#telegraphist

[yourdailyqueer]

Władysława Habicht (deceased)

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Lesbian

DOB: 1 June 1867 

RIP: 2 April 1963

Ethnicity: White - Polish

Occupation: Suffragette, activist, telegraphist, poet, musician

Note 1: Founded Association of Galician Postal Clerks, since at that time only unmarried women were accepted to work in post offices, the association served as a labour union and community that provided the workers with a sense of group belonging, financial aid, and support. The group's postulates emphasized the importance women's emancipation, which would allow them workers rights; including overtime pay, holidays, sick pay and a better retirement pension. They also demanded equal treatment in employment for positions and departments previously restricted to men.

Note 2: In recognition of her achievement, Habicht received the Silesian Plebiscite Badge, the Silver Cross of Merit and the Golden Cooperative Badge. At the end of her life, she was looked after by the members of the Society she ran.

[jusagi91]

Finally! 🙌💙My first book now it's available on Amazon (Paperback and Ebook).

Jack Phillips, The Telegraphist from the Titanic: Story and Activity Book. https://amazon.com/dp/B0CP41K24Q

[redrawthecolorlessworld]

YAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAAYAYAYA I FINALLY GOT THE HANG OF THE RESONARK ARCS WOOOOOOOO

———

<33

[damagedman]

(The Telegraphist)

[sgiandubh]

For all the amateur telegraphists

Posted today, around 3 pm local time:

I am just leaving it here, for future reference. And yes, I know it's cringe AF.

[dathen]

For a chap who’s perpetually hard-up, I must say that young Bingo is the most wasteful telegraphist I ever struck. He’s got no notion of condensing. The silly ass simply pours out his wounded soul at twopence a word, or whatever it is, without a thought.

fucking CRYING drag his ass, Bertie!! this is NOT the fun kind of can’t shut up disease!!

Did some morbid curiosity number crunching and based on the estimates I found, the first telegram in the story cost around $45, and the second around $30. Good lord above.

$8 of those were just for words addressing Bertie. Whoever said I wouldn’t end up using math for important things in real life—

[junisjill]

Isn’t it crazy how last week I lived a normal life. A week ago today I was clearing out my bag and found a book I had had for ages and never read, that book was The Watchmaker of Filigree Street. Now, I’ve never read any other books by Natasha Pulley yet (but after this one I’m going to read all of them.) but like it’s crazy how a week ago I was like ‘hey this is a cool looking book,’ and now my obsession for this stupid (not stupid I love them) gay couple made of a watchmaker and a silly telegraphist is growing like a fungus in my brain that in two weeks time will have me on my deathbed. Please send help.

[aa-ensemble-smackdown]

[thethirdromana]

Gaining new appreciation for the skill of telegraphists in trying to check what the Morse code in today's @re-dracula says.

I'm pretty sure it's just the text of Arthur's telegram but it's not easy to be sure even knowing in advance what it's likely to say!

[nelapanela94]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @yakaaamoz this one is for you!!!

EVERYONE SEND BIRTHDAY WISHES TO MIA!!

WC: 2k

TW: fluff, domestic fluff, post war, a smidge of smut (nothing explicit)

You and Levi celebrating your first Valentine's Day after the war.

Dot, dot.

“Levi, you’re too slow!” you chrip and wedge between him and the railing, making the five-story building rumble with your zing and agitation.

He’s left alone, amid the flight of stairs between the first and second floor, with the lingering clatter of your boots. Grumbling, he rolls the eyes, fixes his hat and hobbles after, his hand tightening around the handle of the walking aid. He meets the startled neighbor from the 201 and nods apologetically. “Sorry, but it’s the last episode.” Levi shrugs.

“It’s ok.” The man chortles. “My mother loves that play too.” A cigarette dangles from his lips. He shoves his hand into his pockets and climbs down the stairs. “Good evening, Mr. Ackerman.”

You stumble into your apartment, scuff off your shoes, tripping and clinging to the wall. A gush of pain blows up in your toe, and you curse at the coffee table for happening to be in the middle of the living room. You don’t have time to cry, anyway; the pendulum keeps swaying; the seconds tick. You plunge on your knees before the intricately carved wooden box, and static crackles as you turn the dial, the tiny red line moving back and forth between the numbers, the scratchy noise vexing and probing your patience.

