Someone once asked me why I write posts about the navy when my blog and book were entitled Nothe Fort and Beyond.
‘Beyond’ maybe gives a clue because the Victorian fortifications weren’t built as a stand alone defence. They were not only designed to protect our south coast from invasion but to protect the naval fleets that moored within the nearby bases, Portland Roads was one such base.
Like the resident military, when these men of the sea arrived in port their musical services were swiftly snapped up to entertain the local population and tourists alike in the nearby bandstands such as Alexandra gardens shown below and in local theatres.
I came across this interesting article written in The Navy & Army Illustrated magazine of 1899 and added it here because I thought some might enjoy this snippet of naval history.
Everyone who has served on board…
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Hello folks, you have noticed (or more likely not) that I have been missing for a while from my page.
That is because I have been struggling to finish my book and get it into print and with a great deal of help from my long suffering family I finally reached my goal!
Yipee…mentally turns cartwheels
So I can proudly say I am now the published author of Nothe Fort and Beyond.
Don’t think this is just a book about the military in Weymouth though…which of course it is…but it contains so much more.
Stories of Weymouth and Portland families, tales of the harsh conditions for the convicts and local quarrymen in the Portland dust bowls.
The doings of local bobbies in their fight to keep soldiers and residents on the straight and narrow.
There’s disasters, deaths, murders, suicides, and on somewhat a happier note marriages and love affairs.
Who knows, you might even find one of your relative’s tales within its pages.
available from Amazon at £9.99.
But fear yea not…I have loads of Weymouth tales ready and waiting in the pipeline, I spend an awful lot of time recumbent, day dreaming about local tales of old!
Once upon a time novels used to be illustrated. My copy of Emily Brontë’s Wuthering Heights, which belonged to my late mother-in-law, is a dull little book at a glance – until you open it and find the illustrations. Your feeling for the story – your curiosity – is awakened immediately. Who are these people, and what is their tragic entanglement? It’s an inducement to read on.
I remembered this recently when someone asked me where I saw the future for my writing. I thought long and hard about this. Would I like to sell lots of books? Of course. Win critical praise? Who wouldn’t? But what I’d really like to do is write beautiful stories and have them enhanced by beautiful illustrations.
I’m not talking about graphic novels here – I’m talking about a book containing occasional illustrations to surprise and delight the reader as they turn the…
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What I find fascinating about mooching through old newspapers is not only the sensational crimes and usual misdemeanors that fill the columns of the local papers, but also those mundane snippets that give us every day glimpses of our Victorian ancestors lives.
In some sense, they really weren’t that much different from us.
Take The Dorset County Chronicle of 11th September 1884.
Just like we do today (well, those of us that still browse the physical pages of print rather than online) your GGG Grandfather Henry might well be sat in his plush, red velvet armchair that late summer’s afternoon, his pince-nez slid down to the tip of his nose as he perused the trials and tribulations of his fellow townsmen.
Would he have nodded in satisfaction when he read that Reuben Newberry of Upwey had a great year when it comes to growing his Dahlias.
Well, of course, he knew old man Reuben was a perfectionist when it came to the floral side of things, after all, he did run Upwey Nurseries alongside his wife Miriam. They often exhibited in the local flower shows and came away with many of the prizes.
He was also rather good when it came to cultivating families it seems, managing to germinate ten offspring.
Reuben had been showing some remarkably fine specimens of these flowers lately. Those that he had put on display being very much admired.
(Only a couple of years later and 73-year-old Reuben hung up his hose and laid down his dibber, an advert appeared advertising his very desirable and compact nursery and market garden. )
Maybe Granfer Henry’s eyes would next catch sight of a name he knew well…that caused him to sigh heavily…’What’s Wheeler been up to now’ he’d muse to himself. ‘Always trying to get himself noticed, that fellow.’
FINE ARTS the headline proclaimed. Specimens of photographic portraits &c. in every style of the art, take by Mr Wheeler of the Vandyke Studio, are now being shown by him.
The studio was run by Harry Wheeler, a man with fingers in many profitable pies! One of them being photography.
Harry also ran a fine art studio, library and printing press, something that had got him into a spot of bother with the law in 1878. Apparently his press had been churning out defamatory leaflets concerning a certain borough magistrate, Joseph Drew, that had hit the streets of Weymouth just before the municipal elections.
