The Rebel of the Family

Portrait of Eliza by Samuel Lawrence, in George Somes Layard. Mrs Lynn Linton. Methuen: London, 1901

In this post, I would like to return to the Victorian writer, Eliza Lynn Linton. She spent part of her childhood in the vicarage of Crosthwaite, Keswick, before leaving home to earn an independent living in London. Later, she lived on and off at Brantwood, by Lake Coniston, in the Lake District – a home which was to be made famous by the subsequent residence there of John Ruskin. Amongst her other books, Eliza wrote The Lake Country, 1864, about her native landscape. So although for much of her adulthood, she lived in London and abroad, she may also be regarded as a writer with a local Cumbrian connection.

Eliza’s life and works reveal intriguing, and sometimes contradictory, LGBTQ+ facets. In this article, I want to consider one of her later novels, The Rebel of the Family, 1880. While researching Eliza and this novel, I found an insightful article by Deborah Meem, and I draw with full acknowledgement on Meem’s observations here.

The Rebel of the Family concerns the struggle of the heroine, Perdia Winstanley, to earn an independent living, while encountering suffrage ideas and political activism in the form of a women’s rights group; and wrestling with her attraction, both to the quietly assured male chemist Leslie Crawford, and to the tenacious and energetic lady president of the “West Hill Society for Women’s Rights”, Mrs Bell Blount.

Along the way, Peridita faces tensions with her own family – after the death of her father, which has left herself, her mother, and two sisters in debt, she resists the traditional career choice of marriage as the sole means of financial support, and seeks to make her own way in the world. Her more conventionally minded sisters do pursue the financial security of marriage, with their mother’s encouragement and, like Perdita, are married by the end of the novel, but less happily.

However, the LGBTQ+ interest comes from the strikingly drawn character, Bell Blount, who is scarcely less tenacious in her pursuit of Perdita’s affections and person, than she is in the fight for votes for women. Bell Blount is described in detail over the course of the book, and her gay proclivities seem unmistakeable, even if they are never named directly as such, in the language which we use today. The women’s rights society also holds a meeting, during which one of the speakers, in a brief but suggestively drawn sketch, seems lesbian.

Bell Blount’s novel-long pursuit of Perdita can hardly be a conventional courtship, with recognised stages; however, it is vividly depicted.

During a chance meeting in Kensington Gardens, Bell assures Perdita, “I can give you all you want – work, love, freedom…I want nothing in return but your love and that you will let me guide you…Perdita’s imagination burnt up into a sudden flame at the suggestive vagueness of her new friend’s words. She felt as if about to be initiated into those hidden mysteries wherein the springs of human history are to be found.” (Vol. 1, pp.65-6)

Ostensibly, this refers to joining the women’s rights group! But Eliza leaves no doubt that Bell’s attraction is physical, because soon:

“Mrs. Blount put her arms around the girl’s slender, loose and stayless waist.

‘I knew what was in you!’ she said caressingly; and bending her face forward she kissed her.” (Vol. 1, p.68)

“Stayless” here means that Perdita was wearing no stays, or corset, so no rigid fixings to disguise the shape and feel of her waist. In fact, “stayless” is the same adjective used for the waist of Adeline Dalrymple, round which Christopher Kirkland puts his arm, in Lynn Linton’s cross-dress autobiography.

Perdita then agrees to visit Bell’s home, and to meet her friend, whereupon, “Mrs. Blount’s face flushed vividly. She startled and nearly scared Perdita by suddenly taking her in her arms and kissing her with strange warmth.” (Vol.1, p.74) It turns out that Bell shares her home with Constance/Connie Tracey, a woman whom Bell describes as ” ‘my good little wife’ ” (Vol.1, p.76). In fact, what emerges is a kind of lesbian triangle, where Bell chases after Perdita, Perdita is confused, half excited and half repelled, and a jealous Connie, feeling that her position is threatened, seeks to keep Bell.

In Volume three, Bell urges Perdita to leave her home, and come and live with her. “Her passionate emotion gained on the girl [Perdita] so far that she returned her caress with gratitude and affection”. But Bell “started back and withdrew herself”, when “Connie stole noiselessly into the room”. (Broadview edition, p.292).

