Deadline: 23rd April
Brief: today is National Shakespeare Day, the anniversary of the bard’s birth and death (exact date of his birth is unknown). Write a Shakespeare themed piece e.g. sonnet, Shakespearean form of course, or an essay giving us your thoughts on his works. Or a review of a Shakespeare work. A piece about something Shakespeare related. Ideas: The Globe Theatre – zeitgeist of his time, a light hearted take on things Shakespearean, facts for the studious, or just wax lyrical with old Will in mind.
Brief: today is National Shakespeare Day, the anniversary of the bard’s birth and death (exact date of his birth is unknown). Write a Shakespeare themed piece e.g. sonnet, Shakespearean form of course, or an essay giving us your thoughts on his works. Or a review of a Shakespeare work. A piece about something Shakespeare related. Ideas: The Globe Theatre – zeitgeist of his time, a light hearted take on things Shakespearean, facts for the studious, or just wax lyrical with old Will in mind.
A Sonnet for The Bard
We celebrate his birthday on this day, a playwright thrust upon us called The Bard, who writes in riddles I find hard to play, or understand. At school I found him hard. Yet, Judy Dench thinks he’s God’s gift to man, and wishes she had met him in her life. I think she must be Shakespeare’s biggest fan. I’d rather study Hathaway, his wife. His sonnets aren’t so hard to write you know. I’ve dashed this off in just an afternoon. Stick to his dum-de-dum and hear it flow. You need to practice until very soon you become an expert writing sonnets selling them online to make a profit. Maggie Storer |
The Bard
I put the Bard out on Tiktok, hoping he might gain me a few extra followers. I needed a 60 second sonnet; of which Sonnet 18, was perfect. I will play it for you; so sorry if I don’t sound much like Dame Judy Dench – (play video on my phone) Now what does this 14 line sonnet mean? All the sonnets cover themes in the passing of; time, love, infidelity, jealousy, beauty or mortality. Sonnet 18 is famous, largely because of its eloquent use of language and perfection of form. Love and mortality are the central point of Sonnet 18. Shakespeare is telling us the love he has for his partner will live within the words of the poet forever. These poem address a very human fear that someday we will die and likely be forgotten. In immortal text, as with a sculpture or monument, we can live on. A beautiful love poem. William Shakespeare would have been 460 years old now (April 1564 – 2024) An Icon that lives on. Cora Boffey |
Shakespeare’s Women
Having studied Shakespeare both at school and at degree level I became interested in his frequent gender role swapping in several of his plays. This began in very early performances as boys and men had to play both genders due to it not being fitting for girls and women to act. This was the accepted expectation in the sixteenth century as females were not part of the theatre culture – especially as many of Shakespeare’s plays were bawdy and degrading to the fairer sex. This gradually changed as women became less subservient and more assertive and many actresses became famous for their interpretation of the Bard’s heroines. In the twenty first century women have taken on male roles; both genders have swopped characters; there are all male Shakespeare companies and I believe this has made understanding of the texts more in keeping with popular culture. In The Globe Theatre’s 2000 season I was lucky enough to enjoy Vanessa Redgrave taking on the role of Prospero in The Tempest. Male and female actors played other roles as per tradition, but Redgrave was wonderful. She did not appear as a female Prospero but rather as a woman taking on a man’s role which worked, particularly as her costume was male including a long black leather coat. This was seen to address the gender imbalance as in the previous season many female Shakespearean parts were given to males including Mark Rylance playing Cleopatra. Nowadays such moves can be seen as a nod to political correctness, though once it was just a way of staging the Bard’s plays to keep the audience alert to the action, having girls dress as men and vice versa in a ploy to win a fair lady or trick a suitor to wake up to his true love. Some question whether this alters the nuance of the narratives? Did William Shakespeare envisage his players and directors to experiment with role swapping? Many changes have and continue to be made to these unique texts but, as long as the productions stay rigidly to the words, then the magic will not be lost. Andie Green |
A Shakespeare Miscellany
Shakespeare was 21 when he married Anne Hathaway of Shottery, a village close to Stratford. She was eight years his senior and pregnant. William and Anne had three children, a daughter Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith. Although Shakespeare’s career was to centre on London, his family remained in Stratford, and he maintained close ties with his birthplace. It’s often said that we know very little about Shakespeare but according to the Complete Oxford Shakespeare, that’s a myth. In fact, we have a lot of information about his life. For example, in 1605 Shakespeare invested £440 in the Stratford tithes, from which he earned £60 per annum; in 1607 his daughter Susanna married John Hall, a distinguished physician in Stratford; in March 1613 he purchased a house in the Blackfriars area of London for £140; in 1616 his second daughter Judith married Thomas Quiney and William amended his will. It may not be earth-shattering detail but these historical records show his life is at least as well documented as his contemporaries. Robert Greene, a playwright, called Shakespeare an ‘upstart crow.’ Greene resented the fact that Shakespeare, an actor, wrote plays. Greene and others were ‘university men’ and thought Shakespeare, who had not attended a university, was a threat to educated men like themselves. The poet Matthew Arnold thinks Shakespeare is better for being self-taught, he is closer to nature and understands it more fully; his plays and poems seem to have something to say about everything that affects us. In his tribute poem ‘Shakespeare’, Arnold writes about Shakespeare’s outstanding genius: ‘And thou who didst the stars and sunbeams know, Self-schooled, self-scanned, self-honoured, self-secure, Didst walk on Earth unguessed at. Better so!’ Although some were published separately during his lifetime, Shakespeare did not collect his plays together for publication. The First Folio was published by his colleagues, John Heminges and Henry Condell, in 1623, about seven years after his death. It is thought about 750 copies were published of which 235 still exist. In 2014 one was discovered in a public library in St Omer, France and in 2016 another was found in Mount Stuart House, Isle of Bute, Scotland. Heminges and Condell claimed that they had collected together the plays ‘without ambition either of self-profit or fame, only to keep the memory of so worthy a friend and fellow alive as was our Shakespeare’. The London Library is hosting an event in June to discuss the suggestion that Shakespeare could have been a woman, made by Elizabeth Winkler, author of Shakespeare Was a Woman and Other Heresies.’ An article in The Guardian (16.04.24) tells us that new research suggests that doubts about Shakespeare’s authorship first arose during his lifetime, in a book called Palladis Tamia, Wits Treasury published in 1598 by the theologian Francis Meres. Some 16th century writers were confident that Shakespeare was the pseudonym of Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford. More conspiracy theories! Linda Birch |
Deadline: 9th April:
Brief: Write a piece, story or poem – theme: a noise or a silence that won’t go away
Brief: Write a piece, story or poem – theme: a noise or a silence that won’t go away
What’s That Noise?
‘Now you’re sure you know where the keys are?’
‘Yes, quite sure.’
‘And the number for the alarm? You won’t forget.’ ‘No, I won’t forget.’
‘You won’t forget to take Monty on his walk?’ ‘No, of course not.’ (as if he’d let me forget!)
‘There are some meals for you in the freezer and Monty’s favourite biscuits are in the red tin in the cupboard over the sink.’
‘Yes, Mary I know. We’ll be fine, you just go and enjoy yourself.’
I’d agreed to house-sit for my friend Mary whilst she goes to visit some friends in Scotland. She’ll be away for three weeks and she’s leaving Monty to look after me as well. To say she is a worrier is something of an understatement, but we’ll be fine. Monty and I have negotiated a reasonable truce; he now tolerates me in his house so I do not have to hover on the doorstep until Mary can shut him in the kitchen. He’s also stopped chewing my shoes which is excellent progress. I know his heart is in the right place, but what a little thug.
Anyway, about this noise. I heard it the first night I was at Mary’s. Because I was in unfamiliar surroundings, I thought it must be something in the house. It seemed to be everywhere and I wandered from room to room but I couldn’t locate it. I could hear Monty snuffling in his sleep, his paws twitching in his dream, so it was not disturbing him. I reasoned it couldn’t be anything to worry about and eventually went back to sleep.
I woke again about six o’clock, the light was just beginning to filter through the curtains and a lovely sunny day was forecast. Then there it was again: the same low humming sound. I lay still for a while, listening intently. There was definitely a noise. I tried to put it out of my mind but the restlessness dominated. There must be some reason for it. I went round the rooms again trying to locate this mystery sound which seemed to have insinuated itself into the fabric of the house. I was fearful it was something electrical but everything was switched off and all seemed to be in order. Ghosts then? It must be something paranormal.
I put the kettle on to make a cup of coffee and switched on the toaster. The hiss of the kettle and the rattle of cutlery all sounded reassuringly normal. Monty gave a gentle woof of appreciation when I gave him his morning biscuits. No, I was being paranoid. I could hear everything else so there’s nothing to worry about. But the strange noise was still there.
I decided it would be a good idea to go out for a walk to calm down. Monty agreed and we set off. The door clicked shut behind us, I could hear some blackbirds singing in the hawthorn hedges and a few cars passed by. The sun was breaking through and I felt happy and relaxed but … oh no, there it was again. That wretched humming noise. Then reason dawned. Of course, the noise was in my head, it was all mine, nothing to do with the house at all.
This was six months ago and I now know that the noise is called tinnitus. For me mostly it’s a low humming, like a computer constantly running in the background but sometimes it’s more scrunchy, like cellophane being screwed up, and occasionally there’s a high-pitched whistle too. Another noise to live with.
Linda Birch
‘Now you’re sure you know where the keys are?’
‘Yes, quite sure.’
‘And the number for the alarm? You won’t forget.’ ‘No, I won’t forget.’
‘You won’t forget to take Monty on his walk?’ ‘No, of course not.’ (as if he’d let me forget!)
‘There are some meals for you in the freezer and Monty’s favourite biscuits are in the red tin in the cupboard over the sink.’
‘Yes, Mary I know. We’ll be fine, you just go and enjoy yourself.’
I’d agreed to house-sit for my friend Mary whilst she goes to visit some friends in Scotland. She’ll be away for three weeks and she’s leaving Monty to look after me as well. To say she is a worrier is something of an understatement, but we’ll be fine. Monty and I have negotiated a reasonable truce; he now tolerates me in his house so I do not have to hover on the doorstep until Mary can shut him in the kitchen. He’s also stopped chewing my shoes which is excellent progress. I know his heart is in the right place, but what a little thug.
Anyway, about this noise. I heard it the first night I was at Mary’s. Because I was in unfamiliar surroundings, I thought it must be something in the house. It seemed to be everywhere and I wandered from room to room but I couldn’t locate it. I could hear Monty snuffling in his sleep, his paws twitching in his dream, so it was not disturbing him. I reasoned it couldn’t be anything to worry about and eventually went back to sleep.
I woke again about six o’clock, the light was just beginning to filter through the curtains and a lovely sunny day was forecast. Then there it was again: the same low humming sound. I lay still for a while, listening intently. There was definitely a noise. I tried to put it out of my mind but the restlessness dominated. There must be some reason for it. I went round the rooms again trying to locate this mystery sound which seemed to have insinuated itself into the fabric of the house. I was fearful it was something electrical but everything was switched off and all seemed to be in order. Ghosts then? It must be something paranormal.
