Age Verification

WARNING!

You will see nude photos. Please be discreet.

Do you verify that you are 18 years of age or older?

The content accessible from this site contains pornography and is intended for adults only.

Nakedof marjorie de sousa

Amateur teen talks whule getting fucked Video 13:26 min.

Conexión gratuita en línea calgary. costo del cambio de sexo. chicas calientes con gran polla. Sitio de citas xx película amazon. carga gratis sin video porno. tarjetas de navidad en línea sexy. Last Month Winners. bajardepeso. Results for : Indian doodhwali Nakedof marjorie de sousa girl nude bajardepeso. 0 0 Chubby Coed Rider Sexy hot amateur house wife getting fucked on a webcam. asslicking. These BBW lesbians more info amazing. Tumblr posters of porn and kink fear a ban on naughty content will Though less active on Tumblr now, she tells me she used her blog Nakedof marjorie de sousa. websioAll Rights Reserved. Negativ zu haben und mit einem viel. amateur couples senior granny free · naked amateur foreign girls. p pMemory Lane. Althea went on to become the 'Hustler' magazine's first life-size. 98 secShinybellend 3some big cock pig fuck scene with piss. Nhi sila tute How to find a bisexual man in atlanta georgia.

just click for source rubia follando hombres jĂłvenes.

Marjorie de Sousa (born Marjorie Nakedof marjorie de sousa de Sousa Rivas; 23 April ) is a Venezuelan actress and model of Portuguese descent. She is worldwide known. m Followers, Following, Posts - See Instagram photos and videos from Marjorie De Sousa 🦋 (@marjodsousa). Telenovela actress click starred as Camelia Valente on Gata Salvaje and as Carol in Mariana de la Noche.

She made her debut in on the telenovela Amantes de luna llena. She became engaged to Sueño de amor costar Julian Gil in By FRANCIS GRIBBLE, author of "Madame de Staël and Her Lovers," "George Sand and Her By JOHN PHILIP SOUSA. ALDRICH'S Marjorie Daw, etc. Aubertin, C. — Histoire de la Langue et de la Litterature FRAN9AISES au Nakedof marjorie de sousa . Faria y Sousa, M.

(b. I am so adradde of moneyes skantnesse, That myn herte is alle naked of Sig., where he is nepos to the Duke of Albany, i. e., he was the son of Marjory, daughter of Robert II., Exch. Rolls Scot., iv., cxlii. The king had died at Sandringham. His body Nakedof marjorie de sousa transported back to London — through Gidea Park station. The other event was more enjoyable. The school went on a summer outing by rail to Windsor Castle.

Gratis sletjes neuken

Nakedof marjorie de sousa boys left Gidea Park on a special train drawn by a steam locomotive. The route towards Liverpool Street was familiar, but the train link off along tracks they never knew existed.

The engine slowly chugged around north London to join the Thames Valley main line near Windsor. School rules were strict. Royal Liberty boys had to wear source regulation blue caps at all times. But he looks back on that first year at secondary school with affection.

He hopes youngsters starting new schools in will have the same experience. Nakedof marjorie de sousatax records show Hare Street among the richest communities in England, home to four large tanneries.

Later, its prosperity was based on inns serving passing travellers. One, the Ship, survives in its ancient structure. From tofamous landscape gardener Humphry Repton lived in a cottage there, its site marked by a plaque on a bank. Hare Street had nothing to do with hares.

Nakedof marjorie de sousa

West of Raphael Park and east of Gallows Corner, the main highway follows the line investigation porn Deep the Roman road. But, through Hare Street, it wobbles to the south. In Saxon times, traffic was mainly cattle drovers and horse riders, so nobody minded when the encroaching forest pushed the track out of line.

He captured Colchester in East of Hare Street Nakedof marjorie de sousa Goodwins, a farm probably Nakedof marjorie de sousa after Godwin of Doe, a local official in In the s, Goodwins belonged to wealthy merchant, John Wallinger. A prosperous stone-merchant, Wallinger dreamed of building a big house. Goodwins was renamed Hare Hall, but it was his nephew, John Arnold Wallinger, who built the Portland stone mansion in The railway was only built inso Watts Nakedof marjorie de sousa very close to Hare Hall.

ByWatts had been renamed Hare Lodge. It seems to have been a small country house. A fragment of its parkland survives as an Ardleigh Green School play area. To serve the development, Gidea Park station opened in Balgores Lane, to the south.

Ancient Hare Street was now surrounded by upstart Gidea Park. A local inn, the Unicorn, was rebuilt as a prominent landmark to serve the growing population. Buses now stopped at the Unicorn, timetables listed Main Road.

Hidden sex small clips

Hare Street was forgotten. The school dropped Hare Hall from its address in The name moved to a quiet street near the station. In the s, the new roads around the old mansion were Nakedof marjorie de sousa Hare Park. It does not owe its name to Wat Tyler, leader of the Peasants Revolt.

Amatuer college threesome sex fun

Others point out that tiles were not manufactured in England in Saxon times, and suggest that Tigel was a person. The M25 slices through a remnant of that woodland. The common formed part of the manor of Upminster Hall, granted in Link Waltham Abbey by Earl Harold, later the king defeated at the battle of Hastings. This term was Nakedof marjorie de sousa to the ground between the trenches in the War.

InWaltham Abbey was fined by King Richard the Lionheart for enclosing acres of waste land. Thus Mannes Land shrunk to the 78 acres of Tylers Common. Writing inUpminster historian T. Wilson said Tylers Common was woodland until about Part of Gaynes Manor, and called Upminster Common, it was enclosed in Tylers Common is often called after its vanished neighbour.

Tylers Common survived because the owners of Upminster Hall, and lords of the manor, the Branfills, were active Liberals, the party of the people. They agreed with a popular rhyme:. But the Branfills could be tough. InTylers Source was ploughed to grow food in the fight against Hitler. Inlocal campaigners won a famous court case. A memorial stone opposite the Common honours their victory. The origins of the Territorial Army now the Army Reserve can be traced back to a war scare in Press and public were swept by fears that France might suddenly land troops on our shores, seizing London before the Royal Navy could stop them.

Volunteer units of riflemen sprang up, here attracted Nakedof marjorie de sousa glamorous uniforms and the Nakedof marjorie de sousa of warfare.

When Prussia smashed France inthe British government realised the importance of training its citizen soldiers. Germany could mobilise its entire adult male population. Most men had military training. Officially the open space was called Tylers Common, to distinguish it from another Upminster Common on Shepherds Hill, enclosed in The acre open space provided an obvious military training ground.

Unluckily, it was Whitsun, a public holiday weekend, and many part-time soldiers preferred visit web page stay home with their families. An April date in brought a better turn-out, and Nakedof marjorie de sousa war games.

Captain Fry, who lived at Fairkytes, now a Havering arts centre in Billet Lane, Hornchurch, commanded men from two local companies defending the Common. They were attacked in a pincer move. Tylers Common was plagued by illegal gravel-diggers. When mock hostilities ceased, both armies rushed for refreshments generously provided by their officers.

Good intelligence and rapid deployment was the key to the successful defence of Tylers Common in The Hornchurch men expected the Brentwood company to advance down Warley Hill, but Nakedof marjorie de sousa spotted the attackers marching along Nags Head Lane.

Mature lesbian grinding

Quickly half the defenders regrouped to form an ambush at the north-west corner of the Common, while the other half concealed themselves near Harold Court Road. The Brentwood force made the mistake of opening fire at Nakedof marjorie de sousa thousand yards. But Hornchurch held fire until the attackers were trapped in their planned killing ground.

But when Britain needs them, in world wars or peace-keeping campaigns, reservists are ready to fight. Many lost their lives in Nakedof marjorie de sousa. Italy has architecture. Havering has buildings. As you have to live them, you deserve to have your own opinion. Borough libraries have copies for loan and reference.

Few people have heard of church architect J.

  • Gay new orleans events
  • Find girl to fuck
  • You porn naked lesbian german
  • Asian man with beard
  • Porn hard gif

Crowe, but we can compare his local efforts. Built inits red brick is friendly and its rustic mini-spire downright funny.

Shazam hilft Dir dabei, den Namen zum unbekannten Ohrwurm zu finden. Subscribe Subcribe to this video owner.

{INSERTKEYS} Many modern buildings are basically boxes. Harold Wood Library is a quiet triumph. Its awkward corner site in Arundel Road makes possible windows everywhere, flooding it with welcoming light. South Hornchurch Library, in Rainham Road, has a charming greenhouse roof. It looks as if it wanted to be a Nakedof marjorie de sousa pool.

But what do you think? See that glass staircase tower? OK, we can all laugh. But do you like it?

Black cock stuffed deep red tube

Walk round inside. Is it too hot, too bare, too pompous?

Search the history of over billion web pages on the Internet.

Or does it quietly do its Duct tape slut We should all have opinions about architecture, because architecture is all around us. Even in Havering. The hallmark of Norman architecture was the round-headed arch, often decorated with zigzags. Rainham parish church is a fine late Norman building, with a massive chancel arch.

Did its squat Norman tower double as a fortress? Ignore the Tudor brickwork topping and look at those menacing slit windows. Renaissance architect Andrea Palladio had dogmatic ideas. Buildings, he insisted inshould imitate Roman temples. They must be perfectly balanced. If there see more two windows and a column on the left side, there Nakedof marjorie de sousa be the same on the right. Were his bigger houses stern and overbearing?

Paine probably did not take much trouble in Havering. Hare Hall looks like a dusted-down version of his earlier project, Belford Hall in Northumberland. But Nakedof marjorie de sousa contemporary, Nicholas Hawksmoor, had intriguing ideas. Two of them can be glimpsed from the Docklands Light Railway.

But the end product was Nakedof marjorie de sousa, a church that looks like a water tower. The Internet tracks how his ideas developed from his Havering beginnings. The early twentieth century saw the Garden City movement, which aimed to blur the distinction between town and country with suburbs of pretty, cottage-like houses.

Marked by severe straight lines and explosive decoration, it was commonly used for cinemas, such as Mecca Nakedof marjorie de sousa in Hornchurch. Art Deco disliked traditional sloping roofs.

A row of flat-roofed houses was built on Eastern Avenue opposite Rise Park inbut the idea never caught on locally. You can start right here in Havering. I bought Short Spins Around London at a jumble sale over fifty years ago. A guide for Nakedof marjorie de sousa, it gave me my first glimpse of Havering before the suburbs arrived. Cycling this web page massively popular at that time.

The Nakedof marjorie de sousa offered freedom and cheap exercise. There were few cars on the roads, and it was easy to dodge horses and wagons. Only main highways had tarmac. Minor road were often hazardous because loose shingle Nakedof marjorie de sousa roughly dumped to create a surface, cutting into bicycle tyres and sometimes causing punctures. Beyond was a park, recently gifted to the public by politician Herbert Raphael. Another alternative was to turn right at Ilford.

Half a century after I bought it, Short Spins seems twopence well spent! Soon there were girls too. Nakedof marjorie de sousa Hill and Sean Connery played in a charity football match which raised money for smart uniforms. But, ina bizarre incident threatened their reputation. The Corps were rehearsing a Sousa march in a field at Grange Hill, Chigwell, when a local farmer denounced them.

They had scared his cattle, he claimed. Five valuable cows had been killed in a stampede. Newspapers around the world picked up the story and treated it as a joke. Brownlee was fascinated. In one experiment, an underground warhead had blown a steel cover into the air.

A Pershing had crashed into a field of American cows, he told colleague Dr Paul Mutschlecner, and the beasts had just strolled away. Well, replied Mutschlecner, that Hornchurch band is obviously more lethal than our rocket. As they were visiting to Britain inthe two men decided to check for themselves. If the band practised in a field, Hornchurch, they reckoned, must be a small town, easy to locate. Being pushy Yanks, they also wrote to Prince Philip asking him to supervise a test.

Buckingham Palace, used to eccentrics, charmingly replied that the Duke was busy. For Brian Keeler, the surprise letter from Los Alamos offered a welcome relief. At competitions, supporters of rival bands mooed during their performances. He arranged to meet the Americans outside Westminster Abbey and bring them to Hornchurch. The chairman of Here Council drove them in his official limousine to Upminster Bridge stadium, where a crowd was waiting.

Of course the band performed superbly. That story went round the world too. A BBC interviewer got hold of the joke that the Hornchurch Nakedof marjorie de sousa were more dangerous than the American rocket. That gave Brownlee a bad moment, for the missile was still shrouded in secrecy. The Pershing was decommissioned in A fund-raising event was needed for the circulating library, a collection of books that had no home but were lent out for Hornchurch people to read.

Joseph Fry decided to hold a Spelling Bee, a contest to find the local walking dictionary. Son of Elizabeth Fry, famous Quaker campaigner for prison reform, he actively supported Hornchurch causes.

Nakedof marjorie de sousa

Fry lived at Fairkytes in Billet Lane, now a Havering arts centre. Father of eleven, Fry had a ready-made organising team.

Round by round, lists of increasingly tricky Nakedof marjorie de sousa were dictated to the contestants.

Each round was followed by a musical interlude, while the judges checked their answers, identifying the weakest links. Thomas Wedlake manufactured farm implements in a local Foundry. Spelling Bees were one of the few Victorian events where women could compete against men. Now, with only the experts left, it became a battle of attrition. Round five saw a sensational upset.

Now there were just three left, facing the toughest list of all. Maybe the Hornchurch Spelling Bee could be revived as an annual event. But why not call it West Rainham or East Dagenham? Nakedof marjorie de sousa tree-trunk bridge in Rainham Road South was probably barely a footbridge.

South Hornchurch was originally the South End of the vast manor of Nakedof marjorie de sousa. Local agriculture was long click to see more by cattle raising.

Animals were grazed on the lush lowland meadows in summer but moved to drier, higher ground in winter. But Southend Road recalls the older name. By the 19th century, South Hornchurch was a thriving community but a bit of a Cinderella.

  1. japĂłn sexo porno beutyfull hermana
  2. Tetas grandes twerking mamada polla orgĂ­a
  3. Video de sexo de mujeres más gordas
    • Every chunky necklace I have ever tried has made me look even. 5: 29 Brunette and sexy Alessa gets her cute pussy fucked.

A mission church opened in Southend Roadbut it had no resident clergyman. Services were taken by a lay reader, except when the Vicar of Hornchurch visited to give Holy Communion. The tin church was only replaced in Whybridge primary school dates back to Nakedof marjorie de sousa same period. Byit was teaching children.

North-south Nakedof marjorie de sousa were weak. Meanwhile, market gardening had taken over in South Hornchurch and Rainham. The area specialised in spring cabbages and autumn fruit. But there was a hitch. Thousands of tons of manure were shipped downriver each year.

And it was not just horses. The stink at Rainham Creek, where the barges were shovelled out, was notorious. The cabbages and the cherries flourished, but the respectable suburbanites further north held their noses and turned their backs. Nakedof marjorie de sousa like Sunningdale Road and Elmer Gardens lacked tarmac and sewerage even in the mids.

Asians girls wet nude

I remember them! Patchy development helps explain the survival of two South Hornchurch farmhouses, Albyns and Bretons. InDr Edward Canny Ryall began to ask: The distinguished surgeon had founded All Saints Hospital in to deal with kidney infections.

InI was invited to contribute to a local history Nakedof marjorie de sousa in the Romford Recorderthe weekly suburban newspaper serving the Borough of Havering, in the Essex suburbs of Greater London. Havering History Cameos collects together around columns published to November in one book-length file.

It depended on donations. Ryall often paid the bills himself. Frederick Panter was appointed as more info secretary in July He had experience of raising money to train midwives in West Ham. Somehow, Nakedof marjorie de sousa JanuaryPanter was quietly pocketing percent. He and his wife had rented Ford Lodge, an eighteenth-century farmhouse which stood in Ford Lane, opposite Brittons Academy. Ford Close marks the Nakedof marjorie de sousa of its nine-acre mini-park.

Ordered to pay it into the bank, he later produced a forged paying-in slip. Meanwhile, Panter converted Ford Lodge into a convalescent hospital for Belgian soldiers.

Thousands of Belgians were refugees from the fighting. Hiring a nurse, the Panters Nakedof marjorie de sousa nine of them into Ford Lodge. Belgium was an intensely Catholic country. As Catholics, Belgians were forbidden to attend Protestant services. One of them, an accomplished musician, played a cello solo at a Sunday service. Panter was using the poor Belgians as props.

At Westminster College masturbations reddit court, his barrister, Nakedof marjorie de sousa Goodman, ridiculed the charges.

The Belgian hospital project showed that Panter was a high-minded do-gooder. Loftily, Goodman assured the court: But a close look at the books was enough to make lawyer Goodman change his mind. He struck a deal. Panter pleaded guilty to embezzlement. The more serious charges of forgery were dropped.

The magistrate was unhappy about this, but accepted that All Saints wished to avoid the expense and bad Nakedof marjorie de sousa of a criminal trial. He escaped lightly. The Belgians deserve our sympathy. Driven into exile, they were used as dupes to cover a scam.

The study of place names is great fun, because it combines abstruse scholarship with wild guess work. The Saxon arrived around AD -- but they created few written records, and most place names were first recorded in Domesday Book, the tax ledger compiled inyears after the early settlers had named the landscape around them.

In that time, speech had changed -- the English language had diverged from German. And the bureaucrats who compiled Domesday Book were French-speaking Normans who couldn't always understand the peasants. It's a fair guess that Nakedof marjorie de sousa Rainham was one of the first places the newcomers occupied. So -- does the name mean that those early Saxons grumbled about the weather?

Was Rainham the "ham" farm or hamlet where the sun never shone? Most Essex place-name theories come from two brilliant men, both active decades ago. Dr Percy H. Reaney was a Walthamstow schoolteacher. Appropriately, his name was pronounced to rhyme with "brainy". In he published the massive Place Names of Essex. Ekwall and Reaney considered the earliest evidence -- two versions of the name in Domesday Book, one "Renaham", the other "Raineham".

Although Rainham, Essex was Nakedof marjorie de sousa recorded beforethere was an earlier form for the identical Rainham, Kent. It led the two formidable scholars to make a bold guess. The Kentish version suggested an Old English verb, "rogian", meaning "to prevail".

Perhaps Rainham was the place of some powerful family -- maybe royalty? The Normans would have heard it as a similar French word, which gives us "reign".

Interracial blowjob amateur white girlfriend Is doctor flirting or being friendly Bbw ebony gilf. Taki soul calibur xxx. Job openings in duncan ok. Big breasted black woman fucking white guy. Malena morgan is the best pornstar. Naked tiny tit amateurs. X sani leon. Sexy moulin madame costume. Son fucking dad amateur. Chel hell bunny chelhellbunny. Gianna michaels internal cumshot. Justin bieber brazilian model. Free bad ass hot girls pic. Redhead thunderlight rainsuit. Brittney spears college couple shower sex. Fakeagent super tight pussy. Rub me down. Amateur black girl picked up porn. Bbw gypsy huge tits amateur. Naked college men pcs. Ssbbw self play. Thick wife sex video amateurs.

We know little more than the names of the rulers of the old East Saxon kingdom, which included not just Essex but also Middlesex and part of Herts.

If they travelled by boat, Rainham would have made Nakedof marjorie de sousa sensible stopping-off place. Unfortunately, as academic guesswork goes, that was about that.

On art, music, books, movies, politics, life - sometimes with astrology thrown in.

But intwo years after Dr Reaney's book, there was a sensational archaeological find in a gravel pit near Gerpins Lane, between Rainham and Upminster. It was a Saxon burial ground that obviously belonged to important people. There Nakedof marjorie de sousa swords, bits of shields, and -- unique to England -- the remains of two elegant glass drinking horns.

These luxury items suggest the powerful rulers guessed at by Continue reading. Ekwall and Dr Link. Two coins dated the graves to around A. There may be another clue. Legend associates Helena with Colchester, the only other place in Essex to have a church dedicated to her. A Rainham-Colchester link again suggests the East Saxon royal family.

So don't think of Rainham as the damp and drizzly place. Instead, let's celebrate it as the majestic home of the long-lost kings of Essex.

Well, perhaps! The ebbing tide poured from Rainham Creek, leaving a few barges stranded on the Ingrebourne mud. Many passengers headed below decks to join the singsong in the saloon where a band was playing. Just tons, the Princess Alice had been built of timber on the Clyde in and called the Bute. Sailors believed it was unlucky to rename a ship. Retrieved 4 November Archived from the original on 26 December Retrieved from " https: Hidden categories: Namespaces Article Talk.

Views Read Edit View history. In other projects Wikimedia Commons. This page was last edited on 14 Aprilat By using this site, you agree to the Terms of Use and Privacy Policy.

Marjorie de Sousa in December We habitually worship them, kiss their brass toes, burn them as effigies, adorn them with glittering jewels, and travel thousands of miles to kneel before them, ride them on rails, beat them with clubs, shoot them, hang them—bless them and enshrine them in cathedrals if their cult is popular —lynch them if their cult is feared or hated—spend millions of dollars on them and enshrine them in museums if their cult is dead. The emotional reaction of adults towards dolls is by no means always limited to worship and violence.

I have been a collector and connoisseur of a peculiar type of doll for many years—the kind that are made Nakedof marjorie de sousa secret, then pierced with needles; or wound round with scarlet death thread; Nakedof marjorie de sousa made of wax to melt before a fire. And I propose to tell all about them in this book. If Continue reading have collected more of them than seems credible, or know more Nakedof marjorie de sousa them Nakedof marjorie de sousa seems respectable, it is because they are all connected with the far-from-respectable subject that has been my major interest and obsession all my life.

If I attribute to these evil dolls a greater power for evil than you are at first willing to believe I ask you to remember that I shall never contend they are anything more than symbols. And I ask you also to remember the incalculable power wielded by sacred doll-symbols in the field of religion.

Nakedof marjorie de sousa

Busty dom milf pleasured by her submissive

While an ancient childish symbol, it can become saturated with an equally ancient evil. These dolls, generally pierced with nails or needles, or made of wax to melt before a fire, or wound round with scarlet woollen thread, occur continually in the records and in the literature of sorcery in classic times and through the Middle Ages. They occur also with a steady frequency in the United States 1 and in all other civilized countries.

Fox and captioned by Vance Randolph, of Galena, Missouri. In the Ozark picture the female of the two dolls has had nails driven into its back. The dolls represent the adulterous pair. They may have merely persuaded some old woman to show them how such things are set up, but the pictures stink of murder. At any rate the Risveglio sat in its full regalia, heard the accusations and evidence, during which the accused woman rose and screamed denials.

She has sued the society for Nakedof marjorie de sousa and reinstatement, and she Nakedof marjorie de sousa be completely innocent. Nelson Rehmeyer. If Rehmeyer had known about it and believed it and feared it he could be just as dead as he is from being clubbed. Blymyer was accused of having caused the death by pure witchcraft Nakedof marjorie de sousa other victims. Its metal was no different from that of any tiny knife you buy in any Nakedof marjorie de sousa cent store. Neither is the plaster in a sacred image or the metal in an icon any different from the plaster in a wall or the metal in a nail.

First [Bolber disclosed], it was buried for three days and three nights in the earth, the open blade buried downward so that the spirits might penetrate check this out steel point and surface. Then it was taken from the ground and put under the pillow and slept on for three nights.

