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nostalgicwhimsy
Life before political correctness
I Have Your Father in my Possession
Jan11 by nostalgicwhimsy
'I Have your Father in my Possession'
As I reach a certain age, and before my memory crumbles into complete oblivion, like the residues of a decent pint's ethereal film of froth, I thought it appropriate to jot down a rather unconnected series of events that display the life and times of Robert Ernest Chapman (1910-1982) and to a lesser extent, through no fault of her own, Marion Edith Chapman (1918-2006) his wife and my mother.
Although the events may not follow in the chronological order ordained by purists, as the narration develops, the reader will discern a common denominator or two that depict a mode of living now lost in a world of political correctness and lost freedoms.
I have made tentative research forays into family history and found a thread that father's side of the family emanated from the Prince of Wales's loins, (Albert Edward, later Edward VII) via one of his mistresses. There was possibly something in it as I can remember father saying his side of the family emanated from The Protestant Archbishop of Ireland, a title given by the British Monarchy to their nearest and dearest (when the whole of Ireland was still under the British Crown) . However, cannot find any 100% references to back this up.
His mother's maternal line, however, can be traced from Anglo/Irish ancestry and includes Oscar Wilde who was (I think) my grandmother's uncle. Anyway her maiden name was Wilde and the old dosh flowed quite freely as she seemed to spend most of her summers ensconced on the ski slopes of Switzerland. That was an era when the riff raff we see whooping down the slopes of the Matterhorn in modern times were busy sliding down the slag heaps of Birmingham on tea trays when it snowed. Although both my paternal grandparents were alive when I was born, they died before I could store any memory of them.
Father was born in Bristol in 1910, the eldest of three brothers, Harry and Brian, both became doctors. Harry, married a harridan called Mary and became a GP in Wolverhampton and their three boys (my cousins) became I know not what, apart from Richard, the eldest, who is now Sir Richard and a High Court Judge. A good bloke I could tell a few tales about, but do not want incarcerating in the Tower of London. Brian, father's youngest brother, married a girl (Barbara) whose father owned half of Kent and settled down to a life of Gentleman farmer and adviser to the Government on mental health matters. A lovely bloke, though. I think he also had three sons but have no idea what happened to them apart from one who went into antiquarian books and opened a shop in Hay on Wye, but that was in the nineteen sixties.
Fathers family, living at No 6 Frederick road in Edgbaston in Birmingham, could be said 'a scholarly lot'. His father was a don at Cambridge University and wrote numerous books and journals about the psychology of teaching. Both father and my grandfather had a little-known side; they were both brilliant engineers, especially where the motor car was concerned. Father remembers when they both described a new form of internal combustion they had designed to a motor engineer in a pub in Birmingham in 1928/9. They drew it out on an empty packet of Players. This engineer worked for a motor car manufacture Frazer Nash, who patented the idea, which was bought out by Auto-Union (who later became Audi) and they sold the rights to Mazda under licence. The engine is used today, it's called the 'Wankel'.
A little-known aspect of his life was a love of botany. He spent his school holidays, mostly in Devon, driving around with his father in very ancient motor cars analysing the goings on in ponds and hedgerows. This activity, that I think he must have caught from his father and the knowledge he derived from this exercise never left him and he could give a detailed account of the most obscure 'weed' or mollusc years later.
SCHOOL AND UNIVERSITY
Father went to school at King Edwards Grammar School in Birmingham, a highly prestigious public school and befriended another pupil he thought too clever for his own good, a certain Enoch Powell. He passed the scholarship for Cambridge University at sixteen but had to wait for two years apparently (something to do with a minimum eighteen-year-old rule) so spent two years at Birmingham University, studying ancient Greek. He was interviewed for Cambridge and asked mainly about his sports prowess. (He played cricket and rugby rowed and swam) and it seems father rather took umbrage at this and went to Oxford instead, where apparently they were more interested in his scholarly aspirations.
He was given a stipend (pocket money) of 7/6d a week (37.5pence) by his parents, who I feel had fallen upon hard times, and told to compress his 5-year course into 3. He read 'Greats' ( a detailed study of Roman and Greek History and Philosophy) His friends and contemporaries at Wadham College included Donald Hurst , a Lord Chief Justice who was a bit of a lad apparently, Michael Foot, whom he detested and a couple of Cabinet Ministers who were also very naughty. A hint of father's derogative attitude towards the African race, that grew as time went on, started whilst up at Oxford. An African fellow student offered him a cigarette from a white skinned cigarette case with the epithet that the skin could have come from his father which was removed prior to eating the rest of him!
This is when the cushion of alcohol first emerged. He won a 'blue' for water polo and told me he worked for 17 hours a day, swam for 3 and slept for 4. This took its toll and on the day of the finals his mind went blank and he only got a 3rd. Still, he passed. Alcohol was a cushion. Most highly intelligent men, which father undoubtedly was, have to have a cushion in life, some turn to other women, some to religion, some to drugs but mostly, in those days (pre 2nd World War) alcohol was the favourite. He regaled me with the story of drinking 52 pints of bitter in one day and driving, with the aforesaid Lord Hurst KC, etc., and a fellow student who became a dentist (a chap called Whacker who lived in Birmingham and once had a delve into my molars… the bastard!) home over a golf course, getting stuck in a bunker and getting some irate golfers to pull them out. Whose car it was, he didn't say. I know he knew the Chief Constable of Oxford quite well and was advised by him of the deployment of various police patrols in the area, in order to avoid any unpleasantness vis-à-vis driving under the influence. His driving artistry under the 'influence' stayed with him all his life, but more of that later. It was while he was up at Oxford that his interest in all things spiritual reared its head. He had a flirtation with a Jesuit society but rejected it in favour of a more cerebral aspect. This characteristic involved intelligence rather than emotions or instinct and although he became a Mason, his spiritual side was somewhat complex. Although Christened and confirmed into the Anglican faith, (and saw to it that I was) he was by nature a 'free thinker' and his classical education and the thoughts of the great philosophers were always drawn upon when deciding matters of faith.
193O's
I don't know much about his life between 1932 and 1937/8 apart from the fact that he obviously lived a life of undiluted penury due to an exuberance of profligacy in London society whilst studying law at the Inns of Court ('Middle Temple', I think). He took part in 'Amateur Theatricals' when his demeanour was patently bolstered by visits to Yates's wine lodge next door and the Ritz Cocktail bar up the road. He couldn't have acted when sober, he was far too nervous, (as his later court appearances proved) He recalls having a 'butler' at one time and weekend house parties but generally talked about being financially discomfited during this period. (A characteristic he lived with until he was well into his sixties) He obviously mixed in rather sublime company (Bertie Wooster comes to mind) and made lifelong friends with some of them although at this period of his life it took a lot squeezing out of him, he had to be well into his cups, to recall anything. I know he spent quite a lot of his time in West Cornwall with a friend from his Oxford days a certain Jocelyn (something or other, who became involved with the (I think) daughter of Thomas Cooper Gotch (1854–1931), a founder of the Newlyn School of art and quite a famous painter in his own right. Anyway, his friend Jocelyn married Gotch's daughter and the Gotch granddaughter apparently chased father. He went off her though after discovering she had thick ankles. (Not the racehorse ankles he so admired in a female form) This period of life also rejuvenated his love for poetry and watercolours. He was quite an accomplished painter (by his account) and his poetry was of the deeply romantic variety with a propensity of ancient Greek mythological thought processes thrown in.
He supplemented his meagre allowance, for a while, by teaching at Mill Hill School, which had a reputation then of feeding pupils to exalted office in the 'Upper Chamber', and swears he gave one or two later members of the 'Privy Council' a sore posterior, for which they probably have been highly appreciative of ever since. In 1935/36 he also took on the position of private tutor to a certain Colonel H. P. Snowden's MA Hon's, MC, etc., eldest offspring Marion Snowden, (Anne) my mother. She was 15 or 16 he was 23 or 24. She was very shy very slim with waist length hair and rather stunning, he was also very shy and reminiscent of a young Robert Redford. The Snowden's residence contained a number of students from abroad as well as Britain. Why they had students is another story. (Which I shall regale you with later because it deserves a book on its own). It was a large house in the London suburb of Dulwich with ample grounds for tennis courts and various elements that were deemed necessary for gracious living. The Snowdens were living in an air of old world British empiricism and they lived in this wonderful world no matter what financial restraints demanded, with house servants, gardeners and chauffeurs. The Colonel taught history at Dulwich College and was actively engaged in any matters military into which he could inveigle himself. Dorothy, the Colonel's authoritative wife, my grandmother had theatrical leanings and definitive leanings towards the psychic side of life.
The tutoring consisted, from all accounts, of father trying to distill some knowledge of Pythagoras into his pupil's head whilst she gazed into his eyes with glazed adoration. As father's eyes were probably glazed as well, from a distinctly different source, they were well suited. I think he was 'Called to the Bar' around this time but seemed to spend his waking hours attending to mother's needs and long weekend house parties around the home counties. He ran a 1925 14/40hp. Sports Model Sunbeam* at this time, a motor car pretty well on par with Bentley in the prestigious stakes showing scant regard for the usual financial restraints, particularly Gin and motor cars, which continued all his life. I remember being told that mother was taught to drive by father, an undertaking which once involved her passing so close to a cyclist that he rode into a ditch. After stopping and upon enquiring about his health and so forth, father determined that the poor chap was so traumatised he had emptied his bladder and bowels as a consequence of the closeness.
*It was destroyed by one of Herr Hitler's bombs, whilst garaged in one of the 'Colonel's' houses in London.
WAR YEARS
When Hitler intervened into the natural order of things, he immediately, like many other 'young blades', scooted down to the RAF recruiting centre and offered his services as a Spitfire pilot (The Brylcream Boys). He was turned down on medical grounds, apparently, he had flat feet, an aspect that had up to that time escaped him, and had certainly not curtailed his swimming and other sporting attributes. Having been turned down by the RAF he went post haste round the corner and in a fit of extreme grievance signed on as a Gunner in the Royal Artillery at the local recruiting centre.
He had what I suppose could be construed as a 'good war'. Although his six weeks training at Catterick Army camp in Yorkshire certainly proved to be an eye-opener. Never before had he came into contact with 'the common man', let alone found himself being ordered about by one. This aspect certainly shook him and it is to his credit that such a profound shock instilled in him forever the plight of the underdog.
Father and mother must have got engaged around this time, he got on very well with mother's father (Gaff), a veritable repository of scholarly profundities, who gained a double first in 'greats' and 'theology' either side of the 1914-1918 War, despite being badly gassed at Paschendale. I can remember them conversing in Latin for hours at a time in Gaff's study, about what I have no idea but as both had a fairly wicked sense of humour and much jollity ensured I surmise it was not about the price of fish.
Father was posted to Scotland, where he graduated through the ranks to Captain, due to his expertise in Law. He was deeply angered by the lack of lack of counsel given to soldiers in Courts Martial activities. As far as his active service went, he did tell me he thinks he once saw a Mechersmidt in the far distance one day, but he wasn't too sure. I don't know what he did militarily and I don't think he did either. His 'good war' seemed to consist of dropping hand grenades into lochs and selling the resultant stunned salmon to various local hotels in order to pay his mess bills. These mess bills must have been enormous as mother also had to send him money and as she didn't earn much, 'supplying aid and comfort' (father's words) to the troops as they attempted to deter the Luftwaffe hordes, at a South London anti aircraft battery. She also spent much of her time ensconced with various service types in air raid shelters. I don't know what her job was at the Battery, I don't suppose she had much idea either. However, she told me those years were the best years of her life. It was at this time that the family saying 'Ay Annie in't it a boogger' emerged. This classical expression was used by a member of the battery, a Lancastrian sergeant in the Pioneer Corps, as they stood on the high ground in Upper Norwood and watched London burn in the blitz. The Snowden family were bombed out three times during the war*, and mother said she used to receive phone calls from her mother telling her that they had moved home that day and gave her the new address.
Gaff, incidentally, trod the steps of the War Office away at the outbreak of hostilities, desperate for a job. He must have been close to sixty then but they eventually gave him OC (Officer Commanding) transferring of German prisoners across London, and the Home Counties.
Father and mother were married in March 1941, a date that is easy to trace due to an extraordinary episode that concerns Do (pronounced 'dough', mother's mother as she was affectionately known). As I said previously Do had a psychic side and on hearing that her eldest daughter was about to 'trip the light fantastic' all night at the Café de Paris on her wedding night, suddenly went into a trance. Father reckoned at the time she had been sipping overzealously at the sherry bottle, a trait developed in semi-secrecy. Anyway, upon snapping out of her coma she grabbed father by the arm and pronounced that she felt a feeling of dire jeopardy was in the air regarding that grandiose establishment. She told him under no circumstances was he to take her darling daughter to a certain death. Father and mother shrugged it off and went anyway. Half-way through the evening, they went to meet father's brother Harry, a doctor in The Royal Army Medical Corps (RAMC) at the Caprice for dinner. It was a period when the German bombing of bombing London was less than usual, but half an hour into their dinner a call went out for doctors because a direct hit by a German land mine had hit the Café de Paris and killed pretty well everybody. It was the only major bomb to drop on London that night.
Father's war continued in Scotland, unhindered by any enemy action, maintaining the habit of running up massive mess bills whilst mother's former life continued unhindered by father, ensconced herself with servicemen of varying nationalities in London cellars and bomb shelters.
In September-ish 1944 father came home to mother on a 48-hour leave and pleasured his wife, without taking his boots off, only being interrupted by the dinner gong banging away in the hall. I was the result. This information was imparted very loudly to me and half of the Midland Law Society, by father in a Gentleman's club in Wolverhampton when I was about twelve and was father's only reference to any inquiry I may be about to solicit regarding fornication and its ramifications.
Mother kept me in London after my birth, in 1945, probably to say goodbye to all her war-time 'boys' of the ' League of Nations'. Father had been demobbed and resumed his 'barrister' status by being invited into become a junior member in quite a prestigious 'Chambers' in Birmingham. He rented a flat and waited for his wife and son to join him. Well, he had to wait until I was nine months old because a tearful wife was still busy waving goodbye to departing troops as they departed this country, back to their homes around the world. Mother joined him and only then because he went up to London and wrenched mother and presumably me away from the troop ships.
*Twice bombed and once doodle bugged (VI).Nobody was killed as far as I know.
BALFOUR CRESCENT
After about six months we moved to a house in Balfour Crescent Wolverhampton, rented for £400 a year from father's uncle Maslin-Jones, a solicitor. It was at this large 'Mock Tudor' house that I first remember life in the 'Chapman' territorial domain. My first memory of father was when mother carried me into his study on a Sunday morning and I stood watching him soldering wires together whilst making a wireless set. He was very well versed in wireless technology. He made me a crystal set at that house. Our mode of transport was a 1920's Austin 16. This was complimented with a 1922/23 Crossley 15/30 Tourer, which spent all of its time being repaired by father, but didn't stop a stray cat giving birth to two kittens in it, Peter a tabby and Chris a long white furred beauty, and named after mother's two brothers. They were well loved and stayed with us for years. A mongrel dog, 'Nippy' was added to the family after jumping on to my pram from a wall, whilst out walking with mother, and taken home flea infested…hence the name.
Financially we were in a bad way. Young barristers did not make much money in those days and although both father's parents must have died, no money was forthcoming. However, this facet didn't stop the employment of maids, the purchase of old motor cars, various bar bills and my introduction, at the age of 3 years 10 months to prep school*
You will have gathered from the chronicle so far, that alcohol played a rather large part in my father's life. Indeed his father also held an affinity with intoxicants and I seem to remember mother saying she was told by her mother in law that alcohol played a huge part in the family's daily life style, and had done for many generations.
Father's life in 20 Balfour Crescent was mostly a mystery to me; I hardly ever saw him, his work consisted mostly with 'Legal Aid' cases which brought in 2 guineas (£2.10) a time, and was lucky to have two of these a week. Post Second World War Britain was a very.austere place, food rationing was still in place and I think it was obvious, even to father, that we couldn't continue to live in the pre-war world of grandeur on the pittance that a young barrister earned. In 1953 we moved to a small (then) village in Codsall, about six miles north of Wolverhampton.
*Parkdale Prep School in Tettenhall road, curiously about 100 yards from where both Jacqueline and Julie were born
The move itself was somewhat remarkable in that we arrived in a 1927 Rolls Royce Silver Ghost, complete with glass partition (for the chauffeur) and brass speaking tube. Who lent this motor car to father, I have no idea but it caused quite a stir when we arrived in Codsall, A semi detached 3 bedroomed 1930's house costong £1,350), as the only other car in the road was an ancient Austin 7 .
I was sent to the local primary school, made up of mostly sons and daughters of the local farming community, which was quite a shock. My reading and writing were well advanced compared with anything my fellow classmates could muster but my knowledge of arithmetic was a blur of disconnected numbers purporting to mean something. A facet that has stayed with me ever since.
We now enter a period of life for father, that for me at the time was highly embarrassing, but now I can look back on as a series of hilarious episodes and a world we will never quite see again.
The hardship side of the family fortunes, during the next 20 odd year. I shall dispense with quite quickly, as the memory generally shoves the bad times into the background and luckily only laughter remains. Because of the lack of dosh we seemed to spend quite a lot of time without telephone, water, electricity and gas, although food never seemed to be a problem, or at least not a problem until mother got hold of it. She was a ghastly cook (never having had to cook anything in her life) and I learnt to prepare and cook a serviceable meat and three veg whilst still in nappies for preservation's sake. What dosh father did make was spent in various hostelries and mother's housekeeping (£5 a week in 1958ish) was reduced by the day as father needed petrol or rail fare. Horrendous overdrafts were run up at the bank, (the BankManager and father were drinking pals) and although the bailiffs were never called in, though God knows how he kept them at bay, the family struggled through.
The fact that he was undoubtedly an alcoholic in the excepted sense is in no doubt, but he had tremendous will power, if it suited him. The 'Lent' periods gave him the chance to prove, to others and probably himself, that his dependence on alcohol and tobacco could be overcome and therefore he could prove he was the master of his own destiny. This period was conducted with no great hoo-har. He did not boast about it, he never boasted about anything come to that. He suffered in silence, after all for most of the time he was consuming up to two bottles of gin a day plus sixty fags, plus the comradery of fellow boozers, and to give up this life -style must have been a hell of a shock to the system.
For the other three hundred and twenty odd days of the year life continued with a life style for the family dependent on father's alcohol levels, and consequent financial strife. The way that mother and I dealt with it all could or perhaps should have degenerated into absolute despair; however we both accepted it as a norm and faced it all with a sense of humour, which, looking back was our saving grace. Father's stoic adherence to a high set of ideals, a sense of right and wrong based on 'gentlemanly' behaviour and the unspoken gracious laws of cricket was paramount.
The 'unalienable right to conduct himself completely to his own satisfaction characteristic was certainly apparent when dealing with neighbours. Broadway was a road of semi-detached houses with a majority of 'God fearing' middle class families and father must have been an immense disappointment to them.(Arriving in a Rolls Royce must surely have boded well). In reality off he went to work in the morning complete in wing collar, bowler etc., covered in cat hairs but striding along like a guardsman and back he came in the evening like a disjointed puppet with half the strings broken, covered in ash or snuff, stinking like a brewer's slop tray. This went on for the next 30 odd years. And the neighbours certainly knew how to twitch curtains when father returned home. When we had a car running it was worse. We had to continually collect father from any number of houses on either side of us. He had only a vague idea of our house's location after a surfeit of gin, and as most houses looked the same in Broadway he was quite likely to be trying desperately to turn his key in Mrs Thomas's house, four doors up. After driving home every evening, from The Bull and The Wheel, his last two 'watering holes' his arrival home,was announced by a long and noisy burst on the throttle pedal. He said it was to charge the battery for the next morning!
One of his friends at the Bull, a local Squire named Pritchard, used to host the Scout's Fete once a year. He had a lovely house and gardens plus a large Swimming pool. The fete, held on a Saturday afternoon was always well attended and on this particular day the highlight was a competition for the best village under water swimming distance. Father had, as usual ensconced himself in the Bull's Men Only Bar that morning and espoused the view that swimming under water was easy, if you knew how. The challenge was on; bets were taken and father, who hadn't swum in anger for over twenty five years, was forced to enter the competition after mortgaging his life away. When he came home to collect mother and me he seemed somewhat agitated and rushed up stairs. We both thought he had wet himself. After lots of draw banging and Latin oaths he appeared at the top of the stairs holding a woollen bathing costume, which consisted of a one piece vest and leggings, circa 1910. Father accounted for his actions on the way to the fete and on arrival immediately deposited himself in the beer tent to further augment his strength.
The time came for the competition and we saw father trying to resist an army of beer quaffing cronies who manhandling him to the changing rooms. Mother and I positioned ourselves in the lea of an old oak tree, ready to dive for cover if and when our dearly beloved made an entrance. Firstly though all the young bloods, muscles rippling and stripped to the bare necessity made their entrance, parading around the pool like strutting peacocks. They started the competition and some managed a length and a half before surfacing. Mother and I prayed father had fallen asleep saving us the terrible embarrassment, a fate worse than death. The last of the entrants had competed his swim when a great cheer went up from the beer tent as father appeared. It was worse that we could possibly imagine. The costume was not only woollen and lacked any elastic; it was full of moth holes. The whole fete erupted into laughter as father staggered to the pool, as thin as rake, as white as porcelain. He stood on the pool edge and shivered; mother and I were helpless, then he straightened up, spent two or three minutes deep breathing, bent over and made a perfect racing dive which fare took every bodies breath away. Father's shambling awkward gate on dry land was transformed into a sleek shark like beauty in the water. He seemed to glide from end to end with no effort save the rapid movement of his feet. He surfaced after three lengths to great cheers of encouragement. I'm sure he could have swum another length but for the drag on his costume which on climbing out hung loosely around his frame gushing gallons of water through the moth holes. He was carried shoulder high into the beer tent and didn't have to pay for another drink all day. We were so very proud.
Modes of transport to and from work, or to and from anywhere, come to that were dependent on father's ability to get any one of up to five motor cars dotted around the front and back garden repaired. That and the necessary shekels for running one of them. The cars in the back garden were usually beyond repair. Father used to drive them onto the back lawn and I buried them. To this day, fifty or so years later the present occupants must still be digging up bits of Armstrong Siddeley, Lanchester, Sunbeam etc. In the front we could squeeze, if the front lawn was utilised, three cars in with a push, plus another on the road outside. None of any of these cars cost more than fifteen quid and mostly bought from scrap dealers.
At this point it is worth mentioning that the house was also utilised as a workshop and it became second nature to have to step over, walk around or kick out of the way various engines, gearboxes and back axles plus the inevitable oil and grease that were dotted about the hall, dining and sitting rooms. They could be there for years and lent a certain style to a world of quaint if not unique quality. This aspect was brought home when neighbours and friends called and were asked to move a camshaft off the chair, before they sat down. They were then served with tea or coffee from silver heirloom salvers and Spode china by mother who, living in a world of the permanently bewildered, saw nothing wrong with the paradox.
Because of the lack of motor car availability for weeks on end, father used the train to commute to his Chambers in Birmingham, The train on the outward journey was the 8.17 a.m. Liverpool to London Express. How he managed to get to stop at Codsall, a station with minimal importance, I never found out for sure but I seem to remember an old University crony, later Lord Thorneycroft, a Minister for something or other in the Lords had something to do with it. A restaurant car was added to the train in Wolverhampton and the only other stop on the way to Paddington was Birmingham. Father would buy the 'Times' in Wolverhampton, repair to the restaurant car, pull a hard boiled (boiled at home before he left) out of his pocket and get served with toast and egg cup etc, plus a miniature 'Gordons' and tonic by the attendant and kick his brain into gear by completing the crossword before the train got to Birmingham, a journey of some twenty minutes. He said that if he failed to complete the crossword by the time the train stopped he would get off, change platforms and return, via various hostelries, home (The Bull) because he didn't feel up to the day's rigors. If father saw the day out in Chambers, and caught an evening train home Terence Hughes, the porter at Codsall railway station, was instrumental, for many years, in bring father home He was often seen trundling father back, complete with brolly, bowler and brief case, on the station trolley. Father would be left propped up in the porch. Terence never got a tip, as far as I know.
LIVING WITH FATHER
It was during the 1950's that I became aware of having two fathers. Both were in the same body but completely different in character. This Jekyll and Hyde characteristic was evident during the period of Lent when father would stop drinking. He would stop smoking as well (he was on 60 Players a day) and this phenomenon would last for exactly forty days (and nights). He suddenly took an interest in his family's welfare. The house would be painted, cars mended and new overdrafts arranged. Electricity, water, telephone and gas bills would be paid. Above all, he was a much nicer person even taking note of my education or more likely the lack of it and tutoring me in the same intricacies of Pythagoras etc, which he did with mother many years before. Another aspect of these alcoholic abstention periods was the quietness emanating from mother and father's bedroom during the night. Father, when not abstaining would talk in his sleep and I enjoyed an insight into the adult world listening to father recounting his day's cross-examination of various felons. Foul language and sexual deviations were recounted in detail during the dark hours. I expect the neighbours enjoyed them as well as the details were normally shouted out for the world to hear.
