November 24th November

Good varied stories today with Sally's childhood school memories (which came second) and Pat's school bully. Joan E told the story of the secret garden. Brian gave a graphic description of his Dickens like up bringing with the nuns. Sue recounted the Halloween scare while in a caravanette at Calshot. Sheila's story was about sandcastles. John and my own contribution was on the same theme murder most foul. But Ann's was chosen as best and you can read the prize winner your self.

Who Did This
When the firm announced they were closing the local offices and re-locating to Washington, there were murmurs of anticipation until it was pointed out that this was Washington U.K., not Washington U.S.A. Oliver was told there would be a job guaranteed if he decided to move, but there would be a lot of discussion with Emily and the boys before a decision could be made. Emily was a District Nurse and felt she would probably get another job quite easily. The boys were nine-year-old identical twins, Adam and Justin, but they were at an age when they would have time to settle into the new education system before they moved on to senior school. After discussing the pros and cons every available moment, they finally decided to take the chance and make the move,
Oliver started his new job and moved into a small guesthouse while he researched the locality and visited estate agents. During the half term Emily and the boys motored up to spend time with him and look at the places he had short-listed. They were all very acceptable, but nothing outstanding. On the way back one afternoon they took a different route and came across this delightful looking cottage with an estate agents board up outside. It was one Oliver had already registered with, so they called in to make enquiries. They were told it had only come on the market the day before and the details hadn't been sent out yet. The following morning they were all waiting for the agent to arrive and show them inside, having already peered through every window and wandered around the garden and outbuildings. As soon as they stepped inside they all fell in love with the place. It was as if it had been waiting for them. Having found somewhere to live they couldn't wait to move in.

They had been there about six months now. Oliver was enjoying his new job and the promotion that went with it. Emily had got a part time job at the local Doctors surgery and the boys had settled in well at the local village school and had started to make friends. When the odd incidents started to happen a few weeks after they had moved in, they initially put it down to the boys playing pranks. Emily had found the cereal and sugar in the fridge one morning and the milk in the cupboard. Another morning all the breakfast cutlery and dishes were either upside down or back to front. "Who did this?" was a cry often to be heard in the household, although the boys always denied it was anything to do with them. When all the twins' clothes were turned inside out, even Emily began to think this was not of their making. The evening the dog woke up from an apparently deep sleep on his beanbag while they were watching T.V. and looked towards the door, wagged his tail and appeared to follow something across the room with his eyes decided it for them that they were sharing their home with a poltergeist. No-one felt the least bit intimidated by it's presence. It was not a malicious being and the tricks were not intended to hurt. They decided to call it Patrick. One morning all the books in the bookcase had been turned upside down and another day Emily and Oliver found each of their pairs of shoes consisted of one of his and one of hers!
Life continued with the addition of Patrick and his tricks until one morning Oliver couldn't find his car keys. He looked everywhere and decided to take the spare set only to find these missing as well. Adam eventually found a set in his school bag. This time Patrick was not popular. On the way to take the boys to school Emily heard a traffic report of a road closed because of a serious accident. She knew this was the route Oliver used. As soon as she had dropped the boys off she tried to phone Oliver, but couldn't get a signal. When she arrived home she called his office only to be told he hadn't arrived yet. Leaving a message for him to call as soon as he arrived, she put the kettle on to make a coffee. When the phone rang, she nearly jumped out of her skin even though she was waiting for it to ring. Oliver told her he had been held up due to dreadful accident. If Patrick hadn't hidden his keys he would have been at the junction about the time it had happened. As she sat down with her coffee she glanced over to the key rack to see the spare set of keys hanging there.

27th October

Modestly I must admit the best story won complete acclaim from all my fellow writers. Following, my masterpeice.

The formula
Once again I felt disappointment at not winning the creative writing competition after making such an effort to produce a story that was lively, full of colour and with a robust main character. I of course never showed my disappointment to my fellow writers but surely the story of the three legged cat by Hannah was hardly in the same class as mine.
I was thinking this when on my way back home I picked up the Guardian as I noticed that its supplement was on the subject of writing a short novel. Not normally my kind of politics but in this case.
After arriving home at my opulent top floor flat overlooking the Thames I soon hungrily started to read the Guardian supplement. I opened up the laptop and settling back into the richly decorated divan I started what I hoped would be a far better structured story that they would find impossible not to award top marks. I felt a warm glow of pleasure at having found such a well written helpful guide. I read that all good stories follow the formula. It advised that you should have a character completely different from your self and then to build the likes and dislikes. Right, my character would be a woman not young but again not too old. Attractive and very sexual. Dressed in a tight fitting light blue two piece suit she looked competent and beautiful. I could see her face shining and alive. A successful business woman sitting at her desk, a modern polished workmanlike affair with the laptop open its screen filled with a large spread sheet of the companies current account.
Evelyn, I thought, that is her name. She was studying a small parcel well wrapped and tied with a pink ribbon. Her secretary had brought it in and said Happy Birthday. It was a complete shock to her she had forgotten she was 40 years old.
The formula said broaden the picture to show where the action is. I could see it was a modern office block and Evelyn rented a whole unfurnished floor on the third storey. She had devoted time and money bringing in the best designers to bring that air of competence and culture necessary to woo the clients when demonstrating the latest company brand marketing strategy. The office block was in the smart part of the city where only the richest could afford the high rents and taxes.
Relationships had to be sketched in. Not too many to be confusing and not so well described to take away the thrust of the main theme and the main character. I saw that Evelyn would have several lovers but only two vying for her affection Jim Henderson a rich mysterious part Arab with no visible means of support but not lacking in funds and Paul Wynberg a financier from the city. Both men were in their thirties both divorced. She thought she loved them both and neither were aware of the other but seeing the unwrapped birthday present it suddenly came home to her that this double life had to end.
I came back into focus, this imagery was intoxicating but it had to end for me too as I have now run over the prescribed 500 words.

22nd September

Another good morning story telling. Joan told a story about the Princess's visit to a Devonshire village as seen by a small child. My story was of a conman being caught. Brian wrote about some unfortunate Knight Of the Templar who fell down a well. Sue recounted her father's experience during Dunkirk. Pat told of De Vinci and the Mona Liza. John dreaming of a lordship and Sheila spoke again about a trip to the palace and meeting Prince William. Ann you can read as her story was voted best.

August meeting

Met at Jack & Joan's for the first time, down in numbers but not in enthusiasm. Again very difficult to chose the best as each had its own merits and each widely different from one to the other. Joan E wrote of a widow finding her brother. Brian's described a bare footed walk amongst the richly set background of a verdant wood. Joan R's story was of a failed marriage due to the husband being less then straight. Ann related a family story and a lost child. Sue's was very good, a family history that wasn't.
My story was chosen the best so I modestly submit it.
Beneath that is Sue's masterpiece

Next month's at Pat & Brian's on the 21st September subject: Name and Title.

"I want to be an astronaut", I smiled at the recollection of one of my earliest memories when I was still in the infant class at the beginning of the new millennium. Miss? What was her name? Miss Snowball, that was it. Miss Snowball, what a funny name, I had never met anybody else with that name.
"I expect lots want to be an astronaut Wayne". she said. "Anybody else want to be one", she asked the class. Several hands shot up, "Me Miss" "Me Miss", they called out.
It was ten years later and another classroom and another teacher and again talk of future plans was the topic of the day. Again I had said I intended to train to be the first man to land on Mars. I could remember the teacher but not the name who looked doubtfully at me. "That is an ambitious dream." Nobody else still shared the same dream their careers were more prosaic with the exception of Roger Jones who wanted to be a tightrope walker.
I pulled down the outer vizor on my helmet as the sun broke across the horizon of the beautiful red planet.
I remembered the first time I passed the sound barrier in a training jet the almost imperceptible shudder through the body of the plane as the speed crept past mach one then mach two until I was cruising at 2300 miles per hour. The hours when my body was subjected to gravitational forces until I could take no more. But I had passed all the tests and was to be one of the crew of the new inter solar ship, Mars Destiny. Despite my ambition to be the first astronaut to land it was not meant to be I would be the one left on the mother ship while the remaining four would leave me to go down on their own.
But like all plans fate could intervene and change everything. I would be the first man to land and the only one. It was the previous day when disaster struck a small rock no bigger than a fist had struck the outer cone shaped protective dome and a part of that had broken off and pierced the hull. At that moment it was my job to go out to fix the aerial so already in a space suit I watched in horror as the hull decompressed and the four who over the last six months had become close friends died almost instantly.
There was no chance of landing as the control panel was smashed beyond repair the ship would be flung by Mars's gravity out into the cold reaches of space.
I made the decision an hour ago climbing into the escape pod with its small jets I had left the mother ship and using the onboard computer headed into the thin atmosphere that enclosed the small planet. There would be no triumphant return to earth but mankind will try again and I will be found and known as the first man of Mars - Wayne's world.

I WANT TO …
I want to tell you a story – the story of my life.

