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Dodie's Dream World - Complete Chaos! xxx



The Racecourse

 The first organised Flat race meeting in Cheltenham took place in 1815 on Nottingham Hill, with the first races on Cleeve Hill in August 1818. Racing's popularity soared over the next decade with crowds of 30,000 visiting the Racecourse for its annual two day July meeting featuring the Gold Cup, a 3m flat race. In 1829, Cheltenham's Parish Priest, Reverend Francis Close, preached the evils of horse racing and aroused such strong feeling amongst his congregation that the race meeting in 1830 was disrupted. Before the following year's meeting the grandstand was burnt to the ground! .
The Grandstand was rebuilt and the rest is history so to speak. Many small changes have been made over the years and if you ever get the chance to attend the Festival week be assured you will have a wonderful experience.    

Cheltenham High Street

Old Postcard

        Cheltenham has been welcoming visitors for nearly three hundred years, ever since the discovery of the first natural spring. The very first Cheltenham Guide on 1781 described a visit to the town as "a journey of health and pleasure". According to legend the first medicinal waters were discovered when pigeons were noticed pecking at salty deposits which had formed around a spring on the present site of Cheltenham Ladies College.

In 1788 King George III came for five weeks to take the water cure; he was followed by many aristocratic and distinguished figures of the period, and Cheltenham's transformation into a fashionable resort began.

 In the lovely Cotswold region of Gloucestershire, England sits an historic manor house, dating from the 1500's and home to the ghost of Nathaniel Stephens. The sex scene for Tess of The D'Urbervilles was filmed in Cromwell's room, but I am sure you will find the ghost more interesting.
Originally posted by ghostwatching from a televised broadcast.


This next video playlist has no connection at all with Cheltenham, and there isn't even a horse in sight. You see when I came to check the pages I found that someone had decided to change the original video, naughty, naughty and as I already had a couple of Guitar Masterpieces being rearranged, I decided that I shall give the Saxons of England a listen to some of the best guitarist's and other musicians dating as far back as 1959 when "Sleepwalk" was in the charts by Santo and Johnny, Acker Bilk belted out "Stranger on the Shore for a whole year and more. then we couldn't leave out Brian May, Stevie Vie, Gary Moore (Recent sad loss, he will be missed by his huge fan following.) You have a couple of great Satriani to start off from Expo 92, I was there**** Brilliant. Oops we also have Monty Sunshine on ... dash how am I supposed to type with Joe playing "Always with Me, Always with You.... I tell you what, lie down on the couch, turn the volume up and listen to all 21 tracks by some of the greatest musicians out, I am going to do that right now before Stevie Vie comes on with "For the Love of God .... is there no end to the wonderful YouTube uploaders, I love every one of them. .Hugs Dodie XXX)

HeHe. I forgot.  We have Joe with and without hair and the amazing Led Zeppelin with the wonderful Robert Plant to round it all up.    Enjoy XXX Seligor. XXX
P.S. Did I mention Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page. xxx Diddily xxx


Cheltenham Crest

Salubritas et Eruditio 

A cheveron engrailed gules between two pigeons in chief and an oak tree eradicated in base proper on a chief azure a cross flory argent between two open books also proper binding and clasps of the first.

The crest embodies and denotes the legend of the discovery of the mineral waters to which Cheltenham owed its rise as an island watering place, and to which attention was drawn by flocks of pigeons resorting to a saline spring which rose to the surface.

The coat in the arms is that of Edward the Confessor, to whom the manor of Cheltenham at one time belonged. The manor is consequently "Terra Regis" and of "Ancient Demesne." The motto is "Salubritas et Eruditio." The open book and the "Eruditio" in the Motto are emblematic of the educational advantages Cheltenham possesses, and is so famed for, in the ancient foundation of Pate's Grammar School; the Cheltenham College; the Ladies' College; St. Paul's College; St. Mary's College; the Dean Close Memorial School; and other educational establishments.

The oak tree and sprays are symbolical of the avenue of trees in the public Promenades and Streets, and for which Cheltenham is also celebrated. The word Salubritas in the motto is indicative of the high repute in which Cheltenham is held as a health resort.

The Rev. Sabine Baring-Gould.  Anna Hale 2007 copyright

Saxon - England
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This story has to be one of the best English stories I have ever read.
The accent is a little hard to get your tongue around, but do try; even if you have to read it a few times it is brilliant. In my book The Minister of 1895, it has that it is by The Rev. S. Baring-Gould, as to whether he actually wrote it or just added it to the book , I'm afraid I have no idea.
 But please, come along to SAXON_ENGLAND which is the name of the page this is on at http://dodiesdreamworld.zoomshare.com
You really will love it. Brilliant. I have some pictures to add to it but I will do this tomorrow as it is 01.25 here in Pontybodkin and I must get into bed, almost time to get up.


GOOSIE-VAIR Image result for Goosey–Fair”
ONE day that of Old Michaelmas Day a friend and myself agreed to meet at Ward Bridge over the Walla, that foams down from its Dartmoor cradle, and to push up it together. He was to come  from Plymouth to Horrabridge station, and to walk thence to the point agreed on, and be on the bridge at noon punctually. It was stipulated that I was to bring lunch for both.
Before leaving home my good wife, with that wonderful consideration that all good wives possess,  said to me : " To-day is Goosie-Fair in Tavistock. It will not do for you to be within a few miles of the place, to pass through it, while reeking with preparations for a feast on roast goose, and not to have some. Besides, I know your tricks and your ways. When you smell the roast goose fumes, you will forget all about your friend and the appointment, and the scenery, and the poetry of the moor, and turn into some hospitable house for roast goose. There is cold goose in the larder. I will tell the cook to put in enough for you and Mr. Blank. You are sure to have a huge appetite,  and I shall provide accordingly." "All right" said I. "Angel of the Spheres! don't forget sage-and-onion stuff ing. Goose without stuffing is like lamb without mint sauce, a title without an estate, a Frenchman without brag, and an Irishman without wit." I started, and drove through Tavistock. The town was crowded. Acrobats, show men,  organ-grinders, cheap-jacks, had congregated there. If there be one entertain ment I love above  all others it is listening to a cheap-jack. But I remembered my friend, I drove past.
The streets were lined with stalls, the most inviting peppermint stick, in barbers' poles of pink and white, was exhibited. If there is one seductive sweet above another, it is peppermint stick. But I bought none. It is to be eaten after, not before, a meal. I considered my appoint ment,  and drove on. The atmosphere that enveloped the town was redolent with sage and onions, and the savour of roasting goose. Had not the best of wives put some of the article into the box of my dog-cart, I had never got beyond Tavistock that day.
Presently I was out of the fumes of roast goose, on Whitchurch Down, whirling past an old granite cross of the rudest description, and descending a hill, like the side of Salisbury steeple, to Ward  Bridge.
I had expected to see my friend there already. I was somewhat behind my time, delayed by the density of the throng in the wn. But no one was on the bridge. I waited, and wondered.
The scene is one of extraordinary beauty. The Walla comes down from the moor in the turbulence of youth. The moor stretches it arms on each side. The river has sawn itself a cleft,  and in this cleft, sheltered from the gales, growing out of every cranny be tween the granite block in chaos, start beech and birch and oak, thick and luxuriant as ambitions in a boy's mind.
At this season October the woods were a veritable Aladdin's garden. The rowan, or mountain- ash, was a mass of coral. The wild guelder rose dense with berries, carmine and translucent,  true carbuncles, the sloe-bushes blue with fruit as turquoise.
I looked over the parapet of the bridge into the limpid river. It tumbled among, it swirled about  boulders of every size and shape. The stones, where submerged, were black and green with weed, that streamed down the current, and wavered, a very Berenice's hair, under the water, and in and out among it darted the black moorland trout, very small, but, as I well knew, excellent for eating.
 As I looked at them, I hummed to myself the words and strain of an old folk-song, relative to a Cornish volunteer who had been accidentally shot at Penrhyn during some May games more than a century ago
" O Altarnun ! O Altarnun ! I never shall see more, 
Nor hear the bells in its old tower, nor stand in the church door,
Nor list the birds a-whistling, nor in the Inney stream
See silver trout a-gleaming, as thoughts glance by in dream."

But these Walla trout are black and not silver. 
There was no path up the river bank, this I knew. In order to ascend the valley I must mount the hill, and strike to the left by a farm that was occupied, and by another in ruins.
I became impatient. I was becoming rampageously hungry, and that being the case, was cross. I thought " That owl of a Blank must have disregarded arrangements and have preceded me up the road, and may be awaiting me at the top of the ascent."
A farmer jogged by. I asked him if he had seen a gentleman on the road. He replied that he had noticed some one by Turpin's cottage, but whether it was a gen'l- man or not, he could not say. He had not stayed to observe, he was late for Goosie- Fair he might be too late for roast goose
at all events for the stuffing sage and " ingins," he said, and had pushed on.
Accordingly I wrote on a piece of paper, torn from my pocket-book Image result for Goosey–Fair”

"AS USUAL Late! I have gone on with the goose to the cottage.
Look alive, or I shall have eaten it all."

I was late myself in arriving at Ward Bridge, but that I overlooked in consideration of the egregiousness of the unpunctuality of my friend. Really, unpunctual persons are not fit to be allowed to live. They should be destroyed as nuisances.
I went up the hill, and turned in at a gate to the cottage a humble, moor-stone cot, constructed without an atom of lime between the joints, and thatched with rushes.
The beech hedge to the garden was a ring of fire. The leaves had turned yellow, and the sun was on them ; we were in the Martinmas summer.
The cottage door was open, and I entered.
Then I saw seated in a high-backed leather chair by the deal table, a man with a scarlet, white-spotted kerchief in his hand. He wore knee-breeches and blue worsted stockings. His hands were on his knees, one held the kerchief.
" I beg your pardon," said I. " Will you kindly inform me if a gentleman has been here?"
The man turned towards me.
Then I noticed that something was amiss with his eyes. There was a film over them, and they were inflamed. A tear trickled down each cheek. At the same time a short uncouth man appeared, risen from a low stool near the fire, where he had been seated ;   I had not observed him at first, as the door way and chimney were on the same side of the apartment.
This man had a simple, somewhat childish face, and yet he was old, nearer seventy than
sixty. He pulled his forelock and said, "Your service, sir!" He wore very light, dust-coloured corduroys, and a string was bound round his legs below his knees.
"That's Thomas Coleman," he said, with tobacco-pipe indicating the suffering man.
" He's terrible put upon wi' his eyes. There, drat it all! I've scattered the trade on the
The " trade " was the stuff wherewith he had been packing the bowl of the tobacco-pipe.
"You have not seen a gentleman of a rather provoking description, always un-punctual this way ? " I asked.
"No, your honour," answered the short man, stooping to pick up the spilled " trade."
"Because," I said, "a farmer who was passing a few minutes agone told me he had observed some one in your garden."
"That were I," said the kneeling man.
"I wor a-gittin' together the trade for Coleman's pipe."
"What! do you grow tobacco on the moor ? "
"Tweren't 'zacklie 'baccy," answered the man.
I looked round. There was a cauldron simmering over the peat fire, puffs of steam issued at intervals, and the cover rattled.
"So," said I, "you are not at Goosie-Fair. Almost every one else is there."
"Ees, I reckon," said the child-faced man; "us can't go, not Thomas Coleman nor me. Us couldn't abear it."
The man with bad eyes held up his scarlet kerchief to his face, and dried his moist
" I fear you are suffering greatly," said I to him.
" I reckon it be so," answered he. " I've been growin' dim some while. I can't see, your honour, terrible sight. Well, I reckon it will come wor afore it cometh better."
" Have you had advice ? "
"Aye, plenty o' that. I've been to the dispensary, and after that they sent I to the horse-spital, but lor bless'y, sir, the doctors wor all in one song."
" And that was ? "
" That my eyes 'd turn reg'lar blind afore they growed better."
" Then they gave you some hope ? "
" Nay ! I win't say that nother."
" But surely you told me they would be better?"
" Ees, they'll come round agin."
" Well, that is something to hope for, something to look forward to."
"Ees, sartain. 'Tes something to look to."
" Then there is to be an operation ? "
" Oh lor ! they've orpirated, and 'tes no use at all."
I was puzzled.
"They think you will come round in time ? "
Oh they thinks nort. 'Tes the Word o' God say it." 
I was silent.
"It stand' th in the prophet Izee: c ln that day shall the deaf hear the words o' the buke, and the eyes o' the blind shall zee out o' obscoority and out o' darkness.' I shall zee my Patty then."
" Aye, Thomas Coleman, thim blind eyes ' zee Patty then," acquiesced the short man, "and as I be gawn hard o' hearing myself, that appli'th to me too. Thomas Coleman, he's my brother-in-law. He married of my sister Patience, you know."
I was interested in these two old men.
I said, "You have your dinner boiling in the pot, and I'm detaining you from it."
"'Tes our dinner," answered the short one, and added with that graceful courtesy which is a characteristic of our agricultural labourers, "If 'twarn't such terrible poor trade, us 'd ax'y to have a bite wi' we."
"Delighted," I said promptly; "I have brought something here. My friend one of the most unpunctual and aggravating persons in the world has not turned up, and I do not relish eating in solitude."
"'Tes titties (potatoes), but you're cruel welcome."
" Then may I add my mite to the pot ? "
I put my portions of cold roast goose into the cauldron along with the "titties."
I was quite sure the old men would relish the addition. The short man had not noticed my
pro ceeding. He was engaged re-stuffing the pipe. The other was too blind to see anything.
"Now then, Brother Coleman," said the short man with the simple face, " let I light she, and smoke and think o' Patty."
He kindled the pipe at the fire, and after a few puffs, handed it to his brother-in-law.
The smell diffused from the pipe was peculiar. I snuffed and raised my eyebrows.
"No," said the childish man, observing my expression of perplexity, "her bain't fulled up wi' 'baccy. I reckon 'tes a coorious smitch (scent), but Thomas Coleman fancieth it. 'Tes just a little sage and ingin chopped up. 'Tes Goosie-Vair."
"Yes, Goose Fair in Tavistock," said I.
"Us can't afford to go to Goosie-Vair," explained the short man, " and if us cu'd our feelin's udn't let us, would they, Thomas Coleman ? "
" No, I reckon, Methuselah Turpin."
"That's my name," said the child-faced man ; " I'm brother-in-law to he. Patience Turpin wor her full name, but nobody niver ca'ld her nothin' but Patty."
" I think I'll go out in the garden, and feel how the bloody-warriors be comin' on,"
said the nearly blind man. Then he rose and walked to the door.
Bloody-warriors are gilly or wall-flowers.
"Thomas, my brother-in-law, be cruel took up wi' flowers," explained Methuselah.
"Now he can't see 'em he can smell to 'em."
The old man began to tidy the room already scrupulously clean ; and then to lay a white cloth on the table, and some plates on it.
" Us be poor folk," he said apologetically, " but us '11 make you kindly welcome. So and 'tes Goosie-Vair, and you bain't there,".
"No!- I came for a walk on the moor an inhuman creature called Blank but there, never mind him. How long is it since your brother-in-law has been afflicted?"
" It's been a-coming on iver since our Patty died."
He talked as he prepared for the meal, hobbling about the room. He was not lame, but his knees were perpetually bent, he could not straighten his limbs, and there was a bend or a twist in his mind as well it also was contracted.
"You see, your honour, vayther and mother they died when me and Patty was young. I wor the ou'der o' the two, and tho' folks sez as I be a bit tottle (silly), yet I cu'd work and arn my thirteen shilling and keep house ; and Patty, her soon growed ou'd enough to be vitty (fitting = tidy) and spry (quick), and mind the house. I bringed she up, and her bringed up I, till Thomas
Coleman come and took up coortin' she, and marr'd her. But it's been just the same ever since I've lived wi' she and Thomas, after they was marr'd, and she has been dead these five year come Lady Day ; and Thomas hev' been bad in his eyes iver sin'. Not as that had nothin' to do wi' it. Her wor a peart (lively) little maid wor Patty, and I'm none surprised as Thomas
