A gentle reminder for any members reading this that membership fees for the forthcoming year are payable from 1st September onwards.
Regards
Horus Egyptology Society.
Monday, 26 July 2010
Events Diary for 2010/2011
The list of events for the forthcoming twelve months are as follows:
2010
30th September:
Victor Blunden - TBA
25th November:
Professor Ken Kitchen - Discovering Ancient Egypt in Rio de Janiero
2011
20th January:
John Johnson - Seti I
31st March:
Linda Clarke - Senusret II
26th May:
Dr. Aidan Dodson - Ramses II's Poisoned Legacy - The Fall of the 19th Dynasty
28th July:
Dr. Joann Fletcher & Dr. Stephen Buckley - Pre-Dynastic Egypt
2010
30th September:
Victor Blunden - TBA
25th November:
Professor Ken Kitchen - Discovering Ancient Egypt in Rio de Janiero
2011
20th January:
John Johnson - Seti I
31st March:
Linda Clarke - Senusret II
26th May:
Dr. Aidan Dodson - Ramses II's Poisoned Legacy - The Fall of the 19th Dynasty
28th July:
Dr. Joann Fletcher & Dr. Stephen Buckley - Pre-Dynastic Egypt
Thursday, 30 July 2009
Membership fees 2009/2010
A gentle reminder for any members reading this that membership fees for the forthcoming year are payable from 1st September onwards.
Regards
Horus Egyptology Society.
Regards
Horus Egyptology Society.
Events Diary for 2009/2010
The list of events for the forthcoming year are as follows:
2009
24th September:
John Johnson - Belzoni - Strong Man Egyptologist
26th November:
Professor Ken Kitchen - Rameses II Traditionalist and Innovator
2010
21st January:
Rosalind Janssen - The Golden Boy - John Pendlebury at Wigan and Amarna
25th March:
Joyce Tyldesley - Queens and Conspiracies
27th May:
Lucia Gahlin - Creation Mythology of Ancient Egypt
29th July:
Dr Joann Fletcher - Pre-Dynastic Egypt
2009
24th September:
John Johnson - Belzoni - Strong Man Egyptologist
26th November:
Professor Ken Kitchen - Rameses II Traditionalist and Innovator
2010
21st January:
Rosalind Janssen - The Golden Boy - John Pendlebury at Wigan and Amarna
25th March:
Joyce Tyldesley - Queens and Conspiracies
27th May:
Lucia Gahlin - Creation Mythology of Ancient Egypt
29th July:
Dr Joann Fletcher - Pre-Dynastic Egypt
Saturday, 20 June 2009
Horus Facebook Group Created
For those members who are on Facebook there's now a group created especially for you.
News updates will include details of forthcoming events as and when they become available.
Feel free to start a discussion or post any links you think might be of interest to other members.
Membership is open to all at the moment so to join simply click the logo below...
Martin Kershaw
Horus Web Bloke.
Monday, 22 September 2008
"The Robber Artist" by Suzette Hartwell
Driven by greed an ancient Egyptian robber stealthily entered a dark tomb one night, all the while fearful of the King's ba flying out of the coffin to confront him with his awful deed. Having made it inside undetected he relaxed momentarily, until the flaming stick he held highlighted the King’s stern face painted onto the wall, his one all-seeing eye staring back, watching him.
The flickering flame served only to enhance the other uncompromising images of the gods on the wall. Although he had painted these very images during the day as a tomb artist and thought them quite serene, by night and in the deathly silence they appeared to be sinister. In his fright, he tripped over a golden casket and called upon favoured god for help, not sensing the irony in his request.
Unaware the heartbeat he could hear was his own, panic now overtook him. How different it had been a few hours earlier when he had drank several bowls of his porridge-like beer, his confidence swelling along with his belly.
Despite the fear, the lure of golden rewards and unfathomable wealth urged him closer to the body where a golden inlaid pectoral lay within a hands grasp. He lunged toward the mummy, intending to at least take the pectoral as his own. As he seized this precious ornament a loud groan emitted from the walls and filled the chamber.
He was sure now that the King was alive in the room and out for vengeance. The groaning ceiling collapsed in seconds above him, pressing his screaming face into whom he had served in life and cheated in death.
Here he remained for centuries, a mute witness to the truth.
© Suzette Hartwell 2008. Reproduced by kind permission.
The flickering flame served only to enhance the other uncompromising images of the gods on the wall. Although he had painted these very images during the day as a tomb artist and thought them quite serene, by night and in the deathly silence they appeared to be sinister. In his fright, he tripped over a golden casket and called upon favoured god for help, not sensing the irony in his request.
