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Old Aunt Fan? We knew her well down at the Bricklayers’ Arms, in Brighton.

Not that she drank there, y’unnerstan…. But she’d gather outside on a Sunday evening with the rest of the hallelujah brigade and sing hymns. Never seen anyone in my life who could do 9/8 time on a tambourine like old Aunt Fan.

They’d get to the bridge on Jesus Wants My Gerbil’s Ass – the bit where the trombone drops to C# – and everyone else looks around, like, ‘who did that?’ – and she’d just let rip! Ha! Dear old Aunt Fan. The best fantasy rhythm section I ever heard.

Damn shame about the smack. And the goats.

The goats were bad.

at least she didn’t…

…you know….

…smack goats.

I’ve seen the descendents of those goats – the ones that survived, that is. They were on TV.

All you have to do is say “Aunt Fannie!” to them and they spontaneously drop into a coma with their rear legs crossed protectively.

A study was done as to why it occurs, but the Principle Investigator in charge – a devout Quaker – was simply too embarrassed to publish the results.

Well, I just had to say thats very cool that you adopted the lady in the photo. An example of cosmic kindness, whatever that is. I get the same feeling when I go to antique shops. You see the objects of someones life. I can’t remember the poem but it says something like every gust of wind carries the dust of those that were here before. W.B.Yeats maybe, sounds like Yeats. I wonder if thats one of the things I like about antiques,now that I think about it, they have a past. Anyway, I liked the poetic nature of the cosmic adoption. BTW I also enjoyed the travel log very much.

I found out who she was, she was the duchess of Staffordsureshire. A Royal who spent her latter life running a sugar cane plantation in the British Islands. She was kind like you said, she would knit sweaters for all the slaves on the plantation. They liked her so much they would wear them, of course this was a disaster as it gets very hot in the cane fields. So the plantation failed and she ran away with a slave named Mabatoo. Mabatoo had a thing for angora sweaters, and an incredible tolerance for heat. The Royal family removed her name from the records and to this day they will deny she ever existed. I would hide that photo as it could be embarrassing to the Royal family.

That’s an amazing bit of detective work, Leeuwenhoek. All I could find was that the photographer – Wheeler – had two studios: one at 33 Clarence Square from 1871 to 1902, and one at 43 Western Road from 1873 to 1907.

So if I mention the D of S to the Royal family, will they immediately fall comatose with their legs crossed protectively?

McGoo, you’re psychic. Or psychotic. Or something.

We had a herd of those goats when I was a…dear me, I almost said “kid.” It’s early. Anyhow, we had a dozen of those epileptic goats. Seriously.

They were given to my dad by somebody at Vanderbilt. They suited his sense of Olympian self worth. He would step into the back yard and go “WROAH!” and they’d all fall over like bowling pins.

I always thought they were developed at Vanderbilt to study epilepsy, but I just dug up this article in the Robertson County Times which says a Bolivian named Tinsley who didn’t speak any English brought them to Lewisburg in the early 19th Century. A likely story.

Then I stared into the eyes of Lana Osborne and had a Tennessee flashback. I can’t be sure, but I think I fell over like a bowling pin for a second there.

Mr. McGoo I have to admit, I made some of that up. 😉

Aw – Leeuw’, ya burst my bubble! I bought all of it – hook, line, and sinker, and was in awe of your scholarship. I was looking a bit askance at the Mabatoo episode though, until I found a reference to the name on the net. Something about blacksmithing in Marble Falls, TX – a town which (by coincidence) I know well.

Weasel – yes, I am. So are you, since I see that the next post (Next. Post. !!!) is about a subject I really like: Krakatoa.

We two musta evolved from the same patch of blue-green algae.

Those goats are really strange: I really did see a TV show about them, and I assumed that shouting “Aunt Fannie” (or anything else) really would set them off. A form of Narcolepsy, isn’t it?

Epilepsy. Brief, startle-induced seizures. Their legs lock. Sometimes they fall over. Sometimes only the front or back legs lock and they drag themselves around until it passes. Pathetic, really. In a cruel and hilarious sort of way.

I wandered into their pasture one day, forgetting the fact that I was small and not particularly startling, and the billygoat threw me up against the barn and butted my ass black and blue. So, you know, I paid my dues.

Ah-ha. I thought they passed out/went to sleep, like…well..narcoleptics.

So, I guess its really true that billygoats can be a pain in the ass. Good to know. Did you name him Butthead?

The revenge of the billygoats is a terrible thing.

I’m so digging that frame. Keep auntie in it. It is probably worth more that way.

The frame isn’t quite as nice as it looks in the picture. It’s old, but it’s a cheap brass thing and a bit clumsy.

It’s part of a pair. The other had a picture in it, too. That one didn’t have a photographer’s mark or anything. The woman in the picture is a sour-faced consumptive cow.

Yes, I kept that one also. I couldn’t wipe a human being off the page of history just for looking like she smells something. Could I?

Ok, ok, I made all of it up. lol 😉

Are you saying the Duchess of Staffordsureshire didn’t really knit sweaters?! Pull the other one!

Well, Mr. smarty-pants, then just WHAT did she do on that plantation all those years?

ROFL