Jack the Ripper case looked into

It is an old chestnut of a case with no real new evidence introduced since 1888 between August and November of that said year. Some 50 suspects gathered by Chief Inspector Frederick Abberline of London Met Police and his team of detectives. White chapel area of the city of London in 1888 was a slum housing area of so many different communities including seaman rest homes and butchers shops with a large population of prostitute and pimps.It was jack the lad land and gangsters on the prowl. The poor lived there and close was the human bond in most circles. It was near the London Docks and so had a vast collection of foreign visitors many sailors from all over the world.

images_027Whitechapel Lane  London England 1887
In this case we look only at the top 5 suspects as to go through police files it becomes very clear that they just did not have a single clue to base a case on someone. Anybody.
I was before modern technology began and so only witness work was the way to progress save that no witness lived. Who ever Jack the Ripper was he was quick able and darkly covered to vanish. It indicates an athletic man with basic knowledge at least of surgery.
First in the frame of really could be Jack is Doctor Francis Tumblety. An American Irish no body as he invented his medical rank. A seller of cheap medicine at as a cure for all ailments.He dealt in New York as a herbalist. In 1888 he was in London and lived in Whitechapel area. in his New York home he did have jars of female uterus stored in spirits as part of his organ collection. We have proof he added to this over time first shown in November 1888 outside his stall selling potions.
Police had him on a gross indecency charge but it was not enough to have him sent back for trail when he jumped bail and ran back to New York. He was a lover of young men in time when it was illegal and we know he hated women as they stole his love from him. His love a 19 year old male.
3e825d0a5791e0bd575bf4ac4d8308d1Whitechapel London 1887

Next came a Polish hairdresser in Whitechapel. One Aaron Kosminski 11th September 1865- march 24th 1919. he went raving mad and eventually was placed in a hospital for mental patients. Police thought he was Jack the Ripper on these grounds alone. yet they say now that a shawl belonging to one of the victims under DNA proved kosminshi was her killer. I say after 131 years no.  Corruption took place. The wool shoulder cloth called a shawl in the hands of many over this time in police care may have been contaminated easily. Saying this it shoves to dagger nearer to this Polish mad barber.


Third in the line up is Walter Sickert who really could have been the serial killer but no real evidence could be brought to prove he was. For the police this man was the top suspect for years. Yet again no proof came to light.

Then a German seaman called Carl Feigenbaum He had been in the area of the murders in Whitechapel in London and covers all points. He was convicted of murder of a woman and sentenced in Sing Sing prison New York to the electric chair in 1894 to death. His own lawyer William Lawton believed firmly that his client was jack the Ripper.

Lastly we arrive at a Royal physician one Sir William Withy Gull 31st December 1816-29th January 1890. He served Queen Victoria but police found him wandering in white chapel and made it an investigation. Local gossip fast to talk and out it came as the Queens doctor is Jack the Ripper. No real proof in this case as Sir William may well have been seeing a sex worker and shamed in the act.

images_051Face of Mary Kelly, the last victim.

in the murders on that year only that of Elizabeth Stride is different and now it is thought she was killed not by jack the Ripper. She may have been victim to her husbands drunken temper finding her on the game.

images_021 Victims of the Ripper E. Stride her throat cut her body so badly destroyed I decided not to use that photo.

Not one of the many suspects had enough motive or facts to arrest even one of them. They could not solve this case with whole of the London Police department after this killer in 1888 so now it beyond solving it is history only. A mystery forever.

images_034Francis Tumblety

I read of a man who claimed that one of the Rippers victims one Mary Kelly Jacks last victim was in fact AKA Elizabeth Weston- Davies grandmother to Doctor Wynn Weston-Davies who had been brutally murdered by her own husband as she had betrayed the family and his reputation in law. The man is Francis Craig his book 2015 is a real jump to prove that his facts add up.

images_050 Carl the German jew, Sing  Sing prison photograph
Jack was the signed name on the letter sent to the police inviting them to find him. It is I think a petty stupid thing to do as a member of the public sent that in.
Then it was a reporter on the local newspaper that called him Jack the Ripper and so a legend was born from an evil serial murderer long dead and judged by his betters elsewhere.

