By: Maeve

Most of us know February 2, as Groundhog’s day.  The day that Punxsutawney Phil, that little rodent is trotted out to see if his shadow scares him back into his den.  Or, more accurately the day we see if he is still hibernation sleepy.  If he goes back in we have 6 more weeks of winter if not, we have longer. 

This ritual like so many other things has its origin in ancient practices of wood and farm craft.  Before there was Doppler, even before we fully understood weather we still had to plant so we looked to the animals and plants for cues.  Things coming out of their dens was one of those cues. 

However February 2(or February 1^st depending on your chosen practice), is also a Saint’s day.  One of my favorite in fact, because it very thinly covers one of the most important female archetype deities.  That of the maiden.  In this incarnation, called Brighid, re-named by the Catholic Church Bride.  

Brighid or Brigit or Bride or Bridhe, though goddess in her own right, is often referred to as an aspect of Danu. Danu is intermingled with Anu who was said to ‘nurse the gods’. Yet She is further reaching than that.  Even practitioners of Vodou have adopted Her as the only Caucasian Loa in the form of Maman Brigitte.

Brighid was the Dagda’s daughter. Dagda, called ‘the Good God’ he was portrayed as a pot-bellied, club-waving rampant male – not unlike the Cerne Abbas Giant. He was a renowned lover of the triple battle-Goddess called the Morrighan. His son, Aengus Og, was born to the Goddess Boand (after whom the river Boyne was named). In Scottish folk-lore Angus and Brighid as Bride represent the Summer Lord and Lady.

Brighid was one of three daughters born to the Dagda.  All three bore the same name. To one was attributed the powers of healing, to another, smith craft and to the third, craftsmanship. The triplicate became one in She-Whom-We-Call Brighid. In many ways she is the feminine counter-part of Lugh the Ildana – the Master of All Crafts – for under smith craft comes not only the forging of useful and decorative metal work but also that of weaponry. Craftsmanship is also manifest in the inspiration of poets and bards as well as anything creative from childbirth onwards. Fire was attributed to her so she ruled not only the fires of inspiration and the fires of the forge but also the fires of the hearth and so life itself. Even her name is commonly said to originate from fire: breo-aigit means Fiery Arrow, though it may derive from the Sanskrit brahti, meaning ‘High One’.

She had three sons by Tuireann, son of Ogma. They were named Brian, Iuchar and Uar. The four of them murdered Cian, Lugh’s father. Lugh, in his turn brought about their deaths. After the arrival of the Sons of Mils for whom Amergin was bard, Brighid became known as ‘Mary of the Gaels’. And thus, the Mother of Ireland became the darling of the last set of conquerors.

Brigantia

Britain has a similar goddess named Briganita. In the Brigantia aspect she is akin to the Roman Minerva or even to Britain’s ‘Britannia’. In Bath Minerva merged with Brighid to become Sul/Sulis. Sul presides over the curative hot springs of Bath and Brighid, as goddess of healing, has a number of healing wells named for her. Sul is the very heat that causes the springs to be hot. It is easy to imagine her firing-up the forge far below the earth of Bath, to create the necessary energy to heat the curative springs.

Brighid in her renamed state as Bride has had her name given to rivers all over the United Kingdom.  In London’s Fleet Street under the present-day church of St. Bride, lies the site of a pagan temple dedicated to Brighid. As the arts are under her sway, it didn’t take long for her to become the patron saint of journalism. Also in London, there is the women’s prison Bridewell which was once a convent – dedicated to St. Bride.

Her head, carved in stone, was anciently held in high esteem and, with the coming of the Christians, was concealed in a dolmen for safety. Later it was recovered and instated in the church of St, Bride of Knockbridge. In 1847 the local vicar took it to another church and it has not been seen since.  it is assumed that it was cast into a peat bog. The supposed physical head of the saint was taken to the Holy Land and is now thought to be enshrined in Lumiar, Portugal. A ceremony still practiced, drives cattle past her head presumably either to make them fertile or to purify them.  This is exactly the purpose of the Beltane fires, which were also preceded over by some aspect of Brighid.  

St Ffraid

Capel Ffraid, Treaddur Bay

St Ffraid, St. Bride in another guise, came to Wales from Ireland. She crossed the sea, not in a boat but on a sod of earth. After landing at Holy Island’s Treaddur Bay the sod became the mound where to this day stand the remains of her church: Capel San Ffraid. Excavations at the large, man-made mound, disclosed a mass burial. Each body had been interned with its head pointing westward, towards Ireland, or to the mystical land beyond the Ninth Wave, Tir na  nOg; the Land of Youth or The Blessed Isles where the dead feast awaiting rebirth. As the bodies were all male it was assumed they were battle-slain warriors. It is, however, conceivable that they were monks or devotees of Ffraid. Though the site is not marked on ordnance survey maps it is found on the left as you cross the Four Mile Bridge from Anglesey to Holy Isle.

Like many saints, St Ffraid is said to have plucked her own eyes out in order to make her unattractive to suitor.  Once this objective was achieved, she promptly popped them back into their sockets. She managed to perform all the usual sort of miracles and healings as well as turning the Mayor of London into a horse. Oak leaves and acorns were her emblems – which she shares with Bride.

Bride

There was it seems an actual human personage of Bride. Born in 453, her father was the druid, Dubtach, whilst her mother was a Christian Pictish slave. She went to live with her father when considered old enough to serve him for she was considered his property. Later she took the veil to avoid marriage. When St, Brennain visited her, she had been out tending sheep. Coming in she absent-mindedly hung her cloak upon a sunbeam to dry. St. Brennain, unable to mimic her, was somewhat huffy about the whole thing.

Once, having nowhere to feed and water her cow, she begged of a rich man some land.  The man asked her how much room she desired. She replied, “As much as my cloak will cover.” Her cloak began to spread and, if not for the interference of an old woman, would have covered; and thereby freed, all of Ireland. That part of the land was held rent-free until recent times when barracks were built on it. The cloak supposedly went to Bruges Cathedral in 1087, taken there by King Harold’s sister. Bride’s shoe is in Dublin at the National Museum of Ireland.  Her bag, rosary, bell and sewing equipment she left behind in Glastonbury where presumably, they still reside.

In Glastonbury

St Bride came to Glastonbury in the last twenty years of her life for solitude. The place she chose to live was a low-lying isle called Beckery or Little Ireland where there was a holy spring called St. Bride’s Well. It is now covered over and lies near the area of sheepskin trades. Later a chapel was re-built in her honor, replacing one dedicated to Mary Magdalene. This, like Capel San Ffraid, also stood on a high point, in a field called Chamberlain hill. Excavated in 1887 a burial was discovered beneath the church’s foundations. It was of six people, who again all had their heads westward. It is likely that the legend of St Ffraid was carried to, and purloined by, the monks of Glastonbury. The fields around the church are still said to be called ‘brides’.

As midwife to Mary

Legend has it, Bride, mysteriously transported to Bethlehem to become midwife to Mary, was also, in Hebridean legend, the foster-mother and wet-nurse to the baby Jesus; hence her presiding over childbirth. According to legend, she placed three drops of spring water upon the brow of the infant, Jesus. This echoes the birth of the Son of Light who has three drops of wisdom placed on his brow. These three drops are the source of the three rays of light or wisdom present in the Druidic symbol, Awen.

St. Bride’s Day comes before but is closely tied to Imbolc or Candlemass. The Roman festival in honor of Februa, after whom the month was named, was held at the same time and was one of purification. The candles of Candlemass are lit with the same intention, to purify; mind and spirit.  Legends state St. Bride helped Mary present the infant Jesus to a crowded temple. In order to draw their attention, St Bride appeared wearing a head-dress of lighted candles. As a thank-you Mary decreed that St. Bride’s Day would fall immediately before Candlemass. It also shows how important Brighid was and how, as in many post-catholic cultures she was preserved by the people.   Indeed in the case of Bride as midwife to Mary, the story says Bride dreamt her way to Bethlehem and on awaking, found her mantle had been transformed into blue with brilliant stars upon it.  These are traditionally Mary’s colors thus giving them both ‘Queen of Heaven’ status. Brighid was held so tight in the people’s hearts that the incoming Christians adopted Brighid as another form of Mary or vice versa; much in the same way the Virgin of Guadalupe is accepted into the Mesoamerican traditions. 

The Fires of Bride

St. Bride had a perpetual flame burnt in her honor at Kildare, Ireland. Kildare translates to ‘cell (or church) of oak’. The flame supposedly burnt without ash.  The flame was put-out in about 1220 and when re-lit, was assumed to have been fed by oak, the ash miraculously vanishing. The flame was finally extinguished following King Henry VIII’s Dissolution of the Monasteries in 1536-40. Depending on which version you read the flame was either burnt in Brigit’s honor or was continued or initiated by St. Bride herself. Either way, on nineteen consecutive days it was tended by a woman and on the twentieth, by Bride herself. Now the spot is marked by one of Ireland’s famous round towers, which stands in the grounds of the present-day’s St. Brigit’s Cathedral. Though the fires of Bride were only tended by nuns, the original double monastery housed men and women which was a great rarity.

Serpent Queen

On St Michael’s Mount there is a carving of St Bride/Brighid milking a cow; a common image of her and one that reflects her goddess alter-ego. St Michael, controller of the land’s dragon/serpent power is equated with St George who was both dragon-slayer and solar hero whilst Bride/Brighid, in Scotland, was dubbed ‘the serpent queen’. At Inverness she was associated with a barrow at Glenelg which was said to have connections with serpent-worship. In fact, St. Bride’s Day, February 1st, was also a day of snake-worship. At Glenelg she was supposed to rise from the said barrow.

Brighid, representing spring would, like Persephone, emerge from the underworld, bringing summer to the land. Snake and dragon power is not just the ley system it is also the power of the land. Brighid would set it aflame, bringing the warmth of the sun, breaking the winter’s potent hold. A Gaelic verse says:

‘Brighid put her finger in the river on the feast day of Brighid and away went the hatching-mother of the cold.  She washed her palms in the river on the day of the feast of St. Padriac and away went the birth-mother of the cold.”

