Lots of black ice on wet roads causing chaos on the roads did not stop a full meeting of members each with very good stories. I could have voted for 3 as being equally as good but winning the most votes was Pat's Christmas story.
My story was about a chairman of the caravan club making a speech. Joan wrote about a lost engagement ring in a lake. Joan Read's story of ghosts past. Sally's told of a young girl having a fling with a celebrity. Ann's about a tree falling on the bungalow and a narrow escape. Brian's recounted a tale of a young man's brush with death. John told of rebellious elves and Rosemary gave an account of the birth of Jesus in a modern setting. Sue retold the story of the Jewish persecution.
Pat's story
Make you up a bed for the night….
Whilst idly looking at Facebook on Christmas Eve I read again the growing campaign to make Father Christmas more Politically Correct! Whatever next.
There was another campaign that I was keeping my eye on and that was to knock Simon Cowell off his pedestal. The public were getting restless at always having the winner of X Factor be number one at Christmas. There was a growing campaign for an older group from the U.S.A. to win…and yes...they had done it! Hooray. This wasn’t against the young lad who had won…it was new form of people power.
However, when we were all tucked up in bed I couldn’t sleep so crept softly downstairs to double-check the gifts for my husband and children.
Its odd how you can be sooo tired but can’t sleep. Just as I was about to return to bed, there was a splutter of soot and a slender figure in red appeared .Although his face was partially hidden by a flowing white beard I could see he was in pain. "My ankle, oo,ah,oo,ah" he cried. He hobbled over to the settee and with a despairing glance in my direction, he took out a red mobile phone and sent a message. " Is that you Mrs. Claus? Quick, I’ve sprained my ankle, forgot to wear the harness and hard hat we are supposed to wear. Please, please bring the reserve reindeer and deliver the rest of the gifts."
Whoosh, she was here sliding down the chimney skimming the sides,not a speck of soot. You see, they had both been told they were clinically over weight and were bad role models to the children. They had to change their image. The mince pie and brandy habit had to go too. Besides, you couldn’t be in charge of a sleigh ever so slightly tipsy these days.
What with Global Warming and all that, even Rudolph had to tone down his red nose.
It was no fun anymore. They both looked at me, then at the mince pies and brandy.
"Go, go" Santa said," I will rest here tonight, perhaps this kind lady will make me up a bed for the night." Whoosh, she was gone. Santa eyed the brandy and I eyed him and poured one for myself. Why hadn’t my husband heard the commotion? Santa looked so world weary and began to cry. "It’s not like the old days, too much Political Correctness! We have to be extra careful in our selection of toys. No small pieces, no balloons for under 5’s. No tot of brandy at each house. What’s the world coming to! In the majority of new houses we have to climb through the windows, no chimneys you see. Its all getting too much."
After his third brandy he stretched out on the settee and I covered him with our old plaid blanket.
I drifted off into an uneasy sleep in the armchair, dreaming of P C Santa’s looking like Posh and Becks. The sleigh was being pulled by muzzled reindeer, and Santa was being lowered by a hoist wearing his crash helmet. I woke with a start. Why was I on the settee? Where was Santa? The children came flying downstairs, the stockings were eagerly emptied, and they turned to the presents under the tree. I got swept up in the day.
Later that afternoon, my husband went to pour himself his favourite tipple. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he held up the bottle, there wasn’t enough for a decent drink!
End of serial
As she thought can I trust him. She heard someone screaming far far away, the scream spiralled into a cone that rushed and swirled, beating frantically like a heart beat trapped in oblivion and eventually disappearing into a black abyss. Had she died?.
She remembered terrible nightmares and hallucinations she was someone else! Sue, somebody, that was it, Arrow-Smith, but all those nightmares and crawling around in the darkness of her mind left her feeling bewildered.
“Wake up” Nancy. “Wake up”. Her eyelids fluttered. Her eyes slowly opened and focussed on people in white gowns and white masks covered their faces. Their eyes penetrating, watching her every movement. “Where am I” she whispered hoarsely?
“Its alright dear, you have been ill, are you feeling better now”? The voices floated back and forth like an echo chamber in her mind. Suddenly she remembered being strapped down on the table and feeling drowsy, something was pushed into her mouth that made her retch. She was not supposed to feel anything but the pain of the electric shock had made her pass out.
What was happening to her? they called her Nancy, she struggled against the bindings and tried to sit up. The tall man in the white gown said, “Now be a good girl, we are here to look after you and soon all those bad dreams and confusion will stop.” He turned and said brusquely “Sedate her nurse and get her back to her room. Then she was aware of a needle being jabbed into her arm.
She was wheeled on the stretcher along the white tiled corridors and eventually pushed into a cell like room. She was lifted from the stretcher and thrust onto her bed.
“Sleep well Nancy” the nurse said as she left the room. The door was shut and a key turned in the lock. A voice inside her head shouted for help.
In the darkness someone lifted her right eyelid, everything was a blur and out of focus, then the other eyelid was lifted and a light appeared. A muffled voice said “she is coming around”.
“Oh thank you, thank you Doctor, I thought we had lost her”.
“Mum, oh Mum, she sobbed.
The Doctor replied kindly “Nancy, you are an extremely lucky young lady, another half an hour and if you had not been found you would not have made it. The Police are waiting to question you when you feel better.
She panicked at the mention of the Police. What had happened? Her mother gently stroked her hair “You were with the girls on a night out and someone spiked your drink then you were found unconscious in an alley, we have been talking to you for two days and nights while you have been in a coma, so rest gently my darling you will be safe at home soon” her Mum said quietly.
Monday 21 December 2009
Monday 23 November 2009
23rd November meeting
John & Sheila's today Brian and Sally were unable to make it and as Sally is the current serial author this will now be left to December. The stories today were varied as usual Joan recounted the tale of the missing dog. Sheila of a garden and plants.Rosemary's was about a madcap tomboy. Ann's was of an allotment and pumpkins. John scared us with his tale of violence and blood. Sue had a spectre attending his funeral. Pat spoke of finding a body at Goodies in a bush - too many chips?
Joan Read the Royal Legion Remembrance.
Modestly I accepted their accolade of five votes to win this month's best story.
I assured him
I assured him of course, after all it doesn't cost money to utter a few meaningless words to a fellow human being. His wife was a push over a few smiles and extra attention she soon came on my side. My opinion is that if a person is so dumb as to believe in a promise more fool them. I left then, placing all the miniature double glazing windows I used to demonstrate how effective our windows are against draughts and burglars into my car boot. I didn't tell the two old white-haired pensioners they had two days cooling off period, it was money down and the deal was closed. £5,000 for eight windows. I laughed to myself, if pressured I would have come down to £3,000 as this last sale brought my monthly completed sales to the amount that triggered a higher percentage. Why there was such a fuss about ripping a few pensioners amused me. Obviously these two had out lived their usefulness their only function was to make use of the money they had stashed away to lubricate the economy. My economy in particular.
I've had a good run of luck this week five sales one bringing in £20,000.
I got behind the driving seat of my car, a new BMW, I liked to keep a good appearance of being successful, the suckers appreciated that. If you rolled up in a beaten Ford it made the sale even harder to achieve. I looked back at the Swinbourne's bungalow with its neat lawn and long driveway. The kind of place that would suit me perhaps when it came on the market and maybe that would not be too long going by the state of their health. I might put a bid in for it.
Having finished early with no more prospects I decided to make for home a small but quite nice flat I rented in Town. The thought of exotic Maranda my current squeeze being at home filled me with a frisson of excitement. I pressed the accelerator raising the speed past the legal limit as there was no speed traps along this stretch of the Motorway.
We had a heavy night out the day before and as her own flat was on the far side of the town she had come back with me. I hoped that she was taking the opportunity to get a meal ready. I fumbled in my pocket to bring out my cell phone to call her.
I heard it ring and ring finally it was picked up. Miranda? I asked.
A gruff voice snarled. Listen sucker if you ever take my girl back to your poncy flat again I'll break your leg. Do you hear me? I could hear crying and the sound of furniture breaking in the background. I've trashed your flat and you're lucky I haven't trashed you and with that he slammed the phone down. I was stunned and tried to ring again and as I fumbled with the key board I glanced up and there in front was a large timber lorry. Its load had come loose and seemingly streaking towards me the trunk of a heavy oak tree lined itself with my vision. I slammed on my brakes but I knew it was too late and in that second that seemed an eternity I regretted everything I'd done but it was too late.
Joan Read the Royal Legion Remembrance.
Modestly I accepted their accolade of five votes to win this month's best story.
I assured him
I assured him of course, after all it doesn't cost money to utter a few meaningless words to a fellow human being. His wife was a push over a few smiles and extra attention she soon came on my side. My opinion is that if a person is so dumb as to believe in a promise more fool them. I left then, placing all the miniature double glazing windows I used to demonstrate how effective our windows are against draughts and burglars into my car boot. I didn't tell the two old white-haired pensioners they had two days cooling off period, it was money down and the deal was closed. £5,000 for eight windows. I laughed to myself, if pressured I would have come down to £3,000 as this last sale brought my monthly completed sales to the amount that triggered a higher percentage. Why there was such a fuss about ripping a few pensioners amused me. Obviously these two had out lived their usefulness their only function was to make use of the money they had stashed away to lubricate the economy. My economy in particular.
I've had a good run of luck this week five sales one bringing in £20,000.
I got behind the driving seat of my car, a new BMW, I liked to keep a good appearance of being successful, the suckers appreciated that. If you rolled up in a beaten Ford it made the sale even harder to achieve. I looked back at the Swinbourne's bungalow with its neat lawn and long driveway. The kind of place that would suit me perhaps when it came on the market and maybe that would not be too long going by the state of their health. I might put a bid in for it.
Having finished early with no more prospects I decided to make for home a small but quite nice flat I rented in Town. The thought of exotic Maranda my current squeeze being at home filled me with a frisson of excitement. I pressed the accelerator raising the speed past the legal limit as there was no speed traps along this stretch of the Motorway.
We had a heavy night out the day before and as her own flat was on the far side of the town she had come back with me. I hoped that she was taking the opportunity to get a meal ready. I fumbled in my pocket to bring out my cell phone to call her.
I heard it ring and ring finally it was picked up. Miranda? I asked.
A gruff voice snarled. Listen sucker if you ever take my girl back to your poncy flat again I'll break your leg. Do you hear me? I could hear crying and the sound of furniture breaking in the background. I've trashed your flat and you're lucky I haven't trashed you and with that he slammed the phone down. I was stunned and tried to ring again and as I fumbled with the key board I glanced up and there in front was a large timber lorry. Its load had come loose and seemingly streaking towards me the trunk of a heavy oak tree lined itself with my vision. I slammed on my brakes but I knew it was too late and in that second that seemed an eternity I regretted everything I'd done but it was too late.
Monday 26 October 2009
October meeting
At Pat and Brian's on a sunny and warm day, ten in all. Rosemary started with a story of her nickname through the years as well as other members of the family. My story was of a war game where Bonaparte won at the battle of Waterloo. Joan's story of the farm. Joan Read of the death of a Polish human rights woman. Sally who won it all about a magical pigeon named Phyllis. Ann's story of a bronze stature in the lake. Brian continued his story from last time about Templars. John who almost won told of the building of the spitfire. Sheila was about meeting up over the years and pub lunches.
