george's in the grove

I just look at all the places and say, ‘there’s where I was born, there’s where I lived, there’s where I went to school, there’s where the Cavern got knocked down.’ My friends were really John, Paul and Ringo and we all moved at the same time. I do miss Liverpool.
—  George Harrison on secret visits to Liverpool, to CNN’s Mark Davies, 5 April 1992               
You’re Safe Now, I’ve Got You (George Washington x Reader)

This one gets a bit real. There’s a big emphasis on war PTSD and trauma. If those are sensitive topics for you, I may advise against reading this. All that being said, my health isn’t so great right now. We have no clue what’s going on and I can’t function without my pain medications, and they make me quite groggy, so updates may be a bit slower. Thank you for all of your support, kindness and love. I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart. Enjoy!

“(Y/N), are you ready?” George called from down the hall.

“Yes dear! I’m coming!” you replied as you finished lacing your dress.

You checked yourself over in the mirror, making sure your hair and makeup were in place, and that you could still function in the tightly-set corset hidden beneath your gown. Giving everything your final approval, you took a deep breath and trotted out of your room and down the stairs to meet George, patiently waiting for you at the bottom.

Tonight, July 4th, 1777, was a celebration of the one year anniversary of America’s independence from the British. You and George were going to go down to the city, where an immense celebration would ensue. There were going to be fireworks, food, drinks, large crowds, singing and dancing. To say you were excited would be an understatement. You couldn’t wait to celebrate, meet friends, and watch George interact with his old soldiers again, and see people pay gratitude and thanks towards him. It was incredibly obvious that you were more than proud of your husband. His accomplishments, ambition and work ethic still left you in awe. You had met him in the war; he was the major general and you were a nurse that traveled with his armada. You still had no clue how or why he had taken such interest in you, but you were glad he did. He truly was a God among men, and by some miracle, asked you to marry him.

You saw his typically stone expression melt into one of disbelief and wonder as you descended down the stairs. A grin spread across his face as you approached him and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“(Y/N), I don’t know how you do it, but you steal my breath away on too many occasions,” he admitted, a grin spreading across his face as you planted a kiss on his cheek.

“After all this time?” you asked, sheepishly resting your chin on his chest and looking up at him.

“Yes, my love,” he started, looking down at you with big, warm, loving eyes. “As long as I’m on this Earth, I doubt I’ll ever have a chance to catch my breath.”

You smiled and placed a soft kiss on his lips. You were too lucky to have him.

“Coming?” he suddenly asked, holding his arm out so you could loop yours around it.

“Yes, dear,” you giggled as you linked arms with him and walked out of the house to an awaiting carriage.

Tonight was going to be spectacular.


“Alright, alright! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” slurred a very drunk Laurens, wobbling on top of a table where drinks were being served. The bartender couldn’t even begin to shoo him before he completely fell off the furniture and face planted onto the floor.

The party was in full bloom, with young men drinking their weight in the free alcohol, people happily dancing to the celebration tunes that played in the streets, and children darting through the crowd, laughing and brandishing small american flags. You couldn’t help but smile at the fruits of your labor, an independent country reveling in its amazing spirit. Still, you kept in the back of your mind the families, friends, and souls of those who were lost on the field of battle.

You were sitting with some of your nursing friends, gossiping and catching up with each other. George was seated at a table surrounded by his men, all patting him on the back, cheering him on and offering to bring him a drink. It was clear how much they adored and looked up to him. You grinned with pride.


A shudder rippled through your body as the night was filled with magnificent red and blue color. The streets filled with cheer and applause. The fireworks had started.


You went silent and felt yourself began to shake as another firework whistled as it was shot into the sky. They sound that was left echoing in your head sounded all too familiar. 


Horrible memories that you had been trying for so long to get rid of flooded back into your head. You ran your hands through your hair and cupped them over your ears, as if physically trying to restrain the thoughts from entering into your head. These fireworks sounded almost identical to cannons.


With every sound of explosion, you heard the screams of men in horrible pain, their hands and fingernails tearing at their flesh trying to remove bullets lodged in their bodies. Before you could even realize it, you were vividly reliving a horrific day on the battlefield as a nurse. You let out a small, audible cry for help. Your fellow nurses directed their attention towards you, noticing something was very wrong. 