Finally, the sultry voice that gives life to Werner Fischer hones in the last scene of yesterday’s episode and, splaying a hand on your chest, you heave a sigh of relief. You huddle on the couch and stretch your wool sweater over your knees, expectant. Tonight, Sarah will choose between her fiancé Werner, the wealthy, extremely good-looking and perfect future son-in-law, or Thomas Meyer, her family’s gamekeeper, and the love of her life since they were fifteen.

The notes of the Wedding March purl in, and Sarah’s journey to the altar commences.

“No, Sarah, don’t.” You mumble, clenching the hem of your sweater and biting your lips. Meanwhile, Thomas is waiting at the train station. Steam hoots, people blather, iron wheels hurtle by and screech. A letter rumples in his hand.

The door thuds and the foyer lights flicker to life. Levi takes his time. He hooks the cane on the nail, then shimmies off his trench, his jacket and slips them on the branches of the tree-like hanger. Then his hat and runs his fingers through his hair. His spine cracks as he groans down onto the bench.

Maybe he is getting old.

But aren’t the forties supposed to be the new thirties? That’s what the guy in the hair dye add says.

Deliberately, he takes off his shoes, fishes yours with his toes and pushes both pairs under the seat where they belong.

That goddamn play has become your new vice and sometimes he regrets buying the damn radio for your last birthday. Nah. He loves seeing you smile. He’ll never forget the spark in your eyes when music blared into the house for the first time, and you beckon him to the dance floor even though he was still doomed to the wheelchair. The candid and carefree way you react to the small things in life fascinates him.

He limps to the kitchen, ties the apron on and rummages through the scanty content in the fridge, diving into the drawer of forgotten veggies where your attempts for a healthy lifestyle lie.

The box of chocolate bars rests in plain sight.

He unwraps one, furtive enough to go unnoticed by the acute ears of a telegraphist. Even though you’re too absorbed in the play, he cranes his head over his shoulder, squinting. Nothing. You’re rocking with apprehension, riveted to the radio.

The bomb of textures and flavors explodes in his mouth, the chewiness of the caramel mates immaculately with the crunchiness of the wafer.

The foil falls into the bin, and he wipes his fingers clean.

The heater hums; the windows rattle with the sharp and crispy wind.

Onions, tomatoes, garlic; mouth-watering sizzling. Through the chop chop chop, he strains his ears to catch the final scenes. Though predictable, like your romance novels, he’s engaged in the plot too, listening in secrecy while making dinner. Now Sarah runs across the town in her hefty wedding gown, crossing her fingers for Thomas not to hop in that train. He leans over the countertop, scrapes the cutting board into the pan, his hand threatening to solder to the knife handle.

The trains whistles to depart, and Sarah’s harrowing pleads stop the machine.

You’re clapping and sniffling and wiping your tears; your nails most likely reduced to the roots.

And they lived happy ever after.

“Did you like it, Levi?” You chime from the living room, stoking the coals in the fireplace.

Shit.

 You turn off the radio and pad on your kitty socks to the kitchen, your eyes red and swollen and the hem of your sleeves tinted in a darker shade of taupe. “Next week starts a new one, we should listen together,” you say, flitting like a hummingbird from pantry to pantry to spoil dinner.

“I’m not into that crap.”

You raise a brow, hands hooked at your hips.

“I wasn’t.” he grunts, and your peck on his cheek softens him.

You stride around him, filching a chunk of carrot, sniffing the sauté, and turn toward the fridge, while Levi rakes an excuse in his head he’ll need for when war drops the question mark.

“Levi! That was the last one!” you pout.

But he shrugs and sighs, bullet-resistant to your whining. “You said you wanted to lose some pounds; I was helping.”

“You’re saying I’m fat.” Your jaw drops to the floor.

He opens his mouth to concoct his defense and closes it immediately, sewing his lips into a thin line before he, involuntarily, wreaks havoc in your kitchen. He knows that whatever he says, you’ll twist his words against him, transmute them into a dagger. One doesn’t fight battles that are already lost.

Levi surrenders, turns around, and you trap him in your arms, pressed between your body and the granite edge. No time to hunker down in the trench. You kiss him, slipping your tongue in his mouth, unannounced, cajoling sweet sounds and little grunts, savoring him; his not so shy hands teasing with the hem of your sweater.

