BEST WAY TO CLEAN TILE

DAC® Gunmaster® Universal Gun Cleaning Kit

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LEYTON ALLOTMENT SOCIETY. ESTABLISHED 1843

During the early 1800's it was the prospect of breathing fresh clean air and living in a tranquil countryside of rich green marshland interspaced with neatly worked farms that attracted and increasing number of established gentlemen from the crime ridden and stinking streets of the London capital to the peaceful suburbs of Low Leyton. The parish was already rich in history, having been fought over and settled by ancient British tribes, one of which had left a large fortification in the area that is now Drapers Road Playing Fields which could still be seen in Victorian times before the outward flowing urban sprawl engulfed, eroded and finally hid it from view. That great general Julius Caesar had forded the nearby River Lea, a massive river in his day, and force marched his troops and cavalry through the area in a surprise move overnight in order to gain a tactical advantage against the British tribes of Ilford. Later not only did the vengeful chariots of Boadicea cut a murderous path through the local farmland but a great villa standing where Leyton Grange is today was burnt down. King Alfred drained and then reflooded the Leyton marshland, using waterways that can still be seen at the Auckland Road site so saving the land and its people from Danish domination. King Harold and his retinue used to pass regularly through the area using what is the High Road today when he travelled from London to his power base at Waltham. He could easily practised one of his fighting manoeuvres, the Shield Wall, on the small bluff that would have risen from the soggy marshland that is now the Oliver Road site.
The agonies of the Civil War and the Reformation had long faded when the gentlemen of commerce followed the laudable example set by many noted churchmen who were resident in Low Leyton and began building their ample houses mainly along the present High Street. It was of course obligatory for these gentlemen to have many servants and it was from this servant population that the first allotment society was formed.
An area of land known locally as the oasis which surrounded a natural water hole called Jesus Christ's Tankard and now contained within the Oliver Road Site was bought for the servants from money left over from rebuilding a local chapel. The original title of the society was The Association of Low Leyton Allotment Holders and was the clever invention of a young Muslim boy brought to this country by his master, a very high ranking official in the East India Company. Forced to live as a christian the young boy, who was named Arif, kept his own faith in the best way he could. Once the name of the society was accepted he volunteered to inscribe all of the society's implements with the initials of the society which spelt A.L.L.A.H., this he did most faithfully but its significance was lost on his christian brothers.
Religion and war played a major part in the lives of our founders and the first horticultural competitions arose from the church. At Easter a special service was held at the local church at which all the head cooks of the various households brought a basket containing a selection of Easter biscuits, hot cross buns, gingerbread men and a jar of chutney. The cook who made the best jar of chutney was awarded a small silver salver donated by Arif's master, called the East Indian Salver. At the end of the season there was another service, Thanksgiving, at which each household placed of allotment vegetables on the church steps. The best one was selected by the vicar and the Laprimaudaye was awarded to the winner. Laprimaudaye was the name of one of the original vicars of the church. Also at this service the young under-maids had to present a sampler for inspection by the vicar's wife and the girl with the best piece was awarded with the Hester Strype Bible, Hester Strype being the daughter of an earlier vicar of note, John Strype.
By the mid 1850's the church's sway on the society was waning as a wider range of people began to use the allotments. As a result of spoils brought back from the Crimean War the bibles were replaced by trophies name the Sebastopol Vase and the Florence Nightingale Thimble.
The next major change in the society was due to the Boer War where local men made battle friendships with comrades from adjoning boroughs and kept them after cessations by asking that the name of their society be changed to The Leyton and District Allotment Holders Society so as to incorporate fellow East Londoners.
The First World War changed the social side of the society and our society led the way in allowing a woman to hire an allotment in her own right, have a vote at the A.G.M. and become a committee member.
During the Second World War the society maintained 900 plots and still kept its proud tradition of having a horticultural show. During the war the shows were held outdoors and it is related how during a bombing raid all the heads of the ch

