Happy Birthday & Oh yes Draculaaaa

To Bram Stoker born on 8th November 1847 Born in Ireland and raised in Ireland there is no getting away from it he was Irish. But, for some reason he is one Irishman we, whilst not totally ignoring, seem to have been reluctant or slow to recognise.

Without Mr Stoker there would have been no need for long silk lined cloaks, black of course. No need for wooden stakes or garlic. No need for full length windows and no need for underwired bras.

At least Mr Stoker had the good taste to base his immortal character in Transylvania and not Ireland, even so it might be a good idea to lock the windows and close the curtains early tonight. One hundred and sixty five years old and stronger than ever.

Bram Stoker died on 20th April 1912. As far as I know he has not been seen since.....Whooo!

Come into My Parlour....

The eternal magic of poetry. I know I always put old and usually very well known chocolate box poems here but that's because they are my own old favourites as well as everyone elses and I love to remind myself of them.

This one is no different. It seems as though I have always known this. I'm told I loved it when it had to be read to me and when I was too young to see beyond the words. I still do it speaks to and for me. We're never too old for fun. Just a nursery rhyme or so much more. I'm not going into metaphor or inuendo there's no need.

Or as it is formally known:

The Spider and the Fly by Mary Howitt 1799-1888 First published: 1829

Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly,
'Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I've a many curious things to shew when you are there."
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne'er come down again."

"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly.
"There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in!"
Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!"

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, " Dear friend what can I do,
To prove the warm affection I 've always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that's nice;
I'm sure you're very welcome -- will you please to take a slice?"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind Sir, that cannot be,
I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!"

"Sweet creature!" said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I've a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you 're pleased to say,
And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
"Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple -- there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!"

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue --
Thinking only of her crested head -- poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlour -- but she ne'er came out again!

And now dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed:
Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.

279 - Whats in a Name

Its a lazy Sunday and I've been thinking about names, I wonder how many of us actually like our first or christian name. I don't like mine its not a new thing I've never liked it. I was named after my mother, except I wasn't, her name was changed by the nuns when she and her sisters were sent to the convent when their mother died. In those days if one parent died the children were abducted, perfectly legally, by the RCC. My mothers name was changed apparently because there was more than one person with her name in the convent and that, irritates, me.

Its not the catholicism of the name as far as I know my name has no religious connections, and I have no problem at all with names like Mary or Maria although given a choice I would choose Maria. My problem is that such was the power of the church they could change a name on nothing more than a whim. No questions asked no excuses even thought of. My names a reminder of that and is one of the reasons I dislike it, the other reason is its so pedestrian, so nondescript, to me it suggests bourgeois domesticity and I don't like that at all.

Obviously its easy to understand the origins of many names. Butcher, Baker, Robinson, Fitzpatrick and so on, they are easy. Slave names too are easily understood, Mohammed Ali changed his name from the christian Clay to muslim Mohamed Ali because he said that his name derived from slave ownership, many slaves were given the surname of slave owners and whilst that may be another cruelty inflicted by the slavers its as understandable as son of or trade of. To think the RCC and for all I know other religions were still powerful enough to change peoples names, often their original birth certificates being ignored or even destroyed, long after emancipation, independence and equality for all, is somehow worse than the rest or it is for me.