However, this is is the novelistic world of 1880, and Perdita prefers marriage to Leslie Crawford to a homosocial menage with a women’s rights leader.

Eliza Lynn Linton connects Bell Blount’s sexuality to her gender presentation. When at one point, Bell invites Perdita to smoke. Perdita declines, innocently horrified by the very idea, ” ‘No, no!’ said Perdita. ‘Even my father did not; and he was an officer.’ ” Yet smoking, a traditionally male activity, suits Bell, “who had a certain flourish of masculinity about her that made a cigarette between her full hard lips infinitely more natural than a knitting-needle in her hand.” (Vol. 1, p.281)

Indeed, Bell is described as a “handsome hybrid”. Hybrid acts as a warning word here, signalling Bell’s deviance – as Eliza presents her, she is certainly not feminine, but is not male either, hovering somewhere uncomfortably between: desiring women, living domestically with a “wife”, man-hating, using masculine body language, but still dressing as a woman, and campaigning for women’s rights.

This gender ambivalence, which accompanies same sex desire, may also be seen in the brief portrait of an interesting member of the women’s suffrage society, who rises to speak at a meeting:

“One was a woman with close-cropped hair, a Tyrolese hat with a cock’s feather at the side, a shirt-collar and a shirt-front, a waistcoat and a short jacket. In everything outward she was like a man, save for whiskers – which however she simulated in a short kind of cheek-curl; and for moustaches – which were more than indicated.” (Vol. 2, pp. 82-3)

Perhaps nowadays we might describe the speaker as “butch”. To be clear, her sexual preference is not explicitly indicated; we may infer, that like Bell, she is in nineteenth century terms, possibly an” invert”, a person with the desires of a (heterosexual) man, in the body of a woman.

This sort of language and way of thinking is different from our vocabulary and frameworks today. And it is important too, to recognise the author’s unease with, even apparent antipathy to, womanly figures who agitate for reform, and who find alternative ways of living. The caricature quality of many of the portraits, and the steady visceral discomfort which Perdita experiences in their presence show this. What is notable about Eliza’s novel, however is that it is an early depiction of characters whom we hesitate anachronistically to describe as lesbian, but who like Bell and Connie clearly can experience same sex attraction, and who are pushing at the boundaries of mannerisms, dress, and social conduct.

Bell Blount is unsuccessful in her attempt to win Perdita’s affections, and may even seem vampiric. Yet, on her own terms, she is successfully living a life of her own choosing, however unorthodox. Indeed, it is the sustained detail of her portrayal and of her domestic set up, as well as the social possibilities of the women’s rights society, which suggest more than the novel openly vindicates. Readers hoping to find a straightforward, affirmative picture of Victorian lesbians will be disappointed; but – like the heroine’s – the author’s attitude is sufficiently ambivalent, to give us important early descriptions of LGBTQ+ individuals and their lives.

Acknowledgements:

Of particular help in writing this post has been,

Meem, Deborah T. “Eliza Lynn Linton and the Rise of Lesbian Consciousness.” Journal of the History of Sexuality 7.4 (1997): 537-60 Accessed 25 May 2020. Available by registering with JSTOR.

Deborah Meem discusses The Rebel of the Family on pp 547-552, and highlights the proto-lesbian elements of the novel. She discusses inversion on pp. 550-1, and the vampire motif on p. 551. Her conclusion on the importance of Lynn Linton’s portrayal of characers for the origin of lesbian community is on pp. 559-560.

Bilston, Sarah J. “Conflict and Ambiguity in Victorian Women’s Writing: Eliza Lynn Linton and the Possibilities of Agnosticism.” Tulsa Studies in Women’s Literature 23.2 (2004): 283-310. Accessed 25 May 2020. Available by registering with JSTOR. Bilston particularly discusses this novel, lesbianism, and vampires on pp.10-12; she also discusses gender throughout.

Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, entry on Eliza Lynn Linton https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb/16742 Accessed 25 May 2020

This biographical entry can be viewed via the number on a Cumbria public library card.

If anyone would like to read The Rebel of the Family, then the first edition is,

Eliza Lynn Linton. The Rebel of the Family. 3 Vols, Chatto & Windus: London, 1880 I have found Vol. 1 online here, and Vol. 2 online here – if you click on “View digitized copy”, you will begin to download the large file of the volume!

