mrs pique

It pisses me off when people try to compare piqué and r*mos.

Piqué has been sticking up for people longer than anyone else on that team, starting in la masia. The only reason people don’t like him is because he calls out fifa and the spanish federation for their shit, and they run campaigns against him. He fights for his people’s independence and has now risked his international career to help them.

Meanwhile, r*mos is a literal fucking racist who gets away with offside goals and handballs and associates himself with the very people oppressing the catalonians right now. There is nothing to even compare! Nothing!

If you think that having a big mouth is comparable to racism, you are a very fucked up person and need to leave.
Forbidden love: The WW2 letters between two men - BBC News
Love letters written during World War Two and discovered in a trunk in Brighton reveal a forbidden relationship between two men.

While on military training during World War Two, Gilbert Bradley was in love. He exchanged hundreds of letters with his sweetheart - who merely signed with the initial “G”. But more than 70 years later, it was discovered that G stood for Gordon, and Gilbert had been in love with a man.

At the time, not only was homosexuality illegal, but those in the armed forces could be shot for having gay sex. The letters, which emerged after Mr Bradley’s death in 2008, are therefore unusual and shed an important light on homosexual relationships during the war. What do we know about this forbidden love affair?

Wednesday January 24th 1939

My darling,

… I lie awake all night waiting for the postman in the early morning, and then when he does not bring anything from you I just exist, a mass of nerves…

All my love forever,


Information gleaned from the letters indicate Mr Bradley was a reluctant soldier. He did not want to be in the Army, and even pretended to have epilepsy to avoid it. His ruse did not work, though, and in 1939 he was stationed at Park Hall Camp in Oswestry, Shropshire, to train as an anti-aircraft gunner.

He was already in love with Gordon Bowsher. The pair had met on a houseboat holiday in Devon in 1938 when Mr Bowsher was in a relationship with Mr Bradley’s nephew. Mr Bowsher was from a well-to-do family. His father ran a shipping company, and the Bowshers also owned tea plantations. When war broke out a year later he trained as an infantryman and was stationed at locations across the country.

February 12 1940, Park Grange

My own darling boy,

There is nothing more than I desire in life but to have you with me constantly…

…I can see or I imagine I can see, what your mother and father’s reaction would be… the rest of the world have no conception of what our love is - they do not know that it is love…

But life as a homosexual in the 1940s was incredibly difficult. Gay activity was a court-martial offence, jail sentences for so-called “gross indecency” were common, and much of society strongly disapproved of same-sex relationships. It was not until the Sexual Offences Act 1967 that consenting men aged 21 and over were legally allowed to have gay relationships - and being openly gay in the armed services was not allowed until 2000.

The letters, which emerged after Mr Bradley’s death in 2008, are rare because most homosexual couples would get rid of anything so incriminating, says gay rights activist Peter Roscoe. In one letter Mr Bowsher urges his lover to “do one thing for me in deadly seriousness. I want all my letters destroyed. Please darling do this for me. Til then and forever I worship you.”

Mr Roscoe says the letters are inspiring in their positivity. “There is a gay history and it isn’t always negative and tearful,” he says. “So many stories are about arrests - Oscar Wilde, Reading Gaol and all those awful, awful stories. "But despite all the awful circumstances, gay men and lesbians managed to rise above it all and have fascinating and good lives despite everything.”

February 1st, 1941 K . C. Gloucester Regiment, Priors Road, Cheltenham

My darling boy,

For years I had it drummed into me that no love could last for life…

I want you darling seriously to delve into your own mind, and to look for once in to the future.

Imagine the time when the war is over and we are living together… would it not be better to live on from now on the memory of our life together when it was at its most golden pitch.

Your own G.

But was this a love story with a happy ending?

Probably not. At one point, Mr Bradley was sent to Scotland on a mission to defend the Forth Bridge. He met and fell in love with two other men. Rather surprisingly, he wrote and told Mr Bowsher all about his romances north of the border. Perhaps even more surprisingly, Mr Bowsher took it all in his stride, writing that he “understood why they fell in love with you. After all, so did I”.

Although the couple wrote throughout the war, the letters stopped in 1945.

However, both went on to enjoy interesting lives.Mr Bowsher moved to California and became a well-known horse trainer. In a strange twist, he employed Sirhan Sirhan, who would go on to be convicted of assassinating Robert Kennedy. Mr Bradley was briefly entangled with the MP Sir Paul Latham, who was imprisoned in 1941 following a court martial for “improper conduct” with three gunners and a civilian. Sir Paul was exposed after some “indiscreet letters” were discovered.Mr Bradley moved to Brighton and died in 2008. A house clearance company found the letters and sold them to a dealer specialising in military mail.

The letters were finally bought by Oswestry Town Museum, when curator Mark Hignett was searching on eBay for items connected with the town. He bought just three at first, and says the content led him to believe a fond girlfriend or fiancé was the sender. There were queries about bed sheets, living conditions - and their dreams for their future life together. When he spotted there were more for sale, he snapped them up too - and on transcribing the letters for a display in the museum, Mr Hignett and his colleagues discovered the truth. The “girlfriend” was a boyfriend.

The revelation piqued Mr Hignett’s interest - he describes his experience as being similar to reading a book and finding the last page ripped out: “I just had to keep buying the letters to find out what happened next.” Although he’s spent “thousands of pounds” on the collection of more than 600 letters, he believes in terms of historical worth the correspondence is “invaluable”. “Such letters are extremely rare because they were incriminating - gay men faced years in prison with or without hard labour,” he says. “There was even the possibility that gay soldiers could have been shot.”

