#Irish banknotes

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1856 – Birth of Sir John Lavery, an Irish painter best known for his portraits, in Belfast.

John Lavery was born in Belfast, the son of a wine and spirit merchant, but was orphaned at the age of three and for a number of unsettled years wandered between Moira, Magheralin, Saltcoats, Ayrshire and Glasgow. Finally he started working by touching up photographic negatives in Glasgow and attended evening classes at the Haldane Academy of Art. He painted at the village of Grès-sur-Loing…

[witekspicsbanknotes]

Another set of old Irish banknotes (with few shadows.

[oldcurrencyexchange]

Early Irish Banknotes: 1881 Bank of Ireland (Eleventh Issue), One Pound (Type 2g)

Date: 1881 Bank of Ireland, Eleventh Issue, Type 2g (58 branches), One Pound, dated 29 October 1881. Description: Bank of Ireland, One Pound note, dated 29th October 1881. Branches:…

[pfhwrittes]

just a reminder the united kingdom (scotland, wales, northern ireland and england) use pound sterling (£) and pence (p) as currency. not euro and cents.

notes come in £50, £20, £10, £5 denominations and we've got £2, £1, 50p, 20p, 10p, 5p, 2p and 1p coins.

here's the website from the royal mint so you can see what the coins look like if you're unfamiliar. and here's a website from the bank of england that shows what the notes look like in england and wales.

the notes look different in scotland and northern ireland as they aren't issued by the bank of england.

here's a link that will show you what scottish banknotes look like depending on the issuer.

and here's another link that will show you what northern irish bank notes look like depending on the issuer.

enjoy!

[stephensmithuk]

The Three Garridebs

Originally published in 1925 and part of the 1927 Case-Book collection.

Refusals of honours are fairly common in Britain - some find the whole thing silly, some these days object to being in something called the "Order of the British Empire", some have political disagreements and others may hold out for something higher.

The South African War refers to the Second Boer War. This is going to get its own post at a later date.

"Britisher" was a contemporary term for British people; most people now use "Brit".

The "wheat pit" in Chicago refers to the Chicago Board of Trade Building, where wheat futures were traded. The building on the site was demolished in 1929 due to structural issues and replaced by the 1930 Art Deco building still on the site today.

Tyburn Tree refers to the former public execution site at Tyburn, near where Marble Arch is located today, which had a three-legged triangular gallows used for mass executions. The last execution was carried out there in 1783, before executions moved to Newgate Prison, now the site of the Old Bailey. A plaque marks the location.

Sotheby's and Christie's are two famous London auction houses.

Sir Hans Sloane was an Anglo-Irish physician, naturalist and collector, whose personal collection was bequeathed to the British nation on his death in 1753, forming the basis of three of London's major museums.

An artesian well is a well that brings water to the surface without pumping as it's under pressure below.

This was a time when the political machines were very much active in Chicago.

"Queen Anne" refers to the Baroque style of architecture popular during her reign from 1702 to 1714. There was a Queen Anne Revival style going at the time, which is somewhat different. Neither should be confused with the American style of architecture of that name.

The Bank of England is the sole printer of banknotes in England and Wales. Seven banks in Scotland and Northern Ireland are able to print banknotes there, but these are technically not legal tender and will generally be refused in England.

[innervoiceartblog]

“You use a glass mirror to see your face; you use works of art to see your soul.”

- George Bernard Shaw, Back to Methuselah

Artwork: Lady Lavery as Kathleen Ní Houlihan - 1928 by Sir John Lavery which is the National Gallery of Ireland.

Interesting notes:

The artist's second wife, Hazel Lavery, modelled for the allegorical figure of Ireland he painted on commission from the Irish government, reproduced on Irish banknotes from 1928 until 1975 and then as a watermark until the introduction of the Euro in 2002.

Kathleen Ni Houlihan (Irish: ni = daughter of) is,

“a mythical symbol and emblem of Irish nationalism found in literature and art, sometimes representing Ireland as a personified woman.