I was born into the home of an artisan, a cabinet maker with magic in his hands, who could create great beauty from humble pieces of wood. I grew and matured, nurtured in my warm, loving family.

I remember especially the cold winter evenings spent happily in our cosy cottage, with the lamps lit, the curtains drawn against the dark and a merry fire burning in the hearth. Sundays, too, were special days in our house, with no work done, a happy family dinner at mid-day and sometimes the whole family would then go for a walk, in the weak afternoon sun, children scuffing through the dry, brown leaves growing crisp at the onset of frost as the sun set. Everyone jostled to be first to the fire after divesting themselves of coats, hats, scarves, gloves and boots. Then the toasting fork would come out, and the crumpets, and soon everyone would be tucking into steaming mouthfuls, butter dripping down chins and from fingers, only to be greedily licked off, amid much laughter, before the next onslaught.

I served my apprenticeship in these happy surroundings and would have been content to remain there, but I was destined for greater things.

One early spring day we had visitors. A carriage drew up outside and a well-dressed gentleman got out, accompanied by a beautiful young lady. They were welcomed and offered tea and cakes, while they admired the elegant pieces of furniture displayed in the workroom. The young lady, Emily was her name, spent a great deal of her time returning to my company, much to my delight, and at the end of the visit promised to return.

What exciting times they were and my happiness knew no bounds when the impossible happened and we were installed in our own home, a much grander establishment than my humble origins, the large entrance doors opening to a spacious reception hall leading to a library, dining room, drawing room and small sitting room. The elegant staircase led upwards to six bedrooms, with the nursery suite above and the kitchen area in a separate wing.

I passed many happy years here, enjoying lavish dinner parties and later family celebrations as the children arrived and the family grew.

Our lives became quieter as the years passed and the family grew up and moved away. I didn’t have much call on my time, but was happy still in the company of my beloved Emily.

Sadly, Emily has now passed away and that is the story of my life so far. I don’t know what will become of me now, as I sit in the dining room alone and think about my life.

I wish you could know my history, for tomorrow the auctioneers come, the public will view the contents of my home and all will be sold. I can hear the auctioneer now, “Lot No 35: A handsome Victorian dining table, beautifully carved, etc, etc.” I dreamily ponder how much people will bid for me and where I will go next, to continue my eventful life. I hope they’re kind and don’t let their children scratch me or put hot plates down on me without a mat!

21 July

Met at John & Sheila's, all very good but Brian's was elected the best story.

TIME

Once upon a time in ancient China, no one was allowed to own Pekingese dogs except the Imperial family. Therefore, when in the 16th century the Emperor wished to honour England’s Elizabeth 1st, there was no greater gift he could bestow than a pair of the dogs, he valued so highly. The bitch was placed in a carved ivory box, while the dog ran free. A royal princess was chosen to escort the animals across the world.

During the long and arduous journey, the bitch gave birth to five pups, and the little dog guarded his family in the ivory box, and guarded the princess too.
The ship put into a port in France, for fresh food and water, at the same time took on six English sailors.
On the voyage up the channel the crew wove wild tales about their passenger: they said she was a slant-eyed demon, and the box she carried contained treasure.

When the ship rounded the Kent coast a storm arose, driving the ship towards the murderous cliffs. The frightened crew blamed the impending disaster on the princess, burst into her cabin. One of the sailors tried to grab the Ivory box, but drew back with his hand bleeding from the little dogs bite. In terror the crew threw the princess, dogs and the ivory box overboard. The wind changed, and the ship veered to safety.
The princess body and the box were washed into a lonely cove near Dover. No one would approach the supposed devil on the beach, except one man, village simpleton, and it was he who discovered that the princess was dead. Only the dog remained alive, and it was dying. It watched the simpleton dig a grave in which he placed the bodies together. Then he gathered wild daisies and placed them in the shape of a cross. Finally, he placed the little dog among the daisies, where it licked his hand and died.

The ship reached London, and the tale of the treasure spread along the shore. The sailor that had been bitten died a long slow agonizing death; no one would go near the mound on the beach, with it cross of daisies. It was said that a ghostly dog defended the lonely grave, and its bite is DEATH.

Perhaps it keeps its vigil still, for it is said that as late as 1900, a boy found a piece of carved ivory near the cliffs. As he picked it up, he felt himself bitten. Though his injuries were slight, the boy died. HAD the daisy dog bitten him? And was therefore DOOMED, only TIME will tell.