You pull apart, holding down his hands, his lips dewy and pink, his eyes glazed with endearment. “You taste good,” you purr against his lips, running your fingers through his hair, some strands dusted with the white of age.

Dot, dash, dot, dot. Dash, dash, dash. Dot, dot, dot, dash. Dot.

In the pot, water burbles to a boil, the ring of blue fire fizzing. You prattle about your day, tangling and combing out his soul with your sweet voice.

☺

He lids the leftovers of the stew, and you help him to the couch. He snuggles in your arms, in his safe place, his ear pressed on your heartbeats. His solace and reassurance. His purpose. His beacon.

You caress his hair, fondly, with the adoration of a devotee raising their palms in hallelujah.

“Levi.” You whisper.

“uh?”

“Do you want to be my Valentine?”

“You’re what?”

“Valentine.”

He raises his head, scanning your face. “What is a Valentine?”

“I’m not so sure.” You tap a finger on your chin, gazing up and blushing. “I heard the girls in the office blathering about chocolates and roses, but I was too embarrassed to ask. It seems they celebrate love, the fourteenth.”

Levi ponders. Now it makes sense why so many lovey-dovey mawkish couples have been swarming the tea shop since the beginning of the month. Does he look that dumb when he’s staring at you?

He jots in his head to have Gabi and Falco garland the shop with red and white.

He smiles. “I’ll be your Valentine. Whatever that means.”

Your eyes glint, and you plant kisses on his head. Rosemary sheds from his hair.

☺

You tear off the 13th from the calendar; but the elation soon dwindles.

The restaurants are bursting at the seams. At Montolivo, the line snakes around the block, and Levi’s gammy leg is giving up. The wind blows slashing your cheeks, and people’s breaths amass in a cloud.

“I’m sorry, Levi.” You mutter halfheartedly and disappointed, “I should’ve made a reservation.”

He winds an arm over your shoulders for support, “and I should’ve brought the damn chair.”

After the war time rolls by leisurely. You take your time, shamble down the street festooned in red hearts, the throngs splitting to give you way. Matching coats and scarves. There’s nothing else to worry about other than what you’re going to eat for lunch.

A little boy, around eight with his hair slick-parted to the side, stops before you and hands you a rose. You know him. Every Friday, he and his mother place a message for his father who works at a mine two hundred miles to the west.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbles. His plump cheeks flush, his hands tethered behind his back. He scuffs a foot on the pavement as you pat his head. “You’re so sweet, Matty. Thank you. Happy Valentine for you too.” You bend and drop a kiss on his head, and all his face heats with red.

“Who is that?” He points at Levi, both glowering at each other.

Her official Valentine. Brat. But Levi bites his tongue before he screws up and ends up sleeping in the couch tonight. Thankfully, Mrs. Russo saves the day. She calls Matty and he waves goodbye to you, before slithering through the crowd.

Jewelry stores gleam; marbled chocolate truffles are dusted with gold. The air is dense with the perfume of roses, and beams of sun pierce the mantle of clouds like search lights.

“Let’s grab a large pepperoni. There’s a Malbec waiting for a special occasion at home.” You come up with a quick plan as your stomach grumbles in reproach.

Why do we wait for special dates to use the good stuff? Life slips through our fingers as we wait for the right moment, and then it is too late.

You eat the cheap greasy pizza on the finest china that had never seen the daylight, sloshing a glass of wine back and forth, laughing between hiccups. The gramophone’s flower spills the chords of Debussy and fills every corner of your home.

Home.

You and him.

You eat in silence, with the notes climbing and swirling down in the comfortable kind of silence lovers share.

“Some fresh moon flesh, my sweet valentine?” He opens his mouth, and you stick a wedge of soft   camembert. The runny interior, smooth and silky against the pleasantly bitter rind. There’s always a wheel around; you just cannot have enough cheese. “Wine burns fat.” You always say and pour to the last drop. Levi’s cheeks flush, his dimple at full display, crow feet wrinkling the corners of his eyes. He’s mellowed with time.

The cardboard box is blotted with cheese, bestrewn with dried oregano and dough crumbs. In the middle you place a can, the expiration date says it’s fine, but the label has been ripped. It could be anything: beans, sweet corn or spaghetti o’s. You cross your fingers for it to be something sweet.

