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So why should he place himself and Sansa in this high positions if he wants to throw the system down? Furthermore I just see the system much too ingrained too change into a kind of democracy and neither can I find any indices for this in the books. Secondly, I think you overestimate and misinterpret Bravos. Yes, they are quite powerful and have an impressive navy, but they stay a single city.

How should they overthrow and control the whole of Westeros? Even with the no slavery thing it seems to be more a self-protective step then a missionary to me. If slavery is forbidden in Pentos no one will come and steal people in to slavery from Bravos. The hate is strong here. Impressive work, don't get me wrong, even if you do mention Preston Jacobs a few times. But the concept of Braavos conquering Westeros and installing a republic there simply doesn't fit. Braavos never conquered anything in its entire history. Not a single city.

And their first project of this sort would be an entire continent? They never had any designs on Lorath or Pentos, but will invade Westeros? I don't buy it. Second, Aegon the Conqueror with his three dragons brought the Seven Kingdoms to its knees, yet even he himself took great care not to upset the political status quo.

He didn't try to Valyrian up Westeros. So if Aegon the Conqueror himself chose not to impose his traditions and values on the land he had conquered, would the Braavosi be more ambitious and fanatical? So I don't believe that that could be done to Westeros, and I don't believe Braavos would want to do that, or have the necessary resources to pull it off. It's certainly a well-thought out and intriguing theory. I doubt that it's down to LF, but we're at a point where Tommen is about to die and there will be no credible claimant in Westeros to the throne you've accounted for Stannis.

So the time would be ripe in the power vacuum to instigate a Republic. However, there is a huge elephant in the room that you haven't accounted for - scaly fire-breathing elephant. Is he aware of Daenerys? He's supposed to know everything - news must have reached Braavos and from there to LF. For all her enlightened anti-slavery principles, she has no time for Republicanism given her self-aware divinely ordained mission to rule Westeros from the Iron Throne. So how he does factor Dany into his grand scheme? They are an independent kingdom once again, but they know whoever sits on the Iron Throne Cersei, Aegon, Dany will not tolerate the North as independent entity, and the answer will come.

Therefore, Jon will need Davos to arrange terms with Braavosi regarding funding and naval support. And I think Davos will be our POV in Braavos when Long Night comes - the city will be destroyed and drowned by the catastrophe tsunamis caused by moon meteor, big thank to LmL and his theories. Now, if your theory of Littlefinger planning an invasion of Braavosi for eventual overthrow of feudalism in Westeros is true, then I believe Davos will persuade Braavosi survivors to find new home not in the Vale, but in the North - White Harbor.

One note I did have, though, is LF says he had Joffrey killed because he was wild and unpredictable compared to Tommen, who is tame and malleable rather than to create chaos. Yes, Braavos has a huge navy. They don't seem to have a standing army, and the terrain immediately surrounding the city seems awful to develop a large cavalry force. So, let's suppose the remaining Westerosi navies weaken themselves enough for Braavos to seize naval superiority in the Narrow Sea. Suppose they land the medieval equivalent of marines. How do they fare, out in the open, against Westerosi heavy cavalry?

So, overthrowing the system? Braavosi support?

Foreign invasion from Braavos? I doubt it. I think LF's real goal is to gain the North. A logical ending for the series though would be the beginnings of a republican government with the Iron Throne having less and less power. LF would be as good of a choice as anyone for Prime Minister of such a system. Unfortunately, I think Westeros is still about years away from such a form of government. There also really isn't much of a middle class to speak of in Westeros. She is his preferred plaything, LF is directly involved in almost all problems in her life, but he does not lift a finger to protect her during her ordeals "cares about her" , I concede the Lothor Brune vs.

Marillion situation. Did he have the idea all on his own? With LF arranging the preparation of Jeyne Poole, it seems likely the whole "fake Arya" marriage was his idea to begin with. His involvement in Lannister - Bolton diplomacy at least raises the question whether he was involved even earlier.

There is no textual evidence in the books that the Iron Bank aims for direct rule. Regime change for compliance, not Empire. Maybe I missed something in the book, but there is little evidence of deep connections between LF and the rulers of Braavos. LF had to deal with the Iron Bank, but being a 4th generation migrant does not make a particularly strong association to the current rulers of the place your ancestor left. No evidence whatsoever. He already is one of the greatest lords of Westeros in name and in the process of building the power base to act the part.

Your "republican revolutionary" is an ambitious social climber and already very close to the top of the ladder. Thank you, friend. I do believe we are seeing some rising action from the Iron Bank, however. The Braavosi were demanding repayment of their outstanding debts, it seemed, and refusing all new loans. Save your pleasantries. It is coin I need from Braavos, not empty courtesy. It is my belief that this rising action provides 1 A legal argument for the Iron Bank's claim on the Iron Throne. Thank you for pointing this out. This was an inexcusable lapse on my part, and I apologize to the community for it.

I will try to be more careful in the future Especially when I am not writing a paper that requires more than fifty citations, most of them taken from memory. Begging your pardon, but Westeros doesn't need to be ready for a republic if republicanism is imposed upon it. This calls to mind the recent wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, where Nato and U. Rebuttal 1. I still believe Petyr surrenders more influence than he gains by leaving King's Landing. Then we will have to agree to disagree.

If Petyr has access to poisons, then poison the wine Lord Tyrion is known to drink in copious amounts. If he wants to kidnap Sansa, then do it in the quiet of night, don't make a 3-act show of it. If he wants to kill the King, there are much simpler ways to do it the King plays with crossbows, rig one for an 'accident. As for Lysa, if he didn't want to take vengeance against her, why did he feel the need to whisper, "I've only loved one woman, I promise you Why break her heart and force her to think on those words for the long minutes as she fell to her death unless he hated her?

And afterward Petyr drank until he passed out at the table. Uncle Brynden carried him up to bed That was the night I stole up to his bed to give him comfort.

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I bled, but it was the sweetest hurt. If this were to happen with the genders reversed, wouldn't we name it rape? And Petyr is clearly wounded by the incident, such that he makes multiple claims that he took Catelyn's maidenhood. I interpret this as a coping mechanism, he has convinced himself he made love with Cat, rather than being taken advantage of while in a drunken stupor this is also likely his first sexual encounter as well, which could help explain his refusal to partake in whoring despite owning a brothel. Mord doesn't torture and mutilate Tyrion when he is in the skycells.

So why does Petyr pluck out Marillion's eyes and cut off his fingers? I believe it is because he looked upon Sansa in lust with those eyes and touched her with those fingers. Study the Merchant Republic of Venice, specifically how the Doges of Venice operated, to get an idea of what I mean when I use the word 'republic.

Because he could always have more. In my analysis of Braavos' part in the scheme, I pointed out that Braavos has imposed a slavery Ban on Pentos, but we don't know the full extent of this treaty. It may depend on the Sealord, and guess what, the current Sealord may be nearing the end of his term:.

And just as the Kingsmoot heralded a new way of things in the Iron Islands, a newly elected Sealord may decide to intervene in the Westerosi Civil War, seeing it as a chance to free the serfs of the Sunset Kingdoms from their lives of misery While lining the pockets of the Iron Bank and the merchant princes with all of the new markets such a move would open up.

And perhaps Petyr already has people working on influencing the coming election towards such an outcome, hence the correspondence with Braavos. I do intend on offering rebuttals to the other critiques here, but my time has run short and I must be off. I only have internet once in about every three days, so I will talk more then. But thank you for your critiques, my friends. I look forward to more discussion.

This was an inexcusable lapse on my part , and I apologize to the community for it. Oh we've all made worse lapses in the past! Don't worry about it: it happens! Nobody in the community will judge you for one minor error! Possibly because the men had outlived their usefulness to Varys, and also wasn't Cersei's command to kill the gaolers a surprise to her guards? Varys probably thought they'd be taken for questioning and later released when it became clear they didn't know anything or they'd be executed instead, but I can't see Varys losing sleep over that. Mmmh, because Iraq and Afghanistan turned out so well I can't envision Braavos being stupid enough to force a system of government onto a country not yet ready for that system.

I mean, the Sealord isn't Bush or Blair! Apart from any ethical ramifications, Braavos will not have the military or economic power to subdue a whole continent, and doing a quick asset-strip and then hightailing it back across the Narrow Sea would just leave a torn up economic mess only a short sail away from the stability-loving Iron Bank and merchant princes I always assumed Petyr tortured Marillion to convince him to go along with the official version of events, although as is so often the case you can make arguments for different views.

I'm also not so sure that Petyr would view Lysa bedding him as abuse, if he truly believed that she was Catelyn once again, different arguments etc. Very interesting and fresh idea! It will take me some time to think of Baelish as anything but a selfish schemer. In fact, I'm not sure I'll ever see him as someone other than the snake in the Garden of Eden, trying to promote chaos and ruin paradise for others.

But a big Baelish-led Braavos invasion conspiracy really could be a part of several different grand finale scenarios, with or without republican government as an outcome. I like that a lot. He even trained the first pig, but by then he was too sick to ride her, so Oppo took his place. I always rode the dog. We performed for the Sealord of Braavos , and he laughed so hard that afterward he gave each of us a. It was a man who came to us in Pentos. No, Oswald. Something like that.

Oppo met with him, not me. Oppo made all of our arrangements. My brother always knew what to do, where we should go next. I think the grand gifts Penny and Groat received in Braavos are dragon eggs. I had been thinking that she has them somewhere in Essos and will share them with Tyrion when the time is right. But what if word leaked out - some servant or family member or hanger-on in the House of the Sealord saw him drunkenly give away these two priceless eggs to a pair of performing dwarfs.

Word reached Baelish, who knew that dragon power would be the best weapon he could use to advance his invasion force. What if, when Oppo made a deal with one of the Kettleblacks to travel to King's Landing to perform at Joffrey's wedding, he also made a deal to sell his dragon eggs to the same guy, who is in the employ of Petyr Baelish? Baelish obtaining the eggs could make some sense with the timeline needed for a dragon to grow. We know he has a wide open, deserted land in the Fingers, with plenty of sheep to feed the dragons and just a few loyal servants who can raise them on his behalf.

Of course, he would have to figure out how to hatch them. The earliest the eggs could have been hatched is about the time of Joffrey's ill-fated wedding. Maybe Baelish dropped off the eggs at The Fingers when he stopped there with Sansa on his way to the Eyrie. Dumbstruck, as though about to see Marcelle bleed and fall dead in the window frame, we remained standing under the strange, nearly motionless apparition.

Because of the furious wind, we were incapable of even making ourselves heard. She said she had been looking for me and, unable to track me down, she had finally gone to search the interior of the chateau; but before clambering through the window, she had undressed, thinking she "would feel more free". And when she had come back out after me, terrified by me, she found that the wind had carried off her dress. Meanwhile, she kept observing Marcelle, and it never crossed her mind to ask me why I was naked. The girl in the window disappeared. A moment that seemed unending crawled by: she switched on the light in her room.

Finally, she carried back to breathe the open air and gaze at the ocean. Her sleek, pallid hair was caught in the wind, we could make out her features: she had not changed, but now there was something wild in her eyes, something restless, contrasting with the still childlike simplicity of her features. She looked thirteen rather than sixteen. Under her nightgown, we could distinguish her thin but full body, firm, unobtrusive, and as beautiful as her fixed stare.

When she finally caught sight of us, the surprise seemed to restore life to her face. She called, but we couldn't hear. We beckoned. She blushed up to her ears. Simone, weeping almost, while I lovingly caressed her forehead, sent her kisses, to which she responded without smiling. Next, Simone ran her hand down her belly to her pubic hair. Marcelle imitated her, and poising one foot on the sill, she exposed a leg sheathed in a white silk stocking almost up to her blond cunt.

Curiously, she was wearing a white belt and white stockings, whereas black-haired Simone, whose cunt was in my hand, was wearing a black belt and black stockings. Meanwhile, the two girls were masturbating with terse, brusque gestures, face to face in the howling night.

They were nearly motionless, and tense, and their eyes gaped with unrestrained joy. But soon, some invisible monstrosity appeared to be pulling Marcelle away from the bars, though her left hand clutched them with all her might. We saw her tumble back into her delirium. And all that remained before us was an empty, glowing window, a rectangular hole piercing the opaque night, showing our aching eyes a world composed of lightning and dawn. Urine is deeply associated for me with saltpeter; and lightning, I don't know why, with an antique chamber pot of unglazed earthenware, lying abandoned one rainy autumn day on the zinc roof of a provincial wash house.

Since that first night at the sanatorium, those wrenching images were closely knit, in the obscurest part of my brain, with the cunt and the drawn and dismal expression I had sometimes caught on Marcelle's face. But then, this chaotic and dreadful landscape of my imagination was suddenly inundated by a stream of light and blood, for Marcelle could come only by drenching herself, not with blood, but with a spurt of urine that was limpid and even illuminated for me, at first violent and jerky like hiccups, then free and relaxed and coinciding with an outburst of superhuman happiness.

It is not astonishing that the bleakest and most leprous aspects of a dream are merely an urging in that direction, an obstinate waiting for total joy, like the vision of that glowing hole, the empty window, for example, at the very moment when Marcelle lay sprawling on the floor, endlessly inundating it. But that day, in the rainless tempest, Simone and I, our clothing lost, were forced to leave the chateau, fleeing like animals through the hostile darkness, our imaginations haunted by the despondency that was bound to take hold of Marcelle again, making the wretched inmate almost an embodiment of the fury and terror that kept driving our bodies to endless debauchery.

We soon found our bicycles and could offer one another the irritating and theoretically unclean sight of a naked though shod body on a machine. We pedaled rapidly, without laughing or speaking, peculiarly satisfied with our mutual presence, akin to one another in the common isolation of lewdness, weariness, and absurdity. Yet we were both literally perishing of fatigue.

