Most of these stories I have written myself over the past few years, they are all very different but make nice light reading!
Finnigan
Revisited.
The
couple sat at the table, central in the large vista window. The sun had crept
around the corner of Marks and Spencers and was
casting its beams down upon Alice's
grey, no silver curls, they
bounced and glistened as she talked, little ringlets of silver that helped
light up the window as did Alice's
beaming smile. His
name was Frederick Finnigan, Old Fred to
all his friends and there were many of these scattered around Dublin's
fair city.
Alice looked into his
tanned faced, not tanned by the sun alone but by age also. It was a receptical
of life's troubles, each line
and crease told a story; his cauliflower ears and broken nose told that this man could well have been a boxer at
one time in his life. They wouldn't have been wrong, for from a look out boy on the corner of Dundonald Street keeping cavy for the bare knuckle fighters to his progression into the ring proper and then as a 'well sort
after' ring master. Oh yes, Fred Finnigan had lived a very full life indeed.
He
reached across the table and placed his hand gently upon hers. Alice
moved it away and glanced towards the
counter. "I take it ye'll be needin another
cup o tea then lass," he smiled and stood up, his eyes twinkling. "Fred Finnigan I do believe you have
not changed at all," She flirted, dropping her eyes like a 16yr old. "Neither have you Alice Whortle;
though I do believe we have both lived many changes over the past thirty years." They
looked at each other and
for some reason known only unto them selves they began to laugh,
probably each one remembering the escapades of those past thirty years. "You want that cup of tea Alice
Whortle, or not? " he asked her as he stood in front of her. She had her hand now, over her mouth trying to stifle the last
of her giggles. He touched her shoulder and squeezed it gently. She sighed, he walked away. Her
eyes followed him, he walked with a slight swagger towards the counter,
she
frowned, he didn't look as tall today as he used to. It must be the
pin stripe suit, it was very like the one he wore the day she married
William, she scowled, No, surely it wasn't the same suit, and it
definitely wasn't the same flower. He wore a red rose to show his
undying love for William and herself that day. Today
he was wearing a small knot of blue
forget-me-nots, the colour matched his eyes then, she thought. she
diverted her eyes from his back and took in the cut of the cafe; it
hadn't changed that much, though it looked more of a cafe now than it
did back then.
Then it was more like a speak easy of the thirties. Not the American speak easy but a Rebublican Meeting place. She
couldn't help her eyes turning upwards towards the ceiling, it was still high
and the hooks still hung from the
rafters. She sighed and looked down at the table, her hands were shaking, she tried to still them. The
memories from the past returned like a grey, ghostly blanket smothering
the light and bringing with it the smell of cordite, there was aloud
bang as someone dropped a dish. Alice jumped, it made her heart beat a little faster, then a pleasant air of
fancy came over her as the strains of Danny Boy floated across the cafe
floor. Fred
placed the cups on the table and without
a word she stood up and together they swayed to the music. Hardly
moving. No words were spoken, none were needed. The
music stopped and he took her back to her seat, she sat down a slight tear in
the corner of her eye. Fred
took out of his pocket his handkerchief and leaning across the table he wiped it away, kissing her softly on her silver curls. She
was still so very pretty, William had been a lucky fellow; maybe if he had
been around more, instead of doing his
evening work she just might have been his and instead of being young Grace's God Father, he could have been her father. They
sat looking at each other, no smile on their lips but the same twinkle in their
eyes, he just realised that
the flowers on her jacket were forget-me-nots as well, but before he could
mention it, the door of the cafe
opened and the little bell rang. "Seconds Out" Fred whispered.The
lady who walked in was in her thirties, she walked directly to their table, she
smiled. Fred took her hand and likewise Alice
caught hold of her other one."Just look at the two of you " Grace said
bringing their
"Have
you not noticed the time it's almost 11'o clock, and time nor church waits
for no man, least of all you two?
They
stood up, flanking her on either side. Grace
looked first at her mother then at her God Father.
"It's going to be
wonderful having a Mam and Dad again." She said
closing the door gently behind them. hands together in front of her.
I bet you have, and many, many times at that. In fact without them we
wouldn't be anywhere, for in a way without them there wouldn't be
anywhere to go. I will give you a clue. They all live together in a
house called The Week and this house is in a place called Month Avenue.
And to add to that Month Avenue is just one of the Twelve Avenue's that
make their home in Year City in the wonderful Country of Time.
Shall we go into the house and have a look at all seven rooms together.
Mr Day lives in the one room, Mrs Day in another, and their five
children have one room each. Each room is separated from the next by a
wall of Sleep, and they talk to each other through the telephone of
Dreams.
Everything was peaceful and quiet in the House of Days, that
was until the days decided that they were going to have a party. This
is what happened:----
The
days of the week once wanted to be free to get together and have a
party. But each of the seven days was so occupied, the year around,
that they had no time to spare. They wanted a whole extra day; but then
they had that every four years, the intercalary day that comes in
February for the purpose of keeping order in chronology.
On the
intercalary day they would get together for a party, and, as February
is the month of carnivals, they would come in costumes of each one's
taste and choice; they would eat well, drink well, make speeches, and
be complimentary and disagreeable to one another in unrestrained
comradeship. While the vikings of olden times used to throw their
gnawed-off bones at each other's heads during mealtime, the days of the
week intended to throw jokes and sarcastic witticisms such as might be
in keeping with the innocent carnival spirit.
So when it was intercalary day, they assembled.
Sunday,
foreman of the days of the week, appeared in a black silk cloak; pious
people thought he was dressed for church in a minister's gown, but the
worldly minded saw that he was attired in a domino for merriment and
that the flashing carnation he wore in his buttonhole was a little red
theater lantern on which it said, "All sold our; see now that you enjoy
yourselves!"
Monday, a young fellow related to Sunday, and very
fond of pleasures, came next. He left his workshop, he said, whenever
he heard the music of the parade of the guard.
"I must go out
and listen to Offenbach's music; it doesn't go to my head or to my
heart; it tickles my leg muscles; I must dance, have a few drinks, get
a black eye, sleep it off, and then the next day go to work. I am the
new part of the week!"
Tuesday is Tyr's day, the day of strength.
