#father john maloney

[lewis-winters]

eucharistia (this is how meat loves meat)

In Rachamps, just before Easy is sent to Haguenau, Eugene Roe brings Babe Heffron to Father John Maloney for his first confession in seven years.

Jesus said to them: "Amen, amen, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you do not have life within you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him." John 6:53-59, NABRE

read it on ao3

tw: Magical Realism, Horror, Religion as Justification for Unhinged Behavior, Catholicism, Catholic Imagery, Bastogne, Canon Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Blood & Gore, Depictions of a Corpse, Cannibalism

---

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,” says the boy with hair like copper and a face white as a sheet, kneeling before me. He breathes deep, breathes slow, then looks to his companion who guards the door of this little hide-away. A boy of even paler complexion, who nods in encouragement. A small, minute movement that somehow takes from him a great toll. His dark head bows with the weight of it.

Disturbed by this image, the boy quickly continues: “I haven’t confessed since I was fifteen. I’m twenty-two now. It’s been seven years.”

“That’s alright.” Silence. Nervous, jittery silence. “Go on.”

More silence. Long and dark and cold and damp, the cavernousness of this large and leaky house of God echoing each drip and drop of water across empty space. Empty. Like nobody’s home.

“I’ve done so many things,” the boy says, tipping his face into his hands in despair. “So many, Father.”

“Don’t name them all. We’ll be here all night.” An attempt at good humor. “Just the ones that have brought you before me.”

“Oh, Father,” says the boy, in a whisper that sounds like a wail. “Father. I kept my promise.”

“That doesn’t sound like a sin.”

No, says a voice from the depths of the boy’s eyes. A wailing, lamenting voice, a darkness that threatens to crawl forth from the open wound of his face, and reach out to me with cold, blood-damp hands. No, Father, you don’t understand.

“Make me,” I say, taking his face in my hands and holding it steady. “Babe, tell me what you did.”

His watcher has closed the door on us now. All of us. He stands before it, weight against the wood, hands behind his back. His head is still bowed, upper body almost perpendicular to the stone floor, but his eyes meet mine. Deep blue so dark it’s almost black, staring out from behind a dark brow. Piercing. Waiting. “Go on, Heffron,” he says, voice a deep, unwavering thing. The voice of an Angel. “Don’t be afraid.”

“Don’t be afraid,” I echo. But not for him.

Sprawled against the walls, our shadows continue to flicker.

Babe tries again. “Forgive me, Father. For I have sinned. It’s been seven years since my last confession. My sins—”

Are many. Too many.

“But this one—”

The night he’d gone back for him was clear and bright, the clouds of Bastogne disappearing, momentarily, laying the already barren world of snow white and cold even more bare, absent of the broken shadows of looming trees and the shape of men beyond the mist. Even the looming cold that had settled into their bones seems to have alleviated, somewhat. Still there, but suspended, momentarily, as the fog lifted and Bastogne became just another forest.

But the dread remained. So deep in the marrow of them all that it pulled him out of dreamless sleep; roused suddenly in his shallow grave-bed and forced into the nightmare of this tangible unreality, an endless waking, by the familiar urge to rungotta go get him sir rundangerrun take him with us runrunrunRUN—

And a voice, beyond the light of the moon.

“I felt it, Father. Like… Like I was on one end of the rope, and he was on the other. Pulling me toward him. He showed me where to go, Father, you gotta believe me. I was being led—”

Like a lamb to the slaughter.

No.

Like a pilgrim to his god.

Through snow drifts and trees, down familiar paths made unfamiliar through the sudden clarity of pale moonlight. He found the broken body soon enough. Just where they had left it, earlier that day, but this time devoid of all material things.

The Germans had stripped him, just as he had feared. Taken with them trophies of olive-green pelt, rifle antlers, and silver dog tag bones. What lay in their wake was the naked body of a slaughtered child, lying in the snow, a crater of bone and flesh where his neck should be. Blue eyes upturned to Babe’s face.

Hand outstretched.

Beckoning.

“I touched him, Father. I touched him. And he was warm.”

Not breathing. Warm. Soft. Pliant. Despite hours laying in the snow.

He couldn’t explain it.

But then again, what pilgrim questions a miracle?

“I… I tried to pick him up. I tried.”

Yes. Yes, he had tried. I could see him try. Struggling and panting and finding himself crying, the grief and the desperation manifesting themselves in frustrated tears. They freeze on his cheeks, a record of his suffering. Julian, buddy, c’mon. I gotta get you up. Please. I can’t, I can’t—

But the god is in an immovable shrine. Trapped within and rooted into the snow on the ground.

“All I could lift was his head, Father Maloney. And I held him in my lap, like I used to back when the world made sense.”

Yes. Yes, I could see them there, too. Two boys in basic training, surrounded by pleasant summer heat. Golden light. One with his head in the lap of the other.

Dark hair against pale thighs.

Blue eyes meeting blue.

A smile meeting another smile in a thrilling brush of skin.

God was with them, then.

And it is with the turning of my stomach that I realize, God was with them, here, too.

“What… did you do, Babe?” I ask. I already know the answer. But I must ask.

And the boy looks up at me, open wound for a face, and says with two voices; “I couldn’t leave him there, Father Maloney.”

No. He couldn’t.

He’d brought those unsmiling lips to his mouth, and he’d kissed them one last time. As any pilgrim should.

And then he’d dug his fingers into bone and flesh, and freed his god from his earthly prison.

“I couldn’t—I promised. I said I would. And he told me that I should. He was so warm, Father. And it was so cold. And I was hungry, and Julian always—from the beginning he’d always—when I closed my eyes, I was back there, with him, and he was—”

“Oh, Babe,” I say, opening my arms. Allowing him to fall into them. “Oh, Babe.”

I have long ago accepted that to seek joy in the form of relief of any kind is not a sin. Or at least, should not be. Jesus Christ, Son of God and Man, who enjoyed the taste of wine and bread and the company of prostitutes and degenerates would not consider it a sin. It’s no exception here, where it is common for men to share many things in basic training and in trenches and in Foxholes. Food. Water. Coffee. Things to keep warm. Things to make you feel just a little bit more human. Things to sustain you.

And there are so few things to sustain you, in the frozen hell of Bastogne. In this stomach disguised as a dark forest, a belly to get lost in.

I look toward the door, where the guardian boy stands, still bowed forward (even more so, it seems) and bent at the knees, unable to meet my eyes. Atlas holding up the sky and full of regret. Frozen in commencement of penance, the weight of the world bearing down upon his shoulders.

“There is more to this,” I realize. He does not startle at the sound of my voice, eerily still. “What is it that you aren’t telling me, Eugene?”

In my arms, Babe is quiet. Hitching breaths quick and warm against my throat. Mouth against my rapid beating pulse. Teeth—

“I saw it, Father,” says Eugene, voice ringing clear and deep despite its whispered quality. “I saw them.”

He’d felt Babe stumble out of their foxhole—Spina fast asleep and oblivious to the sudden preternatural quiet and stillness of the world—and followed behind him at a distance, mindful of their vulnerable position but not enough to stop.

“Then there was a moment where I—I couldn’t see ‘im. It got all dark all o’ a sudden, like the moon blinked outta sight. Just for a minute. A kinda dark you can feel.”

Crawling up your skin, looming over you, making all the hairs of your body stand up in response. Like two, large and heavy hands clasping around you. Holding you caged between its palms. An unfortunate butterfly, caught unawares.

Wait, it seemed to say. This is not for you.

“When the dark left and the moon came back, I couldn’t see ‘im.”

But he could hear it.

The wet, moist sound of hands tearing into flesh.

The guttural snarls of an animal tearing into its latest meal.

The crunch of cartilage.

The weeping. The moaning in despair.

In relief.

“I followed it. And I. I saw.”

He pauses. Then looks up at me with pleading eyes, asking for words. Asking for understanding. He does not know, I realize, what to call it. What greeted him in the snow on that fateful night was not any creature he has ever seen or heard of before.

Part-human, part-animal, part-divine. A wretched, blessed chimera. On its hands and knees, hunched over its carrion and feasting, with great relish, upon its steaming insides. The rapidly cooling warmth of fresh death, curling up, up, and away into the frigid, Bastogne night.

“I saw, Father,” Eugene says again. “And I…”

He did nothing.

No, that’s not true.

“I waited. For it to be over.”

And it was soon over.

The chimera could only eat so much, and what he has come to set free has left the altar as soon as the steam had lifted, and once again, the fog had returned, between one blink to the next. A twin to the darkness felt earlier, heavy hands once again clasped about him, but this time, enveloping all of them—voyeur, scavenger, and carrion—all at once.

Eugene took a step forward, afraid to lose sight of him again, and the chimera, startled, lifted its head toward the crunch of snow.

“And that’s when you led him away?” I ask.

Eugene nods. He’d done it when they’d entered here, too. Appearing to me like a grotesque Angel of God in my doorway, two bodies pressed so close together, leaning upon each other for strength, that they became one entity with two heads and eight appendages, illuminated by a column of warm, orange light cutting into the gloom of my assigned billet.

Do not be afraid, one voice had said to its companion, achingly kind. An echo from that night, I imagine, when he’d taken Babe’s hand and brought him back from the brink. Took him away and deposited him into his empty foxhole, melting snow to wipe away the memory of what he had done from his face. Fed him more chocolate, offered him a cup of coffee, to wash the taste from his mouth. Father Maloney, Heffron is here to confess.

“You were right to come to me,” I say to them, easing Babe out of my arms to once again, sit by my feet as I reach out to Eugene, offering my hand. He takes it without much hesitance, lurching forward as if afraid I might recoil from his touch. Gently, I allow him to sink to his knees, and together, both of them look up to me as I stand and dig through my bag for the needed elements. “What a heavy burden you both have shared. What a weight—” I produce what I need, and I turn to them with a smile I hope is kind and reassuring. “It’s alright, now. You may put it down.”

“Father,” says Babe, eyeing the ciborium and chalice in my hands. “Father, what—”

“Let me give you a place to rest,” I tell him, getting on my knees with them, perching the precious relics upon my billet bed so that they may not touch the floor. Crossing myself, I open them, ignoring how both boys scuttle away from me, like rats, who have spent all their lives in the dark, upon the sudden, violent arrival of light. It breaks my heart, how fearful they look upon me, and it strengthens my resolve, once again. Carefully, as I may be during weekly service, I pray over and take into my hands the bread and wine; mere pemmican biscuits from previous rations, and wine I had been given from bombed out churches, mixed with a little water. But in their golden receptacles, they glow with an otherworldly power. True pieces of the Heavenly Host.

I take two of the Flesh into my unworthy hands.

“John Julian was a martyr,” I say, presenting the host to them both and watching as they, cautiously, move toward me, still on their knees, but with their faces tipped toward the light. “A man who had been living, but who’d given his life for the love of you, Babe. His death was swift and quick, there was little pain and little else we could do to keep him with us. It’s those he’s left behind that he ached to comfort—such pain it must have been, for him, to know that you mourned him so deeply.

“And so, he’d asked God and His Angels to hold Death’s hand for far longer, and he called out to you. He was yet Living when you came upon him—how else could he have enticed him to come? How else would he have stayed that warm, that fresh, in order for his body to provide the nourishment that you needed? Therefore, do not be ashamed, Babe. To cannibalize is to feed upon the dead. John Julian was not dead, not while his soul sang to you its precious entreaty.”

Now, he rests, cradled in the soft, warm alcove of Babe’s body.

“He gave his life to you, that you may yet live. Just like our Lord Jesus Christ gave the first Eucharist to His disciples, the night He was to be arrested and taken away from them. He fed them His Living Flesh, so that they may find strength for the coming days. Sustain themselves upon Him.”

Babe comes closer, the tip of his nose lightly brushing the Flesh held in my fingers.

“John Julian was a martyr who has found his final resting place within you,” I press the Sacrament to his mouth, watching it open in anticipation. A gaping maw not unlike a bleeding wound. “Let these Holy Flesh intermingle within you. Let John Julian meet God in your stomach. Turn him into a Saint.”

Babe closes his eyes and his lips close over the Holy communion, his tongue lapping at my fingers.

I let him eat from my unworthy hand.

I watch him swallow. “Your turn, Eugene.”

Eugene looks at me, unblinking. Unfazed. He does not eat from my hand, but instead cups his own to receive it. I place it between his palms and watch him bow his head over it and take it between his teeth. The hard bread makes a loud crunching sound as he crushes it with his molars. He closes his eyes to the symphony of it, and his shoulders fall for the first time since I’ve known him.

“What a weight you have been forced to carry,” I coo, reaching out to cup his face in one of my hands, the other doing the same to Babe. Both boys tip their heads into my hold, and I find myself weeping at how starved they seem to be, for a simple touch that is gentle. Babe, seeing my tears, starts to sniffle with some of his own. “Come, drink the Blood. Let it wash away the taste.”

I tip the wine, carefully, into their open mouths. They drink every last drop.

“There,” I say once they are finished, drawing Babe, who has begun to weep in earnest, to my breast. Against the hollow of my throat, he hiccups, the grief and the relief pouring out of him now that he knows he is allowed. “Oh, Babe.”

“I left him there, Father,” he sobs. “I left him—”

“You did not,” I soothe. “No, Babe, you did not. You came back for him, and now he rests in you—lives in you. This way, he will see home, again. You can bring him home, my boy. He is a part of you now. So long as you are alive, Julian is, also.”

It takes a while, but Babe soon quiets, and hiccupping, sobbing breaths turn even and steady, a sign that he has fallen asleep against me. Peaceful and dreamless, I hope.

Eugene helps me tuck him into my bed, moving the Holy vessels aside to make room for him.

“Thank you, Father,” he says to me, as I replace the sacred items in my pack. I smile at him and he smiles at me from his position on the floor, kneeling by Babe’s head, his hand held tight in the other boy’s grasp, even in deep sleep. “Thank you.”

“Judas ate of the Eucharist.”

This time, Eugene does blink, startled. “… Father?”

“Our Lord Jesus had Judas eat of His Flesh before He revealed him to be the traitor,” I repeat, once again sitting on the floor so that he and I can talk to each other at level. Not once does he tear his eyes away from mine. Brave boy. “He made sure Judas ate so that even when he was apart from Him, betraying Him to the Romans, orchestrating His death, He was always with Judas. Inside him. He loved him very well—perhaps too well. Enough to smother him.” I reach over to tap their clasped hands, gently, with a finger. “There is no position more intimate.”

Eugene’s ears color pink, as if still cold, and I resist the urge to cup my hands around them, so that they may be warm. They’re warm plenty already, I know, and that, at least, makes me smile.

“You are a tenacious one, Eugene Roe,” I tell him, getting up with a groan. He watches me, curious, confused, and I smile at him, amused.

Nobody leaves Bastogne unchanged—undigested, staggering out of that beast’s belly masquerading for a forest. But when one is stubborn, when he is cunning and astute, sure in his footing and determined in his mission, a body trapped could be sustained for long enough that escape is made possible.

“There are many ways a person could be sustained,” I say, running my fingers through his blue-black hair. And, like a cat, he pushes his head into the meat of my palm, affectionate. “You found him, fed him, and you watered him. You made sure to wash it all away, the taste. But shame is a powerful thing, and it almost took him. That would not do.”

Eugene stares up at me. Unflinching.

“And so, you brought him here, to me.”

Because he knew I would nourish him and he would nourish me, gorge ourselves on this story we spin together until hope and faith solidify into truth. He has bargained with Death well; has done so enough times to know how to win. John Julian may have been lost to the violence of Bastogne, but Babe Heffron remains, and Eugene Roe would rather see his own soul rot before he loses him, too.

“The Ignatian way of life dictates that we must strive to see God in all things,” I say, smiling down at him. “Today, you have shown me a Face of God I have not seen before. It brings me comfort, in this world steeped in decay. Thank you.”

Eugene smiles back, a tiny little thing that rapidly disappears when he finally takes his eyes away from me and turns them to Babe, silently contemplating his pale face, deep in sleep.

They’re good boys. I leave them both to each other as I venture back into the bowels of God’s House to search for a quiet place to pray.

---

tagging those who have either helped conceptualize this or who have expressed interest along the way: @bringmefoxgloves @hellofanidea @liebgottsjumpwings @pastexistence

This was supposed to go up on Halloween. But I was on a family trip so I fell behind on editing and putting the final touches in. It's here now, though, and I'm so so proud of it-- something which I could almost never claim about things I've written. I'm very happy it's done, and I hope people enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

Finally, I can rest.

[wiltedprayers]

one of my favorite background characters from band of brothers: Father John Maloney.

* if anyone has any info on the real life Father Maloney please share!

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

On January 2, Toye was hit by a piece of shrapnel from a bomb during a German air raid. His platoon sergeant then sent Toye to the aid station in Bastogne for medical treatment. Later that same day, I looked across the field to our left flank, and there was Joe Toye walking up the road and across the field, his arm in a sling, heading back to the front line. I walked out to meet him and asked, “Where are you going? You don’t have to go back to the line. Take a few days off.” Not Joe Toye. He informed me that he had met another lieutenant at the aid station who was suspected of shooting himself in the hand to escape frontline duty. Joe would have none of that. He was a squad leader and his place was on the line. War had become old to Sergeant Joe Toye, and he was good at it. The lives of his squad depended on his ability to master his craft. In a sense, Toye and his platoon sergeant Bill Guarnere had become what Ernie Pyle termed “senior partners in the institution of killing” and caring for their men. Rather than remain in the rear, Toye hitched a ride with Father John Maloney and returned to the front. Toye told me, “I want to go back with the fellows.” I knew he should not be on the line, but I so admired his devotion to his squad that I stepped aside. Sergeant Joe Toye was an American hero of the first order.

~ Dick Winters

[whenmondaycomes]

Full Name: Dallas Ruth Young

Aliases: Dally

Darlin' (by Kayce)

Babe (by Kayce)

Sweets (by Kayce)

Date Of Birth: March 15, 1996

Gender: Female

Species: Human

Affiliations: The Yellowstone Dutton Ranch

Sexual Orientation: Straight

Partner: Roland Maloney (Ex Boyfriend)

Kayce Dutton (Soulmate/Boyfriend)

Occupation: Local & Bar Singer

Family: Vaughn Young (Father)

Shonda Young (Mother)

Memphis Young - Dillard (Younger Sister)

Dorian Dillard (Brother In Law/Memphis' Husband)

Remington Dillard (Nephew)

Chance Dillard (Nephew)

John Dutton (Father In Law)

Evelyn Dutton (Mother In Law) (Deceased)

Lee Dutton (Brother In Law) (Deceased)

Beth Dutton (Sister In Law)

Jamie Dutton (Brother In Law) (Adopted)

Tate Dutton (Stepson)

Friends: Kayce Dutton (Best Friend/Love of Life)

John Dutton (Father In Law)

Beth Dutton (Sister In Law)

Rip Wheeler (Beth's Husband)

All Wranglers

Tate Dutton (Best Friend/Stepson)

Memphis Young - Dillard (Best Friend/Sister)

Remington Dillard (Best Friend/Nephew)

Chance Dillard (Best Friend/Nephew)

Jamie Dutton (Frenemies/Brother In Law)

Monica Long (Frenemies/Kayce's Ex Wife and Tate's Mother)

Enemies: Anyone Who Threatens The Ranch Or The Family

Citizenship: America

Status: Alive

[lindyloosims]

Fallen Angels (L-R): Rory Hayes, Damon Maloney, James Maloney

Rory is the youngest son of Sweet Cacophony’s keyboard player, Roxanne Harmon. He’s followed in his famous mother’s footsteps and has taken up keyboard for Fallen Angels. Rory is a bit of a loner after having his heart broken at university, he tried to date other girls but couldn’t get that one in particular off his mind. Sasha keeps calling, after telling him he was just a one night stand, and he wants to answer her but he’s scared to get his heart broken by her again. Maybe one day he’ll have the courage to either give it a go or tell her where to go.

Damon is the youngest son of Sweet Cacophony’s lead singer Dexter Maloney. Like John Lennon’s son Julian, Damon was blessed with his father’s voice and his talent for playing multiple instruments. Damon can also write songs like his dad, his older brother Luke may look more like their dad, but Damon got all the talent. Luke was content to be roadie to Sweet Cacophony when he turned sixteen, then he roadied for his brother’s band primarily to keep an eye on Damon. Damey was a wild child as a teen, but as an adult he has turned his life around and even found a girl to settle down with.

James is the eldest son of Sweet Cacophony’s drummer Ashton Maloney. He formed the band with his cousin Damon and their friend Rory because he was bored, but when Mandy Mitchell caught his eye, the band didn’t seem all that important anymore. Having fought Damon to win Mandy over, winning was bittersweet. He and Damon didn’t speak for a while which was tough on the band. Now they’re grown up and Damon has a girl of his own, James can juggle Mandy and the band quite happily. He plays the drums like old dad, all three boys decided to emulate their famous parents and it has paid off so far.

Roxy, Dex and Ash offered to help them get their feet off the ground but they asked to try and do it alone, which they’ve managed to do. Fallen Angels seems to be a success so far, and hey it does help to have the surnames of the most famous rock stars on the planet.

[ulkaralakbarova]

Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, finds out that his uncle Claudius killed his father to obtain the throne, and plans revenge. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Hamlet: Mel Gibson Gertrude: Glenn Close Claudius: Alan Bates The Ghost: Paul Scofield Polonius: Ian Holm Ophelia: Helena Bonham Carter Horatio: Stephen Dillane Laertes: Nathaniel Parker Guildenstern: Sean Murray Rosencrantz: Michael Maloney The Gravedigger: Trevor Peacock Osric: John McEnery Bernardo: Richard Warwick Marcellus: Christien Anholt Francisco: Dave Duffy Reynaldo: Vernon Dobtcheff Player King: Pete Postlethwaite Player Queen: Christopher Fairbank The Players: Sarah Phillips The Players: Ned Mendez The Players: Roy York The Players: Marjorie Bell The Players: Justin Case The Players: Roger Low The Players: Pamela Sinclair The Players: Baby Simon Sinclair The Players: Roy Evans Guard (uncredited): Lance Edwards Palace Nobleman (uncredited): Barrie Holland Film Crew: Screenplay: Franco Zeffirelli Executive Producer: Bruce Davey Original Music Composer: Ennio Morricone Screenplay: Christopher De Vore Producer: Dyson Lovell Director of Photography: David Watkin Editor: Richard Marden Set Decoration: Francesca Lo Schiavo Author: William Shakespeare Casting: Joyce Nettles Production Design: Dante Ferretti Art Direction: Franco Ceraolo Supervising Art Director: Michael Lamont Art Direction: Jim Morahan Art Direction: Antonio Tarolla Art Direction: Alan Tomkins Costume Design: Maurizio Millenotti Movie Reviews:

[lyselkatzfandomluvs]

Band of Brothers screencaps/edits (465/?)

Father John Maloney

February 26 1988: Last jump

[lavenderhunni]

Healing Wounds and Scrubbed Missions

“Almighty God, we kneel to Thee and ask to be the instrument of Thy fury in smiting the evil forces that have visited death, misery, and debasement on the people of earth . . . Be with us, God, when we leap from our planes into the dark abyss and descend in parachutes into the midst of enemy fire. Give us iron will and stark courage as we spring from the harness of our parachutes to seize arms for battle. The legions of evil are many, Father; grace our arms to meet and defeat them in Thy name and in the name of freedom and dignity of man . . . Let our enemies who have lived by the sword turn from their violence lest they perish by the sword. Help us to serve Thee gallantly and to be humble in victory.”

-Captain (Chaplain) John. S. Maloney, from Band of Brothers by Stephen E. Ambrose

Ch. 7. Pg. 118-119

[frequentlykit]

Supernatural actors who were on Criminal Minds *incomplete*

George Darrow DJ Qualls -  SPN: Garth CM: Richard Slessman (season 1 episode 1)

Timothy Omundson - SPN: Cain CM: Phillip Dowd (season 1 episode 6)

Dameon Clarke - SPN: Jack Montgomery (Rugaru) CM: Christopher Crawford (season 1 episode 7)

Jeff Kober - SPN: Randall CM: Leo (season 1 episode 9)

Mark Rolston - SPN: Alastair CM: Sheriff Hall (season 1 episode 11)

Michael Massee - SPN: Kubrick (Bad Day at Black Rock) CM: Jacob Dawes (season 1 episode 14)

Michael B. Silver - SPN: Martin Flagg (Movie Writer “Hollywood Babylon“) CM: Sam Shapiro (season 1 episode 14)

Roger Aaron Brown - SPN: Joshua (Angel) CM: Warden Charles Diehl  (season 1 episode 14)

Robert Curtis Brown - SPN: Father Gil (”Sin City”) CM: Peter Greisen (season 1 episode 16)

Eric Johnson - SPN: Brady (Sam’s college friend/demon) CM: Sean Hotchner (season 1 episode 16)

Jack Conley - SPN: Sheriff Al Britton (”Yellow Fever”) CM: Agent John Summers (season 1 episode 21)

Mary Page Keller SPN: Joyce Bicklebee (Leviathan Real Estate Agent) CM: Katie Cole (season 2 episode 2)

Nicki Aycox - SPN: Meg Masters (season 1) CM: Amber Canardo (season 2 episode 3)

Kayla Mae Maloney -  SPN: Leah Gideon (season 5 The Whore) CM: Polly Homefeldt (season 2 episode 7)

Andrew Rothenberg - SPN: Lukcy (Skinwalker “All Dogs Go to Heaven”) CM: Motel Manager (season 2 episode 7)

Samantha Smith - SPN: Mary Winchetsers CM: Helen Douglas (season 2 episode 14)

Jim Parrack - SPN: Agent Nick Munroe (Siren) CM: Paul Mulford (season 2 episode 21)

Steven Williams - SPN: Rufus Turner CM: Captain Al Wright (season 2 episode 22)

Alexander Gould - SPN: Cole Griffith (”Death Takes a Holiday“) CM: Jeremy (season 3 episode 5)

Jim Beaver - SPN: Bobby Singer CM: Sheriff Williams (season 3 episode 7)

John Lafayette - SPN: George Darrow (Crossroad Blues) CM: Dr. Lorenz (season 3 episode 8)

James Otis - SPN: Famine (My Bloody Valentine) CM: Dr. Nash (season 3 episode 8)

Fredric Lehne - SPN: Yellow Eyes/Azazel CM: Jack Vaughan (season 3 episode 12)

Scott Michael Campbell - SPN: Tim Janklow (hunter season 5) CM: Peter Redding (season 3 episode 15)

Dee Wallace - SPN: Mildred Baker (Banshee Episode) CM: Dr. Jan Mohikian (season 4 episode 7)

Courtney Ford - SPN: Kelly Kline (Jack’s mother) CM: Austin (season 4 episode 9)

Mark Pellegrino - SPN: Lucifer/Nick CM: Lieutenant Evans (season 4 episode 10)

Mitch Pileggi - SPN: Samuel Campbell CM: Norman Hill (season 4 episode 11)

Sierra McCormick - SPN: Lilith (Blonde Little Girl) CM: Lynn Robillard (season 4 episode 13)

Mercedes McNab - SPN: Lucy (Vampire "Fresh Blood") CM: Brooke Lombardini (season 4 episode 14)

Spencer Garrett - SPN: Edward Carrigan (God ”A Very Supernatural Christmas” CM: (season 4 episode 21)

Christopher Cousins - SPN: Dr. Garrison ("Bedtime Stories") CM: Tom Barton (season 5 episode 1)

Travis Aaron Wade - SPN: Cole Trenton CM: J. Turner (season 5 episode 4)

Gattlin Griffith - SPN: Jesse Turner (Cambion)   CM: Robert Brooks (season 6 episode 9)

Adrianne Palicki - SPN: Jessica Moore CM: Sydney Manning (season 6 episode 13)

Rachel Miner - SPN: Meg Masters (Last vessel) CM: Jane Gould (season 6 episode 15)

Sebastian Roché - SPN: Balthazar CM: Clyde Easter (seasons 6 & 7)

Chad Lindberg - SPN: Ash CM: Tony (season 6 episode 19)

