Traditional Threshold offering

In Regency times when life could be a bit ooh la la in Seething, it became the tradition to leave an offering of pommes frites at the threshold of one’s abode, after an evening of revelry. Before the introduction of this French delicacy (by Le Duc Gordes Benet, who often travelled through Seething on his way to do business de fromage serieux in Cheesington) villagers left a potato, or stretching further back into the mists of time, a turnip. This was a way of offering Seething ancestors a spiritual morsel, and assuaging any guilt for waking the dead with the unholy racket they were making at that time of the evening…Shhh….vestiges of this traditional practice still take place today, mostly after 11pm on a Friday or Saturday night.

discovered by Lucy Furlong

A higher temple?


Strange shapes and forms appear within the architectural façades of Seething. Have you seen them? Geometric shapes, pyramids, towers and columns are integrated into buildings in and around the Victoria Road. Taken all together these separate parts form a 3D jigsaw puzzle.

It was all created by a chap who delved into the hermetic and pagan during the Long Seething Century. AKW Shorom, was a Seethinger through and through, born into a humble family, but blossomed at the Great Library under the guidance of Pross. It was there he learnt of the classical times, when Seethingers would share knowledge and ideas with other peace loving communities from across the world. It was through a system of energy harnessed through limestone, where the lime crystals vibrated emanating sound, replicating the voice at the other end of the energy- “line”. As time went by people started fashioning heads out of the stone, and eventually the likenesses of people. They were called statues, from the greeting on picking up a message, “’s t’at you?”

This was before the days of the Great Schism, when all contact broke down and was never again established. Unbeknownst to each other, a patchwork of communities carried across the world. Was all lost? Shorom thought not. He designed a temple to embrace the ancient energies circulating the world. A giant antenna. It would act as radio sending out messages to other secret societies. His great temple would make contact with those societies and the worldly secrets passed on and shared.

Shorom was hounded out of Seething by jealous Aldermen of the great council. But what of his temple? He was a cunning man. He broke it up and gave it to an architectural scrap yard to sell, on one condition. No part may leave the boundaries of Seething. At a time of few architectural fragments, the parts were scooped by builders and quantity surveyors, who built them into their own designs.

No one knows what happened to Shorom. It is said he sometimes returns to Seething in disguise as an hospitaller or a cheesemonger, and that one day he will return as the great architect to rebuild his temple and return peace to the world.

As you walk round Seething, keep an eye out, look at the buildings. If you see something, place your hand upon it and feel it vibrate.

By the Historier

The Historier blogs at


The other dead

Hoist the trolley
screech metal on metal in wind

forgotten in a gin haze

night tour
    traffic cone
         caution: wet floor
             Maple Crescent
                out of order
forget a glass of wine and rum

half a license plate reflects
morning sun through bluebells
shot in a pint of wine rum haze forgotten


wandering through the detritus of last night

Sinead Keegan

Surbiton Village Fete

Fated to be great

“Bye!” “ What a lovely day it’s been” “Good to see you!”  “Catch up soon…”

We ambled our way through happy crowds of people, still enjoying the food, music, cider and late afternoon sunshine, towards the exit, only to be stopped by a cheerful lady holding a plate of scones: “25 pence each!” she said.


“Pick two” I said to the nipper, “but don’t touch them, your hands are too grubby.” He put down his stick with the balloon tied to the end and carefully considered them for a moment; picked one plain and one fruit and they were popped into a little blue and white stripey paper bag.

“Now  we will need jam for these…” and the woman pointed me in the direction of the WI tent, about four yards from where we were standing, and gave me a leaflet in case I was interested in joining : “By the way, have you seen the bee man? I wonder if he’s still there. You must have a look- you can see the Queen bee!” She checked and he was indeed still round the corner from where we were standing. We promised to see the bee man after acquiring jam for our scones.

We walked into the shade of the tent and eyed up the goodies…rows of jams in an assortment of jars, all stickered with tempting labels including  Toffee-apple , Caramelised Strawberry and…  Plum and Vanilla, which the nipper chose to take home with us.


And then a trip around the corner, through the trees, to see the bee man with his glass frame of busy bees, where we tried and failed to spot the Queen, but we did have a drone pointed out to us.

“Hello! I thought you’d gone!” “Hello – yes so did we – but we’re still here!”

And so the day continued. We had once again been caught happily in the whirly web of Seething.



Lucy Furlong

Column Planting Line

lamp post seedling
lamp post seedling

Lamp post seedlings are delivered to Seething on an irregular basis, to shed light on whatever needs shedding light on and isn’t getting that light shedded* on it. They are sturdy young specimens, metal beanpoles which must be carefully transported from secret lamppost-growing tunnels, deep in the Thames Valley. Under protective black canvas, they grow in the dark like rhubarb, unless it is a moonless night, when they are acclimatised to fresh air and turn their lights to face the sky for the first time. As you can see they are very carefully planted, using the Seething Regulation Column Planting Line to ensure successful transplanting in the material that will support their growth best.

*technical term

Lucy Furlong

Shafts of Sunlight

Robin - AuthorisededitDeep under the ground of Seething run a myriad of shafts lying dormant since emptied of their talcum. Deep in our minds shafts of creativity, fun and hope fall into disuse and begin to petrify. How do we rediscover the locations of these pitheads and encourage our thoughts and actions to explore these rich veins again?

One day a man looked back upon his time and realised quite how early in his life learned fear had begun to influence his decision-making. Thoughts of failure and embarrassment had been fuelled and reinforced far too early by the ‘right and wrong’ dogmatism of ‘knowledge’. True exploration of ideas and play had been quietly restrained by those that cared – ‘Let us save you the trouble for we too have tried that and it won’t work.’

But of course it will because it can only fail against your expectations and mine will be different to yours yet still with guiding heart we all try to lead people to our safe land and accidentally take away exploration.

I shall search for the pitheads of the talcum mines. Don’t tell me they never existed because I know in my mind that they did and I will find them. Then, I will laugh and that sound will echo down my past to the child who smiled at the sun and believed.

Robin Hutchinson