mary_jane_kelly_mutilated_faceWhat was left of Mary Kelly after Jack the Ripper carved her up. The last victim and the worse crime ever. The cases saw he took heart liver and uterus out of all women that he murdered but here with his last victim he removed not just her organs but her face.
in a letter to a journalist George R Sims Police Chief Inspector Littlechild admitted in 1913 as a retied member of the London police force that Francis Tumbelty was the police top suspect after many interviews with him after capture for Gross indecency the police had enough on him try his case but he did a runner when he jumped bail and no way could they bring him back as he was changed at that stage with the lesser crime.
So we are left with two real suspects one as shown died by electric chair that other got way to New York. it is anybodies guess and this story will run on forever without any proof or conviction. I did hear that DNA may be found on a shawl that belonged to Mary Kelly that last victim but how sure are they that it was hers as all clothing covered in blood was burned later to prevent illness or rats.


Whitechapel lane 2019 London, United Kingdom.

One name we can prove he was not Jack the Ripper was in fact Prince Albert Victor who was not in London but Scotland at Balmoral for two of the murders and on Crown duties for the rest of time in the frame outside of murders.

if this case could have been closed long ago I am sure it would have been so, it will go on and on without end, or result. a true mystery folks. Go with care for its still a jungle out there.

Yours Sir Kevin
copyright Kevin James Parr Bt 2019

The war criminal who was Queen Victoria Nephew who escaped justice in 1919.

In June 1914 Kaiser Wilhelm 11 decided that his Grandmother was dead as Queen and Empress in England and the shooting of his brother and newly married wife on honeymoon in Sarajevo gave him revenge on the world. He could now please himself about the size of his empire. Prussia was strong and able to build a larger European empire after all India belonged to England, he told himself.



He with withered arm was never photographed to expose his withered helpless arm. His mother, Victoria daughter, hated her sons deformity and set about trying methods ,often painful to rectify the dead arm. She had no concern for her son and showed her son no love at all and disliked him often. He wore such wonderful expensive uniforms designed to shield his defect and so he, after all deaths in family, decided on world domination .


So his march into Belgium was no more than occupation and rape and murder of some 5600 Belgium peoples.Babies stabbed in their dead mothers arms. A free for all and blood lust from troops encouraged by officers under Wilhelm who saw them as rabble accused them of snipping at his men and all sins forgiven for rape and butchery. It was here that France and Britain took action .It was September 1914 and war was declared on Prussia.

The war cost 6.7 million casualties and over 8 million dead.  a war fought in deep mud and trenches. A line of stones marks one trench near Paris. it states on the stones ,”Here fought the men of the Dragoon Guards ,they lay here still. ”


My grandfather came home with out a lung and two shell holes in his arm. Gas and conditions caused him to be in pain for the rest of his days and I was born six days after his death.

We all know of what went on but not many know that this evil  king of the Prussians and Queen Victoria nephew one Wilhelm was a war criminal for sure. In 1919 he was accused of this but he manged to escape into exile into Netherlands into the care of Queen Wilhelmina who gave him a castle and all his belongings carried into it. Lap of luxury but no more a King just an escaped war criminal at large. The Queen had ensured her county would remain neutral and so refused to hand her guest over to the victorious allies .


Time wore on and in 1927 the trial of war criminals took place in liepiz but so bad was the German judge that only a few real offenders were executed. As Wilhelm was not attending it was not possible for the Germans to judge. Or so they insisted.That mystery must be the reason the British could not insist this man took the stand. Queen or no Queen she harbored a known criminal and that is illegal is in all nations law. No ruling Royal can be above that law , or any other for that matter.

In 1941 Wilhelm died in Holland but his grand Prussia was no more, now a part of it was just Germany, who  soon they would start war again.

Wilhelm was in my mind an evil leader, a war criminal certainly, as what was dumped on the poor Belgians by his troops before that outbreak of first World War and owing in part to this vile murder of so many innocents it is clear that he was a war criminal in more ways than just one. 8 million dead men on both sides of the field of war could stand up and accuse him I am sure. if asked.

You see going back in time to that day when he told Victoria he wanted Poland and she as his grandmother, reprimanded him, all was clear what Wilhelm was in truth a villain, but no one took enough notice at the time .He was told he had enough land and titles.

