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Gorilla Samantha

17 August 2010 Last updated at 19:54 GMT

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Gorilla Samantha, 37, dies at Toronto Zoo after stroke

Samantha the 37 year old lowland gorilla Samantha was born in Gabon, where gorillas are becoming endangered

Longtime Toronto Zoo resident Samantha, a 37-year-old western lowland gorilla, was euthanized on Tuesday after suffering a second stroke.

The 37-year-old gorilla had been a fixture at the zoo since it opened in 1974 when she was 2.

She had five offspring, two of which remain at Toronto Zoo along with her mate Charles, a silverback gorilla.

Matt Stephenson, the zoo’s gorilla keeper, said he would miss Samantha who “always brought a smile to my face”.

The zoo’s chief veterinarian decided euthanasia was the most humane option after the stroke on Monday – her second in two months – left Samantha in a critical condition.

The first stroke paralyzed the right side of the gorilla’s body.

Samantha was born in Gabon, West Africa, where gorillas have become endangered as a result of hunting and habitat destruction, including logging and mining.

She was part of a species survival plan for these western lowland gorillas.

“I will particularly miss her ‘singing’ at breakfast and dinner, and those purrs and rumbles she made that were like music to the soul, which always brought a smile to my face,” Mr Stephenson said in a statement.

March 18th 2010 Simone Veil

Chapter 38 Jane Eyre

Chapter 38 Jane Eyre

Conclusion

usual exhortation of the reader who is asked to testify + unusual comment of a wedding
Reader, I married him. A quiet wedding we had: he and I, the parson and clerk, were alone present. When we got back from church, I went into the kitchen of the manor-house, where Mary was cooking the dinner and John cleaning the knives, and I said –
casual and detached  tone: not usually attributed to someone who makes such an announcement
“Mary, I have been married to Mr. Rochester this morning.” The housekeeper and her husband were both of that decent phlegmatic order of people, to whom one may at any time safely communicate a remarkable piece of news without incurring the danger of having one’s ears pierced by some shrill ejaculation, and subsequently stunned by a torrent of wordy wonderment. Mary did look up, and she did stare at me: the ladle with which she was basting a pair of chickens roasting at the fire, did for some three minutes hang suspended in air; and for the same space of time John’s knives also had rest from the polishing process: but Mary, bending again over the roast, said only –

“Have you, Miss? Well, for sure!”

A short time after she pursued–“I seed you go out with the master, but I didn’t know you were gone to church to be wed;” and she basted away. John, when I turned to him, was grinning from ear to ear.

“I telled Mary how it would be,” he said: “I knew what Mr. Edward” (John was an old servant, and had known his master when he was the cadet of the house, therefore, he often gave him his Christian name)–“I knew what Mr. Edward would do; and I was certain he would not wait long neither: and he’s done right, for aught I know. I wish you joy, Miss!” and he politely pulled his forelock.

“Thank you, John. Mr. Rochester told me to give you and Mary this.” I put into his hand a five-pound note. Without waiting to hear more, I left the kitchen. In passing the door of that sanctum some time after, I caught the words –

“She’ll happen do better for him nor ony o’t’ grand ladies.” And again, “If she ben’t one o’ th’ handsomest, she’s noan faal and varry good-natured; and i’ his een she’s fair beautiful, onybody may see that.”

I wrote to Moor House and to Cambridge immediately, to say what I had done: fully explaining also why I had thus acted. Diana and Mary approved the step unreservedly. Diana announced that she would just give me time to get over the honeymoon, and then she would come and see me.

“She had better not wait till then, Jane,” said Mr. Rochester, when I read her letter to him; “if she does, she will be too late, for our honeymoon will shine our life long: its beams will only fade over your grave or mine.”

How St. John received the news, I don’t know: he never answered the letter in which I communicated it: yet six months after he wrote to me, without, however, mentioning Mr. Rochester’s name or alluding to my marriage. His letter was then calm, and, though very serious, kind. He has maintained a regular, though not frequent, correspondence ever since: he hopes I am happy, and trusts I am not of those who live without God in the world, and only mind earthly things.
teasing the reader
You have not quite forgotten little Adele, have you, reader?
I had not; I soon asked and obtained leave of Mr. Rochester, to go and see her at the school where he had placed her. Her frantic joy at beholding me again moved me much. She looked pale and thin: she said she was not happy. I found the rules of the establishment were too strict, its course of study too severe for a child of her age: I took her home with me. I meant to become her governess once more, but I soon found this impracticable; my time and cares were now required by another–my husband needed them all. So I sought out a school conducted on a more indulgent system, and near enough to permit of my visiting her often, and bringing her home sometimes. I took care she should never want for anything that could contribute to her comfort: she soon settled in her new abode, became very happy there, and made fair progress in her studies. As she grew up, a sound English education corrected in a great measure her French defects; and when she left school, I found in her a pleasing and obliging companion: docile, good-tempered, and well-principled. By her grateful attention to me and mine, she has long since well repaid any little kindness I ever had it in my power to offer her.
first ending: all’s-well-that-ends-well music or how the heath has its well-hidden enchantment and rewarding side in store
My tale draws to its close: one word respecting my experience of married life, and one brief glance at the fortunes of those whose names have most frequently recurred in this narrative, and I have done.

I have now been married ten years. I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself supremely blest–blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband’s life as fully is he is mine. No woman was ever nearer to her mate than I am: ever more absolutely bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. I know no weariness of my Edward’s society: he knows none of mine, any more than we each do of the pulsation of the heart that beats in our separate bosoms; consequently, we are ever together. To be together is for us to be at once as free as in solitude, as gay as in company. We talk, I believe, all day long: to talk to each other is but a more animated and an audible thinking. All my confidence is bestowed on him, all his confidence is devoted to me; we are precisely suited in character–perfect concord is the result.

Mr. Rochester continued blind the first two years of our union; perhaps it was that circumstance that drew us so very near–that knit us so very close: for I was then his vision, as I am still his right hand. Literally, I was (what he often called me) the apple of his eye. He saw nature–he saw books through me; and never did I weary of gazing for his behalf, and of putting into words the effect of field, tree, town, river, cloud, sunbeam–of the landscape before us; of the weather round us–and impressing by sound on his ear what light could no longer stamp on his eye. Never did I weary of reading to him; never did I weary of conducting him where he wished to go: of doing for him what he wished to be done. And there was a pleasure in my services, most full, most exquisite, even though sad- -because he claimed these services without painful shame or damping humiliation. He loved me so truly, that he knew no reluctance in profiting by my attendance: he felt I loved him so fondly, that to yield that attendance was to indulge my sweetest wishes.

One morning at the end of the two years, as I was writing a letter to his dictation, he came and bent over me, and said–“Jane, have you a glittering ornament round your neck?”

I had a gold watch-chain: I answered “Yes.”

“And have you a pale blue dress on?”

I had. He informed me then, that for some time he had fancied the obscurity clouding one eye was becoming less dense; and that now he was sure of it.

He and I went up to London. He had the advice of an eminent oculist; and he eventually recovered the sight of that one eye. He cannot now see very distinctly: he cannot read or write much; but he can find his way without being led by the hand: the sky is no longer a blank to him–the earth no longer a void. When his first- born was put into his arms, he could see that the boy had inherited his own eyes, as they once were–large, brilliant, and black. On that occasion, he again, with a full heart, acknowledged that God had tempered judgment with mercy.

