American Beauty - Gallery 5

The heart of good and evil

Dear Chroniclers,

this is the last in the series of "Adventures across the Pond". It will be the shortest too, for the actions of the people will speak for themselves.

Helicopters overhead

When we first came into Lancaster on our tour charabanc we saw helicopters flying overhead. We thought nothing of it until we switched on the TV that night in our hotel room.

Preparations

A local milk-truck driver called Charles Carl Roberts IV had pulled up his truck outside an inconspicuous Amish schoolhouse in Nickel Mines three hours before we arrived. It was one of his regular deliveries.

Roberts had prepared his visit meticulously for at least six days beforehand, ticking off a list of items he would take into the schoolroom with him. These included:

• three guns;

• a stun gun

• a bag with 600 rounds of ammunition;

• a piece of wood pierced with ten eyebolts spaced ten inches apart; and

• a set of plastic bindings.

There were other things he took into the schoolroom with him.

The heart of evil

Roberts did not emerge alive. Instead, he tied up ten Amish schoolgirls by the blackboard, shot them at close range then put the gun to his own head.

Five of the girls were killed outright, three left in a critical condition and the remaining two seriously injured. They ranged in age from six to thirteen.

The heart of good

The Amish buried their lost girls quietly and as a community. They invited the family of the killer to the funerals, believing they too were victims. They will be sharing the money raised in the wake of the tragedy with the family.

Our last day

On our last full day in Pennsylvania we went into the heart of the Amish community. Here are three memories we carried home with us:

• the Amish grandmother who greeted us, full of joy, to her quilt-shop. She had three grand-daughters who attended the schoolhouse - one escaped, another was in hospital, her shoulder shattered, the last had just been buried. She harboured no hatred.

• the ninety-six year old Amish man who showed us around his simple workshop where he still makes the most beautiful furniture.

• the faces of the straw-haired Amish children who ran out to welcome our charabanc as it pulled up outside the farmhouse where we ate our penultimate meal in Pennsylvania. They greeted us with smiles and waves - the road, just a stone's throw from the schoolhouse, has just been re-opened by the police.

The grace of God

There are tears in my eyes as I type these last words and close the book on our visit. It is the meaning of the grace of God that we saw first-hand in the Amish who carried this message so very faithfully.

The last words are from Him ...

"We know that in all things God works for good with those who love him, those whom he has called according to his purpose."

Romans 8:28

American Beauty - Gallery 4

Going for a song!

Dear Chroniclers,

so here we are again. Take a seat next to me on the hard wooden bench and listen awhile to a lilting song - you'll soon pick up the rhythm if you just let your ears grow accustomed. It starts something like this ...

"tayneantayneantayne ... nowtayneanfiveantayneanfiveantayneanfive!"

The chanted pattern enfolds us and before we know it, we're drifting back in time.

American Gothic

Strasburg is a small "chocolate-box" of a town some fifteen minutes from Lancaster City - the houses that line the main road through its heart are smartly painted and well-kept. One, in particular, catches our eye.

The house in question is set back a little from the road and, unlike its neighbours, it sports a small railing fence delineating the start of a well-manicured garden. Beyond that lies a brick-built mansion. It's flanked on either side by two imposing circular tower-wings, both of which are pierced at regular intervals by a series of leaded-windows.

We pause for a second to admire this American Gothic beauty then pass on by. It's not what we've come to see.

Off Main Street

As the sun begins to fall in a late afternoon sky, we travel a little further west along Main Street then take a left down a small, non-descript turning. A few hundred yards through a picket of white clapper-boarded houses and now it's sharp right.

We've arrived! 203 W Franklin Street - home to the Strasburg Fire Company.

Forgive me for a second if I pause to take a few photographs - unfortunately, I won't be able to get out my camera tomorrow morning as the Amish will be here in force, so I'll take my opportunities while I can. I won't be long - why not go in and take a look around in the meantime?

Exploring the Firehouse

The approach to the firehouse takes you past a swathe of freshly-mown grass and a flag-pole with its stars and stipes lowered to half-mast in respect. There are four huge glazed doors at the front with a vehicle stationed behind each. A simple white sign runs the length of the building just beneath the flat-roofed top. It bears the title, "Strasburg Fire Company No. 1".

You find the Visitors Door. Straight in, then past the Command Office by the entrance and you come to a row of heavy-duty metalled hangers - each bears a thickly padded fireman's uniform and the ubiquitous yellow hat. Their owners are nowhere to be seen.

Buffed and polished

The main hall now lies before you. The newly commissioned, "County Station No 50 -01" boasts two fire-engines, a 3,000 gallon tanker and a Chevy 4x4 Crew Cab and all of them have been buffed and polished until their red-lacquer paint gleams spotless.

You see your reflection in the immaculate chromework ... and just behind you a shadowy figure holding a camera.

"Click!"

I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have crept up behind you like that. I do hope I didn't startle you. Take a few moments to get your breath back then follow me - there's something else I want to show you.

A Feast of Quilts

We walk to the far end of the firehouse where two huge metal frames have been erected, one on each side of the hall. Both are clad in hundreds of hand-crafted quilts, from which just four of the very best have been carefully selected for mounting on the end wall.

The display is a dazzling kaleidoscope of colour and pattern. Stars, zig-zags, fabric leaves, rough-cut patches and smooth creamy rows of hand-stitched embroidery all melt dizzyingly into one. It's more than we can take in.

The unpacking of parcels

We watch as, one by one, the members of our tour party unfurl the packages they've transported across the Atlantic. Each new item is named, catalogued and added to the assembled racks of quiltery.

Mrs electrofried's turn arrives and we bid a fond farewell to "Lancaster Dream" as it joins the display - a wall-hanging in autumnal brown and yellow that she's been working on for weeks.

It's time to go now, but we'll be back again, come the morning, for Strasburg's legendary Annual Quilt Sale.

Custom and Tradition

Like many rural towns in America, the vast majority of the buildings in Strasburg are timber-framed, so an effective fire-fighting capability is essential. However, across in the States much of the fire-service is maintained on a voluntary basis.

Fund-raising events accordingly play a vital role in sustaining the service. In the case of Strasburg, the legendary Quilt Auction has been at the heart of its fund-raising endeavours for many years. It's an event organised by the Amish as part of their contribution to the wider community in which they live.

And there's another long standing tradition - visiting quilters from England bring with them a piece of work to be entered in the sale. So for now, all we need is a good night's sleep and then we can return first thing tomorrow to experience the Auction first-hand.

Sitting on the bench

I do hope you're feeling refreshed - it's going to be a long but fascinating day.

We're back once more in the main hall of the firehouse, only this time it's populated by a steadily growing audience. We take a seat towards the back, on one of fifty or so wooden benches brought in overnight by the Amish. They use them for their fortnightly religious services and they're just as uncomfortable as the typical of Anglican church-pew, though conceivably occupied rather more regularly.

It's only ten o'clock, but already the hall is almost two thirds full. Next door there's a sale of Amish-made furniture and toys, and it too is doing brisk business. The auctioneers on either side of the thin dividing wall do battle to be heard with competing whoops and cries.

Let's settle down and let our ears get accustomed to their rhythmic cadence. Do you remember the start of the song?

"tayneantayneantayne ... nowtayneanfiveantayneanfiveantayneanfive!"

The team gets to work

We watch in fascination as the Amish auction team get to work. The smaller items go on sale first and for this five players are sent out - one auctioneer, two spotters, the book-keeper and the deliverer. Each one weaves in and out of the tableaux before us in a carefully orchestrated dance.

The auctioneer commands centre-stage. He grips the sides of the stand and peers over it like a judge at court, gavel in hand. It's his dipping and barking chant that provides music to the movement.

The spotters stand on opposite sides of the room - two gnarled football managers, each goading on his team to victory. When his side is ahead in the bidding, the spotter rolls a folded Auction catalogue round and round in the air - the sign to keep watch for a competing bid from the opposition. Meanwhile, the opposing spotter will jab a similarly folded catalogue toward his team, seeking to tease out a higher bid that will win the day.

And so battle is done - a mesmeric chant and alternating movements of folded catalogues, rolling and jabbing as the bidding war passes from one side of the room to the other - until at last the victor emerges.

The book-keeper records the number of the successful bidder and the spoils of victory are promptly delivered by the final member of the team.

A pretty bonnet

This pattern is repeated time and again as the smaller items are struck, line-by-line, from the catalogue. Pillows, wall-hangings, linings and fabric bundles are all swallowed up by the sea of bidders, many of whom have travelled across State to join the Auction.

One moment of humour interrupts the flow briefly when a rather fetching pink bonnet comes up for sale. The deliverer seizes the opportunity to remove his traditional Amish straw headgear and replace it with the bonnet in question. He earns much laughter and a round of applause from the audience, and we suspect a "ticking off" to follow from his elders.

Noon fast approaches and we await a special announcement from our auctioneer.

Cousins across the Atlantic

At length the sale of the smaller items comes to an end. The Amish auction team has been rotated twice and now the original members return to take their place to host a special slot that has become part of the tradition for the day.

The English quilts are introduced to a round of applause and much blushing from the assembled tour party, all of whom have returned to see their handiwork go under the hammer. "Lancaster Dream" comes up toward the end and mrs electrofried is delighted to learn she's raised $95 to support the fire-service. Job well done!

Raised high

Now the smaller stuff has been despatched and the English sale completed, the time has almost come to bring on the stars of the show.

