The teenage protestor lunged with a knife at the painting, and a shocked witness describes how the 'whole middle of the picture was ripped out'. Fortunately, the large horizontal and vertical slashes across the painting were fully repaired after exhaustive, year-long restoration work. The painting had earlier drawn record crowds, with over 100,000 people flocking to see the painting within the first three days of its grand unveiling. It was shown alongside Organ's portrait of Prince Charles, three days before the Royal Wedding on 29 July 1981. After it was attacked, the National Portrait Gallery made the unprecedented decision to remove the portrait, as well as the portrait of Prince Charles, from public display. In the Tatler article, Maya McDonald describes how Organ 'immortalised the now quintessential 'Shy Di' image', and indeed, the Diana portrait is among the NPG's most popular paintings, and remains on permanent display. It was recently included in the NPG's Tudors to Windsors: British Royal Portraits exhibition, which toured the USA and Australia during 2019, and can now be seen at the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich.THE FOLLOWING SPRING WE LEFT THE OZARKS. THE DAY WE moved I thought everyone would be sad, but it was just the opposite. Mama seemed to be the happiest one of all. I could hear her laughing and joking with my sisters as they packed things. She had a glow in her eyes I had never seen before and it made me feel good. He didn't have that whipped look on his face any more. He was in high spirits as we carried the furniture out to our wagon.Īfter the last item was stored in the wagon, Papa helped Mama to the spring seat and we were ready to go. 'Papa, would you mind waiting a few minutes?' I asked. Nearing the graves, I saw something different. It looked like a wild bush had grown up and practically covered the two little mounds. It made me angry to think that an old bush would dare grow so close to the graves. i took out my knife, intending to cut it down. When I walked up close enough to see what it was, I sucked in a mouthful of air and stopped. There between the graves, a beautiful red fern had sprung up from the rich mountain soil. It was fully two feet tall and its long red leaves had reached out in rainbow arches curved over the graves of my dogs. I had heard the old Indian legend about the red fern. How a little Indian boy and girl were lost in a blizzard and had frozen to death. In the spring, when they were found, a beautiful red fern had grown up between their two bodies. The story went on to say that only an angel could plant the seeds of a red fern, and that they never died where one grew, that spot was sacred. In a frightened voice, she shouted back, 'What is it, Billy? Are you all right?' 'Come here! And hurry! You won't believe it.' Remembering the meaning of the legend, I turned and started hollering for Mama. 'I'm all right, Mama,' I shouted, 'but hurry. Holding her long skirt in her hand and with a frightened look on her face, Mama came puffing up the hillside. Close behind her came Papa and my sisters.

'What is it, Billy?' Mama asked, in a scared voice. 'Look!' I said, pointing at the red fern. I heard her say, almost in a whisper, 'Oh-h-h-h, it's a red fern-a sacred red fern.' Staring wide-eyed, Mama gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. She walked over and very tenderly started fingering the long red leaves. In an awed voice, she said, 'All my life I've wanted to see one. 'Grandma told me the story, and I believe it, too.' Mama smiled and asked, 'Have you heard the legend?' 'Don't touch it, Mama,' my oldest sister whispered. With a serious look on his face, Papa said, 'These hills are full of legends. Up until now I've never paid much attention to them, but now I don't know.

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