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underthewingsofthblackeagle · 4 years

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After her marriage with Frank Randall has failed and Claire Beauchamp flees from her violent husband, she finds refuge in the house of the Fraser/Murray family in Berlin-Wilhelmshorst. But then tensions arise between Britain (which has since left the EU) and some EU member states. All holders of an English passport are required to leave EU territory within six weeks … and suddenly Claire’s fate looks more uncertain than ever.

This story was written for the #14DaysofOutlander event, hosted by @scotsmanandsassenach

Note: This chapter contains references to domestic violence and suicidal thoughts. If these things trigger something in you, please skip this chapter.

Chapter 3: 14 Seconds (1)

Etienne Marcel de Provac Alexandre was satisfied. No, Etienne Marcel de Provac Alexandre was not satisfied. He could not be satisfied at all, because in reality he did not exist. It was James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser who was satisfied that Etienne Marcel de Provac Alexandre, his alias, had also successfully completed this assignment. Neither the negotiations nor the conclusion of that special trade agreement with the Argentinians had caused any problems, so he was able to finish his job in the time allotted.

“Buenos Aires - Skyline” by maymuc

The success with which he had been able to complete his mission helped him to get over the inconvenience of his onward flight to Boston. It took more time for these 8,500 kilometres than for the return flight from Boston to Berlin. So he flew from Buenos Aires-Ezeiza shortly after eight in the evening first to Lima, where he had an 80-minute stopover at the Jorge Chavez International Airport. Then he was able to board a plane that took him from the Peruvian capital to Florida. He used the time on the plane to get some sleep. When he arrived at Miami International Airport, he first had an extensive breakfast. Then he wandered around a bit, just to move his legs and afterwards he immersed himself in various wine magazines. While he was still reading and waiting for his connecting flight to Boston, an elderly gentleman approached him. According to his legend, Jamie introduced himself as a French wine merchant who, on behalf of the Berlin-based company "In Vino Veritas - International Wines and Spirits", searched for new wines worldwide or brokered wine sales to partners. This company - "In Vino Veritas" - really existed. And if anyone should have the idea to make further investigations about the firm, he would find nothing else but a flourishing wine and spirits trade, based in the German capital. Every time James Fraser mentioned this name or passed on his business card bearing this company’s name, he had to force himself not to smile. The irony of this name had made him laugh out loud when Ernst Neuenburger first told him about it. Because there was no truth in the wine that this company sold at all. On the contrary, this wine was nothing but deception. "In Vino Deceptio" would have been the correct name, but for very understandable reasons, that name had not been chosen. Ernst Neuenburger had acknowledged Jamie's loud laughter by saying:

"Irony is one of the best gifts to survive the challenges of this life."

The elderly gentleman who approached him at the airport in Miami made a harmless impression. He showed no great interest in the personal background of the person he was talking to, nor in his business relationships. It seemed as if he was simply trying to bridge his own waiting time by philosophizing with someone he liked about a topic in which both were interested. For Jamie, that was o.k. It was due to his thorough preparation by Ernst Neuenburger's staff that Jamie was not only very well versed in European wines, but also in Australian, New Zealand, North and South American wines and their respective markets. On their behalf, he attended the Austrian Wine Academy and completed his training as a Wine Academician with the Wine Diploma, also known as the "International Wine Specialist". He was thus not only accepted into the "Club of Wine Academics", whose members were active in 41 countries around the world, but also acquired the prerequisites for the "Master of Wine" degree. Jamie was happy to take the trouble of this training, which not only helped him to fulfil his covert mission, but also raised his status in his real business life. The fact that his certificates and diplomas were issued in his alias name and in the name of James Fraser was also taken care of by Neuenburger’s staff. Etienne Marcel de Provac Alexandre talked for almost an hour with the older American, who introduced himself as Bob Snider ("the one from Boca Raton, not the folk singer from Canada"), mainly about American, French and German wines. Then his flight was called and Etienne Marcel de Provac Alexandre said a hearty farewell to his interlocutor.

“Terminal - Miami International Airport” by Martin St-Amant (S23678) - Eigenes Werk, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=6281155

When James Fraser took his seat on the plane that was supposed to take him (finally!) to his next destination, he first wrote down the content of his conversation with "Bob Snider" and all the details he could remember about the man he had spoken to. The senior may have been harmless, but the mere fact that a stranger had come to speak to him obliged him to report this contact to his employer. It was shortly after three in the afternoon when his plane landed at Logan International Airport. He took a taxi to the hotel where "In Vino Veritas" had booked the so-called "Boston Studio" for him. When he entered the room, he had to smile. The arrangement of the furniture in the various hotels around the world amazed him again and again. Here, it was the mixture of modern furniture and furniture trimmed on old that made him shake his head slightly. He would never really feel comfortable in such a mixture. But maybe it was better that way. The discomfort he felt in such rooms made him want to return home all the more. All that mattered to James Fraser was that the hotels booked for him had a fitness area that was open 24 hours a day. And that's exactly where he went after having a light dinner in the hotel restaurant that evening. One hour of workout and a long shower later he returned to his rooms where he went over the planning for the next day. Twenty minutes later James Fraser, alias Etienne Marcel de Provac Alexandre, sank into his bed and fell asleep contentedly.

“Luftbild des Hafens von Boston” by ArnoldReinhold - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=83686125

Just a few blocks away from Fraser's hotel, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall was lying in the bed of her conjugal bedroom. Tears were streaming down her face and wetting her pillow. Although she had been lying under her warm blanket for more than half an hour, she trembled all over her body as if she were standing outside the house on a frosty winter's night without a coat. Behind her lay another evening of arguments, insults and humiliation. Frank, her husband for almost 10 years, had left the house at some point in a rage. She knew that he would now be sitting and drinking in one of the nearby bars. If he picked up any woman who wanted to spend the night with him, he was never expected to come home soon. But if he left the bar empty-handed, he would return ‘home’ and the night could turn out even darker. Frank Randall could not find a woman that night who would voluntarily share a cheap hotel bed with him. He returned to the house he and his wife had once called ‘home’. That night, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall's worst fears came true.

The next morning, James Fraser woke up well rested and full of energy. His first course, after a brief visit to the bathroom, took him back to the hotel gym and then to the shower. Just as he was getting dressed for the new day, the room service brought the "Continental Breakfast" that he had ordered the night before. He had breakfast, reading on his tablet the various international newspapers whose online editions he had subscribed to. Exactly the peaceful and quiet morning time, as he appreciated it. There were still four hours to go before his next appointment, a business lunch with “Paul Smith”. That man was also on Ernst Neuenburger’s payroll but had a completely different legend. Jamie had decided to use this time to have a look around the area of his hotel. The hotel's limousine service first took him to Paul Revere's house, and an hour later he was driven from there to the Old North Church. He would also have liked to visit the Museum of Fine Arts, but there was not enough time left and so he let his driver take him to the steakhouse where he should meet "Paul Smith". When he arrived there, his "business partner" was already sitting at the table reserved for them. The men, who had never seen each other in person before, greeted each other like long-time friends. No one would have suspected that they knew each other only from photos that Ernst Neuenburger had placed quite innocently in the advertisements of a wine magazine some time before. They ate and drank and had lively conversations (and for those sitting nearby with ears too big) about current trends in the wine scene, prices, order quantities and shipping options. At the end of the extensive business dinner, they signed each other's contracts, both of whom knew that they would never experience any real economic development, and then toasted each other loudly with champagne to this glorious "business deal". Shortly before three o'clock in the afternoon, "Etienne" and "Paul", who called each other by their first names only and addressed each other as "brother", left the restaurant. Their sunny mood was in stark contrast to the dull, autumnal weather that swept over the city of Boston that afternoon. Paul waved at a passing taxi and got in. Jamie waited for the limousine service, which was parked a bit far away, and due to the rather cold weather was quite happy that the car started moving in his direction immediately. While he was still waiting, his eyes fell on an advertising flyer, which was driven across the sidewalk by a light wind. A name that was emblazoned on this flyer caught his attention. It was the name of a painter - Gerhard Richter. Jamie not only admired the paintings of the professor, who had taught painting at the Art Academy in Düsseldorf from 1971 to 1993 and whose works were among the most important and expensive of any living German artist. He was also fascinated by his life story, to which Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck had set a monument in his film "Never look away" (”Werk ohne Autor”). Without thinking for long, Jamie bent down and picked up the flyer. Still in the car he began to read. A small gallery not far from his hotel advertised an exhibition documenting Richter's life and work. Jamie put the flyer in his left breast pocket. He would love to spend part of his free evening visiting this exhibition. But now he had to hurry, because a small, private teleconference with the "managing director" of "In Vino Veritas" was scheduled for three o'clock in the afternoon local time, and he didn't want to be late.

While Etienne Marcel de Provac Alexandre reported to his boss in faraway Berlin about the successfully concluded contracts with "Paul Smith", Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall made her way through her neighbourhood. Although the weather was unusually cold for the time of year, with 13.8 degrees Celsius, she could no longer bear to stay in her "home" after everything that had happened the previous night. At first she had thought of going to a nearby café that she visited regularly in the past. But the thought of having to sit on a hard wooden chair had made her refrain from doing so. Not far away there was also a church that she had visited repeatedly and the fact that the pews were furnished with soft seat cushions lead her steps hopefully towards this building. But her hope was to be disappointed. On the - closed - main portal there was a handwritten notice that on that day the doors of the church would stay closed due to a sudden illness of the sexton. Resigned, she turned around. Where could she go now? Her gaze fell on a small gallery that was open until six o'clock in the evening. That was still three hours away. Three hours in which she could look at the pictures there, or sit down in front of one of the works of art. Three hours in which nobody would approach her or ask her about anything. Three hours in which she could think about her next steps in peace. Somehow she had to find a way out of this misery. But she did not know how. Only one thing she knew with one hundred percent certainty: She would never return to Frank Randall. Not a single moment would she voluntarily stay in the presence of this monster again. She would rather put an end to her miserable existence. Claire had already thought about this once before. Back then, on 31 May 2018, when Longfellow Bridge was reopened after five years of repairs. But when she stood on top of the bridge, she was not sure whether a jump from there would bring the longed-for end to her agony. She had turned away and had returned. Returned to her life with Frank, whom she knew was cheating on her regularly. Returned to a life of lies. Returned to a life where she tried to numb all her pain with alcohol and pills. But if her experience had shown one thing, it was that no drug in the world could cover those wounds, especially not those that Frank had inflicted on her the previous night. Something had to happen.

“Ausstellung” by beludise Twenty minutes before 4:00 pm Jamie had finished the conference call. Through one of the windows of his room he looked outside and noticed that the sky was darkening. A strong wind had come up and rain began to patter against the windows. But even if the thunderstorm was about to start, he would not be deterred from visiting the small gallery whose flyer he still carried with him. He dialed the number of the reception and ordered the limousine service again. On the way to the lobby of the hotel he thought about how much he would have loved to get in touch with Jenny, Ian and the kids via video conference. But that was not possible. The chance of endangering himself, his job and possibly his family was too great. But it would not be long before he would finally see them again. The following evening his flight left and the following day, with a small detour via the headquarters of "In Vino Veritas", he would arrive back home and see them all again. He was already looking forward to it very much. For him, his family was the most valuable earthly possession and he wished for nothing more than to be able to start a family himself one day. Up to now he had always pushed that thought away. While he was still living in Scotland, the administration of his parents' estate and the political activities took up all his time and energy. Moreover, he would not have wanted any women to be the wife of a man who was a convicted traitor, being held in a London high-security prison and therefore not able to provide for his family. But more important than this was the fact that he had not yet met "the" woman with whom he really wanted to spend his whole life and with whom he wanted to start a family. When he entered the foyer and the receptionist told him that his limousine had just arrived, James Fraser had no idea that he was less than an hour away from that very encounter. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall had entered the gallery, paid the entrance fee and accepted an exhibition guide, which she had immediately stowed in her handbag. She had wandered aimlessly through the rooms until she found a small bench in one of the back exhibition rooms. It stood in front of a picture showing an older man with glasses, standing in front of a reddish wall. But she only took note of it peripherally. Much more important in her present situation was that there was soft upholstery on the bench. Carefully she sat down on it and yet the pain went through all her limbs.

When Jamie's limousine stopped at the curb in front of the gallery entrance, it had already begun to rain in torrents. The sky had darkened to black and now and then a loud roll of thunder could be heard. Carl, the limousine driver, parked near the entrance and then quickly jumped out of the car with a large black umbrella bearing the logo and name of the hotel in golden letters. He opened the door on the rear passenger side and held the umbrella so that Jamie could get out without getting wet. The chauffeur accompanied him the few steps to the gallery, then quickly hurried back to the limousine where he would wait for the guest to return. As soon as he had entered, Jamie was greeted by a friendly member of the gallery staff. He paid the entrance fee and received the exhibition catalogue. Then he slowly started his way through the exhibition. It took him about forty minutes to reach the back room of the gallery. Already from a distance he saw the well-known photo that showed the painter in front of his famous work "Wall". Only once had Richter had himself photographed in front of this work. This photo had then adorned the title page of the art magazine "art".

“Locken” by KRiemer In front of exactly this two-meter by two-meter picture sat a petite woman, whose head was surrounded by an only slightly tamed, dark brown mass of curls. Carefully and anxious to make as little noise as possible, Jamie approached her with some distance. A few minutes passed, then he heard the woman sniffing softly. She opened her handbag and was obviously looking for a handkerchief in a hurry. Jamie reached into the right pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pack of Tempo tissues, which he opened and held out to the unknown woman.

"Please, take one of these.” The woman turned her head up to him and looked at him with big amber eyes, red from weeping. Later, James Fraser would tell again and again how those first 14 seconds, when he looked into the most beautiful eyes in the world, decided his future path of life.