Tricia Helfer - SPN: Molly McNamara (”Roadkill”) CM: Izzy Rogers (season 7)

Robert Englund - SPN: Dr. Robert (season 6 episode 11) CM: Detective Gassner (season 7 episode 19)

Jamie Luner - SPN: Annie Hawkins (hunter season 7) CM: Madison Riley (season 8 episode 13)

Jack Plotnick - SPN: Ian ("It's A Terrible Life") CM: Tanner Johnson (season 9 episode 7)

Jon Gries - SPN: Martin Creaser (crazy hunter) CM: Clifford Walsh (season 9 episode 13)

Tahmoh Penikett - SPN: Gadreel CM: Michael Hastings (season 9 episode 14)

Ashton Holmes - SPN: Ephraim (Rit Zien Angel) CM: Finn Bailey (season 9 episode 17)

Matt Cohen - SPN: Young John Winchester/Michael CM: John Franklin (season 10 episode 6)

Lex Medlin - SPN: Cupid ("My Bloody Valentine") CM: Allen Archer (season 10 episode 14)

Sterling K. Brown - SPN: Gordon Walker CM: Fitz (season 10 episode 19)

[inky-duchess]

21 History Ancedotes for my 21st Birthday

So today I celebrate my 21st birthday and I have decided to gift you all with 21 of my favourite historical Ancedotes. Some are funny, some are sad and some are plain bizarre but I hope the make your day 💜

Mary Maloney, an Irish-born suffragette in England followed Winston Churchill around while he was campaigning for a seat in Parliament, drowning out everything he said with a very large bell and calls for him to apologise for his comments on women's rights and suffrage movements.

Clodius Pulcher was a well born Roman noble during the last day's of the Republic. He gave up his Patrician status to become Tribune of the Plebs (an office in which one had to be a Pleb) by being adopted by a much younger Plebian man who became his "father". Clodius was a bit of a riot, sneaking into religious festivals dressed like a woman to sleep with Caesar's wife, building a shrine to Liberty in the ruins of the Conservative Cicero, vetoed the last speech of one of the Consuls (who basically did nothing all year and was apparently going to roast Caesar) and burned down the Senate House with his funeral pyre (the Plebs who loved him literally tearing up the furniture to build his pyre). He was honestly the best fun.

When laying on her deathbed, Queen Caroline of Ansbach turned to her husband George II of England and told him he should marry again. George refused to ever wed again... But added he would have mistresses. Caroline said , likely with a roll of her eyes, "oh my god that doesn't matter."

Florence was a pretty cool city in the Renaissance until Savanorola came to town. He disliked the loose living artists that crowded the city, with their naked pagan gods and rampant homosexuality. He expelled them all with help of the French hoping to make Florence Holy Again. When the Borgia Pope excommunicated him and sentenced him to death, one man in the crowd was reported to have said. "thank God, niw we can return to sodomy." One Floretine man in the 1490s said Gay Rights.

So this list couldn't be complete without an entry of the only American politician I love, Alexander Hamilton who was just a walking entity of sass. I could go on about his sharp sarcasm or his disaster bi vibes with John Lauren's but my all time favourite Alexander Hamilton ancedote has to be this exchange with Thomas Jefferson "There are approximately 1010300 words in the English language, but I could never string enough words together to properly explain how much I want to hit you with a chair."

Caterina Sforza was an Italian noble woman during the Renaissance. She was apart of the powerful Sforza family, which drew many enemies to her. One fateful day at Forli, Caterina's children were snatched as hostages. The besiegers threatened to kill her children if she did not cede the castle. Caterina refused, lifting her skirts and shouted to the besiegers that she had the means to make more children.

Hannibal Lecter's creator Thomas Harris was happy to end his great character's story with the original trilogy. However his publishers forced him to write an unneeded prequel explaining why Hannibal became Hannibal. Thomas Harris agreed lest he lose the rights to his character so he wrote Hannibal Rising, where Hannibal as a young man hunts down the Nazis who ate his sister with a katana.

Nell Gwyn is my favourite mistress of Charles II, mainly because of her sass. Once while trapped in the middle of a riot where Londoners swamped her carriage thinking she was Charles's Catholic mistress. She popped her head out the carriage and told the people "Pray good people be civil. I am the Protestant whore." She also dosed her rival Moll Davis with laxatives in order to free up some of Charles's time and she once flashed her underwear at the French ambassador after asking him why the Franch King did not pay her to spy on Charles because she was with him every night. A true Queen.

Emperor Ai of the Han Dynasty of China once rose from his bed to go do some ruling when he realised his lover, Dong Xian was sleeping on his sleeve. Rather than disturb his lover, the Emperor cut his sleeve off at the wrist to leave Dong Xian nap. Nothing has ever been more romantic than that. Y'all could never.

Princess Margaret the sister of current Queen Elizabeth II was a socialable Princess and often tasked to visit the up and coming music stars of the day on behalf of the Crown. When meeting the Beatles one evening, she noticed George Harrison was acting a little odd. When she asked what was the matter, he replied "We arent allowed eat until you go." Princess Margaret laughed and promptly left so the Beatles could get some dinner.

During the Siege of Jadotsville, Irish soldiers under the flag of the UN were attacked and besieged by local insurgents allied with the Katanga Regime. The insurgents numbered thousands while the Irish only had 158 soldiers, all who were lightly armed. They radioed to their allies assuring them that "we will hold out until our last bullet is spent. Could use some whiskey though".

Napoleon was famous for writing raunchy letters to his wife, the Empress Josephine while he was away. She used to reply with really mundane letters or not at all. She really just could not be bothered with him.

Josip Broz Tito was so fed up with Joseph Stalin sending assassins to kill him, he wrote to Stalin personally to say "If you don't stop sending assassins to kill me. I will send one to Moscow and I won't have to send another." It didn't work but Big Dick Energy.

Successful Roman soldiers returning from war often got to march along in parades known as Triumphs. During this, it was customary for them to sing bawdy songs about their commander. One surviving one about Caesar goes like this "Romans, lock up your wives. Here comes the bald adulterous whore. We pissed away your gold in Gaul and come to borrow more."

Matilda, Lady of the English was a woman so badass that history cannot handle her. She was the daughter of Henry I who left his throne to her after the death of her brother. She was away in France when her father died and her throne was snatched by her cousin Stephen. They battled back and forth for years with neither side ceding any ground. Matilda was once besieged in a castle during a snow storm, with Stephen's men all around her. Instead of fighting her way out. She simply donned a white cloak and walked out of the castle. Just walked out without any of Stephen's men seeing her.

Pedro of Portugal once fell in love with a beautiful lady in waiting called Inez de Castro. For years, they lived as man and mistress, popping out a few kinds. Pedro's dad really did not like Inez and wanted Pedro to find a legitimate wife so he had her killed. Pedro returned home to find the mother of his children dead. Pedro went a little crazy. He had all his father's assassins killed, ripping out their hearts as they had done to him. When Pedro ascended the throne, he demanded the Pope legitimize his children by Inez. The Pope not wanting to upset the King, said he couldn't because Inez was never crowned Queen. Pedro dug Inez up and crowned her as Queen, having all the nobility swear loyalty to her corpse. The Pope had no choice but to agree to his request.

A famously clever general once saved an entire city with an ingenious stragety to sit outside the city waiting for the attacking army to come. The attack had come to fast for the city to ready themselves for a Siege so, the general had to move quickly. He evacuated the city and took his place waiting for the army to come. The enemy forces stopped and took one look at him and bolted, thinking he meant to lure them in one of his famous traps.

Michaelangelo was really badly treated by the Vatican when he was painting the Sistine Chapel. He constantly fought with the Popes over the design and his work, which he was paid peanuts for. Michaelangelo got his revenge in his work, painting the gates of Hell behind the Papal Throne and an angel flipping the ol' fig (the Renaissance version of the bird) toward the Pope's chair.

Peter the Great was not a perfect guy. He kept serfdom as a practise in his kingdom, he had his son tortured to death and he could be an unpleasant guy. But Peter was a dreamer. He wanted nothing more to build a fleet for Russia and bring Russia beyond its borders. Peter took a gap year from ruling Russia to wander around Europe. When he stopped in England, he was granted Leicester House to chill in while he did his shipwright studies. It was here that Peter found a new passion. The wheelbarrow. Cue Peter and his new found English buddies drinking in Leicester House, punching the artwork and rolling each other around in barrels across the house's Great gardens.

Diogenes is hands down a walking shit post. He was a great thinker in Greece during the reign of Alexander but a rather dry, sarcastic wit. He lived in a pithos/a jar because he shunned all vanities and values of society. He trolled other philosophers, attending their debates to heckle them and eat loud foods through them. When Alexander the Great came to fan boy over him, saying that if he were not Alexander he would like to be Diogenes to which Diogenes just said "yeah me too, now get out of my sunlight."

Cosimo de Medici was the son of a Floretine banker with a great knowledge and love of art. Cosimo wished for Florence to release its potentially and join the Renaissance. He hired Filippo Brunelleschi to finsh the Great Dome of Santa Maria del Fiore which had láin unfinished for over a century, a symbol of a failure of ambition. The builders had lost the knowledge of creating a dome so large so it remained unfinished. Despite much opposition from the other nobility and denouncers of the Renaissance, Cosimo's dream of the completion of the dome was completed, making it the largest brick dome in creation at that time. There is nothing like achieving your dreams and certainly nothing like leaving a lasting reminder that screams 'I was right and you were wrong' to stand for centuries.

[lewis-winters]

oh yeah andrew scott michael fassbender james mcavoy jimmy falon iconic before-they-were-famous-cameos sure, but did you know that the army chaplain we see glimpses of in episode 3 and episode 6 is geralt of rivia's iconic voice actor, doug cockle?

[wiltedprayers]

it would've been really interesting to get some more scenes with father john maloney on band of brothers — the perspective of the chaplains anointing the wounded and dead whilst running headfirst into danger, the need to help in any way they can, many of them performing medic duties during the war. recurring to mass while everything else seems hopeless; it's interesting (and heartbreaking) that in the scene where father maloney is tending to the wounded soldiers amidst all the explosions, with muck and malarkey watching the whole thing, you can actually see skip's rosary peeking out of his pocket. “we die now, we gonna die in a state of grace” :(

[kwebtv]

The Jury -  ITV  -  February 17, 2002 - March 18, 2002

Legal Drama (11 episodes)

Running Time:  60 minutes

Stars:  (Season 1)

Gerard Butler as Johnnie Donne, Juror #1

Helen McCrory as Rose Davies, Juror #2

Michael Maloney as Peter Segal, Juror #3

Nina Sosanya as Marcia Thomas, Juror #4

Nicholas Farrell as Jeremy Crawford, Juror #5

Sylvia Syms as Elsie Beamish, Juror #6

Paul Reynolds as Warren Murphy, Juror #7

Stuart Bunce as Charles Gore, Juror #8

Gillian Barge as Eva Prohaska, Juror #9

William Hoyland as Hector, Juror #10

Connor McIntyre as Derek Batey, Juror #11

Sarah-Louise Young as Jessica Garland, Juror #12

Antony Sher as Gerald Lewis, Q.C. Counsel for the Prosecution

Sonnell Dadral as Duvinder Singh, the Accused

Derek Jacobi as George Cording, Q.C. Counsel for the Defence

Supporting cast

John Duttine as Mark Waters

Steven Emrys as Mr. De Jersey

Fiona Gillies as Fiona Crawford

James Hayes as Father Gervase

Tim Healy as Eddie Fannon

Tiana Paige Johnson as Joy Thomas

Claire Neilson as Eleanor Colchester

Joanne Pierce as Marion Segal

Billy Scott as John Maher

Shaughan Seymour as the Judge

Jack Shepherd as Ron Maher

Mark Strong as Len Davies

Steve Sweeney as Thomas Haines

Ellen Thomas as Ruby Thomas

Peter Vaughan as Michael Colchester

[conradscrime]

The Infamous 10 Rillington Place: Serial Killer John Christie

May 17, 2021

John Reginald Halliday Christie, known as Reg Christie to friends and family was born on April 8, 1899 in Northowram near Halifax in the West Riding of Yorkshire. John was the 6th child born to a family of 7 and had a very troubled relationship with his father, Ernest John Christie, a carpet designer who showed little emotion towards his children and often punished them for even minor things. It was also said that John Christie was often bullied by his mother and older sisters growing up.

John was often described by his peers as a weird boy who often kept to himself. On March 24, 1911 John’s grandfather died in the house after suffering a long illness. John described seeing his grandfather’s dead body laid out at the age of almost 12, and said of this that he felt powerful looking at his grandfather who he once feared, now being just a corpse. 

John Christie was very intelligent and at the age of 11 he won a scholarship to Halifax Secondary School, particularly loving the subject of math and algebra. It found that John had an IQ of 128. He was also very active in Boy Scouts and sang in his church choir. 

John left school on April 22, 1913 and was an employed as an assistant projectionist. 

Throughout adolescence John was bullied, particularly about sex. Apparently his first attempts at having sex were failures and he was often called “Reggie No Dick” and “Can’t Do It Christie.” John experienced sex difficulties for his entire life, most often only being said to perform with sex workers. 

In September 1916, John enlisted in the British Army and he was called on April 12, 1917 to join the 52nd Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire Regiment to serve as an infantryman. In April 1918, John was despatched to France and the following June he was injured in a mustard gas attack and had to spend a month in a military hospital in Calais. John claims this attack left him unable to speak out loud, he could barley talk louder than a whisper for the rest of his life and left him blind and mute for 3 and a half years. However, there has been no evidence of John being blind and has been noted if he was mute he would of never been allowed to continue serving in the army. 

Many believe this stemmed from an underlying personality disorder and that John Christie would exaggerate or make up illnesses to get attention from others. 

In October 1919 John was demobilized from the army. He joined the Royal Air Force in December 1923 but was discharged less than a year later on August 15, 1924. 

John married a woman named Ethel Simpson on May 10, 1920. During this time he was still having sex with sex workers. Ethel suffered a miscarriage early on in their marriage and they separated in 1924. John was convicted of several criminal offences, including stealing postal orders while working as a postman, obtaining money on false pretences and violent conduct. He committed larceny in 1924 and on May 13 1929 he was convicted of assaulting a woman named Maud Cole whom he was living with at the time. He had hit Maud over the head with a cricket bat and received a sentence of 6 months of hard labour. John was convicted of stealing a car and served 3 months on November 1, 1933.