"Yes,
that I am," said Tuesday. "I take a firm grip on my work; I fasten
Mercury's wings onto the merchant's boots, see that the wheels in the
factory are oiled and turning, that the tailor sits at his table, and
that the street paver is by his paving stones; each attends to his
business, for I keep my eye on all. Accordingly, I am here in a police
uniform and call myself Tuesday, a well-used day! If this is a bad
joke, then you others try to think of a better one!"
"Then I
come," said Wednesday.
"I'm in the middle of the week. The Germans call
me Herr Mittwoch. I stand like a journeyman in a store and like a
flower in the midst of the other esteemed days of the week! If we all
march up in order, then I have three days before me and three days
behind; they are like an honor guard, so I should think that I am the
most prominent day in the week!"
Thursday appeared dressed as a coppersmith, with a hammer and a copper kettle, as a symbol of his noble descent.
"I
am of the highest birth," he said, "paganish, godlike! In the Northern
countries I am named after Thor, and in the Southern countries after
Jupiter, who both knew how to thunder and lighten, and that has
remained in the family!" And then he beat his copper kettle, thereby proving his high birth.
Friday
was dressed as a young girl, and called herself Freia, also Venus for a
change, depending upon the language of the country in which she
appeared. She was of a quiet, cheerful character, she said, but today
she felt gay and free, for this was intercalary day, which, according
to an old custom, gives a woman the right to dare propose to a man and
not have to wait for him to propose to her.
Saturday appeared as
an old housekeeper with a broom and other cleaning articles. Her
favorite dish was beer soup, though at this festive occasion she did
not request that it be served for everyone, only that she get it, and
she got it.
Fire with Heat ~ Burning ~ Scalding. Candle Wick ~ Melting ~ Melting. Dripping Wax
I felt the warmth of the flames, as
they licked up the chimney-stack.
Outside the wind was howling around
the windows, trying to get into the room and take the warmth away.
I curled my knees up to my chest
and let the chair support my back. I could hear the sobs of the
wraiths, as they searched here and there for their kin. Watching as the wax melted slowly down the side
of the candles. They flicked, yet there was no movement in the air.
Maybe if I turned on the lights, it
would at least relieve the shadows from their continual dance routine, which in place was adding more
movement to the ghostly shadows that filled the room. I stretched out my legs rubbing my
shins as I did so.
The
skin was already turning pink
from the heat of the scarlet dragons, there webs crawling slowly from
her ankle to her knee. I put my feet down to the carpet and pushed
the chair back a little.
Muttering to myself I walked out into the kitchen to
make a drink, maybe if I ignored them they would
go away. maybe?
It hadn’t happened before, so
why should it now.
She didn’t put on the light; instead she lit the candle on the fridge top, her shadow immediately filled the small room.
She moved round the Welsh-dresser towards the sink, turned on the tap and drew the water, filled the kettle.
As I withdrew the spout the water splashed on my face, cold, as it hit an upturned spoon.
I pulled away and found myself staring into the blackness of night.
The light shone past me and
reflected back off the window glass.
I felt my stomach turn as I realised that I had
forgotten to let down the blind.
As I leaned towards the golden chain which unleashed the blind, she was there.
Out of the
corner of my eye, she was there, looking at me, I tried to lookaway. It seemed as if she were trying, to project herself, her image, through the window pane to hold my gaze to hers.
Somehow I managed to pull the chain, it fell towards the waiting window sill.
It
stopped, resting on the top of the metal book stand, She stood looking
straight ahead. I moved quickly letting the gap fall and the blind drop, but still it held fast on the book stand.
Was it possible she could still see through such a small gap.
I could not take the chance of lifting the blind, I mightn't be so strong next time.I turned slowly . I could still feel her eyes burning into my back, it
hurt, it physically hurt. That
pain should cause such a thing to happened, made me frown. Yet made me determined
to complete my task, I closed my eyes.
I could feel bile rising in my throat, then it was in my mouth. I wanted to spit but that mean't turning back towards the sink. I would close her window into my
world. I felt my way towards the cooker and placed the
kettle on to the ring.
Then came the feint tapping on the
window- pane. It tapping was alternating with the
dripping of the tap that I hadn’t quite turned off.
The water was heating up, the noise drowning out the tap and also the tapping. I walked across to the candle and
blew it out.
I closed my eyes as I extinguished the flame. Opening them to reveal the kitchen in partial darkness, only the shaded light from the living room and
the red glow of the covered cooker ring lit the kitchen.
I jumped as the kettle began to whistle. I prepared the mug.
Then turning the ring off under the kettle I poured the water.
Without
a light to guide her, she
had become visibly invisible, yet I could still hear her broken sobs. Her soft tappings on the window pane.
The wind was getting up outside, It rattled the back door. For one silent moment my thoughts of human kindness tripped through my head. It soon dispersed as I reminded myself that this was not human.
Keeping to the darkened shadows of
the kitchen, I made my way back to the window,
Reaching once more for the book-holder, I pulled it away and let the blind fall to the sill.
She screamed, it sent a chill through to
my bones, I covered my ears, shivering. I heard another scream, fainter. I picked up my mug and made my way into the parlour.
I sat back down on my chair, placing the mug on the coffee table. I turned off the table lamp and once more the flames of the
candles began to dance the movement of my body through the still air , once more dancing and twisting my shapes in the
shadows.
I listened, expecting another scream, but none came. For a moment I thought I heard a scratching at the front door. I reached for the remote control.
An
omnibus of Doctor Who was about to start, something about the war and
the blitzs.
For the rest of the evening I shall have peace from the wraiths, I clicked the switch and relaxed, turning up sound!
This
wee story was written by my friend Liz, a co member of the "Pin Board
Writing Club." Unfortunately she has a full time job now, which no
longer leaves her time to join us. Though when ever she has a spare
Monday Morning she is always there at the Daniel Owen Centre in Mold
5 A DAY- An Alternative Menu Written by my good friend and fellow writer, Liz Proctor
Pam Mai Ravie whinced at the meal her mother had put in front of her for dinner and sighed. "Mum,
you know I'm trying not to eat this sort of food anymore. I really
want to eat a healthier diet and you keep sabotaging it by putting all
of this on my plate every night." She prodded the various pieces of meat with her fork .
"We
should all give it a go, not just me. I know it's much more difficult
for you and Dad to adjust after all these years, but you'd both benefit
you know as well as Michael and Ruby if only ........" "That's enough Pam!" her mother Eva cut in. "You
and
your new-fangled ideas. I'm fed up of it.Your father and I have been
eating this food for years and years, do we look unhealthy ? Your brother and sister eat what we put before
them,and we dn't need you to start fillinf their heads with your stupid ideas Eva slammed the fridge door shut, and as she did so her voice grew increasingly louder. "You'd
think I was serving up convenience foods from the supermarket, or using a
microwave all the time. Every one of you have a choice of meats each
night, as well gravy and vegetables. I cook everything fresh before you leave for your night school, so tell me young lady, what is your problem ? " Pam opened her mouth to speak, but Eva still hadn't finished. "I
know what it is, it's
those new blessed girlfriends you've got yourself mixed up with at this night
school. The're
influencing you with their fancy ideas, fruit and veg! you will end up
end up anorexic. Do you want to look like these so called
super models, as thin as a rake with not an ounce of meat on any of
them, do you ?" she was wagging her finger in front of Pam's face. "Which
incidently brings me right back to you refusing to eat your dinner again tonight. "Do you know how much it is costing your father to let you go to this bloody night school, you do realise
don't you that he is having to
work extra shifts to fund you through it, and he has to provide for
Michael and Ruby and their needs as well, so you better get rid of
these fancy idea's, I am not,
having all his hard work going to waste."
She pushed the plate back in front of Pam. "I
am not throwing away decent food and that's that. Your dad will be
getting up shortly and he will be having this very same meal before
getting ready to go to work . "She paused long enoughto
take a breath,"and just for the record lady, Michael and Ruby
thoroughly enjoyed their dinner tonight, and you haven't
forgotten that it is Michael's time to go with your Dad on his rounds tonight?."
Startled Pam looked at her mother she shook her head in dismay. She was
just about to speak when her father walked into the room. "As good as any alarm clock is your mothers voice," he said, giving her a sleepy smile, as he sat down at the table. Eva rolled her eyes and glared at Pam as she apologised to her husband. "I
am so sorry my love but it's this girl going on one of her missions,
saying anything to avoid eating the meals I'm preparing for her," She
threw another dirty look at her daughter, a deep frown spread across her
brow.
"I wouldn't mind Anton but she has never gone hungry. she has always been given the best wholesome food all her life."
She put the cup down on the table a little too
hard and it spilt. "Dash it Anton, it just gets me so frustrated, you
go out night after night, work so hard, and I really don't
want her unsettling the younger ones." Eva reached over and placed her
husbands meal in front of him, he smiled at her then began to cut up
the mixed grill of liver, kidneys and steak. He took a mouthful and
began to eat. Pam began to play with her food again.
Her father finished his food and put his knife and fork down. "Ok Pam what's this all about then?" She felt decidedly uncomfortable and kept her eyes on the table. "Well
Dad, I really do think Mum is taking this to far. I have been
trying to tell you both for ages that I prefer eating fruit and veg to
meat. In fact you could say I'm sort of a vegetarian already,"
She swallowed hard, knowing how much this
must be upsetting both her parents. "To be honest with you mum and dad I don't want to eat meat from now on." There
she'd said it at last. She swallowed hard, her mouth dry with
apprehension as her father stopped chewing and lifted his head to look
at her. His gaze made her feel nervous and uncomfortable. She felt
herself fidgeting in her chair. "Is that so?" He said slowly and
deliberately.
"I suppose your mother has told you that I am taking
Michael out with me tonight?" Pam nodded her head. "In fact, he
is very keen to join me, and Ruby has expressed a keen interest
already, although she is a little too young at present, but we're very
proud of both of them, aren't we Mother?" Eva nodded her head in agreement. "And they have done this without any prompting from either your mother or myself." Pam gave a deep sigh and open her hands wide as she began to explain herself. "Oh
dear you just don't understand, do you? What I meant was, it is about
healthier options, eating fruit, veg all the recommendations we're
getting told about for eating five a day." Her father stood up and poured himself a glass of water, he turned back to the table, Pam was almost in tears. "That's
all very well Pam and I hear you, and I do know where you are coming
from but I can't understand why you want to kick out against what comes
naturally to all of us." He sighed "I'll grant you the five a day
that you're referring to, is not the same as the five a day that we're
used to. But it's in your blood girl and you can't do anything about it
now."
He walked over to her chair. "You are trying to change your
future, look at your name Pam, why do you think you will always have
this struggle on your hands. Today a vegetarian but then like your
name my daughter you are going to find it difficult to maintain a
vegetarian diet."
"My name father, what about my name, you gave it to me?"
"I know that Pam, and if you
haven't realised why you're called Pam Mai and not Pamela by now, well I just don't believe it's possible. Here take this." Her father pushed a piece of paper and a pen over to her. "Now write your name on the paper," Pam picked up the pen and wrote 'Pam Mai Ravie' down. "Now tell me after all these years that you haven't noticed!" "Noticed what?" Pam shouted. "Oh
for hell's sake Pam, it tells the whole world that", her father stopped
and reaching for the pen he began to write the letters out ."
His steely gaze fixed on her, they read,
"Pam Mai Ravie...... You are a Vampire."