#14DaysofOutlander #Outlander #From Boston to Berlin in 14 hours #Claire Beauchamp #Jamie Fraser #Frank Randall #Boston #Berlin #Ian Murray #Jenny Murray #Outlander Fan Fiction #clairexjamie

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dopescotlandwarrior · 5 years

Text

A Hero Among Us-Chapter 14

Previous Chapters on AO3 A special thanks to @statell for all your help

Chapter Fourteen

Notes:

Wikipedia has the following dollar equivalents from 1882 to 2018 $400,000.00 = 9.8 Million $ 50,000.00 = 1.2 Million $ 20,000.00 = $492,000.00 $ 3,000.00 = $ 73,854.00 $ 2,000.00 = $ 49,000.00

Chapter Text

Ben’s face was a stone mask as he watched Jacob Beringer play with a grape from the cluster he was given. He had yet to test the sugars. Smell it, or pop it in his mouth. Why was he stalling and where was Frederick on such an important day? Ben was through wasting his time.

“You boys let me know if you want any of the whites. I’ll check back sometime tomorrow.”

Jacob looked terribly conflicted, and with good reason, Ben decided. They would pay so much for the grapes this year it would be a struggle to keep the doors open, don’t buy the grapes and there was no reason to keep the doors open.

“If you’re feeling all hope is lost, it isn’t, you have me, and I have grapes. You and your brother are master vintners and you make the best table wine in America. That gift will roll fortunes out of this place year after year for generations.” Ben pointed at the cluster. “This grower has done everything right and he has over 300 acres of vines that are immune to the blight. He knows the cash value of his crop so when you go around me and offer twenty percent over last year he will respectfully decline and I will have sold everything to Mondavi, including first right of refusal on the Zin and deep reds. Anyway, I’ll stop by in a day or two. Have a good day Jacob.”

Ben left the befuddled vintner behind and claimed his horse from the stable hand. His feet were not even in stirrups before Jacob ran up to him and committed to purchasing the crop, the entire 300 acres of grapes. He wrote a hasty promissory note and handed it to Ben.

Ben wrote in the price per ton for each variety and an estimate of the number of tons. His heart rammed so hard in his chest he thought he would fall off his horse from a heart attack. He prayed it would wait until he had Jamie’s money secured.

“You can take possession of the whites when the money is transferred in the morning. See ya, Jacob.”

Ben hardly gave his horse time to warm up before he spurred him to the vineyard. He knew the Beringer family back in Germany had the resources to help the brothers financially so he pressed for the highest price and had the upper hand throughout. Jamie’s yield was down thirty percent he estimated, maybe more, so Ben set the price high and the Frasers were now very rich. Ben turned off the road and headed for the vineyard, the location for which was still unknown to the other growers and wineries. The irregular terrain was a pain to ride and he wondered about building a road, it would make life easier for them.

Jamie and Claire sat opposite Ben on the porch and tried to be calm waiting for Ben to share his news. Ben looked closely at the couple, thinking they looked better than he could ever remember seeing them. Farming must agree with them, he thought.

“Jamie, this is just an estimate but it looks like the yield is down about thirty percent, due to shock after the transplanting no doubt. That is unfortunate for a miracle year like this, the miracle being you are one of the few growers with grapes. So I pushed the Beringers for the highest price and they gave it. They bought it all.” Ben was smiling and could not understand the silence of the couple staring back at him. “Oh! Sorry. They paid four-hundred for the three hundred acres.” Silence. “Four-hundred thousand dollars.”

The blood drained out of Jamie’s face, “good Lord,” he mumbled, standing up and looking out at the vineyard. He sat down and leaned toward Ben. “Four-hundred thousand dollars Ben?” Jamie shot to his feet like there was a wasp under his butt. He took a step toward the vines and sat down again. “We havna picked them all yet.”

Ben went from smiling to laughing at the expression on Jamie’s face as he tried to wrap his brain around the fortune they just made. “Well, the Beringer brother’s just bought every grape on your vines so baring a tornado that uproots them all, or you oversleeping when the sugars rise, you are a very rich man, son.” Ben laughed and looked at Claire who was watching two butterflies and smiling. She was obviously not plugged into the conversation. “Claire, do you have any questions?” She turned her bright smiling face to Ben and shook her head no.

Claire’s mind was busy making tiny clothes and booties, painting the nursery and replacing the furniture, having dresses made for her expanding waistline. When Ben called her attention back to the meeting she felt she missed something important. Looking at Jamie it was confirmed, something big just happened and she could not tell if it was good or bad based on her husband’s weird face. She would find out when they were alone and went back to looking at the butterflies.

“Looks like your crew has things well in hand. I want to talk to you about getting a personal banker. Someone discreet that can handle your money transfers and help you invest. Have you seen that new bank in town? I think they are open, maybe we should take a ride over there and meet with the manager.”

Jamie stood up shaking his head yes and walked off the porch leaving Ben with the distracted Claire. A minute later Jamie ran back and pulled Claire to her feet asking Ben to give him a minute as he walked her inside. What Jamie needed was a quiet room in which to yell like a banshee and jump on furniture until he calmed down. Instead, he appealed to his wife to rest.

“Sassenach, I have to ask ye somethin…” he licked his lips nervously and looked at the floor. “I didna know ye were pregnant last night and I’m sorry for that. Did it hurt the baby, what I did to ye?”

Focusing on his tortured face she touched his cheek, “of course not Jamie. Please don’t worry about me or the baby. There will come a time when we will be…less energetic, but that is sometime in the future.” She kissed him.

“Please rest Sassenach, or I’ll get Fergus to watch ye and ye’ll force sleep so ye dinna have to listen to him anymore.” He wrapped her in his arms and hugged her. “I’ll be with Ben in town, tryin to find a bank big enough to hold all our money.” He chuckled and let his wife go.

As the door closed behind him Claire turned and asked, “what money?”

Lester Fordham sat behind his desk in the empty bank that he managed. He was the seventh male son to be born to Wilma and Charles Fordham and life had been challenging for the youngest son of six successful older brothers. His own mother would sometimes stare at him a full minute before remembering his name. Lester sailed for America to start a life without the shadow of his brothers and was hired by the bank because of his gift with numbers. When they gave him the new bank of St. Helena, they had not considered his absolute lack of personality or charm that would be required to entice new accounts. Try as he might, his nervous disposition and stuttering under pressure kept his bank empty. His stomach was in knots, and his nights were tortured with dreams of returning to England a failure. He saw men approaching the bank and took a deep breath.

“Welcome to Bank of St. Helena, gentlemen. How may I be of service today?”

The two men were conversing quietly and looked up as if startled they were being addressed. One man held a hand out to Lester and introduced them both.

“Good day to ye, sir. I am James Fraser and this is Ben Yountz. We are here to discuss moving my account.”

The men looked around at the empty bank thinking they would be first customers and accepted the seats that were offered. The pleasantries being rather stilted, Jamie explained the size of wire transfer that was coming the next day and asked Lester what ideas he had for investing.

“F…Fff…ffour…well now, that is a lot of money. The pitch of Lester’s voice climbed as he talked about the account types they offered and the benefits of each and he was clearly struggling through the conversation. Once he pulled out his personal notes on the different investments he followed his tone came down, his confidence soared, and he dazzled the men with his knowledge of the stock market, bonds, land investments, and industry. He talked and the men listened thinking they had judged the man harshly at first. The arrangements were made to pull Jamie’s accounts to the new bank and accept the transfer of four hundred thousand dollars in the morning. The men stood and shook hands. Lester walked around his desk and was jerked back when his suit coat pocket got caught on the handle of his desk drawer. He pushed his glasses back up on his nose and decided not to speak and ruin the momentum he had gained. His smile showed the large gap in his front teeth but he stuck out his hand and the men shook it.

Later, when Lester stopped shaking, he brought back the meeting with the men and ran through the empty lobby then clicked his heels. He just made his deposit quota for the next two years and Mister Fraser wanted investment ideas. Lester ran to his desk and turned his lamp up where he would bend over his figures until dawn.

Not far away, on a private vineyard, Jamie also burned the midnight oil bent over his figures. He had a good feel for numbers and appreciated their straight forward answers. He had always used them for budgeting, to save what little money he had. This experience was the opposite as he decided how much he wanted to give away. In his steady hand, he listed all the names of people he wanted to pay. Ned, Ben, Cho, Rupert and Angus and each of the Highlanders. He sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long and physical day bringing the white grapes in and he was exhausted. He looked once more at his list; 43 Highlanders $2,000.00 Rupert $3,000.00 Angus $3,000.00 Cho $3,000.00 Ben $20,000.00 Ned $20,000.00 Fergus $1,000.00 trust, $.25 weekly Jenny-? Lamb-?

The pay would have to wait for another month to ensure the reds were brought in as promised but he felt good about how the money was divided. He heard Claire moving around in the next room and wanted to hold her more than take his next breath. He washed quietly and laid down, pulling her to him. She pressed her face into his neck and sighed contently making his heart hurt with all the love he had for her and his growing child.

Claire yawned and stretched like a contented cat and listened to the voices outside. Pulling her robe on she walked to Jamie’s desk where she heard him working late into the night. She looked at his list and smiled drawing a line through Lamb’s name and writing $50,000.00 next to Jenny’s. “That should do nicely,” she murmured before returning to her warm bed and husband.

Jamie was a nervous wreck waiting for Ben to bring his wagon and trusted team of horses. Moving large loads of grapes is what he did for many years and he put all his faith in his grape-horses. They were strong, and the rough terrain between the vineyard and the road would not be a problem. An empty wagon makes quite a racket so Jamie heard them coming and finally exhaled. The men made short work of transferring the grapes to the wagon and every eye watched the sky above for the signal. Jamie started pacing again while Ben laughed at him. Fergus sat on a barrel and stared at the sky in the direction of the bank.

“Milord, milord! Look! Fergus was ready to implode with excitement when he saw the colorful explosion above the bank. The signal the money was there. It drifted in the sky for almost a minute and the Highlanders threw a cheer in the air. Ben smiled knowingly at Jamie and nodded.

“Looks like it’s time to go fellas!” Ben urged the team forward and the horses pressed into the yokes with haunches bulging with muscle. “Put your backs into it boys!” Ben looked back at the wagon surrounded by Jamie’s men. They would help push when a wheel got stuck or the horses could not pull the wagon over the hills. It took Ben twenty minutes to drive the wagon into the vineyard and two hours to drive it out. They could see the road ahead and the men waiting for them. Six of the Highlanders were armed with pistols at their hip and they climbed aboard the wagon to ride the fruit to the Beringer winery. Jacobs men were also armed and rode alongside the fruit. Halfway there Ben laughed at nine armed men guarding a bunch of grapes. My how times have changed, he thought.

Misses Crook had a pig roasting over a fire along with a turkey and three pheasants. Fergus squatted next to them and licked his lips for the entire afternoon. Jamie pulled his sweet wife to their bed where she read for ten minutes before Jamie exclaimed the new book was fascinating and tossed it to the floor pulling his Sassenach into a cuddle position. She could not find comfort with her corset on and finally sat up causing Jamie’s eyes to slam open in a panic.

“Jamie, it’s not fair that you can sleep without a corset but I have to. It’s not possible!”

Jamie, trying not to smile, offered to assist the Sassenach and told her the story of Little Red Riding Hood as he unbuttoned her jacket and sleeves pulling it off of her. When he started on the laces the story was getting dark and creepy and his voice sent shivers up Claire’s spine. When the wolf was in the bed ready to eat the little girl he pulled the last of the laces slowly before letting the hateful garment fall to the ground. He pulled Claire back into the cuddle position and kissed her naked shoulder running his hand down her arm. He felt magic in the air as he touched her nipple with growing urgency in his groin.

“Well, how did she escape?”

“She didna, the wolf ate her.”

“Ah! That is a terrible story!”

Magic gone. Lesson learned.

It would be two more weeks for the Zinfandel grapes to ripen and a second perilous journey with the grape horses. Three times, the men had to push the wagon over the hills and Jamie was exhausted walking back to the vineyard. Ben had tried to convince him to build a road many times but Jamie placed too much value in their hidden location to risk it. Today, he overturned his decision and hoped something could be done before they had to move the reds, their biggest crop.

It was clear after a five-minute meeting, that between Jamie and the Highlanders not a soul knew anything about building a road. Fergus knew how to do it but no one would listen to him so he dragged the pitchfork out to the field and stabbed the ground repeatedly for as long as he could with the sun beating down on him. He laid in the tall, cool grass, and wiped the sweat from his face before an afternoon nap overcame him.

When Fergus next opened his eyes it was pitch dark and a cold breeze brought him fully awake. He shivered and tried to remember where he was and how to get back in the blackness of the moonless night. He started walking and the night grew colder. After an hour of stumbling around, he stopped and felt his tears falling. He spent many nights alone in the barn but always felt safe with the door bolted. Now he was out in the open and cried in earnest. He started walking again and thought he saw a light, far in the distance. It was swinging so someone was holding it. He shouted out and started running, tripping on the uneven terrain and panting for breath. He kept shouting but the light turned away from him and he felt his heart drop into his stomach. He ran in the direction of the light, as fast as he could.

Jamie stood still and looked into the ink-black night. “Where are ye Fergus?” He turned around to go back and check-in with the men. He had been walking with the lamp for hours and saying every prayer he knew but the kid was just gone. He racked his brain trying to think what might have happened and the image of the lake made him shiver with dread. Hours earlier he found the raft still tied to the shore and wondered if Fergus was playing on them and fell into the water. Thinking about him on the bottom of that cold lake filled him with such sorrow he yelled the boy's name into the night and started walking again. He turned toward home and into the lit sphere of his lamp ran Fergus, right into his legs where he now had a death grip. The boy was speaking French and crying and it broke Jamie’s heart to see him so scared. He picked him up with one arm and walked him back to the house.

“Yer alright mac gradhach, I’ve got ye.”

Claire heard the back door open and ran to Jamie pulling Fergus into her arms. She fussed over him and told him they were so worried. Misses Crook laid cold meat and bread on a plate and warmed the rest of their milk. Jamie fired a shot into the air outside to let those that were still searching know to come in. Fergus spoke rapid French about building his road and the hot sun making him sleepy. Jamie translated as best he could, wanting to pull the kid into his arms and hold him until he stopped shaking. He couldn’t do that, to himself, or Fergus, it wasn’t done and Fergus would have to rally his own strength to stop shaking.

Fergus consumed as much food as a full-grown Highlander and Misses Crook laughed when he wanted more. He watched Jamie with round pale blue eyes that were fearful of reprimand. Claire washed his face and hands but Fergus’s gaze was stuck on Jamie and he still could not speak English. Jamie sat down next to the boy and measured his words carefully.

“So, ye decided to build my road did ye? A very big job it is and I’m grateful ye tried. How much did ye get done then?”

The rapid French explanation made it clear the ground was too hard and he failed.

“Yer heart was in the right place Fergus and I canna fault ye for bein overcome by the heat. I appreciate what ye tried to do for me and I’m happy yer safe and back home. If ye promise to let me know when yer leavin in the future, I’ll be happy.”

Fergus gave his promise and hugged Jamie’s arm fiercely. Misses Crook led the boy to his room for a good night’s sleep. Jamie hugged his wife with a look of wonder on his face. Somehow that little thief had wormed his way deep into his heart and his affection for him made him feel like a father. He walked a bit taller as he climbed the stairs to bed.

Fergus took a fair amount of Highlander ‘welcome home’ the next morning. He ate three bowls of porridge and nodded at the jeering. When he could break away he spent time in his room, making his bed and straightening the curtains as Misses Crook did. His few possessions were put away into drawers and he sat on his bed, not wanting to leave the comfort of his room. The time spent with Jamie and Claire had erased his nightmares about France and trying to survive, but last night brought it all back and he felt afraid.

Jamie noticed his pint-sized assistant was absent this morning when he took the Brix ratings. He went on with his day pulling the dead white grapevines from the earth with the help of the Highlanders. It was a part of life, he told himself, the weak succumb and the strong survive. It still bothered him that once healthy plants were ripped out of the earth because a millionaire from London decided to take even more from other people. That thought led to Frank Randall, another taker, and soon Jamie had a good head of steam built up and needed to hit something. Once the vines had been inspected he decided a break was in order and found Rupert and Angus to row over to the other shore to inspect what was left after Randall senior vacated.

Jamie asked Misses Crook where Fergus was and she pointed up indicating his room. Jamie wasn’t expecting that and he kissed his lovely wife on his way upstairs. He knocked on the door and Fergus pulled it open looking up with a bright face.

“We’re goin to the other shore to check the property, c’mon.”

“I will wait here milord, in case I am needed.”

“The Highlanders are here and I’m takin only a few men, what happens if we need something on the other side?”

Fergus looked in his room, conflicted with a fun ride on the raft versus staying to protect his room. Jamie started to understand what was eating at the boy and searched his mind for a solution.

“Would ye come if I put her name on the door? I’ll be right back.” Jamie used a bit of putty to stick a note on the door that said “Fergus’s Room.” Shoes were grabbed and the door slammed behind him as Fergus ran to take his place on the raft.

Jamie walked through the old property a bundle of emotions and memories. Seeing it again made him feel lonely for some reason. He recalled standing outside, starved half to death and Claire coaxing him into the house to eat. It seemed like another lifetime. The loneliness just got worse when he walked through the house. Looking at their bedroom he remembered the night they wed. This house needed a family he decided and the vineyard needed healthy plants to support that family. That was the problem. The entire place seemed dead and that filled him with sadness.

“Milord! You must come and see I found all the chickens!” Jamie joined Fergus downstairs and was led to a side yard where Angus was trying to catch the chickens and drop them into a moving sack. They caught five more and left for the rafts. Fergus ran up behind them holding a large sack of chicken food.

“Ye have a good heart, Fergus.” Jamie took the sack from the boy and smiled at him.

Jamie spent thirty minutes telling Claire about the road and complaining there wasn’t a man among them with any knowledge on the subject. He worried they would not get the reds to the road without physically carrying them on their backs.

“Jamie darling, isn’t there someone who does that around here?”

Jamie stopped pacing and looked at the one he loved with confusion. “What?”

“Someone in these parts must do that kind of thing when people need to clear land, right?” She yawned deeply fighting her fatigue to discuss the matter with him. Jamie ran to her and apologized for keeping her up. He pulled her down on the bed and spooned her. “I forgot for a moment that ye were so smart. Thank ye Sassenach.”

Jamie found a man in the area that had an ox and would level his road right away. Luckily, the need for leveling land dropped off sharply after the growing season so they had all of his attention right away. Fergus would sit and watch the huge ox drag the ploughshare and harrow back and forth while the man walked behind holding the sharp blade straight as it cut into the earth. After twelve days there was a smooth and level surface from the vineyard to the road.

As the last of the harvest approached, Jamie was tortured by fear of missing the Brix number for any number of reasons that might lay waste to the grapes and his promise to the brothers. He slept less and less making Claire worry for him. She tried seduction, late-night snacks, and rubbing his feet, but nothing worked. He would close his eyes for an hour or so, then he was up for the night. He became short-tempered and uncharacteristically emotional when she talked about the baby. Fergus was the only one brave enough to jump into it with Jamie, whatever “it” was. On every trip to town, for supplies, banking, or the post, Jamie would purchase another hydrometer, just in case. Fergus would take it to the supply barn and add it to the growing collection.

Fergus got behind Jamie and pushed him toward the hills at daybreak to test the red grapes, earning himself a growl and a stern look. Undaunted he continued to poke Jamie to keep him awake. Finally, Jamie gave a shout and dropped the hydrometer smashing it to pieces. “Christ! Fergus run back and get another, hurry!” Another hydrometer was pressed into Jamie’s hand. “I have two pockets, milord.” They ran through the hills testing grapes until Jamie was sure.

“Go lad, ring the bell with all yer might. Tell the men to start in the front and work back. Go Fergus!”

Jamie tried to think of what was next. His mind was so befuddled with fatigue he couldn’t remember. He saw the men running toward him with their hook tools and was overcome with a need to find Claire. He walked out of the vineyard like a sleepwalker, into the house, and laid down, holding his wife. Claire felt Jaime around her and heard the yelling outside. She had been so worried about Jamie who was now sleeping soundly behind her. She pushed the quilt away and got up quietly, pulling her riding clothes on and slipping out the door. She walked outside just as men were running back to dump their bags. They bunched up looking for Jamie to bring the containers and Claire knew precious time was wasting. She ordered the men to dump their grapes on the ground, in a common pile and sent them back. She held her position and watched the pile grow and another start next to it. She knew only that Jamie had to stay asleep and the men had to dump their bags and get right back to the vines.

Ben rode in and put his horse up quickly, he followed Fergus to the equipment barn to start grabbing containers. Fergus ran into the vineyard with empty containers and they were filled immediately. He ran back for another, and another, and another, all day long.

Misses Crook let Claire know she did not approve of her working the harvest like a man and with her nose in the air reminded her charge she was a lady who should get out of the sun. Claire barely heard her but answered she would take shelter when the work was done. It was very hot and the men were dripping wet when they came to dump their bags. Claire pumped water into buckets and kept them full, encouraging the men to drink. When Misses Crook rang the bell for the mid-day meal the men came running, exhausted, starving, and thirsty.

Fergus held the doorknob to milord’s room willing himself to knock loud enough to wake him. He had been there thirty minutes, at war with his instincts to wake him and milady telling him not to. He started kicking the door, hard enough to be heard on the inside. After five kicks he ran for the banister and slid down it to safety just as the door was opening. Fergus ran as fast as he could, deep into the vineyard and crouched under a vine with his hook. He watched the house for milord to exit and was happy to see him walking toward milady.

Jamie shook the cobwebs from his brain and walked quickly toward Claire. In the distance, he could see the bottleneck starting from full containers blocking passage for the empty ones and realized it would all come to a halt soon. He started running for them and Fergus exhaled in relief.

Jamie pulled four men from the vines and together they pulled the loaded containers to the front to be loaded onto Ben’s wagon. It was a hot day and the work had all the man covered in sweat. When the cool winds blew through the vineyard, they all felt it and looked up at the gathering black clouds in the distance. Jamie looked around for Ben and ran to him asking about what the rain would do to their efforts.

“Well, if no one minds getting wet, it will be a blessing. Take the sun away and the plants take a rest, stabilize the Brix. It’s a good thing.” he said laughing.

Jamie was happy to hear the Brix would rest but his concern was for the road and getting their heavy load safely away. Jamie told the men to double their speed and pulled two more men to help clear the full containers. With full belly’s and the cool breeze, the men had to dig down for the reserve energy to give Jamie what he called for. The dark clouds hung low with their load of rain and Jamie prayed it would hold off just a little longer.

Ben and his men loaded the wagon and hitched the grape horses to it. Jamie told him to go and ordered the six men with pistols to go with him. The road was a pleasure, mostly to the horses who easily pulled the wagon to the road and then to the winery.

Claire felt the tension in the men and saw Jamie’s frenetic pace. She felt as able as anyone to help and pushed her sleeves up. When Jamie saw her lifting cluster bundles into the empty wagon he almost fainted. “Jesus, Sassenach, no.”

He ran for her, twenty acres away his legs burned and he kept running, bursting out of the vineyard right in front of her. He was panting for breath when he took the load from her and walked her to the house.

“Jamie, I can help. It seems the rain is threatening and I will do my part,” she walked off the porch and felt her feet leave the earth when Jamie pulled her inside and up the stairs.

“Sassenach, I nearly had a heart attack seeing you lift the berries into the wagon. If yer intention is to kill the husband who loves ye dearly then by all means, keep doin it.” He was pacing in front of her running a hand through his hair.

Claire stopped his pacing and smiled up at him. “I understand, and I love you more for wanting to protect me. Even though I am strong enough to help, I promise not to lift another thing. I hear men whistling frantically. I gave you my promise, now go, they need you.”

Jamie ran out of the house and stopped dead when he felt the rain. It was coming down like a spring shower so he could still see the vineyard. Like in slow motion he watched the ten containers being dragged in, filled with grapes. Ben was at the wagon heaving massive piles of grapes from the incoming containers. Grapes were transferred and the rain continued. Jamie jumped into the box seat with Ben and the Highlanders walked with the wagon. The rain decided to show the power of mother nature and shook the earth with powerful thunder and lightning. Ben encouraged the horses to walk faster, watching the sides of the new road fall away into puddles below.

The Highlanders gathered behind the wagon and pushed, lending support to the horses. The rain was too heavy to see very far ahead and Jamie prayed they were close. It was another thirty minutes of holding his breath and praying before Ben shouted the road was ahead. The six pistol bearing Highlanders jumped into the wagon and Jamie shook his head no at Ben, he wasn’t getting off. Ben snapped his whip in the air and the exhausted grape horses pushed into their yokes.

When the wagon pulled into the winery Jamie was completely done in. Ben pulled him into the winery where he was immediately brought back by the smell. Tangy, sweet, a delight to his nose. His eyes opened and he looked around at the facility in awe. Jacob looked at him and decided a tip of Merlot is what he needed. Jacob poured and instructed Jamie on the correct hand placement around the glass, swirl the wine with a bit of energy so it would splash against the glass, “only with the reds because the wine needs oxygen”, Jamie rolled the wine in his mouth as instructed, and swallowed. When he opened his eyes, he was a changed man. He ran to the grapes being carried in and put one in his mouth. He was astonished the grape he ate would make the wine he just drank.

Ben looked at Jamie’s face, “uh oh, I need to get this man back to his farm before he begs ya to move in.”

Jacob was very pleased in the farmer’s reaction and bid them farewell. If he was going to lose his fortune to a grower, he was happy it was him.

Jamie insisted Ben keep going to his own home when the road turned into the vineyard. The Highlanders jumped out and started walking back. Jamie was happy for the rain in that moment because he could not stop the tears of relief and gratitude when he shook Ben’s hand and waved. It was over. They did it. As the rain came down in sheets and lightning crackled above him, he endeavored to put one foot in front of the other. He felt his energy drain from him and his muscles shook with effort. The weeks of sleepless nights and the physical brutality of the day was winning. Jamie wanted to feel Claire’s touch so badly but his feet would not move, he was stuck heaving for air. A small hand grabbed his and started pulling. Jamie pulled his hand away at the intrusion of his nap and the thing got behind him and pushed.

Fergus alternated between pulling and pushing while he dodged Jamie’s attempts to swat him away. All the way home Fergus drove his hero forward until they could hear Claire’s voice calling to Jamie.

“Go milord!”

Jamie looked up and saw the house, heard her voice, and felt so happy inside. He walked faster until he stumbled onto the porch and into her arms.

Jamie was washed and put to bed with a clean shirt. Misses Crook brought trays with soup and meat on the regular for the two days that Jamie slept and recuperated. Claire was his nurse and guard when the whistles came from outside. She dispatched the Highlanders to fix the problem like a general and not one man questioned her authority.

When Jamie emerged, he was fed and rested. Mostly he was happy deep down in his soul. Today was payday and time to say thank you to the crew of Highlanders who stayed with him this entire year, and two harvests. He could not wait. He rode into town and collected the forty-eight envelopes from Lester, giving him a heads up there may be a line of Scot’s to open new accounts later today.

The men lined up and Jamie passed out the envelopes saying thank you, my brothers, thank you. Eyes went wide as the bank draft was read and men threw their cheers into the soggy air. One man told Jamie he would return to his family in Scotland. His wife and three bairns were without a da for two years. Jamie handed the man cash for his passage and wished him well. It was a time of celebration and Jamie was never so happy as he was that day.

Jamie requested Angus and Rupert to hang back for their pay. He found them arguing at the lake trying to catch crayfish.

“Gentlemen, yer pay, and I hope ye put it in the bank before some pretty saloon lass talks ye out of it. And I hope ye’ll be staying on here for another year. We lost eleven men today, goin home to be with their families again. I need ye Highlanders.” He left them alone to see the bank drafts and realize with certainty how important they were to him. Jamie removed his boots outside and was intercepted by Claire before he made it to the kitchen.

“Oh no you don’t, you will not sneak up to our room to pass out. I have a special treat for you, Jamie.”

Claire pulled him into the bathroom off the kitchen where a tub was filled with hot water, his soap and cloth were perched on the side. He looked at her like he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Remove your clothes and get into the water while it’s hot. Don’t look at me that way. People do it every day and it won’t hurt, I promise.”

She pulled his clothes off and pressed him into the tub with shockingly hot water. She pushed him down into the water and used the rag to wet his back and shoulders, neck and face. She went over the areas again when the cloth was full of soap. She pulled one arm out for washing and then the other. Pushing him back into the bath she almost laughed at the look on his face.

“Not since I was a weean in a bucket have I taken a bath Sassenach. He looked at her sitting near the tub. “It would be far better if ye took her jacket off.”

Claire looked down and released the buttons on her sleeves and front, pulling the jacket off. Her breasts sat up on the top of her corset hidden by her sheer shift.

Jamie smiled and let his body sink underwater. Claire came to the tub and soaped his hair while his hands were reaching behind her for the laces.

Through giggles, “Jamie, stop that and rinse your hair.” The corset had fallen to the floor before she pushed him underwater. He came up and latched onto her nipple causing more giggles and a stern admonishment. His deft hands pulled her skirt ties and she felt the heavy skirts moving away from her body. He was completely through with asking permission and pulled his wife into the bath pulling her sopping shift over her head and holding her close.

“This is the best surprise ever mo chridhe,” he whispered into her shivering neck. Several deep kisses and Jamie encouraging her heat and the bath was suddenly quite serious as they chased and drifted and kissed. When the water was getting cold Jamie bravely jumped out and wrapped a towel around his waist and came back with many towels and Claire’s special robe. In their room, he pulled the pins from her hair and told her a Scottish tale about a maiden’s love for an ogre in the woods who turned into a handsome prince when she kissed him. His hands through her hair and the shedding of her robe had pulled her into a love coma and they slept in their embrace.

Jamie woke in the early evening and slipped from their bed, dressing quickly. He had someone important to pay and thank. He searched the house for Fergus and found him at the lake with a pole in the water. The boy’s face beamed when he saw Jamie.

“I have somethin to say Fergus, about your behavior today.” Jamie waited to choose his words carefully. “I must thank ye for kickin my door this morning and gettin me up. He grabbed the boy before he could bolt. “I said thank ye. I know it was you and what ye did might have saved the harvest. Yes, it’s true. We just barely got the grapes out before the road fell apart. Ye saved at least an hour gettin me up when ye did. I canna hail ye a hero because the lady was in control at the time, I hope ye understand that. Second, pullin me home when I wanted to stay in the rain and sleep. It took courage to do what ye did and I’m grateful to ye.” He took an envelope from his pocket and gave it to the boy. “I will put this money in a trust account for ye every year ye work the harvest. I will also give ye twenty-five cents a week to spend in town however ye want.”

Jamie dropped the coins into Fergus’s hand and laughed at the expression on his face. The coins meaning so much more than the draft for one thousand dollars. I’m goin to town tomorrow so ye come with me and buy what ye want. There should be a book to read among yer treasures to make the lady happy. When Fergus ran to his room Jamie picked up the envelope that had been left where he sat.

Cho was found digging trenches in his growing garden to release the pooling water. He looked at the bank draft and bowed his thanks. Misses Crook looked at hers for one thousand dollars and nearly swooned. Each of the men received two thousand dollars for a year of hard work and loyalty. Angus and Rupert each received three thousand. Jamie would arrange to transfer twenty thousand to Ned and fifty thousand for Jenny. Jamie smiled at his thoughts of adding some splash to her receiving the news.

One month later, Jenny pushed the hair out of her face and went back to her canning. She saw some color out the corner of her eye and looked up at a line of people filing into her front yard. She wiped her hands and ran to the door. Outside, a new wagon, loaded with feed and lumbar was being pulled into the yard. A cow was tied to a post and thirty chickens were set loose. Two goats on leashes were tied up and more people came with gifts for her and the family, like a box full of wool socks for small feet with scarves and mittens for all. Jenny saw Ned and ran to him protesting this invasion.

Ned felt like the most fortunate man alive as he handed Jenny a picture of her brother, healthy and happy with his bride. Jenny’s knees buckled so she sat on the ground and stared at Jamie’s face. Ned helped her up as more people were coming in with gifts and whisky. Two men asked when they could come and build her new barn and she gaped at them like they were from Mars. Ned told them as soon as possible because Jamie supplied everything with Ned’s help.

Ian came running from the fields as did the housemaid and three barns that held onto their mother’s legs as they shook. Ned had been busy purchasing the animals and chickens from neighboring farms and the best was yet to come. When the family was seated around the dining room table Ned handed Jenny one hundred dollars in cash and saw her tears gush with relief. When he thought she could stand more good news he told her she had fifty thousand dollars in the Edinburgh bank whenever she needed more.

“A gift from the greatest man alive, your brother.” Ned struggled with his emotions remembering the night he said goodbye to Jamie. He looked around the room and saw Jamie as a boy always tagging after him and Brian.

Jenny clung to Ned and thanked him for letting her know he was alive. Ned thought with all the treasures she now owned the most important thing was that Jamie was alive. He would ride to Edinburgh and check on the twenty thousand dollars Jamie sent him. He shook his head and smiled.

#outlander fanfiction outlander fanfic jamie and claire

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restitutiion · 4 years

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left him with nothing but ruined pride, something new inside; a voice saying, “alex, you gotta fend for yourself.’ || a comprehensive headcanon deep dive, mostly for future reference.

alexander was born to a one rachel faucette, and told his father was one james hamilton. despite alex’s later insistence that his parents were wed, this actually never did happen; the trio moved from the island of nevis to the USVI of st. croix by the time he was about eight, and his father abandoned the family by the time he was ten. then, left only in his mother’s care, he began to truly shine; she listened intently to his ramblings, battled wits with him even despite his young age. with no one there to ridicule them for it, they shone brighter than they ever had before.

his mother owned and operated a little shop on the corner of the main town square in christiansted, st. croix, where she sold an assortment of things (mainly books and souvenirs). she and her son lived upstairs, up above the shop, where their belongings were scarce. his mother, due to a previous (unhappy and abusive) marriage, often tried to hide her belongings/savings, in case her previous husband/family (the laviens) (or hamilton) ever came for them. of her most cherished belongings were a bible she received from her late mother, and a handful of pictures of her and her family (specifically, photographs of her and her only surviving sister, ann).

ann lytton, who is considerably older than her younger sister, rachel faucette, falls ill the same year the hamiltons move to st. croix, this eventually leading to her passing. alexander and his mother attend the funeral (although only a brief service), and then spend the rest of the day with ann’s husband (james) and their son (peter). alexander is only ten years old at the time, and he doesn’t fully understand death (though he knew his aunt well, the loss didn’t considerably affect him at the time); he wishes his father were around, if only to have some company in this disinterest.

when alexander is twelve years old, his mother falls gravely ill. he, with his own weak immune system, ends up doing the same shortly thereafter. she insists on not contacting a doctor (they could barely afford rent, much less unnecessary doctors visits or medicine). then, in the early morning of february 19th, she expires in bed right next to him. alexander contacts the police and paramedics, who arrive to the scene and promptly export him to the hospital (thus separating him from his mother for the last time).

he is in the hospital for just under two weeks. he recovers enough to attend his mother’s funeral, which is also attended by a man named thomas stevens, his son (ned), and the ever-infamous lavien family (michael, and the son he had with rachel faucette, peter). it is also attended by the surviving lytton family, who supported him and his mother throughout their misfortunes; one of the hamiltons’ most prized possessions, before rachel passed, was a dining furniture set gifted to them by the lyttons; this set is taken back by the lyttons upon her passing, and everything else the hamiltons owned falls into the hands of the lavien family. the lyttons purchase alexander’s books from them, along with a few of rachel’s belongings, returning them to the boy (these becoming his only possessions at the time).

soon after the funeral, alexander is whisked off to spend a bit of time with james lytton, and a bit of time with the stevens family, before ultimately landing in the custody of one peter lytton, his cousin considerably older than him. unbeknownst to alexander, his cousin was dealing with many mental illnesses that continued to go undiagnosed and untreated. peter commits suicide only a year later, in july. alexander discovers peter’s body, attends the funeral at the side of james lytton, only to lose that man as well only a few weeks later. he is then whisked off to be (legally) adopted by the stevens family, though they rarely claimed him to be a “part of the family”; alex chooses, instead, to bounce between homes, rotating between the stevens home, his friends’ places, and homeless shelters. this continues until he hits about sixteen.

by age sixteen, he is working for local businesses, writing for local papers, and trying to prepare for college; he writes a few very beautiful pieces, and many people decide to pitch in to pay his way to New York City (where he’d already received a full ride scholarship to Columbia University). there, he studies economics and english, graduating from his undergrad studies in only three years; he also meets friends that, for the first time, support his dreams for revolution and actually want to hear what he has to say. this is a turning point for him. he ends up (very quickly) marrying his roommate, john laurens, who not only exposes him to the good and healthy part of the world, but also (unfortunately) unearths a great deal of since-internalized trauma.

he maintains very loose correspondence with his father (james hamilton), though refuses to tell anyone of this. he also maintains very loose correspondence with ned stevens, who many back home insisted held a stark resemblance to him (this is a fact many, alexander included, have come to hold as truth: the stevens’ bloodline is his true paternal lineage, making ned his half-brother). he still, to this day, maintains very scarce communication with these two, though still adamantly refuses to tell anyone of this (not even his husband, whom he entrusts with far more than he does with anyone else).

during his undergraduate studies, his adoptive mother passes away, prompting alexander to return to st. croix for the first time since his departure so many years prior. laurens accompanied him; they reunited with the stevens family (thomas, ned) and (albeit briefly) toured the town of christiansted. they walked past alexander’s childhood home (and rachel’s corner store), though he didn’t clarify to laurens why; they mostly visited a few restaurants, a coffee shop alexander frequented as a child and teen (where most of the employees didn’t recognize the name --- the older employees knew him as soon as he opened his mouth).

he has very rarely discussed his childhood with anyone he’s met in New York; the one who knows the most is likely john laurens, though even then, he knows only the basics: alex’s mother passed, his cousin committed suicide, his father abandoned them, his true lineage likely lies in the stevens bloodline. this is all john laurens is aware of, with alexander sparing the vast majority of the details (likely for his own sake; he has never discussed at length most of this childhood trauma and he would very much like to keep it that way).

he possesses quite a few of pieces from his past, many of which laurens is still unaware of; these include: a photo of rachel soon after she moved to st. croix (this photo is displayed in the laurens-hamilton apartment, on the kitchen counter), a photo of rachel and ann when they were in their teens/early 20s, the bible his mother received from her mother, a handwritten prayer his mother wrote when he was a young boy, and a handwritten bit of poetry his mother wrote while he was in late grade school. he keeps most of this tucked away in a box within a box, hidden with his older journals; he makes no attempts to tell people to stay away from this box, though it is a locked box. the passcode to this lock is the date his mother died (021908). every february 18th, he stays up until about 1:00am, when he lights a candle, remains silent for a few minutes, then blows it out and goes to bed. he makes sure to do this when he knows he is alone (for fear of someone asking for reasoning; he isn’t yet ready to explain that, even after all these years).

he has many lingering fears from his youth: the fear of storms (specifically thunderstorms), the fear of people stealing his belongings (never to return them again; this specifically applies to his books and journals), a fear of getting too close to anyone (for fear of history repeating itself in removing them from this ever-winding narrative). he’s only aware of a few of these, and of those, he is very acutely aware of their origins; he currently visits a therapist every other week, and despite having gone for months now, has made very slow progress in opening up about his trauma. he sees this as a failure; others would likely see it as a huge success.

he will name his first child rachel, after his mother. this fact is irrefutable.

#suicide //#death //#illness //#abuse //#mental illness //#don't forget from whence you came. || character insight.

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moverevolutionestateagents · 5 years

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Amy & Sarah from Polished Kitchen Design

We are delighted to introduce Amy & Sarah from POLISHED KITCHEN DESIGN …

Sarah & Amy from POLISHED KITCHEN DESIGN

We (Nici Jordan – Move Revolution’s Marketing Director & Mathew Gurr – Area Sales Manager for Haywards Heath Lindfield & Burgess Hill) thoroughly enjoyed meeting Amy & Sarah for a coffee (and natter) at our favourite Lindfield Coffee Works. We wanted to share with you who they are, all things ‘POLISHED KITCHEN DESIGN’ and so much more! Both Amy & Sarah have really interesting backgrounds – when you have a read you will understand their immense creativity, eye for detail – and why they care so much about delivering outstanding work for their clients!

