Buzzwords, De-buzzed: 10 Other Ways To Say Village Hall Fairs

Posted by Stlouis on January 5th, 2021

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To make sure that the recording is done glitch-free, the recording must be carried out in a sound evidence recording studio fitted with crystal clear quality microphone, earphones and speakers. Recording must be performed in the existence of a sound director, who can ensure quality and clearness and do any retakes, if needed.

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Voice over services might only thrive in a Hi-Fi recording studio geared up with best quality audio devices & sound proofing acoustics and no amount of voice over skill can exceed that requirement.

A solitary candle flickers in the topmost window village fairs northumberland of the stone tower. A faint red radiance outlines the far-off ridge, silhouetting a bank of horsemen versus the sky. They thunder better, intent on plunder ... even murder.

We are at the Tullie House Museum in Carlisle, England viewing a sound and light program illustrating a normal border raid by the reivers, or plunderers, the nighttime guerrilla action that happened from the 12th through the mid-17th centuries. In some cases the conflict was between neighboring clans; at other times, Scottish riding clans signed up with forces with their bitter enemies to repel English occupation.

The theater lights increase, illuminating the audience, and we note that the sign-in book is dominated by the signatures of visitors whose surnames are identical to those of the major gamers in the Anglo-Scottish border fights that transformed law-abiding residents by day into terrorists by night.

Our geographical location is the area known as the Borders: the piece of much-fought-over land defined loosely by Carlisle on the south; Berwick, England, on the northeast and Dalkeith, Scotland (just south of Edinburgh), on the north. Not atypical Scottish border households, they were amongst the ruffians and livestock rustlers who, in the 17th century, were exiled by the British government to Northern Ireland.

A generation or so later on, these tough and undaunted people with strong clan loyalties sought their fortunes in North America, in my case on the Pennsylvania frontier. American history books determine these immigrants as the Scotch-Irish. Fittingly, one of their descendants, Neil Armstrong, was the very first male on the moon. While probing my family's knotted roots, we will see the storybook world they left in addition to their worries.

Having vicariously experienced a typical border raid, Boyd and I roam throughout the street to explore Carlisle Castle, built by the Normans in 1092, and the neighboring Carlisle Cathedral, noteworthy for its medieval carvings, stained-glass windows and the altar where Sir Walter Scott was wed in 1797.

Holding even higher fascination for us, Carlisle is head office for tours to Hadrian's Wall. He provides us with comprehensive maps to peruse throughout his informative narrative. From Solway Firth on the west to the River Tyne on the east, he informs us, the 73-mile stone wall was constructed in between 122-128 A.D. by Roman emperor Hadrian to safeguard Roman Britain from northern tribes.

Hadrian's Wall marches through fresh, rugged countryside, bounded on the north by forests, parkland and barren crags rising almost 2,000 feet. To its south, the Cumberland Plain is dotted with grazing sheep, Roman ruins, ancient castles, and falling apart abbeys where monks when mass-produced stunning wools for regional use and export. Naworth, Featherstone, Corby, Toppin and Bellister castles lie along a 10-mile stretch parallel to the wall. Casual hikers and serious backpackers dot the roadsides, strengthened with tough walking sticks, field glasses, and rain gear.

At each significant excavation, a small museum homes antiques revealing how the ingenious Romans made themselves at house in a harsh land. They built comfy barracks, medical facilities, granaries, shops, inns, bath houses and latrines.

After recording electronic camera shots all the more photogenic for the fantastic blue sky dappled with cottony clouds, we go back to Carlisle and catch the next train to rendezvous with our genealogist-hostess, May McKerrill. We learn beforehand from others who have enjoyed her hospitality that she must be addressed formally as the Lady Hillhouse (pronounced Hill'- iss), and her Scottish chieftain husband, Charles, might be referred to as Sir Charles, or Lord Hillhouse.

The train rockets north from Carlisle past Gretna into Scotland. The countryside is a quilt of grassy mounds speckled with grazing sheep, accentuated by rough hedges, meandering streams, stone fences and whitewashed homes of bygone ages.

Minutes later, we detrain in Lockerbie. For a little while, a Renault station wagon pulls up, the motorist clad in pants of the McKerrill clan's blue tartan Introductions aside, Sir Charles loads us and our luggage into his car for the 10-minute trip west to Lochmaben.

Our roadway parallels a hiker-friendly taken apart railroad track leading from Lockerbie to

Lochmaben, five miles to the west. Beyond the town green ignoring charming brick and stone cottages, Lochmaben Castle - site of the boyhood house of Scottish King Robert the Bruce, who won his country's independence from England - lies in ruins.

Taking a hint from other Borders aristocrats bent on weathering a depressed British economy, May and Sir Charles welcome visitors into Magdalene House, their solid brick residence named for the town's customer saint. The cellars of the home date back to the 14th century. Resplendent with McKerrill treasures, Magdalene House warmly welcomes guests excited to plumb their past.

At 7:30 each evening, May serves supper in the magnificent dining room, its walls luxurious with red velvet gathering. Candlelight romanticizes huge gilt-framed portraits of the previous lords Hillhouse - all dressed in the clan's distinctive blue tartan - and their stylish women.

Magdalene House is big enough to serve a number of celebrations of ancestor candidates, yet small adequate to be comfortable for all visitors eager to sign up with May on her daily treks. Mornings at 9 sharp, sated by a hearty English breakfast, guests scramble into May's station wagon for an expedition through towns and pastures dotted with ruined castles and towers marking ancient clan and household websites.

Genealogy is taken seriously here. Citizens of ancestral farmhouses and towers throughout the area can recite their clan family tree by heart. Large church records verify their precision. May has studied the history of each clan and easily recites truths, figures, and tradition. She states that my Bells are amongst the most noticeable of the Borders households, with their shield of 3 bells still to be seen engraved on gravestones and above many doorways throughout the area.

Our Bell country encounter starts the moment May hustles us into her automobile for a brief drive to Dumfries, the royal burgh and business head office of Dumfriesshire where, in 1306, Robert the Bruce multitude Red Comyn and declared himself King of Scotland. This was the last house of poet Robert Burns. He died in Burns House in 1796 and is buried in the family mausoleum in St. Michael's churchyard just throughout the road.

Today, Burns House is a museum using a movie about Burns' life, portraits of his relative, and original copies of his works penned in his hand. After browsing its relics, we consider more history at the Old Bridge House museum on the River Nith. Straight across the water is the town of Maxwell Town, made well-known by the tune committed to among Burns' loves, Annie Laurie.

Later, from high within a reconditioned windmill, the Burgh Museum, we see the red sandstone buildings and large areas of parkland that make up the town of Dumfries. Little has actually changed because my forefathers made their method through these prospering, narrow streets by foot or cart, except for a substantial Safeway market that anchors the primary mall on the edge of town.

On the road once again,