The figure of Kathleen Ni Houlihan has also been invoked in nationalist Irish politics.”

More info about the artist here:

http://www.askaboutireland.ie/.../shaw-sparrow-john-lavery-/

[fraeyawrites]

Plot Twist || Finn Shelby

Summary: Jo O'Brien had written stories of knights in shining armor slaying a ferocious dragon with a glistening sword. Jo O'Brien's reality was far from her fantasies.

Warnings: Period typical sexism, language, angst

Word Count:

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Jo O'Brien used to write as though she was running out of time.

The red feather quill that she insisted upon using would delicately glide across the page. The blank ink would be cursed as it smeared when her left hand dragged across it. Dozens and dozens of papers would stacked neatly atop one another until they nearly toppled over.

Writing was one of the few things that brought Jo peace. In a world of war and economic collapses, the chance to write about a different one was one Jo leapt at. She would scribe novels of fantasy or works of literature criticizing the issues in her country that are in need of changing. The latter of the two were the ones that she tended to keep hidden in order to not stir up conflict.

Jo adored burrowing away in her novels, learning from the greats such as Shakespeare, Homer, and Dante. Often times she would spend more time annotating these books then actually reading them.

She was content with her life.

Until January 21, 1919.

Jo was 12 years old when the Irish War of Independence commenced. It was the climax of a centuries long struggle for control of Ireland. There had been many bloody wars fought and revolts against the British rule, but the War of Independence was one unlike any before. Patrick O'Brien, Jo's father, was one of the many who decided to fight against British Security Forces and Irish Loyalists. It was not long before Jo's elder brothers joined the battle.

All five of the O'Brien men died in the year of 1920. Jo, at the ripe age of 13, was orphaned. Her mother had passed in the autumn of 1918 and all relatives that were not deceased had no interest in caring for the O'Brien girl.

So, Jo packed her belongings. Her three finished novels were shoved into a knapsack, along with the few banknotes that had been hidden in a jar in the kitchen. She fled from Ireland on foot.

But it was not safe for a young girl traveling alone.

Her once waist length hair was chopped. It is now settled around her ears. Her chest was bonded with bandages. The curvature was erased. Her dresses were traded. They were replaced trousers and button up shirts.

Jo O'Brien was no longer the lady her mother had raised her to be.

Jo O'Brien did what she had to to survive.

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Jo O'Brien was running.

Her feet carried her down the crowded streets of Birmingham. She spared no time in shouting apologies to those knocked into, nor did she waste a moment to glance behind her to see if they were still chasing her. She knew they were. She could hear their shouts. She could hear their heavy footsteps. They were closing in on her. It was one of those moments when a predator is chasing its prey, and no matter how much you wish the gazelle or zebra would escape the cheetah or lion, you know the outcome.

Jo couldn't say she doesn't deserve what is coming to her. She also cannot say she regrets what led to her being chased throughout Small Heath. Robert Walsh, in her opinion, needed to learn to keep his mouth shut. Teaching him that lesson just so happened to fall on her shoulders.

"Come back here you coward!" Robert's shout erupted from behind her. The sound of his furious tone only encourages the girl to increase her pace.

She does not make it more than five steps before a hand tags the back of her charcoal black jacket. She is sent sprawling to the concrete sidewalk in a loud heap. Her head ricochets off the pavement beneath her and a high pitched ringing fills her ears. Her eyes glaze over in what she can only assume to be tears.

Blurred figures enter her direct line of sight, the closer they get the more lucid they become. Robert's smug face is before her. The left side of his head holds a vast, bleeding laceration, courtesy of Jo. He harshly grabs her by the collar of her white button up and hauls her to her feet.

As Jo attempts to regain her balance she takes in the elder boy before her. He stands near a head taller than her and has to look down over the bridge of his crooked nose to glare at her. His pasty white skin only accentuates the vivid blue of his eyes. His once white shirt which has now been colored shades of dirt brown and scarlet red tightly hugs his muscular form. Regardless of whether he was about to break every bone in Jo's body or not, she had to admit, he was attractive.