The charged atmosphere in the hall goes up several notches as a fresh Auction team steps up, this time supplemented by two further groups of young Amish girls. They take up position on each side of the auctioneer as two matching sets of pulleys and ropes are lowered from the ceiling. Their purpose quickly becomes clear as the first large quilt from the rack is pegged to a fixing bar and hoisted high up in the air for all to see.

The chant resumes and we're off once more ... only this time the bidding goes into hundreds, rather than tens, of dollars. Even so, there are bargains to be had aplenty. Last year the best quilts raised in excess of a thousand dollars each, now they struggle to achieve a little over half that figure.

Mrs electrofried enters the fray

Of course, mrs electrofried is not to be denied. Family savings have been scraped together and a small non-interest bearing loan of Slovenian Tolars extracted under duress from Fetlock the Butler. And now the purse lies in her tender care.

Her first purchase is a navy, rust and cream log-cabin quilt. The hand-stitching in part can best be described as "rustic". Mrs electrofried believes the quilt may well have been worked up by an Amish mother and a young daughter, which only adds to the charm of it.

An hour or so later the girls manning the pulley on the right-hand side of the hall hoist up another log-cabin quilt, this time in green and cream. Poignantly, the middle panel depicts an Amish schoolhouse. Under instructions I raise my hand once, twice, then a third time and as the bidding closes the auctioneer calls out for our number to record in his book.

For many reasons, this quilt will provide a focus for prayer in our House - it lays upstairs as I type, ready to be put on our bed.

A long day comes to an end

Once more the sun begins to fall and it's time to make our way back to the charabanc. Our heads spin with dizzying patterns, colours, dances, rotating, jabbing catalogues, whirring pulleys and ropes - all the while accompanied by the rhythm of this song. I believe you may know it by now, it goes ...

"tayneantayneantayne ... nowtayneanfiveantayneanfiveantayneanfive"

yours as ever,

electrofried (mr)

American Beauty - Gallery 3

American Beauty - Gallery 2

Adventures across the Pond - The story begins

Dear Chroniclers,

I'm delighted to report our safe return from adventures "across the pond", replete with capacious suitcases, carrier bags and general trunkage, all of which bulge visibly at the seams with trophies from our visit.

Spoils of war

Mrs electrofried bears home a country mileage of printed cotton material and three gloriously elaborate hand-stitched quilts. Another is to follow shortly.

Meanwhile, teenygoth's single-minded attack on our ever-shrinking bank balance has yielded several t-shirts, two pairs of ripped jeans and some bizarre pastel-coloured pumps she refers to lovingly as her "Converses", though converse to what is not immediately apparent to yours truly.

For my part, a box of carefully exposed glass plates has already been despatched to Little Wittering's only 24/7 film processing mini-lab'n'phrophylactic dispensary.

Oh, and the new pants probably need a clean, even though I took great care to turn them inside out every other day, as duly instructed by mrs electrofried.

A promise fulfilled

Twenty years ago the good lady and I planned a tour of America. Books had been purchased, itenaries organised and then ...

It fell to Dr Phlegm, physician to the electrofrieds and a close family friend, to break the news. He arrived with his dear wife, Dabs the Artiste, early one Saturday evening. Maximouse and our six month old son, reallyfried were safely bedded when he sat us both down on the sofa to break the news.

We never had the heart to make the tour once we'd found out reallyfried was mentally handicapped, as such conditions were called then.

But now, with reallyfried a proud householder in his own right, we can venture out once more. The promise is fulfilled - and we've made the journey across the pond. And oh, what adventures we've had!

The story begins

We owe it all to "Simply Quilters X-treme", the weekly publication of choice for mrs electrofried. Secreted amongst the small-advertistry for crochet-swapping and embroidered swingers she located an intriguing invitation to join a quilting party for a tour of Pennsylvania.

Given this is the year of the plumply-rounded birthday for the love of my life, what else could I do but write out a series of not insubstantial cheques and await the arrival of three cattle-class airline tickets.

Pastings to come

It all seems like a dream, but may I extend a cordial invitation to join me on a journey to the backroads of Pennsylvania. Over the next few pastings we'll:

• learn something of the Amish community;
  
• visit the battle-fields of Gettysburg;

• reflect on strange eating habits;

• be glued to a hard wooden bench, mesmerised by an eight hour quilt auction; and

• observe the grace of God as a terrible tragedy unfolds.

Would you care to join me?

The definition of time

As you might expect, the stories to come will be accompanied by various glassy-plated Dagguerotypes - you may even encounter the occasional gallery along the way.

But there will be something missing from my casual and badly constructed holiday snaps - the people who lie at the very heart of Pennsylvania. A people who were thrust involuntarily and tragically into the spotlight of the world media; a people of great grace and love who are known as the Amish. They hold literally to the commandment not to make graven images and I respect their beliefs.

This pasting and those to follow are dedicated prayerfully to their witness.

with best regards,

electrofried (mr)