RECOGNITION

 RECOGNITION

Peter Woodgate 

We can be right and yet be wrong

when not attuned to another’s song

and then at odds to understand

we let life slip like grains of sand

through fingers and without a sound

it gently mingles with the ground.

We realise then it’s too late to hide

the agony, caused by selfish pride.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

His Demise...

 DEATH

By John Abbott

It was dark , no moon , I could barely see my hand . My gloved hand tightened on the grip of my weapon , a small double-edged blade , six and a half inches of cold hard Sheffield steel . I must be conscious of not only trying to make as little noise as possible , but of not trying too hard , that only makes it less natural . I gritted my teeth , assuring myself that I could take him , that the sleek slim darkened metal could kill him , end his life and with it , his hopes , his dreams , his thoughts ....

A final word to myself .... now lad , go !!  My left knee took the strain and moved me cautiously upwards .


There he was , three large steps away , a low wall shielding his lower legs . He was about my height and seemed cold , his breath showing slightly in the night air . I glanced down , leaves in front of me , I made a full scan , left to right , couldn't see fuck !  right !  Here goes . Don't breathe Johnny old son , no intake of air , he might hear it .

I stepped into the abyss , into the darkness , one step , stop .... second step .... here goes .... it slowly occurred to me how could I stop him falling or making a sound ?

Without giving the idea a second thought , I stepped to him .


Left hand couldn't reach over to grab his headgear , so whilst moving forward , my right hand steered a piece of Sheffield into his left kidney , a tenth of a milli-second to withdraw the blade and now his helmet was in reach . Snap the helmet back SHIT !!!! , Bollocks !!! , No strap !!! , as his helmet calmly landed on my left thigh , my fingers tightened upon it , in the same moment , his head turned slightly left . Dear old Sheffield scored the winner , tight , hard , an inch and a half below his right ear lobe and up into his brain . Job done blade withdrawn in a second , I gently cradled his body , lowered it to the ground , claret all over the shop . I sat , cross-legged upon the wall and expelled my breath .


One-nil to England chum , I thought to myself . Not exactly a text book job , what was I doing ?  Should've realised the bloody strap , what a prat , that could have done for me ?  I hadn't heard any noise , too hyped-up, didn't matter now .


I raised myself , turned and stepped back three steps into my place of origin - the darkness .

As I wiped the blade upon the rag on my belt , my last thought was cold  I wondered what they'd tell his bird ?

 

Copyright John Abbott

Bay of Pigs

Do you remember…

Barbara Thomas

Let me take you back to the “swinging sixties.” If you are a baby boomer like me, this was our era. Mini skirts, vinyl records, Elvis Presley, Mods and Rockers, and many other moments. But that is not where my memory is leading me to:

This was the time of East meets West.

During this period, I was a young mother with a toddler and seven months pregnant with my second child, and, picture the scene, I am shopping in the high street, when I noticed a small crowd of people standing round the TV shop window; Having an inquiring mind, I edged towards the crowd. On the black and white TV, I heard the BBC newsreader saying that our prime minister, Harold Macmillan, would be making an important announcement.

I went to my parents’ home, really upset. Mum asked me if something had happened to me or my son, I blurted out what I had half heard a man saying that we will all be blown to smithereens. Mum settled me down on a chair and asked me what I was talking about. I explained that the Prime Minister would be talking to the nation at 6:00 pm that night.

At 5:55 pm we were ready to hear what the Prime Minister had to say at precisely 6,00 pm. I had brought my Grannie Smith in from next door.

The prime minister explained that as the Cold War was escalating, we must all prepare ourselves for the worst. We were told that every household would receive instructions from the government’s “protect and survive” campaign, which outlined highly specific steps for home survival. He went on to say that previously, during the year, the two leaders, J. F. Kennedy, the President of the United States and Soviet Premier of Russia, Nikita Khrushchev had met in Vienna, Austria. Letters had gone backwards and forwards where the newspaper called them “pen pals.” But the Cuban crisis changed all that; it was the moment that two superpowers came the closest to nuclear war.