The way that mother and I dealt with this life style it could or perhaps should have degenerated into absolute despair; however we both, fortunately, had a sense of humour. The family's fortunes staggered on, father staggered anyway and Belinda arrived. Quite why mother and father wanted another child is beyond me. Father's ability to contribute anything of material content to the conceiving process was knocked on the head as he reckoned a bad bout of scarlet fever in the late nineteen forties, rendered his sperm count non functional, and they decided to adopt a baby girl. Belinda was not a dainty child even from day one. She was six weeks old when she arrived. I came back from school, took one look and decided my time would be better spent hanging around the road outside a girl called Oonagh Trench's house. A girl whom I imagined showed an interest in me. I think it must have been my short grey serge school trousers that did the trick. Father had already arrived back home apparently and also taken one look at this new addition to his charge then disappeared post haste back to the Bull. Mother was convinced that Belinda's blubbery appearance was due entirely to puppy fat, a notion that had an element of truth in that the blubber turned into muscle. She scared the death out of everyone. Her marriage, to a short, corpulent and incomprehensible 'Black Country' yokel is worth recounting, later on.
Father's work at the 'bar' continued, he seemed to gain a reputation for defence briefs and his modes of cross-examination were held in high esteem. This mode varied considerably depending on the time of day. In the morning, his cross-examination of witnesses was slow and ordered, with much thought and deliberation. In the afternoon, his Olympian brain now fuelled by a bottle or so of Gordon's Gin, after the lunchtime adjournment, ran at full speed with a breadth of vision that was truly memorable.
ADVANCE & RETREAT
In about 1960 father was appointed Wolverhampton, and later Midland, Acting Stipendiary Magistrate by the 'powers that be'. Mother would accompany him quite often and watch him dispensing justice; she would sit with the police and knit as Madame Thérèse Defarge did when watching the aristocrats lose their heads courtesy of the guillotine during the French Revolution. His remuneration for this position was £3,500 a year, which was wonderful considering the spasmodic pittance he received as a barrister. He was running a 1936 Austin 7 cabriolet, initially, with a fabric roof made out of an old army blanket and brass name plates on the bonnet denoting the name 'Gerti' (We kept this car in the family for years. Mother used it later and eventually gave it to me. Rose learnt to drive in it, she still has the name plate.) The Magistrate had his own prominent parking places at various courts and to see father arrive and park this vehicle alongside the Daimlers and Jaguars was indeed a sight for sore eyes. Other motor cars included a 1937 Sunbeam Talbot convertible, a 1931 Talbot 65, a TR2, Morris Eights numerous Daimlers and Lanchesters and a Mulliner bodied Austin Sheerline, an elegant carriage with built in cocktail cabinet. It was reminiscent of a Bentley, but had a 4 litre lorry engine under the massive bonnet.
One of his courts was set in the rural environs of Hereford when he would adjudicate on among other agricultural type of misdemeanours the felonious cases of poaching. The finewas always about two quid and a severe warning not to re offend. On his way home, father would invariably stop off for a couple or so and used various hostelries inhabited by the aforementioned felons. Needless to say, he always arrived home with a boot full of rabbits, hares and game birds, given to him from appreciative felons.
Another amusing episode during this time on the bench concerned his friend 'Stiffy' Griffiths. Why he was called 'Stiffy' is unknown but I remember him being a very 'tweedy' sort of chap in the 'Colonel Blimp' mould. Father and Stiffy were ensconced, as usual, in the Bull one Saturday evening, and it occurred to father that it may be a good idea if Stiffy drove father home (in father's car, Stiffy not having driven a car since 1929) and picked father up again on Sunday morning so they could continue where they left off on the previous evening. This was accomplished with much grinding of gears and not a little damage to gateposts and hedges plus the added impediment of Stiffy being picked up by the police, after depositing father, for driving under the influence. These were the days before the 'breathalyser' and consisted of walking a white line and counting to ten. The outcome of this fiasco was that Stiffy came up before father in court and pleaded not guilty, thinking father would find him innocent of all charges. Father of course made it known that he knew the defendant (After all it was his fault 'Stiffy' was in the dock in the first place). He also realised that the local press had cottoned on to the possibility that he was acquainted with the defendant and had filled the press gallery with eager reporters waiting for a scoop vis-à-vis a gross miscarriage of justice. Father therefore gave 'Stiffy' the option of appearing before another court. Stiffy stood in the dock, rubbed his hands together and declined the offer.
'After listening to the facts,' said father in his judgement, 'I have rarely heard of a worse case of drunken driving and find the defendant guilty as charged. Fined fifteen pounds.' The fact that Stiffy's driving licence had expired in 1941, wasn't mentioned. Stiffy was most put out with this and even though father paid the fine, Stiffy never spoke to father again.
The Acting Stipendiary Magistrate episode, that was for an initial nine months dragged on for two years. We all hoped it would be made permanent but it wasn't to be and a permanent Stipendiary was appointed. Father went back to the bar and tried to pick up where he left off two years before. It was a bitter blow, but 'silver linings' were in the offing. Initially he struggled on as before picking up briefs here and there with a couple of murder trials and high profile divorce cases, but mostly mundane motoring and burglary cases which didn't exercise his brain or bank account. The administrating of justice, rather than pleading on behalf of plaintiffs, had really tickled his fancy and the ability to apply his logical mind and approach difficult decisions from lateral points of view suited his undoubted talents. Adding to the bleak outlook it was at about this time (1960ish) that mother was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Nothing much was known about this debilitating condition at the time, and she went through many tests before the illness was correctly diagnosed. It must have been a real struggle; father trying to resurrect his career at the Bar, mother becoming more and more incapacitated and the old story of severe financial restrictions.
FORWARD ONCE MORE
The first inkling of a resurgence in father's fortunes was an appointment to sit on Mental Health Tribunals as the judicial voice when deciding the release of lunatics back into the community. This was very much a part time job that only took place three or four days a month, but it was a start. One story re regaled me with concerned a visit he made to one asylum and after parking the car noticed an inmate gently weeding a nearby flowerbed. Having a few minutes to spare father went over for a chat. The inmate told him he was up before the very 'release board,' that father was sitting on later that morning. He then left a very good impression on father by describing in intricate detail the soil conditions and a deep knowledge of the plants that would grow well in the asylum gardens. He asked father to look upon his application for release with sympathy, a fact that father had already deemed probable. After a few more minutes of chat father moved off, much impressed with the chap, but hadn't gone more than ten yards when a large clod of earth dislodged his bowler and spattered his neck. Upon looking around, he found the inmate about to propel another broadside and shouting 'You won't forget will you?'
The next upturn, (1966ish) was an appointment as deputy County Court Judge; a well paid little number that although not involving criminal law involved much travelling around the country enabling him to visit many hostelries and Judge's lodgings that were not known for their abstemious nature. Father's extraordinary feats of drinking and driving are legendary, and during this time when his financial restraints were somewhat relaxed, his exploits became even more so.
His exploits were encouraged because his job was initially, until a Midland Circuit became available, a filler in for Judges that were ill or on holiday etc all over South West England and South Wales, and It was in Cardiff that father set off to one day whilst I went off to debauch a few hours at Wulfrun Collage in Wolverhampton. Upon returning, at six ish I was surprised to see his car in the 'Bull' car park. I ventured into the bar only to be met by 'Paddy' the Irish village copper waving his truncheon about while scoffing the froth off a pint of mild and bitter.
'Christ' he burbled, after focusing with difficulty, 'tis bloody Kit'.
'Christ', says I avoiding his prodding truncheon.
'Christ', says he, continuing the religious theme.
I glanced into the 'Gent's Only Bar' through an open serving hatch. Father was regaling Francis, a Church Chorister and renowned 'piss artist' with tales of 'daring do' in the courtroom.
'Don't tell yer' dear mother,' says Paddy, 'God bless her.'
'I never tell her anything,' says I, blessing my good luck. A free pint or two may well be in the offing.
Eventually the story came out. Father was indeed on his way to Cardiff that morning until he noticed Paddy waiting at the bus stop, outside Codsall Police Station; he stopped and Paddy hopped in. The erstwhile custodian of the law was on his way to appear in the Wolverhampton Police Court as a witness for the prosecution in a burglary case. At what stage of the proceedings during this lift that both decided to veer off course and make their way to Penkridge, near Stafford is unclear, but it must have been jolly quick as the turn off to Penkridge was only half a mile down the road. The attraction of Penkridge was 'Market Day', a day when the pubs opened at ten and even earlier if you know where to go. A good time was had by all and a good number of establishments were blessed with their presence. They pub- crawled all the way back and ended up in the 'Bull' for a final one…or two.
' Be-Jasus', a terrible man yer' father,' says Paddy, hijacking meself on me way to do me duty. But I know me station, be-Jasus. Every Public House we went in yer dear father went in the 'Lounge Bar' and I would go into the 'Bar'. I don't think anyone noticed.'Penkridge was a favourite watering hole for father.
Another time mother and I answered a knock at the door one early evening to find a cattle lorry parked in the road and a farm labourer assisting father up the garden path. Father was covered in cattle dung and straw. He looked like a windswept haystack that had been viciously attacked by a manic manure heap. He smelt like one as well. The two labourers had the decency to bring father back after finding him in a field asleep in his beloved 1937 MG 2 litre. Father explained, whilst travelling along a narrow country lane near Brewood, a speeding lorry coming in the oposte direction was taking up the whole road and he had taken avoiding action and escaped certain death by driving into a ploughed field through a hawthorn hedge. The two labourers, by chance ardent church goers, with an abhorrence of alcohol but with a Christian outlook of helping their neighbour deposited father in the back of their cattle lorry, after smelling his breath.
Mother was oblivious to father's antics. She had the, possibly wonderful, ability to dismiss from her mind any facet of life that was disagreeable. Of course, she knew he liked a tipple, she spent most of the evening trying to retrieve his head/foot/arm out of the fireplace, where they had come to rest after father slithered off the chair in a drunken repose. It was quite interesting in the winter when we had a roaring log fire. A smell of charred hair or fabric would usually be the first indication of imminent human combustion. His eating habits were very much hit and miss. A boiled egg in the morning seemed to be his only meal of the day. The burnt offerings that mother dished up would shoot off father's plate when he arrived home in the evening; he would fall into a chair, attempt to stab whatever was on the plate and quickly fall asleep. Our dogs broke many a tooth on mother's attempts to create fodder for the family.
The end of his County Court Judicial duties ended in farcical circumstances, a fact that didn't escape the national press or Quinton Hogg the Lord Chancellor. Lord Hailsham, as he was then. He and father knew each other vaguely at Oxford in the 1930's, where they both studied 'Greats'. In 1968 Father was sitting as a County Court Judge in Worcester, a city that was one of his favourite venues because the place was sprinkled with excellent places of 'refreshment'.
Rose and I were then living in Lea Road Wolverhampton together with our newly born daughter Jacqueline. At about 6.30pm I received a phone call from a rather distressed Pub Landlord of the King's Arms in Ombersley, a couple or so miles North of Worcester. He told me father was in hospital with a suspected broken leg. He also insisted that on my way to visit father I call in at the Pub first.
Jacqueline was deposited with my mother and Rose and I made our way to Worcester Royal Infirmary, via Ombersley, a journey of perhaps one hour. The Landlord recounted how father and a Solicitor friend had entered the Pub at about 1pm and refreshed themselves with copious 'pink gins'. Apparently, father had adjourned the court for luncheon; it was due to re-convene at 2pm. They were still there at 4pm (well after closing time), together with a well-known heavyweight wrestler. (I never found out who) A discussion then ensued regarding the theatrical nature of wrestling and father put forward the hypothesis that the wrestler's antics on the canvass were nothing but orchestrated showmanship, whereupon their wrestling drinking companion gave father an 'Irish whip'. (A distinctly disorienting type of manoeuvre that entailed father being thrown into the air, turning a tortuous somersault and landing flat out on the floor). Not content with this fine example of the wrestler's art the perpetrator then sat on father breaking his leg in two places. According to the Landlord the Solicitor was oblivious to this illustration of the said 'art' as he was fast asleep, snoring, in a fireside chair and had been for an hour or more.
At this point the Landlord showed great presence of mind. He got rid of the wrestler, put the Solicitor upstairs to bed, father, feeling no pain, was helped to a chair and also fell asleep, then phoned for an ambulance. He told the medics, when they arrived, that this gentleman had arrived at 6pm, just as they were opening, tripped on the doormat and had fallen awkwardly. He also mentioned that he had never seen him before in his life. (The King's Arms had been a favourite pub of father for many years). Rose and I, agreed with the story and made our way to the Royal Infirmary in Worcester, 'post-haste' in order to tell father what had been concocted. It was too late, the doctor realised that father had been sedated enough by the 'pinkers' and was feeling no pain, therefore he didn't feel the need to sedate him or administer any other pain relief remedies. Father, however, whilst in a stage of blissful ignorance explained the unwholesome nature of an 'Irish whip' to a nurse. She, obviously sensing things were not as they seemed informed the press and the story was out. We told father the processed story, but he was not quite 'with it'.
