#june st. davis

[snapdragoned]

Windflower Bay 🏠 Round 9 Households

Hawkins

Le Couer

Weatherby

Chawla

Weatherby (again!)

Chevalier (new!)

[xxanaduwrites]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a residue series installment ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

sweet talkin’

main hive 🐝 | next part here: honey, are you comin’?

✎ elementary-teacher!reader (miss.honey) x biker!benny 🏍️

summary: in which “uncle benny” picks up johnny’s girls from school and finds some honey along the way ;)

warnings: not much of anything besides talks of danger & some side eyes from on-lookers. an absolute fluff cake of a piece really. enjoy! x

author’s note: ngl there is some inaccuracies. i fully made up locations & such. never been to chicago or illinois even, but maybe someday :)

word count: 2.8k

💌 requests are open, send ‘em honey 💋

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You remember it like it was yesterday, the very first time you met Benny Cross. Ironically, it was one of those sticky sweet days in June, just before the start of summer ‘65. The Chicago heat was hard to beat in the cramped little classroom you worked in on Phipps Avenue. Your third graders were all flushed faces with curly cues frizzing about, and their red little cheeks burned in exhaustion. It was no surprise that you lost their ears to the tsk tsk tsk of sprinklers swirling about on the school grounds. Even though the principal was against it, you were rather relieved to see your students running about the wet grass come dismissal.

It was a lovely reprieve, truly to be out of the shoe box you worked in at the end of the day. Sure, the heat hadn’t let up. It was awfully sweltering passing clammy hand to clammy hand to their designated pick up person. But you loved being a teacher. Moreseo you loved those sweet turned up smiles that graced those baby faces of your students as they chatted about their after school plans. Heading down to the local pool or picking up a firecracker pop at the corner store was such a sweet treat. It made you miss being that young again, finding hidden treasures through the little bits of life.

You moved like clockwork during dismissal, attentive as you made small talk with parents and hugged your students goodbye. The pick of the cycle was usually smooth on your part. You knew who tended to be retrieved right away and who was left hanging, so it took you by a hint of surprise when you found yourself still hand in hand with Mr. and Mrs. Davis’s little girls.

You knew the Davis’s well — as well as anyone could holding residence in the quaint village of McCook, Illinois. Mr. Davis and his wife Betty were perishoners at the local church you frequented with your Ma and Pa. St. Caron’s on the corner of Rose and Dawn. You’d see them all together in their Sunday best, the kids in puff pastry kind-of dresses packed together in a pew with their Ma, while their Pa was mulling about in his pressed suit and tie. There was no trace of the Vandals you’d come to know, the Johnny that would be amplified under that some-what imposterous clean cut demeanor. You’d see him solemn as ever ushering pew to pew with the collections basket for the poor and at communion during the mass.

Yet, if you had to name one thing that complimented Johnny to Mr. Davis, it had to be his consistency with being on time. Never once was he ever late to church. 12pm sharp he’d be looking at his watch, waitin’ for the priest and deacon to do their thang. The same applied for his children and their respected school schedule.

It took you a moment to remember the note from the office that was sent up in the afternoon. In your defense, mastering concentration in this heat proved almost impossible. Until it wasn’t. You could see the lovely writing of the secretary with that neat cursive of hers in the back of your mind, reminding you that the Davis girls would be picked up by their Uncle Benny come dismissal.

That would explain it, you thought. But would it really? Fathoming a member of Mr. Davis’s family not being as meticulous as him? You momentarily wondered how the man would react to such a thing as being late. You were sure it wasn’t in his vocabulary by any means.

Your fingers, engulfing the petite ones of the Davis girls, squeezed their hands reassuringly. “M’sure your Uncle Benny will be here any moment.” Neither of them said anything as you glanced between the two flanked at your sides, little eyelashes blinking up at you without a care in the world. And here you thought they would be just as anal-retentive as their father.

They weren’t.

Since the school yard was becoming less compact with people, and the principal put an end to the fun with the sprinklers, you figured some chit-chat wouldn't hurt to keep them occupied. “You girls have any fun afternoon plans?”

The Davis girl on the right, taller, darker hair, lookin’ far too much like her father — a carbon copy if you will — spoke up then. “Yes! Uncle Benny is takin’ us to a picnic. Gonna see Daddy race his bike, Miss. Honey.”

A bike race, huh? You couldn’t remember seeing anything in the McCook weekly papers ‘bout an upcoming cycling event. But, hey maybe you happened to miss it on your skim of the thing, when your Pa just so happened to put it down for a second durin’ dinner.

“Well, ain’t that sweet!” You chirped, smiling brightly at the girls with genuine excitement in your eyes. “Sure it’ll be tons of fun.”

“S’not when Daddy gets all muddy.” The smaller girl, the one that looked more like her mother. Lighter hair and lighter eyes said. Her tiny face contorted into a grimace.

Muddy? Weren’t cycling races on the roads?

Surely the town would block off the streets like they did for those celebratory parades. The little one was probably exaggerating.

“Aw,” you hummed, a frown dousing your features. “M’sure your Pa is just real dedicated, y’know?” You tried to bring out the bright side for your student. “S’like when you buy a fresh book and worry about those pages dentin’. Y’won’t know if you like it if you don’t read it, right?” The girls nodded. “Dentin’ the pages just goes to show all that love you had for that book while readin’ it.”

“I guess…” The Davis girl shrugged, tiny fingers wrapping about the strap of her pretty pink backpack. Seemingly, she wasn’t as impressed as her sister to the right.

You were gonna change the subject. Gonna start chatting ‘bout something else, when a twist of tiers against the pavement sent a squeak across the air. Your mother-hen instincts kicked in instantly, protective hands pulling the girls behind you without a second thought. All heads turned simultaneously to the intrusion on the road, expecting the worst. Expecting a crash of sorts. But no, there was no crash, just a slick car pulling abruptly up against the sidewalk and jerking to a startling stop. One that could only be equated to the driver going far above the speed limit in a school zone.

It went quiet. Far too quiet as the lot of remaining faculty, students, and parents alike kept their eyes peeled back sharply at the reckless driver. Funnily enough the attentive stares of onlookers could have very well been just as bad as those witnessing an actual crash.

You weren’t any better than the rest, collecting snap shot after snap shot like a roll of consecutive film. You could still hear the engine cutting out, the door swinging open and closing with a solid flick of his wrist. A wrist that would do far worse to you in the bedroom. Far worse in the eyes of your religious upbringing, but would feel too holy to you to be considered a sin.

You only caught a glance of him for a second until his back was facing towards you, thick white letters staking his claim with a skull and crossbones for the Chicago Vandals on his cut down vest.

You’d heard a thing or two about those motorcycle men. Your father ranting and raving about the disturbances near route 95 and police chases. But never, had you ever seen one of them in the flesh up close and personal. A shrill of unprecedented delight shot up your spine at the colorful sight, no longer reserved to those blurry black and white paper cuttings.

Stopping in his tracks, you figured his car must have broken down or somethin’ – but no. He was putting out his cigarette with his worn down boot before making his way over to you, and oh he had his eye on you alright.

A relative unease wahed across the school yard, harder than the obvious heat wave as he sauntered across without a care in the world. As if dozens of heads weren’t makin’ disgusted faces and whispering about. Yet a clear intimidation set over them, people stepping out of the way without a word as if he was a Bible figure. Like Moses parting the red sea.

“Uncle Benny!” One of them chirped. Who you didn’t know, couldn’t know with the sudden flush creeping against your cheeks. Your heart dropped to your stomach once you realized who it was and that the man himself with dirty blonde scruff, calloused fingers, and a black inked layer over a honey toned canvas was makin’ a beeline to you. A beeline to you and the girls.

It was the taller Davis girl that must have called out his name, cause suddenly she was pulling you and her sister forward to meet Benny half way. You almost tripped down the stairs within the broken bubble of her excitement. Barely having a moment’s notice to collect yourself, you found your pristine baby pink ballet flats toe to toe with some scruffed up biker boots that had seen better days. You managed a breath before you looked up and boy were you glad you did.

The wind was practically knocked clean out of you when you were caught face to face with the Benny Cross. It wasn’t because you were scared of him — no. You were more taken aback with how pretty he was. How his deeply set ocean eyes managed to speak volumes without saying a word.

And suddenly, on the front steps of Phipps Avenue School you felt seen. More seen than you had ever felt in your life. He wasn’t the only one sticking out like the sorest of thumbs. So were you with your baby pink tank to match your shoes with your signature embroidered denim overall dress. Hair up and out of your face, loose honey curls frizzing about. Your kitsch tastes and unpolished attire were rather baffling for the picturesque depiction gracing the magazines your Ma read at the salon.

Some would say you were lost somewhere in Neverland. Lots of your fellow teachers would crack jokes here and there ‘bout it too. Sure, on a bad day a jab or two could get to you — but hey you liked what you liked and you weren’t gonna change that. Not for anybody. Not even for your Ma or Pa who grimaced at your bedazzled pins wedged into your messy curls during Sunday mass.

So Benny, well who were you to judge him?

“Hi, you must be Uncle Benny,” you greeted the brood of a man in front of you, flexing a sweet-like-honey smile that was just oh-so-you. You let go of the Johnny look-a-likes hand then, allowing her to wrap her small self around Benny’s leg in pure delight to see him as you outstretched your hand in a shake. To your dismay, he didn’t take it. Instead, his free hand that wasn’t mushing up Johnny’s girls dark locks as he patted her head fished for his pack of Marlboro reds in his vest pocket. That didn’t stop you from introducing yourself though. “I’m Miss. Honey.”

He gave you once over, eyes tracing you from head to toe before the edge of his lip tweaked up in a sly smile. “Honey, huh?” He mused, that deep set voice of his, thick and smokey sweetin’ up something deep inside you.

Dropping your hand back down against your dress, the material felt rather rough on your clammy skin. “Yuh-huh.” You nodded, that tight smile of yours making your eyes twitch just a bit.

A fresh cigarette materialized between his teeth then, unlit. A strange courtesy you found rather charming on the midst of educational grounds. “Hm,” he hummed, the narrow cylinder vibrating against his lips as his eyes devoured you a second time. Yet, you figured he was more unimpressed. Most were anyways.