P A M M A I R A V I E...... I AM A V A M P I R E
Buy English and Japanese Guide Books, Artbooks, Magazines and more at Play-Asia.com
Josephine and Napoleon
Josephine
strutted round the farmyard, her tail feathers stood proudly erect ,
the beautiful red comb that adorned her head stood tall. Back and forth
she walked as though on a catwalk. “Oh do get out of the
way Antoinette, can’t you not see that I’m practising my walk for when
the Emperor arrives!” she clucked crossly, swaggering from side to
side as she trod carefully on the cobble stones. “O-o- o, get her girls.” Antoinette the little red hen clucked, opening
her left wing and bowing low before the speckled hen, “and what makes
you think that he’s going to take a second look at you. Just because
you have a red and gold ring on yer leg, you think you’re the bee’s
knees…. that’s if bees do have knees of course!” “Way
aye man of course they have knees, Antoinette, otherwise why would we say
it?” Connie said scratching the ground… which created a dust bath…
which caused poor Josephine to start coughing, which had the adverse
effect of making her tail droop. “Oh Constance, how could you.” she spluttered, “look what you’ve done now, my poor tail feathers, what will le Nappy
say when he espies them, I am surely undone!” she exclaimed with a
sniff and a hiccup which all but finished off the tail feathers
completely. “Nappy! Undone!,” Antoinette clucked again, “Well our kid, you won’t have long to wait , ere he comes now.” Josephine regained some of her posture and with her beak stuck in the air walked proudly down the path to meet him! “Bonjour, you are fine Non!” Napoleon looked at her and frowned, “Fine,
fine, here it is a beautiful late afternoon, the sun is still shining,
my feathers preened to excellence and I’m ordered down to this, this
farmyard, ….. and all because Le Jacob requires some new additions to
his roost. Say la vie, lets get on with it ” he added Then seeing a
bunch of groundsel growing under a bush, he began to peck at it,
shaking it back and forward in his beak which seems to be the things
roosters do best. Then wanting to get on with the dirty deed, he smiled
rapaciously as he turned to face the waiting ladies. Whilst his beak had been busy with the groundsel, his eyes had been watching the goings on between the frustrated hens. Once
more his smile faded, the deed needed doing but he would much rather
have been down the river with the delightful chicks of Enri’s Laconte,
who were by far a much better gathering of biddies, and they were
younger . “Well mon petite poussins, who is going to be
first to enjoy the pleasures of Nap-o-leon Bon-apar-te. come girl’s get
in line” Napoleon fluffed his wings, shook his head making his
beautiful multicolour comb and wattle glimmer in the sunshine and
cocking his head to one side surveyed the brood. Josephine had
pushed her way forward to the front of the line, trying her damnedest
to get the attention of her Napoleon. But to her disgust he walked
straight over to Connie, Connie with about as much finesse as a street
walker outside the Arc de Triumph. “Huh he wasn’t going to get much
triumph there” she muttered to herself. But triumph or not Connie had a huge smile on her face when she came out from behind the bushes. Next
to be taken for the act d’amour was Alison, a very pretty little
French chick, with a nice pink tinge to her feathers. Napoleon pecked
her gently on the back as she passed by him, together they walked
towards the bush. “Je t’adore mon cher” Napoleon’s words could be heard by the waiting hens. “Je t’aime vous Nappy” Came the reply. “The
French hussy,” said Josephine puffing her chest out in disgust. Yet at
the same time hoping it was her turn next. But it was not to be. One by
one Napoleon took the ladies behind the bushes, did the works and sent
them back to the farmyard with a smile on their faces. In the end there was only Antoinette and Josephine left. And
what of poor Boney, for sure when he walked into the farmyard it was
with a spring to his step, but it seemed to Antoinette, that the
Rampant Rooster was beginning to buckle at the knees. “Eeee I hope he’s all right for us” she said to Josephine, he looks a bit knackered to me.” “Don’t be silly, our French cockerels are much more, what you say,
“Sexy” than your English Cocks. He will be fine, we will get the best
you wait and see.” But it was NOT Antoinette who waited, it was Josephine. Goodness
knows what Antoinette and Napoleon got up to in the bushes, but if the
words c’est l’amore and C’est Chouette were anything to go by, then a
rather good time was being had by both the birds in the bush. Antoinette walked, no, almost flew back to the farmyard, her claws barely touched the cobbles, so light her heartbeats. Josephine stood there trembling, it had been such a long wait but now, now it was her turn. Napoleon
came from behind the bush, his comb at an angle his wattle slack
against his lathered feathers. Slowly he made his way towards
Josephine. She raised her wings and stepped forward , perfection in her
gait, the sun was beginning to fade away behind the trees. Napoleon held her in his grasp, moved to whisper in her ear. Non ce soir Josephine. Not tonight Josephine.
A monkey decided to write a book. It was an unheard of conception and caused much consternation amongst his fellow monkeys. "You will make our family a laughing stock," said Father Monkey to his son. "Monkeys
do not do such things,what on earth are you thinking of? I have never
had any desire to write a book and neither did my father before me.
Please think hard about this foolish idea." he sighed. "What is wrong
with being a warrior, or failing that, a tool-maker? There is always a
market for twigs designed to root out termites and grubs. Think of
your mother, do you want other monkeys to point her out in the trees
and snigger behind her tail, look, there goes the monkey whose son
wants to write a book!" his father cotinued. "You are being selfish and
unreasonable and if you don't see sense in this matter I will be forced
to box your ears!
"Younger brother," said the monkey's brother,
"for all that Father is sometimes very narrow in his thinking I do
think he may be right Monkey's don't write books!" He frowned deeply.
"I am, as you know, a well-respected Monkey about town, admired by my
friends and eagerly sought after by lady monkeys for grooming and if it
were to get about that my younger brother were an intellectual and was
considering writing a book I would never be able to go anywhere, no one
would ask me to sleep-overs and all-night fermented fruit-juice
parties and the most lovely girls would not want to be my girl friends
anymore If you will not consider our parents position then at least
think about mine - I have a reputation to think about."
Monkey
said nothing, he was to busy thinking why he shouldn't write a book.
It's not as if monkeys are unintelligent creatures, we teach our young
arithmetic and how to wash roots before they eat them. We can speak
the language of crocodiles, lions and birds and even have occasional
talks with humans, so what is wrong with writing a book? Did not
our ancestors compose symphonies for woodwind and drum that even now
are played on hollow tree stumps and gourds, resounding boldly across
the plains? Even men have taken up the art and construct musical instruments of their own. And
were not our ancestors great artists and painters also, daubing sacred
caves with images of the Gods in magical colours prepared from secret
mixtures of ground ochre, fruit juice and bat poo? So Monkey sat there thinking about his great novel. Already
his fellow monkeys stopped to point him out, laughing at him and making
curious twisting motions with their fingers and toes to the side of
their heads, though Monkey was oblivious didn't really pay any
attention to them.
