THE JOLLY SAILOR

  THE JOLLY SAILOR 

By Peter Woodgate

I knew a jolly sailor

He went to see, of course

Not sea because he cannot swim

But he could ride a horse.

He thought that he could make some dosh

And went to the race track near by

He pretended that he was a jockey

I’m a champion they heard him cry.

The owners of the favourite horse

Allowed him to ride their prize mare

Unaware that he had agreed to a deal

That would bring him half of the share.

Well the race went ahead

And off went the horse

Heavily backed to win it was

But came in last of course.

There was an enquiry

An outcry, I think,

Then the sailor, not jolly,

Was locked away in the clink.

It was a short sentence

And the sailor was free

Whilst serving in jail

He dreamt of the sea

So down to Southend

He went full throttle

Then low and behold

He found a strange bottle

Not just the bottle

A letter inside

It was still readable

Despite the strong tide.

As he read the strange letter

He was horrified to note

A young lass was marooned

On Canvey, afloat.

So off strait away

And jolly once more

the sailor would rescue

Her from the distant shore.

Well, to cut it short

Imagine the glee

When he first saw her

And she looked at he

What followed was love

At first sight, no less

And now on the telly

O My what a mess.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

The Beginning ~ (Part 1 of 2)

The Beginning ~ (Part 1 of 2)

There was I.

Alone, stuck here … for ever as far as I knew.

Money was tight … it had always been so. I knew exactly what was needed to change the situation and whose responsibility it was to act as a catalyst. 

I began to plan. I planned for the day when I would have the opportunity to rattle the corporate cage and break free. 

I worked hard and squeezed in my time on the net, and finally the day that I had planned for arrived. 

I took all the money I could lay my hands on, then I relocated … fast

……………

2108 AD - Earth Space

I am twenty-six years old and I’ve been to Space seven times and actually been out onto the lunar surface on three of those occasions. now I realise that that doesn't make me one of Earth's greatest explorers or come to think of it, even put me up there with an Ice miner out in Jovian Space, but the desire was the same...

I didn't want to eke out my existence in my own little plot, seeing similar down-trodden people in similar down-trodden places. I just couldn't see me foisting my own little sarcastic sense of humour on anybody for their whole life. I wanted desperately to explore, to see things with my own eyes and to do things that others simply hadn't had the opportunity to do.

It was this desire that had left me going nowhere. I had no knowledge of my real parents, they either did not want me or could not afford to keep me - it didn't matter, compared to some, I had indeed been blessed. I had been recognised as an intelligent child (whatever that meant) and been pushed into the correct educational facilities by my foster parents for most of my life, all of which, I had vivid memories.

……………

I was half-laying in the chair as I flipped the white plastic cup sideways out of my hand, it spat globules of light brown liquid into the air like raindrops as it clattered into the dark grey plastic bin that stood a couple of yards away.

 

I had finished my third cup of sugarless, strong tea, I didn’t recognise any special flavouring, just traditional boring tea, not some disgusting Earl Grey, and was anxious to get on with the task in hand - I only had the rest of the week to see out and PDT Kravitz was out of my short life. I had little doubt that memories of his persistent shouting would haunt me for some time, perhaps forever.

I turned round, sat up and verbally logged on.

"Hireson, John." The computer in front replied quietly, sounding very laid back. (nonchalantly)

”Hello, what can I do for you?"

"Job Search please?"

"Thank you." pause  "Begin when requested please.  I wish..."

…………… 

None of us were searching for a profound answer to life's mysteries when we had agreed on our plan. Alright, that's not precise enough, I certainly wasn't searching for an answer - and all of my three friends had spoken to me at great length on the subject of life and the Universe. I suppose we all had reasons/questions, but no answers.

 

In this day and age, I find it highly amusing that we still send snail-mail, but, it is relatively quick, even by todays standards and it's certainly safer than any form of electronic mail. And so that's how we had confirmed our agreement on the final rendezvous.

Any Wednesday, (July to September) - Alexandria Base - Griffin's Bar - 20:00 hours.

 

Bink !

The red light came on ...

The CPU had been given instructions to run it's program on some random occasion within a three year time-span. That random moment was now... The program had begun...

In the eerie near-vacuum of Space, the program had a start date of the fourth February 2108. It's eyes and ears began to look and listen, to separate the cacophony of sounds and to assess the vast number of images that passed within it's range. It was searching

... searching ...searching ... calculating ... re-calculating ... searching. It was hunting for it's prey ...

……………

Earth Space - Tuesday February 8th - 11:05 GMT - 2108

On board Commercial Orbital Transfer Lander “Lutter”, approaching Alexandria Base - just south of Julius Caesar Watch Station on the Moon, marginally east of the Sea of Tranquility.

……………

"What's that Shelt?"  

"What?"

" That ? What is that ? " said Jim.

Amidst a huge array of blinking lights on the headsets, something nagged.

" Uh ? "

" Shelt ? What the hell is it ? "

" Christ knows ? " Replied Shelt glaring into the headset.

" Shelt ... call it in. That blue one shouldn't be there ! "

" I know, but Jim ... what about the time ? "

" Sod the time. Call it in ! "

" Jim ... ? " I queried his obvious fear.

" No ... No sodding about. I want it called in ! "

" We don't know what it is. "

" Precisely Shelt. I'll do it myself if I have to. “ Said Jim impatiently.

" OK., OK.. I haven't a clue what I'm gonna tell’ em though. "

" Tell them what you damn well want ! But for Christ's sake tell’ em ! "

" Delta Five ... Delta Five. This is COTL Lutter. We have a problem. Possible bogey. I repeat, Possible bogey. Please check our sector. "

A small crackle of officialdom replied. " Affirmative. Sector check for Commercial OTL Lutter - await our comments please. "

" Shelt ... help them to find it ... we don't want no nasty surprises do we ? "

" What are you ... my mother ? Said Shelt, they’ll find it and it will be some pile of space junk. Just you wait and see. "

" You hope ! " My thoughts were elsewhere.

I was more concerned about the time. Another poxy hold-up. I hated the work and nothing ever seems to go with the schedule nowadays. I'd promised the girls that I wouldn't put up with any shit like last time - but here we are, fourteen hours late already, we'd had a hold-up at Troy Transfer Station waiting for some Earth government officials - any more hold-ups and the base would want strip-searches again, which would really set the girls off. I'd told them that we'd be straight out, minimum stop-over at Alex, then dock the Lutter back at Troy, hey presto, then a quick return home to Houston via a shuttle. Unfortunately, there had been all sorts of wild reports coming out from the ‘Belt’ about various craft and different issues, etc, etc.

" Shelt. I'm sorry to keep on, but what about the girls ? "

“ Christ ... he's a nightmare. “, thought Shelt,  “ OK, OK. I'll tell them. OK. Just give Julius Caesar a chance to sort it. I'll give them four or five minutes OK ? “

……………

“Well Jenny. What do you think ? "

" He's OK. He's not exactly my cup of tea, but ... " Charlotte broke in, she always did. " Yeah, yeah. But do you think it's worth a try ? " giggled Charlotte.

" Look Charlotte - he's probably married or homosexual. " My mind added - or simply uninterested in your dark locks, Charlotte dear ...

……………

I hoped that Charlotte gave me my drink and not Jennifer. Jenny was certainly attractive, her medium length, shaggy blonde hair and her general demeanour were pleasant enough, but I think she had probably eyed-up everyone aboard, including the women, and that sort of girl wasn't for me - short-term or otherwise. Now Charlotte was a different matter. She too was attractive, but her smiles seemed more genuine.

She also had beautiful shiny, dark hair, cut short and an arse I would sing for.

……………

" Wish me luck Jenny, eh ? " beamed Charlotte.

Jennifer’s answer was a smiling quip as she strode from the galley. " No chance, he's the only decent looking guy on board. " I realised that I didn't actually know that, we only serviced section's A and B, the rear and the centre. Section C was off-limits to us stewardesses. Section C at the front of this lander, was probably full of government lackeys, civil servants and their ilk. Who cared. She had momentarily depressed me, for every man I'd met, Jenny had met ten. God knows, she'd probably slept with most of them as well. I was split, sort of jealous and sort of glad. Jealous of her luck ... alright ... charm, I understood it, but didn't like it nonetheless. And glad that I wasn't such a tart. I was just about her closest friend and obviously I been told all the tedious details. That wasn't fair - it might have got tedious at times, but I had enjoyed hearing about them ... My, my, my, we have had some laughs, I thought.

My earpiece cackled. " Charlie, everything OK ? " Poor old Shelt. He hated these trips, but he had to put in another few months to get his pension.

" Charlie ... One last run with the drinks OK. We've got to be down in thirty-five minutes. OK Charlie ? "

" No problem Shelt. I'll do section B and Jenny has already started on A. “ 

…………… 

As I opened my eyes, the sight that enveloped my vision was exactly what I had expected to see. I had never tired of the view to Earth from an Orbital Transfer Vehicle. This elegant blue and white orb has a special place in my heart - of course it was home, but I felt something deeper, stronger, more profound, the reason was - natural environmental safety. For all humans, Earth was special, it was the only planet with a breathable atmosphere - or to be precise, the only one at the moment - Mars was down for terra-forming and the search for others was taking place out there in deep Space. I had become a frequent visitor to various parts of Earth Space and I returned to the gracious gentle environment of earth as often as time allowed. I believed that although an Earthman and despite the fragility of humankind, I was born to travel into Space. My mind wandered back over  years in a moment. I could remember being fourteen years old with the clarity of a book being slammed down in front of me. 

……………

Slammmmm !!! went the book hitting the desktop.

" What's up Hireson ! You can't recall, can you ? Think boy, think hard and then think again ! Get that memory into gear will you ! "

The present bane of my life ... Mr 'blasted' Kravitz ! Tall, thin, bespectacled, moustached, grey-haired PD Teacher. PD officially meant Personal Development, but we all called our Personal Development Teachers, Permanent Dimmer Twats. Obvious reasons really, One; they were always there. Two; they have the universal effect upon us of lessening the light. And finally, three; they were unpleasant and stupid, apparently incapable of having coherent thoughts.

 

Magically, the alarm bell rang, hence saving me from further embarrassment.

" OK Hireson, you're off the hook. Tomorrow's session will be easy. That is, for me. You've been jamming in the work for six or seven weeks now, so we are going to throw you in the deep end and see just how bloody gifted you are, or not, as the case may be. Tomorrow's session will be a lengthy essay on you ! We would like a minimum of five thousand words on what path you wish to take with your life. It will be entitled " I wish. ". Don't bring any materials or books with you, you won't need them. You will have the whole days session to produce this piece of work and must present it by 16:30 hours. OK Any questions ?

My mind leapt, the fools ... the careless fools - a walk in the park.

……………

My mind skipped the short sequence before the next day and rammed into fast forward.

To me, it was just like a dream sequence from a movie. PDT standing in front of me, watch face being keenly studied. A word emanated from PDT Kravitz's mouth, " Begin! ". I began to hit the keyboard.

“ I wish. “

“ I wish to be able to dream. I ... “

(To be Continued)

Copyright John Abbott

Plot Finder ~ (revisited)

 Plot Finder

Richard Banks  (05/11/2020) 

        A question often asked of writers is: “Where do you get your ideas from?” When inspiration is running thin the answer could be to use a plot finder grid. An example is below.

        It works like this. Take the last digit of your telephone number, land line or mobile, and select the horizontal line beginning with that number, eg someone whose number ends with a 2 has to write a story (or poem) that prominently features: a dentist, Southend Pier, a diary and the motive ‘power’. Why not give it a try. The end result can be surprisingly good.

        A 'golden clever clogs' reward will be awarded to the first member to have one published on the blog.                                                         

 

                                                          A PLOT FINDER

 

           A CHARACTER           A LOCATION                AN OBJECT                   A MOTIVE

 

0          SAILOR                        A PRISON                      BOTTLE                        LOVE

1          CRIMINAL                   A RUINED BLDG           RAT                                MONEY

2          DENTIST                      SOUTHEND PIER         DIARY                           POWER

3          SOLDIER                      THE HEREAFTER        BUS                                SURVIVAL

4          BIGAMIST                    A CHURCH                    MOBILE PHONE          REVENGE

5          POLICEMAN                RAYLEIGH MOUNT       MAP                               GLORY

6          FIREMAN                     AN AIRPORT                  BOOK                            INTEGRITY

7          PHOTOGRAPHER       A CAVE                           TWO FINGERS             HATE

8          ARTIST                         TOWER BRIDGE            LION                              REDEMPTION

9          DOCTOR                      SUPERMARKET             MEDAL                    DESTRUCTION            

 

From Richard Banks

 

This was submitted by Richard at the start of Lockdown.  I think it’s time for us to revisit his suggestion…  Don’t know if anybody ever received a ‘Golden Clever Clogs Award’ but its up for grabs!  Who will take the challenge…

 The road not taken

Christopher Mathews

Of all the powerful human emotions, love, hate, anger or resentment, regret is one of the most destructive. It lingers in the unexplored corners of the soul for a lifetime like a maggot silently chewing over the ‘other choice,’ the one I did not take. The heart always wonders,

“what if…”

The imagination longingly looks across to the road not taken from the road we did.

Leaving school is a bit like diving from a high board into a vast unknown ocean, who knows where the tide will take us.

It all started when I saw the hand scrawled note on my school bulletin board. It was buried among the glossy career opportunity literature.

“Have you thought about a career in… banking, insurance or finance?”

“Get a trade, Britain needs carpenters, plumbers, bricklayer and butcher’s.” But this note read,

“16-year-old deck hands wanted to serve aboard the three masted schooner, the, TS Tradewind.

 “Two years before the mast. Must be fit and agile, not prone to sea sickness or afraid of heights. Learn to navigate by the stars, see the world, become a man,

signed, Captain CT Kestrel RN (retired).

Apply in person by eight bells, 1^st June 1962 at the TS Tradewind. Royal Naval Docks – Portsmouth.”

The three of us stared at the small note. Micky Binns stood to attention and saluted stiffly in mock respect, then laughed - fit to burst.”

“What a stuck-up prat,” he said, and carried on laughing.  “Captain Pugwash RN retired.” Again, he saluted. “Eight bells – what’s eight bells anyway?”

But we didn’t laugh. Jim and I stared hard at the note, and he said,

“Do you know what eight bells means?”

But I was not listening, in my imagination, I was already at sea, climbing the mizzen mast to set canvas or battling a fierce southerly gale. Or sitting in the Crowsnest at midnight, under a cloudless inky black sky, a gentle wind creaking in the rigging as we glide along a smooth bottomless sea, a perfect mirror of the heavens above.

“Do you think it’s real? The note I mean,” said Jim. I was suddenly jerked out of my imagination and back to school. Jim was my best friend at school; we did everything together, always have.

“We could both go to sea.” He said, excitement lit up his face. But then it fell like a deflating balloon and said, “no, I can’t, my dad wants…”

“Real!” bellowed Micky, “don’t be stupid, ‘course it’s not real, it’s a prank! – it’ll be someone in the upper sixth – Snotty Bulstrode, like as not - Looks like his scrawl.”

But Jim was enthralled by the idea of going to sea. His father was a solicitor and wanted him to follow in the family profession or even become a barrister. Not an Italian bloke who makes posh coffee either.

“He said I have to get all A’s, go to a top university and then...”

“What about Portsmouth, that’s a very old university? And, we could meet with Captain CT Kestrel RN retired and see the ship for ourselves at the same time.”

“Not good enough for my father. Anyway, it’s not a real university, just a technical college.”

“Come on Jim, we could get the late train down, sleep in a carriage when the guards aren’t looking, see the ship and be back on the milk train.”

“I don’t know, my Father…”

“…Won’t ever know. Anyway, It’s not up to him, it’s up to you! It’s your life, not his. You must choose your own road. Not him!” He thought for a moment, then smiling, he said, “There are no roads at sea you fool,” and we both laughed.

Rummaging in my father’s attic many years later, I found a box of my old school diaries. I turned to the date; 1^st June 1962. I had written a note that night, so very long ago now;

Our first sight of the ship was breath-taking! It was tied up on the dockside amidst Royal Navy battleships, vast, grey steel ships, frigates, destroyers and even a submarine. These modern vessels dwarfed the three masted schooner, but it outshone all of them in pure grace and splendid majesty!

The tang of the sea was mixed with the smell of hot iron and grease from the ships and gantries lining the dockside. But among all that was another aroma; tarred rigging, fresh deck varnish and the rich exotic smell of ships planking made from old Teak.

Even from the quayside we could hear the booming, gravely voice of Captain Kestrel, it couldn’t be anyone else. He barked out clear unambiguous orders in a voice used to compete with the roaring of the wind and the crashing of the sea. His face was bronzed and weatherbeaten. A white beard and straggly hair under a sun-bleached captain’s hat was set awry on his head.  He had the most piercing blue eyes I had ever seen. When he noticed us, he mopped the sweat from his brow, grabbed a small notebook, strode across the deck and swung from the rattling shrouds and with a light bound was standing on the gunwales looking down upon us. He was at least sixty, but he had one of those ageless lively faces, both old and boyish at the same time.

‘Well now, what has the tide washed up today.’ He said in a brisk commanding but not unkind voice. A small knot of us, five nervous boys stood close together on the quayside staring up at the old man. He looked like a giant holding on to the rigging with one hand, swinging back and forth slightly as if still at sea. He beamed down at us.

‘Come aboard lads, and we will explore all the oceans of the world together. If you join my crew, you will see wonders that no one else has ever seen. I could tell you of the great Leviathan, the kraken, of beautiful mermaids and deadly sirens, of ghost ships and lost islands where pirate treasure lay hidden waiting to be discovered.’ He laughed a hearty laugh, and said, ‘what about it lads, which of you will come to sea. Bosun, bring me the ships log, if you please.’

The deep wrinkles in his face showed that he was well used to smiling and the sun had blessed him with well-worn contours like the waves and troughs of the sea. He was not at all as I expected.

There was much more written, but I closed the book gathered up all the other diaries and climbed down the loft ladder. Tucked inside many of the diaries were dozens of old dusty letters from my school friend Jim. The envelopes bore the stamps from all over the world.

In a quiet moment, I would sit alone in my Lincoln’s Inn Chambers between complex legal cases, read these letters and weep; for the road not taken.

Copyright Christopher Mathews. June 2026

 

Emotions 02

Emotions 02 

Barbara Thomas 

When you are young, growing up, there could be a mixture of emotions.

Not wanting to go to school in case the bully is there today, emotion fear.

Teenage years, 1st boyfriend, girlfriend, finding out that person doesn’t want to see you anymore for a girl tears, for a boy hidden tears materializing in anger.

That’s what emotions are to so many people: 

Happy

Sad

Depressed

In love

Out of love

Bewildered

Marriage

Birth of a child

Menopause

Birth of grandchildren and great grandchildren.

End of a relationship

Divorce

Loss of a partner

Grieving

 

As you grow up you try to come to terms with all your emotions good/bad.

We live in a country that doesn’t encourage Emotions; best keep a stiff upper lip, in case you offend. 

As old age creeps up on you the Emotions felt are overwhelming, loss of partner, siblings, family friends.

But on a happier note the birth of your grandchildren and their children, your great grandchildren. 

It’s a battle with a world that has no place for emotions and when you reach a certain age then you become invisible.

Barbara Thomas

 Sarah’s Marathon 

By Sis Unsworth 

Sara often did recall, the Marathon she’d run

The first they held in London in 1981

Had she run from Blackheath, to Constitution Hill?

She must confess the memory, still gave her quite a thrill.

The 29^th of March, began the great tradition,

Where many like her, would complete a life’s ambition.

Although the years have quickly passed, it often brings a smile,

She even joined a running club, and stayed there for a while.

But time brought on changes, from what she’d done before

With age something you loved, can turn into a chore.

So Sarah moved her goalposts in, and joined a walking club,

They all meet up on Saturdays, and walk down to the Pub.

 

Copyright Sis Unsworth

                               

ABORTED CALL

Peter Woodgate

It’s like this officer

I’ve found my wife in bed

With all this red stuff over her

I think she may be dead.

I don’t think she is breathing

Sometimes it’s hard to tell

She doesn’t often get aroused

And just makes my life Hell.

She says she might well have sex

With a robot or a dummy

And when I tell the blokes at work

They think it’s bloody funny.

But it’s not, I’m telling you

Cos she just sends me packing

I’m pretty good at foreplay

It’s after that I’m lacking.

What’s that you say , feel for her pulse,

Ok I’ll see if I can

This red stuff It’s all sticky

Hang on I think it’s jam.

Good God her eyes have opened

Sorry what did you say?

No officer ignore this call

I forgot it’s my BIRTHDAY.

Copyright Peter Woodgate