A Riddle of England
By which we note the Fairies
Were of the old Profession.
Their songs were 'Ave Mary's',
Their dances were Procession
Saturday, October 17, 2026
Wednesday, October 14, 2026
Monday, October 12, 2026
Sunday, October 11, 2026
Ethelburga Street in Battersea (London SW11) is named after Saint Æthelburh (also spelled Ethelburga or Ethelburga), a 7th-century Anglo-Saxon saint.
She was the founder and first abbess of Barking Abbey (a double monastery in Essex, established around the late 660s or early 670s). She was the sister of Saint Earconwald (or Erkenwald), who became Bishop of London, founded Barking Abbey for her, and also established Chertsey Abbey in Surrey.
This connection to Earconwald (a significant figure in early London and Surrey religious history) likely explains the choice of her name for a street in Battersea, which was historically in Surrey before becoming part of London.
The street appears to have been laid out and named in the 1870s during Battersea's major Victorian-era suburban development (previously, the area was known as something like Marsh Lane in older records). It's part of a pattern in Battersea where some streets and estates draw on Anglo-Saxon or early Christian/saintly names, possibly reflecting local historical or ecclesiastical ties.
The name is also linked to other London sites dedicated to her, such as the small City of London church of St Ethelburga the Virgin (near Bishopsgate, with possible Saxon origins).
Today, Ethelburga Street is a residential road near Battersea Bridge Road, and the surrounding area includes the post-war Ethelburga Estate.
Sunday, October 4, 2026
Sunday, September 27, 2026
Eighteenth Sunday after Whitsun
Monday, September 21, 2026
Sunday, September 20, 2026
Seventeenth Sunday after Whitsun
Thursday, September 17, 2026
For an old Man that Travelled up and down the Country, and had some acquaintance at that house, calling in and asking the Man of the house how he did and his Wife; He told him that himself was well, but his Wife had been a long time in a languishing condition, and that she was haunted with a thing in the shape of a Bird that would flurr [sic] near to her face, and that she could not enjoy her natural rest well. The Old Man bid him and his Wife be of good courage. It was but a dead Spright, he said, and he would put him in a course to rid his Wife of this languishment and trouble, He therefore advised him to take a Bottle, and put his Wives Urine into it, together with Pins and Needles and Nails, and Cork them up and set the Bottle to the Fire well corkt, which when it had felt a while the heat of the Fire began to move and joggle a little, but he for sureness took the Fire shovel, and held it hard upon the Cork, And as he thought, he felt something one while on this side, another while on that, shove the Fire shovel off, which he still quickly put on Again, but at last at one shoving the Cork bounced out, and the Urine, Pins, Nails and Needles all flew up, and gave a report like a Pistol, and his Wife continued in the same trouble and languishment still.
Not long after, the Old Man came to the house again, and inquired of the Man of the house how his Wife did. Who answered, as ill as ever, if not worse. He askt him if he had followed his direction. Yes, says he, and told him the event as is above said. Ha, quoth he, it seems it was too nimble for you. But now I will put you in a way that will make the business sure. Take your Wive’s Urine as before, and Cork, it in a Bottle with Nails, Pins and Needles, and bury it in the Earth; and that will do the feat. The Man did accordingly. And his Wife began to mend sensibly and in a competent time was finely well recovered; But there came a Woman from a Town some miles off to their house, with a lamentable Out-cry, that they had killed her Husband. They askt her what she meant and thought her distracted, telling her they knew neither her nor her Husband. Yes, saith she, you have killed my Husband, he told me so on his Death-bed. But at last they understood by her, that her Husband was a Wizard, and had bewitched this Mans Wife and that this Counter-practice prescribed by the Old Man, which saved the Mans Wife from languishment, was the death of that Wizard that had bewitched her.
[Joseph Glanvill, Saducismus Triumphatus: or, Full and Plain Evidence Concerning Witches and Apparitions, third edition (1700)]
Sunday, September 13, 2026
Sixteenth Sunday after Whitsun
LORD, we pray thee, that thy grace may always prevent and follow us; and make us continually to be given to all good works, through Jeſus Chriſt our Lord. Amen.
Actiones nostras, quaesumus Domine, aspirando praeveni et adiuvando prosequere: ut cuncta nostra oratio et operatioa te semper incipiat, et per te coepta finiatur. Per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.
Tuesday, September 8, 2026
A thread for 'Latter Lady Day in harvest' - a festival which in medieval art centres on the tender love between Mary and her parents, a joyous birth after years of infertility. In the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, this date is a seasonal sign that harvest is passing into autumn. https://t.co/aY37KwZ8cr
— Eleanor Parker (@ClerkofOxford) September 8, 2026
Sunday, September 6, 2026
Fifteenth Sunday after Whitsun
"Conquest Man"
Stocky and muscular, just over five foot, 50 – 60 years old and with evidence of multiple healed fractures, Conquest Man was buried in the private church of one of William the Conqueror’s knights, at St Peter’s in Barton on Humber, now in the care of charity English Heritage. He was laid to rest in a coffin made from an oak tree felled in c.1079, his arms folded, head supported on a grass pillow and kept from falling sideways by two lumps of local chalk. Three apple wood staffs – grave goods in the Scandinavian tradition - were by his side.
[Facial reconstruction reveals Conquest Man | English Heritage]Spoiler Alert: He was almost certainly Norman, though the "Scandinavian" element is interesting, and gives a clue that the conquerors' Viking antecedents weren't buried so very deeply after all.
Sunday, August 30, 2026
Fourteenth Sunday after Whitsun
Saturday, August 29, 2026
Sunday, August 23, 2026
Thirteenth Sunday after Whitsun
Tuesday, August 18, 2026
Bury St Edmunds
Where the rude buttress totters to its fall,
And ivy mantles o'er the crumbling wall;
Where e'en the skilful eve can scarcely trace
The once high altar's lowly resting place -
Let patriotic fancy muse awhile
Amid the ruins of this ancient pile.
Six weary centuries have past away;
Palace and abbey moulder in decay -
Cold death enshrouds the learned and the brave -
Langton - Fitz Walter - slumber in the grave.
But still we read in deathless records how
The high-soul'd priest confirm'd the barons vow;
And Freedom, unforgetful still recites
This second birth-place of our native rights.
Sunday, August 16, 2026
Twelfth Sunday after Whitsun
Sunday, August 9, 2026
Eleventh Sunday after Whitsun
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1st after Whitsun : Epistle — 1 John 4:7–21 (God's love commands us to love one another). Gospel — Luke 16:19–31 (Rich man and Lazarus)....
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Helen Moran, Corn Dolly (Kern Babby) (2009), based on a photograph of one recorded by Sir Benjamin Stone in Northumberland in 1901 The corn ...
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Omnípotens sempitérne Deus, qui dedísti fámulis tuis in confessióne veræ fídei, ætérnæ Trinitátis glóriam agnóscere, et in poténtia maiestát...
