The Red Lord

I am the High Lord, Red is my colour, Hatred my word, I have no honour. I am the red Lord Sweet is the song of blood Quick is my sword Slaughter, massacre and flood Are my trade. To no end, Mercy you bade. I am the last fiend. Terror is your fate Carnage my…

An unexpected trip

The photograph came in the post. In a manila envelope, with a note from my brother: “Here’s a picture of the family star. You’ve probably seen it before. I had it enlarged. Ask her the story behind it. I hope it lifts her spirits. Hugs. Richard.” My brother’s handwriting was as bad as usual. But…

Time Patrol. WWII or III?

Another rabid dog has rammed his lorry, truck, whatever, into a crowd of passersby. Dead? Several? Injured? More? Where? Stockholm. I searched my memory. Was Sweden a colonial power? No. Involved in slavery? Probably not. Crimes of war? No. Well, some of their descendants conquered England in 1066, but I’m sure there is a statute…

1916. The bride wore black.

La mariée était en noir. The bride wore black. June 1916. Exactly a century ago. WWI had started two years before. Two years of massive slaughter. For nonsignificant gains in the front line in the north and northeast of France. My grandfather, Louis Prodault, his brothers, cousins and in-laws, had been fighting for two years…