That September day though, the attending reporter waxed lyrical of Harry’s talents. He may well be proud of the work he has turned out, for we doubt whether it is possible for any photographer, either in London or the provinces to show a better collection.
Harry and Mary Marie Wheeler and their veritable brood (must be something in the Weymouth waters!) lived along Frederick Place.
When Harry passed to the dark room in the heavens (1895) his fingers in pies scheme had obviously worked their magic because he bequeathed to his wife and son, Frank Augustus Wheeler, dealer in fine arts, the princely sum of £4494 13s 11d.
But of course, Granfer would certainly have approved of the more sedate culture to be found in Weymouth’s theatres.
Mr Doryly Carte’s Opera Company were taking to the stage, performing the fairy opera Iolanthe in the theatre (though it doesn’t actually say which one, for Weymouth had quite a few in those days.) The article claims that It will have splendid scene, effects and be most gorgeously dressed.
But, just maybe, some of the entertainment on offer wasn’t quite to his taste.
There was a lengthy report on a Swimming Exhibition by Dr Jennings.
It was supposed to have taken place on the Wednesday, but as per usual fickle mother Nature soon put paid to those plans.
Brave Dr Jennings, not one to be deterred, set out again on the Thursday, unwilling to disappoint his audience. Although the weather overhead was fine, the air was exceedingly cold, a “north-easter” blowing and the sea was very “loppy”.
About 300 folk had forked out their hard earned sixpenny pier toll to watch this intrepid swimmer take his leave of Weymouth’s pier.
Of course, as human nature dictates, there were always those few, about 100 more were in boats and therefore viewed this exhibition for nothing.
Ever the showman, Dr Jennings (who is a well developed man) made his appearance dressed in an old suit. He then stepped up onto the specially prepared stage and made a great performance of putting on a pair of sturdy boots and lacing them up tightly, then donned a heavy overcoat, taking care to button it up right to his chin..
Jennings clambered down into a waiting boat and to the gasp of his audience, promptly tipped over the side and disappeared under the waves.
Of course, this was all part of his display…for he soon bobbed up to the surface like a fisherman’s cork.
Whilst fighting the tide and the swell, Jennings then proceeded to unbutton and remove his heavily sodden overcoat, followed by a jacket and then his waist coat. As each layer was discarded a great roar went up from the expectant crowd. His underwater striptease show continued with the untying and removal and his boot whilst being tossed around on the choppy surface, then off came his trousers and his shirt until at last he was down to his proper swimming attire.
He then proceeded to give a demonstration of how easy it was for man to float on seawater, reclining in a variety of postures on the troubled waves.
Not content with that, a chair was thrown to him, upon which he sat as if it was in deed on ‘terra firma‘.
All in all a jolly spiffing display.
Not that Granfer Henry would have been overly impressed with Jennings japes, what he enjoyed most of all was perusing the columns of the naughtier Weymouth residents misdeeds.
Henry he could tut and humph with the best them.
Not much tittle tattle in todays paper he mused.
Only Granfer’s best friend, old John Vincent, who had been hoodwinked by a pretty maid entering his shop. She asked to look at diamond rings then sent John off to retrieve some from the window…and promptly took her leave of the premises, leaving John one sparkler short.
The pretty maid then popped up in the watchmaker and jewellery shop of Henry Talzner in St Thomas Street. Thankfully he was immune to her fresh complexion and fluttering lashes and informed the police she had tried to sell a dodgy ring to him.
Weymouth’s PC Hansford knew his criminals though, he went along to stake out her mothers house in Trinity Road, where he collared her later that night as she returned home.
When questioned about the ring he noticed she was trying to remove something from her finger…something rather large and sparkly.
17-year-old Elizabeth White was convicted of theft and sent to prison for 4 months hard labour.
Maybe reading todays news had been all too much for Granfer Henry!
Interested in Weymouth military and naval history? Why not pop on over to my other blog Nothe Fort and Beyond…
Book I Nothe Fort and Beyond is now available on Amazon
Looking for Victorian illustrations then check out my IStock folder at Getty images for 100’s of these fantastic images.
A taster of my book soon to be published The Nothe and Beyond…
Weymouth was about to be invaded. For the first time, in September 1867, it had been chosen as the training venue for the Dorset Battalion of Rifle Volunteers (DRV). This was the ‘citizen’s army’ hastily set up in response to the perceived threat of a French invasion a few years prior. Yet another prestigious event for the town. It would far exceed anything organised for Yeoman’s week. Mayor John Tizard was going to make sure of that. Weymouth was going to welcome the county’s volunteer soldiers with open arms and a whole load of foliage.
The week before the DRV’s arrival was one of frantic activity. Seen as a major scoop, they had to pull out all the stops to make it a memorable one. ‘Around and about and everywhere were emblems of festivity and rejoicing, triumphal…
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Throughout its history, Weymouth’s Red Barracks and Nothe Fort have seen various troops come and go.
Some good, some bad, some just plain bored and a few high spirited.
Their boots marched through the town on parades, they wooed and (sometimes) wed the local girls, or maybe snatched a sneaky bit of feminine fun when they could from those who more than willingly obliged, their money filled the inns and beerhouse coffers.
But for a few of them, their names became immortalised in the columns of the local papers.(Taunton Courier and Western Advertiser 26 Feb 1868)
Such was the case in February of 1868.
Weymouth folk were being plagued by night time mischief makers, namely the…
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This monstrous wooden mask, a bull’s hair and horns mounted on its low brow, was used to scare people at midwinter gatherings. Another was reported at Shillingstone and there may have been many more throughout Dorset, Somerset and Wiltshire. The Rev. William Barnes defines Ooser, oose or wu’se, as ‘a mask…with grim jaws, put on with a cow’s skin to frighten folk. “Wurse” … is a name of the arch-fiend.’
The replica Dorset Ooser mask that hangs in the Writer’s Gallery of the Dorset County Museum was carved by John Byfleet in 1975 for the Wessex Morris Men and is still used in May Day celebrations at Cerne Abbas and in dance performances. DCM © 2015
From the ‘Proceedings of the Dorset Natural History and Archaeological Society’ Volume 84, 1962, an article written by the H. S. L. Dewar. entitled ‘The Dorset Ooser’
This extraordinary object, portrayed in…
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During my perusals of various sites and old local newspapers I often come across some intriguing stories.
Such was the case a few weeks ago when I was mooching through the old Police Gazettes, a periodical which gives a fascinating and highly detailed insight into our Victorian ancestors lives and their mishaps or misdemeanors.
Should such a publication be issued nowadays, goodness only knows how many tomes it would run to and just imagine the poor old paper boy trying to shove that through your letter box!
In the said gazette of April 23rd 1880 a sad but unfortunately not rare case was reported.
“A child was left on the door-step of a house in Belgrave-Terrace, Radipole, Weymouth between 9 and 10 pm, on the 19th inst. £2 reward will be paid by Mr Superintendent Vickery to any person who will give such information as will lead to the discovery of the person who placed the child where found;”
The house receiving the little live bundle was no 3 Belgrave Terrace, the home of 70-year-old Glaswegian lady.
What on earth could an elderly Scottish lady have in connection with a seemingly unwanted child?
(Belgrave Terrace no longer exists, but it was off Dorchester road, somewhere in the Lodmoor Hill area)
The article goes on to reveal yet more details- “a Male Child five weeks old, fresh complexion, dark hair, blue eyes, large mouth and nose; dressed in two head flannels, a white shirt, three under ditto, a white night dress, a black wool shawl, a white wool jacket, a white wool hood, a white fall, a piece of white gutta percha between a white cloth; these articles are all new. ”
Obviously the baby had been warmly dressed for its night time doorstep delivery therefore presumably up until then had been well loved and provided for.
“The Child had a ticket placed on its breast, addressed to ‘P. Peck Esquire.’ Also on a piece of paper written -‘Take care of me, I have no mother.-Baby.’ In a bundle, tied up in a black and white Indian silk handkerchief, 3/4 yards square, were five napkins, two shirts trimmed with lace around the sleeves, a nightdress trimmed with lace around the neck and sleeves, a child’s flannel (old), a new mouth piece for child’s bottle, two brushed for cleaning the same, and some new wadding.”
Yet more evidence that someone had obviously adored and cared for this tiny scrap of humanity, so why would they give him up now?
