September 1, 2010
Woman suffers minor injuries after wreck 9/1/2010 11:19:00 AM warren less than 1 hour ago: I wonder if Ms Rangel was talking on her cell phone at the time????????? Read more on The Commercial Dispatch
U.S. transitions to final phase of war in Iraq
The U.S. on Wednesday moved into the final phase of its military involvement in Iraq, with administration officials saying the war was ending even as the new commander of the remaining 50,000 troops warned of the ongoing threat from “hostile elements.” Read more on CTV Winnipeg
State Of The Coast
Betty Maerker often visits Ocean Springs’ shoreline right before a storm, where she watches the waves rise and fall, and gathers her thoughts. But for the past five years, her trips to the beach have reminded her of what her community lost in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Read more on Jackson Free Press
Immersed in the wild
Although I had been swimming on and off since moving from southwest Montana back to San Francisco in mid-January, my new season officially started on April 17th, the day I turned 60. It was a bright afternoon, the sun partially obscured by high thin clouds, gusts churning the surface of Aquatic Park, a manmade cove bounded by curved piers on the waterfront. That’s where I swim, along with others … Read more on Anchorage Press
Video: After Earth Wind & Fire Concert, Riot Ensues
*Picture this: beer bottles and patio furniture thrown at police; people thrown through windows; vendor booths set on fire and destroyed: If you’re thinking “public disturbance” as in some kind of riot, you’d be right. However, there’s one, er, make that three … elements missing. That would be Earth Wind & Fire. Huh? Nope, it’s [...] Read more on EURweb
Configuration of Destinies: Stylistic Beauty and Pattern in Khushwant Singh’s Burial at Sea
To discern the literary style of an author like Khushwant Singh whose fictional output is often treated as potboiler on the basis of the subject matter he presents– is a subtle task to carry forward. But this is rather his way to cater to the tastes and expectations of the readers i. e. his style that has secured a berth for him among the literary writers. The figure of Khushwant Singh is often put into the criteria of ascertaining his literary might by the commoners, even by the critics, with the viewpoint of expecting some spicy material; taking him as a ribald writer. But he has hardly been approached with yard stick to assess his artistic styles.
A writer in today’s scenario cannot afford remaining confined in self-styled mansion made of classical pattern of just art for art sake; he has to rather keep in view the heterogeneous readers. That is why he has to be conscious to what he is going to deliver to the society comprising different strata of people. Khushwant Singh, in this way, is no exception and he truly fits in the category of conscious writers of today. Instead of letting down the flow of the words itself from his pen he bothers to put the beads or flowers of the words into a knotless string; giving us a well designed beautiful garland.
That is why his dexterity to design a pattern of plots into a well shaped structure speaks eloquently in his fifth novel Burial at Sea (2004). Here, the novelist has skillfully woven the saga of human life; the vicissitudes of an individual and thus making of modern India among other things– into such a beautiful shape to make it finally the novel of fourteen chapters with well knit plots. The brevity of the novel too indicates his ability to craft that he has so tediously chiseled each plot to be fit into the contour of the novel.
Putting it in formalist way, the novel has balanced beauty with rhythmic gait and curvy structure. The book is light enough to have the wings of imagination; taking the readers in the romantic world of mystery and dubious charms where unbridled sex is possible on the basis of Yoga and Sadhana. The romanticism of the writer not only lures himself but engages the readers spell-bound. The description of Ma Durgeshwari adds to the novel the mystery and charm as if it is the world of imagination. She is not ordinary woman, with no ordinary personality of a woman but having a magical aura of powers and charms striding all her ways. She runs an ashram. The common folk almost adores her like the most powerful Hindu goddess of lions as she has a pet tiger name Sheroo; having a trident for the killing of rakshasas as they believe:
‘That, Sir, is the ashram of Ma Durgeshwari. She is a powerful tantric. People say she was born in a cave in high Himalayas. She owns a tiger called Sheroo who I’ve been told is a strict vegetarian. He follows her everywhere like a pet dog. She takes him to the Ganga every day and they bathe in the river together. People are scared of going anywhere near them. They call her Sheron wali ma— mother of tigers. For her darshan you have to approach her chief disciple who is an Englishwoman’ (p. 128-29).
Though, setting of such events is in India of all commonalities, yet the inclusion of such elements of mystery and romance make it the world of wonder and awe. The delineation of Ma Durgeshwari, stark naked as though in dreams, taking open bath first in Ganga then in the sun make her future favourite son of Oedipus, Victor Jai Bhagwan take the bath of purgation through his wide open eyes. The spectacle of a voluptuous sadhvi taking bath in open natural settings with a tiger is a bizarre thing but bewitching, away from the drab reality of business and trade in Bombay:
She took off her saffron scarf, then the tiger skin. She rolled her hair up to and tied it in a bun on the top of her head. She was stark naked: skin the colour of old ivory, large, firm breasts and buttocks and a neat black triangular bush between her legs. Victor guessed she would be in her late twenties. For a while she stood rubbing her body with her hands. Then she felt the water, withdrew it quickly and said something to her tiger who raised its long stiff tail once and brought it down slowly. Gingerly she stepped into the ice-cold stream, splashed some water on her body, then sank down into the stream till the water flowed over the head. The tiger jumped into the river and swam up to her side. She splashed water on his face when he came too close to her. They played in the river for a while till she could not stand the cold anymore. She has no towel and exposed her body to the sun to dry her. She sat on the rock, combed her hair with her fingers and re-tied it on top her head. The tiger licked her body for the drops of water that remained (p.129-30).
Nonetheless, the novel has been set to be the illustration of truly flesh and blood people of ordinary society. Thus it has ample weight to keep the readers planted to the earth texture; to let them feel like rubbing shoulders with the protagonists who sound, in every way, earthly. The novel begins with the commonplace description of Jai Bhagwan’s last journey, after his demise, through the city and such description of matter of fact ceremony leaves no clue of fanciful elements further in the novel:
Faint notes of military band playing the Funeral March led the procession to the bottom of Walkeshwar Hill at Chowpatty. Crods lined both sides of Marine Drive. People stood on their balconies showering rose petals on bier as it passed below them; women sobbed and shed their silent tears for a man most of them had never seen but whose presence they have felt around them all their lives (p. 03).
However, judging through the Aristotelian concept of right magnitude of any literary piece the present novel truly fits in that way. The plots in the book do not form too big a picture to overshadow the viewer. Nor it is too small to make the viewer widen their eyeballs. The author has so dexterously devised such a configuration of events in the novel that each plot runs on its way towards stipulated destiny but via main plot of Victor Jai Bhagwan, the chief protagonist.
The main action in the novel is set to revolve around the story of Jai Bhagwan, the son of a renowned and anglicized barrister of British times, Mr. Krishan Lal Matttoo. The royal treatment and training to him in western fashion during his childhood at the hands of highly decent and civilized governess from west; his staying in posh of London to grow into a responsible but anglicized gentleman and finally his emergence as the leading industrialist of India culminating in his assassination– form the main plot of the novel. While the stories of Ma Durgeshwari, a tantric woman but jai Bhagwan’s keep; that of Dhananjay Maharaj, the maestro of Yoga and allies of former; and of Bharti, the unusual but influential daughter of Jai Bhagwan, just hover around the main action and serve as the continuation of that.
Giving classical pattern to the story of emerging India towards her modern form the novelist has endeavoured to produce the account of the events of a nation against the backdrops of the life span of the an individual; beginning from his childhood to his death. Nonetheless, Khushwant Singh does not wholly cling to classical pattern of narrative and structure as the things of the protagonist’s life do not exactly raise head in the very first chapter. The first chapter, in fact, has been indexed as something eulogy in American style; the author begins the things with the delineation of Jai Bhagwan’s funeral in rather sullen tone.
The structure leaves a tad suggestion of having circular contour, however from chapter two onwards the events go rather linear. Through all segments the main plot steeps down, expands, narrows within but is charged to flow in continuity of time span like a river of life force; finally falling and merging into leviathan sea of huge bosoms. That is why the novelist very intelligently lays bare the mood into the narrative in the very first chapter wherein the pivotal character is found dead and unusually buried into sea. The gloomy beginning hints something serious and the death of some national figure as the case in Shakespearean heroes:
For two days and nights his embalmed body lay in the Darbar Hall of the Governor’s palatial residence overlooking the Arabian Sea. Raj Bhavan has been thrown open to the citizens so they could pay homage to the man who had perhaps done more for their country than anyone else in living memory. Though few people knew him personally, he had become a legend; the line of homage payers bearing wreaths and flowers stretched over a mile beyond the entrance gate. Protocol has been set aside. The police merely ensured that the mourners kept moving past the bier on which he lay with a triumphant, even defiant, look on his dead face. Those who lingered, hoping to get a glimpse of his daughter and heir to his vast fortune, were disappointed. Only his aging sisters could be seen in the hall, receiving important visitors (p. 1-2).
