#axbridge

[pippfitzamobi]

Not exactly a question or an ask, but I was wondering if when you are in axbridge if you could take some pictures of the streets or anything that gives of little kilton vibes? Could just be the scenery? 🫶

i took these today!

locations and them in the trailer/on set

if you want these pictures without the scenes/photos in and i’ll post them separately

- the building with holly (the house so the upstairs and the right side) was used to film the inside of the fitz-amobi house, or i’m pretty sure anyway

[justforbooks]

The much-quoted phrase “Grief is the price we pay for love” reached a global audience in 2001 when Queen Elizabeth II used it in her message of condolence to those affected by the 9/11 attacks in the US.

But it was the psychiatrist Colin Murray Parkes, who has died aged 95, who first came up with the words that have given solace to so many. In his 1972 book Bereavement: Studies of Grief in Adult Life, he wrote: “The pain of grief is just as much a part of life as the joy of love; it is, perhaps, the price we pay for love.”

When Parkes first proposed a research project on bereavement while working as a psychiatrist at the Maudsley hospital in south London in the 1960s, a professor responded: “What you have described isn’t a project, it’s a life’s work.” And so it proved.

Having noted that grief rarely featured in the indexes of the best-known psychiatry textbooks, he went on to write and co-author hundreds of research papers, and further books including Facing Death (1981); Death and Bereavement Across Cultures (1997); and Love and Loss: The Roots of Grief and Its Complications (2006). A selection of his works was published in 2015 as The Price of Love.

He was regularly called upon to provide assistance in the aftermath of large-scale disasters and admitted to finding this harrowing. Recalling his visit to Aberfan, the Welsh village near Merthyr Tydfil where a colliery waste tip collapsed on 21 October 1966, killing 116 children and 28 adults, he said: “The first time I drove away from the village I felt utterly helpless. Everyone I talked to had been desperate. I had to stop the car three times because I couldn’t carry on. I just needed to stop and cry.”

In April 1995 he was in Rwanda at the invitation of Unicef, who asked for his help in setting up a recovery programme following the previous year’s genocide there. He attended the reburial of 10,000 bodies that had been dug up from mass graves and felt haunted by his experiences in the country for the rest of his life.

After the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center in September 2001, in which 2,977 people died, Cruse – the bereavement charity of which Parkes was life president – was asked to send a team to New York to support the families of British victims. The biggest problem, he recalled, was making real to those families the unimaginable horror that their loved one was never going to come back. “Bereaved people can make it real, but it does take a long time. They have to go over it again and again, and think their way through it,” he said in an interview in the Independent shortly afterwards.

He also worked with those affected by the 1973 air crash near Basel, Switzerland, in which 108 died, mainly women from Axbridge, Somerset; the Bradford City stadium fire in 1985, in which 56 lost their lives; the Herald of Free Enterprise disaster in which 193 died after the ferry capsized near Zeebrugge, Belgium, in 1987; and the bomb explosion in a flight over Lockerbie, Scotland, in 1988 that killed 243 passengers, 16 crew and 11 residents. Parkes also travelled to India to assess the psychological needs of people bereaved by the 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami.

He said: “One of the most awful things about bereavement is that the world goes on as if nothing had happened. For bereaved people the world is never going to be the same again.”

Born in London, Colin was the son of Gwen (nee Roberts), and Eric Parkes, a solicitor. After attending Epsom college, in Surrey, he went to Westminster hospital medical school (now part of Imperial College London), qualifying as a doctor in 1951.

He worked for two years as a junior house physician at Westminster, then at Kettering general hospital in the Midlands. After two years’ national service with the RAF medical corps, he joined the Institute of Psychiatry, based at the Maudsley.

Following the publication of his research into bereavement in 1962, he joined the Tavistock Institute of Human Relations. There he worked with the psychologist John Bowlby for 13 years, disseminating the model of grief as consisting of four stages: numbness; pining; disorganisation and despair; and recovery.

Parkes was also instrumental in the introduction of bereavement services in hospices from the 1960s. He worked closely with Cicely Saunders – “the single-minded mother of palliative care with whom I shared angst at the scandalous ways our fellow doctors were treating patients faced with death and their families” – on the planning and launch of St Christopher’s hospice, Sydenham, in south London, in 1967.

Both were convinced that good care must involve families as well as patients. Parkes set up a bereavement service of trained volunteers who went into families’ homes and organised support groups, including some for staff, in the hospice. He remained involved with St Christopher’s until 2014, active as a consultant psychiatrist until 2007. He also performed this role at St Joseph’s hospice in Hackney, east London (1993-2007).

“He was a towering intellectual and hugely influential, but never took himself too seriously,” said the former chief executive of St Christopher’s Barbara Monroe. “He always remained a great clinician – very good at talking to patients and staff. And listening.”

In 1975 Parkes left the Tavistock to take up a senior lecturer role in psychiatry at Royal London hospital medical school, retiring from that post in 1993. His association with Cruse began in 1964, as a member of the council. He became chairman in 1972, and was made life president in 1992. Four years later he was appointed OBE.

Parkes edited the journal Bereavement from its launch in 1982 until 2019. Given the Times/Sternberg award – which celebrates the achievements of those over 70 – in 2012, when he was 84, he urged people to spend the last part of their lives in worthwhile work. “I was basically forced to retire at 65 and I got lots of cards with old men fishing on the front. But life is too short for retirement and the time has given me the opportunity to do things I would not otherwise have done,” he said.

In 1957 he married Patricia Ainsworth. She and their daughters, Liz, Jenny and Caz, survive him.

🔔 Colin Murray Parkes, psychiatrist and author, born 28 March 1928; died 13 January 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[anglosaxonpersonalnames]

Golda

Golda is a short form of an Anglo-Saxon masculine name commencing with gold (gold).

Variants:

Golda [Herbert Grueber 1893 A Catalogue of English Coins in the British Museum, Anglo-Saxon Series 2: 320].

Goldus [Herbert Grueber 1893 A Catalogue of English Coins in the British Museum, Anglo-Saxon Series 2: 200].

Gold(a) [Henry Harrison 1907-1918 Surnames of the United Kingdom 1: 167].

Note:

Goldus is a Latinized form.

Stem:

Gᴏʟᴅ = Gᴏʟᴅ [Joseph Bosworth 1838 A Dictionary of the Anglo-Saxon Language, 1st edition, page 162].

Suffix:

-a = termination of pet names, such as Cutha for Cuthwine or Cuthwulf [William Searle 1897 Onomasticon Anglo-Saxonicum, page 1].

Usage:

Golda was the mark of a moneyer at Axbridge under “+HARD/CNVT RE” (Harthaknud II / Knud III of Denmark): “+GOLDA ON AXSAP∵” [Elmore Jones 1960 The British Numismatic Journal 60: 68, number 9]. (This coin came from a hoard found at Wedmore in 1853.)

Identification:

Coins marked Golda come from the same reign and mint as those made by Goldcyta, so Golda “is probably an abbreviation for Goldcyta” [Veronica Smart 1981 Moneyers of the late Anglo-Saxon coinage, 1016-1042, page 127].

[harrymottram]

Axbridge Review: sex three times a week? You’ve got to be kidding me! Arthur Miller’s play Broken Glass staged in Axbridge Town Hall is more about a broken marriage than Adolf Hitler https://www.harrymottram.co.uk/2025/03/27/axbridge-review-sex-three-times-a-week-youve-got-to-be-kidding-me-arthur-millers-play-broken-glass-staged-in-axbridge-town-hall-is-more-about-a-broken-marriage-than-adolf-hi/

[ramzoozi]

® Presents ⠀ UNLIMITED BRITAIN ® 📸: @charlottec___ 📍: #axbridge #somerset SELECTED BY | @ramseyselim 🌟 FOLLOW US l @unlimitedbritain TAG US l #unlimitedbritain #greatbritain ____________________________________________ Love Wales? ♥️ 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿 Follow us @unlimitedwales ! ♥️ 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿 ____________________________________________ Love Scotland ? ♥️ 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 Follow us @unlimitedscotland ! ♥️ 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 ____________________________________________ Love Ireland ? ♥️ ☘️ Follow us @unlimitedireland ! ♥️ ☘️ ____________________________________________ FAMILY HUBS @unlimitedhubs 🌎 ____________________________________________ AMBASSADORS 🎖 for some of the best traveller footage of Great Britain and the UK 🇬🇧 @laura_oey 🌟 @sabphotos69 🌟 @stephenwardlaw 🌟 @map_my_hike 🌟 @sasha__wright 🌟 ____________________________________________ Become an ambassador @unlimitedambassadors 🎖 ____________________________________________ ADMIN | @ramseyselim ____________________________________________ #Photosofbritain #photosofengland #ukshots #housesphototrip #britain24x7 #lovegreatbritain #visitengland #livingdestinations #earthofficial #europestyle_ #mapofeurope #traveling_uk #yourbritain #alluring_villages #kings_villages #kings_shots #earthfocus #instabritain #thatchedcottage #countryliving #countrylivingmagazine #weloveengland #england #uk #livingeurope 🇬🇧 ☥ 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 (at Axbridge, Somerset) https://www.instagram.com/p/CDnrk6uDh9Y/?igshid=jgb6r97nt2h

[fionamccall]

The living of Axbridge belongs to the Prebendary of Wiveliscombe in the Cathedral of Wells; the annual value about fifty pounds; the incumbent, the Rev. Gould, is about sixty years of age and is intoxicated about six times a week, and very frequently prevented from preaching by two black eyes honestly earned by fighting.

Hannah More, letter to William Wilberforce, 1789, quoted in Wessex: A Literary Celebration, ed. Desmond Hawkins (London, 1991), p. 117

[tsgminneapolisminnesota]

Today’s record setting temps have us looking for outdoor patios to enjoy the exceptional evening ahead!🍷🍷 New to the Northloop but not new to the wine business we welcome @axebridgewineco of @schramvineyards to the neighborhood.🍇🍷🍇 Hop over to their Instagram for more info! P.S. They have a pet friendly patio 🐕🐩🦮 #scouted #mplswinery #schramsbergvineyards #axbridge #northloop #mplspatio #tsgmplsloveslocal #eatdrinklocal (at Minneapolis North Loop) https://www.instagram.com/p/CNTVvqFh65m/?igshid=1baomab7i4q1w

[romanceoftheworld]

Axbridge: St John the Baptist by David Nicholls

[fortunatelylazypeach]

Cheddar Reservoir: recent photographs of the magical scene at dawn in July as the waters greet the new day under the shadow of the Mendip Hills

Cheddar Reservoir: recent photographs of the magical scene at dawn in July as the waters greet the new day under the shadow of the Mendip Hills

Summer dawns on Somerset’s large strawberry shaped reservoir between Axbridge and Cheddar are often glorious affairs. Golden sunrises at around 5am are a particular feast as the 1930s reservoir acts as a mirror to the sky. Here a few images of the last few days in July 2019.

[pippfitzamobi]

going to axbridge (little kilton) tomorrow!! everything will most likely be down but it anyone has any questions or wants to see anything send them in!! i’ll answer them asap!

[imnorden]

Axebridge bei Cheddar.

[anglosaxonpersonalnames]

Goldcyta

Goldcyta is an Anglo-Saxon masculine name composed of gold (gold) and cyta (kite).

Variants:

Golda [Herbert Grueber 1893 A Catalogue of English Coins in the British Museum, Anglo-Saxon Series 2: 320].

Goldcytel [Herbert Grueber 1893 A Catalogue of English Coins in the British Museum, Anglo-Saxon Series 2: 320].

Goldcyta [Veronica Smart 1987 Leeds Studies in English, new series, 18: 242].

Prototheme:

Gᴏʟᴅ = Gᴏʟᴅ [Joseph Bosworth 1838 A Dictionary of the Anglo-Saxon Language, 1st edition, page 162].

Deuterotheme:

Cyta = A ᴋɪᴛᴇ [Joseph Bosworth 1838 A Dictionary of the Anglo-Saxon Language, 1st edition, page 86].

Usage:

Goldcyta was the name of a moneyer operating in Axbridge [Veronica Smart 1987 Leeds Studies in English, new series, 18: 242] under “✠HɅRÐɅ CNVT RE” (Harthaknud II/Knud III of Denmark): “✠GʘLD•CYTɅ ON CɅX∵” [Herbert Grueber 1893 A Catalogue of English Coins in the British Museum, Anglo-Saxon Series 2: 325, number 2].