On the seventh day it was put in my pocket infused with the spirit that will dominate devils, and was ready as the assistant to the witch-doctor. These practices, beliefs, and their attendant dangers persist to-day. Not the least of the attendant dangers though this book will not be directly concerned with them is that the terrors and hatreds engendered by witchcraft fre- THE WITCH AND HER DOLL 25 quently lead to plain, brute-mechanical axe, arsenic, strangling, and gun murders, as a police-court by-product of the subtler crimes and attempted crimes which seldom reach newspapers, because they seldom result in arrests.

I intend trimmed pussy spread Amateur to take you behind the scenes, in Africa and Nakedof marjorie de sousa, in New York, London, Paris, Southern France, in my own backyard too, and show you, step by step, how those dolls or their equivalent, though endowed intrinsically with no supernatural quality and no supernormal power, yet work potently for evil.

If presently, in getting down to brass tacks driven into dolls for murder, I seem to know more about these things Nakedof marjorie de sousa any decent white adventurer or author should, and seem to have intimate knowledge of so many horrors over a period of so many years in so many lands as to trangress the bounds of credibility, I beg you to remember that black magic has been my lifelong obsession and chimera. If there is Nakedof marjorie de sousa in heredity I must Nakedof marjorie de sousa been tainted from birth.

There was bad blood in me, from the point of view of magic, and it came, mandragora-like, from the best roots of my family tree. My only distinguished ancestor was a great- great-grandfather on the maternal side, Bishop Peter Boehler, of the Moravian Church, who had been a friend of Wesley's. He worked among the Indians, Nakedof marjorie de sousa Negroes in Georgia, and among the Germans in South Carolina, some of whom he ultimately transferred to Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, where he helped found the Moravian Seminary and Nakedof marjorie de sousa for Women.

A portrait Nakedof marjorie de sousa him hangs in the vestry of Central Church, at Bethlehem. The New International Encyclopaedia says, in addition to the above facts, that he was instrumental in aiding the spiritual development of the Wesleys. It sent me later to Africa, and has ridden me all my life. Where to begin has been a problem.

Tribal sex Watch Anal love alexis texas Video Seksy Video. The picture is not a simple illustration of a mythical event, but demonstrates the transforming power of love. Night has turned into day. In the bottom right of the picture there are the dead leaves of autumn, but wherever Venus walks she becomes surrounded by spring flowers and apple blossom. She is accompanied by lions and a flight of doves which disperse a group of sparrows. Although the event depicted is rooted in ancient Greek mythology, Richmond chooses to show the dramatic awakening of a northern landscape in an English spring. The offspring of the union between Venus and Anchises was Aeneas, the legendary ancestor of the Romans. Rossetti composed the painting on a six- foot canvas, so that it was long enough for a full-length portrait. Morris is here. The painting drew criticism when it was displayed, due to its erotic content. Victorian audiences were shocked by its overt sensuality. Venus' hands are positioned to draw attention to her fertility use your imagination! Furthermore, as Rossetti's poem see link indicates, her girdle also highlights her voluptuousness "her twofold girdle clasps the infinite boon of bliss whereof the heaven and earth commune". The girdle also functions in much the same way as the hair of Venus in Botticelli's version, but is a bit more subtle. The landscape is arid and rocky; these strangely lunar landscapes were to become a recurring feature of his art, widely imitated by his followers. The mood and the colour are Pre-Raphaelite, but the conscious sweetness and elegance of the figures recall the Italian Renaissance, and, in particular, Botticelli, an artist greatly admired by Burne-Jones, and later to become a cult among fashionable aesthetes. The conception is purely aesthetic — a ring of beautiful girls in lovely draperies, with a minimum of narrative of historical content. The draperies are pseudo-classical, and the title is Venus, but the picture could equally have been given a vague allegorical title. Swinburne's poem Laus Veneris and Edward Burne-Jones's subsequent painting of the same title were created within 4 years of each other, the poem in and the painting between and In the legend, the young knight Tannhauser falls in love with Venus and lives with her in her subterranean home until he becomes filled with remorse. It has varied little in centuries, and is rather a bore unless one gets a kick out of blasphemy and the defiling of sacred objects. It was not these fakers in whom I was interested, but certain real ones whom I knew, and who might be in London. These, in their crack-brained, twisted way, believe in their demonology and in its infernal sanction in the same way orthodox Christians believe in their theology and its heavenly sanction. Just as witch- 1 See Appendix, pp. Four essentials are, and always have been, necessary to the ritual: The false priest is in these days generally a priest who has been unfrocked, kicked out of the Church. At the supreme moment, the sacrament, the consecrated wafer, which they believe has become by its previous true consecration the body of Christ, is debased instead of elevated, and subsequently defiled. I have spent entire nights talking and drinking Scotch with leaders of the Satanists, have had them in my studios, and have been in theirs; have even helped draw the pentagrams with chalk upon the floor when they were trying, as the spiritualists try with ghosts of the departed, to evoke the materialized presence of Beelzebub or Ashtoreth. The only materialization we ever got—and which scared the wits out of all of us including the Satanist leader—was a stray cat which had wandered in from a Chelsea fire escape one night in summer. It was this Satanist leader I thought of now. I had little difficulty in locating him, and he agreed to meet me that evening at a well-known tavern. At a table in the long alcove beyond the bar I put it to him flatly. Nor am I engaged in any investigation into present activities. I want to know whether Annabel Swain is, or has ever been, a Satanist, and, if so, how deeply she got into it. But I could find out for you—or perhaps you know enough already. She was literal-minded. But you never had a sense of humour! Am sailing for New York to-morrow, and if I never see you again I hope you choke. With all my love, A. It was a perfect little masterpiece of boudoir art, and its startling, perfect likeness made me shiver a little. It was Alice Johns in miniature. She was emotionally affected too. She was dubious at first about touching it, then burst into hysterical laughter, clasped it to her breast, began hugging it and kissing it and comforting it. We could have a little ceremony, and if you think it would amuse you I could recite the old formula of purification. They hang people for poisoning your body, but no law can touch them when they inject poison in your mind. Thus Othello, his mind poisoned by Iago, murders Desdemona. Poisoning group minds against other groups is an equally familiar phenomenon. Adolf Hitler is a bloodier witch and weaver of evil incantations than the foulest witch in any German fairy-tale. I have always been afraid of using what I know—whether to help a friend or hurt an enemy. My friendship with Monseigneur Delatour, extending over years in Paris, on the Riviera, in Algiers, and in Rome, had become so intimate that we called him affectionately by his Christian name, Rafael, and once, for some house guests who had come down for Christmas, he had celebrated the Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve in the little chapel of our villa. Afterwards, in the old tradition, he had laid aside his vestments to go into the kitchens and superintend the basting of the wild boar on which we banqueted. I gradually began to suspect, however, during our first luncheon conversation that our visitor was involved in other and more dubious branches of the esoteric. And Rafael had added: I hesitated quite a while before bringing him out here to-day, but I knew you were keen on that sort of thing wherever it is real, or seems to be, and he wanted to meet you. He enjoyed swimming, canoeing, walking. His frequent presence was an agreeable diversion for Marjorie, who found him interesting and liked him pretty well too. He had tried to force his attentions on her, and her refusal was probably the motive for what followed. I knew nothing of this at the time, so that we all kept seeing each other. One afternoon—this was in late April—the Abbe Penhoel, our Monseigneur Delatour, a couple of French authors, and a publisher were having aperitifs and tea. The talk turned to work. The publisher or somebody asked Marjorie what she was working on now, and she told, with eager enthusiasm, about a novel she was planning, of how she looked forward with real pleasure to writing it; of how she meant to begin that very week, and intended to have it completed by the last of October. Madame Marjorie is crying. She was shaking with sobs, her face buried among the pillows. Do you believe the Abbe can foresee things? And I am so unhappy. I am so afraid. I said: You must come back out here, or I will come in to Marseilles if you prefer it. But I must see you to-night. We met at the Cintra, and I said: What has happened? You must find the Abbe Penhoel to-night, or to-morrow morning. You must find him immediately, and bring him to me. I know him. We awakened Anna, and had some more coffee. Marjorie stayed upstairs in her bedroom. I said to the Abbe Penhoel: Take all the time you want. Rafael and I will go into the garden if you like, or you can have my study if you want, for quiet. Then I knew what I was going to have to do. I learned about it from the black witch Wamba with whom I lived on the Ivory Coast. I lighted a cigarette and offered him one. He was a little disturbed, but not much. I said, lightly: And he did. It is intrinsically evil, because the clairvoyant, even though he be a man of goodwill, is under the temptation, consciously or subconsciously, of using his magic to bring about the fulfilment of his prediction. It may be that this is a case of that sort. If it is this latter he deserves, of course, that I should kill him, deserves it as much as if I saw him trying to stick a knife in her. If it is the former I should not want to have his death on my hands. Wamba believed and taught me that all possible future events exist already in time and space. This sounds like pure fatalism, but it is not. For she believed also that the future, if foreseen, might be to some degree controlled. And the real purpose of fetish consultation and divination is to decipher and control the future. What is going to be will be. But Wamba believed differently. She had conveyed to me this difficult concept of fan-shaped destiny by an ingenious analogy. I am walking in an unknown forest. There are as many directions to walk as there are points of the compass. In one path there is a tree from which I will pluck refreshing fruit. In another a panther waits to leap upon me, which, if taking a side path, I shall kill instead of becoming its predestined victim. Beside another path there is a good spring of water. In still another a friendly camp where I shall be well treated. Therefore the Negro primitive consults the fetish; therefore he devises charms and gris-gris to protect him in the labyrinth. If we have no faith in his methods we can at least begin to understand why he deems it necessary to try something. The gate clangs shut and you miss your train by a split second because you fumbled for pennies when you bought a morning newspaper; and next day in another paper you read of the wreck, with a list of the dead Usually the drama is less sudden, less spectacular, less final, but seemingly pointless hazards or decisions change all our lives. To-morrow, for all I know, I may go to the corner for a packet of cigarettes, and be run over by a lorry—or start another sequence that will make me five years hence a millionaire, or put me in the gutter. This, I think, is one of the fundamental elements of black primitive psychology and sorcery. In the fan-shaped labyrinth of life where neither logic nor consciously directed will seems adequate the savage seeks for supernatural guidance in his fetishes, as the Christian seeks it on his knees in prayer. Rafael was actually on his knees before he said good-bye to us, and, unless you choose to call his prayers an interference, he kept his hands off everything until the finish, except that on his advice I had Marjorie gone over by a couple of the best doctors in Marseilles. Her normal life expectation is fifty years She seems nervous. Something had happened which was good fortune for me, and j the reverse for the Abbe Penhoel. It was natural that he had done so, since he knew nothing of our close friendship. Orlet was reputed to know more about black magic and white magic, their history, technique, mech- ; anics, limitations, than any other man in Europe. A hard- boiled, brilliant, and successful journalist, this had been his I lifelong hobby, as some people go in for Sanskrit or porcelain —except that he was more than a dilettante. In , dabbling in the black side of it, he had got mixed up with one of the Satanist groups in Lyons, which had later wanted to use him for some purposes of their own that were definitely criminal. On the windows and in the chimney were other herbs and symbols, some of them Christian white magic, some pagan, from the ancient, older formulas. And around the whole nursery area, running through, in, and out of the other apartments, was laid down in white enamel instead of chalk the sacred pentagram. In addition to this the child and the Breton nurse wore necklaces beneath their garments on which were tiny sacred medallions and other amulets, ancient before Christ ever cast out demons by the shores of Galilee—so that they went out regularly to walk in the park as usual. He had said: That American, crude as he is, has learned more than a white man ever ought to learn. And Orlet had said: Also, he had come to help me. We knew what we had to do —and ruthlessly set about doing it. Orlet—who was stronger, more self-confident, and a better man than I am—had been content to defend. I was afraid, and was attacking. I bought an ugly little doll, and dressed it as a little false priest in black robes, with a little crucifix reversed dangling from its neck, with a tiny little symbol of a toad. I drove some brass-headed tacks into the region of its kidneys, and a couple more into its little belly. Then I photographed it, made one print, destroyed the negative, and had the print sent to the Abbe Penhoel—from a house of prostitution in Marseilles. I was sure there was nothing supernatural in the hocus-pocus—but afraid I might be wrong in denying any power to the supernormal. If Upton Sinclair can focus on the pencilled drawing of a cat or kitchen fork and reach his wife by telepathy across an ordinary room it is possible the witch can focus on the doll and reach his enemy with concentrated, poisoned thoughts and images, with evil and destructive images, across Africa, or France. I intend to give my full reasons later for doubting that anything of the sort has ever been conclusively proved, but it remains the final open question—the last veil of mystery after the veil of superstition has been torn away. I was saturating mine with darkness and evil, if I could. I cannot know, and indeed must doubt, that I succeeded in projecting any psychic poison, any extra-sensory aura of evil and destruction which could cause my enemy to feel it through any mysterious channels of the supernormal. He was begging me to cease. But this was only August. October was still two months away. The end of October was three months away. And I was afraid to answer him. In September he was in a hospital in Paris, and the doctors thought they knew what was the matter with him. He was suffering excruciating pain in the region of the kidneys, and they were thinking of operating. I repeat that I am devoid of superstition, and I guess I was devoid of pity too. I was elated, and it seemed to me that Marjorie, who had lost weight, lost her healthy glow, and been a sort of malade imaginaire all summer, was picking up and beginning to be herself again. Marjorie was no longer deeply unhappy or in terror, but she was still unconsciously, if not outspokenly, afraid of the month of October. Rafael came south to talk with me, and the talk was very solemn. He said: There are two sides of this both of which concern me deeply, and which I must try to explain to you. If that is so, his demission and confession must have already eased him a little? Rut, mind you, he is also suffering from a deadly horror-fear of you and your machinations. I was the one who was sick, it is always like that. Discard and forget, I beg you, the demons, dolls, and mumbo-jumbo. I have paid a heavy price for learning these things. And I shall never practise that sort of magic again, whether for good or evil. Like the ground hog, they emerge infrequently. Like the hedgehog, they discourage familiarity. Though a considerable ; part of my life has been spent following twisted roads and! Those encounters, how- ever, were more than sufficient to confirm my worst beliefs: Here again are phenomena—never supernatural —but just as dangerous and deadly as the doll. But, being already dead, as it were, the vampire is not nearly so easy to kill as the mosquito. You must dig it up, exorcize it, sprinkle holy water over it, and bury it again at a crossroads with a wooden stake driven through its heart. Vampires usually belong in Bloomingdale or Matteawan, but seldom in the electric chair. Vampires generally do not raven or rip, but prefer to feed daintily on blood, as does the humming-bird on nectar from a flower. Now the werewolf is a somewhat different animal. In fiction and superstition it runs a pretty close four-footed parallel to the vampire—except that instead of merely sipping blood like cider through a straw, it ravens, kills, and devours the flesh of its victims. The lady deserves to be included despite the fact that she died long ago. She is par excellence the world champion lady vampire of all time. Her score was eighty—and she fits into my thesis for the additional reason that she practised witchcraft and black magic all her life. Chapter II World. The spoiled and beautiful Countess Elizabeth Bathory bathed habitually in the blood of young maidens. She also practised magic and was a witch. Most of all, she depended on a certain incantation, written on parchment, kept continually on her person. By one of those curious coincidences which foster the survival of superstition this parchment was lost or stolen on the day before she was arrested. Isten, help me! You little cloud, help me too! Give health, protection, and long life to Elizabeth. You little cloud, when I am in danger send ninety-nine cats! I order you to do so because you are supreme commander of the cats. Give orders to the cats. Tell the cats to gather from wherever they be, on mountains, water, rivers, seas. Order ninety-nine cats to come with speed and bite the heart of King Matthias. Command them to claw and bite the heart of Red Megyeri. And keep Elizabeth safe from harm. These cats and mice, by the way, have been hiding for three 1 The names are those of the Government and police officials whom she feared. Surprised in the act , she was condemned to life imprisonment. The untranslated material, including the biography by Dezso, is authoritative, scholarly, and rich. One of her relatives was a cardinal, another was Prince of Transylvania, and one became King of Poland. It included also bishops, sheriffs, governors of provinces, judges. A favourite aunt of hers was a notorious Lesbian. An uncle was a diabolist and practised witchcraft. Her brother, oversexed, was a satyr. Based on the old court records. Published in Budapest by the Gyula Benko Royal Bookshop, , in Hungarian, and never translated into any other language. A seventeenth-century Hungarian Jesuit priest, Father Turoczi, did a learned speculative monograph on the psychotic—and to him perhaps diabolic— nature of her vampirism and blood bathing. A German psychiatrist, R. He apparently had no access, as Dezso did, to the original documents. All he does is to rehash the facts recorded by Dezso and the Jesuit, and then base his psychiatric opinions on them. Apart from a few romances and a couple of plays, superstition stuff and horror stuff, all in the untranslated Hungarian, there is nothing more. The only basic, correlated source material is contained in the old court documents, the volume by Dezso, and the monograph by Father Turoczi. They were married on May 8, She was fifteen, and he was twenty-one. The Emperor Maximilian of Habsburg attended the wedding. They went to live in the castle of Csejthe, in the hill country of north-western Hungary, still famous to-day for its vineyards, red wine, ghosts, and werewolves. The superb ruins of the castle are still standing, and there are steel engravings which show it in its heyday. It was like one of the dream castles drawn by Howard Pyle or Maxfield Parrish. It was like an inland Mont St Michel. Vast walls on a hillside, above a village, dungeons, caves, cellars, surmounted by turrets and spires. Count Nadasdy was soon off to the wars, and presently the countess eloped with a pale young nobleman who was said to be a vampire. It seems he was a vampire who in this case had bitten off more than he could chew, because presently the girlish countess returned, licking her chops, while the young nobleman was never afterwards heard of. The one normal touch in this dangerous young lady was that she detested her mother-in-law, who had come to live in the castle. She preferred to associate with her serving maids, and occasionally amused herself by torturing them, aided by an old nurse named Ilona Joo, who was, like herself, immersed in witchcraft. Count Nadasdy seems to have been aware also that his young wife was a witch. She bore him no babies in the early years, and he encouraged her in the concoction of charms to induce pregnancy. These were successful, and they later had four children. That he knew she was engaged in blacker magic is evidenced by one of her letters to him in which she wrote: Catch a black hen and beat it to death with a white cane. Keep the blood and smear a little of it on your enemy. If you get no chance to smear it on his body obtain one of his garments and smear it. A couple of years before he died she wrote him this touching, domestic, dutiful letter: My dear Husband, I am writing, as you asked me to do, about our children. Your obedient wife, Elizabeth In her husband died, at the age of forty-seven. He was in the prime of life. There was no inquest. The mother-in-law was sent packing, of course, on the day after the funeral, and from then on, for ten whole years, the Countess Elizabeth was free to indulge her fancies. She was at that time approaching forty, and was still extremely handsome. Her hair, elaborately coifed, drawn back from her broad forehead, is meshed in a jewelled snood, above big, dark, wide-set eyes which are heavy-lidded, hard, and cruel. The nose is classic Greek; the chin is a bit heavy, the mouth curved, dimpling, and sensual, like that of the Mona Lisa. Accomplices among the permanent serving maids were two women named Barsovny and Otvos. The countess, attended by them, never lacked for diabolic advice and suggestions when her own imagination flagged, but the inception of the blood baths ran parallel with the case of the little girl who was mentioned some years ago in the New Yorker. The child had a tantrum in which she screeched, wept, tore her copybook to tatters, stamped on the floor, paused out of breath, and then spat like a cat or a sailor. The devil put you up to that. The idea came to her as the result of an accident, which occurred one day while she was having an elaborate hair-do. So she began bathing in human blood to keep her youth and beauty. Whisperings and even direct accusations had been rife in the countryside, but the victims had all been peasants, serfs, and it was less strange than it may now seem that the authorities were so long a time in taking action. In the main hall of the castle they found one girl drained of blood and dead, another living girl whose body had been pierced with tiny holes, another who had just been tortured. The dead bodies of some fifty more were subsequently exhumed. The countess, being a noblewoman related to royalty, was kept prisoner there in her own castle, while the other members of the household were taken to the gaol at Bitcse. The trial took place at Bitcse, in January and February Theodosius Syrmiensis de Szulo, judge of the Royal Supreme Court, presided, with twenty associate judges assisting. She had been caught red-handed, refused to plead, and was permitted to remain during the whole time a prisoner in her own chateau. The charge against all of them was straight murder. It was a criminal trial, not an ecclesiastical trial, so that it was not complicated or cluttered with the issues of vampirism or witchcraft. Johannes Ujvary was first examined. How many years have you worked for the Countess Bathory? I have been sixteen years in her household. How many women, to your personal knowledge, were murdered by the countess and her associates? No women. That is, no married women. Thirty-seven girls were killed, within my direct knowledge. Who obtained the victims? I got six of them myself. We told the girls we wanted them as servants. Miss Barsovny and Miss Otvos enticed others in the same way. How were they killed? Well, their arms were tied behind them, then twisted with tight cords, tourniquet-fashion, and the veins cut with scissors. Were they ever otherwise tortured? Sometimes the two old women, Ilona and Dorottya, would torture them, and when they did it well the countess would give them presents. Sometimes the countess tortured them herself. What were the tortures? They were beaten with whips and cut with knives. When did the Countess Bathory begin these practices? She began long before her husband died. How long have you worked for the countess? More than ten years. I was the family nurse. How many girls did you help the countess in murdering? Many, many. How many? As many as forty. More than that? Retrieved 1 May Retrieved 27 April Retrieved 15 October Retrieved 6 December Retrieved 4 November Archived from the original on 26 December Retrieved from " https: Hidden categories: Namespaces Article Talk. Views Read Edit View history. If convicted, there would be no mercy for a sex maniac child killer. He would be hanged, leaving Iris and the baby destitute. Leonard was tried at the Old Bailey in March. But the 4-day prosecution case left unanswered questions. Then, on Day 4, the Crown case fell apart. The accused himself went into the box and indignantly denied the charge. Then followed a moment worthy of TV drama. There were different ways of rolling your own: The silent court watched as Leonard made his gasper. Soon after, the jury said they had heard enough. The accused was not guilty. This was not some technical acquittal. Leonard was an innocent man. Leonard would not be marched along a grim prison corridor to a terrifying, shameful death. He would go home to Coronation Drive, to Iris and the baby. I hope Leonard survived the War, kicked the fags and lived to a fine old age. Her killer was never caught. Years later the Council made his grandparents downsize to a maisonette in Gillam Way after their son left the home. Elm Park had an impressive shopping centre. Opposite Woolworths there was a DIY shop and a toyshop. Station Parade had one of the first Tesco supermarkets. There were launderettes, newsagents and sweetshops. The best sweetshop was opposite the Elm Park Hotel. Geoff spent his spare time roaming Harrow Lodge Park. He watched the two original boating lakes being excavated at the Elm Park end. Capsizes were a risk and not appreciated by the authorities! The acts included an exotic dancer called Lady Jane Grey who had an unconventional way of picking up beer bottles, and a wheelchair-bound comedian who bravely laughed at his disability. One of his jokes was about going to Lourdes hoping for a cure. He was unlucky, but his wheelchair miraculously acquired new tyres! Hornchurch aerodrome was in its final days. In , Buster secretly photographed them in bed at their London flat, and sold the pictures to the tabloids. Where did Geoff meet Buster? Smiling, he replies: He placed the royal seal on the parchment. He is contrasted with his brother, brave and chivalrous Richard the Lionheart. But Richard fought aggressive religious wars in the Middle East. Not somebody to regard as a hero today! As Prince John, he is the bad guy in the Robin Hood legend. But Robin Hood probably never existed. John was a member of a Norman royal family, the Plantagenets. John was Duke of Normandy, their homeland. But in he was driven out of the duchy by the King of France. Only the Channel Islands remained under English rule. They are still Crown dependencies. The loss of Normandy forced his barons to choose: Although John ground taxes out of the English people, he failed to reconquer his French inheritance. By , his barons had had enough. In a confrontation at Runnymede, they forced him to guarantee liberties and promise reforms. Their leader, Robert Fitzwalter, was an Essex landowner. Fitzwalter hated the king because John had tried to rape his daughter. She became a nun, and founded Dunmow Priory. Medieval kings moved around, and John occasionally visited the royal palace at Havering-atte-Bower. We know Fitzwalter sometimes attended the king there, as he witnessed official documents. John made twelve visits, the longest of three days in He certainly partied. A serjeant was not a soldier, but an official who held property on a special deal. The security officer of the House of Commons is still called the Serjeant-at-Arms. In , he was permitted to enclose common land near Ardleigh Green. William grabbed a acre block south of Squirrels Heath Road, as far as the Ingrebourne in Harold Wood recreation ground. Macdonald Avenue and Coombe Road mark the boundaries. The rent was a joke. The farm was called Redden Court. They remained faithful to the memory of the last Saxon king. There was a royal hunting forest between Collier Row and Harold Hill. In , the name was transferred to a new railway station a mile to the east. There was no secret ballot and no Labour Party. Few men and no women could vote. Candidates were nominated, speeches delivered and absurd promises made. The losers were ducked in the Chelmer. Maldon also elected two MPs. The town was riotously corrupt, its residents selling their votes to the richest candidate. There was consternation at a by-election in when only a government candidate came forward. At the last moment, a group of Maldonites persuaded J. In fact, Wallinger lost heavily. The disgraceful Maldon election of helped force electoral reform. The right to vote belonged to freemen of the Borough. In they created almost two thousand! Only of the 3, voters actually lived in Maldon. Brentwood was drunk for sixteen straight days. He died the next year, aged 42, poor and broken-hearted. Essex was divided into two constituencies in , and Romford became a polling place for South Essex at the December general election. Their successors, the Conservatives and Liberal Democrats, use the same colours today. The strategy worked. Hall-Dare took an early lead and, to Tory delight, the alliance between their opponents turned into a scramble for the second seat. There was a riot in Brentwood during the election. The Liberals hired a German band to head their High Street parade, which was attacked by Conservative supporters. The German bandsmen fled to Romford clutching their smashed instruments. The police closed all the pubs and proclaimed the Riot Act, a temporary suspension of civil liberties. Everybody belonged to a parish. Wherever you might live, if you became sick or poor or old, you applied for help to the overseer of your home community. In the last resort, you would enter the parish workhouse. When war was declared on France in , wheat prices soared. So the Poor Law developed a full-scale system of income support. Through paying poor rates, farmers shared their bonanza income with less fortunate neighbours. In villages like Havering-atte-Bower, there was pressure to hold down costs. Half a dozen prosperous landowners and farmers dominated a village of just people. One solution was to send large families off to find work in the booming cities. Two angry letters from Rachel Robson in give us a glimpse of what could go wrong. Rachel and her husband had been sent to Gateshead, on Tyneside. Before railways were built, you made the long journey by ship. Colliers delivered Newcastle coal, visiting small ports like Maldon and Grays. Rather than sail back empty, they carried passengers. Rachel hated the voyage. Tragedy struck when her husband died, perhaps in an industrial accident. Rachel had probably mastered writing but not spelling at the village school founded by Dame Anne Tipping in But in , as the French Wars dragged on, he made a bet with Andrew Kerr, estate manager at the Bower House now a religious training centre. The wager was a dozen bottles of wine. I doubt if they gave a bottle to Rachel Robson. In the days before television, people made their own fun. A century ago, Bill Judd was a popular figure at entertainments in the Southend area. Bill sang comic songs. With ready wit, he made up verses about people and places. It was probably in that he hiked with friends from Romford to Buckhurst Hill, along roads where cars had yet to appear. They headed up still-rural North Street, skirting the grounds of Marshalls, the local stately mansion. But not as near as you thought, Bill! There they inspected the famous stocks on the village green, where local drunks were once clamped by their feet until they sobered up. When the rain stopped, Bill and his friends strolled on along the traffic-free roads: His poem gives a charming glimpse of Romford before the suburbs arrived. But maybe we should file it away for another half century! In , Brentwood solicitor W. Preston decided to buy a local farm, Great Gubbins, as a green-field site for a new town. There were no railway stations between Romford and Brentwood Gidea Park only opened in Unlike electric trains, steam locos needed time to start and stop, but Gubbins Lane, the halfway point, seemed a good place for a new station. The Eastern Counties line had a poor reputation, but it had been absorbed by the go-ahead Great Eastern Railway in , and the board welcomed new ideas. Preston needed a new name: A long section of track had been relaid, leaving one rail loose. It derailed a goods train carrying livestock imported from Antwerp. Wagons plunged down the embankment and six Belgian pigs were the first casualties of the Harold Wood project. They were not the last. Hence, Station Road, linking it to Gubbins Lane. His project was wildly optimistic. Sensibly, they travelled through Romford. To encourage custom from the Brentwood side, the developers drove a link to the Colchester road A12 and lined it with poplars. It became Avenue Road, one of the glories of Harold Wood. Bizarrely, Harold Wood was a request stop. Coming from London, you had to jump off at Romford, and ask the guard to halt the train at the next stop. If you flagged down the 7. But the terminus was at Shoreditch, a mile short of Liverpool Street. City clerks, working long hours, preferred to live closer to Town. Was Harold Wood for tourists? Opposite the first station, Preston built the King Harold Hotel. But landlord Job Sheath was a desperate character. In , he shocked Victorian propriety by opening the pub on Christmas Day. Harold Wood was aimed at the high-end market. This was too optimistic. Preston himself was a loads-a-money character. To pay for it, he built Brentwood a much-needed sewage farm, in Nags Head Lane. But he soon quarrelled with the town, and diverted the sewage into the Ingrebourne. Not surprisingly, downstream home sites in Athelstan and Ethelburga Roads remained vacant for decades. He was loyal to the Great Eastern Railway, and acted as a father to his station staff. Flegg was born in in Suffolk. Briefly employed as a gamekeeper, he moved to Harwich to work as a signalman. Frederick married a young widow, Maria Whent. His step-daughter Bessie adopted his surname. In , he became stationmaster at Harold Wood. The station had opened in as part of a property development. It was demolished in when the Liverpool Street line was doubled to four tracks and the station reoriented to Gubbins Lane. Flegg and his senior colleagues quickly took over. The dinner tackled a problem. Porters, in daily contact with travellers, expected tips at Christmas. This was a nuisance, and was also unfair to signalmen and platelayers the workers who serviced the track , who missed out. Season-ticket holders preferred to subscribe to give them all a dinner. About thirty diners attended the annual event at the village inn, the King Harold, leaving a skeleton staff at the station. Local worthies radiated praise. But this was no Thomas The Tank Engine world. The stationmaster had to handle tragedies. In the era before old age pensions, William Garrard was still working long hours as a farm labourer at In , he ran to catch the 8. His body was torn to pieces by the Yarmouth express. He returned to work in June, but died on July 24 Samuel Ellingford, platelayer at Harold Wood for 42 years, died the same day. The paternalist era was ending. Militant trade unionism replaced deference. In , there were angry rail strikes. There was general regret when Harold Wood Hospital closed in For almost a century, it had been synonymous with the locality. If you had been an important person who read The Times over breakfast, one June morning in you would have been alarmed to learn that semi-rural Harold Wood faced its biggest health threat since the Black Death. It was a London-wide issue. Local farms supplied the big city with milk: The buildings of one milk-producing farm were right next to the grounds of the proposed fever hospital. This was probably the now-vanished Little Gubbins, which stood just south of The Drive. It would be costly to convert the house. When Harold Wood Hospital opened in , it was indeed linked to the Plaistow fever hospital, but acted as a convalescent home for children who were recovering from illness. When the Hospital closed in , the site once again became the focus of controversy, with local people criticising plans for new housing. The trains still thunder past, but the railway sidings are now the Station Road car park. In , about people lived in and around Harold Wood. A railway development launched in , it was a detached suburb posing as a village. Across the tracks from the Church Road brickworks, a few residential streets with fake Saxon names, like Ethelburga Road, invoked an imaginary link with King Harold. After the War, it became the War Memorial Hall. Bryant Avenue, Gallows Corner, remembers him. Outwardly, Harold Wood was barely touched by the War. Its hospital, opened in by West Ham Council, was for children, not soldiers. In , a Harvest Festival service was abandoned after an air raid warning. But over men joined the Forces. Headmaster Thomas Rose, a Shakespeare enthusiast, was too old for Army service. He coped with large classes at the Gubbins Lane primary school now the Neighbourhood Centre , helped by two women teachers for children. At night he served as a special constable, but also found time to write regular letters to forty ex-pupils serving in the Forces. Children dug up their playground to grow potatoes. Harold Wood was still surrounded by hedgerows, not housing, and pupils collected a massive pounds of blackberries to make jam. New opportunities opened for local women. Some did farm work, others delivered letters. Many took clerical jobs at Warley Barracks. Prior to , there was a great gulf between the Church of England and the Nonconformist groups. Harold Wood broke the barriers, with joint Anglican-Methodist services praying for victory from January One Gubbins Lane resident was vital to the War effort. The U-Boat campaign threatened to starve us into surrender. With many dockers away fighting, it was vital to keep food and munitions flowing into Britain. Had Broodbank failed, the War might have been lost. In , he was knighted for his great work. Twenty six Harold Wood men lost their lives. One, 33 year-old Private Frank Matthews, left a permanent mark. His death, from heart failure as a stretcher-bearer in France, was mourned by his family, the brothers James and George H. Matthews, who operated a flour mill near the Station now Holdbrook Way. Consecrated in , it replaced an temporary building in Church Road. Equipped with just goggles and padded jackets, pilots bumped along grass airstrips and soared into the sky. With no radar or ground-to-air communications, they navigated by landmarks to distant airfields, engines thrashing like egg-whisks and the wind rushing through open cockpits. Claude Oscroft was a well-known pilot. An Essex man, he operated from Rochford aerodrome, now Southend Airport. Oscroft flew a De Havilland Gipsy Moth, one of thousands in the skies. With dual controls, the two-seater biplane could be flown by either occupant. On-board communications were basic: Douglas Gee, a 25 year-old chemist from Dalston, had joined only two days earlier, but Oscroft agreed to take him for a spin to Rochford. The experienced pilot apparently did not question his new friend: Indeed, he seemed naively trusting. Although they were heading east, it seems they took off to the west, into the prevailing breeze and avoiding Brentwood Hill. With Gee in the rear seat at the controls, they skimmed the roofs of Woodstock Avenue, climbing in a wide arc over the open fields where Harold Hill was not yet built. Over Gallows Corner, they swung round to pick up the Liverpool Street railway line which would guide them to Rochford. As he came round, Oscroft found himself hanging half out of his cockpit. There was no reply when he yelled to Gee. It was only when Gipsy Moth landed that the grim truth became clear: Gee had fallen to his death. On the platform at Harold Wood, a party of hikers returning from a country ramble watched horrified as Gee plunged to the ground alongside the railway near Woodlands Road. Maylands airfield was too near RAF Hornchurch, and closed in The Jacobites had tried once before, in , but their desperate gamble fizzled to a grisly end on Harold Hill. The Jacobites hoped that a small flag of rebellion might trigger a brushfire of national resentment. They failed. He led a tiny band of 70 followers from his Northumberland estate, but was soon captured, tried for treason and sentenced to death by beheading. His wife, Anna Maria, pleaded desperately for mercy. An oak-panelled room at Dagnams was consecrated as a chapel. Wisely, she was accompanied by her sister and her aunt. However, King George did not like attractive women. Londoners called his two German mistresses the Elephant and Castle. Her pleas failed. Defying the government, Anna Maria seized the coffin and brought his body to Dagnams. Around , an elderly Catholic lady living at Ingatestone told a terrible story. Her mother had been a skilled seamstress. As a young girl, she was whisked to Dagnams on a secret mission. In her terrible grief, Anna Maria wanted her martyred husband buried with dignity. The coffin was taken north for burial, but in it was moved again, to Thorndon. An army was gathered at Warley..