In the middle of a slope, Simone halted, saying she had the shivers. Our faces, backs, and legs were bathed in sweat, and we vainly ran our hands over one another, over the various parts of our soaked and burning bodies; despite a more and more vigorous massage, she was all trembling flesh and chattering teeth.

I stripped off one of her stockings to wipe her body, which gave out a hot odor recalling the beds of sickness or of debauchery. Little by little, however, she came around to a more bearable state, and finally she offered me her lips as a token of gratitude. I was still extremely agitated.

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We had ten more kilometers to go, and in the state we were in, we obviously had to reach X by dawn. I could barely keep upright and despaired of ever reaching the end of this ride through the impossible. We had abandoned the real world, the one made up solely of dressed people, and the time elapsed since then was already so remote as to seem almost beyond reach. Our personal hallucination now developed as boundlessly as perhaps the total nightmare of human society, for instance, with earth, sky, and atmosphere.

A leather seat clung to Simone's bare cunt, which was inevitably jerked by the legs pumping up and down on the spinning pedals. Furthermore, the rear wheel vanished indefinitely to my eyes, not only in the bicycle fork but virtually in the crevice of the cyclist's naked bottom: the rapid whirling of the dusty tire was also directly comparable to both the thirst in my throat and the erection of my penis, destined to plunge into the depths of the cunt sticking to the bicycle seat.

The wind had died down somewhat, and part of the starry sky was visible. And it struck me that death was the sole outcome of my erection, and if Simone and I were killed, then the universe of our unbearable personal vision was certain to be replaced by the pure stars, fully unrelated to any external gazes and realizing in a cold state, without human delays or detours, something that strikes me as the goal of my sexual licentiousness: a geometric incandescence among other things, the coinciding point of life and death, being and nothingness , perfectly fulgurating.

Yet these images were, of course, tied to the contradiction of a prolonged state of exhaustion and an absurd rigidity of my penis. Now it was difficult for Simone to see this rigidity, partly because of the darkness, and partly because of the swift rising of my left leg, which kept hiding my stiffness by turning the pedal.

Yet I felt I could see her eyes, aglow in the darkness, peer back constantly, no matter how fatigued, at this breaking point of my body, and I realized she was tossing off more and more violently on the seat, which was pincered between her buttocks. Like myself, she had not yet drained the tempest evoked by the shamelessness of her cunt, and at times she let out husky moans; she was literally torn away by joy, and her nude body was hurled upon an embankment with an awful scraping of steel on the pebbles and a piercing shriek. I found her inert, her head hanging down, a thin trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth.

Horrified to the limit of my strength, I pulled up one arm, but it fell back inert. I threw myself upon the lifeless body, trembling with fear, and as I clutched it in an embrace, I was overcome with bloody spasms, my lower lip drooling and my teeth bared like a leering moron. Meanwhile, Simone was slowly coming to: her arm touched me in an involuntary movement, and I quickly returned from the torpor overwhelming me after I had besmirched what I thought was a corpse.

No injury, no bruise marked the body, which was still clad in the garter belt and a single stocking. I took her in my arms and carried her down the road, heedless of my fatigue; I walked as fast as I could because the day was just breaking, but only a superhuman effort allowed me to reach the villa and happily put my marvelous friend alive into her very own bed. The sweat was pouring from my face and all over my body, my eyes were bloody and swollen, my ears deafened, my teeth chattering, my temples and my heart drumming away. But since I had just rescued the person I loved most in the world, and since I thought we would soon be seeing Marcelle, I lay down next to Simone's body just as I was, soaked and full of coagulated dust, and soon I drifted off into vague nightmares.

One of the most peaceful eras of my life was the period following Simone's minor accident, which only left her ill. Whenever her mother came, I would step into the bathroom. Usually, I took advantage of these moments to piss or even bathe; the first time the woman tried to enter, she was immediately stopped by her daughter:.

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Each time, however, the mother was dismissed before long, and I would take my place again in a chair next to the sickbed. I smoked cigarettes, went through newspapers, and if there were any items about crime or violence, I would read them aloud. From time to time, I would carry a feverish Simone to the bathroom to help her pee, and then I would carefully wash her on the bidet. She was extremely weak and naturally I never stroked her seriously; but nevertheless, she soon delighted in having me throw eggs into the toilet bowl, hard-boiled eggs, which sank, and shells sucked out in various degrees to obtain varying levels of immersion.

She would sit for a long time, gazing at the eggs. Then she would settle on the toilet to view them under her cunt between the parted thighs; and finally, she would have me flush the bowl. Another game was to crack a fresh egg on the edge of the bidet and empty it under her: sometimes she would piss on it, sometimes she made me strip naked and swallow the raw egg from the bottom of the bidet.

She did promise that as soon as she was well again, she would do the same for me and also for Marcelle. At that time, we imagined Marcelle, with her dress tucked up, but her body covered and her feet shod: we would put her in a bath tub half filled with fresh eggs, and she would pee while crushing them. Simone also daydreamed about my holding Marcelle, this time with nothing on but her garter belt and stockings, her cunt aloft, her legs bent, and her head down; Simone herself, in a bathrobe drenched in hot water and thus clinging to her body but exposing her bosom, would then get up on a white enameled chair with a cork seat.

I would arouse her breasts from a distance by lifting the tips on the heated barrel of a long service revolver that had been loaded and just fired first of all, this would shake us up, and secondly, it would give the barrel a pungent smell of powder. Furthermore, Marcelle herself could fully inundate me if she liked, for while I held her up, her thighs would be gripping my neck. And she could also stick my cock in her mouth, and what not. It was after such dreams that Simone would ask me to bed her down on blankets by the toilet, and she would rest her head on the rim of the bowl and fix her wide eyes on the white eggs.

I myself settled comfortably next to her so that our cheeks and temples might touch. We were calmed by the long contemplation. The gulping gurgle of the flushing water always amused Simone, making her forget her obsession and ultimately restoring her high spirits.

At last, one day at six, when the oblique sunshine was directly lighting the bathroom, a half sucked egg was suddenly invaded by the water, and after filling up with a bizarre noise, it was shipwrecked before our very eyes. This incident was so extraordinarily meaningful to Simone that her body tautened and she had a long climax, virtually drinking my left eye between her lips.

Then, without leaving the eye, which was sucked as obstinately as a breast, she sat down, wrenching my head toward her on the seat, and she pissed noisily on the bobbing eggs with total vigor and satisfaction. By then she could be regarded as cured, and she demonstrated her joy by speaking to me at length about various intimate things, whereas ordinarily she never spoke about herself or me.

Smiling, she admitted that an instant ago, she had felt a strong urge to relieve herself completely, but had held back for the sake of greater pleasure. Truly, the urge bloated her belly and particularly made her cunt swell up like a ripe fruit; and when I passed my hand under the sheets and her cunt gripped it firm and tight, she remarked that she was still in the same state and that it was inordinately pleasant.

Upon my asking what the word urinate reminded her of, she replied: terminate, the eyes, with a razor, something red, the sun. And egg? A calf's eye, because of the color of the head the calf's head and also because the white of the egg was the white of the eye, and the yolk the eyeball. The eye, she said, was egg-shaped. She asked me to promise that when we could go outdoors, I would fling eggs into the sunny air and break them with shots from my gun, and when I replied that it was out of the question, she talked on and on, trying to reason me into it.

She played gaily with words, speaking about breaking eggs, and then breaking eyes, and her arguments became more and more unreasonable. She added that, for her, the smell of the ass was the smell of powder, a jet of urine a "gunshot seen as a light;" each of her buttocks was a peeled hard-boiled egg. We agreed to send for hot soft-boiled eggs without shells, for the toilet, and she promised that when she now sat on the seat, she would ease herself fully on those eggs.

Her cunt was still in my hand and in the state she had described; and after her promise, a storm began brewing little by little in my innermost depth—I was reflecting more and more. It is fair to say that the room of a bedridden invalid is just the right place for gradually rediscovering childhood lewdness. I gently sucked Simone's breast while waiting for the soft-boiled eggs, and she ran her fingers through my hair. Her mother was the one who brought us the eggs, but I didn't even turn around, I assumed it was a maid, and I kept on sucking the breast contentedly.

Nor was I ultimately disturbed when I recognized the voice, but since she remained and I couldn't forego even one instant of my pleasure, I thought of pulling down my trousers as for a call of nature, not ostentatiously, but merely hoping she would leave and delighted at going beyond all limits. When she finally decided to walk out and vainly ponder over her dismay elsewhere, the night was already gathering, and we switched on the lamp in the bathroom.

Simone settled on the toilet, and we each ate one of the hot eggs with salt. With the three that were left, I softly caressed her body, gliding them between her buttocks and thighs, then I slowly dropped them into the water one by one. Finally, after viewing them for a while, immersed, white, and still hot this was the first time she was seeing them peeled, that is naked, drowned under her beautiful cunt , Simone continued the immersion with a plopping noise akin to that of the soft-boiled eggs.

But I ought to say that nothing of the sort ever happened between us again, and, with one exception, no further eggs ever came up in our conversations; nevertheless, if we chanced to notice one or more, we could not help reddening when our eyes met in a silent and murky interrogation. At any rate, it will be shown by the end of this tale, that this interrogation was not to remain without an answer indefinitely, and above all, that this unexpected answer is necessary for measuring the immensity of the void that yawned before us, without our knowledge, during our singular entertainments with the eggs.

By a sort of shared modesty, Simone and I had always avoided talking about the most important objects of our obsessions. That was why the word egg was dropped from our vocabulary, and we never spoke about the kind of interest we had in one another, even less about what Marcelle meant to us. We spent all of Simone's illness in a bedroom, looking forward to when we could go back to Marcelle, as nervously as we had once waited for the end of the last lesson in school, and so all we talked about was the day we would return to the chateau. I had prepared a small cord, a thick, knotted rope, and a hacksaw, all of which Simone examined with the keenest interest, peering attentively at each knot and section of the rope.

I also managed to find the bicycles, which I had concealed in a thicket the day of our tumble, and I meticulously oiled the various parts, the gears, ball bearings, sprockets, etc. I then attached a pair of footrests to my own bicycle so that I could seat one of the girls behind. Nothing could be easier, at least for the time being, than to have Marcelle living in Simone's room secretly like myself.

We would simply be forced to share the bed and we would inevitably have to use the same bathtub, etc. But a good six weeks passed before Simone could pedal after me reasonably well to the sanatorium. Like the previous time, we left at night: in fact, I still kept out of sight during the day, and this time there was certainly every reason for remaining inconspicuous. I was in a hurry to arrive at the place that I dimly regarded as a "haunted castle," due to the association of the words sanatorium and castle, and also the memory of the phantom sheet and the thought of the lunatics in a huge silent dwelling at night.

But now, to my surprise, even though I was ill at ease anywhere in the world, I felt at bottom as if l were going home. And that was indeed my impression when we jumped over the park wall and saw the huge building stretching out ahead beyond the trees: only Marcelle's window was still aglow and wide open. Taking some pebbles from a lane, we threw them into her chamber and they promptly summoned the girl, who quickly recognized us and obeyed our gesture of putting a finger on our lips.

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But of course we also held up the knotted rope to let her understand what we were doing this time. I hurled the cord up to her with the aid of a stone, and she threw it back after looping it around a bar. There were no difficulties, the big rope was hoisted by Marcelle and fastened to the bar, and I scrambled all the way up. Marcelle flinched when I tried to kiss her. She merely watched me very attentively as I started filing away at a bar.

Since she only had a bathrobe on, I softly told her to get dressed so she could come with us. She simply turned her back to pull flesh-colored stockings over her legs, securing them on a belt of bright red ribbons that brought out a rump with a perfect shape and an exceptionally fine skin.

I continued filing, bathed in sweat because of both my effort and what I saw. Her back still towards me, Marcelle pulled a blouse over long, flat hips, whose straight lines were admirably terminated by the buttocks when she had one foot on a chair. She did not slip on any panties, only a pleated gray woolen skirt and a sweater with very tiny black, white, and red checks. After stepping into flat-heeled shoes, she came over to the window and sat down close enough to me so that my one hand could caress her head, her lovely short hair, so sleek and so blond that it actually looked pale.

She gazed at me affectionately and seemed touched by my wordless joy at seeing her. At that point, I would never have dreamt for even an instant that I could do anything but devote the rest of my life to such an unreal apparition. She let me give her a long kiss on her forehead and her eyes, and when one of her hands happened to touch my leg, she looked at me wide-eyed, but before withdrawing her hand, she ran it over my clothes absent-mindedly.

After long work, I succeeded in cutting through the horrid bar. I pulled it aside with all my strength, which left enough space for her to squeeze through. She did so, and I helped her descend, climbing down underneath, which forced me to see the top of her thigh and even to touch it when I supported her. Reaching the ground, she snuggled in my arms and kissed my mouth with all her strength, while Simone, sitting at our feet, her eyes wet with tears, flung her hands around Marcelle's legs, hugging her knees and thighs.

At first, she only rubbed her cheek against the thigh, but then, unable to restrain a huge surge of joy, she finally yanked the body apart, pressing her lips to the cunt, which she greedily devoured. However, Simone and I realized that Marcelle grasped absolutely nothing of what was going on and she was actually incapable of telling one situation from another. Thus she smiled, imagining how aghast the director of the "haunted castle" would be to see her strolling through the garden with her husband. Also, she was scarcely aware of Simone's existence; mirthfully, she at times mistook her for a wolf because of her black hair, her silence, and because Simone's head was docilely rubbing Marcelle's thigh, like a dog nuzzling his master's leg.

