Bonds With Angels
There is no literature – anywhere in the world – that predicts World Events, as does my Bond novels.
I just watched Levitt do her Nordic Cheerleader Ditty for her beloved President, that was full of sexy-blond cute smiles. She and Britt – look alike. In court Britt took my side, and not her fathers.
This morning, on January 21, 2026, at 10:30 AM. I identify the incident that put me in deep shock and exploded my PTSD.
I saw packs of my cigarettes were missing from the carton. I brought it up with my wife, Mary Ann Tharaldsen. She suspected her adopted son. Erik, named after Erik the Red. He was a blonde. She called Erik’s friend, and she said her son was missing, When Erik came home, Mary Ann questioned him and catching him in several lies. She went in hos coat and found my cigarettes. Mary Ann shouted..
“You’re lying!” and se slapped Erik, hard, on the face.
Erik charged his mother and they toppled in a corner. A tin decoration on the wall fell down on them as this fourteen year old boy rained blows down on his mother – my wife. I got up, and rushed over to prevent some serious injury. I carefully reached in and got Erik in a arm hold around his neck. As I pulled him up, the decoration put a deep gash in my left hand, the one that got injured at McClure’s Beach.
I told my wife to call the police. I then told Erik, this;
“I am seriously infured. If you fight me, I will be forced to put you down. Do you understand?
“Yes!”
Brit was not there. We three went to the hospital where I had about ten stiches. When we got home I called Britt and Erik’s father, who said;
“She had it coming. She’s insane as you will find out!”
This man was a powerful and wealthy attorney, who had not empathy for his children, and gets ready to re-litigate…..THE DIVORCE! This time, I would be in…..
BATTLE AFTER BATTLE!
I was back in my apartment on Beacon Hill, reasoning with my three black neighbors, that getting guns to fought for 40 Anderson Street, was a bad idea. To see our President playing mind games with Rutte an hour ago……was a very bad idea!
Coming down the elevator with our Judge, he said this;
“You’re an innocent victim in all this?”
I kept my mouth shut. Three years ago I realized my fictional character, Victoria Rosemond Bond, and Marian Starfish Christling, are on my team. One is my bodyguard, and the other is my…..
GENEOLOGIST
who is working on my Coat of Arms.
I Take This Woman was posted December 18, 2019 – SEVEN YEARS AGO? Maybe – six? Whiskey Island was posted February 2, 1925. I just heard Epstein Island was part of a sale in 1911.
Stay tuned!
Bonds With Angels
Tonight is New Year’s Eve. Here is a sobriety test for you. If you were sitting in a park with your baby in a stroller, and a man that looks like Flip approached you with a mug of beer in his hand, asking if he could salute your toddler on New Yeats. What would you do?
- Would you kindly remind this friendly drunk New Years is not on the thirty-first of December.?
- . Reach for your canister of bear spray?
This evening. I went to dinner at my favorite Mexican restaurant, and did a fearless inventory of myself. Earlier I admitted the main reason I got married to Mary Anne Tharalsen, was, she was very loud when we made love, and it made me wonder if The Children, were annoyed – or affected reasoned if we were married, it would be aright. I have a year of sobriety, Thinking right does not happen until you have three years under your belt.
The biggest mistake in my life, was not getting an attohenry in the custody battle over thirteen year old Britt. She took the witness stand, and told everyone that she would rather live with me, than her biological father. You could hear a pin drop. Britt had her own attorney was grill by psychologist, If I had stook up and houted;
“I love you Britt!” Then, the judge and father would wonder – some more! My wife went to Cornell when taught a class. Instead, I asked Mary Anne’s attorney to write up a document that annulled our marriage of three months. I asked this lawyer if I sign them does that mean I will not have to testify.
“Yes!” he lied
I should have asked the judge if I could approach the bench.
“You’re honor. We know each other. I took the Mafia to court for six months – and won my case. There was an attempt on my life. My attorney introduces me to Mayor White.”
“Oh my God! You’re alive. We all thought you were dead. This is a true miracle. Please take the witness stand.”
“My name is John Presco. When I was fifteen my mother gathered her three oldest children together, and in tears told us she was making porno movies for Big Bones Remmer. She was also a high-class all girl for them and worked out of the Beverley Hills hotel.
When I took the Mafia to court in Boston, they made an attempt on my life. They – slaughtered Puppy. They cut her throat and smeared her blood all over the wall, I heard her horrible cries for help as I ran down the stairs. I demanded they get out of that apartment so I could tend to the black lab. They bid me to come in and get what’s coming to me. Then, they came out holding bloody knives.
Your honor. I was never the same, I blame my own arrogance. Using cunning guile and force to get humans to do what they don’t want to do, and by right of law, do noy have to do – is evil! What they did o that puppy, was pure evil.”
I then had to talk my black neighbors out of getting guns and fight off the police. Then, one squatter raped the fifteen year old Roanoke girl I was trying to help. I wanted to kill him. Then I saw that girl in the back of White Bently, driven by her pimp. I snapped. I faked my death. I did a Helter Skelter scene in my studio apartment. I wanted to make them – AFRAID! I helped create a world without congruences. I knew the manufacturer of LSD, and I was their Guinea Pig. I took a double dose of the best. I fell on these rocks – and died, I saw God, your honor!”
“I object! Mr.; Presco was not in his right mind to know if it was God, he saw, or, what have you. My client had been SSI for several years and homeless off and on. He signed the annulment so thar Britts father outdo not win another courts case assist his wife. Yet agaib he can claim she bonded with unsavory people that pose a these to….
THE CHILDREN
I have empathy for Flip who is toasting my sic year old grandson in a bar on highway 66. I know he is on deaths door. I suspect he tired AA, and failed – several times. Now, my daughter is provide him – a third chance to feel like a Family Man.
I ate my fine dinner, then let out a a great sigh. Stop beating yourself up. ou did the best you could. Beside – your alive! You are not dead. and you own……
THIRTY EIGHT YEARS OF SOBRIETY.
Today, I admit I let Britt down. She back me up – when I took her side. In legal court documents, she preferred me over her natal family. She approved of my marriage to her mother, and acknowlege we are
A FAMILY
This is more than my REAL family would do for me. Yes! I made the biggest mistake of my life. The Superior Court of Oakland – did not hear my side. Have I written it down? Is this the preface of….
Bonds With Angels
Chapter One. My Attempt To Be A Father
I have a granddaughter. Her name if Ember. She is a Phoenix Bird Rising. We are forbidden to see each other, Even know the other exists. How could such calamity happen.
It started on Beacon Hill, where I faked my death. I could not longer live in…..reality. It had become…..Cruel beyond belief. One night a heavy fog rolled in, and came up the Hill. A door opens. I slip out, unseen. I am phantom now. I an Hades bound!
To be continued.
In this scene, NATO tells Citizen Donald to – pack his bags!
The second time Mary Ann Tharaldson and I made love, she says
“My head is full of colors. Are you doing that?:”
“Yes!”
My wife to be made allot of noise when we made love. Allot!
My ex-wife and I have made amends. I have been in therapy, and had a breakthrough in dealing with my PTSD.
Dear Britt and Mary Ann. I am deeply sorry I abandoned you. Last week I was able to return to Anderson Street where an attempt was made on my life. A female black lab was killed and its blood smeared on the wall. When Eric attacked his mother, I got a bad laceration on my hand when I seperated them. I was taken to emergency after Eric’s father picked him up. I had stiches. When this man said my wife had it coming, I was on my way to Boston. That he was a attorney, and he sent a attorney to question me about my intentions, I am back in court with a lawyer for the Mafia. They wanted us out of the building they just bought and turned off the heat in the January. Judge Boutillini ruled in my favor. When I saw him presiding over the Child Custody case, I went into shock. I believe he was relocated to Oakland due to death threats. He bumped our attorney who was in line for a Judgeship. The Feds must have gotten involved. What are the odds?
