Buried Treasure

H L Atkinson is the name on the flyleaf of two rather scruffy hardback notebooks, which I found hidden at the bottom of a box of books purchased at auction.

The illustrations are mainly, but not exclusively, heraldic in nature. They are rough and unfinished,



but have a certain charm.I had decided that it was the work of a male, but then I came across these

with full and detailed descriptions of the fabrics and styles a couple of pages further on.I love these sketches.Several sheets of this headed notepaper were tucked into the book, most with little sketches on the reverse. I wonder whether this was the father to H. L. Atkinson. So far my dabbles into research have produced nothing of any great interest. Except for this

Borrowed Image

an illustration done by one L Atkinson, ARCA - I believe it shows the aftermath of bombing in a city.





It is an interesting little collection - and one of these days I will knuckle down and start exploring the internet and records to see what I can find out about these two people.





I love handwritten, and painted, treasures like this. They were an added bonus which I delight in looking through every now and then.

An Unorthodox Wake Up Call

US MARINE CORPS RECRUIT DEPOT — PARRIS ISLAND, SOUTH CAROLINA
TEMPS: LO 50F / HI 70F (10C / 21C)

I was awakened to a chant and the sound of footsteps on the pavement. I peered at the clock. It was 5:02a. As I debated getting up to check out the source of the noise, Mui beckoned me from the living room where he had raised the visor a smidge to look out. “I told you they would march by the campground” he said, a big grin on his face. It was pitch dark outside, but we could make out the shadowy movements of a battalion of recruits as they marched pass us, the flashlights of the DIs (drill instructors) stabbing into the night like laser pointers.

Laughing about the unorthodox wake-up call, we proceeded with our day.

Fast forward to 8:30a when chants and heavy footsteps once again broke through the quiet morning. I wasn’t quite dressed to go out in public, but I was prepared with an alternate plan. I shoved the camera into Mui’s hands and sent him outside to take photos as the recruits marched by. Thirty minutes later, the recruits were back, hunched over from the weight of the gear on their backs and visibly weary — but determined, too. This time I managed to get out and take a few photos myself ;-)

The battalion of recruits march by a third time; they stretch the length of the road!

Still photos just can’t do justice to the scene, so here’s a 19 second video to share what we saw and heard.

By 10:00a the sun had broken through the overcast and the temp had risen to a comfy 60F (15.5C) — perfect weather for a trike ride. An hour later, we were heading out on a meandering ride that took us by dried-up wetlands and stands of oak trees draped with Spanish moss.

beautiful morning … beautiful oak trees … and empty roads for our trike ride.

There wasn’t a bike path per se, but the roads were all but empty, and being on base, the few vehicles we encountered were not only driving well within the speed limit — 25-35 mph (40-55 kph) — but were very courteous and gave us a wide berth.

Having fun with the reserved parking signage; guess who’s got the spot with the higher rank!

The MCRD is serious about its mission; these words can be found all over the base.

Eventually we found ourselves at the Parris Island Museum on Panama Street. Chaining the trikes to the railings on either side of the entrance, we went in for a quick look-see (free; open to the public — see visiting guidelines on the museum website).

The museum is housed in the War Memorial Building, which was built in 1951 as a “monument to Marines of the past and a source of inspiration for the future.” As might be expected, the exhibits are primarily focused on the Marine Corps, but there is a wing dedicated to the local history of the Lowcountry (as this area is known). Small in size, the museum has plenty of displays to keep military — especially Marine Corps — history buffs busy for hours. For us, it was an interesting, but short detour.

Mannequins are dressed in the uniforms of the Marine Corps through the ages.
Left to right in the top right photo: Continental Marine (1775-1783); Tripoli (1801-1805);
War of 1812 (1812-1814); Mexican War (1846-1848); Civil War (1861-1865); Spanish American War
(1898); Banana Wars (1910s-1930s); WWI (1917-1918); WWII (1941-1945); Korean War (1950-1953);
Vietnam (1964-1975); Gulf War (1991).

Just a couple of the exhibits in the Parris Island Museum.

As we were wrapping up our visit to the museum, a rush of footsteps and a flurry of hearty “aye, sir” responses alerted us to the presence of a platoon forming up at the entrance. Standing at attention, their water canteens positioned just so, they listened as one of the DIs gave them the ground rules for the museum visit before filing inside in an orderly fashion. This was our cue to exit.

A marine corps style field trip!
(SO funny to see the recruits in formation between our trikes.)

After checking the base map on the sidewalk to get our bearings, we decided to continue east towards the Beaufort River. A bench on a fishing pier served nicely as a place to eat our snacks before we retraced our path back to the campground. A quick stop at the Peatross Parade Deck to check out the Iwo Jima Memorial completed our exploration of the MCRD.

The Iwo Jima Memorial is dedicated to all personnel of the United States Marine Corps
who have died in the defense of their country since 1775. This is a replica of
the massive sculpture by Felix de Weldon in Arlington, Virginia. The design was based
on the iconic photo, Raising the Flag on Iwo Jima, taken during the Battle of Iwo Jima by
Associated Press photographer Joe Rosenthal.