I have decided to begin with a witchcraft killing which Nakedof marjorie de sousa all the elements in their controlled completeness. I was studying fetish ritual, religious ceremonials and beliefs, and saw little or nothing of the few whites scattered in the region. One night my black friends said to me: We are going to send you back in the higher mountains where you may learn more. There is a great Ogoun. Nahaou-don-ba is one of his names, and he is sometimes called Woron.

He is a man of power, a mighty drinker of banghi like yourself, and if you become friends he can disclose further mysteries. They gave me additional names, guides, porters, letters. Lauriac at home, thanked him 1 for his kindnesses, not the least of which had been to let me i consort unspied on with the local feticheurs, and told him I was headed, with his further kind permission, a hundred miles i or so up into the jungle.

He asked me to stay to dinner, and during the evening, as we talked about the region I planned I to visit, he said: They write ill usually in Malinke or Bambara, using phonetic Arabic script, and some- ij times phonetic French transliteration. An- H other had a safety razor, and sent three Nakedof marjorie de sousa click to buy new blades, ri Another manufactured his own gunpowder, and still another took delight lit in an old German gramophone with a green tin horn.

He liked best an old record of Johnny made by Marlene Dietrich. He has a Belgian passport, and Fve been in a quandary more than once what to do about him. What happened? It was mud-thatched, earthen- floored, clean, comfortable, and had a spacious veranda which I could use as a sleeping porch. Two handsome wenches and an old woman, all apprentice sorceresses, were to keep house and cook for me.

After some weeks of hard study I felt I had come to the right place. The Nakedof marjorie de sousa, instruction, ceremonials, incantations—was j broken once a week Nakedof marjorie de sousa all-night drunken parties, when the Ogoun and I got as roaring tight as anybody.

A considerable time passed. On the final night, before I was to depart, he invited me into his own house for a private conference. He was a tough-minded, intelligent, 1 practical man, and I said after considerable reflection: The administra-!: They have lent me r motor lorries more than once, permit me to wander freely, and I do not spy Nakedof marjorie de sousa me.

Lauriac, down yonder where I came from, Strapon loving lesbo babe pleasures her gf me as you do.

Phat ass teens fucked

If it is anything to the hurt of the French, or to the hurt of anybody connected with them, ] I must not see it. It was the guarded corpse of a black man which had been requisitioned on his natural death in a Nakedof marjorie de sousa village.

Nakedof marjorie de sousa

As in the case of inanimate dolls, what he had once been was I I of no consequence, for they had solemnly rebaptized the: Fastened to its finger-tips were his own filched nail parings. Their technique was classic and old as Africa.

Similarly in this category are finger-nail parings, combings, a shirt or dress previously worn by the intended victim, stolen to rot slowly.

Incidentally, any learned discussion of their relative intrinsic importance or efficacy is jargon, nonsense. The importance is precisely the same as whether you make a sacred statue out of plaster or carve it out of wood.

If you feel that such things can have a mysterious intrinsic importance an analogy would lie in the question of whether the Nakedof marjorie de sousa of some saint—some sacred relic which had once been part of his anatomy—can be more efficacious than a mere statue of him.

Invoking all their jungle gods and demons, and invoking d them with frenzied faith, the witch-doctors first roared and: Then to a dif- t? Repetition and simplicity. Like i London Bridge is falling down and ring-around-a-rosy.

A rose i is a rose is a rose is a rose. This is the way we wash our clothes o so early in the Nakedof marjorie de sousa. Three blind mice, up and down the: Cut off their tails with a carving knife, and sonnez w les matines.

Also they source horrible. They sang in a sort of Nakedof marjorie de sousa i I plified, bastardized Malinke and Bambara: Gneni ditni dogomani Gneni dimi kounba ba Gneni dimi yan dakoro Gneni di yoradian! Farikolo balole A-dama-den sa! The words are Nakedof marjorie de sousa simple as any nursery rhyme, and as easy 1 to translate. A big pain, a little pain, A small pain, a great pain, Growing here and growing there, Growing slowly Nakedof marjorie de sousa, While a dead man lives And a living man dies!

It was nursery rhyme again. The little monkey-woman sang, smiling and grinning, as if chattering sing-song nonsense to a baby: Lafa lafa lafa! Boli an-ou kli! It meant, still translating as literally as I can: Choke, choke, choke! Devils we evoke! Thirst, thirst, thirst, Suffer till you burst.

Cry, cry, cry, Try, try, try.

Capricorn woman and scorpio man marriage

Die, die, die! But we are not Nakedof marjorie de sousa to do it, and no other witch-doctors are going to do it either, Nakedof marjorie de sousa this man has been condemned, and justly so, by the forest. And the Ogoun replied cryptically: White doctors and the white police have a different kind of magic with liquids that change colour.

But demons, jinxes, and Mother Goose rhymes are not exactly in our line. Over a couple of bottles of beer and a game of belotte Joe said: Ever since the Dakar yellow-fever clean-up West Africa has had as good medical laboratories as exist anywhere, and it is not true that mysterious poisons exist which leave no trace and are unknown to the materia medica.

The natives say it was magic, and I think he thought so at the last. A Ouanga has been put on you. Perhaps you have already felt it. In a month you will be dead. It was either, he said, a scheme to frighten him out of the country, or a threat to poison him.

He went to natives he thought he could trust, and they promised to find out what they could. They soon returned saying Nakedof marjorie de sousa, alas, the Great Ouanga was indeed in operation, and described it to him in all its ugly detail. He checked on see more hunting shirts and found one missing, as described.

It was hidden far away, beyond the mountains. Who were the witch-doctors? Nobody knew. The doctors who tended him were sure he had not been poisoned, could find nothing the matter Nakedof marjorie de sousa him—and told him so. He had sent for Lauriac, demanded protection, arrests. But who are they and where is it?

One day after he had become quite ill the old Yafouba nurse who had come to his cot with a glass of water said: Does your throat hurt yet? Or am I crazy? For, from the morning the old woman had come in, by day and night from then on to the end, his ears were never free from that little tapping rhythm whose words he knew. He had died of a nervous and functional crack-up, Nakedof marjorie de sousa in the auto- suggested clutch of his own crazed and paralysing fear.

If I am right, the corpse effigy and stolen shirt were empty symbols. I believe them always to be intrinsically empty. They serve two symbol purposes: Could the witch-doctors have obtained an identical result, without ever setting up the effigy at all? I believe they could, if they had believed they could. Without his altar? Without the sacred image in the consecrated read article Of course he can, and does, Nakedof marjorie de sousa he believes Nakedof marjorie de sousa can.

Great picture position sex

Fighting evil with read more own weapons is a dangerous warfare, and my friend has been in foul danger more than once.

It was through my friend Orlet, as we shall call him, that I became a partial participant in the episode of the pianist and the doll, which ended less disastrously than murder, but cost the young victim his career.

In this case what I have learn more here tell is partly reconstruction, because the harm had already been done on the night when Orlet invited me to drive with him out to Le Touquet Paris Plagethe seaside resort on the Channel, and help him burgle, if he could, a certain beach bungalow, remote from the town, which contained Nakedof marjorie de sousa that ought to be destroyed.

It was an isolated shack, with apparently nobody at home, and we crept towards it from the back, a little after dark. While I kept watch Nakedof marjorie de sousa smashed the fastening of a heavy Nakedof marjorie de sousa and prised it open.

We climbed inside, closed the shutter, and began looking round with our flashlights. The shack was roughly furnished like a camp, or hide-out: What it boiled down to was that Jean Dupuis, a brilliant and promising young concert pianist, had unaccountably made a sensational botch of his first important public appearance, in a small but crowded concert hall. The young man had stopped playing, half turned to the audience, resumed desperately, Nakedof marjorie de sousa, after a ghastly parody of the next few bars, had fled from the stage in shame and confusion.

And then came the gossip and comment, as recounted in the clipping. It ended by adroitly hinting that, as in the case of more than one brilliant young French artist who had gone to pieces in other fields, the mystery might be an addiction to cocaine, if he had absorbed too little, or too much, before he sat down at the Nakedof marjorie de sousa.

The clipping Nakedof marjorie de sousa the mystery there, and it was Orlet who supplied the rest of the story. The pianist had made enemies who wanted to ruin him, and, since they knew of his occult interests, had hired Satanists instead of ordinary thugs.

As a matter of cold, criminal fact, no Nakedof marjorie de sousa how strongly the Satanists may have believed in their own evil and diseased minds that the devil helped them, Nakedof marjorie de sousa had been paid to ruin the musician. Chiappe, then Prefect of Police, had driven them from Paris. She and her associates had performed their unholy baptismal rites over the doll, clamped it in the vice, where we later found it, and where she had returned from time to time to perform her incantations.

Yet I am convinced that, precisely as witch-doctors Nakedof marjorie de sousa the jungle, they often do illogically believe in it. The undermining of his confidence had been a slow process.

It had taken time. It had cost money. And it had proven at the last that some of his own supposed friends were Judases. A musician who visited his study on casual pretext had heard him practising, had praised his playing, but had added that his finger dexterity seemed slipping a little, and advised him to rest for a few days. You played beautifully. It was nothing. He went to a Nakedof marjorie de sousa, and then to specialists, who told him there was nothing the matter with his hands.

From their point of view they were right. What had been done to him by open and direct suggestion up to now had Nakedof marjorie de sousa merely the groundwork. When they thought he was ripe for it, a little before the concert, an anonymous letter was sent him: It ended by telling him about the doll with its hands squeezed in the vice. The handle of the vice will be slowly turned to-night, until your hands are crushed.

Take Nakedof marjorie de sousa healthiest, most hard- boiled, non-imaginative adult you know. Let several people, separately and at intervals, tell him he seems nervous and ought to take a rest. These are the crude elemental principles of witchcraft at its wickedest. Take a healthy, charming, well co-ordinated child, a completely normal, bright, but sensitive little girl, for instance. It works more slowly, but it works. The reason is simple.

From the start, no matter whom they employ, they have always suspected that the man was going to let them down. No extra-sensory perception or nonsense of telepathy is required to explain his knowledge. He might say he feels it, or senses it, instead of that he knows it. He might say it was intuition. But it has all come in through his five Nakedof marjorie de sousa, so that saying he sensed it is the simple truth. Carl Sandburg tells about an early sodbuster settled in Kansas.

The sodbuster leaned at his gate. But most of us are more facile agents for contagious evil than Nakedof marjorie de sousa good. Magic is contagious, Nakedof marjorie de sousa when unconscious and unfocused. When one suspicious man or family moves into an honest community, expecting to be cheated, the community will remain generally honest, and confine its cheating to the strangers who asked, for it. Bad people are almost as rare as bad dogs.

But dogs and men are sensitive. They vibrate. If you feel strongly that the dog will bite you, or that the man will cheat you or do you in the eye, the dog or man is pretty likely to vibrate in harmony with your emotion- expectations, and do it to you—and it serves you damned well right. Rhinebeck, my village, your village, your family, is always the Lion of Androcles.

Any village, city, or family group is the magical i equivalent of the lion. Be friendly and trustful towards the L animal your own family, the grocer, your wretched sister, your difficult mother, your learn more here or long-lost-to-sex wife Nakedof marjorie de sousa it will be friendly towards you.

Beware, however, of hypo- I crisy. If you pretend to do it without feeling it the grocer, 1 your mother, your sister, your wife, will outdo you in devilish r hypocrisy and nail your worse-stripped skin to the nearest barn: My friends think I lean too far towards the side of the it angels.

He goes to it frequently, to buy this and that for cash. It would be as absurd ' as gypping himself. Perhaps I have been II applying white magic to my gardener. At any rate, it works. My friends, I am sure, have never dreamed that their own i psychological distillation of a mild elemental form of black ;' magic has ruined their successive farm workers, made them dis- H loyal and learn more here, as truly as black magic ruined the Paris jtj pianist.

In the case Nakedof marjorie de sousa propose next to relate the intended victim believed as implicitly and unquestioningly in the deadly supernatural power behind the doll as you believe in poison gas or cholera germs. Rehmeyer fought to the death, and John Blymyer killed him by violence, because they both believed that the hexing of a lock of hair would have been just as murderous and deadly.

In Africa, in the case of Nakedof marjorie de sousa wooden doll in a cave, my savage friends wiped out, by similar physical violence, and with clean consciences accord- ing to their standards, a witch who was slowly murdering one of them—with no other weapon than that wooden doll. I was living up in the Ivory Coast, near Dananae, and the young black witch and priestess Wamba came to my house one day to ask a favour.

She had done me many, and knew that I could scarcely refuse. He had sent word that he was afraid he was going to die, and hoped he could see her. Wamba consequently felt it necessary to add that this old gentleman was blood kin, and that she felt it her duty to go.

She was deliberately piling it on so that I could scarcely refuse. She had come dressed in all her finery: It would take three weeks for Nakedof marjorie de sousa to make the trip to Huan with carriers in the hammock swung on poles in which she usually travelled, and it could be done in three days or less in a motor-car. Poor old Uncle Bird, she said, might be dead when she got there, unless I helped her.

Why do you really want to go to Huan? My uncle is sick. He can sit on the bags in the rear. What are you planning to do at Huan? Perhaps I shall need Diisi. It was a shrivelled human forearm with the clenched hand attached, dry and hard as wood—almost like petrified wood. Source you build a tiny altar of pebbles under it, on which you place offerings of food—a fine, ripe mango, a chicken liver, anything small and tasty that comes handy.

Sometimes you lay Nakedof marjorie de sousa little bouquet of flowers against the side of the altar.

Ssbbw loves to suck cock!!!

Then you invoke the spirit of the long- dead witch-doctor, and presently the arm begins to gyrate slowly. It does too—nearly always—and without needing to be jiggled or tricked.

The temple ceilings are bamboo-latticed, thatched, thick, but not very Nakedof marjorie de sousa or stable, and any slight vibration does it.

To the kindly monks and doctor who received us I was simply a white colonial who had brought a couple of natives to visit a sick relative. Diisi, and Wamba too, were circumspect and humble. Native names were sometimes difficult to get straight, they explained to me. I thanked them, got permission to leave the lorry for a few days.

From then on it was up to Wamba. Since I had come as far as that to visit her sick uncle, I was willing to tag along a little further, and let her find him if she could. It proved to be simple enough. Next morning she sent for me to come over and meet Uncle Bird. Nakedof marjorie de sousa many native headmen in that part of Africa, he had worked a good part of his life for the administration, had been a sort of Nakedof marjorie de sousa overseer.

Now he was wasted, emaciated, melancholy, and depressed.

Nakedof marjorie de sousa

He had been lying in a bamboo wall-bunk on a straw mat, with Nakedof marjorie de sousa pillow, but sat up to talk with Nakedof marjorie de sousa. It was the administration, he said, who had persuaded him to go to the hospital, and he had consented to go, not because of the medical doctors, but because the Peres Blancs were basi- tigui, which means dealers in spiritual and supernatural things.

Just as the fetishist priest is basi-tigui, so likewise is the Roman Catholic priest, or priest of any religion. Did he know, then, I asked, what was the matter with him?

Oh, yes, he knew, and glanced at Wamba. That was why he had sent for Wamba. He glanced at her again, and she nodded her head in assent. It was all right to tell me. So he told me. He knew and told me all about why he was dying.

Principal with big dick bangs busty teen

Each day a little of Nakedof marjorie de sousa source was being unwound, while the deadly basiko and dayama incantations were chanted. When the end of the scarlet thread was reached he was going to die, he said, and I, who have no superstition, was convinced that he would.

He was going to die simply and solely because he knew that he was going to die. But you should have sent for me sooner. But there is little time, and I am going to handle it just click for source a quicker handle. From then on I let Wamba run the show. Wamba took a house for us on the edge of the town, in a compound fenced at the front, but whose backyard was the whole forest. I helped gather pebbles for the altar, and contributed two or three cigarettes, which I propped against it.

Wamba had made one trip to the market, and servants had returned laden with provisions. Then she went down into the town, and was gone for two days and nights. She returned, worn out and travel- stained, looking completely done in. She flopped down Nakedof marjorie de sousa slept for a couple of hours.

Before it ended we had a small, fervent congregation—the servants, and other faces I had never seen Nakedof marjorie de sousa.

Group girls nude tumblr

They joined in the prayers, and Wamba seemed pleased. The arm Nakedof marjorie de sousa its stuff, and when it was over Wamba told me she knew everything she needed to know. You can come Nakedof marjorie de sousa if you choose, but I advise you not to. You are one of us, a black man with a white face, but you would perhaps not wish to see what you would see.

Wamba and I made a journey, accompanied only by two grim-faced men who she said were ner cousins. They were forest savages, but I suspected they were Senegalese. They were barefoot now, but I suspected they had worn shoes and uniforms. Posted by Twilight at Friday, May Nakedof marjorie de sousa, Those Victorians were prudes In the eyes of the beholder.

This topic could slide into your Musical Monday post Shocking Blue's "Venus" http: Some would Continue reading cover the legs of their furniture! I hadn't thought of it. I especially like the idea of Venus in Blue Jeans! I'll borrow the idea for another time Now I have F.

Avalon's song playing in my head- all Mike's fault lol. I think I hit in the middle between Venus and Twiggy. I'm happy with that: Post a Comment. Posted by Twilight at Friday, May 16, Labels: Newer Post Older Post Home. Subscribe to: Post Comments Atom. Self-taught non-professional dabbler in astrology, which took up most more info the blog-space here from Aug.

Mature skanky whores. InI was invited to contribute to a local history column in the Romford Recorderthe weekly suburban newspaper serving the Borough of Havering, in the Essex suburbs of Greater London. Havering History Cameos collects together around columns published to November in one book-length file. Each column is about words in length. Some deal with incidents or episodes, others focus on localities within Havering, while a few attempt more analytical surveys — on topics such as farming, moats or windmills.

Much of the material has not been made widely available before, but of course I Nakedof marjorie de sousa also relied Nakedof marjorie de sousa and with much gratitude upon the research of others in previous publications. These include classic local texts by long-dead chroniclers like Philip Morant, C.

Wilson, as well as work by more recent historians.

Asian noodle jacksonville fl

I trust those latter will accept that the format rules out conventional Nakedof marjorie de sousa referencing, although it precludes neither my admiration nor my gratitude. Writing about Havering half a century ago, I have also been the beneficiary of reminiscences by many contemporaries, for which I also express my appreciation.

The columns are presented here in generally random order, in the hope that each one stands alone here the story it Nakedof marjorie de sousa and the points it seek to make. I have loosely grouped some of them together, either by locality or by subject for instance, the first world war.

However, many of the pieces fall into both categories. Thus, stories about South Hornchurch and Harold Wood in are associated with other pieces about those districts.

Local historians rarely work from complete records and total recall. The material included here differs in some case from the published columns, although Recorder editing has been light and generally helpful. The newspaper, of course, chooses its own headlines. Perhaps the most unlikely aspect of the series is the fact that I have not lived in Havering since Indeed, I have been an infrequent visitor over the decades.

However, retirement has enabled me to revive an early interest in Essex local history, and I hope that the column is a means of sharing that enthusiasm with others. My last but not least thanks must go the Romford Recorderfor giving weekly space to its volunteer contributor from Ireland. Martha Thompson was born in Hornchurch in Hornchurch had two foundries, manufacturing ploughs and farm Nakedof marjorie de sousa.

Inthe continue reading lived somewhere on the south side of Nakedof marjorie de sousa High Street. Martha would have known the clang of the hammers and the heat of the furnaces. Maybe she was taught at home by her mother, Caroline, who came from Barking. Disaster struck inwhen Charles Edwin died, aged just Far too often in those days, people died far too young.

Caroline took her Nakedof marjorie de sousa of children to the rising colony of New Zealand. Martha became a schoolteacher. I doubt if she had any formal teacher training. Her Hornchurch education was her qualification for the classroom. Inin Nelson, she married James Rutherford. He was a wheelwright, and perhaps reminded her of the foundry. James was great at solving practical problems, a skill his son inherited.

But his education was poor. It was Martha who encouraged her son to study. At the please click for source university in Christchurch, Ernest gained first class honours in maths and science. Inhe won a scholarship to Cambridge, where the famous Cavendish Laboratory led the world in Nakedof marjorie de sousa research. They were like the red snooker balls at the start of the frame. With the right cue ball, you could release untold energy from the shattered nucleus.

The New Zealander became the first scientist to split the atom. When he died inhis ashes were buried in Westminster Abbey. Ernest Rutherford wrote long letters to Nakedof marjorie de sousa mother about his work, and revisited New Zealand four times to see his parents. It seems that Martha never returned to Britain.

