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pwlanier · 7 months

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JOHN SHINNORS (B.1950)

PICTURE OF CHRISTINE KEELER, 1980

Note: This early work by John Shinnors has a fascinating provenance. It was commissioned in 1980 by a friend and patron of the young artist who, during this period, was struggling to make a living from his work. It was prior to his major breakthrough following his GPA Award in 1984. The friend, though from Limerick, had lived and worked in London during the sixties and seventies. He was a jazz aficionado and got to know Christine Keeler through their mutual involvement in the vibrant London jazz scene of that period. A time when the Flamingo, Ronnie Scott's and The 100 Club were all thriving and Tubby Hayes was in his all too brief prime. After he settled back in Limerick he gave Shinnors a personal photograph of Keeler in this provocative pose complete with the leopard skin jacket (so apt for the Shinnors treatment) and asked him to produce a painting based on it. He required the photograph, which he clearly treasured, to be returned with the completed commission. The friend in question died recently and the painting has been consigned by his long-term partner. This work has never been seen in public before. It is a striking example of Shinnors early style which shows the influence of his great friend and mentor Jack Donovan. The eye is drawn to the red belt buckle, that distinctive deep cadmium red that the artist has favoured through the years. The frank, even brazen image is juxtaposed piquantly by the ghostly painting within the painting that was by a Scandavian artist whose name Shinnors could not recall when I asked him about it recently. John P. O'Sullivan,July 2023Christine Margaret Keeler (22 February 1942 - 4 December 2017) was an English model and showgirl. Her meeting at a dance club with society osteopath Stephen Ward drew her into fashionable circles. At the height of the Cold War, she became sexually involved with a married Cabinet minister, John Profumo, as well as with a Soviet naval attaché, Yevgeny Ivanov. A shooting incident involving a third lover caused the press to investigate her, revealing that her affairs could be threatening national security. In the House of Commons, Profumo denied any improper conduct but later admitted that he had lied.This incident discredited the Conservative government of Harold Macmillan in 1963, in what became known as the Profumo affair. Keeler was alleged to have been a prostitute, which was not a criminal offence. Ward was, however, found guilty of being her pimp; a trial was instigated after the embarrassment caused to the government. The trial has since been considered a miscarriage of justice and a charade by the establishment to protect itself. Stephen Ward committed suicide before the jury in his trial returned a verdict.

Oil on board

Whytes

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oldcurrencyexchange · 5 years

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Irish Banknote Guide: Limerick Soviet, Ten Shillings (10/- Black & Red, on Cream Paper)

Date: 1919 (April 15-27)

Description:

Extremely rare Limerick Soviet Ten Shillings Note

Printed in Black & Red inks, on Cream paper.

Signed by John Cronin (Chairman) and James Casey (Treasurer).

Not numbered / likely not issued

Notes:

There are five Types of Limerick Soviet notes, as follows:

A1. Signatures John Cronin, Chairman; James Casey, Treasurer. Notes Stamped and Numbered.

This is the…

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#banknote #bread #limerick #limerick soviet #potatoes #rare #tradesman note

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sovietpostcards · 6 years

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Limericks in Russian! I used to subscribe to this magazine (”Tramvai” - The Streetcar) when I was a kid, and I loved it and always read every page of it. I remember this particular page very clearly, I loved these limericks. :)

(via)

#magazines #limerick #langbr #russian language #soviet union #soviet #ussr #russia #history #photography #vintage #retro #illustration

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superbimages · 7 years

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Influenced by time by AlexeyKrotkov http://ift.tt/2uq6BaV

#zone #illustration #ussr #soviet #build #painted #eire #euro #drawn #copy-space #limerick #vilnius county #abst

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zvaigzdelasas · 3 years

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The failure of the German Revolution was undoubtedly the biggest barrier to the success of the USSR in its early years, but the failure of the Limerick Soviet & the early Irish republican struggle is pretty easily #2

#'failure' meant in a value neutral way #overthrowing the regime of capital isnt easy & i havent done it so