Then, the Prime Minister said that everybody should stay glued to the radio for hourly updates, and that was that. The Prime Minister had spoken.

I was extremely frightened at the news and started to cry, mum being mum said “listen to me, I was born at the beginning of the first world war, my parents had to move twice after a zeppelin made a direct hit on both houses, then came the 30’s, everyone struggled to keep food on the table, and a roof over our heads. Poverty was all around us due to the general strike,

Followed by the second world war, where I was bombed out three times, one was when i was working at the Gaumont Picture House.

Mark my words, if your number is on it, that’s it!! All the worrying in the world will not make a ha’pence of a difference, so, dry your eyes and off home.”

N.b. The instruction leaflet explained that you unhinge your doors, have an allotted room, then stay as far as possible from the walls. Cover windows with blankets, rags with whatever you have available, and do not go out of the door.

Sirens will sound when the bombs are detected; take any necessary step to avoid the nuclear dust.

Some days later, after the superpowers were eyeballing each other, the Russian Soviet Premier was the first to blink and backed down leaving the President of the United States visually shaken. Agreements were hastily put together and signed. The President was heard to say that this was the worst thing to happen in my life.

The standoff was transmitted across the world.

This was my memorable moment…

Copyright, Barbara Thomas

Be the Character

 Be the Character

Len Morgan 

Constantin Stanislavski (1863~1938) was a Russian actor/director, known for the Stanislavki System of ‘Method Acting’ associated with many actors, Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, & Marlon Brando among them.

Stanislovski encouraged actors to question their characters:

 

1.      What does he/she want & Why?

2.      What is he/she thinking & feeling?

3.      How can you experience their circumstances?

4.      How would I behave in his/her skin?

5.      Live the Character!

 

I would suggest that budding authors could do the same.  When writing his/her story.  Give them a history, get under their skin!

 

Porter Wagoner the American Country Western star said:

“Before you judge a man walk a mile in his shoes.” 

Which to me seems good advice, try for empathy, see the world through their eyes.  People are complicated characters.

 

ORIGIN: When I look deeper I find Porter Wagoner was not first.

There is a poem by Mary T Lathrap “Judge Softly” 1895.

“Walk a mile in his Moccasins before you abuse criticise or accuse”

Aparently before that, it was an old Indian Proverb.

 Look up the poem "Judge Softly" It says all.  But for the grace of God go you or I.

 

Len Morgan

Little things mean a lot...

 OUR MUM AND DAD

Marion Anthony 

We had the best Mum and Dad of them all.
They gave us such love and we can recall the happy memories that we shared.

The love they both showed us and the way they cared;
We were definitely rich in love.

The joy one Christmas Eve, when we were small,
on that particular occasion, I was only three,
when dad came home from work, we dressed the Christmas tree;
He lifted me up in his arms, so tenderly,

and said 'Listen can you hear that?
My eyes sparkled as I imagined Santa on his way.
With the bells of Rudolph pulling his sleigh
And oh the smile on daddy's face,
it was a memory to treasure forever!
My imagination runs riot, caught up in the wonderment of  childhood.

The ride up to bed on dad's back, made us giggle,

when he put us in bed and told us not to wriggle
and the soft tone of his voice lulled us in to sleep.
Along with the feeling of contentment and deep feeling of security in knowing that we were truly loved.

Copyright Marion Anthony

LAMENT

 LAMENT 

By John Abbott

Louise had only known John for seven months and she would never forget the night they met. Not that it began as anything out of the ordinary, but later it seemed so, because of the joy that it had brought to her. She had gone for a quiet evening out with two girlfriends; a couple of drinks, a meal and some good conversation was what she had expected. That's what she got, and a lot more besides. John and his friends were in the same London restaurant and it all started innocently enough. They bought Louise's group a bottle of wine, and soon enough, the two groups were sharing a table. They were all young and laughed heartily together, enjoying each others company. When the evening began to fade into early morning, John gathered up his courage and asked Louise for her telephone number and whether she would risk going out alone with him. She was delighted and immediately agreed. To her, he appeared intelligent, fit, strong, strikingly handsome, and, most of all, good fun.