But more importantly what brings Khushwant Singh’s draughtsmanship at fore is the fact that three classical unities of time, place and action have been dramatically been maintained. To add artistic excellence and grandeur to the structure KhushwantSingh has designed a configuration of the criss-cross of the actions. It has been made to look coincidental that Jai Bhagwan has his first sexual experience in London at Christmas day and the same experience of Bharti, his daughter, takes place in the very city and the occasion is the same.
Jai Bhagwan Victor just of fourteen meets a roadside prostitute in freezing cold evening of Christmas in London. Here, the strumpet symbolizes the outside agent of corruption and thus evil but which is attractive to a west infatuated Indian adolescent who would miss no chance to venture into something which is said to be forbidden:
Victor turned his steps homewards to his mews. At Notting Hill Gate he took Bayswater Road towards Marble Arch. There was hardly any traffic and no one on the footpaths. Near Marble Arch he came across a solitary figure clad in flimsy raincoat a dirty muffler wrapped around her neck. As Victor came close to her she turned around and said, ‘Hello.’ She was shivering in the cold.
‘Hello,’ replied Victor, ‘what are you doing out in this cold winter evening?’ She looked to be in her early twenties. Her face was bloodless white with the cold (p. 51-52).
The cold Christmas evening in London implies the Londoners’ old preference for winter to the month of April which is cruelest to them; as in desolate winter one’s rational mind succumbs to the workings of instincts. Here, young Victor has the first knocking of lustful experience and thus loses his virginity, as the novelist refers it. The forlorn environ of freezing cold in London, that can drive one to just follow his darker side, found telling delineation at the hands of the writer:
On Christmas Day London was strangely quiet. Hardly any sound of traffic. Church bells tolled. It was a bright sunny morning. Victor took a walk in Hide Park. There were few people about. Silence pervaded over Speaker’s Corner. The only sign of activity he noticed was men and women on horseback trotting along Rotten Row. It was a long two-hour walk in the crisp, cool air in what was aptly called the lungs of London (p.49-50).
The quietness of London bears the analogy to deceptive stillness of Nature which is imperatively followed by storm leaving far reaching ramification. In Victor’s life this placid evening stirs the tumult of lust and he comes in close contact of outside virus; the virus of contagious impact on one’s psyche. To Khushwant Singh, as to anybody, the idea of losing one’s virginity or the first sexual experience holds significance in their life or what is termed as the turning point where forth their life takes a different direction to move in. This turning point i.e. the maiden fleshy delight has been given special treatment in this novel in two lives, that of Jai Bhagwan and of his daughter, Bharti. The author artistically has deployed these incidents to give narrative a further push into new direction and thus designing shape of the structure of the story. Jai Bhagwan has this lustful experience in chapter Four in London on Christmas evening in his hideout:
Victor glanced at her. He would have liked to gape and stare to see what a woman’s body looked like but was too polite to do so. Jenny got into the bed; Victor stretched himself on the sofa and switched off the lights. A few minutes later he could hear her snore. Sleep would not come to him. So often he had fantasized about making love to a woman, thrashing around naked in the bed with her, her breasts swinging and bobbing in his face. Here he was now with a woman lying naked in his bed, more than willing to be made love to, and he was a few feet away from her, spread out on a sofa. Was he a coward? Was he an ass? Lust got better of his doubts and fears (p. 54-55).
This very action but in the life of Bharti in the same fashion, on the same occasion and the same city and place gives artistic beauty to the novel. Jai Bhagwan has this significant experience in the chapter four and Bharti has this in chapter nine and the two same actions fall with the gap of many years. This big gap of almost thirty-eight years between two significant incidents implies the time of maturation; Jai Bhagwan’s graduating to a business tycoon through formative years, his marriage leading to Bharti’s birth and consequent death of her mother among other things. A writer of literary worth is endowed with special dexterity to chisel his work to the perfection of potent literary piece with specific symbols and tools he deploys as instrument to convey the underlying meaning in a specific style.
The act of physical contact in the form of sexual experience carries the virus of contamination in the artistically wrapped box of literary symbols. In chapter four the act of maiden gratification of lust signifies the contact of innocence to experience. The roadside slut being the outside agent to contaminate the innocence of Victor; it is as if he has tasted the apple of knowledge or of corruption to further succumbs to almost debauchery when he comes into contact of Durgeshwari. Being the agent of outside world to so far pampered boy Jenny symbolizes the evil force of devastation as she deserts him taken aback, helpless and uncertain by having deprived him of his fifteen pounds. The pertinent irony cannot be missed in the situation as Victor stays devastated and deprived on the occasion when all humanity hopes to get the bountiful blessings from prosperous green tree of Christmas:
…He went to the bathroom, had a shower and got into his clothes. He felt the hip pocket of his trousers where he kept his wallet. It was empty. He had fifteen pounds in it. He looked around the room. His Eton woolen scarf was gone. He sat down in his sofa with his head in his hands. ‘The bloody bitch! She charged me her usual rate; five pounds each turn he muttered. She hadn’t left him money to get back to Eton. Where would he find the bus fair?’(p. 57)
Young Victor was warned by god like Gandhi to stay away from low women in the west. And this attraction to something that arises as treason, in the dark, something forbidden but with strong pull ultimately enslaves any mortal.
In case of Bharti’s experience too the novelist has endeavoured to bring the idea of spoil at home that it is human to exclusively go for forbidden when their will prevails. But Bharti is the case of perversion too when she has first sex with rather repulsive and forbidden Nair, an unscrupulous and cunning business associate of her father. Jai Bhagwan anxiously but wisely gives warning to Bharti to stay away from treacherous Nair as the former himself was warned by Mahatma Gandhi to avoid cheap women and thus impurity in the west:
Bharti approved of the idea. I’ll be lost in the strange place without anyone to show me around. Nair would be a great help,’ she said.
Her father added a warning note: ‘Mind you, he has a prickly personality. He picks quarrels with people. You’ll have to guard yourself against that.’
‘I haven’t noticed anything prickly about him,’ replied Bharti. ‘He is always charming and courteous towards me.’
‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ said Victor. I have known him since my days in college (p. 119-20).
When haughty Bharti is in the very city, the day is the same ie Christmas winter. Satanic Nair prevails upon her to boost up her lurking, latent desires for something that is prohibited; to instigate her for something forbidden. Here too, the carnal lust gets better of reason or ethics and she finds it pious to commit sin on this holy occasion. Though physically as well as temperamentally Nair is rather repulsive man with Mephistophelean strain of mind and there is every reason that he should despise the former, yet Bharti imperatively follows him like a dependent child:
They were still in London on Christmas Day. The city bore a deserted look. Nair suggested a drive to Eton so Bharti could see the school her father had gone to. It would be closed but they could see the buildings and Windsor Castle. Bharti agreed readily. It would be his last day with her as he was due to fly back to India the next morning and the idea of a long drive with him appealed to her. She had grown fond of this eccentric indulgent man who gave her so much of his time. It was a sunny day, nevertheless Bharti shared her shawl with Nair and held his hand. She was already beginning to miss him (p. 122).
The maiden lustful experiences respectively by father and daughter at the hands of dubious agents from darker side of the world—reveal the architectonic skills of the novelist that he has designed to pattern of the same action on the same occasion and the same city. Besides, the writer has very skillfully fitted the plots into well designed contours of the novel to leave it with nice structure.
Sonu Lohat, Sirsa Haryana ,India
+919541589463; 9416728599
sublimesonu@gmail.com
Khushwant Singh is prominant author today.
“In one word, we understand Or we don’t Differences challenging one radical belief to another. Our tongues shaped unlike theirs, our will to fight begins by the one who dares Some will always be good, others always evil. We walk to the costume party bearing masks, and daggers to mend our will The army is assembled, and two sides will make one right. Lets carve our memories into their corpses. Lets find them in their country, and shoot them on sight Why is everything so black and white? Why do we judge them? Who has such right? Why did we do this? To them? To ourselves? It was just one word” It’s been awhile since I’ve come to the game to get some material, but here it is now. I deliver now the progression of high-calibur great swords being used in many dire situations. Monsters, no matter how large or how many; succumb to the strength of me and my comradery What you’ll notice especially different about this video is it’s sequence of fights are ordered; seeming to tell a story one battle at a time. I thought that would be a nice twist to my usual blend of intense moments Also, a classic from one of my favorites of all time, Deadlock, backgrounds this product with one of their most intense and longest songs ever. The length is great, because there’s quite a bit to see in the video Enjoy the latest episode, everyone. This video was quite fun to create ———————————————————————— 10000 Generations Of Blood Lyrics: Now let that red …
Ari Juels visits Google’s San Francisco office to present his book “Tetraktys”. This event took place on Mar 5, 2010, as part of the Authors@Google series. International computer security expert Ari Juels brings his extraordinary talents to fiction in a literary thriller that spans the centuries. Cryptographer and classicist Ambrose Jerusalem is a UC Berkeley graduate student with a beautiful girlfriend and a comfortable future, until the National Security Agency recruits him to track a strange pattern of computer break-ins. Individually, they might not mean much a State Department officialdiscovers a peculiar series of incriminating appointments in her computer calendar dating back to 18th century France; a corrupt president of the International Monetary Fund is startled by an oracular voice from his computer charging him with crimes against divine numerology and God but together, they provide disturbing evidence that someone has broken RSA encryption, the security lynchpin protecting the world s computer systems. Even more bizarre, a secret cult of latter-day followers of Pythagoras, the great Greek mathematician and philosopher who believed reality could be understood only through a mystical system of numbers, appears to be behind the attacks. With his deep knowledge of both cryptography and classical antiquity, Ambrose is the government s best chance to uncover the cult. Soon Ambrose discovers he is not only the hunter but the hunted, and the game is not simply code …
Penelope Andrew: The Remarkable Life and Career of Patricia Neal
What sets artists apart from stars and competent actors is originality and authenticity. Patricia Neal had these and other rare qualities in spades. Read more on The Huffington Post
Patricia Neal Dies at 84: A Life of Tragedy and Triumph
An appreciation of the Oscar-winning actress whose real life of heart-rending challenges was more than the equal of a career of superbly-wrought on-screen roles Read more on Time Magazine
Patricia Neal, from Tony-winning stage actress to Oscar-winning movie star
Patricia Neal, who died Sunday at age 84 , is best known for her role in the movie “Hud,” for which she won an Oscar for lead actress in 1964. But the star won another important award early in her career that isn’t mentioned nearly as often as her Hollywood victory. Read more on Los Angeles Times
Check out these the day the earth stood still clips images:
Ned Kelly
Image by yewenyi
It has been a long time since I stopped in Gelnrowan. As I had left from my sister’s place it had taken me longer to get up the highway. I stopped here for lunch at a place across the road form Ned. A steak sandwich with the lot. It was as perfect as a steak sandwich can be.
Ned Kelly was a bush ranger who roamed the north east of Victoria in the 19th century. His gang was cornered and then captured in this town. Ned was hung later at the Melbourne Goal.
AUS Vic Gelnrowan 20061126 IMG_5116-2.jpg
Ned wrote this letter:
Dear Sir,
I wish to acquaint you with some of the occurrences of the present past and future. In or about the spring of 1870 the ground was very soft a hawker named Mr Gould got his waggon bogged between Greta and my mother’s house on the eleven mile creek, the ground was that rotten it would bog a duck in places so Mr. Gould had abandon his waggon for fear of loosing his horses in the spewy ground. he was stopping at my Mother’s awaiting finer or dryer weather Mr. McCormack and his wife. hawkers also were camped in Greta the mosquitoes were very bad which they generally are in a wet spring and to help them Mr. Johns had a horse called Ruita Cruta although a gelding was as clever as old Wombat or any other Stallion at running horses away and taking them on his beat which was from Greta swamp to the seven mile creek consequently he enticed McCormack’s horse away from Greta.
Mr. Gould was up early feeding his horses heard a bell and seen McCormack horses for he knew the horse well he sent his boy to take him back to Greta. When McCormack’s got the horse they came straight out to Goold and accused him of working the horse; this was false, and Goold was amazed at the idea I could not help laughing to hear Mrs. McCormack accusing him of using the horse after him being so kind as to send his boy to take him from the Ruta Cruta and take him back to them.
I pleaded Goulds innocence and Mrs McCormack turned on me and accused me of bringing the horse from Greta to Goolds waggon to pull him out of the bog I did not say much to the woman as my Mother was present but that same day me and my uncle was cutting calves Gould wrapped up a note and a pair of the calves testicles and gave them to me to give them to Mrs McCormack. I did not see her and I gave the parcel to a boy to give to her when she would come instead of giving it to her he gave it to her husband consequently McCormack said he would summons me I told him neither me or Gould used their horse.
he said I was a liar & he could welt me or any of my breed I was about 14 years of age but accepted the challenge and dismounting when Mrs McCormack struck my horse in the flank with a bullock’s skin it jumped forward and my fist came in collision with McCormack’s nose and caused him to loose his equillibrium and fall postrate I tied up my horse to finish the battle but McCormack got up and ran to the Police camp. Constable Hall asked me what the row was about I told him they accused me and Gould of using their horse and I hit him and I would do the same to him if he challenged me McCormack pulled me and swore their lies against me I was sentenced to three months for hitting him and three months for the parcel and bound to keep the peace for 12 months.
Mrs McCormack gave good substantial evidence as she is well acquainted with that place called Tasmania better known as the Dervon or Vandiemans land and McCormack being a Police man over the convicts and women being scarce released her from that land of bondage and tyranny, and they came to Victoria and are at present residents of Greta and on the 29th of March I was released from prison and came home Wild Wright came to the Eleven Mile to see Mr Gunn stopped all night and lost his mare both him and me looked all day for her and could not get her Wright who was a stranger to me was in a hurry to get back to Mansfield and I gave him another mare and he told me if I found his mare to keep her until he brought mine back I was going to Wangaratta and seen the mare and I caught her and took her with me all the Police and Detective Berrill seen her as Martains girls used to ride her about the town during several days that I stopped at Petre Martains Star Hotel in Wangaratta.
She was a chestnut mare white face docked tail very remarkable branded (M) as plain as the hands on a town clock. the property of a Telegraph Master in Mansfield he lost her on the 6th gazetted her on the 12th of March and I was a prisoner in Beechworth Gaol until the 29 of March therefore I could not have Stole the mare. I was riding the mare through Greta Constable Hall came to me and said he wanted me to sign some papers that I did not sign at Beechworth concerning my bail bonds I thought it was the truth he said the papers was at the Barracks and I had no idea he wanted to arrest me or I would have quietly rode away instead of going to the Barracks.
I was getting off when Hall caught hold of me and thought to throw me but made a mistake and came on the broad of his back himself in the dust the mare galloped away and instead of me putting my foot on Halls neck and taking his revolver and putting him in the lock up. I tried to catch the mare. Hall got up and snapped three or four caps at me and would have shot me but the colts patent refused. This is well known in Greta Hall never told me he wanted to arrest me until after he tried to shoot me when I heard the caps snapping I stood until Hall came close he had me covered and was shaking with fear and I knew he would pull the trigger before he would be game to put his hand on me so I duped, and jumped at him caught the revolver with one hand and Hall by the collar with the other.
I dare not strike him or my sureties would loose the bond money I used to trip him and let him take a mouth ful of dust now and again as he was as helpless as a big guano after leaving a dead bullock or a horse. I kept throwing him in the dust until I got him across the street the very spot where Mrs O’Briens Hotel stands now the cellar was just dug then there was some brush fencing where the post and rail was taking down and on this I threw big cowardly Hall on his belly I straddled him and rooted both spurs onto his thighs he roared like a big calf attacked by dogs and shifted several yards of the fence I got his hands at the back of his neck and trid to make him let the revolver go but he stuck to it like grim death to a dead volunteer he called for assistance to a man named Cohen and Barnett, Lewis, Thompson, Jewitt two blacksmiths who was looking on I dare not strike any of there as I was bound to keep the peace or I could have spread those curs like dung in a paddock they got ropes tied my hands and feet and Hall beat me over the head with his six chambered colts revolver nine stitches were put in some of the cuts by Dr Hastings And when Wild Wright and my mother came they could trace us across the street by the blood in the dust and which spoiled the lustre of the paint on the gate-post of the Barracks Hall sent for more Police and Doctor Hastings.