Here Be Monsters

Nonetheless, when I spoke to Marcelle about the "haunted castle," she did not ask me to explain; she understood that this was the building where she had been wickedly locked up. And whenever she thought of it, her terror pulled her away from me as though she had seen something pass through the trees. I watched her uneasily, and since my face was already hard and somber, I too frightened her, and almost at the same instant she asked me to protect her until the Cardinal returned.

We were lying in the moonlight by the edge of a forest. We wanted to rest a while during our trip back and we especially wanted to embrace and stare at Marcelle. I now recalled Marcelle's dreadful fear when she left the wardrobe, and particularly two details: I had been wearing a blinding red carnival novelty, a Jacobin liberty cap; furthermore, because of the deep cuts in a girl I had raped, my face, clothes, hands—all parts of me were stained with blood.

Thus, in her terror, Marcelle confused a cardinal, a priest of the guillotine, with the blood-smeared executioner wearing a liberty cap: a bizarre overlapping of piety and abomination for priests explained the confusion, which, for me, had remained attached to both my hard reality and the horror continually aroused by the compulsiveness of my actions. For a moment, I was totally helpless after this unexpected discovery; and so was Simone.

Marcelle was now half asleep in my arms, so that we didn't know what to do. Her dress was pulled up exposing the gray pussy between red ribbons at the end of long thighs, and it had thereby become an extraordinary hallucination in a world so frail that a mere breath might have changed us into light. We didn't dare budge, and all we desired was for that unreal immobility to last as long as possible, and for Marcelle to fall sound asleep. My mind reeled in some kind of exhausting vertigo, and I don't know what the outcome would have been if Simone, whose worried gaze was darting between my eyes and Marcelle's nudity, had not made a sudden, gentle movement: she opened her thighs, saying in a blank voice that she couldn't hold back any longer.

She soaked her dress in a long convulsion that fully denuded her and promptly made me spurt a wave of semen in my clothes. I stretched out in the grass, my skull on a large, flat rock and my eyes staring straight up at the Milky Way, that strange breath of astral sperm and heavenly urine across the cranial vault formed by the ring of constellations: that open crack at the summit of the sky, apparently made of ammoniac vapors shining in the immensity in empty space, where they burst forth absurdly like a rooster's crow in total silence , a broken egg, a broken eye, or my own dazzled skull weighing down the rock, bouncing symmetrical images back to infinity.

The nauseating crow of a rooster in particular coincided with my own life, that is to say, now, the Cardinal, because of the crack, the red color, the discordant shrieks he provoked in the wardrobe, and also because one cuts the throats of roosters. To others, the universe seems decent because decent people have gelded eyes. That is why they fear lewdness. They are never frightened by the crowing of a rooster or when strolling under a starry heaven.

In general, people savor the "pleasures of the flesh" only on condition that they be insipid. But as of then, no doubt existed for me: I did not care for what is known as "pleasures of the flesh" because they really are insipid; I cared only for what is classified as "dirty. My kind of debauchery soils not only my body and my thoughts, but also anything I may conceive in its course, that is to say, the vast starry universe, which merely serves as a backdrop. I associate the moon with the vaginal blood of mothers, sisters, that is, the menstrua with their sickening stench…. I loved Marcelle without mourning her.

If she died, then it was my fault. If l had nightmares, if l sometimes locked myself up in a cellar for hours at a time precisely because I was thinking about Marcelle, I would nevertheless still be prepared to start all over again, for instance by ducking her hair, head down, in a toilet bowl.

But since she is dead, I have nothing left but certain catastrophes that bring me to her at times when I least expect it. Otherwise, I cannot possibly perceive the least kinship now between the dead girl and myself, which makes most of my days inevitably dreary. I will merely report here that Marcelle hanged herself after a dreadful incident.

She recognized the huge bridal wardrobe, and her teeth started chattering: she instantly realized upon looking at me that I was the man she called the Cardinal, and when she began shrieking, there was no other way for me to stop that desperate howling than to leave the room. By the time Simone and I returned she was hanging inside the wardrobe….

I cut the rope, but she was quite dead. We laid her out on the carpet. Simone saw I was getting a hard-on and she started tossing me off: I too stretched out on the carpet. It was impossible to do otherwise; Simone was still a virgin, and I fucked her for the first time, next to the corpse. It was very painful for both of us, but we were glad precisely because it was painful. Simone stood up and gazed at the corpse. Marcelle had become a total stranger, and in fact, so had Simone at that moment.

I no longer cared at all for either Simone or Marcelle. Even if someone had told me it was I who had just died, I would not even have been astonished, so alien were these events to me. I observed Simone, and, as I precisely recall, my only pleasure was in the smutty things Simone was doing, for the corpse was very irritating to her, as though she could not bear the thought that this creature, so similar to her, could not feel her anymore. The open eyes were more irritating than anything else.

Even when Simone drenched the face, those eyes, extraordinarily, did not close. We were perfectly calm, all three of us, and that was the most hopeless part of it. Any boredom in the world is linked, for me, to that moment and, above all, to an obstacle as ridiculous as death. But that won't prevent me from thinking back to that time with no revulsion and even with a sense of complicity.

Basically, the lack of excitement made everything far more absurd, and thus Marcelle was closer to me dead than in her lifetime, inasmuch as absurd existence, so I imagine, has all the prerogatives. As for the fact that Simone dared to piss on the corpse, whether in boredom or, at worst, in irritation: it mainly goes to prove how impossible it was for us to understand what was happening, and of course, it is no more understandable today than it was then.

Simone, being truly incapable of conceiving death such as one normally considers it, was frightened and furious, but in no way awestruck. Marcelle belonged to us so deeply in our isolation that we could not see her as just another corpse. Nothing about her death could be measured by a common standard, and the contradictory impulses overtaking us in this circumstance neutralized one another, leaving us blind and, as it were, very remote from anything we touched, in a world where gestures have no carrying power, like voices in a space that is absolutely soundless.

To avoid the bother of a police investigation, we instantly took off for Spain, where Simone was counting on our disappearing with the help of a fabulously rich Englishman, who had offered to support her and would be more likely than anyone else to show interest in our plight. The villa was abandoned in the middle of the night. We had no trouble stealing a boat, reaching an obscure point on the Spanish coast, and burning the vessel with the aid of two drums of petrol that we had taken along, as a precautionary measure, from the garage of the villa.

Simone left me concealed in a wood during the day and went to look for the Englishman in San Sebastian. She only came back at nightfall, but driving a magnificent automobile, with suitcases full of linen and rich clothing. Simone said that Sir Edmund would join us in Madrid and that all day long he had been plying her with the most detailed questions about Marcelle's death, making her draw diagrams and sketches. Finally he had told a servant to buy a wax mannequin with a blonde wig; he had then laid the figure out on the floor and asked Simone to urinate on its face, on the open eyes, in the same position as she had urinated on the eyes of the corpse: during all that time, Sir Edmund had not even touched her.

