Sunday, 18 November 2018

Chapel En Le Frith Stocks 1940


The 18th Century stocks still stand in Chapel-en-le-Frith's Market Place alongside the Market Cross. Behind is the Roebuck Hotel. A house was built here in the 13th century for the Duely family. Rebuilt in 1700, it became a beerhouse in 1720 known as the New Hall. Between 1750 and 1850 the building served as a courthouse until becoming the Roebuck Hotel

Wednesday, 14 November 2018

Josie Lee On Feeling Good About Art

"It's a Wonderful Life! My favourite film - It's corny, it's not very exciting, but the best feel good you could ask for! Sometimes I look at my art and think that therein lies my inspiration. The best of my work is when I manage to put a little bubble of joy inside your heart! You don't see a masterpiece, it doesn't make you catch your breath, but it does crease the corners of your eyes. It does make you feel good about y our world - or even long to make your world feel like that, if only for a little while!"
 Josie Lee   https://www.facebook.com/josieleeartist/


 Image may contain: one or more people
 "Hot Lips"

"Just found a photo of my very first "Mistress" painting! About 4 years ago. Was still learning to use acrylics and couldn't blend the features very well - so I just left them out! Eventually I started hiding them under hair and the mystery of this character began to evolve!" @JoseLee


No automatic alt text available. "And this is still my very favourite mistress. Ridiculously thin, burtonesque and a little gothic, no real curves, yet still sexy, provocative but vulnerable, sultry and lonely. A tale in the making!
I remembered a Vetriano painting where she straddled a chair - hence the title."


Image may contain: one or more people and shoes

"Never have time for anything these days! But it is time I remembered to thank you all, for enjoying my art, for promoting my art, even buying it from time to time! As artists we all know just how invaluable the comments and support we get is. Just one like, one share, one comment of appreciation, and you trigger a masterpiece in the making.... mine are still making... taking a very long time in the making!
Thank you, thank you and thank you from my heart. To all of you Josie" 

https://twitter.com/JosieLeeArt

 

Friday, 9 November 2018

A Guards Officer Is Fitted For A Bearskin 1957





A Guards officer is fitted for a bearskin at Herbert Johnson's hatters shop at 38 New Bond Street in London.  This business had been established in 1889 when the young Herbert was encouraged by the Prince of Wales whose top hat he had repaired. A reputation for high quality craftsmanship soon brought the patronage of the well dressed gentlemen including royalty. Johnsons specialise in classic hat designs and also supply dress caps and berets to most military regiments. There have been several changes of ownership was well as address since the founder retired in 1928 and the business is now owned by Swaine Adeney and Brigg. The shop is now located at Piccadilly Arcade.

The bearskin hat dates back to the mid 19th century when French Grenadiers wore them to give added height and impress their enemies. The British Grenadier Guards adopted this headgear following the Battle of Waterloo and this was followed by two other foot regiments in 1831.  The bearskin is part ofa  ceremonial uniform and is made from the skin of the Canadian black bear. Thousands of bears are culled each year by Inuit hunters to control populations and approximately 100 skins annually meet the Army's needs. They are purchased at auction by the manufacturers at a cost of about £650 each. Each hat requires an entire pelt and with care will last for decades.

Zambezi Residents Stampede For Free Buffalo Meat








KABULABULA - Hordes of government officials sneaked out of their offices at Katima Mulilo and joined the multitudes of people who headed to Kabulabula where some of the people individually grabbed dozens of the over 400 buffaloes that died in a mass drowning while escaping from a pride of lions.
When word of mouth reached Katima Mulilo on Wednesday, school teachers, police officers, government officials and others drove to Kabulabula in the area of Mbalasinte in Kabbe South where there was a free-for-all as people filled their bakkies, small trucks and other vehicles with buffalo meat and carcasses.
Word reached Katima Mulilo town around 11h00 that some government officials, including senior officials, and others from private institutions, left their work unattended without even putting in leave and they headed for Kabulabula about two hours’ drive from Katima Mulilo, which includes an hour-and-a-half drive on bumpy roads to have a share of free buffalo which they were allowed to cart away.
Members of the police and officials from the Ministry of Environment and Tourism were among the people that participated in the free-for-all and no one cared about maintaining law and order.
More than 400 buffaloes believed to have been chased by lions drowned in the Chobe River in northern Botswana on Tuesday night and the initial investigation by authorities in Namibia and Botswana “suggest that an exceptionally large buffalo herd was grazing in Namibia when they stampeded into the Chobe River” over steep river banks resulting in the mass drowning that has become a normal occurrence.
It is understood that the carcasses were discovered by fishermen early on Wednesday morning who alerted environment and tourism authorities. Community members who were first to arrive on the scene came from nearby villages in the areas of Ivilivinzi, Mbalasinte and Kasika, and when they were given the go-ahead they were the first ones to start harvesting the free meat and people did not wait for the carcasses to be declared fit for consumption as they went into a frenzy.
Speaking to New Era the chief control warden in the Ministry of Environment and Tourism, Morgan Saisai, stated that the buffaloes were grazing on the Botswana side on Tuesday night when they stampeded into the Chobe River, after reportedly being chased by a pride of 12 lions.
“The area where the buffaloes stampeded has a steep ascent and after the buffaloes fell into the river they were unable to climb the steep bank and they stampeded and drowned,” said Saisai.
Though it was reported that about 400 buffaloes had drowned, when New Era arrived on the scene on Wednesday afternoon, most of the carcasses from the Namibian side had already been loaded in  vehicles, and community members were now crossing using their dugout canoes and boats to the Botswana side which had most of the carcasses that were floating in the river.  
Even though the law dictates one needs a permit to possess game meat, Saisai explained this could not be done because of the sheer high number of drowned buffaloes and people were allowed to benefit from this freak environmental phenomenon and transport the meat without any permit. He however warned that the meat should not be sold but by yesterday sources said some villagers at Kabulabula were selling entire buffalo quarters for only N$100 which is a massive give-away for the delicacy.
“The authorisation was given to say they strictly use for own use. If someone took it as an opportunity ‘that I will stock my butchery and sell or strip the meat and sell later’, that one will render someone in a problem. The fact is that you don’t have a game dealer’s licence,” cautioned Saisai.
Community members were not willing to speak to the media as most of them were busy grabbing carcasses for themselves and some individuals grabbed as many as eight to ten carcasses. The vice-chairperson of Kabulabula conservancy Leonard Machili had mixed feelings. He stated that even though the community benefited it was a loss to the conservancy.
“It was a great loss as this is our source of income as conservancy members. I observed that most  of the female buffaloes were pregnant which means we lost even the future generation, ” said Machili. Machili was also disappointed that most of those who benefitted were coming from outside the conservancy areas. “The situation was beyond control as people were a lot, but those with vehicles who drove from Katima and other areas are the ones who benefited a lot, as some were just tying them with ropes and pulling  the carcases with their vehicles from the water,” he said.  
One source also suggested the next time there is a mass drowning people should not be allowed to take more than one carcass as the meat should also benefit the khutas, school hostels, trial-awaiting prisoners, the disabled and even elderly citizens and that the police and environment officials should be involved in ensuring greedy individuals do not take the lion’s share.


Aron Mushaukwa
2018-11-09 09:18:11 5 hours ago  



Rupert The Rhino


My dad was the head vet of Operation Noah, a huge conservation project to relocate wildlife when the Zambezi river was dammed, creating Lake Kariba. One morning in May 1962 they darted a female black rhino and unfortunately, she moved into the water just as the drug took effect. She drowned before the rangers could get her out. She was lactating, which meant she had a baby, and they found this tiny rhino, no more than six weeks old. Dad brought the rhino home to look after. Rupert [named after Rupert Fothergill, the head ranger of Operation Noah] was shipped up to suburban Salisbury [now Harare] from the Zambezi valley. We put him in a cowshed at the bottom of the garden but that night there was an extremely cold frost and the next morning he was almost on his last legs. Dad brought Rupert up to the garage and made him a nest out of hay bales and used infrared lamps. It became his little haven; we had to coax him out – he was very nervous at first. Then quickly he became part of the family. I think he thought he was just another Condy kid – he would go in and out of the house as he pleased.

I am the oldest of four. That’s Diana, then aged three, at the front, with David, six, Catherine, seven, and me at the back, aged eight. This photograph was probably taken a month before Rupert left us in November 1962. He was quite big by then and was drinking milk with a straw from a bucket. He would have eight pints four times a day. When he first arrived he weighed 150lb; six months later he weighed more than 500lb. We couldn’t believe how quickly he grew. Dad had analysed the milk of his mother and found it to be very high in protein and very low in fat. Rupert always loved bananas and lychees. We tried to introduce him to the natural vegetation but he didn’t like that, so he ate sadza [maize meal] made into a porridge.