Coleman took a mind to she."
"Any children?" I asked.
Methuselah shook his head.
Then he went to the door, and called his brother-in-law, who came in. Coleman was feeble in body as well as failing in sight. He groped his way to the table, and took his place. Then Turpin poured out into a bowl the contents of his pot. He saw meat and bones of fowl of some sort, and said simply
" It's chicking."
" No not chicken," I said, with a smile. 
No sooner had the two old men begun to eat than an expression of wonder, then of reverential awe, came over their faces.
" It's goose ! " exclaimed Turpin.
" Goose, sure-ly ! " echoed Coleman.
"Us haven't eaten no goose since that day, have we, Thomas Coleman ? " said the childish man.
Well, now," said the blind man, " who shall say as merickles be past ? and to-day be Goosie-Vair ! "
" This is something better than a 'baccy bowl stuffed with sage anal onions," said I, laughing,
"Thanks to you, sir, and to Him as brought you, sir," said Coleman. " So it be. But you see, sir, when I can't have goose and I haven't set my teeth into one since that day the smoke be better than nothin' at all, special since I've lost my Patty."
  It was a pleasure to see the old men enjoy that goose. I was now thankful that my friend that fellow Blank (confound him !) had not arrived : thankful that I had come to the cottage, and had thought of slipping my lunch into the pot of the brothers-in-law.
When the meal was over, I found that their hearts were open, and that they were ready to make a confidant of me. Now it was Thomas Coleman who took the lead in speaking, whilst Methuselah Turpin cleared away the relics of the feast.
"I don't mind tellin' of it now, your honour, as we be all friends together not as there's ort to be ashamed on ! The Lord presarve us! but there be some soorts o' things folk don't like to tell to ivery one things as they kip huddled up i' their hearts like treasures they don't let all the world zee. Then somethin' comes like thickey (that) mouthful o' goose wi' sage-apd-ingm
stuffing and it unlocks the heart, and all comes tumblin' out. I don't mind tellin' of it, if, sir, you don't mind the hearin' of it."
" On the contrary, you could not do me a greater kindness.'
" You mun know," said the blind man, after he had wiped his eyes, " I wor cruel took up wi' Patty, and right as I shu'd be. Her wor a proper dacent maid. That wor five-and-twenty year agone. Then I had my eyesight, her wor nimble on her feet as a hare, and light o' heart as a gladys (yellow-hammer)."
Then Methuselah broke in.
"Brother Thomas Coleman," said he, " let me tell the genl'man about that. You corned a-coortin' o' my zistur, and I didn't half like it. Her and me had been very comfortable like together. Her'd looked arter me, and I'd looked arter she ; and I didn't half like it when you, Thomas Cole man, wos always axin' me if I cu'd find my way all alone to Jericho."
The blind man turned his face to me and tapped his forehead.
" Methuselah be that simple," said he, "he don't understand nothin' about coortin' ; he niver at no time went in for they May- games. Of course, I didn't want to have he hangin' about wheniver I corned over to see Patty, a-dragglin' along iverywhere wi' us when I took her out a bit o' a stroll. I dare say I may ha' axed he to go to Jericho at time or two ; but, Methuselah ! you was terrible provokin' at my coortin' time."
" I wasn't goin' to have none but a proper chap have my zistur," explained Turpin ; "and how wos I to find that out wi'out follerin' 'em iverywhere, and hearin' all they had to say the one to another ? Us hed lost vayther and mother, and I thought it wor my dooty to look arter the maid."
" I reckon you a little over-did it, Methuselah."
"A chap can't be too partickler," said Turpin, gravely. "Tweren't as if I had a scoor o' zisturs."
"Well," pursued the blind man, "the coortin' went on wi' difficulties, just as well as two poor creatures cu'd, wi' Methuselah trailin' about, and niver for no minit out o' the way. At last comes our weddin' Old Michaelmas Day, Goosie-Vair and us that's me and Patty had a mind to make our honeymoon off roast goose. Patty and I was to drive into Tavistock, and ha' our
bust on goose, and all to ourselves, lovier like. Will'y b'lieve it, sir, that there dratted Methuselah, he would come honey- moonin' along wi' we. Sed I to he, 'A goose, as every vule (fool) knoweth, be too much for one and not enough for three, But, lor' bless y', sir ! there were no movin' he Methuselah be that stubborn when he takes something into his head. Sed he,
'Thomas Coleman, I knows as my zistur hath a tremendjous small apertite, and the goose '11 do very well between us three.' It's o' no use argifying wi' the likes o' he."
The blind man touched his brow significantly, and shook his head.
Then the short man broke in. " Thomas Coleman, he said to I, ' Don't y' think, Methuselah, you'd better get your ticket and go to Jericho ? ' Then I sed, ' I'm not a-gwan', Thomas ; for why ? Because I don't know for sartain they keep Goosie-Vair to thickey place you call Jericho, and I know they do to Tavistock.' "
" Well," continued the blind man, " there was no giving he the slip. When us got to the e Plough/ they wos uncommon kind, for they knawed us three wor out honeymoonin', and they gave us a gurt (great) big goose, so big as a turkey. We eat 'n, and had enough. Well, your honour, I've niver tasted roast goose from that day to this, exceptin' in my dreams. Us be poor folk, and can't afford 'n." Coleman wiped his eyes. " But, sir, wheniver our weddin' day cometh round, I just have a whiff out o' my 'baccy-pipe o' sage and ingins, and then I seems to be carried back to that theer weddin' day, when Patty wor so charmin' and Methuselah that terrible provokin'. However, I'll go on wi' my tale. Us returned from our honeymoonin' that is to say, Patty and me and Methuselah and Farmer Northmore had given me up this here little cottage to live in wi' my wife ; and when I brought Patty here, nothin' would do but Methuselah must cum also."
" There now," protested Turpin; "what wor I to do wi'out my zistur ? Her'd knitted my stockings, and baked kettle bread, and my pasty, and I couldn't get on by myself. When us came to the door, after our honeymoon, Thomas turned as red as a poppy, and said, ' For the last time, will you be off to Jericho ? ' But I answered and said, ( I don't reckon the farmers there be in want o' hands. They're all suited.' So I stayed wi' 'em, I did."
"And it was best so," said Thomas. " My dear wife didn't live long only twenty years. O dear blood ! I shall not see her again ( not till the eyes see out o' obscoority and out o' darkness/ as Scriptur telleth." '
" They may call me tottle," put in Methuselah, "but I did the right thing. For when my zistur died, and Thomas became hard o' seein', who'd ha' looked arter things, I'd like to knaw ? Everything ha gone suant (smoothly) wi' me. I've been doin' woman's work baking and washin', and darnin', and the likes'
" That's true enough," assented Thomas Coleman.
A twelvemonth passed, and again came the Martinmas summer and the Tavistock Goose Fair. I had gone into the town, not to partake of goose, but in pure oblivion of the fact that it was " Goosie-Vair." When, however, I did realise that it was this momentous day, then I recalled those brothers-in-law, and became desirous of seeing them again.
Alas! such had been the spin and tear of life, that I had not found time to go to them again through an entire twelve month. I had purposed doing so, but had always postponed the expedition because of distance, because of business, because of pleasure, because of the weather, because of laziness. But now that Goose Fair Day was come, and had brought with it the same radiant weather as in the previous year, I merely baited my horse, and then drove on to Ward Bridge. The woods were as golden and copper as they had been the year before, the fern was as russet, the mountain-ash berries as coraline, the guelder berries as carbuncle-like, and the sloes as turquoise in the bloom on their purple cheeks. The water foaming under
the bridge waved the long black weed-tresses, the trout darted just the same. It was hard to believe that a whole year had slipped away since my last visit.


