#Places to eat Newcastle upon Tyne

[tinyhistory2]

Nick Hedges is a documentary photographer who was hired by welfare organisations in the 1960s and 70s. They asked him to document the experiences of Brits living in slums and low-quality housing.

An unemployed son talks to his mother (Newcastle upon Tyne, England, 1971). At the time, Newcastle upon Tyne’s unemployment rate was nearly double that of Britain’s overall rate — and climbing. In 1970, 40% of Newcastle upon Tyne’s homes were council housing.

Father and child in a housing tenement in Maryhill, Glasgow, Scotland (1971). Hedges recalls many of Maryhill’s tenements were deemed unfit for human inhabitation, and were being demolished. There was little communication with residents. One morning, a family woke to the sounds of their tenement being demolished, and frantically ran outside to scream at the workers to stop.

Mother and her family living in slum housing in Liverpool, England (1970). The homes in Liverpool slums frequently had no running water, no sinks, no toilets or bathrooms, no heating or insulation, and no hot water. In 1970, three million families lived in the slums of the UK.

Mother and daughter chat in their cellar flat in Liverpool, England (1969).

Michael (aged 11) holds his baby brother in the kitchen of his home (London, England, 1969). The family of eight lived in a two-bedroom cellar with no bathroom. Michael later came forward, fifty years later, to talk about his childhood experiences. He remembers being hungry and cold all the time, and stealing food so he could eat. “Mum never smiled. Ever,” Michael’s sister recalled. Hedges recalled the family’s home being very small, dark, and damp. He had to install a lightbulb so he could actually take photographs.

Children play outside their homes (Gorbals, Glasgow, Scotland, 1970). Gorbals was in the midst of a “slum clearance”. The government was slowly demolishing the Gorbals slum, and residents were left to live amongst rubble, their houses side-by-side with half-destroyed buildings.

A single mother with her daughter, living in one room in a boarding house (Notting Hill, London, England, 1972). Notting Hill was a hotspot for dilapidated bedsits and overcrowded flats. Unscrupulous landlords often blatantly overcharged tenants who belonged to marginalised ethnic groups, as they knew the tenants had usually been rejected from other places and were desperate to find housing.

A family living in a hostel for homeless people (London, England, 1969). The hostels were dormitory-style buildings with large rooms lined with up to 100 thin metal bunk-beds. The organisations who ran the hostels often referred to ‘warehousing’ people, and required people to ‘earn’ the right to stay by completing cleaning jobs or maintenance work. Hostels were very transient and short-term places; an uncertain half-step from sleeping rough.

A young mother prepares a bed for her three eldest children to share (with the fourth — the youngest — sleeping in the cot). There were no mattresses or blankets. She had two single seat cushions and a large raincoat instead. Of all the people Hedges photographed, he said it was this mother he worried about the most. He recalls it being winter when he took this photograph, with snow coming through the broken window. There was no heating or hot water. “She really was in dire straits,” Hedges said. He still worries about her, fifty years after the photograph was taken.

[emma-leprost]

In April I begin my spring tour of Scotland, focusing on historical sites. I’m starting in Edinburgh and Glasgow before driving to Kilmartin to see the Achnabreck rock art. From there, stopping in Oban before passing through Glencoe and staying a few days in Fort William.

After that, I’ll visit the Isle of Skye for a week to hike and take in the views. Then sailing on the ferry to Lewis and Harris to see the Callanish stones. Sailing back to the mainland through Ullapool, then driving down to Edinburgh to honour the old gods at the Beltane Fire Festival.

Then I’ll tour the historical sites of the Lowlands, starting at North Berwick. From there go to St. Boswells and see the four major abbeys. Then drive down the coast until Newcastle Upon Tyne (yes it’s not Scotland, but I couldn’t pass up a chance to walk Hadrian’s wall).

From there driving through Dumfries and circling the coast up to Ayr. There’s a great deal of historical places along that drive that are often overlooked. Then up to Falkirk, Stirling, Strathyre, Killin, Perth, Dundee, and St. Andrews. 

Stopping in the Cairngorms forest for a few days to hike. I’ve always wanted to hike out to the ‘Scottish Pyramids’. Then a week in the Aberdeen area to view the many stone circles and to take a drive along the coast to Elgin.

Inverness is next, which includes a extra day at Loch Ness and a hike around Loch Affric. Then travelling north all the way up to John O’ Groats. Sailing to Orkney and spending a week exploring the wonderful islands. After that, sailing back to the mainland and finishing up the NC500 with stops at Smoo cave and Drumbeg. 

Finally, driving back down to Edinburgh and heading home.

This should take me around two and a half months. It could be done much quicker, but the long list of historical places I’ll be visiting greatly adds to the travel time.

It’s not my first adventure like this, as previously I spent a year living in my van while touring New Zealand. On this Scotland adventure, I plan on staying at accommodations so as to have a hot shower and a warm bed every night.

Note: If you intend to travel to a country that is not your own, try to support local establishments as much as possible. Shop local, eat local, stay local.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Imagine Claire (or Jamie and Claire if he's through the stones too) finds a way to communicate with Jenny and Ian through the stones? Maybe sending some much needed aid as well as news?

Lallybroch, March1763

 Jenny Fraser Murray lay wide awake, listening to the latewinter wind whistle through the chimney and scratch her mother’s rosebushagainst the side of the house, wringing sweaty hands under the quilt.

 “I can hear ye thinking,” her husband of twenty-threeyears murmured, voice muffled a bit by the blankets he’d piled on top of thembefore bed. “Is it Jamie’s latest letter? Ye ken he’s got a better place atthat estate in England than we can find for him here.”

 “It’s no’ that,” she sighed. “Have ye or any of the tenantsseen any sign of drought coming this year?”

 “Drought?” Slowly, carefully, Ian rolled on his side toface her. “No, but to be fair I havena thought to ask. We’ve had more rain thannormal these past two years.”

 “Weel – can ye ask around in the morning? Or get Fergusor Young Jamie or Michael to ask around, the next time they visit Broch Mordha?”

 Ian frowned. “I can. That’s easy enough. But what’s thisabout?”

 Jenny pushed back several blankets and rubbed her facewith her hands. “Ye’ll think me daft.”

 Ian snorted. “Too bad ye canna see me rolling my eyes,Janet. It’s a bit late for that.”

 She sat up a bit against the headboard. “A dream. I sawit in a dream, just now.”

 “All right,” he replied patiently. “And did this dreamgive ye any indication of when the drought would happen? Or how bad it wouldbe?”

 Jenny brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her armsaround her legs. “No. None of those things.”

 “So how did ye ken it was a drought, then? A drought here,on the estate?”

 “Yes. I was sitting in the parlor downstairs. WithClaire. She told me.”

 Ian was very still for a while as the wind screamedoutside.

 “And she told ye about the potatoes, before Culloden.Aye. I’ll ask the lads in the morning.”

 --

 Boston, March 1965

 Claire hung up her coat on the peg by the door and set downher keys in the crystal bowl in the entryway.

 “In here!” Brianna called from somewhere within thehouse.

 Claire followed her daughter’s voice to the kitchen,where Bree had covered the dining table with at least ten books, all open todifferent pages.

 “What’s all this?”

 Brianna rose and stretched. “World History project. I’mlooking at how extreme weather events were recorded and reported at the time.”

 “That’s an interesting topic.” Claire opened the fridge,searching for something to heat up.

 “I made Daddy spaghetti bolognese for dinner – it’s onthe top shelf.”

 “Thank you, darling.” Claire removed the still-warm Pyrexrefrigerator dish and set it on the counter. “Are you focusing on any countryor century in particular?”

 “Yeah – the British Isles in the eighteenth century.”

 Brianna couldn’t see her mother slowly set down the glasslid, then press her palm to the Formica countertop. “Oh?”

 “It’s really interesting. The English kept meticulousrecords. Here – July 20, 1752. A whirlwind associated with a thunderstorm liftedtwo boats right out of the River Thames in London. Then in October 1756, therewas a tornado which destroyed houses and sank ships in Newcastle-upon-Tyne.Have you ever been there?”

 “No.” Claire slid some spaghetti into a saucepan andturned on the stove, not looking at her daughter. “That’s one of the coldestparts of England, you know – up by the North Sea.”

 Bree sat back down and turned a page in one of the books.“And it’s interesting that some of the accounts are contradictory. This one,for example, says that the summer of 1763 was very wet across England and Wales,but that there were reports across Scotland of a ‘great drought.’”

 Claire vigorously stirred the spaghetti over high heat.

 “That doesn’t really make sense – England and Wales andScotland are so close together.”

 “You’d be surprised at how different those places can be.”Claire glanced back at her daughter, furiously writing in her notebook. Turnedback to the stove – seeing not the copper-bottomed pan and the red swirl ofspaghetti, but the huge open hearth of Lallybroch, and Missus Crook stirring ahuge iron pot over the fire, and Jenny chopping carrots on the table besideher.

 It was history. Jenny and Ian and all of them were twohundred years dead.

 Still. They weren’t just statistics in a textbook. Thecrops would have been stunted. Would they have had enough to eat?

 Realizing she was burning the spaghetti, Claire quicklyturned off the burner and picked up the saucepan, grabbing a cork coaster fromthe cabinet.

 “Is there enough room for me?”

 Bree carefully piled three books on top of each other, clearinga space for Claire. Gratefully Claire sat down, slurping spaghetti, listeningto her daughter speak of events she no doubt could have experienced firsthand,had it all been different.

 -----

Mod Gotham’s note: There are reports of a “Great drought” across Scotland during the summer of 1763 (source). Note that in 1763, Jamie was still on parole at Helwater; meanwhile, in the spring of 1965, Claire was in Boston, and Brianna was wrapping up her junior year of high school.

[wolfpawn]

When Ghosts Come For Us

Chapter 17

NOTE This is based on the movie Crimson Peak, so if any of the subject matter in that was uncomfortable for you, you will find this similar. I will *NOT* be describing incest in this, it will only be implied, same as the movie.

WARNING None.

Also, I do not own any image or gif used in this story.

Rating - Mature

Charlotte looked at the black building as the carriage pulled up outside it. In truth, she hated the building. It had created Lucille and the monster she became, she and her hateful parents were the reason for Cordelia’s demise, almost as much as her own parents. It was huge and utterly impractical as a building. She spent more time walking up and down the stairs than in the rooms she moved between floors for. Inhaling deeply, she exited the carriage and walked into the house. There was no sign of Thomas anywhere, she walked around in search of him on the bottom floor before heading upstairs. She felt slightly uncertain as she went up the steps before getting to the hallway. It was empty and eerie.

‘Thomas?’ There was no response. She walked first to Lucille’s door, but noticed that she was sleeping. Quietly, she moved away and to their room, again it was empty. She looked across to the art room across the hallway and decided to check there. Again, there was no sign of Thomas, but what did catch her eye was a set of paints next to her easel. She walked over and looked at them for a moment, as well as some beautiful new brushes. She picked them up and inspected them, they were new and she knew them to be an expensive brand. Frowning, she wondered how they got there.

She was inspecting them when a dark shadow came to the door, turning, Thomas was there looking at her. ‘Do you like them?’

‘I...they are beautiful, when…?’

‘I got them in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne.’ He explained. ‘I had planned on giving them to you on my return, but all things considered, I forgot about them. I rediscovered them today, so I thought it would be something nice for you, you got me so much, I had gotten you nothing, though, since everything, you have not even come in here.’

‘I do not have the time, sadly.’ She sighed. ‘Thank you, Thomas. It was a lovely gesture and I appreciate it greatly. I did not get you that watch to acquire something in return.’ She smiled, walking over to him and giving him a kiss. Again, like with earlier, Thomas pulled her to him, kissing her with more and more passion as he did. When she urged them to pull apart, his pupils were wide and there almost seemed to be a feral look to his eyes. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘No.’

‘Come, we will eat together and then I will tend to Lucille. She is resting at present, so I dare say she will be hungry on her waking. You should see what I got her, I think she will like them.’ She linked hands with him and gently urged him to the door. ‘I may also have been a tad bold.’

‘Toffee?’

‘Yes.’ She smiled, happy to see his corresponding smile. ‘So, was there any issue in my absence?’

‘Nothing, Lucille is asleep and I have been working on something to assist process the clay quicker.’

‘Wonderful, I would love to see what it is you have in mind when you are satisfied to do so, of course.’

Thomas’s smile brightened at her genuine interest in his work. ‘What of the town?’

‘Nothing of much note. I got everything we ordered, I bought a few items Lucille would need and I went to Dr Thompson for her medicine and ended up being brought in for tea.’

Thomas looked at her quizzically. ‘By Dr Thompson?’

‘No, he was not there on my arriving, his housekeeper invited me to wait and have some tea. She was lovely company. Then, Dr Thompson returned, his housekeeper shamed him adequately in my presence about a woman he is smitten for, then the butcher came about some puppies and I ordered a goose and a duck, he will have his brother-in-law bring them in a few days, he wants to have them hung first for a while, the brother-in-law is apparently our foreman for the mines, and it is all paid for, won’t that be lovely?’

‘Why was the butcher talking about dogs?’

Charlotte laughed. ‘Not in an eating manner, of course, but he has some gorgeous pups and the doctor is taking one. Oh, I am envious. Cocker Spaniels, they are such fine creatures.’

‘You like dogs?’

‘I love them. A good solid loyal creature. I always wanted one, as did Cordelia, or I suspect she asked too because I wanted one, but my parents were adamant, no pets. I even tried to argue a good hunting dog is good for my father’s walks, but to no avail.’ She stated sadly.

‘And with…?’

Charlotte took a moment to realise who Thomas was referencing before she realised he was unable to even speak William Hamilton’s name. ‘He was not a dog lover.’

‘I see.’

‘Odd, something I wanted so badly, and even with twenty-eight thousand a year, it is not possible.’ She mumbled to herself as she descended the steps.

*

Thomas looked at his wife sceptically. ‘I am not sure…’

‘Thomas, it is perfect. Now she will not be confined to the bed. She will like that and you know it.’ She smiled.

‘Very well, but promise me you will not go hauling her out onto it by yourself and risk hurting yourself.’ Thomas pleaded, noting that Charlotte avoided replying.

*

Lucille still attempted to spit words of hatred at Charlotte, who in turn, continued to speak chirpily at her, annoying her further. The humiliation of being utterly dependant on the woman she now loathed beyond words ate at her, and to make matters worse, Thomas seemed oblivious to it all and did not seem to question anything, he merely accepted it. To her devastation, he did not bother to come to her often for company. She had heard herself daily when Charlotte urged her brother to go to her, but he chose Charlotte, every time it was possible. She had suspected he had become something akin to smitten with the woman, but seeing how he seemed to constantly be speaking with her, the laughter of not just the irritating woman, but now her brother also filling the house, she realised just how much Charlotte had won him over.

She had tried to prevent such happening, she had learnt from Cushing what to do to prevent Thomas’ interest going elsewhere, she never allowed them much time together, she prevented them from doing anything that allowed them to spend too much time alone, but now, all they had was time alone, Thomas either working on the mines or something in the workshop or following Charlotte around speaking with her. The constant noise of the pair talking, even regarding mundane matters irked her more every hour. She often yearned for sleep to take her again so she did not have to hear them. The only thing that gave her much solace was knowing that there was no way that Charlotte’s plan could last forever, she would have to be like the smiling witch and wait, biding her time, until she could strike. It would have to be swift like with Cushing, who, even with her broken leg from her fall over the balcony, fought, two stab wounds to the chest, one in each lung, and then through the cheek, watching as blood filled her eyeball, a tear streak of blood down her face as death took her, and the doctor getting similar enough treatment, both now rotting in the clay as the others had before them.

She suspected that even if she were to catch Charlotte by surprise, the other woman would not allow what she had done to Lucille happen her. There was also the very real matter that Charlotte had endured great agony and come through it. Her back was so badly scarred, even Lucille could not fathom the pain she had endured, and she came through it, and with the facade of the idiot gone, the look in her eyes of survival instinct was plain to see. It scared Lucille because in it, in its own twisted way, it reminded her of herself, a survivor.

Lucille was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of the elevator, then the sound of something wheeling out of it before it being sent down again, the object that was wheeling was brought along the corridor until it got to the door. When Charlotte entered the room, she was startled to see the fresh linen in her hands. She placed them down gently and left again, returning only a moment later with some more linen and then doing the same but with food. ‘Good afternoon, Lucille. I got you a few purchases today in the town, they will make life so much easier and more pleasant for you now.’ Lucille glared at her hatefully. ‘I have a little meal for you now, and when that is done, I am going to draw you a bath.’ Lucille’s hateful glare faltered. ‘Oh, you would like that. I gathered you would. Yes, I also got you a lovely new silken nightdress, and I was thinking, a slight trim of your hair, only two inches, I swear, nothing more, and a nice braid to keep it tidy, what do you think?’

In truth, Lucille wanted to throw her off the building after stabbing her a hundred times, but with that not an option, she knew she would have to accept whatever she could and simply grunted.

‘Excellent. I made chicken soup. It is a cold day and this will stave off a chill.’ She smiled, placing the soup on the dresser and walking over to Lucille, loosening the straps and forcing her to sit up before cushioning around her. ‘Right, so we will start with that and I will draw the bath then.’ She smiled, the same irritating smile that bothered Lucille from the day she was misfortunate enough to lay eyes on the other woman and slowly fed Lucille the soup. ‘Thomas is after coming up with a new way to process the clay, isn’t that wonderful? And I was in the town earlier, I ordered goose and duck, extravagant enough, I know, but I felt a treat was in order. I am not sure your opinion on Duck an l’Orange, but I adore it, so if you do not like it, I will not add it to your food, if you do, there will be plenty there. I know your opinion on potatoes, but they are one of the only things I can get to thicken your soup so they will have to suffice.’ She rambled. ‘I also heard, from Edward’s housekeeper, no less, the story that circulates regarding Edith Cushing and the doctor, they fled back to America, supposedly, leaving poor Thomas here with no wife and a broken heart. If they only knew what lay in the vats under this house. I think I should find a way, sometime, to give those people a proper burial. I will have to think of how I could ever have that happen. We shall see.’ She continued. ‘I think we should try and get a paper every so often, I found out the Americans are adding more states, or talking about it at least, honestly, they will have the whole land mass as a state soon, Mexico has been downsized, wait and see, they will go after the Pacific islands soon enough.’ She placed the empty bowl down. ‘I will draw your bath.’ She rose from her seat and left the room doing just as she said she would. On her return, Lucille seemed to be thinking a particular question. ‘I had something ordered for you, actually, a few things, including something to keep you from slipping into the bath should I leave you for a moment, so I will get them and then you will see my new idea.’ She smiled, leaving the room.

She was gone for close to twenty minutes when the elevator started again, and with it, the voices of Charlotte and Thomas followed it.

‘I am not sure, Lottie.’

‘She will like it, I know it.’

‘But it is added work for you.’

‘I don’t mind. Besides, I might able to have time to do some art again this way.’

‘I am not sure, but if it makes you happy.’

Lucille’s rage grew to near nauseating levels at Thomas’s concern not for her, but for Charlotte. She felt her heart breaking as Thomas, the very love of her life, was willingly pushing her away, after everything she did for him, and accepting the woman who had ruined everything they ever had.

‘Wait and see, Thomas, she will like it.’ Charlotte walked into the room, Thomas soon after. ‘By the way, why did you not read to her today? I left her book ready.’

‘I was busy with the mine opening.’

‘Well, ensure you do it later. It is not nice to be too busy and not have time for her, is it Lucille?’ She asked; though the smirk barely hidden in her features made Lucille nigh on incandescent with rage. ‘Bring in the chair. Look at this Lucille, this will revolutionise your care.’ Thomas brought in a chair that was similar to the kind that elderly or insane people would be wheeled around in, causing Lucille to become both angry and elated at the idea of getting out of the bed. ‘See, I said she would like it. ‘We can bring you all over the house again now. You won’t be cooped up in here.���

She used the chair to bring Lucille to the bathroom before checking the temperature of the bath and ascertaining it was to a suitable temperature before getting the system she had ordered and put it in.

‘Is it safe?’ Thomas asked, walking in.

‘Yes, it is, they are becoming very popular. Why don’t you just scurry on out, it is not appropriate for you to see your sister in any manner of indecency.’ She shooed, ushering him from the room. ‘Now, I got this little thing for when you are bathing.’ Charlotte commented, pulling out a light dress. ‘It saves me having to look at you too, so that is most definitely a good thing.’ She assisted Lucille into the different attire before lifting her into the warm bath and strapping her into the contraption to prevent her from slipping under the water. ‘I am across the hall tidying your bed, enjoy.’ She stated boredly as she walked away before going to the other room, changing the sheets and tidying before going back in to the bathroom and doing as she said, washing and tidying the ends of Lucille’s hair before tying it in a French braid and lifting her from the bath before placing her in the chair again and wheeling her to the room. Once there, she dried and dressed the other woman in a warm and comfortable nightdress and strapped her into the bed. ‘I will get your dinner, rest.’ She stated before she left. ‘Tomorrow I will bring you downstairs. For now, I want to spend some time with my husband.’

*

That night, as she readied for bed, Charlotte heard Thomas coming in behind her. She paid him no heed as she tied her hair in a braid simply to prevent it getting tangled in her sleep. When she turned around to face him, he was in only a shirt and britches, as he tended to be, something she had to admit she found him attractive in. That was not what caught her eye though, what did was the look on Thomas’s face, he walked over to her, saying nothing as he gently put his hand to her face before kissing her. Charlotte knew what would come next, every kiss of late ended up with them kissing more passionately, and this was no different. Within moments, he was urging her backwards until she fell onto the bed before he stood over her and grabbed her leg.

The look in his eyes scared her, he seemed almost feral. She felt fear surge through her as he stood above her, his larger frame all of a sudden looking far more menacing. She reached for her pillow frantically knowing that there was a blade there she kept for emergencies, but as it stood she could not reach it. She became worried when Thomas gripped her thigh tightly, her dress skirt falling to her waist and pulled her closer to him and further from her weapon. She was about to kick out when he pressed his lips to her inner thigh, before doing it again, kissing his way up her thigh. Charlotte watched confused as he did so, his eyes on hers as he did. When he got to the top, he climbed up over her until his hands were on either side of her head before leaning down and kissing her with incredible passion, the likes of which she had never experienced from him before. As he leant against her, not placing all of his weight on her, she felt her body react to the very clear actions he was doing, realising what he was initiating, she was terrified, considering her past experience with such acts, but he continued to kiss her and grind against her, but do no more. It took her a moment to realise what he was doing was waiting for her to move on proceedings.

When she put her hands on his shoulders and slid them down his back, she did not feel the revulsion her father had instilled in her, in fact, she felt almost anxious and lightheaded, and when she slid her hands further down and removed Thomas’s pants from his waist, the soft skin of his derriere in her grasp. Gasping quietly, he took hold of her and turned them both so he was lying on his back with her straddling his waist, just over his groin. For a moment, she looked at him confused, having genuinely never been in such a position before. 

Tom seemed to realise she had little knowledge of what was happening, so he lifted her skirt enough to get under it and aligned himself with her body before pressing up and slowly enter her. Charlotte could not help the noise she made as her body reacted to what was happening. When he pulled her down slightly so he was lying correctly on the bed, he moved slightly, causing Charlotte to realise what he wished for her to do, so she began to cant her hips, realising the sensation was actually odd in a positive manner, so she did it again and again, noting it began to feel good as she looked at Thomas, who looked at her in almost reverent, his face filled with pleasure as he found himself becoming more and more aroused by her actions. Filled with a confidence she was uncertain as to how she had, she moved more before leaning down to kiss Thomas, who reciprocated as passionately, both unable to stave off the pleasure they felt.

Tags

@sigridlaufeyson @wolfsmom1 @ilovekingt  @lokilover9 @whovianwookie86-captainxev @texmexdarling @lokiloveheart

[travelphilosopher]

For the second stage of my walk I had planned to tackle the Carlisle end and walk from Bowness on Solway to Carlisle, and then get a bus over to Newcastle as a one day bus ticket (£11.30) is just a few pounds more than the fare to Bowness (£6.30). The plan was to get the bus to Chollerford and pick up from where I had left last time the next day.

As many other stated, the Bowness on Solway sector can be a hard one to plan, with only a three buses going that way, and the earliest which I got at 12.50 with an arrival time of 13.37 which doesn’t give you much daylight for walking. The other option was to walk to Bowness and get a bus back, but there are only three; one at 7.34, 10.32 and 18.57. There is one though at 17.14 from Bowness that goes to Anthorn and arrives at Carlisle at 18.08. There aren’t that many places to stopover in the area, and to be honest there isn’t much else to see.

  I fell ill with a slight cold and cough a couple of days before I set off for Carlisle, but as many do, I didn’t think I was that ill and felt the fresh air would do me good. It was raining when I arrived in Carlisle and I toyed between resting in the hotel or doing the walk. I passed the Gretna Bakery and bought a yummy 6 inch pizza for 90p, that would keep me going for the day. After discovering the tiny bus station in Carlisle I decided to I would get the bus to Bowness on Solway as planned and then get the bus to Newcastle.

I sat in the bus station, well really it was a bus shelter with about 7 bays and eavesdropped on the locals who were complaining about the buses. The 93 was late, and apparently the locals knew the driver well, and it was a habit of hers. The bus didn’t take cards, so I used cash for the £11.30 North West Explorer which gave me unlimited travel on all buses in Carlisle and as far as Newcastle upon Tyne. The journey on the tiny bus wasn’t eventful as we went through estates and some barren countryside. I made a mental note of the paths I would be returning on and it wasn’t very scenic.

As we ventured further towards the coast a few walkers were on the path, and in Burgh by Sands a cluster of groups were spotted, and a couple of people got on the bus. It looked like a grandmother and her grandson and by the size of their backpacks it appeared they had been camping. As I traveled through more remote and rural villages, I eventually arrived in Bowness at 13.48 a little later than scheduled.