When I left my appartment I hung my star and crescent ring on a nail and drew a swastika on a Islamic drawing I was doing. My neighbors were Black Islamic radicalisms who defended a black squatter who raped my friend, a fifteen year old Roanoke Indian in the hall of the building I almost got murdered in. Only later did it occur to me these ex-allies thought the Mafia did away with me. Did they contact the police, and did the Judge hear of this?
Then there is Diva, my female black lab that you loved so much Britt.
I have to stop here and go back to bed. PTSD drains all your energy. This is why I had to go. I was not in my body. I could not express what I was going through. We were in such a crisis. I would only add to the chaos. I was afraid Mary Ann would lose custody.
John Presco
Continued:
Judge B kept looking at me from the bench trying to make me. My hair was shorter. There you were Britt with your attorney. You were working hard to – get it right! I felt for you. You were thirteen, and the only innocent one in the courtroom. I took attorney M aside and told him I knew the judge and was involved in a horrible Mafia trial where an attempt was made on my life. He blew a gasket. He was having a huge side battle with Judge B and if this came out – during the trial – it would have made M look bad. He never talked to me. Now he wants to get rid of me. He tells me to keep quiet. When it came time for me to get in the witness chair, I asked M, if I got an annulment, would I have to testify? He produced the papers, and I signed.
I made a video yesterday where I talk about why I felt so ashamed of the death of that puppy. I blamed myself. When the Judge said he was going to issue a bench warrant, and after I testified, he ordered the bailiff to take me upstairs and handcuff me to his desk. A half hour later he comes upstairs and sits on his desk.
“Do we know each other?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You look familiar. Did you ever appear before me?”
“No!”
Sometime after this I went and got drunk after being sober a year. When you dropped Diva off at my trailer in Oregon, we were so happy to see each other. I felt so bad that I seperated her from you Britt. You had become so close. You lost us both – after your told the Judge you preferred to be with me – rather than with your father. You got hammered. I have never stopped feeling for your plight.
I saw Diva as the puppy who was killed by the Mafia. They did not want any puppy to own that title. They gave up 40 Anderson Street. I will put that video on Youtube.
Diva was aware when I left my body. I drank myself blotto to avoid arriving at where I go now. Coming home from the bar at the Log Cabin Inn I stumbled as I came through the forest. I lie there looking up at the brilliant stars. I wanted off the planet. I felt myself rising up. I did not hold on – but tried to help. Then, Diva came and put her front legs on me. She held me down. She did not want me to leave her.
I have thirty-three years of sobriety. If I had it to do over again I would have told Judge Boutilini the truth. I almost did in the elevator when he told me he had caught two prisoners scaling down from the jail on bed sheets. He told me he went out on the roof with his gun – and captured them! I was afraid he would freak and pull out his gun!
“I used to live at 40 Anderson Street in Boston. I appeared before you. My attorney introduced me to Mayor White who said this as he shook my hand; It took a lot of guts to stand up to those people!”
At this time I was convinced that life, God, and all of humanity was not going to cut me a break. But it did when I came to plant you a vegetable garden. I loved you two dearly, and still do. Perhaps the Judge would have shook my hand as we emerged from the elevator, and bid the court to help me – as a survivor! I wish I had gotten into therapy.
The Gideon Computer Atop Beacon Hill | Rosamond Press
Defying the Boston Mafia | Rosamond Press
Killing The Artist Rosamond | Rosamond Press
Paintings of Mary Ann Tharaldsen – YouTube
Photo Credit: 1. Toubletap / Wikimedia Commons CC BY-SA 3.0 2. Per Starklint / Wikimedia Commons CC BY-SA 4.0 3. SElephant / Wikimedia Commons CC BY-SA 3.0
The Royal Janitor
by
John Presco
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
John Von John got through to Victoria Bond on the BAD hotline!
“Starfish made contact with me on my podcast! She wants me to mediate a reconciliation. She wants to see you again – and her child!”
“Where is she? Put her on!”
Starfish appears with group of twelve men standing behind her. There are snowcapped mountains in the background. All the ,men are wearing camo – including her Starfish!
“Hello Starfish. Where are you, and who are those men?”
“I’m on Whisky Island with my AA group. I wanted to tell you I got a ninety day chip – and I’ve changed!”
Victoria felt slightly deranged as she tried to take this news in. Was it good, or, bad news? She studied the faces of the men, and they looked very worried. All of them had something vital to say.
“Why is your group on Hans Island? “
“We’re looking for Alexander the Great’s Persian gold, that Othen De La Roche found in Constantinople with the help of Dramelay and the Knight Templars in the Fourth Crusade.”
“And…..?”
“We have started digging to find the hidden town built in the hallow island formed by a volcanic bubble made of ash and gasses, that made a rock dome when the bubble cooled, and the ash washed back into the sea, to form a cement-like floor.!”
And….?”
There was a opening to this world, but it collapsed shut in a landside covering a small harbor where Templar ships unloaded Alexander’s huge gold treasure. We are digging a hole….and….”
“STOP! I want to talk to the gentleman behind you that has somehting very important to say!”
“My name is Bob, and I’m an alcoholic with seven years of sobriety. Starfish kidnapped us. She has a very powerful will, and is very persuasive. We believe she drugged us, put something in our coffee pot, that rendered us her children. She took us to Cabela’s and bought us camo gear with our debit and credit cards we gleefully put in a passed basket. She…..”
“Stop!….You kidnapped and robbed your AA group – after you put a Mickey Fynn in their Java? You – Shanghaied them!”
“Yes! But the good news is, we are all clean and sober. Look! Here’s my chip! We can’t let this island get in the grasp of The Cheddar Man. He wants all the money in the world!”
“Speak for for yourself! I voted for President Cheddarman.
To be continued!
A green sobriety chip is given to people who have been sober for 90 days. It is part of a tradition in Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) of collecting chips to mark sobriety milestones.
Explanation
- Different colors of chips are used to represent different lengths of sobriety.
EXTRA! Two hours after I posted, and while watching The Grammys, I found a story about a group of islands near Iceland, where Starfish and her AA Meeting land, and from where they take a ferry to Hans Island. This is an incredible validation. I am on the right track! I knew none of this information. I pick up where the last Bond left off. My goal is to defend and promote DEI…..Diversity. Equity. Inclusion which AA has always promoted.
Situated Between Iceland And Scotland Are Underground, Art-Filled Tunnels Connecting Dreamy Islands
By Kayo Chang BlackJan. 22, 2025 6:45 am EST
Roberto Moiola / Sysaworld/Getty Images
In “No Time to Die,” James Bond, played by Daniel Craig, stands on the fictional Poison Island moments before his death while overlooking the desolate volcanic mountains and the endless ocean surrounding him. In real life, Poison Island is played by Kalosy, one of the Faroe Islands, also known as Bond’s final resting place. In March 2022, the local villagers erected a tombstone to commemorate the most legendary spy in cinema.
The Persian Empire, under Darius III, was renowned for its riches, and Alexander’s victories at Issus and Gaugamela granted him access to vast treasures. The legendary treasury of Persepolis, the Persian capital, alone is said to have held an immense quantity of gold, silver, and other precious items. Historical accounts suggest that the treasure Alexander looted from Persia was so immense that it had to be transported by thousands of camels and mules.
