#whittington tea

[coffeesnumber1fan]

Whittington Tea does coffee too :-) On the Thames River

[helianskies]

guess who's now going to the panto with a bunch of school kids bc they needed the extra help and i can't say no to my mum

[foolishlovers]

good omens WIPs i'm loving at the moment

i know starting unfinished fics is not everyone’s cup of tea but comments and encouragement mean so much to writers, so if you have some time to spare, why don’t you check these out

doom days by klytemnestras - 5 years have passed since aziraphale left crowley for heaven. crowley has built a new life for himself and has found some comfort in spending time with muriel & co. but then aziraphale shows up with the messiah baby, hoping for crowley to help him one last time... the found family vibes in this one are just so delightful. crowley and aziraphale have a long way to go to restore their relationship, but it surely is an intriguing one to follow 7.6k, 3/? chapters, rated T

an ineffable midsummer night's dream by the_serpent_and_the_guardian - set in 1605, aziraphale convinces crowley to save shakespeare's latest play - he reluctantly takes on the role of puck (not without some shenanigans ensuing, of course). the banter in this fic is absolutely precious, the writing is so lovely and the dynamic between our beloved almost friends demon and angel is so spot on!! 20k, 4/5 chapters, rated T

living in sin by jade_valentine offers an insight into what could have happened if aziraphale had discovered a little earlier that crowley was living in his car. yes, oh my god, they were roommates. i honestly can't wait to see how their new living arrangement will develop 2.5k, 1/? chapters, rated M

wilde flowers by rocksaltandroll is a human au! starring aziraphale as a lonely bookseller and crowley as the new, handsome florist down the street. maggie, nina and muriel are inspired to do some matchmaking, but the old men seem to be falling for each other even without their meddling... they're both nervous about starting something new, but there's so much fluff, the writing is great and frankly, all whickber street characters are such a joy to read about!! 15k, 4/? chapters, rated M

mon horrible cher by ghostrat is an enemies to friends to lovers fic that features aziraphale and crowley as teachers on a sixth form field trip to paris. they despise each other… until they don't. i have so much love for these characters, the path from annoyance to precious pining is just so good. crowley being good with kids is honestly going to break me at some point. the writing is utterly amazing, just perfect to get lost in, and there's stunning fanart included too 30k, 7/9 chapters, rated M

once upon a time by tawnyowl95 is a human au! with actors (and childhood sweethearts) aziraphale and crowley finding their way back to each other as famous comedian crowley (currently going through a rough patch) accepts aziraphale's offer for him to play the pantomime villain in his production of dick whittington. there's flashbacks to their time at high school and tons of bickering in the present time line, where crowley continues to be quite the troublemaker, keeping aziraphale and everyone else on their toes and i absolutely love it 10k, 4/15, rated E

london, libraries & love by wolftea features librarian! aziraphale and history teacher! crowley. while they're both excited to go on an excursion to london for a couple of days together, at the beginning of their acquaintance, they had quite a hard time warming up to each other.. this fic is so precious, the flashblacks to crowley's first weeks at the school are full of pranks and shenanigans between the two of them that made me laugh so very much. it's so fascinating to explore how their relationship develops over time. the pining in the present is perfectly wholesome as well!! 9k, 5/17 chapters, rated E

[lollytruecrimeworld]

Schoolgirl Murder

An unsolved murder that ended in a severe miscarriage of��justice

At around 6 pm on Wednesday 7 June 1972, 14-year-old Queen Elizabeth grammar school student Judith Roberts left her home at 155 Gillway Lane, Wigginton, Tamworth. Judith took her green Raleigh bike, which had been a present from her parents two years earlier, and rode off along Main Road, then along Comberford Lane, which becomes Wiggington Lane.

Judith often rode this route after school, She would arrive home from school at around 4:30 pm, have her tea and do her homework for an hour or so before going for a ride on her bicycle. She would ride ‘round the block’, which consisted of Gillway to Wigginton Road, Comberford Lane to Comberford Road back to Gillway and home.

On June 7th 1972 Judith’s routine was pretty much the same as every school day. She arrived home at around 4.30 pm after school was over, her mother had prepared a salad and banana custard for tea, but Judith didn’t feel like eating, she had worrying things on her mind. Her period was three weeks late and with her mind full, her stomach felt the same. Judith left her salad and swallowed down the banana custard with a drink.

Her mother said that she would tell Judith’s father that she had not eaten her meal. Around 5.15 pm Vincent Robert arrived home to see that instead of eating her meal, Judith was doing homework in the living room, thoroughly engrossed.

Vincent was not happy that his daughter had missed her tea and summoned her to the kitchen, where he asked her to eat. Judith sat at the table but reportedly only nibbled half-heartedly at some lettuce, a tomato and spring onion.

Mr Roberts told his daughter off for not eating fresh food and told her to go back to complete her homework. He told her that he would expect her to eat what she had left for her supper. Judith finished her homework, put on her navy-blue anorak and went to get her bike from the shed in the back garden.

As always Judith let her pet hamster Horace out of his cage and pinned a notice on the shed door saying, ‘Horace on the floor’ and took off on her bike ride. She was still wearing her blue and white school uniform dress, her navy blue anorak with black tie-up shoes. Underneath her clothes, she wore a bra and two pairs of knickers (one under her tights, the other over).

There were witnesses to Judith leaving the house on that fateful evening and with it being summer time it was daylight so they could not have been mistaken. The next-door neighbour, Bertha Evans, at 153 Gillway recalled seeing Judith go left out of number 155 onto Gillway in the direction of Wigginton Road.

Maude Best of 134 Gillway, was out walking her dog and remembered seeing Judith close to the junction of Wigginton Road and Brown’s Lane, Judith had stopped briefly to chat with Maude before continuing her bike ride. Judith would normally make sure back by around 6.30 pm to watch ‘Cross Roads’, a TV soap opera that was very popular at the time. Sadly on the night in question, the 14-year-old did not make it home.

The pathologist report suggested that Judith came to Comberford Lane, where she had become separated from her bike for reasons that have not been established. The report indicates that at around 7 pm she was subjected to a frenzied attack, which left her dead.

A description of Judith was distributed and the police began an investigation straight away with an intensive search of the area. Police with dogs searched the town with local volunteers, a mountain rescue team, RAF airmen and military troops from Whittington Barracks.

Judith was 5ft 1 inch tall, medium build, fair skin and hair with braces on her upper teeth. Obviously, there was always the green bicycle to be considered as Judith had it with her when she left home.

An intensive search for Judith spread through the day and night of Thursday and by Friday police with dogs were looking in canals, rivers, and local barns on farmland.

On Saturday 10 June, some 300+ members of the Whittington Army barracks joined the search. The Junior Soldiers Company from Whittington Barracks were called upon to make a search of local fields. A statement made by a soldier said that at 2.30 pm that afternoon the squad began to carefully search fields from south to north on the western side of Wigginton.

The search came to a local corn field known as ‘Robinson’s Field’, not far in Comberford Lane, at about 4.30 pm. Private Barry Gibson, a soldier in the search said, “On reaching Comberford Lane we commenced searching the field on the other side of the lane. To enter this field, which had been roughly ploughed, I opened a gate and walked in first in front of L/Cpl Steele.” In the field, Private Gibson made three dreadful finds.

