UFO battle over Nuremburg

Greg Semkow

Attack Ships on Fire: by Greg Semkow

April 14th, 1561 an event occurred over Nuremberg.  From the description it bears all the hallmarks of a massive space battle between two opposing fleets.  The original document resides in the Central Library of Zurich, Switzerland.

It described as follows, in italics, with my comments inserted:

In the morning of April 14, 1561, at daybreak, between 4 and 5 a.m., a dreadful apparition occurred on the sun, and then this was seen in Nuremberg in the city, before the gates and in the country – by many men and women. At first there appeared in the middle of the sun two blood-red semi-circular arcs, just like the moon in its last quarter. And in the sun, above and below and on both sides, the color was blood, there stood a round ball of partly dull, partly black ferrous color. Likewise there stood on both sides and as a torus about the sun such blood-red ones and other balls in large number, about three in a line and four in a square, also some alone. In between these globes there were visible a few blood-red crosses, between which there were blood-red strips, becoming thicker to the rear and in the front malleable like the rods of reed-grass, which were intermingled, among them two big rods, one on the right, the other to the left, and within the small and big rods there were three, also four and more globes.

At this stage we could interpret this as a “Sun Dogs” phenomenon.  The effect of low clouds at dawn could have refracted the light of the sun to create further reflections, the crosses, strips etc described.  A classic sundog is unusual, two false suns refracted either side of the sun, and looks like this:

sun-dog-phenomenon

But now the description of events takes on a more sinister feel:

These all started to fight among themselves, so that the globes, which were first in the sun, flew out to the ones standing on both sides, thereafter, the globes standing outside the sun, in the small and large rods, flew into the sun. Besides the globes flew back and forth among themselves and fought vehemently with each other for over an hour.

OK, people have been staring directly at the rising sun, not a great idea.  So perhaps this “fighting” is just the effect of retinal damage from staring too long at the sun?  Or are the Globes actually flying saucers or death stars?  Are the rods really great cylindrical space ships?

And when the conflict in and again out of the sun was most intense, they became fatigued to such an extent that they all, as said above, fell from the sun down upon the earth ‘as if they all burned’ and they then wasted away on the earth with immense smoke.

This part sounds much more as though some event took place that cannot be explained by Sundogs.  Is it possible that a meteor shower hit the atmosphere at the same time as a sundog phenomenon?  Possible, but unlikely.  Is it possible that two alien space fleets were engaged in a battle above the earth?  Are the “Globes” fleet carriers and the “rods” some type of fighter craft?  Let’s continue with the original text:

After all this there was something like a black spear, very long and thick, sighted; the shaft pointed to the east, the point pointed west.

Could this black spear be the victorious fleet carrier?  It reminds me of craft from Star Wars:

ImpStarDestroyer-SWI125

Whatever such signs mean, God alone knows. Although we have seen, shortly one after another, many kinds of signs on the heaven, which are sent to us by the almighty God, to bring us to repentance, we still are, unfortunately, so ungrateful that we despise such high signs and miracles of God. Or we speak of them with ridicule and discard them to the wind, in order that God may send us a frightening punishment on account of our ungratefulness. After all, the God-fearing will by no means discard these signs, but will take it to heart as a warning of their merciful Father in heaven, will mend their lives and faithfully beg God, that He may avert His wrath, including the well-deserved punishment, on us, so that we may temporarily here and perpetually there, live as his children. For it, may God grant us his help, Amen. By Hanns Glaser, letter-painter of Nurnberg.

Maybe this was a highly unusual celestial event.  Perhaps two events occurred at the same time, a Sundog phenomenon, and also an asteroid striking the atmosphere and burning up in thousands of meteor trails.

Perhaps two interstellar fleets annihilated each other in Earth orbit and we were dumb witnesses to greater galactic events.  If so, will these great interstellar fleets return some day?

Perhaps an alien race was attempting an invasion of Earth.  Were we saved from invasion by the benign actions of an advanced race who want to preserve Earth from invasion.  Perhaps they are observing us all the time, waiting for the right time to introduce themselves?