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seachranaidhe · 5 years

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Robert Byrne – the IRA Volunteer and Trade Unionist whose killing sparked the “Limerick Soviet”. | The Irish Story

http://www.theirishstory.com/2019/03/28/robert-byrne-the-ira-volunteer-and-trade-unionist-whose-killing-sparked-the-limerick-soviet/#.XJznOx6nw0O

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#Robert Byrne – the IRA Volunteer and Trade Unionist whose killing sparked the “Limerick Soviet”. | The Irish Story

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radicalposture · 3 years

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ahhhh i got to have a good talk with my granda and he was telling me how their house was a safe house during the war of independence and a family friend in the ira stayed there and left his revolver behind and got killed later and he still has the revolver (my granda) and i got to HOLD IT and he was showing me pictures of my great grandparents who got married in 1930 and he has a copy of the voice of ireland from 1922 and like. those little holy picture/prayer cards of like kevin barry and all sorts of cool stuff…. i asked him about the limerick soviet but he said people make too big a deal of it and it was “little or nothing”… also he pronounces italians as “eye-talians”

#my nana died recently so he’s been really lonely i think and i’ve been realising how much will go with him when he goes so i really want to #talk over this stuff with him and make recordings and stuff #he’s soooo methodical though he’ll write in the back of every picture who’s in it and who they’re related to and where they lived with #little maps he’s in his seventies but he’s the sharpest man i know he remember ms EVERYTHING #but he’s so circumspect you really have to draw him out

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k00262221 · 3 years

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Here's a quick research update, excuse the bad crops.

I've been researching into some revolutionary Limerick history such as the 1919 Limerick Soviet.

While looking into local organisations on anti fascist action in Limerick I came across an article on some men who fought in the Franco Civil war in the international brigades from here. The international brigade went to support rebels fighting for democracy.

I found the Limerick International Brigade Memorial Trust to find out more and also get pictures of them.

I want to make portraits of them and make prints of them and get them the recognition they deserve and hope that their stories can inspire more people

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stairnaheireann · 2 years

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#OTD in Irish History | 15 April:

1642 – Irish Confederate Wars: A Confederate Irish militia was routed in the Battle of Kilrush when it attempted to halt the progress of a Parliamentarian army. Though outnumbered, Ormonde managed to defeat the rebels and marched on to Dublin by 17 April. 1642 – A Scottish army under Robert Munroe landed at Carrickfergus. 1707 – Birth of Sir Henry Cavendish, MP and incompetent Teller of the…

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#irelandinspires #irishhistory #OTD #15 April #Co. Donegal #Fahan Churchyard #Hillsborough Disaster #History #History of Ireland #Ireland #Irish Civil War #Irish History #Limerick Soviet #RMS Titanic #St. Mura&039;s Cross #Today in Irish History

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queen-mabs-revenge · 4 years

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decided to name my starter 'the limerick soviet'

#the limerick soviet's slogan was 'bread not profits'#and the starter - like local soviets - is a collective that rises up #ehhhiiiiii whaddap i'm punny

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workingclasshistory · 1 year

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On this day, 14 April 1919 in Limerick, Ireland, a general strike was declared in protest against the declaration by the British military of a ‘special military area’ in the region, which led to the establishment of a soviet (workers' council). The military crackdown was in response to an attempt to an attempted jailbreak of trade unionist and Irish Republican Army volunteer Robert J Byrne, which ended with the death of Byrne as well as two police constables. The military zone prevented freedom of movement for everyone other than people issued special permits by the British Army and the Royal Irish Constabulary – including many workers who needed to enter in order to go to work. A strike began in protest at the move by workers at the condensed milk factory in Lansdowne on Saturday, April 12, and that evening workers gathered and decided to call for a general strike beginning at 5 AM on Monday, April 14. 15,000 walked out and by the following day everything was shut down except for banks, public services, and enterprises given permits by the strike committee which had been established. The workers then took control of the town, closing down the pubs, maintaining order, and arranging for the distribution of food which was brought in from around Ireland and from trade unions in Britain. The strike committee set up its own newspaper and then printed its own money, while the British troop presence in the area increased. On April 27, with Irish capitalists and British trade union leaders withdrawing their support for the soviet, it was declared over with the promise that the special military designation would be withdrawn seven days later, which it was. More information and sources: https://stories.workingclasshistory.com/article/8537/limerick-general-strike-&-soviet https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=608531627986723&set=a.602588028581083&type=3

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hollenka99 · 4 years

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Okay but if you don't think Siobhan Maria Jackson didn't dust herself off after grieving, you've got another thing coming.

Like yes, obviously she took Jameson's death hard. Dude was her husband for 22 years and she'd known him since she was 18. Not to mention she lost her brother a month before becoming a widow. There was a period where she took the 'be there for the kids first and foremost' philosophy a little too far and the kids had to say "Uh Ma? Listen we're all hurting but maybe you should grieve without thinking about us for a while."

So she grieves. Then she comes out the other side ready to get down to business.

She sees her eldest son graduate college, something no-one in her family has ever done. She gets Thaddaeus House for the Disadvantaged built and personally helps out when and where she can once it's open. Her 2nd and 3rd sons get accepted into the high profile colleges they wanted. She couldn’t be prouder of them.

Even in the late 30s, once her father is dead from advanced age and she is living in Ireland again, she gets shit done. As loving and kind of a man as Jacob O'Hara was, those traits don't leave his daughter much in the way of monetary inheritance. Siobhan has to support her little girl somehow. Even the money Jameson left her shouldn't be something to live off of, in her opinion. So she gets any qualifications needed at the time to be hired as a music teacher. By the time Nora is settling into life as a woman with a husband and young family of her own, a point where Siobhan knows she's capable of going on without her mother down the street, it is the early-to-mid 1950s.

She returns to California to finish what she started. Thaddaeus House isn't quite as needed as it was when first built yet it's an important and necessary establishment nonetheless. She ordered a place to learn ASL to be added before she left for Ireland in '37. Now she's planning to include somewhere on site to receive basic qualifications, enough to get a job but with as little expenditure on the students' parts as possible. Actually, let's merge the ASL area into the school. No, hang on, we should have enough donations to put the school on it's own dedicated site. We'll provide cheap scheduled transportation between the two sites. That's great.

She likely campaigned to make ASL a mandatory subject in schools nationwide. Yes, obviously French and Spanish are fantastic for students who plan to travel when they're older. But what about those wanting to stay closer to home? There are plenty of Americans who rely on sign to communicate. So teach them an equally important language that they may need more than a European one.

Since the TLoJJ-verse is based on the real world, she probably wasn't able to make it a reality. But could you imagine her looking some authority in the eye and saying "I don't care for this whole nonsense with the Soviets. Never mind whether our ideologies are better than theirs. Let's focus on creating a fairer society. If we manage to improve the lives of the type of citizens who need it most right now, don't you think that will show the Reds who's the greater nation?"

The government twisted the arms of her two youngest sons when they were barely adults. They took part in a war that was far bigger than either of them. Damn right she’s going to try twisting the government’s arm to progress on issues bigger than the USSR being communist.

Either way, she'd probably work together with some of her children to build a centre for teaching and promoting the use of ASL. First in Los Angeles then, if that proved successful, New York and other potential major cities.

Speaking of fighting for better equality, I feel she would do what she could in the fight for civil and gay rights. Well, Anthony, she doesn't know if she's quite up for marching in large crowds now that she's in her 70s but she'll try to help things on a more local level. And no, Oliver, she is a bit conflicted on homosexual couples vs being told her whole life it should be a man and a woman only. However, she doesn't see why having emotions that do nothing to cause harm to others should be punishable by law. Is there anything she can do to help?

Throughout her life, Siobhan composes music. She wrote the melody that people immediately associate with the Jolly Gentleman. The music from Carving for Beginners is her own. Music is her creative outlet the same way writing had been for Jameson. She even sets something up at Thaddaeus House to encourage people to take up playing an instrument if they want.

Oliver visits her one day and discovers the pile of compositions, some complete, others that have been works in progress for varying amounts of time. He convinces her to compile them into an album. She agrees so long as the ones with more personal reasons for creation are left out. If they really want those ones out in the world for public consumption, they'll have to wait until after she's dead. She doesn't want to live with the knowledge someone could casually listen to something she created as a way of coping during the most despairing points of her life.

It's Pearl's death in 1973 that makes Siobhan consider slowing down slightly. 85 by now, she could certainly leave her children and grandchildren to carry on her efforts. She could travel to foreign lands and see what they have to offer. But nope, that's not Siobhan Jackson. She'll cut back on some things that require more physical effort, sure. But spending time at Thaddeus House gives her people to chat with when her friends and family are busy living their own lives.

In later life, I'm sure she enjoys spending time with her grandchildren and even great-grandchildren. Not to mention dogs. She has always been partial to Dalmatians. Maybe some piano playing and garden maintaining too. I love the thought of her becoming this figure in the community, this old woman who has done more than a few things with her life and tries to keep going within reason.

She reaches 90 and yeah, maybe she's not as active as she wants to be but she still goes out and does what she can. Her memory is starting to go now, it's getting more evident as the months and years roll by. When nearing 95, she gets asked if she's aiming for the big 100. She usually chuckles and say "Well we'll see, won't we."

She turns 96 in July 1984 and two months later, she's gone. When she sees Jameson again, she tells him she tried her best to fulfil his last wishes. He just laughs like it's obvious before replying along the lines of "Angel, you did more far more than try. Thank you."

And that's the contrast between them. Jameson left early, his ideas of how to give back to a world that allowed him financial security came too late for him. But Siobhan was given more than enough time. She had 52 years more than him to get it done.

She could have stopped in the ‘30s. She could have said "It's done. I fulfilled my promise to him. It's standing and functional and that's what he wanted." But she doesn't.

In the ‘50s or early ‘60s, she could have said "To try change the education system is a monumental task that one 70 year old Irish immigrant couldn't successfully lead." And maybe she was somewhat right about that. She sure as hell gave it her best shot though. Without her, people in the 21st century would have less opportunities to learn ASL. Just because you can’t complete a marathon doesn’t mean the distance you managed is redundant.

Siobhan lived a goddamn full life. Part of her life’s work might have been fulfilling her husband’s last wish. But to focus on that or just see her as simply Jameson’s widow is to erase so much of what she did with her life. She was a composer, talented pianist, supportive mother, someone willing to fight and speak up about the things she cared about, a woman who came to America aged 16 with the hope of finding better prospects there than Limerick offered then did so several ways over.

In short, I stan an Irish queen. I hated myself for making her wait 52 years to be with her other half. But she didn’t waste those five decades. She killed it. Now she can look back on it all and be proud. Like she deserves to be.

Just... Siobhan.

#the life of jameson jackson #tlojj #tlojj spoilers #siobhan jackson

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oldcurrencyexchange · 5 years

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Irish Banknote Guide: Limerick Soviet

Date: 1919

Description:

1919 (April 15-27) Extremely rare Limerick Soviet Five Shillings Note – Type A1

Printed in Black & Green inks, on Grey-blue paper.

Signed by John Cronin (Chairman) and James Casey (Treasurer).

Notes:

There are five Types of Limerick Soviet notes, as follows:

A1. Signatures John Cronin, Chairman; James Casey, Treasurer. Notes Stamped and Numbered.

This is the standard…

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#banknote #bread #five shillings #limerick #limerick soviet #potatoes #rare #tradesman note

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lordofbeingfly-blog · 5 years

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Crowley x Aziraphale - Soldiers in Petticoats

SFW

Word Count: 1766

Can you tell I just skimmed the last third of Orlando? They’re early Suffragettes hey! Also, direction whom?

Crowley looked out over the crowd of women before her. Some held signs, others merely folded their arms over their chests. All were surprisingly silent. One woman at the front looked nervous, wielding a sign exclaiming “Workers of the World Unite!” with a button from the Limerick Soviet Party pinned to her blouse. She had reason ample for being nervous in this crowd.

The group had mainly gathered as a protest and vigil for the women who had died only a week ago in a horrible factory fire in New York. Many worried that the same thing would happen yet again to any of the textile producers in England, so many citing Marx, Dickens, and near history to plead their cases.