Soon after entering the field, the soldier found a green Raleigh bicycle thrown into a thorn hedge, the front wheel sticking out of the hedge. “I turned left and sttarted to walk up the hedge,” reported Gibson. “I had gone about seven yards when I saw about two yards in front of me a green Moulton pedal cycle lying into the hedge with the front wheel towards the gate. I shouted and was joined at once by L/Cpl Steele and others.”

The soldiers scoured the field and about a yard to the right of the cycle there was a big pile of hedge trimmings.” A soldier noticed a piece of blue-coloured material sticking out from the mound of hedge cuttings. When he lifted a piece of cloth he saw human hair covered with blood and a piece of human flesh. He had found the blue anorak that Judith had been wearing when she set out on her bike ride three days before.

The final horrifying discovery was hidden under the hedge cuttings. Three pieces of corrugated sheet, underneath which were two fertiliser bags covering Judith’s body face down. Forensic investigations revealed that she had been bludgeoned to death, her skull shattered into 18 fragments and viciously sexually assaulted. Judith had been put into a shallow grave and pushed under the hedge feet first.

Officers from Staffordshire Police arrived at the scene within minutes of receiving a call to say that soldiers had discovered a body. A Home Office Pathologist, Dr Scholtz Barendo Van-Der-Merwe, was also called to attend the scene of the crime and arrived within around two hours.

The police reported that Judith had been stripped of her clothes from the waist down with the front of her dress and anorak pulled up over her breasts. Her bra was still in place with the breasts covered.

A report from the Home Office Pathologist reads, “At approximately 6.45 pm on Saturday 10 June 1972, I visited the scene of a serious crime in a field off Comberford Lane, near Tamworth. It had been and was still raining. Present were Mr Rees Chief Constable of Staffordshire, Mr Bailey Assistant Chief Constable, Detective Chief Superintendent Wright, Detective Superintendent Jordan, Detective Constable Prince as well as two photographers and other police officers”.

“The field had been roughly ploughed but there was a fairly wide border of ground (headland) over which grass and weeds were growing, moderately short near the ploughed edge and very long at the edge which was tall and overhanging. A newish pedal cycle lay at the base of the hedge some yards inside the gate and not visible except from inside the field. Various pieces of rubbish and pieces of brick lay on the grass verge and a large pile of relatively fresh privet hedge clippings, a pile of soil and rubble lay near the cycle but separated by tall weeds from it. Some yards further along the foot of the hedge and below its overhang another pile of clippings was visible through a gap in the weeds and grass”

“This almost totally obscured the body of which only a hand was visible, and nearest the field, part of a blue anorak and a corner of white plastic material. The grass beneath the body was flattened by the weight of the body, relatively orderly in fashion, not churned about and dry to the touch. The feet were extended well into the hedge with stems of dry grass and twigs caught between some toes. The site where the body lay was relatively orderly and gave the appearance that it had been placed there fairly carefully and that it had been pushed under the hedge feet first”.

Mr Wright continued, “The body was subsequently removed to the Public Mortuary at Kettlebrook, where it was identified to me by Mr V.E. Roberts, to be that of his daughter Judith Roberts, aged 14 years. At 8.15 pm the same night I was present when Doctor Van-der-Merwe carried out a Post Mortem examination on the body and saw him remove a navy blue quilted pattern anorak…. a blue coloured patterned dress…. and a brassiere…. which appeared to be intact and in place. I saw obvious and multiple injuries to the left side of the face, temple and scalp”.

“At 3.15 pm on Tuesday 20th January 1972 with Detective Chief Superintendent Saunders and Detective Constable Prince, I again attended the Mortuary whilst Doctor Van-der-Merwe carried out an examination of the skull and brain”.

The pathologist report states that Judith was dragged by her upper right arm from the area where she was initially attacked on Comberford Lane to Robinson’s Field where she was party to a frenzied stabbing to her left temple area and masturbated over.

Professor Van-Der-Merwe concluded that the cause of death to Judith Roberts was a fractured skull, due to blows to the head with a sharp or potentially pointed object.

Sadly, despite the case being one of the most intense murder hunts in the history of the Midlands, this horrific murder still remains unsolved over 50 years on.

More than 200 police detectives worked on the investigation and took over 15,000 sets of fingerprints, carried out 11,000 door-to-door enquiries and took more than 11,000 statements.

Over 4,000 pieces of information were reviewed but in spite of all that the case still remains unsolved after almost 51 years.

The case was believed to have been solved for a number of years as a soldier who had been based at Whittington Barracks at the time of Judith’s murder, for some reason walked into a local police station, asking to see a photograph of the victim. He was interviewed over a three-day period and gave a full statement in which he confirmed his guilt.

As part of the police investigation into the murder, soldiers who were in residence at Whittington on June 7th 1972 were required to fill out a form detailing their whereabouts on that evening and provide referees to confirm their story.

Andrew Evans said that he had spent that evening in question at the barracks and gave the names of three other soldiers who could confirm this. Police failed to find one of the soldiers, and discovered the remaining two had in fact left the barracks before June 7th. Evans was questioned again in October by police at his grandma’s house.

On the morning after the interview, Andrew told his grandma that he intended to go to the police station and ask to see a picture of Judith He made that decision after having a dream in which he saw “a hazy combination of images of women’s faces” which somehow left him believing that he was the killer.

Although his grandma told him that it was not a good idea to do such a thing he still reported to Longton Police Station in a state of great distress. Evans made the request, telling them he had dreamt of Judith, saying, “I keep seeing a face. I want to see a picture of her. I wonder if I’ve done it".

Although Andrew Evans subsequently retracted his confession, a jury convicted him of murder at trial in 1973, and he was handed a life sentence.

A 1970s legal team advised Evans that he had absolutely no grounds for appeal, so he spent the next twenty years in prison before his case was brought to the attention of a British media journalist in 1994, and was taken up by the human rights group Justice when he contacted them about it.

There is a course of a belief that Judith may have been murdered by the Yorkshire ripper, Peter Sutcliffe and whilst it is possible I am not so sure.

An armchair detective, Chris Clark believes that he and his team have uncovered evidence that Judith was yet another victim of the Yorkshire Ripper.

Interestingly Chris has recently published a book, ‘Mark of a Serial Killer’ with a co-author, Tanita Mathews.

They claim to have searched national archives, studied pathology reports and read every word of the transcripts of Andrew Evans’ trial. They also claim to have spoken to Judith’s family.

They called upon the services of an independent pathologist to review the case. Chris Clark firmly believes that Judith was monster Sutcliffe’s unknown victim.

The Ripper died after contracting covid in 2020 aged 74 while a whole life sentence for the violent murders of thirteen women and the attempted murder of seven more. According to the author, Chris Clark, Judith’s murder fits with Sutcliffe’s modus operandi like a glove.

Allegedly on the evening of the teenager’s death, June 7th 1972, Sutcliffe was making a major journey to visit his then-fiancee in a hospital in Bexleyheath, London. He then returned to Bingley, West Yorkshire, where he worked nightshifts on the Baird TV company assembly plant.