She is quite literally knocked out of her thoughts by Robert's fist slamming into the left side of her face. Due to the tight grasp the boy had on her collar she does not fall to the ground as she so wishes to do. Her knees nearly give out at the brute force of the punch. Another one of the boys who was formerly chasing her wraps his arms under Jo's armpits and lifts her into an upright position. As his hands near her wrapped chest she suddenly begins to struggle. The last thing the girl wants to happen, on top of being beaten by three of the toughest boys in the school, is Birmingham finding out about her concealed gender. Her struggling is immediately brought to a stop when the wind is knocked out of her, courtesy of Robert's fist. Jo starts to cough in an attempt to regain the breath that was stolen from her.

"Not so tough now, are you paddy?" Walter Jackson insulted from his place behind Robert. Jo does not satisfy him with a quick witted retort as he expected her to do. She instead smiles towards the boy across from her, her teeth coated in the red of blood. This action only rewards her with a fist to the face. Her ears are filled with the high pitched ringing once again. She desires nothing more than to welcome the black oblivion of unconsciousness. If she were to do so though, her chances of waking up are slim to none. So, in a split second decision, her head slams into the face of the boy restraining her. She listens to his cry of pain, but pays no mind to it. Instead, she wriggles out of his now loose grasp and begins to run once more.

No thought is in her head. Adrenaline runs through her veins alongside the blood, the two blending together into a perfect concoction of energy.

Jo can hear the shouts and curses from behind her, yet she does not hear the trio of boys chasing after her. She does not dare to glance back however. Her gaze remains straight ahead and her focus on maintaining her fast pace. As she sharply turns the corner she collided with a trio of men.

"Watch it, boy!" Arthur Shelby cried, shoving the girl backwards. Jo stumbles slightly at the force, but managed to maintain her balance. She of course immediately recognizes the men before her, as would any person in Small Heath. Everyone knew of the Shelby brothers.

"Sorry, sir." Jo apologized, lowering her voice by multiple octaves to keep up her male facade. She maneuvers around the company of three and begins to sprint once more.

She does not feel that gaze of Thomas Shelby following her.

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Jo O’Brien’s pale skin now bears a collage of purple and blue bruises. Her thin face has become slightly more wide due to the wound that has inflated on her cheekbone. The back alleyway that she is slumped over in reflects her current emotions.

Despair.

Despondency.

She feels as though she might as well be another brick in the wall she is leaning up against. Just one in a sea of thousands.

Silently, the teenage girl crawls over to a flipped over garbage can. It is tucked away in the corner, away from prying eyes and potential thieves. She gently tilts it over. Beneath the metal can is all that Jo owns. Three books are there, one of her own created and the other two classics such as the Iliad and Dante’s Inferno. A roll of bandages that the girl uses to restrain the curvature of her chest lay on the ground. And finally a small pile of loose change that Jo has managed to collect over the years.

Carefully, she picks up the worn leather bound copy of the Iliad. Tucked neatly within the yellow pages is a black and white photograph. A family of seven can be seen, all smiling widely towards the camera. Jo trails her finger over the faces of her deceased relatives. She takes a staggering breath before flipping the picture over. Written neatly in black in is the date, as well as the signatures of those photographed.

At the sound of footsteps nearing her current home, the girl shoved her photo in between the pages once more. She places the book beneath the garbage can and looks to the entrance of the alleyway.

Isaiah Jesus and Finn Shelby pass by. They falter mid step however at the sight of the beaten up ‘boy’ at the back of the alley.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Finn questioned, lightly gesturing to Jo’s bruised and beaten face.

“Robert Walsh.” Jo responded, her voice deeper than it should be as as 16 year old girl. Slowly, the two Peaky Blinders nod their heads in understanding, having both had their fair share of incidents with the Walsh boy. Jo takes note of the laceration running across the left side of Finn’s face and juts her chin towards it.

“What the fuck happened to you?” She interrogated, her head tilting to the side.

Finn lightly smiles as the memory comes rushing back.

“Had a run in with Vincent Bourne.” He replied as though it is no big deal.