However, there had been a great change in Simone after Marcelle's suicide—she kept staring into space all the time, looking as if she belonged to something other than the terrestrial world, where almost everything bored her; or if she was still attached to this world, then purely by way of orgasms, which were rare but incomparably more violent than before. These orgasms were as different from normal climaxes as, say, the mirth of savage Africans from that of Occidentals.

In fact, though the savages may sometimes laugh as moderately as whites, they also have long-lasting spasms, with all parts of the body in violent release, and they go whirling willy-nilly, flailing their arms about wildly, shaking their bellies, necks, and chests, and chortling and gulping horribly.

As for Simone, she would first open uncertain eyes, at some lewd and dismal sight…. For example, Sir Edmund had a cramped, windowless pigsty, where one day he locked up a petite and luscious streetwalker from Madrid; wearing only cami-knickers, she collapsed in a pool of liquid manure under the bellies of the grunting swine.

Once the door was shut, Simone had me fuck her again and again in front of that door, with her ass in the mud, under a fine drizzle of rain, while Sir Edmund tossed off:. Gasping and slipping away from me, Simone grabbed her behind in both hands and threw back her head, which banged violently against the ground; she tensed breathlessly for a few seconds, pulling with all her might on the fingernails buried in her buttocks, then tore herself away at one swoop and thrashed about on the ground like a headless chicken, hurting herself with a terrible bang on the door fittings.

Sir Edmund gave her his wrist to bite on and allay the spasm that kept shaking her, and I saw that her face was smeared with saliva and blood. After these huge fits, she always came to nestle in my arms; she settled her little bottom comfortably in my large hands and remained there for a long time without moving or speaking, huddled like a little girl, but always somber. Sir Edmund deployed his ingenuity at providing us with obscene spectacles at random, but Simone still preferred bullfights.

There were actually three things about bullfights that fascinated her: the first, when the bull comes hurtling out of the bullpen like a big rat; the second, when its horns plunge all the way into the flank of a mare; the third, when that ludicrous, raw-boned mare gallops across the arena, lashing out unseasonably and dragging a huge, vile bundle of bowels between her thighs in the most dreadful wan colors, a pearly white, pink, and gray. Simone's heart throbbed fastest when the exploding bladder dropped its mass of mare's urine on the sand in one quick plop. She was on tenterhooks from start to finish at the bullfight, in terror which of course mainly expressed a violent desire at the thought of seeing the toreador hurled up by one of the monstrous lunges of the horns when the bull made its endless, blindly raging dashes at the void of colored cloths.

And there is something else I ought to say: when the bull makes its quick, brutal, thrusts over and over again into the matador's cape, barely grazing the erect line of the body, any spectator has that feeling of total and repeated lunging typical of the game of coitus. The utter nearness of death is also felt in the same way. But these series of prodigious passes are rare. Thus, each time they occur, they unleash a veritable delirium in the arena, and it is well known that at such thrilling instants the women come by merely rubbing their thighs together.

Apropos bullfights, Sir Edmund once told Simone that until quite recently, certain virile Spaniards, mostly occasional amateur toreadors, used to ask the caretaker of the arena to bring them the fresh, roasted balls of one of the first bulls to be killed. They received them at their seats, in the front row of the arena, and ate them while watching the killing of the next few bulls.

Simone took a keen interest in this tale, and since we were attending the first major bullfight of the year that Sunday, she begged Sir Edmund to get her the balls of the first bull, but added one condition: they had to be raw. You certainly don't intend to eat raw balls now, do you? On May 7, , the toreadors La Rosa, Lalanda, and Granero were to fight in the arena of Madrid; the last two were renowned as the best matadors in Spain, and Granero was generally considered superior to Lalanda.

He had only just turned twenty, yet he was already extremely popular, being handsome, tall and of a still childlike simplicity. Simone had been deeply interested in his story, and, exceptionally, had shown genuine pleasure when Sir Edmund announced that the celebrated bull-killer had agreed to dine with us the evening of the fight.

Granero stood out from the rest of the matadors because there was nothing of the butcher about him; he looked more like a very manly Prince Charming with a perfectly elegant figure. In this respect, the matador's costume is quite expressive, for it safeguards the straight line shooting up so rigid and erect every time the lunging bull grazes the body and because the pants so tightly sheathe the behind. A bright red cloth and a brilliant sword before the dying bull whose hide steams with sweat and blood complete the metamorphosis, bringing out the most captivating feature of the game.

One must also bear in mind the typically torrid Spanish sky, which never has the color or harshness one imagines: it is just perfectly sunny with a dazzling but mellow sheen, hot, turbid, at times even unreal when the combined intensities of light and heat suggest the freedom of the senses. Now this extreme unreality of the solar blaze was so closely attached to everything happening around me during the bullfight on May 7, that the only objects I have ever carefully preserved are a round paper fan, half yellow, half blue, that Simone had that day, and a small illustrated brochure with a description of all the circumstances and a few photographs.

Later on, during an embarkment, the small valise containing those two souvenirs tumbled into the sea, and was fished out by an Arab with a long pole, which is why the objects are in such a bad state. But I need them to fix that event to the earthly soil, to a geographic point and a precise date, an event that my imagination compulsively pictures as a simple vision of solar deliquescence. The first bull, the one whose balls Simone looked forward to having served raw on a plate, was a kind of black monster, who shot out of the pen so quickly that despite all efforts and all shouts, he disemboweled three horses in a row before an orderly fight could take place; one horse and rider were hurled aloft together, loudly crashing down behind the horns.

But when Granero faced the bull, the combat was launched with brio, proceeding amid a frenzy of cheers. The young man sent the furious beast racing around him in his pink cape; each time, his body was lifted by a sort of spiraling jet, and he just barely eluded a frightful impact. In the end, the death of the solar monster was performed cleanly, with the beast blinded by the scrap of red cloth, the sword deep in the blood-smeared body. An incredible ovation resounded as the bull staggered to its knees with the uncertainty of a drunkard, collapsed with its legs sticking up, and died.

Simone, who sat between Sir Edmund and myself, witnessed the killing with an exhilaration at least equal to mine, and she refused to sit down again when the interminable acclamation for the young man was over. Thus it seems that while the term was used in this sense in both Britain and the US, it derived from different sources. This probably derives from the same source as 2. From DAE and Lighter. Partridge suggests this came into use in Australia from ca. It certainly had become generally used by World War I.

Partridge suggests that this derives from the British battleship Dreadnought , the first of a new type of battleship that was bigger, faster, and carried more guns than previous ships. How this came to be applied to prophylactics is unclear. From OED , but see citation below. Duckboards were used in trenches to allow easy movement over marshy and muddy ground. This is probably US in origin, and possibly deriving from an anecdote from the War of between Britain and the United States. Green suggests that its 20th century usage is primarily US. This is similar in form to beer-up.