Sally's story
Totton U3A Creative Writing Group October 2009 Slender Well Proportioned Bodies
He often thought of the occasion of his retirement party when all his work colleagues said to him, "keep in touch Joe, we will miss you Man". At first he had one or two half hearted telephone calls of "how are you Joe, what have you been up to lately" there were never any invitations out and of course his reply was "great never been better and a string of lies came forth of imaginary holidays and outings he had enjoyed with supposed friends. Eventually no one rang at all.
Joe was a lonely man. At first he tried hard to fill his day. He went to the corner shop for the daily newspaper that took half an hour then he read the daily paper cover to cover and he was getting quicker at that. How could he fill the hours that lay ahead of him.
He had no purpose in life and gradually he found comfort in drinking, it was indeed the slippery slope, the drink made him brave and he tried to converse with passing strangers as he swayed back and forwards with a bottle in his hand. The strangers remained strangers to him as they averted their eyes and hurried past.
Time did pass but in a blurred haze of meaningless days and nights. "Oh! God help me" he cried out into the darkening shadows.
After one of these particular nights of self abuse he was awakened by a noise. His bleary bloodshot eyes focused on a tap, tap, tapping at the window, no one ever tapped on his window but there was a pigeon on the window sill. It cooed and cocked its head as if to say Hello. "Get away" Joe shouted and knocked fiercely on the glass. The pigeon flew off. Pigeons have a knack of always coming back and after several futile attempts, the pigeon spotted food elsewhere and flew away. The next day the same thing happened there was the pigeon sitting on the window sill and tapping on the glass. Joe banged on the window again and shouted abuse at the pigeon and off it flew.
Joe was disappointed that the bird did not return so the next morning he broke up some old crusts and made them into rough crumbs, he then opened the window and sprinkled the crumbs on the window sill. Down flew the pigeon and pecked at the crumbs, Joe named her Phyllis.
Phyllis became quite tame and sat on his finger he would coo and talk to her.
Joe started to go out to get titbits for Phyllis and now he had something to look forward to. He did not drink so much and he talked pleasantly to the shop assistants and hailed good morning to the neighbours that he passed on the stairs. He continued feeding the pigeon but one day Phyllis brought a friend and then another and another and very soon the window sill became congested with pigeons and the neighbours started to complain about the noise and the mess. The continuous banging and shouting from the neighbours caused so much disturbance that the pigeons left. Joe looked in vain for Phyllis and for several days there was no sight of her.
Then, tap, tap, tap there was Phyllis she cooed and cocked her head on the side but when
he opened window she flew off but she had just returned to tell him where she was.
With dismay Joe watched her until she landed in a park not far away, he noticed the
slender but well proportioned bodies of her friends scratching and pecking frantically for
food. He hurriedly put on his jacket and rushed down to the Bakers shop and bought
some of yesterday's bread, then he crossed the road to the park and sprinkled the bread
on the grass and sat on a park bench to watch them.
A lady came and sat down beside him and they were both delighted at the antics of the
pigeons. They chatted away as if they had always known one another and then came the
time to go. "Will you come tomorrow" Joe asked, "Yes" she said, and it is my turn to
bring the bread.
"Oh by the way, what is your name? said Joe.
She turned and with her head one side, she smiled shyly at him "Phyllis" she said as she
walked away.
THE 'CREATIVE WRITING' SERIAL!
[commenced Monday, 29th June 2009]
She came awake immediately, sitting up abruptly, her heart thumping crazily, her eyes wide and staring as they roved wildly around the room, trying to pierce the dense blackness, her ears straining for any sound. Had she been dreaming? She had no recollection. What had woken her in such a panic? She clutched the sheet under her chin and continued to listen intently.
Gradually, as the seconds ticked slowly by on the illuminated dial of the clock beside her bed, she began to relax. Her heartbeat slowed and she sank back on the pillows, her hands releasing their frantic grip on the sheet. She started to recognise the reassuringly familiar night noises; the rustling of the ivy outside the window in the breeze, the hoot of the resident owl in the old oak opposite her window and the usual creaking of the floor boards in the old house. Eventually her eyelids fluttered downwards as they became heavier and she started to drift off to sleep once more. Then she was wide awake again as she recognised the noise which had so abruptly awoken her before. There it was again. What was it? An alien sound intruding into the familiar, a sound which shouldn't be here in this time and place – and it came from the hall outside her bedroom door.
She lay there biting her lip a habit she had when she was nervous or afraid. She reached for her phone and then realised it was down stairs. She started to remember the stories her grandmother used to tell her about the house, which was about 300 years old.
For the past 200 years, generations of her family had lived here. In that time there had many births and deaths, which had all been recorded in the family diary. However the first 100 years were a mystery there was a legend that a great evil act had taken place but nobody knew exactly what but her grandmother was convinced the house was haunted. She always thought that this was her grandmother's imagination, after all, there was no such thing as ghosts. There was the sound again she knew she had to find the courage to open the bedroom door, she got out of bed and reached for her glasses put on her slippers and dressing gown something she was always told to do by her mother and started towards the door when she stopped, had the door handle moved she could hardly breath she watched, waiting for it to move again, eventually she told herself of course it did not move she took hold of the handle opened the door and stepped out onto the landing.
Before she could put the light on, she felt something brush past her legs. She screamed and froze rigid. Then the hall light went on and her son was coming towards her obviously worried and still half asleep. With the light on she could see that the thing that had brushed her legs was a bird - a big black bird that was still flapping its wings in fright, trying to find a way out. Her son took off his pyjama top and threw it over the bird. Then he opened a window and released it, watching the bird as it flew away, not appearing to be hurt at all. They went downstairs, checking that all the windows were shut. They got to the kitchen and made a welcome cup of tea and talked about what had happened. Once back in bed she made a mental note to find out how the bird had got into the house.
Back once more in bed, she tried in vain to sleep. She twisted and turned and sighed wearily as the grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway struck two o'clock. All in vain she tried to count sheep, but all she could see in her mind's eye was that huge, ugly, black bird and the feel of it against her legs. She thought again about her grandmother's conviction that the house was haunted, and remembered too how her mother who was ALSO superstitious, had said that seeing a big black bird was a bad omen......EVEN a harbinger of DEATH! She shuddered, and as she did so she heard what sounded like the breaking of crockery and a loud screech coming from downstairs. What in the world was happening? After all, there was no chimney in the house, and all the doors and windows were shut and locked, her son has made sure of that. Whatever could it be?
A dream of course. She breathed a sigh of relief from escaping the nightmare brought on by that bloody bird. The light, streaming through the thin curtains from the early morning sun lit the room in a friendly glow and warmth that reassured her of the benevolence of the universe. She felt silly to have even had the dream now, which was like all dreams fast fading away. She thought how could she have dreamt of there being no chimneys, the old house had one in every room. She laughed at the recollection. Her body was wet with sweat and she hastily got up to shower away the lingering feeling of something best forgotten. Throwing off her clothes she admired her splendid well-proportioned body in the full length mirror. "Sue Arrowsmith" she addressed herself " you are a lovely woman and the world loves you too." Sue smiled at her own vanity but firmly believed going through the little routine each morning. that it helped her to face the day Now reaching forty she had kept age at bay by vigorous exercise and good diet and aware that even now she attracted many an admiring look from both men and woman.
Having showered and changed into a tight fitting tunic dress in light pink she made her way downstairs. The postman had already delivered the mail and she picked up the post mostly rubbish with offers of cheaper assurances She then noticed an envelope stamped in the USA, her heart leaped.
She checked the postmark, yes it was from California, and the handwriting was that of her ex husband, who she had divorced ten years ago. The name on the envelope read SUE ARROWSMTH? Heavily under lined, with a question mark after her name. It was post marked San Francisco five days ago. He had been sent to jail seven years ago, for his part in one of the biggest armoured car robberies in the state, one of the guards had been shot, but not killed. The gang had been caught a few weeks later, but only half of the nine million dollars worth of diamonds were ever found. As he was only the driver of the getaway car, he was jailed for ten years, but three years off for good behaviour.
As Sue had given evidence against him, she had been placed under the witness protection programme; she and her son given new names, passports, and moved to England, " Sue Arrowsmith" was her NEW name.
With trembling fingers she tore open the envelope, her stomach started to churn, her mouth went dry. There was only one page, in bright red ink in big block letters. " HI HONEY, WHERE IS MY MONEY? I WILL BE SEEING YOU SOON" LOVE. CHUCK.
How did he find her? Even her mother did not know. But then she remembered that, many years ago before they were married he had been a private detective, so for him, he would still have contacts. I will have to contact my minder, and show him this letter.
But... can I trust him?
Sally's story
Totton U3A Creative Writing Group October 2009 Slender Well Proportioned Bodies
He often thought of the occasion of his retirement party when all his work colleagues said to him, "keep in touch Joe, we will miss you Man". At first he had one or two half hearted telephone calls of "how are you Joe, what have you been up to lately" there were never any invitations out and of course his reply was "great never been better and a string of lies came forth of imaginary holidays and outings he had enjoyed with supposed friends. Eventually no one rang at all.
Joe was a lonely man. At first he tried hard to fill his day. He went to the corner shop for the daily newspaper that took half an hour then he read the daily paper cover to cover and he was getting quicker at that. How could he fill the hours that lay ahead of him.
He had no purpose in life and gradually he found comfort in drinking, it was indeed the slippery slope, the drink made him brave and he tried to converse with passing strangers as he swayed back and forwards with a bottle in his hand. The strangers remained strangers to him as they averted their eyes and hurried past.
Time did pass but in a blurred haze of meaningless days and nights. "Oh! God help me" he cried out into the darkening shadows.
After one of these particular nights of self abuse he was awakened by a noise. His bleary bloodshot eyes focused on a tap, tap, tapping at the window, no one ever tapped on his window but there was a pigeon on the window sill. It cooed and cocked its head as if to say Hello. "Get away" Joe shouted and knocked fiercely on the glass. The pigeon flew off. Pigeons have a knack of always coming back and after several futile attempts, the pigeon spotted food elsewhere and flew away. The next day the same thing happened there was the pigeon sitting on the window sill and tapping on the glass. Joe banged on the window again and shouted abuse at the pigeon and off it flew.
Joe was disappointed that the bird did not return so the next morning he broke up some old crusts and made them into rough crumbs, he then opened the window and sprinkled the crumbs on the window sill. Down flew the pigeon and pecked at the crumbs, Joe named her Phyllis.
Phyllis became quite tame and sat on his finger he would coo and talk to her.
Joe started to go out to get titbits for Phyllis and now he had something to look forward to. He did not drink so much and he talked pleasantly to the shop assistants and hailed good morning to the neighbours that he passed on the stairs. He continued feeding the pigeon but one day Phyllis brought a friend and then another and another and very soon the window sill became congested with pigeons and the neighbours started to complain about the noise and the mess. The continuous banging and shouting from the neighbours caused so much disturbance that the pigeons left. Joe looked in vain for Phyllis and for several days there was no sight of her.
Then, tap, tap, tap there was Phyllis she cooed and cocked her head on the side but when
he opened window she flew off but she had just returned to tell him where she was.
With dismay Joe watched her until she landed in a park not far away, he noticed the
slender but well proportioned bodies of her friends scratching and pecking frantically for
food. He hurriedly put on his jacket and rushed down to the Bakers shop and bought
some of yesterday's bread, then he crossed the road to the park and sprinkled the bread
on the grass and sat on a park bench to watch them.
A lady came and sat down beside him and they were both delighted at the antics of the
pigeons. They chatted away as if they had always known one another and then came the
time to go. "Will you come tomorrow" Joe asked, "Yes" she said, and it is my turn to
bring the bread.