Though Miss Crowley had no need to work in a factory, she had long been a supporter of such endeavors, not just showing up to wait for chaos to ensue. She knew much of the issues resulting in the subjugation of people were the result of absence of divine intervention or reasoning, and would, at times, provide the subtle nudge for humans to be able to stand up for themselves.

The woman beside her put a hand on her arm, fingers shaking. Crowley looked down at the smaller woman. She also worse black, her simple straw hat strung with a few glass beads that reflected the light off of them.

“They’ve called the patrol officers on us,” the woman said, her accent a thick Irish lilt.

Miss Crowley’s sharp eyebrows sunk to meet her glasses. “Of course, they did. Blast.”

The crowd had grown to the size of nearly three hundred at this point, clogging the London intersection so that traffic could not move properly, and the protesters would all be trapped in one place should the police come at them from several angles.

The woman put her head down, praying quietly to a God Crowley doubted was listening.

She patted the woman’s arm. “I have a plan.” She began marching toward a street where a carriage had blocked off the street. She absently rolled up a sleeve, concentrating on how it would be possible to move it without anyone noticing.

A voice called out from the crowd, “Crowley? Is that you?”

Crowley turned, not really knowing the voice, but recognizing it intimately.

A short woman excused herself while pushing between two others, a head of blond hair popping between them, then rounded shoulders, and then the whole lady.

Crowley looked at the woman over her glasses, the image of a stout man in a top hat throwing a piece of paper into a duck pond immediately coming to mind.

“Aziraphale??” Crowley grinned. “What the bloody hell are you doing here!?”

Aziraphale’s eyes looked incredibly tired when she smiled. She lifted a massive stack of propaganda flyers that were clutched to her chest. “Just spreading awareness. Discord. Cady-Standen. You know how it is, dear.”

“Political leftist is a good look for you, angel.”

Aziraphale blushed and looked at her boots. Boots that were covered with mud, her hem was also dusty and dirty. In fact, the only part of her that had no dirt or soot was that pristine blue sash she wore to hide she had on only a Reform brassiere rather than a corset. Crowley was impressed.

“How long have you been awake? And out here?”, Crowley asked, fussing just enough to notice Aziraphale give her a subtle pout.

“I’m still mad at you, you know,” she said, turning up her nose slightly.

Crowley turned at the sound of police kazoos and bells being wrung several blocks away, the noise causing a first wave of panic through the crowd.

“Mad enough you wouldn’t help me get these people out of here?”, Crowley asked, turning back to the carriage, now abandoned by the owners and driver.

Aziraphale frowned, raising a pale eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”

Crowley nodded to the carriage. “We make a barricade once everyone splits and distract the bobbies.”

“Oh, Crowley that’s not a good idea,” Aziraphale said, worrying at the button on her blouse.

“Well, tell me a better idea. A single. Better idea,” Crowley huffed, checking the crowd to see everyone was watching the police coming from one direction. Good. They would follow the majority of people right to where they would be barred from following.

Aziraphale put her flyers on the front of the carriage. “I don’t have a better idea, temptress.”

Crowley rolled her eyes. “No need to be catty.”

“I take exception to that statement.”

“You would. Help me push.” Crowley put her hands against the back of the carriage, and Aziraphale pushed her back against the back. “Now push!”

The carriage moved quickly with their joined strength; Crowley hoped quick enough for no one to notice.

Aziraphale stood atop the luggage hold and cupped her hands around her mouth. Her reedy voice rose above the crowd, calling for everyone to run where the carriage had just been. Crowley gave a hand to help her down, keeping a grip on it as the crowd flushed between the two warehouse buildings down the street.

She looked down at the smaller woman with a small smile. “I’m glad for your help again, angel.” Aziraphale’s eyebrows drew together a moment as she saw the police coming closer, throwing clubs and fists at the fleeing crowd.

She frowned and gave a curt nod. “Yes, I’m glad to have you, too, Crowley.” She snapped her fingers and the carriage rolled back into the street, producing a blockade to give the protesters more time.