Current in Australian slang, but not well attested. Pioneer Battalion who wore a circular white patch with a smaller circular patch superimposed. Presumably this is similar to the idea of Eggs-a-cook applied to the Third Division. An order used on the march at attention when it is desired by the Officer Commanding to march at ease and allow smoking in the ranks.

Adapted from signalese used during World War I. See also Ack. Adapted from the signalese used during World War I. See Ack and Emma. Again, the last time I was over in Blighty I got clinked for emphasizing an argument with a Jack. In the boob next morning they were sorting out the sore and sorry when in came a parson with a couple of Emma-Pips.

This was widely used in the military to illustrate contempt for much of the official nature of military procedure. It has a bizarre origin in a story about a murdered girl called Fanny Adams who was cut up and flung into a river. Partridge notes that it referred to an inferior cigarette initially, but by the 20th century was applied to any cigarette. This specific phrase and sense attested here and in Digger Dialects but not otherwise recorded.

Frequently referred to as Annette Kellerman, i. The Madonna and child of the Basilica in the French town of Albert were well known during the war. The legend, according to J. Fanny Durak was an Australian swimmer who was the first Australian woman to win an Olympic gold medal at the Olympics. Annette Kellerman was a champion Australian diver. This term was popular during the war for obvious reasons. This is a play on the Cockney pronunciation. From the Arabic. In appearance it was a string of fire-balls.

Partridge notes that they got their name from their resemblance to the strings of onions sold by hawkers. Only applied to airmen. Originally Flying. Digger Dialects is the first evidence of the figurative sense. Flattening out. Partridge believes this is a military term that dates back to the late 19th century, but the OED evidence does not support this. The initial connotation was that something was sold illicitly, but was later broadly applied to legitimate sales as well.

From its corpulent elongated form 2 feet long and tail with steadying vanes which suggested the appearance of a pig in the air. Some were employed only in the Middle East but the Chinese served in France. Like Choom this is a jocular pronunication, playing on British dialect pronunciation. It was used to refer generally to a person, and was sometimes a term of abuse. Fly off quickly; fuck off quickly. See P. Fray Bentos is the name of a company that produces tinned meat products, and was located in Argentina. Soldiers were fed tinned bully beef as part of their rations. Jerry was more popular, especially later in the war.

See also Hun. As a term of contempt for a French person, this term had a long history, but found a new popularity during World War I. A general term that dates back to the 18th century, this was widely used during World War I, for obvious reasons. First used in the Boer War in South Africa, funk-holes were small shelters or dug-outs. They were used in the trenches of World War I as a place to shelter from firing.

Furphy of Shepparton, Victoria, whose name was prominently painted thereon. This and the fact of the unfounded rumors seeming, as a rule, to originate among the sanitary squad, or from conversation among men visiting latrines, caused the word to be used in this way. They evidently have their gossip in the German trenches just as we have it in ours — and as we had it in Sydney and Melbourne — absurd rumours which run all around the line for a week and which no amount of experience prevents some people from believing.

Attested here, in Digger Dialects , and in Partridge. Partridge dates this to as a military term popularised during World War I. Who named the different brands? Rhyming slang from the late 19th century Partridge. Digger Dialects is the first recorded instance of this. To understand. Australian rhyming slang. In World War I, the term had some currency among the troops stationed there. See Fly 2. This sense is attested in several sources. This may have been a short-lived term referring to US soldiers.

This term is probably a relic of pioneering days in Australia and America when those who travelled west and still further westward into the unknown country were not heard of by their friends until they returned, if that ever happened. This term has an older history, but was certainly popularised in World War I Partridge. His friends tried to dissuade him from doing anything rash, but the next day, when he was out leading three other planes, twelve Germans appeared, and he drove straight into the thick of them.

See also Guts. Digger Dialects is the first recorded instance of this phrase. From the late 19th century Green. Attested in Green and Lighter. This term is especially applied to one who cooks for a large number of people, such as on a sheep or cattle station, and thus came to be applied to an army cook. Such letters were liable only to censorship at the Base. The verb is army from ; the noun was used from OED.

A popular military term, which obviously had good reason to be used widely during World War I. See also Good Guts. The term originated amongst swimmers as descriptive of a dive in which the diver instead of striking the water with hands head or feet first strikes with his stomach. A painful experience. Any result likely to arise from it. A request for a favor vigorously expressed. It possibly had its origins in World War I as a reaction to army food, but was also applied to stew served on stations Green and Partridge.

Attested in Dickson and Partridge. This was a popular game of chance in the Army, similar to lotto. The idea being that once in camp, [a] number of the men would volunteer for the A. The scheme was only partially successful. Let all who fall into your hands be at your mercy. Just as the Huns a thousand years ago, under the leadership of Etzel Attila gained a reputation in virtue of which they still live in historical tradition, so may the name of Germany become known in such a manner in China that no Chinaman will ever again even dare to look askance at a German.

The Services, however, did not adopt the name to any extent; except the Air Force, with whom it was always the usual name for the enemy. A peculiar feature of A. It was also popular with the troops stationed there in World War I. The definition provided here suggests that it was taken by the Australian soldiers to France where it was also used with some French words to make new phrases.

Chiefly Australian. The phrase was picked up by the Australian troops serving in Egypt and was taken on to the European battlefields. Digger Dialects provides the first recorded evidence of this phrase with this meaning. Iodine is commonly used as a mild antiseptic. Presumably related to Iodine King. This was an old Army and Navy word for the rations given, especially tinned meat. It was also, according to Dickson , in use during the American Civil War. It was then applied specifically to emergency rations in World War I, and ironically used for the shell-fire soldiers were subjected to.

It may well have originated in a World War I context. Facetious use of personal name. Australian AND. It was also used to indicate that all was well with the speaker. The addition of the last two syllables appear to have been made in the A. Originally US of obscure origin.

This term, originally from the US, was also popular in Australia, and, according to Partridge , current from before It was more commonly used amongst the English troops than Australians. Its use for a military policeman is probably a World War I development. This originated in reference to a place where illicit activities took place, but later came to be adapted to any place. This was the most common slang term for the control lever of an aeroplane, and continued to be used after World War I. This was first used of a prison, but was adapted to mean a military prison in World War I.

It was obviously transferred to refer to superior officers in World War I. Light Horse. It probably derived from the famous South African diamond, the Kimberly Diamond. Navy slang for an anchor. The players put their stake on the squares. Although it is recorded in AND , it was widely used throughout the forces. After the war, its use was primarily Australian and New Zealand. This was possibly derived from a popular music hall song from by Arthur Wimperis, Gilbert the Filbert, the Colonel of the Knuts.

The word is of uncertain origin. Attested in Digger Dialects , Green and Partridge. Presumably this enjoyed some currency during World War I, due to the necessity of such assemblages. Queen Elizabeth. The Australians also used a variant Andy Macnoon. This tinned stew was especially relevant to soldiers who were served this when on active service. The first recorded evidence of this sense is recorded in Digger Dialects. It is transferred from sense 1 as the stomach is the place where these rations end up. Mademoiselle from Armentieres The beginning of a ribald song much sung in France.