Like Cheddar Man, Targett has blue eyes and his skin is quite dark. “I’ve also got his nose and perhaps his hairline,” he said. Intriguingly, Targett revealed that two 14-year-old girls were also found to have links to Cheddar Man. But to protect them, they were not told.
The latest DNA tests suggest Cheddar Man’s ancestors left Africa, moved into the Middle East and headed west into Europe before crossing the ancient land bridge Doggerland connecting Britain to continental Europe.
Current students at the academy are excited and inspired by this idea.
“It’s incredible,” said Aiden Malik, 16. “The fact that he has the darker skin tone reminds us that we are all one race – the human race. That’s what’s most important. We should all respect one another.”
Malik and his friends reel off their diverse heritages: they have Pakistani, Irish, Greek Cypriot, Swedish, Sri Lankan, Guyanese, Indian and French roots.
“No one is pure British,” said Isaac McAndrew, 15. “With the rise of extremist groups, like EDL [the English Defence League], people are getting more scared of immigrants. These groups tell people: ‘You need to get out of the country because we were here first.’ That’s just factually wrong.”
Trump’s tan through the ages: 2002, 2004, 2005, 2014Zuma Press
Fight disinformation: Sign up for the free Mother Jones Daily newsletter and follow the news that matters.
Why is Donald Trump so orange? This has been one of the mysteries of the 2016 presidential campaign. The internet is full of speculation, but the consensus is that Trump is an aficionado of bad spray tans or the tanning booth. (The white goggle lines are a dead giveaway.) He hasn’t always been this shade. Fifteen years ago, Trump’s pallor was almost normal. But something changed about 10 years ago and the internet hasn’t fully explained why. There might be a strong clue: Trump’s longtime friendship with the former CEO of a tanning company.
Starfish Takes A Wife
Posted on December 18, 2019 by Royal Rosamond Press
The Royal Janitor
by
John Presco
Chapter Five: ‘I Take This Woman’
Some of the brightest minds in the World Intelligence Industry swear they felt the floor of BAD headquarters, shake, when Miriam got off the elevator and headed for the BAD war room – in her bare feet! Miriam had large Nordic feet because her DNA material were infamous walkers! Her Viking kin hauled their long boats out of the Volga a dozen times as they headed to the Black and Caspian Sea, then, it’s on the Damascus! Starfish’s Aleut DNA walked across the Bearing Straits to the New World. Russian is a second language for this very durable and determined native people. Everyone in the war room froze when they heard Miriam’s question she bellowed out, as she….came!
“Who’s been talking behind my back?” (Fee-fi-fo-fum)
Everyone turned to face The Giant, but Victoria. She was frozen in place, her whole body tingling with an energy she had never known. It had been three days since they had lay eyes on each other. Now it was X-Mas Time. Victoria felt like a four year old.
“Don’t you think I can feel that, hear you? My ears have been ringing for days!”
Starfish walking up to a woman who knew martial arts, but she dare not take a defensive posture. She had heard how bad-ass Miriam is. Now she was the recipiant of the dead-fish-eye stare.
“Is it you? What do you have to say – to my face?”
The poor woman had to lower her head, because she read the message.
“Come. It’s time to hunt and kill a whale!” There was no conjecturing in Miriam’s look, that now took in the storyboard and the iconic portrait of a member of her tribe.
“I see you have summonded the spritit of my ancestor, Saint Peter, the Aleut Savior? Did you ask his permission?” Taking two steps, Starfish has locked on to a young handsom man, who could read the other covert question.
“Do you have designs on my woman? Are you lusting after her?”
Walking up to an older woman, Starfish put her face close to her face.
“You’re wondering if I have Romanov blood in my veins. You’ve been plotting how to get a sample of my saliva. Have you considered……..a kiss?”
The poor woman’s eyes were as wide as can be as she ran to the Lady’s room. There was some leakage.
The dozen or so souls who had formed a human shield around their boss, parted like the Red Sea as Starfish came towards her love object, who was trying to conceal her trembling, make it go away by taking deep breaths. Victoria jumped out of her skin when she felt Miriam’s hands fall upon her shoulders.
“Is it you who has been talking about me – behind my back? I could hear you hundreds of miles away.”
Victoria could not take it, and turned to face her accuser. She gasped. Miriam was wearing facial paint, perhaps, war-paint? She broke out in a joyful smile. Here she was, her beloved crazy woman, letting it all hang-out. For sure she had come from the Isle of Wight to ask only one person the question. Starfish was giving her the fish-eye that she received the day they met. She was sizing up her new boss. This is when Victoria fell in love. Her eyes twinkled with love and devotion. This is the most unique human being she will ever meet. For a second Starfish’s eyes twinkled back, then, she bent down and hoisted Victoria over her shoulder!
“I take this woman. She is mine from this day on! Does anyone object?”
“I object!” said the elderly woman who had come back from the bathroom. “This is unheard of. That woman has rights! All women have rights! This is an outrage!”
Three giant steps, and Miriam was in her face, again, as was Victoria’s bum. She was as lifeless as a seal pelt.
“So you do want to fight me. The emptying of ones bowels and bladder is a good thing before we battle. Being a Breatharian, I have not eaten or drank water for three days. I am good to go. Do you prefer the horn of the Narwhale, or, a Whalebone?
To be continued.
The latest DNA tests suggest Cheddar Man’s ancestors left Africa, moved into the Middle East and headed west into Europe before crossing the ancient land bridge Doggerland connecting Britain to continental Europe.
Jacob Bøtter, used under Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0).
The Aleut people, also known as the Unangan, live in the Aleutian Islands and parts of Alaska. They are not native to Greenland, but they share a close relationship with the Inuit people of Greenland.
Historically, Kalaallit referred specifically to the people of Western Greenland. Northern Greenlanders call themselves Avanersuarmiut or Inughuit, and Eastern Greenlanders call themselves Tunumiit, respectively.[13]
He’s one of us’: modern neighbours welcome Cheddar Man
This article is more than 6 years old
DNA tests suggesting man who lived 10,000 years ago had dark skin and blue eyes cause a stir
Steven MorrisFri 9 Feb 2018 06.28 ESTShare
Rachel Andrews, who was tending the bar at the Black Dog Saloon, a wild west-themed cider pub at the foot of Cheddar Gorge, was not going to have a word said against the village’s most famous former resident.
“We’re very proud of Cheddar Man,” she said. “There’s a really good, strong community spirit around here. We all look after each other and he’s definitely one of us.”
It has been a big week for the people of Cheddar, a tucked-away corner of Somerset famed across the globe for its cheese, soaring cliffs and ancient caves.
Like the rest of the world, the village had long believed that Cheddar Man, a human hunter-gatherer who lived here 10,000 years ago and whose bones were found in the gorge, had pale skin and fair hair. But DNA analysis suggests he actually had a very dark to black complexion, dark hair and blue eyes. “It doesn’t matter what he looked like,” said Andrews. “What’s colour got to do with it?”
It is no surprise that Andrews is clued-up about prehistory; after all, her history teacher at the village school, the Kings of Wessex academy, Adrian Targett, can boast a distant familial connection with Cheddar Man.
Twenty years ago, Targett and a group of pupils underwent tests to find out if there was a DNA link between modern residents and Cheddar Man. Targett was found to have a connection. “Cheddar Man and I share a common female ancestor,” explained Targett, 62, who is now retired from the school.
The revelation two decades ago turned Targett into a local celebrity. He took a week off school to do a round of media interviews, appeared on Richard and Judy’s sofa and said a tabloid offered him a handsome fee to pose in a leopardskin loincloth. “I said no. I’d have been remembered for the rest of my life as the man who got his kit off,” he said.