It’s a sleepy village and the lady who got off at the stop asked if I was lost. Well, I was a little as there were no signs and google maps was not being helpful. I said I was looking for the stamping station and she pointed me in the right direction (to go back) to the banks promenade. I mentioned this to the grandmother and the grandson who were also looking to get that precious stamp and we both ended up at the little shelter where the box was. However, the stamp was missing and had been stolen. I had read about this a while back and assumed it had been replaced, but it hadn’t. The alternative was the King’s Arms pub that we passed, but the grandmother said it was closed. For them it was the final stamp for the card and were pretty upset. I looked up the pub and google said it was open, and so the three of us trekked back and peered around the place to find it was open, just the doors were closed as they were painting. I got my stamp and so did the little boy, and I bid them farewell as they decided to stay and eat there.

Online timetables for buses aren’t always useful and the ones at the bus stop are generally a better source of information. I knew there was one around 7 p.m. and a cursory glance at the timetable posted at the bus stop  said there was a 17.14  back to Carlisle. This information proved to be very useful later on.

The time was now just after 2 p.m. and I ‘d felt I’d lost half an hour of walking which is about 2 miles with the bus delay and the hunt for the stamping station. I retraced the route that the bus took, and I knew I was going to be in for a quiet and lonely walk as there were very few walkers around. I took a path off the road at Port Carlisle where I found another sign and took a photo. I then heard a ‘hello’ from behind and saw an old man in an open garage who asked where I had come from.

Roger at Port Carlisle

Meet Roger, the man who made the sign, and who lives in a cottage on the path. He was retired had made an interchangeable sign that he could customize for walkers to take photos. There’s a small donation box, and he says the little extra helps, but most of all he loves meeting people from all over the world, and we had a nice chat about this and that, but I was conscious of the time and that in order to get to Carlisle and the last bus to Newcastle I needed to crack on.

The path continued through the banks towards Glasson, where the bus had previously stopped. There wasn’t much there at all, and I continued on a very long and empty road. I had to think of myself as a Roman soldier as I plodded on. By now I had learnt not to rely on signs as I passed one saying Burgh by Sands was 3 miles away and Carlisle was 8.5 miles away and that I had walked 4 miles in 1.5 hours. I needed to up my pace as it was approaching 4 p.m. and I was anxious whether I would make it to Carlisle or find a bus stop in time for the last bus. The rate I was going meant I wouldn’t get into Carlisle until 7.30 at least, and my original estimate had been 6.30 without the delays. Plans really don’t always work out in rural areas.

A sign for Burgh by Sands

Yet another

Another sign

The walk to Burgh by Sands was the longest 3 miles I had ever walked and it took nearly an hour. I got to Burgh West End where I decided to rest on a bench as I could feel a blister wanting to appear. Carlisle was 6.5 miles away and I had walked just over 7 miles. The time was 16.44 and I had to decide what to do. I had nearly run out of water and had hoped to stop in a pub, but if I carried on to Carlisle the arrival time was looking more towards 8 p.m. and it was getting dark, and the outskirts of Carlisle didn’t look particularly safe. I checked online for the timetable of the buses and saw that there was supposed to be a bus passing through at 16.53 and had to make a quick decision whether to jump on the bus and get back to Carlisle or go to the pub and try to walk a bit more before the 7 p.m. bus.

How most of the path is from Bowness on Solway to Burgh by Sands

I wasn’t feeling so great and had been coughing, and with the new blister forming I had little incentive to continue. I’d done half the walk in 2.5 hours, but quite frankly I was bored. Now buses in these rural areas sometimes don’t turn up or are late, so I decided to wait it out because all I had seen was cows and sheep and cars speeding past me, and the coastline was too faraway to appreciate. It made me wonder why I was doing the walk, and if I carried on what would I achieve? If it had been earlier in the day I would have carried on or if I was with someone, but alone on empty roads and paths really is no fun.

I waited until about quarter past five and there was no sign of a bus still as my heart skipped a beat each time I heard an engine come around the corner. I decided to make my way to the Greyhound Inn, then I wasn’t sure if my eyes were deceiving me when I saw a bus with 93 on it. I quickly ran or hobbled back to the nearest bus stop and ran into the road to make sure it stopped. Someone was getting off as it happens and the bus driver apologized for being late as the bus had broken down. I didn’t care as I was able to sit down somewhere warm and know I would at least make the 19.25 bus to Newcastle.

The bus was about 30-40 minutes late, and by the time I got to Bowness there were a few walkers waiting to board the bus. The grandmother and grandson were there as well as two other walkers, and the bus tried to make up time, but due to scheduling the driver was told to pull over just before getting into Carlisle and to swap buses with another which created a further delay. I consoled myself with the fact at least I was going to be on the 19.25 and not the 20.25 bus. Allegedly the journey would take 79 minutes, but later realized that too was not wholly accurate. It’s a long journey of about 60 miles, so I was getting value from my ticket at least.

I went through most the towns I would hopefully be walking through at a later stage including Brampton, Hexham, Bardon Mill, Haltwhistle and Corbridge. I arrived in Newcastle Eldon Square about a quarter past nine, and made my way hastily to the hotel. By now I had decided I was going to have a lie in and I was coughing quite badly and made the decision to have a rest day. My friend had already offered to meet me for a late lunch the next day in the city and with that choice being made, I luxuriously watched repeats of NCIS and other shows in bed until there was nothing left to watch.

I realized that this walk isn’t about ticking it off the list, but about what you get out of it and walking all day on an empty road or path just wasn’t doing much for me. Maybe one day I’d go back and finish the Carlisle sector, but having seen where I’d be walking, it wasn’t something that in all consciousness I would look forward to.

The cows and sheep that kept me company on this leg of the walk

Hadrian’s Wall Walk ~ Stage 2, Day 1; Bowness on Solway to Carlisle For the second stage of my walk I had planned to tackle the Carlisle end and walk from…

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

Without worry (8): Of Love and Fear

(”Pflege” by 41330)

         When Claire came into the woman's room, she recognized her condition at first sight. Mrs. Thormann was apathetic and groaned quietly. Claire turned to Wilhelm Thormann and searched for words.

         "Jamie … äh … James … James holen …schnell … Er soll bringen … kaltes Wasser … viel kaltes Wasser. Schnell." [1] 

         The old man nodded. Moments later, she heard him hurry down the stairs and then the front door slammed shut behind him. 

         Claire took the damp cloth that Wilhelm Thormann had laid on his wife's forehead and wielded it over one of the bowls that stood on the bedside table. Then she dipped it in the bowl of water and placed it on the sick woman's forehead. On a chest of drawers on the wall she saw a pitcher of water and a cup. She poured fresh water into the cup and slowly infused the liquid to her patient. Then she removed the bandage and saw that some of the splinters she could not remove had begun to fester. She opened one boil after another. When she had removed the slivers and pus, she cleaned the wounds. Just as she was about to put on a new bandage to Mrs. Thormann's arm, she heard the front door open and Jamie, followed by Wilhelm Thormann, coming up the stairs. He carried an almost full bucket of water and set it down beside her. 

         "Thanks, please ask Mr. Thormann for clean towels, we need a lot of clean towels."          Jamie translated Claire's request and the old man hurried off again. Moments later, he returned with a stack of clean linen towels. She immediately put some of the cloths in cold water and took other cloths to prepare the calf rolls. When everything was ready she put the first wraps around the lower legs of the old woman. Then she reached for her medicine box and took out a little packet with a herbal mixture.

(”Heilkräuter” by 1195798)  

         "Here, Jamie, Mr. Thormann should show you where to cook tea. Take three teaspoons for a pot and pour hot water on it, wait for ten minutes and then bring me the tea."          Jamie did as Claire asked. A quarter of an hour later, he returned with a large cup of tea.          "Thank you. Put it there on the dresser, the tea has to cool down a bit, and then go get another bucket of cold water, we need a lot more." 

         Jamie nodded and turned to the stairs. At that moment, Claire heard Mr. Thormann say something but did not understand.          "Claire?"          She turned back to Jamie. 

         "Wie geht es ihr?" [2]          "Mr. Thormann asks how his wife is."          She looked at him and took a deep breath. He could see from her glassy face that things were not very good with the old woman.          "Tell him ... I do everything I can, if the fever goes down in the next few hours, she'll make it."          Jamie nodded and then spoke softly to the old man. Afterwards he left the house to get another bucket of water. Meanwhile Claire had changed the calf rolls and slowly and carefully infused to her patient the tea Jamie had brought. Mr. Thormann watched her attentively. 

         After Jamie brought the second bucket of cold water, a kind of routine slowly developed. Claire changed the calf rolls and the cool towels on the forehead of Mrs. Thormann and then infused more liquid to her. Mr. Thormann brought more tea and water to drink. Jamie wore the buckets back and forth between the small waterfall on the road bridge and the Thormann's bedroom. It was about four in the morning when Jamie entered the room with a new bucket of water. 

         "You can tell him that it's enough tea for now. Ask him if they have broth in the house and if he can warm it up."          Ten minutes later, the men returned with a large cup of broth.          "Thanks, that's good! Tell him she's feeling a little better. He should rest. He can lay down to sleep now."          She heard Jamie and Mr. Thormann whispering to each other. Then they both entered the room again. The old man sat down in a chair on the other side of the bed, folded his hands and closed his eyes. 

         "He says he can not sleep now, he wants to stay here with his wife," Jamie explained to her.          "Good, he can do that, but I still need fresh water."          "I'll get it right away." 

         Jamie approached Mr. Thormann, leaned down and spoke softly to him. The old man raised his head and Claire saw tears running down his cheeks. Then he squeezed Jamie's hand as if he would never let hum go. Claire turned away and switched back to her routine. Change the calf wraps and the towels, administer fluid, feel pulse, change the calf wraps ... But she could not help thinking about how Jamie or she would feel if they had reached the age of Thormann's and would be in a similar situation. 

         At six o'clock in the morning the fever had broken. The old woman's breathing had normalized and she finally fell asleep. At seven o'clock Leni Schultheiß came to take over the care of Mrs. Thormann. Claire told her what to look for. She also urged Leni to call her again if the patient would start to have high temperatures again. The young woman took Claire to the door. But just when she wanted to say goodbye to Leni,  Wilhelm Thormann grabbed her gently by the arm. She looked at him in surprise, then she looked questioningly at Leni. 

         "He wants to thank you," the young woman replied.          Claire turned back to the old farmer, who took both her hands in his hands and bowed over them. 

         "Danke, Frau Fraser, von ganzem Herzen Dank!" [3] 

         "Gern geschehen, Herr Thormann. Es … war eine … Freude. Ich … werde … wieder kommen morgen." [4] 

         She bowed as well.

(”Rührei mit Schnittlauch und Brötchen” by MAKY_OREL)          When Claire arrived home fifteen minutes later, Jamie and Fergus were already having breakfast.          "Milady, Milady, how good to have you back!"          Fergus ran to meet her and hugged her immediately. She gently stroked his hair. Then they walked together to the table where Jamie was standing and waiting for her.          "Good morning, Sassenach, good to have you back."

         Before she could answer, he embraced and kissed her. When they parted, she looked at him with a smile.          "I am also glad that I have my men back."

         She kissed him again, passionately and profusely, until a rumble came from the direction Fergus was sitting.          "I do not want to disturb you, Mylord, but breakfast is getting cold."          They smiled at each other, then they looked at Fergus and then they burst out into laughter. 

         "Surely Fergus!  That would be terrible."          Claire sat down at the table where Jamie had already placed her plate. Then he brought her scrambled eggs, bread and tea. Thankfully, she began to eat, and Fergus and Jamie continued their meal. 

         "Fergus," Jamie said as they finished eating, "Milady has to rest for now. We will take care of the animals and then take care of the garden."          "But Jamie, I ..."          "No arguing, Claire, you took care of Mrs. Thormann all night, now you have to sleep a bit."          "And who brought the uncounted buckets of water all night to me?"          "Sassenach ...." 

         "Milady," Fergus intervened, "Milord is right. You always work so hard for us, you need to rest. We do not want you to get sick too, we'll take care of everything."          Claire looked from Jamie to Fergus and back again.          "Well, I don't think I can handle your unified resistance, but before I sleep, I'd like some more hot tea, and if anyone comes from the Thormanns, you'll wake me up!"          "Ye-he-s" the men replied out of one mouth, then looked at the ceiling and rolled their eyes.          "Not 'Ye-he-s!' You will wake me up, that is an order!"          "Ye-he-s!"          "Good." 

         She smiled. Then she finished her tea and went up to her bedroom. Once there, she stretched, took off her outer garment and shoes and - slightly dazed - crawled under the covers. It did not take two minutes and she fell asleep.          When Jamie entered the room three hours later, she had just woken up. He stripped off his boots and carefully lay down beside her.          "Well, Sassenach, how are you?" 

         She turned to him and took his face in her hands. Their eyes met and she kissed him. He pulled her close and rested her head on his chest. Claire sighed.          "Have I ever told you that there is no place for me where I feel safer and more comfortable?" she asked, letting her hand slip under his waistcoat. 

         "Here? At Quellheim?" he asked with mock astonishment.          "No, you ignorant Scott! I ..."          He did not let her finish, but closed her mouth with a kiss.          When they parted, he smiled and said:          "You told me," he whispered, "after our first night in Newcastle upon Tyne." 

         There was a little sadness on her face, but she did not answer. He lifted her head gently and looked into her eyes.          "What makes you sad, mo chidre?"          Instead of answering, she began to draw small circles on his chest.          "Last night I had to remember what you said that night about fear. When Mr. Thormann refused to go to sleep, I saw the tears in his eyes and I thought about what you said about fear."          "That I have not been afraid for a long time because I thought I had lost everything I loved, and that I would feel it again because I have you again?"          She nodded.          "What worries you?" he asked.          "How can it be that love gives birth to fear, Jamie?"          "Because what we love is precious to us and we do not want to lose it. But Claire will not let us talk about it. Let's enjoy the fact that we have each other again. As long as we love each other even death ..." 

         Gently, she put her hand over his mouth.          "No, Jamie, not now. Let us not talk about it. You're right. Let's enjoy the fact that we have each other again."          She took his head in both hands and pulled him close. But before they could kiss each other extensively, they were interrupted by a tentative knock on the door.          "Yes?" Jamie called.          "Milord, I just wanted to ask if there's lunch today," Fergus replied. 

         He did not get an answer. Only a loud laugh came from Milord's and Milady's bedroom.

 Notes:

[1]  "Jamie ... uh ... James ... get James ... fast ... He should bring ... cold water ... lots of cold water."

[2] "How is she doing?"

[3] "Thank you, Mrs. Fraser, wholeheartedly thanks!"

[4] "Gladly, Mr. Thormann, it was a ... pleasure, I ... will ... come back … tomorrow."

[pharmaphorumuk]

COVID-19 and vulnerable children: Urging caution while enjoying childhood

How do you keep a child with a suppressed immune system safe during COVID-19 lockdown? And how do you explain the dangers while protecting their – and your own – mental health?

These are the questions hundreds of families of young people with underlying health conditions are struggling with as the world tackles the COVID-19 crisis.

We talk to Anna Hughes, whose six-year-old son Joseph has ulcerative colitis (UC) and the liver disease primary sclerosing cholangitis (PSC) about living with fear and uncertainty.

Traumatic start

Joseph was only a year old when he started showing symptoms of UC, a form of inflammatory bowel disease (IBD), characterised by inflammation in the gut.

“It is hard to put into words what Joseph and our whole family have gone through over the last five years,” says Anna.

“He has been in and out of hospital, both in Belfast and England, so many times, especially during the first few years of him being unwell. He was tube fed for almost a year because he had lost so much weight, and then had to be on really restricted diets. Even though he is off those now, he is still very limited in what he eats.

“Joseph’s weekly trip to the GP surgery has been made more frightening through him and the nurses having to wear masks. This only adds to the already negative experience of having to have his blood taken”

“He has had to have bloods taken well over 200 times, and has had about 15 general anaesthetics for MRIs, scopes and biopsies.”

Joseph is on four different medications, one of which is an immune suppressant, meaning he falls into the vulnerable group during the COVID-19 outbreak.

Along with many, many others in a similar position, the Belfast-based family is now faced with getting used to a new normal.

A new normal

Because of the absence of specialists in Northern Ireland, Joseph and his parents are obliged to take regular trips of up to a week or more to see specialists in Newcastle Upon Tyne for his IBD.

Worryingly for his parents, these appointments have now been cancelled. The Hughes are waiting to hear when he might next see his specialist healthcare teams. Appointments with his team in Belfast have had to take place over the phone, meaning no physical examination.

His sessions with a clinical psychologist, who helps Joseph to cope with the emotional toll of living with IBD through activities and play, are also on hold for the foreseeable future. Anna believes he is struggling with this, especially with his normal routine now disrupted, and is worried it may lead to serious long-term problems.

Joseph and his siblings are not attending school, and his weekly blood monitoring clinics have been moved from the local hospital into primary care as part of the health services response to the pandemic.

“His weekly trip to the GP surgery has been made more frightening through the nurses and Joseph having to wear masks. This only adds to the already negative experience of having to have his blood taken,” explains Anna.

His vulnerable, high-risk status means Anna, her husband Aidan, and their two other children, Olivia, nine, and five-year-old Charlotte, have to be extremely careful.

This close monitoring has been complicated by Aidan’s job as a key worker in a community pharmacy.

“He is working long and unsocial hours. He takes all the precautions available, such as wearing a mask and serving customers from behind a screen, but is still worrying because he is more at risk of catching the virus and then infecting the rest of the family.

“We are taking our daily walks in places that we know will be quiet, and I am taking the hand sanitizer everywhere. But it’s hard,” says Anna, adding that it was difficult to explain the reasons for caution without scaring the children.

Complex concepts

“It’s a real challenge to find a balance between ensuring they are hand washing and not touching things when out on walks while not communicating to them that I am worried.

“I spent a good bit of time, especially during the first few weeks of lockdown, explaining that children are unlikely to die from coronavirus. But despite my reassurances, I was shocked to overhear a conversation between the children saying: ‘If any one of us is going to die, it will be Joseph’.”

Joseph is frequently too scared to go to sleep, saying he doesn’t want to get older and then die from the infection. He’s also worried about missing his June birthday, particularly as he was in hospital for two weeks over last year’s celebrations.

“I only watch the news when they are in bed, but they absorb so much from the radio,” says Anna, adding that while the trio missed their school friends, they certainly didn’t miss school.

Ups, downs and trusted information

The increased stress and worry about Joseph’s immune system, home schooling three children, missing family and friends, and Aidan’s long hours as an essential worker are all taking their toll on the family. But they are trying to remain positive.

“It is hard and it is worrying, but while for some people this will be their first really traumatic time, for us this is just another in a long list of hard times to go through,” says Anna.

“So, in a way, I feel we are well equipped because of our previous experiences with illness, worry and upheaval of normal life.”

Her top pieces of advice to others in her position were to make the most of the daily exercise allowance – especially in sunny weather – and accepting the ups and downs of living with uncertainty.

“One day it can be great. I’ll think about how much I love spending time with the kids, and then the next day I might think it is too hard, I can’t do it. It’s so strange how it changes overnight like that.”

Limiting news intake and focusing on trusted sources of information were her keys to dealing with her concerns, she adds.

“We need to look at the statistics and just stick with it. I know we will get through this,” she says.

For information on how to support children and young people with IBD during the coronavirus crisis, see CICRA’s website

  The post COVID-19 and vulnerable children: Urging caution while enjoying childhood appeared first on .

from https://pharmaphorum.com/views-analysis-patients/covid-19-vulnerable-children/

[thelondonfilmschool]

INTERVIEW with Newcastle-based and one-of-a-kind filmmaker: Benjamin Bee

Writer/Director Benjamin Bee graduated from London Film School in 2015 and moved back to his home town of Newcastle Upon Tyne, where he’s continued to hone the unique brand of personal- tragi-comedy which has seen his films screened at some of the world’s biggest film festivals and attracted the likes of Mike Leigh to his Crowdfunding videos. Ben turns his own life story into art, and it’s not hard to see why – within minutes of meeting him I’d been told an anecdote involving an axe, a crazed lunatic and a carton of banana milkshake. Below is the publishable version of Ben’s take on the North-South divide, his time at LFS and what it is that makes his ‘bonkers’ stories so universal.

S.M: Can you tell me a bit about your life before applying to London Film School?

B.B: I left school in Newcastle when I was 14 without any qualifications, and then I went to an access to college course. They did photography and had an old, broken VHS video camera, and with the people that I met there we started making comedy, stupid little films. They were unscripted, and weirdly I used that to get into the University of Westminster to do Contemporary Media Practice. That was in 2002, and then at the end of that course I made a short film called The Plastic Toy Dinosaur, which was produced by Rob Watson who’s an NFTS producing grad who’s doing really well now. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, I wrote it when I was 21 and I directed it when I was 22. I moved back to Newcastle and started working in a bar, but I hated it and I was miserable and the only thing I realised I had was this short film. I didn’t know about anything, I didn’t even know Cannes or Sundance existed. 

So, I just started entering it in places that I found and one of them was the BBC3 New Filmmaker of the Year Award. There were tons of submissions and they selected it down to the last ten. It was actually a really good year – Alice Lowe had written and starred in one of them, and Sean Conway had a film as well, he writes for Ray Donavan now. It was nice because people started to screen the film and it seemed like they liked it and it resonated with audiences, but I still had no idea what I was doing and I was incredibly naïve. I mean, seriously dyslexic and had the reading and writing age of an 8-year-old. Not going to school probably didn’t help. So, I was kind of lost. I started working a theatre box office and I worked, like, 60 hours a week and tried to save money. And then I saw a Skillset bursary advertised. I’d always looked at LFS but I couldn’t afford the fees, but eventually after I’d saved some money from my job I applied and I got the bursary.

S.M: What did applying for that involve?

B.B: It’s based on previous work and it’s means tested so you basically have to be poor and talented, or at least fake them into believing that you have some form of talent (laughs). I think I had something to say, coming from a slightly different background, and all my stories are weirdly personal. You go in front of a panel and when I got called back I literally cried like a small child. And then I went to LFS! It was interesting and difficult and there were people from so many different walks of life. I learnt the craft of filmmaking – I tried to eat up everything. 

The most important thing for me was the people – you’re surrounded by people who are really passionate about film. It’s two years surrounded by people who’ll put a lot of effort in, and I met a lot of people who had a lot of fun making films that I’m really proud of. I did a film called Step Right Up when I was there, which was my Term 4 exercise. We had 36 minutes of film stock to make a nine-minute film and it was screened at 40 film festivals. We got long-listed for the BAFTA, which means we were down to the last 10 or 15, which had never been done before by a fourth term film. It was huge.

S.M: What do you think it was about that film that made it so successful?

B.B: I make comedies and they’re personal. I’ve never really struggled with getting films into festivals because I don’t try to make arduous bulls**t. It’s personal, and also I’m not the most masculine man but I know lots of masculine men who do have feelings, and everybody has a shared experience of feelings and pain so there’s nothing that makes even the most masculine, awful guy not sensitive. A lot of my films are about paternal bonds or absent father figures, because my dad left and he was an utter c***. So, I’ve got a lot of things like that, that kind of resonate. 

My new one’s about something that genuinely happened, which was when my dad left when I was five and my mum decided to take me and my brother out of school and take us to Metroland, which is a theme park in Newcastle. My brother went on the dodgems but I was too little, so I had to go on the merry-go-round. It was amazing, and I was on a big white horse going round and round. Every time I’d come round I’d see my mum just stood there in floods and floods of tears, and then I’d go past her, and I could see my brother having the best time ever. That’s an analogy for my relationships with my siblings! I think if you say things that are deeply personal then they’re always going to do much better than things that aren’t you. When I started in term one and term two, I started trying to make stuff to look more “intelligent”, and then I realised that it wasn’t making me at all happy. So, by term four I made something ridiculous and by graduation I made a film called Sebastian which was a horror comedy which was also a bit nuts.

S.M: Was it always your plan to go back to Newcastle after graduation?

B.B: The day I handed my grad film in I went for a meeting to direct a pilot taster for Baby Cow, Steve Coogan and Henry Normal’s company. I got that, and I brought Yiannis (Manolopoulos, fellow LFS student and cinematographer) in, it was written by a friend of mine, Dan Mersh, who was also in Step Right Up, Plastic Toy Dinosaur, Sebastian and Mordechai. And that was really good because I got to meet Henry Normal, who was the managing director of the company. He’d written the Royle Family, Mrs Merton, he’d produced some of my fave TV shows, including the Mighty Boosh … He loved it. but Channel 4 didn’t pick it up. Then I moved back to Newcastle, in 2015, and broke my ankle running for a train! I was in a cast for over a year. 

Then I applied to the Jewish Film Fund for my film Mordechai, I’m not actually Jewish but the film’s subject is. It’s doing really well, it’s got into Palm Springs, BFI London Film Festival, and various others. It’s about these identical twins, one of which has left the community and one of whom has stayed at home. There’s an ultra-orthodox community in Gateshead and it’s quite insular and interesting. So, I developed a story about, what if one of them had left and then had to come home for a reason? The dad dies and the other brother comes home and he has to go and pick him up. They’ve got very different life choices – one brother’s dressed in black and the other turns up wearing tie-dyed hippy shit. He’s still Jewish but in his own way. Mordechai is really happy and charming and Daniel, who stayed at home, is a bit more down-trodden and miserable. Then Mordechai drops dead and Daniel makes the decision to body swap and becomes Mordechai and goes to his own funeral. It comes out the end quite positive but it’s also quite emotional!

S.M: You work a lot with producer Maria Caruana Galizia – is she someone you met through LFS?

B.B: No, she’s from Malta. She moved to Newcastle after living in Scotland for a while (I think), and there’s very few producers here. I met her at a networking event – she liked something I’d made, I liked something she’d made and we just decided to try and apply for stuff. She’s fu***ng awesome, super talented and incredibly hardworking. Also, she puts up with me…

S.M: Do you find that being based up in Newcastle has its pros and cons?

B.B: It really does. The benefits are that you can shoot anywhere for dead cheap but crewing’s impossible because every good member of crew’s doing Vera or The Dumping Ground. There’s swings and roundabouts. It’s beautiful, and has a better quality of life but there is definitely a massive divide. All the work’s in London, all the agents are there.

S.M: Do you manage to make a living out of the work you’re doing at the moment?

B.B: I’m a very cheap human being. It’s difficult when you start out because a lot of the stuff that you’re doing, like the shorts, aren’t going to make any money unless you start winning prize money. I’m at the stage now where it’s a little bit easier because I can apply for funding for development from the BFI etc. That’s what I’m applying for at the moment. I’m doing a project with Henry Normal, a documentary on him and his poetry. I’m also just finishing Metroland and I’m really, really happy with it, but I’ve got no idea how it’s going to go down ‘cause it’s a bit mental.

S.M: How did you get Mike Leigh to appear in the crowdfunding promo?

B.B: He pops up in it, and basically the whole joke is that the film’s kind of like Weekend at Bernie’s, but imagine Weekend at Bernie’s if it was directed by Mike Leigh. You see the door open and it’s Mike Leigh going “Ben, can you stop phoning and emailing me and if you give me another copy of Weekend at Bernie’s …” (laughs). 

I sent him an email going, “Hi Mike! Creative England are insisting that I do Crowdfunding and I really don’t wanna do it, so instead of making a video in which everybody’s positive, I want to make a video where everybody’s really negative about the experience.” He said yes without questioning it for a second… When I shot the video with Mike it was me, Yiannis and Eoin Maher, who did Filmmaking at LFS as well, and Mike who was just really hilarious. It was a lot of fun. Mike’s always been incredibly kind and supportive. He’s got a really good sense of humour. It’s the thing I love about his work to be honest.

S.M: Have you found it cathartic making such personal work based on your own life?

B.B: Unless you’re very good at what you do, this is just my advice, you can hide everything but what you do has to at some point be personal and resonate. Deconstruct any movie ever, like every movie Wes Anderson ever made is basically about his father walking out on his family, even though you don’t always realise it. It’s all about masculinity. It’s that thing that all your faults are your strongest features. I definitely find it therapeutic and I definitely think you deal with stuff. Spielberg says that it’s the only job where you get paid for therapy. I think that’s a great quote because it’s true in a way. Especially if you can’t afford therapy!

S.M: What do you think was the most important thing that LFS taught you?

B.B: The main revelation was that, whenever anybody goes into anything, doesn’t matter if it’s school, college or university, everybody comes in with a competitive nature that they’re going to be the best. Being competitive with yourself and wanting to make the best work is amazing, that’s the best way to be. But anybody else, whether they’re a director or whatever, should be your friends and your peer group, people that will help you. You basically have a support network with other filmmakers. That was really helpful, because it felt like you had a cheerleading squad and you could also do it for other people and you’d be really grateful. And that’s the industry – you’re not really in competition because nobody’s going to make the same film as you. You learn that very quickly at LFS because there’s people making such different work and you can really appreciate it. Then those people can come and work and collaborate on something you’re making, and you make something different and everybody learns from each other. Definitely the international vibe really helps as well. I was one of very few Brits and that was really nice, because obviously in Newcastle it’s mostly just people from there. In my term I had Yiannis from Greece, Pauline who was French, Rodrigo who was Mexican, Habib who’s American … it was really nice. I enjoyed it. Everybody’s great! Working with happy, positive people who feel comfortable in a nice environment is what makes the best work. And I think that’s what comes from having so many passionate people at LFS. It was a life-changing opportunity.

[hexaflexageek]

Written two years ago but still true. They've caused so much damage to people round here and I worry they'll get away with it and be voted in again. People on Radio 4 this morning said they will vote for Boris Johnson because "he's got energy." I despair at that. What about policies? What about austerity? What about the homeless, food banks, hungry children, punitive sanctions, cuts to local authorities, and so much more while the rich got richer? What about inequality, the NHS, and the ways the last ten years of government has harmed so many of us? Nothing. Just "he's got energy." I hate to say this. But so did Hitler! And Mussolini. Stalin. Gandhi too, that's true. Energy is no indication of a good or bad man. If people vote based on something like this they could get a monster. Or just get another Tory and lose their final pairs of shoes. When you hear of the kids on your estate with rickets and other malnutrition who don't eat between free school meals because their families can't afford food then you know the system is screwed. Inequality increases and in places like #Byker people die too young. #haiku #poetry #poet #poetsofinstagram #austerity #Tories #fuckthetories #shoes #poem #UK #generalelection (at Newcastle upon Tyne) https://www.instagram.com/p/B4R1an9AWZI/?igshid=1gkusb3yk7d47

[thewidowstanton]

Peter Groom, actor, choreographer and drag artist – Dietrich: Live in London

Peter Groom, who comes from Newcastle upon Tyne, graduated from the Guildford School of Acting in 2013, and has since worked both in the UK and internationally. His dance credits include One Side to the Other for Akram Khan Company, and his theatre work includes Romeo and Juliet and Adventures of Sherlock Holmes at the Aquila Theatre in New York. He was artist in residence at Battersea Arts Centre in London in 2014.

In January 2018 Peter launched his multi award-winning solo show, Dietrich: Natural Duty – co-written with and directed by Oliver Gully – which documents screen icon Marlene Dietrich’s life during the Second World War. It premiered at the Vaults in London before touring internationally, taking the Edinburgh Festival Fringe and Adelaide Fringe by storm. He has followed this with a cabaret, Dietrich: Live in London – accompanied by his MD Jimmy Jewell at the piano – which sold out at London’s Crazy Coqs, Live at Zédel in July and will return to the venue on 1 October 2019. Peter chats to Liz Arratoon.

The Widow Stanton: Did you always want to be onstage? Peter Groom: Yes, yes I did. I joined a youth theatre group in Newcastle when I was nine or ten and did plays and musicals with them until I was 17.

Was there anyone in your family in showbiz who inspired you? Er, no. [Laughs] My mum worked for the NHS and my dad used to work for Coca-Cola, but my grandma was very funny and very musical. She sang a lot but just with us as kids, you know, nothing… nobody performed professionally or anything.

So you don’t know where this urge came from? No, it just always seemed there, really. I remember the first time, it was in nursery, pre-school, I played Santa and I had to come down a chimney and pop out at the bottom. When Santa Got Stuck Up the Chimney, that was the song. I remember really clearly the room, and appearing from the chimney and everybody looking at me. And I remember where the lights were… that’s a really clear thing. I remember them all laughing.

You’ve appeared as a dancer; did your course at Guildford cover dance? We took ballet, jazz and contemporary, but before I went there I was really more interested in dance. I used to dance when I was a kid and then I went to Germany and was part of a show there called Sommertanz. That was with dancers from Pina Bausch Company. I’d never seen her work, I didn’t know who she was, and working with that company blew my mind because the dance I’d done up to then was all technique-based; a lot of ballet, and then her dancers were all about your expression and what you feel and what interests you and what you’re passionate about.

Suddenly that sparked more of an expression side and I thought, ‘Well, maybe dance isn’t right for me, maybe acting is much better’. So that’s why I trained at a drama school. But it’s funny, you know, the minute I left drama school I thought, ‘Oh, I want to dance again’. So I did and I went off and did a show with Akram Khan for a little bit, and then with some other companies, and I still make work that’s very dance based as a choreographer that I don’t perform in. It’s usually quite devised and working with a lot of text; usually half dancers and half actors.

You seem to have got international work very soon after graduating… I’ve been really lucky that I haven’t really been out of work a lot since I graduated, which is a really lovely position to be in. I stayed around In London for a few months after I graduated and then… I really love Germany. I lived there when I was 17 and when I graduated I thought, ‘I really wanna go there again’. I feel very at home there. So I went back to the school where I’d trained with dancers from the Pina Bausch Company – Folkwang Universität der Künste in Essen-Werden. I had a friend there and she said: “Oh well, just come and take class here in the mornings.” So I did, and an audition came up in Berlin. I went and I got the job in the show MEAT at Schaubühne, so I stayed there for about a year. It was wonderful. I loved it.  

Again you were artist in residence at BAC quite soon after that… Yes, I came back from Berlin and it came up… you could live there.

Oh yes, I’ve been on a backstage tour and seen the rooms. It’s marvellous! It’s amazing! They give you this space, and they give you a weekly budget to eat, and then you just make work all the time. Its wonderful; it’s like taking all the pressure off. You have time. I think I was there six months and you have time to let things develop and let you thoughts sit.

I would call your Marlene shows ‘female impersonation’ rather than drag, but how did you get into drag? It had been floating around for a while, I think. A few people had said: “Oh, you should really do it, because we think you’d be adept at it.” And then, I’m trying to remember, the first time was at BAC. A friend of mine had had a really bad year and he had a big Hallowe’en party and said: “Everybody has to come really full-out. Everybody has to get their great costumes on.” And I like Marlene Dietrich anyway, I have for years, and he said: “Oh, you come as Marlene because you’ll like that.” So I did! There were some photos, one got put on Facebook and then a woman called Tanith Lindon, who was the events co-ordinator at BAC saw it and said: “Oh, you look great! Come and host a New Year’s Eve party at BAC.” So I said, ‘Yes’.

And that was the start of it? That was the start of it, yeah, but it was little bits of cabaret. I’d never thought about making a show.

How had Marlene first come to your attention? I first heard her name through Vogue by Madonna; there’s that bit at the end where she raps all the Hollywood stars names, Garbo and Hepburn… and I went and looked them all up [laughs] and it was Marlene’s image that was really fascinating to me because she was cold… and distant… and aloof. This person that really didn’t coo… well, she wasn’t sweet or cute in any way. And as a teenager that really appealed to me.

When you were creating the show, did you study her mannerisms by watching her films? Well, I’ve seen all her films and read about 17… 18 books on her, newspaper articles and things like that, and then I think you have to forget all that and try to embody her without copying her. I never looked at footage and they tried to imitate her. I sort of tried to find where all these mannerisms came from. I mean, she just had the spine of a Prussian soldier. Everything pulled up, everything is tight, taut. Maybe towards the end that’s also because she was pinning her face in place so it looked younger, but it’s all these things that she has in her that are from her life experience. I was interested in that; both the illusion and what was behind it.

I’m really hot on costumes and must compliment you on your gown. Is it based on her famous ‘nude’ dress, designed by Jean Louis? Yes. It was made by a costume designer called Kathleen Nellis. She studied at London College of Fashion and graduated a few years ago. We’ve collaborated for a couple of years now; we have two dresses and a coat. When we first started making the show, before we wrote anything, before we thought what the story would be, the first thing we did was find out if we could make that dress. I feel similar to you, costume’s such a huge thing for me, particularly with that show. In the first two minutes when you see the dress and when you see Marlene, you have to be impressed, you have to go, ‘Oh my gosh, where did you get that?’. Because if you don’t have that you may as well throw the rest out the window. We need to be drawn in and dazzled.

It’s so fabulous! It’s so classy, and, well done, because too many people skimp on costumes. And I like Marlene too much to do that. It is, you know, a lot of beading backstage and a lot of time, but I think, ‘That’s good!’. And in a strange way it really gives you an insight into her. I played Edinburgh for the month last year and by week three, you think, ‘Gosh! Doing drag every day and painting this much and looking after the hair and looking after the dress, it’s a lot of work and it’s not much fun’. You just have to do it; it’s your duty to get it on and deliver the image of illusion every day. And it really took it out of me and I’d get a little bit annoyed sometimes. But then I thought, ‘She did this for 70 years, before she became a recluse’. The amount of perfectionism and will it must have taken to maintain that image is extraordinary. But there’s nothing I do in the dressing room that she didn’t do; probably just as much make-up, just as many support garments.

We haven’t mentioned your wig. Did you have it specially made? Yes, by Jack James Baxter at Wig Chapel. They’re based in Whitechapel.

How long does it take you to put on the make-up and everything? From nothing to everything, about two hours. It’s a long time but it is a lot of layers and stuff because the make-up isn’t exaggerated. It’s not really ‘drag’ make-up. It’s very clean, so it needs to be very clean.

Let’s talk about Dietrich: Live in London… Live in London is based on her Vegas cabaret show, really, and her subsequent cabaret shows around the world. It came about because I really love Zédel; I love that space, it’s so beautiful. They had asked me to come and do Natural Duty there, but Natural Duty, really it’s a play. It has aspects of cabaret in it and there are songs but it’s a story with a narrative that you follow through, and I thought, ‘The space at Zédel is so cabaret, you can get drinks with people serving throughout and that wouldn’t be good for Natural Duty. I don’t think it would work, so I said, ‘I’m not sure’. And they said: “Make something else, maybe make a new cabaret.”

And actually there was loads of things I wanted to do that didn’t fit with Natural Duty, loads of songs… ‘I’d love to do that song but it doesn’t fit’. So I wanted to make an evening that felt glamorous and take that class idea and see if I could make a very… I didn’t know of anyone else who just stands there and sings songs, without any joke, you know, when the drag isn’t a joke. So, yes, I think it’s that. It’s glamorous, it’s fun and it’s the first time I’ve done the tuxedo, which is really exciting.

Have you found any footage of those concerts she gave later in life? There’s only her show at the Queen’s Theatre in London that was recorded for television but that’s more of a recital. She doesn’t do the tails, she doesn’t do any of that stuff. There are a few clips… she used to have a kickline at the end of her cabaret show… the girls would come on and do little tuxedo-Fred Astaire kickline, there are clips of news footage of that.