Nici, Sarah, Amy & Mathew loving Lindfield Coffee Works

Tell us all about how (and why) you have started POLISHED KITCHEN DESIGN…

Amy: I was a PR Director for a large cosmetics company in London for 15 years but had lost my zest for it. After doing renovations on our last 2 properties I wanted to follow my passion and try a career in interior design, so I took the plunge and left my job in the city. After completing an Interior Design course I was lucky enough to be offered a kitchen designer role in a local independent design studio who had actually designed and supplied my own kitchen 3 years previously which is when Sarah and I first met. I jumped at the chance as I loved the process of designing my own kitchen alongside Sarah. I think it was fate that we ended up working together!

Sarah: I started off my career working for a medical company but quickly felt it was the right career path for me. I’d always had a passion for Interior Design so signed myself up for an Interior Design course at KLC Design college in Chelsea. Whilst I was studying I took on various work experience role with local designers which led me to a local kitchen design company. Soon after working in kitchen design I knew it was the right fit for me I’ve never looked back. Having worked in the industry for 9 years I still have as much passion and enjoyment from my job as I did when I started. Having worked with Amy over the years, we found we really complimented each others working style and it very naturally became apparent we would make great business partners. After many glasses of wine, cups of tea and far too many biscuits we came up with the idea of launching our own business venture – Polished Kitchen Designs. We have been blown away by the support and enthusiasm we have received so far and are excited to see what’s in store beyond our first year.

Given you both love of all things ‘creative’ who or what is your main design inspiration?

Amy: In my previous career we worked with a lot of fashion designers such as YSL, Stella MCartney, Marc Jacobs and Chloe so it’s always been something I have been interested in. I love how trends span across fashion and interiors and playing with using things like accessories and colour to update a look. I’m a big believer in a classic style that never dates but incorporating more trend led ideas that can bring things bang up to date but that are also easily changed when you fancy a change. I’ve always loved Cole & Son wallpapers and have used them in most of my personal projects over the years.

Sarah: We are both fans of Farrow & Ball, they always have such a tempting palette of paint colours to choose from and they are Eco friendly too. Personal favourites are Setting Plaster which is part of the new nude trend, Off Black which my kitchen is painted in and they can’t be beaten for their gorgeous palette of greys…over the years we have used Blackened, Purbeck Stone, Elephants Breath and Downpipe…the list goes on!

For affordable, stylish furniture and accessories Made.com really is a go to for me – I always find items I love and their clean and simple designs mean they compliment any style. They also have some great lighting options and many of our clients have sourced their island lighting from here. For me it’s an added bonus that they support independent designers all around the world.

The explosion of social media also means there are some amazing influencers out there who have some great style inspiration spanning across fashion and interiors.

Here are a few we love on Instagram :

Erica Davies

The Frugality

Rockett St George

Come down to the woods

Pink House Living

In your opinion what is the key design trend of 2019?

Amy: Industrial, edgy style kitchens with lots of different textures– thing sleek and contemporary with a mix of metallics, wood, dark hues and a contrasting colour to make it all pop. Don’t get too caught up in matching your metallics as mixing these can be effective and create more interest visually rather than getting too matchy matchy!

We love this Second Nature 1909 kitchen which is a stunning example of making a traditional in-frame shaker kitchen more industrial and on trend with the addition of industrial black handles and on trend colours.

Sarah: Statement colours are not going anywhere. Don’t be afraid to be bold – dark greens, blues and even black add drama and style to a kitchen, don’t forget you can soften these colours with a touch of warmer hues such as cashmere and blush nudes. The addition of a light worktop will help to bounce the light around your space and always remember flooring plays an important part of your colour palette. A good tip is to get samples and create your own moodboard which will bring your entire concept together.

Tell us about POLISHED KITCHEN DESIGN .. what makes you different!

If you go to our website you will see out mission statement on our homepage which is:

Our passion and motivation is to design and install your dream kitchen, providing all the experience and inspiration you would get from an independent kitchen design studio – without the showroom price tag.

Our main aim when we started Polished Kitchen Designs was to make the independent kitchen design experience accessible to a wider customer base. We found that many people didn’t want to buy a kitchen from one of the ‘big sheds’ and felt underwhelmed by the product and service on offer. We also had many comments that they either felt intimidated by the smaller independent studios or that they thought they wouldn’t have anything to suit smaller budgets. By not having our own studio we can offer the same quality product and service but without the showroom price tag. We’ve priced jobs recently which have come very close to Howdens prices, we are confident our product and personalised service is far superior so clients are getting a lot more for their money. We like nothing more than popping back to see our clients and their beautiful completed projects for a cup of tea (we’ll bring the cake!) and natter. The process can take on average 4- 6 months (sometimes even longer if builders are involved!) from start to finish and in that time we build really good relationships with our clients so we have mixed emotions when our projects finish and it’s time to say goodbye.

If you are looking for a new kitchen we are in no doubt this will definitely have tempted you to give Amy and Sarah a call! Just go to their website www.polishedkitchendesigns.co.uk or send them an email [email protected]

As you can probably tell we loved meeting up with Amy & Sarah – we are passionate about local, independent businesses (just like Move Revolution) who are focused on delivering expertise and exceptional client service … watch this space for more blogs from Amy & Sarah over the coming months.

We couldn’t end this blog without saying a huge thank you to James Bolton, one of our incredible Move Revolution Professional Photographers. We pride ourselves on outstanding photography, and this is just a small example of what it is like to work with a professional!

If you are thinking of selling or letting your home we would love the opportunity to chat with you about our service… you too will have wonderful photographs taken of your home!

BOOK A VALUATION TODAY!

We have offices throughout Surrey, Sussex and Kent, just call 0330 223 1000 so that we can put you through to exactly the right office for you. If you are thinking of moving in the Haywards Heath, Lindfield or Burgess Hill Area, Mathew and his team would love to chat with you, just call 01444 657 657

We’d love you to follow us on Facebook!

The post Amy & Sarah from Polished Kitchen Design appeared first on Move Revolution.

from Move Revolution https://www.moverevolution.com/blog/amy-sarah-from-polished-kitchen-design/

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whatdoesshedotothem · 3 years

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Friday 19 August 1836

12 ½

- No kiss downstairs at 8 40 in the servants hall - 3 masons flooring the passing to it - about 9 Rawlinson the gardener arrived from Lawton (or near there) bringing a few lines from M- to say it was her fault he did not come before - out with him ½ - breakfast at 9 35 - had Throp a few minutes and paid him £4 for cleaning and filling up with acorns the Bairstow - I thought it was agreed that he was to keep the place up for 3 years for the price I paid him for stubbing up and setting with acorns - A- thought so too - however I paid the bill and made no remark but that I thought of sowing the place with whins or broom - was getting a gardener, and should need Throp to do any more at the Bairstow - out with A- at 10 40 at which hour F61 ½° and fine but no sun and highish wind - A- went into the house about 11 and left me to settle with Rawlinson - explained the nature of the place - to keep a regular dear and [c.r?] account of the expense and product of the garden - to furnish my own table and then the Northgate hotel - the account (in Wright’s [not or part measure]) would shew what was furnished to each - R- to take charge of looking after the land, and the men employed in my absence -to see that they worked the proper hours etc - agreed to give him £50 a year and find him a house the latter under written agreement - to be held on the same terms as my service i.e. with months wages and months warning - I to pay his expense in coming here now, and his expense of moving his family - just calculated that his family and furniture might come for £4 - to be here tomorrow fortnight, 3 September - if Mr. Gray came sooner, I should send off for Rawlinson and expect to come immediately - said I would put him into a cottage at the Mytholm (the house) till the Conery was ready when he must be till the gardener cottage was built - R- had arrived about 9 - would take nothing to eat or drink, and left me at 12 5 anxious to return home - Miss Edwards and Miss Eliza Plowes called on A- for ¼ hour at 12 - then with A- cold and starved and low - gave her hot wine and water - spirited her up and helped her till she fairly set about her letter to her sister and got all in good train - ordered about box in which to send by SW- tomorrow morning Mrs. Sutherland’s silver teapot and ½ dozen little books for the children - and in separate a parcel a plan (parchment taken from out of a frame) of Golcar and a book of memoranda of quitrents etc copied by A- from the rent books - out about 2 - with Booth + 2 in the servants’ hall - doing the entrance passage - with Robert Mann and Wood and Matthew and Jack filling Mark Hepworth’s 2 one horse carts (began this morning) carting away clay (to make room for Booth about the tower) down to the old pit hill bottom of the coalpit field - John Booth and Sam planting strawberries and flower plants - Charles and James H- sawing up oak pit-frame wood in the morning and jobbing in the house (mending parlour floor for my aunt’s sitting room) in the afternoon - Robert Schofield and Joseph Sharpe riddling gravel for the walk - Robert Mann pleased to have found me right - the leakage in the low fishpond is under the sycamore tree - thinks stopt for the present and that it will be easily stopt - Mrs. Ann Lee here doing the carpet and curtains for my aunts little apartment (parlour and bedroom) - Matty Pollard here as she has been for the fortnight doing the beds - had Mr. Husband at 6 - long explanation (by chance) about beam in the buttery being moved for the new stairs - calm and quiet but sufficiently serious reproof for his not having told of me of this before - orders about leadpiping for water to new butler’s pantry, brewhouse, and farmyard - Frank brought home all the riddle sand from the Lodge, and brought the last 2 (of the 4) larches from lower place - dinner at 7 10 - coffee - A- did her French - an hour with my aunt - read the newspaper - my aunt had had much pain today - wrote all but the 1st 7 lines of today till 10 50 fine day F51° now at 10 50 pm settling bills etc till 11 ¼ pm

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architectnews · 3 years

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Canada F1 Grand Prix, Montréal

Canada F1 Grand Prix, New Paddock, Québec Modern Spectator Facility, Architecture Images

Canada F1 Grand Prix – New Paddock, Montréal

16 Mar 2021

Canada F1 Grand Prix – New Paddock

Architects: Les architectes FABG

Location: Montreal, QC, Canada

As part of a renewal agreement for the Formula 1 Canadian Grand Prix, the city of Montreal had to replace the existing temporary structures with a larger permanent building that would more adequately meet the needs of the event. The new paddock includes garages for the teams, offices for the International automobile Federation (FIA) and the promoter, a lounge area for 5,000 people and a Multimedia Center for journalists and broadcasters. All furniture and equipment are shipped from abroad and installed for the duration of the event.

To facilitate the completion of the$ 50 million project in the 10 free months between the two Grand Prix editions, the building was designed as an assembly of prefabricated parts including concrete panels, steel beams and columns, CLT wooden beams and panels, curtain walls and removable partitions. It can also be easily disassembled and recycled materials in case of Grand Prix termination.

Unlike other international grands Prix, the lounge areas have no exterior walls and are not air-conditioned, the interior spaces are minimally finished and the building must make responsible use of the public funds invested while equipping Montreal with equipment that reflects our identity and values for an event seen by more than 300 million people around the world.

Concept The building echoes the innovative structures that marked Quebec’s imagination when the 1967 World’s Fair was held on the site of Île Notre-Dame. The Terre des Hommes logo using the Y to represent men with outstretched hands remains an indelible symbol of this summer that marked the advent of modernity here. The wooden structure proposed for the roof is based geometrically on this memory and reflects our desire to move away from the images and values usually associated with motor racing and more specifically with Formula 1. The advent of new owners and executives at the head of the circuit has made possible the acceptance of this proposal, which corresponds to their desire to move away from the ostentatious globalized luxury in order to highlight the cultural and geographical specificity of each stage of the circuit and adapt it to emerging values.

The new Paddocks will accommodate up to 13 stables, each of which will have two front access for single-seaters, drivers and technical teams, as well as a service access located at the rear of the building for equipment or for quick access to the redeveloped hospitality area.

Designed without a permanent division, the garage space is modular according to the needs of the teams at each edition of the Canadian Grand Prix : temporary partitions will be used to create the desired divisions and thus suit the technical needs of this constantly evolving sport.

The building presents a completely new configuration of the space for sports commentators and representatives of the FIA and FOWC : the distribution has been redesigned to meet the need for stakeholder interactions with the action taking place on the circuit. Unlike the Old control tower which was made at height to offer good visibility on the track, the new tower is arranged horizontally on 2 floors right in the building, as new race control technologies now require less direct visibility.

A media space is integrated into the building rather than being located in a temporary marquee, in order to provide quality services to journalistic representatives, namely modular lighting, a suitable ventilation system and electrical and telecommunications connection boxes including optical fiber.

This media space is also a rental space made available to Montrealers for events outside the Grand Prix period in all seasons.

The building has been designed to multiply the views on the race track, but also on the entire environment of the park that surrounds it, with the development of several terraces on the 2nd and 3rd floors.

The new building being higher presents a 360-degree panorama to the spectators. On one side, a close-up view of Jean-Doré Beach, the Casino de Montréal, former Pavilion of France during Expo 67, as well as the former Pavilion of Quebec that is adjacent to it. In the distance, the city of Montreal, Mount Royal and its cross are visible.

On the other side, you can see at first glance the Olympic pool where groups of rowing, canoeing and dragon boats train. Behind, a narrow passage of the St. Lawrence River crossed by freight boats, then the South Shore of Montreal.

Universal accessibility Accessibility has been completely redesigned in the new building : the entire ground floor is on the same level as the ground and the floors are accessible via a panoramic glass elevator located at the east entrance. Bleachers and bathrooms are also provided to ensure universal accessibility and ease of travel.

Sustainable development The structure of the roof of 1425 m3 is made of wood, a durable and renewable material. Since, during its growth, wood captures CO2 from the atmosphere and sequesters it in its fiber, this volume of wood corresponds to the sequestration of more than 1,000 tons of CO2. Wood is thus considered carbonegative, which means that not only does the use of wood in construction generate low carbon emissions, but also helps to remove additional carbon dioxide from the atmosphere.