Verb from ; noun from AND. This is originally a British dialect term, but has since the late 19th century been primarily Australian. It was used a lot by the Australian troops stationed there in World War I. A familiar sick parade slogan. Digger Dialects is the first recorded evidence of this term.

It continued to be used in Australia and the US in particular Green. See Dead Meat Ticket for further explanation. So called from the number of dead horses and mules on the Menin Road Ypres Sector. A short-lived World War I play on a standard French expression. So called because its personnel consisted of men over [military] age.

It was a hand grenade invented by Sir William Mills , serrated on the outside to form shrapnel on explosion. A heavy German trench mortar bomb. Both attested in numerous sources. So called from the peculiar note caused by the air passing through the holes around the base of the shell as it rises. From Lighter and OED. Nat Gould was an Australian novelist whose books were very popular in the early 20th century. Many were about racing and other sporting activities.

Originally naval. The origin of this term is not known. This was a common term for a pill that cured all, and was used across the Services. Its origin is unknown. See the Daddies. All make reference to the biblical passage of finding land after the Great Flood. The abbreviation was first recorded in So called from the red gorget tabs and the red band around the hat of a Staff Officer. Attested in Digger Dialects , Hargrave , and Partridge. General World War I Partridge. From early 20th century Partridge. A nickname, because they cannot fly. Senses 2 and 3 derive from 1 , according to Partridge.

Phosgene was used as part of chemical warfare in World War I. It was carbon oxychloride used as a poison gas during WWI and later used in the manufacture of some synthetic resins and organic chemicals OED. See Jerks. This is the earliest recorded evidence AND. Attested in Partridge. Attested in Hargrave , Lawson , and Partridge. Some of the larger were quadrangular in shape. They were garrisoned by small detachments of infantry with machine guns and were proof against anything except a direct hit by a big gun.

Their capture was often effected by infantry with hand grenades flung into the entrance at the rear, or through the loopholes, while other infantry kept down the German rifle fire by shooting at the loopholes. This term was also applied to a hand grenade Elting, Partridge. The name derives from the criss-cross lines on it.

A high explosive high velocity shell fired from a field gun. From the sound of its discharge and flight. The word was often used by young officers in semi-official and official documents until an order was issued condemning its employment. Partridge dates it to The term is used on the Rifle Range as the name of a poisonous white paste that is applied to the foresight of the rifle to aid sighting. This term was also borrowed from Australian bullock driving parlance. This term has often been seen as a derogatory term for a person of English origin, and was first used in Australia of British migrants.

Football Club]. This nickname is widely attested. Elliott did not initially like the nickname that was first applied to him by his troops, but the name persisted The Oxford Companion to Australian Military History. Although commonly used in some units this term could hardly be regarded as universal. General navy. Despite the definition provided here, this term does not appear to have its origin in Flying Corps slang. Partridge suggests that it emerged from Cambridge University slang. This specific sense is attested here and in Digger Dialects but not otherwise recorded.

By the 20th century, chiefly Australian OED. This was an Anglo-Indian term that took on general currency outside India. This was the nickname of the Sopwith Scout tractor, a small aeroplane used for combative and instructional purposes during World War I. The word indicated the desired ideal rather than the actuality. From the early 20th century Partridge.

The neutral sense, as used here, is Australian. This was a nickname for a high-velocity gun Cutlack. In the Army used of any drill method peculiar to a battalion, and not usually done in others. See also Meat Trap. This first came into use during World War I. Other senses attested here and in Digger Dialects but not otherwise recorded. The other senses are attested here and in Digger Dialects but are not otherwise recorded, but are probably also a World War I usage.

The most hated and despised men in France. Employed sometimes for the regulation of traffic, but chiefly to walk about the streets, examine passes, bully private soldiers, arrest absentees and generally exhibit truculence and self-satisfaction. They were also employed to staff military prisons and by all accounts revelled in the secret opportunities for cruelty which the job gave them.

Red Caps were not voluntary and no decent man would undertake it if he realized what it implied. The licensed brothels in French towns exhibit a red or green light to indicate their business. A refusal accompanied by abuse. Attested in Baker , Digger Dialects , and Partridge. Adapted from the simile of the revolutions of an aeroplane propellor. Green and Partridge date this from the s.

While in general use from ca. Attested in Green and OED. A foot disease caused by cold and damp. Attested in Dickson , Digger Dialects , and Partridge. The —15 Star was given to around 85, Australian service personnel, including those who served at Gallipoli. By permission of the authorities in the War, various religious bodies, the Y.

Various sources attest to the popularity of this expression during World War I. Less well attested than sarge , this term was first recorded in Digger Dialects. More army property changed hands in France by scrounging than by legitimate means. From ca. The catchphrase was used when a shower of rain began, especially if it was likely to postpone or cancel a parade. Hargrave adds that it was used sarcastically during wet weather.

Table of Contents

Seventyfive The French 75mm gun. Seventyseven The German 77mm gun. It was officially adopted in and applied to all forms of psycho-neurosis; although by neurologists the term was limited to cases of concussion or commotion of the brain, directly caused by shell explosion. Often due to fatigue, anxiety and emotional instability from prolonged strain, resulting in final breakdown, precipitated by a shell-burst near the sufferer. One result recorded at Base hospitals was that dread of a return to service in the trenches induced the development of a form of shell-shock among highly strung men, in the form of hysteria, tremors, convulsions, paralysis, blindness, deafness, etc.

It was stated in the House of Lords in , that in the early days of the War, before Shell Shock was fully understood, death sentences for cowardice and desertion were passed and executed on men, who in the light of later experience were suffering from shell-shock and really not responsible for their actions.

A platoon of men would be lined up, without privacy, in a hut. Used as a name for paper currency in low denominations by the various communes and towns in France, principally because of its tendency to disintegrate after a little use, also on account of the number of notes required to amount to any considerable sum. New Zealand Partridge.

General 20th century Partridge. Attested in Digger Dialects. Said esp. Green and Partridge suggest this sense is mostly Australian. This term probably had its origins in naval slang and was commonly used throughout the Services. This term is attested here and in Digger Dialects , suggesting that it may well have been current from World War I.

This was originally a dialect term, and is also widely used in the US. It now has general currency. Partridge records this as Australian, as does Green. It was used by the No. This might relate to the derivation of snotter. In a general sense, harsh treatment. This exact expression attested here and in Digger Dialects but not otherwise recorded. It is applicable to the general experience of life. Split 1 Unusual. How this term came to be applied in this sense is doubtful, although probably it was because the signaller at the instrument was able to receive messages apparently from space.

AND records this term from , making Digger Dialects the first evidence of the term. Partridge records this sense. This was very widely used in World War I, and derived originally, Partridge suggests, from the shape of the head and referred to foreigners of Germanic or Scandinavian extraction. They all took him for a German, as they do every Turkish officer they see, of course.