You find out together. With the tip of a knife, you flick the lid open, and Levi smiles. “Peaches?”

“Peaches.”  

You dip two fingers in, tow one slippery half, and nab it, humming with delight, the sugary juice dripping on your hand. Levi laughs, shaking his head and follows you. Sunrise sliding down his throat.

Sweet shops and pastry shops were overflowing with lovers you couldn’t wrest out a slice of pie.

“I’ll do the dishes later,” you say as your pile up the plates in the sink. But you’ll forget and Levi will do the washing up.

You give him a hand and haul him to his feet, then turn around, and he wraps his arms around you, his chest against your back. “Ready?” You clasp your hands on his, holding tight.

“Yes.”

The fireplace crackles, sputtering fire flakes, the flickering glow lapping your naked bodies in bronze. Intertwined like Sinding’s lovers.  He presses down into you, your belly flat on the carpet, your name falling in whispers onto your hair.

Writhing and panting. He kisses the spot under your ear, his fingers stroking the knobs of your spine. The rose feels shy and jealous, and her petals unfurl toward the window.

Dash, dot, dash, dash. Dash, dash, dash. Dot, dot, dash.

He taps a sequence of dots and dashes on your shoulder. And you smile. All week you’ve been encoding, sending, and decoding the same array for strangers. Three words, eight letters. Twelve short beeps, twelve long beeps, strung in a pattern that’s already carved in your head.

“I love you too, Levi,” you breathe, your body quivering with pure bliss.

His hand finds yours, wedding bands glinting, and he gives you a squeeze.

You are his safe place, his quiet corner, his sweet surrender. You two are the best love story. Better than any cheesy radio play.

And he mutters, “I want to be your valentine forever.”

Tag list: @stygianoir @lamees004 @lovolee3 @notgoodforlife

If you want to be part of the tag list, fill out this form.

[mediawhorefics]

hiii can you please recommend me some gay novels ? thank you in advance :)

hell ! yeah !

you didn't really specify what genre you're interested in beyond gay so i'm just gonna rec my favs and go wild with it. apologies, i've prob. recced these books before but *shrug*

edit: i added books that aren't novels cos i couldn't resist. ooops?

edit 2: i've taken gay to mean gay ~umbrella term~ and not gay mlm, hope that's alright x

under a read more cos i got carried away !

the raven cycle | maggie stiefvater | completed series | ya | fantasy | follows blue sargent, the daughter of a skilled psychic who augments her family's abilities, but has no psychic power of her own. she becomes friends with four boys from the local boarding school -- gansey, adam, ronan and noah -- when she meets gansey's ghost and learns the upcoming date of his death. gansey is obsessed with finding the sleeping welsh king, glendower. In his pursuit of the legend, he and his friends encounter all kinds of mysticism and danger in henrietta, virginia.

the dreamer trilogy | maggie stiefvater | completed trilogy | ya | fantasy | raven cycle sequel focusing on ronan's character.

the disasters | mk england | ya | sci fi | star trek vibes | found family | a band of space academy rejects are the only witness to a terrible crime/galaxy-wide conspiracy & are the only ones who can save the day. 

emry merlin series | robin schneider | incomplete trilogy | ya | fantasy | arthuriana | a knight's tale meets bbc merlin | years after her father’s, legendary court wizard merlin, disappearance, emry takes her far less talented twin brother’s place when he is summoned to camelot to train and become prince arthur’s right hand wizard. studying magic properly is everything she hoped for, but posing as her brother isn’t as easy as it seems. not to mention those sparks that are flying between her and arthur.

cemetery boys | aiden thomas | standalone -> a sequel is planned | ya | fantasy | trans rep | yadriel wants to prove himself as a brujo (and a man) to his family so, in secret, he performs the ritual meant to unlock his powers that his family has denied him access to. only problem, he’s accidentally summoned a ghost he didn’t mean to and the guy won’t leave. also his cousin vanished and his spirit is nowhere to be found.

the last binding series | freya marske | incomplete trilogy -> the third one is coming out in november | historical fantasy | alternative edwardian england | romance | each book focuses on a new queer pairing while following an overarching mystery | when an administrative mistake names robin blyth as a civil service liaison to a hidden magical society, he discovers what’s been operating beneath the unextraordinary reality he’s always known. a dangerous deadly curse awaits him as he navigates the magical bureaucracy with his standoffish counterpart edwin courcey.

the kingdoms | natasha pulley | standalone | historical fantasy | time travel | alternate history | 19th c. | 18th c. | joe tournier has amnesia. he remembers nothing prior to stepping off a train in londres, england, a french colony. his only clue, a century-old postcard of a lighthouse in scotland, illegally written in english rather than french and signed m.

the watchmaker of filigree street series | natasha pulley | completed duology | historial fantasy | 19th c. | sherlock holmes vibes | telegraphist thaniel receives a mysterious watch on his birthday whose pre-set alarm saves him from a terrorist bombing on scotland yard. since the bomb was made with clockwork parts and only the bomber could have known when to set the alarm, thaniel is sent by a detective investigating the bombing to live with the suspected watchmaker to figure out what’s going on.

the bedlam stacks | natasha pulley | standalone -> twofs references/characters but not part of the main storyline | historical fantasy | 19th c. | magical realism | merrick tremayne is called upon by the india office to go on a dangerous expedition deep in peru to fetch quinine (essential for the treatment of malaria) despite the debilitating injury that almost cost him a leg. every expedition before his has yielded no results apart from dead bodies, but merrick has family history deep in the country so he goes against his better judgement. there, he meets raphael, a priest surrounded by strange stories of disappearances, cursed woods and living stones, and who might hold the key to his family’s past.

the binding | bridget collins | standalone | historical fantasy | 19th c. | romance | in a world where books are dangerous objects containing people’s painful memories they want to get rid of, emmet farmer is sent to become an apprentice to the local bookbinder after he had some sort of mental collapse.

captive prince series | cs pacat | completed trilogy + some short stories | historical fantasy | romance | no magical elements | dark themes | major trigger warnings apply | prince damianos of akielos is sent as a pleasure slave to laurent of vere, prince of an enemy neighbouring kingdom, by his treacherous half-brother who wants the throne for himself. the court of vere is a pit of deception and lies and both princes must reluctantly ally with each other to gain rightful control of their respective kingdoms. only problem, damen killed laurent's older brother auguste in battle and must keep his true identity secret to protect himself from laurent's hatred of his brother's killer. which is only complicated by the growing feelings between them.

a taste of gold and iron | alexandra rowland | standalone | historical fantasy | romance | kadou, the shy prince of arasht, has no intention of wrestling for imperial control with his sister, the queen. yet he remains at odds with one of the most powerful ambassadors at court - the father of the queen's new child. when a hunting party goes terribly awry and he finds himself under suspicion of attempted murder, kadou teams up with his new bodyguard, the coldly handsome evemer, to investigate a break-in at one of their guilds to salvage his reputation. but what appears to be a straightforward crime spirals into a complex counterfeiting operation, with a powerful enemy at its heart.

the house in the cerulean sea | tj klune | standalone | fantasy | romance | found family | 40 yo caseworker linus baker is given a special secret assignment to check out an orphanage of supposedly particularly dangerous magical children. linus has been a rule follower and someone who doesn’t want to rock the boat his whole life, but the children and their caretaker make him reconsider previously held beliefs.

under the whispering door | tj klune | standalone | fantasy | romance | found family | an unpleasant and selfish man in life, wallace price meets his reaper at his near-empty funeral and gets taken to a whimsical tea shop where he meets hugo, the ferryman whose job it is to help him move on and crossover into the afterlife. a task that becomes complicated as wallace starts developing feelings for hugo.

peter darling | austin chant | standalone | historical fantasy | romance | trans rep | peter pan retelling | ten years ago, peter pan left neverland to grow up, leaving behind his adolescent dreams of boyhood and resigning himself to life as wendy darling. growing up, however, has only made him realize how inescapable his identity as a man is.but when he returns to neverland, everything has changed: the lost boys have become men, and the war games they once played are now real and deadly. even more shocking is the attraction peter never knew he could feel for his old rival, captain hook—and the realization that he no longer knows which of them is the real villain.

the song of achilles | madeline miller | standalone | historical fantasy | mythology retelling | greek mythology | a classic ! | achilles' story, great love, and tragedy...

