What A Year

What an extraordinary year and obviously there is more to come. I have elected to shield myself in view of the contagion but I had already made the decision to stay indoors because of the constant thefts from my flat and the inclusive vandalism. this was reinforced by the appearance of rats in the flat on October 31st, 2019. Prior to that it was simply coping with the constant stalking, harassment and the ‘wrapper’ on the telephone. We had the same problem with one on our companies ‘Molimerx’ back in the 1980’s and had to work with BT to install an entirely new switchboard. We are now, ironically, unable to have a computer because of the hacking.

Aside from the foregoing, I have come to terms with my crutches – a legacy from my work with radium and a car accident in my twenties. After being pushed off the curb in downtown Belfast (electromagnetically – what it is to be so important) and nearly losing an eye, I had thought to get a wheelchair but was fervently persuaded not to by a wheelchaired young man who articulately pleaded the continued use of crutches. Interesting how an anonymous outsider can help one make a life enhancing decision.

Xmas is very important in the UK so it is hard to be impervious to the festive season but January always follows December and the mould is spreading fast in our flat. If they make the vaccine mandatory it will be difficult to go anywhere – but how many vaccines for how many viruses? BREXIT does not affect me and Europe has become a strange and uninviting environment. We do live in interesting times – for better or worse.

Our Italian problems have not gone away. It is difficult to override a family of bankers who have access to judges bank accounts. My ex daughter-in-law escaped a hit and run homicide charge when she was 19 due to her father’s ‘inside’ financial acumen and wife’s connections (Rothschild I presume). She is able to involve herself in any level of calumny which has far reaching effects. Sadly, it is an Italian mode of life – very much embraced by the avaricious, vacuous women of the piazza and a money maker for the legal profession and their male keepers.

The Xmas story does not appear to be enduring as time progresses. Each year more is chipped away. Perhaps a realization of this accounts for the fervency of festivities.

I just keep reading Margaret Atwood.

Marion Harding, December 2020




Ubaid sculpture of Anunnaki Virgin mother and child (circa 5,500 B.C.)

I share an apartment with my son in the city of Belfast. A place with a troubled and grief stricken history. After much searching we decided this might be a place to stay after having lived in several countries: Italy, Spain, France, Germany, Canada, England and Eire.. We were stalked, harassed and victimized in all those countries largely by the catholic church and its minions.

The police are aware of our problems in at least 4 of them. Their answer is always “lack of forensic evidence” or their “hands are tied”. Indeed they are. The good Christian people have stolen into our very modest flat again and again and most recently removed several of my paint brushes, a candlestick from the mantelpiece and the copy of the book by my first husband  Dr. E.F. Blumberg, ‘Health Through Radium Therapy’. It is the second copy of this book removed from this flat. They are expensive and difficult to obtain.

The book is of particular importance to me as I worked closely with the radium, handling it for 4 years while I was married to Dr. Blumberg. He rarely used it for patients with cancer but as he had done much research and found radium an effective cure he used it to relieve many illnesses with enormous efficacy. It was an extraordinary experience to be a part of this historical research. As his nurse and wife I also met Queen Elizabeth II at a function for the Royal Society of Physicians as he tended to the Royal Household on occasion. In particular, The Queen Mother among others.


What a state to have come to this. Why come into my apartment and steal the book twice? I economize very carefully for extra things. It is not a game or a joke. It is my life.

Only a few weeks ago my son received a shipment of his musical scores and other related paraphernalia which had been in storage for many years. In particular, full orchestral recordings of several of his compositions.

They have been stolen by the appropriators of what little we do have. These are all irreplaceable and worth a substantial amount but more importantly for many years now I have been using them in my own work.

Of even greater significance these represent a large part of my son’s musical output which a group of people wish to deny and ultimately erase. They would rather spread obscene rumors about my son to suit their agenda – conscious projections.

These are the consequences of printing the truth in my previous blog. Perhaps the truth sets you free but it comes at a very high price. Theft of a child/grandchild, house, career (which is not gun running as the appropriators, guilty themselves, would like to have you believe), personal effects and not least, reputation. The truth seems to strike fear into the very core of our appropriators. Especially the Lotito family who seem to ‘take it’ whenever they can.

They are a family of bankers who have been ‘dodgy’ for quite some time and not just appropriating wedding presents, furniture (bespoke), book collections, et al. Ruan’s father in law even offered to help him with an insider trade. The trade would have involved Sandro giving Ruan 10,000 euros which was to double (with paternal gaurantee) over night. They even seem to have swiped the Murano glassware for some reason.

To aid, protect and support these people is known as collaboration.

The Catholic Church as we all know is a modern cover for the ancient Babylonian belief systems and to this day his so-called Holiness wears the Mitre – a fish head crown based upon the apparel of King Nimrod who himself represented Oannes Annedotus.


I wish to go on record that my son and I formally renounce the Catholic Church. We are ex-communicating ourselves from the Catholic Church. They have since confirmed our decision through their continued criminal behavior and our renunciation of their works and ways is testimony to our strength of belief in something that is much more ancient and real being an ultimate truth.

As the Catholic Church founders in its incoherency we celebrate at this time of year as in times of old the rebirth of our sun and a New Year. We have no time for a fake priestly caste that usurps ancient ways and beliefs to dupe its own global and vulnerable congregation and would urge others to follow suit.

Many years ago my son was told, after his baptism and other rites with Pope John Paul II, by Adriana Buitoni who calls herself Princess Gonzaga that he was never to feel beholden to the Catholic church in any way, shape or form.