There is a very helpful recent edition of the novel,

Deborah T. Meem. Eliza Lynn Linton. The Rebel of the Family. Peterborough, Ont. ; Orchard Park, NY : Broadview Press, 2002 This can still be bought secondhand.

Cumbria public libraries do not have this novel, but as the author has a local connection, there are reference and reserve copies of The Lake Country. London: 1864, in the libraries of Barrow-in-Furness, Carlisle, Kendal, Keswick, and Whitehaven.

Two Newspaper Articles

Bowder Stone, Borrowdale c.1863-8 Atkinson Grimshaw 1836-1893 Purchased with assistance from the Friends of the Tate Gallery 1983 http://www.tate.org.uk/art/work/T03683

I have been looking at the “Penrith Observer”, a former Cumbrian newspaper, in the British Newspaper Archive. The edition of Tuesday, 10 November, 1953, contains some interesting LGBTQ+ related material. The first article is an opinion column, while the second article is a serialised novel.

Page five of the newspaper carries an opinion column condemning homosexuality. The first part of this column is headed “Moral Standards”, and the second part, “Stigma”. It is unsigned – this is quite normal, for what appears to be an editorial position. It is worth thinking about the language which is used in this column, and setting it in its historical background too.

“Moral Standards” begins by by praising Lord Samuel, for speaking out against homosexuality, which is “not an agreeable subject to write about or speak”, and refers to the recent appearance of a certain “titled personality…before a London magistrate”. We shall come back to these men later. The column is concerned that far from homosexuality being a rare occurence, “at nearly every assize court in the country the calendars are full of crimes of this nature”. It then notes with approval, that public opinion was “justifiably shocked” by the revelations of the trial of Oscar Wilde in 1895, and that his plays were taken off the stage for years.

The column contrasts this severe Victorian reaction with the perceived looseness of attitude towards homosexuality in contemporary society, denouncing in its first paragraph, “the laxity of the moral standards of our country”. Homosexuality is seen both as a crime – the law was not liberalised in England until 1967 – and as a sin: “facts must be faced, and sin condemned wherever it rears its ugly head”.

This language may fairly be described as unequivocal. The second section of the column, “Stigma”, following directly underneath, carries on these themes. Indeed, the language becomes more biblical, asking rhetorically whether those who are guilty of the crime of the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah suffer the same stigma nowadays as they did in Victorian times. According to the bible, these cities are destroyed in divine retribution for the wickedness of their inhabitants.

I believe that the intended comparison is between 1953, and the Victorian age, and not between 1953 and the time of Book of Genesis, although the structuring of the material is a little loose! It is interesting to note that the newspaper uses the modern term, homosexuality, but does infer the older term, sodomy, by this reference to the cities of the plain. The column then states that although the Victorians are now looked down on, they did possess a “moral code”; their society ostracised those who broke it, as with homosexuality, whereas modern society is too accepting, even welcoming: “they are no longer outcasts”.

Finally, the column touches on the debate of whether homosexuality is a sin or a disease, quoting the differing views of Lord Dawson of Penn, who referred to ” ‘a pathological condition’ “, and Lord Atkin, who believed that it was the ” ‘result of wicked impulses which like other wicked impulses are capable of being controlled”. The reference to disease reminds us that homosexuality was declassified as a mental illness in 1973, while the word, “wicked”, reminds us, perhaps, of sin.

In total, the message from the Penrith Observer’s opinion column is clear: homosexuality is all too prevalent, it betrays degraded morals, and is bad for the country; the writer or writers fear that Britain can be neither “good” nor “great”.

If we step back from the article, and turn to the wider context, we can see that this column in the Penrith Observer is responding to national events. The 1950s were a difficult time for LGBT people in Britain. The authorities sought detection and arrest; figures such as the home secretary, David Maxwell Fyfe, who wished to root out homosexuality, were active and influential, and the number of prosecutions rose very significantly. This included a number of high profile men such as Lord Montagu of Beaulieu, Hampshire, who was convicted and imprisoned in 1954.