My Edward and I, then, are happy: and the more so, because those we most love are happy likewise. Diana and Mary Rivers are both married: alternately, once every year, they come to see us, and we go to see them. Diana’s husband is a captain in the navy, a gallant officer and a good man. Mary’s is a clergyman, a college friend of her brother’s, and, from his attainments and principles, worthy of the connection. Both Captain Fitzjames and Mr. Wharton love their wives, and are loved by them.
second ending: “See, reader, you are mistaken… do you think I am so foolish to make it so simple for you!”
As to St. John Rivers, he left England: he went to India. He entered on the path he had marked for himself; he pursues it still. A more resolute, indefatigable pioneer never wrought amidst rocks and dangers. Firm, faithful, and devoted, full of energy, and zeal, and truth, he labours for his race; he clears their painful way to improvement; he hews down like a giant the prejudices of creed and caste that encumber it. He may be stern; he may be exacting; he may be ambitious yet; but his is the sternness of the warrior Greatheart, who guards his pilgrim convoy from the onslaught of Apollyon. His is the exaction of the apostle, who speaks but for Christ, when he says–“Whosoever will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow me.” His is the ambition of the high master-spirit, which aims to fill a place in the first rank of those who are redeemed from the earth–who stand without fault before the throne of God, who share the last mighty victories of the Lamb, who are called, and chosen, and faithful.

St. John is unmarried: he never will marry now.
Himself has hitherto sufficed to the toil, and the toil draws near its close: his glorious sun hastens to its setting. The last letter I received from him drew from my eves human tears, and yet filled my heart with divine joy: he anticipated his sure reward, his incorruptible crown. I know that a stranger’s hand will write to me next, to say that the good and faithful servant has been called at length into the joy of his Lord. And why weep for this? No fear of death will darken St. John’s last hour: his mind will be unclouded, his heart will be undaunted, his hope will be sure, his faith steadfast. His own words are a pledge of this –

“My Master,” he says, “has forewarned me. Daily He announces more distinctly,–‘Surely I come quickly!’ and hourly I more eagerly respond,–‘Amen; even so come, Lord Jesus!'” Book of Revelation (I Am Coming Quickly) may be attributed to the apostle John

Aren’t Saint John and Jane Eyre  the same person in a two-sided mirror?

What matters for Jane is her personal quest, the revelation of herself, her own path whatever crosses it!

From the outside her quest sounds  quixotic  with a lot of generosity and willingness to help but it  has a very original and unexpected twist:

Are we  to read a poor orphan’s story, her upbringing and success in society as governess+spouse+mother?

The story turns into one of the most powerful reversal of values and distractions, namely the final twist which makes readers
go back to the incipit and  meanderings of the story of a  heroine who is as elusive and fragile as the very word “air”.

Masterpiece with masters and servants are  left in the erring and airing spaces of the heath…without frontiers and boundaries.

The very status of the main character-cum-narrator  is that of a contemporary hobbo on
the path of recognition, on the go, on the run and not rational and fitting any framed type of explanations.

Is poetic justice achieved as  it  is more reliable than justice of the outer world?





The man who smuggled himself into Auschwitz …

The man who smuggled himself into Auschwitz
Children in Auschwitz
More than a million people died in Auschwitz

By Rob Broomby
BBC News

When millions would have done anything to get out, one remarkable British soldier smuggled himself into Auschwitz to witness the horror so he could tell others the truth.

Denis Avey is a remarkable man by any measure. A courageous and determined soldier in World War II, he was captured by the Germans and imprisoned in a camp connected to the Germans’ largest concentration camp, Auschwitz.

But his actions while in the camp – which he has never spoken about until now – are truly extraordinary. When millions would have done anything to get out, Mr Avey repeatedly smuggled himself into the camp.

Denis Avey: “They knew they’d only last five months”

Now 91 and living in Derbyshire, he says he wanted to witness what was going on inside and find out the truth about the gas chambers, so he could tell others. He knows he took “a hell of a chance”.

“When you think about it in today’s environment it is ludicrous, absolutely ludicrous,” he says.

“You wouldn’t think anyone would think or do that, but that is how I was. I had red hair and a temperament to match. Nothing would stop me.”

He arranged to swap for one night at a time with a Jewish inmate he had come to trust. He exchanged his uniform for the filthy, stripy garments the man had to wear. For the Auschwitz inmate it meant valuable food and rest in the British camp, while for Denis it was a chance to gather facts on the inside.

Evil

He describes Auschwitz as “hell on earth” and says he would lie awake at night listening to the ramblings and screams of prisoners.

“It was pretty ghastly at night, you got this terrible stench,” he says.

He talked to Jewish prisoners but says they rarely spoke of their previous life, instead they were focused on the hell they were living and the work they were forced to do in factories outside the camp.

FIND OUT MORE…
Listen to Denis Avey’s story on BBC News 24 throughout Sunday and on Broadcasting House, BBC Radio 4 at 0900 GMT.
Or listen to it here later

“There were nearly three million human beings worked to death in different factories,” says Mr Avey. “They knew at that rate they’d last about five months.

“They very seldom talk about their civil life. They only talked about the situation, the punishments they were getting, the work they were made to do.”

He says he would ask where people he’d met previously had gone and he would be told they’d “gone up the chimney”.

“It was so impersonal. Auschwitz was evil, everything about it was wrong.”

He also witnessed the brutality meted out to the prisoners, saying people were shot daily. He was determined to help, especially when he met Jewish prisoner Ernst Lobethall.

‘Bloody marvellous’

Mr Lobethall told him he had a sister Susana who had escaped to England as a child, on the eve of war. Back in his own camp, Mr Avey contacted her via a coded letter to his mother.

He arranged for cigarettes, chocolate and a letter from Susana to be sent to him and smuggled them to his friend. Cigarettes were more valuable than gold in the camp and he hoped he would be able to trade them for favours to ease his plight – and he was right.
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Auschwitz prisoner’s sister meets man who helped save him

Mr Lobethall traded two packs of Players cigarettes in return for getting his shoes resoled. It helped save his life when thousands perished or were murdered on the notorious death marches out of the camps in winter in 1945.

Mr Avey briefly met Susana Lobethall in 1945, when he came home from the war. He was fresh from the camp and was traumatised by what he’d witnessed and endured.

At the time both of them thought Ernst was dead. He’d actually survived, thanks – in part – to the smuggled cigarettes. But she lost touch with Mr Avey and was never able to tell him the good news.

The BBC has now reunited the pair after tracing Susana, who is now Susana Timms and lives in the Midlands. Mr Avey was told his friend moved to America after the war, where he had children and lived a long and happy life. The old soldier says the news is “bloody marvellous”.

‘Ginger’

Sadly, the emotional reunion came too late for Ernst – later Ernie – who died never even knowing the real name of the soldier who he says helped him survive Auschwitz.

But before he died Mr Lobethall recorded his survival story on video for the Shoah Foundation, which video the testimonies of Holocaust survivors and witnesses. In it he spoke of his friendship with a British soldier in Auschwitz who he simply called “Ginger”. It was Denis.
Ernst Lobethall
Ernest Lobethall moved to the US

He also recalled how the cigarettes, chocolate and a letter from his sister in England were smuggled to him in the midst of war.

“It was like being given the Rockefeller Centre,” he says in the video.

Mr Avey traded places twice and slept overnight in Auschwitz. He tried a third time but he was almost caught and the plan was aborted.

He suffered from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder when he came back from the war and has only recently been able to speak about what he did and what he saw.

He admits some may find it hard to believe and acknowledges it was “foolhardy”.

“But that is how I was,” he simply says.

Sorosoro or fighting for the survival of languages

Approximately 6,000 languages are spoken on earth.
* 90% of Internet pages are written in only 12 languages.
* 96% of languages are spoken by only 4% of the world’s population and 500 of these are spoken by fewer than 100 individuals.
* On average, a language dies out every 15 days, according to UNESCO experts.
* If urgent measures are not taken, 90% of the world’s languages may well disappear during this century.

sorosoro …is taken from Araki , Vanuatu (Pacific Islands)
means speech and breath

the project is interesting as it has planned to produce a web and television programme of languages and cultures and to give back
the data to the people concerned…project can be seen Quai Branly

See you!

this is independent from the Commonwealth association, was created by Jacques Chirac and it has a very similar vision of cooperation and keeping “roots”, culture and languages as part of educating people and helping them along getting rid of “violence” based and nourished by the lack of recognition of the “otherness” in others

Violence may find its best element in the fact that people’s primary cultures and languages are IGNORED and NOT taken into account.

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