So, let’s just let that sink in, Sutcliffe drove 250 miles to London, a long journey in the 70s with cars travelling at around 60mph top speed, visited his partner, drove 250 miles back, stopped off to viciously murder a 14-year-old girl, who he had no idea would be there for the taking, then drove to work. Possible? Yes. Likely? No, not in my opinion anyway.

I think that the killer was local and intentionally targeted his particular victim for a specific reason, but I am open to persuasion of course.

I will leave it there and remind you that I have so far not put my blogs behind a paywall, thus allowing you to read my articles free of charge. If you want that to continue then please be kind, dig deeply click the link and BUY ME A COFFEE or click ‘Leave a tip’ at the bottom of this article.

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[feelgoodbridgerton]

Chapter 4: A Confrontation of Secrets

The next morning Ingrid is sitting at breakfast with her family discussing the events that happened last night.

"I’m going to see Mr. Stirling today." Ingrid says casually, as if she’s talking about the weather.

Jumping up from his chair, spilling his tea. Michael Whittington, Ingrid and her sisters father exclaims. "What? Are you out of your mind, Ingrid?! That man is a snake. He jilted you at the altar and slandered your name." He glares at her, his voice rising. "How can you even think of seeing him again?"

Audrey Whittington their mother puts a soothing hand on her husbands arm. "Michael, please. Sit down and calm yourself. She turns to Ingrid with a gentle smile. "Ingrid, dear, why do you want to see Mr. Stirling? What do you hope to accomplish?"

Ingrid meets her mother’s eyes with a determined look. "I want to confront him, mother. "I want to make him admit that he lied about me. That he never loved me. That he used me for his own gain." clenching her fists, her voice trembling. "He ruined my life, mother. He took away my happiness and my future. He owes me an apology."

Clara gasps, her eyes wide with sympathy. "Oh, Ingrid. That’s horrible. How could he be so cruel?"

Esme snorts, her lips curled in disgust. "He’s a scoundrel, that’s what he is. A heartless, spineless, worthless scoundrel. He doesn’t deserve your time or your attention, Ingrid."

Adelaide nods, her expression solemn. "I agree with Esme. He’s not worth it, Ingrid. You should forget about him and move on with your life. There are plenty of other men who would love you and treat you well."

Ingrid shakes her head, her eyes shining with resolve. "No, sisters. I can’t forget about him. I can’t let him get away with what he did to me. He hurt me too much, and he hurt our family too. He tarnished our reputation and our honor. He has to pay for his actions."

Her father sighs, his face weary. "And what if he doesn’t? What if he refuses to see you or talk to you? What if he mocks you or insults you or hurts you again? What if he tries to seduce you or blackmail you or harm you?"

Standing up, her posture straight and proud. "He won’t do that, father. I won’t let him. I’m not the same naïve girl who fell in love with him. I’m stronger now, and I won’t let him intimidate me or manipulate me. I have to do this for myself, father. I have to face him and demand justice."

Audrey stands up too, her face anxious "Ingrid, we understand your feelings, but we’re worried about you. It’s not safe for you to go alone to his house. He might have his new wife there, or his friends, or his servants. They might try to stop you or harm you."

Ingrid hugs her mother, her voice soft. "Don’t worry, mother. I won’t go alone. I’ll take a carriage and a maid with me. And I’ll be careful and discreet. I'll try not to cause a scene or a scandal. I just want to talk to him privately."

Audrey holds her daughter close, her voice hesitant. "Are you sure about this, Ingrid?"

Ingrid pulls away slightly, her voice firm. "Yes, mother. I’m sure. This is something I have to do."

Audrey lets go of her daughter, her voice resigned. "Well then… we won’t stop you, Ingrid. But please be careful and come back soon. We love you, Ingrid."

Her father stands again and gives her a quick one armed hug. "Well you better get going. He states.

Ingrid smiles at them all, her voice grateful "Thank you all for your love and support. And don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine."

When Ingrid arrives at the Stirling residence she is taken to the drawing room where her ex fiance Henry Stirling was standing looking shocked and annoyed at her presence. Without any hesitance Ingrid starts talking.

"Henry, I demand an explanation. Why did you start this rumor that I am pregnant with your child? How could you do such a thing to me?

"Ingrid, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never started any rumor. I never said anything about you or your condition."

"Don’t lie to me, Henry. I know the truth. I heard it from Anthony, who is your friend. He told me that you told him that I was pregnant with your child, and that you couldn’t marry me because you loved someone else."

"Anthony? He told you that? That’s impossible. He must have misunderstood me, or misheard me, or made it up."

"Why would he do that? Why would he lie to me, or to you, or to anyone? He has no reason to do so. He has always been a loyal and honest friend to both of us."

"I don’t know, Ingrid. I don’t know what his motives are, or what his intentions are. But I assure you, I never told him anything of the sort."

"Then why did you leave me at the altar, Henry? Why did you break our engagement, our contract, our promise? Why did you marry Rosalind instead of me?"

"Ingrid, I’m sorry for what I did to you. I’m sorry for hurting you, and disappointing you, and embarrassing you. But I had no choice. I had to marry Rosalind."

"Why? Why did you have to marry her? What was so urgent, so important, so compelling?"

"Because she is pregnant with my child."

Ingrid gasped and looked at Rosalind, who was now standing next to Henry, holding his hand.

Rosalind looked at Ingrid with fear and guilt.

"Ingrid, please forgive me. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t blame me."

"You’re pregnant with his child? How long have you been pregnant? How long have you been seeing him?"

"I’m four months pregnant, Ingrid. I’ve been seeing him for six months."

"Six months? Six months! That means you were seeing him while he was engaged to me! That means he was cheating on me with you!"

"Yes, Ingrid. Yes, we were."

Feeling hurt and betrayed Ingrid shouts, "How could you do that to me, Rosalind? How could you do that to anyone? You were my friend! You were my confidante! You were my maid of honor!"

"I know, Ingrid. I know. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

Rosalind is starting to tear up now and her voice is pleading almost begging.

Ingrid almost feels sorry for her almost.

"Sorry? Sorry is not enough! Sorry doesn’t change anything! Sorry doesn’t fix anything!"

"Ingrid, please understand. Please listen."

"Understand? Listen? What is there to understand? What is there to listen to?"

"Ingrid, please hear me out. Please let me explain."

"Explain what? Explain how you betrayed me? Explain how you stole him from me? Explain how you ruined my life?"

"No, Ingrid. No. Explain how I love him."

Ingrid looked at Rosalind with disbelief and disgust.

"Love him? Love him! You don’t love him! You don’t know what love is!"

"Yes, Ingrid. Yes, I do love him! And he loves me!"

Ingrid opens her mouth to shout some more but Henry intervenes.

"Stop shouting at my wife! Can't you see you're upsetting her more and our child!" "Also," he says "I want you to address us as Mr. and Mrs. Stirling."

Ingrid looks at Henry with contempt and hatred.

"Is that true, Mr. Stirling? Do you love her?"

Mr. Stirling looked at Rosalind with affection and admiration.

"Yes, Miss Whittington. Yes, I do love her!"

Ingrid looked at them both with anger and sorrow.

"Well then, congratulations! Congratulations on your marriage! Congratulations on your baby! Congratulations on your happiness!"

She turned around and walked away from them.