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Defying the Boston Mafia
Posted on February 12, 2014by Royal Rosamond Press
Above is me in 1971. I lived on Beacon Hill in this apartment building. I had unlimited guts. I took on the whole world.
In 1971 my attorney told those who refused to move out of our home on 40 Anderson Street, a four story building on Beacon Hill, to move to the top floor for our safety. I was in a legal battle with the brother-in-law of the head of Boston’s Mafia, and they were losing. This guy was a top-notch attorney. The owner of the grocery store down the street who liked me, said;
“They want their building back. They will hurt you.”
When I heard the door being kicked in on the main floor, I rushed downstairs to find the door to the old managers apartment knocked off its hinges. Then I heard the awful sound of the squatter’s three month old black lab having its throat cut. I shouted;
“Get out there!”
There was silence, and then this question;
“Are you the manager?”
“Yes! Get out!”
“You come in here!”
“We got something for you!” said the second voice.
My Beautiful Former Wife
Posted on August 13, 2013by Royal Rosamond Press
I found a recent photo of my former wife yesterday, and felt a stirring down below even though she in seventy-six. This is a beautiful and handsome woman, then and now. When you have made beautiful love to a woman, it stays with you – at least with me.
Mary Ann looks like she’s out of central casting. Here is the Celtic, or Nordic Grandmother of the Hero who has good intentions because he has formed a close bond with her after his mother was killed by the Bad Guy. If you did a DNA test of Mary Ann and Rena, you would find them kindred, because my ex descends from Eric the Red – and Oden! We are looking at the Daughters of Oden here, folks!
I have told several of my therapists;
“I have been in the middle of a lot of gun-play in my life.”
“Were any shots fired?”
“No! But, there was a lot of threats.”
One of these threats came from Robert Delano’s good buddy who went on a road trip in my Chrysler Newport, and flipped out. At my mother’s house he found a rifle in the closet, and ordered a young girl to get in my mother’s bedroom so he could rape her. Of course, I was elected by Robert and Keith to go save her.
“It’s your Mom’s house.”
I walked in and found this creep pointing a gun at the girl who was pulling off her jeans.
“You don’t want to do this.” I said calmly. And, he spotted a chess set – all ready to go.
“Do you play chess?” He asked.
“Sure. Do you want to play a game?”
“Yeah.”
He put the rifle down. The young girl pulled up her pants, and crept quietly into the living room. I had forty minutes to lose this chess game, before my mother came in the door from work to have her lunch – at high noon!
Robert was with us on the Road Trip to Winnemucca, where Rena, Robert, and James became afraid of me, I no longer being perceived as a Hero – as planned!
The strangest gun-play I was ever in, was when the judge in our child custody battle told me he jumped out on the roof of the courthouse to apprehend two criminals trying to escape by climbing down sheets. Boutillini got the drop on them with his revolver. He was my judge in my Mafia case in Boston. One could say I was, and still am ‘The Hippie James Bond’.
There are photos of my brother and I sitting on a horse with Tex Ritter who has his hands raised, because we are pointing a gun at him.
Jon Presco
“You’re just a victim of circumstances?” Judge Boutillini said to me as he looked into my eyes, trying to discover what I was concealing.
On the advice of my wife’s attorney, I did not tell the Judge who oversaw the child custody case of Britt Thoraldson that he presided over the case in Boston, when I took the Mafia to court – and won! They lost because they sent two goons to kill me, and – they failed. I was alive, and in a room on Beacon Hill with Mafia attorneys – negotiating a deal. They hated my long hair, and the truth I looked just like Jesus.
Boutillini unlocked the handcuffs that the bailiff had put on me when I was held in contempt of court for not showing up for our last court date. I was trying to conceal from the court I was on Social Security for being mentally unsound, I no table to function properly after I died on LSD, I one of the Guinea Pigs of LSD manufacturer whom I knew personally. I was afraid my wife would lose her thirteen year old daughter who I drove across country in a 1979 Ford Thunderbird. And now it is revealed I am mad, a killer on the road – or something like that! How could this “mother” expose her daughter to a Manson wanna-be? Rather then risk that I asked Maryanne for a divorce. We had known each for a two months before we got married, and after he son Eric attacked my wife in front of me, the six month child custody battle had taken its toll.
Going Into Shock & PTSD
Posted on August 12, 2013by Royal Rosamond Press
In 1987 I returned to McLure’s Beach and climbed the rock I fell on. I was utterly alone. There was no one in the parking lot, and thus no one for miles. I had gone thru the New Hope Program and had a year of sobriety. I had been in hypnotherapy. I had to do this.
I had not climbed but thirty feet, and was heading for the bridge, when I came upon a plaque nailed into the rock.
“6 KNOWN DEATHS”
This plaque was not there in 1967, and the thought that six people who came after me, met their death, was otherworldly. I was entering The Land of the Known Dead. I thought about the collective grief of their families. Their tears had come here. I closed my eyes, took some deep breaths, told myself I can do this, and proceeded.
I do not think Keith and James knew I was going into shock, because they were in shock at seeing me wounded. The powerful dose was incapacitating. We could not walk. Like a heavy gravity we were pinned to the sand. We could only watch and wait until the inital impact subsided.
After James tried to wash my wound, and after I got soaking wet, I told him to leave me be. He went and sat with Keith about fifty feet away. I sat at the edge of the water listening to the strange sound that the gravel made as each wave receded. It sounded like many engines. All of a sudden landing craft were coming out of the ocean, and I was in the a middle of horrendous battle. A young man fell next to me, mortally wounded. When he died, and with his last breath, he uttered his last word;
“Mother!”
I believe I was that soldier.
I watch that scene from Saving Private Ryan where the captain goes into a tunnel of silence. The engine of war is grating up and down my backbone. My teeth are chattering. I can not make it stop.
Jon
http://wrybread.com/gametone/leftcoast/mcclures.shtml
Acute stress reaction (also called acute stress disorder, psychological shock, mental shock, or simply shock) is a psychological condition arising in response to a terrifying or traumatic event. It should not be confused with the unrelated circulatory condition of shock, or the concept of shock value.
Circulatory shock, commonly known simply as shock, is a life-threatening medical condition that occurs due to inadequate substrate for aerobic cellular respiration.[1] In the early stages this is generally an inadequate tissue level of oxygen.[2]
The typical signs of shock are low blood pressure, a rapid heartbeat and signs of poor end-organ perfusion or “decompensation/peripheral shut down” (such as low urine output, confusion or loss of consciousness). There are times that a person’s blood pressure may remain stable, but may still be in circulatory shock, so it is not always a sign.[3]
Circulatory shock is not related to the emotional state of shock. Circulatory shock is a life-threatening medical emergency and one of the most common causes of death for critically ill people. Shock can have a variety of effects, all with similar outcomes, but all relate to a problem with the body’s circulatory system. For example, shock may lead to hypoxemia (a lack of oxygen in arterial blood) or cardiac arrest.[4]
One of the key dangers of shock is that it progresses by a positive feedback mechanism. Once shock begins, it tends to make itself worse, so immediate treatment of shock is critical to the survival of the sufferer.[3]
Jules Siegel Playboy Article
BenProfane at aol.comBenProfane at aol.com
Thu May 25 23:06:58 CDT 1995
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Hello All!