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I rode slowly up the steep ascent, turned at the corner, hitched up my horse at the gate, and entered the little garden. All about the house was the same, Not the smallest token of change. Under the window were seedling wallflowers " bloody- warriors " ready to be set out for spring- flowering next year. The door was open.
I tapped and walked in, and looked at the arm-chair. It was empty.
I tapped again. I could hear some one stumping about up-stairs, but he seemed unable to hear me. I waited patiently till he came down. Then I saw Methuselah Turpin, creeping along with legs bent, more clumsy and uncouth than before ; and I speedily discovered that his ears had become more hard of hearing.
Where was his brother-in-law? He beckoned to me to follow, and he led me up the steep staircase, that was little better than a ladder. When I had reached the chamber, I saw the bed, and on the bed a coffin. The old Thomas was laid therein, no doubt, but the lid was on.
"Her bain't screwed down yet," said Turpin, " but her will be present-ly. Would y' like to have a look ? Thomas maketh a beautiful lych, that her do."
He stumbled to the bedside, and raised the lid. I saw the old man then. There was a little colour still in the cheeks and the lips. The blind eyes were closed. The face was singularly peaceful ; it had a wondrous  refinement and beauty in it. But I opened my eyes very wide at something I saw at something that made me turn and look sharply at Methuselah, whose hand shook as he held the coffin-lid; and he said, apologetically "Well, sir, your honour, I thought as my sister Patty would be main pleased. You see to-day be Goosie-Vair."
What surprised and shocked me was the sight of the pipe slipped into the dead man's mouth, between the dead lips. But that was not all. It was stuffed. There could be no doubt as to what was the stuffing sage and onions !
"You see," said Methuselah, "to-day be Goosie-Vair. To-day twenty-six years agone my sister Patty married Thomas Coleman, and they us three kep' our honeymoon into Tavistock Goosie-Vair. Well, Thomas he sed I was a bit tottle, but for all, I don't think I be. He's agwan' to be buried to-day Goosie-Vair beside Patty, into Walkamton churchyard. He's gwan* to be laid o' one side, and I've made square wi' the sexton as I'm to be laid on t'other her i' the middle when it please the Lord to take me.
 And I thought I'd gi'e my sister a bit o' surprise and pleasure like. Her'll be walking in the heavenly garding and all to once her'll smell a snitch o' sage and ingins, and her'll jump up like and say,  "Tes Goosie-Vair, and there be my Thomas Coleman havin' his pipe o' sage and ingins sure as iver, it be he comin' ; and her'll run to the gates and be the first to welcome he comin' along smokin' of his  pipe. I'm not so tottle not I."
A year later nay, rather more than that and the little cottage was deserted. Methuselah,
Grown very deaf, had departed, and was laid on one side of his sister. There is a headstone
to all three, and on it the text
"In that day shall the deaf hear the words of the book, and the eyes of the blind shall see out of obscurity and out of darkness.' Isa. xxix. 18."

With much love to Anna Hale, recreated here by. Dodie xxx

Though little known in this era, ‘the man with the magpie mind’ Sabine Baring-Gould – Reverend, lyricist, author and raconteur– was a prolific 19th and 20th century writer, amateur archaeologist, folklorist, and ethnomusicologist from the South West of England who focused much of his abundant talent on chronicling life in Dartmoor. 
Though now best known for his hymn ‘Onward, Christian Soldiers,’ over his ninety year life Baring-Gould amassed a huge body of work– about one hundred and fifty books by E.W. Martin’s account!– both written by himself and gathered from country folk.  
Among these were large numbers of lyrical ballads and parish hymns, such as are collected in his Songs of the West: Folk Songs of Devon and Cornwall, many novels set in the West– a number specifically set in Dartmoor, such as Urith: a Tale of Dartmoor– and several collections of short fiction, fantasy and ghost stories such as Red Spider, and legends from the area.  Dartmoor Idylls is one such collection, covering a range of tales and folklore from all over the Moor as recounted by Baring-Gould. 
Published in 1896, it is a compelling, often humorous collection of nine stories– “John and Joan”, “Daniel Jacobs”, “Snaily House”, “Ephraim’s Pinch”, “Little Dixie”, “Jonas Coaker”, “Goosie–Vair”, “The Hammetts”, “Jolly Lane Cot”, “Green Rushes, O!”, and “An Old Cross”– taken from rural life on Dartmoor.  
Set in both the open Moor and the villages and towns which dot it, each tale reveals an entertaining piece of the region’s interwoven cultural and physical history, illuminating the unique relationship between landscape and population.
For th
ese reasons Dartmoor Idylls is in itself a wonderful collection of insights which give outsiders glimpses of folk tradition and life, as well as a better understanding of the landscapes, life styles, and rich cultural heritage of this too–often–overlooked portion of the country.

 © Copyright Anna Hale 2007


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Battle Ninja


Thomas Hardy
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Born  2 June 1840
                                      Stinsford, Dorchester, Dorset, England
                           Died   11 January 1928 (aged 87)
  Dorchester, Dorset
                                     Novelist, Poet, and Short Story writer
 (1840-06-02) (1928-01-12)


By Thomas Hardy

     Every branch big with it,
     Bent every twig with it;
Every fork like as white web-foot;
Every street and pavement mute:
Some flakes have lost their way, and grope back upward, when
Meeting those meandering down they turn and descend again.
     The palings are glued together like a wall,
     And there is no waft of wind with the fleecy fall.

     A sparrow enters a tree,
     Whereon immediately
A snow-lump thrice his own size
Descends on him and showers his head and eyes.
     And overturns him,
     And near inurns him,
And lights on a nether twig, when its brush
Starts off a volley of other lodging lumps with a rush.
     The steps are a blanched slope,
     Up which, with feeble hope,
A black cat comes, wide-eyed and thin;
And we take him in.
                       THOMAS HARDY.


He giveth snow like wool: He scattereth the hoar
     frost like ashes.
He casteth forth His ice like morsals: who can stand
     before His cold?
 He sendeth out His word and melteth them: He causeth
     His wind to blow, and the waters flow.
                              PSALM CXLVII., 16-18.

Dee and Dot

The Tower of London

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Where Fawkes spent his final days

            It was William the Conqueror who started work on London’s famous tower in the late 11th century. Over its history it has held numerous celebrity prisoners such as Walter Ralegh, Thomas More and the Kray twins. One of the most notorious inmates was Guy Fawkes who arrived here shortly after he had been caught with the barrels of gunpowder.

          Initially Fawkes refused to betray his fellow conspirators but after a few days of continuous torture, he relented and provided his interrogators with the information they wanted.

          James I had personally authorised the use of “the gentler tortures” and an examination of Fawkes’s signature on his first and second confessions suggests he had been badly shaken by the experience. It seems he was lucky to have been given the "Gentler Tortures," I doubt it. I hate to think what the "Rougher Tortures" were like.

         Other plotters who were subsequently rounded-up also found themselves in the Tower. Here they languished awaiting trial. Francis Tresham, who some believe sent the Monteagle letter, sickened and died in December before he could take the stand. Eight others, including Fawkes, went on trial on 27 January 1606, charged with high treason.

          Held in Westminster Hall, the trial was a sensational event for which spectators had to pay good money to attend. All of the defendants except for Everard Digby pleaded innocent but there was very little chance any would be let off. Guilty verdicts were announced for the eight men and the executions were carried out on 30 and 31 January at St Paul’s Churchyard and Old Palace Yard, Westminster. As befitted traitors, Fawkes and his colleagues were hung, drawn and quartered.

          Henry Garnett was captured too late for the main trial. He was nonetheless subjected to the same procedure and received a similar fate on 3 May 1606. The remains of plotters were attached to spikes on London Bridge as a stark warning to future conspirators.

          Amazing, would you like a wee peep at three of these Machines of Torture, the three following where provided by Henry III's, this Torture Display, (Replica's, the real ones wore away!) and the copies are still in one of the lower chambers inside the Tower.

The Rack, hm you fancy a go? I think NOT! THE RACK

     The Rack was the the Tower of London's most infamous instrument of torture. It was a large iron frame containing three wooden rollers.

      One warder could operate it by turning the central roller with a lever. Ropes ran to the other rollers at the head and foot of the rack, making them turn in opposite directions. The central roller also had an iron ratchet and teeth, holding it in position and keeping the victim stretched. This replica is based on a diagram showing what remained of the rack in the 18th century, when it was found in storage. It has since been lost.
"The prisoner lies in the middle of the frame, and puts out his hands to be tied to the upper roller; his feet are likewise tied to the lower one... Then the device pulls the hands and feet in opposite directions in this way. By pulling hard on wooden levers, the torturers can lift the wretched prisoner's body off the ground using the ropes... and then pull apart all the joints of the body..." - Matthias Tanner, Jesuit Priest, 17th century


Scavengers Daughter, goodness me, !
The Scavenger's Daughter was an iron frame formed of a base-plate and two semi-circular bows.

The bows were fastened tightly across the prisoner's back, holding him in a crouched position, with his arm against his sides.

Torture by this method was quicker than the others, usually lasting an hour.

The Scavenger's Daughter was probably very rarely used and evidence for only six cases can be found.

A historic instrument operating on a similar principle still survives in the Royal Armouries' collection


The Manacles, not quite what the police use today, thank goodness.

The manacles were iron rings, fastened around the wrists, from which prisoners could be left hanging above the ground. Weights were often used in this torture. A weight was hung from the manacled ankles as you can see in the artists sketch from the Spanish Inquisition.

The rings were fitted to an iron bar.

This method of torture became very popular at the end of the 16th century and was used in other prisons besides the Tower of London.

Torture by the manacles sometimes lasted 5 or 6 hours and could leave the victim incapable of using his hands for some time afterwards.

The lower chamber of the Wakefield Tower contained a guard room where the soliders who guarded the old Henry III Watergate were stationed.

This overlooked the river through a series of arrow slits, until about 1820 when the foreshore was built up to form the new Outer Ward.

Today, the lower chamber contains replicas of three torture instruments, known to have been used in the Tower of London in the past.

Spanish InquisitionThe Spanish Inquisition.

This is an artist's interpretation of what one of the Torture Chambers were like, during the Spanish Inquisition

I guess if you want to read about real torture to the people, take a quick look at the write up in Wikipedia.

Wow, this was a terrible time in history for the Spanish, it is still unbelievable how we, a supposedly civilized world did and still do cause so much pain and hurt on their fellow men and women, and lets not forget the children who come off the worse at the hands of these civilized adults.

Remembrance Sunday

The 2009 Remembrance Sunday is just round the corner. Why don't all the leaders, in all the countries of this beautiful world, get together and realise that greed and war does not solve the problems. I don't know what does, but I do know that this World was here before people and we should feed the world with nature and love, full stomachs and What happens when there is NOBODY left to REMEMBERpassion.

Wake up  and look around you, for soon it will vanish before your very eyes and you will be left with the dead and dying and you will be amongst them with nothing left for you to survive in.




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Catherine of Cleves

Catherine of Cleves was a Lady of rank, she had lands and fine houses, and cash in the bank 
             She had jewels and rings, and a thousand smart things;
Was lovely and young, With a rather sharp tongue,
And she wedded a Noble of high degree with the star of the order of St. Esprit;
             But the Duke de Guise, was, by many degrees, Her senior, and not very easy to please; He'd a sneer on his lip, and a scowl with his eye, and a frown on his brow,-- and he look'd like a Guy,--
            So she took to intriguing with Monsieur St. Megrin, A young man of fashion, and figure, and worth, but with no great pretensions to fortune or birth; He would sing, fence, and dance with the best man in France, and took his rappee with genteel nonchalance; He smiled, and he flatter'd, and flirted with ease, and was very superior to Monseigneur de Guise.

Now Monsieur St. Megrin was curious to know if the Lady approved of his passion or no; So without more ado, he put on his surtout, and went to a man with a beard like a Jew.
One Signor Ruggieri, a Cunning-man near, he could conjure, tell fortunes, and calculate tides, perform tricks on the cards, and Heaven knows what besides,
Bring back a stray'd cow, silver ladle, or spoon, and was thought to be thick with the Man in the Moon.
             The Sage took his stand  with his wand in his hand, drew a circle, then gave the dread word of command,  Saying solemnly --' Presto!-- Hey, quick!-- Cock-alorum!!' When the Duchess immediately popped up before 'em.
Just then a Conjunction of Venus and Mars, or something peculiar above in the stars,
Attracted the notice of Signor Ruggieri, Who 'bolted,' and left him alone with his deary.--
Monsieur St. Megrin went down on his knees, and the Duchess shed tears large as marrow-fat peas,
              When,-- fancy the shock,--  A loud double-knock,
Made the Lady cry 'Get up, you fool!-- there's De Guise!'--
'Twas his Grace, sure enough; So Monsieur, looking bluff,
Strutted by, with his hat on, and fingering his ruff,
While, unseen by either, away flew the Dame through the opposite key-hole, the same way she came;
But, alack! and alas!
A mishap came to pass,
In her hurry she, somehow or other, let fall  a new silk Bandana she'd worn as a shawl;
 She had used it for drying her bright eyes while crying, and blowing her nose, as her Beau talk'd of 'dying!'

Now the Duke, who had seen it so lately adorn her, and knew the great C with the Crown in the corner;
The instant he spied it smoked something amiss, and said with some energy, 'Dam it! what's this?'
              He went home in a fume, and bounced into her room,
Crying, 'So, Ma'am, I find I've some cause to be jealous;
Look here!-- here's a proof you run after the fellows!
-- Now take up that pen,-- if it's bad choose a better,-- and write, as I dictate, this moment a letter
             To Monsieur -- you know who!'
The Lady look'd blue;  But replied with much firmness --' Hang me if I do!'
                    De Guise grasped her wrist with his great bony fist,
 And pinch'd it, and gave it so painful a twist,
That his hard, iron gauntlet the flesh went an inch in,--  She did not mind death, but she could not stand pinching;

discovery of adultry   So she sat down and wrote this polite little note:--

"Dear Mister St. Megrin, The Chiefs of the League in
Our house mean to dine this evening at nine;
I shall, soon after ten, slip away from the men,
And you'll find me up stairs in the drawing-room then;
Come up the back way, or those impudent thieves
Of Servants will see you; Yours,
                                        CATHERINE OF CLEVES"

She directed and sealed it, all pale as a ghost,
And De Guise put it into the Twopenny Post.

St. Megrin had almost jumped out of his skin for joy that day when the post came in;
He read the note through, then began it anew,
And thought it almost too good news to be true.--
                He clapped on his hat, and a hood over that,
                With a cloak to disguise him, and make him look fat;
So great his impatience, from half after four he was waiting till Ten at De Guise's back-door.
When he heard the great clock of St. Genevieve chime, he ran up the back staircase six steps at a time;

 He had scare made his bow, he hardly knew how,
 When alas! and alack! There was no getting back,

For the drawing-room door was bang'd to with a whack;--
 In vain he applied to the handle and tried,
Somebody or other had locked it outside!
And the Duchess in agony mourn'd her mishap, 'We are caught like a couple of rats in a trap.'

Now the Duchess's Page, about twelve years of age, for so little a boy was remarkably sage;
And, just in the nick, to their joy and amazement, popp'd the Gas-lighter's ladder close under the casement.
 But all would not do,-- Though St. Megrin got through
 The window,-- below stood De Guise and his crew,
And though never man was more brave than St. Megrin, yet fighting a score is extremely fatiguing;
Murder of De Guise

 He thrust carte and tierce uncommonly fierce, 
  But not Beelzebub's self could their cuirasses pierce,

While his doublet and hose, being holiday clothes, were soon cut through and through from his knees to his nose.
Still an old crooked sixpence the Conjuror gave him from pistol and sword was sufficient to
save him,
But, when beat on his knees, that confounded De Guise came behind with the 'fogle' that caused all this breeze,
Whipp'd it tight round his neck, and, when backward he'd jerk'd him, the rest of the rascals jump'd on him and Burk'd him.

