They put me in a bed with high-sided rails around it. I was offended at being put in what looked like a baby’s cot: me at nearly seven years old. I protested loudly and tearfully. If my first term at boarding-school had taught me anything, it was the importance of self-defence against ridicule from my… Continue reading Admitted to hospital
If I burn to death, they’ll be sorry
Drawing by Sally Faye Boarding school* for all its rigours was a respite from the neglect and loneliness of home. I find it difficult to speak of either, but our goal---yours and mine---is to be entertained and edified in the catharsis called human life. Merrion House School was a red-brick house once owned by Sir… Continue reading If I burn to death, they’ll be sorry
Ship of Dreams
I’m not finished with the mv Rangitata, which brought me as a four-year-old from Fremantle to Tilbury. The Rangitata hasn’t finished with me either. Our acquaintance was a six-week voyage sixty years ago but memories can still be triggered; the shuddering vibration from its engines, the smells of hot paint, engine oil, bleach, disinfectant, sewage.… Continue reading Ship of Dreams
Arriving in England
Suddenly I learned that I was not half Dutch, as I had believed for fifty years, but half Australian. I had spent my life wanting to belong somewhere: to feel a kinship, a sense of family, to be able to say, “These are my people. I am home.” I had resented England from the moment… Continue reading Arriving in England
How I learned the truth
(Continued from previous post) My mother’s beloved Singapore roadhouse was called The Gap: a prophetic name. After the war, it was nothing but a gap; one that she mourned forever and never really replaced. The gap in my life was a father. When I met him fifty years later, he admitted having been in the… Continue reading How I learned the truth
How my mother met her husband
I’ll tell you about my mother and how she got to spend the War years in a Perth suburb called Bassendean by the Swan River in Western Australia. As for my father, he lived there already. She was born on 31st August 1909 in East Sussex, England, to Vincent and Gwendolen. Her life spanned two… Continue reading How my mother met her husband
Eager cupped hands
Having started my memoirs at age four, the sensible direction to go is backwards, till I have explained how I got to be born at all: you know, how my parents met and all that, which might involve telling their life stories too. I hope it won’t be too boring. The aim is to write… Continue reading Eager cupped hands
Early childhood
I suppose I was six months old in the photo but it might be good to start when I was four. Some of the biggest dramas of my life occurred then and in the next three years. So I have some vivid memories. In writing a memoir there’s a lot to be said for working… Continue reading Early childhood
More from the Reading Without Tears blog
Monday 2 July 2007 Stringing words together Twenty-five years ago, I bought The Art of Writing, a volume in the "Made Simple" series. It had been written ten years earlier and has an out-of-date feel now. So what? I feel out-of tune with the age too. Browsing through it again recently, I discovered many shortfalls, the… Continue reading More from the Reading Without Tears blog
unfair to rats
I’ve been in a dark mood lately. We notice especially that which chimes with our state of mind. Out of a myriad details absorbed on a recent stroll, what remained when all the rest had been washed away in draughts of Lethe, the river of forgetfulness, was rat poison. Wherever food sends its aromas out… Continue reading unfair to rats
Litter
Litter used to enrage me. I passed some young men once just as one of them threw down a paper coffee-cup and they were getting into a car to drive away. I put the cup on the car roof and said politely, “This is yours, don’t forget it.” I wouldn’t have been as bold if… Continue reading Litter
Portmeirion
Why do people remember where they were when they heard of the death of President Kennedy? I have a mental snapshot of my precise surroundings when I heard of the deaths of King George VI, Marilyn Monroe, John Kennedy, John Lennon and Princess Diana. As to when Martin Luther King and Elvis Presley died, I… Continue reading Portmeirion
Dr Johnson and Blockheads
. . . he uniformly adhered to this strange opinion, which his indolent disposition made him utter: ‘No man but a blockhead ever wrote, except for money.’ Numerous instances to refute this will occur to all who are versed in the history of literature. (Boswell) What would Dr Johnson think of us blogheads? “Blogheads not… Continue reading Dr Johnson and Blockheads
The Holy Ghost
Image from The Blake Archive To Paul from Vincent continued. And also to Jim. I felt uneasy after my last post, as if something had been left out. I continued to add comments as afterthoughts, but that did not fix the unease. Have you noticed that barely an hour goes past in our waking life… Continue reading The Holy Ghost
Rats and Us