Father Monkey and Elder Brother were quite
beside themselves now with indignation but no matter how much they
moaned at him Monkey simply smiled at them, his thoughts a hundred
miles away. One night he was even summoned to a meeting of the tribal Elders. In no uncertain terms they made their viewpoint known. If
Monkey did not buckle down and put aside his foolish idea he would not
be allowed to take part in the next great ant-honey expedition and he
would (his mother wept to hear it) be relegated to the end of the
pecking order to receive his share of meat from any gibbon or
spider-monkey slain by the warriors and hunters of the tribe,
receiving only the filthiest offal that no other self-respecting monkey
would touch. He would be considered lower even than one-eyed and
one-legged Pete or Fionula the idiotic girl-chimp, whom the tribe had
adopted and who did their menial chores for them.
Once again
however the wisdom of his betters and fellows seemed to fall upon deaf
ears. Even when his long-standing sweetheart of a year turned her face
away from him and allowed herself to be taken out by Daniel Sharp-fangs, Monkey was undeterred from his idea of writing a book. Instead
of having to listen to all the moanings from the others of his tribe he
began to avoidthe familar jungle tracks where other monkeys might
recognise and hoot at him (sometimes they even threw rotten fruit. Finally
though, he decided that the only way to go forward would be to cut
himself off completely from the rest of the pack and write his book
away from all of them. The pretty features of his fickle girl-friend swam blurily before his eyes but with a savage
sweep of his paw he pushed the image away and loped off into the
unknown to search for a quiet glade or cave to write his masterpiece.
Once
upon a time there was a wonderful horse called Henry, nowadays he spent
a lot of his time galloping round the meadows. This he had always
done, so it was very strange what happened to him, this beautiful day,
in August.
He stood quite still and wondered why it was he had never, ever wanted
to run free~ it just never came into his mind before ~ yet, here he was
in the middle of the paddock, thinking just that.
Henry , which was the name given to him when he was born, had lived in
the same place all his life. The Barn, his home since he was a small
colt, stood as lovely as ever in the corner of his paddock, he wanted
for nothing; fresh hay, grooming by a beautiful young filly named
Janice, whose pony tail was almost as long as his, she brought him fresh
water and food everyday, in fact, every day he was more than well looked after. As a youngster, he had remained rather a gangly, little
chap for quite a while, he often thought this was why he had been able
to stay at Brookefield and not been sold on. Now however, he had made
up for the lost growing times with his rich, grey dappled coat and a
mane and tail that could have been made with spun silver and spiders
webs covered in morning dew, he had also grown in sature and by the
time he was three, he could have been mistaken as Tolkein's great Shadowfax. Yes, life for Henry was very comfortable to say the least.
Maybe that is why he suddenly began to have this desperate urge to be
free; roam the wild meadows beyond the hills. These thoughts were very
alien to Henry, but they remained with him all that day. Night began to
fall and Henry made his way down to the barn, his stable I suppose we
should call it. After eating his supper he stood by the stable door,
resting his long neck against the wooden rail, he smiled as his eyes
settled on the worn out groove to one side of the feeding basket. He
smiled again as he realised that he was dreaming of the one he loved far, far away. At
that very moment, a shooting star crossed the sky he quickly made a
wish and knew immediately that it would come true for without any
thought of sleeping, he found his old satchel, and after putting
inside a few odds and ends he thought he might need, he was ready for
the off. He was just about to leave when he realised there was no
sense in his departing in the middle of the night, he must have a sleep
and wait for morning and breakfast. And so our intrepid adventurer
settled back down for the night; Sleep however didn't come easy, it was
more of an awake night than a sleep night, and by the time morning came
he was wide awake and excited when Janice arrived with his breakfast.
He did feel a little sad as he had his oats, thinking of the days he
had spent here, in this barn, and how much Janice would miss him but he
soon perked up, and with satchel over his head, he made his way up to
the top of the meadow and freedom. He stood on the ridge above the
valley, looking towards the distant horizon and Emily.
He spurred himself forward, he could almost feel the reins around his
neck as he galloped onwards, forever, onwards. He first stopped at a
small brook, and it was from this brook that he set his barings. He
must go left, left towards the mountains, the border and finally to
England. He crossed over bridges, scrambled across rocks, paddled
through trickling brooks, he came upon a great lake not far from the
border and rested in the near by woods till the morning came again. And
with morning came the rain, it rained for two days solid, Henry was
cold and very wet. His tail and mane became tangled and there was no
Janice to groom him. Should he turn back? Could he turn back? He
stopped in his tracks, he truely was on his last legs but by the
following day, the sun had replaced the rain, the grass smelt and
tasted clean and fresh. Everything in the world was fine again. Time
went by, days went by, Henry plodded on. No more the graceful stallion
but more like a cart horse. The day soon came when he could go no
farther, he sat down to rest, he was exhausted. His heart sank as he
caught sight of his reflection in the cattle trough, he had burr's
stuck in his mane and tail, somewhere he must have picked up a scratch
for specks of blood, were dotted down a ten cm scratch on his left
fetlock. Sleep drifted over him and he had another restless night in the open. He
was very surprised to hear singing as he woke up, he was leaning up
against an old oak tree and the head of a young boy was bobbing up and
down as he struggled to get the burr's out of Henry's mane. "What on earth have you been doing with yourself Henry?" he said between pulls, "and why are you so far from your home?" Henry couldn't believe his eyes, there was the young groom who had looked after him at the Wincanton Races last Easter. "Well
I can see you have been travelling for quite some time, and I think I
can guess were your going!" he smiled. "But we can't have you going to
see your lady friend like this! Now can we?" he said, as he took the
last burr out of Henry's mane. "Now let's get those last few burr's out
of your tail and we will make you as good as new in no time." And
without another word. Henry began to be restored. He couldn't believe
his luck, Jaimie the groom just kept on and on, till he had Henry back
to a full Stallionetic image again. He lifted his head and moved it
from side to side in appreciation, neighing loudly and even whinny-ing
to the four winds he was so delighted. "And now you look a bit more
like a stallion of breed and not a carthorse, used to pulling a drey of
coal." he frowned and added, "not that I'm critizising the drey horse,
oh no, not me, where would we be with out them!" he exclaimed. "Right
now Henry. You follow this here track for about three days, don't take
any short cuts otherwise you will need grooming again. Right?" Henry
nodded his head. He gave Jamie a nuzzle and started along the track
that ran along beside the river. This he did for the three days and
three night, food was good eating the blackberries and sweet grass,
strawberry clover and the odd bit of hay he found in the farmers fields
left out for the sheep. However
his heart was beginning to sink again, he really did think he could, or
should have caught sight of Emily by now. Maybe she was already
hitched, he hadn't thought of that in his haste to see her. Although
Jaimie hadn't mentioned it. His heart sank as he closed his
eyes... It was late, he was tired........ then just as Henry was about
to drift off to sleep, in that very moment he heard in the distance, a
sound ...... " ----ry." He opened one eye, then the other, lifted his ears, "what was that?" "......nry."