She left them behind, and left behind her dreams, her hopes, her life.

She walked away, with tears streaming down her face and never looked back.

[coldcaseinvestigations]

Schoolgirl Murder

An unsolved murder that ended in a severe miscarriage of justice

Sharing this on behalf of Lolly true Crime World

At around 6 pm on Wednesday 7 June 1972, 14-year-old Queen Elizabeth grammar school student Judith Roberts left her home at 155 Gillway Lane, Wigginton, Tamworth. Judith took her green Raleigh bike, which had been a present from her parents two years earlier, and rode off along Main Road, then along Comberford Lane, which becomes Wiggington Lane.

Judith often rode this route after school, She would arrive home from school at around 4:30 pm, have her tea and do her homework for an hour or so before going for a ride on her bicycle. She would ride ‘round the block’, which consisted of Gillway to Wigginton Road, Comberford Lane to Comberford Road back to Gillway and home.

On June 7th 1972 Judith’s routine was pretty much the same as every school day. She arrived home at around 4.30 pm after school was over, her mother had prepared a salad and banana custard for tea, but Judith didn’t feel like eating, she had worrying things on her mind. Her period was three weeks late and with her mind full, her stomach felt the same. Judith left her salad and swallowed down the banana custard with a drink.

Her mother said that she would tell Judith’s father that she had not eaten her meal. Around 5.15 pm Vincent Robert arrived home to see that instead of eating her meal, Judith was doing homework in the living room, thoroughly engrossed.

Vincent was not happy that his daughter had missed her tea and summoned her to the kitchen, where he asked her to eat. Judith sat at the table but reportedly only nibbled half-heartedly at some lettuce, a tomato and spring onion.

Mr Roberts told his daughter off for not eating fresh food and told her to go back to complete her homework. He told her that he would expect her to eat what she had left for her supper. Judith finished her homework, put on her navy-blue anorak and went to get her bike from the shed in the back garden.

As always Judith let her pet hamster Horace out of his cage and pinned a notice on the shed door saying, ‘Horace on the floor’ and took off on her bike ride. She was still wearing her blue and white school uniform dress, her navy blue anorak with black tie-up shoes. Underneath her clothes, she wore a bra and two pairs of knickers (one under her tights, the other over).

There were witnesses to Judith leaving the house on that fateful evening and with it being summer time it was daylight so they could not have been mistaken. The next-door neighbour, Bertha Evans, at 153 Gillway recalled seeing Judith go left out of number 155 onto Gillway in the direction of Wigginton Road.

Maude Best of 134 Gillway, was out walking her dog and remembered seeing Judith close to the junction of Wigginton Road and Brown’s Lane, Judith had stopped briefly to chat with Maude before continuing her bike ride. Judith would normally make sure back by around 6.30 pm to watch ‘Cross Roads’, a TV soap opera that was very popular at the time. Sadly on the night in question, the 14-year-old did not make it home.

The pathologist report suggested that Judith came to Comberford Lane, where she had become separated from her bike for reasons that have not been established. The report indicates that at around 7 pm she was subjected to a frenzied attack, which left her dead.

A description of Judith was distributed and the police began an investigation straight away with an intensive search of the area. Police with dogs searched the town with local volunteers, a mountain rescue team, RAF airmen and military troops from Whittington Barracks.

Judith was 5ft 1 inch tall, medium build, fair skin and hair with braces on her upper teeth. Obviously, there was always the green bicycle to be considered as Judith had it with her when she left home.

An intensive search for Judith spread through the day and night of Thursday and by Friday police with dogs were looking in canals, rivers, and local barns on farmland.

On Saturday 10 June, some 300+ members of the Whittington Army barracks joined the search. The Junior Soldiers Company from Whittington Barracks were called upon to make a search of local fields. A statement made by a soldier said that at 2.30 pm that afternoon the squad began to carefully search fields from south to north on the western side of Wigginton.

The search came to a local corn field known as ‘Robinson’s Field’, not far in Comberford Lane, at about 4.30 pm. Private Barry Gibson, a soldier in the search said, “On reaching Comberford Lane we commenced searching the field on the other side of the lane. To enter this field, which had been roughly ploughed, I opened a gate and walked in first in front of L/Cpl Steele.” In the field, Private Gibson made three dreadful finds.

Soon after entering the field, the soldier found a green Raleigh bicycle thrown into a thorn hedge, the front wheel sticking out of the hedge. “I turned left and sttarted to walk up the hedge,” reported Gibson. “I had gone about seven yards when I saw about two yards in front of me a green Moulton pedal cycle lying into the hedge with the front wheel towards the gate. I shouted and was joined at once by L/Cpl Steele and others.”

The soldiers scoured the field and about a yard to the right of the cycle there was a big pile of hedge trimmings.” A soldier noticed a piece of blue-coloured material sticking out from the mound of hedge cuttings. When he lifted a piece of cloth he saw human hair covered with blood and a piece of human flesh. He had found the blue anorak that Judith had been wearing when she set out on her bike ride three days before.

The final horrifying discovery was hidden under the hedge cuttings. Three pieces of corrugated sheet, underneath which were two fertiliser bags covering Judith’s body face down. Forensic investigations revealed that she had been bludgeoned to death, her skull shattered into 18 fragments and viciously sexually assaulted. Judith had been put into a shallow grave and pushed under the hedge feet first.

Officers from Staffordshire Police arrived at the scene within minutes of receiving a call to say that soldiers had discovered a body. A Home Office Pathologist, Dr Scholtz Barendo Van-Der-Merwe, was also called to attend the scene of the crime and arrived within around two hours.

The police reported that Judith had been stripped of her clothes from the waist down with the front of her dress and anorak pulled up over her breasts. Her bra was still in place with the breasts covered.

A report from the Home Office Pathologist reads, “At approximately 6.45 pm on Saturday 10 June 1972, I visited the scene of a serious crime in a field off Comberford Lane, near Tamworth. It had been and was still raining. Present were Mr Rees Chief Constable of Staffordshire, Mr Bailey Assistant Chief Constable, Detective Chief Superintendent Wright, Detective Superintendent Jordan, Detective Constable Prince as well as two photographers and other police officers”.

“The field had been roughly ploughed but there was a fairly wide border of ground (headland) over which grass and weeds were growing, moderately short near the ploughed edge and very long at the edge which was tall and overhanging. A newish pedal cycle lay at the base of the hedge some yards inside the gate and not visible except from inside the field. Various pieces of rubbish and pieces of brick lay on the grass verge and a large pile of relatively fresh privet hedge clippings, a pile of soil and rubble lay near the cycle but separated by tall weeds from it. Some yards further along the foot of the hedge and below its overhang another pile of clippings was visible through a gap in the weeds and grass”

“This almost totally obscured the body of which only a hand was visible, and nearest the field, part of a blue anorak and a corner of white plastic material. The grass beneath the body was flattened by the weight of the body, relatively orderly in fashion, not churned about and dry to the touch. The feet were extended well into the hedge with stems of dry grass and twigs caught between some toes. The site where the body lay was relatively orderly and gave the appearance that it had been placed there fairly carefully and that it had been pushed under the hedge feet first”.