 

Within a few weeks, the two of them had become constant companions. John Coleman was a Scot from Edinburgh, he was twenty-one years old and full of confidence. Louise had realised straight away that this wonderful man, who always had something to say, and willingly laughed at every opportunity, was also a caring and sensitive soul. He was a soldier, which had initially surprised Louise, he didn't seem the type in her opinion. Although she wasn't keen on the military in general, she accepted that it should not be allowed to spoil a potentially happy relationship. He was very bright indeed, and was an ambitious Corporal in the Scots Guards. He appeared to love the life and had plenty of good mates within the battalion. She loved his dry, sarcastic sense of humour, and found him so attractive, that, at times, she could hardly believe her luck. They communicated well, expressed both feelings and thoughts to each other, and knew the difference between the two. To Louise, the relationship seemed perfect. The physical side was sensual, and the mental side was intriguing; compatibility seemed assured.

  

   Then in April 1982, a group of Islands in the South Atlantic, known to some as the Falklands and to others as the Malvinas, was invaded by Argentina. What happened thereafter is now history. As events unfolded in the South Atlantic, John's battalion geared itself up for war. John was a confident, sometimes awe-inspiring kind of man and he threw himself into those days with all his heart. He seemed to realise that after all the training and all the hard work, he would now get the chance to literally 'test' himself in the cauldron of war. And when he returned, which at this early stage, he never doubted once, he would return a wiser, stronger man. John loved Louise enormously, and although he had not admitted it at the time, when his battalion left for the South Atlantic aboard HMS Canberra, he knew that he would miss her terribly. Louise had received the letter on the twenty-second of June.

     " Dearest Louise,

It seems I have been mis-cast. This is no role for me, I am no soldier at all. All those war-games were simple enough, but the reality is far too terrible for me to comprehend. I love you so much and have no wish to lose you. I shall never again take your love for granted, as I feel I have done, whilst I indulge my childhood fantasies here on these islands. I yearn desperately to come home. I promise with all of my heart that I will never leave your side in the future. I love you. I want to feel your hair and smell your body, I need your smile to bring me back to the world of the living. I want to feel your lips upon mine, our tongues to embrace forever. I miss you more than I can ever explain. Life seems so shallow here. My friends fall like leaves in an autumn wind. When I return, will you marry me? I will give this life up, I shall no longer live the life of a warrior. I shall not often spend time away from you I will endeavour to care for your every need. I love you, please ... please ... do not forget me. When my last breath escapes me upon the battlefield, it will whisper your name ..."

 

Louise had read this letter countless times before. So often in fact, that she had almost memorised it word for word. It always brought forth a flow of tears, slowly tumbling down her face. The taste of these tears on her thin lips was always of the same bitter, salty kind. She had imagined the scene a thousand times. Officially, she had been told that on the twelfth of June 1982, upon the summit of Mount Tumbledown, at 22:39 hours, G Company had, whilst giving covering fire to the Recce Platoon, came under heavy Argentine mortar and artillery fire, thus killing Corporal John Coleman and wounding two colleagues. Unofficially, she imagined it slightly differently. The love of her life, with his young friends, huddled together against the cold and the damp, clinging grimly to life, coming under a terrible firestorm of mortar and artillery shells amidst the desolate rocks on the summit of Mount Tumbledown. The ending of yet another young, hopeful life. The final words in his letter would echo forever in her soul.

" When my last breath escapes me upon the battlefield, it will whisper your name ..."

 

Copyright John Abbott

AWAKENING

  AWAKENING 

Peter Woodgate 

Of dreams unfolding

And horses thundering on the sands at dawn,

Seagulls crying

And mists that mingle with a thought, that’s torn

From half-sleep,

The slumber of a mind aware,

Cautious of a notion

And love I could not share.

But, this drowsiness has ended

And concepts of the gloom to come

Have disappeared with tenderness

My heart, now free, is won.

My dreams are not now apprehensive

Containing spectres that accrue,

Instead, they show, a warm and glowing light,

A radiance that is you.

Copyright Peter Woodgate