Behind The Scenes’ Photos of Monty Python’s Holy Grail
Monty Python and the Holy Grail is a 1975 British comedy film written and performed by the comedy group Monty Python (which consisted of Graham Chapman, John Cleese, Terry Gilliam, Eric Idle, Terry Jones and Michael Palin)
The film was directed by Terry Gilliam and Terry Jones.
It was conceived during the gap between the third and fourth series of their popular BBC television programme Monty Python’s Flying Circus.
A foldout found in the 1644 edition of Markham’s Maister-peece [Masterpiece], Containing all Knowledge Belonging to Smith, Farrier, or Horse=Leech, Touching on Curing All Diseases in Horses.
Michael J. North, Head of Rare Books and Early Manuscripts in NLM’s History of Medicine Division, takes a look at one of the most important books in the history of veterinary medicine – a seminal 17th-century work dedicated to the care of horses.
One of the most important and enduring books in the English language about the care of horses is by Gervase Markham (1586?-1637), an author of poetry and practical guides, including books on horsemanship and home economics.
His most famous work, however, was Markham’s Maister-peece [Masterpiece], Containing all Knowledge Belonging to Smith, Farrier, or Horse=Leech, Touching on Curing All Diseases in Horses, which was first printed in London in 1610 and came out in dozens of editions under a number of titles for over 200 years.
This edition of Markham’s Maister-peece printed in London in 1644 and held in NLM’s collection is divided into two parts focusing on “physical cures” and “surgical cures,” the former handling mainly internal physiology and pathology with herbal or dietary remedies, and the latter covering external illnesses which required hands-on treatments like bloodletting, purging, and bandaging.
A colourful sunset follows a drab day on the rural outskirts of Sheffield.
Image Credit: Photograph by Carey Davies
The window of my room here looks south-west, over the rooftops of a Sheffield suburb draped over the foothills of the Pennines, and through it I watch the endless traffic of the sky all day; the fleets of clouds steaming past on their journey from coast to coast, the planes etching contrails that wobble tipsily in the winds.
Recently, the sky has seemed muted, in the way it often does when the light is at its leanest and the weather settles for grey neutrality.
But a marvel of midwinter is how even the most austere, threadbare days can give rise to the most lavish of sunsets.
At this time of year, the sun sets directly before the window, often inducing me to leave my desk and walk a few streets to where, in that typically Sheffield way, the city abruptly terminates, and clean-scrubbed streets of bungalows give way instantly to expanses of high-raised farmland.