salt magic skin magic | lee welch | standalone | historical fantasy | 19th c | lord thornby has been trapped on his father’s estate by a strange curse for a year and when industrial magician john blake shows up, they must team up to investigate the mystery.

the secret lives of country gentlemen | kj charles | first in a series | historical romance | regency era | a shabby london clerk who inherits a grand house on the remote romney marsh is unexpectedly reunited with an old lover and gets unexpectedly thrown in the world of smugglers.

the will darling adventures | kj charles | completed trilogy | historical romance | 1920s | it’s the 1920s and tensions are rising along with hemlines. soldier-turned-bookseller will darling finds himself tangled up in spies and secret formulas, clubs and conspiracies, bbolsheviks, blackmail, and bright young things. and dubious aristocrat lord arthur ‘kim’ secretan is right in the middle of it all:  enigmatic, unreliable, and utterly irresistible.

the gentleman’s guide to vice and virtue | mackenzie lee | ya | historical romance | 18th c. | bisexual disaster nobility youth goes on his grand tour on europe with the best friend he has a crush on and his sister. nothing could possibly go wrong.

the seven husbands of evelyn hugo | taylor jenkins reid | historical romance | old hollywood | 1950s | 1960s | 1970s | aging and reclusive hollywood movie icon evelyn hugo is finally ready to tell the truth about her glamorous and scandalous life. but when she chooses unknown magazine reporter monique grant for the job, no one is more astounded than monique herself. why her? why now?

the charm offensive | alison cochrun | standalone | contemporary romance | reality dating show producer dev has always believed in romance/fairy tales and he works tirelessly to ensure magical happy endings happen on his show, even though his own love life is a disaster. but when disgraced tech wunderkin charlie is cast as the lead of their next season, dev has his work cut out for him to transform charlie into a man the ladies on the show might want and the viewers might like. charlie is far from a prince charming but as they get closer and closer, dev starts realising he might want him for himself. uh oh.

i kissed shara wheeler | casey mcquiston | standalone | ya | contemporary romance | a month before graduation, chloe green’s academic rival shara kisses her before disappearing. now, chloe is on a hunt for answers alongside unlikely allies.

one last stop | casey mcquiston | standalon | contemporary romance | time travel | a 23-year-old realises her subway crush is displaced from 1970's brooklyn, and she must do everything in her power to help her - and try not to fall in love with the girl lost in time - before it's too late.

red, white, and royal blue | casey mcquiston | contemporary romance | new adult | alex, son of the us president, and british prince henry have to fake a pr friendship after a scandal at a royal wedding puts us-british relations at risk. only problem? they despise each other.

check please | ngozi ukazu | graphic novel | new adult | contemporary romance | coming of age | bitty, a southern ex-figure skater armed with a love of baking and a vlog joins his college’s hockey team and falls for his captain, the prodigal son of a famous nhl player whose own draft was derailed by an overdose of anxiety medication.

angels in america | tony kushner | theatre | aids | angels in america is the story of a gay man, prior alter, a 30-year-old New Yorker, whose lover, louis, abandons him when he falls ill with aids. transcendent forces—visions and angels—help transform Prior from a man dying of aids to a man living with aids. along the way, several romantic and platonic couples come apart, and the final social configuration of the play comprises a loose band of multi-generational, multiracial, queer friends.

the normal heart | larry kramer | theatre | aids | focuses on the rise of the hiv/aids epidemic in nyc between 1981 and 1984, as seen through the eyes of writer/activist ned weeks, the gay founder of a prominent HIV advocacy group.

love song to lavender menace | james ley | theatre | in 1982, two friends bob and sigrid opened their new radical lesbian, gay and feminist bookshop, 'lavender menace' on edinburgh's forth street. on the eve of the shop's 5th birthday, sales assistants paul and david take a look back at its origins, in this funny, moving play.

this is how you lose the time war | amal el-mohtar & max gladstone | sci fi | literary fiction | epistolary novel | time travel | an epistolary story told by two future beings, operatives on opposing sides of the "time war" tasked with ensuring that past events happen in ways that are amenable to their goals.

on earth we're briefly gorgeous | ocean vuong | literary fiction | epistolary novel | a letter from a vietnamese american son to his illiterate mother.

