Search Results for 'hey'

Forums Search Search Results for 'hey'

Viewing 20 results - 121 through 140 (of 2,130 total)
  • Author
    Search Results
  • #7570

    “If you’re planning on having a baby, you’d better use those droplets fast. That silvery glow? It’s already decaying,” said Jeezel, meticulously selecting twelve golden pheasant feathers from the pile in front of her. She inspected each one carefully, choosing only the finest, most vibrant feathers, free from even the slightest flaw.

    Truella snorted. “I’m well aware of the effects of time on matter,” she replied, shifting back in her swivel chair. “I am, after all, an experienced amateur archaeologist. Take a look at this.” She held her hand up closer to the camera, fingers spread.

    “I’m not sure what your dirty fingernails are supposed to prove,” said Jeezel, arranging her selected feathers into a fan shape. “That they’re overdue for a manicure? Natural decay has nothing to do with time travel side effects, as you’d know if you watched my YouTube series on the subject.”

    “We know all about your videos,” said Eris quickly, stepping in before Jeezel could launch into one of her infamous lectures on the dangers of time travel as seen by her Gran, Linda Pol. “I’m sure those droplets can still be useful in our spell. Cromwell had to navigate treacherous political waters with an impeccable grasp of strategy, manipulation, and the darker facets of power. Those droplets could act as a metaphysical catalyst, adding depth and purpose to the spell.”

    “Exactly,” said Truella, tilting her chin up proudly. “A proactive hunch on my part.”

    “I get the metaphysical catalyst bit,” said Frella, “but won’t those darker facets blow up in our faces? I mean, wasn’t Cromwell a master of secrets and deception? In the rudest way possible, if you ask me.”

    “He could be gentle, too,” Truella murmured, blushing slightly.

    “And that’s not even mentioning the spell’s potential to tap into the collective memory of his era,” added Jeezel. “And ‘rude’ isn’t how I’d describe his atrocities and ruthlessness. I covered that in detail in the video series…”

    “We know,” Eris cut in. “That’s why we need to craft this spell with precision and include safeguards. Are the fans ready?”

    “All set,” said Jeezel, her eyes sparkling with pride as she held up the four finished fans. “One for each of us, crafted with care and magic. They’ll clear the space, sweep away falsehoods, and purge any misleading energies. With these, only pure, unfiltered truth will emerge.”

    “I’ll bring the Mystic Mirror I found in that old camphor chest,” said Frella. “Its surface shimmers and reflects the hidden truth of the soul.”

    “And I have my unusual but eminently practical container—containing Cromwell’s droplets,” Truella chimed in, holding it up.

    “Perfect. Then it’s settled. I’ll send Malove a meeting invitation for tonight,” said Eris, leaning in with a knowing smile. “You all know the place.”

    #7568

    The year 480 AD. It was there hovering in her mind the moment she woke up the morning after Eris had mentioned the DNA spell idea. 480 AD.  But why? And it seemed strangely familiar, as if she’d dreamed of that date before. Mumbling the date over and over, Truella pushed the bed covers back, noted the welcome slight chill of the October morning, and made her way blindly to the kitchen to make coffee. 480 AD.  Why, though?

    Eris’s change of tune yesterday about the paperwork had given her a slight inward chuckle, but it was a good sign. And Eris had been right: Truella did like the DNA idea. At first she’d wondered if she would find something containing DNA.  Then she reminded herself that she herself contained DNA available to use. But what was the year 480 AD to do with it?

    Taking her steaming mug of coffee outside, Truella sat down under the porch and lit a cigarette. Too late for Romans but then what was next after Romans?  It would have made more sense if it was 1480 AD, when Cromwell was born.

    Oh, but what an idea! Yes!  The DNA of Cromwell! She was reminded of the pieces of Hannibals tunic, and the efficacy of that spell.  If they could find a bit of that old tunic, they could surely time travel back to gather some DNA from old Thomas.  Truella giggled, imagining herself appearing in Cromwell’s chamber, armed with a cotton swab. “If you please, my Lord, open wide, this will only take a moment.”

    He would rub his eyes, wondering if the fever had returned. What was this unseemly wench doing in here, bearing an uncanny resemblance to Lizzie, his dead wife.  “Open wide,” she would say, for all the world as if she was the one giving the orders.  “My lady, if you please to explain your purpose?” he would replied calmly, rather amused at the incomprehensible interlude.

    “Well if you must know, we need some of your DNA. Yes, yes, I know you don’t know what that is yet, I’ve come from the future you see, and we know a lot more. Well, that’s not strictly true or I wouldn’t be here now.   We know more about some things, but other things haven’t changed much. It’s the sea of paperwork we’re drowning in. Nobody could have more paperwork than you, my Lord Cromwell, but you have a particularly efficient way of dealing with it.”

    “Are you referring to the Tower and the …”

    “Gosh, no! No, we don’t plan to execute anyone.  We just need a bit, a tiny bit, of your DNA to use in a spell…”

    Suddenly Cromwell understood who this woman was. He didn’t need to call for the man who dealt with postcards from the future: everyone knows that Cromwell never forgets any paperwork he’s ever seen. In the future they called it photographic memory, but of course it wasn’t called that in his time.

    “You, my lady, are one of those witches from the future, are you not? And why, pray, would I be willing to assist with witchcraft?”

    “Well, why not?” retorted Truella. “You won’t be around to be executed for heresy, you were already..”   She clapped her hand to her mouth.  He didn’t know about that yet, obviously.

    Cromwell merely raised a sardonic eyebrow. “I don’t want to know when,” he said calmly.  He knew his days were numbered.

    “Now, there a number of ways we can collect a bit of your DNA, sir, any bodily fluid will do,” Truella said, and then blushed deeply.  Well, why not? she asked herself, and then wondered, What if he hasn’t had a bath for six months?

    #7567

    “I’m glad Hallowe’en is soon coming…” Eris sighed to her colleague. “Honestly, when did all the witchery stuff got outnumbered by Project Managers Officers?”

    “Don’t ask me!” replied Truella in the dirt-smeared reflection of her obsidian mirror. She was still obviously distracted from her Incense-making numbers, not that she ever really cared about it —and even less since Malové got replaced for a while.

    “Found anything worth scrying in your old postcards?” Jeezel affably trying to practice genuine interest in Truella’s games. Her own image was all pixellated due to the abundance of glitter on the makeup stand she was using for the conference call.

    “Shht…” shushed Frella appearing in a faint halo light through her pristinely shiny scrying mirror, “Don’t encourage her, silly. There’s going to be no end of it. And Eris has a point, I may say.”

    “Does she, now? And when did you start to take sides?” Truella felt like Pinocchio being told the Land of Toys wasn’t all that it was supposed to be.

    “Listen,” Eris said “I’m sure you’ve realised by now, we have PM Officers for about any ridiculous thing in the Quadrivium nowadays. None of them having any magic to show for. They’re going to suffocate us in paperwork if you ask me. I suspect the Malové that came back was put under some sleeper sort of a spell; the Malové we knew would never have tolerated such nonsense.”

    Eris marked a pause, looking sideways at Truella’s reflection on her Witchype screen. “And I think she’s had a fair deal of nonsense to contend with… but at least, even in a dragon fire mishap, there was magical prowess that could be harnessed.”

    “I do like to get my hands dirty you know, and unravel layers of earth without the help of any spell” snickered Truella.

    “That is not the matter and you know it…” Eris sighed.

    “You meant to say, it’s time for a good old fashioned witchy coven spell to unravel the truth and break one maybe?” Frella ventured mockingly coyly.

    “I’m in!” Jeeze jumped in suddenly “Been so bored for so long with all these timesheeting, spreadsheeting, and reportshitting if you don’t mind my French.”

