It is always nice to be able to introduce you all to a new guest blogger. Possibly the nicest thing about the CFZ bloggo is that it is a living, breathing community, and new people arrive on a regular basis. I can't tell you anything about Liz, apart from the fact that she bought some books from us at Uncon, briefly spoke to Richard, and had a charmingly old-fashioned habit of referring to me as `Mr Downes`, when everyone else calls me `Jon` or `Hey You` (or sometimes something more scatological), until I told her not to. She is also the author of a charming and very elegantl;y written fortean novella called The Second Level which I strongly urge you all to buy at this link:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/offer-listing/095601156X/ref=dp_olp_new?ie=UTF8&condition=new
She is obviously one to watch, and she tells me in her latest e:mail that she is getting "addicted" to writing for the CFZ bloggo.
Back in 1941 when Patriotism was still okay and our men were off fighting world war two, support back home abounded, often from surprising corners.
According to the Rochdale Observer, in August of that year, Mr J. Herbert of the Spotland area (who, incidentally, had previously been a Rochdale Association footballer) was tending to his chickens and came across the remarkable egg shown in the photo.
The V for Victory Campaign had begun earlier that year in January when Belgian refugee Victor Delavelaye suggested on BBC radio that the 22nd letter of the alphabet become the emblem of the allies against Nazism. The idea was, according to Mr Delavelaye, that "by seeing this sign, always the same, infinitely repeated, [the German] will understand that he is surrounded, encircled by an immense crowd of citizens eagerly awaiting his first moment of weakness, watching for his first failure."
I do hope Mr Herbert’s patriotic hen was commended for her brave effort in support of the allied movement, or at least given an extra portion of feed. Sadly such gallinaceous gallantry in the Spotland area is unlikely ever to recur since the only chicken within a one-mile radius is minced and waiting to be fried in one of the many kebab shops we have to choose from.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment