{"id":6455,"date":"2020-06-05T13:05:44","date_gmt":"2020-06-05T13:05:44","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/?p=6455"},"modified":"2020-06-05T13:05:44","modified_gmt":"2020-06-05T13:05:44","slug":"sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/","title":{"rendered":"Sweet Thames Flow Softly, They Said"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u201cThe contamination of the water of the Thames by the sewage of London, which here falls into the stream on both sides, by the refuse of gas works and chemical factories, had, probably, much to do with the rapid decomposition of the bodies. In consequence of the danger to the health of the community it was found absolutely necessary to inter many of the bodies before they could be claimed by their friends.\u201d<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

The Wreck of the Princess Alice (Edwin Guest, 1878)<\/em><\/p>\n

In 1966, Ewan MacColl<\/strong> wrote \u2018Sweet Thames Flow Softly\u2019, a haunting and romantic folk song which we first encountered in a recording by Planxty (Planxty<\/em>, 1973).<\/p>\n

\u201cSwift the Thames runs to the sea, flow sweet river flow.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

Yet a century earlier, the Thames was not considered so sweet, as we have mentioned in earlier posts. Try this cartoon, for example:<\/p>\n

\"thames\"<\/a>\u201cFather Thames Introducing His Offspring to the Fair City of London. (A Design for a Fresco in the New Houses of Parliament.)\u201d engraving by John Leech. Punch magazine, July, 1858<\/em><\/p>\n

Twenty years after the above cartoon was drawn, on 3 September 1878, the Princess Alice<\/em> pleasure steamer was in a catastrophic collision with the colliery boat Bywell Castle<\/em>, a collision which resulted in the loss of up to 700 lives.<\/p>\n

Edwin Guest\u2019s contemporary account, quoted at the start of this piece, listed the names of those whose death was confirmed, but others were lost, some unnamed, to the sludgy waters. In the period which followed, attempts were made to ship effluent from the area, and to purify at least some of the sewage discharge. But the Thames remained more polluted than sweet for many years…<\/p>\n

It is in such a grim spirit, that we return to our serialisation of\u00a0 Alan M Clark<\/strong>\u2018s illustrated novella Mudlarks and the Silent Highwayman<\/em>…<\/p>\n

\n
\n

MUDLARKS AND THE SILENT HIGHWAYMAN<\/h2>\n

SEGMENT 9<\/h2>\n

\"thames\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Surprised that he had not hurt himself, Albert rose awkwardly. His feet, still in his shoes, sank deep into mud. That didn\u2019t seem right. But then he remembered that Hardly had been in pursuit. Albert tried to look back that way he\u2019d come, and found he couldn\u2019t change the angle of his vision.<\/p>\n

His muddied head wouldn\u2019t move! His right cheek and ear rested on his shoulder. Everything appeared sideways.<\/p>\n

Albert turned his body\u2014the only way to realign his vision\u2014glancing around quickly.<\/p>\n

The pier\u2014gone!<\/p>\n

Something happened\u2026I don\u2019t remember\u2026<\/p>\n

Had he fallen in the water and been carried downstream?<\/p>\n

He kept trying to move his head, looking out for danger.<\/p>\n

Nothing there, or, at least, very little. Everything, including the sky, had taken on a similar shade of gray. A near featureless foreshore extended into the dreary distance to either side and behind him.<\/p>\n

Why can\u2019t I move my head? Have I broken my neck?<\/p>\n

He reached up to feel with his hands.<\/p>\n

Yes\u2014he felt bones pushing the muscle and skin of his neck outward. Yet he felt no pain.<\/p>\n

That fall should have killed me!<\/p>\n

He felt fortunate to have survived, and thought of another incident in his life in which luck had safeguarded him. A draft horse had kicked him in the head while Albert reached for a farthing that had got away from him and rolled off the kerb to lie beneath a wagon. The force of the blow had tossed him at least ten feet onto the flagstone footway, but he had walked away with only a gash on his forehead.<\/p>\n

Albert would have to be careful not to make his neck worse before he could mend up. He might need a surgeon\u2019s help.<\/p>\n

