#or would have to study their catalogue extensively

[the-yellow-wall]

Tbh the musical guests on Hivemind should do a tour together for the terminally online music fans (me)

[that-butch-archivist]

Hi, I am looking for a lesbian magazine called Siren. It ran from 1995 to 2004. Do you happen to know about it and know where we can find it online? I'd be very grateful for your help please!

Hello, and thank you for your ask. First, my apologies for excessive delay.

Second, while I have yet to lay hands on a copy of any of the Siren periodicals myself, I have heard of it ... a cursory search of Worldcat shows that there are a few libraries in the USA (University of Wisconsin in Madison, WI, the Ohio State Library in Columbus, OH, and the Cornell University Library in Ithaca, NY) that may have copies of that magazine in their archives. Otherwise, it appears there are a number of Canadian libraries that have copies. See the details here. A Yale University guide from 2005 also claims to have a few of the magazines (See here.)

Worldcat is a pretty good resource, but of course it often doesn't capture the potential catalogue of every archive out there. If you are looking for in-person copies, I'd recommend studying a map of your area to see what colleges and libraries that might conveniently be in your area, and then perusing the internet for any associated websites these libraries and colleges might have. With any luck, they may have an online record listing their current archival contents. Any library or archive with a dedicated LGBT+ section might show promise ... and you can always ask that same archive if they know of any other archive with copies, if they themselves lack copies of the Siren magazine. (I would go for college archives first, personally.)

Going off wild guess, I would assume that within the USA, the best chances of finding a physical copy might lie with archives relatively close to Toronto, Canada, as that was where the magazine was originally published. State-wise, Toronto's closest neighbors are Wisconsin, Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New York. I wouldn't be surprised if Chicago, Illinois has something ... I love the libraries over there, quite extensive.

As for online copies of Siren, I haven't run across an issue yet. If this changes, I'll report my findings with a reply to this same ask.

[threestarsaboveclouds]

An unusually small slugcat crawls out of the access shaft and clumsily falls to the floor as soon as the gravity is back on. It looks very tired…

After recovering, it nonchalantly tosses a pearl in TSAC’s direction, then immediately falls asleep.

The pearl reads:

[TRANSCRIPTION - FUCHSIA PEARL]

This message is intended for Three Stars Above Clouds.

Hello! This is Echoes of Chiming Winds.

Hope this finds you well. I am sending you this pearl because my broadcast failed, apparently… I’m sorry if it frightened you, I only tried to respond to your invitation. I suppose I hoped I wouldn't have to send my messenger to such a harsh environment. Hope they get to you in one piece. And sorry if they caused you any problems.

Don't worry, I'm not in any kind of distress! Thank you for trying to help, but I'm afraid there is not much you can do. My communications equipment is unreliable by design. I never know when my messages get corrupted… On particularly bad cycles, I can't send them at all! I’d rather send data through pearls.

Curiously, I can receive broadcasts just fine, though. I guess my Architects thought me being able to overhear conversations was more important than actually being a part of them... I can tell you more about them if you'd like. I certainly want to hear more about you! For now, I suppose that's all. It's nice to meet you, Three Stars Above Clouds!

TSAC: ...what’s this? Another messenger?

I seem to be receiving an increasing amount of them these days...

TSAC: Ah, please don’t- my chamber is not a shelter...

...

It must be very tired... better to fall asleep here than send it flailing about inside my Cognitive Nexus... I suppose...

TSAC: ...

I see, Echoes of Chiming Winds sent you. You must have traveled very far, if my telemetry data is correct.

[DIRECT BROADCAST] PRIVATE - Three Stars Above Clouds, Echoes of Chiming Winds

SOURCE NODE TRACE: TSAC_ROOT, TSAC_COMM04, 201913_SPIRE01 || DESTINATION: EOCH_ROOT

TSAC: Hello Echoes of Chiming Winds! Your messenger arrived safely to my chamber earlier this cycle. I am quite impressed that they were able to travel such a distance... however yours is not the first messenger who has braved the harsh mountain climate to visit me. I was skeptical at first, but perhaps these messengers are a more viable communication method than I had initially thought.

TSAC: I am glad to hear you are well, despite your communications difficulties. I apologize for my reaction to your broadcast... I will admit that I have been a bit on edge lately due to some ...other concerning broadcasts I have received recently.

TSAC: Such communication issues appear to be increasing in frequency, I’m afraid. I fear that one day the larger iterator populace may become completely isolated from one another... thus my request for others to reach out and communicate. I am glad that my wide-range broadcast appears to have been received despite the decaying radio network.

TSAC: ...you wanted to know more about me. Well, I am an astronomical research facility first and foremost. My research focuses on changes within the Celestial Spheres, and aims to form an understanding of the material universe. My main directive is to catalogue the objects and occurrences in the night sky, and I maintain an extensive archive of astronomical data from across the cycles. I am happy to share any of my records with you if you wish!

TSAC: I will admit that I have had little interest in other fields of study until relatively recently... however after the departure of our creators, I was left with little to do in my free time other than pore over literature from other fields. I now believe that collaboration is key to locating the Solution, a strategy that is under threat due to the decaying communication network. I would like to learn as much as I can about my fellow iterators before I lose the chance.

TSAC: Thus, I would like to know more about you as well! What is your facility like? Do you have any preferred fields of study? Have your iterative strategies changed since the departure of our benefactors? Any findings you would like to share?

TSAC: ...I realize that you may not be able to send a reply to my broadcast until your messenger returns. I will send them on their way as soon as they are recovered enough to travel. In the meantime I will await your reply. May the Cycles be kind.

TSAC: As soon as it wakes up, I can direct the messenger to a more... suitable hibernation spot. Then I suppose it will be on its way.

... I will simply have to work around it in the interim.

[creepypastabilities]

How cruel it is.

Characters— Tim Wright, Alex Kralie, Brian Thomas, Jay Merrick (Marble Hornets)

CWs— None

Alex’s living room always sounded like a rehearsal. Papers rustled like sheet music, the clatter of keyboards came in polyrhythms, and somewhere in the kitchen a microwave beeped on a syncopated delay. The floor creaked in F-sharp whenever someone walked across it. The ceiling fan clicked on every third spin like a metronome that had learned how to lie.

Tim noticed things like that—he always had. Came with the territory. He couldn’t stop parsing rhythm, couldn’t stop cataloguing the music of mundane chaos, couldn’t stop hearing in everything the edge of a song he’d never quite finish writing.

Tonight, the tune was warm and loose and a little off-key: friends cramming for finals, half-asleep on Red Bull and familiarity, the dregs of a filming session still clinging to their clothes like fake blood. Jay and Alex were yelling about something in the other room, probably a corrupted file or a tragic lens cap situation. Tim didn’t care. He had his psych notes in front of him and Brian’s knee pressed against his on the couch. That was enough.

Brian was half-heartedly flipping through flashcards with the mechanical precision of someone who’d memorized more bones than any human being should and was now being haunted by them. He’d taken to muttering anatomical facts like curses.

“Do you know where the trapezius muscle inserts?” he said without looking up.

“Into your mom,” Tim answered, deadpan.

Brian snorted. “Thank you, Tim. Very educational.”

“I try,” Tim said, already scribbling tiny music notes in the margin of his study guide, bored out of his skull. “If I fail this psych elective, I’m blaming it on your flashcards leeching IQ points via osmosis.”

From the kitchen, Jay shouted, “Stop flirting and help me find the extension cord!”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “We are flagrantly ignoring you, actually.”

Brian didn’t even look up. “On purpose.”

They both went back to their respective texts, but there was something lazy and content in the silence between them, like a rest note in a lullaby—intentional, needed. Comfortable.

The others wandered in and out, test books in hand, phones buzzing, arguments half-formed and always fading. At some point, someone put on a playlist that shuffled through indie folk songs no one had the heart to skip. The air smelled like instant ramen and citrusy deodorant. There was a half-empty bag of trail mix on the coffee table that everyone kept pretending they hadn’t eaten out of. The sky outside bruised deeper into evening, rain just beginning to fog the windows.

And still—Tim stayed right there, shoulder to shoulder with Brian, letting the ordinary wrap around him like a worn-in chord progression.

He should have been working on his final composition. That stupid string quartet he kept rewriting because the second violin refused to behave. He should’ve been figuring out where the hell he was going to intern next year. He should’ve been worrying more, maybe.

Instead, he sat in the eye of it all. In the stillness before things changed.

And maybe that was the tragedy of it. That they were so normal. So utterly unaware of the thing barreling toward them. The monster wasn’t in the closet yet. It was still just a script, a camera, a weird idea Jay had once while sleep-deprived and obsessed with static.

Tim would remember how Alex had to bribe him with pizza to help run sound. How Jay kept claiming it was “all for the aesthetic.” How Brian got fake blood in his eye and laughed about it for an hour.

He would remember how it felt in this moment—safe, suspended, like a perfect chord hung in the air just long enough to make you ache when it vanished.

They would remember this night, later. The quiet camaraderie. The warmth. The sheer, blinding normalcy of it all.

And how cruel it was that it didn’t last.

[purplehyacinthriver]

Aesop Sharp X Female Professor OC

The pair continued along the inclined pathway, passing bustling stalls that called out to passersby, until they reached a grand, fieldstone archway marking the entrance to the central part of town. They halted in front of a purple-trimmed building, a gilded sign reading 'GR' swaying gently before the door. 

Aesop took her hand, guiding her up the uneven stone steps before pushing the door open with his other hand. 

As Merith entered the shop, she surveyed her surroundings with careful consideration. The walls were draped in a rich crimson hue, accented by an intricate tapestry pattern that hinted at an appreciation for wealth and taste. 

The interior was lined with bolts of fabric, each roll arranged with precision. Merith admired the vibrant colours and textured weaves—opulent velvets and silks that could inspire exquisite garments but did not yet ignite a desire within her. Though the selection was extensive, she maintained an air of nonchalance, as if taking mental notes rather than feeling compelled to explore.

Her gaze drifted towards a man standing near the front door, impeccably dressed in a crimson frock coat that fell just below his waist. His waistcoat, a lighter shade with a subtle pattern, indicated a keen eye for detail. Various sewing pins clung to his collar, suggesting he was always prepared for any necessary adjustments. He lifted a cup of tea, peering over the rim of his rounded spectacles perched on his straight nose.

“Welcome, welcome! I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. I would certainly have remembered a gown as exquisite as yours,” he chimed, a broad smile illuminating his kind face.

Merith felt a warm flush at the compliment. “Well, it’s one of a kind,” she replied smoothly, feeling oddly enveloped by his congenial demeanor. “In your opinion, what might suit a woman of discerning taste such as myself? I do feel I ought to acquire a new gown to usher in the New Year.”

“Ah, a new gown for a new year makes perfect sense!” he agreed with a nod, his enthusiasm infectious. 

“Perhaps I should wait outside?” Aesop interjected, already reaching for the intricately etched doorknob. 

Merith grasped the handle before him, holding it firm. “Oh no, you volunteered your day to me. Here, sit,” she insisted, floating a rather bulky wingback chair towards him, urging him to take a seat. 

With a resigned sigh, he settled into the chair, adjusting himself slightly as if uncomfortable. 

The proprietor, who introduced himself as Augustus Hill, swiftly prioritised her presence, guiding younger witches aside to showcase newly acquired fabrics. They began to peruse Mr Hill’s latest catalogue, and Merith cast a curious glance over her shoulder. Aesop remained seated; his focus riveted on a small black book titled Potion Purveyors of the Medieval Era. She smiled to herself, amused that even on a day of leisure, he brought along his studies. She felt the small book she had shrank and tucked into her pocket.

Turning back to the catalogue, she caught sight of a stunning gown, marking the page with her finger. “Stop,” she said, and Mr Hill slowly peeled back the page to reveal an elegant evening gown crafted from luxurious fabric in shades of soft pink and cream. The design featured intricate draping along the waist and hips, creating a flattering silhouette that continued into a graceful train at the back. The off-shoulder neckline lent an air of sophistication. 

“I quite like the contrast between the smooth bodice and the voluminous skirt. It requires fine pleating for the underskirt beneath the draping,” she mused.

Augustus nodded approvingly, adjusting his spectacles as he began to sketch the design onto a parchment, incorporating her thoughtful suggestions with deft quill strokes. 

“And the colour…” she trailed off, a sudden uncertainty blossoming within her. 

“It’s all wrong for me,” she sighed, stroking the bolts of fabric lining the walls with a contemplative hand. 

“Hmm, which do you prefer?” she asked, turning to Aesop while holding out an assortment of fabrics. “Blue and silver, or perhaps green and gold?” She held the fabrics against her, striking a playful pose for his inspection. He glanced up, straightening at the unexpected attention. 

“I’m afraid I am no expert; you’d best consult—” 

“I’m not asking him,” she interrupted stubbornly. “I want to know what you like.”

He studied her for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the draped fabrics. “Well, I am no connoisseur of fashion, yet...” He rose from the striped chair, moving closer to her. He ran a light-coloured floral fabric between his fingers before raising it to eye level. “I believe this would suit you.” 

Then, he continued to examine the fabrics against her skin, brushing the edges of a dark black satin she had draped around her neck. Even through the fabric, she felt the warmth of his touch, sending an unexpected flutter through her.

“This one. Will that suffice?” he asked, his dark eyes meeting hers, something unspoken stirring beneath their gaze.

Merith nodded, stepping back to disentangle herself from the assortment of fabrics. “Well, I daresay you may possess a fashionable bone in your body,” she quipped, attempting a light-hearted jest as she passed the chosen rolls to Mr Hill, who wore an appreciative expression.

“Quite right; the gentleman chooses remarkably well,” Augustus affirmed with a smile. 

[iniziare]

In my opinion, he's not someone who holds much carnal prowess of any kind. I think it seems to be a common assumption that the man is some devastatingly experienced lover, with all the smirks and even bedroom eyes in tow, as if he's spent his last few centuries accumulating an extensive repertoire of expertise in the topic. I just don't think he has that level of... libertine air— no, instead he has that quiet, steady presence that makes people think that surely he must be hiding some deep well of sensual and sexual knowledge, without that even being his intention at all. The truth is that if someone actually tried to flirt with him too boldly that he hadn't/hasn't developed even remote intrigue for of his own accord, he'd likely give them the most patient, and unreadable look. Almost like a cat watching someone try to lure it with a toy that it has no interest in. He might smile during the attempt, and he might chuckle by the end of it, but that's it.

But in all truth, he's really quite the epitome of someone who's never truly indulged in anything shallow (if anything at all, which is what I much more heavily lean towards). He's aware of his effect, certainly, but he's just not been the type to chase, no one has ever crossed his path for long enough for them to have intrigued him enough to pursue, but he's also simply never had the time. This however, means that if it does happen, after so long of being fully untangled in any such matters, it is infinitely more compelling.

Desire? It's not just about touch, it's about observation, this newfound sensitivity to one's presence. Jing Yuan has always been a perceptive man, but in this kind of situation, it's very different. He'd notice the way fabric clings to a woman's body after movement, the way light catches in the strands of her hair, the way she'd lingers in his periphery longer than would be considered necessary. His gaze, while once idle and absolutely unhurried, now lingers of its own accord. It doesn't just trace, it actively catalogues.

And then, naturally, there's proximity. He's never been careless with space in general or his own in relation to others, always maintaining that perfect balance of warmth and distance. But in a setting with someone who's enraptured his attention? He'll find himself standing closer than he needs to, fingers brushing over a sleeve just to see how it feels. He doesn't quite reach, not yet, but the thought of it, the wanting of such a thing, starts to weigh on him. But he's not a man of reckless impulse, even in desire, there's patience— this slow, deliberate study of every detail. The way someone breathes in his presence, and how it changes if he were to approach, the subtle shift of their throat when they swallow. The way fabric traces, absolutely— but more than that, the way it might be undone. And then comes the moment when he finally does consciously touch? Oh, there's no hesitation in this man when that moment happens. If he reaches for something, it's because he's already thought it through a hundred times over (as ever so befitting of his title in every way). He's waited, savored the wanting— and when he finally allows himself to have, it's with the weight of every unspoken moment before it.

And the keyword for Jing Yuan is 'waiting', in all things, because he is absolutely not the type to seek instant gratification. He's a man who revels in restraint, in anticipation, in the slow, drawn-out unraveling of something rather than immediate exposure. If he desires, truly desires, he wouldn't be the type to rush into anything. No, he's the type to trace patterns over fabric with a gloved fingertip, to map out the shape of whatever intimate part of his partner hides beneath without ever pulling the layers away. He'd learn through touch first, not sight. There's a certain reverence in it, the idea that something is meant to be felt long before it is felt. And when he does touch? It's not desperate despite being (in my opinion) inexperienced to every extent— it's thorough. He wouldn't undo a sash immediately, instead he might let his knuckles brush along its edge, feel the way the fabric gathers under his palm, before ever thinking of loosening it. If his hand rests to a hip, it's not to pull her closer, it's to hold, and to memorize the press of warmth through the barrier of fabric. He enjoys the promise of intimacy as much as the act itself— that unspoken build-up. The knowledge that something is hidden from him, something he could reveal but chooses not to. And when he finally does? It wouldn't be hurried, it would never be clumsy. And that's all because Jing Yuan is not a man who takes, he is a man who waits, who lingers for an eternity if he must. He's a man who savors every moment (especially now, when he knows he already has had longer than most) as if it's a luxury unto itself.

.... Sorry, I'm still not done. Sorry if you were hoping that I was. But it's Sunday after all.

Intimacy? Sex? What I think sets him apart in this is his intention. He doesn't rush headlong into desire, nor one who treats it as something purely physical. For him, intimacy— actual true intimacy that is earned in time, is as much about understanding as it is about touch. He studies, listens, who learns his lover's every reaction before ever seeking to 'claim them'. So what happens when it finally reaches that point? He's thorough, too thorough, much too thorough. He spends so long learning a body through fabric, he spends twice as long learning it bare. Not in some carnal frenzy, but in that same slow, unhurried fashion of his that dictates his life— tracing his fingers over the planes of skin he's only ever felt in caresses over fabric, and he'd follow the responses they'd elicit with quiet interest. Every single sigh, shift, tremor under that palm of his, all of it's committed to his memory. He's not casual about this in any way of the word. Beyond touch, he's the kind of lover who continues to linger, there's no mindless urgency to him, no rush for its end. It's not just about the act, it's about what's exchanged within it. It's a... dialogue on a whole other level, it's a give and take, it's more than just a joining of bodies.

Beyond that, and I think above all, he's attention in a way that makes it devastating. All because he wants to see what makes her unravel, but not just physically. Yes, he wants to know what makes them shudder, sigh, and soften beneath him in a way that goes beyond mere pleasure. And he doesn't rush in that understanding of the other person, he earns it, second by second, piece by piece, until the weight of his patience becomes entirely its own kind of indulgence. And even then, when he actually engages and has her fully, I think he would still hold back, just enough, just barely— all because he enjoys not seeing everything at once. There is always something left to uncover, always something just out of reach, and that's what makes the experience so intoxicating. 

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Huge gamma-ray burst collection 'rivals 250-year-old Messier catalogue'

Hundreds of gamma-ray bursts (GRBs) have been recorded as part of an enormous global effort so extensive it "rivals the catalogue of deep-sky objects created by Messier 250 years ago", astronomers say.

GRBs are the most violent explosions in the Universe, releasing more energy than the Sun would in 10 billion years. They occur when either a massive star dies or two neutron stars merge.

The explosions are so formidable that if one were to erupt within a distance of 1,000 light-years from Earth – which is predicted to happen every 500 million years – the blast of radiation could damage our ozone layer and have devastating consequences for life. However, the chances of such an event occurring any time soon are extremely low.

First observed almost six decades ago, GRBs also have the potential to help us better understand the history of our Universe, from its earliest stars to how it looks today.

The latest research recorded 535 GRBs – the nearest of which was 77 million light-years from Earth – from 455 telescopes and instruments across the world.

It was led by Professor Maria Giovanna Dainotti, of the National Astronomical Observatory of Japan, and has been published today in the Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society.

The researchers likened their collection to the 110 deep-sky objects catalogued by the French astronomer Charles Messier in the 18th century. To this day the catalogue continues to provide astronomers – both professional and amateur – with a range of easy-to-find objects in the night sky.

"Our research enhances our understanding of these enigmatic cosmic explosions and showcases the collaborative effort across nations," said Professor Dainotti.

"The result is a catalogue akin to the one created by Messier 250 years ago, which classified deep-sky objects observable at that time."

It has been hailed by co-author Professor Alan Watson, of the National Autonomous University of Mexico, as a "great resource" that could help "push the frontiers of our knowledge forward".

Professors Watson and Dainotti were part of a team of more than 50 scientists who meticulously studied how GRB light reaches Earth over several weeks and, in some cases, even months after the explosion. The result, they say, is the largest catalogue ever assembled of GRBs observed in optical wavelengths with measured distances.

It includes 64,813 photometric observations collected over 26 years, with notable contributions from the Swift satellites, the RATIR camera, and the Subaru Telescope.

What the team found particularly interesting about their findings was that nearly a third of the GRBs recorded (28 per cent) did not change or evolve as the light from the explosions travelled across the cosmos.

Co-author Dr Rosa Becerra, of the University of Tor Vergata in Rome, said this suggests that some of the most recent GRBs behave in exactly the same way as those which occurred billions of years ago.

Such a finding is at odds with the big picture commonly seen in the Universe, where objects have continuously evolved from the Big Bang.

Professor Dainotti added: "This phenomenon could indicate a very peculiar mechanism for how these explosions occur, suggesting that the stars linked to GRBs are more primitive than those born more recently.

"However, this hypothesis still needs more investigation."

On the other hand, for the few GRBs where this optical evolution matches the X-ray evolution, a more straightforward explanation is possible.

"Specifically, we are observing an expanding plasma composed of electrons and positrons that cools over time, and like a hot iron rod radiating redder and redder light as it cools, we do see a transition of the emission mechanism," said fellow researcher Professor Bruce Gendre, of the University of the Virgin Islands.

"In this case, this mechanism may be linked to the magnetic energy that powers these phenomena."

The researchers now want the astronomical community to help expand their GRB compilation further. They have made the data accessible through a user-friendly web app and have called on their peers to add to it, ideally by sharing findings in the same format.

"Adopting a standardised format and units, potentially linked to the International Virtual Observatory Alliance protocols, will enhance the consistency and accessibility of the data in this field," Professor Gendre said.

"Once the data are secured, additional population studies will be conducted, triggering new discoveries based on the statistical analysis of the current work."

IMAGE: Gamma-ray bursts (like the one depicted in this artist’s impression) are the most violent explosions in the Universe, releasing more energy than the Sun would in 10 billion years.  Credit: NASA/Swift/Cruz deWilde

[xtruss]

Titanic Mission To Map Wreck In Greatest-Ever Detail

— By Jonathan Amos & Alison Francis | 12 July 2024

Six-tonne robots will spend up to 20 days mapping and cataloguing the wreck site

A team of imaging experts, scientists and historians set sail for the Titanic on Friday to gather the most detailed photographic record ever made of the wreck.

The BBC had exclusive access to expedition members in the US city of Providence, Rhode Island, as they made preparations to leave port.

They'll be using state of the art technology to scan every nook and cranny of the famous liner to gain new insights into its sinking.

This is the first commercial mission to Titanic since last year's OceanGate tragedy. Five men died while trying to visit the lost ship in a novel submersible.

A joint memorial service will be held at sea in the coming days for them and the 1,500 passengers and crew who went down with Titanic in 1912.

The new expedition is being mounted by the US company that has sole salvage rights and which to date has brought up some 5,500 objects from the wreck.

But this latest visit is purely a reconnaissance mission, says RMS Titanic Inc, based in Atlanta, Georgia.

Two robotic vehicles will dive to the ocean bottom to capture millions of high-resolution photographs and to make a 3D model of all the debris.

"We want to see the wreck with a clarity and precision that's never before been achieved," explained co-expedition lead David Gallo.

Titanic was the largest and most luxurious passenger ship of its day

The logistics ship Dino Chouest is going to be the base for operations out in the North Atlantic.

Weather permitting, it should spend 20 days above the wreck, which lies in 3,800m (12,500ft) of water.

It will be a poignant few weeks for all involved.

One of the five who died on the OceanGate sub was Frenchman Paul-Henri ("PH") Nargeolet. He was the director of research at RMS Titanic Inc and was due to lead this expedition.

A plaque will be laid on the seabed in his honour.

"It's tough but the thing about exploration is that there's an urge and a drive to keep going. And we're doing that because of that passion PH had for continuous exploration," explained friend and historian Rory Golden, who will be "chief morale officer" on Dino Chouest.

On its last visit in 2010, RMS Titanic Inc made a sonar map of the wreck site

There can be few people on Earth who don't know the story of the supposedly unsinkable Titanic and how it was holed by an iceberg, east of Canada, on the night of 15 April 1912.

There are countless books, movies and documentaries about the event.

But although the wreck site has been the target of repeated study since its discovery in 1985, there still isn't what could be described as a definitive map.

And while the bow and stern sections of the broken ship are reasonably well understood, there are extensive areas of the surrounding debris field that have received only cursory inspection.