Unaware the heartbeat he could hear was his own, panic now overtook him. How different it had been a few hours earlier when he had drank several bowls of his porridge-like beer, his confidence swelling along with his belly.
Despite the fear, the lure of golden rewards and unfathomable wealth urged him closer to the body where a golden inlaid pectoral lay within a hands grasp. He lunged toward the mummy, intending to at least take the pectoral as his own. As he seized this precious ornament a loud groan emitted from the walls and filled the chamber.
He was sure now that the King was alive in the room and out for vengeance. The groaning ceiling collapsed in seconds above him, pressing his screaming face into whom he had served in life and cheated in death.
Here he remained for centuries, a mute witness to the truth.
© Suzette Hartwell 2008. Reproduced by kind permission.
Tuesday, 16 September 2008
'Baskets' by Susan Corcoran
We had planned and we had schemed.
For a year or so we’d dreamed …
of riding bikes along the River Nile.
We had tried it once before,
and of this we were quite sure …
that we really could go for the extra mile.
Well, we haggled and we bartered,
on a price per hour for starters,
with a man in whom we really put our trust.
The bikes, they should have brakes,
and the bones they must not shake,
but bikes with frontal baskets are a must!
Now we were quite specific.
We didn’t expect terrific,
but before we settled business with Mohammed,
we had questioned and cajoled
half of Luxor, truth be told,
and left a lot of locals stunned and aching-headed.
For last year we ambled idly
past a guy with bikes, who kindly
said he’d come along with us ... just for the ride.
He was known as good 'King Jimmy'
and according to his whim (eh?)
he would escort us down and out along the Nile.
It was very, very hot,
and from time to time we stopped
to have a breather and a rest as well.
We cycled over bridges
and many assorted ridges
and into one another (I had no bell!)
But it seemed that in that year
all the baskets disappeared,
‘cos a bike with one was nowhere to be found.
The guy, he was a star.
He found two with no crossbar,
and we paid the price of 10 Egyptian pound.
Now, Christine’s bike was blue.
Mine, a multi-coloured hue,
and was labeled with the name ‘the flying pigeon’.
The saddle had a fringe
and I really couldn’t whinge
‘cos the Scottish would have called the bike a ‘Guid jun.’
A side street was the start
to begin our cycling art
so that nobody would laugh if we fell off.
But a nice horse (with kalesh)
watched us get into a mess,
and politely covered his laughing with a cough!
We had cycled on full power,
and in under just one hour,
we had mastered roundabouts ‘n’ left turns too.
Past kaleshes, donkeys, carts,
‘n’ women carrying carrots,
we felt there was ‘nothing we can't do!’
But we quickly lost composure,
when a coach reversed, and closer
came to knocking Christine off her trusty steed.
My jaw, well, it did sag,
as the bike she had to drag
or be flattened by the wheels … oh yes indeed!
One day the Cornishe beckoned,
felucca men too, beckoned,
but we were on a mission to Karnak.
‘Would you like to sail a while?’
‘Ride a nice kalesh in style?’
‘OK! we'll question you again when you call back’.
‘Do you know how much?’ they say,
and you look the other way,
‘No thank you’ is so often our reply.
They’re undaunted by all this,
but they never take the piss.
They just say ‘OK, maybe later?’ with a sigh.
‘Nice baskets!’ they all cried.
But the sarcasm aside,
they’ve a quirky sense of humour, don’t you know.
‘Asda prices just for you’
‘Would you let me clean your shoe?’
‘Welllllllllcome to Alaska ‘bout the snow!’
They say mad dogs ‘n’ Englishmen
go out in the midday sun and then
get sunburned to an awful crisp and fry.
We went out for a spin one day.
Fell into a bush, and there I lay
till Christine picked me up again – Oh My!
The bridge across the Nile
is off-limits for a while,
and between the dusk and dawn no tourist crosses.
‘You drive those baskets well!’
as we cycled fast as hell
past the roadblocks, policemen and their horses.
The speed, it was excessive
the flies and gnats ... impressive
as big numbers of them, well, we swallowed whole.
The streetlamps were just winking
As we were just a-thinking
that the man would charge us for the bikes we ‘stole’.
In our hurry to leave the bikes
in the place the ‘bike-man’ likes,
we forgot to leave the key that locked the chain.
‘Cos when we left the bikes alone,
we made sure they didn’t roam
by linking them together with a rein.
We climbed wearily the stairs.
Put our shoes outside in pairs,
‘cos they hummed a tune and sweated like a pig.
Then a knock upon the door,
shook us to our very core
and a guy stood there doin’ a little jig.