An odd quiet suggested his hearing had somehow suffered from the fall. Snapping his fingers, told him that wasn\u2019t so. What had happened to the rumbling hubbub of the city surrounding the river, the sounds of countless feet, hooves, and wheels upon the stones of the roads, the innumerable voices of the inhabitants, the ringing grind and clank of industry, and commerce on land and in the river?<\/p>\n

The disorienting sideways view became tolerable in short order. He saw clearly the chill, gray river, its slow current lapping at the colorless mud along the edge. The bank had a different shape from what he\u2019d expect to see near the West India Docks Pier, it\u2019s curve more gentle. With the morning sun low in the eastern sky behind the embankment at his back, he should see its light shining upon the buildings across the moving water to the west. Instead, he saw merely dim silhouettes of the landscape; a couple of rocky prominences, a couple of dead trees, and no more. He saw no river traffic.<\/p>\n

Yes, taken downstream. Just don\u2019t remember.<\/p>\n

Albert turned to his right and began walking upstream.<\/p>\n

In the distance, he saw a figure, a scavenger perhaps. Abandoning his natural caution, Albert ran toward the figure, but his vision, bouncing with his head on his shoulder, became too disorienting. Slowing, he got a good look. A boy, it seemed, crouched on the foreshore, poking at the mud with a stick. He wore several layers of mud-caked clothing, mostly rags, and some sort of large, cumbersome hat upon his head. No\u2014not a hat, but a mass of filth-clotted, tangled hair, also caked, as if he, too, had fallen head-first in the mud. The figure seemed a growth on the gray landscape. Displaying no curiosity, let alone wariness\u2014something unusual in a scavenger\u2014the child didn\u2019t look up as Albert approached.<\/p>\n

\u201cTell me, please,\u201d Albert said, \u201cwhere are we on the river?\u201d<\/p>\n

Like an old man, bent and broken with age, the boy rose slowly. For all his filth, he had a gold watch chain fixed to one of his numerous waistcoats, the end disappearing into pocket, where, presumably, a watch rested. So, indeed a scavenger, and a successful one too.<\/p>\n

Finally, he lifted his head.<\/p>\n

Albert gasped to see the features beneath the rat\u2019s nest of hair. Yes, a child\u2014the rounded shape of the face told that\u2014though wrinkled with untold years of wear on what otherwise had a boyish shape. The lips and nostrils suffered cracks at the edges. The eyes, dull and somehow vacant, held the smallest hint of a great yearning deep inside. Indeed, Albert could see in the silent pleading gaze a curious and inquisitive boy, a poor waif trapped within an ancient, slow-moving body.<\/p>\n

Revulsion drove Albert back a few stumbling steps. He felt the tingling of his skin tightening into gooseflesh.<\/p>\n

The ancient boy dropped the stick, raised his hands toward Albert. The fingernails were several inches long, curled in upon themselves, some raggedly broken.<\/p>\n

Albert turned and ran despite the disorienting effect of his bouncing vision.<\/p>\n

\n

MUDLARKS AND THE SILENT HIGHWAYMAN<\/h2>\n

SEGMENT 10<\/h2>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

The grayness seemed to absorb Albert. His mind having nothing visual to grab onto, he lost all sense of direction and feared that he might make a circle, running into the boy again. Albert stopped and turned, saw the boy not too far away. He\u2019d picked up his stick, gone back to poking at the mud, and didn\u2019t appear to be a threat.<\/p>\n

A muffled cry of, \u201cMy eye!\u201d seemed to come from the mud beneath his stick.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy apologies,\u201d the boy said in a thin, cracked voice.<\/p>\n

Did I awaken or is this still dream?<\/p>\n

Albert looked closely at the back of his right hand, saw a smear of soil caught in the tiny hairs, the grit trapped beneath his nails, and a bit of dried grass caught in a sharp split of his thumbnail. He pressed that nail hard into his index finger until he felt pain.<\/p>\n

No, not dreaming.<\/p>\n

A tap on his left shoulder, and he spun around.<\/p>\n

George Hardly!<\/p>\n

Albert stumbled back and fell on his arse, scramble backwards on all fours to get away. Hardly followed.<\/p>\n

