Too Short for Comfort ~ (300 words)

 Too Short for Comfort

By Jane Goodhew

Rain was not forecast for today but that did not seem to stop it from tipping it down and now I looked like the combination of a drowned rat or a severely depressed person in need of some tender loving care!   There was nothing I could do about it as my interview was in ten minutes and I still had to find the correct building.  Of all days for me to be late in leaving home it had to be today.   Finally I saw number 300 so pushed the door open and went straight to the receptionist to introduce myself and apologise for my dishevelled appearance.  She gave me a look that said it all and I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.  Instead, I smiled sweetly at her and asked if I had time to use the washroom before my interview?  She nodded and gave me directions but said to make sure I was on time because Mr Walker was very punctual.   With lightening speed I was there and back again and she looked in amazement when she saw the transformation the use of the hand dryer and some fresh lipstick could make.

“Miss Taylor”?  I turned in the direction of the voice and a tall, distinctive man was standing in the doorway, “please come in”.      The office was bright with natural light from the wall to ceiling. The windows had a view across London to the Thames.  He pulled the chair out for me and asked if I would like a drink, tea, coffee or something stronger.  I declined the offer and asked if perhaps he would like to give me more information about his expectations and if I was suitable when the start date would be?  Smiling and without further ado said “Tomorrow?”

Copyright Jane Goodhew

I said to the Man...

 I said to the Man...

Barbara Thomas 

• I SAID TO THE MAN WHO STOOD AT THE GATE
•  
• GIVE ME A LIGHT THAT I MIGHT TREAD SAFELY INTO THE UNKNOWN
•  
• AND HE REPLIED “GO OUT INTO THE DARKNESS  AND PUT YOUR HAND INTO THE HAND OF GOD
•  
• THAT SHALL BE BETTER THAN LIGHT AND SAFER THAN A KNOWN WAY”
•  
• SO I WENT FORWARD HOLDING THE HAND OF GOD, TROD GLADLY INTO THE NIGHT.
•  
• AND HE LED ME TOWARDS THE HILLS AND THE BREAKING OF DAY IN THE LOVE OF THE EAST.

 

This poem was written by

Minnie Louise Haskins ~  1875-1957

 

What is very interesting is the poem

was spoken by King George VI in his Christmas 1939 broadcast to the Empire, these words struck a cord with a country facing the uncertainty of War.

 

The words were also inscribed at the entrance of the George VI Memorial Chapel, in St George’s Chapel in Windsor plus in the window at the Queen’s Chapel at the Savoy, Tunbridge Wells in 1957.

 

This poem was used at the funeral of Elizabeth, the Queen Mother in 2002

 

And what did the poem mean.

Believe in God

Tread softly into the unknown

I can relate to this as I pack-up all my belongings to a place I don’t know and never ever been there leaving the safe peaceful countryside, straight into a busy London Borough and just trusting  my faith that he will help me into the unknown.

 

Barbara Thomas  22.12.2025

 

 FREE CHOICE

By Barbara Thomas 

What is free choice I ask myself in this day and age, where is 'Free Choice' allowed?

Being that due to current Labour Government and many Woke Persons who tell us: What, Where, When, and How, we can manage our lives.

Give me some moments to make sense of the wording;

“FREE CHOICE”

 

OK! I have got it as I have just Googled the meaning of Freedom of Speech:

The fundamental right to express one’s opinions and ideas without fear of censorship or punishment from Public Authority and includes the freedom to receive and impart information and ideas.

 

The 1^st Amendment to the U.S. Constitution protects the freedom of speech, religion, and freedom of the press.

It also protects the freedom for peaceful assembly or gathering together or free association with a group for social, economic, political or religious purpose, as well as the right to protest against the Government.

In the United Kingdom free speech is a fundamental, legally protected rights under the Human Rights Act 1998 enshrined in Article 10 of the European Convention on Human Rights, allowing the expression of ideas, opinions and information without Government interference.

Freedom of Speech Limitations, such as hate speech, incitement to

Violence, defamation and harassment, exist to prevent harm to others.

To protect Public Order, safeguard reputations, rights and National Security.

Whew!!!

Now we know…….

BUT and it is a big But!

Then why are there so many things going wrong I ask myself?

For months now there have been marches for whatever reason in London, and many other large Cities.

When it was believed that the British Flag could not be raised people from all walks of lives and diversity defied and flew the flag.

Flags on lamp posts, cars, windows and even across bridges and many more way-out places, including zebra crossings painted in red against the background of white.

When I first saw them all I was surprisingly taken back and a little overwhelmed.

But after a time, I personally felt the point had been made and it was time to take the flags down and if people felt so angry vote with their feet, and make their mark in the polling booths.

It is saddening now when I see our glorious flag humiliated.

I would ask people to take down the flags that are now sodden, and torn by wind and rain.

In some parts of the country their Council tax has risen, stating that this is because of damage to Council and Government property.

But, and this is a big BUT: Great Britain is one of the most tolerant

countries in the world for FREE CHOICE and long may it continue.