Perhaps it is time to re-read my post on Ancient Egyptian Powertools.  Just click on the JACKHAMMER to follow the link.

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St Patrick by Harry Clarke

St Patrick

St Patrick depicted on Stained Glass Window by Harry Clarke.  Commissioned for St Michaels Church Ballinasloe.  Harry Clarke was born on St Patrick’s Day in 1889. He was a leading figure in the Irish Arts & Crafts movement, an illustrator but best remembered for his work in stained glass.

He worked on illustrations for Hans Christian Andersen Fairy Tales, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner and Pope’s The Rape of the Lock.

Plagued by ill health he moved to Davos in Switzerland seeking a cure for TB.  He died, aged only 41.

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner (Excerpt) : by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
‘Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!
All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.
About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch’s oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.
And some in dreams assurèd were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.
And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot.
Ah! well a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.

Calumny and obloquy

RobertEmmetArmyGreen

Robert Emmet was born March 4th 1778, when Washington and his troops were wintering and drilling in Valley Forge.  He was 11 years old at the outbreak of the French Revolution.  At age 15 he entered Trinity College Dublin, where he became involved with politics and debating.  Expelled from Trinity at 19 years of age for his political activism he fled to Napoleon’s France.

A rebellion by the Irish under Wolfe-Tone failed in 1796 because a French fleet were denied a landing in Bantry Bay by gales.  A subsequent uprising in 1798 was doomed due to a vigorous counter insurgency program by the British in 1797, by coordination failures and by very limited support from the French, nothing on the scale of the Bantry Bay fleet.

Robert Emmet was a most unlikely rebel leader.  He was no Wolfe-Tone.  His rebellion in 1803 was poorly organised and had to be sparked early because of an explosion in one of his secret arms depots.  The rebellion that took place in Thomas Street, Dublin was described as more of a riot than a rebellion.  The rebels failed to take a weakly defended Dublin Castle.  When the rebels began to pike Dragoons in the streets Emmet was horrified and called off the rebellion.

He could have escaped then, but returned for his sweetheart Sarah Curran.  This endeared him to the “Doomed Romantic” zeitgeist of popular Victorian culture and Emmet was celebrated in verse, on stage and in opera.

To ensure conviction at trial the British bribed Emmet’s Barrister; Leonard McNally who cursed his family for seven generations when he took a traitors pension from the Crown.

For most Irish though, it is his speech from the dock that remains as his greatest legacy.  He may have been a terrible revolutionary but Robert Emmet could write a good speech.  The title of this post is from words in his speech, which have largely fallen out of modern usage.  Though words have changed the structure of speeches has not.  Emmet used his speech to undermine the legitimacy of British Rule in Ireland.  His call for his epitaph to be withheld became largely academic, as his body was lost.  His relatives feared to claim it after then hanging in case they were arrested.  It was subsequently misplaced, so now we don’t know where to place his epitaph!

The full text can be read here:  Emmet’s Speech from the dock

When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph be written.”

Cold Comfort

Icicles

As we wait in this dry Siberian north-easterly airflow for the arrival of Storm Emma here are a couple of poems of cold comfort.

The plan, as I understand it, is for Emma to bring her warm wet Atlantic air from Portugal and feed it into the bitter dry draught from the East.

This will create snow.

A lot of snow they say.

So we were told to stay home today.

They could be invading the country, as we huddle by the fire.

But at least we will be warm.

 

Nineteen Thirty-Eight; by Charles Simic

People worried the world was about to end.
A fish believed to have been extinct for seventy million years
came up in a fishing net off the coast of South Africa.
I lay in my crib as the days got shorter and colder,
and the first heavy snow fell in the night.
Making everything very quiet in my room.
I believe I heard myself cry for a long, long time.

 

He Lit a Fire with Icicles; by Kay Ryan

For W.G. Sebald, 1944-2001

This was the work
of St. Sebolt, one
of his miracles:
he lit a fire with
icicles. He struck
them like a steel
to flint, did St.
Sebolt. It
makes sense
only at a certain
body heat. How
cold he had
to get to learn
that ice would
burn. How cold
he had to stay.
When he could
feel his feet
he had to
back away.

