aren’t they?) – just a normal, kindly gentleman of senior years who is a father, grandfather and great-grandfather. Something of a cliché, but, yes, it was as if I had known him all my life. He has a brain like a sponge, which soaks up and remembers all sorts of things, he is an extremely talented artist and is as sharp as a needle. His perception holds no bounds - he picks up on things that you thought were well hidden in the deepest recesses of your memory – and comes out with statements here and there about things personal to you that make you think “how on earth did you know that?” In short, he is an outstanding character and one for whom you cannot but develop a great fondness.

It is well documented in books and articles that Tony Shiels and his family have been known in the circles of wizardry and witchcraft, and photos of his daughter, Kate, skyclad have been in some of these publications. Now, many of you will have gathered by now that I verge on the side of feminism and regard females who, as Jon would say, ‘get their kit off for photos’, as ‘letting the side down’. However, Tony has sent me some pictures from his scrapbook to post on my blog and also asked that I add one or two others of his specific choice with full permission of those concerned, namely the magnificent Kate and Jools. Perhaps the old bugger is suggesting that I re-examine my feminism, I don’t know, but as Tony has asked me to do it, then I shall do as he asks, with pleasure and without question.

So, OK, I think that I can get round the feministic quandary in which he has placed me relatively easily – after all there is a difference between art and ancient ritual, and page 3 titillation. Yes, photography is an art form, but when used with regard to the ubiquitous page 3 and the like, to me, it is not. Pictures of women, from a ritual point of view - that is, photographed or painted skyclad - again is not for titillation purposes. These show woman as a basic, primal symbol of power and strength.

Tony has introduced me to the surrealist artwork of Leonora Carrington, for example, whose early feminist paintings ‘interpreted woman as the centre of creativity and nature’, and there is of course the famous Botticelli’s Venus, although she does use her flowing auburn hair to guard much of her sensibilities. To me, the strength of motherhood is depicted in all her glory with the famous ‘Botticelli belly’, these are not women with glamorous, botox-filled, computer-enhanced looks and hourglass figures – they are a vision of real women.

When you think about it in very basic terms, I suppose you could say that we human beings only really started wearing clothing to protect our bodies and to keep warm after we lost our thick body hair. Perhaps that was the mistake –perhaps we should all go around naked (well in the warm months at any rate – perhaps in the winter we should be allowed at least a modicum of material to save the goosepimples), then perhaps there would be a diminishing chance for the money-spinning titillation that goes on today. It would be a pretty weird sight to see cities and towns full of jiggling flesh on a day to day basis, though, I do admit, and tube trains full to bursting on a busy Monday morning commute do not really bear (or should that be bare) thinking about.

Below are pictures of Tony and Kate, Tony outside Lytham Hall (May 2005) and his photo of, as he puts it himself, ‘something in the Ribble estuary’ (April 2006) :

And here are Kate and Jools doing some magick:

After our lake adventures in Ireland a lot of things were said on a certain website about Tony and our (the CFZ’s) relationship with him. I cannot comment on the Tony Shiels of the past, only the one of the present whom I have come to know. I regard all those who seemed to enjoy insulting him as ignorant bullies that hide underneath their cloaks of anonymity, stained with the yellow streak of cowardice. However, the more they are worn, the more threadbare they become and soon even cloaks become transparent. I have held back my response to their malevolence purely because I was away without internet connection for five days helping my eldest daughter and her fiancé move house. Upon my return, I notice that the rats have returned to their holes for the time being, and all has gone quiet. Therefore, I shall let it rest for now. Mind you, I am girding my loins for another bout after I post this blog, but I do have a pair of very sharp scissors that cut through material as cleanly as a hot knife does through butter.

But then I am the female of the species, and I have power and strength beyond the capabilities of man and I even have the Botticelli belly to prove it.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

Today was rather exciting.... we received some hair and chewed rattan samples, which were obtained on the recent expedition to Sumatra, through the post from Adam Davies for us to forward on to Lars Thomas to have analysed. It was Graham's and my task to take some photos of the samples. At first this seemed to be a task that bordered on the doubtful due to the fact that not only were the hairs quite small, but both items would obviously have to be photographed through the plastic bags they were contained in to avoid DNA contamination. However, upon looking at the photos taken, they did actually come out rather well, so we now have a permanent photographic record of them.

Anyway, these will be passed on to our good friend Lars in Denmark so that they can have their DNA analysed. Adam is sending his half of the samples to Professor Todd Disotell. We are keeping our fingers crossed for the outcome.

This whole process has been delayed, of course, by the hospitalisation of Adam with an unknown tropical disease. However, he is back at home and is well on the way to a full recovery after being really unwell.

A Tale of Two Cranfords

Yesterday I was dispatched to take some photos just outside Woolsery for an article that Jon has written for Paranormal magazine. Just as you are coming into the village, you pass a white house on a bend in the road after crossing a bridge that spans a small stream. The location is known as Cranford and the house used to be a mushroom farm. However, I was there to take photos of the bridge, stream and surrounding wooded areas where there have been a few ghostly goings on and odd activities in the past. I shall be going back there tonight at dusk to take some more pictures. Intrepid eh?

Mind you, this is not the only Cranford I know, and whilst I am sure there are many places in this country called Cranford, the other with which I am familiar is in Middlesex, near Hayes. My first husband used to live in Hayes when I first knew him, which is a few miles from where I used to live in Uxbridge. Tony Hancock is buried in St Dunstan’s churchyard, Cranford I believe, but that is all by the by. There is a story about Cranford, Hayes that jingles a few dull bells in my head though. Something to do with the ghost of Dick Turpin – I think he may have prowled the Heath at nearby Hounslow at some point, but I do remember hearing something about him being seen in Cranford Woods (Cranford Park). However, the only reference I can find to any ghostly sightings around that area is of a grey lady.

Anyway, I will not be looking for our Mr Turpin tonight, but will be relying on my sixth sense just in case something else occurs.

A few months back Shosh, Gav and I were out with the Biggles at Powler’s Piece, a couple of miles from Woolsery. We were walking down one of the wide rides – all was quiet; there was not even much birdsong. At one point, I had the strangest sensation that something or someone was walking behind me and I turned around quickly expecting to see perhaps another dog walker, or a creature running across the path. But there was nothing there. The oddest thing, though, was that just as I turned, Shosh (who was walking to my right - Gav was between us) turned around too. When I asked her why, she said she had felt as if someone was walking behind her. Hmmm – neither of us had heard anything and neither of us had seen anything either as we turned, but both of us had had that unnerving sensation of being approached silently from behind. Yes it could well have been an animal running across the path and it may have gone from sight before we turned, but that sort of thing goes on all the time – things go on behind you as you walk along - but you don’t get that eerie sense of foreboding.