But the “titled personality” to which our column refers was the actor and director, Sir John Gielgud, who had recently been knighted. In October, 1953, he was charged with “persistently importuning male persons for immoral purposes”, fined, and told to see his doctor. The column makes a veiled reference to him, taking the view that this is the tip of a much bigger problem. Lord Samuel, whom the column commends for speaking out “with complete frankness on crimes which are a terrible blot on our civilisation”, made a speech in the House of Lords, on 4 November, 1953. In it, he surveyed many national issues, including social issues, stating that, “the vices of Sodom and Gomorrah, of the cities of the Plain, appear to be rife among us”.

This gives us an immediate context for the Penrith Observer’s comments. Like many newspapers of the time, it is giving us its view of recent, controversial, and widely publicised occurrences. It would require further study to identify exactly how newspaper coverage of these issues varied, from paper to paper, and across different regions; however, the views expressed in this column, if forcibly worded, do not seem to be exceptional.

Ironically, although the Penrith Observer carries this condemnation of homosexuality on page six of the newspaper, the preceding page contains an entirely different article. Page five is almost entirely given over to the first part of Farthing Hall, a novel co-written by Hugh Walpole and J.B. Priestley. Hugh Walpole (1884-1941) is now acknowledged to have been gay. Indeed, he had a home at Brackenburn, by Derwentwater, near Keswick.

Above the novel appears the title, “An exciting new serial with a Lakeland setting”. The introduction reads, “Thanks to the co-operation of Sir Hugh Walpole’s literary executor, Mr Rupert Hart-Davies, and his publishers, Messrs Macmillan and Co. we are publishing ‘Farthing Hall’ as a serial. You can begin reading this exciting story [t]oday.”

That the Penrith Observer should be serialising this novel is entirely unsurprising. Hugh Walpole was a distinguished local figure, who had held the Lake District landscape in affection, and who featured local places in his fiction. Part of the action in Farthing Hall itself takes place in Penrith, Keswick, and the surrounding countryside; it contains a fictional Garrowdale, which is likely to derive its name from nearby Borrowdale (pictured above). It appears to be a romantic adventure story with a touch of the Gothic, and an epistolary novel too, as its action is narrated by the letters and telegrams of the main characters. Readers of the newspaper might well have been keen to read this story with its lightness of touch, and local colour.

What is clear is that the Penrith Observer does not connect up the possible LGBTQ+ links within its pages. Perhaps the newspaper was oblivious to the sorts of relationships which Hugh Walpole had; perhaps his merit as a popular local figure and author far outweighed perceptions of his sexuality; or, perhaps, we need not look to find homogeneity of content in any one publication. But the juxtaposition of these two articles is fascinating.

Acknowledgements

I am grateful to Stephen White, Local Studies Librarian, Carlisle, for first bringing “Moral Standards” to my attention.

The Penrith Observer, 10 November, 1953, pp.5-6

https://hansard.parliament.uk/Lords/1953-11-04/debates/0a3f989b-d307-4d56-99f1-6fba1cf4d8ca/LordsChamber Lord Samuel’s speech. Accessed 16 May, 2020

Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, entry on Sir John Gielgud https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb/74146 Accessed 17 May, 2020 This entry mentions that Gielgud was told by the magistrate to see his doctor, referencing, S. Morley, John G: the authorised biography of John Gielgud (2001), p.246

Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, entry on Sir Hugh Walpole https://doi.org/10.1093/ref:odnb/36711 Accessed 16 May, 2020

These biography entries can be viewed via the number on a Cumbria public library card.

Wendy Moffat. “Forster and Liberace; or, The Invert’s Tale”. Modernism/modernityVolume 17, Number 3, September 2010 In Project MUSE https://muse.jhu.edu/article/406820 Accessed 16 May 2020

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timeline_of_LGBT_history_in_the_United_Kingdom

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Gielgud

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hugh_Walpole

https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/theatre-dance/news/the-night-gielguds-career-lay-in-ruins-ndash-and-his-cry-for-help-was-ignored-2199013.html Accessed 16 May 2020

Justin Bengry. “Queer profits: homosexual scandal and the origins of legal reform in Britain”, in eds Heike Bauer and Matthew Cook, Queer 1950s: Rethinking Sexuality in the Postwar Years. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012

John Atkinson Grimshaw’s lovely painting of Bowder Stone, Borrowdale, is held by the Tate Gallery.

https://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/grimshaw-bowder-stone-borrowdale-t03683

https://reading19001950.wordpress.com/2014/07/04/farthing-hall-by-hugh-walpole-and-j-b-priestley-1929/ Accessed 16 May, 2020

If anyone would like to read Walpole and Priestley’s novel, Farthing Hall, it can still be bought today.