[harrymottram]

Axbridge Review: Birnbeck Pier to reopen to the public in four years after decades of neglect https://www.harrymottram.co.uk/2024/12/15/axbridge-review-birnbeck-pier-to-reopen-to-the-public-in-four-years-after-decades-of-neglect/ @NorthSomersetC @BirnbeckPier @BirnbeckTrust @birnbeck @GrandPier @EnglishHeritage @bbcsomerset

[buildinginformationmodellingco]

South West Surveys

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[kurtsigns]

Axbridge, Somerset.

[vannahfanfics]

Also, may I request an AluSeras fic for “Coat?” I know that prompt isn’t a part of your “Clothing” list, but I can’t help but wonder how cute it would be to have Alucard snuggle with Seras in his coat or maybe write about her secretly trying his coat on because it looks so cool and comfy, then have Alucard catch her in the act and finds her adorable in it, much to her embarrassment? IDK, I’m a living trash pile for this ship and I want something soft involving these two. 🥰 - Gaanon 🌵🏜🤎

Thank you so much for commissioning a request pass, Gaanon! I apologize for the wait on all these stories; hopefully as time keeps going on, I’ll be able to get to them, even it’s only a few here and there. 

Fidelity

Word Count: 2240

Fluff, Canon Compliant

Summary: Seras, Alucard, and the Wild Geese are on a mission in Britain's moorlands, and Seras finds that being a vampire does not make one immune to the cold.

“Brrrrrrr!”

Seras shuddered and rubbed vigorously at her arms as a brisk breeze blew over the moorlands. The yawning expanse of flat grassland had only sparse shrubbery to claim as vegetation, so the wind could be particularly biting—especially on an unusually cold night like this. Having lived in Cheddar, which was located in the sprawling stretch of moorland known as the Sedgemoor District, Seras had thought herself used to it. She’d only been staying at the Hellsing Manor for a short time now; surely that wasn’t enough to lose her resistance to the cold. More than that, she was a vampire now. Shouldn’t she be unaffected by little annoyances like temperature fluctuations?

Regardless, it didn’t matter. Vampire or not, resistant to cold or not, Seras Victoria shivered in the face of this frigid midnight gale.

I sure hope we complete this mission soon, Seras moped, wrapping her arms around herself to try and conserve body heat. She probably didn’t even have body heat anymore, but the action fooled her into feeling warmer, at the very least. 

She, Alucard, Pip, and a small force of the Wild Geese had been dispatched to Axbridge, a village not far from Cheddar, to investigate rumors of a vampire haunting. Supposedly, a female vampire stalked the moors and used her hypnotic powers to lure men off the road; she’d entice them out into the empty wilderness, and once they were someplace where no one could hear their screams, she’d pounce. Integra theorized that the Hellsing Organization’s involvement in investigating the rash of vampire hauntings in the English countryside had spooked whomever was behind them, and they were now taking more care in their actions. One could only obliterate so many small towns before the stories became too widespread to control, after all. Alucard surmised that this lady vampire was picking off young men to build a sizeable ghoul army, which she would then use to sweep across the moorlands and decimate several settlements in succession. 

Needless to say, that would not do. So, Integra had sent them to nip this little problem in the bud. 

The most reasonable plan had been to use Pip as bait while Seras and the others lay in wait to catch the vampiress unawares. Alucard had quickly grown bored of the stakeout and had tramped off into the moors to discover where the ghouls were stashed and eliminate them—if they existed at all. Seras and the Wild Geese had been camped out behind some dense shrubbery for at least an hour now, keeping their eyes peeled while Pip posed as a traveler who’d set up camp for the night. Seras hadn’t seen anything move on the moors aside from a badger trundling on home to its den. 

They were now watching Pip stumble around the road drunk as a skunk. At first, he’d only been pretending, but he had grown so bored after fifteen minutes that he’d started slamming back all the “prop” alcohol in his fake campsite. He clutched a wine bottle in his hand as he staggered around in a circle in the dirt. All of a sudden, he flung his head back to howl at the cloudy night sky. 