With his hand outstretched he asked it.
‘Can I have the key to the basket?
I was just around the back having a pee.
I chased you down the road
but you were in a speeding mode
So I had to follow you to get the key.’
At the start of this rum tale
I hope I did not fail
to say how much we did enjoy this game.
These ventures were so funny,
and were for so little money,
that it’s something that we'll want to do again!
© 2008 Susan Corcoran. Reproduced by kind permission.
For a year or so we’d dreamed …
of riding bikes along the River Nile.
We had tried it once before,
and of this we were quite sure …
that we really could go for the extra mile.
Well, we haggled and we bartered,
on a price per hour for starters,
with a man in whom we really put our trust.
The bikes, they should have brakes,
and the bones they must not shake,
but bikes with frontal baskets are a must!
Now we were quite specific.
We didn’t expect terrific,
but before we settled business with Mohammed,
we had questioned and cajoled
half of Luxor, truth be told,
and left a lot of locals stunned and aching-headed.
For last year we ambled idly
past a guy with bikes, who kindly
said he’d come along with us ... just for the ride.
He was known as good 'King Jimmy'
and according to his whim (eh?)
he would escort us down and out along the Nile.
It was very, very hot,
and from time to time we stopped
to have a breather and a rest as well.
We cycled over bridges
and many assorted ridges
and into one another (I had no bell!)
But it seemed that in that year
all the baskets disappeared,
‘cos a bike with one was nowhere to be found.
The guy, he was a star.
He found two with no crossbar,
and we paid the price of 10 Egyptian pound.
Now, Christine’s bike was blue.
Mine, a multi-coloured hue,
and was labeled with the name ‘the flying pigeon’.
The saddle had a fringe
and I really couldn’t whinge
‘cos the Scottish would have called the bike a ‘Guid jun.’
A side street was the start
to begin our cycling art
so that nobody would laugh if we fell off.
But a nice horse (with kalesh)
watched us get into a mess,
and politely covered his laughing with a cough!
We had cycled on full power,
and in under just one hour,
we had mastered roundabouts ‘n’ left turns too.
Past kaleshes, donkeys, carts,
‘n’ women carrying carrots,
we felt there was ‘nothing we can't do!’
But we quickly lost composure,
when a coach reversed, and closer
came to knocking Christine off her trusty steed.
My jaw, well, it did sag,
as the bike she had to drag
or be flattened by the wheels … oh yes indeed!
One day the Cornishe beckoned,
felucca men too, beckoned,
but we were on a mission to Karnak.
‘Would you like to sail a while?’
‘Ride a nice kalesh in style?’
‘OK! we'll question you again when you call back’.
‘Do you know how much?’ they say,
and you look the other way,
‘No thank you’ is so often our reply.
They’re undaunted by all this,
but they never take the piss.
They just say ‘OK, maybe later?’ with a sigh.
‘Nice baskets!’ they all cried.
But the sarcasm aside,
they’ve a quirky sense of humour, don’t you know.
‘Asda prices just for you’
‘Would you let me clean your shoe?’
‘Welllllllllcome to Alaska ‘bout the snow!’
They say mad dogs ‘n’ Englishmen
go out in the midday sun and then
get sunburned to an awful crisp and fry.
We went out for a spin one day.
Fell into a bush, and there I lay
till Christine picked me up again – Oh My!
The bridge across the Nile
is off-limits for a while,
and between the dusk and dawn no tourist crosses.
‘You drive those baskets well!’
as we cycled fast as hell
past the roadblocks, policemen and their horses.
The speed, it was excessive
the flies and gnats ... impressive
as big numbers of them, well, we swallowed whole.
The streetlamps were just winking
As we were just a-thinking
that the man would charge us for the bikes we ‘stole’.
In our hurry to leave the bikes
in the place the ‘bike-man’ likes,
we forgot to leave the key that locked the chain.
‘Cos when we left the bikes alone,
we made sure they didn’t roam
by linking them together with a rein.
We climbed wearily the stairs.
Put our shoes outside in pairs,
‘cos they hummed a tune and sweated like a pig.
Then a knock upon the door,
shook us to our very core
and a guy stood there doin’ a little jig.
With his hand outstretched he asked it.
‘Can I have the key to the basket?
I was just around the back having a pee.
I chased you down the road
but you were in a speeding mode
So I had to follow you to get the key.’
At the start of this rum tale
I hope I did not fail
to say how much we did enjoy this game.
These ventures were so funny,
and were for so little money,
that it’s something that we'll want to do again!
© 2008 Susan Corcoran. Reproduced by kind permission.
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