Finally, for an artistic and more sympathetic treatment of the idea of Sodom and Gomorrah, I recommend volume four of Marcel Proust’s In Search of Lost Time, whose title is sometimes translated as “Sodom and Gomorrah”, and sometimes as “The Cities of the Plain”.

Queer Lives

Rosa Newmarch. Mary Wakefield, a memoir. Kendal: Atkinson & Pollitt, 1912

It is not normally possible to type “lesbian”, or “bisexual”, or “homosexual”, or “transexual” or other LGBTQ+ words into catalogue search engines, and come up with gold. Not just laws, but ways of living, conceptual frameworks, and language, all vary over time.

To uncover LGBTQ+ material from the past, even from the twentieth century, you might need to look for historical language denoting ideas which are queer today. Old words like “tribade” (lesbian) and “sodomite” persist into the nineteenth century; “homosexual” began to appear from the nineteenth century onwards – occasionally denoting homosocial, a single sex environment; “Sapphist” or “Sapphic”, are used from the eighteenth century onwards, and although they have fallen out of use today, you may well find them used in the early twentieth century. Lytton Strachey described the artist, Valentine Dobrée, as “perhaps a Saph”, while he cheerfully referred to Carrington’s feelings for himself, as “women in love with buggers”. Much of the LGBTQ+ vocabulary which we use today, has established itself quite recently, even if the words existed previously, vocabulary such as”LGBTQ”, “intersex”, or “pride”.

But language does not exist alone: part of the complexity of identifying LGBTQ+ individuals and issues lies in the fact that people themselves, in their private, and not so private lives, as well as through wider society, in organisations such as educational establishments, may have all produced their own ways of thinking and speaking about such matters. So, we may find, that are as far as historical individuals are concerned, we have to look for discreet references to friends, or to special friends, or to enduring and lifelong friendships, or even for a companion. This last is a difficult term – it may mean what we would now call a LGBTQ+ relationship, or it may not! Companion may indeed refer to a congenial and companionate kind of employment, where one woman shared a household with another, in a mixture of social and pecuniary arrangements. I have searched databases for “companion”, but even where such a living arrangement arises, you may need additional cues to have any confidence that the situation was a LGBTQ+ one. Some instances are unresolvable.

Language and categories generated by organisations and institutions in the past are different in kind – they may seek to categorise LGBTQ+ activities as areas of concern, according to social ideas about what was considered healthy and normal. This means that you find cases where “sodomy” is treated as a crime, and contrariwise, because lesbianism was never legally prohibited, it does not tend to come to the notice of the authorities. Areas of sex change and of gender fluidity are less likely to be given the recognition and awareness which we give them today, and I have come across newspaper reports of men and women “masquerading”, that is, wearing the clothes of the opposite sex.

Finally, it is instructive to think about how we categorise relationships, and apply modern words to people who lived before. If they did not characterise themselves as gay or as genderqueer, or as any other of a host of words which we use today, how reasonably can we apply our terms to them? Equally, without some kind of vocabulary, it is impossible to discuss anything. We may look to find the sort of relationships which receive expression through marriage and civil partnerships today, perhaps even to validate ourselves or those we know; while people of the past might have had their own ideas about how they saw their relations with others.

I have found the following websites helpful:

https://www.culture24.org.uk/history-and-heritage/tra43813 Some interesting information by Anna Kisby.

https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/help-with-your-research/research-guides/gay-lesbian-history/

Kris Kirk (A Boy Called Mary)

Ed. Richard Smith. A Boy Called Mary: Kris Kirk’s Greatest Hits. Brighton: Millivres, 1999

In this post, I want to shift perspective from the Victorian period, to a more recent figure, who was born in Carlisle in 1950. Kris Kirk, who became well known as a pop music journalist, was christened as Christopher Pious Mary Kirk, and brought up in Carlisle in a Catholic family; he attended Austin Friars school, spelling his first name Chris at that time.