The waterproofing of the roof is carried out with an elastomeric coating covered with white mineral granules in order to limit the heat island effect and the temperature rise for the spectators.

The solar photovoltaic panels on the terrace total 64 m2 and should store enough solar energy in one year to compensate for the energy expenditure required for the complete building at a Grand Prix. The installed system will provide an average of 87,600 kw/hre per year and the estimated energy consumption during the Formula 1 event is 88,940 kw / hre.

Local Production The wood used for the beams, in the form of glued and cross-laminated (CLT), as well as for the decking, in the form of cross-laminated, comes from northern Quebec and values species and small pieces of wood to optimize the fiber of all the trees during the cutting. The precast concrete parts come from a Quebec company, as are the curtain walls and the steel structure. The division into several separate batches of the structure (concrete, steel and Wood) allowed the simultaneous production in the factory of colossal quantities of material as well as their erection in a very limited period of time and despite a harsh winter.

Awards and recognitions Award of excellence, Canadian Architect – 2018 Mention en innovation de l’OAQ – 2020 Grand Prix d’excellence de l’OAQ – 2020

Canada F1 Grand Prix – New Paddock in Montréal, QC – Building Information

Location: Circuit Gilles-Villeneuve, Montreal, QC Commissioning date: May 2019 Client: Société du Parc Jean Drapeau Architect: architects FABG-Éric Gauthier (project director), Marc Paradis (project manager), Nicolas Moussa (project manager) General contractor: GEYSER Group Ing. Structure: CIMA+

About Les architectes FABG Les architectes FABG was founded in 1954 and formerly known as Blouin et Associés, the firm changed its name in 1988 to reflect the succession of a third generation to the management of the company that now exceeds its fifty years.

Since its foundation, the team has an average of fifteen members, and movements within the staff are quite rare. This stability is necessary for the transmission of a corporate culture that promotes the quality of service and products delivered.

The company offers comprehensive architectural services with special expertise in cultural venues and restoration and renovation projects that have earned it more than 50 awards and mentions of excellence here and abroad.

FABG architects mainly serve institutional clients for public projects. Many projects have been or are being carried out with the city of Montreal and its boroughs, from the Pierrefonds Community centre, the restoration of Esso station in Verdun, the Maison de la Culture Hochelaga-Maisonneuve and the transformation of the Bibliothèque Centrale. We have also completed the functional and technical programs for the Montréal-Nord and Saint-Charles libraries.

The effectiveness of the services provided by a firm is measured by the confidence that grants it repeatedly and which has the consequence of gradually strengthening its degree of expertise. Over the past twenty years, FABG has been the recurring choice of major cultural stakeholders (Cirque du Soleil, Jazz Festival, National Theatre School of Canada, Ex-Centris, World Film Festival, Place des arts, etc.) for the realization of many projects in Montreal.

Photo credits: Steve Montpetit

Canada F1 Grand Prix, Montréal images / information received 160320 from v2com newswire

Location: 12eme avenue, Rosemont, Montreal, Québec, Canada

Montreal Architecture

Montreal Architecture Designs – chronological list

Montreal Architecture Walking Tours

Montreal Architecture News

Montreal Houses

Castor Des Érables Development, Rosemont–La Petite-Patrie, Montréal, QC Architects: Parkhouse photographer : Parkhouse/Bardagi The Castor Des Érables Development in Montréal

Charlebois Lake House, Ste-Marguerite-du-Lac-Masson, north of Montreal, Québec Architects: Paul Bernier Architecte photographer : James Brittain House in Ste-Marguerite-du-Lac-Masson

Canadian Architecture

Canadian Architecture Offices

Comments / photos for the Brick House in Villeray, Montréal, Québec property design by ISSADESIGN, QC, Canada page welcome

The post Canada F1 Grand Prix, Montréal appeared first on e-architect.

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mtairyartgarage-blog · 4 years

Photo

Outloud! A Celebration of Women’s Voices For International Women’s Day

Let’s face it. Here at MAAG we’re a house of artists. All kinds, all disciplines, visual artists, performing artists—we’re a diverse group here. But on International Women’s Day (IWD), we’re celebrating women in the arts—our contributions, our accomplishments, enhancing our cultures with creative energies. We’re celebrating women internationally…all ages, all cultures.

We continue to find out there’s just a host of talent among us. Some artists you may have heard, even love their poetry and music. Others may be new to you. Regardless, we assure they will delight and surprise you. All occurring under the roof of our already celebrated Quilt Show. A night to remember. To celebrate together.

So join us at 11 West Mt Airy Ave. Bring your families. See what’s possible. At the Mt Airy Art Garage—a place where creativity abounds and dreams are made into reality. Saturday, March 8 at 6 pm. Extra added bonus, open mic from 9-10 pm. Everyone is welcome. $10 Admission. Kids under 12 free.

For more information call 215.242.5074. And a special thanks to our sponsor Valley Green Bank.

Artist’s Bios

Mary Ann Domanska has been a teacher at Springside Chestnut Hill Academy for twelve years. She has a BFA in performing arts and a Masters degree in elementary education. She is a writer, actor, mother, and maker. She is currently participating in the North Carolina Outward Bound Educator’s Initiative; a yearlong curriculum that helps educators include experiential learning in the classroom while encouraging the skills of perseverance and grit. This summer she plans to teach theatre and crafts to children in Ghana through the Pagus: Africa program. She has written a middle grade adventure novel, Emic Rizzle, Tinkerer, and is hoping to find a publisher soon. Mary Ann’s Twitter handle is @mdomanska and her blog “Writing a Middle Grade Novel” is at http://maryanndomanska.

Maleka Fruean is a writer, community events coordinator, part-time journalist, and full-time mother and creative being. She was born in Western Samoa, raised in New Jersey, and became an adult in Philadelphia. She writes poetry, fiction, and hybrid prose, and is currently working on a series of stories about a girl who starts boxing.

The Gleeksman-Kohn Children’s Choir at Settlement Music School consists of a graded choir program for children in grades 3-8 at all six branches of the School. The branch choirs rehearse on a weekly basis and gather together regularly throughout the year to form a group consisting of 130 members. The choir has performed with the Philadelphia Orchestra and for the inauguration of Governor Ed Rendell, and has presented concerts at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia as well as other venues throughout the region.

Rae Ann Anderson is director of the Gleeksman-Kohn Children’s Choir at Settlement Music School. Originally trained as an organist, she holds degrees from Wittenberg University and the University of Missouri-Kansas City, and has served as a church music director in Kansas, Missouri, Ohio, Pennsylvania and New Jersey. She has directed children and youth choirs for 25 years, and choirs under her direction have toured Cuba and presented an original musical. In addition to her work at Settlement Music School she also serves as the director of music for St. Paul’s Lutheran Church in Glenside, PA.

Planning the MAAG poetry slam. Jen is on the right.

Jen Hemenway is traveling from Massachusetts and here in Philadelphia until May. She is a cartoonist/painter who paints on recycled materials such as wood, broken down furniture, and metal. Her work can be found on Facebook under 55407 Komix (pronounced comics). Jen started that freelance cartoon business in the early to mid 90’s in Minneapolis MN, where she began a self-published comic book called 55407, and the business stemmed from there. Jen also published cartoons in an international quarterly called “Lesbian Review of Books.” She also has a custom skateboard company called Upside Skate Decks (find it on Facebook with many pics of her work) which began out of her basement in Boston in 2004. Jen has shown her work in Minneapolis, underground shows in Boston, coffee shops, and has also been interviewed on cable access channel BNN “It’s All About Arts” in Boston. Her work has been shown through Roslindale Open Studio, Boston and in galleries from Provincetown, MA, to Melrose, MA, Leominster, MA. Jen is a cartoonist/abstract/mixed media artist, poet and writer.

April Lynn James, PhD, is an award-winning performer and scholar. Following receipt of her doctorate from Harvard in 2002, she embarked on a career as an operatic soloist and artistic entrepreneur, turning her research on operas composed by women into the exhibit, In Her Own Hand: Operas Composed by Women 1625 to 1913, then into the Maria Antonia Project, an opera company whose goal was to bring operas composed by women out of the archives and onto the stage. She has since turned IHOH into a talk that she presents throughout her native NY State as a Speaker in the Humanities for the NY Council for the Humanities. Since 2012, as her alter ego, Madison Hatta, Sonneteer, she has been reciting original, whimsical sonnets about madness, Time, career & family dysFUNction and tea at NYC’s historic La MaMa Experimental Theatre and other venues. The Twinkle Bat Variations is their current work-in-progress. Seeking friendlier climes, April (+ Madison) moved to Philadelphia in September 2013. April has recently added Adjunct Professor in the Department of Fine Arts at La Salle University to her CV, where she teaches the Art of Listening and Early Music. In addition to the above, April is a specialist in 18th-century dance, still juggles balls and clubs on occasion, and is fluent in German.

ELEANOR MACCHIA—Eleanor began her musical life as a pianist. A student of the late Clifford Balshaw, the late George McKinley and George Gray, she attended Misericordia University, the Westminster Conservatory and Temple University.

Eleanor has performed for Elly Ameling, Dalton Baldwin and Martin Katz and has extensive experience as a cantor, soloist and recitalist. She has appeared with the Chamber Orchestra of Philadelphia, the Germantown Oratorio Choir, the Rittenhouse Strings and many other musical organizations throughout the Philadelphia area. She is currently soprano soloist at St. Luke’s Church of Germantown. Eleanor has appeared as featured soloist with the Montgomery County Youth Orchestra and Germantown Concert Choir under the baton of Dr. Cailin Manson in such works as Handel’s Messiah, Mozart’s Requium, Haydn’s Lord Nelson Mass and Massenet’s oratorio Marie Magdeleine. Additionally, her repertoire reflects works in the American Songbook.

She has served on the faculties of various institutions including Germantown Institute for the Vocal Arts. She also teaches at her private studio.

Trapeta B. Mayson is a poet, workshop leader and educator. She has worked extensively with young people and adults in educational, artistic and institutional settings conducting creative writing and self-expressive workshops. She has received numerous literary awards and fellowships including a 2002 Pew Fellowship, Pennsylvania Council on the Arts Grants and a 2007 Leeway Transformation Award. Trapeta is a Cave Canem and Callaloo Fellow and has completed residencies at schools, community agencies and artistic institutions. Her new poetry chapbook, She Was Once Herself, was released in 2012 to rave reviews and is available at www.trapetamayson.com. Trapeta’s other publications include submissions in The American Poetry Review and Lavanderia, Anthology of Women Writing, to name a few. She is a native of Liberia and grew up in Philadelphia. Trapeta is a licensed clinical social worker with a private practice and has worked for years in the human services field and with artistic and cultural institutions. In addition to her work as a poet, social worker, and educator; she is pursuing her MBA. Trapeta feels that all of her experiences inform her work as a writer.

Voices of a Different Dream—Ellen Mason, Annie Geheb, and Susan Windle–began creating and performing their unique blend of poetry and song in 1991. Since then, they have performed in venues throughout the Philadelphia area and beyond: in bookstores and libraries, living rooms and coffeehouses, concert halls and conferences, churches and synagogues, nature centers and art galleries, peace rallies and fundraisers for progressive causes. With a wide range of voice and gesture, they use themselves fully in performance—every motion, each pause and inflection conveys meaning. Voices’ performances and recordings highlight each woman’s solo voice as well as the amazing resonances between them. They have three recordings: Unimagined Possibilities, You Know My Name, and Refuge for a Soul. The two poets, Ellen Mason and Susan Windle, are co-authors of Already Near You: Poetry in Concert, a collection of poems performed together over the years. The women of Voices dedicate their work to challenging injustice and strengthening the bonds of love within, among, and between us.

And others….

It’s a great way to celebrate the arts and women’s voices. Join us.

For more information call 215.242.5074. And a special thanks to our sponsor Valley Green Bank.

Artist’s Bios

Planning the MAAG poetry slam. Jen is on the right.

She has served on the faculties of various institutions including Germantown Institute for the Vocal Arts. She also teaches at her private studio.

And others….

It’s a great way to celebrate the arts and women’s voices. Join us.

#2014

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chiddicksfamilytree · 4 years

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This is the third in my new series of blogs that covers the life stories of my 16 Great Great Grandparents, so let me introduce Elizabeth Lake.

Elizabeth Lake was born 14th May 1845 in the Norfolk village of Attleborough, she was eldest of six children born to John Lake and Rebecca Lake nee Dixon. She was baptised in the beautiful village church of St. Mary’s, in Attleborough on 19th April 1846, the informant at the time of the Baptism was her Mother Rebecca Lake. Her Father John is listed as a Labourer on the Baptism record.

(St.Mary’s Church, Attleborough)

Elizabeth is listed in the 1851 Census with her parents John and Rebecca and her two sisters, Mary Ann Lake and Sarah Ann Lake, the family are living at Havenscroft Street, Attleborough.

1851 Census

Between 1851 and 1861, the Lake family up sticks and move down from Norfolk to Essex, presumably for John Lake’s agricultural work. By 1861 the family are residing at South Ockendon in Essex, the family home was listed as Peacock Farm and Elizabeth Lake was listed as a House Maid working at Mollands Hall, for a Farmer called Abraham Manning. Not much further down the lane, Matthew Chiddicks was residing at Little Mollands Hall in 1861 and it is presumably here that their two paths crossed.

1861 Census

At the tender age of just 20, Elizabeth Married Matthew Chiddicks and the two were married at North Ockendon Parish Church on 7th October 1865. My original assumption had been that the couple had Married in South Ockendon, the Parish that they were living in at the time, but we can only speculate as to the reason they married in North Ockendon, rather than South Ockendon, the Parishes are that close together. All I can say is their first born child, William Chiddicks was born 18th March 1866.