night sky and exit wounds | ocean vuong | poetry

time is a mother | ocean vuong | poetry

crush | richard siken | poetry

brokeback mountain | annie proulx | short story | two ranch hands, come together when they're working as sheepherder and camp tender one summer on a range above the tree line. at first, sharing an isolated tent, the attraction is casual, inevitable, but something deeper catches them that summer.

fighting proud: the untold story of the gay men who served in two world wars | stephen bourne | non-fiction | history | wwi | wwii

coming out under fire: the history of gay men and women in world war two | allan bérubé | non-fiction | history | wwii

fabulosa!: the story of polari, britain’s secret gay language | paul baker | non-fiction | history | linguistics | 19th c. | 20th c.

[dueliz]

Several Sentences Sunday

Tagged by @if-not-now-tell-me-when ❤️

It is once again time to share an out of context snippet of whatever I'm making my OCs do this time.

Have this thing that is set a year or so after the main story happens because I'm constantly jumping back and forth on the timeline of events.

“Ah yes, well,” Francis tried. “You best get to that, then. Would be a damn shame to lose you to Mr. Davies’ wrath. The man needs his beauty sleep, after all.” 

Rory let out an amused huff at the mention of his fellow telegraphist. “No amount of beauty sleep will fix that man’s awful temper-“ He startled suddenly, eyes going wide as he looked around himself. “That is to say…” 

Francis waved Rory’s worries away. “With those headsets you wireless men wear, I doubt Davies heard a word you said. And anyways,” he flashed a lopsided grin. “He’d have to go through me before even attempting to lay a hand on you.” 

Rory snorted. “Your protection is always appreciated, sir.” 

“All in a day’s work, my dear.” Francis, emboldened by Rory’s reciprocation, continued. “But do be careful not to use up all the hot water from the other bath, either. There is unfortunately no protection from facing my wrath come morning.” 

Rory’s laughter was music to Francis’ ears, and the butterflies in his stomach danced along.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Bennett.” Rory said as he turned on his heel. Looking over his shoulder, he added, “Sleep well, sir.”

No pressure tagging: @chill-byers @thesheamythos @ther3dpainter and actually @if-not-now-tell-me-when so you can prepare for next Sunday as well.

[kushblazer666]

tupac: but you know what else? i dont give a fuck

the telegraphist in the back going fucking ham: beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep beep

[franciswhetsel]

On the hunt for this exact style of hat except not for $177 because I may or may not be trying to make a Marconi telegraphist uniform for Halloween

[mythosphere]

Garnet Eaves was not a mechanic nor a radio man or a telegraphist by any definition of his own, which was what really mattered. He defined himself most often as a poet, a creative, a man of sensitivity and romance, a great lover of the classics. He was twenty-one years old, so life hadn’t had the chance to beat this out of him just yet.

[justforbooks]

Thank Christ for the Bomb (1970) was the third album by blues-rockers the Groundhogs, and the first of a trio of releases that reached the UK Top 10. For some connoisseurs, it is an all-time classic and proof of the brilliance of Tony McPhee, the band’s songwriter and guitarist who has died aged 79.

According to Luke Haines, formerly of the Auteurs, Thank Christ … is “a kind of concept album, a psychedelic, very heavy CND album full of class war. The album is a scorched earth manifesto.” The Damned’s Captain Sensible contended that “Tony McPhee … was the British Hendrix”.

The Groundhogs had emerged from the British blues boom of the mid-1960s, and as the 70s dawned they embraced the expansive, exploratory spirit of the era. A performance at the 1970 Isle of Wight festival affirmed their growing status.

The follow-up to Thank Christ was Split (1971), which climbed to No 5 and found McPhee wrestling with ideas around split personality and loss of self. “I went through a stage of split personality myself and in the lyrics I try to explain what it is like – a very deep, traumatic experience,” he revealed. “One moment you feel all right, the next you don’t know who you are.” The album included the frantic, heavy-metal stomp of Cherry Red, which got the band on to the BBC’s Top of the Pops.

In 1971 they supported the Rolling Stones on their British tour, during which they recorded the limited-edition live album Live at Leeds ’71. The following year they were high in the British charts again with Who Will Save the World? The Mighty Groundhogs, but that year also saw the replacement of drummer Ken Pustelnik with Clive Brooks. The next album, Hogwash (1972), had many admirers but marked the end of the band’s commercial hot streak. Their progress stalled amid a string of lineup changes and regular disbandments. They made their last chart appearance with Solid, which reached No 31 in 1974.