This was written while I was working at Fujitsu in Bracknell. It was my custom to walk for an hour each lunchtime, and let thoughts flit through my brain, often composing a blog post in my head, or dictating it into my voice recorder. I've been in a dark mood lately. We notice especially that… Continue reading Rats and Us
The Burden of Gold
Anando was a favourite name of Ghetu's in his stories, many of which were based on his real life. I’d told Anando I might reconsider writing a book, but didn’t know how to go about it. He’s himself a writer of promise, burdened with talents yet to be uncovered for the world to see. We… Continue reading The Burden of Gold
The Madman’s Idea
rediscovered this post today. All these years later, I'm still as "ordinary", whatever that means, but can't tap stuff like this into my super-ergonomic keyboard Like a poor man suddenly gifted with gold, that’s burning a hole in my pocket, I am newly burdened with the riches of an idea, impatient to spend and be… Continue reading The Madman’s Idea
The “Nothing Girl”
Cute Trick 1945 - Art Frahm No blog-writer has to apologize for liberal use of the words “I” and “me”. It’s expected. But when you read mine, one-off or regular, you’ll be implicitly aware that my “I” is a lens for looking at the big mysteries of life. It is through the personal that I… Continue reading The “Nothing Girl”
the deck of cards
It was the glorious summer of 1960. I had just left school and the world was mine. I went to a seaside resort, Shanklin on the Isle of Wight. I knew nothing about women, girls I should say: I disregarded any over the age of 21. I got a job washing dishes at a hotel,… Continue reading the deck of cards
Profane influence
A reader of this blog and heaven-sent friend [Ghetu!], whose anonymity I shall defend to my last breath, unless he declares himself of his own accord, complains to me thus: I have decided to stop reading your blog. It has such a profane influence on me that I have stopped thinking in the way I… Continue reading Profane influence
Good and bad
Jim wrote a comment on my last piece, Human Animal. My response grew into this post. Thanks, Jim, for spotting what was missing! My piece for what it’s worth was partly a spontaneous outpouring though I admit a temptation to think of it as philosophy. I am glad you mention good and bad, Jim. These… Continue reading Good and bad
Human animal
It’s less than a week since I posted last but seems longer; and then it gets harder to try and distil the impressions and thoughts of several days into a short space. One thing: I wanted to lead you by the hand and show you “my” waterfall (100 yards from my door) but a photo… Continue reading Human animal
Stepping out
For several weeks I’ve had nothing new to say. Were this a movie, my wordlessness could be wordlessly conveyed. The scene opens to a man turning the platen of his typewriter to feed in a fresh white sheet of paper. Surrounding him are bookshelves on all sides. He stares at the blank sheet. After much… Continue reading Stepping out
Death before dishonour
I set out on my errands, hardly reached the street before ideas started to flow: something to ponder, something to write. I swiftly reviewed the range of human belief systems: from burnt offerings on rugged mountain-tops to mass church attendance (booking a place in Heaven) to New Age superstitions (“we create our own reality”). It… Continue reading Death before dishonour
Liberation
In the last year I have been reminded, time and again, by smells and various other stimuli, of a period I spent in Holland when I was five. It was a young age for roaming alone in streets and woods, but that's what I did. I’d been dumped with an unwilling bogus “aunt” in a country… Continue reading Liberation
Duckling traffic
I went to Mama Iris’ for a breadfruit and a pound of yam. I’d taken the camera to snap a vent on the roof of the Baptist Church, next to the Mosque. A man was standing in the crossroads, in the traffic’s way, so I went to see why. Ducks were taking to water and… Continue reading Duckling traffic
Ce Que Vouldras
"Fay ce que vouldras" is a Middle French phrase meaning "Do what you will" or "Do as you will". It was the motto of Rabelais’ Abbey of Thélème. At work, I can look out of the window to an interesting landscape, though they’ve pasted a reflective sunscreen on the glass which blurs it making me think I… Continue reading Ce Que Vouldras
Pregnant thoughts
In my last I referred to my cellphone’s “voice recorder” facility. These are the 4 discrete thoughts that I recorded, I think within a total timespan of 5 minutes. 1) The aim of my lunchtime walks is in some manner to step out of time. This aim is always achieved. The result is an experience… Continue reading Pregnant thoughts
One thought fills immensity*
Every thought could fill a book. It’s the middle of the night now. My dream was so powerful and enigmatic that it woke me up marvelling. I was having a reunion with my first wife. We were laughing. Her face was radiant. We were very good friends. Why did we ever split up? Why did… Continue reading One thought fills immensity*