23 June

Ten of us with nine stories of almost equal merit. Brian told of his word block that stopped him from writing his involved story of smuggling. Ann wrote about a family reuniting after the parents were injured. Sally told an epic tale of a fisherman. Sue's was about her war time memories and her dad's wooden box containing gifts of beads and bangles. Pat's childhood memories were of her adventures at Testwood. Sheila related about playing truant and saving a dog. Joan R told of a family and MS and suicide. My story was about the first world war. Joan E about visiting an Aunt and looking forward to a dance that was a dream.
And John's elected the best story was a search for the mythical Pogo tribe which you can have the pleasure of reading - don't wince at the end.

For another.
My story begins with the trip of a life time to the remote dense forests of the Congo, which before I went filled me with trepidation and anxiety as to what sort of experience I was about to have.
I had agreed to be part of an expedition looking for the lost pogo tribe who had not been seen by the white man for more than 50 years.
We flew to Zambia where we met the guides who would take us over the border into the Congo where hopefully we would make contact with this mysterious tribe. After a couple of days rest we drove the 200 miles to the border, and after unloading our camping and other provisions, we headed off into the jungle
The apprehension and trepidation was very apparent amongst us but we made steady progress and estimated that on the first day we had covered at least 12 miles.
The sights and sounds all around us were so different to home life and never ceased to amaze me.
We continued on for a week or more and apart from the never ending sights and sounds that we had become accustomed to the jungle was a wonderful experience for all of us.
We got used to hunting for food and were lucky enough to have a first class man, one of our guides Jomo, who turned out to be a good shot.
On we travelled for another few days and it became apparent during the third week that we were not alone. Certain signs convinced our guides that we were being watched. this feeling had a different effect on our group compared to the guides who said that we should not worry as the last time the tribe were located they proved to be most hospitable.
At the end of the third week we got our first sight of the members of the Pogo tribe. They appeared fairly shy we soon became friendly with them, and mixed well.
Our guide had a very basic knowledge of their language and so we were able to understand each other and we then set about a documentary film of this fascinating tribe .
There was some discussion with the tribal leaders about rewarding them for their participation and we all thought that the trinkets and baubles that we brought should be adequate. to satisfy these simple people. This was not to be the case, and things turned nasty. We soon felt real fear and apprehension when the tribal leader said that we would have to make a sacrifice that will have a lasting effect upon us all. We have become a group of boy sopranos with our manhood gone forever.

May's true story from Pat's early days

All the short stories were very good and made choosing very hard after a second vote for the 3 that tied Pat's was chosen.
Next month back to the Monday and at chez nous

Attention
Attention! Our father said with a smile. The four of us were duly lined up in order of height and he proceeded to hang us upside down on the apple tree. Mother closed her eyes and went indoors. We loved it, and then he tied a thick rope up high with an old broom handle through the loop on the end. We took a huge swing out over the flower bed (musn’t touch the flowers) and pushed our feet against the bark of the tree to stop. We had lots of fun…no broken limbs, just scrapes and scratches. If one knee was bleeding he would say “lets scratch the other one so that you have a pair”..which made us all laugh.

On damp days we played on our plasticene board, which was carefully divided into four with a thin strip cross.We spent hours modelling tiny people, furniture,piano ect. Our brother made tanks and cars of course. Needless to say, the brightly coloured strips eventually became one large drab ball which our father used to graft a Cox’s Orange Pippin onto our Beauty of Bath apple tree..
No one else had an apple tree with two varieties!

There were chickens at the end of our garden,and we discovered, much to our delight, that if you disturbed the hen during her laying, she produced an egg with a raised ring around the centre. One day Dad brought thirteen duck eggs home and set them under a broody hen and hey presto! Thirteen fluffy yellow ducklings. However, all was not well..chickens like to roost on high and ducks don’t.One night a rat crept in and killed the lot. He didn’t eat them, just went for their throats. We were upset, Dad was furious and out came the prong. There were rat runs coming in from the orchard at the back of our garden and yes, he did catch some and one was pronged through by mistake, wriggling and squealing on the end of the fork.

Our father spent hours in the shed with a pot of rouge. You see he was smitten with Patrick Moore’s Sky at Night on TV and wanted his own telescope, out of the question in those days. So he built one. The heavy round glass took months to grind down and polish with jeweller’s rouge. Finally it all came together and we could see dark patches clearly visible on the moon! What a treat. Then we trained it on the chimney pot in the old orchard house which was empty due to being hit by a shell that went between us and next door, bounced of a tree and blew out the windows and doors. It was rather creepy to play in and once we found the skeleton of a cat or dog. However, we were able to spot tiny flies on the chimney from our telescope in the garden.