“Benny! Benny! Can we go see Daddy now?” The girl wrapped around his leg yanked his belt loop with a small finger. The little one was still at your side, hand in hand with you. It was kind of amusin’ how different the two were. It was simple figuring out who was the bigger Daddy’s girl of the two.

“In a ‘inute, sweet-art,” he mumbled, that cigarette of his disrupting any fully coherent sentence from spillin’ out. “C’mere ‘ittle one,” he motioned to the shorter girl who was rather uninterested in leaving. In the midst of your conversation, she managed to keep her hand raised, keeping herself conjoined to you as she sat down on the bottom step in complete and utter protest.

“Don’t wanna.” She pouted down at her bunny tied saddle shoes that matched her pretty little pick-tails.

In a sense, you couldn’t blame her. Now it was all adding up. What was really going on. This wasn’t just some run of the mill village cycling marathon. This was a Vandals bike race.

Any other teacher would have probably made a stink, called the parents in for a sit down with the principal over infiltrating their kids in a biker environment infused with criminal records. But, you weren’t like that — no. Especially when you’d see a child’s eyes light up with so much delight. It was clear that Mr. Davis’s look-a-like was really proud of her father. Who could blame her? Respected throughout the community, a family man who put his all into a trucking' job.

A picnic with some bike racin’ wouldn’t be so bad, right?

Not with Mr. Davis involved.

So, you gave the benefit of the doubt. Sure, it could have been for all those reasons that were swarming about your head, but in actuality your heart was working double time over your mind. The image of the Davis girl clinging to Benny’s leg had teddy bear written all over it, giving you all the sweet talkin’ you’d need. Ironically enough, in due time that soft side of him would turn into plushy lovin’ reserved just for you.

“Lemme,” you mouthed to Benny before getting down to the little one’s level. Flattening out your skirt you took a seat next to her and rested both hands over her own in her lap. “Remember when we were talkin’ about a good book? Dentin’ the pages?” The girl nodded, but didn’t meet your eye. Instead, Benny doing the opposite, his eyes practically grilled onto your peripheral vision. “Well, sometimes if we are too protective of it. Too keen on keeping it all in tack, we’ll never learn not to and we’ll just be more and more disappointed when we come across a little crack we never created in the first place. We may not like it, but it’s there, and there is so much love there.” You squeeze the little girl’s hand. “Just like your old man racin’. You may not like it, but he does, and that’s quite alright. You know why?”

“Why?” She looked up at you then, little doe eyes attentive as ever, clinging onto your every word. It was times like this that reminded you why you were a teacher.

“‘Cause you love him, no matter what” You replied, tilting your head ever-so subtly to observe her reaction.

And oh did Benny love you. He didn’t know it then. Couldn’t fully compartmentalize it until later. Yet, unbeknownst to you, it was one of the first of what would become many of Benny's thoughts on how damn good of a teacher you were, how fine of a wife you’d make, and how sweet of a mother you’d be.

Thankfully, your words must have resonated with the little girl. It only took a moment for those delightful dimples of hers to grace those little features before her lips turned up in a sweet smile. “We gotta go Uncle Benny!” The girl declared suddenly, standing up straight with a whole new attitude. You were glad to supply the optimism. That’s what you were all about. That was the lesson you hoped to instill to your students the most.

You couldn’t help but smile yourself, feeling like a warm blanket was being draped over your shoulders soundly. Not uncomfortable. Not contributing to the intolerable heat wave. You’d only been in your second year of teaching, but hey — small victories like this made it worth it. Made you proud of yourself, even if you couldn’t find such gratitude from others.

Little did you know, Benny — he was so fuckin’ proud. Proud to see you spreading such honey-coated wisdom to a youngin’. And there on the steep steps of Phipps Avenue school as the little one wrapped her arms around you and thanked you profusely before grabbing Benny’s hand and heading to Johnny’s car, he found his mission.

You were gonna be his wife.

He was sure of it.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

this was so much fun to write! i hope you liked it :) i’m thinking of also including some honey interviews curtesy of danny ! stay tuned for “from the hive” 🎙️🐝

also to note, my requests are open for any miss honey x benny cross works + any convos about these two in general. don’t be shy honey, i’m all for yapping in the asks.

+ don’t forget to comment if you’d like be added to “da bee hive” (my version of da tag list)

smoochies. all da love xanadu 💋

da bee hive 🐝🍯:

@nervousnerdwitch

@sunnbib

@rose-deathman

@austinbsblog

@thegabbyh

@jihyowrrld

@bellesdreamyprofile

@superemobitch

@m00npjm

@imusicaddict

@astrogrande

@alana4610

@cynic-spirit

@mariaenchanted

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🖤 Black History Month ❤️

💛 Queer Books by Black Authors 💚

[ List Under the Cut ]

🖤 Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender ❤️ Under the Udala Trees by Chinelo Okparanta 💛 Warrior of the Wind by Suyi Davies Okungbowa 💚 I'm a Wild Seed by Sharon Lee De La Cruz 🖤 Real Life by Brandon Taylor ❤️ Ruthless Pamela Jean by Carol Denise Mitchell 💛 The Unbroken by C.L. Clark 💚 Labyrinth Lost by Zoraida Córdova 🖤 Skin Deep Magic by Craig Laurance Gidney ❤️ The Death of Vivek Oji by Akwaeke Emezi 💛 That Could Be Enough by Alyssa Cole 💚Work for It by Talia Hibbert

🖤 All Boys Aren't Blue by George M. Johnson ❤️ The Deep by Rivers Solomon 💛 How to Be Remy Cameron by Julian Winters 💚 Running With Lions by Julian Winters 🖤 Right Where I Left You by Julian Winters ❤️ This Is Kind of an Epic Love Story by Kacen Callender 💛 The Weight of the Stars by K. Ancrum 💚 This Is What It Feels Like by Rebecca Barrow 🖤 Son of the Storm by Suyi Davies Okungbowa ❤️ Black Boy Joy by Kwame Mbalia 💛 Legendborn by Tracy Deonn 💚 The Wicker King by K. Ancrum

🖤 Pet by Akwaeke Emezi ❤️ You Should See Me in a Crown by Leah Johnson 💛 Once Ghosted, Twice Shy by Alyssa Cole 💚 Cinderella Is Dead by Kalynn Bayron 🖤 Let's Talk About Love by Claire Kann ❤️ A Spectral Hue by Craig Laurance Gidney 💛 Power & Magic by Joamette Gil 💚 The Black Veins by Ashia Monet 🖤 Treasure by Rebekah Weatherspoon ❤️ The Sound of Stars by Alechia Dow 💛 Black Leopard, Red Wolf by Marlon James 💚 Full Disclosure by Camryn Garrett

🖤 The Black Flamingo by Dean Atta ❤️ Meet Cute Diary by Emery Lee 💛 A Phoenix First Must Burn (edited) by Patrice Caldwell 💚 Rise to the Sun by Leah Johnson 🖤 Things We Couldn't Say by Jay Coles ❤️ Black Boy Out of Time by Hari Ziyad 💛 Darling by K. Ancrum 💚 The Secrets of Eden by Brandon Goode 🖤 Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé ❤️ Off the Record by Camryn Garrett 💛 Honey Girl by Morgan Rogers 💚 Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

🖤 How to Dispatch a Human by Stephanie Andrea Allen ❤️ Black Girl, Call Home by Jasmine Mans 💛 The Essential June Jordan (edited) by Jan Heller Levi and Christoph Keller 💚 A Master of Djinn by P. Djèlí Clark 🖤 A Blade So Black by L.L. McKinney ❤️ Clap When You Land by Elizabeth Acevedo 💛 Dread Nation by Justina Ireland 💚 Punch Me Up to the Gods by Brian Broome 🖤 Masquerade by Anne Shade ❤️ One of the Good Ones by Maika Moulite & Maritza Moulite 💛 Soulstar by C.L. Polk 💚 100 Boyfriends by Brontez Purnell

🖤 Hurricane Child by Kacen Callender ❤️ Quietly Hostile by Samantha Irby 💛 Coffee Will Make You Black by April Sinclair 💚 The Death of Vivek Oji by Akwaeke Emezi 🖤 If It Makes You Happy by Claire Kann ❤️ Sweethand by N.G. Peltier 💛 This Poison Heart by Kalynn Bayron 💚 Better Off Red by Rebekah Weatherspoon 🖤 Friday I’m in Love by Camryn Garrett ❤️ Rainbow Milk by Paul Mendez 💛 Memorial by Bryan Washington 💚 Patsy by Nicole Y. Dennis-Benn

🖤 Sorrowland by Rivers Solomon ❤️ How to Find a Princess by Alyssa Cole 💛 Yesterday is History by Kosoko Jackosn 💚 Mouths of Rain (edited) by Briona Simone Jones 🖤 Dead Dead Girls by Nekesa Afia ❤️ Love's Divine by Ava Freeman 💛 The Prophets by Robert Jones Jr 💚 Odd One Out by Nic Stone 🖤 Symbiosis by Nicky Drayden ❤️ Thanks a Lot, Universe by Chad Lucas 💛 The Passing Playbook by Isaac Fitzsimons 💚 Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin

🖤 Little & Lion by Brandy Colbert ❤️ My Government Means to Kill Me by Rasheed Newson 💛 Pleasure and Spice by Fiona Zedde 💚 No Gods, No Monsters by Cadwell Turnbull 🖤 The Stars and the Blackness Between Them by Junauda Petrus ❤️ Filthy Animals by Brandon Taylor 💛 The City We Became by N.K. Jemisin 💚 Peaces by Helen Oyeyem 🖤 The Beauty That Remains by Ashley Woodfolk ❤️ Every Body Looking by Candice Iloh 💛 Bingo Love by Tee Franklin, Jenn St-Onge, Joy San 💚 The Heart Does Not Bend by Makeda Silvera

🖤 King and the Dragonflies by Kacen Callender ❤️ By Any Means Necessary by Candice Montgomery 💛 Busy Ain't the Half of It by Frederick Smith & Chaz Lamar Cruz 💚 Girl, Woman, Other by Bernardine Evaristo 🖤 Sin Against the Race by Gar McVey-Russell ❤️ Trumpet by Jackie Kay 💛 Remembrance by Rita Woods 💚 Daughters of Nri by Reni K. Amayo 🖤 You Know Me Well by Nina LaCour ❤️ The Summer of Everything by Julian Winters 💛 Butter Honey Pig Bread by Francesca Ekwuyasi 💚 Gingerbread by Helen Oyeyem

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Miles Davis - Jazz Villa, St. Louis, Missouri, May/June 1963

Posting through the panic? Yeah, I guess. As the country I call home chooses fear, nihilism and chaos once again — again! — I have to find solace in music ... somehow. At the moment, I truly have no idea what else to do.

So there's a fresh Miles Davis Bootleg Series coming out any minute now, which gathers several discs of live performances in France from 1963 and 1964, when Miles was getting together with younger musicians like Tony Williams, Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter, George Coleman, expanding and exploring his signature sound. There's plenty of stuff from this era around, of course, but it's always a pleasure to hear it cleaned up and presented in a way befitting of these sterling, still exciting performances.

As an addendum, check out Davis, Williams, Hancock and Coleman in their first extant live recording, an audience tape made just a couple weeks before they'd head out to Europe for a series of festival dates. The Jazz Villa! Sounds nice, right? This collection of musicians hadn't been together long, but they seem have already gelled, spurring their leader on to some seriously soaring heights. The MVP, however, might be Coleman, who — once Shorter solidified the Second Great Quintet's lineup — might not get his due these days. But his solos are all fantastic, curious and inventive and lively, especially on the killer "All Blues." A song for today, a song for every day for the foreseeable future! ALL BLUES.

[aimeedaisies]

Court Circular | 11th June 2024

St James’s Palace

The Princess Royal this morning opened Mercator Media Limited’s Twenty Fifth Anniversary Seawork Marine Exhibition at Mayflower Park, Southampton, and was received by His Majesty’s Lord-Lieutenant of Hampshire (Mr Nigel Atkinson).

Her Royal Highness, Patron, British Nutrition Foundation, this afternoon visited the British Armed Forces Nutrition Programme at The Royal Logistic Corps Regimental Museum, Connaught Road, Kings Worthy, Worthy Down, Winchester, and was received by Lieutenant General Sir Mark Mans (Deputy Lieutenant of Hampshire).

The Princess Royal, Patron, Farms for City Children, and Past Master, Worshipful Company of Butchers, later attended a Festival of Learning at Butchers’ Hall, 87 Bartholomew Close, London EC1.

The Princess Royal, Royal Fellow, the Royal Academy of Engineering, accompanied by Vice Admiral Sir Tim Laurence, this evening attended The Prince Philip Fund Commemoration Dinner at Prince Philip House, 3 Carlton House Terrace, London SW1, and was received by Colonel Jane Davis (Vice Lord-Lieutenant of Greater London).

[scotianostra]

24th June 1488 saw the coronation at the age of 15 of King James IV arguably the first effective monarch of the House of Stewart.

Young James had been a pawn in the forces that had brought down his father, and was said to have warn an iron belt around his waist in penance.

James was a Renaissance King who spoke several languages including Gaelic, English and French and was keen on arts and learning. Aberdeen University was founded, the printing press came to Scotland and education was made compulsory for barons and wealthy landowners. He spent lavishly on the court and built new halls in Edinburgh and Stirling castles. Edinburgh became main burgh and centre of government and justice.

He successfully settled major feuds between his nobles and between the Highland clans, and ended the hold of the MacDonald who had semi-independently ruled the Western Isles. He supported the Yorkist pretender Perkin Warbeck which provoked a military response from his Henry VII of England. However this was patched up in a truce ‘of perpetual peace‘ in 1502, and his marriage to Margaret Tudor, daughter of Henry VII, in the following year was to ultimately bring the thrones of Scotland and England together.

By 1513 Henry VIII was on the throne of England and fighting in France. Encouraged by Louis XII of France under the ‘Auld Alliance’ James invaded England but the Scots were massacred by the English forces under the Earl of Surrey at the Battle of Flodden Field in Northumberland on 9 September 1513.

Like many of Scotland's nobility, James was killed, there have been many theories about what happened to his body the most likely outcome is after the battle it was taken to Berwick, where it was embalmed and placed in a lead coffin before being transported to London.

The recipient of this gory package was said to have been Catherine of Aragon, first wife of Henry VIII, and in charge of the family business while the English king fought in France.

She, in turn, sent the dead king's surcoat, blood-stained and slashed, to her husband with the recommendation that he use it as a war banner.

The body was left in the monastery of Sheen in Richmond upon Thames unburied due to James having been excommunicated by The Pope for breaking The Treaty of Perpetual Peace. The Monastry was eventually demolished, but nothing is known of what happened to our King.

Legend has it that the skull was removed and used as a football before the master glazier to Elizabeth I took it as a souvenir. Legend also has it that the skull was eventually handed over to the Great St. Michael's Church in Wood Street in the City of London and buried there. The church is long gone, as is the church yard, the latter now occupied by a pub by the name of the Red Herring.

David Ross, historian and convener of The Society of William Wallace must have believed this as he, along with some London friends, had plans to install a plaque to James IV somewhere in Wood Street London. Sadly, big Davie passed away unexpectedly before ambition was never realised.

Other unlikely theories go that James had survived and had gone into exile, or that his body was buried in Scotland. Two castles in the Scottish Borders are claimed as his resting place. The legend ran that, before the Scots charge at Flodden, James had ripped off his royal surcoat to show his nobles that he was prepared to fight as an ordinary man at arms. Robert Lindsay of Pitscottie, writing in the 1570s, claimed that a convicted criminal offered to show him the Kings grave ten years after the battle, but Albany refused.

If David Ross believed it was in London that's good enough for me, but anyone wishing to reflect on this much loved King best go to Flodden Field and pay your respects to all that died there.

[bubblesandgutz]

Every Record I Own - Day 835: Minutemen Double Nickels on the Dime

If I were to lose my entire record collection in a fire, the first albums I would replace would be Miles Davis' In A Silent Way, Rolling Stones' Exile on Main St, Bob Dylan's Blood on the Tracks, and Minutemen's Double Nickels on the Dime. Of all those albums, Double Nickels has been in my life the longest.

It wasn't the first Minutemen album I owned (that would be the Post Mersh Vol 1 compilation) nor would it be the first Minutemen album that I really fell in love with (that would be Buzz or Howl Under the Influence of Heat), but it's the album that best encapsulates and captures all that I love about Minutemen.

With 45 songs at a runtime of over 80 minutes, it's a very dense album. As the San Pedro trio was fond of explaining, this was their "art album," which presumably means they were straying even further from the punk formula of their SoCal peers. Bassist Mike Watt ditched the pick and started playing with his fingers, nudging the band into funkier territories. Guitarist D. Boon revealed an aptitude with his instrument only hinted at on previous recordings and established his place as one of the greatest players in the punk scene. Drummer George Hurley slowed the tempos and leaned into the groove. There is very little on Double Nickels that sounds traditionally punk, unless you look back to the guitar dexterity of Television's Marquee Moon or the stabby rhythms of Gang of Four's Entertainment! To further confuse things, there were covers of Creedence Clearwater Revival, Van Halen, and Steely Dan on the album, and they blended in seamlessly with the original material.

It was a lot to process as a 15-year-old punk back in 1992. Minutemen had been big with my peer group in Hawaii, but I'd moved to Washington over the summer, and none of the punks or skaters I knew on the mainland gave two shits about the band. The "cool" factor for the band had disappeared in the move. But there was still something fascinating about Double Nickels, even if the music felt a bit unapproachable.

There was almost a kind of separate culture that surrounded Minutemen. Their vernacular was strange... a combination of SoCal surfer-speak, trucker slang, working class drawl, and literary sophistication. Their lyrics were both topical and cryptic. The incorporation of Raymond Pettibon illustrations in their album art added another layer of tension, mystery, and irreverence. They had a blue-collar aesthetic with a political bent and an art-minded approach. There simply wasn't another band that looked, sounded, or exuded the same aura as Minutemen.

There were Easter eggs hidden all over the album. Watt had just read Ulysses and seemed intent on mirroring the book's layers of meaning and sly humor (there's even a song called "June 16th" in homage to Bloomsday). The album title was a poke at Sammy Hagar's "I Can't Drive 55," with "double nickels" referring to the 55 mph speed limit and "the dime" referring to Highway 10, which leads into their hometown of San Pedro. The album cover, an homage to Kraftwerk's original Autobahn album art, captures Watt in his car with the speedometer at a steady 55 while the highway sign for the 10 is seen through the windshield. The sequencing of the album was an homage to Pink Floyd's Ummagumma with each member getting a side of the record to curate at their will and with all the remaining songs allocated to side D.

The music was a riddle in and of itself. Songs like "#1 Hit Song" and "Political Song for Michael Jackson to Sing" seemed to reinforce the album title's criticism of pop music's banality while basking in contradictions, such as the puzzling decision for Boon to drop a blazing guitar solo in the latter after singing "if we heard mortar shells, we'd cuss more in our songs and cut down on guitar solos." There's the intensely autobiographical "History Lesson pt 2" but also the self-referencing diss track "One Reporter's Opinion." The ominous and odd-timed "God Bows to Math" segues into the country two-step of "Corona." Hurley prioritized the clatter-and-scat of "You Need the Glory" as the opening to his side of the 2xLP over the power anthem of "Themselves."

And there were the lyrics to parse out. What's a punk kid supposed to make of lines like "me naked with textbook poems / spout fountain against the Nazis / a weird kind of sex symbol?" Or "the world was wrong and I was forced to march in line / but it felt like handcuffs / machines disregard my pronouns?" One moment it's "no hope / see, that's what gives me guts / big fucking shit / right now, man," but then it's "let the products sell themselves / fuck advertising / commercial psychology / psychological methods to sell should be destroyed."

I eventually made a commitment in November '92 to listen to Double Nickels in its entirety every day of the month. It was partially an endurance test. Could I do it? But it was also an attempt at deciphering what I was hearing. Surely this must all make sense somehow. And here I am 34 years later, still intrigued, mystified, and engaged by the album. I still hear something new every time I listen to it. There are still more in-jokes, references, and nuggets of wisdom to glean from it. It's a work of art that requires patience and attention, but it's also just a straight-up piece of celebratory joy and working class angst.