Aboriginal tirade
I defy every professor on the face of this spinning globe. Gentlemen, ladies, don’t feel threatened. You have chosen the gowns and the tenure, the books, the students, the research facilities and the world’s respect. What more do you want? You may think you define truth too, but this is what I don’t allow. No,… Continue reading Aboriginal tirade
Love to all
It has been wonderful to share with you, reading your comments and being drawn to visit your own blogs too, over almost a year. You have encouraged me to start a book, and so these posts won’t be the same any more. I can’t keep posting excerpts as in my last post because the writing… Continue reading Love to all
Easter Reverie
On Easter Sunday morning, on a quest for ginger, garlic and matches, I walk up Oakridge Road, on its sunny side. The reality all around me is more than I can take in: so many details! Everything has a meaning, but how can I unravel it? When I say “meaning” I probably mean… Continue reading Easter Reverie
On Coombe Hill
My favourite and only sport is frisbee. No rules, no training, no special clothing. The only equipment required is a plastic disk available from any general store. It holds an hypnotic attraction for participants and spectators alike. Above all, it’s not competitive. It’s co-operative: you adjust your throw so that the other person can catch… Continue reading On Coombe Hill
Mill Park
There have not been many pictures decorating this blog lately. I almost feel like renouncing photography as a means of trying to capture the world’s beauty, because it cannot reproduce the glowing mysterious surfaces that I see. I have recently renounced being a therapist * What a liberation! On one hand, it was a vehicle… Continue reading Mill Park
The angelic gift
An English Spring can be two-faced, like life itself. The sun warms you and the chill wind finds its way through your clothes, both at the same time. For a whole week I haven’t written here, but the will was there and a need to understand what’s been happening to me. I’ve been feeling uneasy; … Continue reading The angelic gift
Flowers of Grass
written after a lunchtime walk during my contract with Fujitsu at Bracknell (codename MaxiRam in Babylon Town) Perhaps there is no God to answer our prayers, listen to our anxious concerns, detect our hidden needs. Perhaps there’s a Creator who has shaped Nature through the interaction of physical laws, Chaos, improbability and long periods of… Continue reading Flowers of Grass
Musical Delirium
I’ve come down with “man-flu”. In a woman it would be a simple cold but in a man it’s tantamount to dying and requires tender concern from all the females around. Yesterday morning I drove early to Bracknell; conscientiously completed the vital tasks at Fujitsu on which the team depends. Then I found myself every… Continue reading Musical Delirium
The Bible as a Sacred Space
It was by accident that I discovered afresh the magic of the Holy Bible. I’ve come back to it purged and scoured of religiosity and the baggage of Christian reverence. My Bible is a fetish object, and I love every detail of its physicality: the edges gilt on pink, the blue silk bookmark, the flexible… Continue reading The Bible as a Sacred Space
Prophecies
I went to last summer’s sunflower field. It’s been flattened and lightly manured, a pervasive smell of old cow-dung in the air. Three sunflowers were still standing, much as in my last visit: skeletal, downcast. I needed hat and gloves for the field is exposed; the wind bore the sharp sting of sleet. The neighbouring… Continue reading Prophecies
Yellow
The lichen was on a wall outside the office. Vincent van Gogh taught me to see, especially yellow. And each day I teach myself to see, to hear, to smell and so on. Beyond all these senses is something "infinite", but that is just a word, how do we know what it means? Better to… Continue reading Yellow
Springtime
I’ve been meaning to post something since 28th February, when I drove to work in a hailstorm and the rain beat distractingly against the office window all morning. My lunchtime walk encountered three separate showers, but in between, the sunshine used the road as a mirror to dazzle everyone; and set up one of God’s… Continue reading Springtime
Pedestrian ideas
I first published this post on 28th February 2007, soon after starting a seven-month stint working full-time in a computer company I called "MaxiRam", in "Babylon Town". It wouldn't matter to give real names now, but the pseudonyms were a piece with the nicknames I gave to the people I worked with there: Al Pacino,… Continue reading Pedestrian ideas
The Covenant
I love to walk out on a Sunday morning, whilst the streets are still deserted: especially after rain, the pavements shining wet, and in this Victorian part of the town with its small factories and chapels and workers’ cottages, the pavements are uneven to catch puddles and the streets are steep to form rivulets in… Continue reading The Covenant
Stairway to Heaven