“Show time.” Miss Crowley put on a smile, sauntering over the group of police before them. It was only about ten, a handful of others had run down other streets and alleys, but they were nothing compared to the remnants of the crowd that remained to beat them back. She stepped between one patrolman and an older woman that held a parasol between her and the officer. “Now we really don’t need to do this. It is such a waste of your time. How about you just go back to your stations, and we will go on our way? Saavy?”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale warned in a low voice, ringing her hands and putting herself between the officers and a group of the remaining protesters.

The officer chuckled, merely lifting his riot club at Crowley.

Crowley shrugged. “I suppose that would be a no.”

She lowered her glasses and the officer’s face paled. Her eyes shifted like hellfire and the promise of an eternity therein. The officer made a pitiful squeak before falling to the ground with a thud, completely unconscious.

“Everyone needs to get out of here,” Aziraphale said to the women around her, handing over the keys to her bookshop. “Take these and meet in the basement. I have cots and medicinal supplies there already. Take anyone hurt or being sought by police. Go!”

The tallest woman of the group nodded. “Thank you, Miss Fell.”

Aziraphale came to stand beside Crowley.

“Just don’t… Don’t seriously injure any of them. It will only hurt their families.” She looked worriedly up at Crowley until she got a solemn nod. She could not tell if Crowley was sincere, but they moved forward, nonetheless.

Crowley pulled her hat pin out, letting the black number drop to the ground as she swung the pin at the first officer to bare down on her. The piece of metal exploded into bubbles just before making contact with the man’s skin. The man fell to the ground at the mere contact of Crowley’s fist against his chest.

“I said not to injure them!”, Aziraphale cried, miracling another officer into the fourth floor of a building down the block. She checked over her shoulder to see the street had cleared of everyone but the officers and the two divine beings. Distracted, she tripped on a dropped picket sign, falling hard onto the cobblestones.

Crowley hurried to her side, pulling her up to her feet. Another dozen police officers were coming their way. “Time to go, angel.”

“I agree,” Aziraphale said, still breathless. “No wings.”

Crowley nodded. “No wings.”

They sprinted down an alleyway the opposite direction of the exceptionally hostile bobbies.

When they finally thought they had lost the officers, they hid themselves on a fire escape, both out of breath. Crowley sat upon the stairs while Aziraphale laid upon her back, chest heaving as she panted.

“How many do you think got hurt?”, Crowley asked, looking out at the Thames.

Aziraphale sat up, folding her hands in her lap before answering. “Not many, I hope.”

She looked incredibly tired, her blouse torn, hair failing into her face, and she was missing the buttons off of one sleeve. Crowley thought she was incredibly beautiful, looking more alive fleeing from the police than Crowley had seen since they left Eden all those centuries ago.

“Oh, Crowley, I worry so much for them. I’m meant to protect them from evil, but it seems I only intervene when it’s far too late.” She rubbed her face roughly, brushing strands of hair away from her face. She dearly hated confessing her anxieties, especially to Crowley. She was never meant to be vulnerable around the demon.

“It does seem like my lot-,” Crowley started, with Aziraphale’s voice raising over her voice.

“It’s not demons. It’s humans! For so long we’ve just watched, but now they are trying to change things. They want a better world and I’ve done nothing to help with that.” Aziraphale twisted the gold ring on her pinky, the skin around it had begun to turn pink from irritation.

Crowley put out a hand to stop her. “Hey. Hey now. Just… Just look at me a moment?”

Aziraphale looked from Crowley’s lean hand to her serpentine eyes.

“None of this is on you. You understand? You are not the only angel, and you are not the only one that feels like it’s all your fault.” Crowley looked away at that. “Trust me.”

Aziraphale sighed, fingers linking with Crowley’s.

“If all this is ineffable, then it may be just as well we act within this world as humans to change the outcome of human-created problems,” Crowley reasoned, her thumb running over the back of Aziraphale’s much smaller hand.

“Sometimes I think we were created too human for our own good,” Aziraphale murmured, almost to herself.

Crowley’s heart ached for Aziraphale. “You may be right about that, angel.”

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #what is gender #they're lesbians harold #gal pals #Crowley said fuck cops #fan fiction #queer fiction #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable spouses #ineffable husbands #subpar omens #my writing

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