There's an entire world embedded in Double Nickels. It has its own language. It's own philosophy. It's own musical logic. It's own humor. It's own cultural reference-points. And it continues to be a world I want to visit on the regular.

[todaysdocument]

Senate Report 1619 to Accompany a Bill Granting a Pension to Harriet Tubman Davis

Record Group 233: Records of the U.S. House of RepresentativesSeries: Accompanying PapersFile Unit: Accompanying Papers of the 55th Congress

55th Congress, 3d Session. Senate Report No. 1619. HARRIET TUBMAN DAVIS. FEBRUARY 7, 1899. - Ordered to be printed. Mr. SHOUP, from the Committee on Pensions, submitted the following REPORT. [To accompany H. R. 4982.] The Committee on Pensions, to whom was referred the bill (H. R. 4892) granting a pension to Harriet Tubman Davis, have examined the same and report: The report of the Committee on Invalid Pensions of the House of Representatives is as follows: The effect of this bill is to increase from $8 to $25 per month the pension of the beneficiary, Harriet T. Davis, of Auburn, N. Y. Mrs. Davis is the widow of Nelson Davis, who served under the name of Nelson Charles as a private in Company G, Eighth United States Colored Infantry, from September 25, 1863, to November 10, 1865, and was honorably discharged. She also served long and faithfully as an army nurse. Soldier died October 14, 1888, and the widow filed a claim as such July 24, 1890, under the act of June 27, 1890, and is now pensioned under said act at $8 per month. It is not shown that the soldier's death was due to his military service. It is shown, however, by evidence filed with this committee, that the claimant was sent to the front by Governor Andrew, and acted as a nurse, cook in hospital, and spy during nearly the whole period of the war. The following is a copy of the letter from Secretary Seward: WASHINGTON, D. C., July 25, 1865. MY DEAR SIR: Harriet Tubman, a colored woman, has been nursing our soldiers during nearly all the war. She believes she has claims for faithful service to the command in South Carolina with which you are connected, and she believes you would be disposed to see her claim justly settled. I have known her long as a noble high spirit, as true as seldom dwells in the human form. I commend her, therefore, to your kind attention. Faithfully, your friend, WILLIAM H. SEWARD. Major-General HUNTER. Gen. Rufus Saxton, in a letter referring to Mrs. Tubman, says: "She was employed by General Hunter, and I think both by General Stephens and Sherman, and is as deserving of a pension from the Government for her service as any other of its faithful servants." In a letter to Brigadier-General Gilmore, from Headquarters Colored Brigade, St. Helena Island, South Carolina, July 6, 1863, Col. James Montgomery, commanding brigade, said: "I would respectfully recommend to your attention Mrs. Harriet Tubman, a most remarkable women, invaluable as a scout."2 HARRIET TUBMAN DAVIS. These testimonials sufficiently show the character and value of the service rendered by Mrs, Davis during the war. She now is about 75 years of age, physically broken down, and poor. This woman has a double claim on the Government. She went into the field and hospitals and cared for the sick and wounded. She saved lives. In her old age and poverty a pension of $25 per month is none too much. The bill is reported back with the recommendation that it pass. The papers in this case show that a claim for this woman was once presented to the House of Representatives and referred to the Committee on War Claims. Manifestly that would be the better way to reimburse her for her alleged services to the Government, but her advanced years and necessitous condition lead your committee to give the matter consideration. There is, however, a strong objection to the bill in its present form. The number of nurses on the pension roll at a rate higher than $12 per month is very few indeed, and there are no valid reasons why this claimant should receive a pension of $25 per month as a nurse, thus opening a new avenue for pension increases. She is now drawing pension at the rate of $8 per month as the widow of a soldier, and in view of her personal services to the Government Congress is amply justified in increasing that pension. [full transcription at link]

[world-of-wales]

─ •✧ CATHERINE'S YEAR IN REVIEW : JUNE ✧• ─

1 JUNE - Catherine and William attended the Marriage of Crown Prince Hussein of Jordan with Miss Rajwa Al Saif at the Zahran Palace. Afterwards, they attended the State Banquet in Hussein and Rajwa's honour. 6 JUNE - Catherine was received by His Majesty's Lord-Lieutenant of the Royal County of Berkshire (Mr. James Puxley) at Windsor Family Hub. Afterwards, she visited the Bedlom Family Home. Subsequently, Catherine received Mrs. Alice Webb (Trustee, Royal Foundation). 7 JUNE - She paid a visit to Maidenhead Rugby Football Club in Berkshire. 8 JUNE - Catherine held an Early Years Meeting. 13 JUNE - Catherine held an Early Years Meeting at Windsor Castle. 15 JUNE - Catherine visited Riversley Park Children's Centre in Nuneaton and was received by His Majesty's Lord-Lieutenant of Warwickshire (Mr. Timothy Cox). Subsequently, she received Professor Eamon McCrory (Board Member, the Royal Foundation Centre for Early Childhood Advisory Group) at Windsor Castle. 16 JUNE - Kensington Palace released a video about the work done by Health Visitors. Later, in the evening, William and her attended the Senior Colonels' Conference and Dinner at Clarence House. 17 JUNE - Catherine, William and their children took part in The King's Birthday Parade on Horse Guards Parade. Later, they appeared on the Balcony along for the RAF Fly-past. 18 JUNE - Catherine wrote a letter to East Anglia's Children's Hospices to mark Children's Hospice Week. 19 JUNE - Catherine and William attended a Chapter of the Most Noble Order of the Garter in the Throne Room at Windsor Castle. Afterwards, they were present at the Luncheon Party for the Companions of the Garter. Subsequently, they attended the Order of the Garter Installation Service at St George's Chapel. 20 JUNE - Catherine was received by His Majesty's Lord-Lieutenant of Greater London (Sir Kenneth Olisa) as she officially reopened the newly renovated National Portrait Gallery. 21 JUNE - Cathetine visited Eton College with William and George. 23 JUNE - Catherine and William attended the Ascot Races. Later, they were spotted at KOKO. 25 JUNE - Catherine appeared in a video about Wimbledon's Ball Boys and Girls along with Roger Federer. 28 JUNE - Catherine officially opened Hope Street in Southampton where she was received by His Majesty's Lord-Lieutenant of Hampshire (Mr. Nigel Atkinson). 28 JUNE - Catherine officially reopened the newly renovated Young Victoria and Albert Museum and was received by Colonel Jane Davis (Vice Lord-Lieutenant of Greater London). 29 JUNE - Catherine held an Early Years Meeting at Windsor Castle. Subsequently she held further Meetings. 30 JUNE - She received Professor Eamon McCrory (Board Member, the Royal Foundation Centre for Early Childhood Advisory Group) at Windsor Castle.

[thislovintime]

Photo 4 by Ken McKay/Shutterstock.

“I enjoyed [Micky] the most, respected Mike the most, and loved Davy the most.” - Peter Tork, Hartford Courant, February 26, 1982

Q: “Which of the Monkees are you closest to?” Tork: “It’s different with each. [Micky]’s the best pal, but my heart connection is biggest with Davy. Davy is capable of as much heart as anyone I’ve ever met. I kind of had a crush on Davy for a while.” Q: “That’s sweet. Maybe it will work out for you two some day.” Tork: “Maybe. We’d have to talk to our respective girlfriends about that.” - St. Petersburg Times, June 23, 2000

“[The feeling onstage in Osaka during ‘Sunny Girlfriend] was just the kind of thing that I got into music to do in the first place. And we’re playing to 18,000 screaming kids and Davy’s banging on the tambourine and he comes waltzing over to me right in the middle of this wonderful thing and he yells, ‘We’re gonna form a group!’ Which is why I love Davy Jones, because he noticed and he knew what it was about.” - Peter Tork, Hey, Hey, We’re The Monkees (1996) (x)

“What stands out for me about David, however, were the several events through the years in which I came to see a man of extraordinary heart and sympathy. […] I felt this criticism [of The Monkees] keenly, coming as I did from the world of the ethical folk singer, basically honoring the standards of the naysayers. We did play as a group live on tour, including a concert in Osaka, Japan, in 1968. There, in the middle of a performance of Mike Nesmith’s ‘Sunny Girlfriend,’ we hit the pocket. The beat fell into place, solid and grooving. Rock n roll was happening there for us on stage. David came bouncing over to me and yelled above the volume, ‘WE’RE GONNA FORM A GROUP!’ David’s sympathy for my feelings about the criticism, his musical awareness and his sense of humor buoyed me that day about as much as getting into the groove.” - Peter Tork, Hartford Courant, March 6, 2012 (x)

“I communicate with [Micky| and Davy from time to time. I actually adore David Jones. We don’t have a lot in common — it’s really amazing. [Micky] and I have a great deal in common and we’re pals, but I don’t have the same depth of feeling for him as I do Davy.” - Peter Tork, Kenosha News, August 5, 2007

“[Micky] and Mike and I have a very cordial relationship and share a lot of common topics. We go to lunch together when we’re all in town and have a good time. I love and respect each of these guys in their own way, although the real joys that I shared with Davy were special. At one point we had some good hard connections but as the years rolled on, those things faded away. But I am sorry to see Davy go. He was the one member in the group that I had the strongest human connection with. I still have two guys that I love and respect left from the band, but we share a different dynamic.” - Peter Tork, Review Mag, May 27, 2016 (x)

[snapdragoned]

Her parents aren't exactly pleased about it, but June quits her job. She didn't really connect with it, and the family's well enough off that she doesn't need to have one... yet. At least she stays plenty busy with her hobbies.

And it gives her enough time to finally finish restoring her car!

[xxanaduwrites]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a residue series installment ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

from the hive 🎙️🐝 : session 1

✎ elementary-teacher!reader (miss.honey) x biker!benny 🏍️

🐝 main hive | sweet talkin’ | honey, are you comin’? 🍯

summary: based off the two parts listed above, spoken from honey’s pov. some never before seen bonus tidbits included to be extended upon in future residue parts ;)

warnings: smoking, talks of violence, arson, potential stalking, some cursing here and there. nothing too crazy.

word count: idek tbh, i oddly wrote it in my tumblr drafts to get me inspired before writing the main residue installments.

