
Well, never has the temptation to sit down and watch Ben Hur (original 1925 version) back-to-back with the Charlton Heston one been so great.
However, we girded loins, searched for screwdrivers and cannibalised computers following Alesa's step-by-step guide to recovering data, and yes friends, we've done it! Words cannot express my thanks, and although stuff is on the wrong computer which is so old that it still takes floppy discs and has no printer attached to it (or internet) it's there, so we can shift it to a new one (or a repaired one) when we get/fix it.
All of which wittering means I have no new stuff for the Bus, even though the prompt was a gift - not only are the majority of my family insane, I was also hopelessly lost and alone in the world of technology - and in truth, still am.
So here's a re-run. as subsequent posts may be for a wee while until I have a working BIG computer again, but it's about family and as a tasty treat (or possibly not) I have also attached a sound file in the most convoluted way possible (what else?), so if you can be bothered you can listen to it. If you follow the link, you have to open the file in order to hear it.
A little background for those not obsessed with famous murderers of history.
"Countess Elizabeth Bathory de Ecsed (1560 – 1614) was a countess from the renowned Bathory family. Although in modern times she has been labeled the most prolific female serial killer in history, evidence of her alleged crimes is scant and her guilt is debated. Nevertheless, she is remembered as the "Blood Countess" and as the "Bloody Lady of Čachtice", after the castle near Trencsen (today Trenčín) in the Kingdom of Hungary (today's Slovakia), where she spent most of her adult life.
After her husband's death, she and four collaborators were accused of torturing and killing hundreds of girls and young women, with one witness attributing to them over 600 victims, though the number for which they were convicted was 80. Elizabeth herself was neither tried nor convicted. In 1610, however, she was imprisoned in the Csejte Castle, where she remained bricked in a set of rooms until her death four years later.
Later writings about the case have led to legendary accounts of the Countess bathing in the blood of virgins in order to retain her youth and subsequently also to comparisons with Vlad III the Impaler of Wallachia, on whom the fictional Count Dracula is partly based, and to modern nicknames of the Blood Countess and Countess Dracula."
There was a rather fabby Hammer film based on Bathory which starred Ingrid Pitt, called Countess Dracula. You can imagine.
Devastatingly for me, The Countess was the final female serial killer examined in the recent television series on ITV3, Martina Cole’s Ladykillers.
Everyone (including the Slovakian professors) pronounced it “Batory”, with a silent “h” . I may have to change my reading.
The Countess Bathory of Romford
Hear me! I am the Countess Bathory of Romford,
Not just bathed in blood but born of blood
Dad had the slaughterhouse on Oldchurch Road, remember.
Four hundred miles and thirty-three years gone
and I’m back home, Roger’s youngest’s wedding.
For Romford, family is family and we’re all here.
It’s nine o’clock night before, kids are sleeping,
as is he, so I can leave and walk my streets once more.
Sweet town, shallow breaths of country air
are killing me, but here, here I can fill my lungs
with smoke and smells of just my kind.
Lads are putting up the market stalls.
The first Palmer bought his cattle here,
killed, butchered and sold them there
and I see that suited man next to a sepia horse
with Granddad’s right hand on the halter:
he’s out of shot. They all were, eventually
for we were knackers first.
Walk on, the bell ringers practise tonight
and there is Mum marrying that handsome man
who could put anyone down with a single punch
including, especially, her. They all have hands like shovels,
these Palmers, and all are stained red like a henna’ed bride
with the patterns of death.
Under the station there are no drips or pigeons now
but most of all there is no Vi
who sold the flowers she had stole
Mum said, from the graveyard up the road.
On, on and Regarth Avenue cowers
unused to the shade of Atlanta Boulevard,
but it looks the same and I can smell
the room Nan placed herself in at sixty
never to leave again, with barley wine,
hotline to the bookies and the commode.
I cross the Rom and get to source
and all that is there is dual carriageway.
Strolling back, darker now, you think I worry about change?
Sweet Jesus no, for all around
there are girls falling off their heels and boys racing cars
and kids out much too late and drunks and dressed-ups
and laughter laughter laughter.
The brewery may be The Brewery now
but the people are those I knew then,
they are shouters and roarers
and glad-to-be alivers
They are Romford
and their blood and memories
lie gleeful underneath new concrete
for we all hate grass.
Hear me! I am the Countess Bathory of Romford,
Not just bathed in blood but born of blood
Dad had the slaughterhouse on Oldchurch Road, remember.
The Countess Bathory of Romford in my native tongue can be found here.
Remember, you have to open the file to hear it.
All other bus passengers can be found here: