Martyr

On Saturday lunchtime while down in London, we walked from North End Road into an area of Fulham known as the Baron's Court  Estate. At the end of Fairholme Road I noticed a blue plaque on the end house and went over to investigate.

You may not know the significance of a blue plaque. They are placed on certain buildings  by an organisation called English Heritage. They recognise noteworthy people and Amongst other things - where they lived in past times.

This particular plaque recognised a woman who literally died for women's suffrage in the summer of 1913. She went to the racecourse at Epsom to ostensibly watch the English Derby being run. However, when the king's horse Anmer came round the bend where she was standing, she ran onto the track and tried to grab the horse's reins. She suffered a fatal head injury and died two days later. Her name was Emily Wilding Davison and this was the front page of "The Daily Sketch" the day after Emily's death:-

She had been an activist for almost twenty years, recognising in her bones that women had been denied the right to vote for far too long. Maybe she didn't mean to die at Epsom racecourse that day but she was undoubtedly a martyr and indeed a heroine. It was brave women like her who paved the way for women's suffrage in Great Britain and all that followed afterwards in the struggle for women's equality. It is of course a struggle that continues to this day

Emily Wilding Davison (1872-1913)

⦿

On an entirely separate note, I wish to congratulate Spain who 
deservedly beat England by 2-1 in tonight's European Nations Cup 
Final in Berlin, Germany. Our lads fought hard but the match statistics 
prove that Spain were the better team. All England supporters will be
 feeling gutted tonight. Such opportunities don't come along very often
 but at least we made it through to another final and that's something 
to be proud about. There's always next time!


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Sunday story

 Got a scare this morning. All due to a cricket. I can laugh now. Not much then. I wake up and walk to the kitchen ready to get some joe going, check on last night’s laundry and take out something to thaw for dinner. Nothing out of the ordinary. It must be said I thrive on routine. I’m walking around in my own world for a moment. It takes me a moment for me to fully coherent in the mornings. 

As I’m meandering around, I start to hear a sound. A might loud one. I think I must be hearing things or delusional. A few minutes later, the sound is back. I try to disregard it. It goes away. I go off to start the coffee, and hear we go again. I abandon the thought of coffee making. I go around the kitchen in a tizzy. I’m seeking that noise like a honing beacon. I walk in to the laundry room. The washer isn’t on. I check the pantry for a pesky rodent. Thankfully I don’t find one. I check the fridge out of sheer frustration. Maybe rotten cheese is playing tricks on me. 

I go to sweep up the house. Farm living means once a week vacuuming doesn’t do the trick. As I’m sweeping the noise is my neighbor. I just give up. I’m on edge. No tea kettle is whistling. And I’m in the process of wondering what is taunting me. My mom then decides to come in the house. I relay this morning’s adventures. I ask her if she knows the origin of this noise. 

Without hesitation she says:  “my crickets”.  Your crickets, I say. She shows me what she has them in, and now I don’t know what to feel. Relief that I’m not going insane. Crazy that a cricket can drive me wild. Mom says I couldn’t let my crickets get hot. Pet parent of the year. Now I laugh. Farm life keeps you grounded while making you laugh. 

Enjoy your Sunday, and find the little miracles



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