Today is the tomorrow that you worried about yesterday. Tragedy is getting something or failure to get it; it’s losing something you already have. Waste not fresh tears over old griefs.
~ Euripides
The Hand That Rocks The Cradle?
‘What can POSSIBLY be told about a life of ONLY 5 weeks?
My death from parental neglect on Christmas Day in the year 1884 would shine a harsh and uncompromising light into the darkest crevices of York’s society as the pitiful story of my life unfolded…’
The Parish Will Bury Me…
‘My Dear Sister, – By the time you get this letter I shall be in a watery grave.
Don’t upset yourself, and call and tell my dear father gently that I have only gone to my dear mother, and don’t let him call my husband.’
We Have Nothing Good Here!
‘One August day – my body and that of my youngest child were recovered from the River Ouse in York.
And a story would begin to unfold so tragic that the coroner implored the media to promote a better understanding on the subject of suicide.’