Work on a book is already under way at the museum, where the letters will also go on display. Perhaps most poignantly, one of the letters contains the lines: “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if all our letters could be published in the future in a more enlightened time. Then all the world could see how in love we are.”

mr. cat — chp.i // lit

if u want, u can 📖 this on wattpad @ satire–humor

“There are no happy endings.

Endings are the saddest part,

So just give me a happy middle

And a very happy start”

— Shel Silverstein

8< - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“So, Bartholomew, do you have anything you want to contribute to the Valentines Collection?”

I LOOKED UP at Bill Smith, my boss, before shaking my head. “No, sir. I don’t.” He nodded before speaking to Gregory Madison, who was the person I sat across from in the office. I worked at a record company, but, enough oddly, we also made greeting cards here… It seemed like hours had passed before the meeting had actually ended. As Mr. Smith called the meeting to an end, my co-workers and I had stood up to leave. Unfortunately, before we left the room, he stopped us.

“I want you to meet my new assistant!” he said cheerfully. We looked at him, promptly diverting our eyes to the stairs as someone walked in. A girl with pale blonde hair skipped over to Mr. Smith’s side, smiling brightly.

“Everyone, Molly Vargas; Molly, everyone,” continued the man, still grinning happily as he introduced her to us. I stared blank-faced. She looked like an ordinary girl that you’d meet on the streets. Everyone greeted her before stepping back down the stairs. I snapped back to reality when I realised that I was probably creepy-staring at her… Before I knew it, I was back at my desk, with Gregory sitting across at the desk opposite my own.

“Yo, Darcy. You know that chick?” I nodded, continuing to type away, staring down at the screen of my laptop.

“Yeah?” I said, keys clicking on the keyboard quietly.

“Joe told me that she’s super stuck-up… What he described as a ‘bitch’,” Gregory huffed before scoffing. Gasping sarcastically, I pretended to be shocked. He was also typing, albeit at a slightly slower pace than I was. “Fucking Joe, right?” I shrugged, pulling strands of reddish-brown hair that blocked my sight away. I didn’t really know how to reply to that…

“Sure, man. Sure.” Rolling my eyes, I let myself believe whatever it was that Joe had told him, not really caring if it was true. Regardless, he thought she was a bitch, so, I did too. Not like it mattered in any way in the long run…

Fast forward on my life and the day was over already! I snuck a peek at the cheap analogue clock on the wall, seeing that it was ten-past-three on the clock already. With that, I began to pack up everything and put them into my messenger bag, as per usual. I zipped my bag to a close and strolled out, quickly clocking out on the way.

“Well, there’s my shift done and over with!” I grinned, somehow feeling proud of myself for getting through another day. Stepping inside the small elevator, I pressed the G Button, to get down to the ground floor. Promptly afterwards, I sighed in delight as I shifted my earbuds into my ears. I selected a track and let the music flow beautifully into my head.

Oh I long, oh I long for them days,

Before the doors could have fully closed, a man — who I recognised as a co-worker — held the doors and stepped inside. He waved a tad bit, subsequently causing me to nod my head back. I didn’t know too much about him… Not that I knew about anyone, really.

Left and gone,

The elevator slid down as we both waited in the confined space, me wordlessly listening to my music. Moments passed as I awaited my stop. There was a deafening silence that took place for several minutes before the elevator had halted to a stop, sliding it’s metal doors open.

Where we sang and where danced

To a brighter song.

I let the other man step outside into the pouring rain first. “A’, man…” he sighed. “Didn’ know it’d be rainin’.” Running out, he feebly covered his head with his suitcase. I almost felt bad for him as I popped open my blue umbrella, taking in the beautiful, fresh (yet salty) air. I stepped out into the open, pulling the umbrella overhead, proceeding to take my time and stroll back over to my apartment.

I must’ve not been paying attention well enough because, as I was quietly humming along to the song, I seemed to accidentally bump into someone! Falling back, I stumbled to get back on my feet. I looked down to see a figure, fallen on the wet ground.

“Oh, sorry…” I mumbled, offering the lady a hand. She took it, getting up quickly. She smiled before thanking me. At that moment, I realised that the female figure was Molly… Mr. Smith’s new assistant. I had to hold back a scoff as I nodded, silently removing my earbuds.

“You’re… uh, M-Molly, right?” I blurted out, zipping my mouth after realising. The blonde looked at me, smiling.

“Ah, yeah! That’s me!” she giggled, her shoulders bucking up and down. Oh my God… “Also, sorry by the way! I mustn’t have been watching where I was going,” Molly continued, looking away for a moment. I scratched the back of my head, promptly getting red in the face.

“Oh no, I’m the one who should be sorry…” I quickly interrupted. My God, was she cute. I looked at her — this never used to happen before… I offered my name, awkwardly stumbling over my own words. “I’m Darcy. Darcy Bartholomew,” I said, grinning like an idiot. She sent a sparkling smile back.

“Hi, Darcy! Nice to meet you,” responded Molly brightly. She’s not such a 'bitch’… When a sound interrupted us, she excused herself. “Oh! Sorry, Darcy, I really have to go, but, again, really nice meeting you!” Then, with that, she took off, umbrella still over her head.

'How could anyone call her such a horrible name? She’s so, so kind!’ I said to myself, managing to convince myself that Gregory was super wrong about Molly. I played with a thought, the assistant’s gorgeous smile still burned in my mind… 'She’s… She’s amazing.“

I stared speechless, my mouth still slightly ajar. I could just barely mustered out a bye as we parted ways. I plugged my earphones back in, a new song blasting into my ears. Turning around and continuing my daily path home, my mind was completely and utterly blown! Not exactly knowing what else to say, I uttered out just one word as I strolled around: