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bushells. yass two miles. and the morning glory flowing through the fences. i sit on mothers lap and looked out the window. her legs shifted under me on the pea green seat and she fanned us together with the timetable. dad plays with the rim of his hat and chews his bottom lip. he had heavy bags under his eyes after a late night at the office. listen, mother murmurs at him. watch you dont say hell before my mother.

constance.

try to say cunt or something else she doesnt know what it means.

really, love

i know but when youre tired. just be vigilant.

these trains are getting very modern. can you believe it has been so long. do you think gregory is still driving around in that trap.

im sure theyll be the last in the district to buy a motorcar. dr thane had the first one and he used to have to drive up link hill in reverse. telephone poles flickering through an eyelash forest under their dipping crests. shards of light. shake it chick, were here. yass was connected to the state railway line in eighteen ninety two by the shortest platform in the world. when we got down there on the dusty slope beyond the gabled eaves was grandfather astride his buggy with the reins over one hand waving. i go to meet him with mother while dad gets the luggage. grandfather is already manoeuvring towards the station. he was a tall man, with the cuffs folded and his face moving in and out of the shadow of his hat. he turned his head rapidly on his straight neck, his arm was long and steady. mother held my hand as he brought the buggy in. hello papa.

connie. he reached out with one had towards her cheek and she jumped off the steps onto the buggy and put her arms around his neck. connie did you make this. it got bigger.

come and say hello to grandfather chick. she helped me over the gap and grandfather bent down and said she looks like me and laughed until dad got over to our side of the station with the suitcases. we rode the rest of comur street and over the river where some turtles were basking on a rock and the bank rolled up into folds of wild grass and brittle gum and broadleaved peppermint. dad sat with grandfather and smoked his pipe while mother pointed in her approximate way to the scenery and talked about her childhood. hills hills hills. this is the place she said lying back in the seat and breathing deep. if you ever get sick of the city chick.

grandmother weil was waiting for us in front of the big old stone house. she took the suitcases from dads hands and put them down beside herself and called up to mother as she got out. the little one can take your old room constance and you and peter will have the annex. mother kissed grandmother weil on the cheek and said come and see her. grandmother weil had one eye. she took me in both hands and kissed me smack on the forehead. welcome to alfalfa glades. its overdue. we walked between the yellow crocus borders of the flower beds to a verandah grown over with wisteria and in between a pair of french doors to the drawing room. there was a young man there i never worked out exactly who he was who took my bag and disappeared down a corridor over a layer of cowhides getting duller towards invisible. a grandfather clock ticked in the empty space. i turned back and took hold of mothers skirt. all right well unpack my suitcase first.

that night we had dinner before the sun went down, then grandfather lit the lamps. they got electricity in town last year he said, but old mrs weil thinks we get by fine as it is and so we do. he winked at her then he turned to me and said what age have you now.

less than she ought to, poor mite. its a leap year.

so it is. well that is unlucky. i hope that isnt the reason youre keeping her back.

oh no laughed dad. we arent superstitious. he leaned over in the semi dark and patted my head. shell be ready in a year she just needs prompting. grandmother weil finished clearing the plates then we all went out ing and sat on the verandah. did you ever see so many stars, chick. it is very quiet in the country. nothing but natural sounds. dad blinked through a cloud of lavender smoke. the pastor, said grandmother weil, is coming on wednesday. mother sighed and brushed me behind the head with her hand. that was a sublime meal, mrs weil, dad yawned, sinking lower in his seat. in the oblique shadow of the lamp i saw his eyes held shut. tell me is that over there orions belt.

in the morning i went in the buggy with grandfather to see the lambs. sulky it was called a sulky. i liked to ride with grandfather and feel the ground rattling away beneath us, the clumps of earth exploding under wheels but i didnt think much of the sheep not even the little ones. he showed me how to climb between the barbed wire fences. we gave hay to the horse, a piebald with a tongue like sandpaper and the hot breath rushing over your hands and the lips curled back and the teeth careful. keep your fingers flat. i washed my hands in a basin on the verandah and dried them with the towel hanging on the nail above. then grandfather drove to the post office for the bread. grandmother weil had been out before anyone else to milk the cow and feed the chickens and the pigs. mother was pushing her hair into place with hairpins in her mouth and dad was getting wood for the kitchen stove. mother wore an apron over her dressing gown. well how do you like our way of life, chick. nothing but hard work all day.

