Claverhouse
9 Apr 2006, 02:38 AM
Back in 1679 Archbishop James Sharpe, Bishop of St. Andrews, an ex-presbyterian, and friend of John Grahame of Claverhouse was pulled out of his coach by whig covenanters and murdered.
Being well mounted, they easily overtook and disarmed the prelate's attendants. Burly, crying out, "Judas, be taken!" rode up to the carriage, wounded the postillion and ham-strung one of the horses. He then fired into the coach a piece, charged with several bullets, so near, that the archbishop's gown was set on fire. The rest, coming up, dismounted, and dragged him out of the carriage, when, frightened and wounded, he crawled towards Hackston, who still remained on horseback, and begged for mercy. The stern enthusiast contented himself with answering, that he would not himself lay a hand on him. Burly and his men again fired a volley upon the kneeling old man; and were in the act of riding off, when one, who remained to girth his horse, unfortunately heard the daughter of their victim call to the servant for help, exclaiming, that his master was still alive. Burly then again dismounted, struck off the prelate's hat with his foot, and split his skull with his shable (broad sword), although one of the party (probably Rathillet) exclaimed, "Spare these grey hairs!" [A] The rest pierced him with repeated wounds. They plundered the carriage, and rode off, leaving, beside the mangled corpse, the daughter, who was herself wounded, in her pious endeavour to interpose betwixt her father and his murderers.
Scott.
Members of the IRA, along with every other Godforsaken group of thugs in Northern Ireland from any political or confessional creed, have one particular practice which provides them with more pleasure than knee-capping, robbing banks, singing songs, selling drugs, shooting, bombing and everything else other than pure devotion to their cause, and that is turning informer and getting a nice sum from the security forces.
The latest to be killed is Denis Donaldson, a senior figure in Sinn Fein, extremely valuable to the British, and shot outside his lonely cottage in Donegal in the Irish Republic. His right hand was severed, either as a warning, or because the shotgun blast took it away as he tried to protect his face.
Anyway...
Back in junior school we were given full briefings on KGB techniques and the vile methods of fascist/communist regimes. One of these was the Honeytrap, which is when some gink went across the Iron Curtain, or if homosexual, the commies could arrange for home visits in the victim's own country; since it is well-known that a husband separated from his wife for more than three days has certain needs, and these can only be remedied by trained professionals, the chekists or whomever the agency would be, would supply one or more of their girls, and unbeknownst to the mark take photographs of their love-making. Then the chap would receive a visit and be invited to view blow-ups of his technique. 'You would not like for your wife to see such pictures, nyet ? Fortunately we can come to an arrangement suitable to both parties, you are in a position to do a great favour for the glorious soviet motherland and the cause of the working masses.', then they'd get him to pass on information etc. as a traitor. If lucky he might become a colonel in the KGB.
This was disgusting, said our teachers; and all us little kids echoed 'Disgusting.'
Now, guess how Mr. Donaldson, ex-Head of Administration for IRA/Sinn Fein and ex-Group Adminstrator for Sinn Fein in the democratic NI Assembly, was recruited by the forces of the British Government in their fight to protect democracy ?
And Archbishop Sharpe ? Back in 1999 another informer was murdered by the IRA mafioso in their fight for democracy, Eamon Collins.
They were not messing around, these murderers. First they hit him with an iron bar to get him down on the road, then they started stabbing, gouging out his face. The blade even pierced his skull. Four against one. It was messy, blood everywhere, but they were on orders not to use guns for fear the weapon would be traced back. No one saw a thing, no one heard a shout of pain. It was dark, a freezing, early morning in January this year on a small Irish country road. Even then, it did not take long; four, maybe five minutes, at the outside.
Guardian
They tore out his eyes just as those eyes of Bishop Sharpe were pulled out that long ago day on Magus Moor.
Claverhouse :ph34r:
Being well mounted, they easily overtook and disarmed the prelate's attendants. Burly, crying out, "Judas, be taken!" rode up to the carriage, wounded the postillion and ham-strung one of the horses. He then fired into the coach a piece, charged with several bullets, so near, that the archbishop's gown was set on fire. The rest, coming up, dismounted, and dragged him out of the carriage, when, frightened and wounded, he crawled towards Hackston, who still remained on horseback, and begged for mercy. The stern enthusiast contented himself with answering, that he would not himself lay a hand on him. Burly and his men again fired a volley upon the kneeling old man; and were in the act of riding off, when one, who remained to girth his horse, unfortunately heard the daughter of their victim call to the servant for help, exclaiming, that his master was still alive. Burly then again dismounted, struck off the prelate's hat with his foot, and split his skull with his shable (broad sword), although one of the party (probably Rathillet) exclaimed, "Spare these grey hairs!" [A] The rest pierced him with repeated wounds. They plundered the carriage, and rode off, leaving, beside the mangled corpse, the daughter, who was herself wounded, in her pious endeavour to interpose betwixt her father and his murderers.
Scott.
Members of the IRA, along with every other Godforsaken group of thugs in Northern Ireland from any political or confessional creed, have one particular practice which provides them with more pleasure than knee-capping, robbing banks, singing songs, selling drugs, shooting, bombing and everything else other than pure devotion to their cause, and that is turning informer and getting a nice sum from the security forces.
The latest to be killed is Denis Donaldson, a senior figure in Sinn Fein, extremely valuable to the British, and shot outside his lonely cottage in Donegal in the Irish Republic. His right hand was severed, either as a warning, or because the shotgun blast took it away as he tried to protect his face.
Anyway...
Back in junior school we were given full briefings on KGB techniques and the vile methods of fascist/communist regimes. One of these was the Honeytrap, which is when some gink went across the Iron Curtain, or if homosexual, the commies could arrange for home visits in the victim's own country; since it is well-known that a husband separated from his wife for more than three days has certain needs, and these can only be remedied by trained professionals, the chekists or whomever the agency would be, would supply one or more of their girls, and unbeknownst to the mark take photographs of their love-making. Then the chap would receive a visit and be invited to view blow-ups of his technique. 'You would not like for your wife to see such pictures, nyet ? Fortunately we can come to an arrangement suitable to both parties, you are in a position to do a great favour for the glorious soviet motherland and the cause of the working masses.', then they'd get him to pass on information etc. as a traitor. If lucky he might become a colonel in the KGB.
This was disgusting, said our teachers; and all us little kids echoed 'Disgusting.'
Now, guess how Mr. Donaldson, ex-Head of Administration for IRA/Sinn Fein and ex-Group Adminstrator for Sinn Fein in the democratic NI Assembly, was recruited by the forces of the British Government in their fight to protect democracy ?
And Archbishop Sharpe ? Back in 1999 another informer was murdered by the IRA mafioso in their fight for democracy, Eamon Collins.
They were not messing around, these murderers. First they hit him with an iron bar to get him down on the road, then they started stabbing, gouging out his face. The blade even pierced his skull. Four against one. It was messy, blood everywhere, but they were on orders not to use guns for fear the weapon would be traced back. No one saw a thing, no one heard a shout of pain. It was dark, a freezing, early morning in January this year on a small Irish country road. Even then, it did not take long; four, maybe five minutes, at the outside.
Guardian
They tore out his eyes just as those eyes of Bishop Sharpe were pulled out that long ago day on Magus Moor.
Claverhouse :ph34r: