March 25th, 2014

Collection of links and things

Maybe you all have seen this already. You would think that families would save such things. Reminds me of all the civil war daguerreotypes  which were repurposed as greenhouse glass, and to replace broken windows, and so on, until the sun just ate the pictures away.


http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/uknews/10719406/Former-dustmans-salvaged-WW1-archive.html

Also-- Had this as a song on my ipod. Kipling was shipping before shipping was cool.

"Follow Me 'ome"


   There was no one like 'im, 'Orse or Foot,
    Nor any o' the Guns I knew;
An' because it was so, why, o' course 'e went an' died,
    Which is just what the best men do.
 
So it's knock out your pipes an' follow me!
An' it's finish up your swipes an' follow me!
 Oh, 'ark to the big drum callin',
  Follow me -- follow me 'ome!
 
   'Is mare she neighs the 'ole day long,
    She paws the 'ole night through,
An' she won't take 'er feed 'cause o' waitin' for 'is step,
    Which is just what a beast would do.
 
   'Is girl she goes with a bombardier
    Before 'er month is through;
An' the banns are up in church, for she's got the beggar hooked,
    Which is just what a girl would do.
 
   We fought 'bout a dog -- last week it were --
    No more than a round or two;
But I strook 'im cruel 'ard, an' I wish I 'adn't now,
    Which is just what a man can't do.
 
   'E was all that I 'ad in the way of a friend,
    An' I've 'ad to find one new;
But I'd give my pay an' stripe for to get the beggar back,
    Which it's just too late to do!
 
So it's knock out your pipes an' follow me!
An' it's finish off your swipes an' follow me!
 Oh, 'ark to the fifes a-crawlin'!
  Follow me -- follow me 'ome!
 
     Take 'im away!  'E's gone where the best men go.
     Take 'im away!  An' the gun-wheels turnin' slow.
     Take 'im away!  There's more from the place 'e come.
     Take 'im away, with the limber an' the drum.
 
For it's "Three rounds blank" an' follow me,
An' it's "Thirteen rank" an' follow me;
 Oh, passin' the love o' women,
  Follow me -- follow me 'ome!




I am a shameless fool for Kipling. 

Triangle Shirtwaist Fire

Every year this is marked in New York.

It should be remembered everywhere.

We have come a long way since the age of the robber barons. We do not expect kids to work. ( Some girls who died at shirtwaist were my daughters age or younger.) We have fire doors, we have workplace safely laws. We have legal labor unions. But please, let us be vigilant. We need to speak up for the rights of the people who just got here. In many cases they don't know what protections to demand for themselves.

We read of these sorts of disasters happening far away. But they can happen here. They do happen here. We are all neighbors.  We need to look out for each other. One of the most shameful things about the shirtwaist fire in particular, is that Harris and Blanck, the 'shirtwaist kings' were immigrants themsleves. They were two of the success stories. They had arrived in NYC with nothing. They made their money standing on the backs of little girls. if they had been raised in wealthy ignorance, I think I might find them a little more easy to forgive.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/peter-dreier/triangle-shirtwaist-fire-lessons-anniversary_b_5019431.html

As Occasion Serves

Title: As Occasion Serves

Author Eglantine_br

Word Count 309

Kit Marlowe



“You are improving.”


Thomas looked up from the page. When he read a small line formed between where his blond eyebrows drew down. Last week, after their meeting in the goat pen, Kit had drawn his own fingers over the same place on himself, to see what it was like.. On Kit's face that place was soft and smooth.


Now, standing in daylight, and praised, Kit swallowed. The warm glow rising in his throat would make his voice squeak if he let it rest so.


This was their third meeting. His masters had given him leave to slip away, Wednesdays now, in the afternoons. Striding through the gate. He had the urge to duck. He forced upon himself, therefore certain set of head and shoulders, a rigid spine. Thomas met him in town, this time and bought him gingerbread. He laughed at Kit's hunger, but kindly. Another month, Thomas said, and the first purse would come. Kit would have money of his own. Not yet though. Today Kit was learning to be useful.


“How long did it take you?”


“Fifteen minutes,” Kit said.


“It is tedious work,” Tom said. “Always makes my head ache. But we must be able to do it upon requiring. Of course he has men who do nothing but cipher-work. Stables of them. Horrible. Ciphers, all day, all day, every day” This last with a grinning shudder. He laughed, but his voice was pitched low, and his eyes were careful.


“Dried up old men, smelling of ink. Not the best use for you.”


“No?” Kit caught the smile and returned it.


“No.” Thomas put the paper and book aside. “Now something else. You must be able to stab, as occasion serves. Take my rapier a moment.”