Monday, November 4, 2019

Mysterious Green Children by Katherine Pym

 

 ~*~*~*~


Sign outside of Woolpit, Sussex


I once saw a BBC production where a village nurse found several children—brothers and sisters—alone in a house located at the edge of town. Their parents were nowhere to be seen. They were desperate and hungry, and all of them had orange skin. This stumped the nurse, until she realized they ate carrots for sustenance.

Recently, I ran across an account of a 12th century mystery yet to be resolved. A young brother and sister appeared without explanation or reason in the hamlet of Woolpit in East Anglia, during the reign of King Stephen. They wore clothing of unknown origin and spoke a foreign language. The most peculiar difference: their skin was green.

No one knows where they truly came from. It is all very ‘unearthly’. 

Two chroniclers tell the tale: 

William of Newburgh, 12th century, who enjoyed chronicling the kings of England. While writing of King Stephen, he threw in a paragraph or two of green children.

From his manuscript, ‘…four or five miles from the noble monastery of the blessed king and martyr, Edmund; near this place are seen some very ancient cavities, called “Wolfpittes,” that is, in English, “Pits for wolves,”’ (Hence Woolpit). …‘During harvest, while the reapers were employed in gathering in the produce of the fields, two children, a boy and a girl, completely green in their persons, and clad in garments of a strange color, and unknown materials, emerged from these excavations.’ (wolf pits)

The story goes on to say the harvesters took the children to the village, but they would not eat anything put before them, until at one point beans were brought in from the field. The children, who were starving, grabbed the stalks, but there were no beans. The villagers handed the children bean pods and they ate ravenously. They refused all other foods until months later, they tried bread. As the children became accustomed to other foods, their green color diminished. They learned English, and were baptized.

Asked where they had come from, they replied, ‘”We are inhabitants of the land of St. Martin, who is regarded with peculiar veneration in the country which gave us birth.” Being further asked where that land was, and how they came thence hither, they answered, “We are ignorant of both those circumstances; we only remember this, that on a certain day, when we were feeding our father’s flocks in the fields, we heard a great sound,”’ which they likened to the chimes of bells. They had become entranced and somehow found themselves in the Woolpit fields.


Lost Children


The children were asked if people of their land believed in Christ, and were there churches. They replied, ‘”The sun does not rise upon our countrymen; our land is little cheered by its beams; we are contented with that twilight, which among you, precedes the sunrise, or follows the sunset. Moreover, a certain luminous country is seen, not far distant from ours, and divided from it by a very considerable river.”’

The other chronicler, Ralph of Coggeshall, wrote of the green children in the 13th century. His account seems to be separate from Newburgh’s, and came from the man who looked after the children. According to Coggeshall, the children were lost chasing their father’s cattle. They sought refuge in a cave, but hearing the sound of bells, followed the chimes to Woolpit.

The boy died not long after their baptism, but the girl grew to adulthood where one source says she married a man from King’s Lynn in Norfolk, and another that she married an ambassador of King Henry II. Some said the girl, whom they called Agnes, never acted like the ladies of the area. She was always different.

How the children came to Woolpit is a mystery. If they had come from the sea, how did they find the village, which is 18.6 miles from Ipswich, 37.2 miles from Aldeburgh, and 38.2 miles from Dunwich. That’s a good ways on foot, even today. These children were very young. How could they have traveled this far alone?

Imagine Little Green Girl
The girl mentioned a river, but there is no river in the direct vicinity of Woolpit. One source says there is/was a river not far from Bury St. Edmunds. There is a River Lark near Fornham St. Martin. Are there caves nearby? Where would the children have come from where there is no direct sunlight, and everyone’s skin is green?

Explanations:
One is that the children suffered from arsenic poisoning. Another, hypochromic anemia (chlorosis), which is an iron deficiency, and would have made their skin green. Yet another theory postulates they were the children of Flemish immigrants who were persecuted and killed—possibly in the battle at Fornham in 1173. But how did the children escape a battle? Why would they even be allowed near a battle?

Why was their skin green? Did they wander the fields, eating beans until found?

I do not know. It is a mystery, not so much that the children ate beans to survive, but that the land they had come from was always in a dull murk. Where would that place be?

~*~*~*~
Thanks to:
William of Newburgh, The History of English Affairs or Historia rerum Anglicarum, A history of England from 1066 to 1198, The Great Library Collection by R.P. Pryne, Philadelphia, PA, 2015 & a reprint from original publication of AD 1220.

Saturday, November 2, 2019

Life Is Good






Of course everyone knows that  life is a constant change. We age, lose our job, or quit, or finally retire Ah, retirement - the Golden Years.  Our children are raised, married, and on their own. Maybe we have grandchildren - and maybe, as in my case, you've been blessed with great grandchildren.

