Anonymous said: Oops I meant The Wildcat Purrs! Once again, fabulous!
Ha ha! I was thinking … did I write a fic called that?? No matter … glad it had the desired effect! That’s kind of the point of PWP!
How dare Count von Stauffenberg, the man who tried to blow up Hitler, and one super hot historical crush, be played by Tom Cruise??? Nooooo! But then I look at these pics and … yessssss!
Captain Scott and his men after returning from the depot journey via Hut Point, April 1911. Source: Scott Polar Research Institute.
I feel bad that I can’t identify everyone, but there’s no mistaking Birdie’s beak next to Scott. Heartbreaking to see this photo & know that they only had eleven months left to live.
Griffith “Griff” Taylor; Charles “Silas” Wright; Edward “Teddy” Evans; Henry “Birdie” Bowers; “The Owner”; Frank “Deb” Debenham; Tryggve “Trigger” Gran; Edgar “Taff” Evans; Tom “Balls of Steel” Crean.
(OK, that last one is not historically accurate but I defy anyone to tell me it’s not the truth.)
Teddy Evans says of this photo, “Ponting lined us up to be photographed - the first nine Bolshevists - we looked such awful blackguards.” (South with Scott, pp.113-114)
#ShakespeareSunday - TIME
Richard III (Act 1, Scene 2)
Set down, set down your honourable load,
If honour may be shrouded in a hearse,
Whilst I awhile obsequiously lament
The untimely fall of virtuous Lancaster.
Poor key-cold figure of a holy king!
Pale ashes of the house of Lancaster!
Thou bloodless remnant of that royal blood!
Be it lawful that I invocate thy ghost,
To hear the lamentations of Poor Anne,
Wife to thy Edward, to thy slaughter’d son,
Stabb’d by the selfsame hand that made these wounds!
Lo, in these windows that let forth thy life,
I pour the helpless balm of my poor eyes.
Cursed be the hand that made these fatal holes!
Cursed be the heart that had the heart to do it!
Cursed the blood that let this blood from hence!
More direful hap betide that hated wretch,
That makes us wretched by the death of thee,
Than I can wish to adders, spiders, toads,
Or any creeping venom’d thing that lives!
If ever he have child, abortive be it,
Prodigious, and untimely brought to light,
Whose ugly and unnatural aspect
May fright the hopeful mother at the view;
And that be heir to his unhappiness!
If ever he have wife, let her he made
A miserable by the death of him
As I am made by my poor lord and thee!
Come, now towards Chertsey with your holy load,
Taken from Paul’s to be interred there;
And still, as you are weary of the weight,
Rest you, whiles I lament King Henry’s corse.
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