    “Actually I have an idea for a spell… and it may be of interest to you Truella too.” Eris continued.

    Truella raised an eyebrow. She was not one to take things at face value. “Try me”

    “All my ancestry research has pointed me to something we could work with. You know that bits of hair and nail are basically just middle-agey way of gathering DNA; and that DNA can act as a conduit through time and space, the same way it connects people.”

    “Ooooh…” cooed Trooella.

    “Exactly.” All nodded in a silent conspiring understanding.

    #7563

    Truella couldn’t help thinking that it was perhaps a good job that Frella wasn’t in some undiscovered place that didn’t exist yet like New Zealand or America. What would Cromwell have made of that?  Maybe if he had received a timely postcard, they’d have been discovered sooner.

    #7562

    It was good to be digging again. The relentless heat of the summer over, the days were perfect for excavating the next hole in her garden. It was hard work and slow hacking off bits of earth almost as hard and dry as concrete, but each day the promise of new finds became more tantalizing and encouraged her to keep working at it. There was not much more of the top layer to remove now before Truella could expect to start seeing bits of pottery and whatever else the deep dark earth had to reveal about its past.

    Unable to see any particular connecting link to the dig (and Truella was usually good at that), she had become obsessed with Cromwell. Maybe she’d find a postcard from Cromwell; everyone seemed to be getting strange postcards these days. The idea of a postcard from Cromwell had wafted into her mind, but it lingered.  What would he say on a postcard? She could imagine him sanding the ink, the candlelight flickering. Smiling to himself, with a stray thought wafting into his mind that someone centuries from now would find it, and wonder.

    “Let them make of that what they will,” he might say, as he handed it to the man in charge of sending postcards to other centuries. “I have one here for you,” the man in charge of the postcards might say by way of reply, “Just arrived. It’s from the future by the look of it, from Ireland.”

    Cromwell may take the postcard in his hand with a feeling of satisfaction ~ all information was potentially useful after all, if not in this life, in the next. Time traveling spies, you could say.  He would take a moment to decipher the unfamiliarly written letters in order to read the message. His eyebrows would raise in mild astonishment to see witches sending messages so openly, so shamelessly, so fearlessly! Five hundred years from now, Ireland would be a heathen primitive nest of superstition controlled by the devils strumpets. It may not be perfect in England now, he might think, but we do try to keep some order.  Frella, he said to himself. Frella. What do you look like, Frella? God’s teeth, why didn’t you send me your likeness, a portrait, on the postcard!  For reasons he couldn’t explain, Cromwell couldn’t stop thinking about the mysterious witch in Ireland many centuries from now.

    #7558

    Malove surveyed the room, her piercing gaze sweeping over each witch, causing them to cower. “I trust you’re not letting the weather distract you from your duties,” she said, her voice crisp. “I won’t have the coven slacking because of a little drizzle.”

    Jeezel straightened, flustered. “It’s not the weather! It’s the postcards! They’re showing up out of nowhere, and no one knows who’s sending them!”

    Malove raised an eyebrow. “Postcards? How quaint. And you think this warrants my attention?”

    “Absolutely!” Truella interjected, surprising even herself with her boldness. “It could be a warning—or worse, a challenge.”

    A flicker of ethereal light indicated Eris’s presence. “Or perhaps someone just has a twisted sense of humor.”

    Frella crossed her arms, frowning. “I agree with Tru. This could be serious.”

    Malove stepped closer, her demeanor sharpening. “Enough. I care not for your trifles unless they threaten the coven. What precisely have you discovered”

    Jeezel pulled out one of her postcards. “This one shows a twisted tree… and a symbol I don’t recognize.”

    Frella bit her lip and revealed her own card. “Mine has a raven on a crooked branch. Its gaze feels… unsettling.”

    Truella’s heart raced. “Jeezel, let me look at that! I think I’ve seen that symbol before—in the book that fell off my shelf!”

    Malove’s interest was piqued. “Elaborate.”

    “Well, old books practically leap off the shelves at me,” Truella explained, excitement building. “And Frella had a dream that seemed connected. The really odd part?” She paused dramatically until she was sure she had their full attention.  “I noticed that the book was written in the FIRST PERSON.” She gestured to the postcard with the twisted tree. “Maybe these cards are connected.”

    Eris chimed in lightly. “Or they could be a distraction. Perhaps you’re sending yourself messages?”

    Truella frowned, glancing at the shimmering light of Eris. “But why do you get to do distance while the rest of us are stuck here in this rain? Can’t you join us physically for once?”

    Eris laughed, her voice echoing. “Someone has to keep an eye on the chaos you’re about to unleash.”

    #7557

    The whole summer had been a blur. So much so it felt at times to Eris she’d woken up from a dream to enter another one; carefully crafted illusions as heavy as an obfuscating spell.

    She could remember the fair, vaguely the Games too —each event felt like another layer of enchantment, casting a surreal pallor over everything. Indeed, the summer was a blur of fleeting images and half-remembered events, like how everyone quickly disbanded to go for a respite and a salutary holiday. Truth be told, the witches of the Quadrivium all needed it after the utter chaotic year they’d been through.

    The resurgence of Malové at the fair, left unexplained, had appeared as an evidence. They all needed the tough love that only she as a head of Coven could provide, rather than the micro-management of the well-meaning but people-inapt Austreberthe. To be fair, Eris wasn’t sure Malové was still in charge or not —Eris had never as much struggled with continuity as now; she could feel they were all flipping through and sliding into potential realities opened by the incoming Samhain doorways on the horizons.

    Standing on the cusp of autumn, Eris décided to prepare herself for a clarity spell under the iridescent harvest moon.

    As the leaves began to turn and the air grew crisp, Eris stood poised to harness the energies of the propitious harvest moon. Preparation for a clarity spell required ascertained precision and intention waved into the elements.

    Eris began by setting her space. The clearing near Lake Saimaa was her sanctum, a place where the natural energies converged seamlessly with her own. She laid out a circle of stones, each one representing a different aspect of clarity—vision, truth, focus, and discernment. In the center, she placed a mirror, a symbolic portal to the inner self and higher understanding.

    Mandrake, her Norwegian Forest cat, watched with a knowing gaze, his presence grounding her as she moved through the rituals. Echo, the familiar sprite, flitted about, ensuring everything was in place.

    “Mandrake, guard the perimeter,” Eris instructed. The cat slinked off into the shadows, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly light.

    Eris took a deep breath and began to chant, her voice steady and resonant:

    “By the light of the harvest moon,
    I call forth clarity, swift and soon.
    Let fog disperse and shadows flee,
    Reveal the truth, illuminate me.”

    She sprinkled dried hellebores around the mirror, their protective and healing properties amplifying the spell’s potency. The hellebores, collected from Normandy, held within them the strength of her Viking ancestors and the promise of Imbolc’s rebirth. They were not just flowers; they were talismans of resilience and transformation.

    As the moon reached its zenith, Eris held a vial of enchanted water. She poured it over the mirror, watching as the surface shimmered and rippled, reflecting the moonlight with an ethereal glow. The water, drawn from the depths of Lake Saimaa, was imbued with the ancient magic of the land.

    Eris closed her eyes and focused on her intentions. She saw the faces of her sisters at the Quadrivium Emporium, each one struggling with their own burdens. Stalkers, postcards, camphor chests, ever prancing reindeers high on mushrooms. She saw the chaotic energies of early spring, swirling, and the potential and peril they carried. She saw Malové’s stern visage, a reminder of the standards they were meant to uphold, and a reminder to make more magical rejuvenating cream.

    “Show me the path,” she whispered. “Guide me through the haze.”

    The mirror began to clear, the ripples settling into a smooth, reflective surface. Images started to form—visions of the future, hints of what lay ahead. She saw herself within the coven with renewed purpose, her objectives clear and her drive rekindled. She saw her sisters working in harmony, each one contributing their unique strengths to the collective power.

    The clarity spell was working, the fog lifting to reveal the roadmap she needed. Decisions that once seemed insurmountable now appeared manageable, their resolutions within grasp. The inefficiencies plaguing their organization were laid bare, offering a blueprint for the reforms necessary to streamline their efforts.

    Eris opened her eyes, the vision fading yet leaving an indelible mark on her mind. She felt a surge of confidence, a sense of direction that had been sorely lacking.

    “Thank you,” she murmured to the moon, to the elements, to the spirits that had guided her.

    As she began to dismantle the circle, Echo fluttered down to her shoulder, a small smile on her ethereal face. Mandrake emerged from the shadows, his eyes reflecting the calm and order Eris had sought to instill.

    “Well done, Eris,” Echo said softly. “The road ahead is clearer now. The harvest moon has gifted you its wisdom.”

    Eris nodded, feeling ready as autumn would be a season of action, of turning vision into reality.

    #7556

    The chill drizzle felt cold to Truella, and she wondered not for the first time if her overheated drought stricken summer longing for cold and rain would quickly change to a desire for bone warming dry heat as soon as the weather properly changed to autumn.

    “Lend me a sweater and a raincoat will you, Frella? I always forget to change before teleporting over here.”

    Frella gave her a look that could only be described as nonplussed. Murmuring a short incantation, with a snap of her fingers and an indescribable gesture, the requested garments appeared on Truella’s lap, as if thrown forcefully from the other side of the room.

    “Steady on, Frel!”  Gratefully Truella slipped the sweater on and said, “But thanks.  You know what? I forget I’m a witch, that’s the trouble. I keep forgetting I can just magic things up. Honestly, you have no idea…”

    “Oh, trust me, I have an idea.”

    “..the trouble I go to, doing things I could do in an instant with a spell…”

    “Have you only just realised?” Frella smirked.

    “Hell no, I remember all the time that I always forget.   How the hell did I end up in a witches coven?”

    “That fake resume you concocted when you were dazzled by the allure and the mystery, and jealous that I was in it and not you?”

    “Well yes, I know, but I mean, why did Malove hire me? Why am I still here?”

    “I can tell you the answer to that!” announced Eris, entering the room with a wide toothy grin.

    Mouth agape, Truella leaned forward to hear what Eris had to say next, but at that moment Jeezel spun round the door frame and skidded to a halt in front of the girls, clutching her forehead dramatically.

    “Who is sending all the postcards! Every morning this week I’ve had dozens of old postcards in my mailbox, there were so many stuffed in there today one was poking out! No, I can’t read who sent it, I can’t decipher any of the writing on any of them.”

    “Where are they sent from? What are the pictures of?” asked Truella, her curiosity aroused.

    “Pictures, who cares about the pictures, I want to know who’s sending them!”

    “Steady on, Jez.  The pictures might provide clues to the sender and purpose of the card,” Truella said  mildly, raising an eyebrow at Jezeel’s agitated state.  “What’s ruffled your feathers so much about a few postcards?”

    “I received a postcard too,” Frella chimed in, causing Jeezel to gasp and clutch her heart. “I wasn’t all melodramatic about it as you though, I thought it was magical and I dunno, had a nice story to it.”

    Before Truella had a chance to ask Eris to expound on the previous question, and indeed before anyone got to the bottom of Jeezel’s outburst, Malove strode in with her usual menacing demeanor.   Truella braced herself for tedious profit mongering coercive diatribes to inch their way along the slimy walls of time.

    #7549
    TracyTracy
    Participant

      The Tailor of Haddon
      Wibberly and Newton of Over Haddon

       

      It was noted in the Bakewell parish register in 1782 that John Wibberly 1705?-1782 (my 6x great grandfather) was “taylor of Haddon”.

      Taylor of Haddon

       

      James Marshall 1767-1848 (my 4x great grandfather), parish clerk of Elton, married Ann Newton 1770-1806 in Elton in 1792. In the Bakewell parish register, Ann was baptised on the 2rd of June 1770, her parents George and Dorothy Newton of Upper Haddon. The Bakewell registers at the time covered several smaller villages in the area, although what is currently known as Over Haddon was referred to as Upper Haddon in the earlier entries.

       

      Newton:

      George Newton 1728-1798 was the son of George Newton 1706- of Upper Haddon and Jane Sailes, who were married in 1727, both of Upper Haddon.

      George Newton born in 1706 was the son of George Newton 1676- and Anne Carr, who were married in 1701, both of Upper Haddon.

      George Newton born in 1676 was the son of John Newton 1647- and Alice who were married in 1673 in Bakewell. There is no last name for Alice on the marriage transcription.

      John Newton born in 1647 (my 9x great grandfather) was the son of John Newton and Anne Buxton (my 10x great grandparents), who were married in Bakewell in 1636.

      1636 marriage of John Newton and Anne Buxton:

      John Newton Anne Buxton

       

       

      Wibberly

      Dorothy Wibberly 1731-1827 married George Newton in 1755 in Bakewell. The entry in the parish registers says that they were both of Over Haddon. Dorothy was baptised in Bakewell on the 25th June 1731, her parents were John and Mary of Over Haddon.

      Dorothy Wibberly

       

      John Wibberly and Mary his wife baptised nine children in Bakewell between 1730 and 1750, and on all of the entries in the parish registers it is stated that they were from Over Haddon. A parish register entry for John and Mary’s marriage has not yet been found, but a marriage in Beeley, a tiny nearby village, in 1728 to Mary Mellor looks likely.

      John Wibberly died in Over Haddon in 1782. The entry in the Bakewell parish register notes that he was “taylor of Haddon”.

      The tiny village of Over Haddon was historically associated with Haddon Hall.

      A baptism for John Wibberly has not yet been found, however, there were Wibersley’s in the Bakewell registers from the early 1600s:

      1619 Joyce Wibersley married Raphe Cowper.
      1621 Jocosa Wibersley married Radulphus Cowper
      1623 Agnes Wibersley married Richard Palfreyman
      1635 Cisley Wibberlsy married ? Mr. Mason
      1653 John Wibbersly married Grace Dayken

       

      Haddon Hall

      Haddon hall

       

      Sir Richard Vernon (c. 1390 – 1451) of Haddon Hall.
      Vernon’s property was widespread and varied. From his parents he inherited the manors of Marple and Wibersley, in Cheshire. Perhaps the Over Haddon Wibersley’s origins were from Sir Richard Vernon’s property in Cheshire. There is, however, a medieval wayside cross called Whibbersley Cross situated on Leash Fen in the East Moors of the Derbyshire Peak District. It may have served as a boundary cross marking the estate of Beauchief Abbey. Wayside crosses such as this mostly date from the 9th to 15th centuries.

      Found in both The History and Antiquities of Haddon Hall by S Raynor, 1836, and the 1663 household accounts published by Lysons, Haddon Hall had 140 domestic staff.

      In the book Haddon Hall, an Illustrated Guide, 1871, an example from the 1663 Christmas accounts:

      Haddon Hall accounts

      Haddon Accounts

       

      Also in this book, an early 1600s “washing tally” from Haddon Hall:

      washing tally

       

      Over Haddon

      Martha Taylor, “the fasting damsel”, was born in Over Haddon in 1649. She didn’t eat for almost two years before her death in 1684. One of the Quakers associated with the Marshall Quakers of Elton, John Gratton, visited the fasting damsel while he was living at Monyash, and occasionally “went two miles to see a woman at Over Haddon who pretended to live without meat.” from The Reliquary, 1861.

      #7548
      TracyTracy
      Participant

        Elton Marshall’s

        Early Quaker Emigrants to USA.