We knew we couldn’t keep him forever, so after six months it was decided that he would go to Matobo Game Reserve, where there were no lions. Mum cried and cried – it was like sending off her little boy to boarding school. Two years later we went to visit. Rupert came out of the bush and we were shocked to see this huge animal. Mum began calling, ‘Come Rupey my boy…’ Rupert let out a strange little squeaky sound – not what you would expect from such a big animal. We were convinced he had recognised us.


Sadly, not long after that Rupert was found dead in the bush. It will always be a mystery why Rupert died because he was very healthy and everyone was happy with his reintroduction. It was only in the making of a documentary, My Wild Affair, when I went to Lewa Wildlife Conservancy in Kenya, where black rhino have been raised, that we found out rhino are still considered babies up to the age of three. We had sent him back prematurely. But no one had ever hand-reared a rhino then; we had no point of reference, you couldn’t Google it. So we had given him a chance and given him lots of love, and he was a very happy little rhino for the time that we had him.

The Rhino Who Joined the Family: My Wild Affair will be shown on July 16 at 9pm on Animal Planet Rhino



By Hermione Lister-Kaye
D.Telegraph
7:00AM BST 04 Jul 2014

Thursday, 8 November 2018

Rhodesia

Zimbabwe Herald 18.10.17

In colonial Rhodesia, there were separate schools, hospitals, restaurants, toilets, hotels, buses, leisure centres, playgrounds and suburbs for whites and blacks

Dr Sekai Nzenza on Wednesday
This man in the village next to ours shook people’s hands using a stick. His hand did not touch another person’s hand. No. His hand could only hold one end of the stick. It was the other end of the stick that made human contact. The man’s name was VaBhunu, meaning The Boer or The Afrikaner.

“Mbiri yake murume uyu yaive yei?” asked my niece Edna, meaning why did this man behave this way? Where did he derive his fame from? Edna is 15 years old and in Form Three. I was helping her with her homework. She was writing an essay about how we grew up during the colonial times when there was so much racism in this country. I told her that Africans and Europeans did not mix when I was growing up. There were separate schools, hospitals, restaurants, toilets, hotels, buses, leisure centres, playgrounds and suburbs. The white man regarded himself as superior to the African and there were many privileges available to white people only and not to black people.

In the Harare Gardens, there were benches written Europeans only and toilets for maids and nannies while the madams had theirs with clean towels, toilet paper and polished floors. During Rhodesia, it was hard to be black, especially in the city. Down here in the village, there were two men who behaved like white men. VaBhunu and Mr Lancelot. At any village gathering, most men sat on logs, wooden stools, bricks, buckets, stones or anything that they could place their bottoms on. There were hardly any chairs in the village. But we all knew that when VaBhunu or Mr Lancelot arrived at a beer party, everyone stands up and looks around for a chair for them. Mr Lancelot and VaBhunu did not allow their bottoms to sit on anything that was not a chair. No. After close exposure to Europeans, the two men (who were close friends) said they did not want to lower themselves to the level of natives.

“Tete, ndati mbiri yevarume ava yaive yei?” asked Edna again. Why were these men different from everyone else? Mr Lancelot, not VaLancelot, was a Mudhibhisi, the cattle dip supervisor or manager who reported directly to Mr Welensky, or Werenziki, the inspector of cattle management in the rural areas. Mr Lancelot always wore heavy brown boots and a brown long jacket with big buttons. He was the only man who moved around with a fountain pen and a bottle of ink so he could sign his name in the individual cattle register book that people carried to the dip tank. Mr Lancelot claimed he was so close to Mr Welensky he was allowed to drink from the same cup of tea that the white man used, each time he went to the district council for meetings.

Mr Lancelot had a grinding mill opposite Muzorori & Sons Stores. One Boxing Day we all went to Muzorori & Sons Stores to listen and dance to LP or long play records. We were dressed up in our Christmas best clothes. Christmas was not Christmas unless you wore new clothes, ate plenty of bread with jam, chicken, rice, meat and sweets. People visited each other and celebrated Christmas. My sister Charity, my brother Charles and I arrived at the shops after the music had already started. Mr Lancelot sat on a chair under the mango tree near his grinding mill. He was wearing white gloves, a silver suit, shiny black shoes and a red hat with a feather sticking out.