So the songs you sing are the songs she sang in her concerts? Yes, the only one she didn’t that I sing is Top Hat, White Tie and Tails.

And there’s no patter in this one; it’s song, song, song. Is that what she did? She did do that, yeah. Sometimes there’s a little bit of introduction… ‘A song by Charles Trenet’, there’s a little bit of narrative based on her coming to America.

Will you be touring Live in London? Yes, we’ve been asked to perform it at the Sage in Gateshead, which is great. It’s amazing to be asked to play a concert hall like that. And also it’s home for me. That’s going to round off the year.

Is Marlene taking up most of your time or are you managing to fit in other work? No, it mostly Marlene.

So you’ve got to spend those hours getting ready all the time. I like her and to not have the pressure of the narrative that’s in Natural Duty and to just enjoy and sort of play with the audience in London has been really great. I’ve got to say I was really terrified the day of the first Zédel show. I thought everyone would be bored. There’s no story, they’re just gonna… they’re just gonna leave! So I was so thrilled that it was received so well. It was a great night. It’s such a nice energy in that room.

You’ve won loads of awards with Marlene, which stands out? We won Critics’ Choice at the Adelaide Fringe. Marlene was in Adelaide 50 years before we were there, strangely, and her tour manager, Ron Tremaine, who organised her Australian tours, came to see the show. He’s 80-something. He was incredible and stayed with us afterwards and he talked and told us stories about her, showed us photos of them together. That was really extraordinary and very touching. It’s fascinating when you meet people who knew her as a human person and not just the illusion, people who see behind that. He wanted to know how we made the show, and he really loved it, which was really kind.

Is there anything else you’d like to say about her? I guess, back to the drag thing, it’s funny because a lot of people see the show and then they tell me: “Oh, but it’s not a drag show,” which I really like. That was a real aim with Natural Duty; how do you do a drag show that isn’t a joke and isn’t demeaning to the man playing it or the woman who it’s representing? I have a lot of admiration for her and particularly her work for peace in the world. That’s an incredibly timely message now, you know. Everybody has a platform to promote themselves, to promote how good they look or whatever it is. What she managed to do was link that and a stance for peace. If we all did that the world might be a better place.

Peter performs Dietrich: Live in London at the Crazy Coqs, Live at Zédel in London on 1 October, and Dietrich: Live in Gateshead at the Sage on 18 December 2019. He will be touring Dietrich: Natural Duty again in 2020.

Picture credit: V’s Anchor Studio; vintage Marlene holding papers, with thanks to Andrew Davidhazy For tickets to Dietrich: Live in London, click here

And for Dietrich: Live in Gateshead, click here

Peter on Facebook

Twitter: @_petergroom

Follow @TheWidowStanton on Twitter

Read the story behind Andrew Davidhazy’s picture of Marlene, which he took as a schoolboy!

[jamiegladstone]

The not so International Food Festival in Gateshead.

On 23rd September 2017 the Sage Gateshead held their first International Street Food Festival. Loving an opportunity to sample food from around the world, I just couldn’t resist. So Sarah and I took the girls on a road trip up the A19 to Gateshead. Upon arrival, the queue was short leading to the aptly nicknamed ‘slug’, so we grabbed our passes and entered the building. I purchased a few tokens (used to make purchases quicker) and we were good to go.

Once inside the scale was revealed to us. Now being the first year, my expectations weren’t super high but as the Sage were hosting the event I expected more. Inside were around 7 stalls, most selling various curries and a single vegetarian stall selling… curry. I thought the best options would be outside. Unfortunately outside there were no more than 15 stalls. Once there I discovered, pizzas, pasta, some Greek food and, more curries. Now I love curry and I could eat one on most occasions. This festival, however, if named as a curry festival would’ve brought in a different crowd, and likely would’ve been more successful. Advertising as an International Street Food Festival was a stretch of the imagination. As far as Internationalism goes, some regions were represented, although, France, Spain, South America, Africa, China, The Caribbean and many others were notably missing. The advert had promised craft beer stalls, the only beers outside of the Sage bars I could find were plastic PET bottles filled with cheap commercial lager. Hardly ‘craft’ but there were plenty of people drinking them so someone made money that day.

As a vegetarian visiting a street food festival was always going to be a risk, but the options were just so poor even from the dedicated veggie and vegan stalls that Sarah and I split a few vegetarian dumplings and cashed in the rest of our tokens.

I’m not disappointed that we visited but I do feel they could massively improve for next year. Perhaps they should check out the local calendar as the hugely popular Festival of Thrift was happening the same weekend and most of the food vendors will already have booked into there.

The day wasn’t wasted though, we decided instead to cross the Tyne Bridge and take a stroll along the River Tyne. Normally we follow the river toward the city but today we walked in the opposite direction, heading for the Port of Tyne and South Shields. We had no intention of going so far so after 45 minutes we turned around to head back into Newcastle to cross the Millennium Bridge back to the Gateshead side. The river is an interesting place, and on the day the water level was low exposing the deep muddy banks on either side. This section is fairly flat and slow moving, the viscous brown water slowly meanders along leaving such deep deposits the Herons sink in as far as their knees. Unfortunately being a river running through a city you see the standard shopping trolleys, cones and the occasional bicycle peering out from the banks.

On the Gateshead side I spotted an abandoned building, formally the Ovoline lubricant company. I thought to myself that a canny entrepreneur could redevelop the property and convert the building into something new and exciting. Maybe a quirky hotel that boasts a great location by the Sage and access to other local amenities, perhaps a restaurant with a beautiful riverside seating area or even a small music venue, ample parking and no neighbours to disturb! Unfortunately, this will likely be another building that will be left until bored people find their way in and begin the destruction from within.

This side also has one of the nicest Weatherspoon’s pubs I’ve seen in a long time! A quaint old building that has been converted and modernised. The pub was pretty full (I know the pic says otherwise!) so we kept on going, on past a brand new Travelodge being built on the river, an existing Copthorne, Premier Inn and to complete the set a Jury’s Inn can be seen on the other side of the river. The choice of hotels is fantastic and the prices are reasonable too.

When we reached the Millennium Bridge we were faced with the awesome Baltic Mill, details of what they have on can be found here www.balticmill.com . The Mill used to produce flour here and did so for decades before closing in 1982. Once inside the building, we took the glass elevator (very Willy Wonka lol) to the 5th floor where we took in the view of the River Tyne, looking over to the Millennium Bridge, Tyne bridge and the rail bridges. On this level we also got our first glimpses of the art installations on the 4th floor. I’m not massively knowledgeable about contemporary art installations so I will leave this to those of you that do! I enjoyed discussing them with Sarah and the girls though so we got from them what we wanted.

Level 4 sent us out to a viewing platform. Interestingly, the Mill now offer a zip wire experience where you can take a trip from the top of the Mill over to a platform on the Newcastle side of the river. To be honest this looks great fun and something I plan on doing the next time I am up here.

So an interesting day in Newcastle as always and certainly not wasted. The International Street Food Festival was an unfortunate bust and I hope they can improve this drastically by next year, if not they’ll find that yet another bright idea has been underdeveloped and not supported. The rest of the city shows charm and some interesting architecture. Today I didn’t visit much more than the river but I will write another blog in the future discussing some of the bulidings and their history.

If you’ve never visited Newcastle I would take this as a chance to do so, and as winter approaches the International Christmas Market is coming soon. This market is fantastic and the last time I attended many nations were well represented, there are some awesome crafts, and of course, the food!

I hope you will visit Newcastle and if you’d like to discuss this city more, or book yourself a cheeky trip here please do not hesitate to contact me via VibesDestinations@gmail.com

Take care

Your Friend in Travel

Jamie

[thekillerblogofkillers]

Peter Manuel (1927-1958)

Peter Manuel was an American-Scottish serial killer who murdered at least seven people in Lanarkshire and southern Scotland in under two years. Before his arrest, the media named the unknown killer “the Beast of Birkenshaw”.

Manuel was born to Scottish parents in New York City, briefly living in Detroit, Michigan, before moving back to Scotland when Manuel was 5 years old. They moved to Birkenshaw, Lanarkshire. Manuel was pretty heavily bullied as a child, and by the age of 10 was known to local police as a petty thief. When he was just 16, Manuel committed a string of sexual assaults that led to him serving a nine year sentence in Peterhead Prison. In 1955, he successfully acted as his own defence on a rape charge at Airdrie Sheriff Court.

Manuel’s first known murder victim was 17-year-old Anne Kneilands. On January 2, 1956, Manuel stalked her at the East Kilbride golf course in Calderwood. He raped her and bludgeoned her to death with a piece of iron. Manuel was questioned about this murder and did even confess to it two years later, but evaded arrest after being alibied by his father. He was charged with this murder in 1958, but the case would be dropped due to lack of evidence.

45-year-old Marion Watt, 17-year-old Vivienne Watt (Marion’s daughter) and 41-year-old Margaret Brown (Marion’s sister) were shot dead in their home in Burnside, Lanarkshire on 17 September 1956. At the time of these murders, Manuel was out on bail for a housebreaking charge and officers in charge of this murder case suspected him. However, for a while, the main suspect was Marion’s husband William, who had been on a fishing holiday at the time, but was suspected of driving 90 miles through the night, faking a break-in, murdering his family and driving back. A ferryman claimed to have seen him on the ferry during the night, and a driver claimed to have passed him on Loch Lomondside. Both witnesses picked William Watt out in an identity parade and he was arrested and held on remand in Barlinnie Prison. He was released two months later, after police could not get the case to stick, due to the ferryman incorrectly identifying Watt’s car. The only motive police could find was that Watt had had several affairs during the marriage. Police divers searched the Crinan Canal next to the hotel Watt was staying in, looking for a murder weapon and bloodstained clothes. The weapon was actually in another stretch of water further south. It was also noticed that his petrol level had not fallen during this supposed 90 mile night drive, so the police asked petrol stations along the route if he had been there to refuel. They even speculated that he might have had his own stash of petrol, and searched the route for it. William Watt remained the prime suspect until another family was murdered a few miles away and police realised that there was a serial killer on the loose. At Manuel’s trial, the defence argued that Watt was the actual killer.

This came very close to being a horrendous miscarriage of justice which could have resulted in Watt, an innocent man, being hanged. The evidence of the witnesses can be explained by the fact that the ferryman saw Watt’s picture in the paper and the other witness identified Watt by the way he held a cigarette...hardly solid evidence.

Manuel is believed to have shot and killed 36-year-old taxi driver Sydney Dunn on 8 December 1957 while he was looking for work in Newcastle upon Tyne. Dunn’s body was found on moorlands in Northumberland a few days later, by which time Manuel was already back in Lanarkshire. Manuel was not tried for this murder because it took place in a different jurisdiction. 17 days after Manuel’s execution, a coroner’s jury concluded that he did murder Dunn after a button found in Dunn’s taxi was matched to one of Manuel’s jackets. Two witnesses also picked Manuel out as the killer, but as with the Watt case, we know witnesses are not always reliable.

17-year-old Isabelle Cooke disappeared after leaving her home in Mount Vernon to go to a dance at Uddingston Grammar School on December 28 1957. Manuel stalked, raped and strangled her, and then buried her in a field. He later led officers to where he had disposed of the body.

Peter Smart, 45, Doris Smart, 42, and Michael Smart, 10, were shot dead in their home in Uddingston in the early hours of January 1, 1958. Manuel stayed in their home for almost a week after their deaths, eating their food and even feeding their cat, before stealing some brand new banknotes that Peter Smart was saving for a holiday. He also took the family car and dumped it nearby. Manuel gave a police officer a lift in this car. The officer was investigating Isabelle Cooke’s disappearance, and Manuel even told him that he felt that the police were not looking in the right place.

Many police officers that knew Manuel felt that he was involved in these murders, but they were unable to prove it until shortly after the Smart’s home was searched and their movements were retraced. Seven £5 banknotes Peter Smart was known to have withdrawn from his bank were found to be missing from his home and Manuel was found to have used the same notes to pay for drinks in several Glasgow pubs. After the police arrested his father (for a false alibi), Manuel confessed to eight of the murders (but not Dunn) and provided incriminating information only the killer would have known.

Panic over the murders spread and Lanarkshire police were reinforced by detectives and officers from Glasgow CID. On January 14 police arrived at Manuel’s residence in Birkenshaw with an arrest warrant formally charging him with the murder of the Smart family and with breaking and entering into a home in Uddingston earlier that year. Manuel was asleep when the police arrived, and as the warrant was read to him, he became verbally abusive. When told he was going to Bellshill police station for further questioning, Manuel shouted, “You haven’t found anything yet. You can’t take me!” At 11:10 that evening, Peter Manuel was formally charged with murdering the Smart family and with the breaking and entering of the McMunn’s home.

Manuel was tried for these murders at the Glasgow High Court. Manuel fired his lawyers and conducted his own defence. At one point, William Watt was called to be a witness. He appeared on a stretcher, having recently been in a car accident. The judge, Lord Cameron, conceded that Manuel conducted his defence “with a skill that is quite remarkable”, but the killer was unable to convince the jury of his innocence and he was found guilty of all charges except the murder of Anne Kneilands (this case was dropped due to lack of evidence).