Albert could see only the boys torn breeches and feet, the shoe missing from the left foot. He turned onto his left side to see more of him.<\/p>\n

Hardly held his hands out to his sides. His scarred face, wide eyes, and trembling lips had a pleading look.<\/p>\n

Even so, Albert covered his head with his arms for protection, drew his knees to his chest.<\/p>\n

\u201cI mean no harm,\u201d Hardly said, his voice tremulous.<\/p>\n

Albert peeked up a him from between fingers. The older boy appeared on the verge of tears. Hardly reached out a hand. Though reluctant, Albert finally took it and stood with assistance. The two boys looked at one another.<\/p>\n

Hardly\u2019s shirt was bloodied and had a hole in it on the left side of his chest. \u201cHe had a bigger knife,\u201d he said with a grimace. \u201cI fell down the bank, got lost. I recognize you, but nothing else.\u201d He grimaced again. \u201cWhat happened to your head?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI fell on it.\u201d Albert backed away. \u201cLeave me be.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI know\u2026 I-I harmed you,\u201d Hardly said. \u201cI don\u2019t expect you\u2019ll forgive, but I need to find my brothers. This wants help.\u201d He gestured toward the hole in his chest, looking fearful. \u201cYour head wants help too.\u201d<\/p>\n

Albert continued shuffling backwards. Hardly kept up, walking slowly.<\/p>\n

\u201cStay away,\u201d Albert said, and the other boy slowed, following from a distance.<\/p>\n

\n

MUDLARKS AND THE SILENT HIGHWAYMAN<\/h2>\n

SEGMENT 11<\/h2>\n

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

Albert saw the figure of a young girl ahead, another filthy waif in rags, not quite so bent with age as the ancient boy he\u2019d seen earlier. She\u2019d lost most of her right arm. A withered nub, hung out of her gray, rotting shift. Moving toward the girl, Albert watched her poke at something in the mud with a stick held in her remaining hand. \u201cJust a rock,\u201d she said, presumably to herself. She spoke slowly, as if the effort was practiced, not natural. \u201cNo life, no memories.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stopped to speak to her. Hardly became still about fifty feet away.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you tell me where I am?\u201d Albert asked.<\/p>\n

She looked him in the eye. Although appearing sad and withdrawn, her gaze didn\u2019t frighten. She had crow\u2019s feet at the corners of her eyes, creases around her mouth, much like those of Albert\u2019s mother. Her skin had the liver spots of someone much older still.<\/p>\n

\u201cSticks,\u201d she said, simply.<\/p>\n

He looked at the stick in her hand.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did she say?\u201d Hardly asked.<\/p>\n

Albert waved the older boy\u2019s words away. \u201cDo you live hereabouts?\u201d he asked the girl.<\/p>\n

Her eyes widened briefly at the word, \u201clive.\u201d The crow\u2019s feet disappeared. For a moment, she looked like any little girl. She seemed to search his face for meaning.<\/p>\n

Albert became uncomfortable, trapped within her gaze.<\/p>\n

Then a look of fright fixed her features. The crow\u2019s feet returned. \u201cThe woolen mill, that\u2019s where I\u2026\u201d Her voice trailed off for a moment. \u201cThe machine was so thirsty, never got enough of the oil, never satisfied. Had a hunger too\u2026\u201d She left the stick upright in the mud and rubbed the nub of her right arm. \u201c\u2026and a mean bite.\u201d<\/p>\n

Finally the girl frowned and her gaze shifted. She shrugged, and took up her stick. \u201cYou\u2019ve only just come, you and your friend,\u201d she said, turning away and poking the mud. \u201cYou know nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

Hardly had approached. \u201cDo you live here?\u201d he asked the girl.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo live,\u201d she said, \u201cno die. No coins. One hundred years before I can go without paying the fare. Maybe tomorrow\u2014don\u2019t know how long I\u2019ve been here. Not as long as he has been.\u201d She gestured toward the boy Albert had first approached, now a mere thirty yards away.<\/p>\n

