#hexham abbey
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Hexham Abbey, Northumberland.
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Dating from the 15th C, Death wields a sickle and dances, in turn, before a cardinal, a king, an emperor and a pope. This was a common medieval theme, emphasising the irrelevance of rank and power in the face of universal human mortality- Hexham Abbey, UK
#rood screen#medieval#painting#art history#pope#king#emperor#death#dead#danse macabre#dance of death#folklore#folk horror#haunted#december#spooky#creepy#hexham#hexham abbey#church#macabre#morbid#wall art#goth#gothic#scythe#sickle#rotting#corpse
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#finally getting along !!!!#edith pelham#lady edith crawley#Marchioness of Hexham#downton abbey#downton abbey: a new era#laura carmichael#michelle dockery#lady mary crawley#my edit#lady mary talbot#queue
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Teachers : characters pt. 3
Beryl Patmore
63, lunch lady, married to Daniel Mason, step-mother to Daisy, adoptive mother to William
Jimmy Kent
24, school watcher, lives with his boyfriend's Thomas, bisexual
Andy Parker
20, school watcher, lives alone
Phyllis Baxter
48, Math teacher, lives alone, Thomas' aunt figure
Bertie Pelham
30, newspaper seller, lives alone
Atticus Aldrige
17, Year 10 exhange student, Russian
#downton abbey#modern au#Teachers#my stuff#fanfiction#characters#beryl patmore#mrs patmore#andy parker#phyllis baxter#atticus aldrige#jimmy kent#Bertie Pelham#lord hexham#marquis of hexham
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The Gift Reflects the Giver
Since I did Valentine’s Day fiction last Christmas for @alex51324 ‘s Island of the Gays, I decided I should do Christmas for Valentine’s Day. Got an idea all thought up...made a false start...or two...and then burned out on writing for ages.
It being Christmas time again and me being stuck at home for the day (It’s raining! IT’S RAINING! Go little rain drops! Melt that ice!) I decided it was a good time to write it.
This probably won’t actually go up on Ao3 for Christmas...at least not the first day. Might get it up before the 12th, we’ll see. I need to read back over the Island and see if I can’t get Mr. Braceridge sounding more...well...himself. Turns out it’s kinda hard to write from his PoV and still have him sound right. But for now, Merry Christmas, everyone.
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John looked around the cottage’s parlour, frowning. The place looked as festive as one could ask, but there was something missing. Much of the village had gone out gathering greens for decorating. Timothy had been kept at home by his rheumatism, John had eagerly lead the party, pointing out which plants had weak branches that could be sacrificed for the cause, which were too young and should be left alone, and which plants - namely ivy - were invasive weeds that didn’t belong but which somehow kept making their way to the island and could be ruthlessly harvested for the season. Berries had been added to the collection and strung on strings for garlands. John and Timothy had gotten their fair share of these and they were now strewn artistically around the room. An empty bird’s nest from the barn perched on a particularly sturdy set of boughs, for luck.
Timothy had proclaimed it perfect, but there was something missing…
“We need a tree.”
Timothy looked up from where he was working on notes for the coming Sunday’s sermon. “We do not need a tree, John.”
John turned his frown on his husband. “But it’s tradition! Surely you want one.”
“I’m happy with the room the way it is,” Timothy informed him, setting down his pen. “Besides, if we get a tree, other couples will want one too. We can’t afford to chop down that many, especially the conifers. Alders, perhaps, but alders don’t make very good Christmas trees, even if you could find one that would fit in here.”
“If you say so,” John muttered, turning back to his examination of the room.
“I do.”
John let the subject drop, but despite the other man’s assurances, he couldn’t bring himself to believe his husband wouldn’t be happier with a tree. He looked at the time and shook his head. “Ah well, time for me to get started on the stew, I suppose.”
Timothy had gone back to his sermon notes. Without looking up he said, “It’s raining cats and dogs outside, so cook it in here or you’ll catch your death.”
“Yes, dear.”
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The tobacconists shop had a shipment of mistletoe shipped over from the mainland, since unlike the ivy it hadn’t made its way over. Fitzroy had also gotten in a selection of Christmas cards and ornaments, which other island residents had purchased for hanging off the greens they’d gathered. After a boat shipment had brought over a collection of ornaments from Brancaster castle, specially requested from Lord Hexham from some cousin he had on the mainland, John could stand it no longer.
If the Marquess was surprised to find the former scout master on his doorstep, he hid it well, simply inviting the other man in and offering him a cup of tea.
“I wouldn’t say no,” John replied, taking in the interior of the other man’s cottage. It was certainly well turned out, and far more glamorous than his own home, although John privately thought he preferred the strings of berries to the glittering gold and silver of Lord Hexham’s ornaments. At the other man’s gesture he took a seat in what proved to be a very comfortable wingback chair as Lord Hexham placed the order for tea with his butler. John didn’t think a cottage this size really needed a butler, but it did, he suppose, provide employment for at least one of the villages residents.
“Right then,” the Marquess settled himself in another chair, which was a completely different design than the one John occupied, but no less elegant. “What can I do for you, Mr. Braceridge?”
“Well, it’s like this,” John explained, frowning, trying to gage the best approach to his request. “I think Timothy would like a Christmas tree. I know,” he added hastily, “we’ve never had one before. Everyone’s said that, including Timothy.” He had, by this point, broached the subject with several other members of the community and run up against just that protest. “But I can’t help feeling that he’d be happier if he did.”
“Alright,” the other man replied, frowning slightly. “Er, has he said he’d like a tree?”
“He hasn’t, but that’s because there are so many reasons not to get one. Lack of room in the cottage, lack of proper trees…they’re all good points, but the don’t mean he wouldn’t like a tree.”
Lord Hexham didn’t look overly convinced, but he didn’t interrupt.
“But I’ve been thinking and there’s that spruce just off the cricket pitch, between it and the church, that’s not too large -”
Here Lord Hexham did cut him off. “I say, old thing, I’m not overly familiar with Father Timothy, and I’d certainly not imply that you don’t know your own husband better than I do, but I can’t see him smiling on the idea of cutting down a village land mark like that. More to the point, I can’t see anyone else smiling on the idea either.”
“Oh, no, of course not!” John hurried to assure him. The thought honestly hadn’t crossed his mind. He wasn’t certain whether Timothy would disown him, skin him like a hare, or simply write a year’s worth of very cross sermons, but none of them bore thinking about. “No, I had something else in mind completely. Still, I’d like it to be a surprise, and so I’d need help pulling it off…”
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John was up and out of bed early enough on Christmas morning to have the tea brewed before he heard Timothy stir. He quickly poured a cup, added the cream, and made his way into the bedroom where his husband was just blinking awake.
“Heavens, you’re up early,” the other man noted in a groggy sort of manner, propping himself up on the pillows and reaching for the offered beverage. “Thank you.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” John explained, trying to make it sound off handed, as if he’d simply suffered from a bit of insomnia rather than being too excited to lie still any longer. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” Timothy smiled at him over the rim of his cup. “Did you make breakfast too?”
John shook his head. They normally made breakfast together for Christmas, instead of the meal being made by whoever was up first, and he wasn’t about to break that tradition. Then he admitted, “No, but I did get the eggs laid out and the pan ready and sliced the bacon, so that’s ready to go.”
Timothy gave a little laugh of surprise. “Gracious, and here I am lounging around in bed! I should get up so we can get started on the cooking.”
“No, no, you have a lie in,” John protested. “It’s Christmas and you’ve been busy. I’ll just get myself a cup and come sit with you.” Before his husband could reply, he ducked back out and went to pour himself a cuppa’. While he was in the kitchen, he sporadically checked the weather again. Not that it would hurt if it was raining - and would be quite picturesque if it was snowing - but he was quite pleased to discover it was still dry, if overcast. That would allow for good visibility. Armed with his tea and a triumphant smile, he headed back into the bedroom. “Weather’s looking good for caroling later,” he announced, settling himself on his side of the bed. Caroling was one of Timothy’s annual projects, although since most of the village came along the actual door-to-door part was rather short. It ended with everyone in the parish hall having a general sing along and good time.
“Good,” Timothy sighed. “Not that I mind the snow, but it will be nice not to have my rheumatism acting up. And rain just isn’t very festive.”
“Not very, no.” The two of them drank their tea in companionable silence. John thought he did a very good job of acting natural through the whole thing, as if he wasn’t dying to suggest that Tim get up and dressed and they go make breakfast and that Tim look out the window…
Finally, after what seemed twice as long as normal, Timothy set his cup aside with a sigh. “That was a wonderful start to the day,” he smiled up at his husband, “thank you, dear.” With a stretch, he pushed back the covers and swung himself out of bed.
“It was no problem,” John assured him. “None at all. Christmas deserves something a little bit special, doesn’t it?”
“It does.”
John waited as patiently as he was able for his husband to get up and dressed, which wasn’t very patiently at all. In fact, he left after a couple of minutes to putter around in the kitchen and check out the window. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed like the overcast had lifted a little, making the world lighter and the scenery more visible. He smiled, then stoked the stove, got the lard ready, and pulled out the remaining kitchen utensils.
Timothy walked into the kitchen to find everything ready and waiting. He gave his husband a puzzled smile. “Are you particularly hungry today, dear?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” John smiled. “More that I’m invigorated. Ready for the Christmas festivities to begin.”
Still looking bemused, Timothy went over and looked out the window, clearly checking the weather.
John held his breath.
The other man blinked once. Twice. Then, without turning from the window, asked, “John?”
“Mm?”
“Are there berry strings on the spruce?”
Slowly, careful not to rush or betray any signs of excitement, John slid over to the window.
“And, are those ornaments?”
Unable to contain his excitement anymore, John grinned from ear to ear and slipped an arm around his husband’s waist. “Merry Christmas.”
Timothy laughed, shaking his head. “How did you manage it? You were inside all night, I know. It’s cold enough I’d have felt if you got up.”
It was true, the one down side of the whole project had been that he hadn’t been able to help decorate. That would be fixed next year. “I was, yes. It was supposed to be a surprise, after all! I asked Lord Hexham, as one of our foremost citizens, if he’d take control of the organizing the thing. He got some of the lads, not sure which ones, to slip out with lanterns after we’d turned in last night, and dress it up.”
“So that’s why you were in such a hurry to get to bed!”
“I was thinking we could make it an annual tradition,” John continued. He could see future trees in his minds eye as he spoke. “Since there aren’t enough trees for everyone to have their own, I thought we could have a community tree. Lord Hexham has already donated some ornaments, along with a few other people, but I thought we could have everyone donate something each year. Maybe have Bill Thorn teach people how to carve their own. That way it would really be our tree. What do you think?”
By now Timothy had turned and was watching him with a warm, if perhaps slightly exasperated, smile. He glanced back out at the tree and said, “I think it’s a lovely idea. And I’m glad I could give you an excuse to get your Christmas tree.” He leaned over and kissed his husband’s cheek. “Now, let’s get started on breakfast.”
#downton abbey#downton abbey fanfiction#fanfiction of fanfiction#island of the gays#original character x original character#mr. braceridge x father timothy#mr. braceridge#father timothy#christmas gifts#christmas traditions#peter pelham#lord hexham#christmas trees
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There is something thrilling to me about walking upon stairs that are centuries old. My@mind races with imaginings and visions of people from the past. These stairs are at Hexham Abbey, a place I had longed to visit for over twenty years before I finally got there! If you are ever there, don’t forget to visit the catacombs and the altar below where you’ll@see Roman stone. #medieval #middleages #abbey #hexham #hexhamabbey #northumberland #bucketlist (at Hexham Abbey) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cm_6tvpvINX/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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Elizabeth Woodville's Wiltshire Retreat
Elizabeth Woodville’s Wiltshire Retreat
Elizabeth Woodville left sanctuary with her daughters on March 1, 1484, after Richard III swore a public oath that she and her daughters would be unharmed and that he would find the girls suitable matches. But where did she go then? Her daughters were, at least part time, welcome at court, but ‘Dame Grey’ as she now was known, was not.