On 11 July 1958, Peter Manuel was hanged on the gallows at Barlinnie Prison. His last words were: “Turn up the radio and I’ll go quietly.”

[kvetchlandia]

Étienne Carat     Victor Hugo, Paris     1876

Letters to the rich and to the poor, c.1884

I am asked what has been the lesson of my life, which I have learned in my years of living to bequeath as my most precious legacy to humanity. I reply that my soul has two messages of council, of promise and of threat to deliver. One to the rich and the other to the poor. The two contain the sum of human wisdom.

TO THE RICH.

The poor cry out to the wealthy. The slaves implore the rulers. And as much now as in the days of Spartan Helots. I am one of them and I add my voice to that multitude that it may reach the ears of the rich. Who am I? One of the people. From whence come I? From the bottomless pit. How am I named? I am Wretchedness. My lords, I have something to say to you.

My lords, you are placed high. You have power, opulence, pleasure, the sun immovable at your zenith, unlimited authority, enjoyment undivided, a total forgetfulness of others. So be it. But there is something below you. Above you, perhaps. My lords I impart to you a novelty. The human race exists.

I am he who comes from the depths. My lords, you are the great and the rich. That is perilous. You take advantage of the night. But have a care; there is a great power, the morning. The dawn cannot be vanquished. It will come. It comes, it has within it the outbreak of irresistible day.

You, you are the dark clouds of privilege. Be afraid. The true master is about to knock at the door.

What is the father of privilege? Chance. What is his son? Abuse. Neither chance nor abuse is enduring. They have, both of them, an evil to-morrow.

I come to warn you. I come to denounce you in your own bliss. It is made out of the ills of the others. Your paradise is made out of the hell of the poor. I come to open before you, the wealthy, the grand assizes of the poor-that sovereign who is the slave, that convict who is the judge. I am bowed down under what I have to say. Where to begin? I know not. I have picked up in the cruel experience of suffering, my vast though struggling pleas. Now what shall I do with them? They overwhelm me and I throw them forth pell mell before me.

I am a diver and I bring up from the depths a pearl, the Truth. 1 speak because I know. I have experienced. I have seen. Suffering? No, the word is weak, O masters in bliss ! Poverty-I have grown up in it; winter-I have shivered in it; famine-I have tasted it; scorn-I have undergone it; the plague-I have had it; shame-I have drunk of it.

I felt it requisite that I should come among you. Why, because of my yesterday's rags. It was in order that my voice might be raised among the satiated, that God commingled me with the hungered. Oh! have pity! Oh, you know not this fatal world, whereunto you believe that you belong. So high, you are outside of it. I will tell you what it is.

Abandoned an orphan, alone in boundless creation, I made my entry into this gloom you call society. The first thing I saw was law, under the form of a gibbet; the second was wealth- your wealth-under the form of a woman dead of cold and hunger; the third was luxury under the shape of a hunted man chained to prison walls; the fourth was your palaces beneath the shadow of which cowered the tramp.

The human race has been made by you slaves and convicts, you have made of this earth a dungeon. Light is wanting, air is wanting, virtue is wanting.

The workers of this world whose fruits you enjoy live in death. There are little girls who begin at eight by prostitution, and who end at twenty by old age. Who among you nave been to Newcastle-on-Tyne? There are men in the mines who chew coal, to fill their stomach and cheat hunger. Look you in Lancashire. Misery everywhere. Are you aware that the Harlech fishermen eat grass when the fishery fails? Are you aware that at Burton- Lazers there are still certain lepers driven into the woods, who are fired at if they come out of their dens? In Peckridge there are no beds in the hovels, and holes are dug in the ground for little children to sleep in; so that, in place of beginning with the cradle, they begin with the tomb.

Mercy, have mercy for the poor! Oh, I conjure you, have pity ! But no, you will not. I know ye all. Devils bred in hell, and dogs with hearts of stone. Upward to your golden throne for ages has gone the cry of misery, the groan of hunger, and the sob of despair, and ye heeded it not. What mercy hast thou given shall be meted out to you in turn.

Bear in mind that a series of kings armed with swords were interrupted by Cromwell and the axe.

Tremble! The incorruptible dissolutions draw near; the clipped talons push out again; the torn-out tongues take to flight, become tongues of flame scattered to the winds of darkness, and they howl in the Infinite. They who are hungry show their idle teeth, Paradises built over hells totter. There is suffering and that which is above leans over, and that which is below gapes open. The shadow asks to become light. The damned discuss the elect. It is the people who are oncoming. I tell you it is Man who ascends. It is the end that is beginning. It is the red dawning on Catastrophe. Ah! This society is false. One day, a true society must come. Then there will be no more lords; there will be free, living men. There will be no more wealth, there will be an abundance for the poor. There will be no more masters, but there will be brothers. They that toil shall have. This is the future. No more prostration, no more abasement, no more ignorance, no more wealth, no more beasts of burden, no more courtiers-but LIGHT.

To The Poor,

Shall I now speak to the poor after having in vain implored the rich? Yes, it is fitting. This then have I to say to the disinherited. Keep a watch upon your abominable jaw. There is one rule for the rich-to do nothing, and one for the poor- to say nothing. The poor have but one friend, silence. They should use but one monosyllable: yes. To confess and to concede-these are all the "rights" they have. " Yes" to the judge. "Yes" to the king. The great if it so pleases them give us blows with a stick; I have had them; it is their prerogative, and they lose nothing of their greatness in cracking our bones. Let us worship the king’s scepter which is the first among sticks.

If a poor man is happy he is the pickpocket of happiness. Only the rich and noble are happy by right. The rich man is he who being young has the rights of old age; being old, the lucky chances of youth; vicious, the respect of good people; a coward, the command of the stout-hearted; doing nothing, the fruits of labor.

Carriages, poor slaves, exist. The lord is inside; the people are under the wheel; the wise man makes room.

The people fight. Whose is the glory? They pay. Whose is the magnificence? The king's. And the people like to be rich in this fashion. Our ruler, King or Croesus, receives from the poor a crown piece and renders back to the poor a farthing. How generous he is! The colossal looks up to the pygmy superstructure. How tall the manikin is! He is on my back. A dwarf has an excellent method of being higher than a giant; it is to perch himself upon the other's shoulders. But that the giant should let him do it, there's the odd part of it; and that he should admire the baseness of the dwarf, there's the stupidity. Human ingenuousness.

The equestrian statue reserved for kings alone is an excellent type of royalty. Let us be frank with words. The capitalist who steals the reward of labor is a king as well as the man of blood. The king mounts himself on the horse. The horse is the people. Sometimes this horse transfigures himself by degrees. At the beginning he is an ass; at the end he is a lion. Then he throws his rider to the ground and we have 1643 in England and 1789 in France; and sometimes devours him, in which case we have in England 1649 and in France 1793.

That the lion can again become a jackass, this is surprising but a fact.

What happiness to be again ridden and beaten and starved. What happiness to work forever for bread and water ! What happiness to be free from the delusions that cake is good and life other than misery! Was there anything more crazy than those ideas? Where should we be if every vagabond had his rights? Imagine everybody governing! Can you imagine a city governed by the men who built it? They are the team, not the coachman. What a godsend is a rich man who takes charge of everything. Surely he is generous to take the trouble for us! And then, he was brought up to it; he knows what it is; it is his business. A guide is necessary for us. Being poor we are ignorant; being ignorant we are blind; we need a guide. But why are we ignorant? Because it must be so. Ignorance is the guardian of Virtue! He who is ignorant is innocent! It is not our duty to think, complain or reason. These truths are uncontestable. SOCIETY reposes on them. What is "society"? Misery for you if you support it. Be reasonable, poor man. you were made to be a slave.

Not to be a slave is to DARE to Do.

Victor Hugo

[wolfpawn]

When Ghosts Come For Us

Chapter 16

NOTE This is based on the movie Crimson Peak, so if any of the subject matter in that was uncomfortable for you, you will find this similar. I will *NOT* be describing incest in this, it will only be implied, same as the movie.WARNING None.

Also, I do not own any image or gif used in this story.

It was not easy, dealing with an impaired person, but Charlotte was diligent in her work and ensured to spend hours a cleaning, grooming, dressing and caring for Lucille. She spoke of utterly mundane matters, to the extent that she one day simply stated what the workmen used to plaster the walls, just to irk her. She fed her, ensuring she was well cared for, though adding foods she knew Lucille was not overly fond of from time to time, and most importantly, she instructed Thomas to spend time with her also. It soon came to Charlotte’s attention that though Thomas would spend time with his sister, it was more often Charlotte’s company he sought when possible. He spoke with her on any subject he could think of, or on occasion, they did not speak at all, but the silences were comfortable. The one concern was, Charlotte rarely had much time before she had to do something else for Lucille or the house. Feeling guilty, Thomas watched as she kept the house going, tended to Lucille and in many areas, tended to him.

With Lucille no longer able for particular things, he also found his evenings to include more reading, engineering, or as had happened on two of the nights, he went to bed with Charlotte, finding himself looking at her as she gently fell asleep, yearning to be closer to her. With Lucille no longer forcing him to remain aloof, he wanted nothing more than to be closer to Charlotte in every manner.

It had been two weeks since he returned from Newcastle-Upon-Tyne to his sister’s ill health when Thomas looked at his workroom door, having heard Charlotte knock gently on his door. When he opened it, she was looked at him apologetically. ‘Lottie, is everything alright?’

‘Yes, I just did not want to disturb you.’

‘No, please. You are always welcome to come here and talk with me.’ He opened the door fully and made room for her to walk in. ‘It is not much.’

‘It is important to you.’ She stated. ‘Ergo, it is most important.’ She looked around at the old worn murals on the wall. ‘This was your nursery.’

‘It was.’ He stood watching her.

‘Were you confined here?’

‘For our entire childhoods, even when a tutor came, it was here I was taught.’

‘Our house was never so grand, but there were a few rooms we were permitted and many we were not, my parents usually ensured they remained in the ones we were not permitted in.’ She nodded. ‘Daughters were not worthy of tuition.’

‘But you read and write?’

‘Nancy, the housekeeper believed every woman should know how to keep her home. I am also proficient at keeping a ledger.’ She smiled. ‘One thing about ensuring the only time they saw us was to hurt us meant that we had plenty of hours to learn such things.’

‘How do you keep smiling, after everything you have endured?’

‘If I am honest, part of the reason I smile is because I know it will anger the begrudgers more.’ She stated. ‘There is a reason I came up to bother you.’ Thomas looked at her curiously. ‘I am going to town for a short time. There are a few things that we ordered that should be in for Lucille and I need to get her a few more things.’

‘You are going by yourself?’ Thomas asked, shocked.

‘You are welcome, of course. But we also have to consider Lucille, she would be so scared here by herself, I think. It is only a few things for Lucille, unless you require anything?’ She smiled. ‘I will also call on the doctor, that medicine to assist her swallowing food is running low, of all of them, I fear that one running out most.’

Thomas gave her a loving look. ‘Lottie, you are so caring.’

She smiled genuinely at him. ‘I think you wrong, but I know Lucille is everything to you, so I will endeavour to assist her however necessary.’

‘I love my sister, and she is dear to me, but she is not my everything.’ He looked at her nervously. I...I love you, most ardently, Charlotte.’ He confessed. ‘I find every day that passes, I yearn more to be around you.’

Charlotte smiled before kissing him. Thomas immediately reciprocated before becoming more passionate, his hands going immediately to her waist and pulling her to him, her chest to his, his kisses becoming hungrier as his eagerness increased.

‘Lady Sharpe?’ The coachman called up the stairwell loudly, though his voice was a mere echo when it reached them.

Moaning slightly as she pulled away from Thomas, Charlotte looked lovingly at him. ‘I guess I am leaving.’ She sighed. ‘I have fed Lucille, she is cleaned, her hair is done and she will be fine until I return. I left the book I got her in the town beside the bed. I have it marked as to where we are, continue if you wish.’ She leant up and kissed him again. ‘Do you require anything?’

‘No.’

‘Then I will be back not long after lunch. There is food readied, all you need do is reheat it. Or more likely, you will get sidetracked and I will do so on my return’ She smiled, kissing him again before leaving his side and heading to the stairwell.

* Charlotte acquired everything on her list quite quickly, bar what she needed for Lucille’s prescriptions. The carriage headed towards the beautiful house Edward was living in. She looked at it in slight envy, it was, in her opinion, a dream home. Not too big, not to small, a lovely little garden and some vines growing on it. There were no words for how much it pleased her that her previously poor half-brother was able to now have such a home for himself. She hoped the day would come he would have the family he yearned for to reside there with him.

She disembarked her carriage and walked to the door, smiling at the cat leisurely licking its paw before grooming its ear as she did so. Seeing a human, it rushed over with purpose and rubbed into her leg.

‘Well, hello to you too.’ She beamed as it began to purr. ‘Aren’t you beautiful?’

‘He’s a fat useless git is what he is.’ An older woman grumbled. ‘What can I do for you Ms…?’

‘Charlotte Sharpe.’ She smiled.

‘Lady...:Lady Sharpe, please, forgive my lack of propriety.’

‘Please, there is no need to worry yourself. I was just wondering if Dr Thompson is around. I need to speak with him regarding Lady Lucille.’

‘He has just gone to deal with something small, he should be back in a few minutes, please, have a cup of tea while he is waiting.’ The lady offered, opening the front door. ‘And you can stay outside, Rupert.’

It took Charlotte a moment to realise the woman was referencing the cat before she chuckled slightly to herself and walked into the house. ‘I do not wish to be an imposition.’

‘Not at all, your Ladyship, please.’

‘Very well, but only on condition you cease the Ladyship speak, I was not born to such, please, I implore that you simply call me Charlotte.’

‘It is somewhat unconventional, but considering most of those with titles cannot see past them, I respect a woman that rather not be interested in such. How do you like your tea?’

‘With a sugar and a slice of lemon, please, missis….Sorry, I did not get your name.’

‘Mary, Mary Davies. I am the housekeeper for Dr Thompson. He has his tea as you do, actually.’

‘Great minds often think alike.’ She beamed brightly.

‘Indeed.’ Mrs Davies smiled. ‘What is your opinion on shortbread, Charlotte?’

‘Terribly evil stuff, it tests my self-control more than is healthy.’ The older woman laughed. ‘I have none around it. I once ate an entire tray in one afternoon, then to add to it, I drank the most of a day’s milking from a cow with it.’

‘Oh goodness.’ Mrs Davies winced.

‘I was actually fine. I always could eat a lot. It was fine when I was younger, but I fear now I could not do the same.’ She confessed.

‘You are a wonderful change from what I see coming to see the doctor.’

‘Are you working for him long?’

‘I came with the house, so the day he came to these parts.’

‘Is he an easy man to work for?’

‘He is wonderful, polite, courteous, considerate. Not like the last one, oh he was a wicked horrid man, far too fond of the drink, not the least bit fond of the care of his patients.’

‘Oh, that is not right.’ Charlotte shook her head.

‘That, my dear, is the greatest understatement of the century.’ Mrs Davies commented. ‘And how is life on Crimson Peak?’

‘Crimson.’ Charlotte stated. ‘To see red come through the snow is most peculiar, it is somewhat unsettling when I look out in the morning.’

‘I dare say. We all thought that place would crumble. Many thought that Sir Sharpe was not all there when he tried reopening it.’

‘It was very much an uphill struggle for him.’ Charlotte nodded.

‘Then that American wife of his, to run off with that Yankee doctor, terrible altogether.’

‘I...I was not aware of that.’ Charlotte stated.

Mrs Davies looked at her. ‘I should have said nothing.’

‘No, please. I have heard Thomas mention an Edith...That is her, correct?’

‘Aye, that’s her. The trollop, doing that to the man.’

‘I had wondered.’ Charlotte commented. ‘I knew he was previously wed, of course, but I never knew…one does not ask such things. What happened exactly?’

‘Of course not. Well, that doctor came, one night, demanding someone to take him to Allerdale Hall, no one would, the weather was abysmal, so he went off by himself, refusing to accept a night longer, saying he had to see Lady Edith, he had to speak with her, confess something to her. The next thing, Sir Sharpe began returning to town again alone and very lost looking. Those two having rushed off back to America.’

‘That is terrible.’

‘It was.’ The sound of the door opening put an end to their conversation.

A moment later, someone walked through the hallway. ’Mary, my dear, would you be so kind as to...Lady Charlotte.’  

‘Doctor.’ She smiled.

‘Is everything alright, M’Lady?’

‘Yes, I merely need to get a new prescription for poor Lucille, that medicine for her throat is about to run out.’

‘Of course. I have some in my office. As soon as you are finished your tea, you can come with me and get some.’ He sat on the chair beside the women. ‘But first, tea.’ He smiled. ‘Mary, I was speaking with Mrs Wiggins, she expects to see you at the Fete on Tuesday bright and early.’

‘I’ll give her bright and early, she would not know early if the cockerel was next to her.’

Charlotte looked at Edward, who rolled his eyes while Mrs Davies was not looking.

‘And did you see Ms Joanne up the town?’ Edward’s face went bright and he swallowed, causing Charlotte to look at him with a raised brow. ‘Dr Thompson here has a terrible liking for a Ms Joanne Carson, lovely girl, wonderful girl altogether, but he will do nothing about it.’

‘Mary…’ Edward pleaded.

‘Really?’ Charlotte looked at her brother with keen interest. ‘Is there reason the good doctor would do such a thing if he finds this lady to be so alluring?’

‘It is somewhat complicated.’ Edward explained.

‘How so, is she wed?’

‘No.’

‘Uninterested?’

‘She seems to be.’

‘Being courted?’ He gave an odd face. ‘Well, if I may be so bold as to ask what it is that is his profession to make you think you do not even stand a chance in his wake?’

‘He is the son of the undertaker.’

‘Well, I rather the man that saves people to the one that buries them, myself personally.’ Mrs Davies laughed again. ‘Doctor, perhaps were you to make yourself known to this lady, she may reconsider her options. A woman with options would rather know if she had them.’

‘Listen to the Lady Charlotte, Edward, she is a wise young lady.’ Mary urged.

Edward was about to contradict her when there was a knock at the door. Mary went to check who it was while Edward looked at his sister. ‘How long have you been here?’

‘Twenty minutes or so.’

‘Does he know you are in town?’

‘Thomas? Of course.’

‘He let you come alone?’

‘He is looking after Lucille.’

‘I really am not happy with this Charlotte.’

‘What?’

‘You and him, you are too close, you are blinded by affection for him and I think him to be nowhere in a vicinity of good for you.’

‘Edward, do not start that now.’ Charlotte pleaded.

A moment later, the door opened and a man walked in. Edward rose to his feet. ‘Mr Carson, how are you today?’

‘Wonderful doctor. I am just here about those pups I was speaking to you about. The bitch will be ready in two weeks for you.’

‘Excellent.’ Edward smiled. ‘Where are my manners, Lady Sharpe, this is Mr Carson, the finest butcher in these parts. Mr Carson, Lady Sharpe of Allerdale Hall.’

‘M’Lady.’ The man bowed.

‘Sir.’ She smiled. ‘Would it be possible perhaps to book a fine duck and a goose from you for the coming holidays?’

‘I...both, your Ladyship?’ The man looked at her shocked.

‘Please, and perhaps some good beef. I can arrange payment for you now if you would wish?’

‘I...Yes of course. For the meat, I mean and well, if you rather?’

‘Please, I do not like the idea of owing to any, my coachman is outside, he will settle it with you today.’ she beamed. ‘Are you getting a dog, doctor?’

‘Aye, Mr Carson has some purebred Cocker Spaniels.’

‘Oh, beautiful dogs, great intelligence in those eyes.’ Charlotte smiled.

‘Are you a dog lover, Lady Sharpe?’

‘I am an animal lover in general. I met your cat at the door I might add Doctor, he is mighty friendly.’

‘Rupert, friendly? I fear you met the wrong cat.’

Charlotte frowned. ‘No, Mrs Davies stated that to be his name, he was over purring at my leg and everything.’

‘Well, by God.’ The butcher laughed, causing Charlotte to look at him curiously. ‘M’Lady, that cat is as old as the hills and has been in this town with a decade or so and not one person would ever agree with you regarding it being of such a nature.’

‘Odd.’ Charlotte commented. ‘I had better let you get back to your day, Doctor. If I could just have that medicine for Lucille?’

‘Of course, Mr Carson, just give me a moment. This way, Lady Sharpe.’ He walked her into his consultation room. ‘It’s just over here.’

‘This place is wonderful.’

‘It is nice.’

‘I am envious.’ Edward looked at her. ‘I wish I could have married a man that had a home like this.’

‘You didn’t like Foxgrove Park?’

‘Too big, as is Allerdale, this would have suited me.’ She smiled.

‘Charlotte, I...I am really worried about you.’ She looked at her brother. ‘You...you cannot be thinking clearly in the current situation.’

‘Edward…’

‘If he finds out, if you have to do it, can you? If he grabs you and tries to kill you, could you fight him, or will him calling you “Lottie” for the past few months have you killed? I cannot lose you, Charlotte. You are my little sister. I am supposed to protect you.’

‘Then make sure those drugs work, because if she gets out of this, she would, in an instant.’ Charlotte commented, taking the medicine.

‘You are playing a dangerous game. Edward commented. ‘You need to win.’

Tags

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[johnconstantine-hellblazer]

Prompt 002 - Haunted

Astrid

John Constantine likes people to think that he sleeps like the righteous. When asked how he could possibly sleep at night after doing the things he’d done and seeing the horrors he'd seen, John always offered the same reply.  He'd fix his audience the brightest shit-eating grin he could muster and then lie through his teeth; "Me? I sleep like a fuckin' baby!"

This wasn't even close to the truth.

John Constantine begged each night for sleep that was dreamless and empty. He longed to close his eyes and drift away into a void of nothingness before waking up, refreshed and untroubled by regrets or the ghosts of the past.

The half drunk bottle of Johnny Walker whiskey and spilled sleeping tablets on the motel bedside table were supposed to help secure that oblivion, but they often didn't work... 

...especially not tonight.

_________________________________________________________   

The scene came to life slowly, like an old television set warming up. Sound first - the rhythmic chanting of voices, rising and falling, their combined sound echoing in a larger space - and then the image begins to grow brighter, first with static and then a picture begins to emerge from the analogue snow.

A large room, more like a hall, filled with tables and chairs. Each of the tables holds a glass tumbler filled with a burning candle. The smell of melted wax and incense permeates the air. Along the far wall stands a bar, racks of bottles fixed to the wall behind it between tall mirrors, which reflect the light from the candles like a field of stars.

Maybe some kind of club then?

Some of the tables have been moved apart, creating a space in the centre of the room. White chalk marks the dark wood floor, magical symbols arranged in a circle with more candles set at the compass points.

“Oh fuck, no...”  

John hears his own voice and knows immediately where he is. That familiar anxiety, like a stone on his stomach, begins to set in.  

The Casanova Club, Newcastle-upon-Tyne... 

Burned down and gone now, but dream logic pays only lip service to history, and this was the place where it all became real for John Constantine.

Around him, the voices continue to grow louder but their source remains unseen. Screwing his eyes up tight, John starts to pray under his breath, desperately begging whatever deities might be listening to get him out of here.

“For fuck sake, Johnny... don’t break the circle!”

The shout, and the familiarity of the voice, suddenly shatters his train of thought. They’re as familiar as the location, and John’s eyes snap open to find himself holding hands around the ritual circle.

“Wha’ ya tryin’ t'do, me old son... Get us all killed or wha’?!”

They were all there; The Newcastle Crew. 

Frank North was the one shouting while the others kept the chant going. Gary Lester & Ritchie... Judith & Anne-Marie... Benji Cox... Old friends, old lovers. 

All lost.... All gone.

Suddenly the candles are extinguished and the club is plunged into darkness. Someone screams - a woman’s panicked voice - but it’s quickly choked off into a wet, rattling sound. The chanting is replaced by yelling... more screams in the dark... the cracking of bones... then silence.  A new metallic, coppery smell begins to combine with the scent of incense, irritating the back of John’s throat. The place smells like a florist sat next door to an abattoir. 

One by one the candles around the ritual circle begin to ignite themselves, throwing soft light onto pools of fresh blood and bodies lying prone on the dark wood floor. In the centre of it all stands a pretty young girl, no more than ten years old, her white lace dress pristine in the candles’ intimate glow. She smiles plesantly.

“Hello, Uncle John.” 

Ignoring the blood covering the floor, John falls to his knees and pulls the girl into an embrace, burying his face into her blonde hair, tears stinging his eyes. He tries to speak, but no voice comes in his dream.  The little girl nods as if she hears him anyway.

“I know, Uncle John, but you can’t save me.”

He feels her body stiffen under his embrace, and John pulls back to see her flawless pale skin has become finely cracked porcelain. A child sized doll with human eyes, gazing back at him.

“You already chose to save yourself, and now we’re all in Hell because of you.��

John turns suddenly, looking around the room. The bodies have gone, replaced by porcelain statues, their human eyes staring at him accusingly.

One by one, as the candles surrounding the circle begin to go out, the statues begin to crack and fall. John desperately reaches for the child, trying to hold her together, but she crumbles in his hands and the pieces fall between his fingers. He hears her giggling laughter on the air as the last candle goes out and the room is plunged once again into darkness.

“Don’t be silly, Uncle John... You killed me already.”

_________________________________________________________

John cried out as he woke, sitting up in bed, the sheets soaked with sweat. His head was pounding, but he could still smell the haunting mix of Astrid’s hair and incense from the club.

Reaching unsteadily for the whiskey bottle, John wiped the sleep from his eyes with his other hand. There was no way he was going back to sleep now, not with that memory waiting for him. He stared at the bottle in his hand as if studying the amber liquor for answers. John was used to bad dreams, but this one had touched a nerve still raw after so many years and he still hadn’t found a way to bury it.

“I’m sorry, love,” John said quietly, raising the bottle to his lips. “...Some fuckin’ hero, eh?”