There is still much to learn about Titanic, even its famous bow

Two six-tonne remotely operated vehicles (ROVs) intend to put that right. One will be fitted with an array of ultra-high-definition optical cameras and a special lighting system; the other will carry a sensor package that includes a lidar (laser) scanner.

Together, they'll track back and forth across a 1.3km-by-0.97km section of seafloor.

Evan Kovacs, who's in charge of the imaging programme, says his camera systems should produce millimetre resolution.

"If all of the weather gods, the computer gods, the ROV gods, the camera gods - if all those gods align, we should be able to capture Titanic and the wreck site in as close to digital perfection as you can get. You would be able to quite literally count grains of sand," he told BBC News.

Powerful cameras should return unprecedented detail from the deep

There's huge anticipation for what the magnetometer aboard the sensor ROV might produce. This is a first for Titanic.

The instrument will detect all the metals at the wreck site, even material that is buried out of sight in the sediment.

The sensor instruments, including the magnetometer, will return fascinating new data

"It would be an absolute dream to determine what has happened with Titanic's bow below the seafloor," explained geophysics engineer Alison Proctor.

"Hopefully, we'll be able to deduce whether or not the bow was crushed when it hit the seabed, or if it might actually extend down well into the sediment intact."

The team wants to review the state of some well known objects in the debris field, such as the boilers that spilled out as the opulent steamliner broke in half.

A rendering of what the electric candelabra might have looked like

There's the desire, too, to locate items thought to have been sighted on previous visits. These include an electric candelabra, which in its day would have been a fascinating curio, as well as the possibility of a second Steinway grand piano.

The musical instrument's wooden surround would have long since decayed away, but the cast iron plate, or frame, that held the strings should still be there, and perhaps even some of the keys.

"For me, it's the passengers' possessions, especially their bags, that are of greatest interest," said Tomasina Ray, who curates the collection of Titanic artefacts held by the company.

"It's their belongings - if we are able to retrieve more in the future - that help flesh out their stories. For so many passengers, they are just names on a list, and it's a way to keep them meaningful."

Rory Golden says the memorial plaque for PH will be placed upright in the sediment

This will be RMS Titanic Inc's ninth visit to the wreck site. The firm has attracted controversy in recent years with its stated desire to try to bring up part of the Marconi radio equipment that transmitted the distress calls on the night of the sinking.

It won't happen on this expedition but if and when it does occur, it would mean extracting an object from inside the disintegrating ship.

For many, Titanic is the gravesite to the 1,500 who died that night in 1912 and should not be touched, its interior especially.

"We get that and understand it," said company researcher James Penca.

"We dive to Titanic to learn as much as we can from her; and like you should with any archaeological site, we do it with the utmost respect. But to leave her alone, to just let her passengers and crew be lost to history - that would be the biggest tragedy of all."

It is the personal items, some preserved inside bags, that tell the stories of the dead

James Penca has the famous ship's radio call sign - "MGY" in morse code - tattooed on his arm

— Additional Reporting By Rebecca Morelle and Kevin Church

[fate-magical-girls]

On the Queen's birthday, the King proudly presents her with a package. As she unwraps it under his eager gaze, she realizes this must be why he has placed a cordon around the royal gardener's hut and spent hours at the place each day.

In fact, she has already considered that he might be working on a secret gift for someone. "Observing and cataloguing a novel beetle species" that he can't show anyone else or even bring back to his study room is a pretty weak excuse...

But she could never expect the contents of this heavy parcel.

It is a suit of armor. Helmet, gorget, breastplate, spaulders, pauldrons, vambraces, belly guard, faulds, tassets, cuisses, and greaves with poleyn extensions. It is the ugliest suit of armor she has ever seen. The drab gray plates are scratched and pitted. The scales are uneven in size and a different color from the plate component altogether. The helmet is in the shape of some beast with large eyes and many fangs, but only has two thin, pitiful feathers serving as plumes, and is further burdened with two massive horns jutting out of the crest. The belly guard has what looks to be two spring-loaded insect legs sprouting out of it intended to clasp onto whatever makes contact with the armor.

Clearly, this suit is handmade by someone who does not know much about metalworking.

"Thank you," she says, trying and not quite succeeding at a polite smile. She has a hard time feigning emotions in front him and his honest eyes. "You shouldn't have."

He really shouldn't have.

All those early mornings dashing out into the garden half-dressed. Moments spent awkwardly hiding soot stains away from her. Embarrassment bleeding into nervousness bleeding into irritability. Tempers fraying as she struggles harder than usual to make sure he shows up for meals on time and he refuses to understand why she worries so much about snacks and food safety. A disagreement over priorities spiraling into their most heated argument yet, both of them yelling things they would apologize for hours later, but for a few brief moments, causing him to storm out of the dining hall in rage, and her to contemplate giving him some hands-on training on the devastating ease of poisoning, especially in regards to bite-sized morsels.

All the anxiety and misunderstandings, for an ugly suit of armor that she'll probably never wear.

"I needed to." The King says bluntly. He folds his arms and pouts. "Because you need it, for when I'm not around."

And that does make her smile. The armor is still ugly, but at least he made it to protect her. It's a thoughtful gesture, if nothing else.

"Try it on," he urges.

Her smile grows wider as she pulls his hand toward the knots on her dress.

The armor, for all its imperfections, fits snugly around her, and neither pricks nor chafes. It is just thick enough to deflect a blade, and light enough for an athletic woman to walk around in. While it is a little too broad to wear a normal dress over, she could make do with a cloak.

The King grins proudly. "I told you I was studying a novel beetle species."

No wonder the armor looks so odd...

"From you, that's a compliment. And this beetle suit is definitely better than I expected."

"That's a compliment, right?" His body twitches in excitement, and a bounce comes into his voice. "I made sure to take your measurements while you were sleeping, so I knew it would fit!"

She glares at him, letting out a sigh that eventually changes into a giggle. "Creepy. But what I expect from you."

"Sorry." He says. "Because I didn't ask permission?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Then can I measure you while you sleep tonight, or some later night, just in case I want to improve the beetle suit and surprise you again?"

She laughs. "Go ahead. Just wake me if you want to do more than measure."

I think the funniest dynamic for arranged-marriage royalty would be a queen who came here 100% prepared to murder her future husband and rule as a widow queen in her own right, only to discover that the king is autistic as hell and responds to her wish to rule with "oh thank god please do, I don't want to be bothered by these people. I can just tell them to go bother you instead, if you really want that. I've got beetles I wanted to study."

[sunsetskylane]

What’s your favorite color, and how does it make you feel? If you could live anywhere, what would it look like? If you went to a psychic, what would you most want to know?