May be that ugly arm gave the boy a complex I can see that but to do what he did was criminal and his actions had an affect on every family in Europe, Canada ,India and England her self. The generation that was butchered and damned, lost us all we valued at that time. It went on to start a second World War and still the legacy on one War Criminal in the form of one Prussian King continues even today to haunt the face of Europe.  Wilhelm was a selfish monster, the Devils own minister. A man who threw his subjects into a war so vile and cruel it shook the very fabric of the world that came out of the abbess a very changed world.

Thank you for reading ,Sir Kevin.

Copyright Kevin Parr Bt 2019



The ballad of a Highwayman.

A youth once gave thought to a romantic image of a Highwayman. In his enabled mind he saw him sat high in the saddle on a black and shiny horse and away,over the fields they would race the wind.

This is the tale of such a boy. Born in Wolverhampton,  England, on 16th September 1880.

By the age of four years old his father a teacher of Latin and Greek was offered a job at a college in Aberysthwyth in South Wales. The boys name Alfred Noyes and he grew to write some of the best poetry ever thought up. What he gave to us in 1906 was a ballad in two parts of a true story but he held back on a name for his Highwayman.

in this account I attempt to find out just who he based this work upon. Most of it he invented himself to build the plot further.

Alfred Noyes 1926.Noyes Noyes

Noyes was able to read his work for a BBC recording in 1950 and to me his expressive way of delivering his poem entitled the Highwayman brought to me a small child a love of poems that would last my whole life. It perhaps was the thrilling tale of a man with no name who risked his life to keep his promise to return to his love that inspired all that is fine and noble in mankind within my tiny mind. That fact that this man was a robber a murderous road user thief and often on a stolen horse fascinated me until later in life one comes to see that killer on the road just a thug and scoundrel who stole for his way of life in drink and love of women in his arms. A few had been robbed by Crown of their lands during Civil War and could not find honest work. This gave another level to the dress code of a Highwayman robber. It was a wide spread curse of honest people but as with all folk lore it is seen almost as a hero on a stolen horse.


Margaret Lockwood as a female Highwayman in the movie from 1945 Wicked Lady.


That singular evil fact should not distract from the beauty of Alfred Noyes great tale in any shape or form as what this poem is is a great masterpiece within the English language.


The last refrain tells of the ghosts of both lovers and is the haunting line that is remembered.

And still of a winters night, they say,when the wind is in the trees,

When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas ,

When the road is ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,

A highwayman comes riding.

A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn -yard

And taps with his whip at the on the shutters,but all is locked and barred;

He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there

But Bess, the landlords black eyed daughter,

Bess, the landlords daughter ,

Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

It is my hope that reading this  will bring you to search for the reading in full on line or in poetry books. In it I find not just a poem but the base history of England and the very moving tale of love and danger. Two sides of the fence unite in love forever in the immortal words of a a craftsman in poetry.

The man who was in the mind of the youthful Noyes I discovered was in fact Dick Turpin a real nasty man not worth mention . Born on 21st September in that year of grace 1706 in Hempstead Essex. But it was his ride to York on Black Bess that must have given the writer the inspiration to give us this poem. Then Turpin never made that ride Nevison another earlier Highwayman rode to York in fast time changing horses 3 times in order to escape capture. Then Alfred Noyes never claimed to be a historian but he was a genius with words.

Yours with regards Sir Kevin.


Copyright Kevin James Parr Bt 2019


Here we go round the Mulberry Bush .

A childs nursery rhyme of long ago. No it was not from an innocent source indeed a far cry from the nursery ,the childs  bed that we all had this sung too. Sinister in fact is its origin and somehow it entered the school yard and prep school as infectious tunes will do.

We go back in time to the first real mention of the mulberry tree. The ancient Chinese art of silk making from the tiny worm that ate white mulberry tree leaves to make cocoons that would end up as silk thread.

The latin Botanical name for the mulberry is Morus Moraceae . The red mulberry is sweeter fruit but silk worms failed to make progress on it as London found out when planting the wrong trees for King James 1st. Who himself had interest in silk making. The Silk Road trade brought tons of silk to Europe and in England cloth was made by looms designed just for silk to be made into cloth.Who has not loved a silk shirt next the skin.



A Russian black mulberry exits and is said to be really sweet for pies and pastry dishes.

In fact it will grow as a species almost anyplace in European hedgerows wild. Taken to America in 1687 it grow well there too.