Here is the much requested playboy article re TRP. Unlike, Ron Churgin
(thsspce) I am a sucker and asked my local library if they had a copy of the
1977 March Playboy, particularly the Siegel article. After the person on the
other end snickered a little, he said he would check. Sure enough, they had
it. And even more unbelievably, it contained the article I was looking for
(can you believe it, someone really is searching for a playboy article, maybe
that saying about playboy articles is true?). Anyway, it was even worse when
I showed up at the library. As soon as I asked for the reserve copy in my
name, they immediately knew who I was and gave me looks (you pervert, why lie
about it, just say you want to see the issue). In fact, one lady (b*&ch)
actually scowled at me. Well, enough of my tale and on w/ the story. Please
forgive for those who don't want this, it is fairly long, though not as long
as GR.
First Five Pages (next five sent shortly hereafter)
_________________________________________________________
WHO IS THOMAS PYNCHON... AND WHY DID HE TAKE OFF WITH MY WIFE? Shedding a
little light on the most famous author-recluse since j. d. salinger
memoir
By JULES SIEGEL
THOMAS RUGGLES PYNCHON, JR., is the most famous invisible writer since J. D.
Salinger, the most admired since B. Traven, the most difficult since James
Joyce. When his first novel, V., was greeted with thundering critical
applause in 1963, Time sent a photographer to find him in Mexico City.
Pynchon fled to Guanajuato, then an eight-hour bus ride into the mountains,
and has eluded all subsequent attempts to get his picture. In 1974, New York
magazine scored a mini-coup by publishing a photo taken of him while he was
in college.
Pynchon did not show up at the 1974 National Book Awards luncheon to receive
his prize for his third novel, Gravity's Rainbow, co-winner in the fiction
category with Isaac Bashevis Singer's A Crown of Feathers. His publisher
sent, in his stead, double-talking comedian Irwin Corey, who bills himself as
"the world's greatest expert on everything" and who accepted the prize with
what New York Times reporter Steven R. Weisman described as "a series of bad
jokes and mangled syntax that left some people roaring with laughter and
others perplexed."
Weisman speculated that this was "evidently intended to make fun of the fact
that the Pynchon novel, while hailed as a work of genius, also left many of
its readers confused and baffled by its encyclopedic references and
intricate, fantastic style."
Confused though the literary world may be by the mysterious Pynchon and his
labyrinthine allegories, he has received unprecedented acclaim. V. won the
William Faulkner Prize. His second novel, The Crying of Lot 49, took the
Rosenthal Award in 1967. Gravity's Rainbow was the unanimous nomination of
the Pulitzer fiction jury in 1974, but the advisory board of eminent
journalists disagreed, calling the book "obscene," "unreadable" and
"overwritten." The trustees skipped the prize entirely that year.
In 1975, Pynchon declined the William Dean Howells Medal of the American
Academy of Arts and Letters, given every five years for a distinguished work
of fiction, breaking silence with a brief note saying he know he ought to
accept the gold medal as a hedge against inflation, but no, thanks, anyway.
The academy said it would hold it for him in case he changed his mind.
Although he has never had a best seller, Pynchon's books have been
commercially successful. there are more than half a million copies of V. in
print. Somewhere back of that pile of paper and ink there is a question mark
named Thomas Pynchon, location unknown, of no fixed address, his biography a
mere few sentences, physical description unavailable. Who is Thomas Pynchon,
really? Why is he hiding? Does he exist at all, or is he no more than an
elaborate hoax of the Age of Paranoia, like the hallucinatory inventions of
Argentina's blind fabulist, Jorge Luis Borges? Who is Thomas Pynchon and what
does he mean?
*
Everyone has his own fantasy of success. I once had no greater hope than to
publish a learned paper on 17th Century English songs in The Proceedings of
the Modern Language Association. Somewhere in the blank fog of time there is
a scholar writing a learned paper on Thomas Pynchon. To him I offer this
footnote: In Mortality and Mercy in Vienna, Pynchon's first published short
story, the protagonist is one Cleanth Siegel. My second wife, the former
Virginia Christine Jolly of San Marino, California, tells me that the
character represents me. I have noticed the coincidence of name but do not
recognize myself. Possibly it is a me I have never been able to examine very
well, the back of my neck, or the dream of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, whose
essential quality is that it cannot be remembered.
Be that as it may, I did attend Cornell in 1954. The boy in the next room was
Thomas Ruggles Pynchon, Jr. If there are any correspondences to be found in
that or anything else that follows, I leave them to Chrissie and the
scholars.
Tom Pynchon was quiet and neat and did his homework faithfully. He went to
Mass and confessed, though to what would be a mystery. He got $25 a week
spending money and managed it perfectly, did not cut class and always got
grades in the high 90's. He was disappointed not to have been pledged to a
fraternity, but he lacked the crude sociability required for that. Besides,
he had his own room at Cascadilla, one of the more pleasant dormitories, not
tight College Tudor tile but pre-Civil War Victorian, high-ceilinged and
muted. Fraternity houses offered neither the charm nor the privacy, and he
was, if anything, a very private person.
Pynchon was then already writing short stories and poems, but he did not hand
them about very much. I remember one story that had something to do with a
broken pitcher of beer. I once saw some French quatrains in what looked like
his hand-- small, regular, precise engineer's manuscript. He later denied
ever having done anything like that. Maybe they were a girl's, but I never
met her, as far as I know.
I have seen photographs of William Faulkner that made me think of Tom. He was
very tall-- at least 6'2"-- and thin but not skinny, with a pale face, fair
eyes and a long, chiseled Anglo nose. He was ashamed of his teeth and did not
smile much. Many years later, writing to me from Mexico City, where he was
having extensive and painful dental restoration done, he described them as
"misshapen choppers" and said they had determined his life in some
unspecified way that seemed very important to him.
His wit was terrifically bold for such an otherwise cautious personality. He
could carry a tune well and made up ribald parodies of popular songs, which I
seem to remember-- surely I am imagining this-- were accompanied on a
ukulele. From the musical notations in the back of T. S. Eliot's The Cocktail
Party, he puzzled out for me the tune of One-Eyed Reilly, which we sang
together one beer-soaked night in joyous disharmony and stole an old wooden
rocking chair off someone's porch and tossed it into the interior court of
Cascadilla Hall. It landed upright on the roof of a covered crosswalk and
rocked itself quiet. Possibly it is still there.
When his parents came to visit, he introduced his mother this way: "Jules,
this is my mother. She's an anti-Semite. I just didn't want my children to
surround themselves with Jews." I remember her as an exceptionally beautiful
woman, all cut glass, ivory and sable. I believe she had been a nurse, had a
lot of Irish in her and was a Catholic. Though Mr. Pynchon was a Protestant,
she raised their children in her own faith. Tom was the oldest. Then came
Judith, about five years younger. The youngest was John.
I had more contact over the years with Mr. Pynchon than with Tom's mother,
but he is less clear: curly, lightish hair, red nose, very friendly and
tolerant. He was commissioner of roads for the town of Oyster Bay, Long
Island, and Tom worked with the road crews in the summer. Mr. Pynchon later
became supervisor of the town of Oyster Bay and is now an industrial
surveyor. The Pynchons lived in a very plain New England frame house on
Walnut in East Norwich, its most notable furnishings some excellent Colonial
portraits of ancient Pynchons.
It is an old American family, dating back to william Pynchon, one of the
founders and principal citizens of Springfield, Massachusetts, who left
England March 29, 1630, with John Winthrop's fleet, accompanied by his wife
and three daughters. His son, John, seems to have come over later on a
different ship. The Pynchons are prominent in New England historical
literature. William and John were magistrates and military officers. Their
court record has survived and has been published in a carefully annotated
edition by Harvard University Press, with a frontispiece portrait of William
Pynchon. There are Tom's eyes and a lot of his nose and shape of face.
William Pynchon is remembered for his role in the witch trials, in which he
appears to have been a relatively moderate force, and for his highly
controversial book The Meritorious Price of Our Redemption, a protest against
the rigid Calvinistic theology of his time, evidently the first by an
American author. It was officially censured by the General Court, which
ordered a rebuttal written, summoned Pynchon to explain himself and directed
the book burned by the executioner in the Boston market place. Soon
afterward, William Pynchon returned to England, leaving John to supervise the
family's substantial holdings in the New World. He died October 29, 1662, and
was buried in the churchyard at Wraysbury.
Although John Pynchon was an important man in his own time, an increasing
obscurity gathered about the name. The Pynchons were Tories during the
Revolution but loyal citizens of the republic afterward. By the time
Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote The House of Seven Gables, in which a Pynchon
appears in a not very attractive characterization, it seems that the family
was virtually unknown. To Hawthorne's surprise, however, surviving Pynchons
vigorously protested. In a letter dated May 3, 1851, Hawthorne apologized and
wrote that he thought no great damage had been done, "but since it appears
otherwise to you, no better course occurs to me than to put this letter at
your disposal, to be used in such manner as a proper regard your family honor
may be thought to demand."
Of the fate of the Pynchon family fortune, not much is to be found. they were
gentry in England and gentry here. In the first half of the present century,
the Wall Street Firm of Pynchon & Co. went under with scant attention, except
for the comment of a Morgan partner that "these ripe apples must fall." When
I knew them, the Pynchons appeared to be in relatively modest circumstances
hardly in want.
Though there are some well-known and evidently quite prosperous Pynchons--
notably, the original Thomas Ruggles Pynchon-- to be found in the standard
biographical dictionaries and encyclopedias, the two most illustrious are
separated by more than 300 years, covering the entire history of the nation.
Indeed, it is not pure hyperbole to suggest that, in some measure, William
Pynchon of Springfield and Thomas Pynchon of modern literary fame define the
spectrum of our intellectual history. The records of the Pynchon family are
easily accessible to any competent researcher. Curiously enough, no
commentator on the younger Pynchon's work seems to have made the connection
with his ancestor.
*
How close were Tom and I at Cornell? It is hard to say, really. We were
friends, maybe at some points best friends, very much alike in some important
ways. We were both writers, both science students-- he in electrical
engineering, I in premed-- both quite solitary and shy. Like him, I had no
luck fraternity row. Unlike him, I was not diligent, was careless with money,
attended class rarely, hardly got grades at all, much less high ones. One
weekend between sessions, we hitchhiked from Ithaca to Ann Arbor, Michigan,
where I wanted to see a girlfriend named Esther Schreier at the University of
Michigan. If you think that name is dissonant, try Esther Chachkis, which is
what she became when she married. It was blinding cold. We crossed Canada at
night. Ann Arbor was sodden with stale snow. Esther had the flu and was not
in a very romantic mood, though pleased to see me. Tom refused a date for
himself and spent the evening at the observatory. On the way back, we got
stranded on the bridge between Detroit and Ontario for about eight hours
waiting for a ride, freezing outside between brief shelters in the relative
warmth of the men's room until the guards took pity on us and invited us into
their hut and got us a ride.
This time, we blasted across the barren winter reaches with a wild pair of
couples in a sedan and a pickup truck who played tag with the two vehicles in
the darkness before dawn at speed upwards of 80 mph, sometimes turning their
headlights off to ensure surprise. One of us-- I forget which-- left his bag
in the car when they let us off in Buffalo. Tom remembered the first name of
one of the men and that he worked for cab company. We had to wait a couple of
hours or more in a White Tower Hamburger stand until the cab companies'
telephones were answered. Then we tracked them down and got the bag back. It
took us most of the day to get back to Ithaca. Tom began talking with the
Southern Colonel's accent, not only to me but also to everyone we met. Before
long, I was pleading with him to stop.
Not long after that, I dropped out of school and went into the Army, winding
up in the Military Intelligence service in Korea, where I received a letter
from Pynchon informing me that he, too, had left school and now was-- I
laughed out loud at the piquant turn of speech-- "a jolly jack-tar." He
returned to Cornell, an English major this time, where Vera Nabokov thinks
she remembers grading his papers for her husband's class. Of Vladimir
Nabokov, Pynchon told me only that his Russian accent was so thick he could
hardly understand what he was saying. I did not return to Cornell but went,
instead, to Hunter College.
I saw Pynchon occasionally in New York. Once he took me down to Greenwich
Village to the Cafe Bohemia, where Max Roach was playing. It was the only
band I ever heard in which the drums carried the melody. The Modern Jazz
Quartet and the Kent Micronite Filter commercial were about as much modern
music as I could handle. Pynchon, however, was deeply into the mysteries of
Thelonious Monk. On religious grounds, I excused myself from attending chapel
with him at the Five Spot to hear "God" play. I was an atheist.
Tom came down to the Bronx to my engagement party, helped do the massive load
of dishes and stayed overnight with us. In June 1958, Mr. Pynchon arranged
for the marriage ceremony to be performed by a Federal district court judge
in Massepequa, Long Island, and I went out to East Norwich to take care of
the final details. Judith was there, 16 and more than fair. I blushed with
lust and wondered shy I was getting married. When the appointed day came, we
arrived at the judge's mansion to find his worship in a tuxedo. It seemed
that a few days earlier, another young couple named Siegel had come to him
and asked to be married. Thinking it was us, he had done so and crossed our
name off his appointment calendar. Fortunately-- is that the right word?--
Tom arrived early and intercepted the judge, who was getting ready to go off
to a diner. The marriage proceeded as planned. Phyllis DeBus became Mrs.
Jules Siegal. Pictures were taken. In one of them, there was Tom, bearded,
wearing a charcoal-grey suit. Perhaps Phyllis still has that picture. We were
divorced less than four years later, our marriage a victim of deep family
tragedies. I think of her occasionally with great affection and a certain
longing. She was so wonderful a lover, generous and easily aroused,
but I was too callow then to appreciate her.
Tom visited us when we were living in Queens, once helping us move from one
apartment to another, playing a wastepaper basket as a conga drum in the back
of the rented step van. Another time, he came down from Ithaca with his
girlfriend, Ellen Landgraben, a coed at Cornell. It was a forbidden love. She
was Jewish and her parents objected to Tom. It was my job to drive her out to
Hewlett and pretend that I had brought her from school. At the last minute, I
forgot to remove my shiny wedding band. I don't know if they noticed, though.
c
Bond – The Woman?
This blog is a record of my fictional character, Miriam Starfish Christling, becoming manifest in the person of Shoshana Chatfield, especially in her firing! The Royal Janitor, starring Victoria Rosemond Bond, and her bodyguard, is now completely in the realm of prophetic literature – and them some! I might be the author of a Think Tank, that Ian Fleming founded. A War of Words is getting very capable military personnel fired. Shoshana headed a NATO branch of the military, and had to be aware of the British Defense Staff Washington, that was headed by Admiral Ian Easton.
John Presco
Ian Easton (Royal Navy officer)
Add languages
| Sir Ian Easton | |
|---|---|
| Born | 27 November 1917[1] Tenby, Pembrokeshire, Wales |
| Died | 14 June 1989 (aged 71)[2] Freshwater, Isle of Wight, Hampshire, England |
| Allegiance | United Kingdom |
| Service / branch | Royal Navy |
| Years of service | 1931–1978 |
| Rank | Admiral |
| Commands | Royal College of Defence Studies (1976–78) HMS Triumph (1968–69) HMAS Watson (1962–64) |
| Battles / wars | Second World War |
| Awards | Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath Distinguished Service Cross |
Admiral Sir Ian Easton, KCB, DSC (27 November 1917 – 14 June 1989) was a Royal Navy officer who held various command positions in the 1970s.