💌 requests are open, send ‘em honey 💋

↻ ◁ || ▷

↺ ▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|။•

honey: “y’want some honey in your tea?”

danny: “sure, thanks.”

[ a clanking sounds of what must be a spoon is heard in the background of the recording ]

honey: “anytime, sweets.”

danny: “wait, i’ve seen this before.”

honey: “huh?”

danny: “this company. isn’t that — wait that’s your last name ain’t it?”

honey: “yeah, my pa’s a bee keeper. ma jars the honey with some top secret ingredient that’s got the town buzzin’. whole family business.”

danny: “ah, no wonder you got that nickname.”

honey: “yep, since the womb.”

danny: “interestin’. did benny know that when he met ya?”

honey: “hm…not that i know of. might of. if he didn’t, m’sure johnny must of told him.”

danny: “how’d you meet benny then?”

honey: “how’d i meet benny?”

danny: “yeah.”

honey: “well…you know, i was just mindin’ my own business. working a regular school day at the elementary school on phipps. i was teaching the third grade at the time and johnny’s girls just so happened to be in my class. the main office sent me a note in the middle of the day informing me that the girls would be picked up by their uncle benny. i didn’t think too much of it at the time, hey it wasn’t unusual for kids to be picked up by extended family members, y’know? but i guess i — i had this vision of what he’d be like. fucked up i know, but ya see, i knew johnny. not in the way one would expect. [ honey laughs ] johnny was — well he was mr. davis to me, respectfully so, just like any parent would be to one of my students. but he was also the mr. davis i knew from mass at st. caron’s on the corner of rose and dawn. he’d be walkin’ around in a suit and tie, the whole get up, solemn as he ushered pew to pew with the collections basket for the poor and during communion on sundays 12pm sharp.

danny: “interesting. so i suspect you saw johnny rather often then?”

honey: “oh yeah, every week. went with my ma and pa all the time and like clock work he was there. such a clean cut dignified family man. so it was no surprise for me to be taken aback by benny’s appearance when he pulled up at the school yard.”

danny: “did he bring his bike?”

honey: “hell no! had johnny’s car. ‘twas a real trip with his colors on and a cigarette propped between those pillowly lips of his.”

danny: [ laughs ] “i can imagine. when was this exactly?”

honey: “oh it had to be close to the end of june, right before the start of the summer of ‘65. school was just about ending. had a week left or so. oh yeah — yeah, i remember cause it was real hot out too — sweltering heat, like that sticky kind that can only be equated to bein’ stuck in a classroom with a half broken fan. aw it was the worst. i had on this baby pink tank of sorts with thick straps under this overall dress i decked out a while back. it was real cute. had all these flowers and things i embroidered on it.

danny: “right, the embroidery. heard a thing or two about bedazzled patches on the vandal jackets.”

honey: “‘course you did. the skill got me going with the boys. when sonny started riding with ‘em he let me bejewel the fringes of his jacket real pretty. always a good sport. but anyways — yeah so i had this cute little get up on and my hair was all up and out of my face, real messy for the 60s. kinda stuck out like a sore thumb at school, but what shits did i give?

danny: “none?”

honey: “damn right. so yeah, it was kind of funny when benny came strolling up to me, weaving through all the parents like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit one bit.”

danny: “what were your first impressions of him?”

honey: “i was impressed to say the least. only had my reservations for what — half a minute? yeah, i’d say a good thirty seconds before i was smiling up at him.”

danny: “did he scare you? scare any of the parents, other teachers?”

honey: “i wasn’t scared of him no…as for the others, sure. mrs. rubin was all this and that and the other thing ‘bout him after that, especially when it got more serious and he was waitin’ round the school. she didn’t appreciate the loitering, but he was harmless, as harmless as benny could be. though, i was more refreshed really to see somebody so interesting….so different from everybody else. it made me feel seen, y’know?”

danny: “so what happened next? when he got to you?”

honey: “he’s standin’ in front of me and i’m bein’ a good egg with both girls at my sides, small fingers wrapped around each hand, and i go ‘hi, you must be uncle benny. i’m miss. honey.’ and he takes a good minute to give me a once over, like introducing myself was the craziest thing i could of done. then that thick smokey voice of his went “honey, huh?” and my tummy rumbled up so much so i was sure the butterflies i stitched ripped right off and flew about my dress. [ honey laughs again ] i was kind of just like ‘yep, that’s me’ or whateva, and god i was so sure i fucked it all up.”

danny: “how come?”

honey: “anyone that knows benny knows he’s not a man of many words by any means, so at the time i took his silence as a sign of unimpression. i mean if you took a look at us two — and i mean a quick glance or somethin’, we definitely seemed like an odd pair. but if you really looked rather closely, takin’ the time to absorb every detail, i’d definitely say we were far more similar past the common eye. but, i’ll go into that later. [ honey pauses for a moment ] sorry did i answer the question?”

danny: “you did, you did.”

honey: “good, good….so where was i?”

danny: “you were talkin’ about introducing yourself to benny and him being unimpressed.”

honey: “right, so one of johnny’s girl starts gettin’ all antsy. wants to go. has herself practically all over benny in a beg. her sister — no. her sister doesn’t wanna. the little thing has her hand practically chain locked to mine. so i did what any teacher would do and sweet talked her into going.”

danny: “how’d you manage that?”

honey: “i reminded her that her pa was a good man. that his interests were just as important as her own. that was all it took really.”

danny: “did you still think that later on? still do? after everything?

honey: [ honey sighs and puts out a cigarette she’d been smoking throughout the session ] “i did and i still do. i know some people will say that johnny was no good, that his club only created chaos. really though, the johnny i knew was trying to keep the peace as my benny well — wasn’t. one wrong look in my direction and my man was jumping the fool in seconds flat. and if they got a hand on me, oh they’d have to have a death wish upon ‘em. benny would not stand for that. he’d make their life a livin’ hell for as long as they lived. johnny — no johnny wasn’t like that unless it was real bad. unless someone got real hurt, then he’d fight back.”

danny: “like the bar fire?”

honey: “exactly like the bar fire. sure, a part of me felt bad for the owner. that his establishment just went up in flames like that. but the other part of me was glad those fuckers couldn’t step foot in such a place no more. and on top of i was rather pissed off — still am — by the fact that the owner just let my benny get attacked like that. did nothing to stop it. boils my blood just thinking about it. just thinking about my sweet benny minding his business and gettin’ swarmed for just wearin’ his colors. colors that wouldn’t come off of him once i got my artsy hands on it. he was absolutely obsessin’ with the patches i made. especially the one that said “honey’s hubby” with a big ol’ heart. made my cheeks burn real bad when he’d kiss it before tossing it right back on.”

danny: “i remember seeing that.”

honey: “you do?!”

danny: “yeah, the times i rode with the guys. i caught ‘em doing it here and there. especially when he was ‘bout to mount his bike before a ride. figured it was some sort of good luck charm before i really took a good look at what the patch said. then i realized it was you.”

honey: “danny?”

danny: “what?”

honey: “you gotta stop or i’m gonna be gushin’ the whole rest of this interview without giving yuh the real stuff.”

danny: “alright, alright [ lyon laughs ] back to business. so, what happened after you got johnny’s girl to go with benny? when’d you see him again?”

honey: “funnily enough, ‘twas the very next day. saw him first in the mornin’ y’know at drop off. i figured he gave a ride to the girls again or somethin’ — but no. it was betty who did. she came right up to me that morning to say hello. the hell was i thinkin’? i mean benny had his whole bike on him. no shot in hell he’d bring the girls on it.”

danny: “sure.” [ sarcasm is apparent in lyon’s words ]

honey: “danny no! [ honey laughs ] benny was wild but not that wild. he’d never let anything happen to those girls.”

danny: “i know, i know. only jokin’. i’m assumin’ that’s what drew you to him though?”

honey: “it was definitely a solid factor.”

danny: “understandable. did you go talk to him, at drop off?”

honey: “no, no. I didn’t think too much of it at the time and i couldn’t go shoot the breeze with him anyways. the lot was packed with all these little ones. i had to roll call mine. it wasn’t until after lunch hour during recess that i did.”

danny: “he was still there then? never left?”

honey: “as far as i know, no. had a whole garden of cigarette buds circling his feet like he’d been there for hours.”

danny: “what’d you say when you approached him?”

honey: “said something about the girls not getting out for another few hours and then asked him if he was stalkin’ me off the bat. oh — he offered me a cigarette too, and i took it.”

danny: “ripped the bandage right off i see. how’d he take that?”

honey: “seemed amusin’ to him. he made one of those faces that had all his features turnin’ up real pretty. can never forget that. flat out told me he wasn’t which i found strangely adorable. then — i don’t really know how it happened, but he was changing the subject completely. y’know when you’re having a conversation and ya kind of just naturally switch topics easily, but it’s done so smoothy, like the segue isn’t rough or whatever?”

danny: “yeah, i know what y’mean. the previous topic is wedged in there somehow subtly, but it makes sense why you got there.”

honey: “exactly. but, benny. no — when benny was in the midst of a conversation and started going on about something else there was no ease there. yet, you’d be fooled to think so. that’s how he got us out of most arguments honestly. one minute i wouldn’t be too happy with him about somethin’. probably somethin’ stupid anyways. if not stupid, than definitely about him ridin’ with an injury. always got me nervous. but then of course the next he’d have me wrapped up in his embrace as if five minutes prior hadn’t happened. here, for instance though, i guess the transition kind of made sense? i mean i was goin’ on about my co-worker freaking out about him just parking ship near campus, blabbing about and he’s asking about what time i get out, and if i wanna go on a ride. now, i’m dumbfounded by this. cause what the hell does he want to do with me, y’know?”

danny: “so what did ya do? did ya go with him?”

honey: “what’a ya think, daniel?”

[ an unknown interruption cuts the session here, but lyon obtains all the information from honey he needs — for now, that is ;) ]

[ the tape ends ]

↻ ◁ || ▷

author’s note: hope ya liked this! i’m such a sucker for an interview writing style. daisy jones & the six is my favorite books ever if you can’t tell! <3

my requests are open for any miss honey x benny cross works + any convos about these two in general. don’t be shy honey, i’m all for yapping in the asks.

+ don’t forget to comment if you’d like be added to “da bee hive” (my version of da tag list)

smoochies. all da love xanadu 💋

da bee hive 🐝🍯

@nervousnerdwitch

@sunnbib

@rose-deathman

@austinbsblog

@thegabbyh

@jihyowrrld

@bellesdreamyprofile

@superemobitch

@m00npjm

@imusicaddict

@astrogrande

@alana4610

@cynic-spirit

@mariaenchanted

@themorriganisamonster

@real-lana-del-rey

@ateliefloresdaprimavera

@harryandhishairclip

@themorriganisamonster

@alexa4040

@returntopresley

@imladrisofabookdragon

@madisonmontgomeryxoxo

@zablife

@superstarcherrycolagirl

@nerdy-novelist017

@anqeliclust-recs

@imladrisofabookdragon

@slowsweetlove

[blackswaneuroparedux]

I never admitted to anybody during my entire military service that I had been an actor. I was terrified that I would be put in charge of Ensa [Entertainments' National Service Association]. Not even my closest friends knew I was an actor. I told them I was reading English at St Andrews University.

- Richard Todd

In his heyday in the 1950s and 1960s, Richard Todd was Britain’s leading matinee idol. If you love old movies, you’ll have seen Todd in one of his starring roles in “The Virgin Queen” opposite Bette Davis, “Stage Struck” with Marlene Dietrich, or “The Dam Busters” for which he won a Golden Globe Award. He was the tough little Scotsman in the wartime weepie “The Hasty Heart” and had audiences madly hunting for hankies.

Those were the days when Todd streaked across North American film screens as virtually every romantic hero from Rob Roy to Robin Hood. Ian Fleming chose him to play James Bond in “Dr. No” in 1962, but a schedule clash meant Sean Connery stepped into the role.

Little less known is the fact that he was also among the first British soldiers and the first Irishman to land in Normandy on D Day. More specifically, he participated in Operation Tonga during the D-Day landings in Normandy on 6 June 1944.

So it must have been surreal for Richard Todd the hearthrob actor to find himself playing Major John Howard in the epic movie ‘The Longest Day’ (1962) based on Cornelius Ryan’s book. Not least because he served with Howard and took part in the fighting at Pegasus Bridge that Major John Howard was tasked to secure on D Day.

Richard Todd was born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1919. His father was a medic in the British Army and, as his posting required, the early years of his life were spent in India. The family settled in Devon upon their return to England, and Richard was educated at Shrewsbury Public School, in Shropshire. The theatre was his first love, and he furthered his dramatic skills at the Italia Conti school, thereafter moving to Scotland where he helped to form the Dundee Repertory Theatre. When War was declared, Todd went to St. Andrew's University on the following day to volunteer. He was not a member of the University, but he not only convinced the selection unit that he was, but also added that he had been reading English there for six months, and that he had obtained a Cert A in his school cadet corps; a key point to being accepted as an officer. Despite success in passing off this invented career, Todd was to be disappointed by a lack of interest in him thereafter.

Becoming increasingly desperate to get into the War before it ended, he sent numerous letters to the War Office to press his case, which, in June 1940, was finally noticed.

Accepted by the King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, Todd went to Sandhurst to receive his officer training. He had a very lucky escape here when he was in a corridor on the second floor of a building when it was hit by a bomb, and he was blown into the garden outside by the blast. He got to his feet in the darkness and did not feel particularly affected by it, but an examination by torchlight revealed that his whole body was covered in blood from numerous small wounds.

A spell his hospital delayed his passing out from Sandhurst until early 1941. Celebrating in London, he narrowly avoided death again when he found his usual haunt, the Cafe de Paris, was too crowded to admit him and so he went elsewhere; it was hit by a bomb that same night and 84 people were killed.

His Battalion, the 2nd/4th Battalion The King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, was posted to XII Corps in defence of Kent, where a German invasion if it came would almost certainly land. Todd was given command of the infantry in the Dymchurch Redoubt, a fort of the Napoleonic era mounting two six-inch guns.

In the event of an invasion, this would certainly have been a primary target for the enemy, and those manning it were told that, with the main defensive line far to their rear, they would be left to fight to the end. General Montgomery commanded XII Corps at this time, and his characteristic emphasis on training and preparedness led to the formation of the first Battle Schools. Richard Todd attended one of these, and the experience allowed him to run his own School when, in December 1941, he was sent to Iceland with the 1st/4th King's Own Light Infantry to be trained in arctic and mountain warfare. Returning to England in September 1942, he eventually ended up in the 7th (Light Infantry) Parachute Battalion of the 6th Airborne Division. He was among troops of the 7th (Light Infantry) Parachute Battalion who, at 00:40 hours on 6 June 1944, landed behind the Normandy beaches in a cornfield, perilously close to tracer fire.

Todd scrambled into a wood and with 150 other paratroopers reached Pegasus and Ranville bridges, vital crossings to allow Allied forces to break out from the beachheads into Normandy. They had been seized by a glider force from the Ox and Bucks Light Infantry under the command of Major John Howard, who needed reinforcements to fend off ferocious German attacks.

In his memoirs, Caught in the Act, Todd would write of the carnage, “There was no cessation in the Germans' probing with patrols and counter-attacks, some led by tanks, and the regimental aid post was overrun in the early hours. The wounded being tended there were all killed where they lay. There was sporadic enemy mortar and artillery fire we could do nothing about. One shell landed in a hedge near me, killing a couple of our men.”

Todd would go on and see action at the Battle of the Bulge and push into the Rhine into Germany. After VE day, his division returned to the UK for a few weeks, then was sent on counter-insurgency operations in Palestine. During this posting he was seriously injured when his Jeep overturned, breaking both shoulders and receiving a concussion. He returned to the UK to be demobilised in 1946. 

In 1962, Todd was given the part of Major John Howard in the film adaptation of Cornelius Ryan's book about the D-Day landings, ‘The Longest Day’ (1962). Due to the nature of cinema, it was impossible for the film to give a thorough reflection of the role of the 6th Airborne Division during the Invasion, and as such their activities were solely represented by a reconstruction of the capture of Bénouville Bridge by Howard's coup-de-main force. Although briefly mentioned, the role of the 7th Battalion in the defence of the western bridgehead was largely ignored, and so it appeared as if the defence of the bridge rested only on Howard's men.

Naturally, the omission of their fierce defence of Bénouville caused some resentment amongst veterans, not least because one of their own was championing this re-working of history. Todd, however, regarded ‘The Longest Day’ (1962) as a film rather than a documentary, and his part in it was simply that of an actor doing as he was told.

Richard Todd would never have guessed, that in 17 years since he was on Pegasus Bridge as a paratrooper that he would standing there again as an actor portraying Major John Howard who was given the order: 'Hold,… until relieved'. It had to be Richard Todd’s 'twilight-zone' moment.

The ‘relieve’ for Howard had to come from Lord Lovat and his troops, who had landed on SWORD Beach, and were legging it towards Pegasus Bridge.

Before the shooting of the scenes were started at Pegasus Bridge, the film producer of The Longest Day, Darryl F. Zanuck, had the real life Lord Lovat and Major John Howard brought over to meet the men who were going to portray them (Peter Lawford portrayed Lord Lovat). The men had not seen each other since 6 June 1944.

Photo (above). From L-R: Peter Lawford, Lord Lovat, Richard Todd, Major John Howard.

[transitofmercury]

Pulitzer Family Fact Post (Katherine's Siblings Edition)

I'm finally doing it, after threeish years, I'm finally making posts about my acquired knowledge of the Pulitzer family. I'm starting with what I know about his kids because I think that's what people would find most interesting. I'd quite like to go on about Pulitzer's siblings and what people have managed to figure out about his childhood but I'll do that another day. It's been a while so I might forget stuff or get things slightly wrong but I'm doing my best to be accurate. Information is mostly from James McGrath Morris' book, 'Pulitzer: A life in Politics, Print and Power' and records I looked at on Ancestry (I got really weird about this).

Pulitzer and his wife, Kate Davis, had 7 children: Ralph, Lucille, Katherine, Joseph, Edith, Constance and Herbert. I'm just going to go through kid-by-kid and reel off everything I remember that is actually semi-interesting.

Ralph Pulitzer: Born June 11th, 1879. Died June 14th, 1939. He was born in St. Louis because Pulitzer hadn't bought The New York World and moved the family to New York at this point.

All the kids seem to have been sickly (like their father) but Ralph was asthmatic and small for his age, his health was always a concern. The family would spend a lot of time in Europe but he and Lucille were the ones who usually joined their parents while the younger ones were left in America. He didn't like learning Latin (From a letter to Lucille: "I never imagined a language capable of such filthy, beastly rules and contradictions") and preferred Greek. He was educated at St. Mark's School and would've been at Harvard by the time that Newsies happened.

All the sons were a bit detached from the realities of how newspapers worked because they were raised in mansions and boarding schools but Pulitzer was surprised and very upset about them having limited journalistic skills. He really wanted them to be prepared to run the paper after him and they really weren't. He started to become president of The World around 1907. When Pulitzer died, he got 20% of the newspaper stock in the will. He was the main person running The World before they sold it in 1931. Ralph preferred high society life to newspapers. He married Frederica Webb who was vaguely a Vanderbilt in 1905. They had two sons, I think, and eventually divorced. He remarried and had two daughters but one died very young. He died in New York following complications to do with abdominal surgery.

Lucille Irma Pulitzer: Born September 30th, 1880. Died December 31st, 1897. She was probably also born in St. Louis but I haven't been able to find the record. Her middle name seems to come from one of Pulitzer's sisters.

She was Pulitzer's favourite, that's the key thing about her. He had very high expectations of his children and a lot of rules, and she managed to meet those expectations and didn't break those rules. She was focused on her studies, she could speak multiple languages and play multiple instruments. In Pulitzer's code-book, she's referred to as 'Lulu' instead of Lucille. Seems to have spent a lot of her younger years in Europe. When she was 14 she had a minor throat surgery and Pulitzer got upset that everyone was paying her more attention than they were him (his wife got really mad at him and he sent Lucille flowers to apologise).