I put the kettle on to make a cup of coffee and switched on the toaster. The hiss of the kettle and the rattle of cutlery all sounded reassuringly normal. Monty gave a gentle woof of appreciation when I gave him his morning biscuits. No, I was being paranoid. I could hear everything else so there’s nothing to worry about. But the strange noise was still there.
I decided it would be a good idea to go out for a walk to calm down. Monty agreed and we set off. The door clicked shut behind us, I could hear some blackbirds singing in the hawthorn hedges and a few cars passed by. The sun was breaking through and I felt happy and relaxed but … oh no, there it was again. That wretched humming noise. Then reason dawned. Of course, the noise was in my head, it was all mine, nothing to do with the house at all.
This was six months ago and I now know that the noise is called tinnitus. For me mostly it’s a low humming, like a computer constantly running in the background but sometimes it’s more scrunchy, like cellophane being screwed up, and occasionally there’s a high-pitched whistle too. Another noise to live with.
Linda Birch
The Elephant in the Room
She walked into the room; there was silence, you could only hear your own heart pounding. She threw her arms up in joyous greeting to all her colleagues. She was leading this months seminar; Beauty is Skin Deep. We’d got a new product out this month and it was going to be a big hit in the stores and online. The press were due anytime, and the gathering of VIPs and celebrities.
‘Take five; before we open the doors to my audience,’ she announced.
‘My audience! We’re just her skivives; and who came up with that title? Beauty is skin deep,’ laughed Samantha.
‘You might know, Miss High and Mighty herself, if I could get another job, I would, but she’s such a two-faced bitch, she’d never give me a reference I deserved. She’s so awful to work for; but oh so charming to the clients. I feel like a prisoner.’
‘I know,’ said her friend Amanda smiling through her gleaming white teeth. ‘She’ll be spouting off about how she’s been trialling the new product for weeks and how it’s improved her skin; which has given her soooo much more confidence and brought out her inner beauty.’
‘Yes,’ laughed Samantha, then she’ll pause, just like rehearsed and conclude with; just ask my girls, how I glow from the inside to my beautiful result outside. Then point to her flawless skin and reach out her arms to us all. Just look at all these flipping life size photos of her around the room.’
‘You must admit the outside effect is pretty perfect,’ sighed Amanda.
The doors were opened and press and VIPs took their seats, celebrities took front position. Beauty staff were situated around the room, ready with goody bags and order pads. The lights were dim until the drum roll and magnificent light show went up on stage. TV monitors were positioned around the room to capture close-ups of Juliette Mayo’s amazing beauty launch.
The room was in raptures, until the light show faded; only one bright light was left on Juliette Mayo, her face was on all the monitors. Her staff stood opened mouthed, as a glowing red boil pulsated from her nose. The room was deathly silent as everyone turned to the monitors to get a closer look.
Samantha whispered to Amanda, ‘ Inner Beauty; my mother would have said that’s her badness coming out of her.’ They both silenced, as the rest of the room.
Cora Boffey
She walked into the room; there was silence, you could only hear your own heart pounding. She threw her arms up in joyous greeting to all her colleagues. She was leading this months seminar; Beauty is Skin Deep. We’d got a new product out this month and it was going to be a big hit in the stores and online. The press were due anytime, and the gathering of VIPs and celebrities.
‘Take five; before we open the doors to my audience,’ she announced.
‘My audience! We’re just her skivives; and who came up with that title? Beauty is skin deep,’ laughed Samantha.
‘You might know, Miss High and Mighty herself, if I could get another job, I would, but she’s such a two-faced bitch, she’d never give me a reference I deserved. She’s so awful to work for; but oh so charming to the clients. I feel like a prisoner.’
‘I know,’ said her friend Amanda smiling through her gleaming white teeth. ‘She’ll be spouting off about how she’s been trialling the new product for weeks and how it’s improved her skin; which has given her soooo much more confidence and brought out her inner beauty.’
‘Yes,’ laughed Samantha, then she’ll pause, just like rehearsed and conclude with; just ask my girls, how I glow from the inside to my beautiful result outside. Then point to her flawless skin and reach out her arms to us all. Just look at all these flipping life size photos of her around the room.’
‘You must admit the outside effect is pretty perfect,’ sighed Amanda.
The doors were opened and press and VIPs took their seats, celebrities took front position. Beauty staff were situated around the room, ready with goody bags and order pads. The lights were dim until the drum roll and magnificent light show went up on stage. TV monitors were positioned around the room to capture close-ups of Juliette Mayo’s amazing beauty launch.
The room was in raptures, until the light show faded; only one bright light was left on Juliette Mayo, her face was on all the monitors. Her staff stood opened mouthed, as a glowing red boil pulsated from her nose. The room was deathly silent as everyone turned to the monitors to get a closer look.
Samantha whispered to Amanda, ‘ Inner Beauty; my mother would have said that’s her badness coming out of her.’ They both silenced, as the rest of the room.
Cora Boffey
Silence
In a noisy café, two people gesticulate to one another, oblivious to the clatter of cups and plates, the hiss of steam. My finger signing not good enough to read their language spoken with their hands. I’ve tried to lip-read, to turn the sound right down. Maybe then I’d learn and understand. I contemplate their silent world and wish my sleep was undisturbed. Maggie Storer |
A silent world.
Why am I awake at four am? Habit, I suppose. How I once scolded the sparrows and blackbirds for beginning the dawn chorus before daybreak. I was always determined to find out why they sang so early. Now it doesn’t matter to me. Later in the day it was the interminable traffic sounds on the increasingly busy road. When we moved here over forty years ago it really was a country lane that led to nowhere in particular – now I can only frown at the shaking and stink of the huge trucks and tractors and refuse lorries. Another storm is forecast for tomorrow. How thunder and lightning used to scare me, now I can only silently cower and tremble. A group of mums and babies were singing nursery rhymes to my piano tunes – I can still keep rhythms with vibrations, recalling the voices. One of the babies starts to scream, another joins in. Now that’s a sound I do not miss! I can still see beauty and remember sweet sounds. Memories and imagination still explain the world around me. But I do miss my ears – my hearing loss was sudden and traumatic. I do wish this silence would go away. Andie Green |
Deadline: 19th March
Brief: Think about your favourite hobbies and pastimes. Write a poem which features just one or all of them.
Brief: Think about your favourite hobbies and pastimes. Write a poem which features just one or all of them.
Eternal Daubs
Compulsive hobbyist, I must confess, Forever keen to learn and have a go. I buy the tools, and necessary stuff to learn the skills to master something new. Paraphernalia mounts and gathers dust, I’m lured, succumb, and quickly in its grip. Mere fancy has inspired one more whim, as like a butterfly I flit from fad to fad. Music mountain lingers on a shelf, Memories of my piano study days Below lie well worn tap-dance shoes With jaunty bows alert and all agog. We have spare rooms (our flock has flown), A haven for art accoutrements and such-- papers, easel, watercolour paints, acrylics, oils, and turps, you get the gist? Charcoal sticks and pastels—several types. Sable brushes sleek and smooth and slick Sit near to mediums and pretty inks Whilst canvas blanks await my dodgy daubs. For years I’ve been a happy thimbled stitcher, My sewing machine a treasured thing of joy Crochet hooks, knitting kit, and pinking shears, I’ve dabbled with the lot throughout the years. A jolly Jack-of-all-trades, that is me, Would you believe I’ve another new idea? I hope to be a very famous writer so Watch this space until my brain’s in gear. Betty Taylor |
On the Mat
Pilates will benefit you Strength, muscle tone and balance too So, mat in hand, I’m off to class This is a chance too good to pass. The teacher’s Beth, so fit and kind And knows her stuff, she’s quite a find. The music’s low, the light is dim Quiet now, it’s time to begin. Bend up your knees, engage your core Pay attention to your pelvic floor. Come up, breathe in, go down, breathe out Small movements only, do not doubt But practice hard and you will see Just how much fitter you could be. Linda Birch My Hobby
Ukulele, U3A, that’s the place to be,,, Keep strumming, play the chords, Under the Boardwalk; sing the song, Learn the tempo, get the rhythm, Ensemble gathers, upbeat genre Lifts the spirits, lots of fun, Enjoy entertaining, patience is the key. Cora Boffey |
Hobbies
According to the definition from Oxford Languages, a hobby is “an activity done regularly in one’s leisure time for pleasure”.
My hobbies have been well documented and posted on social media; namely writing and drawing. I won’t elaborate on the writing, as you have all seen it on the website, but I will say that I thoroughly enjoy writing small pieces set for homework, but I am not very creative in expanding this to writing for publication. I have tried in the past and have been quite excited at the prospect of seeing my name in print. But there were too many rejections and only one or two minor successes.
I am not a true artist. I stick rigidly to pencils. Landscapes do not appeal. I don’t like suggestions that I should experiment with different mediums. My philosophy is that I should work hard to improve what I enjoy doing best, or how will I improve?
I probably spend more time drawing than writing these days, although it isn’t a daily activity. I usually need a prompt of some kind, and attending a weekly art group gives me the motivation. But I do have a goal in mind. Every year there is a competition on Sky Arts to submit a self portrait (Portrait Artist of the Year, or PAOTY). I love drawing portraits, and for me, if the drawing doesn’t look like the sitter, then I have failed. So this year I am going to practice, and hopefully come up with a self portrait that I can enter.
Now, I know that I won’t be chosen. How could I possibly travel to London to take part anyway? Far too traumatic for me. I have seen some of the rejections and they are far more talented than I am. But wouldn’t it be wonderful to receive a rejection, knowing that I had actually entered? I feel I will have accomplished something if I can submit a good portrait of myself.
I once sent off a knitting swatch to see if they thought I was good enough to knit sample garments for their product. It was Patons or some other well known yarn specialists. Oh, the feeling of achievement when I received the confirmation letter. I never took it up of course. The knowledge that I was good enough was all I needed.
So, I have a goal, and a whole year to practice. Wish me luck.
Maggie Storer
According to the definition from Oxford Languages, a hobby is “an activity done regularly in one’s leisure time for pleasure”.
My hobbies have been well documented and posted on social media; namely writing and drawing. I won’t elaborate on the writing, as you have all seen it on the website, but I will say that I thoroughly enjoy writing small pieces set for homework, but I am not very creative in expanding this to writing for publication. I have tried in the past and have been quite excited at the prospect of seeing my name in print. But there were too many rejections and only one or two minor successes.
I am not a true artist. I stick rigidly to pencils. Landscapes do not appeal. I don’t like suggestions that I should experiment with different mediums. My philosophy is that I should work hard to improve what I enjoy doing best, or how will I improve?