Mr Wright continued, “The body was subsequently removed to the Public Mortuary at Kettlebrook, where it was identified to me by Mr V.E. Roberts, to be that of his daughter Judith Roberts, aged 14 years. At 8.15 pm the same night I was present when Doctor Van-der-Merwe carried out a Post Mortem examination on the body and saw him remove a navy blue quilted pattern anorak…. a blue coloured patterned dress…. and a brassiere…. which appeared to be intact and in place. I saw obvious and multiple injuries to the left side of the face, temple and scalp”.

“At 3.15 pm on Tuesday 20th January 1972 with Detective Chief Superintendent Saunders and Detective Constable Prince, I again attended the Mortuary whilst Doctor Van-der-Merwe carried out an examination of the skull and brain”.

The pathologist report states that Judith was dragged by her upper right arm from the area where she was initially attacked on Comberford Lane to Robinson’s Field where she was party to a frenzied stabbing to her left temple area and masturbated over.

Professor Van-Der-Merwe concluded that the cause of death to Judith Roberts was a fractured skull, due to blows to the head with a sharp or potentially pointed object.

Sadly, despite the case being one of the most intense murder hunts in the history of the Midlands, this horrific murder still remains unsolved over 50 years on.

More than 200 police detectives worked on the investigation and took over 15,000 sets of fingerprints, carried out 11,000 door-to-door enquiries and took more than 11,000 statements.

Over 4,000 pieces of information were reviewed but in spite of all that the case still remains unsolved after almost 51 years.

The case was believed to have been solved for a number of years as a soldier who had been based at Whittington Barracks at the time of Judith’s murder, for some reason walked into a local police station, asking to see a photograph of the victim. He was interviewed over a three-day period and gave a full statement in which he confirmed his guilt.

As part of the police investigation into the murder, soldiers who were in residence at Whittington on June 7th 1972 were required to fill out a form detailing their whereabouts on that evening and provide referees to confirm their story.

Andrew Evans said that he had spent that evening in question at the barracks and gave the names of three other soldiers who could confirm this. Police failed to find one of the soldiers, and discovered the remaining two had in fact left the barracks before June 7th. Evans was questioned again in October by police at his grandma’s house.

On the morning after the interview, Andrew told his grandma that he intended to go to the police station and ask to see a picture of Judith He made that decision after having a dream in which he saw “a hazy combination of images of women’s faces” which somehow left him believing that he was the killer.

Although his grandma told him that it was not a good idea to do such a thing he still reported to Longton Police Station in a state of great distress. Evans made the request, telling them he had dreamt of Judith, saying, “I keep seeing a face. I want to see a picture of her. I wonder if I’ve done it".

Although Andrew Evans subsequently retracted his confession, a jury convicted him of murder at trial in 1973, and he was handed a life sentence.

A 1970s legal team advised Evans that he had absolutely no grounds for appeal, so he spent the next twenty years in prison before his case was brought to the attention of a British media journalist in 1994, and was taken up by the human rights group Justice when he contacted them about it.

There is a course of a belief that Judith may have been murdered by the Yorkshire ripper, Peter Sutcliffe and whilst it is possible I am not so sure.

An armchair detective, Chris Clark believes that he and his team have uncovered evidence that Judith was yet another victim of the Yorkshire Ripper.

Interestingly Chris has recently published a book, ‘Mark of a Serial Killer’ with a co-author, Tanita Mathews.

They claim to have searched national archives, studied pathology reports and read every word of the transcripts of Andrew Evans’ trial. They also claim to have spoken to Judith’s family.

They called upon the services of an independent pathologist to review the case. Chris Clark firmly believes that Judith was monster Sutcliffe’s unknown victim.

The Ripper died after contracting covid in 2020 aged 74 while a whole life sentence for the violent murders of thirteen women and the attempted murder of seven more. According to the author, Chris Clark, Judith’s murder fits with Sutcliffe’s modus operandi like a glove.

Allegedly on the evening of the teenager’s death, June 7th 1972, Sutcliffe was making a major journey to visit his then-fiancee in a hospital in Bexleyheath, London. He then returned to Bingley, West Yorkshire, where he worked nightshifts on the Baird TV company assembly plant.

So, let’s just let that sink in, Sutcliffe drove 250 miles to London, a long journey in the 70s with cars travelling at around 60mph top speed, visited his partner, drove 250 miles back, stopped off to viciously murder a 14-year-old girl, who he had no idea would be there for the taking, then drove to work. Possible? Yes. Likely? No, not in my opinion anyway.

I think that the killer was local and intentionally targeted his particular victim for a specific reason, but I am open to persuasion of course.

I will leave it there and remind you that I have so far not put my blogs behind a paywall, thus allowing you to read my articles free of charge. If you want that to continue then please be kind, dig deeply click the link and BUY ME A COFFEE or click ‘Leave a tip’ at the bottom of this article.

If you would like to discuss this or any aspect of my work please leave me a comment or contact me using the methods detailed below, I will be back with more very soon.

Email me: Lolly-truecrime@protonmail.com

or

Coldcaseinvestigations@proton.me

[teabooksandsweets]

A City of Bells

Chapter VIII — Part V

And then it did.

Tea was finished and cleared away, they pulled their chairs round the fire, the children sitting on the floor at Grandfather’s feet with their Sunday playthings, the shells that sounded like the sea when you held them against your ears, ready to hand in case they should be bored, and Jocelyn read them his story.

It began all right and like the nicest kind of fairy story, with a wandering Minstrel playing his flute in the forest, and it went on all right, with the Minstrel engaged on a quest, as all the best fairy-tale heroes should be, but after that it went all wrong and a cold air blew through the room. For this hero was not a homely Dick Whittington, whom you felt at the start was bound to end up as a well-fed mayor, he was someone fine and strange and likely, Henrietta felt, to be a tragic figure just because he was different. And his quest, too, was peculiar, because instead of searching for a sleeping beauty, a tangible person who could be relied on to stay put till found, he was searching for what he called the spirit of perfect beauty, an elusive thing like the will-o’-the-wisp.

Jocelyn related this hero’s adventures in verse that sang like Lorenzo’s stars, but its beauty did not comfort Henrietta, for that unhappy wind was blowing through it all the time … And yet, though she did not altogether understand, she found that she had to listen … She could not do as Hugh Anthony did, close her ears to Jocelyn’s story and open them to the song the sea was singing inside the shells, she was obliged to follow the Minstrel on his journey.

At first he tried to find this beauty in his forest, among the trees and the flowers and the nymphs who danced to the music of his flute, but he found that there were snakes coiled on the branches of the trees, and worms and dead bodies under the roots of the flowers, and as the nymphs twisted and turned in the measure of their dance he saw to his horror that there was a satyr prancing about in the middle of them. So he took off the garland of roses that the nymphs had given him and trampled on it, and he turned his back on the woods and the fields and tramped over the mountains until he came to a lovely city set on a hill and here, in the world of man’s art, he tried again to find his beauty.