You finally have time for yourself, to travel, to enjoy life. At least that's the plan.
Sometimes life doesn't go as planned. Sometimes health issues arise and you have to set plans aside.
Recently the doctor put my husband on oxygen at night. He has COPD - emphysema to be exact. Comes from years of smoking. He was doing pretty well, or so we thought. He's gone through three pulmonary doctors - they keep leaving the practice and moving on to better things I guess. The first two kept telling him the longer he could stay off oxygen the better.
The first visit with the third doctor, he asked if hubby used oxygen at night.  He seemed quite surprised when we said no. So he scheduled a test that would monitor his blood oxygen level while he slept.
Next thing I knew, Medical Supplier called to set up a time to drop off the oxygen. It would
have been nice if the doctor's office would have called and told him that. He had an appointment later that month to learn the results. Seems to me the results were obvious and I almost cancelled the appointment. Glad I didn't. After several nights using the oxygen, hubby started snoring - he hasn't snored in like forever - and he became very restless. I swore if he hit me in the back one more time I was going to take the oxygen tube and wrap it around his neck. No, I really wouldn't have done it, but it was tempting.
 Thing is, I have enough trouble sleeping without someone punching me in the back and waking me . Needless to say, I spent many sleepless nights. Sleeping on the couch wasn't an option - it's only a love seat, and there aren't any other beds in the house. I was stuck with him. You'd think with a queen-size bed he'd have enough room to stay on his own side. But, no, he'd lay on his back and fling his arm out and bam, right in the middle of my back.
Turns out when they brought the oxygen they neglected to hook up the water bottle for humidity.  Of course the doctor immediately wanted to do a sleep study, as he wrote out the prescription for the water bottle. We declined. Hubby doesn't have sleep apena. They brought the water that afternoon and walla, he's been sleeping peacefully ever since.

But... on a lighter note, life isn't always bad. My son recently got engaged and one of my granddaughters whose been trying to have a child is now getting one to adopt . The baby is due Nov.10th.  Of course everyone is excited and my daughter had a shower for her in October.
A new baby girl is expected soon. And...we found out earlier this year, my grandson is expecting his second child Dec. 16th.  Another girl. How exciting is all that?
So, life is good. Our church got a new pastor in September, we've been without one for two years. We had him, his wife, mother, and son for dinner a couple weeks ago.
They're from Colorado and never heard of perogi. I was more than happy to make some for them.  We enjoyed the evening and they said they enjoyed the perogi, especially their little boy.  In fact,  we had them over again for cabbage and noodle and the little guy asked if I made perogi again. I said no and he said, "make them next time we come over, okay."  Well of course i said yes. Next plan is chicken paprikash. Yes, I'm making them traditional Slovak dishes. Pastor's wife is Indonesian, but she seems to enjoy the food.
So, all in all, life is good.

Thursday, October 31, 2019

Priscilla Brown reflects on imagination








The two main characters in this contemporary romance are artisans.
Each has a huge capacity for imagination,
not only with their crafts but with each other and their lifestyles.


"Imagination is more important than knowledge." Albert Einstein.

At a recent textile workshop, the tutor introduced us to this quotation; knowledge of how to do something is of course necessary and formal instructions may be available. (Though when attempting to assemble furniture that comes in a flat pack with diagrammed instructions largely unclear to me, some imagination helps to picture which bit could go where.)

So what to do with knowledge can entail imagination. In this felt-making workshop, where we all knew the basics of making the felt from pre-dyed sheep fleece, we were encouraged to give our imagination free rein to broaden our craft.Thick or thin? Put this colour with that? One or two dimensional? Change shape? A functional item or an art piece? We played with options, and supported each other with ideas and inspiration.

During the lunch break, we discussed imagination. We concluded that we all had lots of it as if we didn't, a) we wouldn't be attending this workshop, and b) we wouldn't be discussing it. We thought perhaps everyone has it innately to some degree, but not all develop or nurture it. A five-year-old boy of my acquaintance loves building Lego, and was busy following instructions from the manual. Then his grandfather hid the book, and to encourage the child to use his imagination asked him to build something by himself. At first he was a little puzzled, but an hour later he'd constructed a fairly complicated tower. "I didn't know I could to that," he smiled. "But I found out I could." Imagination nurtured.

 I asked a group of five friends if they considered they had imagination, and at the same time, if they pictured the story in their heads as they read. One firmly declared no to imagination and no to pictures. After a moment's thought, she added that may be why she has no sense of direction - in a new area she has trouble visualising from a map which way to go; she prefers to read historical non-fiction rather than historical or any fiction, because in non-fiction she can believe the words. (Rather a sweeping statement?) Agreeing with this, another said he reads only non-fiction because it did not require imagination. These non-fiction readers (I have work to do on them!) shocked the others and led to a discussion on how, when reading fiction, we can suspend disbelief - if the plot, the characters are convincing, we follow their journey as if they were real people.

One friend was intrigued by my question. "Of course I see the story happening in my head. How else am I going to believe in the characters and their lifestyles?" In other words, she was suspending disbelief. A friend who on his two-hour train commute to work reads crime novels said he enjoys these because the plots and settings are so far removed from his experience that he exercises imagination to picture the story, sometimes mentally placing a scene in one of the suburbs he passes every day. One friend who can no longer travel likes to read fiction set in foreign countries which she has either visited, or can visualise the location and imagine with pleasure being there. So the three who read fiction use imagination and see the story in their heads. A very small sample, but still interesting.

May you follow fictional characters with enjoyment. Priscilla.


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