The air having cleared slightly, Albert saw several other children wandering the river\u2019s edge in the hazy distance. Their movements slow and unnatural for children, he assumed they all suffered the same condition, whatever that was.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhich way to Limehouse?\u201d Hardly said. He grabbed the girl by the shoulders. The nub of her right arm broke off in his grip. He threw it to the ground as if it had stung him, and looked at the girl, his mouth gaping in horror. She made no complaint, nor any expression of pain or surprise.<\/p>\n

Hardly\u2019s astonishment emerged as a great whooping sound. Then he was in a rapid stumble to get away. He disappeared into the grayness.<\/p>\n

Albert, transfixed by the drama, stood dumbly wondering how he might help the girl. \u201cAre you\u2026?\u201d he began.<\/p>\n

The girl looked briefly at the nub of her arm on the foreshore before turning away toward the river.<\/p>\n

Is she so ill she cannot feel? Has he made them all sick?<\/p>\n

Albert hadn\u2019t wanted to believe Thomas\u2019s tale of the Silent Highwayman, but now he easily accepted that the skeletal phantom existed.<\/p>\n

He\u2019s done this, and now\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cLuck is with you,\u201d the girl said, pointing out over the water. \u201cHe comes for you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Albert saw a small boat, much like his wherry. From its stem, a green lantern swung, sending out a sickly light that infected nearby mists. A gaunt cloaked figure stood at the tiller. The water appeared unusually troubled beneath the boat.<\/p>\n

A panic in Albert\u2019s chest shifted to his throat, raising his head upright, and he ran, the muddy foreshore sucking on his every step.<\/p>\n

to be continued…<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n

\n
\n

You can also see the full story of mudlarks on the Thames unfolding daily here:<\/strong><\/p>\n

https:\/\/ifdpublishing.com\/blog\/f\/mudlarks-and-the-silent-highwayman<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n

\n

The Mudlarks<\/em> book itself, illustrated throughout by Alan, is available now on Amazon, and directly from the publisher through the links below:<\/strong><\/p>\n