MaxiRam Castle, as its fictitious name implies stands as a grim fortress against the skyline, eleven storeys high. The backside building in my illustration belongs to the same corporation but prettier. It's actually the Fujutsu headquarters in Bracknell but while working there I wanted to write anything freely. I nicknamed Bracknell 'Babylon Town'. Today I… Continue reading Stairway to Heaven
Managing my time on earth
In the Eighties, the Filofax was the thing to have. In the Nineties, time management courses using Filofaxes or equivalent were the answer to everyone’s problem. I still keep a Lotus Organizer program for storing phone numbers, copied ten years ago from a cute little IBM ThinkPad laptop whose keyboard opened out like a butterfly’s… Continue reading Managing my time on earth
Efficacious Rituals
MaxiRam Castle* is beginning to accept me as one of its own. I’d been entering this beehive via Reception, which has its ritual ways of making sure visitors are not wasps in disguise, whilst honouring them with attractive young ladies, wood, leather, a stylish lobby and real coffee. Now I come in by the other… Continue reading Efficacious Rituals
Fleeing the Coop
My two linked home computers* are dying, but on one I can read emails and on the other I can post here, though I haven’t bothered swapping the keyboards so it’s hard to type with my fingers fitting to the keys like claws. Normally I use a Microsoft “Natural” Keyboard, and once you’re used that,… Continue reading Fleeing the Coop
Witchcraft?
It’s been quite a week, the first I’ve worked full-time in an office for ten years. As it happens it’s the same company which took me on in 1965 (my first real job) and trained me in punched card equipment. These had been invented by Herman Hollerith and James Powers to speed up the US… Continue reading Witchcraft?
Adapting
Babylon town is not without footpaths, so I took my dictaphone for a walk and recorded some reflections in my lunch break. “My role is to provide computer support to an international company, let’s call it MaxiRam, to manage a logistical problem. I’m hoping that in return they will help manage my own logistical problem,… Continue reading Adapting
The Butterfly Phase
I love the idea of miracles and wish life to be filled with them: every day an Ebenezer Scrooge transformed into a kindly old man. So I won’t stop using the word, even though some people associate it with supernatural divine intervention. No wonder, if you put it that way, that rationalists protest, “There’s no… Continue reading The Butterfly Phase
Watercress & Angels
I went to the doctor about two unrelated issues. The upshot was, no action or prescription. But I came out of there a new man, with a spring in my step etc, which lasted at least two hours. All week I'd been dreading it: the inevitable physical examination and its possible verdict. The aftermath could… Continue reading Watercress & Angels
Ritual and Reason
Visits to the sunflower field in Downley, mentioned three times before, have become a private ritual. These unharvested crops survive like invincible peasant crones. In Italian, the sunflower is the girasole or “turn-sun”. Its sun-worship is enabled by fibrous sinews in its "neck", made of certain cellulose molecules, and these don’t decay as rapidly as… Continue reading Ritual and Reason
Self-doubt
“Self-doubt is what distinguishes man from the other animals.” What do you think of that? I wish I’d started an anthology of such pronouncements about 60 years ago, because I’ve been hearing them forever and sometimes made them up myself, as above. I expect someone has already done it and all you have to do… Continue reading Self-doubt
Mission to Babylon
MaxiRam and Babylon Town were my code names respectively for the Fujitsu Corporation and the town of Bracknell, in Berkshire It is the fate of beautiful English towns to have been raped by mass ownership of the motorcar. You can see the ugly scars: inner-ring roads, underpasses, flyovers, clusters of roundabouts, out-of town retail parks,… Continue reading Mission to Babylon
Healing
It’s not the done thing to bore the company with ongoing bulletins of one’s ailment, but when dramatic recovery is the punch-line, we can risk stretching a point. A week ago, I was troubled in mind, as I recorded in this post. I lit a candle in the church, said a prayer for the world… Continue reading Healing
Rainy day window
Three telephone wires pass through the upper branches of a yew tree at the front, so I’m drafting this quick, before the tree’s violent agitations snap them and my internet connection. Like a child in a bygone age, I sit wide-eyed on a wooden stool, gazing out at the storm of gusting wind and rain.… Continue reading Rainy day window
The placebo effect
The doctor was reassuring: I could continue exercise but avoid further 4-mile walks for a bit. He scribbled a prescription for anti-inflammatory drugs, both pill and gel. In two or three days, he promised, I would be back to normal. The oracle’s verdict cheered me so much, I walked out of the surgery without limping.… Continue reading The placebo effect
Why pain?