Naval career
[edit]
Easton joined the Royal Navy in 1931 and qualified as a pilot at the start of the Second World War, during which he saw active service on aircraft carriers.[3] On 4 January 1941, flying a Fairey Fulmar of 803 Naval Air Squadron from HMS Formidable during a raid on Dakar, he force landed with his aircrewman Naval Airman James Burkey and was taken prisoner and held by the Vichy French at a camp near Timbuktu, until released in November 1942.[4]
Easton was appointed Assistant Director of the Tactical and Weapons Policy Division at the Admiralty in 1960. He was seconded to the Royal Australian Navy as captain of HMAS Watson in 1962.[3] He went on to be Naval Assistant to the Naval Member of the Templer Committee on Rationalisation of Air Power in 1965, Director of Naval Tactical and Weapons Policy Division at the Admiralty in 1966 and Captain of the aircraft carrier HMS Triumph in 1968.[3] After that he was made Assistant Chief of Naval Staff (Policy) in 1969, Flag Officer for the Admiralty Interview Board in 1971 and Head of British Defence Staff and Senior Defence Attaché in Washington, D.C. in 1973.[3] He last posting was as Commandant of the Royal College of Defence Studies in 1976: he commissioned armourial bearings for the college which were presented during a visit by the Queen in November 1977.[5] He retired in March 1978.[6]
Keywords
China, PRC, China Maritime Studies Institute, CMSI, People’s Liberation Army, PLAN, Taiwan, Formosa, World War II, Causeway, Operation Causeway
Recommended Citation
Easton, Ian, “China Maritime Report No. 42: Invasion Plans: Operation Causeway and Taiwan’s Defense in World War II” (2024). CMSI China Maritime Reports. 42.
https://digital-commons.usnwc.edu/cmsi-maritime-reports/42
Easton lived in Taiwan and China for five years, worked as a translator for Island Technologies Inc. and the Foundation for Asia-Pacific Peace Studies (亞太和平研究基金會) in Taipei, conducting research with the Asia Bureau Chief of Defense News there. He lectured at the U.S. Naval War College and National Defense Academy of Japan and worked as a China analyst at the Center for Naval Analyses. During summer 2013, he was a visiting fellow at the Japan Institute of International Affairs in Tokyo. At the Project 2049 Institute, his research focused on quadrilateral defense and security issues involving the U.S., China, Japan, and Taiwan.[1]
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
| Former names | Imperial Defence College |
|---|---|
| Motto | “To prepare senior officers and officials of the United Kingdom and other countries and future leaders from the private and public sectors for high responsibilities in their respective organisations, by developing their analytical powers, knowledge of defence and international security, and strategic vision.” |
| Type | Senior military college |
| Established | 1927 |
| Parent institution | Constituent college of the Defence Academy of the United Kingdom |
| Commandant | Lieutenant General Sir George Norton |
| Location | Seaford House, London, United Kingdom |
| Campus | Urban |
| Website | www.da.mod.uk/study-with-us/colleges-and-schools/royal-college-for-defence-studies |
The Royal College of Defence Studies (RCDS) instructs the most promising senior officers of the British Armed Forces, His Majesty’s Diplomatic Service and Civil Service in national defence and international security matters at the highest level, to prepare them for the top posts in their respective services. It forms part of the Defence Academy of the United Kingdom, and is its most senior and prestigious component. In addition, there are many overseas attendees from countries who are close allies of the United Kingdom.
The college is based in London. It was known as the Imperial Defence College from its foundation in 1927 until 1970.
History
[edit]
Following discussion in the Committee of Imperial Defence in June 1920, a cabinet committee under Winston Churchill, then Secretary of State for the Colonies, met in March 1922 and recommended the formation of the College as “the beginnings of a common brain for the three Services”.[1] The college was founded in 1927 as the Imperial Defence College and was located at 9 Buckingham Gate until 1939.[1] Its objective at that time was to instruct senior military officers in the defence of the British Empire, “to look at the problem of war as whole and not merely from a land, or sea, or air point of view.”[1] In 1946, following the end of World War II, the college reopened at Seaford House, Belgrave Square and members of the United States Armed Forces started attending the course for the first time.[1]
In 1970, the IDC was renamed the Royal College of Defence Studies and several royal visits followed. The Queen and Prince Philip visited the college in 2007 to mark its 80th anniversary.[1]
RCDS course
[edit]
The RCDS mission is:”To prepare senior officers and officials of the United Kingdom and other countries, and future leaders from the private and public sectors, for high responsibilities in their respective organisations, by developing their analytical powers, knowledge of defence and international security, and strategic vision.”[2]
RCDS forms a part of the Defence Academy of the United Kingdom. In fulfilment of its mission, the college runs one course a year, from September to July.[3] As of 2024, each course is attended by approximately 110 full-time members.[4] Attendees are military officers of Colonel/Brigadier or equivalent rank, and also include Home Office and Ministry of Defence civil servants, Foreign Office diplomats, police officers and a few representatives from the private sector.[3] All members would have been selected to attend the course on the strength of their potential to progress to high positions within their professions.[3]
The course composition has been progressively widened to include members from nearly 50 overseas countries per year,[3] who are invited by the Ministry of Defence through diplomatic channels.[4] Graduates of the college are entitled to the post-nominal letters rcds, while prior to 1970 the post-nominal letters idc were used.[5]
Since 2001, course members have had the option of studying in a joint programme that leads to an MA in International Security and Strategy from King’s College London.[3][6]
Commandants
[edit]
Main article: Commandant Royal College of Defence Studies
The College is led by the Commandant, currently Lieutenant General Sir George Norton. The Commandant leads the Senior Directing Staff of the College, who are in effect the faculty and are a mixture of active and retired military officers, diplomats and civil servants.[7][8][9]
Alumni
[edit]
See also: Category:Graduates of the Royal College of Defence Studies
Faculty
[edit]
See also: Category:Academics of the Royal College of Defence Studies
Chatfield is a toponymic surname of English origin with Old English roots, first appearing in the region of Sussex.[1][2] Records indicate that the first people to bear this name were from a location named Catsfield, in Southern England.
Etymology
[edit]
The surname Chatfield can be traced to the village of Catsfield in East Sussex. The first recorded instance of this name is William de Cattefeld, found within tax records from the area in the early 1300s.[3] Since the surname was most likely granted as a byname, the origin of the name Chatfield is directly tied to the etymology of the village itself. Several theories currently exist as to how the village of Catsfield was named.
The earliest record of Catsfield comes from the Domesday Book, in which the village is referred to as Cedesfelle.[4] It’s believed that Catsfield is combination of two Old English words, the first being Catte and the second being Feld, which translates to, “field, pasture, plains, or open country“.[5] More specifically, the word refers to an uncultivated land without forests.[2]. There has been some speculation as to the true meaning behind the word Catte.