"Oh by the way, what is your name? said Joe.
She turned and with her head one side, she smiled shyly at him "Phyllis" she said as she
walked away.
THE 'CREATIVE WRITING' SERIAL!
[commenced Monday, 29th June 2009]
She came awake immediately, sitting up abruptly, her heart thumping crazily, her eyes wide and staring as they roved wildly around the room, trying to pierce the dense blackness, her ears straining for any sound. Had she been dreaming? She had no recollection. What had woken her in such a panic? She clutched the sheet under her chin and continued to listen intently.
Gradually, as the seconds ticked slowly by on the illuminated dial of the clock beside her bed, she began to relax. Her heartbeat slowed and she sank back on the pillows, her hands releasing their frantic grip on the sheet. She started to recognise the reassuringly familiar night noises; the rustling of the ivy outside the window in the breeze, the hoot of the resident owl in the old oak opposite her window and the usual creaking of the floor boards in the old house. Eventually her eyelids fluttered downwards as they became heavier and she started to drift off to sleep once more. Then she was wide awake again as she recognised the noise which had so abruptly awoken her before. There it was again. What was it? An alien sound intruding into the familiar, a sound which shouldn't be here in this time and place – and it came from the hall outside her bedroom door.
She lay there biting her lip a habit she had when she was nervous or afraid. She reached for her phone and then realised it was down stairs. She started to remember the stories her grandmother used to tell her about the house, which was about 300 years old.
For the past 200 years, generations of her family had lived here. In that time there had many births and deaths, which had all been recorded in the family diary. However the first 100 years were a mystery there was a legend that a great evil act had taken place but nobody knew exactly what but her grandmother was convinced the house was haunted. She always thought that this was her grandmother's imagination, after all, there was no such thing as ghosts. There was the sound again she knew she had to find the courage to open the bedroom door, she got out of bed and reached for her glasses put on her slippers and dressing gown something she was always told to do by her mother and started towards the door when she stopped, had the door handle moved she could hardly breath she watched, waiting for it to move again, eventually she told herself of course it did not move she took hold of the handle opened the door and stepped out onto the landing.
Before she could put the light on, she felt something brush past her legs. She screamed and froze rigid. Then the hall light went on and her son was coming towards her obviously worried and still half asleep. With the light on she could see that the thing that had brushed her legs was a bird - a big black bird that was still flapping its wings in fright, trying to find a way out. Her son took off his pyjama top and threw it over the bird. Then he opened a window and released it, watching the bird as it flew away, not appearing to be hurt at all. They went downstairs, checking that all the windows were shut. They got to the kitchen and made a welcome cup of tea and talked about what had happened. Once back in bed she made a mental note to find out how the bird had got into the house.
Back once more in bed, she tried in vain to sleep. She twisted and turned and sighed wearily as the grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway struck two o'clock. All in vain she tried to count sheep, but all she could see in her mind's eye was that huge, ugly, black bird and the feel of it against her legs. She thought again about her grandmother's conviction that the house was haunted, and remembered too how her mother who was ALSO superstitious, had said that seeing a big black bird was a bad omen......EVEN a harbinger of DEATH! She shuddered, and as she did so she heard what sounded like the breaking of crockery and a loud screech coming from downstairs. What in the world was happening? After all, there was no chimney in the house, and all the doors and windows were shut and locked, her son has made sure of that. Whatever could it be?
A dream of course. She breathed a sigh of relief from escaping the nightmare brought on by that bloody bird. The light, streaming through the thin curtains from the early morning sun lit the room in a friendly glow and warmth that reassured her of the benevolence of the universe. She felt silly to have even had the dream now, which was like all dreams fast fading away. She thought how could she have dreamt of there being no chimneys, the old house had one in every room. She laughed at the recollection. Her body was wet with sweat and she hastily got up to shower away the lingering feeling of something best forgotten. Throwing off her clothes she admired her splendid well-proportioned body in the full length mirror. "Sue Arrowsmith" she addressed herself " you are a lovely woman and the world loves you too." Sue smiled at her own vanity but firmly believed going through the little routine each morning. that it helped her to face the day Now reaching forty she had kept age at bay by vigorous exercise and good diet and aware that even now she attracted many an admiring look from both men and woman.
Having showered and changed into a tight fitting tunic dress in light pink she made her way downstairs. The postman had already delivered the mail and she picked up the post mostly rubbish with offers of cheaper assurances She then noticed an envelope stamped in the USA, her heart leaped.
She checked the postmark, yes it was from California, and the handwriting was that of her ex husband, who she had divorced ten years ago. The name on the envelope read SUE ARROWSMTH? Heavily under lined, with a question mark after her name. It was post marked San Francisco five days ago. He had been sent to jail seven years ago, for his part in one of the biggest armoured car robberies in the state, one of the guards had been shot, but not killed. The gang had been caught a few weeks later, but only half of the nine million dollars worth of diamonds were ever found. As he was only the driver of the getaway car, he was jailed for ten years, but three years off for good behaviour.
As Sue had given evidence against him, she had been placed under the witness protection programme; she and her son given new names, passports, and moved to England, " Sue Arrowsmith" was her NEW name.
With trembling fingers she tore open the envelope, her stomach started to churn, her mouth went dry. There was only one page, in bright red ink in big block letters. " HI HONEY, WHERE IS MY MONEY? I WILL BE SEEING YOU SOON" LOVE. CHUCK.
How did he find her? Even her mother did not know. But then she remembered that, many years ago before they were married he had been a private detective, so for him, he would still have contacts. I will have to contact my minder, and show him this letter.
But... can I trust him?
Sunday 27 September 2009
September's meeting
We were all surprised by the variation of stories this month, philosophical, historical, fantasy, science fiction and commentary. Joan E wrote about being lost on a mountain. Joan R on moving to France. Sue a desperate couple try wing walking. Sheila's a holiday romance. Ann's story of missing children in time. Sally's a dog with its pups. Rosemary continued her story about her German life long friend.
But the two winning entries were Brian's historical story on the Templar's and my story on teleportation.
Brian's story first
But the two winning entries were Brian's historical story on the Templar's and my story on teleportation.
Brian's story first
THEY ARE ON THE BRINK.
Philip of France swept his hand carelessly across the table,
sending parchments scattering.
"You heard what the treasurer had to say, the Royal coffers are
all but empty. How do I fight a war, put down these rebellions
when I cannot afford to put an army in the field." He rose and
began to pace, " and yet I must. If I do not take action, my
people will think me feeble".
" My Lord, there is one....
"I must think Monk," Philip thrusting his hands into his hair, " I
cannot tax the clergy." Monk took a step forward, trying to distract Philip's
concentration. " The Jews" Philip snatched a parchment from the floor and
waved it at Monk. "My Grandfather did this when he needed funds."
" What my Lord" He exiled the Jews. Confiscated their money, property, and
drove them out from the kingdom.
" But, my Lord" said Monk. " The plan has merit and will
generate a large income quickly, enough I would wager to
mount a small campaign. The funds would dry up quickly and
we would have to forsake the yearly tribute the Jews pay us.
The Jews are rich, certainly, but they are relatively small group.
How do you obtain enough wealth to sustain the Royal domains
you already secured as well as expand your land in the coming
years?" Monk smiled when Philip shook his head.
"THE TEMPLARS" Philip frowned, but Monk continued swiftly, " The church aside
the Temple is the largest most affluent organisation in
Christendom. The Order owns property throughout Europe,
hundreds of manors and estates; many generate their own
income through farming, they even govern several small towns"
Monk was now pacing, " They own mills and bakehouses, shops
and vineyards. They are moneylenders, given special
dispensation from the Pope to collect interest, as the Jews do, on
those debts. They have a fleet of ships; you can take theirs, as
yours was never completed.
" Monk, murmured Philip.
The minister spoke on not hearing, "no doubt they possess vaults full of treasures and holy relics, which could create
revenue from pilgrims."
"There would be an uproar", said Philip.
"Would there, you know how many people blame the Knights
for the loss of the Holy Lands when we first learned of Acres
fall. My lord the people do not care for crusading any more. They
care that their kingdom is strong and safe from attack." " But the pope is the only power on this earth who has any
authority over them" "We can deal with the dwindling fortunes and Pope Clements in
one swoop, the pope is our man"
Monk continued " I have thought about this long and hard, men are in place, and at your command will move and arrest all the
Templars at the same time"
"Can it be done soon," asks Philip.
"Yes Lord, in three weeks time.
How about Friday, October 13th."
"Good" said Philip, let it be done."
The first of the eighteen ships slid alongside the jetty. Men
grabbed the ropes that were thrown to them and looped them
through iron rings pulling off the slack to steady the vessel.
The gangplanks were set down with a clatter and a host of men
began to disembark, their faces brown and rough with sun and
wind. The white mantles they wore were sodden from the fog
that clung to the river and flowed sluggishly around the mast of
their ship, where a piebald banner hung limp.
Will, one of the Knights went to the ships side as the men in front
of him made their way down. He headed for the planks where
the last of the knights were disembarking. A voice behind him
said The Grand Master wants us to walk with him at the van, I think he might have forgotten how to get to the castle; it has
been 30 years when he was last here.
The voice was of his friend Richard. They had fought together in the Holy Land, and were one of the last Knights Templars to
leave.
The Grand Master Jacques de Molay was a bull of a man, in his
early 50's, with course grey hair that fell in thick waves around
his shoulders. Like all Templars he wore a beard, clipped and
neat. " Speak to the Seneschal and find out where he has planned to
place the groups treasury and the Special objects. Take six
knights and twelve sergeants with you. Then tell the captain to
have the fleet over hauled and provisioned ready to sail to
England on the 12th October" Just then a young boy ran up to Will, placed a piece of
parchment in his hand, and ran off.
For a moment he stared after the boy, then opened the note.
BEWARE OF PHILIP; THEY ARE ON THE BRINK OF
DESTROYING YOU ALL.
It was signed A FRIEND.
My entry
They are on the brink
They are on the brink of succeeding in teleportation according to the initial press release I was reading. I doubted that very much, it is 2009 not 2090, no way can any science lab do that. I was still curious though it would be a good excuse to get away from the office. I work as an assistant editor so I can justify any absence from the Globe a syndicated newspaper known for its well researched reporting. I had worked in the science supplement section for twelve years before promotion to the current position and have always kept an interest in anything new from the science community.
Richardson the section head had come to me that morning asking if we would cover the event and what was my opinion, Did I think it a joke or could it be possible. We both new that quantum physics had proven in an experiment that parts of an atom even when separated by vast distances kept in touch and would be affected like twins are supposed to be aware of each others feelings. I decided that it could not be a hoax as the company had a good reputation and would hardly call a major seminar to demonstrate the more than ground breaking event.
I told Richardson we ought to both cover it as it was so important. He quite liked the idea despite his obvious disbelief. The usual hospitality was exceptional at HiCorp's two acre development centre in Blanding, located in southeastern Utah. It was a week away so during that time I found out as much as I could about the company. It was well respected and with a rich benefactor contributing billions of dollars it unlike many other companies in research did not use government funding and especially not military funding. If it had been military there would have been no public announcements and a total secrecy would have been maintained. The day came I met up with Richardson and we took a press van with recording equipment as this if it worked would be major news and we now like most newspapers had a video presence on the Internet.
The company was out side of the town in what was previously desert I read that when the company was first built the stipulation ws that all of it had to be self efficient with its own power and water. I was looking forward to meeting the CEO of the company apart from seeing the demonstration of teleportation.
