Watch out! Here Comes the Bogey Man - and Boy is He Mad!

I once read a story about a little boy who goes a' wandering and meets up with a talking scarecrow.

Together they go on some wonderful adventures around the countryside. They meet other talking objects. They see the world.

The story has all the hall marks of a best seller. There's romance - the scarecrow falls in love with a straw broom they find in a barn. There's danger - the scarecrow must brave the flickering infestuous flames of the camp fire. And there's intrigue - who is the talking scarecrow? What does he metaphorically mean? Is he the embodiment of our own inner psyche? 

Or, perhaps, when every thing is said and done, is the scarecrow just a talking scarecow?

Illustration Friday: Diary (A Celebration of Genetic Dislexia)

Back in the 1920's, on Sundays, come hail rain or shine, Gretel, her brother and father would head down to Morris highway junction and set up a strawberry milk shake stand. 

Most days they used the good kitchen table as a base to display their wares. Of course their step-mother Geraldine, had she been present, would have been horrified at the misuse of such a family heirloom.

But, like the wicked old woman in the forest, she was dee-ee-dee.

Dead.

Though they were Sundays, Gretel's father, who had once been a hatter in Mudgee before the revolution, didn't  mind that they weren't at church. " My kids don't need religion," he would say. "We got bush spirits to teach us."

But bush spirits or not, he was always a bit 'iffy' when flocks of White Witch moths, drawn by the smell of fresh strawberries, came fluttering out of the Eucalyptii Dredadora trees lining the road.....

A long time later, when she was on old woman in the Cessnock Home for Hardly Used Catholic Virgins, Gretel would often pull out her ancient leather bound dairy and place it on the altar next to her bed. Inside, next to the fading ink words, were two dried and flattened White Witch moths.

"They were happy days," she would tell herself with a toothless smile as she tapped her wooden leg against the brass bed.  "Happy days full of Thysania agrippina, endless strawberry milkshakes, cornucopic fly swatting, rabbit shooting - and the forbidden pleasure of undiagnosed genetic dislexia."

Thankyou for everyone who looked at my last two posts and especially for watching the animations. I'll be back tomorrow and come visit. So be curafal ... err I mean 'careful." Watch out for Thysania agrippina in the meantime. :) Oh and thank you for the suggestion WW. It's a beautiful moth.

And most importantly I am not making fun of people with dislexia.
Only myself - and my recently discovered ability to not type English.

Have you seen this work? A Bulgarian artist.  On Rossichka's site.
Maistora Vladimir Dimitrov. Worth a look.

Ned Kelly: Oz Icon

It says much about Anglo Saxon Australians of my generation that we pride ourself in either being of Irish descent (like myself), or of Scottish descent (like myself) or, treasure of treasures, the descendants of convicts (my great great grandfather and my great great grandmother).

It's odd that I don't tell many people that my grandfather was an honest and hard working man who worked in a tannery all his life. But I might tell them that my great great grandfather was sentenced to death in 1817 for escaping from the prison boats on the Thames - but escaped his sentence and was transported to Australia. (see footnote*) by the evil English.

In fact Caucasian Australians will claim to be descended from anything wild and wooly - as long as it has nothing to do with the good upstanding English middle class who had invaded (seemingly) most of the known world by the time Australia was being settled..

So it follows, given our true fore-bears  (we were brainwashed at school in the LBJ era to believe that we are English/Americans)  that one of our main folklore heroes is an Irish Australian Bushranger called Ned Kelly.

Now our Ned (as we call  him) started his 'criminal career' in 1869, when at the age of 14 he assaulted a Chinese pig farmer named Ah Fook." . (Yes, Ah Fook. I kid you not). Ned and his brothers and later his gang
had a tendency to play rough with the police - and the police returned the favour. According to Wiki:

 "In September 1877 Ned was arrested for drunkenness. While being escorted by four policemen he broke free and ran into a shop. The police tried to subdue him but failed and Ned later gave himself up to a Justice of The Peace and was fined. During the incident Constable Lonigan, who Ned was to later shoot dead, "black-balled" him (grabbed and squeezed his testicles). Legend has it that Ned told Lonigan "If I ever shoot a man, Lonigan, it'll be you!"."

In the end Ned and his gang killed three policeman, and a few civilians, not to mention robbing two banks and distributing the proceeds to the poor. So as his reward, apart from hanging him and giving him  an umarked grave, we have made him into a national icon.

 Tells you a lot about us  wild colonial boys, aye?