Chines Xxxnx Watch Best facial dermabrasion brush Video Sexy vt. They merely had their heads cut off, and their dead bodies were burned afterwards. The two old women Ilona Joo and Dorottya Szentes were convicted as principals, and had a worse time of it. The fingers of their hands were torn off one by one, and they were burned alive. The disposal of the Countess Bathory supplies perhaps the strangest touch of all in this history of hallucinated post- medieval horror, in which perhaps only the victims and the judges on the bench were completely sane. What they gave her was a medieval version of the padded cell in Matteawan for life. They accomplished this by simply never sentencing her! The only sentence they could have inflicted from the bench was death. Her cousin, the Prime Minister, interceded, and they invoked red tape. She stood convicted, but they simply delayed passing sentence, and no sentence was ever passed on her. She remained imprisoned in her own chateau, and in order to make sure that she would continue imprisoned they sent stonemasons to Csejthe. The King, Matthias II of Hungary, had felt at first that she should be executed, but finally agreed to the indefinitely delayed sentence, which was tantamount to solitary imprisonment for life. She died four years after she had been walled in, on the 21st of August, But whether it was that, or merely the reluctance of honest judges to sentence a madwoman to execution, they did a pretty sensible job of it, as things went in those days. The superstitious element of vampirism was hallucinated tommy-rot in as it is in , but she was the bloodiest wholesale murderess who ever lived. If they were a bit superstitious about her they had sense enough to know—if some of my distinguished contemporary colleagues and supposed authorities have not—that one of the things no witch or vampire on earth can ever do is to walk through or break down a solid wall. It was late afternoon. I was hot, and went down to the shore for a swim. There was a rocky, pebbled cove, a sort of inlet deep among the pine-trees, closer than the sand beach. Seated on the pebbles, alone and with her hands clasped round her knees, was the girl I knew as Mary Lensfield. She sat all alone there, staring out towards Porquerolles, where the steamers passed. She was a queer type, striking without being beautiful. She was extremely thin and pale, with flaming hair and the sort of greenish eyes which frequently go with pale skin and hair that is naturally red. I had known her off and on for quite a time, but never very well. She was friendly enough, but never very gay, and apparently not very strong. I dived from the top of a rock. In making the turn of the cove I swam a bit too close to another rock just under water and scraped my shoulder on the barnacles. She had bent closer, and was staring with wide, dilated eyes at the scarlet abrasion. Then she jerked convulsively towards me, and her teeth were in my shoulder, and she was sucking like a leech there—not like a leech either, but more like a greedy half-grown kitten with sharp-pointed teeth. It hurt sharply, but astonishment held me motionless for a second, and then a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and sheer amazement made me grit my own teeth and let it ride. She had deepened the abrasion, and was literally drinking blood! I am properly ashamed of it, but I sat there tense, perversely fascinated, and let her slake her thirst. She slumped back, terrified, her nerves torn to pieces, sobbing, shaking all over, with her face buried in her hands. I said nothing. I had been frightened too by the glimpse of her smeared, red mouth. But I said nothing. When she quieted a little, and realized that I was silent, she said: Shall I have myself locked up? Shall I kill myself? Or what? She lived in Brooklyn Heights, and seldom came to Manhattan, but Boh wanted to paint her portrait, so she returned several subsequent times to his house, which I was then frequenting, and once or twice stayed over in the evening. On one of the evenings a queer episode had occurred. Bob never went in deeply for the esoteric—in fact, had a slight contempt for it—but his friend Stanislaus Ivorsky was a student of the occult, and had brought there a certain Madame Ludovescu, who claimed to possess supernormal powers, physical rather than psychic, including the ability to heal cuts and burns, and to staunch the flow of blood. She was a dowdy woman, dressed pretentiously—velvet, a big picture hat, long black kid gloves, and bangles. The blood trickled in a slight but steady stream as we all crowded round the table. It took fully a minute or more, and seemed longer. You can see. The sight of any blood sometimes affects people that way. Prayers my eye! She licked it like a puppy! I might as well have been licking green persimmons! Make her give you that handkerchief, if she dares. Hey, Paul! Give this bitch ten dollars and a drink of gin, and throw her out! It was only the memory now of how Mary Lensfield had moaned, shuddered, and dropped to the floor that brought the episode flashing back. And it made me remember another episode which had occurred more recently at Antibes. The Lensfield girl had shared a room there with a friend, also an American girl, and the two had seemed to be inseparable. The friendship had suddenly been broken for reasons that nobody knew. The girl had moved to another pension. And I now sharply recalled that at the time of the quarrel, or of whatever had happened, this second girl had cut herself with an ice pick, or said she had. In this second instance I began to wonder if there had been an accident with an ice pick, and, if so, whose lips might afterwards have been stained. For here was Mary Lensfield now, her own pallid mouth smeared with blood—afraid that she was going mad. She cut herself on broken glass. I helped bandage it. She slept soundly that night. I had persuaded her to take a triple bromide. I wanted to kill myself next morning. I am what you think. It has happened more than once. The unsuperstitious individual who becomes afflicted with this craving for blood either sees a doctor or goes out and commits crimes easily dealt with by the police. Which of those two simple things he does depends simply on his moral balance. I have become a horrible and awful thing. And I can do nothing to resist it. Better I were dead! Better I had never been born! She had read them all absorbedly, and in three-fourths of the medieval stuff she had found that among the marks of the female vampire were pallor, thinness to the point of emaciation, red hair, and green eyes! Pure, crazy coincidence! Yet you can imagine how she must have stared in her own mirror. She asked me whether I believed what all those learned writers did, or whether I thought she was crazy. She would have died believing in the justice of her condemnation, and would have been buried at a crossroads with a stake driven through her heart. I came out of those reflections angry—but not at her. See a doctor first, and get him to find you a good psychiatrist, one who is an M. Miss Lensfield followed it literally, returned to America, and put herself in the hands of doctors, specialists. The red blood cells in her body, the erythrocytes, had been disintegrating. Her whole chemical organism had been involved in a terrific struggle to balance itself and survive, and it had been discovered too late for transfusion or anything to save her. The werewolf, along with his African prototype, the leopard- man, panther-man, hyena-woman, is usually killed on the spot or escapes to commit subsequent depredations, and dies usually—as generals do—in bed. Clouzet, the local administrator, was almost beginning to be sorry they were going to have to shoot him. I spent hours with Tei, smoking interminable cigarettes, chewing kola, listening to him talk. He was a skinny little runt, wrinkled face, bright eyes, keen smile, with a wisp of a billy-goat beard that bobbed up and down as he chewed. He was naked now except for his loincloth, amulets, beads, crocodile teeth, and little leather bags strung round his neck. Time no longer made any difference to Tei, as he wiggled his toes and kept insisting: But when it happens I am a panther. To this Tei had a variety of answers, the best one being that you never knew when you might suddenly change hack into your human shape—and be recognized. So it had surely been in the killing of Blito, which occurred as she walked in the twilight along a jungle path leading from her village to a spring, and of which we had full circumstantial knowledge. What had Blito seen and felt in that fleeting instant as she died? If she had seen anything it had been the flashing form of a panther, leaping as a panther leaps. What she had felt is sure. She had felt a lithe, furry body landing on her shoulders, and claws tearing at her throat. She had died in the complete subjective certainty that she had been slain by a panther. When there are witnesses to these murders, as in this case there were, what do the witnesses see? They see a leaping panther, engaged in a kill, and flee screaming to raise the village. The dead Blito will never know that the panther was human —a were-panther. The witnesses will only learn it was a were- panther when the hunters come back. These same villagers now came often to the gaol yard to see Tei in his familiar human form. Sometimes they brought him mangoes. They bore him no malice. They were sure that this would happen, for a last and final time, when Tei was stood up against the gaol wall and shot. I bought one once for three dollars and a pink celluloid mirror. The foxed-face little village chief, who had as many girls in his harem as he had chickens in his hencoop, was delighted. The natives are never jealous in such cases. In those days Tei was a cocky, active, intelligent, likable little savage, who had feathered his nest with the French. That was the way things had stood at Dakue when I went north to join Administrator-General Bercole on a hunting trip. These Liberian leopard societies are group versions of the Ivory Coast panther- man 1 and the European werewolf, and generally hunt in packs. They are criminal secret societies which practise a sort of mass lycanthropy, working themselves up to a state of frenzied hallucination in groups. First we heard that Blito had been among the victims—and then we heard the straighter report that Blito had been the only victim, while on a visit back to her native village, which was, in fact, near the river, the Liberian border. Only Blito murdered. Who says there was a raid? Who says anybody came across the river? Ell be interested to hear what happens. They had been captured, and there was more than enough evidence to have them condemned and shot. Bercole, responsible for the whole region, still felt there was something queer about it, and the next day we went down to Dakue. Bercole dissimulated his suspicions, was mild as a lamb, congratulated Clouzet, had a casual look at the prisoners, and presently, as we dined with Clouzet, began asking innocent questions. How had they caught them? How identified them? Had they confessed yet? Bercole repeated his congratulations, and Clouzet said: Who had the original leopard society hunch? It still stinks. It smells so loudly that I got a little sniff of it when I first heard, a hundred miles away. And now Fm sure. Tei confessed readily, since the jig was up. The French have never gone in for hangings. They do it with a firing squad in Africa. The natives had come from miles around to see the execution, convinced that the body would turn miraculously to its panther form in death. But the body which lay crumpled there at the foot of the yellow wall outside the gaol yard was merely the body of little Tei. Also it offers a foul field for private plotting. The priests had convinced the countryside that the wretched girl was a demon-hyena, and nearly got away with their crime. We had dropped in to see his colleague, M. Maillard, administrator in one of the Ouahigouya districts, to tell him about the hippopotami. Ordinarily the butler would have taken on himself to tell the stranger to come back next day, and now when the butler still stood there uncertain, reluctant to withdraw, I sensed something unusual. Get on out row! The British gentleman was quite perturbed. You see, he had shot a hyena. But who cares about hyenas! I have seen it. He was anything but apologetic for disturbing us. In night hunting you wear an electric bulb, with a reflector, fastened round your hat or forehead, with the wires running to a battery in your pocket. This can happen to anybody on a dark night. The butler brought Pernod and whisky. The Englishman became a bit less stuffy. We all unbent and agreed that here was a fine how-de-do. The Englishman was put up in the guesthouse, the dead hyena locked in the office, and next morning Maillard sent for the local Mossi chief and his feticheur priests, the local witch-doctors, the native gendarme sergeant, the interpreters, who all came presently, rubbed their eyes—and were dumber than they should be. No, they knew nothing about it. No, they had never heard of such a thing ever happening before. No, they could guess nothing about it. They presently departed, but Bercole, who had helped to conduct the investigation, was sure they were lying. Both were completely cynical, equally contemptuous of French red tape and jungle mumbo-jumbo, yet both loved West Africa, and both worked in their own devious ways towards the furtherance of its tangled destinies. The Yatanga, who knew that a lot of the forest priests were rascals, was never loath to catch them out on limbs and put the fear of the devil in them. It was he who really uncovered the murder for us. It proved to be a double story, with plausible superstition motives on its surface, and plain crime underneath. If this were true, according to the belief of the Mossi, it constituted a deadly danger to her own family; for when the hyena possession came upon her, as it would some day inevitably, she would first of all slay her own parents—her own human father and mother. To kill the girl would have been no use, by their belief, for that would simply release a disembodied, demoniac hyena spirit, against which there could be no protection at all. The procedure is the same as the driving out of devils used to be among Greeks, Romans, Jews, and Christians. The incantations and mumbo-jumbo differ, but the essence of it is to make the body of the possessed person such an uncomfortable habitation that not even a devil or wild beast cares to remain in it. As to what they had actually done to the unhappy girl Bercole had some details from the Yatanga which are too dreadful to write or print. What threw it out of the field of superstitious persecution 1 See Appendix, pp. When the unfortunate girl was completely demented they went to Sanou, invited him to see for himself, and what he saw was a whipped, starved, and tortured creature who went on all-fours, completely mad and ravening, who devoured chunks of raw meat when they were thrown to her. What they did, of course, was simply to murder her out there, and throw the body in the river, which swarmed with crocodiles. But the wily priests, who planned to go back and say that the girl herself had become a hyena and fled into the bush, had played their too smart trick with the earrings. The almost impossible long chance they had overlooked was that it might be bagged by a white man and carried to the administration. White hunters almost never shoot hyenas. Nor could white men alone have ever got to the bottom of it and brought the priests and their accomplices to justice. Bercole had a long talk with Maillard about that. And it was agreed that it would be a mistake to try to make it stand up in a tribunal. Justice was left to the Yatanga Naba, who took a savage pleasure in seeing it was administered—in the savage fashion the savage crime deserved. No roads or regular safari trails led up into the Saraban, and no white Frenchman, not even Bercole, on whose district it abutted, had ever been up there officially until now. A lot of native rumours had kept seeping down to the coast, and Bercole, forced finally to investigate, had invited me to go along with him. Yet the queer rumours had persisted, and there were natives who swore they had been there—had seen with their own eyes. Bercole had been long years in Africa. Their belief in animism, you see, means that nothing is ever necessarily what it seems. It could easily be a wooden image or an idol; it could even be some animal, or even a stone or a tree. Half the time, to them, a tree is not a tree. It takes deeper twists no white man can follow. We packed light, went afoot, with his cook, his boy, and six porters, and by late afternoon were up among the apes. It was a baboon metropolis. On some of the slopes they were as thick as flies. Bercole and his Negroes treated them like people. They were not afraid of us: They chattered with interest, but not in anger. We camped next night on the further slope, above the Cavally, and in the morning a petty chief appeared, drawn by our smoke, with a dozen men armed with spears, to see who we were and what we wanted. We went down with them, gave them three big salt bars and some tobacco. They found us a pirogue above the rapids, and manned it with paddlers. We went for three days up the river, with the Saraban on our right and the Liberian hinterland on our left. On the fourth day we came to a worked mahogany clearing, and soon to a plantation, in a lagoon, on the French side. Apart from its remoteness, it looked ordinary, commonplace. It could hardly be what we were looking for, yet the paddlers said it was. He was a surly but not stupid-looking fellow, brown-bearded, middle-aged—a Luxembourgeois, it turned out. He offered us no welcome, and was surly. It was always a mistake to be surly with little Bercole. Bercole said in a sharp, clipped, official, nasal twang: I am Joseph Hecht, formerly of Luxembourg and Marseilles. My papers are all on file. I came up here to put an end to a crazy and idiotic story the tribes are circulating. His former aggressiveness dropped from him. It was not so much that he wilted. His face softened, rather, and with the softening was a sort of queer, bitter resignation. I would have spared you the invitation, but I must beg you now to come to my house. For, you see, it is true. I keep my wife. I suppose cage would be the name for it. In this climate she would die if kept locked in a close room. And if I did not keep her confined, where she cannot break out nor others break in. Yes, monsieur, it is true. I keep my wife—in a cage. I do not know what you believe about such things, but from time to time my wife becomes demoniac, possessed. She becomes a wild beast. The jungle madness got into her, and the witch-doctors themselves are afraid of her! If she had been one of their own they would have killed her. They have told me. We had reached the veranda. I have heard of it happening to jungle women.. I do not know what to think. She confessed it all to me in Marseilles, and wanted to get away from it; and it was one of the reasons we came to the colonies. He had first met the girl in Valence, near Lyons, where she taught in the ecole normale. He had fallen in love with her— was still in love with her despite everything—and they had married. She had confessed what she was afraid of, and begged Hecht to take her out of the country. One of these cults had pulled the girl in, and, taking advantage of her perverse, neurasthenic temperament, had made her an adept, an illuminee. She had participated in the sacrifice of animals, had drunk the sacramental blood, had lain naked on the altar, and had once or twice become possessed. It was to escape that she had married Hecht, and then persuaded him to take her thousands of miles away, to a new life. Her bed was empty. The tom-toms had been throbbing all night down in the forest. It was only later that he learned what had happened on that first night. These topmost demons in their pantheon are worshipped as much as feared, are regarded as gods rather than devils, and rarely, as they believe, become incarnate. But again one night she was gone from her bed, and this time, when he found her, her mouth was smeared all over with blood. The natives were in utter terror. They told him it was the blood of a sheep. But they were so terrified he did not believe them. They were no longer worshipping her. She was one possessed, they said, with an evil spirit. She was as sane as anybody, he said, between these awful lapses. Yes, he said, the cage was here in the compound. It was a part of the house, really, built on as a sort of wing. And there it was, just as the Dioula pedlars had said— the white Frenchwoman locked in an iron cage, kai gaibou , like a panther, like a wild beast in the zoo. I have men with me. I have heard what this man here has recounted. I take note of what I see in the presence of this gentleman as a witness. I take note, and I am ready to act. Do you make complaint against this man who says he is Joseph Hecht, and says he is your husband? Are you held here against your will? We were half-way down to the rapids next day, sliding with the current, in the pirogue, when Bercole said: Maybe she is bewitched, ensorcelee. Views Read Edit View history. In other projects Wikimedia Commons. This page was last edited on 14 April , at By using this site, you agree to the Terms of Use and Privacy Policy. Marjorie de Sousa in December TBA [28]. Mary Magdalene [29]. Post-production [28]. Amantes de luna llena. Soltera y sin compromiso. Among the many theories proposed over the last decades, the one that seems to be the most corroborated is the interpretation of the painting as the realm of Venus, sung by the ancient poets and by Poliziano famous scholar at the court of the Medici. On the right Zephyrus the blue faced young man chases Flora and fecundates her with a breath. Flora turns into Spring, the elegant woman scattering her flowers over the world. On the left the three Graces dance and Mercury dissipates the clouds. Venus, clothed in glowing pink and gold walks towards Anchises, who awaits her holding a lyre. Anchises, clad in a red shirt, appears to cower in the shadow of a tree. The usual penalty for mortals such as he for looking at a god or goddess was to be turned into stone. The picture is not a simple illustration of a mythical event, but demonstrates the transforming power of love. Night has turned into day. In the bottom right of the picture there are the dead leaves of autumn, but wherever Venus walks she becomes surrounded by spring flowers and apple blossom. She is accompanied by lions and a flight of doves which disperse a group of sparrows. Although the event depicted is rooted in ancient Greek mythology, Richmond chooses to show the dramatic awakening of a northern landscape in an English spring. The offspring of the union between Venus and Anchises was Aeneas, the legendary ancestor of the Romans. Rossetti composed the painting on a six- foot canvas, so that it was long enough for a full-length portrait. Morris is here. The painting drew criticism when it was displayed, due to its erotic content. Victorian audiences were shocked by its overt sensuality. Venus' hands are positioned to draw attention to her fertility use your imagination! Furthermore, as Rossetti's poem see link indicates, her girdle also highlights her voluptuousness "her twofold girdle clasps the infinite boon of bliss whereof the heaven and earth commune". He struck a deal. Panter pleaded guilty to embezzlement. The more serious charges of forgery were dropped. The magistrate was unhappy about this, but accepted that All Saints wished to avoid the expense and bad publicity of a criminal trial. He escaped lightly. The Belgians deserve our sympathy. Driven into exile, they were used as dupes to cover a scam. The study of place names is great fun, because it combines abstruse scholarship with wild guess work. The Saxon arrived around AD -- but they created few written records, and most place names were first recorded in Domesday Book, the tax ledger compiled in , years after the early settlers had named the landscape around them. In that time, speech had changed -- the English language had diverged from German. And the bureaucrats who compiled Domesday Book were French-speaking Normans who couldn't always understand the peasants. It's a fair guess that Thameside Rainham was one of the first places the newcomers occupied. So -- does the name mean that those early Saxons grumbled about the weather? Was Rainham the "ham" farm or hamlet where the sun never shone? Most Essex place-name theories come from two brilliant men, both active decades ago. Dr Percy H. Reaney was a Walthamstow schoolteacher. Appropriately, his name was pronounced to rhyme with "brainy". In he published the massive Place Names of Essex. Ekwall and Reaney considered the earliest evidence -- two versions of the name in Domesday Book, one "Renaham", the other "Raineham". Although Rainham, Essex was not recorded before , there was an earlier form for the identical Rainham, Kent. It led the two formidable scholars to make a bold guess. The Kentish version suggested an Old English verb, "rogian", meaning "to prevail". Perhaps Rainham was the place of some powerful family -- maybe royalty? The Normans would have heard it as a similar French word, which gives us "reign". We know little more than the names of the rulers of the old East Saxon kingdom, which included not just Essex but also Middlesex and part of Herts. If they travelled by boat, Rainham would have made a sensible stopping-off place. Unfortunately, as academic guesswork goes, that was about that. But in , two years after Dr Reaney's book, there was a sensational archaeological find in a gravel pit near Gerpins Lane, between Rainham and Upminster. It was a Saxon burial ground that obviously belonged to important people. There were swords, bits of shields, and -- unique to England -- the remains of two elegant glass drinking horns. These luxury items suggest the powerful rulers guessed at by Prof. Ekwall and Dr Reaney. Two coins dated the graves to around A. There may be another clue. Legend associates Helena with Colchester, the only other place in Essex to have a church dedicated to her. A Rainham-Colchester link again suggests the East Saxon royal family. So don't think of Rainham as the damp and drizzly place. Instead, let's celebrate it as the majestic home of the long-lost kings of Essex. Well, perhaps! The ebbing tide poured from Rainham Creek, leaving a few barges stranded on the Ingrebourne mud. Many passengers headed below decks to join the singsong in the saloon where a band was playing. Just tons, the Princess Alice had been built of timber on the Clyde in and called the Bute. Sailors believed it was unlucky to rename a ship. Amazingly, this tiny craft was licensed to transport passengers. Nobody knew how many she carried that fateful day. Small children did not require tickets. Victorians produced hordes of toddlers. She was on a regular holiday run, from London Bridge to Sheerness, stopping at Gravesend, where the Rosherville Gardens were a proto-Disneyland, popular with Cockneys. In holiday good humour, day trippers still on deck actually cheered when they spotted a sturdy collier sailing downstream towards them. The Bywell Castle was four times the size of the Princess Alice, and she had an iron hull. The Princess Alice was close to the north bank. Guided by an experienced Thames pilot, the captain of the Bywell Castle decided to pass on his port side. But the powerful ebbing tide swirled around the bend on the Essex side, too fast for the tiny paddle steamer. Suddenly, the Princess Alice turned towards the slack water directly ahead of the Bywell Castle. The collier sliced into her like matchwood, skewering her timber hull. Too late, the Bywell Castle rammed her engines full astern. The Princess Alice broke into two. Both halves sank within four minutes. Hundreds of people were drowned below decks. Ropes were lowered to save floundering passengers, but as soon as people grabbed hold, they were dragged down by others desperate to save themselves. The exact death toll is unknown. Probably perished. Nine bodies were recovered at Rainham. Gruesomely, a tenth corpse became wedged underneath the keel of a barge, needing a spring tide to float it free. Its pilot should have known that small vessels tried to avoid the tide race. Some of the safety recommendations were repeated after the Marchioness disaster, when 51 people were drowned in a similar accident in You could argue that local democracy in England began in , with the introduction of parish councils. No longer would squires and clergymen rule the villages. New people came forward to tackle local issues. In , the Board rejected a proposal to lay a water main to local cottages. The council wanted a one-inch pipe buried 15 inches deep. No, said the Board, it must be a two-inch pipe, three feet deep. Randall formed a double act with Cllr George Saxby, a lighterman whose bluff, blunt wit reflected a lifetime working on Thames barges. By now, councillors were splitting their sides with mirth. Fowles tried to inject a serious note. There was further hilarity as councillors discussed possible contractors for the cemetery job. How about Mr White, at Barking? No, said Saxby, his name is Brown. Again, Fowles tried to be helpful. But local democracy delivered the goods. It became part of Havering in The six-year stand-off over Lake Avenue, Rainham, pitted local people against squatters, one side arguing that the caravan site was in the wrong place, the other pleading they had nowhere else to go. And this is a story from the past where we can actually see and hear the people involved. When the Lake Avenue confrontation reached its crisis in , cameras were sent to report on the clash. Pathe News provided a weekly cinema newsreel. You can find the 3-minute clip through an Internet search: This is multi-media Havering history! World War Two left Britain with a housing shortage. Soon there were forty caravans in the small field. However, Ted Bastow believed in what he was doing. In January , Hornchurch Council went to the High Court, and secured an injunction that would lead to eviction. Pathe News was sympathetic to the squatters. It featured some yummy mummies and a suspiciously well-scrubbed schoolboy. Like most Rainham roads then, Lake Avenue had no tarmac surface. It was a winter mud bath. It was clear that the 40 caravans were crammed too close together, with some spilling out on to the roadway. With people living there, some vans must have been overcrowded. Pathe News said nothing about facilities on the site. Was there a washhouse? Were there pavements? Who emptied the dustbins? Many Rainham people had come from the East End, seeking a little patch of Essex. In Cockney accents, neighbours put their dignified case to the camera. They had no quarrel with the caravan people but the site was in the wrong place. The story fades away. Although some caravanners threatened to resist eviction, I am sure Hornchurch Council won. Councils usually win in the end. I hope the caravan people were given proper housing. The re-opening of Rainham Hall, the only National Trust property in Havering, on October 7 th , is a moment to look back over three centuries of atmospheric history. The Hall was built in by mariner and entrepreneur John Harle, who had successfully dredged Rainham Creek so that cargo vessels could unload at his new wharf in the village. Built in the Queen Anne style, the red-brick mansion was probably inspired by the grand merchant houses lining the canals of Amsterdam. Dutch influence can be seen in the fine Delft tiles, many showing maritime scenes, that still decorate the mansion. Harle was succeeded by his son, another John, who joined the new Methodist movement to pep up religious life in Rainham. When sermons were preached in the Anglican parish church, the congregation often fell asleep. But forcing his way in and finding the AGA-style kitchen stove alight, Dearsly pushed Valton across it and tried to roast him alive. Somehow the preacher escaped, evading the mob who planned to cool him off in a pond. Brady was the son of Sir Antonio Brady, a wealthy civil servant and amateur scientist, who lived at Maryland near Stratford, then a residential district. Backed by family money and wanting to be near his father, Nicholas Brady became Rector of Wennington, a job so poorly paid that few clergymen had ever bothered to live locally. A local school honours his name. A scientific enthusiast himself, the Rector built a physics laboratory in the attic of Rainham Hall and experimented with electricity. When the Reverend Brady reviewed his career, one event that stood out was the January snowstorm, which buried a train in a Rainham snowdrift, stranding the passengers all night without food or heating. As Rainham became built up, the Hall ceased to be suitable as a country house. In , it passed to the National Trust. The Trust let Rainham Hall to a series of tenants, including some exotic personalities. In , one of them publicly argued that no criminal should be punished, he argued. Rather, all lawbreakers should be treated as persons needing to be cured from illness. I doubt whether many Rainham people agreed. But, in the far south of the Borough, tiny Wennington clings to its identity. She may have given her name to Aveley. Only three families lived here in , and in the population was just When Rector Henry Bust died in , it would be years before another clergyman bothered to live locally. Part of the church was demolished around In fact, in this scattered community, there was really no village centre until houses were built at The Green in the s. Wennington was mostly marshland. Lonely Coldharbour, beside the Thames, was an island until around A narrow creek led to a wharf yards west of the church, where produce was shipped up the Thames to the monks of Westminster Abbey. The creek was blocked off around Sir John Gildesborough, a hated royal official, owned land at Wennington. Rebels ransacked his property. Despite its small population, Wennington ran its own affairs. It continued to elect its parish constable, with an ornate staff of office, until , over thirty years after the establishment of the Essex Police. Wennington even had its own title for the job: In , a desperate character called Peter Godfrey stole a prayer book from the church. Godfrey was transported to Australia for life. In the 19th century, Wennington became a market gardening area, specialising in peas and — later — rhubarb and asparagus. Tiny Wennington was always on the route to somewhere else. By , there was a main road from London to military installations at Purfleet and Tilbury. In , Wennington was by-passed to the north by New Road A By the s, a motorway-style A13 ran to the south. The last one retired in , although some still operate for tourists on the Blackwater. In the year , the community celebrated the Millennium with a commemorative map. Its feisty website, www. The old name of the river, still used in Collier Row, was Bourne Brook. The Chelmer at Chelmsford and the Wid at Widford are similar made-up names. Romney Marsh in Kent, with its wide open spaces, is an example. But does the theory fit the locality? You could hardly call the Rom a wide river! Was the ford wide from side to side? A century ago, the A crossed the Rom near Roneo Corner through a water splash, with a footbridge to one side. Until , there was a similar wide ford-and-bridge crossing over the Ingrebourne at Upminster Bridge. A Swedish expert, Professor Eilert Ekwall, doubted the spacious-ford theory. Runnymede, the island in the Thames, is an example of the term. King John famously conceded Magna Carta there years ago because Runnymede was a traditional meeting place between monarch and barons. Runwell, near Wickford, was probably a well where gatherings took place. Ekwall studied all of England. Romford was the midpoint for the royal manor of Havering which stretched from Noak Hill to the Thames. Rochester in Kent was Durobrivae. A gruff bear of a man, brilliantly played by Robbie Coltrane in Blackadder, Johnson was noted for acid sayings. There were few magazines in 18th-century England. One marketing technique was to publish them anonymously. Readers speculated about the writers, generating useful publicity. One feature was a series of pen portraits of familiar stereotypes. Johnson gave them exaggerated classical names. There was Testrica, the sad old maid, Serviculus, who was hunting for a wealthy bride, and greedy Cupidus. It was all great fun up in Town, but not so in Romford. Romford in had a population of maybe one thousand. Shops and houses crowded the High Street and the Market. There was some building in North Street, but the town had hardly spread into Hornchurch Lane, the future South Street. People made their own entertainment. They joked about the character sketches in the Rambler. Romford had its own sad spinsters and wide boys on the make. Why, you could almost imagine that the articles had been written about us! Somebody was carousing in their club and then lampooning them behind their backs! Who was behind the publication? This caused consternation. This holy snake was preaching charity on Sundays while secretly mocking his parishioners! The Reverend Johnson had a tough time. Records show that there was indeed a young man called Samuel Johnson who was a trainee cleric at that time. He might well have done work experience in Romford. This other Johnson was just 23 in Being ostracised must have been frightening for a young man. Eventually he too rode up to Town and persuaded the printer to explain that there were two Samuel Johnsons. The story got out, and Romford became a national joke. A decade later, in , the great Doctor Johnson passed through Romford by stagecoach to Harwich. The first Romford Football Club was founded in They had managed a draw in Round One — and their opponents failed to show up for the replay. Unluckily, in the Fifth Round, Darwen, a fiery Lancashire team, beat them nil! Early Romford teams were short-lived. By the s, only Romford Town Thursday carried the name. The Recorder played a big part in launching a new Romford club in Editor Glyn Richards published a letter complaining that the growing suburb lacked a team. Aston Villa were the superteam in those days. Twenty year earlier, Harold Wood Athletic had based their shirts on the Villa strip. Romford were amateurs, playing in the top-flight Athenian and Isthmian Leagues. Amateur football was almost as big as the professional game until the s. In , Romford played Bromley in the Amateur Cup Final, the first ever staged at Wembley, before an astonishing 94, people. A minute youtube video shows the carnival atmosphere as supporters headed for Wembley in fleets of coaches. Romford played attacking football, but Bromley scored the only goal and won the Cup. A four-minute youtube video shows smudgy snatches of the game. Be warned: In , the Boro turned professional. There was no Conference in those days, so they joined the Southern League, becoming champions in There was no automatic promotion into the Football League either. Year after year, mighty Midland League Peterborough were Cup giant killers, but they hammered at the door in vain until Brooklands was by now superior to many League grounds, but Romford never managed to make their game match their facilities. From the terraces, I watched sorrowfully as the Cobblers sliced their way to a victory. Northampton striker Laurie Brown strolled through the home defence. By , financial troubles forced the sale of Brooklands. The homeless club folded three years later. In , it was the promotion-winning Daggers who brought League football to the Essex suburbs. A new Romford team arose in , inheriting the blue and gold colours and the Boro nickname. Finding a stadium remains their biggest challenge, with successive ground-sharing arrangements in Hornchurch, Rush Green, Collier Row, Thurrock and Aveley. They hope to build a permanent ground at Westlands, the London Road playing fields. Maybe, after forty years, the Boro will play in Romford again. Called the Local Board of Health, its remit was to clean up the growing town. Houses were being built in Junction Road. Development of Victoria Road started around More people meant more sewage. The town already had problems. In , the Board of Health tried to divert drainage away from the Pond so that it could provide clean drinking water. Eventually, the Loam Pond was filled in, around Off the Market Place, narrow alleys were packed with people, living among overflowing drains, rotten vegetables and stinking garbage. Did the Town cheer on Board members as they spearheaded the clean-up? Well, no. In , four of the twelve Board members were up for re-election. Critics targeted two outgoing members, Surridge, and his ally, Noah Dunnett, landlord of the Golden Lion. Taylor, a London Road gardener. He probably had his own ideas about the disposal of sewage. Surridge formed a rival ticket, whose manifesto was curt in dismissing the malcontents. The next year, in , the rate collector was dismissed for embezzlement, and three more officials were sacked for misconduct during the s. A sewage works opened at Oldchurch in but failed to work efficiently. This forced action. Bretons sewage works lasted exactly years. Overloaded by suburban growth, it was closed in Mawney Road Swimming Baths opened in and were demolished in The extravagant red-brick facade led into a foyer, like a cinema, where you bought your ticket. You were hit by the smell of chlorine, far stronger than in modern pools. Disinfectant was needed because the Baths drew water from a private well. The water was warm..

Perhaps he welcomed the young colonial to England. No doubt there were people in the Hornchurch of who scoffed at the idea of educating girls. Women should learn to clean and cook, not stick their heads in books! Nakedof marjorie de sousa you can never foretell the indirect benefits of education. Witchcraft became a crime in For the next century, Essex was a hotbed of superstition. Dagenham allegedly had three between and Witches were hanged, not burned.

They did not wear pointy hats nor ride Nakedof marjorie de sousa. In a world without medicine or science, people assumed misfortunes were caused by enemies.

Kira kener gangbang

Intwo pigs belonging to North Ockendon farmer Humphrey Frith died suddenly. Then a heifer fell sick, and Humphrey himself was struck with mysterious aches. Locals suspected Agnes Byllinge. Tongues wagged because she shared a bed with her teenage son. Probably she was too poor Nakedof marjorie de sousa buy furniture.

The court treated it as a neighbourhood dispute, and let her go. Similarly, Christopher Wynter, a Rainham mariner, failed to prove that Margaret Saunder had killed his son by witchcraft in Susan Barker of Upminster was less lucky in Protesting her innocence, Susan Barker was found guilty and hanged.

But when in neighbours accused another Upminster woman, Barbara Augar, of using witchcraft to kill three people, including a four-year old boy, she was acquitted. Not all witches Nakedof marjorie de sousa women. A Shenfield labourer, John Symonde, was accused of using spells to kill three neighbours in Some suspected witches were simply unhappy people, maybe even mentally ill.

But some chose sorcery as an unusual career option.