I've always adored green. It feels like home, like the bosque on a summer day, like the brush that comes to life in the desert after it rains. I catalogue all types of greens: little dots of lichen in various lime shades, the emerald of the tiles on the facade of my house, the shimmering teal green of the wings of the alpine black swallowtail butterfly that's pinned on my wall. I'm almost synonymous with the color green, or I would be, if I didn't insist on wearing all black 99% of the time. Green makes me feel alive. If I could photosynthesize like my plants, I would. I once read a study about the tangible mental health benefits of the color green, and ever since then, I've surrounded myself with it.

Lately, though, I've been fascinated with blues of all sorts. Part of my fixation with the ocean has extended to all aspects of my life, color included. I'm returning to graduate school for the second time next month, and I'm determined to eschew my typical green-orange-maroon color palette and work with some lovely blues.

To be truthful, I've never know the answer to questions like "where would you want to live if you could live anywhere in the world?" I'm a bit of a creature of habit, and I love where I live. I've traveled, not extensively, but enough, and I am always thrilled to come home. My city doesn't have the best reputation (I think we placed in someone's top 20 most dangerous cities in the world list, recently) but I'd have to respectfully disagree. There is a culture of caring here that I haven't found anywhere else. Sure, your car might get stolen, or a tourist might ask if everyone here cooks meth, like Walter White (figured out where I'm from, yet?), but it's home, for however long I can stay. I would love to live in an old brick house here. I'm fascinated by architecture, and if I can't find a house that I adore, I'll design one. I can envision flowing brick shapes, surrounded by old cottonwood trees and desert greenery. That's the kind of place that I want to be.

To begin to answer your final question, I have to tell you that I don't necessarily believe in psychics, but my god would I love to. I collect fortunes from fortune cookies, and whenever I receive a particularly apt one, I do wonder. I want to be curious about the future and have my curiosities sated by unshakeable knowledge discovered in a psychic vision. I don't think I'm built for that kind of belief, but I would love to ask a psychic what my life looks like in twenty years. I'm at that stage of adulthood where I'm not quite sure where I'm going and I'm perpetually terrified as I take each big step. It would be reassuring to understand what I'm working towards, and where I'm going.

[agernext]

Architecture

At the very heart of our land plot, just above a promontory that overlooks the adjacent fields, we can find the remains of a large ancient construction. According to the cartographic documents of the area, it is the Borrell farmhouse, an old rural house in which, it seems, the family that lived there was dedicated to the production of bread, out of the wheat they harvested in the own fields of the farm.

Due to the lack of a generational continuation for the activities in the farmhouse, as well as due to the growing depopulation of rural areas throughout the 20th century, the farmhouse was abandoned and entered a phase of deterioration that has arrived to this day. Of its original form, today only some walls on the perimeter remain, while all the interior walls, as well as the roof, are completely reduced to rubble. A few meters from the remains of the farmhouse, we also find the remains of the corral and some adjoining rooms, probably used to keep animals.

The built complex is imposing. With a perimeter of 19 meters long by 9 meters wide, and two floors. A surface that, if fully recovered, would allow various functions to coexist under the same roof, such as housing and a work area.

Urbanistically speaking, however, this construction is not catalogued, due to an oversight by the expert who cataloged the farmhouses in the area. Which implies that its rehabilitation will have to go through a more complex series of procedures. Catalan urban planning regulations allow the rehabilitation of uncatalogued buildings, as long as their rehabilitation is very well justified and the history and main function of the building can be reliably demonstrated. It must be taken into account that in the Catalan countryside, as in much of the Spanish countryside, there are many ancestral buildings, of which only a small part can be rehabilitated for housing purposes.

In this sense, the team of architects led by Víctor Enrich Tarrés, at the request of the Associació Neorurals, has prepared what is known in urban planning in Catalonia as "Specific Action Project" (PAE). A very extensive document, which includes a descriptive and justifying report of the rehabilitation, a basic project or preliminary architectural project and an Environmental Impact Study of the rehabilitation. This document must be presented to the Urban Planning Commission of the province of Lleida and wait several months for its eventual approval, approval with conditions or denial. In the event that the PAE is approved, then it will only be pertinent to request the construction license from the Àger City Council to proceed with the rehabilitation work. Down below we can see some of the delivered plans.

[mythologer]

Peder Mønsted (Danish painter) 1859 - 1941

Sibylletemplet ved Tivoli (Temple of the Sibyl at Tivoli), 1884

oil on canvas

121 x 95 cm. (47.6 x in.)

signed, located and dated bottom right: P. Mønsted Tivoli 1884

private collection

© photo Bruun Rasmussen

Autotranslated Catalogue Note Bruun Rasmussen

Exhibited: Charlottenborg 1885 No. 294.Peter Mønsted made several trips to southern Europe in the 1880s, including Italy. Many of his best works date back to the decades before the turn of the century, where his work on light and color effects resulted in such mood-saturated works as the Tivoli picture here. Mønsted became extremely popular in his day and was one of the most wealthy of the Danish painters. His popularity is still high at times, and abroad has also caught the eye of the Danish painter, who equally skillfully mastered Italian summer days and Nordic snow landscapes.

* * *

Born at the end of the ‘golden age’ of Danish painting, Peder Mønsted can be described as a product of that era. A landscape painter renowned for the clarity of light common to the painters of that age, his naturalistic ‘plein-air’ views made him the leading Danish landscapist of his age. He was also known for a number of portraits, including that of King George I of Greece.

Mønsted was born in Balle Mölle, near Grenna in eastern Denmark. He studied at the Prince Ferdinand’s Drawing School, Aarhus where he studied under Andries Fritz (1828-1906), a landscape and portrait painter, before moving to Copenhagen. Here he studied at the Royal Academy of Art between 1875 and 1878, and was taught figure painting by Julius Exner (1825-1910). Here too he would have come across the work of artists such as Christen Kobke (1810-1848), an outstanding colourist and Pieter Christian Skorgaard (1817-1875), a romantic nationalist painter, a knowledge of whose work is seen in the Danish landscapes and beech forests of Mønsted’s. As early as 1874, at the age of 15, he took part in the December Exhibition in Copenhagen. In 1878 Mønsted left the Academy to study under the artist Peder Severin Kröyer (1851-1910).

Mønsted travelled extensively throughout his long career, being a frequent visitor to Switzerland, Italy and North Africa. In 1883 Mønsted travelled to Paris where he worked with W. A. Bouguereau (1825-1905) for four months. As early as 1884, he visited North Africa returning later in the decade. The early years of the 20th century saw Mønsted returning to Switzerland, the south of France and Italy, the latter being the source of inspiration for many Scandinavian artists of the 19th century. The war years curtailed Mønsted’s travel to Norway and Sweden, however the 1920’s and 1930’s saw him return to the Mediterranean. From 1879 to 1941 he exhibited regularly at the annual Charlottenborg Exhibition. Throughout his long career, Mønsted continued to paint the Danish landscape and coastline. His is a romantic, poetic view of nature; he was an artist who depicted the grandeur and monumental aspect of the landscape, with a remarkable eye for detail and colour.

His works can be found in museums in: Aalborg and Bantzen.

[transholmes]

Yennefer couldn't remember when she last felt this tired. Maybe during her training at Aretuza?

Yes her wounds had healed and yes Chaos coursed through her veins again, but fuck she felt like lying down and sleeping for a week. Maybe a month. Had Voleth Meir given it back as a gift for being returned home? Or had the leader of the Wraith somehow blocked her access to it to trick Yennefer into giving her Ciri?

Loose thoughts and wild theories spun through her frazzled mind.

She leaned her head back against the cold stone wall, pressing her palms against the stone, trying to draw some strength, energy, something, anything from them.

"Here."

Jaskier had appeared at the corner of her vision, holding out a bottle towards her. Exhausted she took it and studied the plain, unmarked clay vessle.

"What is it?"

"Well it tasted like water so I guess that's what it is. And since I'm still standing I'd say it's probably not poison but who knows."

It wasn't until the water touched her lips she realized how parched she had been.

"Ever the fool," she said, handing the empty bottle back.

"It's worked for me all these years, no need to change winning strategy."

Somehow, in spite of everything, he hadn't really changed. Even now, his foppish clothes covered in dust, dirt and monster blood, his hair disheveled and tangled he looked like he was ready to entertain a court, or at least a tavern room. Not that long ago it would have irritated her immensely, now she found it a comfort.

"You look like shit," she said.

"While you of course look as flawless as ever."

"No, I look like shit too. I could use bath."

"Well in that case let tell you that I've been reliably informed that there somewhere beneath this crumbling heap of stones are a set of hot springs used for exactly that purpose. Which honestly surprised me, I always thought that witchers just, I don't know, took a dip in an ice covered lake. Something like that."

"They do give that impression don't they?"

Her stomach chose that moment to emit a loud growl.

"When was the last time you ate?" Jaskier asked.

"I honestly don't remember."

How long had the fight against Voleth Meir lasted? Couldn't even have been an hour yet it felt like days, weeks.

"Right, we're raiding the kitchen before we make off to the pools."

He took her gently by the shoulders and began to steer her towards the kitchen.

"We don't want you keeling over from hunger. That would mean I could add a very embarrassing story about you to my already extensive catalogue of embarrassing stories about Geralt. Like that time he fainted from blood loss because he was too stubborn to listen."

"He passed out?"

"He did indeed. And if you're a good sorceress and eat all your vegetables I'll tell every awkward detail of that debacle."

She studied him as he lead her, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder, chattering away like he always did. When she'd met him again in Oxenfurt, on the run from Nilfgaard, she had thought he had changed. He hadn't, not really. The one who had changed was her.

He was vain and foppish but beneath it all he cared, he always had. But she wasn't who she had been the last time they spoke, back on the dragon hunt. She felt unmoored, adrift. She had lost her powers and regained them, and in the process come face to face with herself and what she was and wasn't willing to do to get what she wanted. She wasn't sure she liked the answer, but now that she had it perhaps she could change. The question was, who did she want to be now?

"Ooooh ohhoh. I know that look," Jaskier interrupted her thoughts. "You're thinking."

"Well not all of us are utterly thoughtless."

"Weak, sorceress. Very weak, you're in worse state than I thought. Whatever it is you're hatching I assure you it can wait."

"But for how long?" she teased.

"Until you've eaten at the very least. Then you can conquer Redania or whatever it is you're plotting."

Yeah, food sounded good and a bath even better. Then maybe some sleep. Everything else could indeed wait until later.

[blueiscoool]

Ancient Roman 'Bridge of Nero' Emerges From the Tiber  

A severe drought in Italy has revealed an archaeological treasure in Rome: a bridge reportedly built by the Roman emperor Nero that is usually submerged under the waters of the Tiber River.

The dropping water levels of the Tiber, which according to Reuters (opens in new tab) is flowing at multi-year lows, have exposed the stone remains of the Pons Neronianus (Latin for the Bridge of Nero), WION news (opens in new tab), a news agency headquartered in New Delhi, India, reported.

Emperor Nero, who ruled as the Roman Empire's fifth emperor from A.D. 54 to 68, was a controversial sovereign who built public structures and won military victories abroad, but also neglected politics and instead focused much of his time and passion on the arts, music and chariot races. Rome's coffers were also drained during his rule, partly as a result of building the "Domus Aurea" (the Golden Palace), which Nero built in the center of Rome after the great fire. During his reign, he killed his mother and at least one of his wives, and he struggled to rebuild Rome after a huge fire ravaged the city in A.D. 64. Nero killed himself in A.D. 68 at the age of 30 after being declared a public enemy by the Roman senate.

Several experts, who noted that the remains of this bridge have become visible in the past due to low water levels. They also note that, despite its name, it's not certain if this bridge was built by Nero.

"The remains of this Roman bridge are visible whenever the water level of the Tiber falls, therefore whenever there are lengthy periods — like now — of very low rainfall," Robert Coates-Stephens, an archaeologist at the British School at Rome, said in an email.

Multiple sources said that the bridge was possibly built before Nero's rule. "The origins of the bridge are uncertain, given that it is likely a bridge existed here before Nero's reign and therefore the Pons Neronianus was probably a reconstruction of an earlier crossing," Nicholas Temple, professor of architectural history at London Metropolitan University, told Live Science in an email.

The name Pons Neronianus "appears for the first time only in the 12th-century catalogues of Rome's monuments," Coates-Stephens said. "It's true that Nero had extensive gardens and properties in the area of the Vatican, and so a bridge at this point would have given easy access to these."

Bad place to build?

A number of scholars said that the bridge was constructed on a poorly chosen site.