I probably spend more time drawing than writing these days, although it isn’t a daily activity. I usually need a prompt of some kind, and attending a weekly art group gives me the motivation. But I do have a goal in mind. Every year there is a competition on Sky Arts to submit a self portrait (Portrait Artist of the Year, or PAOTY). I love drawing portraits, and for me, if the drawing doesn’t look like the sitter, then I have failed. So this year I am going to practice, and hopefully come up with a self portrait that I can enter.
Now, I know that I won’t be chosen. How could I possibly travel to London to take part anyway? Far too traumatic for me. I have seen some of the rejections and they are far more talented than I am. But wouldn’t it be wonderful to receive a rejection, knowing that I had actually entered? I feel I will have accomplished something if I can submit a good portrait of myself.
I once sent off a knitting swatch to see if they thought I was good enough to knit sample garments for their product. It was Patons or some other well known yarn specialists. Oh, the feeling of achievement when I received the confirmation letter. I never took it up of course. The knowledge that I was good enough was all I needed.
So, I have a goal, and a whole year to practice. Wish me luck.
Maggie Storer
My passion
Being of Welsh heritage I have always loved to sing. A passion inherited from my father and his two brothers. The three had a love of jazz – which were the pop songs in that era.
They never performed beyond church and school choirs but old fashioned Christmas sing- songs around Gran’s jolly piano playing are a special memory. My uncle Alan and family emigrated to Canada in the 1950s and he eventually began the first Duke Ellington fan club-meeting his idol on several occasions. Also Alan’s daughter married a lad from Anglesey that she met at a choir convention in Toronto and they settled in Wales.
My proudest achievement in high school was when we joined with the boy’s school in the sixth form, and were on the BBC local radio (in Newport Gwent) performing Mendelssohn’s Elijah with a famous Welsh baritone, tenor and soprano.
So I have a ‘choir’ voice. But my dearest wish has been to have the confidence and talent to sing solo. Just a favourite song from a musical would do - ‘If I loved you’ from Carousel or any song from the more operatic score of Phantom of the Opera…. I know every word from every score !
But I’ll just carry on doing ‘in car karaoke’, loud if I’m alone, or turned to serenade random drivers on the motorway if I am a passenger.
My body is gradually stopping me from doing high kicks and cartwheels (huh!?!) but …in the words of George Gershwin
‘..they can’t take that [my singing] away from me …
Andie Green
Being of Welsh heritage I have always loved to sing. A passion inherited from my father and his two brothers. The three had a love of jazz – which were the pop songs in that era.
They never performed beyond church and school choirs but old fashioned Christmas sing- songs around Gran’s jolly piano playing are a special memory. My uncle Alan and family emigrated to Canada in the 1950s and he eventually began the first Duke Ellington fan club-meeting his idol on several occasions. Also Alan’s daughter married a lad from Anglesey that she met at a choir convention in Toronto and they settled in Wales.
My proudest achievement in high school was when we joined with the boy’s school in the sixth form, and were on the BBC local radio (in Newport Gwent) performing Mendelssohn’s Elijah with a famous Welsh baritone, tenor and soprano.
So I have a ‘choir’ voice. But my dearest wish has been to have the confidence and talent to sing solo. Just a favourite song from a musical would do - ‘If I loved you’ from Carousel or any song from the more operatic score of Phantom of the Opera…. I know every word from every score !
But I’ll just carry on doing ‘in car karaoke’, loud if I’m alone, or turned to serenade random drivers on the motorway if I am a passenger.
My body is gradually stopping me from doing high kicks and cartwheels (huh!?!) but …in the words of George Gershwin
‘..they can’t take that [my singing] away from me …
Andie Green
Deadline: 5th March
Brief: You are a journalist; your editor wants a write up for a popular slot in the Saturday edition of the local rag in a ‘no frills’ question & answer format. Write a record of the Q & A session between you and your interviewee. You’ve a deadline to meet so don’t keep your editor waiting! Make arrangements to interview a character from history. You may include a brief preamble to introduce your interviewee.
Tip: try to echo the zeitgeist and spoken word of the "time" of your interview.
Info: zeitgeist (noun) means the defining spirit or mood of a particular period of history as shown by the ideas and beliefs of the time:
e.g. "the story captured the zeitgeist of the late 1960s"
The first printed newspaper in the UK was published in 1695.
Brief: You are a journalist; your editor wants a write up for a popular slot in the Saturday edition of the local rag in a ‘no frills’ question & answer format. Write a record of the Q & A session between you and your interviewee. You’ve a deadline to meet so don’t keep your editor waiting! Make arrangements to interview a character from history. You may include a brief preamble to introduce your interviewee.
Tip: try to echo the zeitgeist and spoken word of the "time" of your interview.
Info: zeitgeist (noun) means the defining spirit or mood of a particular period of history as shown by the ideas and beliefs of the time:
e.g. "the story captured the zeitgeist of the late 1960s"
The first printed newspaper in the UK was published in 1695.
Interview with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Once again, dear Readers, the Daily Herald leads the way in outstanding journalism. We are proud to share with you our exclusive interview with best-selling author, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
DH: Sir Arthur, thank you for your time. I must start by asking you about Sherlock Holmes. I think it’s fair to say he’s been a runaway success but is he a favourite of yours?
ACD: No, not really, but he serves a purpose. I want to concentrate on writing historical fiction and indeed have some had success, for example with ‘Micah Clarke’ and ‘The White Company.’ However, Sherlock has proved to be exceptionally successful and, as I’m sure you’re aware, I received lucrative deals to write more. I have a family to look after and the detective gives me a very good standard of living, he pays the bills.
DH: Is Sherlock based on you?
ACD: No, he’s based on Dr Joseph Bell. I was privileged to work as his clerk whilst studying medicine. He was very meticulous and observant and kept his students spell bound with his analytical deductions.
DH: You studied medicine at Edinburgh I believe?
ACD: Yes, that was on the advice of my mother.
DH: Would you say she was a major influence on your life?
ACD: Undoubtedly. My father was an alcoholic and my mother was widowed and left alone to raise seven of us. We were very poor but she brought us up with a strict code of honour and looked after us children like we were her brood. We called her The Ma’am and even in later life I still sought out her advice. She was a gifted story-teller and I attribute my early love of literature to her.
DH: Were you successful as a doctor?
ACD: Studying medicine opened up many opportunities for me. I worked as a ship’s surgeon and that meant I travelled to the Arctic and later sailed to South Africa. True, there were some unfortunate failures in medical practices but other opportunities opened up. You have to learn lessons in life you know.
DH: Is there any advice your mother gave that you regret taking?
ACD: Well not exactly regret, but she did agree that I should kill off Sherlock. That was at the Reichenbach Falls as I expect you know. It caused such an outcry he had to be resurrected.
DH: What other opportunities were important to you?
ACD: I volunteered for a field hospital during the Boer War. The cases of typhoid appalled me but it put me in a position to campaign with authority about the war. I’m a true patriot and believe this work impressed the King and led to the great honour of being knighted. I recognised the U-Boat threat from Germany and I won the support of Winston Churchill. You may be aware of the paper I wrote called ‘To Arms’ encouraging volunteers to fight the threat.
DH: I’ve heard you are interested in spiritualism. Is that correct?
ACD: Yes, you are probably referring to the fairy photos. I admit I was taken in by them but nevertheless it should not be allowed to distract from the great solace I find in spiritualism. I’ve lost both my son and brother in the Great War. I believe the soul is ‘a complete duplicate of the body’ and I’ve undertaken lecture tours about psychic communication all over the world.
DH: I understand you enjoy sports too.
ACD: Yes, indeed. I played soccer for Portsmouth and cricket for the MCC. I scored a century on my first visit to Lord’s. I may also mention that once I bowled out the legendary WG Grace. Not bad, eh?
DH: Sir Arthur, you are undoubtedly a man of action and have succeeded in many areas we do not have time to talk about today: your other writing, including stage plays, your interest in politics and your campaigns for justice. It’s been a privilege to speak with you and our readers will certainly appreciate why you described yourself as ‘the most famous man in England.’ Thank you so much for your time.
Linda Birch
Once again, dear Readers, the Daily Herald leads the way in outstanding journalism. We are proud to share with you our exclusive interview with best-selling author, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
DH: Sir Arthur, thank you for your time. I must start by asking you about Sherlock Holmes. I think it’s fair to say he’s been a runaway success but is he a favourite of yours?
ACD: No, not really, but he serves a purpose. I want to concentrate on writing historical fiction and indeed have some had success, for example with ‘Micah Clarke’ and ‘The White Company.’ However, Sherlock has proved to be exceptionally successful and, as I’m sure you’re aware, I received lucrative deals to write more. I have a family to look after and the detective gives me a very good standard of living, he pays the bills.
DH: Is Sherlock based on you?
ACD: No, he’s based on Dr Joseph Bell. I was privileged to work as his clerk whilst studying medicine. He was very meticulous and observant and kept his students spell bound with his analytical deductions.
DH: You studied medicine at Edinburgh I believe?
ACD: Yes, that was on the advice of my mother.
DH: Would you say she was a major influence on your life?
ACD: Undoubtedly. My father was an alcoholic and my mother was widowed and left alone to raise seven of us. We were very poor but she brought us up with a strict code of honour and looked after us children like we were her brood. We called her The Ma’am and even in later life I still sought out her advice. She was a gifted story-teller and I attribute my early love of literature to her.
DH: Were you successful as a doctor?
ACD: Studying medicine opened up many opportunities for me. I worked as a ship’s surgeon and that meant I travelled to the Arctic and later sailed to South Africa. True, there were some unfortunate failures in medical practices but other opportunities opened up. You have to learn lessons in life you know.
DH: Is there any advice your mother gave that you regret taking?
ACD: Well not exactly regret, but she did agree that I should kill off Sherlock. That was at the Reichenbach Falls as I expect you know. It caused such an outcry he had to be resurrected.
DH: What other opportunities were important to you?
ACD: I volunteered for a field hospital during the Boer War. The cases of typhoid appalled me but it put me in a position to campaign with authority about the war. I’m a true patriot and believe this work impressed the King and led to the great honour of being knighted. I recognised the U-Boat threat from Germany and I won the support of Winston Churchill. You may be aware of the paper I wrote called ‘To Arms’ encouraging volunteers to fight the threat.
DH: I’ve heard you are interested in spiritualism. Is that correct?
ACD: Yes, you are probably referring to the fairy photos. I admit I was taken in by them but nevertheless it should not be allowed to distract from the great solace I find in spiritualism. I’ve lost both my son and brother in the Great War. I believe the soul is ‘a complete duplicate of the body’ and I’ve undertaken lecture tours about psychic communication all over the world.
DH: I understand you enjoy sports too.
ACD: Yes, indeed. I played soccer for Portsmouth and cricket for the MCC. I scored a century on my first visit to Lord’s. I may also mention that once I bowled out the legendary WG Grace. Not bad, eh?
DH: Sir Arthur, you are undoubtedly a man of action and have succeeded in many areas we do not have time to talk about today: your other writing, including stage plays, your interest in politics and your campaigns for justice. It’s been a privilege to speak with you and our readers will certainly appreciate why you described yourself as ‘the most famous man in England.’ Thank you so much for your time.
Linda Birch
ENID BLYTON (11 August 1897 - 28 November 1968) was an English children’s writer, whose books have been worldwide best sellers since the 1930s; including, Noddy, Famous Five, Secret Seven, Malory Towers, and many other books of poems and short stories for children.
Mags: Thank you for agreeing to be interviewed. I grew up reading your books, but I didn’t realise how prolific you were as a writer. Can you tell me how you managed to produce so much work. How did you begin?
Enid: My first book was a collection of poems published in 1922. Some appeared alongside the poems of Rudyard Kipling, Walter de la Mare, and G K Chesterton. That gave me a massive boost. I then developed an interest in writing stories.
Mags: Yes, there are so many, I can’t print them all here. How did you feel when you were accused of using numerous ghost writers to help you?
Enid: That hurt me a great deal. I devoted my life to writing and helping good causes in the process.
Mags: Why did the BBC ban your stories between the 1930s and 1950s?
Enid: I was always very open and honest in my writing. This was perceived as being elitist, sexist, racist and xenophobic. I wanted my young readers to have a strong moral framework and I encouraged them to support worthwhile causes. I don’t know how I would get on in today’s society.
Mags: If I may go back to your childhood, I understand that you nearly died of whooping cough when you were a baby. Your father nursed you back to health and was a great inspiration to you as a child. What happened later that alienated you from your family?
Enid: I never had a good relationship with my mother. I think she was jealous seeing how my father and I interacted. When I was 13 my father left my mother for another woman. I was devastated when he left. Sadly, we were never reconciled and I didn’t attend my mother or my father’s funerals.
Mags: You left home after finishing school, where you were head girl, but not an academic. Where did you see your future then?
Enid: I always wanted to write. My father hoped that I would follow in my sister’s footsteps and become a professional musician, but I was rebellious and determined to go my own way. I left home as soon as I could and went to live with friends at Seckford Hall in Suffolk. It was a beautiful old house with a secret passageway and a haunted room. It provided me with lots of inspiration for my stories. I went on to teach and recognised a natural affinity with young children. The rest is history really, as that is when my writing took off. I terminated all contact with my family.
Mags: Do you regret that at all?
Enid: Not really. I couldn’t change things, so if anything it made me stronger. I had many rejections from publishers, which made me even more determined to succeed.
Mags: What advice would you give to young people today in pursuing their chosen career?
Enid: You have to be determined in life; know what you want and go for it. You must carry on through all the setbacks and hardships, because you can do nothing less. Good luck, because you will need that too.
Mags: Thank you for your time.
Blyton’s personal life was not so happy, and kept from the public at the time. She died aged 71 of Alzheimer’s disease.
Maggie Storer
Mags: Thank you for agreeing to be interviewed. I grew up reading your books, but I didn’t realise how prolific you were as a writer. Can you tell me how you managed to produce so much work. How did you begin?
Enid: My first book was a collection of poems published in 1922. Some appeared alongside the poems of Rudyard Kipling, Walter de la Mare, and G K Chesterton. That gave me a massive boost. I then developed an interest in writing stories.
Mags: Yes, there are so many, I can’t print them all here. How did you feel when you were accused of using numerous ghost writers to help you?
Enid: That hurt me a great deal. I devoted my life to writing and helping good causes in the process.
Mags: Why did the BBC ban your stories between the 1930s and 1950s?
Enid: I was always very open and honest in my writing. This was perceived as being elitist, sexist, racist and xenophobic. I wanted my young readers to have a strong moral framework and I encouraged them to support worthwhile causes. I don’t know how I would get on in today’s society.
Mags: If I may go back to your childhood, I understand that you nearly died of whooping cough when you were a baby. Your father nursed you back to health and was a great inspiration to you as a child. What happened later that alienated you from your family?
Enid: I never had a good relationship with my mother. I think she was jealous seeing how my father and I interacted. When I was 13 my father left my mother for another woman. I was devastated when he left. Sadly, we were never reconciled and I didn’t attend my mother or my father’s funerals.
Mags: You left home after finishing school, where you were head girl, but not an academic. Where did you see your future then?
Enid: I always wanted to write. My father hoped that I would follow in my sister’s footsteps and become a professional musician, but I was rebellious and determined to go my own way. I left home as soon as I could and went to live with friends at Seckford Hall in Suffolk. It was a beautiful old house with a secret passageway and a haunted room. It provided me with lots of inspiration for my stories. I went on to teach and recognised a natural affinity with young children. The rest is history really, as that is when my writing took off. I terminated all contact with my family.
Mags: Do you regret that at all?
Enid: Not really. I couldn’t change things, so if anything it made me stronger. I had many rejections from publishers, which made me even more determined to succeed.
Mags: What advice would you give to young people today in pursuing their chosen career?
Enid: You have to be determined in life; know what you want and go for it. You must carry on through all the setbacks and hardships, because you can do nothing less. Good luck, because you will need that too.
Mags: Thank you for your time.
Blyton’s personal life was not so happy, and kept from the public at the time. She died aged 71 of Alzheimer’s disease.
Maggie Storer
EXCLUSIVE
WHAT YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR.
“Thank you Lady Diana for agreeing to meet me today.”
“You probably don’t realise this, but this is the second time I’ve seen you in Wolverhampton.”
“Oh do tell me more, did we talk?”
“No, you were visiting a youth centre in Temple Street and I stood in the freezing cold for one and a half hours for you to come out. I almost missed my bus to get back to school to pick my children up.”
“Oh how gallant, I hope I was worth the wait?”
I blushed as she looked cheekily at me; cleared my dry throat, decided not to answer her question and continued with my allotted time interview.
“Did you always want to be a princess?”
“Silly question; WHO WOULDN'T.”
“What made you stay with Prince Charles – even when you were being hounded by the press and the world knew you were suffering?”
“Wouldn't you? No, I’m joking really; I’d taken my vows seriously for better or worse. I was also in fear of the establishment; also part of me thought, I’d be dammed, because I knew all about HER, and their little games and I was the one who really loved him.”
“I know you loved dancing; would you ever take up the offer to go on Strictly?”
“Only if I could partner Giovanni.” (she blushes profusely, and giggles.)
“Did you enjoy cooking?”
“Em, I never had the time, but occasionally I’d give it ago or when I’d got the children, we’d do pancakes.”
“Did you ever cook for Charles?”
“Goodness me, he’d never trust me.”
“What do you mean, you’d burn the cakes, like King Arthur?”
“No silly billy, I believe he thought I’d drop arsenic in the mixture”
“Would you marry Charles again, knowing what you know now?”
“Difficult one – but, yes I would, I love him, but I’d be stronger and know more. So maybe I’d get Jamie Oliver to teach me some culinary skills and give my husband confidence in me; then invite his mistress to lunch with us.”
“That sounds very sociable, what would you cook?”
“I’ve already got it planned; Pork of mal au ventre and Death by Chocolate.”
“A one off cliff hanger Your Highness; thank you for your time; now I must rush off, I have another deadline to meet; and Elvis is waiting in the wings.”
Cora Boffey
WHAT YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR.
“Thank you Lady Diana for agreeing to meet me today.”
“You probably don’t realise this, but this is the second time I’ve seen you in Wolverhampton.”
“Oh do tell me more, did we talk?”
“No, you were visiting a youth centre in Temple Street and I stood in the freezing cold for one and a half hours for you to come out. I almost missed my bus to get back to school to pick my children up.”
“Oh how gallant, I hope I was worth the wait?”
I blushed as she looked cheekily at me; cleared my dry throat, decided not to answer her question and continued with my allotted time interview.
“Did you always want to be a princess?”
“Silly question; WHO WOULDN'T.”
“What made you stay with Prince Charles – even when you were being hounded by the press and the world knew you were suffering?”
“Wouldn't you? No, I’m joking really; I’d taken my vows seriously for better or worse. I was also in fear of the establishment; also part of me thought, I’d be dammed, because I knew all about HER, and their little games and I was the one who really loved him.”
“I know you loved dancing; would you ever take up the offer to go on Strictly?”
“Only if I could partner Giovanni.” (she blushes profusely, and giggles.)
“Did you enjoy cooking?”
“Em, I never had the time, but occasionally I’d give it ago or when I’d got the children, we’d do pancakes.”
“Did you ever cook for Charles?”
“Goodness me, he’d never trust me.”
“What do you mean, you’d burn the cakes, like King Arthur?”
“No silly billy, I believe he thought I’d drop arsenic in the mixture”
“Would you marry Charles again, knowing what you know now?”
“Difficult one – but, yes I would, I love him, but I’d be stronger and know more. So maybe I’d get Jamie Oliver to teach me some culinary skills and give my husband confidence in me; then invite his mistress to lunch with us.”
“That sounds very sociable, what would you cook?”
“I’ve already got it planned; Pork of mal au ventre and Death by Chocolate.”
“A one off cliff hanger Your Highness; thank you for your time; now I must rush off, I have another deadline to meet; and Elvis is waiting in the wings.”
Cora Boffey
The Bard
William Shakespeare wrote our most enduring plays and sonnets and enriched the English language with so many quotes and one liners.
Let’s see how the great man would relate to his plays still being performed 400 years after his death.
Sir, many of your quotes and ideas have become common place in language today
Your works are studied the world over. Students remember lines even though they may not fully understand the plot. Why do you think this is so ?
My ideas were not meant to fox people and cause them consternation. I wrote comedies, tragedies and historical tales. I hoped many would remember my strongest words as they were written for those hungry for entertainment to interpret the plays in their own imagination.
Yes that’s why your plays can be placed in any time and situation. Do you applaud setting the action in modern war times or political atmospheres?
Sure, if that makes the situations more relevant, then that’s okay. As long as the words are as I intended the meaning is the same.
How do you feel when the gender roles are reversed or even played by a single sex companies.
For example an all male company recently performed The taming of the Shrew.
Well, the reason so many boys played female roles in my time was that it wasn’t seen fitting for girls to act. If females can play the strong male leads then that’s fine, but an all male ‘Shrew’ that would definitely turn the ambiguity of the lines and create all manner of new misogynistic arguments!
Your lines are often bawdy and even vulgar, when one translates their meaning – do you enjoy this puzzle for modern audiences?
I wrote for the people, for their enjoyment- they had no problem with the meaning !
Finally it must please you to see that your works are still performed in replicas of Elizabethan theatres and often take place in the grounds of castles out of doors in all weathers
Yes that is wonderful. I feel immensely proud that my work goes on being performed and loved.
Andie Green
William Shakespeare wrote our most enduring plays and sonnets and enriched the English language with so many quotes and one liners.
Let’s see how the great man would relate to his plays still being performed 400 years after his death.
Sir, many of your quotes and ideas have become common place in language today
Your works are studied the world over. Students remember lines even though they may not fully understand the plot. Why do you think this is so ?
My ideas were not meant to fox people and cause them consternation. I wrote comedies, tragedies and historical tales. I hoped many would remember my strongest words as they were written for those hungry for entertainment to interpret the plays in their own imagination.
Yes that’s why your plays can be placed in any time and situation. Do you applaud setting the action in modern war times or political atmospheres?
Sure, if that makes the situations more relevant, then that’s okay. As long as the words are as I intended the meaning is the same.
How do you feel when the gender roles are reversed or even played by a single sex companies.
For example an all male company recently performed The taming of the Shrew.
Well, the reason so many boys played female roles in my time was that it wasn’t seen fitting for girls to act. If females can play the strong male leads then that’s fine, but an all male ‘Shrew’ that would definitely turn the ambiguity of the lines and create all manner of new misogynistic arguments!
Your lines are often bawdy and even vulgar, when one translates their meaning – do you enjoy this puzzle for modern audiences?
I wrote for the people, for their enjoyment- they had no problem with the meaning !
Finally it must please you to see that your works are still performed in replicas of Elizabethan theatres and often take place in the grounds of castles out of doors in all weathers
Yes that is wonderful. I feel immensely proud that my work goes on being performed and loved.
Andie Green
Deadline: 20th February
Brief: use the following words in any way you wish: racket, snug, green, spoon, boggle, snake.
You are free to change nouns and adjectives to verb form and vice versa to create. poem, prose, or story.
(tips: snake is a noun - snaking is a verb - snakily is an adjective albeit a 'coined' one). It is good practise to change a noun form to an adjective or verb to create descriptive words to give a zing to your writing. Think of Dillon Thomas – in his play for voices, “Under Milk Wood” he tells of a bible black night, snouting moles, and describes a couple of sleeping oldies as 'kippered' - creative language achieves unique prose and avoids cliché.
Brief: use the following words in any way you wish: racket, snug, green, spoon, boggle, snake.
You are free to change nouns and adjectives to verb form and vice versa to create. poem, prose, or story.
(tips: snake is a noun - snaking is a verb - snakily is an adjective albeit a 'coined' one). It is good practise to change a noun form to an adjective or verb to create descriptive words to give a zing to your writing. Think of Dillon Thomas – in his play for voices, “Under Milk Wood” he tells of a bible black night, snouting moles, and describes a couple of sleeping oldies as 'kippered' - creative language achieves unique prose and avoids cliché.
Last train to Lille
The eleven carriages of the Brussels to Lille train snaked their way around the twilight countryside. As the green fields gave way to industrial buildings the train slid into an almost dark platform. ‘Ooh! This is a ghost station.’ Maria pushed her face to the dark window where she could just make out the sign for Lille, rusty and faded. ‘There’s no one getting on here, is there?’ As if to emphasise the silence a stray bundle of waste blew past making a racket as it got caught on an abandoned trolley piled high with army kitbags. Maria watched as a young couple embraced in the gloom. ‘There’s better places to go spooning,’ chuckled her granddad. 'Spooning? thought folk had to be lying down to do that, Granddad!’ laughed Maria. ‘Maybe for you lot nowadays – it’s boggling how you have changed innocent phrases - but in my day me and your grandma sought out all manner of places to be alone. There was a room at the back of the Red Lion pub called the snug, and that was full of courting couples!’ ‘What’s that rattling sound?’ They could hear the rumble of vehicles driving over cobbled streets. They watched as the couple walked towards the door of the carriage but then they stopped. They were dressed in costumes from the nineteen forties. Suddenly the girl was standing beside Maria and her grandad. The train began to move. The young man was no longer on the platform. The young woman sat on the arm of Grandad’s seat. ‘They’ve all gone now. The war has ended but Lille has suffered. Many were killed in the liberation. I am alone now’ Maria realised the woman was not aware of the other passengers. Later Maria looked up what happened in September 1940 and found that the town of Lille was liberated from German occupation when British tanks and armoured cars rolled into town. But it was a bloody triumph and around 50 people lost their lives and hundreds more were injured. Andie Green |
I Met My Love
I met my love, and we walked hand in hand over the rackety bridge, then slowly down the pathway snaking our way to the greenest meadows beyond. Then large, rugged cliffs loomed before us. We snuggled closely to each other as we moved slowly along the rocky, slim footpath, gripping tightly to the rough surface fingers sore, my heart was beating in fear of what lay ahead for us. There was no turning back our fate was sealed. Our eyes boggled as we beheld the devastating scene before us, and time stood still. Carol Hipkin |
The Plot
I couldn’t have imagined a more diverse set of words to have to link together. But I’m always up for a challenge, and wanted to hide the words within a piece that made sense. But I could see no link at all. I took a walk down to The Grub and Lettuce, sat in the corner of the snug where I could concentrate, and racked my brain. Through the window I looked over to the green where a few rowdy children were making such a racket, I had to move. Lunch was being served in the bar, so I ordered a ploughman’s which came with three cheese choices and a crusty cob. I had just dipped my spoon into my tiramisu pudding when I spotted an old friend. He came over. ‘Hi there Mike’, he said. ‘Taking a break from the novel?’ He knew I’d been writing my first novel and had stuck on the details of the second murder. ‘Yeah, I’m working out how to move forward, snake around the intricacies of the plot. The mind boggles sometimes. I just hope I get it finished. I’m working on a piece of homework at the moment for my writing group.’ I could see my friend’s eyes glaze over. He was more of a golfer than a writer. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it’. And then he was gone. I realised I was getting nowhere with my words, and the novel would have to wait. I decided to leave it, try again another day. Maggie Storer |
Boggle
We’ve just collected our new family pet. Bill’s unloading the car... all the doggy things we purchased on the way home. Basket, bowls, food, and goodness knows what else. The kids had great fun choosing toys for him; a ball and things to throw for him to ‘fetch’ and, believe it or not, a toy snake. The sales assistant assured us they were very popular; I wasn’t sure if she meant with the dogs or their owners. We had previously visited the dogs' home a couple of times and encouraged the kids to choose carefully. To tell the truth, we’re all a bit green about how to care for a dog; but thanks to Google, we were able to learn about selecting the right animal for us. When Jenny and David finally made their decision, Bill and I were astounded. They chose the ugliest hound in the place. Midst the racket from the other resident dogs clamouring for attention, he was one cowardly, gangly, misfit of an animal. As the kids fussed round him he gazed at them with doleful eyes and without so much as a doggy wuff. He just lay down and allowed them to stroke him while he peered up at them in wonder. After a minute or two, his untidy shaggy tail began to flap to and fro. “I think he likes us,” said Jenny kneeling down to get closer, she and the dog almost rubbing noses. “Come on David, lets see if he likes you.” David joined her and within minutes it was clear the dog was smitten with them both. Bill and I resigned ourselves to the fact that the ungainly Boggle was now an official family member. And yes, that’s what they named him; Boggle, because his eyes didn’t quite match. When Bill and I went to finalise things with the chap in charge, he grinned. “That dog must have been born with a silver spoon in its mouth. He’s been with us for over a year, and to date no one has given him a second glance. It’s nice to see he’s finally hit if off with someone. For some strange reason, I’m going to miss him.” Betty Taylor |
Don’t take it for Granted
Snaking around in the shimmering grass A snake is happily gloating Until the hawk passes. Snugly Queenie, nesting in the woody patch, Sisters supporting a motherly dream Obligingly, the babies hatch. Caterpillar chooses the greenest leaf. Butterfly emerges from the chrysalis, Caterpillars life is very brief. Crickety, rackety, tappety, Night time wooing mates, Soothing humans, slumberly happily. Earthworms humbly sustainably, Engineering through the soil Contributing to the world advantageously. Busily buzzing, honey- bee Waggle dancing forager, Children spooning for their tea. Humans guilty of many facts, Boggling thoughtlessness Of mankind's destructive acts. Keep the earth green, A responsibility we must all implore, To prosper, thrive and still be seen. Cora Boffey |
Dreams Do Come True
My favourite village, my favourite pub. My friend Lola lives here and I love to visit. We were having a good morning baking. Lola’s a great cook and she was showing me for the umpteenth time how to make perfect muffins. ‘Are you sure, Lola, are they sweet enough? Don’t they need a couple more spoonfuls of sugar? How about more blueberries?’ Lola was laughing at me. ‘Stop fretting. Just get on with it. Trust me, they’ll be delicious. Anyway, it’s nearly time for coffee.’ I had just spooned out the last of the mixture when unexpectedly her racketing grandchildren arrived. Four boisterous boys, little darlings I’m sure and great fun, but what a row they made, shouting and banging and generally creating mayhem. The noise soon became too much for me. ‘Lola, I’m going for a walk. Meet me at the Globe at 1pm? I’ll buy you lunch.’ ‘Will do, great. Enjoy your walk’. I never need much of an excuse to go for a walk when I visit Lola. She is so lucky, living in some of the most idyllic countryside you could imagine. This morning I decided to follow the track out of the village towards Lower Kirkham; it snakes around the edge of the woods, over Carter’s Field, and back round by the duck pond. The hedgerows have their spring green sheen and, to my delight, I spot the first primroses snuggled along the bank under the hawthorn. In autumn the pink-footed geese congregate in the fields. It’s awesome to contemplate the boggling distances they travel and how year after year they return. I’m enjoying my walk so much that I lose track of time and have to hurry across the green to get to the pub. Lola’s already there of course. She’s found us some comfortable armchairs by the fireside. No wonder this room used to be called the snug. ‘Sorry I’m late, Lola but it was such a lovely walk.’ ‘No worries. Here, have a look at the menu. Anyway, I have some news which may be of interest to you.’ I look expectantly at Lola but she’s buried her face in the menu, pretending to ignore me. Outside the rooks are gathering for a meeting, cawing loudly, making another racket not unlike the boys. ‘Come on Lola, stop teasing!’ ‘What? Well, alright then. You know my neighbours Mary and Joe who own the old dairy farm? Well, they’ve been given the green light to convert the cow barns into cottages. I could probably persuade them to show you the plans if you were interested… Linda Birch |
Deadline: 6th February
Brief: a fictional short story or a poem telling how things went belly up due to the mishearing of a word.
e.g. wife for life, nude for dude, hat for cat etc. etc.
Brief: a fictional short story or a poem telling how things went belly up due to the mishearing of a word.
e.g. wife for life, nude for dude, hat for cat etc. etc.
Homophones gone Wrong!
Deer Sydney, Eye prey that yew are well. Mother told me yew were week, after falling down the stares, paw yew. What a tail she had to tell the WI group. Nun of her friends could believe it. This weak eye made a cake, it was sew lovely, eye used the recipe mother used when she one the WI competition last year. The pair glaze was amazing. Eye will save sum for yew, four when yew come next weak, although farther has eight most of it. Eye was going two send yew flours, but dew two sum mix up at the bank; I’d got know money? Did eye tell yew eye was going two meat Sherry on Tuesday mourning? She can’t come at knight. Last time eye saw her she made me weight and eye mist my buzz. She said she’d had a leak. Buy for now, bee careful; I’m off to have my hare done, don’t want two bee late for hymn. Sea yew soon. Cora Boffey |
Nonsense Poem
I’ve tide myself in awe full nots Whilst trying to right this poem. Homonyms or homographs, Or maybe homophones. Words that spell a different way But sound the same, it’s true. I’m barking up an old you tree Wear windy branches blue. I’m shore I’m turning mad, you sea, I’m trying to make it write With letters churning in my head, My daze turn into knight. I hope this poem will ring a cord, Way up how hard it’s bean To right a for-verse nonsense poem With homophones as scene. Maggie Storer |
Listen Up!