“Helloooooooooooo? I thought there wuz a pretty lady out here!” he cackled while waving the wine bottle around above his head. His slurred speech made his accent even thicker. He cursed when the purple liquid sloshed out to splash all over his hat! “Fuck! Ah… ‘Ey, more wine!” He paused to gulp down several mouthfuls of the alcohol, then popped the bottle away from his lips with a satisfied sigh. “Come out, come out, wherever ya are~! Won’ you come share a drink wit me, darlin’?” 

“I’m beginning to think that the only lady out here to share a drink with him is me, ” Seras mumbled under her breath. 

“I think ‘e’d like that more than the lady of the moors, if I’m bein’ honest,” snickered one of the mercenaries, and his companions all chimed their agreement. Seras quickly shushed them before their jeering could get too loud, then frowned back down at the road when she heard a loud thwomp. Pip had sprawled flat on his back in the grass just to the side of the road, snoring loudly and drooling profusely. 

Seras waited one minute, then another. The silence seemed to echo all around her; all she could hear was the quiet breathing of the men around her and Pip’s droning snores. Just as she was beginning to debate calling it quits and retrieving Pip before he could die choking on his own vomit or something, she finally heard something that could be her quarry: 

Fleet footsteps through the short grass, far too fast to be a human but far too large to be an animal. 

Seras’s eyes slowly turned red as she scanned the slightly rolling moors for movement. There it was—a shadow, swiftly approaching Pip’s unconscious form. The metallic but sickeningly sweet tang of blood stung Seras’ nostrils when the wind rushed down over her again; the vampiress was drenched in it, and Seras could also smell it on the ghoul she now heard shambling along in the distance. The vampiress must have been taking her latest prey to her hideout but had stopped to seize the golden opportunity that was the inebriated, incapacitated Pip Bernadotte. 

Your blessing is a bullet in disguise, Seras thought with a smirk and slid her rifle forward. She didn’t bother with the scope; her burning red eyes could see all in crystal clarity. The vampiress zoomed across the landscape with such speed that she was a blur to the humans huddled around Seras, but to the sire of Alucard, she may as well have been moving in slow-motion. 

The moorlands resounded with the blast of the bullet exploding from the chamber. The vampiress skidded to a halt and looked wildly around, believing someone had missed a shot at her. Seras Victoria, of course, did not miss. In the next second, the moorland vampire’s head whipped back with blood erupting from the bullet hole in her forehead like a geyser. She collapsed in a crumpled heap right next to Pip’s pitched tent. The drunk himself slept on, just smacking his lips and rolling over. 

After dispatching the ghoul and ensuring that there were no imminent threats, Seras stood up and brushed the grass bits from her stockings. 

“You all go get Mr. Bernadotte and head to our rendezvous point. I’ll search for Master Alucard, and we’ll meet you there,” she instructed. “Please be careful; I may leave a range where I can hear or see you, and there may be more ghouls lurking about.” 

“Understood, Miss Victoria!” the Wild Geese declared in unison and saluted her. They’d been on a few missions together now, so they now reacted to her vampiric prowess with admiration rather than fear. Seras rather liked that. She didn’t want anyone to fear her, especially not the men she called comrades. It made her feel warm and fuzzy inside, and that was something she would much need on the long, cold trek through the dark and lonely moors.

Seras dipped her head politely to the mercenaries with a promise to rendezvous with them soon, then set off into the wilderness. 

“Masterrrrrrr? Where are you?” Seras wailed into the emptiness, but her only answer was her own voice’s echo traveling across the flat expanse of shrubby grasslands. The sound was swiftly whisked away by the whistling wind, which had been blowing uninterrupted for what seemed like a lifetime. In reality, Seras had probably only been searching for Alucard for half an hour; be that as it may, she was cold, tired, and very ready for home. So, she’d resorted to lamentably howling into the darkness like some ghostly lady in white haunting the moors; sound traveled far out here, so she’d figured hearing her would make it easier for him to find her. Because she certainly wasn’t going to be able to find him!

“Masterrrrrr,” Seras groaned while rubbing at her arms. Her entire body felt like a block of ice; quite honestly, she was scared to look at her frozen-stiff fingers because she half-expected to find them black with frostbite. She was so sorely tempted to just speed to the rendezvous point and wait for Alucard to find his way there, but she couldn’t bring herself to. She’d never forgive herself if he got hurt due to her negligence. There could be an insanely powerful vampire at the lair, or worse, he could have another run-in with that Irish priest, Alexander Anderson.

