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Love Prichard – The Last King of Bardsey Island

Love Prichard with the crown and Lord Newborough, 1925

The tradition of the King of Bardsey is one shrouded in the clouds of history.  Nobody knows when the tradition started, but John Williams (see below) was the first named king.  As well as the crown, newly crowned Kings were given a ceremonial silver snuff box.

This is an extract from Wikipedia about the King of Bardsey:

It was tradition for the island to elect the King of Bardsey (Welsh:Brenin Enlli), and from 1826 onwards, he would be crowned by Baron Newborough or his representative. The crown is now kept at Merseyside Maritime Museum in Liverpool, although calls have been made for it to return to Gwynedd.  The first known title holder was John Williams; his son, John Williams II, the third of the recorded kings, was deposed in 1900, and asked to leave the island as he had become an alcoholic. At the outbreak of World War I, the last king, Love Pritchard, offered himself and the men of Bardsey Island for military service, but he was refused as he was considered too old at the age of 71. Pritchard took umbrage, and declared the island a neutral power.[39] In 1925 Pritchard left the island for the mainland, to seek a less laborious way of life, but died the following year.

The Bardsey Crown

The Bardsey Crown

The population of Bardsey peaked at 132 in 1881 and fell to 17 in 1961, the population in 2003 was 4.

Love Prichard died childless, so the noble lineage ended.  The crown was returned recently, in 2009 when it was exhibited in Bangor as part of a celebration of the history of Bardsey.

Love Prichard not only looks like a medieval king, but seemed to act like one also.  Crowns seem to go to a mans head!

For more info. on Bardsey and its apples, see the post below.

King John Williams II of Bardsey

King John Williams II took the crown when he was only one day old.

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‘Millennium Times’ A Poem by Robert Turner

Robert Turner was Bobby, my granddad.  A miner in Murton Colliery, Durham for most of his life. He wrote this in 1999 in his late 60’s.  He enjoyed gardening, painting, writing and chess.  He also made the best tongue and philedelphia sandwiches.

Millennium Times

A hundred years of mining quests, the pit embers laid to rest.

Sleep ye seams which gave us life, but there was peril!  loss!  and strife.

Mining revelations near its ebb, no miners needed in the web.

No more sharpening of the picks, no more trimming of the wicks.

Into the Internet must we go?  What can it offer?  to and fro.

Then less we forget and without time, when we were further in the mine, as we bent beyond the gate, where the tree etchings, caught the lamp light wake.

Millenium of years when they were free, but now caught!  entombed!  like we.

But yesterdays history, now we are few, millenium bells ring in the new.

So miners rest ye weary souls, at least we get our share of the coals.

This was Bobby’s favourite song ‘Born Free’:

‘Born free and beauty surrounds you

Its time you look at a star

Stay free where no walls divide you

Your free as a roaring tide so theres no need to hide

Born free and life is worth living

But only worth living cause you are born freeeeeeee!!!!!!!XXXX’ 

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Grizzly Bear

Clever GrizzliesX!?X*

Plastercine People.

Ive never suffered from a migraine.

In a Parisian bathroomX

If you know anything clever like this.  Please let me know.

Love from HanoiXXXXXX

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A peaceful and Merry Christmas to you all


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Dear Blogger and friend,

Noam Chomsky is ‘the most important intellectual alive’ New York Times

Be free, never believe the hype.


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Then on a boat, I hear these words and realise popular music is not dead:

My body is a cage – The Arcade Fire

‘My body is a cage that keeps me
From dancing with the one I love
But my mind holds the key

I’m standing on a stage
Of fear and self-doubt
It’s a hollow play
But they’ll clap anyway

You’re standing next to me
My mind holds the key

I’m living in an age
That calls darkness light
Though my language is dead
Still the shapes fill my head

I’m living in an age
Whose name I don’t know
Though the fear keeps me moving
Still my heart beats so slow

My body is a cage
We take what we’re given
Just because you’ve forgotten
That don’t mean you’re forgiven

I’m living in an age
That screams my name at night
But when I get to the doorway
There’s no one in sight

Set my spirit free
Set my spirit free
Set my body free

From Canada

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In Watermelon Sugar – Richard Brautigan

‘In watermelon sugar the deeds were done and done again as my life is done in watermelon sugar.  I’ll tell you about it because I am here and you are distant.  Wherever you are, we must do the best we can.  It is so far to travel, and we have nothing here to travel, except watermelon sugar.  I hope this works out.’

