During just one week in September 2007, 50 professional and thousands of amateur photographers created this visual time capsule of life in the UK at the beginning of the 21st century. Also included are essays on home life from leading novelists, historians and essayists.
ELINORE PRUITT STEWART (1876-1933) caused a literary sensation in 1914 when her Letters of a Woman Homesteader was published. A self-educated pioneer in southwest Wyoming, she wrote letters to keep her mind busy amidst the hard physical labor of carving a home out of wilderness, and to keep her friendships fresh in that remote place In this followup of the next year, Stewart's missives are short stories in themselves, letters written about events in the summer and fall of 1914 and intended for later publication, as those of her first collection were not. The joy of Stewart's writing is in the perceptive eye she turns on her neighbors and their fortunes and misfortunes: scraping up money to buy a coffin and tombstone for a beloved mother, digging wells for thirsty horses, making bonnets and kitchen curtainHIS036041s to beautify a harsh environment, rekindling a romance between a couple long estranged, and more. A classic of pioneer life, this delightful book continues to enthrall readers today, nearly a century as it was written.
The Rue du Tourniquet-Saint-Jean, formerly one of the darkest and most tortuous of the streets about the Hotel de Ville, zigzagged round the little gardens of the Paris Prefecture, and ended at the Rue Martroi, exactly at the angle of an old wall now pulled down. Here stood the turnstile to which the street owed its name; it was not removed till 1823, when the Municipality built a ballroom on the garden plot adjoining the Hotel de Ville, for the fete given in honor of the Duc d'Angouleme on his return from Spain. The widest part of the Rue du Tourniquet was the end opening into the Rue de la Tixeranderie, and even there it was less than six feet across. Hence in rainy weather the gutter water was soon deep at the foot of the old houses, sweeping down with it the dust and refuse deposited at the corner-stones by the residents. As the dust-carts could not pass through, the inhabitants trusted to storms to wash their always miry alley; for how could it be clean? When the summer sun shed its perpendicular rays on Paris like a sheet of gold, but as piercing as the point of a sword, it lighted up the blackness of this street for a few minutes without drying the permanent damp that rose from the ground-floor to the first story of these dark and silent tenements. The residents, who lighted their lamps at five o'clock in the month of June, in winter never put them out. To this day the enterprising wayfarer who should approach the Marais along the quays, past the end of the Rue du Chaume, the Rues de l'Homme Arme, des Billettes, and des Deux-Portes, all leading to the Rue du Tourniquet, might think he had passed through cellars all the way.
A young officer in dingy Confederate gray rode slowly on a powerful bay horse through a forest of oak. It was a noble woodland, clear of undergrowth, the fine trees standing in rows, like those of a park. They were bare of leaves but the winter had been mild so far, and a carpet of short grass, yet green, covered the ground. To the rider's right flowed a small river of clear water, one of the beautiful streams of the great Virginia valleys. Harry Kenton threw his head back a little and drew deep breaths of the cool, crisp air. The light wind had the touch of life in it. As the cool puffs blew upon him and filled his lungs his chest expanded and his strong pulses beat more strongly. But a boy in years, he had already done a man's work, and he had been through those deeps of passion and despair which war alone brings.
It was a bright, sunny day at the farm just outside of town. Playful puppies chased butterflies and each other. Regina, their mother, watched them run around with a smile on her face. Today her children were being picked up by their new families and going to new homes. Regina is worried about her smallest puppy, Jeremy, wondering if he will end up with a very nice owner who will take good care of him. Will Jeremy end up with a nice owner or not?
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