A fairly vivid description of the person deemed guilty of the baby’s abandonment followed in the piece
“Supposed by a young woman, dark complexion, medium height, rather slightly built, speaking with a French or Italian accent; dressed in black dress, black jacket trimmed with black fur, black hat with heavy black fall, carrying a small bag or waterproof done up with straps. she had the appearance of a governess,”
The police, ( and no doubt those in charge of the parish finances) were eager to apprehend this ‘terrible’ being. They knew she had left via the railway station…but to where?
“£2 reward will be paid to any person who will give such information as will lead to the discovery of the person who placed the Child where found, by Mr Superintendent Vickery, Police Office, Weymouth.-Bow Street, April 23rd.”
But like most sensational stories of the day, there lies a lot more behind the melodramatic newspaper headlines.
Come the 30th April 1880 and the Western Gazette declares that the good old police had got their man, (or woman as in this case.)
Superintendent Vickery had “Traced her to Waterloo Station, London and then left the Criminal Investigation Department to Apprehend her. this was done a day or two ago, and on Tuesday the woman (who is a German governess named Rasch) was brought to Weymouth. She admits her guilt”
At the start of May, the case was brought before the courts held in Weymouth’s GuildHall.
Of course, human nature being what it is and has always been, locals jostled for space in the already packed out the courtroom, eager to absorbed every sordid detail of the terrible affair.
The numerous attending reporters jotted down all the juicy bits, well aware that such highly emotive tales sells their papers far better than boring old Council matters and the usual drunks and debtors that normally filled their columns..
One of many reporters following the case, the Bridport News declared that it was a story of “ALLEGED SEDUCTION AND HEARTLESS CONDUCT.”
Before the panel of local judges stood a sorry looking lass, German born Emma Rasch.
With Weymouth solicitor Mr Howard defending her, Emma’s sad story that was revealed before one and all was one that must have occurred numerous times over the centuries.
She had been employed by a gentleman and his wife as a governess at their home, Templecombe House, Templecombe, Somerset. (Oddly enough, I lived there for a short while and used to visit the doctor’s family who lived and had a surgery in that very same house!) Not surprisingly, this family were wealthy land owners.
Originally from Hanover in Germany, Emma was a well educated, well brought up young woman, who was staying with a friend of the family in Templecombe at the time of her employment.
Of course, their two tales of the tragic events differed widely.
Emma claimed that Peter was the father of her child, and that come the November of the previous year, when things were beginning to become too obvious, he paid her off with £50.00 in gold coins. She was told to take herself off to London and find herself some rooms there to have the baby. Off she obediently toddled and duly found a place to live, only problem was, that £50.00 wasn’t going to go very far at London prices, and babies don’t come cheap. Undaunted, Emma had written to Peter asking for support, surely he wouldn’t fail her and their child?
Poor gullible Emma, she wrote not once, not twice, but a whole series of letter to the errant father, by now she was destitute and had absolutely nowhere to turn to.
Finally, in desperation, she wrote a final letter informing Peter that if she didn’t hear from him then she would take the child to his mother’s as she could no longer care for it.
His mother was the Scottish lady of no 3 Belgrave Terrace, Weymouth, the recipient of the baby bundle that April’s night.
The dye was cast, Emma boarded the waiting train, her journey from London to Weymouth was all too quickly over, a last few precious moments with her child.
In court, a tearful Emma vehemently declared that she hadn’t simply abandoned her child, “I did not desert it, as I rang the bell and waited and waited about until the door was opened.”
Having seen her child being safely taken inside and the door closed, a heart broken Emma turned and walked away, her only consolation being that she knew it would be much better off with family who could afford to care for it and love it.
Therein lay the crux of the problem.
For what ever reason, the family didn’t accept any responsibility for the poor child.
A young local girl, Annie Ames, was left to care for the abandoned baby that night and during the next day and a terrible chore befell her later that evening. Annie was made to take the hapless tiny bundle along to the Union Workhouse and handed it over to John Lee, the Weymouth Receiving Officer who took delivery of it.
Baby Rasch was now “chargeable to Weymouth Union,”
A terrible crime in the eyes of the law and an offence definitely not taken lightly by those who held close to the town’s purse strings.
There was a certain amount of sympathy for Emma, after all she did what many young gullible girls had done before her, fallen under the spell of her employers false promises.
While she was in Weymouth standing trial she was “being allowed to remain at the house of a policeman under the care of his wife.”