Ruan has since had misgivings about his previous aristocratic landlord’s nobility and assurances. In point of fact one of her employees, a man called Mauro (ex Italian special forces) passed Ruan in Piazza Navona just prior to his wedding and asked him if things were better now that he had left the Buitoni/Gonzaga residence. Ruan replied yes but was concerned that Mauro himself looked unwell.

When Ruan asked him if he was OK Mauro replied No. When Ruan asked why, Mauro said he too had left the Buitoni residence because she had done something terrible to Ruan behind his back that he didn’t agree with. Mauro concluded by saying he would probably return to Los Angeles and end up sleeping on the beach.

This disconcerted Ruan but he could do nothing about it as Mauro refused to tell him what Adriana had done. Sitting in Piazza Navona, Ruan did remember that when Adriana invited the French artist Davide Pons to stay she showed off some of the Gonzaga relics that she kept with the master copies of Ruan’s opera scores in her wall safe.


Apart from Napoleon‘s sabre and a Gonzaga Cardinal’s hat she set up a little competition to see if David with his artistic expertise or Ruan with his intuition could best ascertain the provenance of a sugar marble classical antiquity in the form of a bust. After deliberation she proceeded to brag that the item belonged in a museum and she could go to gaol in Italy if anyone ever found out about her personal treasure hoards.

The cutesy way she showed off about having illicit national treasures in her private possession together with more sinister undertones of Mauro’s confession seems to lead into some of what we are experiencing today.

Could it be possible that some wealthy people play dark games or as Padre Nino calls them “giochi sporci” that continue from the 1990’s to the present?

Adriana once boasted that she collected people. But what happens if one of her pets leaves The Glass Menagerie – especially one that Mauro told Ruan, Adriana had paid $1,000, 000 to have baptized by a living saint.

Eugen Grosche


Founder of sinister Catholic Cult

Founder of sinister Catholic Cult

For a good few years now I have accompanied my son to a variety of cities, institutions, shops, visitations and perambulations. Sometimes out of necessity but more often out of choice.

He returned home from Rome, Italy on March 4th 2004 after a remarkable life of exactly 40 years, give or take a fortnight, with what he loosely termed a ‘situation’. Without wishing to be-labour the point or tire the reader, essentially he had fallen foul of the Catholic church, a black masonic lodge P2, a sinister Spanish group Opus Dei, and several personages including the then Prime Minister of Italy, Silvio Berlusconi (by way of asking his lawyer Cesare Previti’s daughter to stop using her lighter in a music class) and Canada’s John Chretien to name but a few. The first question was how?

I had not seen or spoken with him for 12 years following my divorce from my 2nd husband, Antony John Harding. I last saw Ruan in 1988 when he was in Canada with his then lovely girlfriend Gilly White. He was trying to establish himself as a contemporary classical composer in London after graduating in music from the University of Sussex and winning a panelled South East Arts Award to study composition privately with Robert Saxton (who we will look at in more detail in a later entry) at the Guildhall School of Music in London. His girlfriend was a P.A. to a wealthy American developer William Dowling III who had cut his teeth with Leona Helmsley. All a far cry from what the universe presented me with on March 4th, 2004.

To listen to him was not enough. I believed it all but wanted to see for myself what had gone on to create what seemed to me a living personification of Kafka himself. And so it began. I accompanied him to the welfare offices and watched in amazement as his hard copy files were lost, digital files purged, his name constantly messed with: sometimes pronounced Roo-Ann, Roon, Ryan etc. and written on documents too. It stuck with me the name thing as I had named him and always loved it, Ruan.  It was as if something had got in my head, found what bothered me personally and was now toying with me as well.

It was only the beginning. Walking down the street people knew him who he didn’t know. How? Why? Time for the next stage. Change cities, countries and lo and behold the same everywhere. At this point I forgot my original plan of finding out what had gone on, I simply wanted to survive myself.


Ruan made a point of talking with as many people as he could en route to try to glean more of the bigger picture and after several years more names emerged. Looming largest was the organization he had worked for as a teacher and translator: Opus Dei. Secondly there was the free masonic P2 founded by Licio Gelli the one time friend and companion of Ruan’s landlady in Italy Princess Gonzaga aka Adriana Buitoni. What their policy was/is has yet to be revealed. For the moments in between surviving the How? I remained puzzled.

What kind of technology do these organizations have access to that they can play with people’s sense of perception at a variety of levels? How is it that they can simulate the necessary sets of circumstances to induce what ‘they’ call paranoia. By way of example, Ruan had said watch for people patterns today Mom, today I believe we will witness many of the same people we have seen in the last few days but they will behave in exactly the same way. Try to catch the eye of some and study others then tell me what you think. Discounting any suggestion it was totally true. Had they always been there and I hadn’t noticed?

Certainly it was becoming easier to recognise repeating cycles. I began to investigate more and I chanced upon essays and experiences of what is known as the technique of ‘gaslighting‘ and I felt that I had been here before, Several times in my life at work and in marriage I had felt myself to have been ‘gaslit’. The more I read and absorbed of these black tactics and the organizations/individuals that exploited them the more I realized my son and I now were victims of savagely abusive violations of our human rights.

Ruan’s father had worked in radar for the RAF and then had his own successful electronics and computer companies. My husband’s inability to decide whether he was an inventor or businessman required enormous funding for his many first class trips to the Orient and States but did result in him knowing a thing or two about wireless systems and technology in general. Ruan himself seems to have acquired a background in similar fields completely unbeknownst to me! As I said I thought he was on his way to becoming another Elgar or whatever.


What slowly began to strike me after experiencing ‘gaslighting’ in our 10 countries and a decade of time was the filtrative and infiltrative component to it all. Sure, these sinister groups/individuals now had social networking platforms to work with and other enhanced bullying aids like Apps but how do you get so may people involved?

The obvious answer is you don’t. You just create the illusion that there is, which requires some patsies with agendas and some good wireless tech maybe together with what my husband was always going on about: 5th Generation or Artificial Intelligence. However, chatting with Ruan revealed that there were maybe a few more people up to no good than I had previously thought. If so, Ruan felt, it was most likely at the instigation of a game dynamic. He says that if enough people to start with can be interested then you could in theory make a ‘gas lighting’ campaign go viral and then these sadistic and so-called spiritual types would only have to sit back and play puppet – master thereby satiating all their wildest mediocre fantasies.


Ruan had worked for 3 years at the Elis Centre in Rome an Opus Dei Technical College where hundreds of young men from poor backgrounds are taught a variety of computer skills including hacking under the auspices of their director Michele Crudele. The Elis Centre has within its bowels the operational systems for Cisco systems compromising computer and telecommunication facilities and WiFi systems and platforms all under the umbrella of what is loosely termed the Consortium. ‘Il Consorzio’ itself comprises 14 plus multi-national corporations exploiting every charity and fundraising loophole imaginable under Italian and EU law.

Ruan working on musical scores for computer programs for one of the family companies - Molimerx in 1981.

Ruan working on musical scores for computer programs for one of the family companies – Molimerx in 1981.

This brief digression is to illustrate for the reader the cynical and exploitative fabric of a personal prelature within the Catholic Church that coerces poor young men with sometimes no spiritual inclinations at all into themselves becoming witting and unwitting pawns in a larger and darker game. Opus Dei, both at its Cefa school, Montemario and the Elis Centre employ both Opus and non Opus personnel. However all are expected to comply with and vigorously follow a coercive and hegemoniacal line. Ruan himself on several occasions was approached and asked to gang up on another member of staff who had been deemed in need of re-education.

He refused. These tactics Ruan brought to the attention of his spiritual advisers as ‘mobbing‘ tactics more befitting of a militaristic organization than spiritual. When you refuse to carry out an Opus Dei order – and Ruan was in the process of becoming a fully fledged supernumerary member but in theory was only an Opus Dei co-operator- you are put into the machinery of re-education yourself. The reader would do well at this point to take a little time to look at Maria del Carmen Tapia’s excellent book: Beyond The Threshold.


This is a tiered structure which begins with minor irritations such as non payment of salary, bank machines not working and leads through a series of sexual based rumors using innuendo and direct calumny. These rumors begin in Opus Dei for a married man in the chronological sequence that you are firstly impotent, secondly gay, thirdly a pedophile and fourthly transgendered.

Apart from the obvious homophobia latent within the tactic it is fascinating to note that the Opus Dei founder: Josemaría Escrivá  essentially shared his entire life with his companion Álvaro del Portillo for much of his life. The relationship could only be described as matrimonial in nature given their intense and close proximity for such a length of time.


The current Prelate of Opus Dei, Javier Echevarría Rodríguez, was himself involved in an obscene scandal that sought to blame parents for the handicaps of their children! He is quoted as having said:  “A survey says that 90 percent of disabled people are children of parents who did not come clean to the marriage” in the Italian newspaper Corriere Della Sera.

A more bizarre note was that this so-called ‘Saint’ purchased a title of nobility for himself to help his nephews and became the The Marquis of PeraltaIn January 1968, The Official State Bulletin in Madrid published the following Ministry of Justice announcement:

‘Don José María Escrivá de Balageur y Albás has requested the rehabilitation of the title of Marquis, granted on 12 February 1718 by the Archduke Charles of Austria to Don Tomas de Peralta, the interested party having chosen in grace the distinction of Marquis of Peralta. The provisions of Article 4 of the Decree 4 June 1948 for granting the request having been satisfied, a delay of three months from the publication of this edict exists for any persons wishing to be made known their opposition. Madrid, 24 January 1968’.

What kind of people are these? Are these the same people that are part of the Vatican that Knights people and has been around for a couple of thousand years instituted by St. Peter himself?

Interesting that Ruan was good enough to be Baptised, Confirmed, First Eucharist and other honours from Saint Pope John Paul II but has to go through 13 years of this abuse. Opus Dei does indeed have high standards! Lets hope the optic of the divine falls upon them at the appropriate time. I should imagine there will be some fast Spanish voices fluttering that day. They have even harassed Ruan about this ceremony demanding to know how it happened and who arranged it. So much for their faith in the Holy Spirit.

Confirmation with Saint Pope John Paul II

Confirmation with Saint Pope John Paul II (part of triple ceremony with Baptism and First Eucharist).

The aforementioned rumors are spread through the time honored system of the ‘piazza’. The results are as follows: your wife and family will ask you to take potency and venereal disease tests, secondly your family, friends and students will begin calling you gay and thirdly the mobile anti – pedophile unit will follow you to and from work and begin questioning your child in front of you in a playground and in front of other parents and children further reinforcing the rumor. The 4th point pertaining to transgendered results in an endless stream of men following you into a toilet looking at your penis and watching you urinate.

But it doesn’t stop there. Your friends that have joined the band wagon end up becoming part of the sick joke and even asking you if you have an Adam’s apple. All of this process happens under the eyes of your line managers at work and your priest and your Opus Dei lay spiritual director. It is quite terrifying for a young husband and father to go through such a process and further experience the earlier mentioned electronic harassment. The over all effect is to drive the victim to seek psychiatric help and thereby demolish their sanity and credibility.

When this has been achieved and the victim’s family unit has been broken down it is customary to report the victim anonymously as a terrorist to the Americans and the Italian authorities. Again fascinating given the scandals surrounding Opus Dei arms dealing in Croatia and other affairs in Argentina. Not to mention the horrific case of treason involving the Opus Dei member Robert Hanssen who had worked for the FBI and is now serving 15 consecutive life sentences. Quoting directly from Wikipedia:  His activities have been described by the US Department of Justice‘s Commission for the Review of FBI Security Programs as “possibly the worst intelligence disaster in U.S. history“.

This often follows a lesser series of calumny including lying, libidinous and salacious behavior patterns, thieving, crying wolf, etc. Without having evidence of it there are indications that victims can be programmed using NLP.

At the same time what appears to be teams of computer literate young people are put onto hacking your emails and creating mayhem with your online digital footprint and identity. Should you at this point still feel a need to go to church it is customary practice for the priest to direct parts of his homily and the attention of the congregation to the victim to further compound their developing paranoia and sense of alienation. It also makes the entire congregation complicit and serves to remind them what their lot will be should they dissent.


It also functions as a convenient ‘cover up’ to drive your victims to the abyss of distraction – it certainly becomes easier to run them over with a car or bicycle! This I can personally testify to in a number of countries and by way of note Ruan’s oldest friend Joseph Paraskevas was a well known journalist who decided to write an expose on the corruption in the Winnipeg City Hall involving my cousin Peter Liba. Peter had been appointed Vice-Prior of the Knights of St. John and had many high ranking Catholic friends including Knights of Malta.

Joe was run over by a black SUV, put into a coma and when he regained consciousness three months later forced to write a public apology for getting in the way of the car and not knowing how to cross a road! He had been an exemplary ice hockey player and Ruan has never questioned Joe’s motor coordination skills. But more, you would be learning all the time how to more efficiently torment your future victims – a sort of on going sadistic social engineering experiment forever taking in new participants on all sides. Potentially lethal and genocidal if you bolted it onto state sponsored killing activities.

At best victims are damaged so-called conspiracy theorists at worst Ruan says we can end up victims of ‘extreme rendition’ plans and end up in some sort of tank alive but drowned in perfluorocarbon gel in a state of sensory deprivation. The torturers ultimate trophy – humans as living specimens in formaldehyde. Most of the research is justified under cryogenics and potential space exploration. One can only guess as to where it will all lead, perhaps some form of experimental research resulting in Transhumanist research. It would appear to be a logical extrapolation. Maybe some of the Opus Dei research units in South America would know something or even Campus Bio-Medico in Rome (strange name for a Catholic hospital). Certainly enough has been documented on Colonia Dignidad (Villa Bavaria).


Extreme indeed. But not as outlandish as I had first thought when he reminded me that I had narrowly escaped working as a stooge nurse for the MK Ultra program back in the 1960’s Montreal when Jean Chretien the future Canadian Prime Minister was starting out on his political career and his right hand man, my cousin the Hon. Peter M. Liba (22nd Lieutenant Governor of Manitoba) and known Liberal Party Rottweiler was learning how to ply his trade. So How and Why?

The answer seems to be infiltration. Just as the wireless systems, ADS and apparently ELF’s (Extremely Low Frequencies) penetrate our subconscious, conscious and unconscious thoughts so at a ‘macro’ level these organizations/individuals have permeated by ‘osmosis’ every office/dicastery in the Vatican/Government offices/supermarkets, etc. What we seem to have evolved into as a species is living in a global state obsessed with what my first and second husbands would describe as a ‘total intelligence system’ or a ‘100 % Security System’, effectively it involves everybody. Anyone speaking out is silenced or accused of paranoia at best. At worst the lists of unspeakable things they spread rumours about runs the full gamut of Freddy Krueger’s imagination.

It would appear the next stage is to kill as many people as is possible and program the rest. No doubt forced baptisms and incineration will become the norm again. Certainly the Catholic Church through Opus Dei seems intent upon driving away the faithful, paring down the church and robbing a number of people of not only their spirituality but their free will! What saddens me personally is not just the torment they have put Ruan and possibly his father, too, through but how weak my other family and friends have been to have succumbed to their beads and firewater. I often feel like Thomas More asking ‘You sold me for this’?

Think about it. The New World Order bears a striking resemblance to the European witch hunting of the Spanish Inquisition together with the American Salem trials. The problem is ‘they’ are proud of it.

Spanish Inquisition

Spanish Inquisition

Crucifixtion and Resurrection


How many times are we to open a newspaper and have more information on Cyril Smith and yet nothing is done.

Nothing is done about the banking industry and the avarice of the oil sector.

Where is the mythical Jesus today? Yes, teach the children about eggs and birth and life and rabbits and lambs. It does not last long and even that ‘reality’ is rapidly being eroded. So we know who is being crucified daily; what is being resurrected?

Truly, death and suffering could be our teachers and saviours. As hard as it is to accept, our reality is such that we are born into a hostile environment at all levels.

From the beginning of what we call our life we are systematically deluded by the agendas of cynical and sinister people. I say people because they are. Institutions, forces and entities lets them off lightly. They are people. They conspire to rob us of our legacy. They force us into a puerile existence within an obsequious and servile base as its foundation.

The reality is that when you are born you are held upside down and beaten by a professional with a stethoscope for a Shaman’s rattle who thinks only of his or her BMW catalogue.

You are placed into educational establishments by parents who may or may not abuse you in one way or another to assimilate untruths and lies that mold your ever increasingly perverse perspective.

In between the policy of hidden sarcasm comes your true chance for survival; the ability to schizophrenically run with the herd yet pretend to yourself and a hidden higher authority otherwise.

The myth of religion is a misnomer.

It is neither myth nor religion. It is an invisible framework ingeniously designed to trap you now and forever. What kind of God, real or of man’s making requires a snivelling, grovelling spectacle from its creation?

So yes, teach your children about Easter but tell them the truth.

It might require you to do a little homework yourself. Perhaps together with your child you could explore the myths of King Sargon and Mithras.

There have been a myriad of offerings within popular culture recently seeking to expose the falsehoods of past fictions presented as present relevant fact.

Films such as ZEITGEIST, although useful, can be misleading. Whilst it is true that the young should understand the relevance of primitive cosmologies it is far more important that they develop their own questioning rationale.

In so doing the human race might evolve out of its ludicrous programming with the accents on understanding development and style in place of a ‘race’. If we are to learn by osmosis from our planetary seeders we must truly within all senses Grecian, know ourselves.

Happy learning.

Christmas Bells


I bought a cow-bell as a Xmas decoration recently. It seemed fitting somehow for the times we live in. The bell calling the bovines in, peacefully they follow along. There have been no other Xmas baubles that have as yet attracted me. It was in an OxFam book shop that was selling the bells this year.

Christians are being called upon again to celebrate their mythology. Is it a sign of age and enlightenment to realize it is mythology? When is something new to arise to bridge the gap between paganism and Christianity? The commercial world benefits the most, somehow they should be able to come up with something from the ancient world to connect it all gradually ceding the mythology to the mists of time. The carols: “Good King Wenceslas makes it through but “O Little Town of Bethlehem“? and save us from “Joy To The World“.

Have I become jaded by time? Is that what cognizance of reality means? The concept of sending Xmas cards is a good one. People keep in touch, if only yearly. A human touch. Someone has got their pen ready, written, sealed, stamped and gone to a post office. A truly human endeavour. Whether the cards are received is another matter in our New World Order. The British post has truly taken to sorting mail with a vengeance. The fact that something is ‘in the post’ does no longer mean that it will arrive. So perhaps the passing of real Xmas cards was inevitable.

One of my pleasures in advanced years is frequenting the charity shops. There is always the possibility of finding a little French porcelain cup for 50 pence. The shops are full for Xmas of old clothes and old treasures and often an unused candle to be found. Aside from contributing to a higher cause there are the other shoppers to observe. All ages, nationalities and stations of life are here. You can’t really go by clothes anymore except to judge style and taste because of what is available. So it is the conversations that reveal the most.

Although my obstetrical and gynecological work was over 50 years ago my ears prick up at certain familiar words, as not much has really changed in the decades. The small shops are overheated and the ladies are fanning themselves, obviously uncomfortable and I keep hearing the same problem over and over. 2014 and still ‘hot flushes’? Ah yes, this puritanical, misogynist, anglo-saxon male world that women still live under must still burden themselves with what is ‘natural’. What a waste of freedom. French women smoke and have HRT. They appear to look rather good on it judging by the press of late. M. Hollande has a bevy of them and I doubt they know what a hot flush is. So why do the English trying on their ‘new frocks’ for Xmas have to suffer like some medieval female of 500 years ago? I am aware that we are to die as quickly as possible and not make a nuisance of ourselves on the way but do we not make a contribution rather considerable when taken as a whole. Am I alone when I feel sick inside seeing some elderly crone struggling to get off a bus (God forbid that the driver should lower the step) with her head bowed into her chest because of osteoporosis. Obviously no HRT was ever offered to her to prevent this happening.

Interesting at what crops up as the bells ring for Xmas to herald this mythical birth. Someone said recently why has there never been a piece of furniture found from our carpenter God? The best anyone has come up with is a false shroud a few hundred years old. Did he not even make his Mother a napkin ring which she would surely have kept for posterity? O Come All Ye Faithful, Joyful and Triumphant. Triumphing over what?

Two books I have been reading recently, a librarian with imagination placed side by side on a display shelf; Silent Night by Stanley Weintraub and Kristallnacht by Mitchell G. Bard. The former about the mixing of Germans, French, British and Irish on Xmas Eve 1914 sharing festivities and not killing. (I have mentioned this before as my Irish grandfather, Thomas Pounder Finnigan, was one of the soldiers who partook in these festivities sharing his Porter cake that my grandmother had baked and sent with a bottle of port to her husband in the trenches) Kristallnacht I know about because my first husband, Dr. Ernst Blumberg had rescued all his family from Berlin just before this event occurred. I find it curious of how the war went on for so long after an event like 1914 Xmas Eve and progressed to November 9/10 1938?? And now here we are in 2014, “O Little Town of Bethlehem how still we see thee lie.” It’s all a God awful mess and I keep feeling it’s got something to do with the creepy old men who still today don’t want women on HRT. Think about it as the bells ring. It may not be as crazy as it sounds. Many men are fabulous creatures but I really wonder about the old fart brigade. The guys in long black dresses, the ones who worship triangles and a few others; perhaps some golfers.

As a pre Xmas treat I shall think of the cows as they placidly wend their way to the stable, their bells ringing and I will enjoy a bit of French Brie, some Cashel blue and will purchase two Yellow Door Xmas puddings. One for December and one for January.


Jolly Maleficent


Ruan had his usual 9 A.M. visit to the Conor Building to sign on, Tuesday morning. His advisor clerk this time was the very abusive, officious person that he had seen about a year ago, a Jolly Maleficent in manner.

He had waited 10 minutes (unusual) for his number to be called and was sent to Booth #19 at the very far end of the floor (again unusual) where #19 was and angled next to it was the person that had been his most recent advisor for several visits until he was informed that he would be seeing a new one. His former advisor was only a couple of yards from #19 and had no clients for the duration of Ruan’s visit.

