The next day thicker snowflakes fell, and out of the storm dropped a bird with white wings, immensely swift in flight, whose talon-stroke knocked off the head of a goose. It stood on the slain, holding by the black sickle-claws of its yellow feet; its hooked beak tore breast-bone and flesh together. Its plumage was brown-spotted like the plumage of Bubu [the snowy owl] — the hue of snow and fog. Every feather was taut and cut for the swiftest stoop in the thin airs of its polar ranging.
The Greenland falcon by Charles Tunnicliffe. Illustration for Tarka the Otter by Henry Williamson.
'Monday, 13th May 1935. It was a fine and calm early morning. By mid-morning the sun had warmed the heath to produce broken cumulus cloud accompanied by a moderate east to north-east breeze blowing in the clear air. Pat Knowles remembered, "he came across to my house earlier than usual. It was one of those bright, still, early spring mornings, and the bird-song, clear and vibrant in the still air, had awakened him soon after five, so, seeing the smoke from my fire he came across.
"Whilst I was getting breakfast the postman came. Shaw opened his mail and said that [Henry] Williamson wanted to see him. Over breakfast we discussed his letter. Shaw felt that it would be as well to let him come as soon as possible as he might not have the time to spare later. I said why not the next day? He thought it a good idea, and so it was decided […]; he would go down later and send off a telegram telling him to come for lunch the following day…
"After breakfast Shaw brought out the Brough and I heard him running it up. I guess that he was cleaning and polishing and servicing it. […] I was working in the garden and heard him leave and heard the sound of the Brough's engine all the way to Bovington."'
‘At precisely 11.25 a.m. a telegram was dictated and the Post Office assistant wrote it out and sent it to Henry Williamson:
'From the Post Office Lawrence walked the short distance back across the road to the Red Garage. Walt Pitman, the pump attendant, asked him if he needed any fuel; Lawrence replied, “I'm alright, thanks,” then he climbed on to his Brough...’
T.E. never made it home. On his return, he slammed on the brakes attempting an emergency stop, swerving to avoid two young cyclists, Albert Hargreaves and Frank Fletcher. He was thrown into the air --head first, wearing no helmet-- and landed just beyond his motorbike.
Images, top to bottom: Portrait by Reginald Sims at the White Cottage, Hornsea, February 1935; The telegram sent to Henry Williamson; Photograph by Bill Knowles of T.E. at Clouds Hill on 'George VII', GW2275 in summer 1934 (possibly the only image of him on this ill-fated bike).
The above paragraphs are an abridged excerpt from Chapter 12, 'On the 13th Day of May' of The Last Days of T.E. Lawrence: A Leaf in the Wind, Paul Marriott and Yvonne Argent, 2002, pp. 102-3.
I expect at least some of this chapter has been shared many times before, but I still felt compelled to copy it out again. I think about T.E. every day, but over the course of the next week or so, he will likely take over the entirety of my brain: dear, dear man.
Well, we're all in this together, boys. Each one of us must think, not of himself, but of his pals. We must stick by our pals, which means our country. Our country is our people, remember. It took a war like this one to bring that home to everybody.
Henry Williamson in his autobiographical novel about WWI ‘A Test To Destruction’
Started blossom because of you and now I am pleading. BEGGING for some headcanons about henry, fluffy smutty both idc anything 😩
Ooooh bitch! You came to the right fucking place Anon! I love Henry and adore writing him! I actually talked with Kate Winborne or @xmichaelmyers herself and she gave me some brand new headcannons that were adopted IMMEDIATELY! SO allow me to share!
Let’s kick it off with some of my SFW, Fluffier headcannons.
-This man is fucking clingy. He is very fucking clingy. You want him hanging off of you in bed if he gives the slightest fuck about you? Cuz he will!
-Needy, needy, needy. You want a whiney phone call when he is drunk and talking about things he likes and/or misses about you? You get that too.
-He will remember some small and innocuous thing about you and it is so sweet it genuinely shocks you, the kinda thing like remembering how you like your coffee or your fave kinda dessert from some place, you don’t think he’d remember something like that but again, if he cares about you, he would.
-Sense memory in this man is off the fucking charts, if he smells a scent he reminds or associates with you, he will get just a touch weak in the knees.
-SFW but also kinda creepy, but hey that is Henry all over, man is totally the type to steal some stuff from you as a little memento, I am thinking maybe a chapstick he knows you love. Picture Henry applying said chapstick, eyes closed, thinking about you and thank me laterrrr.
Okay, enough of the slightly sweet, let’s get into the dirty, this is ME after all!
NSFW.
-He would steal more than just chapstick though. Makeup, underwear, STOCKINGS- just about anything, the fucking freak.
-The guy would get way, way too focused on trying to cum to the point he wouldn’t be able to, so he swaps to angrily eating you out, trying to cover up and DENY the fact he can’t cum cuz he’s old and ends up accidentally creaming the fucking sheets oh my GOD-
-Will be out and about you and it seems as if he is listening to you talk about something but instead he is thinking about how he would kill you, just cannot stop himself.
-Drives you out, late at night to a seemingly abandoned parking lot and makes you get out while he sits in the car and you strip in the light of the head lights for his amusement, but wait! There’s more! He turns off the car, plunges you into darkness, and lets the tension get real fucking intense before he pounces. Exhibistionist man would fuck you on the hood of his car.
-No doubt this dude loves head, adores some real messy sloppy toppy, but the guy wouldn’t force your head down, shocker I know, he’d keep his hands off, in the air, by the headboard, just letting you do your thing but acting like you are fucking killing himmm with your mouth.
-Things I would recommend doing to Henry Williamson: Making him finish on himself. I am talking giving some great fucking head and when he is close pull back and get him the last bit of the way there with your hand and make him spill on his own stomach, do it, I fucking dare you.
-Better yet, try to snowball this man and see where it gets you, I beg.
-Back to this guy’s exhibitionism and I think he would be ready and willing to fuck you jussssst about anywere that was out of the way enough, a clothing changing room in a store is one of my faves to consider.
Sooo these are some thoughts, hope this helps satisfy you babe!
Someone shows me a picture of a hot guy and I'm fraught with the urge to ask if he is sopping wet, is he puppy dog sad and guard dog feral? Does he crawl out of a bottle in a rumpled suit and just look so sad. Like? Have the horrors chewed on his soul for far too long? Has he fought monsters who hide in human flesh and have nightmares? Is he just awful?