Next morning I was handcuffed a rope tied from them to my legs and to the seat of the cart and taken to Wangaratta Hall was frightened I would throw him out of the cart so he tied me whilst Constable Arthur laughed at his cowardice for it was he who escorted me and Hall to Wangaratta. I was tried and committed as Hall swore I claimed the mare the Doctor died or he would have proved Hall a perjurer Hall has been tried several times for perjury but got clear as this is no crime in the Police force it is a credit to a Policeman to convict an innocent man but any muff can pot a guilty one Halls character is well known about El Dorado and Snowy Creek and Hall was considerably in debt to Mr L.O. Brien and he was going to leave Greta Mr O. Brien seen no other chance of getting his money so there was a subscription collected for Hall and with the aid of this money he got James Murdock who was recently hung in Wagga Wagga to give false evidence against me but I was acquitted on the charge of horsestealing and on Halls and Murdocks evidence I was found guilty of receiving and got 3 years experience in Beechworth Pentridges dungeons.
this is the only charge ever proved against me Therefore I can say I never was convicted of horse or cattle stealing My Brother Dan was never charged with assaulting a woman but he was sentenced to three months without the option of a fine and one month and two pounds fine for damaging property by Mr. Butler P.M. a sentence that there is no law to uphold therefore the Minister of Justice neglected his duty in that case, but there never was such a thing as Justice in the English laws but any amount of injustice to be had. Out of over thirty head of the very best horses the land could produce I could only find one when I got my liberty. Constable Flood stole and sold the most of them to the navvies on the railway line one bay cob he stole and sold four different times the line was completed and the men all gone when I came out and Flood was shifted to Oxley. he carried on the same game there all the stray horses that was any time without an owner and not in the Police Gazette Flood used to claim He was doing a good trade at Oxley until Mr Brown of the Laceby Station got him shifted as he was always running his horses about.
Flood is different to Sergeant Steel, Strachan, Hall and the most of Police a they have got to hire cads and if they fail the Police are quite helpless. But Flood can make a cheque single-handed he is the greatest horsestealer with the exception of myself and George King I know of. I never worked on a farm a horse and saddle was never traced to me after leaving employment since February 1873 I worked as a faller at Mr J. Saunders and R Rules sawmills then for Heach and Dockendorf I never worked for less than two pound ten a week since I left Pentridge and in 1875 or 1876 I was overseer for Saunders and Rule.
Bourke’s water–holes sawmills in Victoria since then I was on the King River, during my stay there I ran in a wild bull which I gave to Lydicher a farmer he sold him to Carr a Publican and Butcher who killed him for beef, sometime afterwards I was blamed for stealing this bull from James Whitty Boggy Creek I asked Whitty Oxley racecourse why he blamed me for stealing his bull he said he had found his bull and never blamed me but his son-in-law Farrell told him he heard I sold the bull to Carr not long afterwards I heard again I was blamed for stealing a mob of calves from Whitty and Farrell which I knew nothing about. I began to think they wanted me to give them something to talk about.
Therefore I started wholesale and retail horse and cattle dealing Whitty and Burns not being satisfied with all the picked land on the Boggy Creek and King River and the run of their stock on the certificate ground free and no one interfering with them paid heavy rent to the banks for all the open ground so as a poor man could keep no stock, and impounded every beast they could get, even off Government roads. If a poor man happened to leave his horse or bit of a poddy calf outside his paddock they would be impounded. I have known over 60 head of horses impounded in one day by Whitty and Burns all belonging to poor farmers they would have to leave their ploughing or harvest or other employment to go to Oxley.
When they would get there perhaps not have money enough to release them and have to give a bill of sale or borrow the money which is no easy matter. And along with this sort of work, Farrell the Policeman stole a horse from George King and had him in Whitty and Farrells Paddocks until he left the force. And all this was the cause of me and my step-father George King taking their horses and selling them to Baumgarten and Kennedy. the pick of them was taken to a good market and the culls were kept in Petersons paddock and their brands altered by me two was sold to Kennedy and the rest to Baumgarten who were strangers to me and I believe honest men.
They paid me full value for the horses and could not have known they were stolen. no person had anything to do with the stealing and selling of the horses but me and George King. William Cooke who was convicted for Whittys horses was innocent he was not in my company at Petersons. But it is not the place of the Police to convict guilty men as it is by them they get their living had the right parties been convicted it would have been a bad job for the Police as Berry would have sacked a great many of them only I came to their aid and kept them in their bilits and good employment and got them double pay and yet the ungrateful articles convicted my mother and an infant my brother-in-law and another man who was innocent and still annoy my brothers and sisters and the ignorant unicorns even threaten to shoot myself But as soon as I am dead they will be heels up in the muroo.
there will be no more police required they will be sacked and supplanted by soldiers on low pay in the towns and special constables made of some of the farmers to make up for this double pay and expence. It will pay Government to give those people who are suffering innocence, justice and liberty. if not I will be compelled to show some colonial stratagem which will open the eyes of not only the Victoria Police and inhabitants but also the whole British army and now doubt they will acknowledge their hounds were barking at the 20 wrong stump.
And that Fitzpatrick will be the cause of greater slaughter to the Union Jack than Saint Patrick was to the snakes and toads in Ireland. The Queen of England was as guilty as Baumgarten and Kennedy Williamson and Skillion of what they were convicted for When the horses were found on the Murray River I wrote a letter to Mr Swanhill of Lake Rowan to acquaint the Auctioneer and to advertize my horses for sale I brought some of them to that place but did not sell I sold some of them in Benalla Melbourne and other places and left the colony and became a rambling gambler soon after I left there was a warrant for me and the Police searched the place and watched night and day for two or three weeks and when they could not snare me they got a warrant against my brother Dan And on the 15 of April Fitzpatrick came to the Eleven Mile Creek to arrest him he had some conversation with a horse dealer whom he swore was William Skillion this man was not called in Beechworth, besides several other Witnesses, who alone could have proved Fitzpatricks falsehood after leaving this man he went to the house asked was Dan in Dan came out.
I hear previous to this Fitzpatrick had some conversation with Williamson on the hill. he asked Dan to come to Greta with him as he had a warrant for him for stealing Whitty’s horses Dan said all right they both went inside Dan was having something to eat his mother asked Fitzpatrick what he wanted Dan for. the trooper said he had a warrant for him Dan then asked him to produce it he said it was only a telegram sent from Chiltren but Sergeant Whelan ordered him to releive Steel at Greta and call and arrest Dan and take him into Wangaratta next morning and get him remanded Dans mother said Dan need not go without a warrant unless he liked and that the trooper had no business on her premises without some Authority besides his own word The trooper pulled out his revolver and said he would blow her brains out if she interfered.
in the arrest she told him it was a good job for him Ned was not there or he would ram the revolver down his throat Dan looked out and said Ned is coming now, the trooper being off his guard looked out and when Dan got his attention drawn he dropped the knife and fork which showed he had no murderous intent and slapped heenans hug on him took his revolver and kept him there until Skillion and Ryan came with horses which Dan sold that night. The trooper left and invented some scheme to say that he got shot which any man can see is false, he told Dan to clear out that Sergeant Steel and Detective Brown and Strachan would be there before morning Strachan had been over the Murray trying to get up a case against him and they would convict him if they caught him as the stock society offored an enticement for witnesses to swear anything and the germans over the Murray would swear to the wrong man as well as the right.
Next day Williamson and my mother was arrested and Skillion the day after who was not there at all at the time of the row which can be proved by 8 or 9 witnesses And the Police got great credit and praise in the papers for arresting the mother of 12 children one an infant on her breast and those two quiet hard working innocent men who would not know the difference a revolver and a saucepan handle and kept them six months awaiting trial and then convicted them on the evidence of the meanest article that ever the sun shone on it seems that the jury was well chosen by the Police as there was a discharged Sergeant amongst them which is contrary to law they thought it impossible for a Policeman to swear a lie but I can assure them it is by that means and hiring cads they get promoted I have heard from a trooper that he never knew Fitzpatrick to be one night sober and that he sold his sister to a chinaman but he looks a young strapping rather genteel more fit to be a starcher to a laundress than a Policeman.
For to a keen observer he has the wrong appearance or a manly heart the deceit and cowardice is too plain to be seen in the puny cabbage hearted looking face. I heard nothing of this transaction until very close on the trial I being then over 400 miles from Greta when I heard I was outlawed and a hundred pound reward for me for shooting at a trooper in Victoria and a hundred pound for any man that could prove a conviction of horse-stealing against me so I came back to Victoria knew I would get no justice if I gave myself up I enquired after my brother Dan and found him digging on Bullock Creek heard how the Police used to be blowing that they would not ask me to stand they would shoot me first and then cry surrender and how they used to rush into the house upset all the milk dishes break tins of eggs empty the flour out of the bags on to the ground and even the meat out of the cask and destroy all the provisions and shove the girls in front of them into the rooms like dogs so as if anyone was there they would shoot the girls first but they knew well I was not there or I would have scattered their blood and brains like rain I would manure the Eleven mile with their bloated carcasses and yet remember there is not one drop of murderous blood in my Veins.
Superintendent Smith used to say to my sisters, see all the men I have out today I will have as many more tomorrow and we will blow him into pieces as small as paper that is in our guns Detective Ward and Constable Hayes took out their revolvers and threatened to shoot the girls and children in Mrs Skillions absence the greatest ruffians and murderers no matter how deprived would not be guilty of such a cowardly action, and this sort of cruelty and disgraceful and cowardly conduct to my brothers and sisters who had no protection coupled with the conviction of my mother and those men certainly made my blood boil as I dont think there is a man born could have the patience to suffer it as long as I did or ever allow his blood to get cold while such insults as these were unavenged and yet in every paper that is printed I am called the blackest and coldest blooded murderer ever on record.
But if I hear any more of it I will not exactly show them what cold blooded murder is but wholesale and retail slaughter something dif-ferent to shooting three troopers in self defence and robbing a bank. I would have been rather hot-blooded to throw down my rifle and let them shoot me and my innocent brother, they were not satisfied with frightening my sisters night and day and destroying their provisions and lagging my mother and infant and those innocent men but should follow me and my brother into the wilds where he had been quietly digging neither molesting or inter-fering with anyone he was making good wages as the creek is very rich within half a mile from where I shot Kennedy.
I was not there long and on the 25 of October I came on Police tracks between Table top and the bogs. I crossed them and returning in the evening I came on a different lot of tracks making for the shingle hut I went to our camp and told my brother and his two mates me and my brother went and found their camp at the shingle hut about a mile from my brothers house saw they carried long firearms and we knew our doom was sealed if we could not beat those before the others would come As I knew the other party of Police would soon join them and if they came on us at our camp they would shoot us down like dogs at our work as we had only two guns. we thought it best to try and bail those up take their fire-arms and ammunition and horses and we could stand a chance with the rest We approached the spring as close as we could get to the camp as the intervening space being clear ground and no battery We saw two men at the logs they got up and one took a double barreled fowling-piece and fetched a horse down and hobbled him at the tent we thought there were more men in the tent asleep those being on sentry we could have shot those two men without speaking but not wishing to take their lives we waited McIntyre laid the gun against a stump and Lonigan sat on the log I advanced, my brother Dan keepin McIntyre covered which he took to be constable Flood and had he not obeyed my orders, or at-tempted to reach for the gun or draw his revolver he would have been shot dead but when I called on them to throw up their hands McIntyre obeyed and Lonigan ran some six or seven yards to a battery of logs insted of dropping behind the one he was sitting on, he had just got to the logs and put his head up to take aim when I shot him that instant or he would have shot me as I took him to be Strachan the man who said he would not ask me to stand he would shoot me first like a dog.
But it happened to be Lonigan the man who in company with Sergeant Whelan Fitzpatrick and King the Boot maker and constable O. Day that tried to put a pair of hand-cuffs on me in Benalla but could not and had to allow McInnis the miller to put them on, previous to Fitzpatrick swear-ing he was shot, I was fined two pounds for hitting Fitzpatrick and two pounds for not allowing five curs like Sergeant Whelan O. Day Fitz-patrick King and Lonigan who caught me by the privates and would have sent me to Kingdom come only I was not ready and he is the man that blowed before he left Violet Town if Ned Kelly was to be shot he was the man would shoot him and no doubt he would shoot me even if I threw up my arms and laid down as he knew four of them could not arrest me single-handed not to talk of the rest of my mates, also either me or him would have to die, this he knew well therefore he had a right to keep out of my road, Fitzpatrick is the only one I hit out of the five in Benalla this shows my feeling towards him as he said we were good friends & even swore it but he was the biggest enemy I had in the country with the exception of Lonigan and he can be thankful I was not there when he took a revolver and threatened to shoot my mother in her own house it is not fire three shots and miss him at a yard and a half I dont think I would use a revolver to shoot a man like him when I was within a yard and a half of him or attempt to fire into a house where my mother brothers and sisters was. and according to Fitzpatricks statement all around him a man that is such a bad shot as to miss a man three times at a yard and a half would never attempt to fire into a house among a house full of women and children while I had a pairs of arms and bunch of fives on the end of them that never failed to peg out anything they came in contact with and Fitzpatrick knew the weight of one of them only too well, as it run against him once in Benalla, and cost me two pound odd as he is very subject to fainting.
As soon as I shot Lonigan he jumped up and staggered some distance from the logs with his hands raised and then fell he surrendered but too late I asked McIntyre who was in the tent he replied no one. I advanced and took possession of their two revolvers and fowling-piece which I loaded with bullets instead of shot. I asked McIntyre where his mates was he said they had gone down the creek, and he did not expect them that night he asked me was I going to shoot him and his mates. I told him no.
I would shoot no man if he gave up his arms and leave the force he said the police all knew Fitzpatrick had wronged us. and he intended to leave the force, as he had bad health, and his life was insured, he told me he intended going home and that Kennedy and Scanlan were out looking for our camp and also about the other Police he told me the N.S.W Police had shot a man for shooting Sergeant Walling I told him if they did, they had shot the wrong man And I expect your gang came to do the same with me he said no they did not come to shoot me they came to apprehend me I asked him what they carried spenceir rifles and breech loading fowling pieces and so much ammunition for as the Police was only supposed to carry one revolver and 6 cartridges in the revolver but they had eighteen rounds of revolver cartridges each three dozen for the fowling piece and twenty one spenceir-rifle cartridges and God knows how many they had away with the rifle this looked as if they meant not only to shoot me only to riddle me but I dont know either Kennedy Scanlan or him and had nothing against them, he said he would get them to give up their arms if I would not shoot them as I could not blame them, they had to do their duty I said I did not blame them for doing honest duty but I could not suffer them blowing me to pieces in my own native land and they knew Fitzpatrick wronged us and why not make it public and convict him but no they would rather riddle poor unfortunate creoles.
but they will rue the day ever Fitzpatrick got among them, Our two mates came over when they heard the shot fired but went back again for fear the Police might come to our camp while we were all away and manure bullock flat with us on our arrival. I stopped at the logs and Dan went back to the spring for fear the tropers would come in that way but I soon heard them coming up the creek. I told McIntyre to tell them to give up their arms, he spoke to Kennedy who was some distance in front of Scanlan he reached for his revolver and jumped off, on the off side of his horse and got behind a tree when I called on them to throw up their arms and Scanlan who carried the rifle slewed his horse around to gallop away but the horse would not go and as quick as thought fired at me with the rifle without unslinging it and was in the act of firing again when I had to shoot him and he fell from his horse.
I could have shot them without speaking but their lives was no good to me. McIntyre jumped on Kennedys horse and I allowed him to go as I did not like to shoot him after he surrendered or I would have shot him as he was between me and Kennedy therefore I could not shoot Kennedy without shooting him first. Kennedy kept firing from behind the tree my brother Dan advanced and Kennedy ran I followed him he stopped behind another tree and fired again.
I shot him in the arm pit and he dropped his revolver and ran I fired again with the gun as he slewed around to surrender I did not know he had dropped his revolver. the bullet passed through the right side of his chest & he could not live or I would have let him go had they been my own brother I could not help shooting there or else let them shoot me which they would have done had their bullets been directed as they intended them. But as for handcuffing Kennedy to a tree or cutting his ear off or brutally treating any of them, is a falsehood, if Kennedys ear was cut off it was not done by me and none of my mates was near him after he was shot I put his cloak over him and left him as well as I could and were they my own brothers I could not have been more sorry for them this cannot be called wilful murder for I was compelled to shoot them, or lie down and let them shoot me it would not be wilful murder if they packed our remains in, shattered into a mass of animated gore to Mansfield, they would have got great praise and credit as well as promotion but I am reconed a horrid brute because I had not been cowardly enough to lie down for them under such trying circumstances and insults to my people certainly their wives and children are to be pitied but they must remember those men came into the bush with the intention of scattering pieces of me and my brother all over the bush and yet they know and acknowledge I have been wronged and my mother and four or five men lagged innocent and is my brothers and sisters and my mother not to be pitied also who has no alternative only to put up with the brutal and cowardly conduct of a parcel of big ugly fat-necked wombat headed big bellied magpie legged narrow hipped splaw-footed sons of Irish Bailiffs or english landlords which is better known as Officers of Justice or Victorian Police who some calls honest gentlemen but I would like to know what business an honest man would have in the Police as it is an old saying It takes a rogue to catch a rogue and a man that knows nothing about roguery would never enter the force an take an oath to arrest brother sister father or mother if required and to have a case and conviction if possible.