High water mark

Severus210AD

Septimus Severus died on this day, in Eboracum, Britannia, (modern York, England), in 211 AD.  Under his reign the Roman Empire attained its high water mark as he extended borders in Asia, Africa and in Britain.

Had he survived for just one more year the History of Britain could have been quite different.  In 210 AD Severus laid the foundations for the complete conquest of Caledonia. He repaired Hadrian’s Wall.  Then he moved north and carried out extensive repair work on the Antonine Wall and secured the Scottish Lowlands between Hadrian’s Wall and the central belt from the Firth of Clyde to the Firth of Forth.

He then advanced up the east coast of Scotland, constructing forts along the way.  He advanced through modern Dundee, Aberdeen and around the Firth of Moray near Inverness.  The local clans refused to meet the legions and engaged in guerrilla tactics.  Even so it became clear by the winter of 210 that the Clans would have to make peace with these invaders, who seemed relentless.

How different would the history of Britain have been had Caledonia been romanised?  Clan structures, which endured to the rebellion of Bonny Prince Charles would have been replaced with a Roman administrative structure.

But Severus fell ill and withdrew south to Eboracum where he died.  The momentum of the campaign was lost.  His son, Caracalla, re-initiated the campaign, but within a short time sued for peace with the Caledonian tribes.  The Romans withdrew south of Hadrian’s wall and never again ranged north in conquest.

It would be nice, from a Celtic perspective, to depict this as a victory of Celtic passion over Roman organisation.  The truth though is that the Celts had the sense to steer clear of the legions.  They saw what happened in Britain.  So they withdrew to the mountains, woods and bogs.  They left the Romans to fight the cold, the wet, the relentless damp, the plagues of midges that rise on any sunny day.  Against these enemies the Romans had no defence.

 

Groundhog eve

Spring

Guess what just sprung?

Yes it is Feb 1st, Feast of Brigid, the Celtic Goddess of Fertility, or St Brigid if you are a Christian revisionist.  Celtic festival of Imbolc, thought to drive from “i mBolg” which means “in the belly” where all the spring lambs, calves and babies are.

Outside my window I hear a colt nickering in the field next door, full of the joys of the burgeoning summer.

Spring And All: by William Carlos Williams

By the road to the contagious hospital

under the surge of the blue

mottled clouds driven from the

northeast —

a cold wind. Beyond, the

waste of broad, muddy fields

brown with dried weeds, standing and fallen

 

patches of standing water

the scattering of tall trees

 

All along the road the reddish

purplish, forked, upstanding, twiggy

stuff of bushes and small trees

with dead, brown leaves under them

leafless vines —

 

Lifeless in appearance, sluggish

dazed spring approaches —

 

They enter the new world naked,

cold, uncertain of all

save that they enter. All about them

the cold, familiar wind —

 

Now the grass, tomorrow

the stiff curl of wildcarrot leaf

One by one objects are defined —

 

It quickens: clarity, outline of leaf

 

But now the stark dignity of
entrance —

Still, the profound change

has come upon them: rooted they

grip down and begin to awaken

Happy Birthday John Gould Fletcher

 

MiniDriver

The Irish storm season is in full swing and gale follows gale follows Storm Eleanor across Ireland.  So it is fitting that today is John Gould Fletchers birthday, born on this day in 1886.  First Southern US poet to win the Pulitzer prize, he was a member of the british Imagist movement which rejected Victorian sentimentalism and harked back to the dispassion of what they considered to be classical values.

 

Tide of Storms : by John Gould Fletcher

Allegro con fuoco

Crooked, crawling tide with long wet fingers
clutching at the gritty beach in the roar and spurt of spray,
tide of gales, drunken tide, lava-burst of breakers,
black ships plunge upon you from sea to sea away.

Shattering tide, tide of winds, tide of the long still winter,
what matter though ships fail, men sink, there vanish glory?
War-clouds shall hurl their stinging sleet upon our last adventure,
night-winds shall brokenly whisper our bitter, tragic story.