I am a retired librarian, having spent most of my career in academic and industrial libraries.
I write on a number of subjects and also write stories as a member of the "Hinckley Scribblers".
No Way To Know
There's no guidebook to tell us when we're right, no way to know the future. Without blame, there is no right or wrong answer, no way to know
"The Swing", by Jean-Honoré Fragonard
Jean-Honoré Fragonard (1732-1806) was an 18th century French painter best known for his works in the Rococo style, although he later turned his attention to Neoclassicism. Rococo was a reaction to the formalism of Baroque, and was typified by excessive ornament and an emphasis on lightness, playfulness and intimacy. “The Swing”, painted in 1767, is often referred to as a prime example of French Rococo, and with good reason.
Sir George Cayley's flying machine
The first man to take off from the ground and fly was not Orville Wright in 1903 but (it is believed) John Appleby, a coachman who was a highly reluctant pioneer of aviation fifty years earlier. He had his employer, Sir George Cayley, to thank for that.
The Three Strangers: a story by Thomas Hardy
“The Three Strangers” is one of the stories included in Thomas Hardy’s collection of “Wessex Tales”, originally published in 1888, but the story first appeared on its own in “Longman’s Magazine” and bears the date of March 1883. Its first readers in Hardy’s native Dorset would have been well aware of the hard times then being experienced in the rural areas and would therefore have related sympathetically to the conditions hinted at in the story, which was set in the 1820s during a similar period of agricultural distress.
The Self-Denying Ordinance, 1644-5
The self-denying ordinance was a short bill passed by Parliament at the height of the English Civil War (1642-49), and which turned out to be instrumental in the eventual victory of the Parliamentary forces over those of King Charles I.
Tell Me Lies
Do not tell me lies. When you tell me lies, you hurt me. When you hurt me, I hate you. When I hate you, I want to kill you.
I walked through cold, ear-drumming air, Up to the fell then down to the trees, Where contemplation was thieved By a cacophony of caws.
I Will Always Protect You
Without a thought I drive my hands into puddles of fallen rain Hoping to wash away Past sins and present woes. I find the water within them