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?