\"mudlarks\"<\/a><\/p>\n

mudlark ebook \u2013 ifd publishing<\/a><\/p>\n

mudlark paperback \u2013 ifd publishing<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cThe contamination of the water of the Thames by the sewage of London, which here falls into the stream on both sides, by the refuse of gas works and chemical factories, had, probably, much to do with the rapid decomposition of the bodies. In consequence of the danger to the health of the community it … Continue reading Sweet Thames Flow Softly, They Said<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"iawp_total_views":6,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-6455","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\nSweet Thames Flow Softly, They Said - greydogtales<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_GB\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Sweet Thames Flow Softly, They Said - greydogtales\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"\u201cThe contamination of the water of the Thames by the sewage of London, which here falls into the stream on both sides, by the refuse of gas works and chemical factories, had, probably, much to do with the rapid decomposition of the bodies. In consequence of the danger to the health of the community it … Continue reading Sweet Thames Flow Softly, They Said →\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:url\" content=\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:site_name\" content=\"greydogtales\" \/>\n<meta property=\"article:published_time\" content=\"2020-06-05T13:05:44+00:00\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:image\" content=\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/Offspring-300x239.jpg\" \/>\n<meta name=\"author\" content=\"greydogtales\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:card\" content=\"summary_large_image\" \/>\n<meta name=\"twitter:label1\" content=\"Written by\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data1\" content=\"greydogtales\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:label2\" content=\"Estimated reading time\" \/>\n\t<meta name=\"twitter:data2\" content=\"11 minutes\" \/>\n<script type=\"application\/ld+json\" class=\"yoast-schema-graph\">{\"@context\":\"https:\/\/schema.org\",\"@graph\":[{\"@type\":\"WebPage\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/\",\"url\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/\",\"name\":\"Sweet Thames Flow Softly, They Said - greydogtales\",\"isPartOf\":{\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#website\"},\"primaryImageOfPage\":{\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/#primaryimage\"},\"image\":{\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/#primaryimage\"},\"thumbnailUrl\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/Offspring-300x239.jpg\",\"datePublished\":\"2020-06-05T13:05:44+00:00\",\"dateModified\":\"2020-06-05T13:05:44+00:00\",\"author\":{\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/1c2413a29a9d04fbc9280c12fdf7b151\"},\"breadcrumb\":{\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/#breadcrumb\"},\"inLanguage\":\"en-GB\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"ReadAction\",\"target\":[\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/\"]}]},{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-GB\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/#primaryimage\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/Offspring.jpg?fit=960%2C764\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/Offspring.jpg?fit=960%2C764\",\"width\":960,\"height\":764},{\"@type\":\"BreadcrumbList\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/#breadcrumb\",\"itemListElement\":[{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":1,\"name\":\"Home\",\"item\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/\"},{\"@type\":\"ListItem\",\"position\":2,\"name\":\"Sweet Thames Flow Softly, They Said\"}]},{\"@type\":\"WebSite\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#website\",\"url\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/\",\"name\":\"greydogtales\",\"description\":\"Literature, lurchers and life\",\"potentialAction\":[{\"@type\":\"SearchAction\",\"target\":{\"@type\":\"EntryPoint\",\"urlTemplate\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/?s={search_term_string}\"},\"query-input\":{\"@type\":\"PropertyValueSpecification\",\"valueRequired\":true,\"valueName\":\"search_term_string\"}}],\"inLanguage\":\"en-GB\"},{\"@type\":\"Person\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/1c2413a29a9d04fbc9280c12fdf7b151\",\"name\":\"greydogtales\",\"image\":{\"@type\":\"ImageObject\",\"inLanguage\":\"en-GB\",\"@id\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/\",\"url\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/33b1544bc8676700f4c33c9ed5475632?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"contentUrl\":\"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/33b1544bc8676700f4c33c9ed5475632?s=96&d=mm&r=g\",\"caption\":\"greydogtales\"},\"description\":\"John Linwood Grant writes occult detective and dark fantasy stories, in between running his beloved lurchers and baking far too many kinds of bread. Apart from that, he enjoys growing unusual fruit and reading rejection slips. He is six foot tall, ageing at an alarming rate, and has his own beard.\",\"sameAs\":[\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\"],\"url\":\"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/author\/greydogtales\/\"}]}<\/script>\n<!-- \/ Yoast SEO plugin. -->","yoast_head_json":{"title":"Sweet Thames Flow Softly, They Said - greydogtales","robots":{"index":"index","follow":"follow","max-snippet":"max-snippet:-1","max-image-preview":"max-image-preview:large","max-video-preview":"max-video-preview:-1"},"canonical":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/","og_locale":"en_GB","og_type":"article","og_title":"Sweet Thames Flow Softly, They Said - greydogtales","og_description":"\u201cThe contamination of the water of the Thames by the sewage of London, which here falls into the stream on both sides, by the refuse of gas works and chemical factories, had, probably, much to do with the rapid decomposition of the bodies. In consequence of the danger to the health of the community it … Continue reading Sweet Thames Flow Softly, They Said →","og_url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/","og_site_name":"greydogtales","article_published_time":"2020-06-05T13:05:44+00:00","og_image":[{"url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/Offspring-300x239.jpg","type":"","width":"","height":""}],"author":"greydogtales","twitter_card":"summary_large_image","twitter_misc":{"Written by":"greydogtales","Estimated