St Padriac, who died when the mortal Bride was eight years old, bears the reputation of cleansing Ireland of serpents.  Some believe this to be an (unsuccessful) attempt to purge Ireland of Pagan deity worship including that of Brighid. With her image on St Michael’s church does this mean she is stopping the serpent-power from being killed and thus defying St. Padriac?  If so, she as Goddess and Michael as Archangel continue to protect the power of the land, sleeping, coiled about the Tor itself.  As the serpent sleeps wound-about the World’s Tree as it also lies coiled at the base of the human spine in the tradition of Kundalini, Brighid stands still protecting the creative in all of us as well as giving hope of rebirth of all sorts.

By Mike

The recent disaster involving the cruise liner, ‘Costa Concorde’, off Giglio, Italy in the Mediterranean again raised the question why it is that when the Captain of a vessel gives the order ‘Abandon Ship’, it is always quickly followed by ‘Women and Children First’. It is suggested that the Captain of the Concorde ‘slipped off the deck into a lifeboat’ before all the passengers had been rescued. Before the Birkenhead protocol was in force on such occasions it was ‘Every man for himself’.

This all changed when His Majesty’s Ship Birkenhead hit a reef in South African Waters on 26th February 1852. The procedure, the ‘Birkenhead Drill’ as it quickly became known, was referred to in history as ‘the height of courageous behaviour in hopeless circumstances’. However, it was the first time ever that records show that a Captain gave the actual order, ‘Women and Children First’ and so it is remembered.

The Birkenhead was built in 1845 in Birkenhead (Liverpool) as a Navy Frigate and had steam engines that drove a pair of twenty foot paddle wheels. It also had two masts for sail when conditions were satisfactory for that mode of propulsion. She was one of the first iron-hulled ships built by the Royal Navy. However when the actual first iron ship, (Brunel’s SS Great Britain), went aground outside Dublin in November 1846, it was found to be nigh impossible to refloat her. For that reason and the fact that cannon that hit the hull could cause jagged holes that were difficult to plug, she was turned into a troopship. A further minor reason was the fact that the more efficient ‘propeller’ had been invented and made the ‘paddle’ inefficient in comparison.

In actual fact, when efforts to refloat Brunel’s Great Britain were successful in August 1847, HMS Birkenhead was used for pulling power.

In January 1852, ‘The Kaffir War’ was ongoing in South Africa and the Birkenhead left Portsmouth in the South of England carrying troops from several different regiments. It stopped at Cobh (then Queenstown) in County Cork and picked up more soldiers. Many of these were victims of the Great Famine and had joined up in order to get three meals a day.

On 23 February 1852 it arrived safely at Simonstown near Cape Town in South Africa. Most of the women and children, mainly families of officers, disembarked together with many sick soldiers. Nine cavalry horses and food for them were loaded for the next leg of their journey to Algoa Bay.

On 25th February she set sail with about 643 men, women and children aboard. The Captain had orders to make full speed to his destination. In order to do so, he decided to hug the coastline and he charted a course, which was basically three miles off shore. The sea was calm and they maintained a steady 8.5 knots.

The night was clear with the ‘leadman’ taking regular depth soundings known as ‘swinging the lead’. At 2am on the 26th February, the depth reading suddenly dropped to 12 fathoms (22 metres). Before he could give a warning or take another reading, the ship struck an uncharted rock near Danger Point, Western Cape.

Apparently the rock is visible during rough weather with the rising and dropping of the waves but in calm weather it remains hidden. The initial impact tore a large hole in the forward section of the ship. However, this was an airtight compartment and would not have been disastrous albeit that it flooded an area where over 100 soldiers were sleeping in hammocks. A second impact was deathly. It ripped open the bilges in the engine room.

The surviving officers and men were assembled on deck where Lieutenant-Colonel Seton took charge of all military personnel. He stressed the necessity to maintain good order and discipline. His commands were issued and received in total silence and there was no panic. Distress rockets were fired but no answer was seen. Men were set to the pumps and others began to try to launch the lifeboats.

That was when the disaster really began to happen. Poor maintenance and hardened paint on the winches resulted in only a few of the lifeboats being launched. Two large boats with a capacity of 150 men each were among those unable to be launched. It was then that the order was given ‘Women and Children First’. The youngest soldiers in order of age took up the remaining places. The boats were then rowed away from the ship.

It was anticipated that those remaining on board would swim to the boats but Seton foresaw the danger of doing so. He believed that the boats would be swamped in such an event. He then issued the order for the men to ‘Stand Fast’. The soldiers did not move other than to release the horses into the sea in the hope that they would swim to shore – a distance estimated at two miles. The remaining soldiers continued to hold their ranks until twenty minutes after hitting the submerged rock the ship began to break up and sink. It was then that they were washed into the sea.

The waters were shark-infested and many of the men were killed. A strange fact emerged in that those who stripped off were invariably killed by the sharks whilst those who kept on some clothing managed to swim to the shore uninjured.

Of the 643 who were believed to be on board, only 193 survived. Eight of the nine horses made it safely to land. There is little or no doubt that had discipline not been maintained on board the sinking ship as ordered by Seton, and the men had swamped the lifeboats, there would have been a total disaster with few if any survivors.

Thankfully, with the Costa Concordia there have been only a small number of passengers reported drowned of the 4,229 passengers on board with about 25 still ‘missing’. It is strange however that with modern instrumentation, satellite navigation and all the other aids to a ship of her size that what has been called ‘human error’ on the part of the captain can still occur. After all the Birkenhead went down 160 years ago……………..

By: Grainne Rhuad

With the recent union strikes in Great Britain occurring many of the occupy folks are beginning to talk about joining with unions here in the U.S. for support and somewhat of a strong arm to back them up.  It’s an idea that has potential.  However, unions in general here in the U.S. have become largely ineffectual figure head entities.  They weren’t always that way.

Labor Unions in the U.S. date all the way back to the beginning of the revolutionary war.  In fact, they factored in the beginning of the war.  With people who were conscripted to serve the British higher ups for a pittance while still having to feed themselves and their families.  They were fed up and took up with the rebellion.  They wanted what every worker wants: Fair wages and decent hours.

While the unions in this era banded and disbanded rather quickly, usually rallying to something specific then going back to work or off to war, as happened in 1778 when a group of printers banded together in New York City to gain better wages.  They did and as a result, disbanded.

With the event of the Industrial Revolution, more people young and old were put to work in factory settings.  During this time many unions were formed and strikes held.  Strikes were held for shorter, 10 hour work days, against worker mistreatment and child labor.  Sometimes they worked and other times they just lost their jobs.  This was unskilled labor after all and enough people were hungry, poor and cold enough to refill jobs.

After the 1837 legislation that granted workers 10 hour work days, employers began looking for ways around the changes.  As a result factories and communities started broadening their sphere to include like minded workers in other cities and factories to organize as a larger bargaining group.  This was the beginning of what we think of today as a labor union in the United States. The first of which was the National Labor Union formed in 1866. This group actually fought for and helped pass in Congress the 8 hour workday which is pretty standard even now.

In 1864 that the first modern longshoremen’s union was formed in the port of New York; the Longshoremen’s Union Protective Association (LUPA). They would become an instrumental entity in the fight for unionization. They were so influential because much of the goods produced had to be shipped by boat.  When they would strike it would bring commerce to a halt, so businessmen had to take note and work with them.  Because LUPA was so influential, they were able to join with other unions like ones in factories when they would stage their own strikes, furthering their influence.

They also used other tactics such as naming themselves in such a way as to appeal to the American people. When Port of Baltimore native and International Longshoremen’s Association (ILA) leader Jeff Davis coined the phrase “ILA: means ‘I Love America’” during World War I, he explicitly connected the ILA with a deep and passionate patriotism, which has been a defining characteristic of the Union since its infancy in America’s heartland straight through to today’s era of advanced internationalism. ILA patriotism runs deeper than the personal convictions of the Union’s dynamic leaders – it is an expression of the central role longshoring has played in this nation’s history.

The ILA wasn’t the only influential national union. The Teamsters also were vitally important to the labor movement.  A strike or sympathy strike by the Teamsters could paralyze the movement of goods throughout cities and the country.  It also meant that Teamsters leaders were able to demand bribes in order to avoid strikes, and control of a Teamsters local could bring organized crime significant revenues.

Throughout their history in America however unions weren’t always welcomed.  In fact during the time that we term ‘The Union Uprising’ members of the middle and upper-class would rally in response to unions.  These people were termed “Union Busters’ and would employ a variety of tactics.

One of these was to infiltrate factories or pay someone else to do so in order to talk down unions to the workers.  Usually they would try to persuade non-union shops that by paying a fee to unions they would be losing much needed money.  They would use this same argument for not striking, warning their (fake) compatriots that by striking they would both lose money and their jobs which nobody could afford to do during the depression era.   In fact many workers did lose their jobs and ended up working farms as migrant workers if they could find work at all.  This contributed to the era of hobos, travelling from town to town looking for any sort of work.  The dustbowl days during this time certainly didn’t help.

Another tactic was to actually assault union organizers.  Groups of armed men would beat and even shoot those attempting to organize for better wages and shorter work weeks, as well as safety on the job.

Union busters would also visit churches, sermonizing to the people the evil of unionism.  Sometimes calling it Communist and sometimes just calling it an evil thing, a “secret combination or society.”  This appealed to a lot of the American sort of congregations and as a result set public opinion against unions.

Often when one thinks of labor unions they also think of the Mafia which did a very good job infiltrating unions.  By doing so they were able to command deals for contracts on construction, transport and more.  They would do so by making sure their legitimate business ventures had unions and Mafia affiliated personnel were voted in as negotiators.  It is here that we begin to see real corruptness in how union negotiations were handled.  A union rep is a legitimate job; however, the reps would send a kick-back to their respected “families” in return for a little extra cash themselves.  To keep the non- affiliated workers quiet, not to mention themselves in office, very often they would use coercion in the form of violence and bribes.

In office they would order work stoppage in order to get the price they wanted for contracts. In certain areas organized crime was so rampant that cities and contractors had no choice but to comply.  However to be fair, they did help to stop the Union Busters from abusing workers, it is probably due to this that workers allowed for what they knew was organized crime to join with them.

In a sense it was the organized crime element that caused unions today to be so ineffectual.  The last 20 years have seen the federal government crack down on Mafia-union connections to a great extent. But without a real strong hand unions lose to a great extent their bargaining power.  This is why today a lot of worker’s rights are dictated by the very entities the union is supposed to be protecting the worker from.

