Susan T Thomas Criminologist, Oxford

Here is a collection of pictures of my family.

A photo of myself, Susan T Thomas

Graduate in Psychology with Honours (2:1). Currently studying for a post graduate Masters in Criminology in Applied Criminal Justice and Criminology.
Interests and hobbies: Politics, Current affairs, Corporate Crime, Pharmaceutical Crime, Policing and Civil liberties, Green Criminology. Fortune Telling, Martial Arts, Meditation and Yoga.  Susan makes her own furniture and furnishings out of recycled materials. Susan loves the great outdoors and gardening. Susan is believed to have psychic powers and has a strong sense of intuition.
Susan is a homeowner who lives in Oxford. One of Susan's Welsh ancestors is David Lloyd George. Susan is half Welsh and half Italian. 

A picture of my fortune telling room

Susan and William

My eldest son, a software engineer

Pencil sketch of my daughter, Amber Rose.

Susan's youngest daughter, classical pianist.

My little angel.

My son in his band

My son with his girlfriend

The Band

School Prom, Oxford

Becca the Ballet Dancer

David Lloyd George, Susan's great grandfather.

David Lloyd George was a Mover and a Shaker! Once he decided upon a path of action there was nothing that anybody could do to thwart him.
He hated injustice and the trampling of the underdog.
To this aim he decided to introduce radical reforms that caused uproar amongst the wealthy land owning elite.
His old age pension reform is still with us today.
He had difficulty in getting his reform through the House of Lords so he decided to create hundreds of new Liberal Peers of the Realm to pass his laws.
He hit upon the idea of selling knighthoods for money, the equivalent of today's cash for honours scandals. Cardiff in Wales became known as the city of one thousand Knights!
David Lloyd George amassed at least one million pounds in doing this and he also succeeded in creating many new knights to pass his reforms.
A case of killing two birds with one stone!
He was mischievous but his heart was definitely in the right place.

In my opinion, one of his finest hours was when he took to the stage as a young man to protest against the unjust war being waged against the Boers. He stood up on stage to declare that it was not right to pick on these poor Boer farmers.
The young liberal hated the idea that defenceless women and children were being attacked by our soldiers. The braying mob were alive with jingoistic fervour and turned on the young David Lloyd George. They felt that he was being unpatriotic, but he was just standing up for the "little man".
He had a narrow escape as the huge crowd turned on him. Realising that the situation was becoming very dangerous Lloyd George grabbed a policemen guarding him and took his police helmet. Then in the disguise of a policeman Lloyd George made his quick escape by a side entrance.

This was very characteristic of his ability to think quickly and laterally.
He thought that Sir General Douglas Haig was an incompetant fool and he also went against Kitchener's advice and quadrupled the military hardware in World War I (see Susan's poem).

Here is a video of him giving a speech in 1932

Susan's father.

Susan's sister, Margaret.

Susan and her sister Margaret

Susan's Italian Uncle Georgio Galassi, who lives in Lake Como.

Susan's grandmother: an old photograph taken in the year 1918 at the Academie Royale Des Beaux-Arts in Belgium with surrealist artist Rene Magritte. 
She is the first art student on the left. Her father was Josef Gorissen, Director General of the Mines.

Maggie in Italy, Lake Como.

Anna Marie Galassi, Susan's Mother. Also cousin of   Contessa Adriana Galassi Vitali -Rosati and Karen Galassi, Count Gualberto

Vitali-Rosati and Countess Lucilla Branca D'Oro.

Karen Galassi - Gann (California)

 

Elena Vitali Rosati and Sebastian Galassi

Merlin the Welsh Wizard


Poems, by Susan 

KING ARTHURE IS NAET DAEDE

Listen  Artorius I never saw it that way before!

Poetry by drawbridge and moat

Tintagel and Glastonbury and political Camelots       

Like the vain politician, the mirror lies too

They say that

Legend is the two way mirror of self deception

        

Armadilloed in your panoply of regal steel

Forged by the Plantaganet fire

The curse of chivalry reeks its carrion myth.

Your damozels ensconsed by randy knights

No longer fresh like the blossom of May

Now syphilitic with ambition`s pox puissant

And you my noble King?

You sit at Table Round with valiant Knights

Where Hot precedence will inevitably Cool

------

Royal Welsh Fusiliers

Ich Dien, I serve
There are no tears
For we are the jolly Welsh Fusiliers

The Somme

General Haig and his soldiers

General Haig Speaking

'I am King Rat in a General's hat
From the top of my dunghill I signal the plague
Of death, disaster and misery,
No Pandora can outmatch the General Haig.'

'I sip my red wine in a gilded chateau
Well clear of the front - I'm not so vague
As to expose my person to the slightest risk;
One must be most careful when one is Sir Douglas Haig.'

'Do not bother me with numbers of casualties,
There are things that my generalship cannot gauge;
When it comes to war all the rest go before
The remarkably astute Sir Douglas Haig.'

Soldiers Speaking

We walked as did the men of Wellington
In khaki-flecked lines a quarter mile long,
Some with home-made banners flapping,
Some kicking footballs, or singing Welsh songs.

We walked as though we were on a picnic,
But we were the food on that hot July day,
For the hungry war machine of others
Far removed from the front with feet of clay.

We walked though a mile of open land
Before a strange draught fanned the plain:
The whine of machine guns singing their wares
Stopped most of us singing our Welsh refrain

They cut each oncoming wave with ease,
Bucketing bright blood on the chalk-grey ground
Like sheaths of corn swept down by a scythe
Piled human flesh high in four feet mounds.

O we walked out proud that July morn-
A maverick army of pride and scorn;
But our sporting brass were gents to a man
We could almost forgive them for having no plan.

The Somme is now sown in a rural peace
And trees with their tops have re-appeared,
While we cover in the tunnel of history
Unsung, unknown, unclaimed and unfeared