reading time":"11 minutes"},"schema":{"@context":"https:\/\/schema.org","@graph":[{"@type":"WebPage","@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/","url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/","name":"Sweet Thames Flow Softly, They Said - greydogtales","isPartOf":{"@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#website"},"primaryImageOfPage":{"@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/#primaryimage"},"image":{"@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/#primaryimage"},"thumbnailUrl":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/Offspring-300x239.jpg","datePublished":"2020-06-05T13:05:44+00:00","dateModified":"2020-06-05T13:05:44+00:00","author":{"@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/1c2413a29a9d04fbc9280c12fdf7b151"},"breadcrumb":{"@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/#breadcrumb"},"inLanguage":"en-GB","potentialAction":[{"@type":"ReadAction","target":["http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/"]}]},{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-GB","@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/#primaryimage","url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/Offspring.jpg?fit=960%2C764","contentUrl":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2020\/06\/Offspring.jpg?fit=960%2C764","width":960,"height":764},{"@type":"BreadcrumbList","@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/sweet-thames-flow-softly-they-said\/#breadcrumb","itemListElement":[{"@type":"ListItem","position":1,"name":"Home","item":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/"},{"@type":"ListItem","position":2,"name":"Sweet Thames Flow Softly, They Said"}]},{"@type":"WebSite","@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#website","url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/","name":"greydogtales","description":"Literature, lurchers and life","potentialAction":[{"@type":"SearchAction","target":{"@type":"EntryPoint","urlTemplate":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/?s={search_term_string}"},"query-input":{"@type":"PropertyValueSpecification","valueRequired":true,"valueName":"search_term_string"}}],"inLanguage":"en-GB"},{"@type":"Person","@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/1c2413a29a9d04fbc9280c12fdf7b151","name":"greydogtales","image":{"@type":"ImageObject","inLanguage":"en-GB","@id":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/#\/schema\/person\/image\/","url":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/33b1544bc8676700f4c33c9ed5475632?s=96&d=mm&r=g","contentUrl":"https:\/\/secure.gravatar.com\/avatar\/33b1544bc8676700f4c33c9ed5475632?s=96&d=mm&r=g","caption":"greydogtales"},"description":"John Linwood Grant writes occult detective and dark fantasy stories, in between running his beloved lurchers and baking far too many kinds of bread. Apart from that, he enjoys growing unusual fruit and reading rejection slips. He is six foot tall, ageing at an alarming rate, and has his own beard.","sameAs":["http:\/\/greydogtales.com"],"url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/author\/greydogtales\/"}]}},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6sRRV-1G7","jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":7318,"url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/scotland-the-strange-the-eyes-of-doom\/","url_meta":{"origin":6455,"position":0},"title":"SCOTLAND THE STRANGE: THE EYES OF DOOM","author":"greydogtales","date":"January 24, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"This week, in honour of Burns Night, which celebrates Scottish poet Robert Burns (25 January 1759 \u2013 21 July 1796), our greydogtales site begins a ramble through the subject of Scottish supernatural\/horror and related cultural stuff. We\u2019ll have some classic tales, new material, guest reviews of some really bad films\u2026","rel":"","context":"Similar post","block_context":{"text":"Similar post","link":""},"img":{"alt_text":"SCOTLAND THE STRANGE","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/01\/Ben_Lomond_from_Beinn_Narnain-300x163.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":4232,"url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/shiela-crerar-clay-corpses-psychic-investigation-girls\/","url_meta":{"origin":6455,"position":1},"title":"Shiela Crerar, Clay-Corpses & Psychic Investigation for Girls","author":"greydogtales","date":"July 20, 2017","format":false,"excerpt":"\u201cOh, you modern women! You dabble in science and medicine, you dabble in politics and law, and now you dabble in the occult. What else is there left for mere man?\u201d Today we get lost in Scotland and its folklore with Shiela Crerar, follow a plucky young woman's psychic endeavours,\u2026","rel":"","context":"In \"classic horror\"","block_context":{"text":"classic horror","link":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/tag\/classic-horror\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"shiela crerar","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/07\/doll-626790_960_720-300x200.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":4071,"url":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/fables-disappearances-untethered-tales-gwendolyn-kiste\/","url_meta":{"origin":6455,"position":2},"title":"Fables and Disappearances: The Untethered Tales of Gwendolyn Kiste","author":"greydogtales","date":"May 29, 2017","format":false,"excerpt":"Today, dear listener, we have loss and identity; clarity and hope; the core of writing, style, Angela Carter and some dark, magical stories. When we thought about interviewing author Gwendolyn Kiste, we realised we wanted to burrow behind her work a bit, so we went there.\u00a0 Though we centre on\u2026","rel":"","context":"In \"interviews\"","block_context":{"text":"interviews","link":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/tag\/interviews\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"SONY DSC","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/05\/And-Her-Smile-Will-Untether-the-Universe-Gwendolyn-300x201.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]}],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6455","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6455"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6455\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6466,"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6455\/revisions\/6466"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6455"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6455"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/greydogtales.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6455"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}