(Original Parish Register entry)

(North Ockendon Church)

By 1871 Elizabeth is living at Plough Cottages in South Ockendon and her occupation is listed as a Farm Labourer’s Wife. She is listed at home with her Son William and two Daughter’s, Elizabeth and Louisa as well as her own Sister Louisa. Her husband Matthew is counted as living two doors away and is listed with Elizabeth’s own parents, John Lake and Rebecca Lake, the two families living just two doors away from each other.

(Plough Cottages are on the left of The Plough Public House in the picture)

1871 Census

In 1881 Elizabeth and the family are living in James Row, South Ockendon, just off the main High Road and counted at home with Elizabeth are husband Matthew and children William aged 16, Elizabeth aged 12, Louisa aged 10, John aged 4 and Alice aged 1.

1881 Census

By the time of the 1891 Census the Chiddicks family had grown quite considerably, the family home was still in the High Road, South Ockendon and living at home with Elizabeth and her husband Matthew are children William aged 25, Louisa aged 20, Polly aged 16, John aged 14, Alice aged 11 and Walter aged 8. Also listed living with the family at the time of the Census is Ethel Acton aged 10 who is listed as a visitor and is the future Niece of Louisa Chiddicks who later Marries William Acton. So we can see a family link and connection to the Acton Family from Sutton-at-Hone in Kent.

1891 Census

1901 brings a big change to the Chiddicks ,as the family have upped sticks and moved from South Ockendon, in Essex, to Watford, in Hertfordshire, we can only presume it was for Elizabeth’s Husband Matthew’s, pursuit of work. Still living at home in the family home are Sons John Chiddicks and Walter Chiddicks. the family are living at 7, Harefield Terrace, Judge Street, Watford.

1901 Census

In 1911, Elizabeth and Matthew are living alone in a 5 room house at 16 Southwold Road, Watford. Matthew is still working as a Labourer at the age of 67 and Elizabeth is still working at home carrying out her Domestic Duties.

(16, Southwold Road, Watford)

1911 Census

Sometime between the 1911 Census and Elizabeth’s sad Death in 1916, both Elizabeth and Matthew move to Biggleswade in Bedfordshire, at the time their Daughter Alice Dray (nee Chiddicks, was residing at 23, Shortmead Street, Biggleswade, Beds.

(23, Shortmead Street, Biggleswade)

Elizabeth sadly died on 23rd September 1916 whilst at her Daughter Alice’s home of 23, Shortmead Street, Biggleswade, Beds. The cause of Death was Malignant disease of the stomach and exhaustion, present at her Death and the person who registered the Death was her eldest Son, William Chiddicks.

Elizabeth was buried on 27th September 1916 at Drove Road Cemetery, Biggleswade in Plot Number 2125.

The story doesn’t end there, as I was able to find this wonderful Newspaper Announcement of Elizabeth Chiddicks funeral. The detail included is pheneomenal and includes every last detail.

In case it’s not that easy to see on your viewing device, I have transcribed the newspaper entry for the Funeral Announcement here;

Funeral of Mrs Chiddicks

We regret to report the death this week of Mrs Chiddicks, the Mother of Mrs Dray, of 23, Shortmead Street. Deceased has suffered from an internal complaint and passed away on Saturday at her daughter’s residence. The funeral took place Wednesday at the cemetery. The cortege consisted of a glass hearse and two mourning coaches. The Vicar impressively officiated at the services inside the chapel and at the graveside. The Coffin was of plain elm with black and gilt furniture and was inscribed : “Elizabeth Chiddicks died 23rd September 1916 aged 71 years”. The mourners were Mr.M.Chiddicks (husband). Mr Wm Chiddicks, Mr. John Chiddicks and cyclist Walter Chiddicks 2/25th London Cyclist Battn, (sons), Mrs E.Goode, Mrs W.Acton, Mrs MA Steward and Mrs EA Dray (daughters), and Mr W.Acton (son in law). Among sympathisers present were Mrs W.T.Skipp and Mrs H.Endersby. Floral tributes of great beauty were inscribed thus: In ever fond remembrance from her sorrowing husband; “Rest in peace” – With deepest sympathy and fondest memory, from her son and daughter; “Peace perfect peace” – in ever loving memory to our dear Mother, from her sorrowing son and daughter, Henry and Lizzie; “Thy will be done” – In loving memory of our dear mother, from Louie and William – With deepest sympathy, from her loving son Walter – With affectionate sympathy, from Jack, Kate and Reggie – In fond remembrance to our dear grandma, from her grandchildren, Harry, Cissy and Harold – In fond remembrance to our dear grandma from her grandchildren Doris and Gerald – With deepest sympathy, from Mr and Mrs Skipp, Messrs Styles and Son were the undertakers.

Whilst carrying out my research into the life of Elizabeth Lake and the Lake family in general, I was able to carry out some more detailed research into the Village that her family lived, Attleborough, in Norfolk.

The major employer in town is Banham Poultry and turkeys seem to feature quite prominently in the town history, as they appear on the town sign along with cider apples, as Gaymers Cider used to be in town too, but have long gone. All that’s left is Gaymers Meadows a park left to the people of Attleborough.

There has been a settlement in the vicinity since Saxon times and there has been a place of worship here since those times, but St Mary’s was built in the Norman period. There is one notable event in 1549 before my family were here, but still interesting. When the practice of enclosing off common land came in, the ordinary people of the country as a whole were not happy. A short lived revolt in the summer of 1549 started here. When the lord of Wilby Manor began fencing off parts of the commons of Attleborough and Hargham, the fury and anger against the landowning classes was unleashed. Attleborough men tore down these fences and hedges, the first demonstration of physical defiance. News of this soon travelled to the next town, Wymondham, where there happened to be a large gathering at Wymondham Abbey where they had been holding a special service. A chap named Robert Kemp latched on to this and led a huge band into rebellion. There was a battle at Dussingdale which is north of Norwich where between 2-3,000 men were killed by government forces. Attleborough men could well have been among them. This has become known as Ketts Rebellion. Needless to say he met an extremely unpleasant end being drawn and hung at Norwich Castle.

The first national Census, taken in 1801, listed the population of Attleborough as 1333 and by 1845 the population had grown to almost 2000, with an acreage of around 5,200 acres and a growing centre of trade and commerce. A thriving Market Town was developing and William White recorded in 1845 the following occupations:

2 Auctioneers, 6 Teachers, 5 Attorneys, 3 Bakers, 3, Blacksmiths, 6 Boot Makers, 4 Butchers, 3 Corn Millers, 33 Farmers, 4 Grocers, 2 Joiners, 2 Plumbers, 2 Saddlers, 2 Surgeons, 4 Tailors and 2 Watchmakers. All evidence of a thriving and growing community of which the Lake family were very much a part of.

The Life and Times of Elizabeth Lake This is the third in my new series of blogs that covers the life stories of my 16 Great Great Grandparents, so let me introduce Elizabeth Lake.

#Attleborough #Biography #Blog #Family History #Family Tree #Genealogy #Norfolk

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junkboysusa · 2 years

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encephalonfatigue · 5 years

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god is not dead. god is bread. the bread is rising! bread means revolution.

this is a reflection on Kropotkin’s “Conquest of Bread”, because i couldn’t fit it all in goodreads. the title of this post comes from the New York Young Lords,‘‘Celebration for a People’s Church” (1969).

This was a fascinating book. My interest in Kropotkin came out of reading about Anabaptist radicals. Kropotkin thought that Western anarchism’s roots could be traced back to Anabaptist communities. The affection has, in a sense, run both ways though. Catholic Workers adore Kropotkin, and he had an outsized influence on Dorothy Day, who writes a lot about Kropotkin in her autobiography. I can see the connection. Even as Kropotkin spoke frequently about revolution he also was less enthusiastic about violence than many other anarchists. For example, I came across this in Jacqueline Jones’ biography of Lucy Parsons (with whom Kropotkin was acquainted, meeting in London and Chicago):

“At the same time, Kropotkin disavowed the use of violence, which, he said, is “not characteristic of anarchists or the Anarchist party.” He told his listeners that true anarchists accepted “the principle that no man nor no society has the right to take another man’s life.”

That being said, Kropotkin observed the Bolshevik revolution with interest, though certainly through a critical lens, and returned from England to Russia in 1917, in June following the February Revolution. The Menshevik David Shub quotes Kropotkin’s comments as the October Revolution was unfolding:

“When, in Moscow that November, Kropotkin heard the first cannon volleys of the Bolshevik uprising, he exclaimed: "This is the burial of the Russian Revolution.””

Kropotkin eventually met Lenin, as Lenin was in fact quite fond of Kropotkin, even if they had their disagreements. Lenin’s personal secretary Vladimir Bonch-Bruyevich, first met with Kropotkin in 1918, and eventually arranged Kropotkin’s meeting with Lenin. Bonch-Bruyevich documented this in 1919, in a very fascinating piece of writing.

A total tangent, but Bonch-Bruyevich (though a Marxist, and eventually a Bolshevik) was also friends with the anarchist Tolstoy with whom he collaborated with in aiding the Doukhobor immigration to Canada. Tolstoy requested that Bonch-Bruyevich escort the Doukhobors to Canada. The Doukhobors were radical pacifist dissenters. I have a book at home called “Folk Furniture of Canada’s Doukhobors, Hutterites, Mennonites, and Ukrainians” by James Fleming and Michael Rowan, and it describes the Doukhobors in this way:

“The Doukhobors adopted the peasant commune system, or mir, that had existed for centuries… One of the persistent bases of the commune was the rejection of land ownership in the usual sense. Work alone gave rightful claim to temporary possession of land in theory at least land was to be redistributed from year to year. In the early years under this system there as no personal property, and each individual, each family, shared in the common wealth and goods of the community, and contributed to them… Koozma J. Tarasoff has described the Doukhobors as “Christian anarchists in search of a practical utopia.”

Bonch-Bruyevich (aka Bruevich), besides his politics, had a deep interest in folk religion, and spent time studying various ones of Russia. The Canadian folklorist Robert B. Klymasz wrote about Bonch-Bruyevich (aka Bruevich) in a paper called “V. D. Bonch-Bruevich and the Lenin Connection in New World Folkloristics”:

“A number of important ideological factors helped bridge the two sides of Bruevich: that is, Bruevich as revolutionary activist on the one hand, and Bruevich as avid folklorist on the other. Lenin in particular had noted how, in the past, religious heresies were the seeds of political revolutionary change, and how there appeared to be a universal connection between political protest Bruevich committed much of his energy to a long-term search for publishable materials that could underline aspects of social protest that simmered among the tensed-up masses of Imperialist Tsarist Russia before the Revolution. Bruevich's search inevitably led him to investigate the folkloric formulations of dissent as couched in the rich oral traditions of the Doukhobors, whose dicta were immune to the ruthless suppression of the printed word by the official censorship in tsarist Russia. By the turn of the century he foresaw the publication of a series of volumes full of materials concerning the history and study of Russian sectarianism and schism.”

Back to Doukhobor immigration to Canada, and the Tolstoy connection: Tolstoy had written to an economics professor at the University of Toronto called James Mavor (he was involved in a Scottish Socialist League, and while in Toronto, deeply involved in the founding of the ROM and AGO, and is the great-great-grandfather of Noah “40” Shebib, Drake’s producer). Tolstoy described them as Russia’s best farmers who would use land and seeds in the best way possible. One other supporter of Doukhobor immigration to Canada was Kropotkin himself, who also wrote to the Toronto economics professor Mavor, requesting they be granted “land in a block; they cannot live in isolated farms. They are Russians, for whom it is more indispensable than for Mennonites.” (The stuff you learn about in books about Canadian folk furniture.) George Woodcock has also written a book about the Doukhobors that I hope to read some day.

For more reading on the Bonch-Bruyevich angle, there is a record written by Vera Mikhailovna Velichkina (Bonch-Bruyevich’s spouse) about travelling with the Doukhobors to Canada. When the Doukhobors were interned at Grosse Isle, Quebec, in the St Lawrence River, Bonch-Bruyevich began writing down their hymns, psalms, prayers, and narratives, many of which are collected in the “Book of Life of Doukhobors: Materials Concerning History and Study of Russian Sectarianism and Schism”.

Alright, returning from the enormous tangential diversion, what I think is fascinating about The Conquest of Bread, is that it highlights the distinction (of emphasis) between the real politik communism of Marxism-Leninism and more libertarian tendencies of anarcho-communism. I will start with some fun examples (anarchists are always so good at these things, I can see that David Graeber really fits this tradition so well). These examples reflect a mode of ‘grace’, theologically speaking, where deed and reward are not so tightly coupled in any precisely quantifiable manner:

“When you go into a public library — not indeed the National Library of Paris, but, say, into the British Museum or the Berlin Library — the librarian does not ask what services you have rendered to society before giving you the book, or the fifty books which you require, and he comes to your assistance if you do not know how to manage the catalogue. By means of uniform credentials — and very often a contribution of work is preferred — the scientific society opens its museums, its gardens, its library, its laboratories, and its annual conversaziones to each of its members, whether he be a Darwin, or a simple amateur.”

“The tramways and railways have already introduced monthly and annual season tickets, without limiting the number of journeys taken; and two nations, Hungary and Russia, have introduced on their railways the zone system, which permits the holder to travel five hundred or a thousand miles for the same price. It is but a short step from that to a uniform charge, such as already prevails in the postal service. In all these innovations, and a thousand others, the tendency is not to measure the individual consumption. One man wants to travel a thousand miles, another five hundred. These are personal requirements. There is no sufficient reason why one should pay twice as much as the other because his need is twice as great. Such are the signs which appear even now in our individualist societies.”