Born in Humberston, Lincolnshire, Tony was the son of Charles McPhee, a telegraphist in the Royal Navy and then a civil servant in the Ministry of Defence, and Eileen (nee Harrison). The family moved to south London when Tony was one, and he later attended Tooting Bec grammar school. He developed an early enthusiasm for the blues when his brother took home imported LPs of American blues artists. “It was then that I first heard this raw stuff and my ears pricked up,” he told Classic Rock magazine.

Another formative influence on him was the British blues harmonica player Cyril Davies (who would die in 1964 aged 31). “I used to go and see him at the Marquee Club,” said McPhee. “Somebody said something about this R&B band and they were there every Thursday and they were just magic.”

The Groundhogs came into being after McPhee, who had been fronting his own group, the Seneschals, joined the Dollar Bills in 1962. This was an outfit formed in New Cross, south-east London, by brothers Pete and John Cruickshank. McPhee pushed the band into a more blues-influenced direction, as he explained: “We went into R&B and then into blues very deeply – to the extent that I spent most of my time delving into books and records to find material which hadn’t been done by any of the other English bands.”

They named themselves after John Lee Hooker’s song Ground Hog Blues, and in 1964 they temporarily renamed themselves John Lee’s Groundhogs when they backed Hooker on a UK tour, after John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers dropped out. Hooker liked the band so much he recruited them to play on his album … And Seven Nights (1966, later reissued as Hooker and the Hogs) and teamed up with them again for his 1965 British tour.

Hooker’s endorsement was a powerful calling card and the band found themselves in demand, also backing Little Walter, Champion Jack Dupree and Jimmy Reed when they toured Britain. Both McPhee and Eric Clapton appeared on Dupree’s album From New Orleans to Chicago (1966). When Clapton left Mayall’s band in 1965, McPhee was asked to join but declined.

The Groundhogs split in 1966, after which McPhee played with John Cruickshank in Herbal Mixture and spent a brief spell with the John Dummer Blues Band, but in 1968 a new Groundhogs rose from the ashes. McPhee was joined by Pete Cruickshank on bass and Pustelnik on drums, plus Steve Rye on harmonica and vocals. At the end of the year they released their first album under a deal with Liberty Records, Scratching the Surface. The follow-up, Blues Obituary, appeared the following year, now without Rye. The trio’s dynamic, freewheeling playing placed the Groundhogs alongside such progressively inclined blues practitioners as Ten Years After and Led Zeppelin.

McPhee saw the album as a turning point, the moment when the Groundhogs stopped being just a blues band. “I like to call it progressive in the sense that we were progressing away from the blues,” was his assessment. The stage was set for their breakthrough with Thank Christ for the Bomb.

McPhee released five solo albums, the last of them being Bleaching the Blues (1997). His solo debut, The Two Sides of TS McPhee (1973; TS stands for “Tough Shit”), was by far the most memorable. The first side was a feast of raw, mostly acoustic blues, while side two comprised the single track The Hunt, where McPhee recited an anti-foxhunting narrative against a patchwork of experimental synthesizer sounds.

A new Groundhogs lineup released the albums Crosscut Saw and Black Diamond in 1976, and McPhee led two different versions of the band during the 90s. In 2003 the McPhee/Pustelnik/Cruickshank lineup reformed for some 40th-anniversary shows, after which McPhee performed with various players as Tony McPhee’s Groundhogs, while Cruickshank and Pustelnik formed the Groundhogs Rhythm Section with assorted additional musicians. McPhee also performed with David Tibet’s “apocalyptic folk” outfit Current 93, and with the vocalist Joanna Deacon, whom McPhee married in 2008. In 2014, he retired Tony McPhee’s Groundhogs.

He was married twice before, to Christine Payne, with whom he had a son, Conan, and Susan Harrison, with whom he had a son, Vincent. Both marriages ended in divorce. Joanna survives him, as do his children, two grandchildren, Scarlett and Victor, and his sister Olive.

🔔 Tony (Anthony Charles) McPhee, musician and songwriter, born 23 March 1944; died 6 June 2023

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