As late as 2005, sweeping civil racketeering lawsuits were brought against the International Longshoremen’s Association. It was at the time, the government’s most aggressive attempt ever to wrest the nation’s Atlantic and Gulf Coast docks and the union that represents their workers from what prosecutors claimed was a half-century of control by two powerful New York mob clans. This suite included 26 people connected to crime families.

However unions have accomplished a lot of the progress and rights we expect from employers even today. In 1949 they helped to pass the child labor act.  The 1960’s saw both the equal pay and civil rights act, both of which were demanded by labor unions.  Unions negotiate for better job distribution, pay and medical benefits.  Also vacation and retirement funding.  They are supposed to be there should a member need help negotiating over a job dispute of any kind with an employer.  Sexual Harassment laws were helped along by unions.

However lately union officials and officers have lost a lot of their bargaining power.  They have much less strength behind them as members in many jobs are required to be union members.  The fact that they cannot choose whether or not to be members has distanced them.  Without that choice people very often don’t pay attention or vote for their representatives.  Many times they don’t even think to call when they need help in the workplace.

If unions are going to be helpful to us in the future whether it’s with an Occupy movement, general strike people are going to have to become more active and demand as well as strengthen their union.  Even still unions may or may not be helpful to workers.  They have been taken over by corrupt entities before and are particularly vulnerable at this time, to infiltration.

There is great strength in numbers but only if those numbers support one another and watch for what is best for all.

http://eh.net/encyclopedia/article/friedman.unions.us

http://www.ilaunion.org/history.html

http://www.aflcio.org/aboutus/history/history/hill.cfm

By: Mike

Any visit to London requires not only a visit to the Tower of London but – providing you have sufficient funds of about £15 per person - a visit to the Jewel House there to see the English Crown Jewels. There you will find the Royal Regalia as used on Royal occasions by HM the Queen. There are also Royal jewels of past monarchs.

The security surrounding the entire Tower of London and in particular the Jewel House is extraordinarily high. It was not always so and in fact back in the 17th century the Jewels were literally stolen.

The rogue who was responsible was none other than a fellow Irishman, Thomas Blood who was born in County Meath in 1618. His father was a prosperous blacksmith whilst his grandfather lived in Kilnaboy/Killinaboy Castle, County Clare and was a Member of Parliament.

When the English Civil War broke out in 1642, Blood came to England to fight for Charles First but when Oliver Cromwell (spit and curse at the mention of his name) got the upper hand and was destined to win, Blood without hesitation, changed coats and joined the Roundheads against the King. As a result, when Charles was defeated in 1653, Blood was made a Justice of the Peace and given a large estate.

Everything was going well until in 1660 after Charles Second was successful in recovering the throne, Blood fled with his wife and son back to Ireland. Whilst there he joined up with some disgruntled Cromwellians and tried to seize Dublin Castle and capture the then Governor, Lord Osmonde. He was unsuccessful and again fled, this time to Holland. Although he now had a price on his head and was one of ‘England’s Most Wanted’ he returned in 1670 and set up shop as a Doctor in Romford, in Essex. He assumed the name of Ayloffe.

It was there that he joined up with another bunch of ‘ne’r-do-wells’ and again tried to kidnap Lord Osmonde. They failed and Blood was lucky to escape. They then began to plan with the aim of stealing the Crown Jewels.

Then, as now, the jewels were kept at the Tower of London, (but then in a basement), and the ‘keeper’, Talbot Edwards, lived with his family on the floor above. A locked large metal grille protected the jewels which could be viewed by members of the public.

One day in 1671, Blood dressed as a Parson, went to see the jewels and befriended Edwards. He returned a few days later with his wife. As all the visitors were leaving, Mrs. Blood who was obviously part of the plan had a violent stomach upset and she and Parson Blood were taken to the apartment upstairs. A few days later Blood returned with a present of four pairs of white gloves for Mrs. Edwards as a token of his appreciation. Both families became good friends and met frequently over the coming months.

The Edwards had a pretty daughter and Blood proposed that his wealthy nephew and she should meet. As agreed, on 9 May 1671, at 7am, Blood, his nephew and two other men arrived as prearranged. Whilst the nephew and Edward’s daughter strolled and chatted in the grounds, Blood requested that he and his friends might view the jewels. Edwards agreed and they made their way to the basement. As soon as he unlocked the door, Blood struck Edwards with a mallet and stabbed him with his sword.

The grille was forced open and the Crown, Orb and Sceptre were removed. Blood flattened the Crown with the mallet and stuck it into a bag. He stuffed the Orb down his trousers. As the Sceptre was too long to go into the bag, one of the accomplices, Blood’s brother-in-law Hunt, tried to saw it in half.

At this point, Edwards came to and began to shout “Murder, Treason”. The thieves tried to make good their escape but Blood was arrested trying to leave the Tower after trying to shoot one of the guards.

When being questioned in custody, Blood became adamant that he would not answer his questioners, but repeated several times “I’ll answer to none but the King himself“. He was relying on his charm and ‘gift of the gab’ to influence the King whom he knew to have a likeness for rogues and scoundrels.

He was not wrong, for when he was taken to the Palace and questioned by King Charles, Prince Rupert, The Duke of York and other members of the Royal Family, Blood laid the ‘Blarney’ on in large doses. The King was so amused by Blood’s audacity especially when he claimed that the Crown Jewels were only worth £6,000 and not the £100,000 that was claimed. When the King asked Blood “What if I should give you your life“? he replied “I would endeavour to deserve it, Sire“.

As you may have guessed, Charles not only pardoned Blood, but to the utter disgust of many, including Lord Osmonde, he was given Irish lands worth £500 per year. Blood soon became a well-known figure around London and was a regular caller at the Court of the King.

Edwards recovered from his wounds and lived to a ripe old age at the Tower where he repeated his story of the events thousands of times to visitors.

Blood became ill in 1680 and died on August 24th of the same year at the age of 62.

The Crown Jewels, unlike the Irish ones, have never been stolen since that famous day in May, 1671 as it is reckoned that there is no-one about who could equal the audacity or daring of ‘Colonel’ Blood – the ‘Man who stole the Crown Jewels’.

Here is the story: On the 6th July 1907, the Irish Crown Jewels were found to be missing from Dublin Castle. The theft or burglary has never been resolved and although rumoured to have been ‘bought back’ by the Irish Government in 1927 for £5,000 this is thought to be confusion brought about by another intriguing matter regarding some Russian Crown Jewels.

The term Irish Crown Jewels is in fact a misnomer, in that they do not refer to the usual regalia of a Royal personage. They were in fact the insignia of the Order of Saint Patrick, which was instated by King George Third in 1783. Among the insignia of the order were a heavily jewelled Star and a badge. They were composed of rubies, emeralds and Brazilian diamonds.

In 1903, they were transferred to a safe, which was to be housed in a newly constructed strong-room in Dublin Castle. Would you believe it that the safe was too large for the doorway of the new room so instead the Officer of Arms of the Castle, Arthur Vicars, stored the safe in his office? The strong-room was to be redesigned but in fact this was never done. There were seven keys to the door of the office, which were held by Vicars and some of his staff. Two keys to the safe were held solely by Vicars.

The jewels were last seen when on 3rd July 1903, Vicars showed them to the librarian of the Duke of Northumberland. During the following three days, when the cleaner found the door of the offices open she reported the matter, but Vicars could not seem to care less. On the morning of the 6th July, she again saw the same door open together with the door to the strong-room also open. She again reported the matter but Vicars is quoted by the messenger as merely saying “Is that so?” or “Did she?”

At 2.15pm when Vicars asked his messenger, William Stivey to deposit an item in the safe, Stivey found it to be unlocked. He informed Vicars who immediately checked and found the jewels and other items, including some diamonds owned by his mother to be missing. The safe had not been forced or tampered with but opened with a key. Lock experts who were called to assist in the investigation confirmed this.

On 6th July 1907, four days before the arrival of King Edward Seventh and Queen Alexandra, when they were discovered to be missing, the King is alleged to have thrown a tantrum, exclaiming, “I want my jewels“.

Now this is where some sinister intrigue enters the story. At the time it is said that Dublin Castle Administration Offices contained a rampant homosexual ring which included some famous people. One such was the brother of the heroic Antarctic explorer, Ernest Shackleton. One Irish Member of Parliament said at the time, that the office of the Administrator was nicknamed ‘Sodom and Begorrah’.

Again at the time, it was claimed that some of the homosexuals, in particular Shackleton, stole the jewels in order to pay off blackmailers.

There is confusion about the jewels having been bought back by the Irish Government in 1920 but in fact, Michael Collins with the aid of money raised for the new Irish Free State, made a loan to the ‘new’ Russian Republic and some of their state jewels were given as collateral. In actual fact, it appears that they were forgotten about until found in a state safe in 1940 when they were returned to Russia.

Vicars continually refused to resign over the issue and again refused to give evidence to the enquiry that was set up. However, he insisted up to the end, including the fact that he included the allegation in his will, that Shackleton, his second in command committed the theft.

Vicars met an untimely end when the IRA murdered him on 14th April 1921.

The crime remains unsolved and after one hundred years it is unlikely that it ever will

By Bill the Butcher

Seen from the air, the city of Bombay stretches like a finger pointing south into the Arabian Sea. The city is surrounded by the sea on three sides – the west, the south and the east, where it parallels the coast of the Indian peninsula.

Exactly three years ago as I write this, on the evening of the 26th of November 2008, a rubber boat drew up at a jetty used by fishermen on the west coast of the city. According to the official account, ten young men landed from that rubber boat while fishermen watched. They were fairly well dressed, in T shirts and cargo pants, and had rucksacks on their backs. They may or may not have been challenged by local fishermen, depending on whom you believe, and may or may not have produced fake papers showing them to be students of a college in Hyderabad, again depending on whom you believe.

It’s kind of difficult to believe anything about the official story, going by the incredibly complicated and contradictory tale it tells. Apparently, these ten young men (I have earlier written at length on why I can’t believe that there were only ten) were fidayeen attackers belonging to the Pakistani jihadist group, the Lashkar-e-Toiba. Their backpacks were loaded with AK series rifles, grenades, pistols, ammunition, and food enough to last them for several days, as well as GPS systems and mobile phones, all with Pakistani markings.