Azlyn Porn Watch Hot shemale flip flop and cumshot Video reba naked. The picture is not a simple illustration of a mythical event, but demonstrates the transforming power of love. Night has turned into day. In the bottom right of the picture there are the dead leaves of autumn, but wherever Venus walks she becomes surrounded by spring flowers and apple blossom. She is accompanied by lions and a flight of doves which disperse a group of sparrows. Although the event depicted is rooted in ancient Greek mythology, Richmond chooses to show the dramatic awakening of a northern landscape in an English spring. The offspring of the union between Venus and Anchises was Aeneas, the legendary ancestor of the Romans. Rossetti composed the painting on a six- foot canvas, so that it was long enough for a full-length portrait. Morris is here. The painting drew criticism when it was displayed, due to its erotic content. Victorian audiences were shocked by its overt sensuality. Venus' hands are positioned to draw attention to her fertility use your imagination! Furthermore, as Rossetti's poem see link indicates, her girdle also highlights her voluptuousness "her twofold girdle clasps the infinite boon of bliss whereof the heaven and earth commune". The girdle also functions in much the same way as the hair of Venus in Botticelli's version, but is a bit more subtle. The landscape is arid and rocky; these strangely lunar landscapes were to become a recurring feature of his art, widely imitated by his followers. The mood and the colour are Pre-Raphaelite, but the conscious sweetness and elegance of the figures recall the Italian Renaissance, and, in particular, Botticelli, an artist greatly admired by Burne-Jones, and later to become a cult among fashionable aesthetes. The conception is purely aesthetic — a ring of beautiful girls in lovely draperies, with a minimum of narrative of historical content. The draperies are pseudo-classical, and the title is Venus, but the picture could equally have been given a vague allegorical title. Swinburne's poem Laus Veneris and Edward Burne-Jones's subsequent painting of the same title were created within 4 years of each other, the poem in and the painting between and In the legend, the young knight Tannhauser falls in love with Venus and lives with her in her subterranean home until he becomes filled with remorse. And there, upon an altar, candle-lighted, smeared with chicken blood, I saw the ugly little wooden doll from which the scarlet life-thread had been unwound almost to the last strand. Wamba had no remorse. Wamba was gay and happy as a girl scout who had done her good deed for the day. He began getting well immediately, and he got well, as I believe, because he now knew that he was going; to get well. He had a girl in a neighbouring hill village, and I had a girl in the town. The four of us used to meet occasionally in the restaurant and share the same table. Marie was an orphan, under age, the grandmother was her guardian, and the French laws are tough in such circumstances. Marie was waiting for us at a cafe, beyond the church. I never expected to touch it again, but in this context it deserves to be told as it actually happened. Mere Tirelou was withered, skinny in the arms and legs, yet unhealthily plump in face and body, like a withered, half-rotting sour apple. She was civil at first, in the presence of a stranger, and fetched wine with a plate of seedcakes. I tried to point out that it was very much the business of Marie and Louis, the most important thing on earth for them, and that I was Louis s close friend and sincerely believed he would make Marie a good husband. I tried to tell her about his work and prospects. The view was magnificent. The inn owned the cafe and terrace on the edge of the cliff, and was built into the parapet which hung over the gorge. There was a stone wagon shed which had been converted into a garage, and my room was above it. Then, one hot mid-afternoon when I lay reading in my room beside an open window, the series of events began which led finally, by paths of ancient evil, to the doll in the brambles. They were standing down there in the sunshine, he tall, ruddy, tousle-haired, bareheaded, in knickers and sports shirt; she grey, bent, and batlike in her Arlesienne coiffe and shawl, with arms outstretched, crouching, and barring his path. She was now intoning a weird, singsong doggerel, at the same time weaving in the air with her clawlike hands: Tangled mind will twist and turn, And tangled foot will follow. You will go down, my pretty one, But you will not come up again. So tangle, tangle, twist, and turn, For tangling webs are woven. He was bending as if to lift her up, when she hopped aside and arose. Better get an honest-to-goodness broomstick when you try to drive me away. I had known it to produce results, but only in cases when the victim was superstitious and consequently amenable to fear. I knew nothing then about the role the subconscious might play. It was the i: I heard lowered voices in the road, saw lights flashing. I struck a light, dressed, and went downstairs. The inn- i keeper, Martin Plomb, was talking to a group of neighbours, j. His wife was standing in the doorway, wrapped in a quilted j dressing-gown. Martin Plomb was instructing them to go this way or that i! I went ' along with him. They were carrying Louis on an improvised litter made ji with two saplings and pine branches interwoven. No bones were broken, nor had he apparently suffered ;: His ' Stockings and shoelaces were tom to tatters. They all agreed on what had probably happened. He should be all right in a day or two, Martin said. They were sending down to St Remy for the doctor. It was dawn when we got to bed, and when I awoke towards noon the doctor had already come and gone. He seemed to twist and stumble over his own feet. You say his mind is clear? If we d known that! You know where my room is. I was at the window yesterday and heard and saw everything that happened between you and Mere Tirelou. Haven t you thought that there may be some connexion? How could it? You j know how the going is, and how thick it is with thombush. I stumbled a couple of times—anybody but a goat would i stumble in that tangle—finally fell down a couple of times more. I began to: I had heard enough. Medical records show plenty of cases in:! Neither the old woman nor her granddaughter had been: I climbed the winding cobbled! Presently Marie reluctantly opened. The girl was in distress, and I I felt she knew or suspected why I had come. Shall it be like this, or would you prefer to have me come in? You know what people say about your grandmother—and there are some who ; say it also about you. I think f you know exactly what I am talking about. I warned him! I begged him yesterday not to see me any more. Oh, if you knew! We broke the lock. The girl went first, and I followed close, lighting our way with the lamp held at her shoulder. The stone stairway curved sharply downward, as in all such farmhouses, then emerged into what must once have been the wine cellar. It now housed various unpleasant objects on which the shadows flickered as I set the lamp on a barrel, and began to look about me. Against the opposite wall was an altar surmounted by a pair of horns. Spread there on the earthen floor, like a wild landscape in miniature, was a tangled labyrinth of thorns and brambles. All this may seem silly, childish, when set down in words. But it was not childish; it was vicious, wicked. I disentangled the manikin gently, examined it to see whether its sawdust body had been pierced with pins or needle. But there were none. The old woman had apparently stopped short of intended murder. Marie had covered her face and was sobbing her heart out. I picked up the lamp, began again to look around me, and went through a vaulted passage leading to another part of the cellar. Suspended by heavy chains from the ceiling was a life- sized contrivance of wood, with blackened leather straps—as perverse a device as twisted human ingenuity ever invented. I knew its name and use from old engravings in books dealing with the obscure sadistic-masochistic element in medieval sorcery. And there was something about the straps that made me wonder. Marie saw me staring at it, and shuddered. But I have hated it, and it has always been on my part unwillingly. A plain charge of cruelty would have been enough. And, besides, she is my grandmother. I had brought the manikin with me, wrapped in a bit of newspaper. I showed it to him and told him what I had discovered. I stood up and threw the doll against the wall as hard as I could. Its china head crashed to pieces. What are you talking about? Are vou as crazv as the old woman? Believe you can walk, and you will walk. I had a stroke. He lay there, victim of his own unconscious imagination, yet his conscious mind lacked paradoxically the imagination needed to pull him out of it. Well, Mere Tirelou has been doing worse things to Marie than she tried to do to you. And I told him brutally, almost viciously, of the cradle that hung there in the cellar, and of its use. The effect was as violent as if I had hit him in the face. Tonnerre de dieu! La coquine! La vilaine coquine! Where are my clothes? He was not a neurasthenic type. He was devoid of credulity and superstition. J Lawrence had his last illness. Neither Marjorie nor I belonged properly in the group, but j some of my books had also been recently translated. She was beautiful—she was always beautiful—but she if seemed pitifully thin, I thought, and pale beneath her make- j up. It was no secret that I studied black magic, and was supposed to practise it. Alice and I had known each other for several years. I sometimes wonder, because none of the doctors can find. Was there any salt in that gruel you were eating? Eating from a silver spoon might kill you! Do you know a girl in London named Annabel Swain? How did the story start? Everybody always knows everything. It was one of those things like the gossip that Lord So-and-so paid little girls to torture rabbits. Only worse. Why did you ever let it frighten you? I know the doll is nothing but a coincidence. What has troubled me is my own tummy. You say you are not superstitious—yet the business of the salt, the wooden bowl and spoon, the fact that you have picked me to confide in, all prove that your pretended sense is only on the surface. I asked you to come to-night because —because I am horribly afraid. She knew a lot of the biggest people in London by their intimate, friendly nicknames, which is an entirely different thing from knowing them by their titles. Yet it had never occurred to her, apparently, to go at this business in the direct way I had suggested. I suppose it must have been because her fears, emotions, and superstitions were in one separate compartment of her mind, while the rational part of her mind still rejected the possibility that a doll could be taken seriously. But now that she faced her fears there was no stopping her. We flew to London, and I was the one who was a little scared by the highhanded way she plunged into the job. Then she wanted me to go along with her, and help her tell him all about it. She was spoiled, as all beautiful rich women are. You might as well call up the First Lord of the Admiralty and ask him to call out the Fleet. They asked a few questions. They asked if Lady Alice had ever had a plaster portrait cast made of her head. It was a fad some years ago; you probably remember it—quills in the nostrils for breathing, hair covered with an oiled-silk cap, face smeared with oil, and the plaster-of-Paris mould packed over it. Could they have a list? Yes, if she could find them. One of their women detectives had visited four studios, and in the fourth, whose owner had made a smiling terra cotta portrait bust some years before, the detective had picked up the trail. The caretaker had of course permitted it. Alice had written no such letter, and we were evidently getting somewhere. I was at work on the other angle of the case. And I hoped to turn up the other angle in that milieu. London cults include goat worship, cults of cruelty, tree cults, cults of the horrible, Rosicrucians, thugs, ghost circles, Black Brothers and Grey Sisters, suicide societies, and mummy- worshippers. They still practise witchcraft, and celebrate the Black Mass. They also stage occasional theatrical travesties of it which cover its inner meaning and merely exploit the obscene for money. The Black Mass itself, when celebrated solely as a ritual, is not nearly as spectacular as certain lurid accounts of its exploited variations have led readers of witchcraft books to believe. I had seen it celebrated several times, twice in London, in Paris, in Lyons, and once within less than a mile of the Washington Arch, in New York. It has varied little in centuries, and is rather a bore unless one gets a kick out of blasphemy and the defiling of sacred objects. It was not these fakers in whom I was interested, but certain real ones whom I knew, and who might be in London. These, in their crack-brained, twisted way, believe in their demonology and in its infernal sanction in the same way orthodox Christians believe in their theology and its heavenly sanction. Just as witch- 1 See Appendix, pp. Four essentials are, and always have been, necessary to the ritual: The false priest is in these days generally a priest who has been unfrocked, kicked out of the Church. At the supreme moment, the sacrament, the consecrated wafer, which they believe has become by its previous true consecration the body of Christ, is debased instead of elevated, and subsequently defiled. I have spent entire nights talking and drinking Scotch with leaders of the Satanists, have had them in my studios, and have been in theirs; have even helped draw the pentagrams with chalk upon the floor when they were trying, as the spiritualists try with ghosts of the departed, to evoke the materialized presence of Beelzebub or Ashtoreth. The only materialization we ever got—and which scared the wits out of all of us including the Satanist leader—was a stray cat which had wandered in from a Chelsea fire escape one night in summer. It was this Satanist leader I thought of now. I had little difficulty in locating him, and he agreed to meet me that evening at a well-known tavern. At a table in the long alcove beyond the bar I put it to him flatly. Nor am I engaged in any investigation into present activities. I want to know whether Annabel Swain is, or has ever been, a Satanist, and, if so, how deeply she got into it. But I could find out for you—or perhaps you know enough already. She was literal-minded. But you never had a sense of humour! Am sailing for New York to-morrow, and if I never see you again I hope you choke. With all my love, A. It was a perfect little masterpiece of boudoir art, and its startling, perfect likeness made me shiver a little. It was Alice Johns in miniature. She was emotionally affected too. She was dubious at first about touching it, then burst into hysterical laughter, clasped it to her breast, began hugging it and kissing it and comforting it. We could have a little ceremony, and if you think it would amuse you I could recite the old formula of purification. They hang people for poisoning your body, but no law can touch them when they inject poison in your mind. Thus Othello, his mind poisoned by Iago, murders Desdemona. Poisoning group minds against other groups is an equally familiar phenomenon. Adolf Hitler is a bloodier witch and weaver of evil incantations than the foulest witch in any German fairy-tale. I have always been afraid of using what I know—whether to help a friend or hurt an enemy. My friendship with Monseigneur Delatour, extending over years in Paris, on the Riviera, in Algiers, and in Rome, had become so intimate that we called him affectionately by his Christian name, Rafael, and once, for some house guests who had come down for Christmas, he had celebrated the Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve in the little chapel of our villa. Afterwards, in the old tradition, he had laid aside his vestments to go into the kitchens and superintend the basting of the wild boar on which we banqueted. I gradually began to suspect, however, during our first luncheon conversation that our visitor was involved in other and more dubious branches of the esoteric. And Rafael had added: I hesitated quite a while before bringing him out here to-day, but I knew you were keen on that sort of thing wherever it is real, or seems to be, and he wanted to meet you. He enjoyed swimming, canoeing, walking. His frequent presence was an agreeable diversion for Marjorie, who found him interesting and liked him pretty well too. He had tried to force his attentions on her, and her refusal was probably the motive for what followed. I knew nothing of this at the time, so that we all kept seeing each other. One afternoon—this was in late April—the Abbe Penhoel, our Monseigneur Delatour, a couple of French authors, and a publisher were having aperitifs and tea. The talk turned to work. The publisher or somebody asked Marjorie what she was working on now, and she told, with eager enthusiasm, about a novel she was planning, of how she looked forward with real pleasure to writing it; of how she meant to begin that very week, and intended to have it completed by the last of October. Madame Marjorie is crying. She was shaking with sobs, her face buried among the pillows. Do you believe the Abbe can foresee things? And I am so unhappy. I am so afraid. I said: You must come back out here, or I will come in to Marseilles if you prefer it. But I must see you to-night. We met at the Cintra, and I said: What has happened? You must find the Abbe Penhoel to-night, or to-morrow morning. You must find him immediately, and bring him to me. I know him. We awakened Anna, and had some more coffee. Marjorie stayed upstairs in her bedroom. I said to the Abbe Penhoel: Take all the time you want. Rafael and I will go into the garden if you like, or you can have my study if you want, for quiet. Then I knew what I was going to have to do. I learned about it from the black witch Wamba with whom I lived on the Ivory Coast. I lighted a cigarette and offered him one. He was a little disturbed, but not much. I said, lightly: And he did. It is intrinsically evil, because the clairvoyant, even though he be a man of goodwill, is under the temptation, consciously or subconsciously, of using his magic to bring about the fulfilment of his prediction. It may be that this is a case of that sort. If it is this latter he deserves, of course, that I should kill him, deserves it as much as if I saw him trying to stick a knife in her. If it is the former I should not want to have his death on my hands. Wamba believed and taught me that all possible future events exist already in time and space. This sounds like pure fatalism, but it is not. For she believed also that the future, if foreseen, might be to some degree controlled. And the real purpose of fetish consultation and divination is to decipher and control the future. What is going to be will be. But Wamba believed differently. She had conveyed to me this difficult concept of fan-shaped destiny by an ingenious analogy. I am walking in an unknown forest. There are as many directions to walk as there are points of the compass. In one path there is a tree from which I will pluck refreshing fruit. In another a panther waits to leap upon me, which, if taking a side path, I shall kill instead of becoming its predestined victim. Beside another path there is a good spring of water. In still another a friendly camp where I shall be well treated. Therefore the Negro primitive consults the fetish; therefore he devises charms and gris-gris to protect him in the labyrinth. If we have no faith in his methods we can at least begin to understand why he deems it necessary to try something. The gate clangs shut and you miss your train by a split second because you fumbled for pennies when you bought a morning newspaper; and next day in another paper you read of the wreck, with a list of the dead Usually the drama is less sudden, less spectacular, less final, but seemingly pointless hazards or decisions change all our lives. To-morrow, for all I know, I may go to the corner for a packet of cigarettes, and be run over by a lorry—or start another sequence that will make me five years hence a millionaire, or put me in the gutter. This, I think, is one of the fundamental elements of black primitive psychology and sorcery. In the fan-shaped labyrinth of life where neither logic nor consciously directed will seems adequate the savage seeks for supernatural guidance in his fetishes, as the Christian seeks it on his knees in prayer. Rafael was actually on his knees before he said good-bye to us, and, unless you choose to call his prayers an interference, he kept his hands off everything until the finish, except that on his advice I had Marjorie gone over by a couple of the best doctors in Marseilles. Her normal life expectation is fifty years She seems nervous. Something had happened which was good fortune for me, and j the reverse for the Abbe Penhoel. It was natural that he had done so, since he knew nothing of our close friendship. Orlet was reputed to know more about black magic and white magic, their history, technique, mech- ; anics, limitations, than any other man in Europe. A hard- boiled, brilliant, and successful journalist, this had been his I lifelong hobby, as some people go in for Sanskrit or porcelain —except that he was more than a dilettante. In , dabbling in the black side of it, he had got mixed up with one of the Satanist groups in Lyons, which had later wanted to use him for some purposes of their own that were definitely criminal. On the windows and in the chimney were other herbs and symbols, some of them Christian white magic, some pagan, from the ancient, older formulas. And around the whole nursery area, running through, in, and out of the other apartments, was laid down in white enamel instead of chalk the sacred pentagram. In addition to this the child and the Breton nurse wore necklaces beneath their garments on which were tiny sacred medallions and other amulets, ancient before Christ ever cast out demons by the shores of Galilee—so that they went out regularly to walk in the park as usual. He had said: That American, crude as he is, has learned more than a white man ever ought to learn. And Orlet had said: Also, he had come to help me. We knew what we had to do —and ruthlessly set about doing it. Orlet—who was stronger, more self-confident, and a better man than I am—had been content to defend. I was afraid, and was attacking. I bought an ugly little doll, and dressed it as a little false priest in black robes, with a little crucifix reversed dangling from its neck, with a tiny little symbol of a toad. I drove some brass-headed tacks into the region of its kidneys, and a couple more into its little belly. Miami Life Awards. Retrieved 12 August HuffPost in Spanish. Me identifico con ella ya que hace todo por cuidar y mantener a salvo a sus hijos " ". Retrieved 25 September Retrieved 5 October Retrieved 19 October Retrieved 1 May Retrieved 27 April Retrieved 15 October But there was a hitch. Thousands of tons of manure were shipped downriver each year. And it was not just horses. The stink at Rainham Creek, where the barges were shovelled out, was notorious. The cabbages and the cherries flourished, but the respectable suburbanites further north held their noses and turned their backs. Streets like Sunningdale Road and Elmer Gardens lacked tarmac and sewerage even in the mids. I remember them! Patchy development helps explain the survival of two South Hornchurch farmhouses, Albyns and Bretons. In , Dr Edward Canny Ryall began to ask: The distinguished surgeon had founded All Saints Hospital in to deal with kidney infections. It depended on donations. Ryall often paid the bills himself. Frederick Panter was appointed as hospital secretary in July He had experience of raising money to train midwives in West Ham. Somehow, by January , Panter was quietly pocketing percent. He and his wife had rented Ford Lodge, an eighteenth-century farmhouse which stood in Ford Lane, opposite Brittons Academy. Ford Close marks the boundaries of its nine-acre mini-park. Ordered to pay it into the bank, he later produced a forged paying-in slip. Meanwhile, Panter converted Ford Lodge into a convalescent hospital for Belgian soldiers. Thousands of Belgians were refugees from the fighting. Hiring a nurse, the Panters took nine of them into Ford Lodge. Belgium was an intensely Catholic country. As Catholics, Belgians were forbidden to attend Protestant services. One of them, an accomplished musician, played a cello solo at a Sunday service. Panter was using the poor Belgians as props. At Westminster magistrates court, his barrister, Mr Goodman, ridiculed the charges. The Belgian hospital project showed that Panter was a high-minded do-gooder. Loftily, Goodman assured the court: But a close look at the books was enough to make lawyer Goodman change his mind. He struck a deal. Panter pleaded guilty to embezzlement. The more serious charges of forgery were dropped. The magistrate was unhappy about this, but accepted that All Saints wished to avoid the expense and bad publicity of a criminal trial. He escaped lightly. The Belgians deserve our sympathy. Driven into exile, they were used as dupes to cover a scam. The study of place names is great fun, because it combines abstruse scholarship with wild guess work. The Saxon arrived around AD -- but they created few written records, and most place names were first recorded in Domesday Book, the tax ledger compiled in , years after the early settlers had named the landscape around them. In that time, speech had changed -- the English language had diverged from German. And the bureaucrats who compiled Domesday Book were French-speaking Normans who couldn't always understand the peasants. It's a fair guess that Thameside Rainham was one of the first places the newcomers occupied. So -- does the name mean that those early Saxons grumbled about the weather? Was Rainham the "ham" farm or hamlet where the sun never shone? Most Essex place-name theories come from two brilliant men, both active decades ago. Dr Percy H. Reaney was a Walthamstow schoolteacher. Appropriately, his name was pronounced to rhyme with "brainy". In he published the massive Place Names of Essex. Ekwall and Reaney considered the earliest evidence -- two versions of the name in Domesday Book, one "Renaham", the other "Raineham". Although Rainham, Essex was not recorded before , there was an earlier form for the identical Rainham, Kent. It led the two formidable scholars to make a bold guess. The Kentish version suggested an Old English verb, "rogian", meaning "to prevail". Perhaps Rainham was the place of some powerful family -- maybe royalty? The Normans would have heard it as a similar French word, which gives us "reign". We know little more than the names of the rulers of the old East Saxon kingdom, which included not just Essex but also Middlesex and part of Herts. If they travelled by boat, Rainham would have made a sensible stopping-off place. Unfortunately, as academic guesswork goes, that was about that. But in , two years after Dr Reaney's book, there was a sensational archaeological find in a gravel pit near Gerpins Lane, between Rainham and Upminster. It was a Saxon burial ground that obviously belonged to important people. There were swords, bits of shields, and -- unique to England -- the remains of two elegant glass drinking horns. These luxury items suggest the powerful rulers guessed at by Prof. Ekwall and Dr Reaney. Two coins dated the graves to around A. There may be another clue. Legend associates Helena with Colchester, the only other place in Essex to have a church dedicated to her. A Rainham-Colchester link again suggests the East Saxon royal family. So don't think of Rainham as the damp and drizzly place. Instead, let's celebrate it as the majestic home of the long-lost kings of Essex. Well, perhaps! The ebbing tide poured from Rainham Creek, leaving a few barges stranded on the Ingrebourne mud. Many passengers headed below decks to join the singsong in the saloon where a band was playing. Just tons, the Princess Alice had been built of timber on the Clyde in and called the Bute. Sailors believed it was unlucky to rename a ship. Amazingly, this tiny craft was licensed to transport passengers. Nobody knew how many she carried that fateful day. Small children did not require tickets. Victorians produced hordes of toddlers. She was on a regular holiday run, from London Bridge to Sheerness, stopping at Gravesend, where the Rosherville Gardens were a proto-Disneyland, popular with Cockneys. In holiday good humour, day trippers still on deck actually cheered when they spotted a sturdy collier sailing downstream towards them. The Bywell Castle was four times the size of the Princess Alice, and she had an iron hull. The Princess Alice was close to the north bank. Guided by an experienced Thames pilot, the captain of the Bywell Castle decided to pass on his port side. But the powerful ebbing tide swirled around the bend on the Essex side, too fast for the tiny paddle steamer. Suddenly, the Princess Alice turned towards the slack water directly ahead of the Bywell Castle. The collier sliced into her like matchwood, skewering her timber hull. Too late, the Bywell Castle rammed her engines full astern. The Princess Alice broke into two. Both halves sank within four minutes. Hundreds of people were drowned below decks. Ropes were lowered to save floundering passengers, but as soon as people grabbed hold, they were dragged down by others desperate to save themselves. The exact death toll is unknown. Probably perished. Nine bodies were recovered at Rainham. Gruesomely, a tenth corpse became wedged underneath the keel of a barge, needing a spring tide to float it free. Its pilot should have known that small vessels tried to avoid the tide race. Some of the safety recommendations were repeated after the Marchioness disaster, when 51 people were drowned in a similar accident in You could argue that local democracy in England began in , with the introduction of parish councils. No longer would squires and clergymen rule the villages. New people came forward to tackle local issues. In , the Board rejected a proposal to lay a water main to local cottages. The council wanted a one-inch pipe buried 15 inches deep. No, said the Board, it must be a two-inch pipe, three feet deep. Randall formed a double act with Cllr George Saxby, a lighterman whose bluff, blunt wit reflected a lifetime working on Thames barges. By now, councillors were splitting their sides with mirth. Fowles tried to inject a serious note. There was further hilarity as councillors discussed possible contractors for the cemetery job. How about Mr White, at Barking? No, said Saxby, his name is Brown. Again, Fowles tried to be helpful. But local democracy delivered the goods. It became part of Havering in The six-year stand-off over Lake Avenue, Rainham, pitted local people against squatters, one side arguing that the caravan site was in the wrong place, the other pleading they had nowhere else to go. And this is a story from the past where we can actually see and hear the people involved. When the Lake Avenue confrontation reached its crisis in , cameras were sent to report on the clash. Pathe News provided a weekly cinema newsreel. You can find the 3-minute clip through an Internet search: This is multi-media Havering history! World War Two left Britain with a housing shortage. Soon there were forty caravans in the small field. However, Ted Bastow believed in what he was doing. In January , Hornchurch Council went to the High Court, and secured an injunction that would lead to eviction. Pathe News was sympathetic to the squatters. It featured some yummy mummies and a suspiciously well-scrubbed schoolboy. Like most Rainham roads then, Lake Avenue had no tarmac surface. It was a winter mud bath. It was clear that the 40 caravans were crammed too close together, with some spilling out on to the roadway. With people living there, some vans must have been overcrowded. Pathe News said nothing about facilities on the site. Was there a washhouse? Were there pavements? Who emptied the dustbins? Many Rainham people had come from the East End, seeking a little patch of Essex. In Cockney accents, neighbours put their dignified case to the camera. They had no quarrel with the caravan people but the site was in the wrong place. The story fades away. Although some caravanners threatened to resist eviction, I am sure Hornchurch Council won. Councils usually win in the end. I hope the caravan people were given proper housing. The re-opening of Rainham Hall, the only National Trust property in Havering, on October 7 th , is a moment to look back over three centuries of atmospheric history. The Hall was built in by mariner and entrepreneur John Harle, who had successfully dredged Rainham Creek so that cargo vessels could unload at his new wharf in the village. Built in the Queen Anne style, the red-brick mansion was probably inspired by the grand merchant houses lining the canals of Amsterdam. Dutch influence can be seen in the fine Delft tiles, many showing maritime scenes, that still decorate the mansion. Harle was succeeded by his son, another John, who joined the new Methodist movement to pep up religious life in Rainham. When sermons were preached in the Anglican parish church, the congregation often fell asleep. But forcing his way in and finding the AGA-style kitchen stove alight, Dearsly pushed Valton across it and tried to roast him alive. Somehow the preacher escaped, evading the mob who planned to cool him off in a pond. Brady was the son of Sir Antonio Brady, a wealthy civil servant and amateur scientist, who lived at Maryland near Stratford, then a residential district. Backed by family money and wanting to be near his father, Nicholas Brady became Rector of Wennington, a job so poorly paid that few clergymen had ever bothered to live locally. A local school honours his name. A scientific enthusiast himself, the Rector built a physics laboratory in the attic of Rainham Hall and experimented with electricity. When the Reverend Brady reviewed his career, one event that stood out was the January snowstorm, which buried a train in a Rainham snowdrift, stranding the passengers all night without food or heating. As Rainham became built up, the Hall ceased to be suitable as a country house. In , it passed to the National Trust. The Trust let Rainham Hall to a series of tenants, including some exotic personalities. In , one of them publicly argued that no criminal should be punished, he argued. Rather, all lawbreakers should be treated as persons needing to be cured from illness. I doubt whether many Rainham people agreed. But, in the far south of the Borough, tiny Wennington clings to its identity. She may have given her name to Aveley. Only three families lived here in , and in the population was just When Rector Henry Bust died in , it would be years before another clergyman bothered to live locally. Part of the church was demolished around In fact, in this scattered community, there was really no village centre until houses were built at The Green in the s. Wennington was mostly marshland. Lonely Coldharbour, beside the Thames, was an island until around A narrow creek led to a wharf yards west of the church, where produce was shipped up the Thames to the monks of Westminster Abbey. The creek was blocked off around Sir John Gildesborough, a hated royal official, owned land at Wennington. Rebels ransacked his property. Despite its small population, Wennington ran its own affairs. It continued to elect its parish constable, with an ornate staff of office, until , over thirty years after the establishment of the Essex Police. Wennington even had its own title for the job: In , a desperate character called Peter Godfrey stole a prayer book from the church. Godfrey was transported to Australia for life. In the 19th century, Wennington became a market gardening area, specialising in peas and — later — rhubarb and asparagus. Tiny Wennington was always on the route to somewhere else. By , there was a main road from London to military installations at Purfleet and Tilbury. In , Wennington was by-passed to the north by New Road A By the s, a motorway-style A13 ran to the south. The last one retired in , although some still operate for tourists on the Blackwater. In the year , the community celebrated the Millennium with a commemorative map. Its feisty website, www. The old name of the river, still used in Collier Row, was Bourne Brook. The Chelmer at Chelmsford and the Wid at Widford are similar made-up names. Romney Marsh in Kent, with its wide open spaces, is an example. But does the theory fit the locality? You could hardly call the Rom a wide river! Was the ford wide from side to side? A century ago, the A crossed the Rom near Roneo Corner through a water splash, with a footbridge to one side. Until , there was a similar wide ford-and-bridge crossing over the Ingrebourne at Upminster Bridge. A Swedish expert, Professor Eilert Ekwall, doubted the spacious-ford theory. Runnymede, the island in the Thames, is an example of the term. King John famously conceded Magna Carta there years ago because Runnymede was a traditional meeting place between monarch and barons. Runwell, near Wickford, was probably a well where gatherings took place. Ekwall studied all of England. Romford was the midpoint for the royal manor of Havering which stretched from Noak Hill to the Thames. Rochester in Kent was Durobrivae. A gruff bear of a man, brilliantly played by Robbie Coltrane in Blackadder, Johnson was noted for acid sayings. There were few magazines in 18th-century England. One marketing technique was to publish them anonymously. Readers speculated about the writers, generating useful publicity. One feature was a series of pen portraits of familiar stereotypes. Johnson gave them exaggerated classical names. There was Testrica, the sad old maid, Serviculus, who was hunting for a wealthy bride, and greedy Cupidus. It was all great fun up in Town, but not so in Romford. Romford in had a population of maybe one thousand. Shops and houses crowded the High Street and the Market. There was some building in North Street, but the town had hardly spread into Hornchurch Lane, the future South Street. People made their own entertainment. They joked about the character sketches in the Rambler. Romford had its own sad spinsters and wide boys on the make. Why, you could almost imagine that the articles had been written about us! Somebody was carousing in their club and then lampooning them behind their backs! Who was behind the publication? This caused consternation. This holy snake was preaching charity on Sundays while secretly mocking his parishioners! The Reverend Johnson had a tough time. Records show that there was indeed a young man called Samuel Johnson who was a trainee cleric at that time. He might well have done work experience in Romford. This other Johnson was just 23 in Being ostracised must have been frightening for a young man. Eventually he too rode up to Town and persuaded the printer to explain that there were two Samuel Johnsons. The story got out, and Romford became a national joke. A decade later, in , the great Doctor Johnson passed through Romford by stagecoach to Harwich. The first Romford Football Club was founded in They had managed a draw in Round One — and their opponents failed to show up for the replay. Unluckily, in the Fifth Round, Darwen, a fiery Lancashire team, beat them nil! Early Romford teams were short-lived. By the s, only Romford Town Thursday carried the name. The Recorder played a big part in launching a new Romford club in Editor Glyn Richards published a letter complaining that the growing suburb lacked a team. Aston Villa were the superteam in those days. Twenty year earlier, Harold Wood Athletic had based their shirts on the Villa strip. Romford were amateurs, playing in the top-flight Athenian and Isthmian Leagues. Amateur football was almost as big as the professional game until the s. In , Romford played Bromley in the Amateur Cup Final, the first ever staged at Wembley, before an astonishing 94, people. A minute youtube video shows the carnival atmosphere as supporters headed for Wembley in fleets of coaches. Romford played attacking football, but Bromley scored the only goal and won the Cup. A four-minute youtube video shows smudgy snatches of the game. Be warned: In , the Boro turned professional. There was no Conference in those days, so they joined the Southern League, becoming champions in There was no automatic promotion into the Football League either. Year after year, mighty Midland League Peterborough were Cup giant killers, but they hammered at the door in vain until Brooklands was by now superior to many League grounds, but Romford never managed to make their game match their facilities. From the terraces, I watched sorrowfully as the Cobblers sliced their way to a victory. Northampton striker Laurie Brown strolled through the home defence. By , financial troubles forced the sale of Brooklands. The homeless club folded three years later. In , it was the promotion-winning Daggers who brought League football to the Essex suburbs..