There were lovely things in this city, cathedrals and shrines and pictures and books and statues, but they were none of them quite perfect, sharing as they did the imperfection of the men who had made them, and they did not satisfy the hunger for the absolute that was destroying the Minstrel. Yet he stayed in the city, searching everywhere, until one day he did a dreadful thing. A certain sculptor had just completed a new statue and he invited all the chief artists of his city to come to see it, and among them he invited the Minstrel, who was full of excitement and hope, thinking that perhaps here at last he would find perfection. The party dragged on until at last the great moment came and the veil was taken from the statue. The Minstrel caught his breath and tears of delight came into his eyes as he looked at the figure of a peasant woman. His eyes travelled from the perfectly poised head and the eager face to the arms stretched out in supplication and the figure swaying a little forward as though in a passion of self-giving … And then he saw the feet … The sculptor’s inspiration must have flagged when he got to the feet, he must have been bored or drunk or tired, for they were all wrong. The woman should have been poised on tiptoe, as though she were just going to take flight in her eagerness, but these feet were heavy as lead, ugly and shapeless, and planted on the pedestal as though fixed in mud. A sick rage took hold of the Minstrel, he rushed to the statue and flung it on the floor, smashing it into a thousand pieces. All the artists rushed at him like wild beasts and hounded him out of the city.

So he went off on his wanderings again and as he tramped along the road, weary and very sore from the beating he had had, he found that his memory was haunted by the tenderness in the face of the statue he had smashed and he wondered if perhaps he might find perfection in love. The figure he had broken had been a peasant, a woman of the people, and so he looked for the living woman in all the villages along the way. As soon as he came to a village he would go to the cross at its centre and stand there playing on his flute and all the women and children would come running out of the cottages to listen to his tunes. And at last one day he saw her, golden-haired and mysteriously beautiful, standing on the outskirts of the crowd that had collected, with a little black-haired child clinging to her skirts, her figure swaying a little to his music and her hands out-stretched in her eagerness. He did not stop his playing, but over the heads of the people his eyes met hers and said to her, “Wait.”

When he had finished his tune and the crowd had gone she was still there, with the child clinging to her skirts, and he went to her and took her hands and asked her to go with him.

“To the world’s end,” she said, “I and the child.”

“I don’t want the child,” he said.

She looked at him steadily out of eyes that were much wiser than his. “Love is a child,” she said, “and after him as he runs along with his bow and arrows come the pattering feet of little children.”

So he gave in and the three of them took the road together. They earned their bread quite easily, for the woman had a lovely voice and sang to the music of his flute, so that in the towns and villages they passed through people flocked to hear them and flung silver and gold into the hat that the black-haired child carried round.

For a little while the Minstrel thought that his quest was ended, for his love made the world such a paradise that he thought he had found his perfect beauty; until one day he realized that the woman was not all that he had thought her. She had a quick temper and could say stinging things when she was tired, and she did not always give him the perfect response of sympathy that he demanded. And though her voice remained unchanged her loveliness became tarnished by her hard life, and as her mysterious beauty faded his love faded too. This third failure, far more bitter than the others because he had been nearer to attainment, made him so wretched that it robbed him of the power of clear judgment; he thought his misery was the woman’s fault and he was no longer kind to her and the child.

So one day as they played and sang at a village cross another man noticed the figures of the woman and the child. He was a careless, thoughtless man, but he thought that the woman looked tired and her faded beauty touched him so much that he went to her and said, “Bring the child and come with me,” and because she was proud and hated to stay with the Minstrel when he no longer loved her she obeyed.

Then it seemed to the Minstrel that nothing was left to him but himself. The natural world had failed him and the world of man’s art and the world of human relationships, yet perhaps out of himself he could still spin perfection. perfection. So the music that had been to him merely a pleasure or a means of livelihood became a passion, the one thing that he lived for. He composed tune after tune for his flute, trying always to achieve perfection, always feeling it elude him by a hair’s breadth yet always trying again … But he could no longer earn his living, for these new tunes of his, into which he had poured all his longing and passion, did not please people as had the light, gay tunes of the old days, they were too intricate and too sad, and they would not listen to them or put money into the Minstrel’s hat … And so one day, as he stumbled along the road faint with hunger, he swooned and fell, and when he came to himself again he found that his flute had been broken by his fall. He picked himself up and went into a green meadow through which a river ran and here he lay down and went to sleep and in a little while he was dreaming.

He dreamed that he was looking at a pattern woven from earth to heaven, a pattern composed of shape and colour and scent and music, and the pattern was perfect beauty … So what he had been searching for was a pattern … For what seemed an eternity he gazed on its satisfying loveliness and then, closing the dazzled eyes that could not look any longer, he tried with his mind to separate the pattern into its component parts. They were a scent of roses, the shapely head and figure of a statue, a woman’s voice, the black hair and white face of a child and a few notes from his own music … And suddenly he was awake again and the pattern had vanished.

It was dark now and sitting near the rushing river, and talking to it as though it were a spirit, he tried to think how it was that these random memories of his life could so have combined together as to form perfection. Out of the night there came to him the realization that man while still in the body cannot look upon pure spirit, for the white circle of transcendent beauty would strike him blind, he can apprehend it only when its light is split into coloured fragments by the prism of his own senses. And if it is his senses that apprehend these coloured fragments it is his mind that must pluck them out of the mud that he has strewn about his dwelling-place and form them into a pattern, perfect in its degree, that shall satisfy him by shadowing faintly the perfection of pattern that he cannot see.

Despair seized the Minstrel. The fragments had been there for his taking and what had he done with them? The roses he had trampled underfoot, the statue he had destroyed, the beauty that was in the woman and the child he had driven from him and the stupidity that had caused his bodily weakness had smashed his flute into a hundred pieces. He had destroyed beauty. Beauty was dead and he must follow it, for without it his life was useless to him. His feet carried him through the darkness to the water’s edge and the river of death closed over his head.

[teamedstud]

[uwmspeccoll]

Wood Engraving Wednesday

JOHN O’CONNOR

English wood engraver John O’Connor (1913-2004) wrote and illustrated an evocative autobiographical essay entitled Twins published in 1991 by the Whittington Press in Andoversford, Gloucestershire, in an edition of 350 copies. The text with seven of the original ten three-color wood engravings were also inserted between pages 144 and 145 of Matrix 11, Winter 1991, which is where the images shown here are from.

The essay describes a childhood meeting between O'Connor and his twin brother Tom, and the twin sisters who come to stay in the village of Knipton, Leicestershire, where the O’Connor twins were staying with relatives on a small farm in the valley overlooked by Belvoir Castle. The farm life of the 1920s, horse-drawn carts, the kitchen range, oil lamps, and the surrounding countryside all made an indelible mark on the mind of the 12-year-old O’Connor, and unconsciously became references for many of his subsequent paintings and wood engravings.

The memoir describes the growing friendship of the pair of twins in the mid 1920s, collecting eggs, hunting for fossils and mushrooms, inventing plays, and going to high tea: “They . . . eyed us with pleasure and amusement which we returned. Identical twin had met identical twin!” But all sweet things must come to an end:

Alas! the twins’ family moved away from Leicestershire and we never met again after our thirteenth year, but the memory of our shared summer birthdays is still clear, and in the 1990s the valley at Belvoir has scarcely changed.

Matrix was printed by John and Rosalind Randle at the Whittington Press in England, and is a donation from our friend Jerry Buff.

View more posts with work by John O’Connor.

View more posts from Matrix.

View other posts relating to the Whittington Press.

View more posts with wood engravings!

