Patrick George Callaghan

Young people of the Callaghan family ... All enterprising tweeter's and fb's... are pictured enjoying the many delights of our Family Summer Barbecue in the UK.

Serialized by Patrick George Callaghan                                                    Part Three Constance Stamp was a woman of pronounced views when it came to her offspring, and it was not difficult to understand her individual ascent for money and position. Something she had always instilled in her daughter. She was after all, now well placed largely through her own endeavors. It had not always been the case. She was the only daughter of a middle class family doctor with a practice settled to a woefully poor area of Leeds. The soul was often gratified whilst the stomach went hungry. Her life took on its meaning when she met and fell in love with a young army captain named George Stamp. She had gone on the invitation of a friend to a dance in the officers Mess at the nearby Victoria Barracks. Her friend had said romantically; they should go with the hope of meeting a dashing and handsome young officer. George was nineteen, not very tall, but good looking with a w

The Dark Daughters by Rhys Davis, was first published in 1947 by William Heinemann. In 1895, wearing a smart frock-coat and an even smarter puce cravat, Mansell Roberts opened his chemist shop at the base of an arboreal North London hill intersected with rows of solid new villas. The wholesome breezes of Hampstead Heath blew down over the hill before losing themselves with a different odour in the  clotted lower-class districts far below. Among tasteful scrolls heading the new chemist’s bills – and much more imposing than the actual premises – was an engraving depicting  the shop’s exterior with two smart carriages drawn up at the kerb. Mansell had ordered many packages of these bills. He was by nature adverse to giving credit but he trusted those villas with their horse-shoe drivers, stucco porticoes, flowering urns, and their roomy basements for several domestics. And to make more certain of laying a solid local foundation, he had become a worshipper at d

The happy group of visitors to my weblog enjoying a Birthday Dinner at The Highwayman Hotel in Bedfordshire UK just recently. Happy Birthday Zena!

Serialized by Patrick George Callaghan                                                      Part Two Joshua Deans. Magistrate. Minister of the Esra Chapel on Bittacy Hill; sat in his black knee-length, gold-buttoned, small-pocketed coat. He warmed himself gently in front of a grey ash, red topped coal fire, lulling comfortably as his damp boots steamed to satisfaction. His chair creaked in time with his arching black narrow-trouser matchstick legs. He dozed in the heat rising rapidly along the closing rails of his slow-moving blood and bathed in the youthful sunshine of his eternal contemplation. There was duck to be served sharply at eight and from his housekeeper’s larder. A watery eye opened peculiarly and peered carefully at the large pendulum clock that rested majestically from its corner, its ticks swinging melodiously like a bandleader’s arm. It was five o’clock; his son had not been seen since breakfast. It was the telephone that roused him from his dewy-ness. I