Silk worms feeding on white Mulberry leaves

What brought us its fame was a simple song  related to Her Majesties State Prison on Wakefield Yorkshire England. Long ago a cutting was planted in the exercise yard when women inmates were allowed to circle around it to impact the ground so the winds would not blow the seedling  away in 1609. After the bush grew they did the same dance and sang here we go round the mulberry bush although we killed our husbands.

It as a song was a famous tune and soon words made by those who recorded it accepted by all in books as a chanting song .Girls skipped to it and at Christmas 1900 it was sung as carol at Westminster school.





Wakefield Prison was built as a house of correction and poor house in 1594 .Today it is a male only top high security dispersal prison for those too risky to public safety. It is the largest prison of that sort in the United Kingdom.

Here we go round the mulberry bush sung by children all over Europe came from roots long ago in space and time but now we know its rather pitiful origin.

Thank you dear readers ,Yours Sir Kevin.

Copyright KevinParr Bt 2019

10 High Street,Portsmouth England.

It was a sunny morning all told  in the gardens of the town house of the first Duke of Buckingham. Inside that dwelling his tailors sat sowing his newly cut silk attire . The Duke, as always prancing about as talk went on with his socialites. The house full of guests buzzed with excitement as George Villiers First  Duke, chief friend of the King had no idea that this day he was destined to die by the hand of an ex solider in his own brigade.


Villiers had risen high from low on the whim of Royal Charles .King Charles the first of England and Scotland now in this year of grace 23rd August 1628.


The new Duke had all he ever wanted and more but hate was his gift from all who knew him he was trash from the gutter now the Kings favourite and George reveled in his light.  He was a born show man a prize idiot who could not see who he walked over in his wake.

He had been friends with Charles from early days as Prince and now king Charles was showering  gifts and land and houses and rank beyond his wildest dreams . To the nobles in the Kings court Villiers was an insult to the noble families of old England. A sort of pop singer of today in  his ways with too much money and no manners.

He had served the King in France and with some luck had made a hash of things. In fact his enemies lived on both sides of the English Channel in deep and furious manners.

George Villiers Duke of Buckingham was in his Portsmouth  house partying hard when a simply dressed Puritan walked in in a big wide brimmed hat and had not been notice in the merry dancing .He saw his chance and over the arm of a gentle man in deep concourse with the Duke, thrust into Georges left breast a dagger blade and retreated throwing his hat on a table. Suddenly Villiers pulled the blade out cursing his killer and took many minutes to die in agony leaning from his knees onto the table he fell backwards ,dead.

No one had seen anything but honest Puritan had left a note in his hat to explain his actions if he was killed himself. It ran on the lines that Buckingham had ruined the realm had cost the nation in pure gold more than he was worth and corrupted the King himself. He had taken it upon himself to rid  England of the man himself.

The bustling about blaming all for the death moved fast to the Catholic horde. Blamed by many for Englands worries abroad. Something brought the killer back in that room. His name John Felton who had lost his rank in the army through the Duke. Felton had told him he could not exist if then his promotion did not go through as promised. The Duke had told him to hang himself if he could not afford to live. Felton had borrowed the cash from his mother and bought a blade from the butchery shop. His meaning was to kill the Duke on many grounds but his own dealings with this silly man had settled his brain on murder. Some think that in the commotion he had heard his name called and so came forth to say he was the killer.

He was taken back to London to be tortured to find who else had planned with Felton. Felton told them I did it all alone but if you press me ill name you as my accomplice. So he was not racked or whipped but jailed and hanged. By Kings demand. Honest John died a hero to the many thousands who hated the upstart Duke.

He never lived to see in 1649 King Charles executed by those same people who wore Puritan clothing like Honest John Felton.

For the record Felton is said to have purchased the cutting knife for 10 penny which as quite a lot in 1628. So Felton had a good blade to kill his enemy with. He really thought he could take the law in his own hands and rid the world of parasites but he may only have known one when millions of them exits in all generations . The mystery part is in the confusion what really got the killer to return to be named.? Several accounts from that day seem to think he thought he had been called back. Yet if a killer did it he would have vanished faster than greased lightening. Why 12 minutes after he had stabbed his victim was he still in that house? I think poor John Felton felt shame and had done such wrong he wanted to own up. He was just that sort of honest man with enough hatred in his heart to turn killer. we do know that when robbed of his army position he had applied to the Duke and had told him that he could not survive without the rise in pay. Duke told Felton he had better die then. I was on this outcome that John Felton became a killer.