Firstly, the suspected origin of Catte is that it was derived from a personal name of Anglo-Saxon origin. The namesake of Catsfield, however, is also subject to debate. The leading theory is that the village church, now called The Church of Saint Laurence, was initially constructed in the name of, or later dedicated to, Saint Cedd or his brother, Chad of Mercia. The name may also be derived from an obscure saint, Ceatta of Lichfield, though this may simply be another name for Chad of Mercia, as there are few records containing the former name and Saint Chad was also a Bishop of Lichfield.[6]
Secondly, the origin of Catte could be traced back to an ancient Germanic tribe named the Chatti or Catti that is known to have settled in Sussex. Their settlement may have been named Cattefeld, which could have literally meant, plains of the Catti. Since the word catte is an old English feminine word for cat, it could be that the name may have changed to Chatfield following the Norman Conquest. From old English, the words Catte + Feld may have transformed over time into their Frankish equivalent, Chat + Field.
Coat of Arms
[edit]
A coat of arms was granted to the Chatfield family in 1564 and recorded at the College of Arms in London, England.[7]
The crest is a heraldic antelope’s head of erased argent, ducally gorged – meaning with a ducal crown around its neck. The antelope symbolizes unwavering fidelity while argent is emblematic of purity.
The escutcheon is composed of an argent charge displaying a sable griffin and a purple chief displaying three argent scallop shells. The griffin symbolizes both temporal and spiritual authority, as in the case of early church barons, while sable is indicative of antiquity. The scallop shells indicate that ancestors of the family made a trip to the Holy Land.[3]
Motto
[edit]
The Chatfield family motto is set on purple beneath the coat of arms. It reads, in Latin, “fidus ad extremum”, which translates to “faithful to the end”.[3][7]
The Day James Bond Movies Died
10 hours ago
7 min read
A case can be made that the recent announcement of Amazon gaining creative control of the James Bond series from producers Barbara Broccoli and Michael G. Wilson, its caretakers of the last thirty years, should be welcome news. After all, there hasn’t been a new film since “No Time to Die” opened in 2021, and there have only been two in the last ten years. This is a series that once spewed out a new entry after another every couple of years like clockwork, including some of their very best. At times, it’s felt like the customary “James Bond will return” sign that appears at the end of each movie should have been substituted with something more accurate like “James Bond will return…more likely than not…maybe.”
In hindsight, it doesn’t seem like a coincidence that in “No Time to Die” the filmmakers did away not only with two of the series’ most memorable and longest standing characters (Felix Leiter and Blofeld) but also with 007 himself, even when the MacGuffin in turn provided more alternatives to wrap up the plot than in most every other entry in the history of the series. Looking back, Q, M, and Moneypenny were more than a bit lucky to make it all the way through that movie. And yet, considering how long and hard the producers had fought to secure exclusive rights to the character, as well to the Blofeld and SPECTRE names, the announcement still came as a shock.
At the end of the day, the only criteria to decide if this change of direction should be seen as good news would be identifying what exactly has distinguished the Bond series and how likely it is to remain the same way with this change of direction. There have surely been even more financially successful series than 007, like the “Star Wars” saga, but the longevity and constant quality standards of the Bond movies through twenty-five features and over sixty years remains unmatched. I don’t think that necessarily came from Ian Fleming’s character or its many qualities. Instead, it comes from the series’ caretakers acquiring the rarest and most valuable commodity in any occupation: a personal trade, a know-how about a very specific subject, and the way they made their films was the cinematographic equivalent of doing something by hand. They grew to see the Bond movies as something of their own, which was evident during the filming of “Spectre,” in which producer Barbara Broccoli personally dealt with every production department (direction, special effects, public relations). These producers were the equivalent of the Christian Bale character in “Ford v. Ferrari” who simply had grown to know more about cars than most anybody alive and made all the Ford company “yes men” look clueless.
This is not to say that Broccoli and Wilson didn’t make their share of mistakes during their tenure. Just remember the digital CGI wave from “Die Another Day” (surely the most unbearable moment in the series’ history). There was also the script of “Quantum of Solace” that was shot well before it was finished due the threat of a writer’s strike, resulting in the one almost unwatchable film in the series. And how about Hoyte van Hoytema’s yellow and gray cinematography from “Spectre” that flattened the feel of that movie for no good reason?
More importantly, it seems like they were starting to overthink their character. Since the success of “Skyfall,” which unpacked Bond’s roots (“orphans make the best recruits”), they went out of their way to provide a big surprise with each movie to the point where they unwillingly ended up imitating the Austin Powers satire of their very own series by suggesting that Bond and the villainous Blofeld were brothers. More recently, they went even further and decided to “jump the shark” by providing Bond with a daughter.
Whatever their mistakes, no one can say that Broccoli, Wilson and their predecessors didn’t know their subject. Just consider how hard it is to cast the main part and how they were able to pick six different Bonds that on different levels were all more than acceptable. Anybody can play Bruce Wayne or Clark Kent, but only the rarest of actors can play James Bond convincingly. More importantly, it was in large part because of a few seemingly questionable decisions that they made throughout the years that the series lasted so long. For all of their financially success, they mostly avoided the temptation of choosing to go bigger per se, otherwise the series would have become irrelevant a long time ago.
Think, for example, how, after completing some of their biggest and most successful entries like “Moonraker” and “Die Another Day,” they realized that they had gone over the top and proceeded to bring series back to Earth with the following feature, ignoring what audiences seemed to want at that time. Additionally, it didn’t make sense to let the actor go after the last Pierce Brosnan entry. He had made for a more than adequate Bond, all of his Bond films were extremely successful, and he was still relatively young. Add to this the fact that most everybody originally seemed to hate the idea of Daniel Craig taking over the part. It was hard not to believe they weren’t making a huge mistake, yet the end result was one of the true irreplaceable entries in the series (“Casino Royale”).
It’s hard to say why Broccoli and Wilson finally decided to step down. They must have had their reasons, but they must also have wondered whether they could keep providing something original. How many more worthy chases through land, water, snow, and air could they possibly come up with? If there is another similar series that has kept its standards through a very extended period of time (if not yet through a comparable number of entries) that would probably be the “Mission: Impossible” movies, but as consistently excellent as they have been, they have also reached a point where most of their action sequences have been based on something Bond has already done in the past, even if made with more recent, flashy technology.
There is no guarantee that Amazon will either succeed or fail. Unfortunately, there is more than enough precedent of corporations taking over a beloved movie series, and their main goal is to maximize the return of investment, their vision extending no further than a certain fiscal year. They will surely hire the best available people and churn out one movie and spin-off after another, with the presumption that lighting in a bottle is something that money will buy. This is exactly what happened with a “Star Wars” series that, in the seven years after being acquired by Disney, released more projects than George Lucas did in the first thirty-five. The same applies to the Disney live-action remakes of their animated classics, which truly deserve a case study of their own. Except for a very few notable exceptions, they have invariably felt repetitive, unoriginal, and unnecessary, lacking a cinematographic soul, if such a thing exists.
On its part, the James Bond series never felt tired under the watch of the two generations of producers, even in the face of surging competition like the Bourne movies that some predicted would take over, but instead ran out of gas after just a few entries. The same thing happened when “Lethal Weapon 2” greatly out-performed “License to Kill” head-to-head in the summer of 1989, but these Richard Donner features didn’t last very long either. Even the magic of the Indiana Jones films that took the medium by storm in the early ’80s didn’t remain for more than two or three entries.
When it comes to the Bonds, not only were they able to keep their standards decade after decade, but they also reached some of their highest highs in a couple of their twenty-something entries (“Casino Royale” and “Skyfall”). It’s hard to know what we can expect from Amazon’s 007 in the future, but if there is one thing that seems certain, it is that whatever comes will be completely different. Their makers will surely have every necessary resource to succeed. Still, with the recent of history of corporations taking over beloved film series, I suspect that the James Bond movies have been given an expiration date, even if yet unknown.
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