We were not far from the destination when we were met with a road block manned by the army. The road only led to the HiCorp so it was obvious that the press call for the teleportation had brought out the military in force. Despite our pleading that we were invited it cut no ice with the four heavily armed but seemingly uninformed state guards who vigorously told using no certain terms that we had no business being there.
Reluctantly I turned around and drove back the way we came. It made no sense, why the blockade? "Stop!" Richardson said suddenly. "We are out of their sight and this is a four wheel drive all purpose vehicle we don't need a road, let's cut across over the desert it is only a couple of miles and they are not likely to cover the whole area with troops. Something big must be happening to bring in the state guard, we can't afford to miss it." It didn't take me long to agree, it was exciting to take part in what could be an historic event so without saying anything I gunned the Suburu out into the arid dust bowl that was the Utah desert. It took only a quarter of an hour to get within sight of the huge complex but all they could see was a circular cup shape at least 200 feet in depth and diameter. "Jesus", Richardson exclaimed. "they've teleported the whole bloody works!" "Whatever happened here" he mutttered his voice betraying the awe and fear we both felt.
I knew instinctively that was one question we would never know the answer to.
THE 'CREATIVE WRITING' SERIAL!
[commenced Monday, 29th June 2009]
She came awake immediately, sitting up abruptly, her heart thumping crazily, her eyes wide and staring as they roved wildly around the room, trying to pierce the dense blackness, her ears straining for any sound. Had she been dreaming? She had no recollection. What had woken her in such a panic? She clutched the sheet under her chin and continued to listen intently.
Gradually, as the seconds ticked slowly by on the illuminated dial of the clock beside her bed, she began to relax. Her heartbeat slowed and she sank back on the pillows, her hands releasing their frantic grip on the sheet. She started to recognise the reassuringly familiar night noises; the rustling of the ivy outside the window in the breeze, the hoot of the resident owl in the old oak opposite her window and the usual creaking of the floor boards in the old house. Eventually her eyelids fluttered downwards as they became heavier and she started to drift off to sleep once more. Then she was wide awake again as she recognised the noise which had so abruptly awoken her before. There it was again. What was it? An alien sound intruding into the familiar, a sound which shouldn't be here in this time and place – and it came from the hall outside her bedroom door.
She lay there biting her lip a habit she had when she was nervous or afraid. She reached for her phone and then realised it was down stairs. She started to remember the stories her grandmother used to tell her about the house, which was about 300 years old.
For the past 200 years, generations of her family had lived here. In that time there had many births and deaths, which had all been recorded in the family diary. However the first 100 years were a mystery there was a legend that a great evil act had taken place but nobody knew exactly what but her grandmother was convinced the house was haunted. She always thought that this was her grandmother's imagination, after all, there was no such thing as ghosts. There was the sound again she knew she had to find the courage to open the bedroom door, she got out of bed and reached for her glasses put on her slippers and dressing gown something she was always told to do by her mother and started towards the door when she stopped, had the door handle moved she could hardly breath she watched, waiting for it to move again, eventually she told herself of course it did not move she took hold of the handle opened the door and stepped out onto the landing.
Before she could put the light on, she felt something brush past her legs. She screamed and froze rigid. Then the hall light went on and her son was coming towards her obviously worried and still half asleep. With the light on she could see that the thing that had brushed her legs was a bird - a big black bird that was still flapping its wings in fright, trying to find a way out. Her son took off his pyjama top and threw it over the bird. Then he opened a window and released it, watching the bird as it flew away, not appearing to be hurt at all. They went downstairs, checking that all the windows were shut. They got to the kitchen and made a welcome cup of tea and talked about what had happened. Once back in bed she made a mental note to find out how the bird had got into the house.
Back once more in bed, she tried in vain to sleep. She twisted and turned and sighed wearily as the grandfather clock in the downstairs hallway struck two o'clock. All in vain she tried to count sheep, but all she could see in her mind's eye was that huge, ugly, black bird and the feel of it against her legs. She thought again about her grandmother's conviction that the house was haunted, and remembered too how her mother who was ALSO superstitious, had said that seeing a big black bird was a bad omen......EVEN a harbinger of DEATH! She shuddered, and as she did so she heard what sounded like the breaking of crockery and a loud screech coming from downstairs. What in the world was happening? After all, there was no chimney in the house, and all the doors and windows were shut and locked, her son has made sure of that. Whatever could it be?
A dream of course. She breathed a sigh of relief from escaping the nightmare brought on by that bloody bird. The light, streaming through the thin curtains from the early morning sun lit the room in a friendly glow and warmth that reassured her of the benevolence of the universe. She felt silly to have even had the dream now, which was like all dreams fast fading away. She thought how could she have dreamt of there being no chimneys, the old house had one in every room. She laughed at the recollection. Her body was wet with sweat and she hastily got up to shower away the lingering feeling of something best forgotten. Throwing off her clothes she admired her splendid well-proportioned body in the full length mirror. "Sue Arrowsmith" she addressed herself " you are a lovely woman and the world loves you too." Sue smiled at her own vanity but firmly believed going through the little routine each morning. that it helped her to face the day Now reaching forty she had kept age at bay by vigorous exercise and good diet and aware that even now she attracted many an admiring look from both men and woman.
Having showered and changed into a tight fitting tunic dress in light pink she made her way downstairs. The postman had already delivered the mail and she picked up the post mostly rubbish with offers of cheaper assurances She then noticed an envelope stamped in the USA, her heart leaped.
Monday 31 August 2009
31st August meeting
Joan and Jacks today with several notable absences Pat & Brian, Sally and Sue.
Sue sent us her story, which I read out first, detailed her introduction to serious walking with its scary finish wading through the sea. Ann told of the mysterious green ink correspondence. John recounted the story of the brave Major. Joan let her imagination take us to the USA and a teenagers life with her friend George the horse.
Sheila told of her friendship that faltered when she found her playmate had a nasty side to her. Rosemary told of a time when memories were unbending in dislike of the Germans. Joan related how her childhood farm came on the market with pictures on the Internet. I told of what might be Prince Phillip's view of life.
Rosemary won the popular vote.
Next month "They are on the brink" chez nous
A FRIEND OF MINE
I want to tell you about a friend of mine. We first met when she was 12 and I was 14, and we attended school together for a short while. At first she was very different to any friend I'd had before, and it took some time for us to begin to know and understand one another. But once we did, our friendship was sealed -FOR LIFE! Friendship is a wonderful thing, especially when it spans the generations as ours has done!
I can't begin to tell you how many hours we spent talking and giggling together - and over the most RIDICULOUS things! It seemed that we were on the same wavelength in so many many ways, and we grew closer than I'd ever been with other friends that I'd grown up with and known for years before she came into my life.
I was virtually an only child because my sister is much older than me and was married once she was demobbed after the War. My new friend actually WAS an only child - but unlike me she didn't have a father. He had been posted "missing, presumed dead" during the War. Yet both she and her Mother had never given up hope that one day, ONE DAY, he would turn up. She spoke a lot about him and obviously still vaguely remembered him, and was absolutely CONVINCED that he WAS alive somewhere or other. Maybe, she said, he had lost his memory, or perhaps he had been badly wounded and was even yet still recovering somewhere. She talked like this when she was at our house and my Mum would always have to wipe away a tear, and my Dad who was the kindest and gentlest man anyway, went out of his way to make her welcome in our home.
Whenever we went out on trips in my Dad's 1930s Ford 8 (top speed 28 m.p.h.!) she would come with us. So there are old photos of us at Whipsnade Zoo, outside Windsor Castle, and enjoying many many picnics in the beautiful Oxfordshire and Cotswold countryside. Soon my friend began to call my Dad her SECOND DADDY, and yes, we WERE just like sisters together, sharing our lives as much as possible during the fairly brief time of our friendship together - for sadly the day came when she left Oxford, left school, and left me behind too. Yet the miles between us didn't in any way break our friendship, as letters flew back and forth. Neither of our families had a telephone, and of course there were no mobile phones in those days!
As I said before, a friendship which spans the generations is something very special indeed, and that's exactly what happened to my friend and I. Years later she, her husband, and 2 young sons came to stay with us in Oxford, and it was as though the years apart were gone in a trice. Her boys made a great fuss of our baby daughter. But her eldest son wasn't so happy a few years later when we visited them with our 2 children, and my daughter followed this now 11 year old lad everywhere with adoring eyes! He even went out of the house early each morning in an attempt to escape from her!
Over the years there have been many other get-togethers of our two families - the children now adults of course, and last time we visited them it was to be introduced to my friend's 3 lovely grandchildren!
During their last visit to us they were absolutely AMAZED when we took them to Exbury Gardens, and my friend's husband took countless photos to prove to THEIR friends and neighbours that rhododendrons and azaleas really DO grow that huge and glorious in the South of England! Sadly, because of her husband's failing health my friend said it would probably be the last time they'd make the journey to visit us, so now its down to phone-calls, Christmas cards and the occasional letter enclosing the latest photos of our families.
SO JUST WHY IS THIS FRIEND OF MINE AND OUR LONG FRIENDSHIP SO INCREDIBLY SPECIAL? Well, Wilma is GERMAN and, like one of two other German children in previous years, she came to stay with us for 3 months in 1954 through an organization called "The International Help for Children". Each year 2 coachloads of children from all over Germany were brought to Oxford to become part of English families for 3 months. They were all children who had suffered during the War - perhaps been injured, made homeless, or orphaned etc.
Each year before they came our neighbours would ask my parents "You're SURELY not going to have a GERMAN CHILD again this year, "are you?" "They're the enemy" and my Mum would reply "Yes, because if there's any hope of lasting peace between our two countries, then I believe the CHILDREN becoming friends must help. After all, there must have been thousands of ordinary Germans who didn't want this War any more than WE did." Despite my Mum's words, every year those neighbours sent our family to Coventry, refusing to speak to us or have anything else to do with us for weeks both before and after the children came, as well as during their stay.
Contrary to her hopes and conviction, Wilma1s father NEVER returned, and although MY Dad died just 3 years after her time with us, she STILL speaks of him as her SECOND DADDY, or her ENGLISH DADDY - and she even told her husband Willi that she fell in love and married HIM simply because he reminded her of her SECOND DADDY! So THIS is Wilma, A VERY SPECIAL FRIEND OF MINE!
Continuation of the serial
Gradually, as the seconds ticked slowly by on the illuminated dial of the clock beside her bed, she began to relax. Her heartbeat slowed and she sank back on the pillows, her hands releasing their frantic grip on the sheet. She started to recognise the reassuringly familiar night noises; the rustling of the ivy outside the window in the breeze, the hoot of the resident owl in the old oak opposite her window and the usual creaking of the floor boards in the old house. Eventually her eyelids fluttered downwards as they became heavier and she started to drift off to sleep once more. Then she was wide awake again as she recognised the noise which had so abruptly awoken her before. There it was again. What was it? An alien sound intruding into the familiar, a sound which shouldn't be here in this time and place –and it came from the hall outside her bedroom door.
She lay there biting her lip a habit she had when she was nervous or afraid she reached for her phone and then realised it was down stairs. She started to remember the stories her grandmother used to tell her about the house, which was about 300 years old for the past 200 years, generations of her family had lived here. In that time there had many births and deaths, which had all been recorded in the family diary. However the first 100 years were a mystery there was a legend that a great evil act had taken place but nobody knew exactly what but her grandmother was convinced the house was haunted. She always thought that this was her grandmother’s imagination after all there was no such thing as ghosts. There was the sound again she knew she had to find the courage to open the bedroom door she got out of bed and reached for her glasses put on her slippers and dressing gown something she was always told to do by her mother and started towards the door when she stopped, had the door handle moved she could hardly breath she watched, waiting for it to move again, eventually she told herself of course it did not move she took hold of the handle opened the door and stepped out onto the landing.