“Wherever you are, Master, I will find you,” Seras sniffled to herself. She used the short sleeve of her uniform to rub her snotty nose, then prepared to continue her plunge into the vast moors. Just as she stepped forward, someone latched onto the back of her uniform to keep her in place. 

“Don’t bother. I heard your yowling from miles away.” 

“Master!” Seras cheered, tipping her head back to beam broadly at the frowning Alucard. He was splashed head-to-toe in blood, but she assumed that it wasn’t his, for he looked otherwise uninjured. “Did you find the vampiress’ lair, then?” 

“Indeed,” he tutted, releasing Seras’ shirt. She whirled on her heel to smile at him while he picked disinterestedly at his teeth. “Found them all bottled up in an abandoned mine. Mowing them down was quite easy—boring, really,” he explained and then smiled wickedly. “But I found evidence that there were actually several vampires operating out of there, so I went on a little hunt.” 

“Did you find them?” 

“Of course I did. Do you think I would go back to Integra without fully completing my job?” Alucard sniffed sullenly. “Don’t insult me, police girl.” 

“Oh, that’s not what I meant,” Seras pouted, her shoulders slumping at the scolding. “I was just eager to assist you, that’s all…” 

Alucard’s irritated expression morphed into a pensive one. He then huffed, crossed his arms, and looked away from Seras and out into the moors. 

“You got rid of the last one, didn’t you?” 

“Well, yes, of course,” Seras said with an owlish blink. 

“There you have it, then. You have assisted me,” Alucard shrugged. “If not for that, I’d be chasing her all over the moors right now. And, though I do so enjoy a game of hide-and-go-seek, I’m quite tired. At this point, it would be an annoyance.” 

Seras preened at that. She owed Alucard her life, and so she did her best to be useful to him. But it was hard to be useful to a man who seemed to have power rivaling the Devil himself. Perhaps he was simply saying those things for her benefit, but Seras chose to believe them, and that made happiness well up inside of her. 

“I’m glad then, Master!” she chirped, her smile so big that it scrunched up her eyes. “I think that it’s safe to say ‘mission success,’ then! Shall we head to the meeting point?” 

Before Alucard could answer, the wind picked up to a fierce gale. Seras exclaimed as it whipped around them, tugging fiercely at their clothes and hair. Alucard seemed entirely unbothered by it, but Seras was now chilled to the bone. She braced herself against the violent wind until it died back down to a steady breeze, then shuddered violently and wrapped her arms around herself. 

“Please say so, because at this point, I’m afraid I’m going to become a Seras-cicle!” she whined. 

Alucard’s red gaze flicked back to her, and his unreadable expression made her back straighten like a rod. Oh, no, was she being too much of a weakling and had disappointed him? Seras expected Alucard to make some disparaging comment or even scold her outright. When he moved, she flinched and shut her eyes tight, though she didn’t even know what she was bracing herself for. 

Seras heard him step forward and then… chuckle softly. She cracked an eye open to see Alucard standing close to her, and then she felt his cloak gently drape over her shoulders. She was pleasantly surprised to find it quite warm; a smile bloomed on her lips as she reached up to draw it around herself, and she looked up at Alucard gratefully. 

“Thank you, Master.” 

“I’m just protecting my investment,” he huffed, but the twinkle in his red eyes told Seras everything hidden beneath his shallow words. “Besides, it would be a poor end to a vampire in Sir Integra’s service—freezing to death on some windy moors.” With that, he held his hat to his head and whirled on his heel to begin striding off. “Hurry up, now, police girl—or are you frozen after all?” 

“Wah! No, Master, I’m coming!” Seras squawked and quickly hurried after him. With a giggle, she slipped her arms into the too-long sleeves of Alucard’s coat and pulled it tight around her front. With its gentle heat as a barrier, Seras didn’t have to worry about the cold anymore, no matter how much of a fuss the wind kicked up. 

You saved me again this time, Master, even if just from a chill, Seras thought with a fond side-glance at Alucard, but mark my words: someday, I’m going to be the one to save you! 

No matter how far away you go… I’ll always come to find you.