“And you lived?” Jo asked, amazed that anyone could have an altercation with Vincent Bourne and walk away less than ten broken bones. Isaiah claps his companion on the back in pride.

“Not only that. He won.”

Jo whistles, impressed. She’s witnessed someone step up to Vincent Bourne and to imagine anyone beating him is a fabrication of the mind.

“What’s your name?” Finn suddenly questioned, his eyes narrowing as he looks over the seated girl. He’s lived in Small Heath his whole life and he can’t recall ever seeing this ‘boy’ before.

“Jo.” She stated, wincing as she pushed herself to her feet.

“Jo what?” Isaiah queried, equally as curious as his friend.

“Jo O’Brien.”

“Never heard of you.” Finn told her. Jo shrugged her shoulders, having expected this. Since she came to Birmingham she’s done her best to lay low. To avoid the suspicious stares of the people who have lived there since birth.

“And who are you?” Jo questioned, knowing full well who both the teenagers before her are. The pair look at one another, surprised at what she is asking. When they glance back to her she breaks out into a grin. “I’m just fucking with you.”

The two Peaky Blinders follow her lead and smile as well. It has been a long while since someone has had the guts to mess with one of them, let alone both.

“Where are you two headed?”

“The Garrison.” Finn answered. An idea suddenly pops into his head. “Do you want to come?”

At the invitation, Jo’s eyes light up. It has been a long while since someone has invited her to do anything other than fight. She quickly nods her head, much to the amusement of Isaiah and Finn. She is gestured out of the alley that she stands in and to the sides of the two Peaky Blinders boys. Together, they begin their trek to the Garrison.

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Jo O’Brien has never liked the taste of alcohol. She never liked the way it burned as it traveled down her throat, nor did she enjoy the way it left her tipsy after the first sip. But when given a drink on the house, she is given no choice but to down the whiskey. She is quick to mask the wince as the liquid meets her tongue and send a smile to the two boys beside her.

“What’d you do to piss off Robert?” Finn suddenly interrogated, looking over to where Jo is seated.

Absentmindedly, the girl shrugs her shoulders.

“You had to have done something!” Isaiah cried, desiring the information of what earned their new companion the injuries her face holds.

“Walsh needed to be knocked down a few pegs.” Jo told them before taking a sip of her now refilled drink. “So, I punched him.” She finished, grinning proudly when she is clapped on the back by Finn.

“Attaboy!” Isaiah cheered, making Jo falter. She is reminded in this moment that she is not the girl her mother raised. She is Jo. The same Jo who traded her dresses for pants. The same Jo who has pretended to be a boy since she was 13. The girl her mother raised no longer exists.

“You alright there, Jo?” Finn questioned, breaking the teenager out of her trance like state. Jo quickly nods her head, practically dragging the smile back to her face.

“Of course.” Jo confirmed. She silently listens to the conversations that are occurring around her by the other patrons of the pub. Some are discussing business, others are discussing personal life. These discussions all quiet when the door to the Garrison opens. Jo turns around in her chair to see the three eldest Shelby brothers standing there. Quickly, Jo faces her glass of whiskey once more, hoping to avoid eye contact with the men.

“Finn boy!” Arthur cried, stepping over to his youngest brother’s side and slashing him on the shoulder. Jo sees in her peripherals Thomas taking a seat beside her. She can practically feel him staring at her.

“Who the fuck are you?” He interrogated, bringing silence to the already quiet pub. Jo hesitantly glances over to Thomas and points to herself, as if she is asking “me?”.

“Yes, you.”

“I’m Jo.” Said girl introduced herself, holding out her hand for Thomas to shake. He does not. Jo slowly lets her hand falls down to her side and returns to staring at her glass of whiskey.

“Jo here, punched Robert Walsh.” Finn told his brother. Thomas hums in acknowledgment, sizing up the ‘boy’ who is seated beside him.

“What a fucking prick!” John cried, recalling a conversation he once had with Robert. It did not end without violence. Jo snorts at the declaration, agreeing with what the man had to say.