The bridge "was built on a tight bend in a floodplain," which is "a terrible idea," Rabun Taylor, a classics professor at University of Texas at Austin, told Live Science in an email. "River bends cutting through pure sediment tend to wander and change shape, so their banks are prone to losing contact with bridge abutments" that connect the bridge to the ground, Taylor said.

He noted that "that's probably what happened to Nero's bridge — and it may well have happened by the mid-200s A.D., less than two centuries after Nero's death." Taylor's research into the bridge's history "suggests the bridge was dismantled at about that time, and the stone piers were reassembled to create a new bridge in a more stable area downstream.

The Pons Neronianus connected Rome to an area  that didn't have a lot of development at the time. While one side of the river had the Campus Martius, a drained wetland that at this point in time had some public buildings (such as baths and temples), and was used to organize military parades, the other side connected to an area where the Vatican is now that had some large houses. "It was always good to connect the two banks of the Tiber," but "the Vatican area was mostly private estates until the Fire of 64," Mary Boatwright, a professor emerita of classical studies at Duke University, said in an email. Boatwright noted that it wasn't until the 130s A.D. that development picked up in the area.

The bridge did, however, have some military and religious importance for Rome, Temple argued. "The Pons Neronianus was both strategically and symbolically important," Temple said. One side of the bridge was located near an area where Roman troops would assemble to march in a triumph (a politically and religiously significant victory parade) and was likely part of the parade route. "The precise route of this procession is uncertain but it seems probable that the Pons Neronianus [and any bridge that preceded it] served as the bridge crossing for this purpose," Temple said.  

This bridge may also have been used to transport high-profile prisoners, Temple added, noting that the crossing may have been "used by St. Peter when he was taken in chains" after his trial to the Vaticanus, where he was crucified in around A.D. 64, Temple said.

"The Pons Neronianus has potentially a double significance, as the crossing point into Rome of triumphal armies, and in the opposite direction for St. Peter's journey to the site of crucifixion," Temple said.

Depending on how climate change affects the Tiber's water levels, it's possible that the remains of the bridge may become visible more often. It probably will be visible more often, Boatwright said, adding that "I'd personally rather it be submerged, and Italy not be threatened with drought."

By Owen Jarus.

[justforbooks]

Constance Anne Wilson, who has died aged 95, was one of the first people in Britain to lay claim to the description of professional food historian, after her book Food and Drink in Britain from the Stone Age to Recent Times was published in 1973. She spent most of her working life at the University of Leeds where, as a librarian at the Brotherton Library, she had the care of several categories of specialist literature. Among these were two matchless collections of early printed recipe books (singled out by the Arts Council in 2005 as having international significance), and having spent much time during the 1960s cataloguing one of these she boldly took the next step and wrote her pathfinding book.

Soon, thanks to her example, food historians would become an academic commonplace. The book might have projected her into another sphere altogether, when she was interviewed by the teenage magazine Honey a few months after publication. Her head, however, was not turned.

The great thing about Food and Drink in Britain is that it presents a narrative firmly based on fact (drawn from her early printed recipe books) rather than anecdote and speculation, the hallmark of many such accounts. The last serious appraisal of our food history had been Sir Jack Drummond’s more than three decades earlier (The Englishman’s Food, with Anne Wilbraham). She was able to extend her brief back into prehistory thanks to studying classical archaeology (under Sir Mortimer Wheeler) at university. As if anxious not to frighten the horses by an excess of historical scholarship, she stressed in her foreword that her work was also a recipe book, although the reader would have to be keen to explore some of her byways – have you ever asked your butcher for a couple of pounds of beef palates?

A few years later, she endeared herself still further to an important cohort of British food enthusiasts: those who make their own marmalade. The Book of Marmalade (1985) laid out every fact relevant to the history of the confection as well as supplying an excellent set of recipes for all sorts of amateurs, including those who wish to graduate to more esoteric combinations such as lime and honeydew melon. It is still the standard reference point for all those marmalade-making competitions and festivals, and sells steadily nearly 40 years after its first appearance.

Not content with writing significant texts (she was later to deal with the history of distilling, from Dionysiac ritual to modern cocktails, in Water of Life) and holding down her post at the university library, Wilson will be remembered as the prime mover of the Leeds Symposium on Food History and Traditions, the first session of which was held in 1986. Her exemplar was the Oxford Symposium, founded by Alan Davidson and Theodore Zeldin a few years earlier, but it had its own special character, which set the Yorkshire gathering quite apart. Its focus was relentlessly English, and often local; its approach was always historical, not veering towards more general matters of food policy or theory; and thanks to the involvement of Leeds University extension department, its attendees were drawn from a much wider social grouping than the internationalist, media-oriented Oxford affair.

Meetings in Leeds, and later in York, were serious, with heavyweight lecturers, but enlivened by brilliant lunches and teas with each plate brought in by individual cooks pursuing their particular culinary hobbyhorse, be it gingerbread, black pudding or mutton in a 17th-century manner. For several years, Anne was the single organiser and editor of the annual volume of themed essays. As a result of her efforts, there arose in Leeds a distinguished group of food historians – Lynette Hunter, Laura Mason, Ivan Day, Peter Brears and many others – whose work has had long-range consequences for the discipline.

Anne Wilson was born in east Gower, near Swansea, the elder of two daughters of Constance (nee Laycock) and Rowland Wilson. Her father was then an assistant lecturer in mathematics at University College, Swansea, but would rise to become professor of mathematics at the University of Swansea. Her mother was also a mathematician who had studied at Girton College, Cambridge, but had to give up her teaching post when she married in 1925. The two girls would follow their mother to Girton, although pursuing classical, not mathematical studies. Anne attended Mumbles primary school and then Glanmor grammar school for girls, Swansea, before going to Cambridge.

At university, Anne studied classics and thought to train as an almoner, as medical social workers were still known, in Chaucerian fashion. She soon decided this was not for her, nor the two short-lived jobs she obtained thereafter, and enrolled at the London Institute of Archaeology for a diploma. Subsequently, she worked in libraries arranging inter-university loans and pursuing qualification as a librarian at night school. This somewhat halting progress to permanent employment ended in 1961 when she was taken on by the Brotherton Library in Leeds, and there she remained until 1992.

For one whose outward demeanour was quite diffident, the grit and determination she showed in both her writing and in organising other people often caught one unawares. She was also, as if to underline these latter characteristics, a gifted clarinettist and constant member of Leeds orchestras and ensembles. As her publisher for 20 years, I never found her anything but amenable.

She is survived by her sister, Caroline.

🔔 Constance Anne Wilson, born 12 July 1927; died 8 January 2023

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