Ethel moved to Sheffield in 1928 with her siblings and John moved to London in 1923, spending the next decade in and out of prison. John was released from prison in January 1934 and reunited with Ethel. It was in 1937 that the couple moved to the infamous 10 Rillington Place in Notting Hill which was located in a pretty run down area. 

At the beginning of World War II John applied to join the War Reserve Police and got accepted because they had failed to do a criminal record check on him. During this time he met a woman named Gladys Jones and began an affair with her. This relationship lasted until mid 1943 when Gladys’ husband returned from the war. The husband found out about the affair and assaulted John Christie.

All of John Christie’s murders were committed over a 10 year period between 1943 and 1953. His first murder was a woman named Ruth Fuerst, who was 21 at the time. Ruth would occasionally engage in being a sex worker and this is where John met her according to him. John claimed that on August 24, 1943 he invited Ruth to his home to have sex and after they were done he strangled her on his bed with some rope. He originally put Ruth’s body beneath the floorboards of his living room, but then ended up burying her in the back garden the next night. Ethel was out visiting relatives at the time of the murder. 

On October 7, 1944 John invited Muriel Amelia Eady to his home, telling her that he had a special cure for her bronchitis. This special cure was actually domestic gas and when Muriel began inhaling it she soon became unconscious. John hid the smell of gas with Friar’s Balsam. Domestic gas in the 1940′s was coal gas, which had 15% carbon monoxide in it. John then raped and strangled Muriel and buried her beside Ruth. 

During Easter 1948, a man named Timothy Evans and his wife Beryl moved into the top flat at Rillington Place. In October 1948 Beryl gave birth to a daughter, who was named Geraldine. In late 1949 Timothy told police that his wife was dead but then failed to find her body when they searched the flat. The police soon discovered the bodies of not only Beryl, but also Geraldine and a 16 week old male fetus in an outdoor wash house. 

The autopsy revealed that Beryl and Geraldine had been strangled to death and Beryl had been physically assaulted as there were bruises on her face. Timothy Evans claimed that John Christie had killed his wife while performing a botched abortion, however Timothy eventually confessed to killing his life, though many believe this confession was fabricated by police. When Timothy was charged he took back his confession, claiming that John Christie had murdered both his wife and daughter, Geraldine. 

On January 11, 1950 Timothy was put on trial for the murder of his daughter, but the prosecution decided not to charge him for his wife. John Christie was actually a witness for the Crown saying that Timothy and his wife often fought. Timothy was found guilty and was sentenced to be hanged on January 31, but this was appealed. 

However, an appeal made on February 20th had failed and Timothy Evans was hanged at the HM Prison Pentonville on March 9, 1950. John Christie then began working at the Post Office Savings Bank on May 21, 1946 but was fired on April 4, 1950 when his past criminal record came to light.

The police did a pretty poor job with their investigations, they even searched the garden where John was disposing his victims bodies but they never excavated it. John even admitted later that his dog had found Muriel’s skull in the garden after the police had searched and John threw her skull into an abandoned bombed out house nearby.

It was obvious that Timothy’s confession was fake, he was clearly unaware of the resting place of his wife’s body or even how she had been killed. Timothy claimed that his wife was either in a manhole or a drain at the front of the house. Timothy wasn’t even aware that his daughter had also been murdered during his first interview. 

On December 14, 1952 John Christie murdered his wife Ethel by strangling her in bed. John came up with multiple excuses as to why no one had heard or seen Ethel in a couple of days, telling people she had rheumatism or that she was visiting relatives in Sheffield. At this time John was unemployed so to make money he sold Ethel’s wedding ring on December 17th. 

On January 26, 1953 John emptied Ethel’s bank account, and was selling furniture and her clothing and living off of unemployment checks. 

Between January 19 and March 6, 1953 John Christie murdered three more women, Kathleen Maloney, Rita Nelson and Hectorina MacLennan. Kathleen was a sex worker who was 6 months pregnant at the time she met John and was murdered. Hectorina was living with her boyfriend in London and her, her boyfriend and John would meet up multiple times, with John even letting both of them stay at 10 Rillington Place at one point. Once he had murdered Hectorina John would keep in contact with her boyfriend, pretending that he had no idea what had happened to her. 

For John’s last three victims he had made them inhale carbon monoxide until they passed out, where he would then strangle them with a rope just like he did with Muriel. John raped these victims as they were unconscious and continued to rape them as he was murdering them. He placed their bodies in a clove behind his kitchen wall. 

John Christie moved out of 10 Rillington Place on March 20, 1953 after subletting the flat to a couple. When the landlord discovered the couple was living there instead of John they were kicked out. The landlord told one of the other flat tenants they could use John’s kitchen (not sure the reasoning behind this.) 

This tenant, named Beresford Brown discovered the kitchen aclove on March 24, finding the bodies of Kathleen, Rita and Hectorina. The police were called and they were looking for none other than John Christie. 

John was arrested on March 31 when his identity was questioned by a police officer. In his possession was his marriage certificate and an old newspaper clipping about the remand of Timothy Evans. John confessed to all the murders eventually and on April 27, confessed to killing Beryl Evans but mostly denied killing her daughter, Geraldine. It is believed John was hesitant to admit to the killing of Geraldine because she was a child and he may have been afraid of his fate in prison. Convicts who have abused children are often beaten and raped by other inmates. 

Despite confessing to all these murders John was only tried for the murder of his wife, Ethel. His trial began on June 22, 1953 and he pleaded insanity. John also said he had a poor memory of the events. A doctor assessed John and said he was not insane, though he did have a hysterical personality. The jury found John Christie guilty after deliberating for 85 minutes. He was sentenced to death. 

On July 15, 1953 at 9am John Christie was hanged by Albert Pierrepoint, the same executioner who had hung Timothy Evans. Upon being executed John complained that his nose was itchy to which Albert responded, “It won’t bother you for long.” 

There has been a lot of controversy over the hanging of Timothy Evans and if an innocent man was hanged for murders he did not commit. A first inquiry was held and concluded that Timothy was responsible. Many believe that Timothy actually was guilty and did murder his wife and daughter and that John Christie only admitted to it to further portray himself as insane. However, a lot of other people believe that John had to have been responsible because what would the chances be that there was two men strangling women both living in the same building?

A second inquiry was looked into the evidence and it was concluded that Timothy murdered his wife but had not murdered his daughter, John was concluded to be responsible for Geraldine’s death. These led to Timothy receiving a posthumous pardon, because he had been tried and executed for the murder of his daughter. Because of this, Timothy was pardoned on October 18, 1966, 16 years after his hanging. This pardon allowed Timothy’s remains to be sent back to his family.

Because of Timothy’s hanging and other cases that were controversial revolving the death penalty, there was a suspension and subsequent abolition of capital punishment in the UK for murder in 1965. 