However this case went on for years and was the most talked about crime in that entire era. Even today historians chew the fat in talks over this event. Something makes the case of John Felton a crime of passion and worthy of talk as an open and shut case of murder.

Jeffrey Hudson the Kings Dwarf.

We who study history are always concerned about finding facts .In this case today facts are indeed a rare commodity as only the word of those who knew this valiant fellow is recorded as fact. We have no other way to prove he was who they say he was.

However, in good faith , we march on to find the truth as one.


Jeffrey Hudson was born in the smallest village in the smallest county of England in 1619. Oakham in Rutland  and he the smallest person ever to be born in history. If he was as recorded just a well formed baby of just 18 inches long.

He seems to have come to the top like cream as aged 9 and just 20 inches high he was visited by George Villiers the Duke of Buckingham and who was the Kings favourite courtier.  Buckingham must have found that Hudson was real and so took him to the Royal family as they had much interest in curios.

Hudson was dressed as a blackbird and a pie was baked and cooled  and he was helped inside it. At 24 inches high it must have been a big pie. The dish was placed before the Kings table and before the eyes of the King and Queen out sprang tiny Hudson as blackbird and delighted the Royals with his song. It gave rise to the childrens song about 24 blackbirds baked in a pie and was that not a dainty dish to set before the King.


Jeffery Hudson became  Queen Henrietta Maria courtier and remained just 24 inches high according to the court records of the day. He grew to 3 foot according to art records.

Now we come to the amazing fact that it is said Hudson was at the battle in 1645 in a saddle bag on his own horse fought with sword against Cromwells army. In London he was blown by a gust of wind towards the river Thames and only saved by a shrub bush that  caught him by a coat sleeve.

The Queen with Sir Jeffery Hudson painted by Sir Antony Van Dyke. The Queen in hunting gear with Sir Jeffery Hudson at her side. The two became life long friends.


It is said that little man was so spoiled with fame at court and was so handsome he that the ladies adored him and he wanted love.  He became so pompous and full of himself that he ignored his own father on a Kings progress through Rutland.

In 1649 this little man picked a fight with Lord Crofts brother. Duel arranged and at the appointed time Hudson with a tiny pistol appeared on the field of combat to find Croft had a water pistol but Hudson was so enraged at this indignity that he shot dead his opponent .He was jailed for the crime and this record is the only real fact that this tiny man existed outside that Royal portrait.

In time the Queen released him and fled to France as her husbands head was hacked off in Londons White Hall.  Jeffery Hudson was captured by pirates he was taken as slave. By his own skill escaped and nearly drown.

Sir Walter Scott wrote that Hudson died in 1682 in his 63rd year. I found that he did not die then at all. This fellow as brave as he was small lived on and died in poverty having no place to find peace aged 64.  He had for three years traveled as a wanderer lonely and sad taking from dog bowls food he could find. A sad end to this rare being of human pride he died alone no Queens ladies to adore him. His great friend the Queen of England died in France also in poverty.

This lead statue is at Longleat House but where it originated is not clear. it is however a likeness to Hudson made from his armour design worn in the Kings army.

We have no clue as to the grave he lays in or to places he wandered at 64 years of age.  He most certainly existed and was Knighted by The King himself for bravery and loyal service to the Crown. Not really a mystery but his grave may serve as that as no one knows the location. I know we do not use the name Dwarf no as it is deemed to be rude but that did not upset Hudson those days. Only those who treated him like an idiot he raised to anger with. Taking a water pistol to a duel , well! who could blame what happened on Hudson who had such pride and passion as it dealt with an insult the only way he knew of. Rest of us may have simple laughed. Then we are not small and insignificant ,but he was.

A little blog for you on a massive subject hope you liked it.

Yours with love Sir Kevin.

Copyright Kevin Parr Bt.  May 2019

The Digger of Cobham.

It was 1642 England divided by the sword. The Kingsmen who ruled old England and the disillusioned public  had come to face each other on the battlefields of hell.

Unlike the second Earl of Falkland who saw it as his duty to defend the King but hated war this man was not so forthright . He was born in London and rose to council and ran an orderly business. His name more like a high born Knight was no more than a man who wanted nothing to do with fighting for the King. His name was Gerrad Winstanley and within 7 years the war would bring him to Cobham in the county of Surrey.

1n 1649 that wars over that civil matter of a King bringing in foreign aid to fight his own people who he was sworn to protect was at a head. In London they were executing that sad man of blood for that traitor that he was. It shocked the world as it was the end of a long tradition with Monarchs as Gods.

England was left in turmoil .Sons had fought fathers as the war was a belief. One wanted a tyrant King or one desired freedom to choose who ran the nation. Old faith in Kings against hard fact youth and those who sided with justice and the people. Civil wars that are still deeply engraved in all English men ever now.

In 1980 I met an old Prime Minister of Britain at his studies. it was in a Bishops house near Nottingham where I stopped to ask the road to a certain hall. The Bishop invited me inside his abode in order that his friend could tell me the road I needed. When I was introduced to this said fellow I saw him as Micheal Foot the ex Labour head of Government. He sat gazing at me and finally gave his question. “Tell me sir which side did your family fight on in 1645.”? It was all he said,his milk bottle bottom specs steamed over as I told him  “Sir my family fought sadly for the tyrant King. ” It was a remark that stunned him but he said not a word more. I left and found the road myself.

Winstanley and Foot would perhaps liked each other. When all was still being sorted by Oliver Cromwell and the Parliament the provinces looks bare as in war the armies lived off the land.

The Digger of Cobham.

Gerrad Winstanley had the idea to start a food growing scheme and so gave up what was left of his business and with new zeal for his idea he took with him shovels picks and bags of seed to Cobham a little way outside of the City. Here he proclaimed that scrub land as belonging to the people and so that day in 1649 set up a colony of willing people with knowledge of gardening and farming ways.

Over weeks the land was made into veg plots and soft fruit areas. Back breaking work but they even built huts to store crops , tools and to sleep in. Over a period of months this venture became news all over the South lands. From here and from there families half starved arrived to join Winstanleys pioneers on the land.


Before long thousand strong house built land made good and people fed and clothed. Prayers said in thanks to the Lord God for the bounty of food for all.

This venture now came to the local land owners ears. Rich land owners now came to inspect what was really going on and when amazed they saw what was really a village built and land farmed and gardened they told Winstanley to move of their lands. They told him no such thing as common land all land was owned by someone and as he had no deeds it was not his.

Winstanley was not a uneducated fool so he decided to fight and went off back to London to seek legal help. This fight went on for weeks and in the end poor Winstanley and his friends found that even though he was right  the army arrived to shift them off the land. Even though common land in theory belongs to the public from that day, in 1650, forth law now says all land that is not deeded to owners belongs to Government. So we executed King Charles in January 1649 but one year later nothing had changed some one, anyone , ruled hard over the minions.

The crops and fruit cut down and trampled on by heavy horse troops and boots of soldiers the work of the devil. Nothing remained on Codham farm as it was called a vast top of a hill that was a place of God and the efforts of a valiant peoples .


What happened to Winstanley is a mystery as he simple vanished from historys page.

Then he did write more than a line in our story as a English speaking race.

To have lived in those times would not have been easy with all our knowledge of events for we do not have the way of it all in modern times such as we dwell. For our ancestors still believed in witchcraft and some studied more than others and common man knew his place in the structure of things. After the Civil wars it all changed fora while .Cromwell gave us real government he gave us a navy and ruled a hard line but in Gods name he was needed more than we knew. He was not as many paint him today. He liked a beer and pipe of good tabac   He sang  and fought for legal rights and justice. He died exhausted trying. God rest his soul for what the Royalist did to him after his death was evil. They dug him up mad hanged the remains on the gibbet and his head set on Cromwells daughters doorstep for the poor women to find in the morning. Those who brought the son of the dead man if blood back as king destroyed the reputation of a greater man than any of them could have been. The first law that came from the new King Charles 11 was to make Cromwell Navy Royal.

Nothing changes after war of any level only the dead build up on both sides and what for? To fill the pockets of the ruling class who live of metal shares arm deals and saving of pensions paid in by work of those now dead. War is the hiding place of the evil and against the laws of a higher King than ever man can pretend to be. Apes that walk and talk and fight are primitive and uneducated beyond what we thing we know.Winstanley that digger of Cobham hill may rest in peace for here one man tries to set the record straight. Power to the people.

Yours in respect my readers, Sir Kevin.

copyright Kevin Parr Bt.

Beyond reach. A short story this week.

It was the days of my youth. My morning sweet and happy. It was end of my days at

school and boy hood farewell.  I was now a man ready to join my first employ as an apprenticed joiner with the long standing form of Downey and son in Scatter Green yard

I was seen off by my dear mother who was waving to me all the way to the gate. She had wished me luck and was happy for me that day ,my first as a waged earner. a bread winner eager to learn and earn.


I wandered with my lunch bag on my shoulder and had taken the faster route that took me between houses close enough to hide the day light. Old brick and timber dwellings from ages past. Cobbled lane took me down the hill towards Saint Marys church.Its great iron gates announcing holy ground but then I saw her. Not noticed until that moment. I was paced about 20 feet off her but in that black hooded dress she had not been so obvious. Her head slowly turned to me and as struck by lightening it hit me.The sheer brightness of her face her sad down cast eyes ,the reddest of lips against a white china skin. I moved my lips to speak but nothing came out. She was so beautiful so dainty and so worried .Her eyes lifted, bright dark, they captivated me.

Nearby me a dog barked, I turned and she vanished, when I looked back to her. The great tall gates firmly locked on inspection gave no clue as to where she had gone. I heard the church clock strike the hour and I ran as not to be late on my first day.

Over that day I learned how to sharpen chisel blades .My learned instructor was the foreman George Pattison from over at Greenwich village not a mile from our  house. I did not know him but his family and mine had dealt cattle for over two centuries. He was a mellow sort and  once shown I set in to do my best with old chisels to sharpen to his  satisfaction. Over the week not much happened only chisels and blades oh! and tea making was added to my job title.

I was on my way home and took on purpose that same route hoping to see the girl again.Weeks went by I had my first exam at work on blades. Boss was at the door of his car as I sneaked behind him onto the factory floor. My desk laid out by George who winked at me as I put on my overalls and stood ready as Mister Downey himself shook my hand and instructed my to commence.

That day was long I recall but I must have passed the test as next day I was moved on to timber cutting. Big saw and jig to length mark I was given.

I had much on my mind and there at church gates, she stood, hood down her raven black hair moved by the wind. It  had snowed during the day and I noticed she had left not a single foot print. The chill wind had blown all all away. The face turned ,her eyes held mine  but she was gone from sight  away from my reach.

By now only the church yard she could have entered as the gate had stood open I walked in but no one was there. The church door bolted from within. It was cold in that yard a chill thin wind of winters blast held sway, and no place to loiter  as my mystery beauty had confused me once more I set upon my way rather vexed with myself for taking my eyes of this speedy girl and her tricks.

Time rushed by I was now 23 and top man in Downey and Sons works. I never ever saw her again no matter how many times I had waited at that old church gates. I did so wait.

Not until another five years had flown by and I stood with pride as boss with a good income and Downeys son my own good friend. We had together journeyed to London as representing Downeys at the Industry stand on the show ground. Products of fine furnishings on display and orders and sales in full. So well had we done that it was decided to stay over night and work next day on stand. It was not to start until midday being last day of show. I was alone in the big city and at the London Tate gallery. Happy just to stroll around and observe the paintings as a hour of freedom. On display was a painting of a woman in old Georgian dress. Then it was not her fine silks but her face that stopped me in my tracks.

I was drawn to that frame like a moth to the flame. Her face so beautiful her smile so perfect I knew her so well .It was her, I know it and joy filled my heart for the sight of her.

Below that work of art, on a brass plate, inscribed the name, lady Sarah Barrett Moulton 22nd March 1783- 23rd April 1795. painted by Lawrence from life. Lady known as Pinky by her family.


I stood in disbelief and perhaps deep sadness. I had seen a ghost I had been so captivated I had not thought it so. Then I remembered she left no tread in the snow. My mind still holds her face, her bright dark eyes, her black and glossy hair,  her sheer presence that had me spell bound, but she was dead long before my time. She,  the sweetest vision I  have ever seen. I can only wait for her as I am convinced she wanted me. What is time, a man made clock no more than that. Time is a myth at least she taught me that. In dreams I still see her as old as I am, she is mine I tell myself.  So lonely are the years that pass so perfect her smile.

Yours Sir Kevin.

Copyright Kevin Parr Bt 2019.