indeed you never took to it connie.

wouldnt even stand for maroubra said dad letting an armful of wooden blocks tumble down beside the stove. he wiped his hands on his thighs and took her waist. no said mother and laughed. all those snakes.

grandmother weil looked at me with her one eye. never thought id raise a girl for the city. i did it very well im sure i dont know how. she put down her hands flat on the table. come here and help your grandmother cut these scones. it was hot in the kitchen with the stove going, though it was a big room, with an old brick stove and iron kettles and saucepans hanging on the hooks. the kitchen and the storeroom and the mens dining room and the laundry and the wood shed were separated from the house by a runway of paving stones and in the shade of the creepers and the grapevines there were waterbags and a drip safe. there was a big revolving drum with drawers getting bigger towards the bottom for spices, soda, mustard, tea, cocoa, essences, pepper, sultanas, raisins, currents, peel, tapioca, rice, dates, split peas, sago you get the idea. i dont know where that young man went perhaps out mending fences or some other. sometimes he came in for lunch but otherwise we didnt see much more of him. the shepherds hut where they kept the lambs was empty. i got used to running down the corridor fast as possible until i reached the little bedroom where mother used to sleep.

then at midday a high, faint buzzing getting louder until mother says here he is already and we all rush to the verandah and there is a glinting in the sky and you see the wings grow out of it and the wheels and then suddenly this aeroplane is rushing down over the house and you even see the little head and the goggles flash and it roars over you and gets smaller and lower and disappears in a cloud of dust in the paddock. it was the infancy of flight in those days have i said that. they crashed a lot and pilots mostly flopped out of them soft headed as babes. we walk through the paddock to meet him, mother ahead. the propeller is still spinning when we get there. he is standing beside it with his goggles around his neck pulling his leather gloves off. jim. hello constance. peter, dad. his cheeks are flushed but cold when he kisses me and his leather bonnet creaks. lets get you inside your mother is cooking up a storm.

for lunch we had steak a la jardiniere and sheeps tongues in tomato sauce and macaroni pudding. we ate in the dining room with its low mahogany cupboards and cedar bookshelves to the ceiling and it was slightly more formal than usual because mr shearsby was there and names were put around on the table and there was a joke about precedence but the food was excellent and mother said we had been well behaved. how about that taxi driver bound and gagged at picton. five men were arrested at gundagai. what do you think of this scheme for broadcasting bush fire warnings. the graziers association is a very capable organ i should think, it seems a sensible idea. have you shown them your fossils mr veil.

weil.

i beg your pardon, i thought i heard your son in law

never mind his jokes. we say it weil when we can it makes the spelling easier.

indeed im glad to hear it, i thought perhaps i had been acting under a mistaken apprehension.

theres nothing very interesting about my fossils. you should show them yours. mr shearsby is a collector. numismatics and philately mainly but i do keep a few fossils.

its called a herculos. in the desert. pass the biscuits will you mum.

you would like to see them wouldnt you, mite. um, peter i dont think

it would be my pleasure. but if its coins you want to see you really ought to call on arthur triggs.

is triggs at home.

i believe since last thursday. perhaps an old colleague of yours mr rose.

not exactly a colleague but ive certainly had the occasion to know arthur triggs. how would you like that, mite. you can see mr shearsbys fossils and mr triggs coins.

mr triggs was called the king of sheep. they used to say what was good for mr triggs was good for yass. he bought everyones sheep. he used to be an accountant for the bank of new south wales, thats how he ended up in yass.

after lunch there was cake, which was a little less than i was expecting. mother played the lipp piano and we listened to a record on the edison blue amberol. the needles were kept in an old shinoleum tin. uncle jim had to sleep in a swag on the verandah because there were only three rooms. i was awake all night worrying about those fat lambs i hated. o brebis il est lheure de mourir.

when mother came into my room in the morning she was carrying my crepe frock with the lace tie. the floorboards were cool under my feet. i stood still with my arms in the air while mother put it on me. she was quite grave and of course i noticed that she was already dressed and wearing perfume. she tied the lace in a bow around my belly and took a handkerchief out of her sleeve and spat on it and rubbed my cheeks until they smarted, then she looked at her handkerchief wistfully i suppose before tucking it back in her sleeve. well chick, she said we do our best. uncle jim had not slept well but he was pretending not to mind. he put me on his knee and cut a hot scone in half and dad said are they your guns in the bedroom and grandfather said yes, jim was a sharp shooter. grandmother weil smelt like the cow but she was always very clean. if youre going into town this morning she said to grandfather, drop in on mrs aughtie and pick me up a pound of oatmeal. there were kookaburras making a racket in the pear trees beside the cart shed. you could still hear the silence, the country is like that, there is more room for everything.

later when grandfather was in town we heard a motor and i looked out through the french doors of the drawing room and saw a small dark car coming up the driveway. it turned in beside the fowl house and a priest got out of it, then he reached behind the drivers seat for a wide brimmed black hat and shut the door and started walking towards the front verandah. dad went out with grandmother weil to meet him. he shook his hand and the priest took off his hat and nodded respectfully at grandmother weil and i saw his mouth moving all the time and dad touched his elbow and gestured towards the drawing room and they came inside. we stood up and mother said hello and say hello darling and i said it. then grandmother weil went to put the kettle on. please have a seat, father. how many years is it he said, since we saw you here last. too long, said dad. it has been difficult to get away, with peters position at the bank, and we practically used up last year just looking for a new home. we were on the north shore. grandmother weil called me from the kitchen.

wash your hands then get a plate and put these out for me.

i got up on a stool and took down a big blue and white platter and put it on the table in the middle of the kitchen and arranged the jam tarts. grandmother weil took down four cups and saucers and we spread it all around on a big tray and the water boiled and grandmother weil made the tea and put the pot on the tray and lifted it and went into the drawing room whistling. legally bound for up to four years.

we have tried the established channels, said mother, but its difficult now to get a. yes, its become the case all over the state, why thank you, i will, just tea, no tart thank you. youll be wanting to make sure she goes to mass while shes here, father. if mrs rose is willing. i mean the little one. a receptive age. how old. technically. slightly retarded. careful of that pot, father it is very full.

after tead dad and mother and i got in the car with the priest and we drove over the bridge into town and up meehan street to where st augustines used to be. well it wasnt all on meehan street, to keep on the old angle. we followed the priest through the courtyard to the stone rubble presbytery. dad admired it. we dont know, said the priest, if father lovat built it himself when all this was starting out as yass mission, or if someone else did later. it has been improved, the shingles were not originally of slate. it was lovat who drafted the plans for the church, though they were lost in the mail before they could reach st marys. it would take another twenty years before that torrential september the finished building could be blessed at last. its very imposing, said mother. the highest spire in the region. its only galvanised iron but it isnt permanent. later perhaps you would like to see the stained glass windows. our sicilian marble altar is, i should say, worth the visit. youre flattering my mothers influence.

is it augustine of hippo or of cantebury said dad and mother gave him a look.

the foundation stones laid on the africans feast day should have left little room for doubt if it wasnt that during his inaugural sermon father bermingham referred to him sent by pope gregory with a message of peace to angles and saxons, whether by design or mistaken impertinence we cant be sure. if only the archbishop had been there to clarify. unfortunately his grace had to telegram from campbelltown to say that he was turning back to sydney. roads and creeks impassable. the ceremony went ahead without him, by his instruction, in a second telegram, though naturally the post couldnt get through either so the courier had to publish the address hed mailed behind him to be delivered on the day by proxy, thus leaving an appropriate symbol of the perplexed surface of our activities. there was singing, thanks be to god, by the young ladies of st augustines school, with mrs moon on the harmonium. schubert i believe. it was before my time.