Before she could put the light on, she felt something brush past her legs. She screamed and froze ridged. Then the hall light went on and her son was coming towards her obviously worried and still half asleep. With the light on she could see that the thing that had brushed her legs was a bird - a big black bird that was still flapping its wings in fright, trying to find a way out. Her son took off his pyjama top and threw it over the bird. Then he opened a window and released it, watching the bird as it flew away, not appearing to be hurt at all. They went downstairs, checking that all the windows were shut. They got to the kitchen and made a welcome cup of tea and talked about what had happened. Once back in bed she made a mental note to find out how the bird had got into the house.
Sue sent us her story, which I read out first, detailed her introduction to serious walking with its scary finish wading through the sea. Ann told of the mysterious green ink correspondence. John recounted the story of the brave Major. Joan let her imagination take us to the USA and a teenagers life with her friend George the horse.
Sheila told of her friendship that faltered when she found her playmate had a nasty side to her. Rosemary told of a time when memories were unbending in dislike of the Germans. Joan related how her childhood farm came on the market with pictures on the Internet. I told of what might be Prince Phillip's view of life.
Rosemary won the popular vote.
Next month "They are on the brink" chez nous
A FRIEND OF MINE
I want to tell you about a friend of mine. We first met when she was 12 and I was 14, and we attended school together for a short while. At first she was very different to any friend I'd had before, and it took some time for us to begin to know and understand one another. But once we did, our friendship was sealed -FOR LIFE! Friendship is a wonderful thing, especially when it spans the generations as ours has done!
I can't begin to tell you how many hours we spent talking and giggling together - and over the most RIDICULOUS things! It seemed that we were on the same wavelength in so many many ways, and we grew closer than I'd ever been with other friends that I'd grown up with and known for years before she came into my life.
I was virtually an only child because my sister is much older than me and was married once she was demobbed after the War. My new friend actually WAS an only child - but unlike me she didn't have a father. He had been posted "missing, presumed dead" during the War. Yet both she and her Mother had never given up hope that one day, ONE DAY, he would turn up. She spoke a lot about him and obviously still vaguely remembered him, and was absolutely CONVINCED that he WAS alive somewhere or other. Maybe, she said, he had lost his memory, or perhaps he had been badly wounded and was even yet still recovering somewhere. She talked like this when she was at our house and my Mum would always have to wipe away a tear, and my Dad who was the kindest and gentlest man anyway, went out of his way to make her welcome in our home.
Whenever we went out on trips in my Dad's 1930s Ford 8 (top speed 28 m.p.h.!) she would come with us. So there are old photos of us at Whipsnade Zoo, outside Windsor Castle, and enjoying many many picnics in the beautiful Oxfordshire and Cotswold countryside. Soon my friend began to call my Dad her SECOND DADDY, and yes, we WERE just like sisters together, sharing our lives as much as possible during the fairly brief time of our friendship together - for sadly the day came when she left Oxford, left school, and left me behind too. Yet the miles between us didn't in any way break our friendship, as letters flew back and forth. Neither of our families had a telephone, and of course there were no mobile phones in those days!
As I said before, a friendship which spans the generations is something very special indeed, and that's exactly what happened to my friend and I. Years later she, her husband, and 2 young sons came to stay with us in Oxford, and it was as though the years apart were gone in a trice. Her boys made a great fuss of our baby daughter. But her eldest son wasn't so happy a few years later when we visited them with our 2 children, and my daughter followed this now 11 year old lad everywhere with adoring eyes! He even went out of the house early each morning in an attempt to escape from her!
Over the years there have been many other get-togethers of our two families - the children now adults of course, and last time we visited them it was to be introduced to my friend's 3 lovely grandchildren!
During their last visit to us they were absolutely AMAZED when we took them to Exbury Gardens, and my friend's husband took countless photos to prove to THEIR friends and neighbours that rhododendrons and azaleas really DO grow that huge and glorious in the South of England! Sadly, because of her husband's failing health my friend said it would probably be the last time they'd make the journey to visit us, so now its down to phone-calls, Christmas cards and the occasional letter enclosing the latest photos of our families.
SO JUST WHY IS THIS FRIEND OF MINE AND OUR LONG FRIENDSHIP SO INCREDIBLY SPECIAL? Well, Wilma is GERMAN and, like one of two other German children in previous years, she came to stay with us for 3 months in 1954 through an organization called "The International Help for Children". Each year 2 coachloads of children from all over Germany were brought to Oxford to become part of English families for 3 months. They were all children who had suffered during the War - perhaps been injured, made homeless, or orphaned etc.
Each year before they came our neighbours would ask my parents "You're SURELY not going to have a GERMAN CHILD again this year, "are you?" "They're the enemy" and my Mum would reply "Yes, because if there's any hope of lasting peace between our two countries, then I believe the CHILDREN becoming friends must help. After all, there must have been thousands of ordinary Germans who didn't want this War any more than WE did." Despite my Mum's words, every year those neighbours sent our family to Coventry, refusing to speak to us or have anything else to do with us for weeks both before and after the children came, as well as during their stay.
Contrary to her hopes and conviction, Wilma1s father NEVER returned, and although MY Dad died just 3 years after her time with us, she STILL speaks of him as her SECOND DADDY, or her ENGLISH DADDY - and she even told her husband Willi that she fell in love and married HIM simply because he reminded her of her SECOND DADDY! So THIS is Wilma, A VERY SPECIAL FRIEND OF MINE!
Continuation of the serial
Gradually, as the seconds ticked slowly by on the illuminated dial of the clock beside her bed, she began to relax. Her heartbeat slowed and she sank back on the pillows, her hands releasing their frantic grip on the sheet. She started to recognise the reassuringly familiar night noises; the rustling of the ivy outside the window in the breeze, the hoot of the resident owl in the old oak opposite her window and the usual creaking of the floor boards in the old house. Eventually her eyelids fluttered downwards as they became heavier and she started to drift off to sleep once more. Then she was wide awake again as she recognised the noise which had so abruptly awoken her before. There it was again. What was it? An alien sound intruding into the familiar, a sound which shouldn't be here in this time and place –and it came from the hall outside her bedroom door.
She lay there biting her lip a habit she had when she was nervous or afraid she reached for her phone and then realised it was down stairs. She started to remember the stories her grandmother used to tell her about the house, which was about 300 years old for the past 200 years, generations of her family had lived here. In that time there had many births and deaths, which had all been recorded in the family diary. However the first 100 years were a mystery there was a legend that a great evil act had taken place but nobody knew exactly what but her grandmother was convinced the house was haunted. She always thought that this was her grandmother’s imagination after all there was no such thing as ghosts. There was the sound again she knew she had to find the courage to open the bedroom door she got out of bed and reached for her glasses put on her slippers and dressing gown something she was always told to do by her mother and started towards the door when she stopped, had the door handle moved she could hardly breath she watched, waiting for it to move again, eventually she told herself of course it did not move she took hold of the handle opened the door and stepped out onto the landing.
Before she could put the light on, she felt something brush past her legs. She screamed and froze ridged. Then the hall light went on and her son was coming towards her obviously worried and still half asleep. With the light on she could see that the thing that had brushed her legs was a bird - a big black bird that was still flapping its wings in fright, trying to find a way out. Her son took off his pyjama top and threw it over the bird. Then he opened a window and released it, watching the bird as it flew away, not appearing to be hurt at all. They went downstairs, checking that all the windows were shut. They got to the kitchen and made a welcome cup of tea and talked about what had happened. Once back in bed she made a mental note to find out how the bird had got into the house.
Monday 27 July 2009
July Meeting
We met at John's today just nine of us. Joan, last month's winner continued the serial about the creepy old house that Sue started. A varied offering of stories which made choosing the winner difficult and the votes were well spread out. Sue's story was read out by Pat which recounted the follow up of a much earlier story of the maiden in distress after losing the oars to her hired boat. The handsome but lowly fisherman was really a high flier. Brian's story was of a villein who bit part of an ear off. Joan Read's Jimmy Bond sorted out the malingerers. Rosemary told of the changed days before the Health and Safety made scrumping too dangerous.Joan wrote about a missing boy who was found 10 years later. I told of my army days. John about the carnival and Ann about the depressing possible future we face.
Sheila's had a surprising ending where victims of an accident weren't. This was voted best story. Below the winning story is the serial the winner adds each month.
Sheila's Compensation to pay
The First Response came quickly and calmly felt for a pulse, did blood pressure, just what you would expect him to do. The heart monitor was attached, then he proceeded to feel her body to see if there were any broken bones. Her left leg was at a funny angle so I wasn't surprised when the First Responder said it was broken. There were cuts and grazes on her face and down her side, but it was good to know that it was not life threatening. I had been able to walk away from the wreckage with only cuts and bruises, my clothes were torn, but that didn't matter.
We have been friends for years, ever since we had been to the same school. We learned to do shorthand and typing, and although we went to work in different offices, we met up most lunch times. Along come boys, and eventually we got married and settled down not too far from each other. Our husbands became friends, so we were going out as a foursome, which we enjoyed. Over the years we both had a son and a daughter, similar in age. Then, all of a sudden the children were grown up. Oh! Where had all those years gone? One day I saw and advert in the Echo. I showed it to my friend, who was equally as keen so we answered the advert, filled in the forms, then we were given an address to go to. So, here we are, in the middle of all this carnage. A lady came from nowhere with cups of tea, which was most welcome. The rest of the day passed in a daze, we were so busy. On the way home that evening we said we were both pleased to have had answered the advert to be "victims" in a Red Cross training exercise. The makeup and situation was so real. So there was no COMPENSATION TO PAY and we felt quite proud to have taken part.
Serial
Gradually, as the seconds ticked slowly by on the illuminated dial of the clock beside her bed, she began to relax. Her heartbeat slowed and she sank back on the pillows, her hands releasing their frantic grip on the sheet. She started to recognise the reassuringly familiar night noises; the rustling of the ivy outside the window in the breeze, the hoot of the resident owl in the old oak opposite her window and the usual creaking of the floor boards in the old house. Eventually her eyelids fluttered downwards as they became heavier and she started to drift off to sleep once more. Then she was wide awake again as she recognised the noise which had so abruptly awoken her before. There it was again. What was it? An alien sound intruding into the familiar, a sound which shouldn’t be here in this time and place –and it came from the hall outside her bedroom door.
She lay there biting her lip a habit she had when she was nervous or afraid she reached for her phone and then realised it was down stairs. She started to remember the stories her grandmother used to tell her about the house, which was about 300 years old for the past 200 years, generations of her family had lived here. In that time there had many births and deaths, which had all been recorded in the family diary. However the first 100 years were a mystery there was a legend that a great evil act had taken place but nobody knew exactly what but her grandmother was convinced the house was haunted. She always thought that this was her grandmother’s imagination after all there was no such thing as ghosts. There was the sound again she knew she had to find the courage to open the bedroom door she got out of bed and reached for her glasses put on her slippers and dressing gown something she was aways told to do by her mother and started towards the door when she stopped, had the door handle moved she could hardly breath she watched, waiting for it to move again, eventually she told herself of course it did not move she took hold of the handle opened the door and stepped out onto the landing.
Sheila's had a surprising ending where victims of an accident weren't. This was voted best story. Below the winning story is the serial the winner adds each month.