I think I read about her graduating from Miss Brown's School for Young Ladies in May 1897 when she would've been 16. Summer of that year they held a party at the Chatwold (their place in Bar Harbour) to basically debut her. A couple days later, she became ill. She had Typhoid and despite the family's efforts, she died months later at the Chatwold on New Years Eve. After her death, Pulitzer established the Lucille Pulitzer Scholarship at Barnard College, which makes me think she wanted to go to college and that he would have supported this.

Katherine Ethel Pulitzer: Born January 30th, 1882. Died May 9th, 1884. Same as Lucille, probably born in St. Louis but I've never seen the records. She's the one daughter whose middle name I can't link to one of Pulitzer's family members but her first name comes from her mother. There's not much to say because she died so young. She died of Pneumonia in New York almost a year exactly (one day off) after Pulitzer purchased The World.

This is quite sad (it's already sad) but she is either omitted or forgotten in the 1900 census. They asked for the number of children born and the number of children living, at this point all 7 had been born and 5 were alive but the Pulitzers responded that 6 had been born instead. They weren't forgetting Lucille after three years, so it seems like Katherine was not counted.

Joseph Pulitzer II: Born March 21st, 1885. Died March 30th, 1955. One of the few children born in New York.

Less sickly than the others but Pulitzer was constantly disappointed by him. He was also sent to St. Mark's School. As a teenager he didn't do what his father told him to and didn't pay enough attention to his studies. He got thrown out of St. Mark's in 1901 after he and some friends snuck out to buy beer and then ended up climbing into the headmaster and his wife's bedroom when they were sneaking back in. Pulitzer was really angry about that. Pulitzer managed to get him into Harvard but he just kept being the same as he was before so Pulitzer pulled him out of Harvard.

He got sent to St. Louis to be trained by the people Pulitzer had at the Post-Dispatch and actually developed journalistic talent. His father could not see this talent and was still disappointed in him. He only got 10% of the newspaper stock when his dad died. He ran the Post-Dispatch far better than his brothers ran The World. He tried to punch Hearst which is just really funny to me. He married Elinor Wickham in 1910, she died in 1925 and a year later he married Elizabeth Edgar. He had similar health problems to his father towards the end of his life and after he died, the Post-Dispatch passed to his son, Joseph Pulitzer III, it stayed in the family's hands until very recently (either the 90s or the 00s) but there was a legal battle about whether to sell it in the 80s.

Edith Louise Pulitzer: Born June 19th, 1886. Died April 6th, 1975. She was born in Lenox, Massachusetts. Her middle name seems to come from Pulitzer's mother.

Pulitzer was not that interested in his younger daughters but he still had high expectations for them. When she was younger and her parents travelled to Europe, she seems to have been left in America more than her older siblings but later on she seems to have been just following her mother around to wherever she went. She was 13 when the Pulitzer house fire happened in January 1900. Morris mentions an incident where she got upset at her father for constantly criticising her and the two of them had a bit of an argument. She was sent to Miss Vinton’s School for Girls in Connecticut.

She married William Scoville Moore a couple weeks after her father died, I think I read that they had to have a pretty boring, scaled back wedding because, officially, she and her mother were still in mourning. They had five sons. William died in 1944 and then two of their sons died in 1944 and 1945 fighting in the war. Another son died in 1957. She lived the longest out of all of the children, and 1975 feels so strangely recent for a child of Joseph Pulitzer to have been alive then. She and Constance both got the same amount in the will and it was obviously a lot of stuff but I think she might've tried to claim that it wasn't enough and that her father wasn't in his right mind when he made the will.

Constance Helen Pulitzer: Born December 13th, 1888. Died July 14th, 1938. She was born in France, probably Paris, because the family (Joseph, his wife and the eldest two children) were in Europe looking for advice on his worsening health when she was born. According to census responses from the early 20th century, her first language was French while all her siblings' had been English. Her middle name seems to come from another one of Pulitzer's sisters.

Pulitzer did not see her for very extended periods of time in her early childhood. She was also at home when the Pulitzer house fire happened, she was 11 at the time. Once, when Pulitzer was away from home, he only received a letter from Constance and told his wife to tell the other children he didn't love them (that's a quote, "To all the rest of the children you can say I do not love them"). She also followed her mother around Europe a bit when she got older. She debuted in 1907.

In 1913 she married William Grey Elmslie who had been her younger brother's tutor. The family expressed their support for the marriage but I think only Edith was actually present. Oh, this is Newsies relevant: she and Edith shared a property in Santa Fe. She died at 49 which is young even by Pulitzer family standards and makes her the first child to die in adulthood but I can't find a cause of death so I don't know what went on there.

Herbert Pulitzer: Born November 20th, 1896. Died September 4th, 1957. He was born in New York. I see him get called Tony a lot, he might've had a middle name that gets forgotten.

This is a twist you're not expecting: he may have not actually been Pulitzer's son. There's (significant) evidence that Kate was having an affair with Arthur Brisbane when she got pregnant with Herbert and it's definitely possible that Arthur was Herbert's father. He was born a long time after Constance considering that the first 6 children were born within 10 years of each other. And if you look at pictures of Pulitzer and his older sons at around the same age, they look very similar - I don't think Herbert looked that much like him but he does kinda look like Arthur. We can't really know but I do think it's very, very possible. Pulitzer never doubted that Herbert was his, and he seems to have been the favourite of his sons since he got 60% of the newspaper stock. He briefly ran The World in the years before it was sold but apparently people who worked there didn't like him. He was very young when the Pulitzer house fire happened and Kate had to go back inside to save him.

I'm less certain about details in Herbert's life than the other children, I'm not sure why I know less about him but I do. He was the only child at his father's deathbed, when he was only a teenager. He learnt to fly and fought at the end of WW1. Married Gladys Munn in 1926 and they had two children together. Their son, also called Herbert, led a messy life (highly publicised divorce). Herbert died of uremic poisoning, which is described "urine in the blood" and, yeah, that's the note this post is going out on.

Again, it's possible I've made mistakes or forgotten stuff here. I also can't stress enough how much information James McGrath Morris' book has provided this post.

[marnz]

2023 book post

I read 63 books this year (i do count short stories & novellas) and there were epic highs (everyone read the school for good mothers) and epic lows (y'all read this shit? for real?).

here are my top ten, in no particular order, followed by thoughts on the rest. it's so long lol okay let's get into it

top ten.

the school for good mothers by jessamine chan - a perfect commentary on the prison industrial complex and how poor, single, and mothers of color are treated set in a chilling near future. loved it. i read this book in june and think about it daily.

edinburgh by alexander chee - this book is a modern classic for good reason. gay tragedy lovers this book is for YOU. the prose is so beautiful, so dream like, that i couldn't stop reading. i read this book in one sitting, very nearly a year ago, and i was completely devastated by it.

in the woods by tana french - love this for: unreliable narrator who sucks but is compelling; prose about the woods and the 1980s mystery; cassie; a police procedure that starts off by being like 'crucially you must understand that the police lie.' i have a weakness for atmospheric books and this has that in spades.

homegoing by yaa gyasi - this book is SO good and the prose and character voices are excellent. it's extremely epic but somehow only 300 pages?!? each character only gets 1 chapter but gyasi does SO much with each chapter 😭 i read this in one day because i could not stop reading. i also read gyasi's other book, transcendent kingdom, which was also very good.

some desperate glory by emily tesh - this book is a mindfuck and is one of the few times i've seen [spoiler] done well. there are a lot of things this book talks about--imperialism; artificial intelligence; fascism; white supremacy and how it intersects with gender; queerness; eugenics. i posted about it early when i had only read like 49% and i was soooo wrong to do so. read this and just trust me.

x by davey davis - okay are you ready for this? X is queer/trans bdsm neo noir mystery set in a dystopian near future. it is dark, it is consuming, it is surprising, it is a book i turn over obsessively whenever i can't sleep. i need to reread and i only read it a few months ago.

baru cormorant series/the masquerade by seth dickinson - this is 3 books but let's count it as one book. much has been said about baru as a cringefail autistic marxist lesbian icon (affectionate) but what i really appreciate about these books, other than how fucking gay they are, is the specificity of the world building. i have a theory that modern readers are in search of detail (and cruelly denied by much of publishing rn). seth dickinson loves details. seth dickinson is going to take semi familiar narratives and tell them in a brand new way using details; math; hyper specific words. god i love it

poverty by america by matthew desmond - relatively short book, read it in a day. i also read desmond's first book, evicted, and it is also SO good but what's sexy about this book is that modern american society and esp. politicians frequently likes to be like 'oh no, poverty is so tragic but it can't be solved' and desmond is like 'watch me.' for people who enjoy reading andrea long chu take downs reviews and want concrete solutions for how to build a better world.

station eleven by emily st. john mandel - many people told me this was the best book they've ever read and i was like 'whatever. i'll get to it when i get to it.' DO NOT BE ME!! read this!! i wouldn't say this is a happy book but it was a beautiful book. i loved it. i cried for about 90 minutes afterwards. for art lovers, weird theatre kids, people unafraid of plague books, non linear timeline lovers, people who have been divorced.

piranesi by susanna clarke - okay i read this on my flight to frankfurt earlier this year and it totally bowled me over with how lovely it was and how emotional i got. just a beautiful, delicate, haunting, eerie book. for fans of mysteries, people who love oceans, gothic houses, people who earnestly believed magic was real as kids and hope it's real today, people who love academic drama they aren't involved in.

okay damn honorable mentions: in the dream house by carmen maria machado (SO good, maybe deserves my rec more than piranesi), normal people by sally rooney (mainly because it did make me insane), under the banner of heaven by jon krakauer (thorough, horrifying), honey & spice by bolu babalola (SO fun), sula by toni morrison (stunning!!), severance by ling ma (millennial alienation during a plague, amirite?), trust exercise by susan choi (who knows what really happened? you'll understand).