 

Copyright Barbara Thomas

Riddles 30

 Riddles 30 

By the Riddler

The Riddler has two puzzles for us today:

 

No 1.  A letter in the following word has been replaced by a ‘z’.  pzrszvzrz, what is the word? 

No 2. A German has less than an Australian. An Irishman has one less than a Scotsman. A Welshman has four more than a Dane. How many does an Italian have?

 

Keep em coming Riddler

 

Hidden In Plain Sight

 Hidden In Plain Sight

By Jane Scoggins

The thing about driving a car is that you can get from A to B in one journey. The disadvantage is having to concentrate on the road ahead. The advantage of travelling by public transport is, you are free to view the unseen.

High up on the top deck of the coach to Stansted airport I could see the otherwise hidden. Despite the increase in housing estates, there is still plenty of countryside on the outskirts of towns, like my own, or so I thought. Within five minutes I could see from my eagles perch down into a hollow where previously there was field and wood, two enormous diggers scoured the land leaving it ravaged. A bit further, another dip behind old established high trees, a more progressive project was on its way, brutalising the land with tons of concrete vomiting from churning machines onto a factory size base. Cheerful men in high viz jackets without a care in the world, following instructions. Further still along the road a sign Beware Lorry Entrance heralded a hidden muddy track leading to a vast area of semi built houses, some with footprints for 4 or 5 bedroom dwellings for the elite. The fields, woods and wildlife habitat swept away. Where would they go? The tarmacked roads and drives, the tiny gardens not able to sustain pollinators and small country creatures. And then respite from the devastation of concrete, brick, mortar and steel. A field or two of grass and planted crops. Ironically sitting in the middle a low concrete Pillbox with sad eyes looking out across the hectares for the enemy. Not as before for invading soldiers from another country, but from our own coalition of local and national government invaders. Determined to sweep away our green and pleasant land in the name of progress..

Copyright Jane Scoggins

Uncle Thomas (300 Words)

 Uncle Thomas (300 Word Flash Fiction)

By Len Morgan 

I look down from above, “Is that me Dad?” I asked.

“Yes Son.” 

My face looked pale against the white sheets and pillow case, “Am I dead?”

“That’s up to you son.” 

I stood beside him and another man about my age, who looked vaguely familiar, “Who’s he?” I asked.

“That’s your Uncle Thomas.”

“Will I live?” 

“If you do, ask Mum about Uncle Thomas.” 

“You died Dad, so is he…” 

He nodded “Iraq war, 2004. He was buried same year Mum and I got married.” 

.-…-.

An alarm sounded! A defibrillator was placed on my chest and discharged three times. My eyes opened and I looked up into a pair of concerned brown eyes. 

“He’s back Doctor,” She smiled reassuringly, “you’re back with us Mr Quinell” 

“Can I speak to him?” It was mum’s voice.

“Be brief, he needs to rest,” said the nurse. 

“You really gave us a scare passing out, without warning, like that!”

“What happened mum?”

“The Doctor says you had a mild cardiac arrest. When it happened I called an ambulance and administered CPR, thank goodness I did my First Aid course, they say I saved your life…” 

“Thanks Mum. It may sound a strange question but, who was Uncle Thomas?”

She went pale, I thought she was going to cry, then she smiled, her face took on a far away look; she was remembering… 

“Thomas was your father’s younger brother. We were to be married, but he was a soldier and the Gulf war happened so he was posted to Iraq. I was pregnant at the time. We had planned to marry on his return but, he never came back. When I told Rick (Dad) he immediately proposed to me.” 

“What was your answer?” 

She smiled and slapped me on the back, “cheeky bugger!”

 

Copyright Len Morgan

 The Hit (Flash 300 words)

By Richard Banks

In less than two hours he would be away to La Paz where he was Jarvis, the real estate man. But for now he was Chapman, a coffee broker, and would remain so until his flight from Heathrow. He took a pride in his work, it was almost a craft, one he had perfected over many years. Each job a logistical puzzle; he relished the challenge, no problem too difficult to resolve.

         Weeks of meticulous planning had secured him this room with a view. On a Saturday afternoon it was empty of all those who worked there, as were the other offices in the block. The room was on the third floor, at his preferred elevation, the sun at his back. He unpacked his briefcase of the disconnected parts within, reassembling them with a quick fingered dexterity he often practised with eyes tight shut. He was in the zone, pulse beating at a steady fifty-five.

         He raised the blind a few inches and pushed open the window, he would fire from within the building unseen by anyone looking up into the dazzle of the sun. All that was needed now was the correct alignment, the target to appear in the expected place, at the expected time. Due 2pm at the Embassy he would be leaving the hotel by the front entrance no later than 1.45, walking briskly across the wide pavement into the safety of a bullet proof car. There would be two, maybe three seconds in which to take aim and fire.

         Through the tinted glass doors of the hotel he could see dark shapes gathering for the off. Outside a limousine was gliding into place. The hotel door opened and out came the target with his minders. He aimed centre forehead. One shot only, and it was done.     

Copyright Richard Banks