BTS17SC: Beneath the Sheets, Treason and Plot. Standard size colour prints, line and wash with mixed media, a striking colour palette that brings these pictures to life. Prints are excellent representations of the finished original. included printed A5 journal excerpt.

Artists Colour impressions taken from the discovered journal of Professor Matthias Jeremiah Braithwaite. He Dedicated his works and studies to the investigation into the unusual, the unnatural and the uncanny.

14 x 10" Black mounted Colour Print image area 21.5 x 10cm approx + A5 Journal excerpt.

From the journal:

Dear Diary,

“A letter from an old school friend has piqued my interest. Bertram Standish Winthorpe is Member of Parliament for the seat of Richmond. Schoolfellows since the age of eleven at St Peter’s School in my home city of York, Bertie was a rather bookish chap, unhappy within a lively throng, more content studying text within the hidden nooks of the library. I would often rise to his defence should a ruffian decide to torment him. Having constantly changed schools as a child, making friends was a challenge, and early ‘lessons' in boxing from my elder brother William oft-times saved me from a good pounding at each new establishment. William did enjoy those lessons, until Mother established the cause of my black eyes.

Our families were linked through the political connections of the family seat of Ripon. Winthorpe Senior, father to Bertie, a brash and sometimes violent landowner, wished to have a foothold in government and so bought the Parliamentary seat of Richmond.

Parliamentarians were “elected” but the small pool of people entitled to vote in these elections were often swayed by a favour or two.

Having perused Bertie’s letter at length, I travelled to the capital on the Flying Scotsman service, the five hours closeted within a First Class compartment giving me time with my thoughts. I detest London, for as much as the city impresses with its grandeur, I find the locals very difficult to bear. The hansom cab driver whose inane chatter about the French and their food and how they were conspiring to do away with all Londoners literally drove me to despair, “your lot will be next, you mark my words.”

Bertie and I took afternoon tea in the new parliament building, a magnificent place to behold. Reclining on the terrace bar overlooking the Thames, replete with cake and strawberries, Bertie explained the reasons for his letter. “Knowing your interest in the supernatural, I thought this ledger would be right up your street, old chap” and brought forth a large and dusty tome from his satchel. Several pages which Bertie thought would be of interest were thoughtfully marked with leather bookmarks. His terminology had taken a turn for the worse with a slight southern inflection affecting his accent, but his instincts were correct.

The ledger contained the nightly records of the guards of the old Palace of Westminster which was largely destroyed by fire in 1834. The new impressive buildings we were in became its replacement.

The accounts relate to one Guido Fawkes, another former fellow of St Peters School and one of the notorious conspirators who attempted and failed to destroy parliament in 1605, and oft referred to by locals in York as “the only man to enter parliament with good intentions.” The ledger records apparent sightings of Fawkes across the centuries in the darkened depths of the building, re-enacting his fiendish scheme. Wearing his famed Capotain hat, the apparition of Fawkes appeared in ghostly shrouded form with dirty and grubby scorch marks smouldering on his shroud from the taper he carried to light the fuse. Within the blink of an eye, the scene of the wicked scheme, barrels of power, lanterns and ghost of Fawkes would vanish.

Fawkes was tortured then hung, but unfortunately for his torturers he died on the scaffold from a broken neck and so was spared the continued torture of quartering whilst still alive. His body was dismembered and sent to the four corners of the kingdom as a warning to those who would plot against the King. We are told by the ancient rhyme to ‘Remember, remember, the Fifth of November, Gunpowder, treason and plot. I see no reason, Why gunpowder treason, Should ever be forgot.’ Pyres are still burnt each year to remind those thinking of treason to reconsider, with effigies of Fawkes burnt atop the pyres to show the fate of those disloyal to the monarch. The pyre in St Peters School bears no “Guy” as, despite the treasonous crimes committed, the school says “we do not burn old boys.""

Prof Matthias. J. Braithwaite

Note: Standard Colour Prints DO NOT glow under black light, only enchanted editions do.