The day had been so warm and bright, We went out for a walk that night. Over the cliffs, oh, such a height But the view was quite a sight! ‘Do not look down, you’ll get a fright.’ But I thought she said ‘now, turn right.’ Over the edge I fell, face white Tumbling, spinning just like a kite. I grabbed a branch, to my delight It held; I clung with all my might. ‘You fool,’ she yelled, ‘now hold on tight, ‘Do not go down without a fight.’ The moral of this tale is clear What’s said may not be what you hear. Linda Birch |
Misheard
“Shall we get wet?” Jack asked his friend, Jane, As he looked at the sky Checking for rain. “Well… y-yes if you like,” She replied with a stutter. “But can we afford it?” She was now all a-flutter. “Don’t be so daft!” Said Jack with disdain, “You don’t have to pay For a shower of rain.” Jane was embarrassed, And said, “I’m confused,” I may have misheard The words that you used.” Jane’s cheeks were burning, Her face turned quite red,! “You must have said wet, But I thought you’d said wed.” Betty Taylor |
Deadline: 23rd January
Brief: time to come clean: write about a hidden characteristic – tell us something about yourself that you rarely reveal. It can be a character trait, an unfulfilled wish that still has you yearning, an unusual experience, a devilish deed committed by your younger self, an ambitious hope, or embarrassing failing. Fess up! We’re unshockable!
Brief: time to come clean: write about a hidden characteristic – tell us something about yourself that you rarely reveal. It can be a character trait, an unfulfilled wish that still has you yearning, an unusual experience, a devilish deed committed by your younger self, an ambitious hope, or embarrassing failing. Fess up! We’re unshockable!
Red noses
Like most other folk I try and do my bit for charity. In recent years it has been raising money for a small organisation that provide night time alarm monitors to help children with life limiting epilepsy, and provide training and help for those on a special diet for the condition.
Thirty six years ago in 1988 I was a volunteer in the Oxfam shop in Wolverhampton.
After the success of the 1985 Live Aid concert that raised a staggering £27million worldwide to tackle poverty in Africa, Richard Curtis and Lenny Henry planned a one day event to help projects at home too. This became known as ‘Red nose day for Comic Relief’
I was in charge of the Wolverhampton Oxfam store and was delighted to travel to Dudley shop with two of my volunteers to meet Lenny Henry as he launched the appeal for press and TV. It was a very happy morning and I recall Lenny being very tall and charming !
Friday 8th of February was the inaugural telethon to raise money for famine relief in Ethiopia. The noses went on sale and we soon sold out of our box of the funny plastic appendages. I then spent hours ringing other shops and suppliers to get more. But it soon became clear that no one anticipated the public’s enthusiasm to look silly and join in the fun of the day.
That year the total was over £15 million – with the record £74 + million in 2017 !
The total for the 37 year old history of the event is a staggering £1.5 billion
I am proud to have been involved in that first Red Nose Day – and the charity has become a huge success, as each year it becomes even more important to use the power of laughter to make a difference to people living incredibly tough lives in the UK and across the world.
Andie Green
Like most other folk I try and do my bit for charity. In recent years it has been raising money for a small organisation that provide night time alarm monitors to help children with life limiting epilepsy, and provide training and help for those on a special diet for the condition.
Thirty six years ago in 1988 I was a volunteer in the Oxfam shop in Wolverhampton.
After the success of the 1985 Live Aid concert that raised a staggering £27million worldwide to tackle poverty in Africa, Richard Curtis and Lenny Henry planned a one day event to help projects at home too. This became known as ‘Red nose day for Comic Relief’
I was in charge of the Wolverhampton Oxfam store and was delighted to travel to Dudley shop with two of my volunteers to meet Lenny Henry as he launched the appeal for press and TV. It was a very happy morning and I recall Lenny being very tall and charming !
Friday 8th of February was the inaugural telethon to raise money for famine relief in Ethiopia. The noses went on sale and we soon sold out of our box of the funny plastic appendages. I then spent hours ringing other shops and suppliers to get more. But it soon became clear that no one anticipated the public’s enthusiasm to look silly and join in the fun of the day.
That year the total was over £15 million – with the record £74 + million in 2017 !
The total for the 37 year old history of the event is a staggering £1.5 billion
I am proud to have been involved in that first Red Nose Day – and the charity has become a huge success, as each year it becomes even more important to use the power of laughter to make a difference to people living incredibly tough lives in the UK and across the world.
Andie Green
Betrayal
My sorry tale concerns a letter. One I stole so that its rightful recipient would never see it and with that thoughtless action I stole happiness from two people. I changed the course of their lives.
Susie was my best friend and we were inseparable, always had been from the first day we met at primary school and now we were fifth formers. Exams were over and we were planning our summer holiday and looking forward to joining the sixth form.
Susie was everything I was not: tall, slim, athletic with long blond hair and of course boys were attracted to her like the proverbial bees to a honeypot. But she showed no interest at all. Until Mark crossed her path, that is. I don’t know if you believe in love at first sight but we did back then, romantic souls that we were. But I think with Mark and Susie it really was; they were clearly smitten with each other. The problem was that Mark’s parents were moving away – his father had some high-powered government job and he was being transferred, to Cheltenham I think it was. It all happened very quickly and Mark promised to write and let Susie have his new address. This was the days before mobile phones, some of us did not even have a land line.
The weeks passed. Susie checked the post and kept asking her mother if she knew if the postman had been. Still nothing came and we all told her to forget about him. He’d obviously found new friends and forgotten her. Only of course that wasn’t true. He had written to her but on the fateful day his letter was delivered I happened to arrive at Susie’s just after the postman had left the mail and I saw the envelope addressed to her and knew it was from Mark. I seized my opportunity and slipped it into my bag before anyone else was around. When I got home, I read the letter and destroyed it. My only excuse for what I did is that I was young, jealous, too immature and wrapped up in my own little world to consider the impact on others.
So Susie never did see her letter from Mark. Everyone told her he was not worth bothering about but I knew he was. I’d read his letter and could sense how sincere he was. My selfish action did me no good. I thought Susie and I would carry on as we were but Susie lost interest in all our plans. She decided not to do A levels and went to work as a retail trainee in the local department store.
I’ve been haunted by this all my life. I have no way of knowing if everything would have worked out for them or not and often I think they could have tried harder to make contact with each other. Surely Mark wrote again? But it wasn’t that easy in those days and that’s the way it turned out. I don’t know what happened to Mark but I know Susie married and divorced twice. As for me, I couldn’t trust anyone. If your so-called best friend could act like that, then who could you trust?
Linda Birch
My sorry tale concerns a letter. One I stole so that its rightful recipient would never see it and with that thoughtless action I stole happiness from two people. I changed the course of their lives.
Susie was my best friend and we were inseparable, always had been from the first day we met at primary school and now we were fifth formers. Exams were over and we were planning our summer holiday and looking forward to joining the sixth form.
Susie was everything I was not: tall, slim, athletic with long blond hair and of course boys were attracted to her like the proverbial bees to a honeypot. But she showed no interest at all. Until Mark crossed her path, that is. I don’t know if you believe in love at first sight but we did back then, romantic souls that we were. But I think with Mark and Susie it really was; they were clearly smitten with each other. The problem was that Mark’s parents were moving away – his father had some high-powered government job and he was being transferred, to Cheltenham I think it was. It all happened very quickly and Mark promised to write and let Susie have his new address. This was the days before mobile phones, some of us did not even have a land line.
The weeks passed. Susie checked the post and kept asking her mother if she knew if the postman had been. Still nothing came and we all told her to forget about him. He’d obviously found new friends and forgotten her. Only of course that wasn’t true. He had written to her but on the fateful day his letter was delivered I happened to arrive at Susie’s just after the postman had left the mail and I saw the envelope addressed to her and knew it was from Mark. I seized my opportunity and slipped it into my bag before anyone else was around. When I got home, I read the letter and destroyed it. My only excuse for what I did is that I was young, jealous, too immature and wrapped up in my own little world to consider the impact on others.
So Susie never did see her letter from Mark. Everyone told her he was not worth bothering about but I knew he was. I’d read his letter and could sense how sincere he was. My selfish action did me no good. I thought Susie and I would carry on as we were but Susie lost interest in all our plans. She decided not to do A levels and went to work as a retail trainee in the local department store.
I’ve been haunted by this all my life. I have no way of knowing if everything would have worked out for them or not and often I think they could have tried harder to make contact with each other. Surely Mark wrote again? But it wasn’t that easy in those days and that’s the way it turned out. I don’t know what happened to Mark but I know Susie married and divorced twice. As for me, I couldn’t trust anyone. If your so-called best friend could act like that, then who could you trust?
Linda Birch
Confession
I hereby confess that I am a 'Jack of all trades master of none'. I've always berated myself about this major flaw and frequently promise myself that I'll pay more attention and do better. Does this affliction come with one's genes or is it a simple case of lack of commitment? My only excuse is that there's so much interesting stuff going on out there I feel the need to give it a go, dip a proverbial toe in the proverbial water. Actions which could be interpreted as a 'meddler', and not a proper 'doer'.
Trouble is there are so many avenues to explore and I've always considered hobby time to be important, well it's more fun than the necessary stuff such as career, household jobs, and suchlike evils. Over the years I've dabbled with many things, here's a little list: yoga, tap-dancing, ballet, Girl Guides, ballroom dancing, roller skating, various art classes, piano lessons, reading group, evening classes in word-processing, desktop publishing, and cookery. Cycling, walking, writers' group, dressmaking, knitting, crochet, calligraphy, correspondence course on writing poetry, plus many weekend courses on art and writing, et al. Oh, mustn't forget gardening which tends to receive less of my attention these days.
Over the years I've dived in at the deep end on a random assortment of subjects, including offshoots of the topics already mentioned. Via books and videos I've studied the whys and wherefores of hand printing, block printing, origami, amigurumi. papier-mâché modelling, and I've become an inveterate You-Tuber researching my skittish whims. I've discovered there's a load of rubbish available and some interesting helpful instruction too, it's a matter of sorting the wheat from the chaff. I waste too much time rifling through the chaff in search of the wheat but my search is ongoing. Now what shall I do next?
Betty Taylor
I hereby confess that I am a 'Jack of all trades master of none'. I've always berated myself about this major flaw and frequently promise myself that I'll pay more attention and do better. Does this affliction come with one's genes or is it a simple case of lack of commitment? My only excuse is that there's so much interesting stuff going on out there I feel the need to give it a go, dip a proverbial toe in the proverbial water. Actions which could be interpreted as a 'meddler', and not a proper 'doer'.
Trouble is there are so many avenues to explore and I've always considered hobby time to be important, well it's more fun than the necessary stuff such as career, household jobs, and suchlike evils. Over the years I've dabbled with many things, here's a little list: yoga, tap-dancing, ballet, Girl Guides, ballroom dancing, roller skating, various art classes, piano lessons, reading group, evening classes in word-processing, desktop publishing, and cookery. Cycling, walking, writers' group, dressmaking, knitting, crochet, calligraphy, correspondence course on writing poetry, plus many weekend courses on art and writing, et al. Oh, mustn't forget gardening which tends to receive less of my attention these days.
Over the years I've dived in at the deep end on a random assortment of subjects, including offshoots of the topics already mentioned. Via books and videos I've studied the whys and wherefores of hand printing, block printing, origami, amigurumi. papier-mâché modelling, and I've become an inveterate You-Tuber researching my skittish whims. I've discovered there's a load of rubbish available and some interesting helpful instruction too, it's a matter of sorting the wheat from the chaff. I waste too much time rifling through the chaff in search of the wheat but my search is ongoing. Now what shall I do next?
Betty Taylor
Unforgiving
I class myself as a good person; not perfect by any means, but I will help anyone, or help most causes. But, I don’t think I’m always the best at forgiving; and that for a Christian, is not good. Ok, I can forgive most small things and if people learn by their mistakes and injustices to others; then who am I to judge, and really it’s in the eyes of God, the law and the person themself to sort out the issue.
Maybe that is why my greatest fear is, and always has been; being sent to prison. Tell me where that fear comes from? I’ve never even nicked a penny, if I find one on the ground, I’ll pick it up and put it in the charity box; I’d never be too proud to stoop and pick it up.
I’m not sure what prison actually does for people these days; to be thrown into a place with such a mixture of people; I just know I’d be the one picked on, for no reason. How those poor Post Office victims survived, I just can’t imagine. (Mr. Bates v The Post Office.)
When my girls were about seven and ten years old, our garden backed on to a nature walk, it was an old railway line between Wombourne and Tettenhall. For about twelve months there was a 'flasher', who stalked the area. People could give a description of him, but he couldn't be caught. He knew the area well and wasn’t afraid of hiding in the rough brambly undergrowth, until all was clear. The worry was, there were two school that backed onto the walk and often children would take a short cut home that way.
One summer evening, as dusk was falling, I’d just got the girls to bed; Dave was working late, so I put my feet up to relax.
We had a large low front window, that looked out over our front garden onto a lovely green. I closed my eyes for a few minutes, mulling over nice events of the day. When I opened my eyes, I was aware of a dark shadow, by the window, looking in at me. For a few seconds I was stunned; had I nodded off, was I dreaming? Then I realised what HE, the FLASHER, was doing.
Of course I screamed and frantically started to bang the adjoining wall; hoping my neighbours might run out and see what was happening, at my window, and maybe catch the blighter!
Did they heck! They wouldn’t intervene because they thought it might be a domestic! This was a household that never rowed; in those days I was a sulker! My husband, refused to row. (Many thanks J & G for your support; maybe one of my kids was having a fit!)
Anyway the situation was reported to the police.
Two days later, I was mowing my back lawn, when I felt eyes were watching me; I was ready for Him! Brave or stupid, I left the mower and sauntered nonchalantly, out of the garden gate onto the nature walk, within minutes he appeared blasé in front of me; having crept out of some hidden ditch. Yes Flashing, for all he was worth.
I took one smash at his face; which I later denied to the police; after he reported what I had done, then I grabbed the shocked youth and marched him round to a trusted neighbour, whom I knew was at home with her husband. They called the police.
The police commended me for the citizen's arrest; but warned me of the danger I had put myself in. I told them, I was protecting all kiddies in my area, thank you.
A few months later, after he’d been arrested for other similarly related crimes, I had a visit from a very sweet lady who explained; she was associated to some group, that took offenders into her home. She gave me the background of the youth and said ‘what he was really craving, was the love of a family and would I sit around her table with him, with my girls and try and support him in his rehabilitation programme?
I have no regrets on my reply to her; she was obviously more forgiving than I.
Cora Boffey
I class myself as a good person; not perfect by any means, but I will help anyone, or help most causes. But, I don’t think I’m always the best at forgiving; and that for a Christian, is not good. Ok, I can forgive most small things and if people learn by their mistakes and injustices to others; then who am I to judge, and really it’s in the eyes of God, the law and the person themself to sort out the issue.
Maybe that is why my greatest fear is, and always has been; being sent to prison. Tell me where that fear comes from? I’ve never even nicked a penny, if I find one on the ground, I’ll pick it up and put it in the charity box; I’d never be too proud to stoop and pick it up.
I’m not sure what prison actually does for people these days; to be thrown into a place with such a mixture of people; I just know I’d be the one picked on, for no reason. How those poor Post Office victims survived, I just can’t imagine. (Mr. Bates v The Post Office.)
When my girls were about seven and ten years old, our garden backed on to a nature walk, it was an old railway line between Wombourne and Tettenhall. For about twelve months there was a 'flasher', who stalked the area. People could give a description of him, but he couldn't be caught. He knew the area well and wasn’t afraid of hiding in the rough brambly undergrowth, until all was clear. The worry was, there were two school that backed onto the walk and often children would take a short cut home that way.
One summer evening, as dusk was falling, I’d just got the girls to bed; Dave was working late, so I put my feet up to relax.
We had a large low front window, that looked out over our front garden onto a lovely green. I closed my eyes for a few minutes, mulling over nice events of the day. When I opened my eyes, I was aware of a dark shadow, by the window, looking in at me. For a few seconds I was stunned; had I nodded off, was I dreaming? Then I realised what HE, the FLASHER, was doing.
Of course I screamed and frantically started to bang the adjoining wall; hoping my neighbours might run out and see what was happening, at my window, and maybe catch the blighter!
Did they heck! They wouldn’t intervene because they thought it might be a domestic! This was a household that never rowed; in those days I was a sulker! My husband, refused to row. (Many thanks J & G for your support; maybe one of my kids was having a fit!)
Anyway the situation was reported to the police.
Two days later, I was mowing my back lawn, when I felt eyes were watching me; I was ready for Him! Brave or stupid, I left the mower and sauntered nonchalantly, out of the garden gate onto the nature walk, within minutes he appeared blasé in front of me; having crept out of some hidden ditch. Yes Flashing, for all he was worth.
I took one smash at his face; which I later denied to the police; after he reported what I had done, then I grabbed the shocked youth and marched him round to a trusted neighbour, whom I knew was at home with her husband. They called the police.
The police commended me for the citizen's arrest; but warned me of the danger I had put myself in. I told them, I was protecting all kiddies in my area, thank you.
A few months later, after he’d been arrested for other similarly related crimes, I had a visit from a very sweet lady who explained; she was associated to some group, that took offenders into her home. She gave me the background of the youth and said ‘what he was really craving, was the love of a family and would I sit around her table with him, with my girls and try and support him in his rehabilitation programme?
I have no regrets on my reply to her; she was obviously more forgiving than I.
Cora Boffey
Confession
I step inside the dark wooden box, close the blind and kneel by the grid, through which a dim flicker of light can be seen. ‘Bless me Father for I have sinned. My last confession was some time before 1964.’
That was the year after I left school. And the Catholic Church. I am the product of a mixed religion. My parents came together as a Methodist and an Anglican, married in Sheffield Cathedral, and then decided to become Catholics. Although enthusiastic at first, I don’t think their hearts were really in it. Church on Sundays always seemed to be an effort and became more of a chore as we grew older. I remember my confirmation, suitably attired in white with a matching veil. I first went to a catholic school from the age of 10, and then on to Norte Dame, a Catholic school for girls.
But the one thing I hated was Confession, which we were obliged to attend whenever we thought we had sinned, and at least once a year. Although our school encouraged us to go more often than this.
And just what are you supposed to confess? Mine went something like this:
Bless me Father for I have sinned. My last confession was two weeks ago (a big lie). Since then I have been unkind to my sister; I took something that didn’t belong to me; I told lies (just), and I had rude thoughts.
Thankfully, the priest never asked any pertinent questions. He just asked if I was truly sorry and then he would give me penance; three Hail Marys and an Our Father was pretty standard. I must admit it felt pretty good when it was over and the penance done. Catholic guilt takes a long time to recover from.
I married an ex-choir boy from the Church of England, who didn’t mind me attending Sunday Mass while he waited up the road at his Aunty’s house. But that didn’t last long, and after we married and moved to an isolated spot in Pembrokeshire, there was no opportunity to attend Church. I lost the habit, and consequently my faith. I started to question the doctrine, not just about my Christian religion, but about God Himself.
So, I have come full circle - I no longer believe in the magical folk lore story laid out in the bible. There may well have been a great man called Jesus, who did good things; a truly caring person and charity worker. But people in those days were very primitive and tended to believe in fairy stories and folk lore.
I am just flabbergasted that down the centuries, the stories have been taken as being true. There are also so many conflicting religions (the cause of most of the wars and conflict in the world). Our Christian religions are fairly recent as time goes. Only 2000+ years compared to the millions of years before Christ. So who knows the real truth of how we came to be.
I prefer to believe the scientists. When they eventually discover another planet years and years into the future, will they have a God? What stories will they have to tell? I’m sure none of us will ever know. When we finally leave this planet, it will not be to some mythical Heaven. We will go as we came, from nothing back to dust. We are here for a very short time, so make the most of it.
As Dave Allen said; may your God go with you.
Maggie Storer
I step inside the dark wooden box, close the blind and kneel by the grid, through which a dim flicker of light can be seen. ‘Bless me Father for I have sinned. My last confession was some time before 1964.’
That was the year after I left school. And the Catholic Church. I am the product of a mixed religion. My parents came together as a Methodist and an Anglican, married in Sheffield Cathedral, and then decided to become Catholics. Although enthusiastic at first, I don’t think their hearts were really in it. Church on Sundays always seemed to be an effort and became more of a chore as we grew older. I remember my confirmation, suitably attired in white with a matching veil. I first went to a catholic school from the age of 10, and then on to Norte Dame, a Catholic school for girls.
But the one thing I hated was Confession, which we were obliged to attend whenever we thought we had sinned, and at least once a year. Although our school encouraged us to go more often than this.
And just what are you supposed to confess? Mine went something like this:
Bless me Father for I have sinned. My last confession was two weeks ago (a big lie). Since then I have been unkind to my sister; I took something that didn’t belong to me; I told lies (just), and I had rude thoughts.
Thankfully, the priest never asked any pertinent questions. He just asked if I was truly sorry and then he would give me penance; three Hail Marys and an Our Father was pretty standard. I must admit it felt pretty good when it was over and the penance done. Catholic guilt takes a long time to recover from.