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Carl Sagan + Van Morrison = A Childs Wonder



‘We go about our daily lives understanding almost nothing of the world…..Except for children (who don’t know enough not to ask the important questions), few of us spend little time wondering why nature is the way it is; where the cosmos came from, or whether it was always there; if time will one day flow backwards and effects precede cause; or whether there are ultimate limits to what humans can know. There are even children, and I have met some of them, who want to know what a black hole looks like; what is the smallest piece of matter; why we remember the past and not the future; how it is, if there was chaos early, that there is, apparently order today; why there is a universe……….questions like this vividly expose the limitations of human understanding. An increased amount of adults are willing to ask questions of this sort, and occasionally they get some astonishing answers……a universe with no edge in space, no beginning or end in time, and nothing for a creator to do.’  Carl Sagan 

When the child was a child
It walked with arms hanging
Wanted the stream to be a river and the river a torrent
And this puddle, the sea
When the child was a child, it didnt know
It was a child
Everything for it was filled with life and all life was one
Saw the horizon without trying to reach it
Couldnt rush itself and think on command
Was often terribly bored
And couldnt wait
Passed up greeting the moments
And prayed only with its lips
When the child was a child
It didnt have an opinion about a thing
Had no habits
Often sat crossed-legged, took off running
Had a cow lick in its hair
And didnt put on a face when photographed

When the child was a child
It was the time of the following questions
Why am I me and why not you
Why am I here and why not there
Why did time begin and where does space end
Isnt what I see and hear and smell
Just the appearance of the world in front of the world
Isnt life under the sun just a dream
Does evil actually exist in people
Who really are evil
Why cant it be that I who am
Wasnt before I was
And that sometime i, the i, I am
No longer will be the i, I am

When the child was a child
It gagged on spinach, on peas, on rice pudding
And on steamed cauliflower
And now eats all of it and not just because it has to
When the child was a child
It woke up once in a strange bed
And now time and time again
Many people seem beautiful to it
And now not so many and now only if its lucky
It had a precise picture of paradise
And now can only vaguely conceive of it at best
It couldnt imagine nothingness
And today shudders in the face of it
Go for the ball
Which today rolls between its legs
With its Im here it came
Into the house which now is empty

When the child was a child
It played with enthusiasm
And now only with such former concentration
Where its work is concerned
When the game, task, activity, subject happens to be its work

When the child was a child
It was enough to live on apples and bread. and its still that way
When the child was a child berries fell
Only like berries into its hand. and still do
The fresh walnuts made its tongue raw. and still do
Atop each mountain it craved
Yet a higher mountain. and in each city it craved
Yet a bigger city. and still does
Reach for the cherries in the treetop
As elated as it still is today
Was shy in front of strangers. and still is
It waited for the first snow. and still waits that way
When the child was a child
It waited restlessly each day for the return of the loved one
And still waits that way
When the child was a child
It hurled a stick like a lance into a tree
And its still quivering there today

The child, the child was a child
Was a child, was a child, was a child, was a child
Child, child, child
When the child, when the child, when the child
When the child, when the child
The child, child, child, child, child

Van Morrison 

How can I begin to understand a little person that can still see spirits?  Go back to the beginning, before my mind began to believe the hype. 


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Artist Party International- Adhere Blues Bar, Bangkok


Peace Dove, World Love

C’MON EVERYBODY – Open your heart and your head!!!!
This is not a political party.
They need your help to create a new society. With peace and harmony. No leader nor follower, because we are all leaders!!!!
Everyone is awake and seeks confidence from self understanding to gain wisdom and responsibility through which we act in the right way. Everyone rules and takes care of themselves – their community-society and all life on this planet. We share our happiness and welfare together. We respect each other and realize that when one suffers we all suffer.
Our Mother Earth host our human family, one family of people. Oppression, plundering, war, poverty and ignorance are the enemy of all living things. Everybody has the duty to act together to stop the power of the unjust governments controlled by greedy, monopolistic capitalists who will destroy our life support system our planet. The Artists Party will create a society with peace, freedom and justice for all. Artist Party International 2010.
Check them out on Fakebook.

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Adhere Blues Bar, 8th October 2010, Bangkok


David 'Honeyboy' Edwards - Last of The Delta Bluesman


All I need is a cold beer and a guy in a corner, picking at a guitar, maybe singing some blues, some folk, a little rock and roll! Yeah! Creating. I settle into the night, on a stool, under neon lights. ‘Do you want to feel good in the night, or good in the morning. I want to feel good all the time, I want to feel good 8 days a week.’ One man croons Cat Stevens ‘The Wind”, later a band crank up the volume and the blues come flowing out. If you don’t like the blues, you have a hole in your soul.  This is what they say.

A man wearing a bowler hat wants us to take him home, make him feel happy, puffing away on a harmonica sounding like an old steam train. People are beating away on chairs and tables, feet are being stamped, Im slapping my thy, toes atappin’.  The whole bar is boogying along.  Knocking back shots of Jack or Jim or some local moonshine.  Buddy Holly, Howlin’ Wolf, Keith Richards all look down from the wall, a sitar sits atop the bar. I like this place, Ive found my spot, everybody is smiling or singing, talking about Woodstock, talking about changing the world with peace and a community vibe. Yeah I like this place. It’s a scene.

The Thais know how to let it all hang out, people swap and change instruments, many people grab the mic and wail along. Protest songs are hollered.  Bags of talent and passion in this tiny place.  Barmaid/man, hand me a cocktail with an umbrella in, I’m feeling mighty fine.

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