Sheila's Compensation to pay
The First Response came quickly and calmly felt for a pulse, did blood pressure, just what you would expect him to do. The heart monitor was attached, then he proceeded to feel her body to see if there were any broken bones. Her left leg was at a funny angle so I wasn't surprised when the First Responder said it was broken. There were cuts and grazes on her face and down her side, but it was good to know that it was not life threatening. I had been able to walk away from the wreckage with only cuts and bruises, my clothes were torn, but that didn't matter.
We have been friends for years, ever since we had been to the same school. We learned to do shorthand and typing, and although we went to work in different offices, we met up most lunch times. Along come boys, and eventually we got married and settled down not too far from each other. Our husbands became friends, so we were going out as a foursome, which we enjoyed. Over the years we both had a son and a daughter, similar in age. Then, all of a sudden the children were grown up. Oh! Where had all those years gone? One day I saw and advert in the Echo. I showed it to my friend, who was equally as keen so we answered the advert, filled in the forms, then we were given an address to go to. So, here we are, in the middle of all this carnage. A lady came from nowhere with cups of tea, which was most welcome. The rest of the day passed in a daze, we were so busy. On the way home that evening we said we were both pleased to have had answered the advert to be "victims" in a Red Cross training exercise. The makeup and situation was so real. So there was no COMPENSATION TO PAY and we felt quite proud to have taken part.
Serial
Gradually, as the seconds ticked slowly by on the illuminated dial of the clock beside her bed, she began to relax. Her heartbeat slowed and she sank back on the pillows, her hands releasing their frantic grip on the sheet. She started to recognise the reassuringly familiar night noises; the rustling of the ivy outside the window in the breeze, the hoot of the resident owl in the old oak opposite her window and the usual creaking of the floor boards in the old house. Eventually her eyelids fluttered downwards as they became heavier and she started to drift off to sleep once more. Then she was wide awake again as she recognised the noise which had so abruptly awoken her before. There it was again. What was it? An alien sound intruding into the familiar, a sound which shouldn’t be here in this time and place –and it came from the hall outside her bedroom door.
She lay there biting her lip a habit she had when she was nervous or afraid she reached for her phone and then realised it was down stairs. She started to remember the stories her grandmother used to tell her about the house, which was about 300 years old for the past 200 years, generations of her family had lived here. In that time there had many births and deaths, which had all been recorded in the family diary. However the first 100 years were a mystery there was a legend that a great evil act had taken place but nobody knew exactly what but her grandmother was convinced the house was haunted. She always thought that this was her grandmother’s imagination after all there was no such thing as ghosts. There was the sound again she knew she had to find the courage to open the bedroom door she got out of bed and reached for her glasses put on her slippers and dressing gown something she was aways told to do by her mother and started towards the door when she stopped, had the door handle moved she could hardly breath she watched, waiting for it to move again, eventually she told herself of course it did not move she took hold of the handle opened the door and stepped out onto the landing.
Sunday 5 July 2009
THE ‘CREATIVE WRITING’ SERIAL!
THE ‘CREATIVE WRITING’ SERIAL!
[commenced Monday, 29th June 2009]
She came awake immediately, sitting up abruptly, her heart thumping crazily, her eyes wide and staring as they roved wildly around the room, trying to pierce the dense blackness, her ears straining for any sound. Had she been dreaming? She had no recollection. What had woken her in such a panic? She clutched the sheet under her chin and continued to listen intently.
Gradually, as the seconds ticked slowly by on the illuminated dial of the clock beside her bed, she began to relax. Her heartbeat slowed and she sank back on the pillows, her hands releasing their frantic grip on the sheet. She started to recognise the reassuringly familiar night noises; the rustling of the ivy outside the window in the breeze, the hoot of the resident owl in the old oak opposite her window and the usual creaking of the floor boards in the old house. Eventually her eyelids fluttered downwards as they became heavier and she started to drift off to sleep once more. Then she was wide awake again as she recognised the noise which had so abruptly awoken her before. There it was again. What was it? An alien sound intruding into the familiar, a sound which shouldn’t be here in this time and place – and it came from the hall outside her bedroom door.
[commenced Monday, 29th June 2009]
She came awake immediately, sitting up abruptly, her heart thumping crazily, her eyes wide and staring as they roved wildly around the room, trying to pierce the dense blackness, her ears straining for any sound. Had she been dreaming? She had no recollection. What had woken her in such a panic? She clutched the sheet under her chin and continued to listen intently.
Gradually, as the seconds ticked slowly by on the illuminated dial of the clock beside her bed, she began to relax. Her heartbeat slowed and she sank back on the pillows, her hands releasing their frantic grip on the sheet. She started to recognise the reassuringly familiar night noises; the rustling of the ivy outside the window in the breeze, the hoot of the resident owl in the old oak opposite her window and the usual creaking of the floor boards in the old house. Eventually her eyelids fluttered downwards as they became heavier and she started to drift off to sleep once more. Then she was wide awake again as she recognised the noise which had so abruptly awoken her before. There it was again. What was it? An alien sound intruding into the familiar, a sound which shouldn’t be here in this time and place – and it came from the hall outside her bedroom door.
Monday 29 June 2009
29th June
Wonderful hot sunny morning at Woodlands sitting in the garden listening to our varied stories. Bill told of a soldier storming the beaches in 1944. Joan told of the trials trying to grow plants in a garden. Ann about a boy in a coma. John a young officer posted to the far flung empire in Queen Victoria's reign. Pat told of their invite to celebrate the Queen's 50th anniversary. Sally told us more of her adventures in the air force when she was posted abroad. Sheila recounted the frustration of teachers in dealing with unruly children.
Next month the "compensation to pay"
A record set today as seven people voted for one story, making Joan Read the outright winner.
That Annoying
Well Angela said to her friend Mavis was that annoying or not for the fourth year running her sponge cake had come second in the competition at the village fete on the WI stall. "Well that's it" she said "no more cakes I shall do something else." Mavis said "like what" well there are plenty of things to do flower arranging she would give that some thought French I don't think so if I remember rightly I did that at school and I'm pretty sure that my brain and memory were a lot better then. Writing no I have listened to some of the stories written by other people and they are just too good.
Mavis said, " Lets go and sit down and you can drown your sorrows over a cup of coffee" It was then I saw the poster Fed up with the same routine need some excitement and thrills then Skydiving is for you. I showed Mavis the poster and said "this is it" well after she had stopped coughing she had chocked on her coffee she said "are you mad you're 68" well that did it I said "I may be but that is not old" and I rang the number on the poster and made an appointment to go for an assessment the following day.
The next morning I rang Mavis to see if she wanted to come but she replied she had no wish to see me make a fool of myself so I went alone. I was met by a young lady named Francis who told me all about the routine. I would participate in a Tandem skydive which many older people preferred and she played several DVD's of this. She then introduced me to Gary or as she called him the main man who I would be with if I decided to jump. I must admit to being a bit scared but thought I have come this far so I signed the papers but to my horror I was told that as the weather was expected to hold for the next week I could jump if I wished on Wednesday I agreed. Francis asked me to be at the centre for 9 o'clock. When I got home I rang Mavis and told her she said "well if you are intent on killing your self you might as well do it for charity" I thought what a good idea and made out two forms one for the restoration of the local church and one for NSPCC.
The next day I went round and saw everyone I could think of family and friends and by the end of the day both forms were full either side, which I was quite pleased about.
Wednesday dawned sunny and warm and I made my way to the centre I was met by Gary who said we would be jumping at around 2pm this morning would be spent learning the ropes and the moves. All to soon 1.30pm arrived and as we were making our way to the plane I heard a lot of noise and there was Mavis with a number of the ladies from the WI shouting and waving cameras about I put on a brave face waved and boarded the plane. Soon we were up in the air and Gary started attaching the belts and cords that would keep us together and then the door opened and before I knew it we had jumped My cheeks felt as if they were trying to get to the back of my head I looked down and could see the fields, trees and the roads and they were rushing up to meet us when all of a sudden we seemed to go back up and I realised that Gary had opened the parachute and then we were gliding down going left and right as he pulled the cords it was wonderful just as we came to land he said knees up and his feet touched down and then I put my feet down we ran a short distance then stopped. It must have been all over in about 5min but I would never forget the feeling. I thanked Gary and went over and joined my friends we all went into the centre where we had champagne and nibbles and I was presented with my certificate. "Well" Mavis said "what are you going to do next" I replied "that I would have to give that some thought" But that evening when all the bones and muscles in my body ached I came to the conclusion that coming second in cake making was not so bad after all.
Next month the "compensation to pay"
A record set today as seven people voted for one story, making Joan Read the outright winner.
That Annoying
Well Angela said to her friend Mavis was that annoying or not for the fourth year running her sponge cake had come second in the competition at the village fete on the WI stall. "Well that's it" she said "no more cakes I shall do something else." Mavis said "like what" well there are plenty of things to do flower arranging she would give that some thought French I don't think so if I remember rightly I did that at school and I'm pretty sure that my brain and memory were a lot better then. Writing no I have listened to some of the stories written by other people and they are just too good.
Mavis said, " Lets go and sit down and you can drown your sorrows over a cup of coffee" It was then I saw the poster Fed up with the same routine need some excitement and thrills then Skydiving is for you. I showed Mavis the poster and said "this is it" well after she had stopped coughing she had chocked on her coffee she said "are you mad you're 68" well that did it I said "I may be but that is not old" and I rang the number on the poster and made an appointment to go for an assessment the following day.
The next morning I rang Mavis to see if she wanted to come but she replied she had no wish to see me make a fool of myself so I went alone. I was met by a young lady named Francis who told me all about the routine. I would participate in a Tandem skydive which many older people preferred and she played several DVD's of this. She then introduced me to Gary or as she called him the main man who I would be with if I decided to jump. I must admit to being a bit scared but thought I have come this far so I signed the papers but to my horror I was told that as the weather was expected to hold for the next week I could jump if I wished on Wednesday I agreed. Francis asked me to be at the centre for 9 o'clock. When I got home I rang Mavis and told her she said "well if you are intent on killing your self you might as well do it for charity" I thought what a good idea and made out two forms one for the restoration of the local church and one for NSPCC.
The next day I went round and saw everyone I could think of family and friends and by the end of the day both forms were full either side, which I was quite pleased about.
Wednesday dawned sunny and warm and I made my way to the centre I was met by Gary who said we would be jumping at around 2pm this morning would be spent learning the ropes and the moves. All to soon 1.30pm arrived and as we were making our way to the plane I heard a lot of noise and there was Mavis with a number of the ladies from the WI shouting and waving cameras about I put on a brave face waved and boarded the plane. Soon we were up in the air and Gary started attaching the belts and cords that would keep us together and then the door opened and before I knew it we had jumped My cheeks felt as if they were trying to get to the back of my head I looked down and could see the fields, trees and the roads and they were rushing up to meet us when all of a sudden we seemed to go back up and I realised that Gary had opened the parachute and then we were gliding down going left and right as he pulled the cords it was wonderful just as we came to land he said knees up and his feet touched down and then I put my feet down we ran a short distance then stopped. It must have been all over in about 5min but I would never forget the feeling. I thanked Gary and went over and joined my friends we all went into the centre where we had champagne and nibbles and I was presented with my certificate. "Well" Mavis said "what are you going to do next" I replied "that I would have to give that some thought" But that evening when all the bones and muscles in my body ached I came to the conclusion that coming second in cake making was not so bad after all.