You let out another cry, and felt the eyes of several people around you. You saw Washington’s brow furrow in concern as he broke away from his crowd of men and began rushing towards you. You were sure that he was calling out to you, but you couldn’t hear him. Your ears were clogged with men howling in anguish at their newly lost limb, or their screams as they were filled with bullets and the harsh metal tore through their skin and organs, their sounds then transforming into gurgled sounds as blood rushed into their lungs.


You couldn’t take it anymore. You quickly stood up and fled down the street, hands still firmly clasped over your ears. You ran. And ran. And ran. And ran. The street cobblestone turned into grass as you furthered your distance from the commotion. You had no clue where you were going or where you were, you just needed to get away. Now. 

As your legs felt like they were aflame, you reached a small grove of trees and with your last shred of energy, carried yourself to one and collapsed under it, your legs folding into the grass as your body slumped against the rough bark. Your chest heaved as you took deep breaths of oxygen and tried to calm down. Even though you had run so far for so long, you could still hear the explosions and violently shook with each one. You clamped your eyes shut and curled into a ball, waiting for it to be over. 

“(Y/N)?” you suddenly heard a voice call out.

You turned your head and opened you eyes, revealing an incredibly worried-looking George jogging towards the grove. 

But that wasn’t all you saw.

Your mind evilly tricked your eyes into having you see your worst nightmare play out right in front of you. You saw dead men laying dead on the ground, their clothes soaked with blood and sweat. Several detattched limbs surrounded you. A man with half his head blown off lay at your feet.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” you screamed. 

You felt arms wrap around you as you were brought into your husbands chest.

“(Y/N), it’s not real! Everything is fine!” he desperately told you. You shook in his arms and felt your emotions begin to flood out of you.

“No…no….no…no…” you said in between sobs. George continued to press you into him, comforting you as the fireworks continued, feeling you quiver with each one.

“Shhhhh…” he cooed as he patted your head. Your breathing was beginning to steady as the imagined images became to fade. You realized their non-existence as they dissappeared from view.

“You’re safe now. I got you.” he breathed as you were still held into his chest, tears silently running down your face.

“I-I’m s-sorry…” you stammered, trying to apologize for your outburst.

“Don’t even dare try to apologize to me.” 

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Of course you didn’t. No one does. We’re all haunted by it.” he comforted.

You sat for awhile in silence. You recollected all of the atrocious scenes you had been a part of in the past few years.

“It was so scary.” 

“I know, I know.” He responded softly rubbing circles on your back and placing light kisses onto the top of your head. “But we made it out alive, and that’s what matters.”

You began to sob again.

Please, don’t cry (Y/N)…“ He begged.

“C-can we please leave?”

“Of course.”

He stood up and offered you his hand so you could support yourself. However, your legs, exhausted after such strenuous use, practically gave out from under you. George immediately caught you around the waist, and effortlessly lifted you into a bridal carry. You leaned into him as he began making his way back.

“Now let’s get you home, my love.”

Scan - “George [Harrison], aged two, being held by his sister, Louise, with brothers Peter and Harry (far right of table), Liverpool, VE Day, [8 May] 1945”; scanned from Living in the Material World

Photo © Harrison Family

“VE Day, Victory in Europe. Little Richy Starkey, who’d lost a parent but not as a result of the war, sat down to a few severely rationed treats at an open-air party in Madryn Street, and George Harrison, youngest in a family of six, did the same in Arnold Grove.” - All These Years: Tune In by Mark Lewisohn

* * *

“Another very early memory is as a baby, of a party in the street. There were air-raid shelters and people were sitting around tables and benches. I must have been no more than two. We used to have a photograph of me there, so it’s probably only because I could relive that scene when I was younger, through the photograph, that I remember it.” - George Harrison, The Beatles Anthology

August 13 in Music History

1655 Birth of German instrument maker Johann Christoph Denner in Leipzig. 

1692 Birth of composer Anton Simon Ignaz Praelisauer.

1704 Birth of composer Lorenzo Fago.

1717 Birth of German composer Christoph Nichelsmann.

1721 Birth of composer Francis Ireland.

1742 Handel leaves Dublin for England to start oratorio season at Covent Garden.

1784 Birth of Italian mezzo-soprano Teresa Belloc-Giorgi. 

1801 Birth of English baritone Henry Phillips in Bristol.  

1817 Birth of composer Karoly Thern.

1820 Birth of English musicologist  Sir George Grove in Clapham.

1826 Birth of English organist William T. Best in Carlisle. 

1831 Birth of German conductor and composer Salomon Jadassohn. 

1841 Death of German composer, conductor and cellist Bernhard Romberg.

1841 FP of Robert Schumann’s Concert Fantasy for Piano and Orchestra, in Leipzig a Gewandhaus Orchestra rehearsal conducted by Felix Mendelssohn, with soloist Clara Schumann. It was revised as the first movement of his Piano Concerto in a, Op. 54.

1852 Birth of cellist Robert Hausmann in Rottleberode, Harz. 

1865 Birth of American soprano Emma Eames in Shanghai, China.

1876 FP Wagner’s Das Rheingold in Bayreuth complete version. 

1878 Birth of composer Leonid Vladimirovich Nikolayev.

1879 Birth of English composer John Ireland in Inglewood, Bowdon, 

1884 Birth of blind American violinist and composer Edwin Grasse in NYC. 

1894 Birth of Russian composer Leonid Polovinkin in Kurgan. 

1901 Birth of composer Ian Whyte.

1912 Birth of tenor Francesco Albanese.

1912 Birth of Spanish composer Francisco Escudero in Zarautz. 

1912 Death of French composer Jules Massenet in Paris at age 70.

1913 Birth of Czech opera composer Ladislav Holobek in Prague. 

1913 Birth of Russian opera composer Anatoly Vasilievitch Bogatyrev.

1916 Death of German conductor Fritz Steinbach in Munich. 

1921 Birth of French conductor Louis Fremauxvin Aire-sur-la-Lys.

1926 Birth of mezzo-soprano Valentino Levko.

1929 Birth of composer Augustyn Bloch.

1930 Birth of composer Heino Jurisalu.

1930 Birth of American contralto Margareth Bence, in Kingston, NY.

1934 Birth of composer Leifur Thorarinsson

1937 Birth of American soprano Felicia Patricia Weathers in St. 

1940 Birth of mezzo-soprano Gertrude Jahn.

1942 Birth of English soprano Sheila Armstrong.

1942 Birth of English composer Philip Goddard in Harrow Weald, Middlesex.

1942 Birth of American cellist, conductor Jerome Kessler.

1943 Death of soprano Jane Osborn-Hannah.

1944 Birth of American composer David Mahler. 

1946 Birth of soprano Helena Dose.

1948 Birth of American soprano Kathleen Battle in Portsmouth Ohio

1949 Birth of Scotish baritone Gordon Sandison.

1955 Death of soprano Florence Easton. 

1964 FP of Gustav Mahler’s Symphony No. 10, arranged by Deryck Cooke. London Symphony conducted by Berthold Goldschmidt.

1973 FP of Thea Musgrave’s Viola Concerto at a London Proms Concert. Her husband, Peter Mark was the soloist.

1976 FP of Duke Ellington’s ballet Three Black Kings by the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater and the Duke Ellington Orchestra conducted by Mercer Ellington. Performed posthumously at the New York State Theater at Lincoln Center in NYC.

1996 Death of American composer Louise Victoria Talma in Yaddo, NY.

1996 Death of American composer David Tudor. 

2014 Death of Dutch flutist, musicologist and recorder virtuoso Franz Bruggen.

anonymous asked:

I saw one of your posts of some schools offering Quidditch as a sport, can you name these schools?

Sure thing, ya badass!

  • Sam Houston State University (recent Quidditch champs at the Snow Cup Fantasy Tournament)
  • Rice University
  • Baylor University
  • Colorado State University
  • Boston University
  • Arizona State University
  • College of Charleston
  • Emory University
  • Florida International University
  • Florida Atlantic University
  • Florida State University
  • Emerson College
  • Clark University
  • George Mason University
  • Grove City College
  • Harvard University
  • Illinois State University
  • Iowa State University
  • Louisiana State University
  • Loyola University - Chicago
  • Loyola University - New Orleans
  • Miami University
  • Mansfield University
  • Lock Haven University
  • New York University
  • Ohio State
  • Oklahoma Baptist University
  • Penn State University
  • West Virginia University
  • Ringling College of Art and Design
  • Rutgers University
  • San Jose State University
  • Southern Illinois University
  • Syracuse University
  • Texas A&M
  • Texas State University
  • Texas Tech
  • University of North Carolina 
  • University of Texas at Austin
  • Tulane University
  • University of Arizona
  • University of Arkansas
  • University of Florida
  • University of Missouri
  • University of North Texas
  • University of Massachusetts
  • University of Rhode Island
  • University of Richmond
  • University of Rochester
  • University of South Carolina
  • University of South Florida
  • University of Texas at San Antonio
  • University of Southern Mississippi
  • University of Vermont
  • Utah State University
  • Wichita State University

… And of course Hogwarts. 

Now go get your “woollongong shimmy” on!


Mark March - Day 17: Favourite TV part: Drama

Inspector George Gently S5E3 “The Lost Child”

Stephen Groves is not the British Government, he’s not the 3000-year-old Vampire. He is just an ordinary man. That’s why we are able to know about Mark’s acting performance. He’s not just a character actor. He’s an truly excellent actor.

Snowballs (A Harry/Ginny Christmas Fanfic)

• This is my gift for @siriuslybellatrix. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! •

Everyone had turned up for the Christmas party at the Burrow. Bill and Fleur were on holiday leave from Gringotts and had brought Victoire with them to see her paternal grandparents. George and Ron closed up the joke shop for Christmas, and instead of bringing one of his many flings around, George brought his friend Angelina to the party. Percy hadn’t taken the holiday shift at the ministry as he had in the years leading up to the war, and he showed up with his girlfriend, Audrey. Hermione was on holiday from her uni and Ginny didn’t have practice during Christmas, as no one would show up on time. Harry had taken time off as an auror for once, Andromeda had brought little Teddy, and Charlie had portkeyed in from Romania. The Burrow was packed to the brim.

Dinner was a loud and festive affair. There were jokes abound, toasts—both somber and jovial—to lost loved ones, couples making eyes at one another, and inquiries to everyone’s health. The food was truly phenomenal, for Mrs Weasley had worked her culinary magic yet again. By the time pudding was served, every diner was fit to burst.

As the meal wound down, Fleur announced that she was pregnant again, and she and Bill were crowded for attention and congratulations.

“That’s wonderful,” Mrs Weasley gushed for what had to be the hundredth time. Then, she added, “Now, if only the rest of you could get a move on…”

“Mum,” Charlie protested.

“Not you, Charlie. I know well that if you bring home a baby, it’ll be a juvenile dragon,” Mrs Weasley clarified.

“Mum, Hermione and I are really focused on our careers right now,” said Ron, as the only other married Weasley sibling.

Mr Weasley cut in, “That’s fine, Ron. We may want grandchildren, but they’re still your lives.”

Ron thanked his father for calming his mother, and everyone moved to the sitting room. It was a tight fit with sixteen people and an overly decorated Christmas tree, but they somehow made it work.

Mr and Mrs Weasley, Bill, and Fleur took the large couch, each cuddling up to their respective spouse. Percy sat in one armchair, Audrey plopping unashamedly into his lap, and Angelina sat in the other. Hermione took the window seat, an easy escape to read in when the party became too rowdy. Ron claimed the chair at the chess table closest to the window, and George the one opposite. Andromeda sat in the rocking chair, the closest seat to the fire. Charlie, Harry, and Ginny were relegated to conjured pillow seats on the floor with Teddy.

“So, Ginny, dear,” Mrs Weasley asked, “Where is your boyfriend?”

“I don’t have one,” Ginny replied, an exasperated tone in her voice as if she knew where this line of questioning was leading.

“There’s a lovely young man in your father’s office…” Mrs Weasley started.

“No, Mum. I don’t want to go on a date with somebody my parents set me up with,” Ginny cut her off.

“So, you’ll get a boyfriend?” Mrs Weasley asked happily.

“Maybe, but it’s not your business,” Ginny said.

“Ginevra!” Mrs Weasley scolded.

“It isn’t!” Ginny protested.

“Oh, look, it’s time for the snowball fight!” Bill interrupted.

The Weasley snowball fight was a holiday tradition. Every year after dinner, they bundled up and headed outside to have snowball fights in the dark. They’d set up snow bunkers near the trees and charm them to glow in the dark, and each person was set to light up if they got hit. If a person was hit three times, they were out, and the last person standing won. When Hermione informed them how similar this was to laser tag, Mr Weasley was ecstatic.

Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Audrey, George, Angelina, Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny headed out for the thin grove of trees near the Burrow. Teddy toddled along behind them, barely able to move in his many layers of clothing and thick, fluffy coat. Each player found a bunker to hide behind, and Harry made sure to lead Teddy over to his.

The first part of the game was spent with each person making snowballs, most aided by magic, though many of the godfather-godson duo’s were rather small and lumpy, made by tiny hands. The next part consisted of snowballs that started flying with a whistle from Arthur, who had gotten a muggle whistle as a gift from his children years before.

Percy was the first hit, by his own girlfriend no less. Next hit was Hermione, who swore revenge on her snowball-happy brother-in-law, and soon, no one was left unscathed and free of snow. The first one out was Harry, but he was still allowed to play under the guise of helping Teddy.

It narrowed down until Ginny and George were the last two standing, each with two hits. The siblings stared at each other across the snow covered grove. Both took on fighting stances, and greatly resembled two cowboys in a western film.

Three, two, one, plop! Ginny hit George directly in the face with the snowball mere seconds before his grazed her arm. To be fair, he had meant to hit her torso, but she had dodged at the last minute. Everyone ran over to congratulate her.

As Harry had Teddy, the two were the last to make it over to congratulate Ginny.

“That was wicked, Ginny!” Teddy said excitedly.

“Thanks, Teddy,” Ginny said, smiling at the toddler.

“Great aim. George didn’t have a chance,” Harry said with a smirk

“Da-arn right he didn’t,” Ginny said, changing her choice of expletive in the presence of a four-year-old.

“Teddy!” Andromeda yelled from the kitchen.

Teddy darted towards the front door, only for Ron to snatch him up and carry him halfway there. Soon, only Harry and Ginny were left in the snow-covered grove.

“So, you don’t have a boyfriend, eh?” Harry asked with a half-grin.

“Oh, shut it. We only just got back together, and I don’t want Mum interrogating you at the Christmas party,” Ginny said.

“I know. We should tell them soon, though,” Harry said.

“Maybe New Year’s,” Ginny said, before she tugged Harry closer for warmth.

“Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight?” Harry asked.

“Not yet,” Ginny said impishly.

“Well, you’re beautiful. Now c’mere,” Harry said, picking Ginny up. As she wrapped her legs around him, he kissed her deeply, snow falling gently on their faces as they took in each other.

After a few moments, they broke apart to go inside, revelling in their love for each other. With reluctance, they went back inside to finish the party, which was winding down as most of the party-goers had to work Boxing Day. The latter part of the party was pleasant, and both Harry and Ginny were content when they returned to Harry’s flat that night.

Scan - George Harrison photographed at an early Beatles publicity photo session, Liverpool, 1962. Scanned from Living in the Material World.

Photo: Les Chadwick

“But when he did talk about the things I wanted to talk about, his mood changed. He became less intense, more reflective and even wistful.

He told me about how he would drive up to Liverpool for secret visits.

He said: ‘I just look at all the places and say, ‘there’s where I was born, there’s where I lived, there’s where I went to school, there’s where the Cavern got knocked down.’

‘My friends were really John, Paul and Ringo and we all moved at the same time. I do miss Liverpool.'” - George Harrison to CNN’s Mark Davies, 1992 [x]


Happy Birthday Mozart! (Jan. 27, 1756 - Dec. 5, 1791)

From our stacks: 

1. “gest. v. L. Sichling.  Wolfgang Amade Mozart. After the portrait painted in Verona in 1770. (In the possession of Dr. v. Sonnleithner of Vienna.) from Life of Mozart by Otto Jahn. Translated from the German by Pauline D. Townsend. With a Preface by George Grove, Esq., D.C.L. In Three Volumes Vol. I. London: Novello, Ewer & Co., 1891.

2. "Wolfgang Amade mozart. After the Family picture in the Mozarteum at Salzburg” from Life of Mozart by Jahn. Vol. II.

3. “Wolfgang Amade Mozart. After the Medallion by Posch in the Mozarteum at Salzburg.” from Life of Mozart by Jahn. Vol. III.


Summer has once again turned into fall. Celebrate or mourn with these images from the Stonebridge Collection of summer in times past.

George E. Stonebridge, Excursion Roton Point Locust Grove - “a funny story”, 1903. New-York Historical Society  PR-066

George E. Stonebridge, Coney Island carousel, c. 1900. New-York Historical Society  PR-066

George E. Stonebridge, Mr. Stonebridge with shark, Orchard Beach, c. 1900. New-York Historical Society  PR-066

George E. Stonebridge, Crowd of bathers on the beach, Orchard Beach, City Island, New York, c. 1900. New-York Historical Society  PR-066