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Beautiful red roses bloom
on a green hill of mountain.
Heaven kisses Earth.
It’s A Strange Place, England by Jack Strange
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
Jack Strange’s England is never a bore; it is a mystifying country with its tempestuous history and colorful characters populated by the ever undead of the bygone eras still roaming their past abodes or workplaces among the quick. It is a quaint country where history meets myth and legend. This book will guide the reader to Strange England where fanciful folklores and historical facts are anchored in the traditions and customs.
The author admits that England is perhaps arguably one of the most haunted countries in the world, thanks to its religiously and politically tempestuous pasts spanning the wheel of time from the Roman colonial period to the present. To illustrate, in Derbyshire a spectral Roman sentinel is often seen leading a parade of a circus comprising gladiators, chariots, and slaves, then all of them disappear into the mist. Another lovelorn Roman soldier is witnessed alongside Hadrian’s Wall in Northumberland, wandering in despair of his betrayed love for a fair English maiden. The phantom English residents also encompass the Benedictine monks led by St, Cuthbert in Lindisfarne, which was a target for frequent raiding by Norsemen who also threatened the cradle of English Christianity. It is said that the best time to see the saint or the monks is when the tides are high and a full moon lights the shore as a natural lantern.
England is also a home of many interesting sports that are historically – and sometimes by happenstance – originated. The World Gurning Championship in Egremont in Cumbria was originated in 1267 when the Lord of the manor gave out crabapples to the locals. One can imagine without difficulty the consequence of tasting the apple, and thus can master the art of making as ugly face as possible. Hence this hilarious tournament comes to exist to this day. It’s open to everyone – yes, even to the fairest of all – , and it’s all about fun and participation. Also, there is Black Pudding Throwing Championship in Ridge, Lancashire. Originated in 1455, this tournament shows English humor mixed with historical irony, which makes it all the more convincing. It was during the period of “War of the Roses” elegantly referred by Sir Walter Scott (who was a Scot) to the feud between the House of York whose symbol was a white rose and the House of Lancashire a red rose. At the Battle of Stubbins in Lancashire in 1455, both forces decided to throw puddings at one another instead of lances. Believe it or not, the descendents still commemorate the incident by holding a championship every year with mirthful popularity.
Subsequent to Strange Tales of the Sea, the author Jack Strange has done a marvelous job gleaning the extensive historical documents and cultural artifacts from his tireless research to provide his reader with interesting facts about his England. Strange is a gifted artificer who digs artifacts buried in the depths of forgotten times and lost folklores. Strange is also a mysteriously reclusive figure himself because there’s no personal information about him. Maybe that’s why his writings are so hauntingly attractive and oddly addictive. Strange is an excellent storyteller who weaves a tapestry of legends and folklores imbued with his impressive knowledge of the history of England and his English humor permeated in his writings. This book is Strange’s winking invitation to his beloved England that spins a general image of the country with enchanting oddity and wide-eyed wonder that the readers will not tire of.
Don’t know why
I’m thinking of you everyday,
When there’s got to be,
No chance for me
To make you love me.
Don’t know why
My eyes see you everyday,
And it doesn’t matter if you can’t see me,
If you don’t know how much I cry
‘Cause I see no other way.
I know it’s a waste of time
This fantasy of mine.
But if I turn away,
If I walk away,
You will be gone away.
If I can’t see you,
I don’t want anybody, no way.
If I lose you,
I don’t want anybody, nobody,
I don’t want anybody, baby…

The gloriously beautiful hunter from afar
He came to fool the maiden to catch him after.
Thus did she see him; he and she never met
That was a low she couldn’t bear with might.
There he again trailed away slowly
Like a hazy shadow of sunset sadly.
Their rendezvous circled the epicycle
Of the eternity orb in orb like the Sibyl’s oracle.
The Sato Family on a Sunday Afternoon (Click here.)

Although it was an icy Sunday with a frequent scatter of snow today, which was a typical climatic tendency on the east coast, the home of Mr. Sato’s young family was cozy and nice with a fireplace, a rocking chair, a comfy set of sofa, and a TV set.
Meet the Sato family from Japan, who have recently arrived in Charlottestown, a neighboring town of Avonlea. In spite of a different cultural setting, the Sato family fit right into the lifestyle and cultural mode of a new environment thanks much to their civil decorum, playful nature, and diligence work ethics that are universal virtues transcending the subjectivity of time and territorial boundaries.
The Sato are a young, budding family with Mr. Sato himself, Michiko, his pretty wife, and 2 adorable little sons, Hideo and Yuki who are the apples of their eyes. Perhaps they may reside in Chalottestown permanently after Mr. Sato completes his term in the office. However different decision Mr. Sato will make, the family bound by love, understanding, and support will not be deterred by any existential difficulties of life and remain strong and be a bedrock of what a family should be in times of trouble.

If Beauty fades,
Then, my dear
Give me shares
Before it vanishes.
And if it lingers,
Then why refuse
To give me shares
That will ever remain?
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