Monday 1 June 2009
June Story
Nicest day of the year so far bright sunshine and very warm. Rosemary joined us for the first time. Sue started us off about the young woman reminded of her past when she stole an eclair. Sheila gave a description of her day at the Wembley cup final. John told us about the Scottish MP and fishing restrictions. Brian a trader with a honey tongue. Joan E a family saga. My effort was about the top of the food chain. Rosemary and hiding the post. Joan R on hidden letters from another age. Ann told of a prank to make a car less in demand for lifts
The winner was Pat's.
Stuffed out of sight
This was to be the theme of our small writers group next project.
I wrote the words on a page from my notebook and put it on the kitchen table, waiting for the" brilliant idea". When, after a while nothing came to mind, I tucked it under the place mat.. you know that old saying, out of sight out of mind.
As it wasn't raining I decided to do a spot of gardening. The gardeners among you will know there is no such thing as a spot of gardening, one thing leads to another and before you know Its time for lunch.
I watched our friendly squirrel hanging by his toe nails trying desperately to eat the peanuts through the supposedly squirrel proof wire, he won. Still no brilliant idea! Finished lunch and returned to the garden. Oh good, those blue crystals had worked their magic and there was a slimy mess left by some hungry snails and slugs, the birds will finish those off. I love these new green slug baits. Whilst tucking long daffodil leaves under the heather to dry of, stuffed out of sight? ?Yes, No.. I spied a huge ants nest in the middle which I poked it about until the ants were running around with their creamy eggs in a panic. Then left them to the waiting robin.
We have had this huge Clematis Armandii in an old water butt which was well passed its re potting date by about 15 years. As its an early bloomer we didn't want to lose it, so decided to remove it from the tub and replant close by. Well, first off we couldn't lift it or dig it out, so my dear husband brought out his saw and cut straight down one side. As this didn't help at all he cut down the other side. This left a hard plastic flap which sprang up every time we tried to lift out the plant. In the end we rolled it slowly on its side desperately hanging on to the long branches and finally put it in the freshly dug hole. It sat there looking at us as the hole was too shallow by about 6". By then we had had it. After 3 days we gathered our strength and tools, we must plant this plant! It took both of us on our knees with a shovel, spade and a plank of wood to lift it out of its hole, dig a little deeper and finally re- plant it. Hooray. I took a couple of cuttings from the branch that had annoyingly snapped, just in case.
At the end of the day, whilst enjoying a well earned cup of tea and cake, I looked at my note again and still couldn't come up with a decent idea for a story, so I stuffed it out of sight, again.
The winner was Pat's.
Stuffed out of sight
This was to be the theme of our small writers group next project.
I wrote the words on a page from my notebook and put it on the kitchen table, waiting for the" brilliant idea". When, after a while nothing came to mind, I tucked it under the place mat.. you know that old saying, out of sight out of mind.
As it wasn't raining I decided to do a spot of gardening. The gardeners among you will know there is no such thing as a spot of gardening, one thing leads to another and before you know Its time for lunch.
I watched our friendly squirrel hanging by his toe nails trying desperately to eat the peanuts through the supposedly squirrel proof wire, he won. Still no brilliant idea! Finished lunch and returned to the garden. Oh good, those blue crystals had worked their magic and there was a slimy mess left by some hungry snails and slugs, the birds will finish those off. I love these new green slug baits. Whilst tucking long daffodil leaves under the heather to dry of, stuffed out of sight? ?Yes, No.. I spied a huge ants nest in the middle which I poked it about until the ants were running around with their creamy eggs in a panic. Then left them to the waiting robin.
We have had this huge Clematis Armandii in an old water butt which was well passed its re potting date by about 15 years. As its an early bloomer we didn't want to lose it, so decided to remove it from the tub and replant close by. Well, first off we couldn't lift it or dig it out, so my dear husband brought out his saw and cut straight down one side. As this didn't help at all he cut down the other side. This left a hard plastic flap which sprang up every time we tried to lift out the plant. In the end we rolled it slowly on its side desperately hanging on to the long branches and finally put it in the freshly dug hole. It sat there looking at us as the hole was too shallow by about 6". By then we had had it. After 3 days we gathered our strength and tools, we must plant this plant! It took both of us on our knees with a shovel, spade and a plank of wood to lift it out of its hole, dig a little deeper and finally re- plant it. Hooray. I took a couple of cuttings from the branch that had annoyingly snapped, just in case.
At the end of the day, whilst enjoying a well earned cup of tea and cake, I looked at my note again and still couldn't come up with a decent idea for a story, so I stuffed it out of sight, again.
Monday 27 April 2009
27th April
Another mixture of stories with one common theme, "nothing". John's was adventures underground. Joan Read read a disturbing tale of death coming to a family. I recounted a story of anticipated passion. Joan Edmunds told of a missing Premium Bond. Sue told of a woman who floated out into the sea while asleep to be rescued by a fisherman. The question was asked did she marry him but we will perhaps have to wait to find out. Sally told of a spider in the salad based on a real event. Sheila told of childhood memories. Pat gave us the background history to Corfe Castle. Ann took us back into caving.Brian's got the most votes a tale of long ago.
NOTHING
Gone is the forge, with its leather-aproned, shirtsleeved men, sweating in hoof-burned, acrid-dimness. Pulling out white-hot metal from the roaring furnace's eye-catching glow, with long tongs. Then knocking into shape, the hiss and the whisps of steam as the horse shoe's were dipped into the bubbling water.
Gone the sudden jangle of chain and brass, the creak And stomp over us as the great Shire horse's turned at The plough on the headland high banked above the deep Lane. Glancing brown-eyed and black hair-fringed,
Down at us as they passed by.
Gone the square, brass-buckled and broad-shining leather Belted, hobnailed booted men who shovelled coal into Heavy course sacks, which were them loaded onto the Lorries.
Gone are the people who came out from they cottages
With bucket and crook to dip water from their wells.
Gone are the nightingales with bramble-hills and willow,
Which hid, sheltered, nested and fed them, and the night jar,
Spinning its purring web of sound from the centre of the
moonlit field.
Gone the flocks of starlings that rose in dense clouds, to descend into the reed-beds at the mouth of the river,
bending the stems under their weight.
Gone are the Romanies that lived in the forest.
Gone are the Hares, you would see as many as 20 pounding
Round the fields. Grunting, Kicking, Bucking, they boxed
Like Kangaroos, jumping over each other, lashing-out With their hind feet. You never see that in March any more.
Gone are the clicking of milk bottles on the door step in the Morning. Gone are the cry of the RAG & BONE man as he pushes his barrow up the street. Gone are the large white £5 notes.
Gone...." ARE YOU GOING TO SIT THERE ALL DAY? YOUR TEA'S READY, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN
THINKING OF"?
OH! NOTHING
NOTHING
Gone is the forge, with its leather-aproned, shirtsleeved men, sweating in hoof-burned, acrid-dimness. Pulling out white-hot metal from the roaring furnace's eye-catching glow, with long tongs. Then knocking into shape, the hiss and the whisps of steam as the horse shoe's were dipped into the bubbling water.
Gone the sudden jangle of chain and brass, the creak And stomp over us as the great Shire horse's turned at The plough on the headland high banked above the deep Lane. Glancing brown-eyed and black hair-fringed,
Down at us as they passed by.
Gone the square, brass-buckled and broad-shining leather Belted, hobnailed booted men who shovelled coal into Heavy course sacks, which were them loaded onto the Lorries.
Gone are the people who came out from they cottages
With bucket and crook to dip water from their wells.
Gone are the nightingales with bramble-hills and willow,
Which hid, sheltered, nested and fed them, and the night jar,
Spinning its purring web of sound from the centre of the
moonlit field.
Gone the flocks of starlings that rose in dense clouds, to descend into the reed-beds at the mouth of the river,
bending the stems under their weight.
Gone are the Romanies that lived in the forest.
Gone are the Hares, you would see as many as 20 pounding
Round the fields. Grunting, Kicking, Bucking, they boxed
Like Kangaroos, jumping over each other, lashing-out With their hind feet. You never see that in March any more.
Gone are the clicking of milk bottles on the door step in the Morning. Gone are the cry of the RAG & BONE man as he pushes his barrow up the street. Gone are the large white £5 notes.
Gone...." ARE YOU GOING TO SIT THERE ALL DAY? YOUR TEA'S READY, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN
THINKING OF"?
OH! NOTHING
Monday 30 March 2009
30th March
Meeting at John and Sheila's in their sunny front room by nine dedicated would be authors and very good stories to tell. Joan E told of the time we had a bonfire in our garden. Sue a very disturbing one about a child being abused. Ann wrote about promotion that brought tears to the eyes. John hot air balloon, Brian ghosts, Sheila about flowers and working at a garden nursery. My contribution compensation for an accident. But Joan Read came tops in the voting.
Tears
Fiona McNab sat on her bed and looked in the mirror, the image she saw was of a green eyed woman quite pretty but nothing out of the ordinary except for one thing, there was also another image looking at her in the mirror, that of a young girl. Her long black hair was braided and fell as two plaits either side of her shoulders, she wore a shift and on her feet were moccasins Fiona had seen this girl many times since they had moved into this ranch. Her husband Richard went ballistic when she mentioned it. He said that her ability to see people that were not there was just her imagination but she knew without a shadow of doubt that this girl whether she was a ghost an apparition or spirit needed help.
Fiona went outside into the paddock where she saw old Tom leaning on the fence he had been called this since he was 17. He was now in his 76th year. She asked him if there was anything unusual about this land." Well now" he said chewing on a piece of grass "the land here as far as you can see used to be Indian land and there is a legend that a massacre took place near here. A troop of cavalry returning from a battle with Cochise (who was a Chiricahua Apache) came upon this village and slaughtered the woman and children but this had never been proven."
Fiona thanked him and continued her walk, after about I5 minutes she came upon an old barn which looked as if it was about to fall down. Before she got to the door, it opened. Fiona could hardly breath her heart was pumping so hard she thought it would burst. Just inside the door she saw the girl who beckoned to her. She went in and the door closed behind her. As her eyes became accustomed to the light she saw them. Woman and children some standing some sitting and some sleeping. Just as she was about to question the girl the door flew open and there was her husband, she said "Richard can you see them". He got hold of her shoulders and even though the tears were running down her face he shook her hard and yelled at her "do you really want everyone to think that you are mad" he was furious "enough of this nonsense" he yelled and with that he left. Just then Tom came in "You hear them don't you" he said "No" Fiona answered, "I saw them, they are here in this barn waiting for us. We need to dig up the floor". Tom said he would arrange for a machine and driver to come tomorrow. That evening when her husband came in Fiona kept quite she never mentioned the vision or the barn or about tomorrows event she knew he did not understand or believe.
The next morning when all was quiet the digging started it was not long before the first skeleton was found they could see that it was of a small child Tom phoned the sheriff and soon there were forensic scientist, anthropologists, historians and photographers all over the place by late afternoon 40 bodies had been found all of them were woman and children. When Richard finally arrived home Fiona could see by his face that their marriage was over but she knew it was worth it when she looked into the mirror that night and the image of the girl seemed to say "Thank you" and Fiona knew that she would not see her again. The bodies would be recorded and then buried according to Indian ritual on a sacred piece of land where hopefully they would remain in peace.