Kris went to Nottingham University, where he read American Literature, and took an active part in student life, founding the Nottingham Gay Liberation Front. There is a photograph of Kris performing in a gay street theatre production on page one of Nottinghamshire’s “Queer Bulletin”, No. 70, February/March 2013. Present and past editions of the Queer Bulletin have been put online in PDF format by Nottinghamshire’s Rainbow Heritage, and you can download QB number 70 from here.

After graduating, Kris worked in a variety of jobs for ten years, including as a theatrical dresser, and working on Granada’s television production of Evelyn Waugh’s novel, Brideshead Revisited. He then joined the newspaper, Gay News, as a staff reporter, and according to Peter Burton, in his obituary for The Independent, wrote successfully for various publications for nearly a decade “as an openly gay man writing pioneering articles and interviews about homosexuality”. Kris had changed the spelling of his name to Kristopher, and wrote as “Kris Kirk.

A Boy Called Mary: Kris Kirk’s greatest hits, a collection of Kris’s best music journalism, is edited and introduced by Richard Smith, who writes, “There had been many gay music journalists before Kris Kirk started writing for Melody Maker in 1984. But Kris was the first to write as an openly gay man, and to write unapologetically about the music and acts that excited him as such.”

The book includes a foreword by Boy George, in which he mentions being interviewed by Kris, as Boy George was beginning his career, “Somehow Kris managed to charm me into an interview…I somehow knew it was the right thing to do”. (p.1) There are thirty four articles by Kris, on artists ranging from Marianne Faithfull, to Culture Club, Grace Jones, Bronski Beat, and Frankie Goes to Hollywood. The first article is entitled, “What a Difference a Gay Makes/Confessions of a gay record collector”.

In 1984, Kris, in collaboration with the photgrapher, Ed Heath, brought out a book called, Men In Frocks. This is a survey of modern drag, cross dressing in Britain, in the latter part of the twentieth century, containing interviews and observations by Kris, and photographs by Ed Heath. I believe that the book has a wider remit than the title suggests, and that it prompts thoughts on gender and on sexuality; however, the book is now rare, and hard to come by.

The television series, “Six of Hearts”, which showed the variety of gay and lesbian life in the mid 1980s, profiled Kris Kirk in an episode titled “A Boy Called Mary”, directed by Paul Oremland, and broadcast on Saturday 15 November, 1986.

Kris Kirk and Ed Heath later moved to Wales to run a second hand bookshop. Sadly, in 1991, Kris became ill with AIDS. He moved back to London for treatment, but became blind with AIDS related retinitis. In “A Descent into Darkness”, Gay Times, June, 1992, he related this experience. This was a both personal account and an early public disclosure of AIDS.

Kris Kirk died from his illness in April 1993, aged 42. In an obituary written for The Stage, Peter Burton paid tribute to his “compassion, warmth and wit.”

Acknowledgements: I am grateful to Stephen White, Local Studies Librarian, Carlisle Library, for first bringing Kris Kirk to my attention.

Peter Burton. Obituary: Kris Kirk, The Independent, Thursday, 29 April, 1993 Accessed 2 May, 2020

Peter Burton. Obituary. The Stage, p. 25, Thursday, 27 May, 1993

Edited and introduced by Richard Smith; foreword by Boy George. A Boy Called Mary: Kris Kirk’s Greatest Hits. Brighton: Millivres, 1999 This book may still be bought second hand.

Kris Kirk, Ed Heath. Men In Frocks. London: Gay Men’s Press GMP Publishers Ltd, 1984 This book may also be found, but has been longer out of print. I have not been able to consult a copy.

Derby Daily Telegraph, pp.14-15, Saturday 15 November 1986 Television listing, including the episode, “A Boy Called Mary”, in the series, “Six of Hearts”

Nottinghamshire’s “Queer Bulletin”, No. 70, February/March 2013.

https://zagria.blogspot.com/2013/04/a-review-of-kris-kirk-ed-heath-men-in.html Accessed 2 May, 2020

This review of Men In Frocks by Zagria suggested to me the wide remit of the book, as did the following review by Colin Clews,

https://www.gayinthe1980s.com/2014/03/19/1984-books-men-in-frocks Accessed 2 May, 2020

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kris_Kirk Accessed 2 May, 2020