We, at home, were not aware of this complication. Father had, a day later, been informed of the 'official' story and agreed this was indeed the case. As he couldn't remember being placed in orbit or consequent events anyway, it mattered not a lot. I was acquainted by the impending furore a few days later when Bill Warilow, the Landlord of the 'Wheel' in Codsall that the 'News of the World' had been onto him. They wanted to publish an expose of 'Drunken Judicial Antics' and so wanted to see me as soon as 'poss'. Rose, mother and me had a family meeting. Well it was Rose and me really, mother was more interested in knitting, who decided to call in Uncle Peter, a 'rake' of immeasurable dimensions.* Peter arrived and took over. He told me he 'paid the press off (£6000)'. Well, we had no more snoopers from the press from that moment on, so 'one never knows'. I went with Peter to collect father, after six weeks in hospital, and we obviously went home via the 'King's Arms' to celebrate father's release. I remember carrying father in (he had a plaster casted leg) and Peter hoisting him up over his shoulder on the way out, accompanied by applause from the assembled drinkers.
A couple of weeks later father received a communication that The Lord Chancellor would be appreciative if father could pop in and see him. Father, still on crutches went rather pale and introspective, expecting the worst. In the end it turned out for the best. The Lord Chancellor, in a benign mood, advised father that it may be a good idea if he was taken out of the 'limelight', as it were, and moved to a more secluded position, one which would not, perhaps, attract the attention of the more vociferous members of the press. It so happened that a new trend in 'Industrial Relations' was developing; one which involved 'Industrial Tribunal Courts' and would he like to take over the Chairmanship of such an enterprise in the Midlands? The remuneration was £26,000 a year (a huge salary in the 70's) and as a member of the Civil Service, an ample pension would be forthcoming plus the hint of an eventual knighthood. (If he behaved himself).
*Uncle Peter deserves a book of his own. He was, by his own admission, on first name terms with all known Royalty and 'Captains of Industry'. He made a habit of marrying beautiful rich widows.
OH! HAPPY TIMES
Father of course needed no convincing and immediately agreed to such an arrangement. He set up shop in Greenfield Crescent in Edgbaston, Birmingham and began to employ a staff of amenable civil servants and appoint various Judges. I, by chance had an office in the same road. I worked as a 'rep' for Rubery Owen in Darlaston, covering the East of England (A territory I rarely ventured on) and many an extended lunch time was spent with father, in the 'The City Tavern'.
I think that this period was one of the happiest in his life. He purchased a Jaguar 3.8 (£350), A Mini (£200) and An Austin Princess (£550). Their use was limited, as at any one time was it rare for either of them to be roadworthy (not that this aspect ever bothered him) but broken down in some Pub car park or at Smithy's Garage hammering out body damage. His first new car arrived, a Wolseley Six. He didn't it drive much though for the first year as he was banned for driving under the influence (3 times over the limit) after colliding with a Police car after a session in the 'Newbridge Public House' with me and a few cronies early one evening. He was on his way home, via the 'Bull' but ended up in Wolverhampton Police Station instead. I went to the scene to find father sitting on the curb, completely unhurt but more or less oblivious to it all. The Policeman, who was a passenger in the Police car told me he had waited for twenty years to nab father as he was the cause of his demotion, when he was a Sergeant and father had proved, in court, that a prisoner had been beaten up whilst in his custody. Father was given a fine of £120 and banned for a year. He often referred to this period as 'Being excused driving by the Queen', and resumed his daily commuting to Birmingham by train, with hardboiled egg, Times crossword and miniature bottles of Gin.
The 'Major', a retired Indian Army type arrived on the scene at about this time. He was a classical music aficionado, drove a MGB and created quite a dash. Father and he used to meet in the United Services Club in Wolverhampton and listen to Wagner and sum such. The 'Major' drank only 'Booths' Gin and father only 'Gordons', they were known respectively as 'Salvation Army, and 'Relief of Khartoum'.
After getting his driving licence back, the threat of driving under the influence mattered not a jot to father, he continued where he left off. Father loved his days out at Edgbaston and went often. It was around this time that I answered the phone one evening.
'Is that Christopher Robert Chapman?'
'It is'.
'This is Police Constable XYZ, number 123,Birmingham Sub Division 456. I have your father in my possession.'
Father, after watching cricket all day and imbibing as usual all day, was found asleep on the steps leading to the car park. According to the Policeman, when Rose and I arrived at the ground, father had explained he couldn't find his car amongst the hundreds there, so decided to have a nap and wait for the car park to empty.
Another call, this time from father himself, entreated me to meet him at the United Services Club in Wolverhampton as he had bought a Bentley. He wanted me to drive his other car home. Well, I arrived to find a dilapidated 1936 3 Drophead Coupe, which he had purchased from some bloke in a pub for fifty quid. It wasn't, by his admission, entirely roadworthy due to it having been resting in the middle of a farm yard for the last twenty odd years. Never mind that, he had organised Smithy Motors of Codsall to tow it home, where it would be restored to full glory. We ensconced ourselves in the bar and awaited the arrival of the tow truck. It arrived quite quickly, driven by old man Smithy himself, who, in the convention of the time joined us for refreshment. Two hours later we ventured back into the car park to find night had fallen. Father, by this time in a confidential mood hung a red road lantern (pinched from a local road works) on the back of the Bentley and set off in jolly mood towed by an equally confident Mr Smithy. They both decided that the engine had seized (many years ago) and father informed Mr Smithy that he would try and un-seize it if the tow truck could perhaps accelerate to a healthy lick down the Tettenhall road whereupon father would try and engage a gear and let the clutch in an attempt to get the old pistons moving. I followed at a safe distance and watched the performance, and what a performance it was. With a horrible grinding and a noise synonymous with a World War 2 air raid siren father managed to find a gear. The Bentley jumped two feet in the air and the propeller shaft shot up through the floor, narrowly missing father and exploded through the roof like a V2 rocket. The back of the lorry didn't fare much better as 2½ tons of tortured metal tore half the back off it as father and Bentley resumed contact with the road and stopped dead. I took both of them home in father's other car and Smithy returned the next day with a low-loader and kept the Bentley in his garage for years. We later found out that the bloke who sold father the car for about fifty quid was getting his own back after father had 'sent him down' many years before for receiving stolen goods. I eventually sold it for 25 guineas 'for spares'.
Around 1972 that my 'dear' sister, Belinda got married. She had blossomed into a hulk of muscle and low intellect. Father did not have much to do with her much anyway but all communication stopped entirely after she pushed him through her bedroom wall, leaving the outline of a flailing body in full flight through the lathe and plaster, reminiscent of a 'Tom and Jerry' cartoon. This demolition of part of the homestead resulted in two bedrooms being knocked into one. Anyway she married a much smaller obnoxious boy, called David whose family came from the heart of the 'Black Country' and command of the English language was obscure to say the least. They knew what they were talking about, so broad was their accent, but everybody else was completely mystified. Mother christened them the 'am yows' (As in, 'Am yow cumin with we up our 'ouse'). The reception was farcical (Ask Rose) Father decided he would give the reception at home. Home, 17 Broadway, was a haven for slugs, built as it was on a waterlogged marsh. Slugs left slug trails and consequently adorned every wall and floor. We had lived with them for so long they became part of the décor, unnoticed and rarely disturbed. Before the wedding No 17's lavatory overflowed and blocked. A plumber was called but didn't arrive in time for mother, father and the bride's departure to the Registry Office. Upon returning with numerous guests including the whole of the 'Am Yow' tribe, there was no sign of the plumber. The 'Best Man' was busy parking his car when the plumber arrived but mother mistook him for the car parker and ushered him into the sitting room with a plate of cucumber sandwiches and cheap sherry. If he was slightly bewildered about this welcome it was nothing compared to the befuddlement of the real 'Best Man', he arrived shortly afterwards and was sent straight upstairs to relieve the sewage pipes. He probably thought it was a ritual of some sort, but he managed it. Another feature of the reception was the figure of a rather pretty girl, dressed up as a 'French Maid' cavorting about with trays of drinks and Swiss roles like a demented 'Bunny Girl'. Where father had found her from remains unclear but I will bet my life she was a 'Bar Maid', from the Bull. The photographs show elegant slug trails adorning the walls above the happy couple as they toast their unforgettable day and just about sums up the whole hilarious affair. We didn't see much of Belinda after that, she found her original family in Stoke, had two obnoxious sons (Earrings and crew-cuts at an early age) divorced David and was last heard of driving a bus in London.
The upturn in the financial prospects brought forth Elsie (char) and Gordon, (gardener). Elsie was a somewhat short sighted lady always covered in talcum powder and was of course an ex barmaid. Gordon was a very old and filthy character who never bathed and was regularly fumigated once a year by the local council. (Ask Jacqueline) Gordon once spent a couple of months digging up our back garden and planting grass seed. On the morning that he finished father arrived home with a bag of seed potatoes (from a friend in the Bull) and being oblivious to any plans mother and Gordon had for a green swathe of manicured lawn, planted, quite haphazardly as it turned out, the spuds in the tilled earth. It was quite a sight to watch potatoes sprouting through a newly laid lawn and was unique in Broadway and probably the world.
Father's 'bladder' had been misbehaving for years and he often had a wet patch, which embarrassed everyone else, but not him. The trouble was traced to his 'prostate gland' (Why I don't know) and he went into a private hospital to have the bugger out. The Matron in charge was the mother of a friend of ours (Paddy) and was very much aggrieved at being found guilty of 'driving without due care' and fined £10 or thereabouts by father when he was sitting on the bench many years before. She gave him hell apparently. But it more or less stopped him wetting himself.
Father moved into new a office and court complex in Frederick road Edgbaston, ironically the new complex was built on the grounds of his family's old house that had been bombed in the war. He delegated authority very well and was always propping the bar up in the 'City Tavern' by 10.30 am, and made great friends with Lance Gibbs, the West Indian fast bowler who having retired from first class cricket with Warwickshire and the West Indies still had something to do with the coaching. Father bowled a wicked off spin ball in his time and probably tried to give Lance Gibbs a few hints. He also grew a huge handlebar moustache, I think it was to impress the band of pretty secretaries, it certainly didn't impress mother, she got Elsie to cut half of it off when father was prostrate under the bird cage in the sitting room one evening, after his usual meal of burnt offerings.
Rose, Jacqueline and Julie and I were living in Cornwall at this time and Father visited us as much as possible, retracing his old 1920's and 30's haunts. We used to go fishing occasionally in a boat he brought down. The car that towed it was a Daf which Jacqueline learnt to drive on (ask her). It was one on of these holidays that father had his first heart attack. He went into a local hospital and I took in a bottle of Gin every day to aid his recovery, a service that the doctor highly approved off. It was, however the end of his career, he was about 68 I think, and he retired.
Life didn't change much; he ran a Rover 3.5 litre (Ministerial type car) and made the pub opening time of 10.30 every morning and the 6.00 one every evening. Saturdays and Sundays were a treat; he had an old and probably best friend, Richard (Dickie Boy) a dentist from Wellington. Dickie hailed from the valleys of South Wales went to Birmingham University and stayed in the Midlands. He was a promising fly half and had a trial for Wales before the war came along. Dickie flew seaplanes in the Pacific against the Japanese and was one of the nicest blokes you could ever wish to meet. He drove over every Saturday, arriving at ten to six in the evening and collected father en route to the Wheel. There they would consume vast amounts of gin and return home to entertain mother with Frank Sinatra records and more gin. Father would take mother over to Dickie's abode on a Sunday morning arriving at precisely 12noon. Dickie, by chance lived in a Pub and was secured in a ménage à trois with the Landlord and his wife, and had been for years.
While studying for my Chief Engineer's exams at Hull University in 1981/2 I stayed at Codsall every weekend. I would meet father in the Wheel every Friday night at about 7pm. and have a jolly good time. On Saturday mornings father and I would repair to the Bull and after a couple or so heart starters father would engage himself with the laws of physics and applied maths, my course work, which had me baffled. His brain was still in excellent working order and although he probably hadn't studied these subjects for fifty years he always came up trumps.
I was on leave in the summer of 1983 and met up with mother and father in Purley, London, the home of Aunt Peggy, mother's sister, where they often stayed. Father was busy finishing off the Times crossword on the sofa and waiting for opening time at a nearby Hostelry when his heart stopped for good. It happened very quickly and he was cremated at the east Sussex Crematorium.
I once told him, on the way to the Newbridge Hotel, that when he died I would empty a bottle of 'Gordons over his grave. 'Make sure it goes through your kidneys first, my boy' he said.
One day I might just do that.
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One comment on "I Have Your Father in my Possession"
syentumi says:
Dear Chris, What a lovely tribute to your father's memory. Clink, clink!
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text:
Damjana Golavšek (), slovenska pevka zabavne glasbe, * 8. oktober 1964, Celje.