         

        The earliest Marshall in my tree is Charles Marshall (my 5x great grandfather), Overseer of the Poor and Churchwarden of Elton. His 1819 gravestone in Elton says he was 77 years old when he died, indicating a birth in 1742, however no baptism can be found.

        According to the Derbyshire records office, Elton was a chapelry of Youlgreave until 1866. The Youlgreave registers date back to the mid 1500s, and there are many Marshalls in the registers from 1559 onwards. The Elton registers however are incomplete due to fire damage.

        While doing a google books search for Marshall’s of Elton, I found many American family history books mentioning Abraham Marshall of Gratton born in 1667, who became a Quaker aged 16, and emigrated to Pennsylvania USA in 1700. Some of these books say that Abraham’s parents were Humphrey Marshall and his wife Hannah Turner. (Gratton is a tiny village next to Elton, also in Youlgreave parish.)

        Abraham’s son born in USA was also named Humphrey. He was a well known botanist.

        Abraham’s cousin John Marshall, also a Quaker, emigrated from Elton to USA in 1687, according to these books.

        (There are a number of books on Colonial Families in Pennsylvania that repeat each other so impossible to cite the original source)

        colonial books

         

        In the Youlgreave parish registers I found a baptism in 1667 for Humphrey Marshall son of Humphrey and Hannah. I didn’t find a baptism for Abraham, but it looks as though it could be correct. Abraham had a son he named Humphrey. But did it just look logical to whoever wrote the books, or do they know for sure? Did the famous botanist Humphrey Marshall have his own family records? The books don’t say where they got this information.

        An earlier Humphrey Marshall was baptised in Youlgreave in 1559, his father Edmund. And in 1591 another Humphrey Marshall was baptised, his father George.

        But can we connect these Marshall’s to ours? We do have an Abraham Marshall, grandson of Charles, born in 1792. The name isn’t all that common, so may indicate a family connection. The villages of Elton, Gratton and Youlgreave are all very small and it would seem very likely that the Marshall’s who went the USA are related to ours, if not brothers, then probably cousins.

         

        Derbyshire Quakers

        In “Derbyshire Quakers 1650-1761” by Helen Forde:

        “… Friends lived predominantly in the northern half of the country during this first century of existence. Numbers may have been reduced by emigration to America and migration to other parts of the country but were never high and declined in the early eighteenth century. Predominantly a middle to lower class group economically, Derbyshire Friends numbered very few wealthy members. Many were yeoman farmers or wholesalers and it was these groups who dominated the business meetings having time to devote themselves to the Society. Only John Gratton of Monyash combined an outstanding ministry together with an organising ability which brought him recognition amongst London Friends as well as locally. Derbyshire Friends enjoyed comparatively harmonious relations with civil and Anglican authorities, though prior to the Toleration Act of 1639 the priests were their worst persecutors…..”

        Also mentioned in this book: There were monthly meetings in Elton, as well as a number of other nearby places.
        John Marshall of Elton 1682/3 appears in a list of Quaker emigrants from Derbyshire.

        Quaker Emigrants

         

        The following image is a page from the 1753 book on the sufferings of Quakers by Joseph Besse as an example of some of the persecutions of Quakers in Derbyshire in the 1600s:

        A collection of the sufferings of the people called Quakers, for the testimony of a good conscience from the time of their being first distinguished by that name in the year 1650 to the time of the act commonly called the Act of toleration granted to Protestant dissenters in the first year of the reign of King William the Third and Queen Mary in the year 1689 (Volume 1)
        Besse, Joseph. 1753

        Note the names Margaret Marshall and Anne Staley.  This book would appear to contradict Helen Forde’s statement above about the harmonious relations with Anglican authority.

        Quaker Sufferings

         

         

        The Botanist

        Humphry Marshall 1722-1801 was born in Marshallton, Pennsylvania, the son of the immigrant from Elton, Abraham Marshall.  He was the cousin of botanists John Bartram and William Bartram. Like many early American botanists, he was a Quaker. He wrote his first book, A Few Observations Concerning Christ, in 1755.

        Humphry marshall book

         

        In 1785, Marshall published Arbustrum Americanum: The American Grove, an Alphabetical Catalogue of Forest Trees and Shrubs, Natives of the American United States (Philadelphia).

        Marshall has been called the “Father of American Dendrology”.

        A genus of plants, Marshallia, was named in honor of Humphry Marshall and his nephew Moses Marshall, also a botanist.

        In 1848 the Borough of West Chester established the Marshall Square Park in his honor. Marshall Square Park is four miles east of Marshallton.

        via Wikipedia.

         

        From The History of Chester County Pennsylvania, 1881, by J Smith Futhey and Gilbert Cope:

        Marshallton

         

        From The Chester Country History Center:

        “Immediately on the Receipt of your Letter, I ordered a Reflecting Telescope for you which was made accordingly. Dr. Fothergill had since desired me to add a Microscope and Thermometer, and will
        pay for the whole.’

        – Benjamin Franklin to Humphry, March 18, 1770

        “In his lifetime, Humphry Marshall made his living as a stonemason, farmer, and miller, but eventually became known for his contributions to astronomy, meteorology, agriculture, and the natural sciences.

        In 1773, Marshall built a stone house with a hothouse, a botanical laboratory, and an observatory for astronomical studies. He established an arboretum of native trees on the property and the second botanical garden in the nation (John Bartram, his cousin, had the first). From his home base, Humphry expanded his botanical plant exchange business and increased his overseas contacts. With the help of men like Benjamin Franklin and the English botanist Dr. John Fothergill, they eventually included German, Dutch, Swedish, and Irish plant collectors and scientists. Franklin, then living in London, introduced Marshall’s writings to the Royal Society in London and both men encouraged Marshall’s astronomical and botanical studies by supplying him with books and instruments including the latest telescope and microscope.

        Marshall’s scientific work earned him honorary memberships to the American Philosophical Society and the Philadelphia Society for Promoting Agriculture, where he shared his ground-breaking ideas on scientific farming methods. In the years before the American Revolution, Marshall’s correspondence was based on his extensive plant and seed exchanges, which led to further studies and publications. In 1785, he authored his magnum opus, Arbustum Americanum: The American Grove. It is a catalog of American trees and shrubs that followed the Linnaean system of plant classification and was the first publication of its kind.”

        Humphry signature

        #7546
        TracyTracy
        Participant

          The Potters of Darley Bridge

          Rebecca Knowles 1745-1823, my 5x great grandmother, married Charles Marshall 1742-1819, the churchwarden of Elton, in Darley, Derbyshire, in 1767. Rebecca was born in Darley in 1745, the youngest child of Roger Knowles 1695-1784, and Martha Potter 1702?-1772.

          Although Roger and Martha were both from Darley, they were married in South Wingfield by licence in 1724. Roger’s occupation on the marriage licence was lead miner. (Lead miners in Derbyshire at that time usually mined their own land.) Jacob Potter signed the licence so I assumed that Jacob Potter was her father.

           

          marriage Roger Knowles

           

          I then found the will of Jacobi Potter who died in 1719. However, he signed the will James Potter. Jacobi is latin for James. James Potter mentioned his daughter Martha in his will “when she comes of age”. Martha was the youngest child of James. James also mentioned in his will son James AND son Jacob, so there were both James’s and Jacob’s in the family, although at times in the documents James is written as Jacobi!

           

          1720 will James Potter

           

          Jacob Potter who signed Martha’s marriage licence was her brother Jacob.

          Martha’s brother James mentioned his sister Martha Knowles in his 1739 will, as well as his brother Jacob and his brother Joseph.

           

          James Potter will

           

          Martha’s father James Potter mentions his wife Ann in his 1719 will. James Potter married Ann Waterhurst in 1690 in Wirksworth, some seven miles from Darley. James occupation was innkeeper at Darley Bridge.

          I did a search for Waterhurst (there was only a transcription available for that marriage, not a microfilm) and found no Waterhursts anywhere, but I did find many Warhursts in Derbyshire. In the older records, Warhust is also spelled Wearhurst and in a number of other ways. A Martha Warhurst died in Peak Forest, Derbyshire, in 1681.  Her husbands name was missing from the deteriorated register pages.  This may or may not be Martha Potter’s grandmother: the records for the 1600s are scanty if they exist at all, and often there are bits missing and illegible entries.

          The only inn at Darley Bridge was The Three Stags Heads, by the bridge. It is now a listed building, and was on a medieval packhorse route. The current building was built in 1736, however there is a late 17th century section at rear of the cross wing. The Three Stags Heads was up for sale for £430,000 in 2022, the closure a result of the covid pandemic.

           

          Three Stags Heads

           

          Another listed building in Darley Bridge is Potters Cottage, with a plaque above the door that says “Jonathan and Alice Potter 1763”. Jonathan Potter 1725-1785 was James grandson, the son of his son Charles Potter 1691-1752. His son Charles was also an innkeeper at Darley Bridge: James left the majority of his property to his son Charles.

           

          Charles Potter

           

          Charles is the only child of James Potter that we know the approximate date of birth, because his age was on his grave stone.  I haven’t found any of their baptisms, but did note that many Potters were baptised in non conformist registers in Chesterfield.

           

          Potters Cottage

          Potters Cottage

           

          Jonathan Potter of Potters Cottage married Alice Beeley in 1748.

          “Darley Bridge was an important packhorse route across the River Derwent. There was a packhorse route from here up to Beeley Moor via Darley Dale. A reference to this bridge appears in 1504… Not far to the north of the bridge at Darley Dale is Church Lane; in 1635 it was known as Ghost Lane after a Scottish pedlar was murdered there. Pedlars tended to be called Scottish only because they sold cheap Scottish linen.”

          via Derbyshire Heritage website.

          According to Wikipedia, the bridge dates back to the 15th century.

          #7544
          TracyTracy
          Participant

            Youlgreave

            The Frost Family and The Big Snow

             

            The Youlgreave parish registers are said to be the most complete and interesting in the country. Starting in 1558, they are still largely intact today.

            “The future historian of this parish will find a vast stock of material ready to hand, and if such a work was ever accomplished it would once more be seen how the history of even a remote village is but the history of the nation in little; how national victories were announced on the church bells, and national disasters by the proclamation of a form of prayer…”

            J. Charles Cox, Notes on the Churches of Derbyshire, 1877.

            Youlgreave registers

             

            Although the Youlgreave parish registers are available online on microfilm, just the baptisms, marriages and burials are provided on the genealogy websites. However, I found some excerpts from the churchwardens accounts in a couple of old books, The Reliquary 1864, and Notes on Derbyshire Churches 1877.

            churchwardens accounts

            Hannah Keeling, my 4x great grandmother, was born in Youlgreave, Derbyshire, in 1767. In 1791 she married Edward Lees of Hartington, Derbyshire, a village seven and a half miles south west of Youlgreave. Edward and Hannah’s daughter Sarah Lees, born in Hartington in 1808, married Francis Featherstone in 1835. The Featherstone’s were farmers. Their daughter Emma Featherstone married John Marshall from Elton. Elton is just three miles from Youlgreave, and there are a great many Marshall’s in the Youlgreave parish registers, some no doubt distantly related to ours.

            Hannah Keeling’s parents were John Keeling 1734-1823, and Ellen Frost 1739-1805, both of Youlgreave.
            On the burial entry in the parish registers in Youlgreave in 1823, John Keeling was 88 years old when he died, and was the “late parish clerk”, indicating that my 5x great grandfather played a part in compiling the “best parish registers in the country”. In 1762 John’s father in law John Frost died intestate, and John Keeling, cordwainer, co signed the documents with his mother in law Ann. John Keeling was a shoe maker and a parish clerk.

            John Keeling

             

            John Keeling’s father was Thomas Keeling, baptised on the 9th of March 1709 in Youlgreave and his parents were John Keeling and Ann Ashmore. John and Ann were married on the 6th April 1708. Some of the transcriptions have Thomas baptised in March 1708, which would be a month before his parents married. However, this was before the Julian calendar was replaced by the Gregorian calendar, and prior to 1752 the new year started on the 25th of March, therefore the 9th of March 1708 was eleven months after the 6th April 1708.

            Thomas Keeling married Dorothy, which we know from the baptism of John Keeling in 1734, but I have not been able to find their marriage recorded. Until I can find my 6x great grandmother Dorothy’s maiden name, I am unable to trace her family further back.

            Unfortunately I haven’t found a baptism for Thomas’s father John Keeling, despite that there are Keelings in the Youlgrave registers in the early 1600s, possibly it is one of the few illegible entries in these registers.

            The Frosts of Youlgreave

            Ellen Frost’s father was John Frost, born in Youlgreave in 1707. John married Ann Staley of Elton in 1733 in Youlgreave.

            (Note that this part of the family tree is the Marshall side, but we also have Staley’s in Elton on the Warren side. Our branch of the Elton Staley’s moved to Stapenhill in the mid 1700s. Robert Staley, born 1711 in Elton, died in Stapenhill in 1795. There are many Staley’s in the Youlgreave parish registers, going back to the late 1500s.)

            John Frost (my 6x great grandfather), miner, died intestate in 1762 in Youlgreave. Miner in this case no doubt means a lead miner, mining his own land (as John Marshall’s father John was in Elton. On the 1851 census John Marshall senior was mining 9 acres). Ann Frost, as the widow and relict of the said deceased John Frost, claimed the right of administration of his estate. Ann Frost (nee Staley) signed her own name, somewhat unusual for a woman to be able to write in 1762, as well as her son in law John Keeling.

            Frost and keeling

             

            John’s parents were David Frost and Ann. David was baptised in 1665 in Youlgreave. Once again, I have not found a marriage for David and Ann so I am unable to continue further back with her family. Marriages were often held in the parish of the bride, and perhaps those neighbouring parish records from the 1600s haven’t survived.

            David’s parents were William Frost and Ellen (or Ellin, or Helen, depending on how the parish clerk chose to spell it). Once again, their marriage hasn’t been found, but was probably in a neighbouring parish.

            William Frost’s wife Ellen, my 8x great grandmother, died in Youlgreave in 1713. In her will she left her daughter Catherine £20. Catherine was born in 1665 and was apparently unmarried at the age of 48 in 1713. She named her son Isaac Frost (born in 1662) executor, and left him the remainder of her “goods, chattels and cattle”.

            Ellens will

             

            William Frost was baptised in Youlgreave in 1627, his parents were William Frost and Anne.
            William Frost senior, husbandman, was probably born circa 1600, and died intestate in 1648 in Middleton, Youlgreave. His widow Anna was named in the document. On the compilation of the inventory of his goods, Thomas Garratt, Will Melland and A Kidiard are named.

            (Husbandman: The old word for a farmer below the rank of yeoman. A husbandman usually held his land by copyhold or leasehold tenure and may be regarded as the ‘average farmer in his locality’. The words ‘yeoman’ and ‘husbandman’ were gradually replaced in the later 18th and 19th centuries by ‘farmer’.)

            Unable to find a baptism for William Frost born circa 1600, I read through all the pages of the Youlgreave parish registers from 1558 to 1610. Despite the good condition of these registers, there are a number of illegible entries. There were three Frost families baptising children during this timeframe and one of these is likely to be Willliam’s.

            Baptisms:
            1581 Eliz Frost, father Michael.
            1582 Francis f Michael. (must have died in infancy)
            1582 Margaret f William.
            1585 Francis f Michael.
            1586 John f Nicholas.
            1588 Barbara f Michael.
            1590 Francis f Nicholas.
            1591 Joane f Michael.
            1594 John f Michael.
            1598 George f Michael.
            1600 Fredericke (female!) f William.

            Marriages in Youlgreave which could be William’s parents:
            1579 Michael Frost Eliz Staley
            1587 Edward Frost Katherine Hall
            1600 Nicholas Frost Katherine Hardy.
            1606 John Frost Eliz Hanson.

            Michael Frost of Youlgreave is mentioned on the Derbyshire Muster Rolls in 1585.

            (Muster records: 1522-1649. The militia muster rolls listed all those liable for military service.)

            Frideswide:

            A burial is recorded in 1584 for Frideswide Frost (female) father Michael. As the father is named, this indicates that Frideswide was a child.

            (Frithuswith, commonly Frideswide c. 650 – 19 October 727), was an English princess and abbess. She is credited as the foundress of a monastery later incorporated into Christ Church, Oxford. She was the daughter of a sub-king of a Merica named Dida of Eynsham whose lands occupied western Oxfordshire and the upper reaches of the River Thames.)

            An unusual name, and certainly very different from the usual names of the Frost siblings. As I did not find a baptism for her, I wondered if perhaps she died too soon for a baptism and was given a saints name, in the hope that it would help in the afterlife, given the beliefs of the times. Or perhaps it wasn’t an unusual name at the time in Youlgreave. A Fridesweda Gilbert was buried in Youlgreave in 1604, the spinster daughter of Francis Gilbert. There is a small brass effigy in the church, underneath is written “Frideswide Gilbert to the grave, Hath resigned her earthly part…”

            Frideswide

            J. Charles Cox, Notes on the Churches of Derbyshire, 1877.

             

            King James

            A parish register entry in 1603:
            “1603 King James of Skottland was proclaimed kinge of England, France and Ireland at Bakewell upon Monday being the 29th of March 1603.”  (March 1603 would be 1604, because of the Julian calendar in use at the time.)

            King James

             

            The Big Snow

            “This year 1614/5 January 16th began the greatest snow whichever fell uppon the earth within man’s memorye. It covered the earth fyve quarters deep uppon the playne. And for heaps or drifts of snow, they were very deep; so that passengers both horse or foot passed over yates, hedges and walles. ….The spring was so cold and so late that much cattel was in very great danger and some died….”

            The Big Snow

            From the Youlgreave parish registers.

            Our ancestor William Frost born circa 1600 would have been a teenager during the big snow.

            #7541

            “I think we’re late setting our booths up, Frel,” Truella said with a frown. “We better go into the town. I need a toy shop and you need the ironmongers.”

            “Toy shop? What for?”

            “Miniature plastic cows.  I’ll spray them all with some metallic paint and sell them as magical idols or something. And some empty miniature bottles or vials to fill with cow dung.”

            “You won’t be able to sell cow dung!”

            “I will if it says magical on the bottle, you wait and see!”

            “And I’m going to buy a box of hinges and pretend they’re magical too, is that it?”

            “Have you got any other ideas?”

            Frella was forced to admit that she had not.  “Come on then, there’s a bus to the shopping centre in ten minutes.”

            “Perfect! You can tell me the rest of the story of the camphor chest on the way.”

            #7540

            “When did you arrive?” asked Truella when they found her in her at her Cloacina booth in faux-fur waterproof boots and a faux-bear-fur cape with a waterproofed silk hood to protect her perfect hairdo from the incessant drizzle. It gave her a look of one of those Fantasy warrior-goddess ready to intervene at the last minute to save her chosen champions from complete destruction by the forces of evil.

            Venus Cloacina Loos

            “Well, I’ve been there all along,” retorted the glamour witch, moving two little loos in front of the booth closer together. “I’ve been living in Limerick since the start of this story, even if it wasn’t clear where. Granny Linda thinks I’m living in Glamorheaven and Finnley think I’m living in London, but I’m pretty sure it’s Limerick. At least it is in my mind manor,” she said as if for herself. “There!” she said. Her face lit up as she just found the perfect orientation for the loos. “Don’t those miniature loos look cute?”

            “Sure,” said Truella. At the same time she looked at Frella as if their friend had gone nut.

            “Don’t ask me,” said Frella. “I didn’t make the selection of the goddesses for the olympic set.”

            Jeezel took three cups, dipped them into one of the toilet bowl and offered them to her friends to drink.

            Truella grimaced.

            “I prefer not to drink that early in the morning,” said Frella with a polite smile.

            Jeezel lifted the cup to her nose and inhaled deeply before taking a sip. “It’s connected to the purest water source on Earth through a little time sewer spell coupled with a little pump and filter and a nice chime when you throw your worries in. It’s perfectly safe and drinkable sparkling water, and it smells of roses.”

            “My gran used to spray rose scent in the bathroom after she used it,” said Truella, cackling nervously.

            Frella took the cup, smelled it and continued smiling.

            “Anyways, those cuties are for the cleansing prayers,” said Jeezel. “Cleansing and release,” she added pointing her finger up at the banner. “That’s Cloacina’s motto. At least at this booth. And, as I’m sure you asked, I didn’t answer all your messages because I’ve been kept busy with preparing all of those. Here, Truelle, take one of those Sacred Bath Salts. I have two flavors, Moonlight Mist and Sunset Serenity. Take the second one, it’s a blend of Himalayan pink salt and rose petals. It’ll help keep you warm as the salts will absorb the extra humidity, and as an extra it’ll make you think of your gran”, she added with a grin. “As for my friend Frella…”

            Truella grabbed the pouch of salts and smelled it. “The smell is not so bad,” she conceded. “And Bubona knows I need their warming qualities,” she said shaking her head to get rid of irritating water drops.

            Jeezel then turned to the potion and elixirs section. “No, not purification for Frella, and neither of you need the Lover’s Elixir… Oh! Here it is, take that. A soap made of goat’s milk, honey and calendula oil for radiant skin. And good to keep the hinges perfectly oiled. And as my future gran will say, remember, keeping those hinges oiled is key to avoiding squeaky situations.”

            Frella took the soap and chuckled. “Thanks.” She scratched the surface with her nail. “It’s seems good quality. And it smells good. That reminds me I have to prepare my own booth. See you later girls.”

            As soon as she left. Truella leaned towards her friend and asked in a conspiratory voice: “Did you know Malove was here?”

            “What?”

            #7539

            There was a quietness before the rush of tourists, and the placid disposition of cows near the field was a nice relief after the madness of the Coven’s endless succession of rituals, workshops, business cases and budgeting of late.

            It would be as close a permission slip from Austreberthe for a holiday as any of them were likely to get in a lifetime, so they’d better enjoy it —Eris had reasoned.

            Picking the assigned one without putting too much thought to it, Eris had found her yurt pleasantly arranged with an attractive purple color, and even if she was only midly fond of the very hippy and communal setup, with a few insonorisation spells, and interior-designer-enlargement spells, the tent had proven adequate enough.

            She’d been here already when Truella and Frella had come through the other tents, chatting vivaciously of course. She’d lifted the muffling spell for long enough to overhear about Malové being here. Well, in case there were any doubt, it seemed it was again all about business. Eris was surprised though that Malové would join, but remembered that Malové was known in her youth to have been a mad racer with a fondness for breakneck speeds. She was probably just here for the Games, like many others.

            The longwinded story about the camphor chest had started to recede in the background sound of cud chewing so she didn’t get the fine details of it for now.

            Now Eris was wide awake from her nap, and it was as good a time as any to setup her Mellona stall. After all that Coven’s busy activity of the past weeks, there was no small irony (or synchronicity, which would be the same, with a better state of mind) that she’d found herself in charge of the Roman Goddess’ stall. Maybe she would find interesting ways to channel the hive’s power to support their queen.

            #7538

            “And anyway, I wasn’t flirting with him,” Truella added, with a smile. “It’s great to see you! No word from Eris or Jeezel though.  I thought they were looking forward to a holiday? Have you heard anything?”

            “Not a word, not since Eris was beseeching us to distract her from all the stress.”

            “Well, they’re late to the party, the plan was to have a couple of days relaxing together before the games start, and not a word from either of them.”

            “Maybe they’re not going to come at all!”

            “Oh they’ll turn up, eventually,” Truella said, adding with a frown, “You don’t think anything has happened to them, do you? One minute chat chat chat, then nothing. Like they just disappeared!”

            “I’ll send another message, and if they don’t respond, maybe we should start making enquiries. Where were they last seen?”

            “Eris mentioned something about Normandy…but hey, we can just carry on without them. Go and put your bags in your pod and let’s go for a walk. You can tell me all about that camphor chest.”

            #7537

            “Will you stop flirting with that poor boy, Tru! You can’t help yourself can you?” Frella’s  word were softened by the huge smile on her face. “Isn’t this place just grand?”

            “Frella! Don’t be sneaking up on a person like that!” Truella gave her friend a hug. “Anyway, you won’t believe it but Malove is going to be here! I mean, talk about unexpected plot twists. And you know she’s not going to be thrilled when she finds out I’ve nabbed her corner pod!” She giggled, albeit a little nervously.

            Frella grimaced. “Tru, you’d better be careful. Malove’s not one to take things lightly, especially when it comes to her personal space.”

            “Oh don’t worry. It will be fine. Anyway, what about your fancy man? Will he be here doing his important MAMA spy work? I do hope so.  Dear Cedric always brings a certain je ne sais quoi to the scene.” Truella rolled her eyes and smirked.

            “Oh you mean tart! And he’s NOT my fancy man but yeah, he is going to be here. You should be glad we’ve got someone on the inside. Those MAMA agents can be pesky devils and they’re bound to be sneaking around a gig like this.”

            #7535

            It made sense to go to Ireland during the hot Andalucian summer, and it hadn’t taken much to convince Truella to take a break from her dig and her research.  Thousands of years of history would still be there waiting for her when she got home, and it would be a pleasure to see some green lawns and fields. Maybe it would rain, indeed, it was likely that it would.  And by the time the Roman Games were over, there would be less of the hot summer at home to endure.  Still, it was a nuisance to have to get her winter clothes down out of the attic. She was sure to find it chilly, even cold.

            Truella was not fond of water sports (or any sports, but particularly those involving water) and unfortunately the focus of the games seemed to be on swimming and boating.  But one of the events has captured her interest. A miniaturisation spell was required, which contestants had to provide themselves, for the Puddles in Potholes races.  The worst road in Limerick would be cordoned off and all the potholes filled with water (if they weren’t already full of rain water, which was likely).  When Eris pointed out that a miniaturised person could drown in a puddle as easily as a full sized one could drown in a lake, Truella was ready with her answer.  If she was drowning, she would immediately reverse the spell and resume her full size.  Eris had raised an eyebrow, remarking that she had better make sure her spell was up to scratch, unlike her incense spells had been.  Jeezel had wanted to know why she couldn’t just make an enlarging spell and just swim in the river, to which Truella has replied that she didn’t know how deep the river was and how much enlarging would be required.  Snorting, Frella said she obviously didn’t know how deep the potholes in Limerick were.

            Austreberthe had put their names down for the donkey chariot races, for which they had three days when they arrived to construct the cart and make the costumes.  Luckily Frella had plenty of local contacts, and had willingly taken charge of assembling all the materials.

            The Booths of the Gods would require some thought. Which Roman god would she choose to be?  Which special godly power could she make a spell for?  Truella sighed, and went to find her book of Roman gods and goddesses.

            #7534

            Ms Nicraith Noble, the Mayor of Limerick taking a bath in the Shannon River with reporters had made the rounds of news in ways that were quite incomprehensible.

            Obviously it was part of a media ploy to boost public attention for the incoming Roman Games.

            “Did she require some anti-rash-and-boil spells?” Jeezel messaged on the network, worried about what such swimming stunt would do to her ravishing hair.

            “Probably…” Eris responded in a terse manner “Don’t forget Austreberthe managed to get us to sponsor the event. She may have eased the deal with some goodies. Like anti-age spell too.”

            Eris was glad Austreberthe had refocused the efforts towards the imminent launch of the Roman Games. Those mass events were key moments in the Coven’s seasonal activities, as they provided a bounty of emotions to refine and process for creation of their most epic incenses. The recent mass events had been too heavy on fear, anger and gloom-mongering, not the grade A quality they required.

            Austreberthe had called all hands on deck to be ready for the event, having deemed the reconnaissance work in Spain’s cloisters sufficiently well under way to take a break from it. In truth, Eris suspected she’d started to receive the first invoices from the undertakers’ Guild and had realised it was a hefty cost for their consulting services.

            On top of that, there was a recent case of the drunken sheep flu in Andalucia, some local variety of virus that got the cloister sisters fear for their elderly’s Mother Loreena’s health. Considering the gleeful vulture’s smiles of the Morticians in waiting, they had decided in agreement for an early dismiss into the Summer holidays retreats.

            “More prayers, phew, glad they didn’t need us for that.” true to her swagger way, Truella had conceded and accepted to put a hold to her passionate researches —she’d managed to get their personal phone numbers too anyway.

            “One week to the start of the Games then.” Eris sighed. The last stretch to summer holidays seemed to take forever.

            #7531
            TracyTracy
            Participant

              Rose lens

              The rose coloured spectacle lens.

               

              Aunt Idle:

              “Well, crikey, finding one pink sunglass lens on the road is quite the curiosity, isn’t it? Let’s delve into the symbolic undertones of such an odd discovery. Pink lens, no less—a splash of color with quite the story to tell.

              1. Seeing the World through Rose-Tinted Glasses: Finding a pink sunglass lens can symbolize optimism and seeing the world in a positive light. But here’s the kicker—it’s just one lens. This suggests a duality; perhaps you’re being asked to blend optimism with realism. Life isn’t always about sunshine and rainbows, but choosing to see the bright side can balance out the darker shades.

              2. Fragmented Perspectives: A single lens means you don’t have the full picture. You’re seeing things partially, which can indicate missing information or a need to look at situations from multiple angles. It’s a nudge to take off those blinders and open your other eye, figuratively speaking. You might be clinging to a half-truth or ignoring an important aspect of your life.

              3. Lost and Found: In practical terms, a lone lens on the road means someone has lost it. It’s a signifier of separation, maybe something in your life has split or broken apart. It can be a gentle reminder to look into areas where you might have lost connection—be it with loved ones, a project, or even a part of yourself.

              4. Symbol of Love and Compassion: Pink is often associated with love, compassion, and femininity. The lens could be a reminder to look at things with kindness and empathy. Perhaps there’s a situation in your life that requires a softer, more loving approach.

              5. Hindsight and Insight: The road is a metaphor for your life’s journey. Finding the lens there might hint at reflecting on past experiences (hindsight) while gaining new understanding or clarity (insight). Maybe there’s an opportunity to learn from what’s happened and apply it moving forward, seeing things with fresh, yet incomplete, clarity.

              Putting it in Truella’s Context: If Truella found this lens, it could be a sign she needs to reassess her current path or research direction. Her overwhelming stack of books and discovery of the ancient manuscript hint at a bigger picture she might not be seeing clearly yet. Perhaps she’s overly focused on one aspect and neglecting others.