Tears
Fiona McNab sat on her bed and looked in the mirror, the image she saw was of a green eyed woman quite pretty but nothing out of the ordinary except for one thing, there was also another image looking at her in the mirror, that of a young girl. Her long black hair was braided and fell as two plaits either side of her shoulders, she wore a shift and on her feet were moccasins Fiona had seen this girl many times since they had moved into this ranch. Her husband Richard went ballistic when she mentioned it. He said that her ability to see people that were not there was just her imagination but she knew without a shadow of doubt that this girl whether she was a ghost an apparition or spirit needed help.
Fiona went outside into the paddock where she saw old Tom leaning on the fence he had been called this since he was 17. He was now in his 76th year. She asked him if there was anything unusual about this land." Well now" he said chewing on a piece of grass "the land here as far as you can see used to be Indian land and there is a legend that a massacre took place near here. A troop of cavalry returning from a battle with Cochise (who was a Chiricahua Apache) came upon this village and slaughtered the woman and children but this had never been proven."
Fiona thanked him and continued her walk, after about I5 minutes she came upon an old barn which looked as if it was about to fall down. Before she got to the door, it opened. Fiona could hardly breath her heart was pumping so hard she thought it would burst. Just inside the door she saw the girl who beckoned to her. She went in and the door closed behind her. As her eyes became accustomed to the light she saw them. Woman and children some standing some sitting and some sleeping. Just as she was about to question the girl the door flew open and there was her husband, she said "Richard can you see them". He got hold of her shoulders and even though the tears were running down her face he shook her hard and yelled at her "do you really want everyone to think that you are mad" he was furious "enough of this nonsense" he yelled and with that he left. Just then Tom came in "You hear them don't you" he said "No" Fiona answered, "I saw them, they are here in this barn waiting for us. We need to dig up the floor". Tom said he would arrange for a machine and driver to come tomorrow. That evening when her husband came in Fiona kept quite she never mentioned the vision or the barn or about tomorrows event she knew he did not understand or believe.
The next morning when all was quiet the digging started it was not long before the first skeleton was found they could see that it was of a small child Tom phoned the sheriff and soon there were forensic scientist, anthropologists, historians and photographers all over the place by late afternoon 40 bodies had been found all of them were woman and children. When Richard finally arrived home Fiona could see by his face that their marriage was over but she knew it was worth it when she looked into the mirror that night and the image of the girl seemed to say "Thank you" and Fiona knew that she would not see her again. The bodies would be recorded and then buried according to Indian ritual on a sacred piece of land where hopefully they would remain in peace.
Wednesday 25 February 2009
February's winning story from Sheila
HOW ARE YOU GETTING ON?
Like many racing stables Sam's Stables were near to a racecourse. There were several races during the season and in a few weeks time there is due to be a big race. All the big names in the racing world will be there and tension was starting to rise even this early. I worked at Sam's Stables part-time, doing cleaning up and helping to keep the place tidy. It also entails making tea for the jockeys when they come back from the training runs. I am constantly amazed how small the jockeys are. I am not very big in stature but I feel enormous standing by the side of some of them. One jockey - Tony - seems to be child-size against the rest. He said that at school he was always the smallest and a teacher jokingly said that being a jockey would be ideal for him and the more be thought about if the more it appealled and so he joined Sam's Stables. Now, ten years later, he was one of the top class jockeys and horse owners were always after him to ride their horses. I likened him to Lester Piggott, being able to pick and choose which horse to ride. For this big race coming up he was riding a different horse each day so that he knew which one would be the best for this particular course. When he had chosen I was surprized how big the horse was. It seemed to be quite a bit bigger than the rest and it made Tony look smaller than ever. Without thinking I blurted out HOW ARE YOU GETTING ON? He just laughted and said "Don't worry about me- I will just have to get a bigger box to stand on"!!!
Like many racing stables Sam's Stables were near to a racecourse. There were several races during the season and in a few weeks time there is due to be a big race. All the big names in the racing world will be there and tension was starting to rise even this early. I worked at Sam's Stables part-time, doing cleaning up and helping to keep the place tidy. It also entails making tea for the jockeys when they come back from the training runs. I am constantly amazed how small the jockeys are. I am not very big in stature but I feel enormous standing by the side of some of them. One jockey - Tony - seems to be child-size against the rest. He said that at school he was always the smallest and a teacher jokingly said that being a jockey would be ideal for him and the more be thought about if the more it appealled and so he joined Sam's Stables. Now, ten years later, he was one of the top class jockeys and horse owners were always after him to ride their horses. I likened him to Lester Piggott, being able to pick and choose which horse to ride. For this big race coming up he was riding a different horse each day so that he knew which one would be the best for this particular course. When he had chosen I was surprized how big the horse was. It seemed to be quite a bit bigger than the rest and it made Tony look smaller than ever. Without thinking I blurted out HOW ARE YOU GETTING ON? He just laughted and said "Don't worry about me- I will just have to get a bigger box to stand on"!!!
Monday 26 January 2009
26th January 2009
We met at Joan Read's on a nice day for January not cold nor wet. All the stories were very good, four gained equal votes so we took one from the hat which was Sue's to represent all of them.
SPREAD INFORMATION
Spreading information isn’t something we think very much about in the 21st Century. We take for granted that we have radio, television, phones, especially mobiles, and e-mail as well as newspapers. I did reflect on the phenomenal speed at which we receive breaking news when a plane performed an emergency landing in the Hudson River and the scene was snapped by a mobile phone user as the passengers emerged onto the wings. This amazing scene was flashed around the world even before the media knew about it!
Things were very different in past centuries, going back to when word had to be carried by messengers on foot or galloping from village to village on horseback, by town criers and more recently, during the previous two centuries, by telegram. Do you remember the telegram boys on their Post Office bikes, sporting their fetching uniforms and hats?
In times of war, those telegrams were viewed with dreadful fascination by wives and families waiting for news of loved ones. I know personally of one brave woman who had experienced these seesawing emotions, as what happened to her and her two year old son was a particularly cruel series of events.
Her husband, Ernie, was serving in the Royal Navy at the outbreak of war on 2nd September 1939. He was in the Mediterranean, expecting to return to port and a reunion with his wife and family, but his ship, HMS Glowworm, was diverted to the North Sea and on 8th April 1940 was sunk by the heavy cruiser Hipper during what some described as a foolhardy engagement and others hailed as an act of heroism. Many lives were lost, some in dreadful circumstances as oil insidiously crept around the sinking ship, coating and choking the hapless sailors who had managed to escape. The German propaganda machine later made full use of on- the-spot photographs of their rescue of some of the crew.
Meanwhile, Ellen had received the dreaded telegram from the Admiralty on 11th April, regretting having to report that her husband was missing, believed killed, on war service. Ellen began the heartbreaking task of going across the road every evening to listen to the nightly broadcasts from Bremen on her friend’s radio, naming British Naval prisoners, and she hoped to hear Ernie’s name and discover his fate. And fate certainly took a hand here, as one evening she was too ill to visit her friend. However, Mrs Lucas still listened and heard the announcer give a name that sounded like "Hurker". This was such scant information to go on that she said nothing, not wishing to raise Ellen’s hopes. Imagine everyone’s joy when Ellen received a telegram on the 25th April, to say, "Pleased to inform you information received from enemy sources that your husband Ernest …, Leading Signalman P/JX 132913, has been saved and is a prisoner of war and is injured."
Fourteen days of misery were at an end and there was much rejoicing among family and friends. Ellen told the Echo she had last seen her husband six weeks before when he came home on leave. On the day the first telegram came she had also received a very poignant letter from Ernie, saying it would be a long time before he would be home again. She had already bought mourning clothes when she heard of her tragic loss, but could now put them away again.
But cruel fate had not finished with Ellen, for some time later she received yet another telegram from the Admiralty, stating, "Deeply regret to inform you that information been received from Geneva that your husband Ernest … died on 22nd April 1940 in Trondheim Hospital and was buried in Stawne Cemetery, Trondheim on 30th April 1940." So all the time she had been celebrating the great news that Ernie had survived the sinking of the Glowworm, he was in fact already dead; such a tragedy for her and her son, Brian.
I am only a bystander in this family tragedy, but Brian grew up to become my husband and I still often think of their great loss, one of my ambitions being to visit that cemetery and pay my respects to the father-in-law I never knew.
Yes, times have changed so much and graphic pictures of the world’s tragedies often reach us via television within minutes of them happening. We certainly know how to spread information today.
SPREAD INFORMATION
Spreading information isn’t something we think very much about in the 21st Century. We take for granted that we have radio, television, phones, especially mobiles, and e-mail as well as newspapers. I did reflect on the phenomenal speed at which we receive breaking news when a plane performed an emergency landing in the Hudson River and the scene was snapped by a mobile phone user as the passengers emerged onto the wings. This amazing scene was flashed around the world even before the media knew about it!
Things were very different in past centuries, going back to when word had to be carried by messengers on foot or galloping from village to village on horseback, by town criers and more recently, during the previous two centuries, by telegram. Do you remember the telegram boys on their Post Office bikes, sporting their fetching uniforms and hats?
In times of war, those telegrams were viewed with dreadful fascination by wives and families waiting for news of loved ones. I know personally of one brave woman who had experienced these seesawing emotions, as what happened to her and her two year old son was a particularly cruel series of events.
Her husband, Ernie, was serving in the Royal Navy at the outbreak of war on 2nd September 1939. He was in the Mediterranean, expecting to return to port and a reunion with his wife and family, but his ship, HMS Glowworm, was diverted to the North Sea and on 8th April 1940 was sunk by the heavy cruiser Hipper during what some described as a foolhardy engagement and others hailed as an act of heroism. Many lives were lost, some in dreadful circumstances as oil insidiously crept around the sinking ship, coating and choking the hapless sailors who had managed to escape. The German propaganda machine later made full use of on- the-spot photographs of their rescue of some of the crew.
Meanwhile, Ellen had received the dreaded telegram from the Admiralty on 11th April, regretting having to report that her husband was missing, believed killed, on war service. Ellen began the heartbreaking task of going across the road every evening to listen to the nightly broadcasts from Bremen on her friend’s radio, naming British Naval prisoners, and she hoped to hear Ernie’s name and discover his fate. And fate certainly took a hand here, as one evening she was too ill to visit her friend. However, Mrs Lucas still listened and heard the announcer give a name that sounded like "Hurker". This was such scant information to go on that she said nothing, not wishing to raise Ellen’s hopes. Imagine everyone’s joy when Ellen received a telegram on the 25th April, to say, "Pleased to inform you information received from enemy sources that your husband Ernest …, Leading Signalman P/JX 132913, has been saved and is a prisoner of war and is injured."
Fourteen days of misery were at an end and there was much rejoicing among family and friends. Ellen told the Echo she had last seen her husband six weeks before when he came home on leave. On the day the first telegram came she had also received a very poignant letter from Ernie, saying it would be a long time before he would be home again. She had already bought mourning clothes when she heard of her tragic loss, but could now put them away again.
But cruel fate had not finished with Ellen, for some time later she received yet another telegram from the Admiralty, stating, "Deeply regret to inform you that information been received from Geneva that your husband Ernest … died on 22nd April 1940 in Trondheim Hospital and was buried in Stawne Cemetery, Trondheim on 30th April 1940." So all the time she had been celebrating the great news that Ernie had survived the sinking of the Glowworm, he was in fact already dead; such a tragedy for her and her son, Brian.
I am only a bystander in this family tragedy, but Brian grew up to become my husband and I still often think of their great loss, one of my ambitions being to visit that cemetery and pay my respects to the father-in-law I never knew.
Yes, times have changed so much and graphic pictures of the world’s tragedies often reach us via television within minutes of them happening. We certainly know how to spread information today.
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