The sound got closer and closer, then to Henry's surprise. Can you
guess who came galloping over the crest of the hill? Emily, it was
Emily galloping directly towards him. "Henry, Henry!" she whined as she snuggled up to him, her nuzzle all floppy and loving, smothering his nuzzle as they poured out their love for one another uncontrollably. And can you guess what happened next ?
"Well my dear," she said as she bent over my twisted torso. "It looks to me as if you have got yourself into a right old pickle, doesn't it?"
I opened my mouth to talk but she either didn't make sense of my mumbled words of pain or was too deep in thought as she looked this way and that along the empty platform. "Hm, it does seem like we're on our own my lovely, so we better decide which is the best way to go about it. I just can't understand how you managed to do this all by yourself!" "It wasn't easy! " I answered and managed a small smile, or was it a grimace, could have been either. "My mother always told me I could never do anything by half."
"I do believe she might have been right my dear , now let me see." she frowned, "hmm that arm doesn't seem very sure of itself. I think that shoulder bag will have to come off." With that my rescuer turned round and picked what could be described as a Mary Poppins bag on the bench, obviously huge and very full, and therefore heavy, I smiled at her comely face. The next second she was inside the bag rumaging until she came out with..... no not a hat stand, this looked rather more like a huge pair of crimping shears, why you youngsters carry such heavy bags is beyond me." she looked at my face before continuing, "now no need to worry my dear, these have been used many times before, and never let me down." I closed my eyes "I wonder where?" I thought, "Now hold on to what you can, this might jolt a little when the arm drops, but the pain will soon go!
I buried my chin deeper into my chest as the strap was cut and the arm secumbed to the force of gravity and joined my shoulder again. It was a good job that my sounds were suppressed, for the words that I uttered into the bosoms were certainly not related to Brahms Lullabye. "There you go" she said moving the arm a little as she walked to the front again, there was a slight click and she was right the pain did stop. "Now before we go on, my name is Margaret May, though my girlies do
tend to call me Aunty May," I smiled, somehow I imagined her as an aunt, though the name Margaret Rutherford did spring to mind.
I made to move my leg and only succeeded in sending a seering pain up my left side. "Now now child, don't be hasty, nothing ever comes of being hasty."
"Oh my goodness" I grinned to myself, now I was a bloody hobbit being chastised by treebeard, I laughed again at my own thoughts, she smiled and nodded her head. Her little bonnet hat danced on her forhead. She left me again and wondered to the far end of the bench, "I don't suppose this varmint will move." She said as she put her weight against it, but not even a shudder emitted. "Nope, I didn't really think it would, when they were put here in the forties, they were put here to stay, out live the lot of us, and that's for sure;" She went quiet, "a-! ha, I see now!"
Quietness, then the soft clinking sound of metal against metal, and a thud, as whatever was being undone was dropped to the floor. I just lay there, there was nothing really I could do but let her get on with it. "Will you just look at that, the stupid beggers have put the scaffolding through the bench cos they couldn't move it." I tried to raise myself up to look but it wasn't to be; As I moved up one way, my legs ends moved the other. I let out a little squeal. "There, there, soon be over pet," she said with a big smile on her face. "Now I know were not delivering of a baby, but I think this might be a good time for you to pant; I want to make your legs and bottom a unit again for they do seem to be a little wayward." She sighed, and sighed again. "Now do take my advice and try to take some nice deep breaths, for it will hurt a bit, but without everything following everything else so to speak, we won't get you out." She tutted, then looking over my shoulder she added. "But whatever you do my dear don't try to stand up or you'll be down there on the underpass. I gulped, and immediately wanted to look. "Now, now you stay nice and still. " Then without another word her big hands were addressing both my legs and I was reunited, as she called it. "Keep still, keep still ....... don't wriggle and don't lean back or you'll have us both down there..... she wrapped her arms under my armpits and across my chest, a quick flip and I was stomach down , head on seat over the back of the bench. "Hold tight to the sides that's a good girl." I did what she said without a word, she came to the front and stood there with a smile on her facce. "I always say; weigh up the situation before diving in and I think I have delivered enough babies to know the best way to get the rabbit out of the hole." She began to laugh, chuckling to herself as she came to help me with the rest of my deliverance. It was all over in a flash; she picked me bodily from the bench, turning me round and about, I think there might have been an upside down in there somewhere, but next minute I was back on the seat, the way I had started before my hat had been knocked off by a wayward piece of scaffold. I sat there exhausted but relieved. Going round the bench again, Auntie May Rutherford collected my bag and the piece of strap she had cut, she also picked up a pretty blue beret. "I don't suppose this belongs to you, my dear." she said holding it up in the air. " It goes well with the mitts your wearing." She looked at me and grinned. "I suppose this is the reason for your little entanglement with the bench and the scaffolding ?" I nodded sheepishly, but she carried on without waiting for the reason. "It was a very stupid thing to do, putting scaffolding around a hole, even if it does reach from the floor below. Never mind you're safe and sound now and I guess, " she glanced at her watch, "Goodness me I shall be late home" A huge smile crossed her face. "Well my dearie, I must be off home now. I'm expecting a couple of my young girls to shed there babes tomorrow, daresn't be late getting up." And without another word she nodded her head and turning towards the exit she was gone.
Me, well I sat there for at least ten minutes; beret in one hand, broken strap in the other. I felt extremely dirty and smelt like a greasy frying pan. Walking down the steps to the underpass, I stopped at the bottom of the scaffolding. I smiled to myself. "Yes, it is rather a long way up." I said to the empty space. I continued to smile all the way to the hospital, I wondered if Margaret May would ever come to the Queen Elizabeth. It would be nice to see her again.
The idea for this short story was thought up during my Writing Group, we had to express a few different emotions, not quite sure what mine were now. I think it's turned out pretty well, I hope you like it!