okay now the worst books i read this year, aka books i did not vibe with:

broken harbor & the trespasser by tana french; did not enjoy broken harbor due to the themes and did not enjoy the trespasser due to how cringefail the ending was. you can't depict ongoing harassment a woman of color is experiencing in her workplace, make her decide to leave after two years of this harassment, and then back track it in the last chapter? please. this is a problem tana french runs into a lot, but that is a different post

the witch elm by tana french; parts of this book were absolutely delicious. but a lot of it felt very tedious and in need of a stern editor. so many books these days need more thorough editing and the result is that a potentially amazing book is just like, okay. i understand the power fantasy that this book is designed to be, but i'm not the right audience for it (disabled). also, generally i need a character to root for.

amateur by thomas page mcbee; SO sorry thomas. i didn't vibe with this book mainly because i don't think i'm the target audience for it. i'm not cis and i'm not straight?? i also am not interested in narratives about trans men wanting to prove their masculinity by taking up a violent sport. i think this tension is addressed in the book but it wasn't addressed to my satisfaction. violence is often all the world gives to men as a source of power and thus serves as a solace for everything patriarchy takes from them, so i suppose i understand wanting to be able to get a piece of that...logically that makes sense. but also. why.

the late americans by brandon taylor; the thing is, i fucking love real life by brandon taylor and i enjoy brandon's criticism and read his substack (although i disagree with almost every aesthetic opinion he has). so possibly my expectations were too high, but i read this and i guess i was just...wanted to know what the point is. gay people suffering in the midwest? as a genre, it slaps. as a book, i feel frustrated. it felt loose, pointless, in great need of editing. brandon talks about this book by talking about the importance of moral fiction, and this book lacks moral urgency for many of its stories. i've read a lot of moral fiction and this isn't it? anyway I read this in July and looking back all I remember is Seamus' journey and the way brandon dragged workshopping.

the angel of the crows by katherine addison; look. if you're going to write sherlock wingfic, put it on ao3. if you're going to file off the serial numbers, please work harder so i can't tell what it originally was. and absolutely nix the author's note saying it was sherlock fanfic, because that makes me very unhappy! personally!

99% mine by sally thorne; classic second book syndrome. except the third one is also not very good. too bad!

touched out by amanda montei; okay obligatory disclaimer that i'm not a mother or parent but rather an adult who loves my friends' kids! this book really frustrated me and i think i would have enjoyed it considerably more if it was all cultural criticism instead of a memoir (other than the dworkin parts????). a memoir is an art form, a set narrative, but criticizing it feels weird because i am criticizing the author's life decisions as presented to me, in a flattened context, in a controlled narrative. if the memoir parts were instead part of a fictional book i would not hold back lol. this book is marketed as the most important work of feminist scholarship in the last 30 years and...it ain't. i also felt the focus was incredibly narrow. while montei does attempt to cite a broad range of theorists i just kept finding myself wondering, what about people from other cultures? what about disabled mothers? what about queer mothers or parents? what about this? WHERE'S YOUR RESEARCH? WHERE ARE YOUR INTERVIEWS? there is a specific kind of feminism where white women act like their specific experience is the pinnacle of all suffering and tbh it isn't. this book reminded me of that very strongly. like, if you're telling me you won't have an epidural because it was invented by a man then you are not a useful person to engage with, thanks.

books that would have been amazing if not for that one part

he who drowned the world by shelley parker chan - man i have mixed thoughts on this book. look away my beloved swbts mutuals. okay the epic highs (ouyang & zhu!! ma!!) were set off by baoxiang lmao. i'm mainly interested in queer masculinity and femininity and a femme straight guy is like. well, good for him, but i don't really care? bring me back to my loveds zhu and ouyang. but my main gripe...tbh i think baoxiang is a hugely unreliable narrator that protests about a lot of things too much. being straight for one thing; not having a thing for esen is another. AND MORE COULD HAVE BEEN DONE WITH THIS? like i honestly wish the implied incest thing, which was brought up at least twice, was more present. taking a step back, if you're like well i'm straight and i don't have a thing for my dead brother i helped kill but i absolutely will be seducing the spitting image of him while i fuck my way to the top of the throne? that should make me insane. possibly it would have in a book that didn't already have ouyang. who can tell. so i wish SPC had leaned into that a lot more, i wish baoxiang hadn't felt like such a plot instrument, i wish there was more Ma, i wish spoilery completely unbelievable storyline was better, etc.

in memorial by alice winn - damn, this book. it was so good but it fell apart at the end. i respect winn's decision to not have it be perfectly easy after living through the untold horrors of the trenches of wwi but the idea of two brits running away to brazil to live out a life of colonial bliss because being gay wasn't explicitly illegal in brazil at a time is like. what? i guess. anyway, it was good, i just have some notes.

romantic comedy by curtis sittenfeld - here's the thing, i love curtis sittenfeld and i knew going in that this is a book by the author that wrote rodham but man, this is a book by the author that wrote rodham. this is the most Online book i've ever read (derogatory) and it's very specific in its liberal i'm an Online author on twitter type of deal. the point of the book is that Not Tina Fey falls for Male Taylor Swift on Not Saturday Night Live and it was good, it was fun, i wasn't expecting [spoiler] ummm but it worked. i had a good time.

this is very long, sorry.

[sherlockianscholar]

part 1 (1985-1990): the saga of jeremy brett through the scuttlebutt archives

go here for part two!

since 1971, sherlockian and baker st irregular, peter blau has published a small "gossip" sheet for all sherlock holmes news under publication of the "scuttlebutt from the spermaceti press." after the advent of computers, peter started digitizing all his sheets from 1985 onward.

i went through blau's archives to look for any tidbits on jeremy brett. what i found tells jeremy's saga as granada's sherlock holmes. some of the entries are very straightforward. some of them require reading through the lines. some of them are just fun background bits of granada. but all of them paint jeremy's story through little snippets of news.

March 1985: granada premieres in america! vincent price quoted edgar w. smith, one of the foremost sherlockians in history :)

July 1985: the beginning of the closing chapter of his life

for some reason these are the only pictures i can find of joan and jeremy together, but they are absolutely adorable

August 1985 #1

August 1985 #2: jeremy's flightiness around the role trickles to the press. though he'll never say why.

"'and then i hang my pipes up,'" he said with a smile." his feelings regarding holmes were dangerous before joan's death and only got worse.

to quote producer june wyndham-davies, "when his depression was upon him, and he suffered from depression of the worst kind, he was a different person entirely. i've never known anyone whose personality could change so much. he would become aggressive and not want to continue. i had so many conversations with jeremy about not wanting to continue as sherlock holmes. he felt that sherlock holmes had turned him into a monster. jeremy brett was like that before he ever came to sherlock holmes, but it wasn't his fault and it certainly wasn't sherlock holmes fault."

December 1987: i didn't know he commissioned the play, the secret of sherlock holmes! and helped write it!!

February 1988: damn, that's audacious

May 1988: i can only imagine how much more would've been created and executed if jeremy hadn't gotten sick

okay but, the dog in the hound of the baskervilles is named khan. the movie is literally the wrath of khan.

June 1988: i can't pinpoint the timeline for when jeremy's mental illness became public knowledge and published by the media. however, from this short news clipping, it doesn't seem like they knew the real reason jeremy's hair was cut short. and almost certainly not that he chopped it off himself.

"jeremy just got into one of his manic states—you know, i hate sherlock holmes etc., and one day he cut his hair. in front of the mirror, he lopped bits off. i remember the first time I saw him after he had done it. we were both appearing in an 80th birthday tribute to sir laurence olivier at the national. he turned up at the theatre and i said, 'god, what have you done to your hair?' it was patently obvious it had not been cut by a barber—there were bits sticking up all over." -edward hardwicke

July 1988: the age of jeremy brett! forget the victorian era, this is the jeremerian? brettian? era

October 1988 #1

October 1988 #2: jeremy's insecurities shine through more. high praise for daniel day-lewis. "don't worry you haven't heard or seen the last of him!" congrats to jeremy for introducing lewis to america LOL. yay for play success! (also what does he mean by saying the private life of sherlock holmes is a "damaged film?" robert stephens was one of jeremy's life long best friends--stephens died exactly 2 months after jeremy. coincidentally, jeremy's ex-boyfriend, paul shenar, died exactly one month after jeremy.)

October 1988 #3: L O L

November 1988 #1: jeremy's opinion matters!

November 1988 #2: in my opinion, "bending the willow" is the most important part of jeremy's interpretation of holmes

August 1989: michael cox (the cornerstone of creating and shaping the first half of granada's run) begins to make his (very forced) exit. jeremy's physical health problems are becoming apparent, but they are brushed away by the actor, attributing his breathing issues and weight gain to heavy smoking. and once again, jeremy tries to cast off holmes, without revealing his true reasons.

according to granada's page on the arthur conan doyle encyclopedia, this is what was really happening:

"the performances were probably cathartic for him, but required excessive physical effort from a man with a worsening heart condition who, due to the enormous water retention caused by the lithium, found it difficult to breathe and move. he was forced to leave the theatre and go to hospital, where he stayed for a fortnight and had more than twelve litres of water removed from his body. by 1989 brett and hardwicke, who had supported him with boundless patience, were on their knees. brett took a short holiday but had to be rushed home and hospitalized: the treatments for his bipolar disorder and his heart condition had clashed."

i strongly recommend reading edward's later comments of his difficulties with jeremy during the show: link here

October 1989: two months later, jeremy has yet again changed his mind on continuing as sherlock holmes

November 1989: philip purser how d a r e you say that about my beloved watson. of course, it's from the daily mail, so his opinion doesn't matter.

December 1989: granada undergoes major changes. the conservative government was actively attacking the british media and coming after their budgets. after ousting all of the original leaders of granada's sherlock holmes, the new priorites were based off of ratings and profitability. "you must always remember that your business is to form the market as well as to supply it, [otherwise] your career will have succeeded only in restraining the arts, tarnishing the virtues, and throwing confusion into the manners of your contemporaries." -a granada staffer to the new leaders of the show

January 1990: jeremy finally feels stable in the role, but i think without that dance with "the dark side of the moon" he felt like he lost a key element in his portrayal of holmes. even though he had always been terrified of that instabiity.

end of part 1, so here's part two!