What’s interesting is that I’ve witnessed over my lifetime the eradication of this type of transit fare. My first visit to Singapore, I witnessed with fascination the tapping in and out of subway stations and buses, which charged your accounts to precisely the stops you boarded and alighted from. Years later, Presto arrived in Toronto, and I have witnessed the TTC subway stations one by one, replacing their subway gates to eradicate the use of tokens. The fare is still a level one as of now, but there are plans to move it into the direction of GO Transit policy, where journeys are charged according to precise distances travelled. (Of course there are monthly passes, but if it is not universalized, just like health insurance in Amerika, it becomes unaffordably expensive.) Technology has a way of enabling this sort of erosion of commons and grace, into a calculating self-absorbed individualist mode of existence.

This ethos was what provoked Kropotkin to speak out against anarchists like Proudhon, who advocated for labour-cheques, effectively paid on the basis of labour-time rather than the market-determined value of one’s labour:

“It is the same with the wages system; for after having proclaimed the abolition of private property, and the possession in common of all means of production, how can they uphold the wages system in any form? It is, nevertheless, what collectivists are doing when they recommend labour-cheques. It is easy to understand why the early English socialists came to the system of labour-cheques. They simply tried to make Capital and Labour agree. They repudiated the idea of violently laying hands on capitalist property. It is also easily understood why Proudhon took up the idea later on. In his Mutualist system he tried to make Capital less offensive, notwithstanding the retaining of private property, which he detested from the bottom of his heart, but which he believed to be necessary to guarantee individuals against the State… how can we defend labour-notes, this new form of wagedom, when we admit that houses, fields, and factories will no longer be private property, and that they will belong to the commune or the nation?”

My greatest affinity for Kropotkin comes from his emphasis on human needs before the question of production, because when our most basic needs are not met is when we are most vulnerable to exploitation. He writes in The Conquest of Bread:

“It was poverty that created the first capitalist; because, before accumulating “surplus value,” of which we hear so much, men had to be sufficiently destitute to consent to sell their labour, so as not to die of hunger. It was poverty that made capitalists.”

“Let us limit ourselves at present to opening up the new path that consists in the study of the needs of man, and the means of satisfying them.”

“We study the needs of individuals, and the means by which they satisfy them, before discussing Production, Exchange, Taxation, Government, etc. To begin with, the difference may appear trifling, but in reality it upsets official Political Economy. If you open the works of any economist you will find that he begins with PRODUCTION, the analysis of means employed nowadays for the creation of wealth; division of labour, manufacture, machinery, accumulation of capital. From Adam Smith to Marx, all have proceeded along these lines. Only in the latter parts of their books do they treat of CONSUMPTION, that is to say, of the means necessary to satisfy the needs of individuals…”

Marx the materialist insists on starting with the material conditions and realities, that is the mode of production. The problem is theorists never can get to a consensus as to how production should be organized, who should look after what thing, how best to do so etc. The ultimate materialist base consists of basic human needs. Kropotkin’s claim is that, hey we already have the ability to produce enough for everyone’s basic needs. He spends pages and pages of calculations showing this. Kropotkin encourages us to settle the issue of what must be done to meet everyone’s basic needs, and only when we understand the basic needs can we adjust production to better suit those needs. This is ultimately the issue that is foregrounded in Kropotkin’s 1920 letter to Lenin, where he highlights the food distribution issues in the first few years of Soviet Russia.

I do believe the focus on Universal Basic Income is ultimately a good one. Everyone has the unconditional right an adequate supply of healthy food, clean water, hygienic shelter, and basic healthcare and drugs. Let us secure these things, and focus production around these things. Only when our basic needs are met, are we free enough to think clearly about the details of revolutionary theory and organization. Kropotkin writes:

“That we are Utopians is well known. So Utopian are we that we go the length of believing that the Revolution can and ought to assure shelter, food, and clothes to all — an idea extremely displeasing to middle-class citizens, whatever their party colour, for they are quite alive to the fact that it is not easy to keep the upper hand of a people whose hunger is satisfied.

All the same, we maintain our contention: bread must be found for the people of the Revolution, and the question of bread must take precedence of all other questions. If it is settled in the interests of the people, the Revolution will be on the right road; for in solving the question of Bread we must accept the principle of equality, which will force itself upon us to the exclusion of every other solution.”

Marx is famously known for wanting to abolish ‘wage labour’, but his means of getting there was in fact far more moderate than anarchist theorists like Kropotkin. Marx believed there was to be transitional phases required before we could reach a wageless economic system. Kropotkin in contrast writes:

“Unskilled labour in the eyes of the collectivist is simple labour, while the work of the craftsman, the mechanic, the engineer, the man of science, etc., is what Marx calls complex labour, and is entitled to a higher wage. But labourers and craftsmen, weavers and men of science, are all wage-servants of the State — “all officials,” as was said lately, to gild the pill.

The coming Revolution can render no greater service to humanity than to make the wage system, in all its forms, an impossibility, and to render Communism, which is the negation of wage-slavery, the only possible solution. For even admitting that the Collectivist modification of the present system is possible, if introduced gradually during a period of prosperity and peace — though for my part I question its practicability even under such conditions — it would become impossible in a period of Revolution, when the need of feeding hungry millions springs up with the first call to arms. A political revolution can be accomplished without shaking the foundations of industry, but a revolution where the people lay hands upon property will inevitably paralyse exchange and production. Millions of public money would not suffice for wages to the millions of out-of-works. This point cannot be too much insisted upon; the reorganization of industry on a new basis (and we shall presently show how tremendous this problem is) cannot be accomplished in a few days, nor, on the other hand, will the people submit to be half starved for years in order to oblige the theorists who uphold the wage system. To tide over the period of stress they will demand what they have always demanded in such cases — communization of supplies — the giving of rations. It will be in vain to preach patience. The people will be patient no longer, and if food is not put in common they will plunder the bakeries.”

Of course Marx recognized the problems of wages. His ideas in Capital centre around the problem of how a global market deeply shapes hierarchal relations of domination. As soon as we have a universal signifier of value like money, anything in the world has a relative value to any other thing in the world. There is theoretically an exchange rate between an object and any other object in the world. One shoe is worth x number of carrots. However, it is not merely objects that have been commodified, but our labour. Our labour is sold on the market, and therefore any single person’s hour of labour has an exchange rate with any other person’s hour of labour. There are ratios of value between people’s labour. A doctor’s labour is more valuable in the market than a janitor’s and custodian’s labour. Hence, markets inevitably create classes of people, some of whom are more valuable in the market than others. Hence some people are more disposable than others. One person’s hour of labour, and ultimately life, is more valuable than another person’s life.

Kropotkin writes:

“Most collectivists, true to the distinction laid down by middle-class economists (and by Marx) between qualified work and simple work, tell us, moreover, that qualified or professional work must be paid a certain quantity more than simple work. Thus an hour’s work of a doctor will have to be considered as equivalent to two or three hours’ work of a hospital nurse, or to three hours’ work of a navvy. “Professional, or qualified work, will be a multiple of simple work,” says the collectivist Grönlund, “because this kind of work needs a more or less long apprenticeship.”

Other collectivists, such as the French Marxists, do not make this distinction. They proclaim “Equality of Wages.” The doctor, the schoolmaster, and the professor will be paid (in labour-cheques) at the same rate as the navvy. Eight hours visiting the sick in a hospital will be worth the same as eight hours spent in earth-works or else in mines or factories.”

The solution that Kropotkin writes of here attempts to rectify the issue by equalizing everyone’s hour of labour to an equal value. As long as you work, an hour, you receive the same thing in return. The issue then becomes, what if you are unable to work as much as others, you have more children, you are sick more often, you have a disability, etc. Marx recognized this issue and made a comment, that would be capitalized upon by the authoritarian left for generations. In his “Critique of the Gotha Program” Marx writes:

“In spite of this advance, this equal right is still constantly stigmatized by a bourgeois limitation. The right of the producers is proportional to the labor they supply; the equality consists in the fact that measurement is made with an equal standard, labor.

But one man is superior to another physically, or mentally, and supplies more labor in the same time, or can labor for a longer time; and labor, to serve as a measure, must be defined by its duration or intensity, otherwise it ceases to be a standard of measurement. This equal right is an unequal right for unequal labor. It recognizes no class differences, because everyone is only a worker like everyone else; but it tacitly recognizes unequal individual endowment, and thus productive capacity, as a natural privilege. It is, therefore, a right of inequality, in its content, like every right. Right, by its very nature, can consist only in the application of an equal standard; but unequal individuals (and they would not be different individuals if they were not unequal) are measurable only by an equal standard insofar as they are brought under an equal point of view, are taken from one definite side only – for instance, in the present case, are regarded only as workers and nothing more is seen in them, everything else being ignored. Further, one worker is married, another is not; one has more children than another, and so on and so forth. Thus, with an equal performance of labor, and hence an equal in the social consumption fund, one will in fact receive more than another, one will be richer than another, and so on. To avoid all these defects, right, instead of being equal, would have to be unequal.

But these defects are inevitable in the first phase of communist society as it is when it has just emerged after prolonged birth pangs from capitalist society. Right can never be higher than the economic structure of society and its cultural development conditioned thereby.

In a higher phase of communist society, after the enslaving subordination of the individual to the division of labor, and therewith also the antithesis between mental and physical labor, has vanished; after labor has become not only a means of life but life's prime want; after the productive forces have also increased with the all-around development of the individual, and all the springs of co-operative wealth flow more abundantly – only then can the narrow horizon of bourgeois right be crossed in its entirety and society inscribe on its banners: From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs!”

While Lenin early on emphasized the need to better equalize wages, he would eventually come to the conclusion that is rendered in the deutero-Pauline epistle 2 Thessalonians (3:10),:

“The socialist principle, "He who does not work shall not eat", is already realized; the other socialist principle, "An equal amount of products for an equal amount of labor", is also already realized. But this is not yet communism, and it does not yet abolish "bourgeois law", which gives unequal individuals, in return for unequal (really unequal) amounts of labor, equal amounts of products.”

“Not directly relying on enthusiasm, but aided by the enthusiasm engendered by the great revolution, and on the basis of personal interest, personal incentives, and business principles, we must first set to work in this small-peasant country to build solid gangways to socialism by way of state capitalism .••• Personal incentive will step up production; we must increase production first and foremost and at all cost.”

By the time you reach Stalin, this ideology is made extremely explicit:

“What is the cause of the fluidity of manpower? The cause is the wrong structure of wages, the wrong wage scales, the "Leftist" practice of wage equalisation. In a number of factories wage scales are drawn up in such a way as to practically wipe out the difference between skilled and unskilled labour, between heavy and light work. The consequence of wage equalisation is that the unskilled worker lacks the incentive to become a skilled worker and is thus deprived of the prospect of advancement; …hence, the fluidity of manpower. In order to put an end to this evil we must abolish wage equalisation and discard the old wage scales. In order to put an end to this evil we must draw up wage scales that will take into account the difference between skilled and unskilled labour, between heavy and light work. …Marx and Lenin said that the difference between skilled and unskilled labour would exist even under socialism, even after classes had been abolished; that only under communism would this difference disappear and that, consequently, even under socialism "wages" must be paid according to work performed and not according to needs. But the equalitarians among our economic executives and trade-union officials do not agree with this and believe that under our Soviet system this difference has already disappeared. Who is right, Marx and Lenin or the equalitarians? It must be assumed that it is Marx and Lenin who are right. But it follows from this that whoever draws up wage scales on the "principle" of wage equalisation, without taking into account the difference between skilled and unskilled labour, breaks with Marxism, breaks with Leninism. And what does promoting them to higher positions and raising their wage level mean, what can it lead to as far as unskilled workers are concerned? It means, apart from everything else, opening up prospects for the unskilled worker and giving him an incentive to rise higher, to rise to the category of a skilled worker. You know yourselves that we now need hundreds of thousands and even millions of skilled workers. But in order to build up cadres of skilled workers, we must provide an incentive for the unskilled workers, provide for them a prospect of advancement, of rising to a higher position.”

By 1972, this quid pro quo ideology is expressed as such (by V.S. Kulikov):

“Under socialism, greater rewards are given to those workers who create more value, whose contribution to the fulfillment of plans and the development of production is larger. This is achieved by paying higher wages to skilled workers, to those requiring longer training. Work undertaken in dangerous or harmful conditions is also better paid. If this were not so, there would be no incentive to acquire eduction, to raise skills, to undertake more complex and responsible work.”

I mean this is the sort of stuff you hear rich capitalist reactionary assholes and ‘white collar professionals’ in America saying to minimum wage workers. This is trajectory from which it is best to read this last quote from Kropotkin that I want to conclude with:

“They will speak of “Scientific Socialism”; they will quote bourgeois economists, and Marx too, to prove that a scale of wages has its raison d’être, as “the labour-force” of the engineer will have cost more to society than the “labour-force” of the navvy. In fact, — have not economists tried to prove to us that if an engineer is paid twenty times more than a navvy it is because the “necessary” outlay to make an engineer is greater than that necessary to make a navvy? And has not Marx asserted that the same distinction is equally logical between two branches of manual labour? He could not conclude otherwise, having on his own account taken up Ricardo’s theory of value, and upheld that goods are exchanged in proportion to the quantity of work socially necessary for their production.

But we know what to think of this. We know that if engineers, scientists, or doctors are paid ten or a hundred times more than a labourer, and that a weaver earns three times more than an agricultural labourer, and ten times more than a girl in a match factory, it is not by reason of their “cost of production,” but by reason of a monopoly of education, or a monopoly of industry. Engineers, scientists, and doctors merely exploit their capital — their diplomas — as middle-class employers exploit a factory, or as nobles used to exploit their titles of nobility.”

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