In 2009 I paid for the National Archives to copy these Lay Subsidy Rolls (tax payments collected on cow hides), because nobody has previously requested this be done, so they were not available. These rolls (rots) may also be relevant to other genealogists, so I am sharing them here. I still have a record of the receipts.
Amounts are usually given in Pounds, Shillings and Pennies
The ‘j’ indicates the last penny of each amount
It would take me far too long to order these rolls (rots) according to their Borough, village or district and I could easily make a mistake, because they are so hard to read. Thus I will simply list them with their Roll file index name and leave it to others to dig further!
My new romantic spy novel Screaming Angels published!
To celebrate, I will be giving away one, signed copy of Screaming Angels to my Newsletter readers in a competition on 16 October at 5pm BST. To sign up for the Newsletter before then, click here or go to the menu at the top of this page.
— Jack doesn’t like the road ahead. He calls for the column to halt but a moment later, things get hairy. —
As Carla rumbled over the bridge Jack yelled: “Stop!” “What is it Jack?” Sprouts yelled back, when the tank had stopped. “I don’t like it,” Jack replied. “It’s too quiet. No horses, no cows, no cars or wagons, no birds. Pull over Lucky! Get on the radi-…” A flash of light caught his eye, straight ahead. He ducked, slamming the hatch closed and yelling, “Incomin- … !” The tank rocked with the impact of an armour penetrating round. Everybody’s eyes closed, expecting their life to be snuffed out. A moment later they heard a ‘clang’ some way behind Carla, an explosion to their right, and the tank stopped rocking. “What the fuck happened!” somebody yelled. “Turn the tank Lucky!” Jack yelled. The crew was as well-oiled as any crew in the US Army, so Lucky responded without thinking. The tank began to pirouette to the right, Lucky reversing one set of tracks and pushing the other forward as hard as he could. “What the hell are you doin’?” Sprouts yelled. Carla had almost turned round completely when they heard the whistle of another incoming round. An instant later, they were rocked again, but during that instant, Lucky had stamped on the throttle pedal and the tank had lurched ahead about six feet. Something smashed into the rear, right corner of the tank and explode, sending hot shards of metal into the main compartment. None hit the men. Carla continued to roll forward.
— Omaya and Mesago help plan the battle and Omaya show’s his friend a book —
Omaya and Mesago walked into the main banqueting hall, filled now with waiting officers. At their head, stood a large map table, and behind it sat Lord Tarian and his brother, Barian. Trays of food and beverages had been placed at one end of the huge, oak table and a chandelier with over a hundred candles swung ever so slightly above it, disturbed by the draft when the two new arrivals had entered. “Take a cup of tea!” Tarian added, gesturing to a tray. “Tea?” Omaya and Mesago said together, astonished. “We’ve just managed to import the first crate,” Barian said. “Zeeland is going up in the world!” “I tasted it once!” Mesago said, sipping from a white, china cup. “Mm.” “Mm,” Omaya repeated. “It’s good. I heard of it. I tasted chocolate once.” “Ah! Chocolate. I haven’t tasted it since I was a kid,” Tarian said. “Where?” “Currency Palace. The Princess gave it to me.” “So you did know her well,” Barian declared. “I was her slave,” Omaya replied. “Pleasure slave!” Mesago murmured, just loud enough for Tarian to hear. Tarian nodded, with set lips but a slight smirk around the corners of his eyes. “And now he’s buying books!” Barian added. “Are you thinking of taking those with you?” Tarian asked. “Yes. To read on lonely evenings.” “Soldiers should never read books!” Barian said. “They say books quicken the mind but slow the hand,” Tarian added. “Though women do the opposite!” Barian said.
— Omaya and Mesago meet Lord Tarian Bow to discuss how to defeat the Currencians. Omaya notices a strange man, who turns out to be from his own City, Currency. —
A man in a top hat with a wooden leg that ended in a fixed wheel raised his hand and turned to leave the room. Omaya hadn’t noticed him before but now that he had seen the strange appendage, he couldn’t take his eyes away. The strange man, also wearing a coat with tails, which looked like it had been mauled by dogs, didn’t hobble but walked quite adeptly on the wooden leg. “I keep him as a butler!” Lord Tarian said. “Not much use for anything else except good stories – mostly porkies. He has an accomplice somewhere. Can’t see him now. Strange fellow but good as a pickpocket and spy.” “White wine for me!” Omaya replied. “Don’t be stupid! Soldiers drink red! Bring the good stuff Smithy!” “Yessir! Coming right up! Screwthumb!” “I like your idea!” Tarian told Omaya. “Are you an engineer? I mean; could you build this thing? And how long would it take?” Omaya hesitated. In truth, he didn’t want to see the end of the Currencians. He had a grudging respect for The Dragon, particularly his love of books and dreams of building a new power station. Most of all, Omaya could not get the sight of a working light bulb out of his head. He cleared his throat to reply but the butler cut him off, handing each man a glass of red wine from a tray. “Here you are gentlemen. The very best red wine!”
This is Issue 1 of a daily news update of News in the seven worlds of Rip – Find the Magic Key.
— Omaya and Mesago scale the walls of the last Currencian stronghold, while Brina suffers as a pleasure slave in the President of Tasman’s Palace. —
Omaya stripped naked and rubbed damp mud all over this skin. By the time he finished he looked like a clay man. “Ready?” Mesago whispered, incredulous. “Let’s go.” Both men bit onto their knives and picked up the coils of rope. “Neither of you have done this before, have you?” Barian whispered. “Tie your knives around your necks!” He handed them both knives on cords and backed away. “Damn, these are heavy!” Omaya moaned, trying to adjust the weight of rope. “Stop being a cry baby.” They hunched and crept from behind the eucaly bushes up to the base of the cliff. On its other side waves of the Tasman sea crashed against vertical cliffs that the President’s best soldiers hadn’t been able to scale. “Not many handholds!” Mesago muttered. “Follow me. I’m lighter.” “Makes sense. Sort of!” Omaya felt with his finger tips and began the long ascent. Everything became a blur to him as he fought for breath at the half way point. He knew he had reached half way because he couldn’t see the ground nor the top of the cliff in the gloom. The pale rind of a waxing moon didn’t give off enough light to help much.
I’m very pleased and proud to announce that my latest book, Screaming Angels, will be published by A-Argus some time in the summer. This story is a historical account of one the strangest deals the British ever did with Soviet Russia, with a romantic twist. If you love romance, this will be right up your street. And if you love aviation tales, especially about Cold War jets, you will also love it.
On a personal note, this book has caused my quite a lot of strife! I already knew about the Rolls Royce Nene engine fiasco, and then I had a strange dream. This became the inspiration for a new book, but the first draft didn’t electrify me, or my beta readers. It seemed to lack emotion, and the plot needed a twist. I sought inspiration in classic romances like Wuthering Heights and Lady Chatterley’s Lover and, six rewrites later, it has a lot of feeling and a great twist! I think I finally got it right. Read on if you want to sample some excerpts!