Življenje
Na Pedagoški akademiji v Mariboru je študirala razredni pouk.

Iz svojega prvega zakona ima hčer Tajo, ki je prav tako glasbenica. Kasneje se je poročila s Čarlijem Novakom, ki ima iz prejšnjega zakona dve hčeri.

Delo
Po končanem študiju je nekaj časa poučevala v Glasbeni šoli v Žalcu, potem pa ustanovila glasbeni vrtec Muzikalček. Damjana Golavšek je znana kot avtorica in izvajalka glasbenih prireditev za otroke. Glasbeno gledaliske predstave za otroke še vedno aktivno izvaja. Kot glasbena pedagoginja od leta 2008 deluje v zamejstvu, kjer preko glasbe in petja spodbuja rabo slovenskega jezika.

Bila je pevka skupine Kladivo, konj in voda. Na prireditvi Slovenska popevka 2007 je za pesem »Naravne sile« prejela nagrado žirije. Leta 2015 je bila v slovenski različici muzikala Mamma Mia! izbrana za eno izmed glavnih vlog, vlogo Tanye. S Simono Vodopivec Franko in Alenko Godec, ki sta v muzikalu upodabljali Donno in Rosie, so začele nastopati kot Dinamitke in leta 2019 izdale svojo prvo avtorsko skladbo »V mojem filmu«.

Bila je ena izmed tekmovalk 6. sezone šova Znan obraz ima svoj glas (2022).

Nastopi na glasbenih festivalih

Melodije morja in sonca
 1989: Rojstvo (Matjaž Murko – Miša Čermak - Tomaž Kozlevčar) - nagrada strokovne žirije za najboljšo debitantko
 1994: Daj mi ljubezen nazaj (Karel Novak - Damjana Golavšek - Karel Novak, Blaž Jurjevčič)
 1995: Samo še nocoj (Rok Golob - Katarina Habe - Rok Golob) (z Rokom)
 1997: Krog (Karel Novak – Damjana Golavšek − Gregor Forjanič) - nagrada strokovne žirije za najboljšo priredbo
 2001: Oljka

Pop delavnica
 1991: Če bi mi srce dal (Karel Novak - Karel Novak - Karel Novak) - 3. nagrada strokovne komisije (s Hot Hot Hot)
 1992: Igra (Karel Novak - Silva Bajc) - 1. nagrada strokovne žirije

EMA
 1998: Ljubim, ljubiš (Karel Novak - Janez Zmazek - Karel Novak) - 9. mesto
 1999: Igra je končana (Karel Novak - Janez Zmazek - Karel Novak) - 5. mesto (z Ireno in s Sanjo)
 2001: Stoletje sanj in miru (Karel Novak - Zvezdana Majhen - Karel Novak)
 2002: Vsako življenje gre svojo pot (Karel Novak - Damjana Golavšek - Damjana Golavšek, Karel Novak)

Slovenska popevka
 1998: Ljubimec (Karel Novak/Damjana Golavšek/Primož Grašič) - 16. mesto (321 telefonskih glasov)
 2001: Naj vsem ljudem se dogodi (Karel Novak/Zvezdana Majhen/Gregor Forjanič) - 16. mesto (392 telefonskih glasov)
 2007: Naravne sile (Karel Novak/Damjana Kenda Hussu/Janez Gregorc) - nagrada strokovne žirije za najboljšo skladbo v celoti, nagrada strokovne žirije za najboljši aranžma, 7. mesto (437 telefonskih glasov)
 2022: Frajer (Damjana Golavšek/Damjana Golavšek/Boštjan Grabnar, Jani Hace) - nagrada strokovne žirije za najboljšo interpretacijo, nagrada strokovne žirije za najboljšo priredbo, 9. mesto (članica Dinamitk)

Festival narečnih popevk
 1998: Naj bo vesela jesen (Karel Novak - Adi Smolar) z Ireno Vrčkovnik - zlati klopotec za najboljšo popevko v knjižnem jeziku

Hit festival
 2000: Meglo zdaj prodajaj drugje (Karel Novak/Karel Novak/Karel Novak)
 2001: Sonce, moj prijatelj (Karel Novak/Damjana Golavšek/Karel Novak)

Diskografija
 Damjana & skupina Hot hot hot - Pokloni si srečo (1991)
 Šum dežja
 Nocoj ljubila bi se s teboj
 Prijatelj
 Življenje
 Je to ljubezen
 Če bi mi srce dal
 Čas hiti
 Kakor ti
 Ljubim noro
 Pesem (Nada Žgur, Alenka Godec in Damjana Golavšek kot skupina Vocalart)
 Rime (1995)
 Začetek
 Solze (Karel Novak/Damjana Golavšek/Blaž Jurjevčič)
 Narobe svet (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/B. Jurjevčič)
 Srčni tat (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/B. Jurjevčič)
 Strto srce (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/B. Jurjevčič)
 Kaj pa ti (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/David Jarh)
 Pesem je zate (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/B. Jurjevčič)
 Daj mi ljubezen nazaj (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/B. Jurjevčič)
 Samo še nocoj (Rok Golob/Katarina Habe/Rok Golob)
 Božji dar (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/B. Jurjevčič)
 Rime (K. Novak/Silva Bajc/B. Jurjevčič)
 Konec
 Nasmeh (1999)
 Nasmeh (Karel Novak/Damjana Golavšek/Karel Novak)
 Modri horizont (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/K. Novak)
 Neizpeta tema (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/David Jarh)
 Spomin (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/K. Novak)
 Zakaj (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/K. Novak)
 Krog (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/Gregor Forjanič)
 Žalostna (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/K. Novak)
 Preteklost je mimo (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/K. Novak)
 Ljubimec (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/K. Novak)
 Maškarada (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/K. Novak)
 Žalostna (remix)
 Sreča čaka (K. Novak/D. Golavšek/K. Novak)
 Ljubim ljubiš (K. Novak/Janez Zmazek - Žan/K. Novak)

Sklici in viri

 Nasmeh

Zunanje povezave
Domača spletna stran

Slovenski pevci zabavne glasbe
Nastopajoči na Emi
Nastopajoči na Slovenski popevki
Zmagovalci Slovenske popevke
Nastopajoči na Melodijah morja in sonca
Tekmovalci na Znan obraz ima svoj glas

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaWikipedia


Protect and stabilize cabinet doors, appliances and electronics.
DOME BUMPONS™: Use for phones, keyboards and speakers.
FLAT TOP BUMPONS™: Spacers for cabinets, appliances and circuit boards.
SQUARE BUMPONS™: For larger appliances and electronics.
BUMPON™ TAPE: For filing cabinets and large appliances.


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Shubhangi Atre aka Angoori Bhabhi possessed!
evil avatar as a Thakurain.
possessed by the spirit of a Thakurain who has returned to avenge her death.
Next page Next post: Tarun Mahilani and Priyanka Purohit roped in by Kavita Barjatya as the leads for her next TV venture – Half Marriage.