In January 2003, the Home Office awarded Timothy’s half sister and his sister payments as compensation for the miscarriage of justice in his trial. The independent assessor for the Home Office, Lord Brennan QC accepted that “the conviction and execution of Timothy Evans for the murder of his child was wrongful and a miscarriage of justice” and that “there is no evidence to implicate Timothy Evans in the murder of his wife. She was most probably murdered by Christie.” 

[cleucilaynesaustralianlitblog]

10 Interesting Australian Novels

The Secret River by Kate Grenville

“In 1806 William Thornhill, an illiterate English bargeman and a man of quick temper but deep compassion, steals a load of wood and, as a part of his lenient sentence, is deported, along with his beloved wife, Sal, to the New South Wales colony in what would become Australia. The Secret River is the tale of William and Sal’s deep love for their small, exotic corner of the new world, and William’s gradual realization that if he wants to make a home for his family, he must forcibly take the land from the people who came before him.” (Amazon.com)

2. The Brush Off: A Murray Whelan Mystery by Shane Maloney

“Murray Whelan is the political advisor to the newly appointed minister of culture, Angelo (“Tell me, Murray, what are the Arts?”) Agnelli, and he’s hanging on to his job by his toenails. On his first day, the disgruntled young artist Marcus Taylor is found dead, drowned in the ornamental moat outside the National Gallery. The police rule it a suicide, or perhaps an accident, but Murray is not so sure. Besides, this ugly incident occurred on Agnelli’s watch, so the heat is on. A born detective despite himself, Murray digs, and the deeper he goes, the more puzzling the mystery becomes. Who is this other painter, Victor Szabo, also dead, unknown in his lifetime and now the darling of the art world, with works fetching crazy prices—funded in part by the government? And what about suave businessman and art maven Lloyd Eastlake, who is whispering financial sweet nothings in Angelo Agnelli’s ear?” (Amazon.com)

3. The Dragon Man (Inspector Challis Mysteries) by Garry Disher

“A serial killer is on the loose in a small coastal town near Melbourne. Detective Inspector Hal Challis and his team must apprehend him before he strikes again. But first Challis must contend with the editor of a local news-paper who undermines his investigation at every turn and with his wife, who is attempting to resurrect their marriage through long-distance phone calls from a sanitarium where she has been imprisoned for the past eight years for attempted murder.” (Amazon.com)

4. Tomorrow, When the War Began by John Marsden

“When Ellie and her friends go camping, they have no idea they're leaving their old lives behind forever. Despite a less-than-tragic food shortage and a secret crush or two, everything goes as planned. But a week later, they return home to find their houses empty and their pets starving. Something has gone wrong--horribly wrong. Before long, they realize the country has been invaded, and the entire town has been captured--including their families and all their friends.” (Amazon.com)

5. True History of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey

“In True History of the Kelly Gang, the legendary Ned Kelly speaks for himself, scribbling his narrative on errant scraps of paper in semiliterate but magically descriptive prose as he flees from the police. To his pursuers, Kelly is nothing but a monstrous criminal, a thief and a murderer. To his own people, the lowly class of ordinary Australians, the bushranger is a hero, defying the authority of the English to direct their lives. Indentured by his bootlegger mother to a famous horse thief (who was also her lover), Ned saw his first prison cell at 15 and by the age of 26 had become the most wanted man in the wild colony of Victoria, taking over whole towns and defying the law until he was finally captured and hanged.” (Amazon.com)

6. The Rosie Project by Graeme Simsion

“Rosie Jarman possesses all these qualities. Don easily disqualifies her as a candidate for The Wife Project (even if she is “quite intelligent for a barmaid”). But Don is intrigued by Rosie’s own quest to identify her biological father. When an unlikely relationship develops as they collaborate on The Father Project, Don is forced to confront the spontaneous whirlwind that is Rosie―and the realization that, despite your best scientific efforts, you don’t find love, it finds you.” (Amazon.com)

7. Cocaine Blues (Phryne Fisher Mysteries) by Kerry Greenwood

“The London season is in full fling at the end of the 1920s, but the Honourable Phryne Fisher―she of the green-gray eyes, diamant garters, and outfits that should not be sprung suddenly on those of nervous dispositions―is rapidly tiring of the tedium of arranging flowers, making polite conversations with retired colonels, and dancing with weak-chinned men. Instead, Phryne decides it might be rather amusing to try her hand at being a lady detective in Melbourne, Australia. Almost immediately from the time she books into the Windsor Hotel, Phryne is embroiled in mystery: poisoned wives, cocaine smuggling rings, corrupt cops, and communism―not to mention erotic encounters with the beautiful Russian dancer, Sasha de Lisse―until her adventure reaches its steamy end in the Turkish baths of Little Lonsdale Street.” (Amazon.com)

8. The Dry by Jane Harper

“After getting a note demanding his presence, Federal Agent Aaron Falk arrives in his hometown for the first time in decades to attend the funeral of his best friend, Luke. Twenty years ago when Falk was accused of murder, Luke was his alibi. Falk and his father fled under a cloud of suspicion, saved from prosecution only because of Luke’s steadfast claim that the boys had been together at the time of the crime. But now more than one person knows they didn’t tell the truth back then, and Luke is dead.” (Amazon.com)

9. Voss by Patrick White

“Set in nineteenth-century Australia, Voss is White's best-known book, a sweeping novel about a secret passion between the explorer Voss and the young orphan Laura. As Voss is tested by hardship, mutiny, and betrayal during his crossing of the brutal Australian desert, Laura awaits his return in Sydney, where she endures their months of separation as if her life were a dream and Voss the only reality. Marrying a sensitive rendering of hidden love with a stark adventure narrative, Voss is a novel of extraordinary power and virtuosity from a twentieth-century master.” (Amazon.com)

10. Breath by Tim Winton

“On the wild, lonely coast of Western Australia, two thrillseeking and barely adolescent boys fall into the enigmatic thrall of veteran big-wave surfer Sando. Together they form an odd but elite trio. The grown man initiates the boys into a kind of Spartan ethos, a regimen of risk and challenge, where they test themselves in storm swells on remote and shark-infested reefs, pushing each other to the edges of endurance, courage, and sanity. But where is all this heading? Why is their mentor’s past such forbidden territory? And what can explain his American wife’s peculiar behavior? Venturing beyond all limits—in relationships, in physical challenge, and in sexual behavior—there is a point where oblivion is the only outcome.” (Amazon.com)

Bonus 11. That Deadman Dance by Kim Scott

“Bobby Wabalanginy is a young Noongar man, smart, resourceful, and eager to please. He befriends the European arrivals, joining them as they hunt whales, till the land, and establish their new colony. He is welcomed into a prosperous white family, and eventually finds himself falling in love with the daughter, Christine. But slowly-by design and by hazard-things begin to change. Not everyone is happy with how the colony is progressing. Livestock mysteriously start to disappear, crops are destroyed, there are "accidents" and injuries on both sides. As the Europeans impose ever-stricter rules and regulations in order to keep the peace, Bobby's Elders decide they must respond in kind, and Bobby is forced to take sides, inexorably drawn into a series of events that will forever change the future of his country.” (Amazon.com)

[lyselkatzfandomluvs]

Band of Brothers screencaps/edits (473/?)

Father John Maloney

March 17: Happy birthday