I married an ex-choir boy from the Church of England, who didn’t mind me attending Sunday Mass while he waited up the road at his Aunty’s house. But that didn’t last long, and after we married and moved to an isolated spot in Pembrokeshire, there was no opportunity to attend Church. I lost the habit, and consequently my faith. I started to question the doctrine, not just about my Christian religion, but about God Himself.
So, I have come full circle - I no longer believe in the magical folk lore story laid out in the bible. There may well have been a great man called Jesus, who did good things; a truly caring person and charity worker. But people in those days were very primitive and tended to believe in fairy stories and folk lore.
I am just flabbergasted that down the centuries, the stories have been taken as being true. There are also so many conflicting religions (the cause of most of the wars and conflict in the world). Our Christian religions are fairly recent as time goes. Only 2000+ years compared to the millions of years before Christ. So who knows the real truth of how we came to be.
I prefer to believe the scientists. When they eventually discover another planet years and years into the future, will they have a God? What stories will they have to tell? I’m sure none of us will ever know. When we finally leave this planet, it will not be to some mythical Heaven. We will go as we came, from nothing back to dust. We are here for a very short time, so make the most of it.
As Dave Allen said; may your God go with you.
Maggie Storer
Deadline: 9th January
Brief: the year ahead.
Brief: the year ahead.
- Write a factual piece relating your thoughts and potential plans for the forthcoming years. How do you see life panning out from this point onwards? OR
...another year…
I am fed up with New Year’s resolutions. In the yawning few minutes when I try and stay awake to be part of the rest of the universe in its celebrations and whilst the pyrotechnics- plus drones now- are wowing crowds on the t.v. I sort out the kitchen. Neither do I buy into the modern trend of a ‘dry January’ a glass of red wine is very good for me – and as for folk who crow about denying themselves any products or foodstuffs that have any connections with animals naming it Veganuary, that just seems added misery on the darkest coldest month of the year. I prefer to consider my vibes. That which I feel and give to others rather than another to do list of things I don’t like about myself or my life that I need to change. I decided this time to take a step back and simply strive to be an elevated version of myself. After over seven decades I must have ironed out my flaws. I’m an optimist. I cannot change the horrors of war, the plight of refugees or the increase in violence and intolerance. Instead I can in my steady way encourage the green revolution to reduce waste and be interested in exciting ideas of recycling and reusing plastics, glass etc. and applaud the good news stories. I shall continue to learn and believe in my favourite mantra, ‘it is okay to be happy and enjoy life because this enables me to help others. ‘ Andie Green |
This year will be different
As the old year fades, and thoughts turn to the question of resolutions for the New Year, I have a track record of getting carried away. I have often made a list of resolutions which inevitably was more of a wish list because there was no plan behind the aspirations, no matter how noble. Inevitably I set myself up to fail. Write more, read more, do more art and get fit will not cut the mustard. I know I have to decide on the priorities and make the time if any of the wish list is to become a reality. I have decided my priority for 2024 is to return to something I really enjoyed – drawing and painting, but which I haven’t done recently. So, no excuses, I’ve enrolled in a class which starts next week. The course lasts for 14 weeks and has a set curriculum covering drawing techniques, watercolours, oil pastels and acrylics. It sounds exciting and I’m looking forward to it. To help with the writing, I’ve positioned notebooks and pens around so should an idea strike (please!) I’m ready to write it down before I forget what it was. It’s best to write at any odd moments, not just when I think there’s ‘enough time.’ The goals need to be realistic too. I can’t become a People’s Friend author if I haven’t submitted a story, can I? (Only two rejections so far, so there’s plenty of time!). This year’s mantra needs to be ‘Just get on with it.’ With regard to my fitness intention, I’m going to do something different (which is supposed to be good for an aging brain) and have joined a beginner’s Pilates group. I confess I’m not even sure what it is, but it should be good for me, balance and posture, and so on, so I’ll give it a go. I’ll report back on progress! These are just a few thoughts of how I hope my year will evolve but I’m very conscious of how fortunate I am to be able to think along these lines. In many ways these goals strike me as self-indulgent when countless people have had their lives torn apart by the needless actions of others. Please let there be some peace in 2024. Linda Birch |
The Year Ahead
It’s probably best not to think too far ahead when you are approaching 80. So it’s even more important to think and plan for all those things you need to squeeze in while there is still time.
You may have heard on the news that from September 2025, British Sign Language (BSL) will be on the curriculum for GCSE. I was delighted to hear this, having always wanted to learn the language (for that’s what it is), since I was at school. Some of my friends and I learned the finger signing for the alphabet, and we would sign messages in class when the teacher wasn’t looking. Time passed, but occasionally I would practice my alphabet to make sure I hadn’t forgotten.
The introduction of the new GCSE is in part thanks to 17-year old, Daniel Jillings, who has campaigned for the qualification since the age of 12. As part of the GCSE, students will be taught at least 750 signs and how to use them to communicate effectively with other signers for use in work, social and academic settings. The GCSE assumes no prior knowledge of BSL but will be accessible for students who use it as their first language. Oh, how I wish this had been available when I was at school. I hope that eventually, signing will be taught from an early age to everyone, because you can only ever sign to someone else that understands the language. Think how useful it would be to older people who lose their hearing.
Nowadays, deaf people, and those with other disabilities, have been included more into everyone’s lives. Rose Ayling-Ellis caught our imagination on Strictly Come Dancing, when she reached and won the final with her magical dance.
I remember occasionally seeing deaf people signing to each other when I was a child, and would never have tried to engage with them. They were different, and my ignorance made me afraid.
Gradually, over the years, deaf people and those with other disabilities, have been shown to be just as capable as hearing, sighted people. Wheelchair users and those with other physical and mental disabilities have their own platform at the Olympic and Commonwealth games. Having a disability is no longer an excuse to hold you back.
So, I was delighted to hear the news about sign language. A while ago I bought the BSL Guide for Dummies with the intention of teaching myself. But, as with most good intentions, mine slipped away like a New Year’s resolution.
I have dug out the BSL book and searched YouTube for lessons. I think it will be easier to learn from a combination of the two. This year I am determined to grasp the basics. It’s always easier to learn with other people, so if anyone fancies joining me for practice...?
Maggie Storer
It’s probably best not to think too far ahead when you are approaching 80. So it’s even more important to think and plan for all those things you need to squeeze in while there is still time.
You may have heard on the news that from September 2025, British Sign Language (BSL) will be on the curriculum for GCSE. I was delighted to hear this, having always wanted to learn the language (for that’s what it is), since I was at school. Some of my friends and I learned the finger signing for the alphabet, and we would sign messages in class when the teacher wasn’t looking. Time passed, but occasionally I would practice my alphabet to make sure I hadn’t forgotten.
The introduction of the new GCSE is in part thanks to 17-year old, Daniel Jillings, who has campaigned for the qualification since the age of 12. As part of the GCSE, students will be taught at least 750 signs and how to use them to communicate effectively with other signers for use in work, social and academic settings. The GCSE assumes no prior knowledge of BSL but will be accessible for students who use it as their first language. Oh, how I wish this had been available when I was at school. I hope that eventually, signing will be taught from an early age to everyone, because you can only ever sign to someone else that understands the language. Think how useful it would be to older people who lose their hearing.
Nowadays, deaf people, and those with other disabilities, have been included more into everyone’s lives. Rose Ayling-Ellis caught our imagination on Strictly Come Dancing, when she reached and won the final with her magical dance.
I remember occasionally seeing deaf people signing to each other when I was a child, and would never have tried to engage with them. They were different, and my ignorance made me afraid.
Gradually, over the years, deaf people and those with other disabilities, have been shown to be just as capable as hearing, sighted people. Wheelchair users and those with other physical and mental disabilities have their own platform at the Olympic and Commonwealth games. Having a disability is no longer an excuse to hold you back.
So, I was delighted to hear the news about sign language. A while ago I bought the BSL Guide for Dummies with the intention of teaching myself. But, as with most good intentions, mine slipped away like a New Year’s resolution.
I have dug out the BSL book and searched YouTube for lessons. I think it will be easier to learn from a combination of the two. This year I am determined to grasp the basics. It’s always easier to learn with other people, so if anyone fancies joining me for practice...?
Maggie Storer
Thoughts?
How do I see life panning out from this point onwards; 31st December 2023? If I were a clairvoyant, I’d get my crystal ball out, but I’m not, so lets see how this pans out. First of all my plan is to go immediately into action, when I receive the announcement from the publishers that my book ‘In the Shadow of the Linney,’ is ready for launching. We have already discussed all social media plans and the various ways to network. Then there will be radio interviews to be arranged and a book launch in Ludlow; let’s see how this culminates? Hopefully a busy few months. After a ten year project, slowly building up to the last two years of intensity, I’m going to plan my next move carefully. I would like to see the next twelve months, being more positive and hopefully, me taking a guiding light role; using some of my life's experiences in a positive way, to support others. I’m not sure how this will work out, as I don’t want to take the leading role; as I have done on many occasions, but maybe support those who need or want to learn to support others. I can’t see me learning any new skills, but I definitely need to ameliorate my skills with the ukulele and my crafty ideas. Do I see myself joining a palates class, aerobics or even a Boogie Bounce class? I know that is what I should be doing. Sitting at a computer has done nothing for my weight or posture. Or shall I get back to walking? Watch those kilojoules burn off. Join me again on December 31st 2024, to find out. Cora Boffey |
The years to come
Thinking of "the years to come" sets me wondering how many do I have? I don't want to seem too demanding but I do have a goal in mind marked with a flag fluttering in a brusque breeze and it's labelled 90. However, que sera sera and all that, we'll never know what the Fates have planned for us, so all this speculation is waste of time. Hubby and I have agreed that whoever "goes" first will save the other's ashes so we can eventually be scattered together wherever the kids decide to dump us. Maybe down a rabbit hole on Cannock Chase or at the top of the Wrekin... somewhere green and peaceful. OK, sad thoughts and all that so chin up again, because I must consider the statistics and/or probabilities. I've worked out that hubby's genes are likely to be more robust than mine. My Dad died at 57 and my Mum 92. His Dad and Mum died at 83 and 102 respectively. Which poses another dilemma... I'm likely be in a jar on shelf for umpty-tumpty years before hubby's jar joins me, and that's if anyone is around to remember I'm still there, on a shelf, waiting. They might not recognise my jar which is sure to be covered in dust - a literal "dust to dust" scenario, proper burial waffle. When hubby's Mum died he'd already made it past 80 so when he dies our kids will be hovering round the 80+ mark and may well be hindered with walking sticks and wheelchairs and even if they're not quite ga-ga, they'll be as old and daft as we are right now. This leads me to think that we'll all end up in a jar on a shelf together... waiting for someone to make a decision about our final resting place. So if you ask me, who knows what the future will bring? And whatever it does bring, we won't object as we'll all be sitting pretty in a jar on a shelf covered in dust waiting; I reckon at that point in time not one of us will have a clue what we're waiting for, nor will give a toss about where our final parking spot will be. Betty Taylor |