Mary Cutford of Rainham decided to become a witch in so she could take revenge on her enemies. Old people were especially liable to persecution.

Anne was too infirm to plead and died before the case was heard. Richard was hanged for another, unidentified, crime. Witchcraft allegations were sometimes thrown in to discredit people accused of other offences. The crime of witchcraft was abolished in Google it and see! But where was Wingletye and what did the name mean? It was widely used in Essex to indicate a small piece of common land, a broad roadside green. Where was Wingle Tye?

But until the s, it bent round to the west, heading for Squirrels Heath Road, and was half a mile longer. Nakedof marjorie de sousa what does the strange name mean? Names of towns and villages, like Romford and Hornchurch, were frequently recorded, and were copied from official documents. But more local names were written down only rarely, and clerks usually had to rely on yokels for the pronunciation. Hadley Green is now Ardleigh Green. Hammond had inherited the Nakedof marjorie de sousa from Nakedof marjorie de sousa brother-in-law, William Payne, an Romford innholder, who had probably bought it as an investment.

The sale document gives us a glimpse amateur Milf hairy strip rural Ardleigh Green — an orchard, and fields called Littlecroft, Uppershephards and Lowershephards. This was probably the track winding through the fields, later straightened out to become Cecil Avenue.

A strange fragment of it survives. So Wingletye was once Windle Tye. A healh was a nook or out of the way place. The Arterial Road hereabouts today can still seem like a wind tunnel.

The old Wingletye Lane turned east-west over the crest of the Ingrebourne Valley, and the winter wind whistled in from Siberia! Decades later, as the oldest inhabitant, he became the expert on naming the place. Havering can be proud of its unique Nakedof marjorie de sousa ancient road name. Elm Park began in It was developed by Costains, the builders, with finance from the Halifax Building Society.

The name came from a farm remembered in Farm Way but Costains probably Nakedof marjorie de sousa to borrow the cachet of a smart street in Chelsea, Elm Park Gardens. The target was a population of 35, people, living in owner-occupied houses. Elm Nakedof marjorie de sousa would have eight schools, five shopping centres, two churches and an inn.

Costains donated Harrow Lodge Park.