Any man knows it is possible to swear a lie and if a policeman looses a conviction for the sake of swearing a lie he has broke his oath therefore he is a perjurer either ways. A Policeman is a disgrace to his country, not alone to the mother that suckled him, in the first place he is a rogue in his heart but too cowardly to follow it up without having the force to disguise it. next he is traitor to his country ancestors and religion as they were all catholics before the Saxons and Cranmore yoke held sway since then they were perse cuted massacreed thrown into martrydom and tortured beyond the ideas of the present generation What would people say if they saw a strapping big lump of an Irishman shepherding sheep for fifteen bob a week or tailing turkeys in Tallarook ranges for a smile from Julia or even begging his tucker, they would say he ought to be ashamed of himself and tar-and-feather him.
But he would be a king to a policeman who for a lazy loafing cowardly bilit left the ash corner deserted the shamrock, the emblem of true wit and beauty to serve under a flag and nation that has destroyed massacreed and murdered their fore-fathers by the greatest of torture as rolling them down hill in spiked barrels pulling their toe and finger nails and on the wheel. and every torture imaginable more was transported to Van Diemand’s Land to pine their young lives away in starvation and misery among tyrants worse than the promised hell itself all of true blood bone and beauty, that was not murdered on their own soil, or had fled to America or other countries to bloom again another day, were doomed to Port Mcquarie Toweringabbie norfolk island and Emu plains and in those places of tyrany and condemnation many a blooming Irishman rather than subdue to the Saxon yoke Were flogged to death and bravely died in servile chains but true to the shamrock and a credit to Paddys land What would people say if I became a policeman and took an oath to arrest my brothers and sisters & relations and convict them by fair or foul means after the conviction of my mother and the persecutions and insults offered to myself and people Would they say I was a decent gentleman, and yet a police-man is still in worse and guilty of meaner actions than that The Queen must surely be proud of such herioc men as the Police and Irish soldiers as It takes eight or eleven of the biggest mud crushers in Melbourne to take one poor little half starved larrakin to a watch house.
I have seen as many as eleven, big & ugly enough to lift Mount Macedon out of a crab hole more like the species of a baboon or Guerilla than a man. actually come into a court house and swear they could not arrest one eight stone larrakin and them armed with battens and neddies without some civilians assistance and some of them going to the hospital from the affects of hits from the fists of the larrakin and the Magistrate would send the poor little Larrakin into a dungeon for being a better man than such a parcel of armed curs. What would England do if America declared war and hoisted a green flag as its all Irishmen that has got command of her armies forts and batteries even her very life guards and beef tasters are Irish would they not slew around and fight her with their own arms for the sake of the colour they dare not wear for years. and to reinstate it and rise old Erins isle once more, from the pressure and tyrannism of the English yoke, which has kept it in poverty and starvation, and caused them to wear the enemys coats.
What else can England expect. Is there not big fat-necked Unicorns enough paid to torment and drive me to do thing which I dont wish to do, without the public assisting them I have never interefered with any person unless they deserved it, and yet there are civilians who take firearms against me, for what reason I do not know, unless they want me to turn on them and exterminate them without medicine. I shall be compelled to make an example of some of them if they cannot find no other employment If I had robbed and plundered ravished and murdered everything I met young and old rich and poor. the public could not do any more than take firearms and Assisting the police as they have done, but by the light that shines pegged on an ant-bed with their bellies opened their fat taken out rendered and poured down their throat boiling hot will be fool to what pleasure I will give some of them and any person aiding or harbouring or assisting the Police in any way whatever or employing any person whom they know to be a detective or cad or those who would be so deprived as to take blood money will be outlawed and declared unfit to be allowed human buriel their property either consumed or confiscated and them theirs and all belonging to them exterminated off the face of the earth, the enemy I cannot catch myself I shall give a payable reward for,
I would like to know who put that article that reminds me of a poodle dog half clipped in the lion fashion, called Brooke E. Smith Superin-tendent of Police he knows as much about commanding Police as Cap-tain Standish does about mustering mosquitoes and boiling them down for their fat on the back blocks of the Lachlan for he has a head like a turnip a stiff neck as big as his shoulders narrow hipped and pointed towards the feet like a vine stake and if there is any one to be called a murderer regarding Kennedy, Scanlan and Lonigan it is that mis-placed poodle he gets as much pay as a dozen good troopers, if there is any good in them, and what does he do for it he cannot look behind him without turning his whole frame it takes three or four police to keep sentry while he sleeps in Wangaratta, for fear of body snatchers do they think he is a superior animal to the men that has to guard him if so why not send the men that gets big pay and reconed superior to the common police after me and you shall soon save the country of high salaries to men that is fit for nothing else but getting better men than him self shot and sending orphan children to the industrial school to make prostitutes and cads of them for the Detectives and other evil dis-posed persons.
Send the high paid and men that received big salaries for years in a gang by themselves after me, As it makes no difference to them but it will give them a chance of showing whether they are worth more pay than a common trooper or not and I think the Public will soon find they are only in the road of good men and obtaining money under false pretences, I do not call McIntyre a coward for I reckon he is as game a man as wears the jacket as he had the presence of mind to know his position, directly as he was spoken to, and only foolishness to disobey, it was cowardice that made Lonigan and the others fight it is only foolhardiness to disobey an outlaw as any Police-man or other man who do not throw up their arms directly as I call on them knows the consequence which is a speedy dispatch to Kingdom Come, I wish those men who joined the stock protection society to with-draw their money and give it and as much more to the widows and orphans and poor of Greta district wher I spent and will again spend many a happy day fearless free and bold as it only aids the police to procure false witnesses and go whacks with men to steal horses and lag innocent men it would suit them far better to subscribe a sum and give it to the poor of their district and there is no fear of anyone stealing their property for no man could steal their horses without the knowledge of the poor if any man was mean enough to steal their property the poor would rise out to a man and find them if they were on the face of the earth it will always pay a rich man to be liberal with the poor and make as little enemies as he can as he shall find if the poor is on his side he shall loose nothing by it, If they depend in the police they shall be drove to destruction,
As they can not and will not protect them if duffing and bushranging were abolished the police would have to cadge for their living I speak from experience as I have sold horses and cattle innumerable and yet eight head of the culls is all ever was found I never was interfered with whilst I kept up this successful trade. I give fair warning to all those who has reason to fear me to sell out and give P10 out of every hundred towards the widow and orphan fund and do not attempt to reside in Victoria but as short a time as possible after reading this notice, neglect this and abide by the consequences, which shall be worse than the rust in the wheat in Victoria or the druth of a dry season to the grasshoppers in New South Wales I do not wish to give the order full force without giving timely warning. but I am a widows son outlawed and my orders must be obeyed.
National Assembly Building – Belgrade, Serbia
Image by whl.travel
This building is presented on the 5000 Serbian dinar note. Another interesting thing is that a clip of this building burning in flames, which occurred during the October fifth Overthrow, can be seen the 2008 movie The Day the Earth Stood Still.
My cousin Woodie was an overweight dropout in his early 40′s who lived on a trailer park in the USA. He never married and was often unemployed. He was quite a clever guy but somewhat unhinged. Generally, he kept himself to himself so few folks on the park ever saw him around. They certainly heard him though, for at dawn he liked to burst into song, just making up any words he didn’t know:
Jo Jo was a man before he was a woman, but he was another man. Michelle ma belle, some say monkeys play piano well, ma belle Michelle.
Beatles fans must have found it particularly annoying. I know I would.
Woodie liked to brag about his collection of exotic foreign magazines which he hid in a shoe box in his den when his ma called round. He also kept a train set, ordered a lot of model aeroplane glue and wrote bad poetry. Though I hadn’t seen him for several years, he emailed me regularly. His main contact with the outside world, however, was through the internet where he used dubious pseudonyms and sent up or lampooned internet forums.
On a parenting forum an anxious father reported that, to his horror, he had found his 13yr old daughter smoking. Among the members’ helpful suggestions and replies, you would have found Trailertrash asking if she was just hanging out with bikers or puffing away in front of her kids.
On a medical forum, as Trousersnake, he commiserated with those suffering from loss of libido but described in some detail how the offending medication (Lyrica) was having quite the opposite effect on him. He made it sound like boasting.
A missionary ship bound for Africa was holed up awaiting repairs in Newcastle, England. Eager to sail, the crew vented their frustration, through various blogs, at the lack of progress in the shipyard. As Trinity, Woodie warned the good people that as the ship probably provided the only form of employment in that city, it would never be allowed leave. In the circumstances, they should consider devoting their lives to converting the locals. His suggestion was not well received.
Visiting a sailboat forum, as Capt Bligh RN, he posted a design for a self-steering device which looked quite genuine but was complete nonsense. Several hundred members made the device and, oddly enough, a few of them claimed that it worked. One unfortunate sailor used it on a Pacific crossing and was never heard of again.
