Born in a time when ignorance and superstition permeated their culture, Moon Flower was doomed within her isolated "Tribe with no name." Her affliction was misunderstood, casting her into the shadows where she was forced to live until brutal events practiced by a rogue 'man of the cloth' set her on a trail that did not exist, and eventually to a conditional freedom. At her side rode the handsome Comanche warrior whose life she had saved, her young son and the elusive wolf that became a part of her life. Across the burning wasteland they loved as they traveled in search of the warrior's tribe. Accepted with open arms, again she saved the life of the "God-man with pieces of the sky for eyes." With his life hanging in the balance her spirit wraps around him to give him strength to live beyond the torture that befell him. Safely within the Comanche arms, Flower finally 'became', and traveled beside her husband on the war trail as well as into captivity. Becoming a trusted confidant of the war chief, she enjoyed a rare position from which she could influence the decisions made on behalf of the entire tribe, even to the point of saving them when her belly was swollen with her husband's seed and 'death appeared riding on a black horse'. Having been forced to cross the border into the hostile land of 'the home of the Redman', later to become Oklahoma, she discovers that her greatest challenge was as yet still before her. Flower's greatest loss becomes her greatest find when she is blessed four-fold. Out of the clay banks of Red River she taught the Comanche women to build houses and homes when there were no more buffalo to feed and house them and the long promised government supplies were evenlonger in arriving to feed the hungry and naked Native Americans. With unbelievable strength and perseverance the bravery of this small woman set the standard that the pioneer woman became known for, even as the women of today stand to

On January 9th 2014, residents across Charleston, West Virginia, awoke to an unusual liquorice smell in the air and a similar taste in the public drinking water. That evening residents were informed that the tap water in tens of thousands of homes, hundred of businesses, and dozens of schools and hospitals - the water made available to as many as 300,00 citizens in a nine-county region - had been contaminated with a chemical used for cleaning crushed coal. This books tells a particular set of stories about that chemical spill and its aftermath, an unfolding water crisis that would lead to months, even years, of fear and distrust. It is both oral history and collaborative ethnography, jointly conceptualised, researched, and written by people - more than fifty in all - across various positions in academia and local communities. I'm Afraid of That Water foregrounds the ongoing concerns of West Virginians (and people in comparable situations in places like Flint, Michigan) confronted by the problem of contamination, where thresholds for official safety may be crossed, but a genuine return to normality is elusive.

Art looting is commonly recognized as a central feature of Nazi expropriation, in both the Third Reich and occupied territories. After the war, the famed Monuments Men (and women) recovered several hundred thousand pieces from the Germans' makeshift repositories in churches, castles, and salt mines. Well publicized restitution cases, such as that of Gustav Klimt's luminous painting featured in the film Woman in Gold, illustrate the legacy of Nazi looting in the art world today. But what happened to looted art that was never returned to its rightful owners? In France, Belgium, and the Netherlands, postwar governments appropriated the most coveted unclaimed works for display in museums, embassies, ministries, and other public buildings. Following cultural property norms of the time, the governments created custodianships over the unclaimed pieces, without using archives in their possession to carry out thorough provenance (ownership) research. This policy extended the dispossession of Jewish owners wrought by the Nazis and their collaborators well into the twenty-first century. The custodianships included more than six hundred works in Belgium, five thousand works in the Netherlands, and some two thousand in France. They included paintings by traditional and modern masters, such as Rembrandt, Cranach, Rubens, Van der Weyden, Tiepolo, Picasso, and Matisse. This appropriation of plundered assets endured without controversy until the mid-1990s, when activists and journalists began challenging the governments' right to hold these items, ushering in a period of cultural property litigation that endures to this day. Including interviews that have never before been published, Museum Worthy deftly examines the appropriation of Nazi art plunder by postwar governments and highlights the increasingly successful postwar art recovery and restitution process.

This is a book that challenges contemporary images of 'place'. Too often we are told about 'deprived neighbourhoods' but rarely do the people who live in those communities get to shape the agenda and describe, from their perspective, what is important to them. In this unique book the process of re-imagining comes to the fore in a fresh and contemporary look at one UK town, Rotherham. Using history, artistic practice, writing, poetry, autobiography and collaborative ethnography, this book literally and figuratively re-imagines a place. It is a manifesto for alternative visions of community, located in histories and cultural reference points that often remain unheard within the mainstream media. As such, the book presents a 'how to' for researchers interested in community collaborative research and accessing alternative ways of knowing and voices in marginalised communities.

Using history, artistic practice, writing, poetry, autobiography and collaborative ethnography, this book literally and figuratively re-imagines a place. It is a manifesto for alternative visions of community, located in histories and cultural reference points that often remain unheard within the mainstream media. As such, the book presents a `how to' for researchers interested in community collaborative research and accessing alternative ways of knowing and voices in marginalised communities.

This book presents the concept of ethical knowledge as it is revealed, as it is challenged, and as it may be used in schools. The book combines empirical expressions of teachers' beliefs and practices with a discussion of the connections between the moral dimensions of schooling and applied professional ethics in teaching: Ethical knowledge relies on the teacher's awareness, understanding, and acceptance of the demands of moral agency. Ethical knowledge is compromised by moral dilemmas and complexities that routinely challenge teachers. Moral tensions may be eased by three avenues of renewal based on heightened attention to ethical knowledge: a renewed sense of teacher professionalism, renewed school cultures, and renewed teacher education and professional learning. "The Ethical Teacher" is for teachers and teacher educators and for those who conduct research about their worlds.

Stephen Bourne (1791 1868) was a British civil servant who served as a magistrate in Jamaica between 1834 and 1841 and as Registrar of British Guiana between 1841 and 1848. His daughter Elizabeth Campbell left England with her father in 1834, and lived in the West Indies for thirteen years. This volume contains two essays and a published letter, the essays written by Elizabeth Campbell and the letter by Stephen Bourne, discussing the effects and limits of the Emancipation Act on the economy and society of the British West Indies. The two essays by Campbell discuss the limited social effects of the Emancipation Act, with the letter by Bourne suggesting ways to improve the economic prosperity of the West Indies. The ideology of later abolitionists, who endeavoured to improve social and economic conditions in plantations to demonstrate the possibility of prosperity without slavery, is fully explored in this volume.

On January 9th 2014, residents across Charleston, West Virginia, awoke to an unusual liquorice smell in the air and a similar taste in the public drinking water. That evening residents were informed that the tap water in tens of thousands of homes, hundred of businesses, and dozens of schools and hospitals - the water made available to as many as 300,00 citizens in a nine-county region - had been contaminated with a chemical used for cleaning crushed coal. This books tells a particular set of stories about that chemical spill and its aftermath, an unfolding water crisis that would lead to months, even years, of fear and distrust. It is both oral history and collaborative ethnography, jointly conceptualised, researched, and written by people - more than fifty in all - across various positions in academia and local communities. I'm Afraid of That Water foregrounds the ongoing concerns of West Virginians (and people in comparable situations in places like Flint, Michigan) confronted by the problem of contamination, where thresholds for official safety may be crossed, but a genuine return to normality is elusive.

The largest estuary in the world, the Gulf of St Lawrence is defined broadly by an ecology that stretches from the upper reaches of the St Lawrence River to the Gulf Stream, and by a web of influences that reach from the heart of the continent to northern Europe. For more than a millennium, the gulf's strategic location and rich marine resources have made it a destination and a gateway, a cockpit and a crossroads, and a highway and a home. From Vinland the Good to the novels of Lucy Maud Montgomery, the Gulf has haunted the Western imagination. A transborder collaboration between Canadian and American scholars, The Greater Gulf represents the first concerted exploration of the environmental history - marine and terrestrial - of the Gulf of St Lawrence. Contributors tell many histories of a place that has been fished, fought over, explored, and exploited. The essays' defining themes resonate in today's charged atmosphere of quickening climate change as they recount stories of resilience played against ecological fragility, resistance at odds with accommodation, considered versus reckless exploitation, and real, imagined, and imposed identities. Reconsidering perceptions about borders and the spaces between and across land and sea, The Greater Gulf draws attention to a central place and part of North Atlantic and North American history.

This is a new release of the original 1951 edition.