They had apparently sailed several days ago from the Pakistani port city of Karachi by ship, and then hijacked an Indian trawler off the coast of the state of Gujarat. They had then killed the entire crew of the trawler except the captain, whom they compelled to sail them to Bombay. They then killed him, and abandoned the trawler (helpfully still loaded with packets of tissue paper, milk powder, flour, soap powder, and other groceries, also all with Pakistani markings, not to mention a GPS system with a map to help them navigate back to Pakistan) to climb into their rubber boat, which they paddled into waters right next to a major Indian Navy base, landing on a waterfront which was usually crowded with people – and got away undetected.

Besides, they allegedly had already reconnoitered the city in some detail; a city where local jihadist terror groups had already carried out attacks in the past; yet they chose this absurdly risky amphibious assault, without making any effort to coordinate with local agents, or to simply infiltrate into the city in ones and twos and attack when they were ready.

I ask you – if this were a movie, would you have swallowed any of it?

In any case, these ten young men then – again going by the official account – split up into five pairs, who then spread out through the city on foot and by cab, and then proceeded to unleash three days of holy hell. By the time the ninth of them was killed, the total death toll was 166, among them a substantial number of foreign citizens. This last little fact – that most of the targeted spots were hit because of their popularity with foreigners and the upper class Indian elite – was what brought this entire episode to global consciousness.

Otherwise, you know, meh.

Note that I specified that by the time the ninth was killed. One of the alleged ten attackers had been captured alive the very first night of the assault, and was, also (original wording) “singing like a canary” in custody. His name, it turned out, was Mohammad Ajmal Amir Kasab, and he has since become pretty much the (young and innocent-looking) face of the attack, being blamed for virtually every death during the incident.

I realise, incidentally, that usually I’m not exactly very complimentary towards my fellow Indians. In fact, usually I take pride in calling myself a card-carrying traitor, since I’m no patriot and never will be.

But I will point out a few things that India did and didn’t do after this strike (which, you know, could fairly accurately be blamed on someone in Pakistan, even if said someone was a jihadist group and not the Pakistani government); things which prove that we Indians are still on the right side of sanity:

1.     India didn’t bomb, invade, or send commando forces to carry out strikes inside Pakistan. India didn’t even threaten to bomb, invade or send commando forces to carry out strikes inside Pakistan.

2.     India made no attempt to frighten everyone into falling behind the government with an absurd colour-coded terror alert system, and made no attempt to use this episode to restrict civil liberties. Not that most Indians actually have much in the way of civil liberties, except on paper, but they weren’t wiped off the paper.

3.     The “sole surviving terrorist”, Kasab, was not waterboarded, put in an orange jumpsuit, and stuffed in a cage in some distant out of the way concentration camp. Nor was he denied a trial on the grounds of it being too dangerous. He was quite openly tried in the civilian courts, provided with full legal counsel, and though he was sentenced to death, he’s appealed and his appeal is quite legally going through the system.

These things actually make me proud. We aren’t that great, but going by the way certain nations which preach to the world have jumped off the deep end, we certainly could have done much worse.

Recently, I was in Bombay, and visited the sites of some of those terror attacks. There is some security, mostly fairly openly for show. Like this police picket, at the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (formerly Victoria Terminus), Bombay’s main commuter railway station, which was attacked by Kasab and his partner. Note the NO ENQUIRY on the sandbags, presumably to protect him from the slings and arrows of outrageous questions.

In fact, what I discovered in Bombay was a determination to move on – one of the things I love most about that city. The people did not consume themselves with a thirst for revenge, and did not allow their trauma to be used by others as an excuse for revenge. No Muslims were massacred in retaliation (in fact, a substantial number of the victims of the attack were Muslims themselves, especially at the CST), thus foiling what was almost certainly a primary purpose of the attacks – to create a religious divide which would cause the marginalisation and radicalisation of Indian Muslims. Today, it’s hard to believe (even more so because of the farcical security, most of which is plainly eyewash) that there had been a major attack.

Let’s take a look at some of the targeted sites, as they were in 2008 and as I have seen them myself. In each case, the 2008 photo is from the Internet while the 2011 photo is by me.

Here’s Leopold Cafe, a congested and overpriced hangout of younger foreign tourists and rich Indians, in the immediate aftermath of the 2008 attack:

Here’s Leopold Cafe today; crowded with people, and more waiting outside for their turn, while the pavement outside is lined with stalls selling everything from optical instruments to clothing:

Here’s the Taj Hotel, scene of a bloody three-day standoff, which was badly damaged by fire and where firefighters evacuated people right in the middle of the fighting.

Here’s the same hotel today. No, I didn’t go inside to take photos – it’s kind of out of my class – but the outside will do fine. Incidentally, this area was the scene of other terror attacks over the years.

Here’s CST, after Kasab’s rampage. The fact that most of the people killed at this spot were poor and middle-class commuters meant that the elite media virtually ignored it in favour of the more upscale targets:

Here’s CST today. Who has time to be afraid?

I’m not saying the victims of the terror attack should be forgotten. But Bombay demonstrates that there is another way to commemorate them than by an annual rite of hatred, soaked in the blood of innocents in a land across the sea.

Of course, maybe I am wrong. Perhaps exterminating innocent people elsewhere in the name of “protecting Indians” would have helped to prevent more terror attacks.

But I don’t think so.

Annie Moore by: Bernie Rosage Jr.

By: Mike

Little Annie Moore was aged 14 and thought, with a little tear in her eye, about her upcoming 15th birthday on New Year’s Day. It would be the best birthday of her short life for with a little luck and fair weather she and her two brothers Phillip and Anthony would be reunited with their parents whom they had not seen for nearly four years. It was her father who had sent home sufficient money to pay for the three tickets for the fare that would take them by ship to join them in a new life in a New World.

She had been born on the 1st January 1877 in a small village just outside Cork City and had on many occasions watched the large ships sail out into the Atlantic taking emigrants who would never more see their native land. She was not old enough to have seen those ‘poor wretched wrecks of humanity’ as her grandmother called them, make their way from distant places to leave behind the Famine that was then ravishing most of Ireland. She had learned in School of the hundreds of thousands who had either died or emigrated during the five or six years of famine.

Her parents had left their three children in the careful hands of their grandmother when they had decided to emigrate themselves. They had sailed on a bright summer’s day in 1888 and little Annie could not wait to be reunited with them. It would not be long now……….

She had read the letter from her father and mother – a very long letter at that – over and over again. The instructions were very important for if she was not prepared for what might happen when she arrived at their destination, all sorts of problems might arise.

She and the two boys had repeated her parent’s address over and over again and made sure that they had fully remembered all the other instructions. The address was 32 Monroe Street, Manhattan, close to where her father worked in the Fish Market. He had said that the ship would most likely berth not far away at Castle Garden Immigration Depot but that the new reception centre at Ellis Island might be completed before their arrival.

Before leaving the ship, Annie was to carry a damp cloth in her bag. She did not understand the reasoning but her father said that if anyone wrote a letter in chalk on any of their coats she was to quietly wipe it off without being seen. They were to look happy and smile and no matter how tired they were from the journey, they were to walk upright and not slouch going up the stairs to the examination area. There were 19 questions to be answered and the children were each to have the answers written down in case of any problem. They were to answer them however, without reference to the notes if at all possible.

December the first eventually came leaving only ten days to go. Annie, and in particular Anthony were so excited that they did not sleep much over the following nights. Phillip did not seem to be excited at all for he had, even at the tender age of twelve made up his mind that as soon as he could afford the ticket, he would return to Cork and his grandmother whom he adored.

The packing was completed with days to spare and on the 10th December in heavy rain, grandmother and children made their way to the docks where the steamship Nevada waited. Without any fuss or ado, Granny Moore kissed them farewell and pushed them towards the gangway. Phillip ran back to her and gave her his promise of his return.

The trio made their way along the gangway and handed over their tickets. They were taken to a small cabin with three bunks. After settling in, they made their way to the deck where they were able to wave to their grandmother who stood in the rain among hundreds of other elderly people. Annie felt sad and elated at the same time. About three hours later a blast was heard from the ship’s hooter and the ship gently moved away from the dock. Annie looked and sure enough their grandmother still stood as if nailed to the spot where she had been for the full three hours. They waved but quickly the ship moved out into the channel and away from Cork.

Annie and Phillip would once again see Ireland but Anthony would not. He it was who would take to America like a ‘duck to water’ and quickly forget his Irish home.

They got into a routine on board ship with little or nothing to do. They walked the deck when the weather was fine but for most of the journey it was either misty or a fine drizzle. They ate well and slept a lot. Christmas on board was a special day with the festivities going on for three days.

On the 31st December at about 8pm they weighed anchor in the Hudson River and when they asked a crewmember they were told that they would disembark at about 9am the next morning. They had very little sleep that night.

Next morning as they had been told, the ship made its way to what looked like a brand new facility. As it turned out, it was Ellis Island Immigration Reception. It was open for business for the first time. It was also Annie’s fifteenth birthday.

When the ship docked they were lead down the gangway and into a large hall. A very officious man in uniform came up to the three children and asked, “How old are you three?” Annie answered pointing to Anthony and Phillip “They are ten and twelve and I am fifteen today”. “Fantastic” the man replied “just what we are looking for“. They were taken to the first floor and were in fact the first passengers to reach there. The man took the three forward to the immigration officer.

The immigration official began to ask questions, the prepared answers to which Annie rattled off. She did likewise for the two boys and they were granted permission to land. It was then that the original official gentleman stepped forward and said aloud to some nearby men who turned out to be reporters: “I would like to welcome to America, this young Irish lassie who is not only celebrating her fifteenth birthday today but is also the first person to enter America through this wonderful facility“. There was some clapping and he handed something to Annie. It was in fact a ten dollar gold coin…………….

As they made their way out to meet their parents, little Annie was not to realise that she was the first of about 12 million people to pass through the building before its closure on 12th November 1954.

Incidentally, the last person to pass through the facility before it closed was a Norwegian seaman named Arne Peterssen.