VaBhunu wore a brown striped suit, a black and brown striped shirt, brown pointed shoes, a red tie and a big brown cowboy hat. He held a bottle of Castle beer in one hand and his greeting stick in another. When he saw us arriving, Mr Lancelot shouted at Charles and asked whether our father was coming to the shops. We could not shout back because that was not proper. We walked over to them and shook hands with the stick. Mr Lancelot shook hands with us using his gloved hand.

“Your father is an educated man,” said Mr Lancelot. “But he is not using his education well.” Charles nodded, though he later said he did not know why he was nodding. Charity, who was always the first one to speak, asked why they felt that our father was wasting his education. Mr Lancelot said, “He drinks local beer with the natives.” Then he laughed heartily, mocking our father. VaBhunu smiled and asked about my mother. He shared the same totem with her, Nyati the Buffalo. He then dismissed us by waving his stick sideways.

Later on, we saw Mr Muzorori join the two men and they sat on chairs while everyone else sat on a bench, bricks or stools. But Mr Muzorori was a humble man. He shook hands with everyone, even though he had more money than Mr Lancelot or VaBhunu. He drove a car called an Anglia while Mr Lancelot and VaBhunu had bicycles. When we got home, Charles sat on my father’s chair holding a long stick. Pretending to speak like a VaBhunu, he said, “Come here, kaffirs. Let me shake your hand and congratulate you on a good job done this year.” Charity and I said yes, we were good loyal kaffirs. We knelt in front of Charles with our heads bowed and shook the stick.

Then Charity suddenly got up quickly and grabbed the stick from Charles. She broke it into two and shouted: “You are not our boss. Murungu, go back home to England!” she said. We all laughed. Baba laughed too and said, “Greeting people with a stick is not a sign of civilisation.” He then counselled us about the meaning of education. He said showing off and treating other people the way white people treat Africans was not proper. In fact, it was outright immoral. Hausi hunhu. Hakusi kufunda. Baba said this mimicking the white man’s behaviour and looking at others with disdain and treating people as inferior beings would one day come to an end. It did.

If you pass by both VaBhunu and Mr Lancelot’s homesteads now, all you see are old ruins of brick buildings with no roofs, overgrown with Lantana Camara bushes. VaBhunu never had any children. Years later, some people said VaBhunu was probably never the type of man to marry. He preferred to dress up well, to look smart and spend time with other men. Zvinonzi vaive neshavi redonha. It was only much later, when I was already at university that I learnt about the power and behaviour of men like VaBhunu. VaBhunu’s manner was possibly influenced by the experience he had when he served in the African Rifles Series managed by the British South Africa Company, a private company responsible for administering this country when it was called Southern Rhodesia.

He was possibly a private or a sergeant recruited from the Southern Rhodesia Native Affairs Department. In those days, Africans were paid 25 shillings per month while European sergeants were paid 180 shillings month. Ten pounds was given as gratuity to the next of kin if the African privates or sergeants died while fighting for the British. VaBhunu was a few years older than my father. This means he would have joined the Rhodesian African Rifles (RAR) around 1940. From 1956 to 1958, some African sergeants left Southern Rhodesia and went to fight in Malaya, now Malaysia. On the 11th of November 1965, when Ian Smith, the former Prime Minister of Rhodesia, made the Unilateral Declaration of Independence from Britain, the RAR remained part of the Rhodesian army. When the first Chimurenga or the revolutionary liberation war against the Rhodesian colonialist government started, the African RAR fought on the side of the white army right up to the time of independence. In April 1981, the name “RAR”, and its insignia or badge was replaced by the Staff Corps badges of the Zimbabwe National Army.

VaBhunu must have been a retired RAR when he came back to the village just before the liberation war reached our area. This means he was already on a pension after supporting colonial rule in many parts of Africa or even in Burma or Malaya. I told my niece Edna that the days of greeting one another with a stick or with a glove are not yet over. Today, we still have other ways of mimicking the white man. We sometimes look down upon our culture and try very hard to eat, dress, talk and behave like Europeans. One day, we shall throw away the metaphoric stick and the glove and see each other as we are, sevanhu. We shall find a balance between our traumatic colonial history and the present. One day.

Dr Sekai Nzenza is a writer and cultural critic