must have been quite crowded once.

the site was not unoccupied when fathers lovat and brennan arrived. father lovat came to an understanding with their elder and in return the chief moved his people off.

to the tune of.

a clergymans outfit.

ha ha, i did hear, what was it batman gave for. but your parish goes as far as melbourne doesnt it.

that is a rumour we havent been able to shake. it may be the fault of our own registers. galong was entered as geelong, and colock as coolac. though lovat did cross the murray once in eighteen forty five and went on as far as wangaratta. they did a terrible amount of riding in those days. of course afterwards with the gold rush and free selection a mere ten years later the church ministry rapidly expanded. there were no less than five thousand catholics in sixty one, scattered over hill and dale as doctor oconner put it, on banks and rivers, and amidst vast wastes on scarcely populated planes. many hundreds, in addition to the settled inhabitants, lead a nomadic life wandering from goldfield to goldfield, and exposed to the thousand perils and temptations of very eventful careers, he said, in their way perhaps wanting schools and churches, baptism, confirmation, and sabbath-keeping.

and now you are a parish.

father bermingham did leave the year after the blessing for the continent, for health reasons, and perhaps to petition rome to elevate yass to a bishopric, but im afraid the windows and that marble altar from cork city are the only material benefit we have had from europe.

mother told me to wait in the courtyard and they went into the presbytery. it was one of those lovely open days, the clouds scudding over the blue sky like the underside of ships. i ran around the gravel courtyard for a while nothing particular in mind. later there was a little rock grotto put in beside the church as you went down towards the presbytery with a virgin in it who had a rose in the folds of her hem but back then all i remember is the gravel courtyard and some forgettable little garden beds and a low wall made of lumps of stone and chains dipped in blocks of concrete. what did mother say once. like having a rose above your head. she called me over to where they were standing under the bullnosed awning of the verandah. i ran halfway then took my time. there was a girl with them i suppose twice my age but she looked like a little woman. she had her hair cut short like the assistants at hordens. and then the first time you. i was quite stunned. mother told me say hello. x looked at the priest and said i hope im getting paid for this. he smiled at mother and put his hands behind his back. you can see she hasnt been through cootamundra. shes a treasure of the sisters and quite a scholar. your daughter will benefit from a fine mind and an inherent sense of discipline.

dad put his hand on my head. mother reached out and took the priests hand and thanked him and said we would all come back together one day soon to really see the church. the priest nodded, and waved goodbye from the verandah and we went around the block to where grandfather sat waiting in the sulky outside charlie quails old globe hotel. it had been a busy place with a billiard table and there were lots of meetings and they ran bookings for the telegraph line of american covered coaches to lambing flat. yass might have been the capital once. it had its own gaol over the road where the cop shop is and they policed the goldfields all the way to young. the courthouse is big and ugly enough for anything. what could have been. the church bell rang out on the hill behind us. x in stitches. dropp, dropp a teare and dye. her my woo. boo hoo ow ow oh oh. come on chick buck up. do your best, said dad. most extraordinary. grandfather was keeping his eyes on the road.

it was true his fossils were nothing to write home about. a leaf, a marlstone, some tabulae coral. when we got back grandmother weil took xs bag and put it in my bedroom. she asked x to follow her and when they got there she said if x needed anything she found she had not provided for she was to ask. she blinked, said i thought i was getting another child on my hands, and went in to make us all tea. we did not in the end get to see mr shearsbys collection. instead he was invited back to dinner and proposed an outing to hattons corner to look for fossils ourselves. they agreed to leave the next day. he and grandfather and grandmother weil had been talking about their parents generation, when both families first came to yass. they were squatters but started out small like free selectors, lived in a shack for a year, took rolf boldrewoods advice before the letter, to start modest, to eat his elderly ewes and reread his classics instead of buying beef and books, until the salamanders wool comes in. but still they fell on hard times. if it wasnt for old nick rose, why if i hadnt got talking to your father after they tried to run his gin display out of town. you know what really piqued his interest, it was when i told him wool had scales on it, that that was the way it held together. it really tickled him somehow, gave him ideas. to think you only had to buy into the new machines to help as much of it get together as possible and do what it wanted to do of its own accord and if the weather held you were printing money. of course he was in for a rough patch almost right away. i kept telling him if we just got through the drought wed break even and start again from there. we got through alright. remember what they wrote in the pastoralists review. the frozen meat trade is the silver lining in the cloud that is passing over australia. we went from exporting four hundred carcasses to britain in eighteen eighty to more than a million by the end of the nineties. and everything else they packed in, butter, slabs of honey stacked together with sheets of cardboard in between, eggs wrapped up one by one in little rugs. we pulled through alright. and it was nicolaas himself saw the potential from day one. there i was telling him about wool and he said this boat they called le frigorifique had been the first to cross from bordeaux to la plata and they were getting better all the time at transporting and if we ever had to resort to butchery. well, you know there were plenty of gadgets at that show, i just laughed told him see if he couldnt do something with old fashioned fleece first. i wish hed seen it out. its a tragedy, peter, that he never got to see the industry like it is today. still he was chuffed to high heaven about those freeze works.

how did you two girls sleep asked mother pulling the curtains apart on the blue morning. fine thank you mrs rose. mr shearsby was waiting in his truck when we went out to the verandah after breakfast. he lifted his hat and dad bumped up behind us with a picnic basket and the tartan rug tucked under his arm. grandfather was putting a satchel on the pan of the truck. ladies ready. mother carried out my sunhat and x went back to the bedroom to get hers. she looked very smart in a sort of linen smock sensible little boots. grandfather pointed at me and said think you can hold on all the way to the corner. he tipped his head at the truck. oh no dad said mother. ill keep her on my lap. there wont be room enough for all three of you up front with mr shearsby. thats true im afraid mrs rose said mr shearsby, the other will have to ride on the back with your old man. mother straightened and opened her mouth but uncle jim had just arrived in the sulky after spending the night with friends in town and he said, ill take her. so mother and i sat next to mr shearsby and grandfather and dad got up on the pan and when x came out with her hand on her hat uncle jim jumped down from the sulky and helped her over and they followed us at a distance to keep out of the dust.

we pulled up at a bend in the river. the ragged back and forth deposits through the marl grass. rillenkarren. then the brittle red gums returned to the river margins. dad unrolled the tartan on a grassy patch under a gum tree and mother put out the crockery. x and the pilot pulled up in the sulky and he helped her out and x got to helping mother with the picnic and uncle jim unhooked the piebald and took it down for a drink.

what a lovely day. dad lit his pipe and lay down his back to a rock. the woodbine curling in the heat. pardon said x. i said did you have a nice ride. oh, yes. of course you understand it isnt that i distrust your driving mr shearsby. i understand, i understand completely mrs rose. a mother has a duty. it wasnt too rough for you was it greg, youll stand the ride back, wouldnt want to have to call on english to sew you up again either. ive fallen off faster horses. its a nice set of wheels dad slurred from halfway under his hat. got them here from our own delaney. will you have some cold lamb.

after the cabinet pudding mr shearsby went down to fill up the waterbag and grandfather took his satchel from the truck and shook out the little pick axes on the rug. this is the best place before wee jasper to find them. farmers around here been rooting them up for seventy years. one time we rode through wee jasper to give a message to one of grandfathers shearers who was working the off season finishing the dam at burrinjuck. he pointed along the valley to the rock shards jutting either side in broken rows, like the lean to wood and iron churches further in on the ridge around the dam. they were laid down flat i dont know how they got up like that. grandfather had shearers all over the country, building roads, planting pine trees, the carpenters in canberra in the early decade. he took a swig from the waterbag and put his hat on again. mother declined to move. she shook her kerchief at us from the shade and grandfather and mr shearsby walked ahead into the sunshine of the riverbank. dad and i followed close behind with x and uncle jim. we didnt have to go far. limestone. generally less valuable than the goldfields and nickel fields of kalgoorlie, kambala and norseman. theres much more of it than there looks isnt there. grandfathers and mr shearsbys imaginations were easily provoked. who was it said the art of digression. sills. of greenstone. meandering granite. archaean nodes. the geologists call them ghosts i believe or plutonic intrusions. or was it lava, fast as water. depends how viscous. a laccolith then. wha wha. with the. what are they called full of air. crows chasing one another in the empty sky. the marl grass crackling under our feet. grandfather pointed to a whorl in the rock. why these are sea creatures, said x.