              Personal Symbolism for Aunt Idle: For you, Aunt Idle, this lens could be a cheeky nudge to reassess some of your adventurous antics and half-remembered tales. Maybe there’s an old mystery or a relationship needing a fresh perspective. Or it’s just life’s way of saying, “Look closer, love—you might be missing out!”

              In any case, a single pink sunglass lens is a quirky, delightful piece of life’s puzzle, inviting you to ponder, reflect, and adjust your view. So, next time you’re journeying on the dusty roads of life and stumble upon such oddities, take a moment—there just might be a zinger of wisdom waiting for you. Cheers!”

              ~~~

              “A lone pink lens paves the road to the unseen clarity of kaleidoscopic sunrise.”
              ~Journey of Reflections, Enrich P. Lwellman.

              ~~~

              The Snoot:

              “Ahhh, a single pink lens, lost and found amidst the stone and dust! Sings of mysteries and tales untold! Perhaps a sprite misplaced their vision or a pixie left a clue.

              Lean close! Such a find whispers soft secrets:

              Balance Broken, Yet Bright    Like seeing life with a tint of whimsy! One eye tinted pink, the other clear. A call to mix reality with dreams, maybe?
              Half Truth, Half Fantasy   A hint that stories blend truths and imaginations. Seek both sides to find whole pictures.
              Lost and Waiting    Could be a sign someone’s journey is incomplete, needing you as a puzzle piece. Maybe the other lens waits for your path?

              Snootly wisdom: Use the lens not to see, but to imagine.Peer through the pink and let dreams color your heart. Could be you’re on the cusp of a grand adventure; just follow the allure of the pink!

              ~~~

              Liz:

              Oh, darling, how positively intriguing! A single pink sunglass lens left upon the road—why, it’s like a snippet from one of my novels, fraught with symbolism and brimming with untold stories.

              Let’s unravel this little mystery together, shall we? First, the color pink itself is rich with meaning. It speaks of love, compassion, and a certain kind of whimsicality. It’s a hue that embodies the gentle side of passion, the tender whispers of the heart. Now, to find just one lens, separated from its twin, adds a layer of poignancy. It’s a fragment of something once whole, a poignant reminder of loss or incompletion.

              One might surmise that this lens represents a part of oneself that has been misplaced or overlooked. Perhaps it’s a call to rediscover a piece of your own heart, the softer, more romantic side that life’s hustle and bustle may have sidelined. Or it could symbolize a different perspective—after all, sunglasses shield us from the sun’s glare, making things clearer in their own shaded way. This lone lens might be urging you to look at a situation with fresh eyes, to find beauty in the fragmented and the unexpected.

              Imagine, if you will, a character in one of my novels stumbling upon this very lens. They’d be on the cusp of a grand adventure, naturally. The pink lens would become their talisman, a clue leading them to unforeseen revelations and untold treasures. It would be both a physical object and a metaphorical guide, urging them to view the world—and their place within it—through a lens of love and compassion.

              Perhaps it is also a nod to the impermanence of things, a gentle reminder that beauty and meaning can be found even in life’s fleeting moments. Much like the single pink lens, our journeys are filled with fragments of experiences that, when pieced together, create a mosaic of our existence.

              So, my dear, take this as a sign to embrace the whimsical, to seek out the overlooked pieces of your own story, and to cherish the beauty of the incomplete. After all, it’s the mysteries and the musings that make life a narrative worth living.

              ~~~

              Mater:

              Ah, a single pink sunglass lens on the road, you say? Now that’s a curious find. Objects like that can be teeming with symbolic meaning if you’ve got the eyes to see it. Let’s break it down a bit, shall we?

              Firstly, the color pink. Traditionally, pink is associated with love, compassion, and nurturing. It’s a color that often brings to mind warmth and affection, something tender and gentle. But finding just one lens suggests something is missing or incomplete—a piece of a larger whole.

              A sunglass lens, on the other hand, is meant to protect the eyes from harsh light, allowing you to see the world more clearly without being blinded. Seeing through a pink lens, metaphorically speaking, can mean looking at life with an optimistic or compassionate perspective. It’s like seeing the world through rose-colored glasses, as they say.

              Now, finding just one lens on the road—well, roads are pathways, journeys, the direction we take in life. A single lens could indicate a moment of clarity or a shift in perspective on your journey. But it could also symbolize a need to find balance or the missing piece of your outlook to see the full picture clearly.

              Maybe it’s a nudge from the universe to take a closer look at how you view your current path. Are you seeing things in the best light possible? Or perhaps it’s a reminder that while optimism and compassion are vital, you might be missing another crucial aspect—realism or practicality, perhaps?

              Or, it could be as simple as a reminder to lighten up and find joy and playfulness in your journey.

              Like a pink flamingo standing on one leg, sometimes life’s oddities are just there to make you smile and wonder.

              Whatever the meaning, love, take it as a sign to reflect and consider. The road ahead is always full of mystery and wonder, and sometimes the smallest things can carry the biggest messages.

              ~~~

              Finnley:

              Pink sunglass lens on the road, you say? Well, ain’t that a curious bit of rubbish. If we’re dabbling in symbolism, it could mean a variety of things depending on how fanciful you want to get. Pink is often associated with love, compassion, and care. So, finding a lens could mean you’re only seeing half the picture when it comes to matters of the heart. Or maybe you’re missing the rosy view on life, and you need to adjust your perspective.

              Then again, it could just mean some poor sod lost their sunnies and now they’ve got a squint and a sunburnt nose. Life’s not always riddled with deep meanings, sometimes it’s just a bit of lost plastic on the tarmac.

              Now, if you ask me, you ought to be more concerned about the litter. If everyone went around leaving bits and bobs all over the place, we’d be living in a right tip. So pick it up, toss it in the bin, and let’s keep things tidy, shall we?

               

              ~~~

              Mandrake:

              Ah, the solitary pink sunglass lens on the road. Delightfully poetic. A symbol of half-seen truths, perhaps? Seeing the world through rose-tinted glasses, but only partially. Could it be urging you to seek balance, to view life with both optimism and realism? Or maybe just a nudge from the universe to pick up your litter. Such profundity from a piece of plastic. Life’s a riddle, darling.

              ~~~

              Sha: A pink sunglass lens on the road, eh? Now that’s a right peculiar find if ever I ‘eard one. Makes you wonder what it means, don’t it?

              Glo: Oh, Sha, you’re always lookin’ for the hidden meanin’ in things. It’s just a bit of plastic, ain’t it? Though, come to think of it, pink’s a powerful colour. Symbolises love, compassion, and all that mushy stuff.

              Mavis: I reckon it might be a sign, ladies. A pink lens… maybe it’s tellin’ you to look at the world through rose-tinted glasses, y’know? See the good in things. Or it could be a message from the universe, remindin’ you to keep an eye out for the unusual.

              Sha: Right you are, Mav! And let’s not forget the conspiracies! Maybe it’s a clue from them secret societies, leavin’ hints for those sharp enough to notice. Could be part of a bigger puzzle, a breadcrumb leadin’ to somethin’ magnificent.

              Glo: Or maybe someone’s just dropped their specs out the car window in a rush, and it’s nothin’ more than that. But where’s the fun in that sort of thinkin’?

              Mavis: True, true. We’ll go with the idea that it’s a symbol of keepin’ an open mind and lookin’ out for the small wonders of life. Who knows what other treasures we might find if we keep our eyes peeled?

              Sha: And next time we’re out and about, let’s be on the lookout for the other lens. Could be a sign that we’re missin’ half the picture.

              Glo: Oh, you and your signs, Sha! But alright, we’ll keep our peepers open. Never know what the universe might be tryin’ to tell us next.

            Viewing 20 results - 121 through 140 (of 2,130 total)