Ignoring the exclemations of acerbity that rose up from the crowd of aliens and humans alike, I shoved my way through the thick crowd, slowly unfastening my holster to ready the Hera Semta K7-2 heavy pistol. Contrary to the usual lack of accuracy in the model, the K7 series rose over these problems, maintaning power and accuracy. Now, the only problem was the battery port may melt when under too much stress; I winced at my permenant burn mark which was a result of the problem. Burns from something as intense as a UWCS Battery cooler ranged from ranged from fourth degree to sixth, and only that. Mine happened to be five; a large permenant scar was left on my forearm as a result.
Shrugging off these thoughts, I threw myself up a market stand leading to the catwalks above, as the chembian shop owner swore loudly. Ignoring the reptillian figure, I glanced backwards to Harkin; who, at my nod, kept running on my flank. After a quick minute of navigating through technical quarters above the factory district, a metal door careened into my vision, stopping me dead. The holographic interface demanded proper code authorization, which I lacked. With a quick remark in a foul tongue that an enthor would have cuffed me for, I rapped on the door twice, impatient.
As the metal frame screeched open, a human worker stammered out, an agitated look displayed on his greasy features.
"This area is restricted, as is this level. Please, leave!"
I briefly considered using my rank, but shook the thought off. Officialy, I was just aesthetic now, bearing no authority till the council declares otherwise.
"Erm..I'm from...galactic, custodian services...I've been told to clean up this area."
The man shook his head. "The janitor was a reegur a day ago! You think me stupid?"
I rubbed the back of my neck, thinking quickly. "He caught the cold." I almost swore when I remembered Reegur don't catch the cold.
The man hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, whatever. Just don't breathe a word of it to Merka. Damn enthor's got a pole up his...."
His voice faded as he walked off, and with a sigh, I broke off again, desperately hoping I wasn't too late. My worries were soon justified; two Xembact troopers were edging around the crates, slowly lining up their shots on a familiar reegur, who was angrily growling at a chembian stock keeper. Glancing around, I saw Harkin doing the same on the Xembact; eventually sliding out of his makeshift cover and cleaving a shot through one's skull. His thorian partner gasped, but his frantic whimper was cut short by a repeated shot, this time flaring from my own weapon. He clutched his neck, choking, then fell backward, disappearing into the piles of cargo.
Rosk, his own weapon drawn, scanned the affair before him, but lowered it when I came into view, Harkin following suit.
"Elijah Wilson," He said, leaning back to seat himself on a small crate. "Hero of Shiro Kirrva, son of Councillor Joseph Wilson. It's an honor." He leaned his head forward, in a reegur symbol of respect. I nodded, and we shook hands quickly.
"It's been to long, old friend." I said, leaning my head to the side. Reegur took this as a sign of acknowledgement, apparently.
"Indeed it has," he rose his arm slowly, revealing a mechanical prosthetic replacing his left forearm. "The time hasn't treated me well."
Before we could exchange any more conversation, Harkin cut in. "Wilson, we need to talk. Is our deal done?" I nodded in reply.
"Now, you tell me what's going on, and how I can help."
He paced back and forth slowly, clearing his throat. "Wilson, this is no small matter. I assume you've heard of the attack on Ark station?" I nodded again.
"A few news flashes, yes."
"This attack..was more than just a small terrorist attack. The invading force was the size of half our fleet; while ours just so happened to be halved. The attackers must be an official military force, like a species branch in the GCIR."
Rosk cut in, obviously knowing more about the matter. "That's why I was here; I was to investigate a possible lead in this cargo, a package that may hint at the race that lead the attack. No luck."
Harkin sighed. "Wilson, the council has assigned me with investigating, and reforming the old crew. You were the first on the list."
I knew what he was going to ask, and he did too. He just left us with a hesitant silence, till I answered, with a sigh. "I'd rather be out there then in here. Come on."

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