We know that once she vacated the Westminster Sanctuary…
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#attainders#Chantry chapels#daughters of Edward IV#Elizabeth Wydeville#executions#Farleigh Hungerford#Hexham#Heytesbury#hospitals#Hungerfords#John Nesfield#Mary of York#proclamations#Richard III#sanctuary#Westminster Abbey#Wiltshire
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Season 6, Episode 8
Directed by David Evans
Mary, played by Michelle Dockery, sitting with Henry, played by Matthew Goode, after their wedding in 'Downton Abbey.'Image via PBS
After Bertie (Harry Hadden-Paton) proposes in the previous episode, Edith wrestles with her answer. She loves him, but he doesn't know about Marigold. If she says yes and doesn't tell him, there's a lie at the heart of their marriage. But will she ruin it if she does tell him? After breaking up with Henry (Matthew Goode) in the wake of Brooklands, a broken-hearted Mary is instantly jealous when she learns that Edith's beau, Bertie, has shockingly inherited the title of Marquess of Hexham. If Edith marries him, she'll outrank her entire family. Meanwhile, Mary forbids Tom to ask Henry over, now hell-bent on securing an advantageous marriage, too, but he turns up to confront her one last time. She's angry at his audacity as he confidently states she's in love with him.
He claims that she's not the person who would dispense with love just to have a marriage that came with a position. Mary angrily tells him to leave and later takes her wretchedness out on Edith once she learns Edith accepted Bertie without telling him about Marigold. Mary congratulates the couple on the engagement while not-so-subtly commending Bertie for overlooking Edith's past. Bertie is shocked at the discovery of Marigold and flees Downton, leaving Edith just as heartbroken as her sister. A huge quarrel erupts, and after some painful talks with Tom and Violet, Mary realizes that only Henry can make her happy. Before they tie the knot, Edith returns to fix things with Mary.
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ok ok ok concept: a murder mystery à la Clue, but the manor it's happening in is either Downton Abbey or one of the smaller houses we see.
Colonel Mustard is Robert in his season 2 uniform. I know he wasn't a colonel, but a lord lieutenant. Doesn't matter. He's in uniform for some reason.
Mademoiselle Rose is Mary, who keeps attracting every man around without meaning to.
Mrs White is either Daisy or Mrs Patmore.
Professor Plum can be Molesley, although he's just a teacher.
Dr Olive is Dr Clarkson.
Mrs Peacock is either Lady Violet, or the Marchioness of Hexham, or Sybil herself, who was blue-coded at some point.
The catch? the murder to investigate is the death of Mr Pamuk, who actually just got a heart attack. Everyone is trying to hide proof anyway because the place where he got the heart attack is very conspicuous.
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The 7th Marquess of Hexham and The 7th Earl of Grantham || Downton Abbey: A New Era (2022)
#two of my favorite aristo bois#robert crawley#hugh bonneville#bertie pelham#harry hadden-paton#downtonabbeyedit#downtonedit#perioddramaedit#periodedit#perioddramagif#perioddramasource#perioddramacentral#gifhistorical#weloveperioddrama#onlyperioddramas#tvfilmsource#cinemapix#downton abbey: a new era#downton abbey#my post#*edits#i love queue very very much
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#Marchioness of Hexham#edith crawley#lady edith crawley#edith pelham#laura carmichael#downton abbey#downton abbey: a new era#i'm a bit biased since i'm a photographer but i loved edith geeking out over her new camera#queue#my edit
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Superior gif of my man 🙌🏻
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WIP Wednesday: New Stuff? Nah. REVISIONS!
Because whenever new content is more important than revision, oh, then my brain is all down for it!
This is now the most polished scene - and one of the only two finished ones - for the "Phillip Comes To The Island" story from Island of the Gays by @alex51324.
