On This day 20 years ago I received the greatest gift of life, A Kidney and Pancreas transplant at the University of Wisconsin Hospital in Madison.
Perhaps one of the most tragic and unforgettable images of the 60s, Donald Campbell's attempt at the World Waterspeed Record in Bluebird ends in an horrific somersault and crash. He had already exceeded the previous record in his first run and needed to complete the second in the opposite direction for the average speed of the two runs to claim the official record. I think anyone who saw that on TV at the time will never forget it...
please log in to view this image On this day in 1799 income tax was first introduced by then-Prime Minister William Pitt the Younger. It was intended as a temporary measure...
The poignant fact of these pictures is that so few of the players actually returned home from the ill-fated 2nd leg...
Also on this day the first assassination by a firearm and not in the US but in Scotland 1570 - James Stewart, 1st Earl of Moray, regent for the infant King James VI of Scotland, is assassinated by firearm, the first recorded instance of such.
Don't forget to eat your haggis, tatties & neeps tonight.... Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the pudding-race! Aboon them a' yet tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy o'a grace As lang's me arm. The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, Your pin wad help to mend a mill In time o'need, While thro' your pores the dews distil Like amber bead. His knife see rustic Labour dight, An' cut you up wi' ready sleight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like ony ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin', rich! Then, horn for horn, they stretch an' strive: Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive, Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve Are bent like drums; Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, Bethankit! hums. Is there that owre his French ragout Or olio that wad staw a sow, Or fricassee wad make her spew Wi' perfect sconner, Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view On sic a dinner? Poor devil! see him owre his trash, As feckles as wither'd rash, His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash; His nieve a nit; Thro' blody flood or field to dash, O how unfit! But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread. Clap in his walie nieve a blade, He'll mak it whissle; An' legs an' arms, an' heads will sned, Like taps o' trissle. Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind yer care, And dish them out their bill o' fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies; But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer Gie her a haggis!