Ruan sat down  and within moments the person he was seeing was loudly and aggressively questioning him (I had moved down almost behind him immediately and was unseen by him or his advisor). The questions were sharp: had he done this, had he done that, why hadn’t he done something else (he had; it was assumed he hadn’t). The verbiage of inquiry crossed the border of official bureaucratic questioning and was abusive and bullying again.

The advisor arose suddenly to ask a question of Ruan’s new advisor to be at another booth, pertaining to his new agreed upon self-employment status, looked across, saw me, did a very visible double-take and returned to Booth #19. In her following questions she lowered her voice considerably but I still managed to hear everything.

Ruan’s visit was, in addition to signing on, concerned with his new status of being self-employed. This was completely new to the person whom he was speaking with as nothing was recorded anywhere, least of all on the computer on his file. There was no record of his May 22, 2014, Thursday visit with the person in the next booth which had been a satisfactory 35 minute discussion on self-employment.

There was no record of a further visit on Friday, July 25, 2014 at 12.20 to continue to explore further details of self-employment with the former advisor. There was also no record of a third visit on Tuesday, October 7, 2014 at 11.15 (following earlier visit that morning at 9 A.M. to sign on) with a new advisor. A subsequent meeting was planned for a fortnight later but did not evolve.

Ruan was subsequently informed that he would be hearing from his new advisor and he must keep his phone (mobile) on at all time. He was ordered to do this and it was impressed upon him that he comply totally. When asking what he should do when he went to the bathroom, i.e. toilet he was told he must not miss the call even though Ruan informed the advisor that he did have a message service on his phone.

The call came about 36 hours later to let him know that there would be a delay on the next advisory meeting. The advisor refused to signature his signing-on form, saying it was unnecessary nor was she interested in any details of job searches.

If someone has worked from an early age, working for their father part time from the age of 11, in addition at 14 finding their own self employment part time, while being an A student at school, earning their allowance, in later life periods holding sometimes 3 positions  simultaneously, able to do that also in foreign countries to make ends meet I believe  there is an inherent work ethic well established.

Modest respect for the individual perhaps coupled with awareness would, I believe, be in order from any source especially government when legislated to guide and facilitate.

Following the fortnightly debacle we dutifully went to the Job Fair, our third Job Fair in 3 years so that Ruan  can keep looking for jobs even though  he is now in the self employed category. Without going into too much detail, at the Fair he took his Business Plan and C.V. to the Prince’s Trust stand. He asked if they would be kind enough to cast their eye over it and give their opinion on his 4th draft. They asked him how old he was.

He politely replied 50. The young man in his 20’s didn’t stand up, didn’t shake his hand, didn’t smile, didn’t take his documents, simply sneered and said he was too old. “We only look at business plans for people in the age group 18 to 30”.

If anyone is interested, which I am sure they are not, his Business Plan and idea is to set up a company called ‘Imaginarium‘; with a simple premises comprising an art gallery with my paintings and that of others in it together with a psychic reading room/psychic healing practice. As everybody knows I’m an artist and have done some research work of my own in Belfast and know that it is crying out for a good new art gallery.

Psychic readings have always been popular as an entertainment and I too could act as a foil and back-up to the art gallery. So why all the resistance? Why all the humiliation? Why all the prevaricating? Why so much strange behavior from so many strange people in an employment office? What is going on?

More to follow-including character portraits of the protagonists.

Ode To Cyril Smith



Cyril Smith with his bucket and mop

Coming down the corridor

Slop, slop, slop.

Cyril Smith coming for you,

Cyril Smith, Boo hoo hoo.

Cyril Smith, he is a great man

Known to the Queen

Throughout the land.

Cyril Smith, he’s at your door

Knock, knock, knock,

You’re on the floor.

Slopping and slushing

Cyril’s here.

Slopping and slushing

Have no fear.

Weep, weep,weep,

Cyril’s had his way

Weep, weep,weep

You’re Cyril’s, OK!

You took it hard,

You took it well.

Now you know

Welcome to Hell.


Basta Pasta


Why would the Rome families of Lotito, Sallustio and Occhiodoro want to keep their DNA hidden??? Why did Simona tell me that Ruan was not the biological father of Chiara?

Just who is the biological father of Chiara – another Istrian or Albanian?

What are they afraid of?

What could they be afraid of?

Why is creepy Uncle Franco always so anxious in the house in Pereto and why did “banker moneybags” Grandpa Sandro make such a thing about taking little Chiara to the toilet?

Why has Simona never visited her father’s house in Rome with his second wife “lookalike Lady Rothschild” Giuseppina?

Is Simona still lurking around Piazzas late at night hoping to play the clarinet or oboe like her Woody Allen grandad Eraclio? Does she even have a dog to walk?


Why is Simona so anxious in Pereto when creepy Uncle Franco is around? Does Granny Marcella know? Has Lorenzo worked out Quebec is a part of Canada yet?

Did Granny Marcella really run off a bus and hide during the Ardeatine massacre and feel guilty when she told the Nazi soldiers to take “others” and not her? Does she still collect chainsaws?

Did Granny Marcella really turn up at Sandro’s house with an axe when he left Cecilia for Giuseppina

Will Simona ever return from the toilet after antipasti not smelling of regurgitation and what really did happen to the family dog, Snoopy, that made him so ill and he died? Is Concetta’s cooking really that bad?

Join us here at Centro Vetrine for the next episode.

By way of note Italians will have much to think about regarding truth and the world of science with the results of massive DNA testing in Northern Italy.

The case of the tragic death of Yara Gambirasio on 26 November 2010 has once again brought paternity to the forefront of the popular consciousness.

Perhaps my connection to the Sallustio and Lotito families in Rome will prompt them to reveal the DNA of my grand daughter Chiara without national involvement.



“Will you walk a little faster?”  said a whiting to a snail.

“There’s a porpoise close behind us, and he’s treading on my tail.


See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance!

They are waiting on the shingle—will you come and join the dance?


Can you, can you, did you, did you, did you join the dance?

Can you, can you, did you , did you , have you joined the dance?


“What matters is how far we go?” his scaly friend replied.

“There is another shore, you know, upon the other side.”


Copyright Lewis Carroll and Marion Harding

(Alice In Wonderland)

Three Bouquets

Mrs. dodge

Trying to make myself learn more about using a computer I have been searching for old friends on google. I discovered three people who had been significant in my life were now dead. Momentarily despondent I reflected on the positive relationships I had had with the three women now in another world. As a very young girl I had my heroines: my English god-mother Maud Russell Lee, Edith Cavell the WW l nurse, Ingrid Bergman and Florence Nightingale.

The three women, my friends from the past, were in the same league. Heroism is simply a matter of degree. They were all special people.


Doreen Buchanan

Doreen was ten years older than me. She died this spring aged 86 in Portage La Prairie, the town that I was born in. I met her when I was about 10 years old and she would have been 20. A big difference in time then. She was a dietitian in the department where my Mother worked in the huge institution of a few thousand people known then as The Manitoba School For The Retarded. It was a colossal facility, training doctors and nurses but primarily a teaching facility for the inmates or ‘patients’ as they were referred to. Doreen was very young for the position but highly respected for her competency.

I, as a child was completely enthralled when she would periodically come to visit my Mother for tea. Doreen was possibly the most beautiful person I have ever encountered in my entire life, akin to the early film stars. She was about six feet tall, very unusual for a woman in those days, slim, dark haired with an enchanting smile. In retrospect I realize she was very mature for her age, always gracious and charming. Although I was always hesitant to speak to her, I would sit on a chair and simply watch her, completely mesmerized. Later, as a teenager I would drop by the institution to walk home with my Mother. Suddenly a plate with cupcakes or cookies would appear for me and my Mother would tell me that Doreen had sent them.

I would still see her from time to time when she would come to visit my parents. Now with her “friend”.This relationship of hers caused consternation to everyone for the “friend” was a married man with children.The man in question had been described by her family as ‘the love of her life’ and lived until his late nineties. His brother was one of my Father’s close friends and I gathered from bits of conversations that I overheard that there were many complications. Doreen was much loved and admired for herself but also for her professionalism and leadership. By now she was head of the catering department, training the inmates in the kitchens plus a huge staff that she was responsible for. I never referred to her relationship when I knew her although she happily chattered about what she and her friend would be doing or what she had prepared for his dinner. As an adult now I knew people despaired of her love choice but she was besotted and as discreetly as possible did all she could to help him and his family. My Mother occasionally invited her Mother to tea. I did not include myself in these visits as I never ceased in my admiration for the woman. In a very small town with a real career and a love affair she more than handled it all including the responsibility for her own family, Mother, siblings and various nieces.

When I went away to Nursing School I would drop by and visit her on my few visits home so we kept in touch. I returned to my home town after having lived and married in London, England for several years. I had left my husband and was pregnant with someone else whom I brought home with me. My Mother was shattered,not knowing what to do. My grandmother, stoic as usual was happy for me to be home whatever the circumstances. Unfortunately I was very ill and then had a car accident which required surgery. Doreen would invite us for meals trying to prepare interesting things for me to eat. I had been cut dead by my childhood friends on my return. Finally I went in to hospital for delivery, a pattern of false alarms. Doreen had made it clear to my Mother that she could leave work whenever I needed her. Some of my Mothers co-workers objected to her sudden absences, she was now a supervisor and so my Mother told me she would be unable to leave until I had actually delivered. My Mother informed her co-workers that I was again in hospital but she would not be leaving for several days. Moments later a message came down from Doreen’s office that my Mother was to leave for the city immediately! Nothing more was ever said.

Over the years we gradually lost touch except for Xmas cards. I last spoke to her at some length 10 years ago. My life really changed but I would hear of her from time to time, she had continued her caring and support of anyone who entered her life still generous, gracious and kind.

Within three years of having my children I had cancer and could no longer reproduce. I thought of the influence this beautiful and dignified woman had had on my life. I did not think I was alone. I believe she was much loved and had a good life, clearly giving more than she took.

The town has planted a tree to commemorate Doreen Buchanan’s passing. A garden in her name would also be appropriate.

Roberta Jarrett

I first met Bobbie just a few weeks short of my 18th birthday. We were part of the new intake at the nursing school embarking on a three year program. It was a very tightly controlled environment and we turned inwards as our worlds contracted and altered. Friendships were more important as the outside world was less available (one overnight allowed per month).

Bobbie was a live wire and a natural leader. Everyone gravitated towards her except for those too withdrawn or shy. She was dedicated and aspired to be the best at everything without breaking waves. A faculty dream and the nuns loved her. Myself, I took one look at it all and realized that I was in for a 3 year endurance test and had to go ahead with it whatever I encountered to please my Mother. Strangely enough, Roberta and I became friends, visiting each other’s homes. My Father thought she was a real sport, fun, unspoilt and respectful.

The other evening on Radio Ulster, John Bennett’s program, The Sunday Club, played Dean Martin’s ‘Memories are Made of This‘. Bobbie and I used to  jive wildly to this in the corridors of our residence, much to the consternation of others trying to sleep or study. We gradually formed a close group of friends. One day about six of us were sitting around when Bobbie entered saying she had an announcement to make which included an apology. Apology? Bobbie? To whom and why? “First of all”, she started out, “I have to say that I hate looking after Finnigan’s patients” (that was me). She had our attention. What is this? She turned to me, “I confess that I did not think you could possibly be a good nurse with your casual, indifferent attitude so when you were off I asked for your roster of patients (about 12). Each of them, no matter how sick, are an absolute pain because they complain that you do things differently and never hurt them. You always sort things out and even harass staff for more pain killers for the cancer sufferers! That’s all I have to say and I apologize and want everyone to know because I have made sarcastic comments even though you are my friend.” Dead Silence. I asked her if she felt better and now could she please forget about it and would she please stop harassing my patients! It took more than courage to do that amongst her peers. She admitted culpability and also admitted to mis-judgement. In the uncomfortable silence that ensued  I wondered whom else had entertained these thoughts.

Life went on, friendships strengthened. Bobbie and I kept in touch. Much later when I had a family we visited her and her family in the U.S. She pulled out all the stops and we had a fabulous time always. Roberta had gone on to do post graduate studies working constantly even admitting herself to hospital after coming off duty to have her 4th child informing the staff of her progress. Her then husband whom she was constantly supporting through his many degrees. She lectured and wrote books. On one quick visit to Winnipeg she had some free time for lunch but I couldn’t leave the house as my son was ill (he was an asthmatic and was also being treated for cystic fibrosis) so she came to the house. I was very excited as I did not get out much and hadn’t seen her for some time and against better judgement allowed my small son to visit when he should have rested.

We were in animated discussion when my son began to have trouble breathing. It seemed different on this occasion and his color rapidly changed. Roberta slowly stood, picked him up and held him out to me saying, “you and Mummie are going to have a shower now” and she shook her head so we went into the shower with clothes and shoes, turned it on light and cool and after a few minutes his color and breathing returned to normal. Later, as I changed she had him wrapped in big towels discussing the birds outside the windows. A potential real crisis averted. In later years a family tragedy kept her away and we followed up in letters and phone calls. These soon lessened but I followed her career as more books were written and she became a part of the medical lecture circuit in the US. Roberta became an authority on professional care giving and of the care of the care-giver. I only discovered recently that she had died two years ago, aged 74.

She left a lasting legacy in her work and her large family. I was privileged to have known her.

susie king

Rachel Berman

A.K.A. Susie King

Rachel first appeared in my life in the nineties as the artist Susie King. I had been given a card illustrating a mouse playing the piano. I loved it and was given more of these cards for special occasions and then I started looking in stationers for ones that I didn’t have until I had built up a little collection. Everyone I asked knew the name Susie King but nobody seemed to know anything about her until someone said that she had left the country. So be it. I set her aside for some time until one day while on a bus I saw a sign on a wall saying SUSIE KING IS COMING BACK. Still no one knew anything. More signs began to appear and then one day at an art opening – there she was – this tiny, delightful person who could have been 50 or 90…Susie King. She did not appear to have the strength to wield a paint brush.
I told her that I collected her cards and she invited me for tea at her studio/home. On arriving I looked at everything and then asked her if she would consider selling her original piano/mouse drawings, if I could afford them. She howled with laughter and said she didn’t have them anymore as they were in Ireland where she had been living, i.e. Dublin. I assumed they were in a museum and asked if there was a catalogue available. More raucous laughter. “No”, she said, “they are in the sea, The Irish Sea has them”. I’m looking at her in total bewilderment. “Well it’s like this; they told me I was dying, so I went on one of my “toots” (binges) and threw all my drawings into the Irish Sea, and I don’t think the sea will give them back, do you?” I looked at her, “Not one drawing?” She then explained.
She had been diagnosed with Aids from using dirty needles as she had been a heroin addict. So there she was, this little old lady looking like a nun from an ancient monastic order, almost 10 years younger than me, lesbian, alcoholic, former heroin addict with Aids. She was one of the most incredible artists that I had ever encountered. She wasn’t Susie King either, she was really Rachel Berman.
She had discovered her real identity beyond her adoptive one. Her work displayed this duality. The whimsical ingenuity of Susie and, reminiscent for me, of the Scandinavian style in her use of oils which was Rachel. She no longer did the piano-mouse works of the past but Susie continued in the loving and endearing animal caricatures and Rachel did the solemn portraits. She embarked on reflecting her views on the loneliness and angst of her fellow humans. Burdened by her illness she reproduced herself on canvas. 
Rachel was generous beyond anything. If you mentioned a tea or a cereal, out it came from her cupboards and it was thrust at you. The same went for drawings and sketches. Her letters were always accompanied by sketches and doodles which her friends collected and treasured. Mementoes of Rachel, in case she disappeared again. Others collected her formal works.
Her illness bore down on her but she had a strong group of supporters amongst her lesbian circle and established people who followed her in the galleries. She was not, however, remiss in going off on one of her ‘toots’ from time to time. I would not hear from her and she would not answer the phone and then suddenly she would reappear. I never knew her well enough to know what drove her. She had had to leave Ireland because medical help for aids sufferers was insufficiently advanced there. Occasionally I would see her in a grocery shop we both frequented and our eyes would meet but as I moved towards her I would get the message ‘not today’ and I moved on.
In spite of her depleted energy resources she worked constantly and had time to help and encourage others, trying to find work for the disenfranchised and engaging in several charities. Rachel died this spring aged 68. I hope and trust that she will have a major retrospective, well catalogued. Surely, even the misogynist Canadian art world will welcome that. She is, I believe, distinctive amongst Canadian artists and her work should be visible, discussed and not overlooked. Rachel Berman is worthy of that. 
Northern lights undimmed by death or time.

August 2014