...and FYI, Lord Hexham is referencing Buddha, not Confucius. He's a nice boy, but very confused on his philosophers, especially when it comes to quotes he undoubtedly heard from someone who heard them from someone who heard...
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All conversation ground to a halt as Lord Hexham walked in. “Good morning,” the marquess greeted them all, cheerfully. Then he seemed to take in the general air, not to mention the fact Eddie was giving him a rather frosty look, and his smile faltered into polite confusion. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
“Not really,” Peter assured him, ever courteous. “We were just discussing our upcoming arrival.”
“Oh.” Lord Hexham’s voice spoke volumes. Honestly Thomas was surprised by how dry it had gone. “Well don’t worry about me rushing to his defense. He’s been a right ass most of his life, I’m well aware.” To Peter he said, “I’m just stopping past to pick up my order.”
“Of course.” Peter stepped behind the counter and went digging for the package in question.
Thomas thought that ‘right ass’ was definitely a step up from ‘pig fucker’ if maybe not as emphatic. Then again, coming from Lord Hexham it might actually have been worse. It added another layer to his curiosity. “I thought Dr. Rouse said you didn’t mind his coming here?”
The other man glanced at him, then dropped his eyes to the counter, a thoughtful crease between the brows. “I don’t, really, but my perspective on the matter is rather different than the rest of you. We come from similar places, is all.” He thought a moment. “I remember something I heard once, a quote from a Chinese philosopher. I’m not certain which one. Probably Confucius…it seems like everything you hear is from Confucius. But it ran along the lines of ‘Everyone suffers. The poor man suffers because of his poverty, the rich man suffers because of his wealth’.”
Eddie snorted at that. “Clearly your philosopher had never been poor,” he retorted, collecting his small order from the counter top and stalking out of the shop. Apparently he wasn’t in the mood to listen to anyone who didn’t hate Phillip.
Lord Hexham watched him go. Once the door was shut, he turned back to Thomas and continued, “I don’t think that was quite the point. I think the point is that we all have our problems, no matter what our station in life. Phillip has always been a right ass and while I don’t approve, and I hope I’m not the same, in a way I understand simply because I’ve been in a similar place.”
“And that’s perfectly fair.” Peter placed the box on the counter. “Now, here’s your order.”
#downton abbey#downton abbey fanfiction#island of the gays#thomas barrow#peter pelham#lord hexham#peter fitzroy#thomas barrow x oc#thomas barrow x peter fitzroy
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WIP Wednesday - Soldier's Declaration sequel
What's this, I started another wip instead of working on all the other stuff I'm supposed to finish? Quelle surprise!
Lord Hexham who had previously been Captain Pelham and who had always been just Peter had been shocked to see Nurse Crawley’s obituary in the paper. He hadn’t realised it was her at first since the paper had printed her married name, Branson, and he would have skimmed over it if the name Lady Edith Crawley hadn’t caught his eye among the list of surviving family. He remembered that strange time almost three years ago when he had convalesced at Downton Abbey and the Crawley family’s kindness towards him.
He rummaged around his study until he found his sketchbooks. His drawing had improved
tremendously since his time in the hospital but there was something about his work during the war that he hadn’t appreciated at the time, too preoccupied with wobbly lines and losing control of his bad hand. There was a liveliness and determination to them, a deep sense of emotion. He found the one of Nurse Crawley, looking wistful in her uniform, almost beatific. He carefully cut the page out of the book with a razorblade. He would get it framed and give it to Lady Grantham as a gift when he paid his respects.
The next page was a half-finished drawing of Sergeant Barrow, his face in profile, proud nose, sharp cheekbones, but he could never get the eyes right. The next six pages were of similar attempts.
Thomas. Was he still living in Downton village or had he moved on to greener pastures. They had written for a few months after he had left, Peter keeping him up to speed on his recovery and his new commission for the war artists committee, Thomas writing about his plans to start up a
business. Barrow had stopped writing after a while and after a few tries with no response, Peter had got the message. Perhaps he had met someone new and the moment they had shared had only been a moment. Still, if he was going to be anywhere, he would be going to the funeral as well.
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