And what was Mui doing while I was photographing the memorial …

… he was watching the goings on at the Peatross Parade Deck.

We wrapped up our four-hour trike ride with a quick stop at the commissary and BX (base exchange; think military shopping mall) before heading home. Pleasantly tired, we thought about sitting outside for a while, but the dropping temps nixed that idea. A cup of hot tea and a couple of the poğaças Mui baked and froze before we left on our journey (post here) hit the spot just right.

Since we won’t have a sewer hook-up at Hunting Island, I did several loads of laundry this afternoon in preparation for tomorrow’s move. We’ll empty the tanks before we leave Parris Island to ensure we can survive nine days without having to do an interim move just to use the dump station. This will be the longest we’ve been at a campsite without full hook-ups. We’re up for the challenge, though!

We’ve been getting a strong 4G signal here with our mi-fi/Wilson antenna combo (most of the time). We’re not sure what we’ll find at Hunting Island; worst case, there’s wi-fi at the camp store. Hoping to keep posting … signal strength permitting.

I Was to Be Exchanged For 100 Turkish Delight Wrappers

I was born in an upstairs bedroom of a terraced house, 3 bedrooms, two living rooms, no bathroom, just an outside lavatory! It was in the days when the 'front room' was kept for best and we spent most of our time in the living room, there was no central heating, nor was the kitchen like those of today, being much more like a scullery, but it did have the benefit of a fitted bath!! The toilet was outside - no puppy-soft rolls of loo paper then, quite often it was simply squares of cut up newspaper threaded on a string!

Apologies for the awful image, I really struggled to find anything better,

I was born in the top left room.

It had the advantage that Nana and Grandad lived right next door. Grandad was a retired trawler man - he had a wonderful Yarmouth accent and wore full dentures, which he used to deliberately leave out sometimes, so that he could 'gurn' to make us laugh.





Nana was a tiny, very round woman, she used to wear those old-fashioned wrap-around aprons and was stone deaf. She had been kicked in the head by a horse and was deaf from that day on - so everything had to be written down on scraps of paper for her.

My older brother and I with Omo, the black cat, in the back garden

I was always animal mad, we had a couple of cats - both black, one was called Sooty, the other was Omo. They mysteriously disappeared before we went abroad. We also had a canary which we soon moved on to someone else as it had a very nasty habit of pecking at me.
We were not allowed to have a dog (the house was pretty small) so I was forever borrowing them. This one was Kim.

My glamorous mother on the left, with her friend, Audrey

Audrey owned Kim the black spaniel

Tut, tut, my mother with a cigarette!

Owl aka Ian

In those days babies spent a lot of time outdoors, they would be well wrapped up and put outside in their pram, in all but the worst weather. This bonnie baby is Ian,Owl, he survived the treatment and after years of therapy he is gradually starting to enjoy the outdoors again.

An outing to Cleethorpes Beach!

This photo would have been taken in the late 1950's (pre Ian) and showed my Mother, dark cardigan, my older brother and I, with some friends. We had travelled on the train from Grimsby to Cleethorpes to spend the day on the beach. It was quite a treat, try telling the kids of today that...




A few doors further along the avenue there lived a boy called Richard, he was about a year older than me, he used to walk me to and from school.

Richard was pretty sweet on me and asked my father if he could marry me. Eventually a price of 100 Turkish Delight wrappers was agreed!

Borrowed Image, I couldn't find a 1950's one, sorry!

Poor Richard, he had saved quite a pile of them before we moved away to spend three years in Hong Kong! I was seven years old when we left. I never saw him again.

Drookit

The rain-washed view from the top deck of a number 23 bus today, ploughing through streets like rivers in the centre of Edinburgh. Torrential summer rain, rivers in spate, and tourists crowding into the newly re-opened and blessedly free Royal Museum of Scotland to combine entertainment and shelter. We are all drookit (soaked).
Below, the Royal Mile at 10.30 am. This week, at the height of the Edinburgh International Festival, it should be busy with strolling tourists.

Another hazy bus-top photo, below: the splendidly kilted concierge of the Missoni Hotel on George IV Bridge hails a taxi.

What else to do in such weather but draw the curtains in the evening and immerse in summer reading? You'll detect a common rural theme. No Scottish titles among them, but I do have a title closer to home to recommend in a future post.

Strange orange moth

My husband photographed this gigantic orange moth on a recent business trip. Thankfully, something this odd is usually pretty easy to identify on the internet. It didn't take long to find out that this is a Regal Moth, also known as Royal Walnut Moth, Citheronia regalis.

It would be odd enough if it were the size of a normal moth. But according to Wikipedia, this is the biggest moth north of Mexico. (That's weight, not wing span, though that's not shabby either.) In this lighter wide-angle view, you can compare him to the door hardware to see how large he is.
This was on the door of the hotel, so maybe he's a watch-moth. I know several people who would hesitate to open that door!
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Updated:
This one was found in Virginia, but they are at home anywhere in the east, I believe.
Submitted to the Friday Ark.

One of the First

One of the first California poppies of the season.