Nine of us met at John & Sheila's for another creative writing meeting. All of us had a good story to tell. It was fun to read your own work and fun to listen to others with many a conversation prompted by the story as some recaptured childhood experiences. We decided that the two best stories were the following Joan's early experience on the family farm and Sue's imaginative story with a twist to it.
In the Headlights by Joan
It was a dark cold frosty morning. A long day lay ahead, the cows were waiting at the gate to come in for their feed and a handful of hay. They each knew their place and were fed accordingly. The heavier milkers having extra concentrate in their mangers. Each cow had a name to identify them Bluebell, Nancy, Eve and Rose just to name a few. While they contentedly ate a chain was fastened loosely around their necks then the milking began in earnest. A small mixed herd of about twenty or so were soon hand milked.
The fresh warm frothy milk was transferred to the cool clean churns then the cows were released back to the fields. The churns were taken by horse and cart a mile up the lane in time for the early morning collection.
There were many other jobs to do letting out the chickens feeding the calves and Freda the saddleback sow. The seasons played a large part, sowing the crops after the land had been prepared, weeding and hoeing and then later on harvesting. From a young age on the way home form school it was my job to open the field gates and call the cows in for milking. The rough unmade lane led to the farmhouse and buildings, was about half a mile long on our side of the river.
The head cow led the way. If any of the cows were missing it was my job to go and search usually they had stole away to calf in the forty acres of open woodland, boggy moor and fields. One would have a good idea where to look, some secluded spot away from the rest of the herd. Once found I loved to stroke the new born calf's soft silky coat. The calf was usually lying down having been thoroughly licked clean and fed some hours before. I would get them to their feet, hopefully mum would lead the way and the calf would follow but usually I had to walk in front with the calf and give it a helping hand. We would arrive home eventually to a bed of clean straw for them to rest in.
In the winter the cows would stay near the homestead. With the shorter days it was time to relax a little once the live stock needs had been attended to. As the excitement of Christmas drew near we went to town to do the shopping a ten mile trip each way. We browsed in Smith's where they sold almost everything in those days, toys, dolls, games and books.
On the way home along the dark country lanes we would see pairs of amber eyes glinting in the headlights of the car. Was it a cat, a dog ... or perhaps a fox on the prowl?
IN THE HEADLIGHTS by Sue
As he was caught in the headlights’ glare and heard the noise of the approaching monster, he knew he was too spent and weak to escape and the day flashed before him.
He saw himself once more standing on the steep, forested hillside in the early light, revelling in the sense of space, the high mountains, the rising sun. He stood proudly, head held high, his powerful shoulders and muscled flanks sharply outlined. He started his descent, stepping lightly down the barely discernible track, glancing to left and right and occasionally stopping to savour some bright red berries.
And so he would have continued, but suddenly he stopped, listening intently. The sounds came again, faintly on the breeze, and a quiver went through his body as he heard the unmistakable baying of hounds. He started to trot more purposefully, then broke into flight, eventually breaking through the trees, stopping at the edge of open meadowland to survey the scene below, as the sun climbed towards its peak. Nothing; but behind him, the hounds gave tongue more urgently now, joined by faint voices. They had found his fresh trail.
He plunged through the meadow, crushing the sweet grass and delicate flowers as he ran, coming to a wood into which he gratefully fled. He ran on, searching, and eventually found the wide, shallow waters of the river. He gratefully leapt in. After hurriedly lowering his head and slaking his thirst from the cool water, he turned downstream for a brief spell, before starting up a narrow track. He followed this until he came to rocky ground, onto which he leapt and stood, trembling and listening intently. There was still time. He turned back the way he had come, into the water, turned upstream again, now using all his strength to race on. He thought his heart would burst, when he spied rocks at the water’s edge and again made for the bank, stepping out carefully.
The sun was now well down the sky as he turned to pick his way delicately over the rocks and up over the ridge, always accompanied by the baying of the hounds and the ugly voices.
As he descended the far side, the skies became dark and stormy, with rising wind and the smell of rain. He ran on, searching for the track. First came the lightning, then the thunder, followed by raindrops which quickly became a downpour. His thoughts skittered around as he searched for shelter – at least the rain should erase his scent.
At last, when his legs threatened to carry him no further, he spied the track and gratefully turned onto it. He trotted on and eventually came to the shelter he sought, slowing his pace as he entered.
Suddenly, there was a thunderous roar and he stood, legs buckling in the glare, knowing there was no escape. His last thoughts were that at least the hounds hadn’t got him.
The train driver let out a great oath as he saw the man in the headlights sinking slowly onto the track, chains dangling from each wrist. He lunged for the brake, but Jed knew it was too late as the wheels screeched and spat sparks to either side of the rails and he thought, “He won’t be going back to the penitentiary”.