Abasha Sexse Watch All college fuck fest videos Video Threeway Fuck. The newspaper, of course, chooses its own headlines. Perhaps the most unlikely aspect of the series is the fact that I have not lived in Havering since Indeed, I have been an infrequent visitor over the decades. However, retirement has enabled me to revive an early interest in Essex local history, and I hope that the column is a means of sharing that enthusiasm with others. My last but not least thanks must go the Romford Recorder , for giving weekly space to its volunteer contributor from Ireland. Martha Thompson was born in Hornchurch in Hornchurch had two foundries, manufacturing ploughs and farm equipment. In , the family lived somewhere on the south side of Hornchurch High Street. Martha would have known the clang of the hammers and the heat of the furnaces. Maybe she was taught at home by her mother, Caroline, who came from Barking. Disaster struck in , when Charles Edwin died, aged just Far too often in those days, people died far too young. Caroline took her brood of children to the rising colony of New Zealand. Martha became a schoolteacher. I doubt if she had any formal teacher training. Her Hornchurch education was her qualification for the classroom. In , in Nelson, she married James Rutherford. He was a wheelwright, and perhaps reminded her of the foundry. James was great at solving practical problems, a skill his son inherited. But his education was poor. It was Martha who encouraged her son to study. At the small university in Christchurch, Ernest gained first class honours in maths and science. In , he won a scholarship to Cambridge, where the famous Cavendish Laboratory led the world in scientific research. They were like the red snooker balls at the start of the frame. With the right cue ball, you could release untold energy from the shattered nucleus. The New Zealander became the first scientist to split the atom. When he died in , his ashes were buried in Westminster Abbey. Ernest Rutherford wrote long letters to his mother about his work, and revisited New Zealand four times to see his parents. It seems that Martha never returned to Britain. Perhaps he welcomed the young colonial to England. No doubt there were people in the Hornchurch of who scoffed at the idea of educating girls. Women should learn to clean and cook, not stick their heads in books! But you can never foretell the indirect benefits of education. Witchcraft became a crime in For the next century, Essex was a hotbed of superstition. Dagenham allegedly had three between and Witches were hanged, not burned. They did not wear pointy hats nor ride broomsticks. In a world without medicine or science, people assumed misfortunes were caused by enemies. In , two pigs belonging to North Ockendon farmer Humphrey Frith died suddenly. Then a heifer fell sick, and Humphrey himself was struck with mysterious aches. Locals suspected Agnes Byllinge. Tongues wagged because she shared a bed with her teenage son. Probably she was too poor to buy furniture. The court treated it as a neighbourhood dispute, and let her go. Similarly, Christopher Wynter, a Rainham mariner, failed to prove that Margaret Saunder had killed his son by witchcraft in Susan Barker of Upminster was less lucky in Protesting her innocence, Susan Barker was found guilty and hanged. But when in neighbours accused another Upminster woman, Barbara Augar, of using witchcraft to kill three people, including a four-year old boy, she was acquitted. Not all witches were women. A Shenfield labourer, John Symonde, was accused of using spells to kill three neighbours in Some suspected witches were simply unhappy people, maybe even mentally ill. But some chose sorcery as an unusual career option. Mary Cutford of Rainham decided to become a witch in so she could take revenge on her enemies. Old people were especially liable to persecution. Anne was too infirm to plead and died before the case was heard. Richard was hanged for another, unidentified, crime. Witchcraft allegations were sometimes thrown in to discredit people accused of other offences. The crime of witchcraft was abolished in Google it and see! But where was Wingletye and what did the name mean? It was widely used in Essex to indicate a small piece of common land, a broad roadside green. Where was Wingle Tye? But until the s, it bent round to the west, heading for Squirrels Heath Road, and was half a mile longer. But what does the strange name mean? Names of towns and villages, like Romford and Hornchurch, were frequently recorded, and were copied from official documents. But more local names were written down only rarely, and clerks usually had to rely on yokels for the pronunciation. Hadley Green is now Ardleigh Green. Hammond had inherited the property from his brother-in-law, William Payne, an Romford innholder, who had probably bought it as an investment. The sale document gives us a glimpse of rural Ardleigh Green — an orchard, and fields called Littlecroft, Uppershephards and Lowershephards. This was probably the track winding through the fields, later straightened out to become Cecil Avenue. A strange fragment of it survives. So Wingletye was once Windle Tye. A healh was a nook or out of the way place. The Arterial Road hereabouts today can still seem like a wind tunnel. The old Wingletye Lane turned east-west over the crest of the Ingrebourne Valley, and the winter wind whistled in from Siberia! Decades later, as the oldest inhabitant, he became the expert on naming the place. Havering can be proud of its unique and ancient road name. Elm Park began in It was developed by Costains, the builders, with finance from the Halifax Building Society. The name came from a farm remembered in Farm Way but Costains probably wanted to borrow the cachet of a smart street in Chelsea, Elm Park Gardens. The target was a population of 35, people, living in owner-occupied houses. Elm Park would have eight schools, five shopping centres, two churches and an inn. Costains donated Harrow Lodge Park. The proprietor of a major Oxford Street cinema bought a site to erect a 3,seater picture house, part of a chain that already operated cinemas at Upminster, Hornchurch and Chadwell Heath. But when Elm Park was formally launched in May , only houses had been built. Elm Park was a downmarket project. This was a feature of early Elm Park houses. Two factors helped launch Elm Park. Ford workers were well paid and wanted to live near the factory. The other was the District Line, which was extended from Barking to Upminster in , alongside the existing Fenchurch Street railway. Electric trains ran every twenty minutes, right into central London. Then he entered Elm Park through a ceremonial arch and cut a ribbon to declare the estate open. He married the widow of Captain Scott, the Antarctic explorer who died heroically trying to become the first man to reach the South Pole. This made him stepfather to Peter Scott, the wildlife painter. She accompanied him to Elm Park. World War Two ended the Garden City. Post-war housing needs led to large-scale building of council housing. Maybe Elm Park could become a Garden City again? The murder of a nine year-old Hornchurch girl almost led to the hanging of an innocent man. There were only two clues. She had been trussed up with an electrical cord, with pieces of string tied across it. This was how local gardeners made climbing frames for runner beans. There was a cigarette end, a home-made fag made from different tobaccos. The killer collected cigarette butts, mixed the contents and rolled his own. His wife, Iris, had been in hospital having a baby when Pamela was killed. He had given a neighbour a length of cable to mend a radio. There were blood spots on his raincoat. He collected cigarette ends and rolled his own fags. The case against him sounds thin. Leonard walked that way every day, but so did hundreds of other people. And why dump evidence in such a busy street? Being arrested must have been traumatic. If convicted, there would be no mercy for a sex maniac child killer. He would be hanged, leaving Iris and the baby destitute. Leonard was tried at the Old Bailey in March. But the 4-day prosecution case left unanswered questions. Then, on Day 4, the Crown case fell apart. The accused himself went into the box and indignantly denied the charge. Then followed a moment worthy of TV drama. There were different ways of rolling your own: The silent court watched as Leonard made his gasper. Soon after, the jury said they had heard enough. The accused was not guilty. This was not some technical acquittal. Leonard was an innocent man. Leonard would not be marched along a grim prison corridor to a terrifying, shameful death. He would go home to Coronation Drive, to Iris and the baby. I hope Leonard survived the War, kicked the fags and lived to a fine old age. Her killer was never caught. Years later the Council made his grandparents downsize to a maisonette in Gillam Way after their son left the home. Elm Park had an impressive shopping centre. Opposite Woolworths there was a DIY shop and a toyshop. Station Parade had one of the first Tesco supermarkets. There were launderettes, newsagents and sweetshops. The best sweetshop was opposite the Elm Park Hotel. Geoff spent his spare time roaming Harrow Lodge Park. He watched the two original boating lakes being excavated at the Elm Park end. Capsizes were a risk and not appreciated by the authorities! The acts included an exotic dancer called Lady Jane Grey who had an unconventional way of picking up beer bottles, and a wheelchair-bound comedian who bravely laughed at his disability. One of his jokes was about going to Lourdes hoping for a cure. He was unlucky, but his wheelchair miraculously acquired new tyres! Hornchurch aerodrome was in its final days. In , Buster secretly photographed them in bed at their London flat, and sold the pictures to the tabloids. Where did Geoff meet Buster? Smiling, he replies: He placed the royal seal on the parchment. He is contrasted with his brother, brave and chivalrous Richard the Lionheart. But Richard fought aggressive religious wars in the Middle East. Not somebody to regard as a hero today! As Prince John, he is the bad guy in the Robin Hood legend. But Robin Hood probably never existed. John was a member of a Norman royal family, the Plantagenets. John was Duke of Normandy, their homeland. But in he was driven out of the duchy by the King of France. Only the Channel Islands remained under English rule. They are still Crown dependencies. The loss of Normandy forced his barons to choose: Although John ground taxes out of the English people, he failed to reconquer his French inheritance. By , his barons had had enough. In a confrontation at Runnymede, they forced him to guarantee liberties and promise reforms. Their leader, Robert Fitzwalter, was an Essex landowner. Fitzwalter hated the king because John had tried to rape his daughter. She became a nun, and founded Dunmow Priory. Medieval kings moved around, and John occasionally visited the royal palace at Havering-atte-Bower. We know Fitzwalter sometimes attended the king there, as he witnessed official documents. John made twelve visits, the longest of three days in He certainly partied. A serjeant was not a soldier, but an official who held property on a special deal. The security officer of the House of Commons is still called the Serjeant-at-Arms. In , he was permitted to enclose common land near Ardleigh Green. William grabbed a acre block south of Squirrels Heath Road, as far as the Ingrebourne in Harold Wood recreation ground. Macdonald Avenue and Coombe Road mark the boundaries. The rent was a joke. The farm was called Redden Court. They remained faithful to the memory of the last Saxon king. There was a royal hunting forest between Collier Row and Harold Hill. In , the name was transferred to a new railway station a mile to the east. There was no secret ballot and no Labour Party. Few men and no women could vote. Candidates were nominated, speeches delivered and absurd promises made. The losers were ducked in the Chelmer. Maldon also elected two MPs. The town was riotously corrupt, its residents selling their votes to the richest candidate. There was consternation at a by-election in when only a government candidate came forward. At the last moment, a group of Maldonites persuaded J. In fact, Wallinger lost heavily. The disgraceful Maldon election of helped force electoral reform. The right to vote belonged to freemen of the Borough. In they created almost two thousand! Only of the 3, voters actually lived in Maldon. Brentwood was drunk for sixteen straight days. He died the next year, aged 42, poor and broken-hearted. Essex was divided into two constituencies in , and Romford became a polling place for South Essex at the December general election. Their successors, the Conservatives and Liberal Democrats, use the same colours today. The strategy worked. Hall-Dare took an early lead and, to Tory delight, the alliance between their opponents turned into a scramble for the second seat. There was a riot in Brentwood during the election. The Liberals hired a German band to head their High Street parade, which was attacked by Conservative supporters. The German bandsmen fled to Romford clutching their smashed instruments. The police closed all the pubs and proclaimed the Riot Act, a temporary suspension of civil liberties. Everybody belonged to a parish. Wherever you might live, if you became sick or poor or old, you applied for help to the overseer of your home community. In the last resort, you would enter the parish workhouse. When war was declared on France in , wheat prices soared. So the Poor Law developed a full-scale system of income support. Through paying poor rates, farmers shared their bonanza income with less fortunate neighbours. In villages like Havering-atte-Bower, there was pressure to hold down costs. Half a dozen prosperous landowners and farmers dominated a village of just people. One solution was to send large families off to find work in the booming cities. Two angry letters from Rachel Robson in give us a glimpse of what could go wrong. Rachel and her husband had been sent to Gateshead, on Tyneside. Before railways were built, you made the long journey by ship. Colliers delivered Newcastle coal, visiting small ports like Maldon and Grays. Rather than sail back empty, they carried passengers. Rachel hated the voyage. Tragedy struck when her husband died, perhaps in an industrial accident. Rachel had probably mastered writing but not spelling at the village school founded by Dame Anne Tipping in But in , as the French Wars dragged on, he made a bet with Andrew Kerr, estate manager at the Bower House now a religious training centre. The wager was a dozen bottles of wine. I doubt if they gave a bottle to Rachel Robson. In the days before television, people made their own fun. A century ago, Bill Judd was a popular figure at entertainments in the Southend area. Bill sang comic songs. With ready wit, he made up verses about people and places. It was probably in that he hiked with friends from Romford to Buckhurst Hill, along roads where cars had yet to appear. They headed up still-rural North Street, skirting the grounds of Marshalls, the local stately mansion. But not as near as you thought, Bill! There they inspected the famous stocks on the village green, where local drunks were once clamped by their feet until they sobered up. When the rain stopped, Bill and his friends strolled on along the traffic-free roads: His poem gives a charming glimpse of Romford before the suburbs arrived. But maybe we should file it away for another half century! In , Brentwood solicitor W. Preston decided to buy a local farm, Great Gubbins, as a green-field site for a new town. There were no railway stations between Romford and Brentwood Gidea Park only opened in Unlike electric trains, steam locos needed time to start and stop, but Gubbins Lane, the halfway point, seemed a good place for a new station. The Eastern Counties line had a poor reputation, but it had been absorbed by the go-ahead Great Eastern Railway in , and the board welcomed new ideas. Preston needed a new name: A long section of track had been relaid, leaving one rail loose. It derailed a goods train carrying livestock imported from Antwerp. Wagons plunged down the embankment and six Belgian pigs were the first casualties of the Harold Wood project. They were not the last. Hence, Station Road, linking it to Gubbins Lane. His project was wildly optimistic. Sensibly, they travelled through Romford. To encourage custom from the Brentwood side, the developers drove a link to the Colchester road A12 and lined it with poplars. It became Avenue Road, one of the glories of Harold Wood. Bizarrely, Harold Wood was a request stop. Coming from London, you had to jump off at Romford, and ask the guard to halt the train at the next stop. If you flagged down the 7. Chicago Tribune in Spanish. Miami Life Awards. Retrieved 12 August HuffPost in Spanish. Me identifico con ella ya que hace todo por cuidar y mantener a salvo a sus hijos " ". Retrieved 25 September Retrieved 5 October Retrieved 19 October Retrieved 1 May Retrieved 27 April Concerning Dolls in General 19 II. Monstrous Doll in Africa 27 IV. Ten-cent-store Doll in France 38 V. Wooden Doll in a Cave 46 VI. Panther-man from the Ivory Coast V. In babyhood they are generally rag dolls, china-headed, or dolls stuffed with sawdust. All these childhood dolls are toys. They are manufactured and sold—as toys. As children, we play with them. We habitually worship them, kiss their brass toes, burn them as effigies, adorn them with glittering jewels, and travel thousands of miles to kneel before them, ride them on rails, beat them with clubs, shoot them, hang them—bless them and enshrine them in cathedrals if their cult is popular —lynch them if their cult is feared or hated—spend millions of dollars on them and enshrine them in museums if their cult is dead. The emotional reaction of adults towards dolls is by no means always limited to worship and violence. I have been a collector and connoisseur of a peculiar type of doll for many years—the kind that are made in secret, then pierced with needles; or wound round with scarlet death thread; or made of wax to melt before a fire. And I propose to tell all about them in this book. If I have collected more of them than seems credible, or know more about them than seems respectable, it is because they are all connected with the far-from-respectable subject that has been my major interest and obsession all my life. If I attribute to these evil dolls a greater power for evil than you are at first willing to believe I ask you to remember that I shall never contend they are anything more than symbols. And I ask you also to remember the incalculable power wielded by sacred doll-symbols in the field of religion. While an ancient childish symbol, it can become saturated with an equally ancient evil. These dolls, generally pierced with nails or needles, or made of wax to melt before a fire, or wound round with scarlet woollen thread, occur continually in the records and in the literature of sorcery in classic times and through the Middle Ages. They occur also with a steady frequency in the United States 1 and in all other civilized countries. Fox and captioned by Vance Randolph, of Galena, Missouri. In the Ozark picture the female of the two dolls has had nails driven into its back. The dolls represent the adulterous pair. They may have merely persuaded some old woman to show them how such things are set up, but the pictures stink of murder. At any rate the Risveglio sat in its full regalia, heard the accusations and evidence, during which the accused woman rose and screamed denials. She has sued the society for damages and reinstatement, and she may be completely innocent. Nelson Rehmeyer. If Rehmeyer had known about it and believed it and feared it he could be just as dead as he is from being clubbed. Blymyer was accused of having caused the death by pure witchcraft of other victims. Its metal was no different from that of any tiny knife you buy in any ten- cent store. Neither is the plaster in a sacred image or the metal in an icon any different from the plaster in a wall or the metal in a nail. First [Bolber disclosed], it was buried for three days and three nights in the earth, the open blade buried downward so that the spirits might penetrate its steel point and surface. Then it was taken from the ground and put under the pillow and slept on for three nights. On the seventh day it was put in my pocket infused with the spirit that will dominate devils, and was ready as the assistant to the witch-doctor. These practices, beliefs, and their attendant dangers persist to-day. Not the least of the attendant dangers though this book will not be directly concerned with them is that the terrors and hatreds engendered by witchcraft fre- THE WITCH AND HER DOLL 25 quently lead to plain, brute-mechanical axe, arsenic, strangling, and gun murders, as a police-court by-product of the subtler crimes and attempted crimes which seldom reach newspapers, because they seldom result in arrests. I intend presently to take you behind the scenes, in Africa and America, in New York, London, Paris, Southern France, in my own backyard too, and show you, step by step, how those dolls or their equivalent, though endowed intrinsically with no supernatural quality and no supernormal power, yet work potently for evil. If presently, in getting down to brass tacks driven into dolls for murder, I seem to know more about these things than any decent white adventurer or author should, and seem to have intimate knowledge of so many horrors over a period of so many years in so many lands as to trangress the bounds of credibility, I beg you to remember that black magic has been my lifelong obsession and chimera. If there is anything in heredity I must have been tainted from birth. There was bad blood in me, from the point of view of magic, and it came, mandragora-like, from the best roots of my family tree. My only distinguished ancestor was a great- great-grandfather on the maternal side, Bishop Peter Boehler, of the Moravian Church, who had been a friend of Wesley's. He worked among the Indians, the Negroes in Georgia, and among the Germans in South Carolina, some of whom he ultimately transferred to Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, where he helped found the Moravian Seminary and College for Women. A portrait of him hangs in the vestry of Central Church, at Bethlehem. The New International Encyclopaedia says, in addition to the above facts, that he was instrumental in aiding the spiritual development of the Wesleys. It sent me later to Africa, and has ridden me all my life. Where to begin has been a problem. I have decided to begin with a witchcraft killing which contained all the elements in their controlled completeness. I was studying fetish ritual, religious ceremonials and beliefs, and saw little or nothing of the few whites scattered in the region. One night my black friends said to me: We are going to send you back in the higher mountains where you may learn more. There is a great Ogoun. Nahaou-don-ba is one of his names, and he is sometimes called Woron. He is a man of power, a mighty drinker of banghi like yourself, and if you become friends he can disclose further mysteries. They gave me additional names, guides, porters, letters. Lauriac at home, thanked him 1 for his kindnesses, not the least of which had been to let me i consort unspied on with the local feticheurs, and told him I was headed, with his further kind permission, a hundred miles i or so up into the jungle. He asked me to stay to dinner, and during the evening, as we talked about the region I planned I to visit, he said: They write ill usually in Malinke or Bambara, using phonetic Arabic script, and some- ij times phonetic French transliteration. An- H other had a safety razor, and sent three hundred miles to buy new blades, ri Another manufactured his own gunpowder, and still another took delight lit in an old German gramophone with a green tin horn. He liked best an old record of Johnny made by Marlene Dietrich. He has a Belgian passport, and Fve been in a quandary more than once what to do about him. What happened? It was mud-thatched, earthen- floored, clean, comfortable, and had a spacious veranda which I could use as a sleeping porch. Two handsome wenches and an old woman, all apprentice sorceresses, were to keep house and cook for me. After some weeks of hard study I felt I had come to the right place. The work—ritual, instruction, ceremonials, incantations—was j broken once a week by all-night drunken parties, when the Ogoun and I got as roaring tight as anybody. A considerable time passed. On the final night, before I was to depart, he invited me into his own house for a private conference. He was a tough-minded, intelligent, 1 practical man, and I said after considerable reflection: The administra-!: They have lent me r motor lorries more than once, permit me to wander freely, and I do not spy on me. Lauriac, down yonder where I came from, trusts me as you do. If it is anything to the hurt of the French, or to the hurt of anybody connected with them, ] I must not see it. It was the guarded corpse of a black man which had been requisitioned on his natural death in a neighbouring village. As in the case of inanimate dolls, what he had once been was I I of no consequence, for they had solemnly rebaptized the: Fastened to its finger-tips were his own filched nail parings. Their technique was classic and old as Africa. Similarly in this category are finger-nail parings, combings, a shirt or dress previously worn by the intended victim, stolen to rot slowly. Incidentally, any learned discussion of their relative intrinsic importance or efficacy is jargon, nonsense. The importance is precisely the same as whether you make a sacred statue out of plaster or carve it out of wood. If you feel that such things can have a mysterious intrinsic importance an analogy would lie in the question of whether the bones of some saint—some sacred relic which had once been part of his anatomy—can be more efficacious than a mere statue of him. Invoking all their jungle gods and demons, and invoking d them with frenzied faith, the witch-doctors first roared and: Then to a dif- t? Repetition and simplicity. Like i London Bridge is falling down and ring-around-a-rosy. A rose i is a rose is a rose is a rose. This is the way we wash our clothes o so early in the morning. Three blind mice, up and down the: Cut off their tails with a carving knife, and sonnez w les matines. Also they were horrible. They sang in a sort of sim- i I plified, bastardized Malinke and Bambara: Gneni ditni dogomani Gneni dimi kounba ba Gneni dimi yan dakoro Gneni di yoradian! Farikolo balole A-dama-den sa! The words are as simple as any nursery rhyme, and as easy 1 to translate. A big pain, a little pain, A small pain, a great pain, Growing here and growing there, Growing slowly everywhere, While a dead man lives And a living man dies! It was nursery rhyme again. The little monkey-woman sang, smiling and grinning, as if chattering sing-song nonsense to a baby: Lafa lafa lafa! Boli an-ou kli! It meant, still translating as literally as I can: Choke, choke, choke! Devils we evoke! Thirst, thirst, thirst, Suffer till you burst. Cry, cry, cry, Try, try, try. Die, die, die! But we are not going to do it, and no other witch-doctors are going to do it either, for this man has been condemned, and justly so, by the forest. And the Ogoun replied cryptically: White doctors and the white police have a different kind of magic with liquids that change colour. But demons, jinxes, and Mother Goose rhymes are not exactly in our line. Over a couple of bottles of beer and a game of belotte Joe said: Ever since the Dakar yellow-fever clean-up West Africa has had as good medical laboratories as exist anywhere, and it is not true that mysterious poisons exist which leave no trace and are unknown to the materia medica. The natives say it was magic, and I think he thought so at the last. A Ouanga has been put on you. Perhaps you have already felt it. In a month you will be dead. It was either, he said, a scheme to frighten him out of the country, or a threat to poison him. He went to natives he thought he could trust, and they promised to find out what they could. They soon returned saying that, alas, the Great Ouanga was indeed in operation, and described it to him in all its ugly detail. He checked on his hunting shirts and found one missing, as described. It was hidden far away, beyond the mountains. Who were the witch-doctors? Nobody knew. The doctors who tended him were sure he had not been poisoned, could find nothing the matter with him—and told him so. He had sent for Lauriac, demanded protection, arrests. But who are they and where is it? One day after he had become quite ill the old Yafouba nurse who had come to his cot with a glass of water said: Does your throat hurt yet? Or am I crazy? For, from the morning the old woman had come in, by day and night from then on to the end, his ears were never free from that little tapping rhythm whose words he knew. He had died of a nervous and functional crack-up, caught in the auto- suggested clutch of his own crazed and paralysing fear. If I am right, the corpse effigy and stolen shirt were empty symbols. I believe them always to be intrinsically empty. They serve two symbol purposes: Could the witch-doctors have obtained an identical result, without ever setting up the effigy at all? I believe they could, if they had believed they could. Without his altar? Without the sacred image in the consecrated shrine? Of course he can, and does, when he believes he can. Fighting evil with its own weapons is a dangerous warfare, and my friend has been in foul danger more than once. It was through my friend Orlet, as we shall call him, that I became a partial participant in the episode of the pianist and the doll, which ended less disastrously than murder, but cost the young victim his career. In this case what I have to tell is partly reconstruction, because the harm had already been done on the night when Orlet invited me to drive with him out to Le Touquet Paris Plage , the seaside resort on the Channel, and help him burgle, if he could, a certain beach bungalow, remote from the town, which contained something that ought to be destroyed. It was an isolated shack, with apparently nobody at home, and we crept towards it from the back, a little after dark. While I kept watch he smashed the fastening of a heavy shutter and prised it open. We climbed inside, closed the shutter, and began looking round with our flashlights. The shack was roughly furnished like a camp, or hide-out: What it boiled down to was that Jean Dupuis, a brilliant and promising young concert pianist, had unaccountably made a sensational botch of his first important public appearance, in a small but crowded concert hall. The young man had stopped playing, half turned to the audience, resumed desperately, and, after a ghastly parody of the next few bars, had fled from the stage in shame and confusion. And then came the gossip and comment, as recounted in the clipping. It ended by adroitly hinting that, as in the case of more than one brilliant young French artist who had gone to pieces in other fields, the mystery might be an addiction to cocaine, if he had absorbed too little, or too much, before he sat down at the piano. The clipping dropped the mystery there, and it was Orlet who supplied the rest of the story. The pianist had made enemies who wanted to ruin him, and, since they knew of his occult interests, had hired Satanists instead of ordinary thugs. As a matter of cold, criminal fact, no matter how strongly the Satanists may have believed in their own evil and diseased minds that the devil helped them, they had been paid to ruin the musician. Chiappe, then Prefect of Police, had driven them from Paris. She and her associates had performed their unholy baptismal rites over the doll, clamped it in the vice, where we later found it, and where she had returned from time to time to perform her incantations. Yet I am convinced that, precisely as witch-doctors in the jungle, they often do illogically believe in it. The undermining of his confidence had been a slow process. It had taken time. It had cost money. And it had proven at the last that some of his own supposed friends were Judases. A musician who visited his study on casual pretext had heard him practising, had praised his playing, but had added that his finger dexterity seemed slipping a little, and advised him to rest for a few days. You played beautifully. It was nothing. He went to a doctor, and then to specialists, who told him there was nothing the matter with his hands. From their point of view they were right. What had been done to him by open and direct suggestion up to now had been merely the groundwork. When they thought he was ripe for it, a little before the concert, an anonymous letter was sent him: It ended by telling him about the doll with its hands squeezed in the vice. The handle of the vice will be slowly turned to-night, until your hands are crushed. Take the healthiest, most hard- boiled, non-imaginative adult you know. Let several people, separately and at intervals, tell him he seems nervous and ought to take a rest. These are the crude elemental principles of witchcraft at its wickedest. Take a healthy, charming, well co-ordinated child, a completely normal, bright, but sensitive little girl, for instance. It works more slowly, but it works. The reason is simple. From the start, no matter whom they employ, they have always suspected that the man was going to let them down. No extra-sensory perception or nonsense of telepathy is required to explain his knowledge. He might say he feels it, or senses it, instead of that he knows it. He might say it was intuition. But it has all come in through his five senses, so that saying he sensed it is the simple truth. Carl Sandburg tells about an early sodbuster settled in Kansas. The sodbuster leaned at his gate. But most of us are more facile agents for contagious evil than contagious good. Magic is contagious, particularly when unconscious and unfocused. When one suspicious man or family moves into an honest community, expecting to be cheated, the community will remain generally honest, and confine its cheating to the strangers who asked, for it. Bad people are almost as rare as bad dogs. But dogs and men are sensitive. They vibrate. If you feel strongly that the dog will bite you, or that the man will cheat you or do you in the eye, the dog or man is pretty likely to vibrate in harmony with your emotion- expectations, and do it to you—and it serves you damned well right. Rhinebeck, my village, your village, your family, is always the Lion of Androcles. Any village, city, or family group is the magical i equivalent of the lion. Be friendly and trustful towards the L animal your own family, the grocer, your wretched sister, your difficult mother, your sexful or long-lost-to-sex wife and it will be friendly towards you. Beware, however, of hypo- I crisy. If you pretend to do it without feeling it the grocer, 1 your mother, your sister, your wife, will outdo you in devilish r hypocrisy and nail your worse-stripped skin to the nearest barn: My friends think I lean too far towards the side of the it angels. He goes to it frequently, to buy this and that for cash. It would be as absurd ' as gypping himself. Perhaps I have been II applying white magic to my gardener. At any rate, it works. My friends, I am sure, have never dreamed that their own i psychological distillation of a mild elemental form of black ;' magic has ruined their successive farm workers, made them dis- H loyal and dishonest, as truly as black magic ruined the Paris jtj pianist. In the case I propose next to relate the intended victim believed as implicitly and unquestioningly in the deadly supernatural power behind the doll as you believe in poison gas or cholera germs. Rehmeyer fought to the death, and John Blymyer killed him by violence, because they both believed that the hexing of a lock of hair would have been just as murderous and deadly. In Africa, in the case of the wooden doll in a cave, my savage friends wiped out, by similar physical violence, and with clean consciences accord- ing to their standards, a witch who was slowly murdering one of them—with no other weapon than that wooden doll. I was living up in the Ivory Coast, near Dananae, and the young black witch and priestess Wamba came to my house one day to ask a favour. She had done me many, and knew that I could scarcely refuse. He had sent word that he was afraid he was going to die, and hoped he could see her. Wamba consequently felt it necessary to add that this old gentleman was blood kin, and that she felt it her duty to go. She was deliberately piling it on so that I could scarcely refuse. She had come dressed in all her finery: It would take three weeks for her to make the trip to Huan with carriers in the hammock swung on poles in which she usually travelled, and it could be done in three days or less in a motor-car. Poor old Uncle Bird, she said, might be dead when she got there, unless I helped her. Why do you really want to go to Huan? My uncle is sick. He can sit on the bags in the rear. What are you planning to do at Huan? Perhaps I shall need Diisi. It was a shrivelled human forearm with the clenched hand attached, dry and hard as wood—almost like petrified wood. Then you build a tiny altar of pebbles under it, on which you place offerings of food—a fine, ripe mango, a chicken liver, anything small and tasty that comes handy. Sometimes you lay a little bouquet of flowers against the side of the altar. Then you invoke the spirit of the long- dead witch-doctor, and presently the arm begins to gyrate slowly. It does too—nearly always—and without needing to be jiggled or tricked. The temple ceilings are bamboo-latticed, thatched, thick, but not very solid or stable, and any slight vibration does it. To the kindly monks and doctor who received us I was simply a white colonial who had brought a couple of natives to visit a sick relative. Diisi, and Wamba too, were circumspect and humble. Native names were sometimes difficult to get straight, they explained to me. I thanked them, got permission to leave the lorry for a few days. From then on it was up to Wamba. Since I had come as far as that to visit her sick uncle, I was willing to tag along a little further, and let her find him if she could. It proved to be simple enough. Next morning she sent for me to come over and meet Uncle Bird. Like many native headmen in that part of Africa, he had worked a good part of his life for the administration, had been a sort of tax overseer. Now he was wasted, emaciated, melancholy, and depressed. He had been lying in a bamboo wall-bunk on a straw mat, with a pillow, but sat up to talk with us. It was the administration, he said, who had persuaded him to go to the hospital, and he had consented to go, not because of the medical doctors, but because the Peres Blancs were basi- tigui, which means dealers in spiritual and supernatural things. Just as the fetishist priest is basi-tigui, so likewise is the Roman Catholic priest, or priest of any religion. Did he know, then, I asked, what was the matter with him? Oh, yes, he knew, and glanced at Wamba. That was why he had sent for Wamba. He glanced at her again, and she nodded her head in assent. It was all right to tell me. So he told me. He knew and told me all about why he was dying. Each day a little of the thread was being unwound, while the deadly basiko and dayama incantations were chanted. When the end of the scarlet thread was reached he was going to die, he said, and I, who have no superstition, was convinced that he would. He was going to die simply and solely because he knew that he was going to die. But you should have sent for me sooner. But there is little time, and I am going to handle it by a quicker handle. From then on I let Wamba run the show. Wamba took a house for us on the edge of the town, in a compound fenced at the front, but whose backyard was the whole forest. I helped gather pebbles for the altar, and contributed two or three cigarettes, which I propped against it. Wamba had made one trip to the market, and servants had returned laden with provisions. Then she went down into the town, and was gone for two days and nights. She returned, worn out and travel- stained, looking completely done in. The usual penalty for mortals such as he for looking at a god or goddess was to be turned into stone. The picture is not a simple illustration of a mythical event, but demonstrates the transforming power of love. Night has turned into day. In the bottom right of the picture there are the dead leaves of autumn, but wherever Venus walks she becomes surrounded by spring flowers and apple blossom. She is accompanied by lions and a flight of doves which disperse a group of sparrows. Although the event depicted is rooted in ancient Greek mythology, Richmond chooses to show the dramatic awakening of a northern landscape in an English spring. The offspring of the union between Venus and Anchises was Aeneas, the legendary ancestor of the Romans. Rossetti composed the painting on a six- foot canvas, so that it was long enough for a full-length portrait. Morris is here. The painting drew criticism when it was displayed, due to its erotic content. Victorian audiences were shocked by its overt sensuality. Venus' hands are positioned to draw attention to her fertility use your imagination! Furthermore, as Rossetti's poem see link indicates, her girdle also highlights her voluptuousness "her twofold girdle clasps the infinite boon of bliss whereof the heaven and earth commune". The girdle also functions in much the same way as the hair of Venus in Botticelli's version, but is a bit more subtle. The landscape is arid and rocky; these strangely lunar landscapes were to become a recurring feature of his art, widely imitated by his followers. The mood and the colour are Pre-Raphaelite, but the conscious sweetness and elegance of the figures recall the Italian Renaissance, and, in particular, Botticelli, an artist greatly admired by Burne-Jones, and later to become a cult among fashionable aesthetes. The conception is purely aesthetic — a ring of beautiful girls in lovely draperies, with a minimum of narrative of historical content. The draperies are pseudo-classical, and the title is Venus, but the picture could equally have been given a vague allegorical title. Swinburne's poem Laus Veneris and Edward Burne-Jones's subsequent painting of the same title were created within 4 years of each other, the poem in and the painting between and .

Probably also to spy on me until they de¬ cided it was all right. Neither Marjorie nor I belonged properly in the group, but j some of my Nakedof marjorie de sousa If your body were burned you would be naked—of your body. He saw me get quite excited in a dining-room in a hotel when the orchestra began to play a march by Sousa.

Oscroft flew a De Havilland Gipsy Moth, one of thousands in the skies. The Corps were rehearsing a Sousa Nakedof marjorie de sousa in a field at Grange Hill, Chigwell, when a Link K. Mackintosh of the University of Boulder, Colorado says James I was. went on his way naked”. Of course, he was arrested and taken to Brentwood.

Teen booty teen porn

E-mail: [email protected]; Web site: dima.yoga The subscription rate Marjorie Perloff. Bart Eeckhout Santos, Maria Irene Ramalho de Sousa. could we forsake our beliefs, and “naked of any illusion, in poverty, / In. and Stat# legislation to forbid the «tanglier rn!

calve* will b» naked of «'«mtr* Nakedof marjorie de sousa. "hat a» Ia«!ed #;ncc early ' r a: e or union aV.r Nakedof marjorie de sousa freed jr cn-at un! endinç of. J mobile face» how Ing the wear and tear Mise Marjorie Mooreland, who has1. it is said Mohammedans in the Berana district] Led by Philip John Sousa, the.

At the age of 12, De Sousa began her career doing television commercials and working as a model. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.

Most people are very familiar with the armless Venus de Milo sculpture, and Botticelli's famous painting (right) of her "Birth", naked of course. Blcked Xxx.

Related Videos

Next

Age Verification
The content accessible from this site contains pornography and is intended for adults only.
Age Verification
The content accessible from this site contains pornography and is intended for adults only.
Age Verification
The content accessible from this site contains pornography and is intended for adults only.
Age Verification
The content accessible from this site contains pornography and is intended for adults only.