Alistair Sinclair caught his daughter deftly when she leaped at him from the edge of the pool. Easing her down into the warm water, Alistair smiled at her delighted laughter. Only five, Rebecca had absolute trust in her father.And why shouldn’t she. Alistair was a highly successful executive, devoted husband, and loving father. He couldn’t do enough for his family. A sudden frown crossed his face, but was gone quickly. Alistair didn’t want Rebecca to see it. Nor ever know the reason why. He’d see to that. But that tickle of worry that brought the frown so quickly hidden didn’t go away.The frown came back late that evening, long after Rebecca had been put to bed, tucked in, and kissed goodnight. While Rebecca hadn’t seen that first frown, Juliette, Alistair’s wife of six years, saw this one. “What’s the matter, Sweetheart? Frowns do not suit you.”Alistair forced a smile onto his face. “Nothing, my dear. Nothing at all for you to worry about.”That was good enough for Juliette. She had the simple faith of a young woman married to a much older man. A successful man. A man that took her out of a horrid life and made her a lady. And gave her anything she asked for.When he went into the office the following Monday, the cheerful good-mornings, a donut and a cup of coffee, had him in a good mood. For a while. Then all three of his foremen and the office manager asked to meet with him.He didn’t frown during the short meeting. At the end of it, he told the two men and two women, “I’ll think about this. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.” When they were gone and the door to his office closed, the frown was back.Most of those working for him, according to the foremen and his office manager, wanted a schedule change to four ten-hour days. The rising cost of commuting, with fuel prices being the biggest factor, was the stated reason.Alistair had noticed the price of gasoline going up, but had paid it little mind. He always used his American Express card to fill up, and the prices never really registered on him. Even when he reviewed the American Express bill each month, the charges for gasoline didn’t seem all that far out of line with his, and Juliette’s, spending habits.Deciding to call corporate Human Relations about the requests, he picked up and dialed the telephone himself, after looking up the number. “Hello. George?” Alistair asked when George Higgens answered.Alistair noted the weariness in George’s voice when he answered. “If this is about the packet, there’s nothing I can do about it. It came down from above.”“Packet? What packet, George? What are you talking about?”“You don’t have the packet yet? Well, nuts! Okay. You’ll be getting, should already have, a packet outlining the downsizing we’re in the process of doing.”“Downsizing?” Alistair felt a chill go down his back.“Read the packet,” George said again. He then hung up, stunning Alistair. He and George had joined the company about the same time and remained close. This simply wasn’t like George.Slowly Alistair hung up the telephone and leaned back in his chair. Suddenly he got up and went to the reception area to ask about the packet form corporate headquarters. The FedEx woman was there, delivering. Alistair hung back, suddenly not wanting anyone on staff to know he was anxious about anything.He plastered a smile on his face and went over to the coffee pot, instead of asking about the recent delivery.“Oh, here is a letter package from HQ, Mr. Sinclair,” Julie, the receptionist said. “Wow! Marked personal and urgent.” She handed the large envelope to Alistair when he walked over, without any coffee.Trying to act unconcerned, Alistair took the envelope and went back to his office. He almost locked the door, but decided that would be a dead giveaway that something was up. Alistair opened the envelope and began to read.Alistair re-read the entire thing after going through it once, and then read several sections a third time. His stomach was a cold pit. Downsizing probably wasn’t an accurate word to describe what the corporation was planning.Though he wasn’t hungry, far from it, Alistair went out at his usual time. He wanted time away from the office to think. It didn’t help. When he went back to the office, he called the office manager in and went over what had to be done to let go a fourth of his employees.Jillian was shocked. “But sir! These people! They all have families! They’re barely making it now. If they lose the job here… Isn’t there any other way?”Alistair almost showed her the packet for Corporate. But something told him not to. It wasn’t Jillian’s place to question the Corporate decisions he quickly decided. Harshly… Actually, very harshly, for Alistair, he reminded her that the matter was confidential at the moment. He wanted her to do the final checks herself, as the payroll clerk was one of those he had to lay off.After that day, going to work was no longer such a pleasure for Alistair. Especially a month later when he called to talk to George and found out George was no longer with the corporation. To top it off, that very same day he got the notice that his pay was being cut. Significantly. And if he wanted to keep his job, production had better pick up, despite the circumstances.Alistair had to pull money from his retirement savings to pay the mortgage for the house, the retirement property he was buying, and the payments on their three vehicles, the boat, and the motorhome when he paid the bills that month.A few days after that, Alistair sat down to have a Sunday breakfast with Juliette and Rebecca. He was startled to hear Rebecca say, “Mommy. I don’t like this cereal. Why can’t I have the one I like?”It was when he started to look at Juliette that he noticed there were only two strips of bacon on his plate, and none on Juliette’s. “Juliette?” he asked.She started to cry and ran from the room. “Don’t worry, Honey,” Alistair told Rebecca. “You’ll have your regular cereal tomorrow. Just be a good girl and eat this just for today. Okay?”“Okay, Daddy.”That was simple enough, Alistair thought. Hopefully it would be the same with Juliette. It wasn’t. When he found her in the living room, sitting on one of the expensive antique chairs, her head in her hands, she was crying even harder.“Sweetheart? What is it? What has you so upset?”She looked up, and Alistair waited patiently for her to compose herself. He knelt down by the chair and took one of her hands in his. It was ice cold.Finally, looking down at her lap, Juliette said, “I’ve tried so hard, Alistair! Really I have! But things are so expensive now! I didn’t have enough money left in the household budget, and they wouldn’t take the card, and I had to leave things at the check out, and I had only got cheaper things… Oh, Alistair! It was so embarrassing.”Alistair took her into his arms and held her too him. “Don’t you worry, Darling. I’ll get the card thing straightened out. In the meantime I’ll put more money in the household account, and up the amount. You’ll never have to be embarrassed like that again. I promise.”Later that day Alistair went through his financial accounts with a fine toothcomb. He was shocked. Both of his platinum credit cards, one ostensibly with no limit, had put his accounts on hold until the balances were paid down.He did an online bank transfer, moving more money from his retirement account to the household account, and the regular checking account. Between making the earlier payments from the retirement account, and now these transfers, Alistair felt yet another chill go down his back. He was going to have to do it every month. His reduced salary was simply no longer enough to cover all his monthly debts. Even after stopping the 401(k) contribution he was significantly short.Without telling Juliette, Alistair put the Cadillac SUV, the boat, and the motorhome all up for sale. It was a week before he got even one offer. That was on the boat, and the caller was only willing to pay half of what Alistair was asking. Angry at the insult, Alistair slammed the telephone receiver down.Three months later, he wound up taking even less than that first offer for the boat. At least he got three-quarters of his initial asking price for the motorhome and the SUV. Juliette cried as the new owners came and picked up the boat, motorhome, and SUV within hours of each other on a Saturday. Though they had used them very little, they were some of the things she’d dreamed of when a little girl.It still wasn’t enough to keep up with the other bills. Every month Alistair had to draw from the retirement fund, as the prices of the things Alistair insisted Juliette continue to buy skyrocketed. Alistair put up the retirement property for sale.The business wasn’t doing well. People were buying few luxury goods and that meant the parts that went into them were no longer required at the same rate. The four day week Alistair employees had wanted came to pass, but not four tens. Everyone was reduced to four eights. Two months later wages were cut ten percent across the board. That included another reduction for Alistair.He began to loose his second best employees, his very best having got the axe the first layoff, since they were the highest paid. As he tried to replace employees no longer willing to work for what the corporation was paying, all Alistair could find were desperate people willing to work for next to nothing, just to have a job. And while they were desperate, they weren’t skilled. Quality began to suffer and Alistair was called onto the carpet in a video conference.He took it like a sheep. He didn’t even try to defend himself. After the harangue was over, Alistair simply walked away and didn’t look back. The sale of Juliette’s sports car paid the mortgage one month. Alistair put the house on the market and began looking for something much smaller and more economical. He even signed up for temp work.After one partial payment and then two straight missed payments, Alistair and his small family were evicted. He had enough money to move them into a by-the-week residential motel.Then came the war talk as Alistair eked out a living working for McDonalds as a burger flipper. Alistair had quit paying any attention to the news. It was too depressing. So the announcement that the nation was going on alert came as quite a surprise to him.When he got home after his late shift, Juliette was waiting up for him. She was terrified. The paper was on the old, scarred, table in what passed as the kitchen in the old motel room. It was open to the pages that showed how to build an expedient fallout shelter.“Oh, Alistair! What do we do if they bomb us with nuclear bombs? In the good house, we had the basement. What are we going to do if war starts?”Alistair didn’t have an answer. He took Juliette in his arm and held her until she fell asleep. He carried her to the bed in the lone bedroom, careful not to wake Rebecca in her makeshift bed on one side of the room.It was a long time before Alistair fell asleep. And it was a troubled sleep, at that. Things were even worse the next morning. The large invasion fleet China had been building began to move. Not toward Taiwan, as expected, but toward Australia.While Alistair stayed at home and slept, Juliette took Rebecca and went to the store. Alistair had just come out of the shower when there was a knock on the door of the apartment.“Must have forgotten her keys,” Alistair muttered as he walked over to open the door, with just a towel around his waist.It wasn’t Juliette. It was two uniformed police officers. One asked, “Are you Alistair Sinclair?”When Alistair nodded, already feeling a little faint, the second officer said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Sinclair. We have some bad news…”For the first time in his life, Alistair fainted. He came too on the ragged sofa and took the glass of water one of the officers handed him. “Do you have someone that can come and stay with you for a little while,” she asked.Alistair shook his head. “Tell me. Tell me what happened.”“Your car, the one your wife and child were in, was carjacked at gun point. From the eyewitness reports we have, your wife tried to drive away. The carjackers opened fire with handguns and both your wife and child were shot and died at the scene.”Alistair was trembling. “Sir, perhaps you should get dressed and let us take you down to the emergency room…”“Can’t afford it,” Alistair said softly. “Can’t afford anything. How am I going to pay for the funeral?”“I’m sorry, Sir. We can’t help you there. Are you sure you don’t want to…”“Get out! Just get out and leave me to my misery!”The two officers looked at one another and then made a silent exit, leaving Alistair to his grief.A week later Alistair walked to the McDonalds where he worked. The Cadillac had been repossessed while in the impound yard pending the final outcome of the investigation. He still had the ticket issued to him for not having insurance on the car at the time of the carjacking.He received condolences from his much younger co-workers when he clocked in. One, more than a bit insensitive, said, “Cheer up, Pops. Things have to get better now. Can’t get any worse, hunh?”Alistair didn’t hit the guy, but it was close. He finally muttered, “Sure. Things have to get better.”The Chinese response to the US moving four carrier groups toward Australia as the Chinese fleet neared their planned invasion point, came at ten minutes after two in the morning. Ten minutes after Alistair got off shift and was slowly walking home, without even enough in his pocket to take a bus.The HEMP devices detonated high over the four quadrants of the US blacked out almost the entire country in an instant. Alistair found himself standing in the darkness, with just a few automobile headlights illuminating the area. Most of the vehicles were stationary, though Alistair saw one old pickup, used as a lawn and garden service truck, swerve around the stalled cars and speed off, going Alistair didn’t have a clue.He suddenly had a flash of memory, of Juliette, something he kept trying to suppress. This one was of her looking at the plans in the newspaper of expedient shelters for basements. Alistair stiffened suddenly, seeing a vagrant riding a bicycle, a tiny red LED light flashing at the rear of the large pack balanced on the carrier over the rear wheel.Alistair didn’t hesitate. He ran at the man, shoved the bicycle over. Man and pack both went flying. Picking up the bicycle, Alistair gave it a push, swung his leg over and took off pedaling, the vagrant screaming obscenities at him.He knew just where he was going. Besides the instructions for expedient shelters in basements, there had been a list of reasonably good shelter areas around town at the end of the story. Of course, Alistair didn’t know it, but that list had cost two reporters and an editor their jobs. Those with the shelter areas had not appreciated being put in the limelight.Alistair wasn’t the only person that had read that section on the story, despite it being on a page well back in the paper. But he was one of the very first people to show up city hall. “Didn’t you bring anything at all with you?” the harried looking woman standing at the entrance of the city hall, flanked by two police officer.“I just got off work when it happened,” Alistair explained. “I haven’t been home.” Alistair was careful not to add that he didn’t have anything much at the residential motel to bring, anyway, except a blanket. He ate his only two meals of the day at the McDonalds where he worked.“I’m a good worker,” Alistair said, hating the begging tone he used. What did he have to live for, anyway? He almost turned around to leave when the woman asked, “You have any managerial experience?”Alistair stopped the turn before he really started it. “Yes. Extensive. You have something that needs done?”“I do. Someone to help me keep track of the swarms of people that we expect to show up. Like you. Only a bit later.”“I can work any paper or computer managerial system still in common use.” It wasn’t a lie, but Alistair knew it was stretching the true a little.“Well… You’re here. And if you show me you can use a spreadsheet, and I can read your handwriting, you can stay.”Alistair didn’t breathe the sigh of relief he felt like. He was actually a whiz using both paper and computer spreadsheets. And his penmanship was beyond reproach.The woman led Alistair into the building, to a simple desk. “Here is what I have at the moment. Take the information as we let people come in.”Alistair looked down at the large green pages of a ledger book. There were a dozen names listed, with addresses and various other information, including the time they arrived at the shelter. He noted the far right column. Radiation exposure before entry.“Okay. Sit down and put your data in,” the woman said, and then looked over at another police officer standing nearby. “Scan him.”The officer used what Alistair discovered later was a radiation survey meter. It was silent and the officer said, “Clean.”“Mark it,” the woman said. She handed Alistair a pen looking device. “Pin that on your shirt. Now, anyone that doesn’t want to cooperate, doesn’t get in. No exceptions. I don’t expect you to enforce it. That’s what the three officers are here for. Just let one of them know if someone is giving you a problem.”“Yes, Ma’am,” Alistair found himself saying to the woman. She was at least fifteen years younger than he, but she exuded authority. The way he once had. She hurried back outside and Alistair filled in his information.He looked at the pen like device and the officer with the survey meter said, “It’s a dosimeter. Shows accumulated dosage. Just in case you’re exposed by fallout on some of the people coming in.”Alistair shrugged. So be it. He looked back down at the ledger taking careful note of the various column headings so he could ask the questions needed to get the information. His eyes widened slightly when he saw the columns for guns, drugs, and alcohol.There were several large trash totes lined up outside, three for guns, one for ammunition, one for alcohol, and a cardboard box for the prescriptions. Police officers checked everyone and made sure they complied with the restrictions on entry. Much like the guns, ammunition, alcohol, and drugs that were collected, the peoples’ pets, including service animals, were collected outside and taken away by animal control officers.It wasn’t very long before Alistair had his first ‘client’ of the night. It went smooth as butter and Alistair felt good. That was the last time he had a good feeling..People were angry to have had their possessions taken. Alistair tried to tell them that he was recording all the information so they could be returned at a later date.Alistair lost count of the number of times he was yelled at, screamed at, cried at, and even lunged at. All he had to do was give a little signal to the officers standing nearby and they handled the situation from there.At four in the morning, the radiation scan on someone produced a reading. Just a minor amount, but the family was hustled off to be decontaminated. It became the norm. Every person that came in had been exposed to fallout.There were quiet, but earnest discussions, just out of Alistair’s earshot at seven in the morning. What Alistair did hear were the murmurings of a large crowd outside the door. He simply stayed at his desk as the totes were brought in and a line of police took their place at the entry doors of the City Hall.“You… What’s your name?” asked the same woman that had put him on the desk.“Alistair Sinclair,” Alistair said. He was fearful for a minute that she was going to tell him to go join the others outside.Instead, she motioned to him to follow her and said, “Bring the ledger. It’s time to close the doors.“But…” Alistair said, looking at the front doors.The woman gave him a hard look. “You coming. Or staying here to die?”“I’m coming. What’s your name, by the way?” he said as he trotted to join her.“Sharon Stone. And any jokes will get you thrown out.”It took Alistair a confused minute to connect the woman’s name to the famous actress. He wasn’t about to make any jokes. Any of them would have been cruel to this Sharon Stone. Alistair followed Sharon down two flights of steps and then through a door guarded by two more police officers.Alistair didn’t really know one gun from the other, but the ones the two police officers were holding looked very dangerous. The man and woman, in full riot gear, looked like they were willing to use them.There was a milling mob inside the shelter area. Alistair saw several people trying to get people organized, with little success. He jumped suddenly when a gun went off almost right at his ear. The sound brought silence after it.Sharon began to give orders in a clear, controlled voice. With the help of the shelter stewards the mob turned into a crowd intent on not getting thrown out of the shelter, and getting the best place to sleep.Alistair stayed close to Sharon. She went through a door that opened from the basement utilities room into a small office. She sat down at the desk it contained and asked Alistair to dictate the information from the ledger so she could input it into the computer.“You look tired, Sharon. Are you sure you don’t want me to do this? I’m quite good at data entry.”He could see the hesitation, but he also saw how tired she was, and the strain she was trying to hide.”“Very well. You can enter it. But if I find any mistakes, you are so out of here.”Alistair nodded and switched places with her. She took the sofa and he sat behind the desk, propped up the journal, and started typing. The staccato sound he produced on the keyboard did nothing to keep Sharon from falling asleep on the sofa.A small smile curling his lips, Alistair continued to type, taking the same care he would handling radioactive material. He was not going to get thrown out of the shelter. He had discovered he had a very strong desire to live, after all.Alistair made sure he made himself useful to Sharon, continuing his duties as official fact recorder of the shelter, as he shadowed her on her rounds through the shelter space. He wrote down whatever she thought important. People with special needs, unruly occupants, babies born, deaths, and on and on and on.He made sure she ate and drank her ration of food and water. That there were workable lights in the office. He saw the hesitation in her eyes when he finally got some sleep. On the sofa in her small office. But she didn’t tell him to leave and Alistair made the room his own, with Sharon just a tenant using the desk and files.Being the official recorder of meetings, he was privy to the smallest detail of what was happening in the shelter. For no good reason he could think of, he took special note of the handful of people ejected from the shelter for causing trouble.Alistair was careful not to overstep his bounds, other than using the office for his private sleeping quarters, nor ask for special favor. He was in a position to abuse the authority vested in him, but he refused the temptations to get a larger ration of food, or an extra bottle of water.He’d been a very good manager for the company he’d worked for before he walked away. He was a better manager of people by the time the shelter stay was over. He volunteered for the first expedition outside the shelter, when the radiological defense officer announced in that morning’s staff meeting that it was safe to go out, if precautions were taken.Alistair went as historian and radio operator, but was issued the same equipment that the others were. That included a gun belt, holster, pistol, and four spare magazines. He’d never handled a gun in his life before, but faked his way through the process of showing he knew what he was doing by imitating those around him.He nearly lost his lunch into the respirator he wore at the sight of all the bodies they found everywhere they went. There were people out in the streets, in business buildings, in private residences, and when they ventured into the wooded areas outside of town, they found them there, too.Many had died violently. Others, from their final pose, peacefully. There were hundreds of pets and wild animals dead, too. But many had lasted long enough, without other food available, to savage many of the dead bodies.Like the others that did the early work, Alistair hardened his heart to the tragedy, though the sight of a dead little girl brought him to his knees, and tears to his eyes.Finally people were allowed to leave the shelter to cope on their own. Actually, in many cases, they were forced to leave as the stocks of food and water that had been salvaged in the early expeditions to extend the stay time in the shelter ran out, too. And the day finally came that Alistair was told he would have to leave.Sharon at least looked apologetic about the dismissal, but made it clear there was no appeal. Only five of the people that ran the shelter would stay there to liaise with county, state, and federal officials when they were finally able to get to the city. The few reports they’d received during the shelter stay indicated that they were getting off easy, compared to many places. Those places would get the most help, and get it first. Alistair left with that piece of information, with many other bits and pieces that he’d accumulated.Something else he left the shelter with, without getting permission for, was the equipment he’d been issued when he went outside. Including the pistol and spare ammunition. And though he thought long and hard about it, and backed out time after time, Alistair finally took a week’s worth of food and water to see him through until he could decide how he was going to make a life for himself. That was in addition to the three days rations everyone got when they left the shelter.Despite not expecting anyone to actually check, he made the appropriate notations in the food and water accounts to cover the items he took. With a pack made from a pair of discarded work pants too worn out to wear that one of the other shelter occupants gave him and showed him how to make, Alistair stepped outside the city hall and walked off into a new world, with a new attitude slowly developing.He’d decided, before he left, where he’d go. To the house that had been repossessed. “The mortgage company isn’t likely to do it again,” he said to himself as he walked up the walkway. He’d kept a set of keys and tried the front door key. It still worked.He dropped the pack he was carrying, and with pistol in hand, worked his way through the house. There’d been reports of squatters taking up residence in repossessed homes before the war. After the attack, the early scavengers found out quickly that there was little or nothing to salvage in those homes.Satisfied that the house hadn’t been disturbed since his eviction, Alistair sat down rather heavily on the steps up to the second floor and once again tried to decide what he was going to do.He’d heard of a few people that had survived on their own that were looking for laborers to work on their small farms that had provided them with the means to survive. He knew the approximate location and decided he’d give it a shot. He’d lost any excess weight he’d been carrying during the shelter stay and though he knew he’d be sore, Alistair decided he’d get one of the laborers jobs.He stashed his small parcel of food in the basement in a small hidden compartment created when the fireplace supports were poured in the basement. Alistair took off the gun belt, rolled it up around the magazine pouches and holster and put it in his makeshift back pack with the two bottles of water that it contained. The pistol he slid into the waistband of his pants in the middle of his backThe leg of the pack over his shoulder hung just low enough to hide the grip, but was loose enough to allow Alistair to bring it into action fairly quickly. He just didn’t want to be an open target for someone wanting a gun. Listening to the people in the shelter, he’d learned the importance of having one.Cautious of others, Alistair hung back when he came up on people traveling on foot in the same direction as him. But, when they saw him, the two men and the woman stopped and waited for him to come up.They all had guns, but were giving no indications they were hostile. “You going out to the Davies farm for work?” the woman asked immediately.Alistair nodded and adjusted his stride to theirs. “Might have a little trouble getting on,” one of the men said. They hadn’t introduced themselves, so Alistair didn’t either.“Why’s that?” Alistair asked, a bit annoyed at the other man’s rather condescending tone.“Look, at you. Dress slacks and shoes. Not even a real back pack. Old Lady Davies wants people used to hard work. Not lightweights that will cost more than they make her.”“I think I can handle a little manual labor,” Alistair said.“Maybe so,” replied the man. “But I don’t think we want to be associated with you. Might rub off on us.” He lengthened his stride and pulled away from Alistair, the other two following suit.Alistair slowed his stride. If they didn’t want to associate with him, it was their loss. “I’ll probably wind up owning that farm before it’s over, you turkeys!” Alistair yelled, rather half heartedly. He stopped to take a leak at the edge of the road. The three were out of sight around a bend in the road, where it entered a forested section when he finished and started walking again. He’d gone only a few steps when he heard screams, yells, and the sound of gunfire.Alistair ran forward, but his innate caution slowed him down and guided him into the woods. He moved quietly forward, checking the road from time to time between the branches of a tree.He felt a bit sick at what he saw. There was one man standing over the corpses of the three people Alistair had talked to a few minutes previously. Another man was on one knee going through their belongings. Form the looks of the two young men, they were local gang bangers. How they had survived, Alistair didn’t have a clue.Carefully Alistair pulled the pistol from his waistband. His hand was shaking as he sighted it on the two men, but he didn’t fire, afraid he’d miss and they wouldn’t. He stayed where he was until the two men went back into the woods and disappeared.Alistair finally went back out onto the road and walked toward the three bodies. There wasn’t anything he could do for them, so he walked past, giving the bodies a wide berth. He made it to the ranch in another hour and was stopped at a gate across the road manned by a boy probably no more than fifteen.He seemed awfully confident for one his age, doing what he was doing. Alistair noticed the boy look over to the edge of the woods nearby and give a little nod. There was someone in the woods backing up the teen. Alistair handled himself carefully.“I’m looking for work,” Alistair told the teen. “I heard that the owner of this farm was looking for laborers.”“Got all we need right now,” said the boy.“What about a management position? I’m a good…”The teen laughed, and Alistair found himself furious. His hand edged toward the pistol in the small of his back.“I wouldn’t, guy,” came a soft voice from the woods. “Make yourself scarce and don’t come back. You aren’t welcome.”Still furious, and not understanding why, Alistair spun on a heel and stalked back up the road.For three days Alistair tried to find something to do that others would pay for with food. About the only thing people wanted, that had the food Alistair wanted, were experienced soldiers. The area was fraught with bandits stealing and killing almost at will.When Alistair offered to stand a guard rotation, and he was asked about his experience he was turned down at three different places. With only two days worth of food left, Alistair once again turned to thievery, as he had when he took the bicycle from the vagrant the night of the attack, and when he’d taken more than the allotted food when he left the shelter.Shaking as if he had palsy, Alistair sneaked up the campsite of a group he’d run into several times the last few days. He’d watched the camp for three nights in a row. One particular man that pulled the midnight to four watch tended to fall asleep while on guard.Alistair waited until he was sure the man was fast asleep and then edged forward. The camp was somewhat haphazardly laid out. Alistair’s goal was the tote that held much of the group’s food supply. It was a twenty-four gallon Rubbermaid Action Packer tote.Moving as quietly as he could, Alistair made it to the tote and picked it up. It wasn’t as heavy as he expected. Which meant less food, but made the tote easier to carry. He eased out of the camp and then ran awkwardly further away to the spot he had picked out to spend the rest of the night.He shivered slightly in the cooler than normal night air. But he just hunched down into the light jacket he’d found in one of the houses near his. He managed to doze, but was awakened by a light rain that started just before sunrise. Alistair picked up the tote and began walking through the woods, towards the city.No more than a few steps into the trip home with the food, Alistair heard yelling behind him. The theft had been discovered. He picked up his pace. At least as much as he could carrying the tote.Suddenly he heard shots behind him and dropped to the ground, thinking the shots were aimed at him. But the shots continued for several seconds and nothing happened to Alistair. Finally the shots stopped for a moment, there came several screams, and then three more shots sounded.Curiosity getting the better of him, Alistair stashed the tote in a spot he was sure he could find, and covered it with leaves that were already falling from the trees. He worked his way back to the camp, being as cautious as ever.He found another massacre. Alistair recognized the same two gang bangers that had killed the three people on the road. They were with three more of the same ilk, if Alistair was any judge.All five were ransacking the camp, piling up the things they wanted to take. Alistair held his position and watched. After the gang left, all carrying heavy packs, Alistair waited for an hour before he entered the camp. The gang had left many things behind that Alistair thought would be useful. Ignoring the carnage, Alistair picked through what was left of the camp. He took what he wanted and hurriedly left the site, a backpack on his back, filled with what he’d found.He went back to where he’d stashed the Action Packer tote, and picked it up. It was a long hard trek back to the house. It took longer than it would have, but Alistair didn’t want to be seen with the tote. He hid every time he heard people approaching. Fortunately there weren’t many of them.It was with mixed reactions that Alistair opened the tote in the basement of his house and surveyed the contents. There was more food than he’d thought, but it was mostly dried rice and beans, with on a few of the canned goods he was expecting. Still, it was food, and now, with what he’d scavenged, he had a reasonable way to cook. That gave him several more options.He stayed close to the house for a couple of days, and then went prowling again. More out of a sense of curiosity than any logical reason, Alistair found himself looking for the gang bangers. Twice more he benefited by their actions as they attacked one small caravan just before dark a week after the last attack. And then, three days after that one, they hit a small farm off the beaten path. Alistair gleaned more equipment and supplies after the gang left both times.But he got careless. He was sneaking up to their camp one night between raids, to see if he could find out where their next target was. He was unsure if he could get close enough to hear and not be detected.He couldn’t. It came as a total surprise to feel the pressure on the back of his head and the harsh words, “Man, you move I put a hole in your head!”Alistair raised his hands, then walked toward the open area of the camp where a fire was burning.“Plug’im, Spike!”“Gotta know what he know before I plug him.” With a hard shove from behind by Spike, Alistair stumbled forward and fell to the ground, barely avoiding falling into the fire. He rolled over and sat up. He scooted back against a log and waited for the shot that would end his life. “What you sneaking around out there for, white boy? Spying on me and my boys?”Alistair, the things he’d done flashing before his eyes didn’t care suddenly. “Sure was, homey.”“Watch your mouth,” said one of the other gang members.“What for? You’ll just kill me anyway. Like the others.”There were looks of alarm on several of the men’s faces. “What others?” asked SpikeAlistair told what he’d seen. There were several other guns pointed at him now. But many of the gang were turning and looking around, fearful looks on their faces.“There isn’t anyone else out there,” Alistair said. “You can relax.”“I think we’d better pack up and change locations one of the younger of the gang members said.“If there aren’t a bunch of stinking cops out there, why were you spying on us?” Spike asked.“Wanted to know your next kill,” Alistair said. “I’ve been picking up what you left behind. If I was smart, I’d just join up with you.”They all laughed. “Yeah,” said one. “Whitey wants to be in da gang.”The more Alistair thought about the idea, the better he liked it. “Look. I can go places and do things people won’t let you near. I can get information.”“So, homey…” The others all laughed, “Just what have you done bad? Kill anyone? Gotta whack someone to join this gang.”One of the younger members that hadn’t said anything chimed in with, “You gotta get you a GoLock, too. We all use GoLocks.” The man, barely out of his teens held up his Glock 17 to illustrate.“Shut up, Clarence,” Spike said. And then, turning back to Alistair asked, “Well? You whacked anybody?”Alistair shook his head. “I guess not… Though probably a couple people have died because of things I’ve done. That first night I took a vagrants bicycle to get to the city hall. I’m sure he died.”Again all the members of the gang laughed. “He’s a bike jacker!”Spike laughed hardest of all. “Bicycles don’t count, homey. Gotta jack a Caddy, or Mercedes, or Hummer. And kill someone doing it. You got the stones, man? We could use a vehicle. One of them Hummers that runs. You want in, you got to do it. You’re right about one thing. We can’t get close to some things.”“Yeah, man. Do it like Spike and Rolly there did. Whacked a woman and a baby.” The man frowned. “But they didn’t get the Caddy.”“Shut up, Slick!” Spike said. “I told you that witch nearly ran me over. Couldn’t get the car, but I sure iced her. Tha’s a fac’”Alistair’s blood had gone cold. He was sitting here with the two men that hand murdered his wife and darling daughter. No one noted the intensity in his face and voice when he asked, “How’d you do it?”Rolly jumped up. “Man, it was wild!” He pulled out the Glock, another Model 17, and went into his gangsta stance. “Pumped five bullets into the back seat. Shut that screaming noise bag up. Never heard a whitey baby scream so loud.”Alistair swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “Could you show me?”“Sure, man! Like this.” Standing, Rolly stood on tiptoes, the Glock held sideways, well above his head, the barrel pointed downward slightly. “Man, you got to get it up there. You know. Punch down when you shoot.”Rolly illustrated. “Pow, Pow, Pow” he said, punching the Glock downward on each “Pow.” “Makes the bullet go faster and harder. You just hold it, the recoil slows the bullet down.”“Unhuh,” Alistair said. “Can I try?” He knew he was going to die right there, but that was all right.“Spike?” Rolly asked.“Sure, Rolly. Just give your gun to homey here and let him try.” Alistair and probably one of the other men knew Spike was being facetious.Rolly didn’t. He handed Alistair the Glock. “GoLock, hunh?” Alistair asked.Rolly nodded and Alistair pointed the gun at his head in a normal grip and pulled the trigger twice. He immediately turned the gun on Spike. “That was my wife and baby!” he screamed and pumped two rounds into Spike before whirling on the other three men.They were all scrambling for their weapons, but cold as ice and methodical as a robot, Alistair double tapped each of the men in turn. Only two managed to get their ‘GoLocks’ out, but neither had time to use it. Alistair still had a few rounds in the Glock 17 he held. He put the barrel to Spike’s head and put another bullet in it, and then did the same for Rolly. He wanted to be sure they were dead. He didn’t much care if the others were. But he shrugged and put a bullet in each of their heads, too.Dropping the gun, Alistair suddenly dropped to his knees and fell forward, his head on the ground. He began to cry, great, wracking sobs shaking his body. The early morning light brought him out of his pose. Looking around, he grimaced. “At least you are avenged, my lovelies,” Alistair said, looking skyward.Taking his time, Alistair stripped the camp of everything useful. Most of it he cached in the woods nearby. The largest pack he loaded down with food and about half of the gangs weapons and ammunition. He went back home and laid low for three days.The fourth day he went out and mostly listened at the trading center near the city hall. There was nothing being said about the gangs bodies being found. Emboldened, Alistair went back to the area and retrieved one of the three caches he’d made. He recovered the other two in successive nights.He had food for a month, and plenty of other supplies and equipment. For another month he lived easily. But as he found out more and more about one particular group whose members seemed to have all the luxuries of old, Alistair began to feel disadvantaged.Preppers. Survivalists. Whatever they called themselves, had prepared before the attack with long term solutions to life’s daily needs. They had electricity from generators and photo-voltaic systems with big battery banks. Huge garden plots and greenhouses. Barns with chickens, pigs, and cows. Cows that provided milk as well as meat, the way the chickens produced both eggs and meat. Vehicles that ran on home made biodiesel.Why shouldn’t he have those things? He would have had something similar, he rationalized, had society not taken those things away from him. Just like society had taken Rebecca and Juliette. Well, there was nothing he could do to bring them back, though he had avenged them. But society owed him. Owed him big. And he decided that day that he was going to collect on that debt. That night he pulled his first raid.He’d chanced upon a small family doing some trading at the trading center while he was there, checking to see if anyone was mentioning the missing gang. He followed them that afternoon and settled himself until darkness fell. He decided that the gangsta group had erred in killing everyone they robbed. Eventually they would have run out of victims. Alistair told himself he would only kill if necessary.One of the weapons the gangstas had in their possession was a Glock 18 9mmP with an integral suppressor. He wondered sometimes where they might have acquired it and a dozen of the 33-round extended magazines. It didn’t really matter, as long as he had it. It took care of the family’s dog almost silently, and then the goat that he was after. The pistol in hand, just in case, Alistair left the area with the goat draped across his shoulders.He would be the first to admit he butchered the butcher job he did on the goat. But he managed to get enough useable meat to hang in the living room of the house. It would keep for several days, as cold as it was. He waited a few days to let the furor wind down over the robbery before he hit another place. And then another two weeks later.Alistair could feel people closing in on him, so he broadened his range of operations. Taking a good bike with a trailer made things easier. He stripped it down and repainted it and the trailer, and then put it back together.And then, paralleling his meeting of the gangstas, Alistair discovered two men and a woman casing the same farm he was. He almost just shot them from ambush, but decided to find out what he could, first.“Easy, now,” Alistair said from ten feet behind the trio. All three whirled around, hands going to their guns, but Alistair’s steady hand with the Glock 18 in it stilled their actions. Worried looks on their faces, the three waited for what would happen next.“What do you think about hitting this place?” Alistair asked, right out of the blue.The obvious leader looked surprised, but quickly realized the fact that Alistair wasn’t from the farm they were watching and out to stop them. Alistair was just like them. Casing the place to rob it.“Won’t be easy. Three dogs,” the man said. “Reason we haven’t already hit the place.”“I can take care of the dogs.” Alistair hefted the suppressed pistol. “What would be the take?”“Everything,” the man said. “I want this place.”“You mean just kill everyone?” Alistair asked.The man nodded. “You squeamish?”“No,” Alistair said. He pulled the trigger of the Glock 18 and put three rounds of 9mmP FMJ into the man’s chest.“I don’t like to be questioned,” Alistair continued, the Glock now pointed between the other two. “You work for me now,” he said.The man and the woman, after quick looks at the dead man, looked back at Alistair and nodded. The man spoke his first words since Alistair showed up. “I’m Adam Ridge, and this is my girl, Annie.”“Well, Adam and Annie, am I going to have trouble with you over him?” Alistair nodded toward the body.“No. He was a slug,” Annie said. “Always trying to get into my pants when Adam wasn’t looking.”“Yeah,” Adam said. “He was just plain mean. We fell in with him by accident.”“Sure,” Alistair said. “Okay. Here’s how it goes. I want to case the place another day and figure out a plan to hit it. You two go back where you’re camping, and meet me here tomorrow at the same time. You don’t show up, friendly like, and I’ll come hunting you.”“We’ll be here,” Adam said. The two moved quietly off as Alistair watched. He waited a long time before taking out the expensive binoculars he recovered during one of his raids and began surveying the small complex of buildings on the large farm.The more he watched, the more he understood why the dead man had planned on killing everyone and taking over the farm. It had all the amenities that Alistair wanted himself. But there would be major repercussions if the family just disappeared and new owners took over. Alistair began to work on another option.The next day, when Adam and Annie showed up, Alistair, watching the tiny clearing where the body lay, decided the two had accepted the idea of working with him. He stepped out, the Glock 18 ready. “Okay,” he said. “I know what we’re going to do.”It took several reiterations before the two understood what Alistair was planning. Alistair held his temper and explained one more time. “Okay,” Adam said. “I’ve got it.”“You better,” Alistair replied. “You screw up and I’ll kill you.”“We’ll be okay,” Annie said. “It’s a good plan. I never would have thought of it.”“Yeah. Why am I not surprised?” Alistair muttered under his breath.Alistair led the two back to his old house and let them set up in one of the bedrooms. Alistair, anticipating the acquisition of much of the farm’s technology, began making plans on how he wanted to set up the house to take advantage of them. He had the plan set by the time the three set off two mornings later, headed back to the farm, ready to take it over and strip it bare of everything Alistair wanted.When they reached the little clearing in the forest where they’d done their reccce, Alistair, Adam, and Annie watched the farm for a few minutes to make sure there had been no changes in routine. There weren’t.Moving back to the road, the three walked up the driveway, hailing the house from some distance.“What do you want?” came a shout from inside the house.“Want to do some trading!” Alistair shouted back. “Heard you had meat to trade.”“What are you trading? Don’t look like you have anything with you we would want.”Alistair was getting a little impatient. “Let us come up and we’ll discuss it.”“Okay, but don’t try anything. We’ve got you covered.”Alistair was sure they were bluffing. He’d watched the place for hours at a time and had not seen any signs of outside guards.The three of them walked the rest of the way up to the porch of the house. If Alistair was correct, it was the farmer himself that stood in the open door into the house.“This is going to be easier than I thought,” Alistair whispered to the others. Two more steps and he shouted, “Now!” and pulled the Glock 18 from under his coat. Adam and Annie likewise began to draw their weapons. Once they had the drop on the farmer, it would be easy to convince the rest of those on the farm to give up.Alistair died never knowing what hit him, or from where the powerful bullet came. Adam and Annie had a few seconds before they died from their wounds. A few minutes later, after leaving the hayloft in the barn and going through the tunnel connecting the barn with the house, Bradford Kane came out onto the porch and helped the rest strip and then carry the remains of Alistair, Adam, and Annie out to a long slit trench and dump them in.Someone would cover the bodies later. Just as they had the other eight bodies already buried in the trench. Bradford went back into the house, and then through the tunnel again, to his perch in the hayloft to watch for the next unsuspecting lowlifes that might try to take the farm.He thought he might just keep that Glock 18 and its magazines. The rest of the gear the would be attackers had on them when they died would go on the auction block at the next trade fair. Bradford wondered for a moment about the three people he’d just killed. “Wonder what brought them to this place to die?” But the thought was a fleeting one. Didn’t really matter. They were dead and life on the farm would go on.
End ********Copyright 2008Jerry D Young
This is posted by 230gr at FRC
25' x 30' Subsistence garden plot: Is it possible?
JWR Replies: 25' x 30' garden plot = 750 ft2 scant minimum…. By using French Intensive (double dug) or Square Foot Gardening techniques, you can get a huge yield out of that much garden space…. by all means make your fenced garden plot two or three times that size.
This just does not seem right to me. Is this only actual growing bed area without borders or paths counted? Is this just for supplying enough vegetables for your diet or to grow enough calories to live on? I don’t think 750 ft2 scant minimum would keep 1 adult at the 2400 cal level unless your main calorie foods like grains and potatoes where coming from outside. So I ran the numbers.
England (cool & mild climate) allotted 2700 ft2 garden area to each family from which they derived about 2/3 the total yearly calories for 1 adults.
Solomon in Tasmania (very mild climate enabling both summer and winter season crops) on very good ground with rich compost, manure, complete organic fertilizer and irrigation available, 2700 ft2 would feed 1 adult for 1 year. Note that this is 2000 ft2 of actual growing beds without borders or paths counted.
Can you do better than a true professional? Lets look! 750 ft2 divided by 2000 ft2 is 37.% of Solomon’s garden but he uses a semi-intensive method which is more forgiving than the French or Bio Intensive (double dug) or Square Foot Gardening methods but less space efficent. JWR’s recommended methods are excellent for producing high yields from small spaces quite possibly 3 times more. Yet, it may not be very best for survival in a long term EOTWAWKI in most situations. Why? Lets look.
Large parts of Solomon’s book “Gardening when it counts” is dedicated to feeding yourself during a long term, multi-year event. In this part, he analyzed what factors affects yields and by roughly how much.
Do you have stocked year’s worth of Complete Organic or Chemical Fertilizer? Scavenging manure and organic materials for making compost will help, if you have enough of it, but it is not the Complete Fertilizer you will need.
Which of these factors affects you?
a. Winter soil freezes (1 crop per growing season): cut yield by ½
b. Making only Good level Compost (access ample, quality manure): cut yield by 1/3
b. Making only Poor level Compost (access little or low quality manure): cut yield by ½
c. Adequate rain (30 inches minimum, reasonably spaced *) but no irrigation: cut yield ½
* Note: In North America generally found east of the 98 meridian through Dallas, Texas
d. fallowing land* for disease, pathogen, insect control. Easier to do with uniform fields, harder in mixed vegetable gardens.
i. If your ground freezes to 18 inches: unnecessary, use same beds & fields.
ii. If your ground does not freeze: fallow beds & fields 3 to 5 years (need 2 complete sets of gardens and fields to alternate.)
* Note: Solomom uses just grass but I see no reason this could not be a clover hay type mix or even grains crops. If you plan on gardening less than 5 years in the same spot, I would treat this as optional.
So what does this mean? Starting with 2000 ft2 growing space (no foot paths etc.):
1. Only 1 growing season per year? Cut yield by ½, so you need 4000 ft2.
a. 750 ft2 divided by 2000 ft2 is 37 %, so you would need be 2.7x as efficient…quite possible.
2. Making only Good level Compost? Cut yield by 1/3, so you need 5320 ft2.
a. 750 ft2 divided by 5320 ft2 is 18.7 %, so you would need be 5.3x as efficient…difficult but possible.
3. Adequate rain but no irrigation: Cut yield ½, so you need 10,640 ft2.
a. 750 ft2 divided by 10,640 ft2 is 7.0 %, so you would need be 14.3x as efficient…not likely.
Bottom line, if you really plan on living off a 25' x 30' garden plot (the 750 ft2 scant minimum) even using the French, Bio Intensive or Square Foot Gardening techniques you will need unfailing irrigation, good level compost, a large supply of complete fertilizer and very deep, rich top notch soil to start.
I have doubts how many people realize what is really required to squeeze that much yield from so small an area and find themselves slowly starving on disappointing yields.
http://frc4u.org/phpbb/index.php?topic=726.0
Found this interesting because it is happening in my area
Permit's to sell a few eggs?
MARTINSBURG - Andrea Minicozzi of A Rare Breed Farm in Back Creek Valley would have to sell 400 dozen eggs to recoup the cost of a Morgan County Health Department permit to sell her eggs at the farmers market in Berkeley Springs.
Her reaction is to take her eggs to the farmers market in Winchester where small-scale producers of eggs are exempt from such permits.
"I've pulled my product from West Virginia," Minicozzi said.
Her profit margin on a dozen eggs is 26 cents, she explained in a telephone interview Monday. The permit costs $80, she said.
The reason to make sure eggs are safe is because they can carry salmonella, Minicozzi said.
"I had my flock voluntarily tested and there was no salmonella," she said.
Minicozzi's eggs are packaged in sealed, clear plastic containers, she said. The eggs are sold at under a week old, which, she said, is ideal for the quality of the eggs.
She was notified March 16 by Linda Whaley, food program manager for the West Virginia Bureau for Public Health, that she would need a food establishment permit to sell eggs at farmers markets or other venues, Minicozzi said.
Whaley was not available for comment Monday.
In April 2008, the West Virginia Bureau for Public Health adopted the Federal Food Code as part of the West Virginia Code of State Rules.
According to the BPH's Web site, the definition of "food establishment" and the section that applies to eggs in the Food Code were replaced with different paragraphs.
Regarding eggs, the new code reads: "Eggs that have not been treated to destroy all viable Salmonellae shall be stored in refrigerated equipment that maintains an ambient air temperature of 5 degrees Celsius (41 degrees Fahrenheit) or less."
It is not clear if this rule applies to farmers selling a dozen eggs to neighbors.
Pete Kennedy, president of the Florida-based Farm-to-Consumer Legal Defense Fund, said in a telephone interview Monday that the West Virginia Department of Agriculture was directed by the state Legislature to have jurisdiction over small-scale producers of eggs like Minicozzi.
"But the department of health has taken over by adopting an administrative rule," he said.
The permit requirement is an unnecessary duplication of regulations, Kennedy said, and obstructs the local food movement.
"More people are choosing to participate in the local food movement, which is the answer to food safety," he said. "This is depriving local customers of a quality product."
He has written to Herma Johnson, regulatory and environmental affairs director of the West Virginia Department of Agriculture, to plead Minicozzi's case. He wrote that under the West Virginia Egg Marketing Law of 1998, the state Department of Agriculture clearly has jurisdiction over retail sales of eggs.
If Minicozzi were to sell her eggs wholesale, she would not need a county health department permit.
Johnson was not available for comment Monday.
Buddy Davidson, West Virginia Department of Agriculture communication officer, said he was not aware of the BPH's rule.
We regulate smaller egg producers and there are no fees for that," he said.
Minicozzi and others have established a West Virginia chapter of the Independent Consumers and Farmers Association.
- Staff writer John McVey can be reached at (304) 263-3381, ext. 128, or jmcvey@journal-news.net
And so it starts in my neighborhood.
http://www.journal-news.net/page/content.detail/id/518260.html?nav=5006
LACEMAKERS LAMPS By Brian Lemin
Introduction
In this age of electric light and such light sources as quartz halogen, we tend to forget that it is an invention of comparatively modern times. We take good light sources for granted but our historical forbearers of lacemaking had no such luxury.
Many of us live in countries where we spend a great deal of time keeping the sunlight out of our homes and we enjoy high blue cloudless skies for much of every year, but again our historical cousins lived in "gloomy" Europe, with its dark winter days, which were frequently cloudy and sunless.
Windows too were not so large as today, they needed them small to keep the houses warm (not to mention early taxation systems based on the number of windows in a house.)
Can you imagine making lace in a poor light?
Candles
(This section has been gleaned from Chapter One of The Candlemakers Companion, by Betty Openheimer. A Storey Publishing Book Vermont 1957. ISBN 0-88266-994-x)
In history, we humans have been extending our daylight hours by many means for thousands of years. The earliest lamps were hollowed out stones filled with animal fat and a wick of some kind absorbing the fat and acting as a light source. Torches of pitch, flax soaked with resins or natural oils are another source of light. However, until the development of twisted fibres that were dipped in combustible substances that remained solid at room temperature, we were without the candle.
I have not been able to ascertain a date for the introduction of "candles" into the world, but their history includes candles made from vegetable oils, fish oil, animal tissue and insect secretions (beeswax). Even whole animals/birds, such as the Stormy Petrol were burned as a "candle".
In our more recent history, candles were made of tallow or beeswax. Tallow candles (i.e. animal fat) were difficult to make, smelly and smoky. Beeswax on the other hand burned cleaner and had a lovely odour, but they were very expensive. Only churches and the wealthy could afford beeswax candles.
A candle and globe set up (LW)
The seventeenth century saw the control of candle making by Governments (England in particular) and also the taxing of these objects. To combat this imposition they developed rush lights by dipping reeds in suet, which were a cheaper and untaxed form of lighting. Still the poor people bought the more expensive candles because, as they were poor, they had less meat and therefore less suet to make the rushlights!
A rush holder. The rushes were clipped in the vertical holder and rested on the plate that comes out of the upright on an arm.
Modern candles were a product of the nineteenth century. They learned how to refine tallow with alkalis and sulphuric acid to produce sterin, and later the introduction of paraffin products, allowed candles to be made of a harder and longer burning substance. This together with an improved method of fibre braiding for the wicks allowed for the mass production of an efficient, somewhat odourless and non-smoky candle.
Just for interest, the "match" was not invented until 1827 but part of the lacemakers lighting kit was a tinderbox.
Let there be Light.
Light was clearly a problem for our lacemakers. It is obvious from the many photographs and pictures, that lacemakers moved outdoors as often as the weather and the temperature allowed, and who could blame them?
In different parts of England, as winter began, the lacemakers were allowed to make their lace by candlelight. St Catherine’s day (Catterns, Nov 25th) or St Andrews day (Tanders Nov 30th) were the usual dates for commencing the candle season and dates around Candlemas day (Feb 2) or later in some places (Feb 14th) marked the cessation of the use of candles. (Dates seemed to differ in different parts of England. Perhaps due to different latitudes?)
Most of you will know of the custom of those at Wendover where the children in the lace schools danced in a ring around the great lacemakers candlestick. (See Wright p196) and in other places the custom of "jumping over the candlestick" was a good sport for the lace school children. Hence, the origin of the nursery rhyme;
Jack be nimble Jack be quick Jack jump over the candlestick.
Who gets the Light?
Whiting p (253), has a good description of the "division" of light amongst the lace makers. The three legged stool (candle-block, candle-stool or pole-board are alternative names) upon which the candle and the water filled "magnifying" flasks are fitted, is placed in the middle of the room. The laceworkers then arrange themselves around the light in an orderly manner that allows each person to have at least some of the light. The best lacemakers use the highest stools and are nearest the light source. They have what is known as the "first-light" then the graded workers arrange themselves according to ability to have the "second-light" and the "third light". Whiting tells us that in this way 18 lacemakers can be accommodated around the candle-stool.
From my own experiments with this form of lighting, I find it hard to understand how any maker who was in the third light, or even the second light come to that, could make lace from that single source of illumination!
The Various Candle "Sticks" and Magnifiers.
It would seem appropriate to start with the type of candle stool that most "English" lace makers and followers of that tradition are familiar with. It has already been mentioned above, that of the candle-stool, candle-block or pole board.
It is best described as a chunky three legged stool around the perimeter of which are a number of holes or sockets into which are placed holders for water filled flasks. They appear to be short necked (or cut necked) "chemistry-lab" type flasks or round bodied bottles with their necks cut short. The holders are hollowed wood and the sealed ends of the flasks are concealed in the hollow. There are usually four such flasks around the perimeter. In the centre of the seat of the stool is a hole, often right through the seat, in which there is a candlestick to hold the candle. This stick is adjustable through the hole in the seat to ensure that the candle can remain at the optimum height as it burns down.
There a number of accessories that are associated with the candle-stool, these are, rush bags or straw hutches and flask cushions, rush mats or nests. The former are bags in which the flasks are kept safe when not in use during the lighter times of the year and the latter are used to line the sockets upon which the flasks are rested. This helps to stop them jarring against the sockets.
Whiting (p 252) shows a short-legged stool with a similar set up but the hole board and the sockets are threaded for easy adjustment. In addition, it appears to have an oil reservoir and wick as its light source. This comes from Switzerland and looks as if it would stand on a table as opposed to the floor.
On page 254, Whiting also shows Calvados lacemaker using a stand upon which is a "wine" (?) bottle and behind it a separate candle stick.
I have a copy of a Czech postcard that shows a traditional low candlestick behind a flask that sits directly upon the table (Courtesy, Avril Bayne)
Avril Bayne has also sent me a variety of material from Denmark showing a completely different set up from the English magnified candle light devices, though they both include the candle and the flask. In this case, the magnifying flask is hung from the ceiling by its neck and the candlestick is a taller adjustable two piece candlestick that uses a large block of wood for its base. When more than one lacemaker needed light, four glass globes were suspended from a cross shaped piece of wood with the tall adjustable candle stick in the centre, much like the arrangement for the candle-stool.