text:
Gay Marriage: France Blacklists 11 Nationalities (Updated)
by Gilles Cuniberti on October 11, 2013
In May 2013, France adopted a law allowing gay marriage.
The statute confirmed France' traditional choice of law rule according to which the law of the nationality of each spouse applies to the substantive validity of marriage (Civil Code, Art. 202-1, para. 1). However, in order to avoid confining the new legislation to couples of nationals originating from the 14 jurisdictions or so which allow gay mariage, the statute also adopted a new rule providing that same sex marriage would still be allowed when the national law or the law of the residence of one of the spouses only allowed it (Civil Code, Art. 202-1, para. 2). I have already reported how the French Constitutional Council miraculously found this provision to be constitutional.
So, is everybody welcome to come to Paris to marry a French national? Not quite. The French ministry of justice has issued guidelines instructing French mayors not to marry couples including a national coming from a list of 11 jurisdictions. The reason why is that France concluded a bilateral treaty with each of these jurisdictions providing for the application of the law of the nationality of each spouse. As treaties are superior to statutes in France, the administration has concluded that these treaties prevail over Art. 202-1, para. 2 of the Civil Code.
La règle introduite par l'article 202-1 alinéa 2 ne peut toutefois s'appliquer pour les ressortissants de pays avec lesquels la France est liée par des conventions bilatérales qui prévoient que la loi applicable aux conditions de fond du mariage est la loi personnelle.
Dans ce cas, en raison de la hiérarchie des normes, les conventions ayant une valeur supérieure à la loi, elles devront être appliquées dans le cas d'un mariage impliquant un ou deux ressortissant(s) des pays avec lesquels ces conventions ont été conclues. En l'état du droit et de la jurisprudence, la loi personnelle ne pourra être écartée pour les ressortissants de ces pays.
Most of these treaties, however, were concluded in the 1950s and 1960s. None of them contains any express provision on same sex marriage.
The blacklisted nationalities are:
– Algeria, Tunisia and Morroco,
– the five countries which formerly constituted Yugoslavia
– Laos, Cambodia
A French prosecutor enforced the guidelines at the beginning of September and denied the right to marry to a Franco-Morrocan couple.
The decision of the prosecutor was set aside today by a first instance court of Chambery.
I could not see the judgment, but the French press has reported that the Court would have ruled that the recent French statute has modified French international public policy, and that the applicable bilateral convention should thus be avoided as it discriminates against gay people.
This would be an innovative use of the public policy exception, to avoid the law of the forum, as discussed in comments by Mr Margonski and Mr Davis.
Richard Frimston September 15, 2013, 4:38 pm
It will be interesting to see how the PIL in the UK plays out. There is no indication in either the Marriage (Same Sex Couples) Act 2013 for England & Wales or in the Marriage and Civil Partnership Bill for Scotland that the existing dual domicile theory is to be amended. The position in Northern Ireland is complicated by the Good Friday Agreement with Ireland and there is no current indication that same sex marriage is likely soon to become valid on the island of Ireland. Is public policy in Britain about to make a complete U-turn from the position set out in the Wilkinson v Kitzinger case?
Martin Margonski September 16, 2013, 1:20 pm
Not the first time historical bilateral agreements, almost everybody has forgotten, come up in an entirely new context. From Polish point of view the position of French courts would be highly interesting, so I am looking forward to updates on the topic. I can imagine that a possible (even though controversial in case of a bilateral agreement) next step could be the application of the French lex fori on the basis of public policy, when the foreign national residing in France is not able to marry his homosexual partner but has strong enough links to France…
Adrian Briggs September 19, 2013, 6:19 am
Is that really quite right, the reference to the dual domicile test ? Sottomayor v De Barros (No 2) seems to fit the future facts rather neatly if the point is to explain the irrelevance of laws of foreign countries which do not see the freedom of the two parties to marry in the same way as English law does.
Richard Frimston September 20, 2013, 7:50 am
I understood from Dicey, that Sottomayer v De Barros (No 2) was the exception that proved the rule. Yes, if one of the parties to a marriage celebrated in England & Wales is domiciled in England & Wales, then the lack of capacity of the other party is ignored. However, that rule will not apply in other circumstances, such as same sex marriage outside England & Wales and the general dual domicile theory remains. The question surely is whether as a matter of public policy, England & Wales will now regard a ban on same sex marriage as in breach of public policy, in the same way that at the moment, we regard it as a matter of public policy that we permit civil partnerhsips but not same sex marriage?
I took the original point to be about marriage within the jurisdiction. Sottomayor is therefore in point as a decision about the injustice of applying strange foreign incapacities to the marriage of English domiciliaries in England. I agree that it does not apply to (non-)marriages in foreign countries. The idea that English public policy can create or constitute of confirm a marriage which the foreign country forbade had not really got beyond problems of formal validity. The idea that English public policy might constitute a marriage which has not taken place, even if the reasons for the marriage having not taken place offend our public policy of equality and freedom of consenting adults to marry, would be a novelty, and whatever one thinks of the individual merits, not a very compelling novelty in point of law.
I was thinking more about the issue of marriage in Britain between two non domicilliaries from states that do not recognise same sex marriage. Now that 40% of the population of London was born outside the UK, this will not be an uncommon occurrence. How will public policy in Scotland and in England & Wales, regard such a marriage?
Adrian Briggs September 25, 2013, 11:52 pm
Born outside does not so much matter; but if they have not acquired a domicile of choice in England, the position surely is that they are not able to pretend that the capacity rules of English marriage law have anything to do with them. If they were both to come from states in which they were incapable until 21, they could not lawfully marry here. That said, I can see that if they had (for example) both been domiciled in South Africa while the Mixed Marriages Act was still in force in that country, and it had been reasoned that this prevented their marriage in England, the answer would surely have been that it did indeed prevent their marriage unless the applicable rule of foreign law was so evil that an English court might not even receive evidence of it (rather as in Kuwait Airways v Iraq Airways: you would then just blue pencil the offensive part of Iraqi law and apply the rest of it). Someone may make the case that the law of unenlightened countries on this point is just so vile, but I doubt that the point is yet seriously arguable, at least without a lot of collateral support in the form (for example) of resolutions of the Security Council and General Assembly. I very much doubt that the ECHR can carry the burden by itself, at least at the moment.
Stuart Davis September 26, 2013, 1:44 pm
Dr Margonski raises the interesting possibility of French public policy (ordre public de proximité) being used to apply French law to French residents as regards same-sex marriage even though international conventions might provide otherwise, just as has occurred already in France over adoption cases and talaq denunciations. The same principle already applies, by statute, in Belgium and the Netherlands. In this regard I think Mr Frimston's suggestion very valid that similar developments may occur in England to uphold same-sex marriages celebrated in England even where neither party had capacity under a personal law of domicile. It will not be too long before a foreign same-sex couple, eg between a Pole and an Italian, married in London in 2014, seek a divorce. Either could then claim that at the time of marriage he had not acquired a domicile of choice in England, on the basis perhaps that he intended to return "home" at some point in the future (such as on the death of his husband). Are we then to expect that an English court would refuse to grant a divorce and refuse to give financial relief on the basis that the couple's English marriage was void for lack of essential validity? That seems unlikely to me.
Adrian Briggs September 26, 2013, 2:17 pm
That seems to me to be exactly what an English court would do: it cannot dissolve something which was never a marriage, and it puts the cart before the horse to reason that because it is convenient to divorce, English private international law must invent a marriage.
Martin Margonski October 11, 2013, 6:29 pm
Surprise, surprise… One day a legal change, controversial from the point of the worldview of the conservative part of the society, is introduced by the majority. The next day your constitutional tribunal has to rule whether its introduction is not contrary to your constitution. The day after you are faced with the problem, whether the introduced change already belongs to your public policy and its application should be forced in relations to other states…
Thanx for the update!
Adrian Briggs October 12, 2013, 12:18 pm
No doubt. If only conflictoflaws.net had been in existence when we abolished slavery we could have had the same discussion and might even have produced the answer to this question.
Devaux Angelique October 15, 2013, 8:01 pm
There is still no final point to this issue …. The State prosecutor brought an appeal today against the decision of last Friday continuing to argue the supremacy of international conventions over domestic law (Art. 55 French Constitution of 1958) …
To be continued … next step October 21st.
Press report in Le Monde
http://www.lemonde.fr/societe/article/2013/10/15/chambery-le-parquet-fait-appel-d-un-jugement-autorisant-un-mariage-gay_3496047_3224.html
Francis Davey October 16, 2013, 12:39 pm
Extremely pedantic observation: Yugoslavia consisted of 6 republics – only 5 of these are mentioned in the link you gave. Croatia is omitted.
Extremely pedantic observation: Yugoslavia consisted of 6 republics – only 4 of these are mentioned in the link you gave. Croatia and FYROM are omitted. Kosovo (accepted as independent by many but not all) is included but was only an autonomous region of Serbia.
Gilles Cuniberti October 16, 2013, 7:15 pm
I am not sure who is pedantic, Francis, but your comments allow me to make the following clarification for those, like you, who could not understand the document in the link: only five Republics of former Yougoslavia have declared that they woud take over the bilateral treaty between France and Yugoslavia.
Next post: Sciences Po PILAGG Series, 2013-2014
Previous post: Conflict of Laws Across the Ditch

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


Normally, wherever the top line of a car's description features a four-figure power output, four turbochargers and the ability to nudge 250mph, you'd bet it was a Bugatti, or a Koenigsegg. Not a hitherto unheard-of but obviously quite insane brand of car from the very centre of the rule-following universe: Austria.
We mean that in the nicest way possible. We love Austria; it's a beautiful country only spoiled slightly by an extremely zealous police attitude to speeding. It's partly for that reason that we've been knocked sideways by the launch of this 1325bhp, 1300kg Austrian hypercar that should hit 62mph in under 2.5 seconds and end up at 249mph.
Using a quad-turbocharged 6.2-litre V8 fuelled by Satan's own homebrew (probably), this alarming performance is channelled through the rear wheels only. Forgive us if we're just a touch sceptical about that 0-62mph claim.
It certainly does grab your attention. Reportedly built to showcase what Austrian companies can do, the striking Red is said to be going after the same customers as Bugatti's Chiron, but with a greater emphasis on emotive and/or weird technology, depending on your point of view.
For example, the infotainment system will be able to display a visual representation of the driver's heartbeat. That will let you see exactly how excited/terrified you really are. Milan says that 18 of the planned 99 cars have already been secured with deposits. More details will follow later… if the project stays viable.


Lone win was out of box one. Slow early but is handy when able to get a clear shot at them. Eachway hope.
First try at the trip here. Won at the 288m here in moderate time. Has improved but needs to improve again to win this.
First try at the trip here. Just a fair beginner. Is handy when able to get a clear shot at them but this draw makes it tricky. Rough show.