The poor little Page too himself got no quarter, but was served the same way,
And was found the next day with his heels in the air and his head in the water-butt;
    Catherine of Cleves roar'd 'Murder!' and 'Thieves!'
             From the window above while they murder'd her love;
Till, finding the rogues had accomplish'd his slaughter,
          She drank Prussic acid without any water,
                   And died like a Duke and a Duchess's daughter!

Page upside down in water buttMoral of this Tale.
Take warning, ye Fair, from this tale of the Bard's,
And don't go where fortunes are told on the cards!
But steer clear of Conjurors,-- never put query
To 'Wise Mrs. Williams,' or folks like Ruggieri.
When alone in your room shut the door close, and lock it;
Above all,-- keep your handkerchief safe in your pocket!
Lest you too should stumble, and Lord Leveson Gower, he
Be call'd on,-- sad poet!-- to tell your sad story!

Dee and Dot

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The Blackfriars Buccaneers.
By W. A. Morgan..
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He was a cod faced Mariner, and he said, said he to me,
"I am a Blackfriars Buccaneer, now who the WHAT are ye?"
I answerd then that sailorman, in words both plain and true,
"I cannot see, my sailor friend, that has to do with you."
The sailor then, with curious oaths, besought me to heave to,
And go with him aboard his ship, and join his jovial crew.
Said I, "Have I, my tarry friend, to learn your sailor roll,
To clean the brasswork fore and aft, and curse the doctor's soul,
To wear a pointed Marlinspike within a bladed knife,
To have to go to sea at night, and leave ashore my wife,
To always chew the darkest kinds of uncut negro head,
To sleep in hammocks every night, without a feather bed?
Good sailorman, to learn these things, will cause me constant Pain,
Now tell me, if I join your crew, what pleasures shall I gain?"
The Buccaneer he spat four times, then swore for minutes three,
And then he cleared his throat and told the following things to me:
"WHY, you learn to chew tobacco, either Navy Cut or Copes,
There's some as likes perique the best, that's stuff done round with ropes.
To add to this, my embryo tar, you'll have such lots of fun,
When in you fall at the bosun's call, at the breech of a six-inch gun,
You'll learn to know the meaning (misunderstood by some)
Of starboard, port, the Mainbrace splice, lime juice, and Navy rum.
You'll hoist your slacks at every chance, be tattoed on each arm,
And learn to be a handyman with needle and with palm.
Of course, you'll caulk your watch on deck, the compass learn to box,
and when you're wanted, learn to work the traverse of  Tom Cox.
The swabs on board will use odd terms, like dunnage, scuppers, limbers,
And when you feel the cold aloft, you'll shiver all your timbers.
The ship you dress is trim and taut, but has sweet woman's ways,
For sometimes, though when least desired, you'll find that she's in stays.
And scarcely gallant tho' it seems, and fighting men would scoff,
You'll find, if she won't wear herself, you'll have to box her off.
Martingale stays are always used, and stirrups, though, of course,
You do not need the harness cask to fit a flemish horse.
Your lizards will be thimble rigged, and a cat's paw, you will find,
Will oft appear in Blackfriars reach, if your crow foot's left behind.
But bobstays, swivels, sisterblocks, and spunyarn up to housing,
Will be as household worrds to you, as rattling down and mousing.
And when on shore you tumble home, albeit in a mist,
Just mind your luff, you'll make the port, despite your heavy list.
No more will London Lasses, now, go after Sons of Mars,
They'll drift about the Buzzard's wake, to see us honest tars.
Instead of Kipling's washy songs, all full of Tommy's wrongs,
When we're aboard, we Buccaneers, will all sing Dibdin's songs.
You won't be sea sick, no, my boy, though Neptune has the call,
But if you are, a broad reach try, then quickly heave and paul.
We'll have together, you and I, we sailors of the King,
Our grog we'll drink and Guinness' stout, and we'll give three hearty cheers
For our Ship, the Thames Embankment, and the Blackfriars Buccaneers."

The only connection I can find with The Thames Embankment, Blackfriars Buccaneers and
 W.A. Morgan is the Stock Exchange, 15th December 1903 he gave the Editor's forward to 
This book was also compiled by WA Morgan, in aid of
Any one have any more to add, just leave a comment or send an email to dottido@hotmail.co.uk
My goodness what a rhyme, remends me a bit of the Yarn of the Nancy Bell at the beginning.
I still don't think I would have joined up, Guinness and Rum apart. ...

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DODIE'S DREAM WORLDJust a Dragon, maybe on the Cornish Rocks! !
The Fiery Dragon
by Edith Nesbit

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Of course you know that dragons were once as common as motor-omnibuses are now, and almost as dangerous. But as every well-brought-up prince was expected to kill a dragon, and rescue a princess, the dragons grew fewer and fewer till it was often quite hard for a princess to find a dragon to be rescued from. And at last there were no more dragons in France and no more dragons in Germany, or Spain, or Italy, or Russia. There were some left in China, and are still, but they are cold and bronzy, and there were never any, of course, in America. But the last real live dragon left was in England, and of course that was a very long time ago, before what you call English History began. This dragon lived in Cornwall in the big caves amidst the rocks, and a very fine dragon it was, quite seventy feet long from the tip of its fearful snout to the end of its terrible tail. It breathed fire and smoke, and rattled when it walked, because its scales were made of iron. Its wings were like half-umbrellas—or like bat's wings, only several thousand times bigger. Everyone was very frightened of it, and well they might be.

Now the King of Cornwall had one daughter, and when she was sixteen, of course she would have to go and face the dragon: such tales are always told in royal nurseries at twilight, so the Princess knew what she had to expect. The dragon would not eat her, of course—because the prince would come and rescue her. But the Princess could not help thinking it would be much pleasanter to have nothing to do with the dragon at all—not even to be rescued from him. 'All the princes I know are such very silly little boys,' she told her father. 'Why must I be rescued by a prince?'

A Princess, think this one is called Beauty'It's always done, my dear,' said the King, taking his crown off and putting it on the grass, for they were alone in the garden, and even kings must unbend sometimes.

'Father, darling,' said the Princess presently, when she had made a daisy chain and put it on the King's head, where the crown ought to have been. 'Father, darling, couldn't we tie up one of the silly little princes for the dragon to look at—and then I could go and kill the dragon and rescue the prince? I fence much better than any of the princes we know.'

'What an unladylike idea!' said the King, and put his crown on again, for he saw the Prime Minister coming with a basket of new-laid Bills for him to sign. 'Dismiss the thought, my child. I rescued your mother from a dragon, and you don't want to set yourself up above her, I should hope?'

'But this is the last dragon. It is different from all other dragons.'
'How?' asked the King.
'Because he is the last,' said the Princess, and went off to her fencing lessons, with which she took great pains. She took great pains with all her lessons—for she could not give up the idea of fighting the dragon. She took such pains that she became the strongest and boldest and most skilful and most sensible princess in Europe. She had always been the prettiest and nicest.
I think you all know these Princesses.

And the days and years went on, till at last the day came which was the day before the Princess was to be rescued from the dragon. The Prince who was to do this deed of valour was a pale prince, with large eyes and a head full of mathematics and philosophy, but he had unfortunately neglected his fencing lessons. He was to stay the night at the palace, and there was a banquet.
After supper the Princess sent her pet parrot to the Prince with a note. It said:

Please, Prince, come on to the terrace. I want to talk to you without anybody else hearing. —The Princess.
So, of course, he went—and he saw her gown of silver a long way off shining among the shadows of the trees like water in starlight. And when he came quite close to her he said: 'Princess, at your service,' and bent his cloth-of-gold-covered knee and put his hand on his cloth-of-gold-covered heart.

'Do you think,' said the Princess earnestly, 'that you will be able to kill the dragon?'
'I will kill the dragon,' said the Prince firmly, 'or perish in the attempt.'
'It's no use your perishing,' said the Princess.
'It's the least I can do,' said the Prince.
'What I'm afraid of is that it'll be the most you can do,' said the Princess.
I'm not sure about this one being tamed, do you?

'It's the only thing I can do,' said he, 'unless I kill the dragon.'
'Why you should do anything for me is what I can't see,' said she.
'But I want to,' he said. 'You must know that I love you better than anything in the world.'

When he said that he looked so kind that the Princess began to like him a little.

'Look here,' she said, 'no one else will go out tomorrow. You know they tie me to a rock and leave me—and then everybody scurries home and puts up the shutters and keeps them shut till you ride through the town in triumph shouting that you've killed the dragon, and I ride on the horse behind you weeping for joy.'

'I've heard that that is how it is done,' said he.
'Well, do you love me well enough to come very quickly and set me free—and we'll fight the dragon together?'
'It wouldn't be safe for you.'
'Much safer for both of us for me to be free, with a sword in my hand, than tied up and helpless. Do agree.'

He could refuse her nothing. So he agreed. And next day everything happened as she had said.
When he had cut the cords that tied her to the rock they stood on the lonely mountain-side looking at each other.
'It seems to me,' said the Prince, 'that this ceremony could have been arranged without the dragon.'
'Yes,' said the Princess, 'but since it has been arranged with the dragon —'

'It seems such a pity to kill the dragon—the last in the world,' said the Prince.
'Well then, don't let's,' said the Princess; 'let's tame it not to eat princesses but to eat out of their hands. They say everything can be tamed by kindness.'

'Taming by kindness means giving them things to eat,' said the Prince. 'Have you got anything to eat?'

She hadn't, but the Prince owned that he had a few biscuits. 'Breakfast was so very early,' said he, 'and I thought you might have felt faint after the fight.'

'How clever,' said the Princess, and they took a biscuit in each hand. And they looked here, and they looked there, but never a dragon could they see.
'But here's its trail,' said the Prince, and pointed to where the rock was scarred and scratched so as to make a track leading to a dark cave. It was like cart-ruts in a Sussex road, mixed with the marks of sea-gull's feet on the sea-sand. 'Look, that's where it's dragged its brass tail and planted its steel claws.'

'Don't let's think how hard its tail and claws are,' said the Princess, 'or I shall begin to be frightened—and I know you can't tame anything, even by kindness, if you're frightened of it. Come on. Now or never.'

She caught the Prince's hand in hers and they ran along the path towards the dark mouth of the cave. But they did not run into it. It really was so very dark.
So they stood outside, and the Prince shouted: 'What ho! Dragon there! What ho within!' And from the cave they heard an answering voice and great clattering and creaking. It sounded as though a rather large cotton-mill were stretching itself and waking up out of its sleep.
The Prince and t
I think we could tame this one!he Princess trembled, but they stood firm.
'Dragon—I say, dragon!' said the Princess, 'do come out and talk to us. We've brought you a present.'

'Oh yes—I know your presents,' growled the dragon in a huge rumbling voice. 'One of those precious princesses, I suppose? And I've got to come out and fight for her. Well, I tell you straight, I'm not going to do it. A fair fight I wouldn't say no to—a fair fight and no favour—but one of those put-up fights where you've got to lose—no! So I tell you. If I wanted a princess I'd come and take her, in my own time—but I don't. What do you suppose I'd do with her, if I'd got her?'

'Eat her, wouldn't you?' said the Princess, in a voice that trembled a little.
'Eat a fiddle-stick end,' said the dragon very rudely. 'I wouldn't touch the horrid thing.'
The Princess's voice grew firmer.
'Do you like biscuits?' she said.
'No,' growled the dragon.
'Not the nice little expensive ones with sugar on the top?'
'No,' growled the dragon.
'Then what do you like?' asked the Prince.

'You go away and don't bother me,' growled the dragon, and they could hear it turn over, and the clang and clatter of its turning echoed in the cave like the sound of the steam-hammers in the Arsenal at Woolwich.

The Prince and Princess looked at each other. What were they to do? Of course it was no use going home and telling the King that the dragon didn't want princesses—because His Majesty was very old-fashioned and would never have believed that a new-fashioned dragon could ever be at all different from an old-fashioned dragon. They could not go into the cave and kill the dragon. Indeed, unless he attacked the Princess it did not seem fair to kill him at all.

'He must like something,' whispered the Princess, and she called out in a voice as sweet as honey and sugar-cane:
'Dragon! Dragon dear!'

'WHAT?' shouted the dragon. 'Say that again!' and they could hear the dragon coming towards them through the darkness of the cave. The Princess shivered, and said in a very small voice:

'Dragon—Dragon dear!'Nobody has ever called me dear before

And then the dragon came out. The Prince drew his sword, and the Princess drew hers—the beautiful silver-handled one that the Prince had brought in his motor-car. But they did not attack; they moved slowly back as the dragon came out, all the vast scaly length of him, and lay along the rock—his great wings halfspread and his silvery sheen gleaming like diamonds in the sun. At last they could retreat no further—the dark rock behind them stopped their way—and with their backs to the rock they stood swords in hand and waited.

The dragon grew nearer and nearer—and now they could see that he was not breathing fire and smoke as they had expected—he came crawling slowly towards them wriggling a little as a puppy does when it wants to play and isn't quite sure whether you're not cross with it.

And then they saw that great tears were coursing down its brazen cheek.

'Whatever's the matter?' said the Prince.
'Nobody,' sobbed the dragon, 'ever called me "dear" before!'

'Don't cry, dragon dear,' said the Princess. 'We'll call you "dear" as often as you like. We want to tame you.'

'I am tame,' said the dragon—'that's just it. That's what nobody but you has ever found out. I'm so tame that I'd eat out of your hands.'

'Eat what, dragon dear?' said the Princess. 'Not biscuits?' The dragon slowly shook his heavy head.
'Not biscuits?' said the Princess tenderly. 'What, then, dragon dear?'

'Your kindness quite undragons me,' it said. 'No one has ever asked any of us what we like to eat—always offering us princesses, and then rescuing them—and never once, "What'll you take to drink the King's health in?" Cruel hard I call it,' and it wept again.

'But what would you like to drink our health in?' said the Prince. 'We're going to be married today, aren't we, Princess?'
She said that she supposed so.

'What'll I take to drink your health in?' asked the dragon. 'Ah, you're something like a gentleman, you are, sir. I don't mind if I do, sir. I'll be proud to drink you and your good lady's health in a tiny drop of'—its voice faltered—'to think of you asking me so friendly like,' it said. 'Yes, sir, just a tiny drop of puppuppuppuppupetrol—tha-that's what does a dragon good, sir —'

'I've lots in the car,' said the Prince, and was off down the mountain in a flash. He was a good judge of character and knew that with this dragon the Princess would be safe.

'If I might make so bold,' said the dragon, 'while the gentleman's away—p'raps just to pass the time you'd be so kind as to call me Dear again, and if you'd shake claws with a poor old dragon that's never been anybody's enemy but his own—well, the last of the dragons'll be the proudest dragon that's ever been since the first of them.'

steel claws, hmmm!It held out an enormous paw, and the great steel hooks that were its claws closed over the Princess's hand as softly as the claws of the Himalayan bear will close over the bit of bun you hand it through the bars at the Zoo.

And so the Prince and Princess went back to the palace in triumph, the dragon following them like a pet dog. And all through the wedding festivities no one drank more earnestly to the happiness of the bride and bridegroom than the Princess's pet dragon—whom she had at once named Fido.
And when the happy pair were settled in their own kingdom, Fido came to them and begged to be allowed to make himself useful.
'There must be some little thing I can do,' he said, rattling his wings and stretching his claws. 'My wings and claws and so on ought to be turned to some account—to say nothing of my grateful heart.'

So the Prince had a special saddle or howdah made for him—very long it was—lik
And they all lived happily ever after. e the tops of many tramcars fitted together. One hundred and fifty seats were fitted to this, and the dragon, whose greatest pleasure was now to give pleasure to others, delighted in taking parties of children to the seaside. It flew through the air quite easily with its hundred and fifty little passengers—and would lie on the sand patiently waiting till they were ready to return. The children were very fond of it, and used to call it Dear, a word which never failed to bring tears of affection and gratitude to its eyes. So it lived, useful and respected, till quite the other day—when someone happened to say, in his hearing, that dragons were out-of-date, now so much new machinery had come in. This so distressed him that he asked the King to change him into something less old-fashioned, and the kindly monarch at once changed him into a mechanical contrivance. The dragon, indeed,

Dee and Dot

became the first aeroplane.