“Doesn’t look like you won the fight.” Arthur commented, scanning over Jo’s bruised and bloody face. Jo blushes at this, but shakes her head nonetheless.

“That’ll happen when he has his two friends hold you back.” She told him.

“We’ll get him next time.” Isaiah told his new friend.

[melitaafterfeather]

These were Commonwealth colonies of England which became very problematic since Irish PM was permitted out of pity as Ireland didn't have their own language nor banknotes was not capable being a Republic.

Immigrants of South Africa Australia were taken off the Crown of England as former Colonies as did not comply with the standards of the Crown.

[kinggeorge7th]

England have no money of English bank or Scotland for Scottish banknotes to immigrants of other nationalities because they have their options of territory. Money and mortgages will not be given to immigration of Irish Commonwealth China Jewish etc. They won't be able to sell or rent English Scottish homes nor purchase homes.

[belfastinternship2024]

The first few days in Belfast were a mix of getting our bearings, sightseeing, and experiencing Irish charm.

We spent a lot of time just figuring out our way around – navigating those left-hand side streets was trickier than I thought! But it was all part of the adventure. One thing that really surprised me about Belfast was how many people crossed the street when the pedestrian light was red! Maybe it's because the lights here seem to take a bit longer to change compared to back home in Berlin. There, everyone waits religiously. Being a bit impatient myself, I have to admit, I found myself swept up in the Belfast crossing current a few times (everyday on the way to work).

Our first stop was Ormeau Park (Belfast's green oasis!), with little hills that offer surprising pockets of amazing views! This wasn't just any park, though. Opened in 1871, it holds the title of Belfast's oldest municipal park. We kicked off the day there with a five-minute workout on one of the outdoor gym things - gotta get that energy flowing!! After our mini-workout, we continued our exploration of the city.

We reached the Albert Bridge a little breathless (those park gym machines are no joke!), but the sight instantly took our breath away. The bridge itself is stunning, all wrought iron and Victorian elegance. We spent a good chunk of time snapping photos (guilty!) and admiring the views across the Lagan River.

Next, we headed to St. George's Market, a bustling indoor market that turned out to be a real gem. The vendors were so friendly, happy to chat and answer questions about their products and also offer us samples.

Big mistake! We totally forgot to get cash out before coming to the market, thinking everywhere would take cards. So, it was a long walk to the nearest ATM. Once we finally got some money, we were seriously surprised by how British banknotes look! It's crazy how each bank seems to print their own money with different designs. As someone from the EU, it was a bit of a shock...we're used to everything being the same!

So back at St. Goerge's Market we ended up with a huge bag full of Irish fudge which was too tempting to resist! There was so much to discover – fresh produce, local crafts, and all sorts of delicious treats. It was a great way to experience the sights, smells, and tastes of Belfast all at once. We even spotted some unique Game of Thrones themed jewelry. Seeing all the cool options made me want to buy something, but I ended up feeling overwhelmed and left a little empty-handed. Maybe next time!

Our next stop was the Beacon of Hope, a striking 19.5-meter-tall sculpture made of steel and bronze. It was erected in Thanksgiving Square in Belfast in 2007. The sculpture is a woman holding a ring aloft, and it is a symbol of hope and peace. It is the second-largest statue in Belfast, after the "Rise" sculpture at Broadway Roundabout. The locals have given it several nicknames, including "Nuala with the Hula", "Belle on the Ball", "Thing with the Ring", "Our Lady of Thanksgiving", and "Angel of Thanksgiving".

We were impressed by the size and beauty of the Beacon of Hope. It is a powerful symbol of hope and peace, and it is a reminder of the city's troubled past. We were glad to have had the opportunity to see it.

Afterwards we decided to follow the river and found a big sculpture of a fish called Big Fish. It's this giant salmon sculpture that Belfast is famous for. Apparently, it's good luck to kiss it for some reason? Well, not wanting to miss out on any potential good Belfast vibes, I gave that big metal fish a smooch! Let's just hope it works and the rest of the trip goes smoothly!

After smooching the Big Fish for good luck (gotta cover all the bases, right?), we set our sights on the Albert Memorial Clock. We'd seen it from afar a couple of times already, but it was definitely worth getting a closer look. It's this tall, beautiful clock tower right in the middle of a big roundabout – kind of like Belfast's own mini-Big Ben, but way less crowded (thankfully!). We snapped a few pics (obvs!).

All that walking and sightseeing had built up a major appetite. Luckily, our next stop was the perfect solution: Common Market, a super popular food hall right in the city center. It's a giant indoor food court with about 8 different vendors to choose from. We all went for gyros (score for veggie options too!), and let me tell you, it hit the spot perfectly.

The atmosphere was electric, as it was game day: Manchester United vs. Manchester City. The crowd was wild, and we cheered along with the other fans. We felt like we were really experiencing a slice of British culture. A nice way of having our first meal together.

Leaving Common Market, we stumbled upon something really cool – two giant statues that stopped us in our tracks. They were these massive figures, a red one and a blue one, each perched high on a chair balanced on a long, angled metal arm. It looked kind of like a scene straight out of a pop art painting! We did a quick Google search and found out they were called "The Calling" by this artist named Paddy McCann. Apparently, they're kind of a Belfast landmark, and it's supposed to represent people reaching out and connecting with each other. We thought that was a pretty cool message, especially after feeling so welcomed by everyone here.

After that artsy detour, we found ourselves drawn deeper into the heart of the city – the Cathedral Quarter. We kind of got lost in the best way possible, wandering through narrow alleys and streets lined with the most adorable pubs and shops. It was like stepping back in time with all the old brick buildings and cobblestone streets. Every corner we turned seemed to hold a hidden gem, a quirky little bookstore or a cozy pub with overflowing flower boxes.

Some of these pubs had the weirdest names I'd ever seen! We're talking places like "The Dirty Onion" and "The Crown Liquor Saloon" – not exactly your typical pub names. It just added to the whole quirky charm of the area. We didn't have time to go in for a pint that day (we were saving our stomachs for another night!), but we definitely made a mental note of a few that we wanted to check out later.

[stairnaheireann]

#OTD in 1941 – Death of painter, Sir John Lavery, in Kilkenny. Best known for his portraits, Belfast-born Lavery attended the Haldane Academy in Glasgow, Scotland, in the 1870s and the Académie Julian in Paris in the early 1880s.

John Lavery was born in Belfast, the son of a wine and spirit merchant, but was orphaned at the age of three and for a number of unsettled years wandered between Moira, Magheralin, Saltcoats, Ayrshire and Glasgow. Finally he started working by touching up photographic negatives in Glasgow and attended evening classes at the Haldane Academy of Art. He painted at the village of Grès-sur-Loing…

[fuzzysparrow]

“The most beautiful girl in the Midwest” is how the Irish historian Dr Sinéad McCoole (b.1968) describes Lady Lavery, an American woman who became the face of Ireland in the 20th century. Married to a painter, Lady Lavery sat for over 400 paintings, including one reproduced on banknotes for more than 50 years. How did an American woman become the most recognisable face in Ireland?

Patreon Ko-fi

[oldcurrencyexchange]

Joseph Damer – The First Banker in Ireland to issue banknotes

The simile “As rich as Damer” has been used for over two hundred years in Ireland, and derives its origin from the richest, meanest, and most unscrupulous Shylock banker that modern times have produced. (The Irish Times, April 26th, 1930). He is also credited as being the first banker in Ireland to issue his own banknotes (proto-banknotes) Sadly, none survive (or, at least, have not been found…

[wanderer-chronicles]

Toes in the surf, whiskey in the flask.

[weeinterpreter]

nypd (not your personal demon).

[Part 1] [Part 3]

The air in the small room was heavy with the smell of brimstone and incense. Holly frowned, but completed the chalk sign on the floor.

"This is crazy, Mulch. Why can't we just go trick-or-treating?"

Mulch stuck his piece of chalk behind his ear.