Gov. Linda Lingle has released $6.4 million for design and construction of the first phase of the Big Island's Keaukaha Joint Military Center, which will consolidate operations of the Hawaii Army National Guard and U.S. Army Reserve units currently stationed at Honokaa, Keaau and the Kuneida facility in Hilo. It also will house the Hawaii Office of Veteran Services. Construction is expected to be completed in the spring of 2010.
The project involves demolishing old buildings on the current Keaukaha Military Reservation site and erecting new buildings on a section of the reservation adjacent to Hilo Airport. The new complex will include an assembly hall, classrooms and learning center, training device and simulation center, offices, locker rooms and showers, vehicle maintenance facilities and parking.
Lingle has also authorized the transfer of $50 million in federal funds from the state Department of Defense to the Department of Accounting and General Services. DAGS was selected to manage the project due to its experience in the design and construction of capital improvement projects across the state, and because recent deployments have understaffed the state defense department's engineering office.
The U.S. Department of Labor will host a job fair Thursday from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. at the DAV Hall at Keehi Lagoon. For more information on all veterans' employment programs offered by the Labor Department, go to www.dol.gv/vets.
The U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs will honor service members who served in Iraq and Afghanistan and answer questions about benefits at a reception beginning at noon Friday at the VA Medical Center at Tripler Army Medical Center. Call the VA at 433-0049.


seed stitch knit pant with elastic high waist, cropped wide leg, and rolled hem.
made in peru. 40% pima cotton 35% linen 25% silk.
shown here with the clergerie idalie mule and the lauren manoogian yoke poncho.


text:
Endocrinology. 2011 Jun;152(6):2474-82. doi: 10.1210/en.2010-1015. Epub 2011 Apr 5.
Uterine cysts in female mice deficient for caveolin-1 and insulin-like 3 receptor RXFP2.
Li Z1, Feng S, Lopez V, Elhammady G, Anderson ML, Kaftanovskaya EM, Agoulnik AI.
Department of Human Molecular Genetics, Herbert Wertheim College of Medicine, Florida International University, Miami, Florida 33199, USA.
Gene mutations of insulin-like 3 (INSL3) peptide or its G protein-coupled receptor RXFP2 (relaxin family peptide receptor 2) lead to cryptorchidism. The role of INSL3 in adult females is less known, although INSL3 expression has been described in female reproductive organs. Caveolin-1 (CAV1), the main component of caveoli cell membrane invaginations, has been shown to play an important role in epithelial organization and stromal-epithelial interactions. We created a null allele of Cav1 mice by deleting its second exon through embryonic stem cell targeting. Immunohistochemical analysis demonstrated that CAV1 expression was primarily localized to endothelial blood vessel cells and the myometrium uterus, whereas the strongest expression of Rxfp2 was detected in the endometrial epithelium. By 12 months of age approximately 18% of Cav1-/- females developed single or multiple dilated endometrial cysts lined by a flattened, simple low epithelium. A deficiency for Rxfp2 on Cav1-deficient background led to more than a 2-fold increase in the incidence of uterine cysts (54-58%). Appearance of cysts led to a severe disorganization of uterine morphology. We have found that the cysts had an increased expression of β-catenin and estrogen receptor β in endometrial stromal and epithelial cells and increased epithelial proliferation. An analysis of simple dilated cysts in human patients for CAV1 expression did not show appreciable differences with control regardless of menstrual phase, suggesting an involvement of additional factors in human disease. The results of this study suggest a novel synergistic role of INSL3/RXFP2 and CAV1 in structural maintenance of the uterus.
10.1210/en.2010-1015
Generation of mice with a mutant allele of the Cav1 gene. A targeting construct was prepared by insertion of loxP in NruI and floxed Neo cassette in NdeI restriction sites on both sides of exon 2. Neo, Neomycin resistance cassette; TK, herpes virus thymidine kinase minigene; the loxP sites are shown as the thick arrows; black boxes represent Cav1 exons. The wild-type chromosome is shown on top. After homologous integration the targeting construct is integrated into genomic DNA. After Cre-mediated recombination in ES cells, the knockout allele was produced (bottom). To verify the deletion of the second exon in ES clones, we used genomic PCR with primers located on both sides of the floxed region. The mutant allele (Cav1-) was detected through successful amplification of DNA fragment (lane 2), whereas there was no amplification in wild-type genomic DNA (lane 1). M, 1 Kb marker.
Uterine Cysts in Female Mice Deficient for Caveolin-1 and Insulin-Like 3 Receptor RXFP2
Endocrinology. 2011 Jun;152(6):2474-2482.
The expression of Cav1 and Rxfp2 in mouse uterus. A, Immunohistochemical localization of CAV1 in wild-type uterus and an absence of staining in Cav1−/− uterus. Females (1 yr old) were used. Strong signal was detected in endothelial cells of the blood vessels and myometrium. Note an absence of staining in glandular endometrial epithelium. B, The β-galactosidase staining showing the Rxfp2-promoter-dependent expression of iCre recombinase in Rxfp2-iCre, R26R transgenic mice (left). No staining was detected in uterus of R26R controls (right). The most prominent blue staining is located in endometrial glandular epithelial cells and luminal epithelium. Two month old females were used. Magnification bar, 100 μm.
Endometrial cyst development in Cav1-deficient mice. A, Polycystic uterus from 12-month-old Cav1−/−, Rxfp2−/+ female (right image). Multiple cysts filled with blood are visible in both uterine horns. Normal uterus of wild-type female is shown on the left. Magnification bar, 10 mm. B, Cross-sections of representative uterine abnormalities in Cav1−/−. Top left image is a wild-type uterus (no. 142). Endometrial cysts in Cav1−/− (nos. 8 and 58), Cav1−/−, crsp/+ (nos. 73 and 102), Cav1−/−, Rxfp2+/− (nos. 60, 145, and 147). All animals are 11–13 months old. Note the presence of eiosinophilic secretion or blood cells in some cysts. Magnification bar, 500 μm. C, Expression of β-catenin (boxed areas are shown at higher magnification in a second row), Ki67, ESR1, and ESR2 in 11- to 13-month-old wild-type, Cav1−/−, and Cav1−/−, Rxfp2−/+ uteri. Note a significant increase of β-catenin, Ki67, and ESR2-positive cells. Magnification bars, 100 μm, row 1; 20 μm, rows 2–5.
An increase of epithelial endometrial cell proliferation in cystic uteri. The proliferation index was calculated as a percentage of Ki67-positive cells in normal (NE) and cystic (CE) epithelium in uteri without cysts (NC) or with cysts (CU). Genotype of the animals is indicated. WT, Age-matched wild-type females. Each group represented by three to six 11- to 13-month-old animals. Differences between NE in animals without cysts and NE or CE in animals with cysts are significant (P < 0.01).
CAV1 expression in normal human endometrium and in endometrium with dilated cysts. There is a strong CAV1 staining in endothelial cells of blood vessels, weak CAV1 staining in stromal endometrial cells, and no expression in the endometrial glandular epithelium. Normal endometrium is on the left, endometrium with dilated cysts is on the right. Magnification bars, 200 μm, top; 50 μm, bottom.
Caveolin 1/deficiency*
Caveolin 1/genetics
Insulin/metabolism
Mice, Inbred C57BL
Proteins/metabolism
Receptors, G-Protein-Coupled/deficiency*
Receptors, G-Protein-Coupled/genetics
Uterine Diseases/genetics
Uterine Diseases/metabolism*
Caveolin 1
Leydig insulin-like protein
RXFP2 protein, mouse
Receptors, G-Protein-Coupled
R01 HD037067/HD/NICHD NIH HHS/United States
R01HD37067/HD/NICHD NIH HHS/United States
Uterine Diseases - MedlinePlus Health Information


text:
Bureau of Indian Affairs
Osh-Tisch
Osh-Tisch, or 'Finds Them and Kills Them', was a boté spiritual leader and warrior of the Crow Nation who lived in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
Boté was a Crow term referring to an individual possessing a gender identity different to their assigned sex, or to someone who possessed an identity of both male and female characteristics. Boté genders were considered separate to male or female genders and were distinct identities in their own right, a concept common to Native American societies and now sometimes captured under the modern umbrella term 'Two Spirit' (see this link for more info).
Osh-Tisch was a male-assigned-at-birth boté who lived as a woman and expressed a preference for women's work. In her life she took on a number of roles including artist, medicine woman, shaman and warrior. She was also a skilled craftswoman who made intricate leather goods and large tipis, and is known to have constructed the huge buffalo-skin lodge of the Crow Chief Iron Bull.
According to the testimony of Pretty Shield, Osh-Tisch fought at the Battle of the Rosebud in 1876, where the Crow fought as part of a US-led coalition against the Lakota Sioux and Cheyenne. When a wounded Crow warrior fell from his horse, Osh-Tisch leapt from her own horse and defended the fallen man with a salvo of rifle shots. At the same time a woman warrior named The Other Magpie was attacking the Lakota with a coup stick. Moments after The Other Magpie struck a Lakota with the coup stick he was killed by Osh-Tisch's bullet, leading to her gaining the epithet of 'Finds Them and Kills Them'.
By the 1890s the Crows had been forced into living in reservations by the US government. During this time Osh-Tisch and two other boté were targeted by an agent of the Bureau of Indian Affairs named Briskow, who had them imprisoned, their hair cut, and forced them to wear men's clothing. The Crow rallied to the protection of the boté and Chief Pretty Eagle used what little power he had to have Briskow removed from the reservation. Osh-Tisch's friend and Crow historian Joe Medicine Crow later described this attack on the boté as a 'tragedy'.
Osh-Tisch continued to be targeted by preachers and other managers of the reservation for the rest of her life. Along with the gradual internalisation of United States cultural norms, this persecution led to a shift away from boté acceptance among the Crow and Osh-Tisch ultimately died in 1929 as one of the last of her kind.
(This post inspired by the Rejected Princesses article on Osh-Tisch: http://www.rejectedprincesses.com/post/92639871808/osh-tisch-princess-of-two-spirits-1854-1929)
Tags: Osh-Tisch, female soldiers, women in war, history, women's history, trans history, native american history, US history, Battle of the Rosebud, boté, transsexual, gender identity, two spirit, Lakota Sioux, Cheyenne, Pretty Shield, The Other Magpie, coup stick, Chief Pretty Eagle, Joe Medicine Crow, Bureau of Indian Affairs, reservations