The Frozen Thames

The Frozen Thames

Helen Humphreys

Language: English

Pages: 192

ISBN: 0385342810

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


In its long history, the river Thames has frozen solid forty times. These are the stories of that frozen river.

So begins this breathtaking and original work, which contains forty vignettes based on events that actually took place each time the historic Thames froze solid. Spanning more than seven centuries—from 1142 to 1895—and illustrated with stunning full-color period art, The Frozen Thames is an achingly beautiful feat of the imagination…a work of fiction that transports us back through history to cast us as intimate observers of unforgettable moments in time.

Whether we’re viewing the magnificent spectacle of King Henry VIII riding across the ice highway (while plotting to rid himself of his second wife) or participating in a joyous Frost Fair on the ice, joining lovers meeting on the frozen river during the plague years or coming upon the sight of a massive ship frozen into the Thames…these unforgettable stories are a triumph of the imagination as well as a moving meditation on love, loss, and the transformative powers of nature.

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effect of cold; the power or act of congelation. South. The appearance of plants and trees sparkling with congelation of dew. Pope. FROSTNAIL, frost-nale. n.s. A nail with a prominent head driven into the horse’s shoes, that it may pierce the ice. Grew. FROSTY, fros-te. a. Having the power of congelation; excessive cold. Bacon. Chill in affection; without warmth of kindness or courage. Shak. Hoary; grey-haired; resembling frost. Shakespeare. FROZEN, fro-zn. 103. part. pass. of freeze.

i, i, Here I lies In a sad pickle Killed by an icicle, In the year of Anno Domini 1776. 1784 — Another cold winter. More have perished this year – frozen by the side of the road, buried under drifts of snow – than in any year in living memory. It only makes good sense to stay indoors. It only makes good sense to find an occupation to fully engage the body and the mind whilst remaining indoors. I am fully engaged in perfecting the recipe for Jugged Hare. For years I have just made

morning walks help, but when I sit down at my desk to compose in the afternoon, I have to be careful not to just lay my head down on my manuscript paper and fall straight asleep. (image credit 1796.1) So far “Ice Music” has only two bars, and I don’t really like one of them. But what keeps me going is the river ice in the mornings when I walk out upon it. I like the sound of my boots on the snowy surface. I like the sound of the skaters and the horses’ hooves and the cartwheels. The ice is a

was impeded and great drifts rose like waves in the fields. After the snow was a frost. Schools of fish called Golden Maids were washed ashore at Brighton. It is said they were blinded by the snow and had lost their way, had swum in the wrong direction and beached themselves instead of swimming out to sea. After the frost came the cold. The river Thames froze solid and a Frost Fair was once again set up on the ice. The public way constructed between Blackfriars and London Bridge was named “City

small house they live in has only one fireplace, this one, downstairs, and so, over the course of the winter, everything has migrated towards the hearth. Chairs are pushed right up to the grate. The table is spitting distance from the fire. Clothes are hung above it and boots are warmed before it. All the beds have been moved downstairs and are arranged in an arc around the flickering coal. No one has been upstairs in weeks. The last time John climbed the stairs to the attic it was so frigid up

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