The supposed ‘gentleman’ concerned, not surprisingly denied any knowledge of such events, claiming he didn’t know about the baby until it was placed at his mother’s home, he had never received any of her letters. As far as he knew Emma had simply left to return to Germany to take care of her sick mother.
All that was left to do was for the men of the town who sat in judgement to make their decision.
Who would they believe?
How harsh would their punishment be?
“Emma Rasch, we have come to the conclusion, and it is the only conclusion we can come to, that you have brought yourself within the limits of the law, insomuch that you have deserted your child, so as to leave it chargeable to the Union. The punishment we shall inflict will be of the very slightest description. Upon the consideration that first of all what you did we believe you did for the best of your child under the circumstances, and in consideration that you are a foreigner, the sentence we shall pass on you will be one day’s imprisonment, dating from this morning. you will therefore be discharged at the close of this court.”
With that closing statement the courtroom erupted, loud cheers and clapping echoed around the walls.
Though the spectators were ecstatic with the lenient verdict, Emma walked slowly from the courtroom, her head hung low. She was taken up to Dorchester Gaol and put into a cell where for 24 hours she sat and undoubtedly had time to deeply reflect.
Here she was, an unmarried mother, her child now in the Workhouse, her respectable family back home who possibly didn’t know anything about her ‘crimes’ or even worse, didn’t want to know. For not long after her release Emma packed her trunk and sailed back to Germany
…without her son.
The man of the tragic case didn’t get off lightly either, “As Mr Peck left the Guildhall he was hooted by a large crowd and he took refuge in the Golden Lion.”
Good old Weymouth folk, never slow in coming forwards with their views on such matters!
A little footnote to this sorry tale sees the abandoned young child christened at the Holy Trinity church on the 9th May…
…his given name was Victor.
A note hastily scribbled in the side column says it all, “Left at the Union-mother returned to Germany.”
Tragically, little Victor wasn’t destined to make old bones.
He died on October 23rd aged just 8 months and his tiny body was buried in a paupers grave along with others from the union Workhouse, their bones lay congenially in adjoining graves at the Wyke Regis churchyard.
R.I.P. little man.
Interested in more old views of Weymouth and Portland, check out my numerous local Pinterest Boards to see how our town once looked when your ancestors strolled its streets, browsed the shops and relaxed.
Well, as Valentine’s Day is fast approaching, I eagerly await to see what glittering jewels and delicious delights my beloved will present to me early that morn…(don’t even go there!)
It might surprise you to know that celebrating St Valentine’s Day is nothing new, it has been observed for centuries, apparently made popular by Geoffrey Chaucer during the High Middle Ages.
Even those well-pomandered Georgians were well and truly versed in the art of affairs of the heart. Presenting their paramours with tokens of their undying love, sweet little boxes of confectionary accompanied by beautifully handwritten cards.
But what of our Victorian ancestors?
First let’s start with those lithesome lothario’s of the seven seas.
Portland Roads had been used as a naval base ever since the time of Henry VIII, this sheltered haven filled with many great sailing ships of the fleet, and of course on board, their resident sailors, true Romeo’s every one ‘o them.
Is it any wonder then that these Jolly Jack Tars, with their gals in every port, would be busy scribing romantic messages to (all) those they loved, so much so that in 1871, the Western Gazette reported
“VALENTINE’S DAY-More than ten times as many missives passed through the post office on the 14th as on ordinary days, the sailors of Her Majesty’s Fleet sending three sacks of Cupid’s messages to the Castletown office.”
(pictured below courtesy Pam Oswald)
Then what of those romantics who were to marry on this day of lovers?
Love of course being not just the prerogative of youth.
On Valentine’s Day 1872, 54-year-old widow, William Lovell Zelley waited patiently down the aisle of Weymouth’s Holy Trinity Church for his new wife-to-be.
William, a mariner by trade, had been a widow for a while, he led a very lonely life, boarding in a single room down in Hope Street.
But faint heart never won fair lady, William found love a second time and grasped it with both hands. It arrived in the comely form of Ann Purchase, spinster of the town.
Sadly, despite being nearly 15 years younger than her husband, their life together came to an untimely end when Ann went to meet her maker in 1879 aged just 47.
Here’s hoping that they managed to enjoy their seven years of companionship and happiness.
Another couple tied the knot on Valentine’s Day, many years later, in 1899.