Oh yes, about the damp cloth she was told to have ready when she entered the Reception area: The Immigration officers used to watch the people as they left the ships and climbed the stairs towards the main area. If they noticed anything particular such as obvious signs of illness or insanity or such, they would chalk a code letter on the back of the coat of the person suspected. Many literally wiped the mark off before having their medical examination in the hope that it would not be noticed again and their entry to the United States refused.

Annie went on to marry a German immigrant named Augustus Schayer with whom she had at least eleven children. She died of heart failure in 1923 aged 46 years. Her grave was discovered in 2006……………………

By: Mike

Madame Perrot was reputed to have been one of the most beautiful women in Paris, France in the 1920’s and 30’s. She had socialised with the highest ranking politicians and the wealthy of her era and travelled all over the world. Although it was said that she had been engaged to be married whilst in her early twenties she had never committed herself to a lasting relationship. She was having too good a time……

I first spoke with her when I was only ten years old in 1950. I was having one of my ‘rambles’ not far from home and stopped as usual close to her beautiful thatched collage not far outside town. The other children of the neighbourhood called her a ‘witch’ but even at such a tender age I did not believe them. I was, and probably still am at the age of 70 able to accept people as I find them and not as described by others.

You see, it was said that whilst undergoing surgery – people called it a ‘facelift’ – she was left badly scarred and as a result had left France and taken up residence in the cottage. She did not have what one would call friends and never had visitors.

One of the local women worked a couple of days each week as a domestic servant and collected groceries for her. Apart from that she spent all of her evenings alone and most of the day tending her beautiful garden. It was the garden that always gained my attention –especially in late spring – when the flowers and shrubs began to bloom and the fruit began to appear on the raspberry, gooseberry and other fruit trees and bushes.

At those times I would stand with my head resting on the low wall and watch for hours with longing in my eyes for just a taste of the fruit that was there in abundance.

I had only seen Madame Perrot from a distance and as she always wore a large bonnet and veil hanging down over part of her face I never saw the disfigurement that the older people spoke of when her name was mentioned.

The late spring of 1950 was a glorious one with the promise of a beautiful summer to follow. In those days, and things have not changed much since, I was a loner and preferred my own company whilst searching out bird’s nests close to home. However, I always had time to stand and examine Madame’s garden and drool over the fruit as it ripened.

It was one Saturday whilst I took up my usual spot overlooking the garden that I first came face to face with Madame. She had been tending the garden close to the wall and I had not noticed that she was in fact kneeling whilst she removed some weeds. As she stood up we came face to face and our eyes met even though hers were hard to see behind her veil.

She seemed surprised that I did not run away. Instead I nodded to her and politely said “Good afternoon Madame – your garden looks quite beautiful”. She stood there and for the first time in my life I heard her speak in a most wonderful accent.

She asked “Thank you but who are you my little friend?” I replied with no trace of fear in my voice “I am Michael Madame and I am pleased to meet you”. She seemed surprised at my answer and smiled beautifully –clearly visible below the veil.
“I see you often Michael as you tend my little garden with your eyes. Do you like it?” she asked. “Oh yes indeed Madame” I replied with a note of genuineness in my voice, “I always like it but especially at this time of the year”. “You have an eye for beauty Michael. Perhaps we should have met many years ago” she quietly spoke having given a deep sigh.

Although I was only ten years old I immediately understood what she meant. “But beauty is all around us Madame” I almost whispered “I can see beauty in everything”. “Including a frog or toad Michael?” she asked. “Oh yes Madame” I laughed, “even one of those”.

“Is it not time that you should be home?” she asked. As I guessed that it was now about five in the afternoon I agreed. As I made to leave she called after me “Perhaps you could come and visit me tomorrow afternoon?” she asked. “If you please Madame: that would be very nice”. As I moved away I shyly waved back to her.

I had made up my mind that I would not tell anyone other than my mother what had happened or about my visit the next day. When I did tell Mum, she was delighted and we promised to keep the secret to ourselves.

That night I had the most wonderful dream. In it, I dreamt that I was lying in the sunshine in Madame’s garden eating all sorts of exotic fruits. In it, Madame did not wear a bonnet or veil and her face was beautiful – more beautiful than any face I had ever seen before. She had long flowing shiny black hair down to her shoulders and she wore a beautiful summer dress. That dream is still as fresh in my mind’s eye today as it was when it happened all those years ago………………….

After Mass on the Sunday I stayed close to home in an attempt to keep my Sunday clothes and shoes as clean as possible. Time dragged and I could not wait until dinner was eaten and I could make my way to visit my new ‘friend’.

Eventually, at about two o’clock, Mum winked at me and I quietly made my way out the back door and walked briskly out the road to keep my appointment. When I reached Madame Perrot’s I looked over the low wall and saw her sitting some distance away. I panicked when I thought that she might have forgotten my visit. I did not call but stood in my usual place with my eyes fixed on her.

It seemed like only seconds when she stood up and gave a beautiful wave towards me. I honestly felt that she had been looking forward to my visit. She waved towards the side gate and I entered. As I approached her she called out “Bonjour Michael – you are welcome to my home and garden”.

I felt totally at ease and wished her a good afternoon. She invited me to sit on the grass where she had laid a rug and I noticed that there was a bowl of freshly picked fruit including strawberries. She must have seen the look in my eyes as she immediately said “You may have some if you wish”. As I ate a strawberry – one of the very few strawberries I have enjoyed in my life – I said to her “The only strawberries I have ever tasted before were the small wild ones that grow in the forest”. She looked shocked then quietly said “From now on Michael, whenever you are passing you may come into the garden and pick any fruit you like, I will give you a note to that effect”.
I was quite shocked at her generosity and said “If I may Madame, I would like to take a few strawberries for my mother”. “I knew it from the first moment I spoke to you Michael that you think more of others than you do of yourself. You shall have a bowl of strawberries, gooseberries and raspberries for her and later in the year, you may have all the apples and pears you can carry – all with my compliments” she appeared to be delighted at the idea.

At that moment for some unknown reason she moved the veil from off her face and onto her straw bonnet. I saw the scars on her face around her eyes, nose and forehead. They were quite horrible but did not shock me. She looked at me as she did so then asked “Are you not shocked Michael?” she asked. “No Madame, I honestly thought that they would be far worse”. She did not replace the veil but laughed out loud. “Where were you when I was going through all the agony when first it happened Michael? All my so-called friends avoided me like the plague and those I met could not look me in the face. Oh for the innocence of childhood. Thank you Michael, you have made my day”.

We laughed for a long time then she asked me all about my family and school. She promised that she would teach me French in the years to come and I told her I would teach her Gaelic. Again we laughed………..

That Sunday in June 1950 is one I shall always remember. I had made someone who thought little of herself a very happy person and as she said herself, made her laugh for the first time in almost thirty years…………….

When it was nearly time to go, she walked me through her cottage where I saw some of the most beautiful furniture and fittings I have ever seen in all my life. It was like a palace. Although I did not know the possible value at the time, I now reckon that the contents at today’s prices would be in the region of three quarters of a million pounds.

I said my goodbye and made my way home with a basket containing as much fruit as I could carry together with a large bunch of flowers for my mother. I knew that Mum would be delighted not only for the flowers and fruit but more so for the fact that I had spoken with a lonely old woman who up to that day had spent almost all of her time on her own. I knew that Mum would be proud of me for doing so. I also carried the handwritten note from Madame that gave me authority to pick fruit from her garden in the future. I was not to know then how important that note would prove to be in the not too distant future……………

I had arranged to visit Madame again on the following Saturday and spent the week at school with my secret totally intact. Mum had told the family that a friend from out the country had called at home and given her the fruit and flowers.

It was on the Wednesday that for the first time in my young life my mother called at my school and when I saw her talking to my teacher I knew instantly that something was seriously wrong. The teacher called me to the front and I left the classroom with my mother.

As we came out into the playground Mum spoke with a quiver in her voice. “Something terrible has happened Michael. Madame Perrot’s cottage is on fire and she was trapped inside. I am sorry but she died in the fire”. I began to cry inconsolably and as we ran down the road I knew I had to make my way to the Madame’s house.

As we arrived the Fire Engines were still at the scene. The thatch was almost completely gone with most of it having collapsed inwards. It was still smouldering. I saw that the entire house was gutted but it appeared that Madame’s body had already been removed.

A true friendship, possibly the first adult friendship of my young life, had been shattered forever. I was to cry many a tear for that very reason over the years to come……………

I did not visit the garden until the following year at my Mum’s suggestion. As we entered the garden area we were challenged by a man who appeared to have some connection with the property. I showed him the note and after examination he merely said “Ok, carry on but the land has been sold so you will not be able to visit next year”. With that Mum and I picked as much fruit, flowers and shrubs as we could carry. The shrubs were planted in our small garden back home and flowered for years afterwards.

Each spring they were a constant reminder of a truly dear friend whom although I had only known her for a short while, she has remained as such for the past sixty years…….

By: Mike

It was way back in 1947 when I was 7 years old that one of my most beautiful memories came to me. Nowadays, whenever I sit in front of the open fire and let my mind wander, I think of all the heartache that surrounds that period of my life but at the same time, I think also of the beautiful things that made my young life so worthwhile.

There were only twenty small cottages in the village at that time and with the one roomed schoolhouse and small chapel by the crossroads, my friends and I would sit on the corner and watch the world pass by. Not that much ever happened during the winter months once Christmas and the New Year had been celebrated.

We would sit and count each day as it passed waiting for spring when we could again partake in our favourite pastime. As soon as the birds began to nest, we would have a competition to see which of us could find the most and the rarest nests. We had heard of boys and even men who collected birds’ eggs but we never did. The priest had called it a sin against nature…..

Shaun Magee was a year older than Fineen Burke and me and he was always the one to climb the highest trees to check the crows and jackdaws nests. We could never compete with him on that level. The three Dwyer girls, Mary, Kate and Eily were the sharpest at finding the tom-tits’ and the wrens’ nests in the holes in walls and in the ivy on trees. They always won the highest number of nests, but Shaun always got the rarest.

One fine January morning, it must have been a Saturday as there was no school, as we sat and talked on the crossroads corner, the Postman on his bicycle stopped and gave us the news that lifted us up. “‘Tis Old Caoch the Piper who is on his way in a day or two, and his singing and storytelling, let alone his piping will bring some life to the village after them winter months”. I could hardly remember the last time he had been but I had heard all the stories that he told, over and over again from various grownups. It was indeed something to look forward to.