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 The New Forest

In the New Forest
(for a moment)
This is the place where William's kingly power
Did from their poor and peaceful homes expel,
Unfriended, desolate, and shelterless,
The inhabitants of all the fertile track
Far as these wilds extend. He levell'd down
Their little cottages, he bade their fields
Lie waste, and forested the land, that so
More royally might he pursue his sports.
If that thine heart be humman, passenger!
Sure it will swell within thee, and thy lips
What cities flame, what hosts unsepulchred
Pollute the passing wind, when raging power
Drives on his bloodhounds to the chase of man;
And as thy thoughts anticipate that day
When God shall judge aright, in charity
Pray for the wicked rulers of mankind.

Robert Southey

Robert Southey (12 August 1774 – 21 March 1843) was an English poet of the Romantic school, one of the so-called "Lake Poets", and Poet Laureate for 30 years from 1813 to his death in 1843. Although his fame tends to be eclipsed by that of his contemporaries and friends William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Southey's verse enjoys enduring popularity.Moreover, Southey was a prolific letter writer, literary scholar, essay writer, historian and biographer. His biographies include the life and works of John Bunyan, John Wesley, William Cowper, Oliver CromwellHoratio Nelson. The latter has rarely been out of print since its publication in 1813 and was adapted for the screen in the 1926 British film, Nelson. He was also a renowned Portuguese and Spanish scholar, translating a number of works of those two countries into English and writing both a History of Brazil (part of his planned History of Portugal which was never completed) and a History of the Peninsular War. Perhaps his most enduring contribution to literary history is the immortal children's classic, The Story of the Three Bears, the original Goldilocks story, which first saw print in 1834 in Southey's novel, The Doctor. (information from the wonderful Wikipeadia)
The picture is taken in the New Forest near Milford. William the Conqueror extended the boundaries of the New Forest to cover 60,000 acres. Hunting in the royal preserves was prohibited and anyone caught doing so was subjected to the direst penalties.

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 Jenny Greenteeth –

An evil and malignant water spirit who lives in the still waters of Lancashire, England. She can be found in any pool or pond that is covered with green algae or scum, where she waits for unsuspecting children to wander close enough for her to grab them with her long green fangs and drag them down to a watery grave.


This fiendish dog is also called Barghest and Boguest in the English counties of Northumberland, Yorkshire, and Durham. They have been described as having the shape of a black dog the size of a mastiff, with horns, fangs, and bright red eyes, or as a large shaggy-haired dog or bear with huge claws and fiery eyes. Sometimes it drags a chain, at others it is wrapped in chains. It has also been described as a headless human man or woman, a white rabbit, cat, or dog that disappears in flames, attesting to the creatures shape shifting abilities. He is best known for haunting an area of wasteland between Hedgingly Hill and Wreghorn near Leeds in Yorkshire, England. Whenever any notable citizen in the district was about to die it would appear, with all of the community’s dongs in tow, baying and howling in the night. Like the Banshee, they attach themselves to particular areas, and are portents of death or disaster for the one who sees it, or a member of their family. And, should anyone try to approach one, or cross one’s path, then he will inflict a terrible wound upon that person that will never heal.

Seven Whistlers

This group of evil spirits are the canine, banshee-like death portents of Worcestershire, England. They manifest as the sound of a pack of shrieking and whistling hunting dogs in search of lost souls. They come out on stormy nights and at sunset, racing through the skies as a death omen to any one who ears them as they come one by one. It is said that if all seven should arrive together then the world will end. In a sonnet by Wordsworth they are mentioned in connection with Gabriel’s Hounds:

He the seven birds hath seen that never part,
 Seen the seven whistlers on their nightly rounds,
 And counted them! And often times will start,
 For overhead are sweeping Gabriel’s hounds,
 Doomed with their impious lord the flying hart
 To chase forever on aerial grounds.

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Dee and Dot

Just Class.
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Sometimes you just want to sit back and relax.
So you lie back in the armchair close your eyes and listen. 
But there isn't a sound, but wait... turn on the PC and pop on to England at Dodies Dream World where you can listen to some of the most beautiful music ever recorded.
First the fiery classics of the great masters, then the haunting songs from "Les Miserables"

My favourite, well there are two.
it has to be "Bring Him Home" sung by Colm Williamson. And then "A little fall of Rain." sung by Eponine and Marius.
"You are allowed your tissues."

Enjoy Dodie.  xxx

Dee and Dot

This is it, relax and enjoy.

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By Alfred Noyes

Part One
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight, over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding-
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,

His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say-

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.

Part Two
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching-
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say-
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till here fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs
ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did
not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still!

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.

He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding-
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

A wonderful version of this poem can be found on  "The Book of Secrets," recorded by Lorreena McKennitt. It is wonderful I will put it in the next video set. below.

As I said the wonderful Lorreena McKennitt.
Not to forget Johmnny Cash, Waylon Jennings,
Kris Kristoffesn and Willie Nelson.

Absolutely Brilliant. Enjoy Dodie. xxx

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To England's Green and Pleasant Land
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Gog and MagogIn the gallery beneath the western window of the Guildhall of London stand two great giants, whose names are Gog and Magog.
Gog is clothed in a rude fashion, and he carries a morning star, which is a great iron ball covered with spikes and fastened by a chain to a long pole. Magog, on the other hand, is arrayed like an ancient
Gog and Magog are brothers,  and the reason why they are  dressed and armed in a different way is curious. Roman Soldier, and he carries a halbert, which is a kind of battleaxe with a spear at the top.
When the Ancient Britons came to England the country was peopled by a race of savage giants, who lived in dark, damp caves and dressed in the skins of animals. They were very angry when the Britons settled on the banks of the Thames and began to build the city of London.
"What do these men want with houses?" said Gog. "Why don't they live in caves as we do? Let us kill them and destroy their new city."
    "No," said Magog. "Let us make friends with them, and learn how to build and till and weave. I am sure it is more pleasant to live in a house and wear clothes than it is to live in a cave."
    But the other giants would not listen to Magog. They looked on the Britons as intruders and enemies. They attacked them and drove them into London,
and then they resolved to capture the city the next morning and slay the inhabitants.
    But, on the advice of Magog, the Britons dug a wide, deep trench outside London in the night, and fixed rows and rows of sharp stakes at the bottom of the tench, and covered it with light hurdles. In the morning they went out and fought the giants , and then they pretended to be defeated, and they ran back lightly across the hurdles. Their great, clumsy enemies came lumbering up behind them, of course the hurdles gave way and down fell all the giants into the trench.
    Only Gog escaped, and Magog said to him: "Will you live with me in the Guildhall, or will you fight with me to the death?"
  "I will fight to the death!" cried Gog; and, whirling his morning star, he rushed upon his brother. But Magog was armed with a halbert which the Britons had made for his use, the battle was hard and long but in the end MagogGog-Magog by RobBeer. using his halbert struck Gog down, but instead of killing him he was vanquished.. The Britons lifted up the wounded Gog and they carried him to the  Guildhall and laid him on a soft feathered bed and tended him until he was healed; Gog was so touched by their kindness that he resolved to stay with magog in the Guildhall and guard it from danger.
    Now every Christmas night when the clock strikes twelve, the Guildhall is dark and silent, Gog and Magog come out for dinner, and all the rest of the year they stand in the gallery beneath the western window of the Guildhall and watch over the people of London.
One day you might go and see them: two fierce-looking, gigantic, dark, carved figures, one each side of the window, they are so tall that you have to strain your neck to look up at them, and many people wonder how they came there.

Gog & Magog appear once a year at
           the Lord Mayor's Show.

But where do they spend the rest of the year?
Now we know. xx

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