By the way, if you are a member of the international PrayForMe forum, remove Repentant from your list of those in need of your assistance. Like most of us, Woodie may have worried about the stock market, but he was not the multi-millionaire he claimed to be and did not require divine intervention in his choice of investments. Be generous, brothers and sisters, and find some space in your hearts to forgive him.
Should you happen across any of his suggestions for evading speeding fines or income tax, I would suggest that you ignore them. At the time, a few were quite promising but all the loopholes have now been firmly closed.
Childhood
Though he was rather scared of his ma, Woodie was very loyal to her. In fact, when she was transferred to the hospital wing, he visited the prison every month. She once told me that as a child he entered an talent contest and sang a sentimental ditty he had heard on the radio:
M is for the million things she gave me O is only that she’s growing old T is for the tears she shed to save me H is for her heart of purest gold I is for her eyes forever shining R is right and right she’ll always be Put them all together they spell MOTHER A word that means the world to me.
While the audience, the judges and his mom, rocked with laughter, Woodie stood on the stage in confusion. Then, struggling to contain his amusement, an elderly judge shouted: Put them all together, they spell MOTHIR. A word that makes no sense to me!
The audience collapsed in convulsions and Woodie fled the stage in tears. That was the end of his brief career in show business. When his mother told me this, she was still laughing and said ‘Little varmint should have taken a bow. Might have won.’
Siblings? Yes there are two older sisters. As kids, I believe they were fond of him but had a strange way of showing it. They once told him that he had a twin brother called Forrest. He was very excited and asked them where his twin was now. They offered to show him. ‘Do I need to put on my shoes?’ he asked. ‘No,’ they replied, ‘Just come in your bare feet.’ He followed them to the bottom of the garden where they showed him a large mound of earth. ‘Forrest is buried under there,’ they whispered sadly and then ran off laughing into the pig field. I think it affected him quite badly.
Education
The world of education was not always kind to Woodie. On his very first day, the teacher told the kids that they were to draw a picture of something that they liked. She handed out paper and crayons and the kids eagerly set about the task. When they had finished, she told them to put their names on their drawings and hand them in so she could mark them. Woodie, who had drawn a very good picture of Squirts, his dog, waited in anticipation as the teacher studied the various works of art. She then showed them individually to the class and it was clear that the quality of the artwork gradually improved as she worked through the pile. Finally, she reached the last drawing and it just had to be Woodie’s. ‘Now look carefully, children,’ she ordered. To Woodie’s joy, she held the sketch of his beloved Squirts in front of the class. Then, to his horror, she tore his picture into several pieces. ‘This is what happens when you don’t put your name on your work.’
Some years ago I asked him if he had ever seen his father and told me that he had met him just the once. His pa had turned up on a motorbike outside the educational institution where Woodie was being reformed and asked permission to spend a couple of hours with his son. After an emergency staff conference, permission was granted and, with Woodie perched precariously on the pillion, they roared off together into the desert. Later, propped up against a rock and enjoying a joint, this long lost relative stared at his son for a while and then offered some words of wisdom. ‘Listen kiddo,’ he said, ‘Whenever you get nervous, take several deep breaths to calm things down. It always works with me.’ Woodie thanked him for the fatherly advice but thought he would have preferred a crash helmet. With dusk falling, they raced back to the school. As the gates closed behind him, Woodie turned and watched his father disappear towards the sunset in a cloud of smoke. That was the last he ever saw of him. I asked Woodie what his father looked like. ‘I dunno,’ he replied, ‘He never took his goggles off.’
Romance
Woodie was never very confident or comfortable with girls. His mother once told me that any decent girl would be hard-pressed to seek a romantic association with her son, though those were not her exact words. He did, however, have a Brazilian penfriend called Lidjaine. She was learning English at the time and, after an exchange of letters, he sent her a charming little poem which he had written.
To Lidjaine
Lidjaine Lidjaine Lidjaine With your long flowing mane and two identical eyes that set my heart aflame.
Lidjaine Lidjaine Lidjaine I know you’re not to blame But there is one thing about you I find a bit insane.
Lidjaine Lidjaine Lidjaine I think it is a shame That your parents didn’t call you By another name.
Lidjaine Lidjaine Lidjaine Oh please can you explain How do you pronounce Your clumsy looking name?
Lidjaine Lidjaine Lidjaine
She never replied which was a pity because he got good grades in English. For years, he kept a fading photo of her pinned up in his den next to the letter from Prince Charles (Yes, the one who lives in London, England). More of that later.
Woodie never married and it’s probably for the best. A few years back, he was asked to be Santa Claus at the staff Christmas party in the Sewage Farm where he worked as a drains inspector. With his tattooed fingers and wild hair, the kids approached him with some apprehension to collect their gifts. One of his greeting cries was ‘Hi there and when’s your mom coming out of jail?’ To those who were brave enough to reply that mom was not in jail, he shouted ‘That’s great news! So they’ve let her out in time for Christmas!’ The following year they employed a professional actor for this role.
Music
Despite his failure as a young singer, Woodie never abandoned his dream of being a famous songwriter. Occasionally, he sent me the lyrics of songs he had written and asked me to put a tune to them. I grew tired of this and just kept sending him the same tune, but Woodie was too busy writing new songs to notice.
I guess he must have penned over three hundred songs. The last one he sent me was entitled Try, Try, Try Again. which seemed appropriate. He liked writing country music: The marriage is tomorrow but the honeymoon’s tonight!, She stole my heart, my hat and my horse, etc. He mailed I’ll Just Lie Here to several well known country singers but their agents ignored it. Personally, I found it rather disturbing. Here’s the chorus:
I see a man with my wife I see a man living my life I see a man with my gal If I’d a gun I’d blast him to hell. But I’ll just lie here all alone I’ll just lie here on my own I’ll just lie here outside town I’ll just lie here – six foot down.
Animal lovers would not have appreciated the lyrics of Bring your dog up right. You only needed one verse to see why:
Oh, I love my dog to pieces For she really cures the blues, But I kick her butt each time I find Her mess stuck on my shoe.
Inventions
Now there was a subject close to Woodie’s heart if not his brain. Some of his ideas beggared belief but they may catch on one day. For example, he developed an airbag for use with a motorbike (too late for that ride into the desert), and there was the car that could be driven from the back seat. His other major contribution to road safety was a sharp steel spike clamped to the centre of a steering wheel and pointing at the driver’s heart. Rather less risky, was the sideways rocking chair for use as a training aid to cure seasickness. Then there was the harmonica which played itself in a gust of wind. Another project involved home-made fireworks. Using a recipe for explosives he found on the internet, he designed a hat to fire rockets and demonstrated it at Halloween. Though Woodie lost most of his hair, the neighbours considered the hat a resounding success. He blamed the confusing instructions – parts of which were in Arabic. I also recall the baby bed cage which was something parents could use to protect their newborn in bed. If one or both parents rolled over onto junior, the bars of the cage were strong enough to withstand the weight of two obese adults. As I said earlier, it was probably for the best that he did not father any children.
The explosion was not the only time that Woodie diced with danger. He stumbled into the forbidden castle or something; a forum celebrating the beauty of young models and actresses. The kind of forum where sad guys post things like ‘OMG I love her and I want to marry her one day!’ Woodie added comments like ‘Well I just want her to come over to my den and play with my train set.’ or ‘Hey, she looks like my favourite niece, Jolene!’. When he told me about this, I hit the roof. I told him to steer well clear of that stuff. You just don’t know who is on these sites. The internet is a dangerous place, even for guys who own a train set and mean what they say. Come to think of it, I don’t remember a niece called Jolene.
Earlier, I mentioned a letter from Prince Charles. Actually, the letter came from the Prince’s personal assistant but it had the right address on it and all the trimmings. It seemed that some years ago Prince Charles had an accident. Perhaps he was playing polo or involved in some kind of horse play, but he spent the night in a National Health Service hospital. This was a humble medical destination for the injured king-to-be but he was looked after with great skill and the story was picked up by the international press. Woodie got the idea that this was a state institution providing very basic medical care for the destitute, and some folks in the UK would agree. He wrote a letter to Prince Charles expressing his sympathy for the injury and suggesting that he took out some Blue Cross health insurance. The return letter thanked him for his concern and assured him that the Prince had fully recovered. Woodie was very proud of that letter. As you will see later, it may have been his first, but not his last, contact with royalty.
For someone who had probably never seen the sea, Woodie was quite interested in ships and was delighted when I sent him a photo of the SS Romantic, a rust bucket on which I had worked. One day, he removed the photo from where it was pinned under his beloved Lidjaine and, having scanned it, started to mess around using photoshop. He altered the masts, enlarged the funnel, added some extra portholes, disguised the name and then posted it on an international forum for ship enthusiasts. As Neptune, he asked members of the forum to help him identify it and they applied their knowledge and skills to this task with great enthusiasm. The ship’s nationality was the subject of much discussion and, according to the experts, was variously owned by Norway, Israel, Pakistan, Saudi Arabia or Poland. One member was adamant that he could see a Star of David on the funnel whereas another member insisted that the pattern was caused by some radio masts. The two became very argumentative over this point and had to be restrained by a moderator. Asked to describe where the photo was taken, Woodie replied that he’d seen the mystery ship in Antarctica. Excited by this news, the experts embarked on another line of enquiry but it was one that led only to more arguments. By the time the topic had clocked up 2,500 visitors, Woodie decided to drop anchor. He returned to his original post and replaced the fake photo with the genuine one. The arguments trundled on for a few more days and then someone new to the topic asked what the fuss was all about. In his opinion, it was perfectly obvious to any fool that the ship was the SS Romantic; the name was clearly painted on the bows. Some of the self-styled experts were furious and demanded the immediate expulsion of Neptune. One irate member was particularly aggrieved because he had paid a laboratory to work on the photo in order to reveal the ship’s name. In crossing the Australian outback to do so, his car had broken down and he went walkabout for a couple days before being rescued.
After this, Woodie tried spreading an urban myth in which the government blocked publication of a report comparing the personalities of criminals and police officers. In a study of many different traits, no significant differences between the two populations were discovered. Now can you imagine that any one would believe such a thing? As Yobbocop, he joined a few police forums but kept sending them recipes for donuts. I asked what he had against cops but he just replied ‘I never met one I didn’t want to kick.’
As Trailerskunk, he soon tired of asking junkie sites where he could obtain some pot suppositories: ‘I need a bullet shaped preparation I can place where the sun don’t shine and the cops won’t look’. Somewhat to his irritation, he discovered that such a product did indeed exist and came highly recommended, which took the wind out of his sails. Later, as IllegalAlien, he filed sightings of UFO’s with the National Reporting Center. ‘Driving north on I-440, I observed in the night sky a cigar-shaped object with a long row of windows and flashing lights descending to earth. It landed in a field to the east of Little Rock.’ No one seemed to notice that this event occurs about 150 time a day at Little Rock, but he was starting to lose interest. Then, Nigerian scammers entered his computer and they must have lived to regret it.
Like most folks who use the internet, Woodie had his fair share of scam e-mails, particularly the kind that appear in the inbox and say things like:
My Dear Friend It is with heart of hope that I write to seek your help in the context below. I am Genza Munga, the first son of the late Mko Munga, A political philantropist and the alleged winner of the June 12 1993 Presidential election, Who died in custody of the Gen Inje Obanithe former military president of the Democratic Republic of Nigeria. I know you will be surprise on how i got your contact, but it was after a careful search in my late father archives that i saw your contact, I have no doubt on your good will to assist me in receiving into your custody (For Safety) the sum of Forty Eight Million, Five hundred Thousand United States Dollars (US.5M) willed and deposited in my favour by my Late father. ………and so on.
He had several ways of dealing with these requests. One was to create an email address which included the name of the sender. So, in the example above, he would become genzamunga@whatever.com and berate the sender for stealing both his name and his scam. He would threaten to send in the heavy mob, ‘For I know where you are hiding.’ At other times, however, he would agree to collect the crate of dollars or family jewels personally and bring the 00 release fee in cash.
One spin-off from these scam emails was that he increased his geographical knowledge of the world quite considerably without leaving the trailer. He became quite well-informed about African countries, Holland, and the streets of Amsterdam in particular. He often went to the trouble of investigating the cost and times of flights from New York to Amsterdam. Naturally, he would expect a driver and car to meet him at the airport and the driver had to hold up a very large card with the word Squirts on it. Squirts, of course, was long since deceased. but Woodie had never forgotten his only true friend. In meeting his scammers, he usually selected the same rendezvous which he described thus:
Go to the Amnesia Bar on the Herengracht. The music there is the pits but the coffee is good and the other customers will be too busy enjoying the smoke to notice us. I shall be carrying an empty violin case which can be thrown into a nearby canal if we need to go somewhere else to discuss business. Meet me at the table by the entrance to the bathroom.
He said that he sometimes managed to arrange meetings with several different scammers at the same time and would sit in his trailer imagining them all threading their way through the smoke to sit at the same table by the entrance to the bathroom. I knew that he had got involved with this kind of nonsense because he had started inserting certain phrases into the emails he sent me; phrases which he had picked up from his newfound friends such as:
Thank you and God bless you please extend my greetings to your entire family.
WHAT IS GOING ON?
Be that as it may, my friend.
Then came the fateful day when Queen Shoneka entered Woodie’s cyberspace. It was the usual kind of scam with the promise of 30% of 9 million dollars deposited by her late father (the country’s first interim president) in a South African bank. At first he played all the usual time-wasting tricks and was entertained by her quaint spelling, eg massage instead of message. ‘Oh Queen, how I look forward to your next massage.’ With the aid of an airways timetable, he found a flight that sounded plausible: SAA235 to Johannesburg, arriving 6 September at 7.25 am local time. He apologised for its early arrival – deliberately timed for the middle of the busiest rush hour in Africa. Somewhat to his surprise, Queen Shoneka booked him a room in the Road Lodge Hotel not far from the airport and gave him a reservation number. Out of curiosity, Woodie checked the reservation and found it to be genuine. But, of course, he was still back home in his trailer when her driver and his assistant turned up at the airport to greet him. Queen Shoneka began to panic:
I am writing to ask what actually is going on. You did not show up. I even sent a massage to you. Kindly reply to ease my mind. I am waiting for you at the Road Lodge Hotel and am so worried. Please don’t destroy my entire life and future.
A later massage, sorry message, informed Woodie that her driver and the assistant had been arrested at the airport and that she was in deep trouble. It was at this point that Woodie began to feel guilty. His excuse for missing the flight was a lame one but the Queen swallowed it. He then emailed her some ideas as to how she might escape the building and avoid capture by the South African police. Eventually, he received the good news that she had taken up his suggestion of hiding in a rubbish skip, by which means she had been transported, free of charge, to an industrial tip not far from the city centre. After that, they began to exchange messages, and even the occasional photo. Undeniably, Queen Shoneka was an attractive woman and her photo soon replaced that of Lidjaine’s on the wall of his den.
When Woodie told me all this, I urged him to be cautious for Queen Shoneka might not be a genuine female monarch. In fact, she could turn out to be a six foot guy weighing 180 lbs who moonlighted as a bodyguard when he wasn’t sitting in an internet cafe. But it was no use; he was hooked and, until his emails suddenly stopped, talked of nothing else but his African Queen. I even wrote to his ma and asked her to talk some sense into him, but the reply I received came as a shock. Woodie had disappeared from the trailer park and no one knew of his whereabouts. I couldn’t believe that he had gone to South Africa to be with Queen Shoneka, though there was always a possibility that he had. It was a complete mystery.
So the months passed by and there was not a single word from Woodie. Then, while visiting friends in the USA, I happened to pass the trailer park where he had lived and drove in. An old guy, sitting on a bench in the sun, pointed out Woodie’s trailer, now occupied by another family. I asked him if he remembered my cousin. ‘Remember him?’ he replied, ‘I won’t never forget him. As sure as hell, that boy was wired to the moon. Most people round here avoided him but he didn’t scare me. About a year ago, he just took off one night and never came back. Had an African lady with him. Fine looking woman too. I don’t know what she saw in him, but it takes all sorts.’
We sat there sharing a beer and staring at the folks going about their business in the park. ‘You ain’t the only person whose been here looking for him,’ he continued. I asked him what the other visitor looked like. ‘Not one visitor,’ he replied, ‘A whole darn posse of them. Police cars all over the place, special agents in the trees, loud hailers, guns at the ready. I was scared out of my mind! We had guys from the narcotic squad, the IRS, the child protection agency, the immigration service. You name it, they were there. In fact, before they discovered he’d split, they were arguing over who should snatch him. Do you know that Woodie had a little train set? After they searched his trailer, some of them sat outside playing with it. The others were going through a big pile of magazines and it took them a long time. I guess he had something special hidden there. The two guys from the IRS kept sniffing at some tins. I’ll never know what that boy was up to, but it weren’t legal.’
As I drove away from the trailer park that afternoon, I felt a warm glow inside. Cruising down the highway, I burst into a Bob Dylan song; it was one of Woodie’s favourites:
‘The ants are my friends, they’re blowin’ in the wind The ants are blowing in the wind. ‘
Woodie, if you ever read this, I wish you and your African Queen well. Have a long and happy life together. You don’t have to send me another email. In fact, I’d be overjoyed if you never touch another computer or surf the internet again.
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