Well we waited and waited after Mass on the Sunday and after school on the Monday but no sign of him could be seen. We asked about him of any people passing through the village but none could help with any information. We became frustrated waiting.

On the Wednesday morning as I got ready for school, I heard a dog barking outside the half-door when suddenly a face appeared across the threshold. “God bless all here,” a sweet mellow voice said. My mother who had been preparing breakfast at the stove, dropped everything and ran towards the door. “Come in mo croi, and God be with you Caoch. Is Pinch with you?” As she opened the half-door, a little shorthaired Jack Russell dog ran into the room.
Carefully the old man felt his way into the house with his pipes slung across his right shoulder. On the other shoulder hung a beautiful green and yellow tartan holdall. His clothes were old but immaculate and you would have thought that instead of walking some distance that morning, he had in fact stepped out of a tailor’s shop window. It was obvious that he had been a fine looking man in his youth, but age was catching up on him fast.

Without any hesitation, my mother placed the almost prepared food on the table in front of old Caoch and said to me: “I want you Michael, to cut his rashers and fried bread, put a portion on a fork and hand it to him: now be a good lad and do as I ask you”.

It was then and only then that I realised that he was blind. Sure now, I wasn’t to know that ‘Caoch’ meant blind in Gaelic – we had not learned it at school. As I sat on the bench beside him, old Caoch turned his head towards me, stretched out his hand and ran it through my hair. “Woman of the house”, he again spoke in a soft tone “and what would be the colour of young Mickeleen’s hair?” “Sure, ‘tis as golden as the wheatfields in July and he only seven years” my mother replied. Caoch again placed his hand on my head and whispered “May your years be long, my son, and may they all be happy ones”.

I fed him his breakfast and handed him the large mug of tea that mother had prepared. With each forkful, he thanked me as if it were the finest food he had ever tasted and the sweetest tea he had drunk in years. Pinch in the meantime was chewing on a large bone that mother had saved since she had first heard of their coming.

I did not eat anything that morning; not even a slice of bread as the excitement was far too much for me. Mother sent me to the neighbours to tell them that there would be a ‘session’ in our house tonight starting at seven o’clock. As I ran from door to door, the news preceded me and at least one neighbour was at the door by the time I got to each house.

I had not returned to our own home more than a minute when in ran Fineen, Shaun and the three girls. They had been on the way to school when they heard the news. Old Caoch blessed each one of them in turn and they spent the next ten minutes making a right old fuss of Pinch.

That day in school was one of the longest days of my life. The minutes passed like hours and the hours like days. Mr. O’Shaughessy, our teacher had also heard the news and decided that not much would be learned that day. He let us out early to prepare for the evenings entertainment.

I ran all the way home, as did my friends and as I entered our house all I saw was my mother busy preparing food for the guests who would attend later. Pinch sat close to the fire but there was no sign of Caoch. Mother guessed what I was thinking and spoke in a quite voice “Leave him be now Michael, he is having a little sleep before the music and dancing begins”.

As was normal whenever we had a visitor, I had to give up my room and bed but I did not begrudge him it in any way. It suited me perfectly, as I would have to be allowed to stay up until the party was over. I would then sleep on the floor close to the fire wrapped up in spare blankets.

I sat and listened patiently for any sound from my room. It seemed like ages before I heard the notes of Caoch tuning his pipes. I nodded at mother and she poured out a mug of tea. “Take this in to him quietly now and don’t disturb him” she whispered to me.

I knocked on the door and he called “Come in”. I passed him the tea and when he realised it was me, he softly said”Have you ever heard this one Mickeleen? – ‘tis called ‘The Wind that Shakes the Barley’”.With that, he pumped up the pipes and I saw his long thin fingers move gently across the notes as softly as a butterfly lands on a flower on a calm summer’s day. The beautiful sounds took me to some far distant place and I was lost in wonderment and amazement how such wonderful music could come from such a strange looking instrument.

The neighbours and friends from other nearby villages began to arrive at about seven o’clock and each and everyone brought something, be it food or drink or in some cases, both. It was as if Christmas, Easter, Saint Patrick’s Day and my birthday all came at once. There was lemonade and other juices for the children and bottled stout and porter and some poteen for the men. I noticed that mother had taken out her bottle of Sherry from her secret hiding place that only she and I knew about. This was for the ‘special’ female guests.

Father took pride of place in the centre of the room and acted as the man in charge of proceedings. The music struck up, stories were told, poetry was recited and the three Dwyer girls danced some beautiful Irish reels to the music of Caoch.

I can honestly say that it was the most wonderful evening of my life, then and now. It was something that will go with me to the grave. Not one harsh word was spoken yet much alcohol was drunk. And not only that, but also some tears were shed when Caoch recited some poetry of the Great Famine. Some of those present had grandparents who had suffered the consequences of the Blight………….

However, all good things must come to an end and before he left, our teacher, Mr. O’Shaughessy, much the worse for having consumed far too much porter and poteen, proudly announced that the next day was declared a ‘Bank Holiday’ and that there would be no school.

Next morning, bright and early, I was awoken by mother preparing the breakfast. Old Caoch and Pinch came out of the bedroom and quietly sat at the table. I took his breakfast to him and cut up his bacon and eggs. Having eaten it, he quietly picked up his holdall and pipes, slung them across his shoulders and as he walked out the door, he called back “God bless all who dwell within, and you young Mickeleen say a little prayer for old Caoch every now and then”. With that he walked away quickly followed by Pinch. He never looked back, for had he done so, and had he not in fact been blind, he would have seen the tears flow down my cheeks.

Fineen Burke and Shaun Magee immigrated to America and never sent as much as a single postcard home to tell their parents how they were doing. I remained in the village but never married. Both my parents died some fifteen years since Caoch had been and although I was alone, I was not unhappy. I had wonderful memories of all aspects of my life and not one single regret.

I often thought about my friends when things were quiet and I sat before the open fire smoking my pipe. Several of the small houses in the village were now derelict and unoccupied. The way things were going it would be like the deserted village with all the young people moving to the cities. The schoolhouse was long since gone and what children there were left were taken by bus each day to the nearby town to school. Village life had changed beyond all recognition.

At least twenty years had past, when on a beautiful June evening, I sat in the doorway catching the last of the sun before it set. Once again I was thinking of times and friends long since gone.

Suddenly, a tired old Jack Russell dog came limping up the road. I noticed that it was a stranger to the village so I took a closer look. About twenty yards behind it was a stooped old man. I stared in disbelief. Was that a set of pipes across his shoulder? It couldn’t be – or could it? I had often thought of old Caoch and Pinch but had thought them both long dead and buried. As Pinch came to the door, he stopped and barked a low sound back to the old man. I jumped from my chair and ran towards him.

“Good God Almighty” I exclaimed. “It is, it is, it’s Caoch”. He had been old when last I had seen him but now he was a shadow of himself. He was old and grey, his clothes which used to be immaculate were now threadbare. His tartan bag was also threadbare and covered in patches. However, he had obviously maintained his pipes, as they looked as new as the day he had first come to the village.

He stopped as I approached without saying anything. He obviously sensed my presence as he called out “Does anybody hereabouts remember Caoch the Piper”. I grasped his hand and held it tight and softly said “You are as welcome now Caoch as you were twenty years ago”. As I led him into the living room, he touched my head and asked “And where is that lovely head of hair that once adorned this head?” I laughed and broke the silence of the room. He cocked his head as if listening to that same silence, “And where is all the merry-making that I left behind when I passed here those twenty years past?” “All gone Caoch, some to their maker and some far away. We are but two, or three if you count Pinch”.

I sat him down at the table and quickly prepared some hot food. As I did so, Caoch spoke softly”Will you please let me stay, young Mickeleen, my time has come, I will not keep you waiting. My peace is made, my prayers said and I’ll go home tomorrow”. I knew that there was nothing I could say for he had the look of death upon his face.

“And you shall have my pipes and dog Michael, for I’ll not need them anymore. And all I ask in return is that now and then you say a prayer for Caoch O’Leary”.

He slept in the same bed he had slept in twenty years before and Pinch and I kept vigil all night. As dawn broke, he peacefully passed away holding my hand. Not a word was spoken. The following day, Mass was said for him and he was buried not far from the three Dwyer girls.

Weeks later I placed a small headstone above his grave which merely says ‘God Rest You, Caoch O’Leary’.

By: Mike

Stingy Jack – the Blacksmith

John Patrick Kerrigan was born on 31st October, 1897 in a small village on the outskirts of Westport, County Mayo on the West coast of Ireland. He was one of five children and grew up an ordinary and kind-hearted boy. It was not until he reached the age of 18 and having completed his apprenticeship as a Blacksmith, that he discovered the evil of alcohol. He became so fond of it that he would beg, borrow or steal money, or in fact anything that was not screwed down, to feed his thirst for the stuff.

He became a wandering farrier and went throughout the county shodding the many farm horses that were used in all forms of farm work in those days. For the first few years he was sought after for the quality of his work but soon the alcohol even affected his ability to do any sort of a good job. He became known as a drunkard and a lazy one at that. He had one thing in his favour; he had the ‘gift of the gab’ and once supposedly kissed the Blarney Stone. However, he owed so much money to local farmers that he was unable to get credit from any source nor any money from his family. He had to move away….

He moved across Ireland to County Kildare which is famous for its horses and was once again up to his old tricks. He was stealing everything in sight and became known far and wide for his misdeeds. Some people believed that it was because he was born on The Eve of All Hallows – Halloween that he was drunk more often than he was sober and hated throughout the whole of Ireland.

An old man told me the story of Stingy Jack when I was a boy and I believe every single word of it. The old man told me that he had no need to lie and if I didn’t believe him, sure wouldn’t Jack himself prove its truth to me in person some dark night.

Jack was also known as Jack the Smith. As I said his misdeeds were being reported all over the countryside and eventually reached the ears of the Devil himself. “Begob now” said the Devil, “this blaggard seems like an ideal candidate for me, I must have a little word in his ear”. With that, he turned himself into human form and made his way to Kildare where Jack was currently making an idiot of himself. What money he earned or stole he spent on drink and the only food he ate most of the time were turnips from the farmers’ fields. In fact he always carried a couple in his old knapsack.