I AM SURE YOU HAVE ALL HEARD OF THE FABULOUS "CELTIC WOMEN." IF NOT FEAST YOURSELF ON THESE WONDERFUL SONGS FROM THEIR AMAZING REPERTOIRE.
Oh Shenandoah!
Hello there,
Who am I? Well my name is Dodie, I am a Mistress of the Web.... No not
a Spider, they have eight legs. I, on the other hand, or should that be
foot, I have two. Actually I spend many a long hour sitting at my
computer, writing stories and poems, making playlists and anything else
that comes to mind at the time. This tale however, although mostly true
is a bit on the sad side, so I will give you a few moments to get your
hanky or tissues.
It
happened a few weeks ago to my good friend, well she wasn’t an
especially close friend, but we did share quite a few good times
together. Her name? I don’t think you will have heard of her but within the “Crazy Writer’s Society” she was known as Sherry Merry. This
had nothing to do with her drinking Sherry or even with being merry,
for more often than not she was tearing the male populous to pieces,
from Prime Minister down to Mr. Jones. Ty Bach Tut, that lived next door to her, poor man. Talking about tut-ting, I am digressing already so to cover a long friendship into a few paragraphs, I will begin.
Ms Shenandoah Meredith Evans,
for this was her full title, was the only offspring of an Irish Mother
and a South Walian Father, two characters themselves. Her Mother Colorado (Mary)Liffy Evans, gave, her daughter, the name Shenandoah. Why, I hear you ask? It seemed that even though she was full blooded Irish, Colorado had always wanted to go to The United States,
to become American, It never happened, she called herself Colorado and
then she moved to Wales, just as the war was ending, in the hope of
catching a Yank to take her back to America. Of course she never met
her Yank, instead she moved up to North Wales and met Gwynfor Meredith Evans, and the rest is obvious, a year or so later along came Shenandoah.
Shenandoah was not happy with her name, she never had been, Guarenteed,
whenever she was introduced. . she was always met with . . . . “Ah Shenandoah, as in the river I presume,” which eventually gave our Sherry a phobia of water and especially bridges. Getting
her to cross a bridge, sober or awake while walking was practically,
no definitely impossible and so it was a vehicle across or the long
walk round. Which reminds me of the time we went on holiday with a
few mates, unfortunately we left it up to one of the guys to do the
booking and it was going to be "The Most Wonderful Surprise, Girls."
Oh it was. I'll never forget the look on her face when we landed at the
Marco Polo Airport, dear Peter had only booked us ten luxurious days
in the Antony Hotel in Venice of all places, it truly was a disaster,
and I doubt whether the poor guy ever walked without a limp again. But that was another story, some other time maybe.
Like myself, Sherry Merry being born in 1944, was a child of the 60’s,
We actually met in Rhyl of all places, though I must say it was a lot
cleaner and more fun than today. I was working on the Dodgem Cars, in
the Kiosk taking the money off the lads, and Sherry was going out with
a very strange creature called Steve. I did find out later when we met
up again that she was only going out with him because he had a scooter,
a Vesper I think she said it was.
We met a few times, she got a job selling rock along by Twigdons and I went into tattooing down by the Marine Lake. Then I married at seventeen and we drifted our seperate ways. Only
briefly seeing each other at the Cavern in Liverpool, or was it
the Lecarno in Manchester, it's not important.
Her
parents it seems still lived in North Wales, but had moved up market a
little and had bought a house in Llandudno. Boarding place, not sure if
they're there any more mind. Anyway that was the last
we saw of each other until two years ago, when she moved to Ponty. It turned out that she didn't marry her Vesper Steve. Instead Shenandoah Meredith with her abounding love of the stars, had gone on to take a collage degree in Astronomy and after meeting her soul mate there, her life was made. She carried on with her career and by the autumn of 84 she was an astronomer par excellance, married and with a doting husband who also loved the stars, in fact one could say they lived thier life with their head in, and, beyond the clouds. Many a night they spent on their backs where ever there was a good view of the heavens and life was perfect. Until that fateful night when, although it wasn't the best night for star gazing there was supposed to be a passing by of some satellite or other and Russell, the husband, who found all the best places to lie down, took her to this small overhang up the side of Cefn Caves. There were many other reasons for not going out that night apart from the lack of stars. It had rained almost non stop for two weeks, this had made the grass extremely wet and slippery and even though the small tarpoline was laid, it was a task getting there and climbing back down was going to be really hard work. But after listening to Sherry's encounter of the evening, in all it's gory detail. It didn't take them as long to get down as it might. "Imagine," she continued, "One minute we were backs down, elbows up, binoculars to the ready, Russell saw the satellite and jumped up, kinda quick like." Shenandoah took out her hankie then and began to cry, she couldn't continue at that point, but I know she wouldn't mind me relating the rest of the story to you now. So it was, Russell sprang up, and began to slide. The tarpoline also began to slide. Russell grabbed for the closest thing, which just happened to be Sherry's legs. Next second they were both plunging to earth, by the quickest route. Russell hit the ground before Sherry, who was still holding the tarpoline, which the doctors say possibly saved her life, that and the fact that she landed directly on top of Russell. She didn't attend his funeral, it was some while till they were able to remove the brace from her neck, shoulders and back, but she could walk, slowly and with her head constantly bent looking down at the floor. Her neck had been broken, she gained a couple of stone whilst recouperating and waddled more than walked. Life would have been at an end for most, but not Sherry Merry. Oh no, she couldn't stargaze so much but she was fast becoming a connoisseur of peoples shoes.
She had dreams, one of them to go on a trip up to the stars in the space shuttle. She applied, but even though she had the money, ( insurance) her weight and the neck problem stopped her being excepted. Without a doubt, dearest Sherry was never going to be a real Mr. Spock... come to think of it I too have a dream, but I think the chances of meeting a real live dragon in Pontybodkyn are very slight, if not highly improbable.
;Anyway - so life changed a great deal for all of us after that, we did have the odd few days here and there as Sherry became the 17 stone she was the day of the accident, though I find I am shaking my head at the memories of the caravan holiday in Llandudno, You really don't want to know, so I won’t go into detail, except to say the guy looking after the chair lift up the Great Orme, was in hospital for five weeks and the bruising on Sherry padded b t m , lasted a few weeks longer She had no luck with men, not really, poor darling.