The Danish set up
Whiting (p 255) also describes a candle block from "Colonial New Hampshire". She describes a heavy, rough hewn block of wood for the base (similar to the Danish candle-stick base) and from it a rough square stick rises to the height of about a seated person. Upon it is tacked a "little, fluted, tin, maple sugar cake mold about 2 inches in diameter." Around this and upon it are hung half a dozen small, crudely wrought, iron candle sticks. (Can anyone send me a picture of this set up please?)
On the same page, Whiting also describes a small candle stool, similar to the Swiss model illustrated on p 252, but the poles would appear to have been much longer than those in the picture. This type of candle-stool was popular in New England.
With regard to the "modern" design of lacemakers lamps. This is where an adjustable candlestick (adjustable in height and in distance from the globe) is integral to the globe stand. This design first appeared in The Woodturner in Vol 3. August 1984 and more than a few wood-turners (myself included) have copied this design with some variations in shapes. I have never been able to trace an original antique lamp of this nature. I have little doubt that such a lamp exists, as it is so practical and a logical extension to the candle and globe arrangement. I now have in my possession a picture of a continental design of lace makers lamp that includes the integral candlestick. Its design is very close to that of the lamp above which has its origins in the Woodworker.
Yallop p175 managed to achieve a light value of 50 lux in his experiments. He also tells us that there is evidence to say that when paraffin lamps came in, the lacemakers slowly adopted them.
Discussion
Certainly we (lacemakers) know this arrangement as a lacemakers lamp, but it obvious that this arrangement was but a device for magnifying the light of a candle that was used by many artisans to illuminate their work and indeed by the gentry for writing at their desk. Correspondence in Arachne has told stories of these devices appearing in many films, often badly or wrongly set up. The Danish articles that I have places the name of these devices as "cobblers" lamps.
There has also been much discussion on the custom of using "snow water". Basically snow-water is very pure and close to the level of purity associated with distilled water. It would therefore be better than well water because it would be very clear, lacking sediment and less prone to depositing scale on the inside of the glass.
The issue of "blue" globes has also been canvassed and experimented with by a few correspondents. Jeffrey Hopewell illustrates an oil lamp and a flask (p 31) and comments that a few drops of sulphuric acid was added to give the water a bluish tinge to soften the light. There is little doubt that a bluish tinge to the water would give a more natural light and take away much of the "yellow" of a candle flame. Together with my friend we were able to use this and experiment with these lighting methods. (see accompanying illustrations) Please ensure that you follow strict safety precautions should you decide to experiment with this chemical. One other thing I should mention is that the larger the flask the better the light output.
Bullock (p78) tells us that the glass bowl stands were manufactured between the 1780s and the 1850s.
Groves (P 128) illustrates a variety of glass bowls.
The great deception.
For some years now I have been challenging the term that antique dealers and indeed many lacemakers use to describe a rather beautiful glass lamp. They call it a "lacemakers lamp". To be blunt, these lamps are not lacemakers lamps but rather a generic name attributed to this style of lamp by less knowledgeable antique dealers. In the same breath I have to admit that this name is so entrenched in antique dealers nomenclature that there is little hope of it ever being changed. But I repeat, it is a misnomer.
It can be conjectured that the globe like bowl at the top of these lamps look as though they are magnifying globes that could be filled with water and placed in front of a candle. Possibly they could but their shape and lack of diameter would prove them to be less than effective. They are in fact a very pretty oil lamp. What is missing from many of them is a tin lid to the bowl at the top which contains an aperture for the wick and a hole to allow the air in to replace the oil as it is used by the wick. It is certainly possible that lace makers could have used this type of oil lamp as a light source behind their magnifying flask. I am sure that they used a variety of light sources as they became available. But this possibility does not justify their generic description of a lacemakers lamp.
Sadly I have lost an entry from an encyclopaedia of lighting which said in effect that this was indeed a misnomer for the lamp, but that we would never change it. What you do need to know is that if you want to own a genuine lacemakers lamp do not purchase one of these very attractive lamps. I am sure that this opinion will be very disappointing to many of you who own such a lamp and I will leave my opinion open to challenge by any of you readers. I do hope though that the illustrations accompanying this article will convince you of my position. You will also need to lok at the illustrations I have quoted in the text, including an illustration by Huetson (p 86) for whom I have the highest opinion, whose illustration continues the myth.
Conclusion.
The magnifying globes are very effective. Like a few Arachne correspondents, I have used them during power failures very effectively. The mind boggles a to how 18 lace makers could get light enough from a candle-stool to make their lace! None-the-less that is what is reported. Having lived in England for many years prior to coming to Australia, the historic candle lighting season of November to February seems to me to be very short. I suspect that candles were very expensive and had to be used sparingly.
I hope you have enjoyed reading this article and my thanks to Arachne for the discussion that was held on this topic. As always, I want to learn more about this subject and if you have anything that you can offer please write to me. I particularly would like photographs. So if you personally possess a lamp that is antique and would photograph it for me I would be most excited and grateful.
References
Bullock, Alice-May. Lace and Lace Making. B. T. Baysford Ltd. London. 1981.
There are two chapters that are of special interest to the bobbin historian. Bobbins and Inscribed Bobbins. There is a brief historical introduction and a short description on the making of bobbins. Her descriptions of bobbins are good and quite a large number of bobbin "Types" are described. The illustrations are black and white photographs and are reasonably good; they illustrate most types of bobbins found. The inscribed bobbins are similarly well treated. There are fewer photographs and they are of somewhat less quality than those in the previous chapter.
This is a very useful reference; it also has a good chapter on lacemaking equipment.
Groves Sylvia. The History of Needlework Tools and Accessories. Country Life Books. Hamlyn Publishing Group. Feltam 1966. Reprinted 1961.
A reasonable chapter on Bobbin Lace. Deals with Bobbins and accessories briefly. It is an excellent history book, but I would not buy it for the bobbin section alone
Hopewell, Jeffrey. Pillow Lace and Bobbins. Shire Publications. Princes Risborough. 1975. Reprinted 1994.
One of the valuable "Shire" publications that tackles "obscure" interests in a brief but informative manner. Lace is covered sparsely but bobbins are well covered. The reader should be aware of some possible inaccuracies. The only publication that makes any attempt at looking at the topic of Continental lace bobbins. Good illustrations.
Huetson, T. L. Lace and Lace Bobbins. A history and Collectors Guide. David and Charles. Newton Abbot. 1973.
A book that attempts to cover the topic of lace and lace bobbins in some detail. I can not comment on the "lace" content but the bobbin content is well done. It is particularly strong in the area of inscribed bobbins.
Whiting, Gertrude. Old-Time Tools and Toys of Needlework. Dover Publications Inc. New York. Reprint 1971. Originally published in 1928 under the title, Tools and Toys of Stitchery. Rather flowery prose used, but a most informative chapter intitled Beautiful Bobbins. Quite good illustrations. Has some interesting glass bobbins.
Wright, Thomas The Romance of the Lace Pillow. H.H.Armsrtong. Olney 1919. Reprinted Ruth Bean Carlton 1982.
Quite the best book for those interested in the historical aspect of bobbins. Not strong on illustrations and when they do appear they are poor photographs, but the text is invaluable as a record of original source material.
Yallop H.J. 1992. The History of the Honiton Lace Industry. University of Exeter Press.
Certainly the most scholarly text available on the history of the lace industry. Concentrates on the Honiton industry but covers the whole of England. He puts forward a contrary theory to the origins of the lace history in England. Tends to discount the Protestant refugee theory and offers the "astute English businessman" theory.
There is an excellent chapter on Honiton bobbins and their decoration.
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