Jack had been drinking all day and whilst making his way through a country lane he first met the Devil. The Devil transformed himself back into his true form and stood in Jack’s path. When he saw and recognised him Jack exclaimed “In the name of all the Saints and Holy Men, ‘tis the Devil himself. And what would you be wantin?” he asked. “Tis you yourself Jack, I’m wantin’, you will have to come with me”. “I suppose you’re right” replied Jack, “but what’s the chance of a little drink before we go?” Jack, as I said was a clever old so-and-so notwithstanding the drink. The Devil agreed and they made their way to the village pub which Jack had just left.

They both had several drinks and when the barman asked for payment, Jack said to the Devil “Sure I’m skint, I haven’t a brass farthing, you will have to pay up”. The Devil suspected that he had been tricked and said “Sure I haven’t a penny either, what are we going to do?” Jack scratched his head then replied: “Sure you can do anything, you can change yourself into a gold sovereign and we’ll pay up”. This the Devil did, not really knowing all Jack’s tricks. As quick as a flash, Jack grabbed the coin and stuck it into his pocket which also had a crucifix in it.

There was little or nothing the Devil could do as he was powerless in the presence of the cross and figure of Jesus. He was obliged to agree with Jack that he and his soul were freed for ten years provided he removed him from the pocket and away from the cross. And so it happened…..

Jack continued with his drinking, cheating, stealing and wanderings as if nothing had happened and that the encounter with the Devil had never taken place. As the years rolled by, Jack’s memory may have faded, but certainly the Devil’s had not.

To the day, ten years after they first met, the Devil reappeared to Jack as he lay in a meadow under a bright summer moon. “I have come to claim my prize Jack” he hissed in anticipation. “Is it that time already?” Jack asked. “Indeed it is Jack and from this moment on your soul is mine”. “Just one thing” Jack began but before he continued the Devil interrupted. “Not a single drink can you have, I will not be fooled again by you. Come on Hell awaits you”. “I’ll come as you ask” replied Jack “but can’t you hear me stomach rumbling. I’m sick and tired of eating turnips, can you climb that apple tree and let me taste a bit of fresh fruit before I start me eternal punishment”. The Devil shrugged his shoulders and climbed the tree. As he did so, Jack took out his penknife and began to cut crosses around the trunk of the tree thus ensnaring the Devil one more time. Once again he was trapped and another deal had to be done leaving Jack with the upper hand. This time the agreement was to be that the Devil would never take Jack’s soul into Hell. The Devil tried his damnest to get out of the deal but after several hours up the tree he agreed and was set free.

Jack continued with his lifestyle but eventually the alcohol and hard living took its toll and he died. As his soul came to the gates of Heaven, St. Peter began to look up his records and because of all his stealing, drinking and cheating he was barred from entering. He stood outside the gates for many, many years until he eventually begged for permission to try and enter Hell.

At his approach the Devil laughed in his face and told him to clear off. As Jack had not had any alcohol now for many, many years, he told the Devil that as he was going to have to return to earth in a ghostly form, could he have something to keep himself warm. The devil tossed him a burning coal from hell and Jack departed.

From that day to this, and particularly on Halloween, Jack can sometimes be seen roaming the earth in his old black torn clothing. He carries one of his turnips which he hollowed out with his penknife with the fiery ember from hell glowing inside. Some people call it the “Jack-o-Lantern”.

And now, that’s the end of my story, or should I say the old man’s story and as he swore an oath that every single word of it is true, who am I to say he lied……..

Oh yes, and by the way, when Jack wanders in foreign lands where there are no turnips, he uses a hollowed out pumpkin or such – it’s the same Jack wherever you see him……………….

Cracking the Matrix: Our Military/Industrial Spy Services

by Ronald Thomas West

Part One

Cracking the Matrix: Part Two

Cracking the Matrix: Part Three

Cracking the Matrix: Our Military/Industrial Spy Services

There is a long and consistent history of strong circumstantial evidence amassed in the public domain, evidence enough to support an overwhelming American civil law ‘preponderance of the evidence’ burden of proof, pointing to military/industrial associated spy services and associated professional para-military contractors as organized crime cartels precisely meeting the definition of RICO or “Racketeering Influenced Corrupt Organizations.”

What has definitively happened since 1970, and particularly since September 2001, has been a government agency sanctioned and run amok murder ring, with attending insanity where caution and restraint has been thrown to the wind. This fact, combined with a ‘security’ apparatus which has grown to gargantuan proportions, can no longer conceal what has become a criminal enterprise, comprising religious extremist politicians,  top military brass who happen to be the politicians’ allied Christian fanatics, coupled with extremist professional corporate mercenaries largely staffed by former spooks and military special operations veterans euphemistically known as ‘contractors.’

These, and the leadership of spy agencies and law enforcement agencies all vector with and ultimately converge on the most powerful players in American politics, whether right wing multi-national corporate billionaires, former CIA Directors, some of whom have become congressmen, and the past and current Attorney General and present FBI Director that protect them.

First as a soldier, then investigator and now as a journalist, my experience has taught me to keep a longstanding and healthy mistrust of intelligence agencies. This began with eye-witnessing CIA personnel (via Air America) trafficking in heroin on a large scale in Vietnam.

Following Vietnam, there was another large CIA associated trafficking operation tied to Iran Contra. Fast forwarding to 2010, one of those Iran-Contra players had a ‘private’ CIA operating in Afghanistan, run by an Air Force contractor named Michael Furlong The New York Times had reported.

Some 40 days after this story broke, we see this:

Defense Secretary Robert Gates has opened an inquiry into whether civilian Department of Defense (Air Force) employee Michael Furlong had “violated rules” by using his position inside a highly secured military facility to coordinate a secret, unauthorized spy ring employing private contractors, to include convicted Iran-Contra CIA operative Duane “Dewey” Clarridge.

By waiting 40 days since this had spilled, Robert Gates had given damage control in this affair ample time to meet, plan, erase tracks, create false leads, and destroy evidence.

Throughout his series, the New York Times reporter neglects to mention Robert Gates is also an Iran-Contra figure, investigated by prosecutor Lawrence Walsh who stated:

By October, when Gates claimed he first remembered hearing of the diversion, Casey ordered an inquiry and later made a report to Poindexter; but, by then, the Hasenfus aircraft had been shot down and Casey and Gates were beginning to cover.

This “Hasenfus aircraft” had been tied to narcotics smuggling, related murders, including murders of American citizens within the United States; not only arms trafficking during the Iran-Contra operations. (Hasenfus was shot down while supplying arms to Contra rebels)

The use of ‘hires’ had followed on the CIA forced to divest itself of Air America by Congress in the 1970s, and is when ‘former’ CIA operatives moved over to ‘contracting’ to fill the void for the CIA. It was during this period of covering up Iran-Contra, when existing air operations were ‘hot’, the CIA took advantage of its long affiliation with the United States Forest Service as a cover, to open a new avenue and access to aircraft that could not be associated with operations tied to the USA government and the Department of Defense operations and the CIA particularly. Again, there were strong allegations of arms trafficking ties to narcotics.

It was in this new post Air America scene of using contractors, that things began to unravel for the criminal ring that has hijacked the CIA’s operational division. In a world of hotshot cowboys, there is the problem of some people attracted to the work have ethics. Now, with a covert program where military C-130 cargo planes were shell gamed to CIA contractors under cover of a Forest Service/Department of Defense surplus aircraft program (ostensibly intended to support firefighting) a tenacious whistle blower who knows how the agency works and access to information, nearly blew the lid off. But with adroit jockeying, the CIA, just barely, managed to escape the ensuing investigations that removed a Forest Service Chief, into planes that supposedly used for firefighting almost certainly were running guns and narcotics.

Fast forward to 2005 and you find Gulf Stream jets used in the CIA renditions are passing through the hands of known CIA assets, to cartel traffickers, one had crashed in Mexico carrying 4 tons of Cocaine as noted in the narco-sphere news:

…The Gulfstream II was purchased less than two weeks before it crashed in Mexico by a duo that included a U.S. government operative who allegedly had done past contract work for a variety of US law enforcement and intelligence agencies, according to a known CIA asset (Baruch Vega) who is identified as such in public court records. The four tons of cocaine onboard of the Gulfstream II at the time of its crash landing, according Vega, was purchased in Colombia via a syndicate that included a Colombian narco-trafficker named Nelson Urrego, who, according to Panamanian press reports and Vega, is a U.S. government (CIA) asset.

By 2010, military contractor aviation has become multi-hundred million dollar business, flying around the world on contracts to the Department of State which had provided cover of diplomatic immunity to renditions flights.

Back to Furlong. With an undetermined source of funding, and no knowledge of who supervises his work and who in the military chain of command might be involved, Furlong had hired private security companies [military contractors] employing former Special Operations Forces and CIA Agents to spy and assassinate. Furlong was working out of the United States Air Force Strategic Command complex requiring highest security clearance, in a program in close association with the highest levels in the Central Command and the Pentagon. There had been red flags raised by the Furlong operation since late 2009.

A military intelligence specialist, Furlong’s past operations have been in the Balkans, a central area of European organized crime and contract murder. His Balkans ties points to possible Air Force or military links to narcotics trafficking and assassination or contract murders in Europe.

Furlong’s supposed ‘real’ work was in a social psychology intelligence program designed to enhance pacification efforts. His ‘possibly rogue’ operation, a presumption his military supervisors might not have been aware of what he was up to, is laughable, considering the security level and scrutiny required where Furlong worked.

The now known operation coordinated by Furlong employed International Media Ventures, run by veterans of General McChrystal’s Special Operations forces, American International Security, run by a former Green Beret, and most interestingly, as we have seen, a company belonging to Duane ‘Dewey’ Clarridge, a former top CIA official with close ties to Robert Gates and Iran-Contra and utilized by the FBI in Afghanistan, following this debacle.

Not only did Gates wait well over a month to “open an inquiry” to see whether “rules were violated” (notice contract murder is suddenly a mere ‘rules violation’ and that is what Furlong was ultimately slapped with) but look at the following intelligence our brilliant U.S. Military had left out in plain view on the web, bragging Furlong’s credentials.

“Michael D. ‘Mike’ Furlong, a Senior Level executive, is the Strategic Planner and Technology Integration Adviser, Joint Information Operations Warfare Command, Lackland Air Force Base, Texas. Mr. Furlong analyzes national and combatant command-level information operations requirements and develops strategic information plans. He assists with integrating COCOM IO plans with U.S. government interagency strategic communication plans; assesses the effectiveness of those plans and makes recommendations to refine them; and surveys relevant commercial technology to develop programs to meet the IO capability requirements of the IO community.”

Translated to sensible civilian terms, Furlong ostensibly created or improved apparatus related to information gathering and sharing, seemingly innocous enough. Keep in mind, however, his job description indicates he has access to our CIA and military intelligence top secret “inter-agency” networking [improving and/or integrating, that is his job cover according to the government] which makes his Pentagon provided cover of developing social information to improve our military’s community building relationship to Afghan civilians seem a bit like disinformation.

Further, consider Furlong worked for our top commanders in a super-secret military facility.  Taking that into account, let’s look at Furlong’s military bio:

“Mr. Furlong received a regular Army commission in May 1977 as a distinguished military graduate from Loyola University, serving for 25 years. During his military career, he held assignments with the Joint Staff, Army Staff, U.S. Special Operations Command and U.S. European Command. Mr. Furlong was also a defense contractor for eight years. He was the project manager for the establishment of three U.S. government-funded independent television and radio networks on the ground in Bosnia, Kosovo and Iraq. He also served in the Office of the Assistant Secretary of Defense for Special Operations/Low-Intensity Conflict in the department of defense and in the Secretary of the Air Force’s Space Policy Office.”

Furlong’s CV:

82nd Airborne Division and student, Infantry and Ranger schools, Fort Bragg, N.C.

Operations officer, Infantry Task Force, operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm

Operations officer, 4th Psychological Operations Group (Airborne), Fort Bragg, N.C.

Psychological Operations, Operations Directorate (J3), Joint Staff, the Pentagon, Washington, D.C.

Commander, 6th Psychological Operations Battalion (Airborne) and Joint PSYOP Task Force, Bosnia

Assistant Vice President and Director, Strategic Communications and Information Operations Division, Science Applications International Corporation, McLean, VA

Information Operations Program Manager, Booz Allen Hamilton, McLean, Va. [author note: Booz Allen Hamilton has been described by Investigative Reporter Jeremy Cahill of “The Nation” as a private/corporate CIA]

Deputy Director, Joint Military Information Support Command; and Deputy Commander, Joint Psychological Operations Support Element, U.S. Special Operations Command, Fla

Strategic Planner and Technology Integration Adviser, Joint Information Operations Warfare Command, Lackland AFB, Texas

PROFESSIONAL MEMBERSHIPS AND ASSOCIATIONS:

Special Operations Forces Warrior Foundation

Based on profiling the preceding, any idea Furlong was assigned to a benign assessment of society and culture to identify methods of pacification through community relations building projects [as has been put forward by the Department of Defense when this story first broke] is simply nonsense. Furlong’s job description, while running the private spy and murder network out of his office is a cover for something else altogether, because:

1) the man is expert in Low Intensity Conflict/Special Operations

2) the man is expert in psychological warfare

3) the man is expert in satellite communications relevant to targeting

4) the man is expert in the field of defense contracting, which presumes a high knowledge of inter-entity cooperation in the operations of war. Sub-point here would be his connections in the private sector of so-called ‘contractors’ [mercenaries].

5) Furlong is tied to command level work throughout his career

You don’t give this kind of guy a job coordinating cultural anthropology. The preceding, taken together with the fact he worked in a operations and command center secured as cryptically secret, substantiates the idea there is no way Furlong’s activities could have gone on undetected for a week, let alone months or years, by his superiors. His was a known program deliberately concealed at his work location.

How did the moron Furlong get busted? Not by the military security where he worked (the assumption has to be he was authorized to do whatever he was up to), but because of his loose mouth, and an ego that assumed the people he bragged his activities to would not betray his program. In fact, it was an ethical military contractor that initially blew the whistle, which began an investigation EXTERNAL to the command center where Furlong ran his so called ‘unauthorized’ program. That is why the investigation was not nipped in the bud, Gates and his generals were unaware of it until the investigators presented their information, the investigators presuming Furlong’s crimes were not authorized.

When the investigative report was turned in and factually pointed to Furlong at his desk, mysteriously, it appears the investigation was stopped in its tracks and finally the Secretary of Defense himself had “opened an inquiry.”

I suppose that means Robert Gates personally oversaw the direction of things from time of exposure, as best he was able. What do you suppose Gates, who was accused [but not indicted] by special counsel of engineering cover-up in Iran-Contra, was covering up now? I will conjure it up:

Psychological warfare, when combined with special operations, can be reverse engineered, for instance, instead of destabilizing the enemy, these skills can be used to strengthen an enemy such as appears to have been the case in Afghanistan since it became apparent Obama would become president.

Afghanistan had largely been a “sleeping” conflict for years, somewhere between a low intensity conflict and a real war. Suddenly that theater of operations came apart like hell in a hand bag, the Taliban community support skyrocketed across the entire country and in rushed the Bush assembled Robert Gates led military team of neo-con generals, men who hate everything Obama ever said he stands for, political lies or not, to save the day for Obama.  Afghanistan was engineered to come apart by the generals he is depending on to win the “peace.”

Using the ‘private’ network of contractors made up from Christian extremist General McChrystal’s special operations veterans comprising religious extremist founded corporate militias like Blackwater, to provide deliberate targeting of civilians [engineered out of a top secret Air Force installation by Furlong] to the witting or unwitting special operations on the ground, as well, targeting civilians with smart bombs and drone missiles, has in the course of the past few years, radicalized nearly the entire population of Afghanistan and destabilized and alienated Pakistan’s populace as well. On 29 May 2010 the AP WIRE had reported:

U.S. military investigators found that “inaccurate and unprofessional” reporting by U.S. operators of a Predator drone was responsible for a missile strike that killed 23 Afghan civilians in February, according to a report released Saturday.

This is consistent with Furlong’s operation.

Placing the added irritant of many small CIA coordinated American Special Operations forward bases performing night raids throughout the Afghanistan, including areas where there were no Taliban or Al Qaida, served to turn those communities into Taliban and Al Qaida supporters. [see 2, 3, 4, & 5 linked night raid articles]

Meanwhile, neo-con CIA operatives and associated Special Operations Forces, and corporate militia fanning Islamic hate for the USA is by no means limited to Afghanistan with night raids, or Iraq with its infamous mass murders such as the State Department hired Blackwater deliberately select religious extremist security detail opening fire into a crowd, murdering 17 people without provocation.

Over in Somalia you have essentially identical policy choices, insofar as results, as noted in the NATION:

But by most credible accounts, the Al Qaeda influence at the time was small—consisting of about a dozen foreign operatives and a handful of Somalis with global jihadist aspirations. A UN cable from June 2006, containing notes of a meeting with senior State Department and US military officials from the Horn of Africa task force, indicates that the United States was aware of the ICU’s diversity, but would “not allow” it to rule Somalia. The United States, according to the notes, intended to “rally with Ethiopia if the ‘Jihadist’ took over.” The cable concluded, “Any Ethiopian action in Somalia would have Washington’s blessing.” Some within the US intelligence community called for dialogue or reconciliation, but their voices were drowned out by hawks determined to overthrow the ICU.

After 3 years the Al Qaida aligned Shabab had control:

With the ICU dismantled and the brutal Ethiopian occupation continuing for two more years, the Shabab emerged as the vanguard of the fight against foreign occupation. “For them, it was the break that they were looking for,” says Aynte. “It was the anger that they had been looking for, to harness the anger of the people and present themselves as the new nationalist movement that would kick Ethiopia out.”

Destabilization of nations gives cover for pre-positioning American Special Operations, demands increased defense spending, profits corporate militia and armaments industry, and even can be used as a mask for [clandestine purpose] repositioning of American armies to attack Iran, as could be the case for the artificial war generated in Afghanistan.

This deliberate destabilization would be easily coordinated with the assets at Furlong’s disposal, presuming an authentic conspiracy in the command structure which is either entirely incompetent [not a credible excuse] or had deliberately allowed Furlong to operate.

Iran, for several years, ran war games anticipating a possible attack from American forces coming out of Iraq. Iran was concerned enough, it used its influence in Iraq to secure an Iraqi demand the USA could not attack Iran from Iraq in the USA/Iraqi security agreement. Moving the American Army over to attack Iran from Afghanistan does not neutralize the Iranian preparations, but it takes the edge off reorganization, strategic analysis and retraining time; actually several years is required by Iran to re-engineer and hone its defenses to the previous optimal level. Vietnam was engineered by an attack known as the Gulf of Tonkin Incident:

A highly classified program of covert actions against North Vietnam known as Operation Plan 34-Alpha, in conjunction with the DESOTO operations, had begun under the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) in 1961. In 1964 the program was transferred to the US Defense Department and conducted by the Military Assistance Command, Vietnam Studies and Observations Group (SOG).

We as easily could have a deliberately engineered ‘Gulf of Hormuz’ incident, in fact, there are reports of the Obama White House further pursuing exactly that, the Bush CIA para-military operations engaging Iran.

Now, I have been studying Obama for enough time to arrive at a conclusion. I believe in conspiracies which can be detected and proven in reality and although I do not believe Obama is a ‘manchurian candidate’ per se, I simply believe he is narcissistic in the extreme, but this is, under the circumstance, effectively the same thing.

Obama’s intelligence agencies and generals he trusts to be American patriots, it would appear, have caused this artificially engineered realignment of American armies to Afghanistan at the unnecessary price of American, American allies and Afghan blood, of their own accord, passing it off as a deteriorating circumstance funded/driven by Taliban drug trafficking profits [which the formerly Robert Gates and presently General Patreaus directed CIA colludes in.]

Obama and his political allies have believed them. These generals are the very men who resist every effort by the Military Religious Freedom Foundation to blunt the spread of Christian religious extremism in our Military. Men who believe “all Muslims are always evil, all of the time.” Men who have no conscience in pursuing their systemic murder of Muslims. Men who actually believe in a necrotic fantasy of literal Armageddon.