; And so to her demise, it’s rather a sad ending and again it was bought about by, a combination of food and men, loosly speaking so to speak.
We had all decide, that is Sherry Merry, Cynthia, Joan and myself,; to go to our favourite haunt out in the country for a meal and a drink, not far from Llandudno but far enough to make sure we wouldn’t come across any one who was in the fateful chair lift.
We entered the premises of the public house. Jeremy greeting us with "Hello Girls," and Sherry mumbled the same "piss off", under her breath Cynthia found the table and perused the menu Joan put the Great Pretender on the Juke box along with a few more old Queen hits, I went to the bar for the drinks, two G and T’s for Joan and myself. An OJ for Cynthia, she was the designated driver and had the best car to fit Sherry's form as well as exceedingly good shock absorbers. Sherry was having her usual pint of guinness with a splash of blackcurrent, another of the traits she picked up off her mother.
Sherry, pops her bag on the table, and makes the gesture to say she's off to the loo. Me, I was still at the bar but I heard her flip flopping past me as she wobbled towards the loo, eyes fixed firmly on the ground in front of her.
Jeremy, had the builders in making a smoking extension beyond the end of the bar, only a small encloser for the smokers who were no longer allowed inside. But enough to have the warning sign and scaffolding.
Hearing Jeremys words I turned towards Sherry. Tray in hand, I could almost hear my scream before that of Joan and Cynthia's.
Unfortunately from Sherry not a sound. Chin on chest, she didn't see the sign till it was too late, in fact I don't think she saw the sign or the footing till it was all over, and then it was too late.
She fell forward into the footing, at the same time as she grabbed the scaffolding. The large piece of tin which was hanging up between the bar and the loo, with words stating for users to us the other W.C whilst repairs were carried out, I don't think she saw that at all.
It all happened in a flash. The piece of tin dropped downwards like a guillotine towards the waiting neck of the unsuspecting Sherry Merry who was still trying to gain her balance. Her body did a perfect belly-flop into the open footing. Her head however continued to roll down the gully , very much like a ten pin bowling ball towards the skittles.
I dropped the tray, Jeremy fainted, Joan who didn't really get phased by anything, made the sign of the cross, and Cynthia drank both G & T's.
I wish I could have shown you the wonderful tributes that were placed in the newspapers, they were all very sincere but it is not easy to say, "Sherry and her head were reunited in the undertakers." Without a small smile crossing the lips.
The funeral was a grand affair, every one of us getting quite merry and recalling our different adventures. Of course there wasn’t any men invited to the breakfast feast, and feast it was, all the food that Sherry loved most and that was nearly everything. Many tunes of the Sixties were played along with many more relating to the stars.
This all happened a few weeks ago, and I thought, better put it into print before I forget the details. Oh yes we did manage to persuade Joan from playing Queens theme tune from the film Highlander. I thought the track, "Don't loose your head" a little inappropriete" Hey ho back to the P.C. I suppose.
Just
a few tracks I have joined together from the wonderful video's that all
the amazing people have sent in to Youtube, They are a class act and no
mistake with such a knowledge of many types of music and film. These
are not for the little ones.
Golum's Song. Bishunmoo. House of Flying
Daggers. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. The Warriors. Genghis Khan.
Dances with Wolves, Highlander, Boromir Death Scene, Star Wars.
Woodland
Nymphs have inhabited the British Isles for centuries, with a deep spiritual
connection to some of the most ancient species of tree. The Dunham Nymphs were
likely to have been here long before humans made their mark on the landscape. They
would have fought vehemently to protect their territory, taking advantage of
the superstitious nature of medieval man, haunting the forests and creating
mischief where they could.
How
the Dunham Nymphs got their Antlers
The Nymphs at Dunham didn’t always have antlers,
like most Woodland Nymphs they had a crest. However the Dunham Nymphs lived in
harmony with the Dunham Fallow Deer sharing the forest and all its wares. A
mutual respect was held between the Nymph King TBC and the Great Stag TBC and
although they were not obvious allies they had a common interest in the
preservation of the Forest & Parklands.
It is said that a neighbouring herd of Deer had invaded the Dunham
estate and this culminated in a huge stand off between the Great Dunham Stag
& the Lead Stag of the invaders. The rut continued for days until finally
the Dunham Stag was fatally injured. He retreated to the trees to see out his
final painful hours and it was here that the Nymph King used his mystical
healing powers taken from the Great Oaks to nurture the Great Stag back to
life. He returned to his herd just in time and fought and won a
final rut to maintain his place at the head of Dunhams Fallow Herd.Normal0falsefalsefalseEN-GBX-NONEX-NONE
That Autumn oak leaves fell and when spring came the
following year the oldest oak in the park only bore leaves from 2 of its 3
limbs, in this same year the male Dunham Nymphs developed antlers in the exact
same way as the resident deer.
Folklore suggests that the lost limb was the scar left from
the magic needed to save the Stag, and that the Antlers were a spiritual gift
from him to the Nymph. Sometime later the Nymph King who had saved the Stag died
and the following spring, another Limb died on the Gnarly Oak. Today the single limb represents the unity between the
deer and nymphs of Dunham and their eternal allegiance.
Friday
was dressed as a young girl, and called herself Freia, also Venus for a
change, depending upon the language of the country in which she
appeared. She was of a quiet, cheerful character, she said, but today
she felt gay and free, for this was intercalary day, which, according
to an old custom, gives a woman the right to dare propose to a man and
not have to wait for him to propose to her.
articles. Her
favorite dish was beer soup, though at this festive occasion she did
not request that it be served for everyone, only that she get it, and
she got it.
~ Burning ~ Scalding.
Dripping Wax 
Mold
She
threw another dirty look at her daughter, a deep frown spread across her
brow.
"And they have done this without any prompting from either your mother or myself."
Josephine
strutted round the farmyard, her tail feathers stood proudly erect ,
the beautiful red comb that adorned her head stood tall. Back and forth
she walked as though on a catwalk.
amongst his fellow monkeys.
ears. Even when his long-standing sweetheart of a year turned her face
away from him and allowed herself to be taken out by Daniel Sharp-fangs, Monkey was undeterred from his idea of writing a book. 