What follows is a small excerpt from Wiki. Glenrowan was the tavern that the Kelly Gang made their last stand in. ( I have taken the liberty of removing the more boring bits)

Quote:

""The gang discovered that Aaron Sherritt, Joe Byrne's (a gang member) erstwhile best friend, was a police informer. On 26 June 1880, the same day their outlaw status expired, Dan Kelly and Joe Byrne went to Sherritt's house and killed him....... The four policemen who were living openly with him at the time hid under the bed and did not report the murder until late the following morning. .....

The Kelly Gang arrived in Glenrowan on 27 June forcibly taking about seventy hostages at the Glenrowan Inn. They knew that a passenger train carrying a police detachment was on its way and ordered the rail tracks pulled up in order to cause a derailment......

The gang members were equipped with armour that was tough enough to repel bullets (but left the legs unprotected).

The armour  was likely forged from stolen or donated plough mouldboards. Each man's armour weighed about 96 pounds (44 kg); all four had helmets, and Byrne's was said to be the most well done, with the brow reaching down to the nose piece, almost forming two eye slits. All wore grey cotton coats reaching past the knees over the armour.

The accounts of who opened fire first are contradictory. According to Superintendent Hare he was close to the inn when he saw the flash of a rifle and felt his left hand go limp. Three more flashes followed from the veranda and then whoever had first fired at him stepped back and began to fire again after which the police opened fire. Kelly testified in court that he was dismounting from his horse when a bolt in his armour failed. While he was fixing the bolt the police fired two volleys into the inn. Kelly claimed that as he walked towards the inn the police fired a third volley with the result that one bullet hit him in the foot and another in the left arm. It was at that moment he claimed his gang began returning the fire.

 Kelly now walked in what police called a "lurching motion" towards them from 30 metres (98 ft) away. Due to the restrictions of his armour, and now only being able to hold his revolving rifle in one hand, he had to hold the rifle at arm’s length to fire, and claimed he fired randomly, two shots to the front and two shots to his left. Constable Arthur fired three times, hitting Kelly once in the helmet and twice in his body, but despite staggering from the impacts he continued to advance.

Constables Phillips and Healy then fired with similar effect. Kelly's lower limbs, however, were unprotected, and when 15 metres (49 ft) from the police line he was shot repeatedly in the legs. As he fell he was hit by a shotgun blast that injured his hip and right hand.

The other Kelly Gang members died in the hotel; Joe Byrne perished due to loss of blood from a gunshot wound that severed his femoral artery as he allegedly stood at the bar pouring himself a glass of whisky, Dan Kelly and Steve Hart committed suicide (according to witness Matthew Gibney). No autopsy was done to determine cause of death, as their bodies were burnt when the police set fire to the inn. The police suffered only one minor injury: Superintendent Francis Hare, the senior officer on the scene, received a slight wound to his wrist, then fled the battle. For his cowardice the Royal Commission later suspended Hare from the Victorian Police Force.[20] Several hostages were also shot, two fatally.

Ned Kelly survived to stand trial, and was sentenced to death by the Irish-born judge Justice Redmond Barry. This case was extraordinary in that there were exchanges between the prisoner Kelly and the judge, and the case has been the subject of attention by historians and lawyers. When the judge uttered the customary words "May God have mercy on your soul", Kelly replied "I will go a little further than that, and say I will see you there when I go".[21] At Ned's request, his photographic portrait was taken and he was granted farewell interviews with family members. His mother's last words to Ned were reported to be "Mind you die like a Kelly".

He was hanged on 11 November 1880 at the Melbourne Gaol for the murder of Constable Lonigan. .... two newspapers (The Age and The Herald) reported Kelly's last words as "Such is life".....

Sir Redmond Barry died of the effects of a carbuncle on his neck on 23 November 1880, twelve days after Kelly." End Wiki Quote

Killer Carbuncle? Well well.   






Footnotes: *




1)You can read the 'true' history of Ned Kelly here. Or an eyewitness account here.
2)As far as myself? You can read about my convict Great Great Grandfather here: Benjamin Harmer
3)You can also read about my convict Great  Great Grandmother here: Mary Budd
4)Also available are transcripts to their trials from Old Bailey. Mary Budd, Mary Budd , Benjamin Harmer, Benjamin Harmer.

PS clicking for big removes carbuncles. Thanks  again for looking!


By the way, I am not here, so don't read this. I'll be offline for a while for reasons that poor old Ned would understand - if he hadn't been hung.

Monday ArtDay: Family

"Jessie tried hard to like Uncle Nesbitt, even when his uncle pretended to be Santa Claus.  Uncle Nesbitt was 'one of the 'family' - or so his mother claimed. Jessie though, was never quite sure." (From: The Year Jessie Ran Away)