Theirs was also to be a tale of happiness and joy mingled with sadness and grief.
Nellie was the daughter of Samuel and Susan Stoodley, who in 1891 were running the Railway Arch public House in Town Lane.(modern day Chickerell Road)
Nellie’s beau was Albert Ernest Yeatman, a coppersmith.
But life had already taught Albert that love could be a rocky road indeed.
In April of 1889, he had married 20-year-old Alice Emily Rabbets and the young couple set up their happy household on the North Quay, where they had two their children, Emily Maria (1890) and George Ernest (baptised on the 24th September 1893 at holy Trinity.)
Then heartache struck the family in 1896, when their youngest child, 3-year-old George passed away.
Still reeling from the loss of their precious son, Albert was dealt a second blow the following year.
In 1897, he was away serving with the Territorial army. Alice had been taken ill and needed an operation, from which she seemed to be recovering satisfactorily. Having gone to bed that fateful night in good spirits, young Alice was not to see the dawn.
Now alone with a small child, Albert had to take the heartbreaking decision to give his only remaining child, Emily, over to the care of her Grandmother, Emily Rabbetts, who ran a boarding house along Brunswick Terrace.
By the time of the 1911 census, his daughter Emily had moved away to Wales along with the extended Rabbetts family.
However, in the meantime, Albert was to get a second chance at happiness, he met and fell in love with Nellie Stoodley.
Ten years after he had first tentatively walked down the aisle, Albert was treading those very same steps, were his feelings of joy mingled with sorrowful memories.
On the 14th February 1899 Albert and Nellie exchanged their vows at Holy Trinity.
Time for a fresh start.
Albert set up home with his new wife at no 9 Portland Buildings, (now 15-19 Custom House Quay.) He was running his own business and life was good again, though the sadness still lay deep in his heart, time was slowly softening the wounds.
Then along came the children, but with that joy came unbelievable grief.
Their first child, Susan Nellie Doris was born on the 9th Jan 1900, the little mite only survived a few months, Susan died that summer.
Two years later, and little Violet Rose Iris arrived.
Oh how those grieving parents must have held their breath, and watched over their precious bundle, only too aware how suddenly and cruelly they could be snatched away.
By the time Albert Samuel arrived on the 5th April 1904 their hopes were high, 2-year-old Violet was thriving, surely fate couldn’t be that cruel?
Of course it could!
Albert junior never even made his second birthday.
Perhaps the famous quote from Tennyson’s poem,”In Memorium” just about sums up love.
But of course being Valentines Day we must end on a lighter note.
One young man made a daring robbery on a Weymouth’s jewellers, perhaps he couldn’t afford to buy his beloved the gift she so desired?
From the Western Gazette of February 1881.
Earlier on the Monday evening, a fashionable young man had entered the jewellery store of Mr Thristle in St Thomas Street. He was there, so he declared, to buy himself some shirt studs. As old Mr Thristle rummaged around in the counters looking for the perfect items for this young gentleman, so the ‘gentleman’ was doing a spot of rummaging too.
While Mr Thristle had been otherwise engaged the young man was tinkering with the shop bell that hung above the door, somehow he managed to jam it so it wouldn’t ring out as a customer entered the store.
Having left the store with no studs, Mr Thristle was left to mourn the loss of a sale to that nice gentleman, but that was life as a merchant, you won some, you lost some.
Little did he know he was about to loose a great deal more!
A little while later the jeweller was busy out the back sorting out his stock, all the while keeping a keen ear open for the shop bell to ring, announcing his next customer.
Only problem was, the bell wasn’t going to ring or ‘announce’ his next customer, because his next customer didn’t want announcing.
The light-fingered ‘gentleman’ had been concealed patiently outside, biding his time. Once the coast was clear, he slipped undetected into the premises and helped himself to a hearty selection of sparkling jewels.
Hopefully your Valentine won’t need to raid the nearest jeweller to fulfil your wishes,
He’ll deliver you a box of choccies and lots of kisses.
(other brands are available…)
“Last Valentine, the day when birds of kind
Their paramours with their chirping find,
I rose early, just at the break of day,
Before the sun had chased the stars away:
A-field I went, amid the morning dew,
To milk my kine, for so should housewives do;
Thee first I spy’d, and the first swaine we see,
In spite of fortune, shall our true-love be.”
Happy Valentine’s Day