indeed its a tidal deposit.

one doesnt know.

the river.

no.

the flood.

that was six years ago.

i think she means the other flood.

well hm, yes, the catastrophe theory . . . would . . . bring it into a more . . . recognisable time frame. still a great wave should have crushed

we are as we were created.

dad lifted his eyebrows. he took his pipe out of his mouth then put it back in. grandfather began his diplomatic assault. he tapped at the rockface with the blunt side of the pickaxe. there was more water then. then there was less. now there is more again. no the same amount of water. well he explained it anyway. how its beds laid down by rolling, leaping, suspension, colloidal and otherwise. little charges. a cement not a matrix. crushed trichite. dinosaur bones, plant leaves, shark teeth, cetotoliths, insect legs. softly softly. the encroaching surf had available for sorting a wide variety of material. erratics inward. waves lay down in better order than you will find in a poorly sorted till. the finer things have still not been deposited when the water reaches its highest point. the rock flour floats. receding only the coarsest material is left. and then effects of hardness. the broken shells round out against the angular quartz. and the limestone. minimising fading. wonderfully preserved, some of the detail, unheard of in the more delicate parts. unfortunately the brain rots before fossilisation can occur but not the eyeball, if youre lucky. used to think it fell out of the sun. but just here, how is it that they sit high up here all this time. its the nature of the basin. the crust is subsiding. its cyclic. then will come burial and metamorphosis. and the organic material will be burned off and it will become coarse, like sugar. fresh quarries. the bricks and limbs of the future, and so on. radiate fingers of error.

maybe later we could go to cathedral rock said uncle jim, the cad. he may as well have said hatchery creek. dad had gone down to put his feet in the water and grandfather and mr shearsby were equally out of range having found an echinoderm or a nautiloid. its only rugose coral said mr shearsby but grandfather elbowed him out of the way to get a good angle with the pickaxe. he landed the point too hard and it cracked. mother sucking bitch of a whore. we all went down to the water.

there you are said mother stretching her arms when we got back. oh dad what have you done to your hand. nothing connie, sharp rocks. it was dusk so we drove slowly through town under the old gas lamps still there with the street names printed on the glass. clouds of white ants and moths. that was the year did i say the gass got in no, im muddling it up never mind.

haveitoldyouhowitgotitsname.yass.greg, thatisntatrue story, it has its etymology. as i was saying. be quiet and help me with this casserole. argie barking at something under the house. theres a dance at the lawn tennis club tonight, jim, you ought to go, catch up on some old faces. is there, well i dont know, perhaps i will. the pilot was on his way out of the house to check on the aeroplane. he took a slab of bread and kissed grandmother weil. fuel for the oven. you never stop do you. x and i played for a while in the wool shed because someone had told us to go out and amuse ourselves. sup aaa. aaa. aa. bkn. lks. i very nearly went down the chute. what are you two doing in here said grandfather from the lighted doorway. this is no place to muck around in. dad was with him. he came into the cool of the shed and took his hat off and wiped his forehead. this is an efficient looking set up you have here, gregory. its a double boarded shed, said grandfather, best kind for viewing your workers.

dad had run into mr triggs in town and got us all invited back to his shopfront on comur street to look at his coin collection. uncle jim said hed come too but then he met us there because he had a visit hed forgotten to return on green street or morton avenue or iceton place or castor or pollux street or plunkett street or glebe st. and we all had to be getting back to town the next day.