[soffused-light]

"Prodotto Piazzamento" - #productplacement #prodottopiazzamento #thelateshow #karimmusa #yotobi #tea #whittington #inkedgirl #tattoo #fingertattoo #alyssum #flower #handtattoo #d #lettertattoo #love #girl #me #cup #autumn #winter #youtube #friends #smile #follow #like4like #picoftheday #rings #sweater #happy Ph @elliethescythe (presso Central Park - Bar Ristoro)

[compagnadiviaggio-blog1]

Desidero ardentemente l’autunno e l’inverno per stare con la mia copertina e bere il mio amato tea🍪 ☕️ ❄️ Ogni volta che lo bevo non sento più il frastuono del mondo. 🌍 #whittington #tea #berry #autunno #inverno #byebyesummer #eraclea #food #cold #world #winter #relax #afternoontea #teatime🍵 #biscuits #travelblogger https://www.instagram.com/p/B1oTZKFFC9f/?igshid=1dfnr9640c01

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Wednesday 2 October 1839 Travel Journal

7 ¼

12 ½

very fine morning – had Mrs. Wilson – paid her 175/. her bill of last week all but 2 or 3 rubels – breakfast over at 10 – before and after inking over yesterday and reading Schnetzler sun out – warm – F66 ½° in my secrétaire drawer and 50 ¼ north outside the window now at 10 ¼ am

out at 10 55/.. – in 7 minutes at the Podoroshna-office – 7/6 paid – (3.25 R. notes + 1 (20 and 1) 10 silver kopper price) – obliged to go up to sign my name – drove off at 11 20/.. and at the library at 11 25/.. Mr. Atkinson had put the books for us on the table – the 1st I took up was

New Russia – Journey from Riga to the Crimea by way of Kiev...... by Mary Holderness. London printed for Sherwood, Jones and co. Paternoster Row 1823. 8vo. broche – pp. 134.

SH:7/ML/TR/14/0031

October Wednesday 2 Riga timber superior and much dearer than Memel masts from Polish and Russian Ukraine on  the rivers Briganskie  (Desna) and Soelzs’s branches of the [?] – arrives at Riga in May   4-5/314

p. 10 one Polish britchka [britzka] and 3 kibitkas – party of 11 left Riga November 18 N.S. 1815.

p. 22 Reference to Tookes’ survey of Russia.

p.56 1 Russian pood = 36lbs.

p.59 Tookes’ history of Russia

p.61 handsome Turkish shawls from 500 to 2,000 Rubels no lady well dressed at Kiev without one –

p. 92 1 [archeen] (of cloth) = 2/3 English yard

p. 12 1898 versts from Riga to (p.92) Karagoss (in the Crimea) and reached that place 3 February  

p. 103 Dr. Clarkes’ description of Easter in his account of Moscow –

Fraehns’ [catalogue] of Persian Turkish and Arabian mss. ouvrages historiques  35

Poètes  107

Sciences spéculatives et arts 24

166.

this volume (folio) dated St. P. le 9 Avril 1829

18/30 Octobre 1829

Philologie

p. 131 1 Russian [Desaiteen] = 2 ¾ English acres

p. 142 for account of the Nogay tartars see Mr. Whittingtons’ memoir in Walpoles’ travels in the east.

p. 151 Dr. Hunt in his brief account of a Greek wedding says the bride is to be silent for 8 days

October Wednesday 2 p. 147 In the Crimea (at Kaffa [Feodosiia]) the Greeks speak Turkisk [Turkish] and Tartar as fluently as Greek – and many of Mrs. Holerness’ servants spoke 5 languages (Russia included)

p. 163 et seq. great praise of the Bulgarians (near Oddessa etc)

p. 178 the Karaites of whom Mr. Guthrie speaks etc. etc.

p. 190 – 1 the emperor from Moscow to St. P- 483 miles = 728 ½ versets in 36 hours – From Otchakoff on the black sea to St. P- (temple Catherine 2) 1200 miles in 5 days and nights – but the post from Kaffa [Feodosiia] to Moscow in 14 days = 66 miles per day –

p. 195 Lady Craven mistaken in saying rice is grown in the Crimea – no land there fit for it –

p. 197 Tartars there famous for management of bees – said that ‘some of them on seeing the bees at work on the flowers of the field, will directly tell to what village belong’ –

p. 203 ‘the English proprietor in the midst of neighbours and dependents, yet feels a lonely sojourner’...... probably Mrs. H- and her friends were of this no.? –

p. 211 Mrs. H- resided at Karagoss from February 1816 to March 1820.

p. 225 Greeks in Crimea [present] the custom of sprinkling a new-born infant with salt. Ezek. xvi. 4.

p. 231 et seq. account of a Tartar marriage

p. 244 account of Tartar funeral

p. 258 Russian bath heated by a trench full of stones. rendered hot by a furnace below.

SH:7/ML/TR/14/0032

October Wednesday 2 vid. p. 259 et seq. on the food etc. of the Tartars – seldom ‘eat’ fresh milk – on coming from the cow, it is boiled and afterwards churned – the butter then melted and poured into a skin – the buttermilk put into a cask to receive the overplus of everydays consumption

p. 265 the fungus Amadou is boiled and beaten till tender and then dried for use – there is also a lighter kind than the above (which grows on trees) the excrescence of a plant – p. 266 Agirmish (in sight of Karagoss) supposed by Pallas to be the Cimmerian [?] of the ancients –

p. 278 harvest end of June or beginning of July – bearded wheat sown become less likely to shake. Arnoot or spring wheat is sown by Russians etc.

p. 279 Bulgarian – summer hotter winter colder than in

p. 280 England – winter of short duration – breaks up in February so as to plough – March often mild and warm –

Dubois de Montreux sur le Crimée Caucase etc. etc et Sur la Crimée l’ouvrage de un’ intendant

Indicateur des objets rare au musée de Moscow published by Paul de Svignine Imprimerie de Charles Kray St. P- 1826

Lady Craven the rein 1786 (spring) –

October Wednesday 2 Mr. Atkinson came to us – shewed us Lady Cravens’ travels and the guide du voyageur en Crimée par C.H. Montandon. Odessa. Imprimerie de la ville 1834. dedicated à son excellence Mr. le comte de Woronzow -  came away from the library at 2 ½ - Mr. Atkinson told us not to give anything – at the Hermitage palace – at 2 ¾ to 4 50/.. – sent by Whitaker my card wrote in pencil présente ses complimens [compliments] et ses remercimens [remercîments] très empressés à son excellence monsieur de Labrinksy – then in the salles – principally salle 5 and 40 and 41 – gave the man 5/. –

home at 5 55/.. – dinner over at 7 10/.. from the palace to Beligard – paid for map of Asiatic Russia monté 10/. + 10/. = 20/. – then home direct at 5 55/.. – ordered the carriage at 9am tomorrow to go to Alexandrovski [Alexandrovsky] – dressed dinner over at 7 10/.. – Mr. Bayley came at 7 ½ and staid till 10 – had tea – not good he allowed – to go to Chaplins’ for tea, and also to see his furs – tea at 100/. per lb. – and 25/. and B- drinks it at 9/. or 10/. a lb. – should see the brick tea – furs very dear – Mr. Law here has including the house (his rooms under the church) £800 a year – Mr. Cammidge reverend of Moscow has a congregation of about 70 – has an allowance from the Russian company – all the exporting to London Riga etc. merchants here must be are members of the Russian company – gave us a note for Cochranes’ travels in Russia and Bremners’ ditto – the church picture a copy from Rubens not Rembrandt – (in the salle with the Paul Potter (41) not given to the church by Sir William Ingleby – by some other baronet B- very civil – if we were going to stay would introduce his family – would be happy to do so on our return – a widowes 16 years but has had his wifes’ sister with him and his daughters – poor man!

SH:7/ML/TR/14/0033

October Wednesday 2 has had a severe illness – appears much broken – came here in 1892 – d’origine from the neighbourhood of not far from Manchester – had called here on Mr. Harrison on the Thursday and he died on the Sunday – Captain Cochrane very excentric – thought to be rather besides himself – Mr. B- knew him – Dr. Granvilles’ work good, but too much on the favourable side – as Dr. Lefevre said nothing that was not true but all couleur de rose – Mr. Atkinson said this morning he knew G- met him in society but he has his note-book out, and made notes even comparatively of all that was said so that really people were afraid – Layard in a great hurry when at the Imperial library Mr. A- did not know or see much of him – he seemed chiefly anxious to copy M. Queen of Scots’ letters – and at this time A- was busy copying them to give to prince Alexander .......... who has published her inedited letters in 18vo. – on our return home this evening found 2 letters for Moscow and 1 for Odessa from Mr. de Fischer and his card, and found 2 letters from Mr. Hodson (John Esquire) for Moscow and one for Odessa, and one directed to me for A- from her sister – her aunt well as usual – Mr. Bayley made no offer of letters, and, of course, I did not ask me for any – did not name or hint at the subject –

at the Hermitage the Vierge d’Albe (salle 5) and the Paul Potter (vache qui [pisse]) and the 4 Clauds’ (salle 40) (morning noon and evening and night) worth all the rest – In salle 40 the chef-d’-oeuvre of Teniers’

October Wednesday 2 and the Rubens from which the English church picture is copied and in salle 41 some fine Murillos (the Repose in Egypt and the lady boy fleeing his dog) – and in salle some fine Van d’Eycks [van Dyck] –

Mr. B- said it must be 30 years since Lord Stuart was here – then Mr. Stuart – could not speak Russ[ian] well but could read it well – and spoke French and German well –

[deeisace]

Well.

I hadn't looked at later accounts than 1895 (and it's true I haven't read all of the articles from 1895 yet), of the murder at Redcross Street, but they did rather get some things wrong when the Echo went over it in 1955 (and 1976)

Mostly that John was brewing a pot of tea when Miller arrived, when they said in 1895 it was a cup of coffee left on the table (a jury member wanted it checked for opiates, in 1895) - and also that John went out to the street, went at the time they said it was "the occupants of the premises" found him, having got downstairs, not a "passing workman" - and that Mr Moyse had "a battered top hat perched rakishly on his great flowing mane of silky white hair" - I don't know about a top hat, Mr Whittington-Egan (of 1976), but Mr Moyse was only 53, surely he wouldn't yet have gone completely white-haired? I spose he might've done, I don't know (they read right that Needham was 15, tho)

It is true that no-one knows how Moyse and Miller knew each other - rather, I spose, how Miller knew Moyse - in 1895, they say that it's because Moyse's stall was at the docks, and Miller was a sailor, where in 1976 they say it's because Miller was his lodger (""lodger"" I spose) previous to Needham

But as I say, I haven't read all through the original articles yet

[reigningsims]

Queen Eleanor hosts intimate afternoon tea at the Palace.

For her first engagement in Elvaria Princess Anita sat down for a spot of tea with Queen Eleanor and four other guests. The afternoon tea was held in the beautiful and spacious ‘Room of Red’ complete with the finest teas and baked goods.

Queen Eleanor wore a beautiful salmon pink dress and a feathery hat/fascinator for the visit. Pink was also the colour of choice for Lady Eve who was asked to sit by Her Majesty.

Princess Anita seemed to have a great time speaking to Lady Cordelia Whittington, who attended with her mother Baroness Suzanne Whittington. They bonded over their love of cakes and got on well as they were of similar age. Princess Anita looked very pretty in a pale yellow floral dress and a crown of flowers in her hair.

Finally, the two remaining guests were Baroness Suzanne and Viscountess Kendra Broswell, mother of Lady Eve. The two women are good friends and belong to the ‘Royal Tea Society’ which was founded by Queen Victoria in the 19th century.

In case you’re wondering, the Queen’s favourite cakes are from Nancy Brown, one of the top bakers in Elvaria, while Her Majesty’s tea is imported directly from Shang Shimla. Only the best for our Queen!

Previous | Beginning | Next

[help-im-a-medstudent]

Best christmas present this year is definitely the Whittington Hospital tea towel

[stratfordeast]

NEW SEASON ANNOUNCED!

Theatre Royal Stratford East announces Nadia Fall’s second season as Artistic Director to run from Autumn 2019 to Summer 2020.

Opening the season, Royal & Derngate, Northampton and Theatre Royal Stratford East present a transfer of James Dacre’s acclaimed production of Our Lady of Kibeho, which premiered at Royal & Derngate earlier this year. Award-winning playwright Katori Hall presents a haunting insight into true events in Rwanda that captured the world’s attention.

Paines Plough bring their acclaimed pop-up theatre ROUNDABOUT to Theatre Square in front of Theatre Royal Stratford East. Paines Plough and Theatr Clwyd present three new plays that will perform in rep, featuring On The Other Hand We’re Happy by Daf James, Dexter and Winter’s Detective Agency by Nathan Bryon and Daughterhood by Charley Miles. Further programming in the ROUNDABOUT theatre to be announced.

Ballet Black returns to Theatre Royal Stratford East for a fourth consecutive year with a dynamic triple bill, including new works Ingoma by Mthuthuzeli November, CLICK! By Sophie Laplane and a reprisal of Martin Lawrance’s Pendulum.

The annual Christmas pantomime will be Dick Whittington with book and lyrics by David Watson, music and lyrics from Robert Hyman, directed by John Haidar.

Eclipse Theatre Company visit Stratford East for the first time, with the London premiere of The Gift by Janice Okoh, directed by Dawn Walton – a comedy drama exploring imperialism, cross-racial adoption, cultural appropriation and tea drinking. An Eclipse Theatre and Belgrade Theatre Coventry co-production.

Nadia Fall will direct her new play Welcome to Iran – A Theatre Royal Stratford East and National Theatre co-production. Based on real-life testimonials, Welcome to Iran offers a tender and witty snapshot of people in Iran today, and explores the rich cultural heritage and thriving art scene in a world often misunderstood. Following its Stratford run, Welcome to Iran will transfer to the National Theatre for a limited run.

The season concludes with a Theatre Royal Stratford East production of Roy Williams’ Olivier and Evening Standard Award-winning play Sucker Punch directed by Roy Alexander Weise, marking 10 years since its premiere at The Royal Court.

Priority booking to Stratford East Members opens at noon on Wed 29 May and to the general public at noon on Fri 31 May.