"Because this is way cooler, duh! We can still get sweets once we have a freaking demon as our pet."

Rolling her eyes, Holly sat on the floor, crossing her legs.

"If it works," she murmured.

"Of course, it'll work. The old man with the long beard said that the book,"–he held up the thick tome–"was genuine. Why would he try to trick me?"

Holly made a face. "You really want me to list you the reasons someone would trick you?"

Mulch ignored his friend, stepping out of his own chalk circle, walking around the bigger he had drawn on the floor. His latest obsession with the supernatural worried Holly. She was used to Mulch getting some mad ideas in his head. She had accepted his failed entrepreneur business of selling gorgonzola sandwiches to tourists in the city, tolerating the smell of old feet in the flat for almost half a year. Or the time when he bred crayfish in the bathtub? She had endured that, too. This? Was simply creepy. But perhaps, if this experiment failed, they could worry about how to pay their rent again.

Mulch had finished his inspection of the sigil on the floor and stepped back into his own circle.

"Remember what you have to say?" he asked with an excited grin.

Holly suppressed a sigh. "Obey my will, demon. Your will belongs to me. Yadda, yadda, yadda."

"No, not that last–"

"I know! Just start, will you?"

Mulch murmured something under his breath before reciting the words printed on the page. 

Holly had to give it to the book's author, they really had put some effort into making it sound authentic. The words Mulch intoned sounded demonic, a lot of guttural syllables and harsh endings. If this had been the real deal, she'd be terrified.

Mulch finished his spell and waited. Nothing happened.

"See?" Holly said. "Told you–"

"Wait, wait. Look!"

Holly glanced to the larger circle, her eyes growing bigger by the second as she watched the runes on the floor glowing. Two glimmering eyes appeared out of thin air.

"Who is summoning me?"

Gasping for breath, Holly stammered, but Mulch jumped in. "Ha, demon, we are not stupid and tell you our names. We have summoned you to do our bidding."

A mouth filled with a row of sparkling white teeth appeared underneath those piercing eyes. "Very well, master. You have summoned a demon. Well done. But you can't make me do anything without knowing my–"

"Obey me, Artemis, foul demon of the Irish Bog!"

The demon ground his teeth, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. The rest of the demon appeared, its form that of a puny teenager in an expensive suit, hair gelled back. Truly an otherworldly apparition.

"What do you want, imbecile?"

Mulch shot Holly a triumphant look as if to say, "See? Told you."

"Right, Arty," Mulch said, "I want you to rob a bank."

"What?!" Holly shouted. "You promised me not to do anything illegal."

"And I am not. Arty will."

The demon grinned. "Is that all?"

"No." Mulch shook his head, pulling out a piece of paper, reading it out loud.

"I want you to rob the Royal Bank on King's Street without getting caught and without making it known by spoken word, written or otherwise indicated that we sent you. You will only steal real uncounted banknotes and bring them safely back to this place with no detours, and again letting no one known by spoken word, written or otherwise indicated what you are carrying."

Holly kept staring at her friend, but the demon's face darkened by the second. He tsked and vanished in a green cloud of smoke. Mulch closed the tome and gave Holly a thumbs up.

"Told you I'd take care of it. Now we wait and be billionaires in about ten minutes."

Holly wasn't convinced. It sounded too good to be true.

She would be right.

[innervoiceartblog]

“You use a glass mirror to see your face; you use works of art to see your soul.”

- George Bernard Shaw, Back to Methuselah

Artwork: Lady Lavery as Kathleen Ní Houlihan - 1928 by Sir John Lavery which is the National Gallery of Ireland.

Interesting notes:

The artist's second wife, Hazel Lavery, modelled for the allegorical figure of Ireland he painted on commission from the Irish government, reproduced on Irish banknotes from 1928 until 1975 and then as a watermark until the introduction of the Euro in 2002.

More info about the artist here:

http://www.askaboutireland.ie/reading-room/digital-book-collection/digital-books-by-subject/irish-people/shaw-sparrow-john-lavery-/