Since my last I have hardly ventured outside due to a pain in my thigh. It’s not swollen and there is no bruise, just a pain sometimes severe, as when walking or standing. I suppose a muscle got pulled on Friday when I went up to that mysterious US base. Each day since recovering from… Continue reading Why pain?
Community
I walked into town on an errand, with a sense of loss in the back of my mind. “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,” said the poet. He might as well have said “Things end.” I had let go of something, not from necessity, but “for the best”. It was time to finish it for… Continue reading Community
Enough of priesthoods
Once again I am grateful to Alistair for his blog post which argues that blogs can offer us a window for awareness of inner wisdom. That's a brief paraphrase of Alistair’s argument, avoiding his use of “exoteric” and “esoteric” (“for the many”, “for the few”): it will become apparent why. He compares blogging with traditional… Continue reading Enough of priesthoods
Dawn today
Went walking in the park, whilst the sun started to light up the sky.
Mozart and Angels
I’ve been preoccupied with engineering of late, getting my hands dirty on oily metal, instead of this digital thing, tapping on a keyboard to send digital signals, using digits of the hand, co-ordinated by the eye. Coincidentally, I've been watching The Train (1964), starring Paul Scofield, Burt Lancaster and Jeanne Moreau. The drama of the… Continue reading Mozart and Angels
Confession
Those who want to push their boundaries to the extreme are driven to do so by chronic dissatisfaction, a disease so common these days that it’s seldom diagnosed: but one whose effect on behaviour makes the world unsatisfactory. (paraphrase of the end of my last post) I’m sorry for writing something so confused and unsatisfactory… Continue reading Confession
The art of the possible
Much of what people call angelic inspiration could also be called coincidence, and that is fine by me. The Heavenly Host have not hired me as one of their PR consultants, so far as I know; which does not rule out the possibility that I have taken on the job unwittingly. At least, if we… Continue reading The art of the possible
Angelic Brightness
Simon Templar (“The Saint”) is the twentieth century Robin Hood. I have not encountered him on the screen and only read a few stories of his exploits, though I did recently thrill to the swashbuckling of Errol Flynn’s Robin Hood directed by Michael Curtiz in 1938. And now I’ve encountered a co-author of The Saint.… Continue reading Angelic Brightness
Divine Anarchy
I want to speak theologically, to say what I think about God and angels. But then, it’s a bit hard putting abstractions into words. No, that’s completely wrong. It is all too easy to put abstractions into words, and give them an imaginary reality. So I’m rather glad to find myself talking about bees and… Continue reading Divine Anarchy
Wasp honey
We’d had family over Christmas, and as luck would have it, just as they were leaving after two days and we were seeing them off, a couple of Karleen's friends arrived with a bag-full of drinks to spend the evening with us. To a solitary like myself, the boredom of exchanging inanities for several hours… Continue reading Wasp honey
Angels and us
At some point in the Christmas season the pathos converts to joy; just as grape juice needs only yeast and a little time to turn into wine. This is the Christmas miracle, repeated every year: “Peace, goodwill to men”. I used to think it was a supernatural thing, as though some power, God I suppose,… Continue reading Angels and us
In the days of low sun
High Wycombe is centred on a narrow river valley running east and west and surrounded by hills whose ridges and valleys radiate like spokes of a wheel. This morning I drove down Hamilton Road, which offers the broadest vista of the town as you descend the hill. It was soon after dawn with a hard… Continue reading In the days of low sun
Christmas Past
es, time can be a spiral, as Cream pointed out in her comment on my last. But it can seem like a circle of recurrence too, as the season evokes emotions long past. I’ve been wanting to write of life’s pathos for weeks now, but today it caught up with me, with an inescapable twisting… Continue reading Christmas Past
Time consumes; art distils
Time is like a forest fire, consuming everything in its path. Our most intense moments burn bright and hot, leaving nothing but fragile tatters of memory. Where would we be without art, snatching moments before they disintegrate into oblivion? What else but art, crucible for smelting the ore of our lives till we get a… Continue reading Time consumes; art distils
It hasn’t stopped raining …
It hasn’t stopped raining. Four inches were recorded yesterday in North Wales. Nobody would go out walking for fun in weather like this. I’m a nobody and I did. (thanks Kathy!) But more of that in my next. I’d bought a new bunch of flowers as instructed, despite my protestations to She Who Must be… Continue reading It hasn’t stopped raining …
In the bleak midwinter
Christmas is the most renowned of all the world’s festivals. It’s full of drama and contrast and potent symbols. Like many, I dread the tawdry commercialisation, sentimentality and ubiquity of this season’s trappings. But I see it differently now, having spent an entire year celebrating the daily advance and decline of Nature's rhythms in the… Continue reading In the bleak midwinter
Being a nobody
In the last post we were talking about ideas as wildfire: they burn and destroy, they have awesome power and are therefore dangerous. There is a school of thought very dominant in the world at present that power is intrinsically good. Needless to say this is an idea promoted exclusively by the powerful, just as… Continue reading Being a nobody
Like wildfire
I woke in the night and fell victim to a train of thought, so insistent in its claim to significance that the only way to shut it off was turn on a bedside light and scribble some words in my notebook, raw and unpolished. It did the trick, I returned to slumber and then in… Continue reading Like wildfire
Why do ladybirds have spots?
Why do ladybirds have spots? I don’t know, but I’ve just guessed the reason for their shape. It gives them a hemispherical hard-top, like a sports car, to conserve heat during hibernation. Unlike other insects which seek cosy cracks against the weather, they can choose quite exposed places. I found these little bugs clinging to… Continue reading Why do ladybirds have spots?
Fragile
The eastern sky glowed golden yesterday morning, over the chimney pots and the tower of All Saints’ Parish Church. I saw the outline of a hundred wheeling birds, swallows I think, gathering for their departure to North Africa. Later as I went walking, some half-denuded shrubs were full of birds chirping and hopping excitedly from… Continue reading Fragile
The human condition
In the spring and summer of this year 2006 I opened all my senses, not just the usual five, to Nature. I’m searching here for an adequate word, but Nature will have to do. I exposed myself to the sublime and intricate world of non-human life, its pathos and grandeur. I discovered that lambs and… Continue reading The human condition
What Grandma told me…
In 1964 I became friends with my landlord’s son when he came to paint the window-frames. I was suffering from depression and he recommended a psychoanalyst by the name of Theodore Faithfull, a white-haired gentleman in his eighties, the grandfather of Marianne Faithfull, who had just recorded her first hit, "As Tears Go By". (These… Continue reading What Grandma told me…
Maslow’s pyramid
The last few posts have been linked, in a kind of serial discussion. I try to keep individual posts to a tolerable length—about 500 words. This allows breaks for input of comments, which greatly influence the direction we take. It’s an interactive process, “as in life”, like a plant growing in its environment. It’s an… Continue reading Maslow’s pyramid
Travelling light
(Continued from "one Piece of Baggage") After writing the previous piece, I was fired up to continue immediately, but life intervened, & the mood is a little different now. I wanted to get feedback from others before putting in a tentative answer of my own to the question I had raised. Thanks, Imemine, Serenity and… Continue reading Travelling light
One piece of baggage
If a sage today were to give one piece of advice, what would it be? What could best guide the lone seeker towards spiritual fulfilment whilst improving communal behaviour in our shared home, Earth? It’s easy to assume that the semi-mythical words of Buddha or Jesus are just as potent today as when first spoken… Continue reading One piece of baggage
Abundance
Today, it’s the privilege of many, but not all, to adopt whatever beliefs and practices we wish, and we have the internet to provide us with the texts and the fellow-pilgrims. It’s an odd contrast with the Europe of 500 years ago, which I sketched in my last. Then, it was your town or village… Continue reading Abundance
Bible-reading martyrs
In the Middle Ages (I used to study Medieval History, so I know) the religious and secular realms---Church and State---would either be at war with one another or in some kind of alliance, as in “The Holy Roman Empire”, which was neither holy nor Roman. In matters secular, foreign policy and internal laws were backed… Continue reading Bible-reading martyrs
a wayfarer’s notes 