mr triggs met us on the street and took us up to his office. he was a polite man, erudite, paid his debts with interest collected incunabula read a lot kept up the price of sheep. his wife collected pieces of lace that had belonged to royalty. he had someone with him already, a professor from western australia, shann, lounging in a corner of the office browsing the land when we got there. no it was another mag. he stood up and shook hands all round. dad took off his hat. pleasure. talk up your work in the office. uncle jim came running in from the landing. saw gruber in the street. everyones out for the dance. hope i havent missed anything. no jim, just got here.

mr triggs opened one by one the shallow drawers of a wide mahogany commode where his coins rested on layers of felt. x and i stood up front. for me it was a matter of waiting until the displays got lower than my head. these bean shaped pieces of electrum are probably the origin of coined money. you see the rude impressions. and this one here with the irregular rectangular sinking and the striated surface on the other side. this struck during the reign of gyges, famous for the supposed magic ring rendered him invisible, probably the earliest coin known. whats it called when its stamped just on one side. a throat was cleared. this from philadelphia, associated with the seven churches of the revelation. a thunderbolt in olive wreath. a drachm from epheseus. bee with curved wings. in the field, on either side, a volute. the sphinx at chios was probably symbolical of the cultus of dionysus. from rhodes, head of helios three quarter face towards the right, hair loose. rosebud. bunch of grapes. radiate head of helios. all those who formed the new city of rhodes claimed descent from helios so the two symbols were naturally chosen as coin types. head of athena in archaic style. incuse square, within which, owl, right, head facing wings, closed. behind it an olive spray and a small decrescent moon. this piece was current for nearly two centuries. the waxing moon was probably connected to the panathenaic festival held every four years between july and august. a whole night vigil before feast day, carol singing, choral dance of young men and maidens. at that time the moon did not rise till after midnight. head of athena as before. owl. apparently the fish wives were indignant when large bronze coins replaced these diminutive pieces. they had the habit of keeping their change in their mouths. chryselephantine statue in the parthenon. head of zeus tykaeos with pan on the rocks, god of the woodlands, arcadian league. this is probably the goddess desponia, the mistress, daughter of posidon and demeter, pausanius dread. two heads united, in opposite directions, upwards and downwards. may be meant for the setting sun god. sea eagle on a dolphin. the coins of the archaean cities seem to point to a commercial alliance. like this one from metapontum with the ear of corn in high relief and the ear of corn incuse. head of persephone, veiled, wearing corn wreath, earring and necklace. ear of corn with leaf on which harvest mouse. professor shann shuffled his feet. bust of nero, radiate, wearing aegis. what did they call seleucus. these from the roman republic, from the silver mint and legal depository. dont touch that drawer chick, wait till we get down there. i put my hand on my belly and deny but it is no good. how do you like the look of that. just look. male head of gaul. vercingetorix. long pointed beard, hair flowing back, chain around neck. admired by republic for resistance. mask of medusa, palm branch. l. plautius. they were coming out at my chin now. because of the peoples resentment at the expulsion of the tibicines plautius had the latter put, intoxicated, in wagons one night and conveyed back to rome wearing scenic masks so they would not be recognised when they arrived in the early morning. i think i have that pretty well. how, as browne said, they left so many coins in the countries of their conquests, eccetera. this is preroman ring money. anglo saxon iron with ubiquitous stamp, passed into the marks of after ages. the rust makes it worthy again, ha, ha. the minne of sarai. this is an interesting one that reads backwards on the back, a long voided cross united in the centre.

here is the earliest gold money from under edward the second. it was henry the eighth oversaw the first change to the standard, the introduction of crown gold, because the price at which the metal sold in france and flanders was causing the wholesale exportation of english money. professor shann made a noise. is that what i think it is. indeed, a number of coins have been found that have preserved their scent. incredible. is that a guinea. henrie x viii x rvtilans x rosa xx sie x spia x. eloye mestrell began producing milled coinage in the tower and was later detected falseggiando la moneta. no maria theresa i am afraid.

but here, this is especially interesting for us other worshippers of the paltry plated. the events during the reign of charles the first were reflected in coinage more varied and extensive than before or since. one effect of the contest between king and parliament was the establishment of local mints across the country. i felt the rolled up barrel of the western mail in my back. shann was fit to burst.