Halloween

 Halloween 

Jane Scoggins 

We had had a good night out at the Travellers Joy pub in Rayleigh, me and the girls. Six of us old friends. It had been ages since we had had a night out together, before the Covid pandemic struck in fact. We had all had Covid at some point over the last 18 months or so. Jenny and I had been really poorly and Jenny still didn't feel 100% but apart from a lingering cough for a month after, the other girls hadn't been too badly affected. Anyway we were all glad to have survived intact. Both Ann and Clare had lost a loved one during the lock downs. Ann her Nan, and Clare her Granddad who had been in a nursing home. Neither had been able to visit and say goodbye. A horrible time it had been. We were all triple vaxed up and ready to celebrate all the missed birthday celebrations and Christmas get togethers. We all arranged to get a taxi home or have our partners pick us up by11pm. At11 pm I was the only one left to be picked up. My partner Tony had texted to say there had been a bit of a hold up on the A127 but was on his way. The pub was ready to close so I was waiting outside on the little terraced balcony.  We had had a scorching summer and although it was the end of October it was quite mild. There was virtually no traffic passing at that time of night and not a soul about. It was quite nice waiting in the quiet gloom. We had all had quite a lot to drink, me included, which was unusual, but I felt mellow rather than inebriated. After 10 minutes or so I thought I would walk around the car park a bit to avoid starting to get cold. It was getting a bit misty and the Halloween pumpkins dotted about were looking a bit spooky with their funny cut out eyes and mouths. One of the flats across the road had one lit up in the window which looked more cheerful than scary.

After a while, I stood nearer the road to look out for Tony as the pub lights were now turned off. All was silent and then I heard a muffled voice somewhere near but no actual person to be seen. I thought it must be my imagination until I distinctly heard a young voice say:

 ‘Miss, Miss’.  I looked around but there was no one. And then I saw a most extraordinary thing that so shocked me  I was rooted to the spot. Looking down I saw what looked like a hand appearing out of the ground. Impossible I thought. Then it moved and stretched its fingers. It looked like the hand of a young male. I looked closer, yes I guessed, a young man’s weather beaten hand. The air was beginning to feel cooler and a bit damp. Whatever I had drunk that evening had definitely gone to my head. The voice came again. ‘Miss Miss’. The voice seemed to be coming from below the ground and then with a swirl of mist it rose above the ground and was very close. I waited, still rooted to the spot. The voice came again nearer to me.

‘Miss, my name is James. James Cook. I died a very long time ago.

‘How long ago,’ I heard myself ask. As if it mattered at all.

‘In 1829 Miss’ came the disembodied reply.

‘ It was wrong Miss, a miscarriage of justice Miss, I never done what they said I had. Mr Green the farmer I worked for said I set fire to his property Miss, and they believed him and took me off to prison. It broke my Mam’s heart it did. I had to go to court. There had been a few arsons about that time what with all the dissatisfaction with farm worker's conditions. Everyone working on the land was frustrated. They had taken our contracts away and we only got what we worked for, so during the winter if there was nothing much to do ‘cept feed the animal no one got paid until planting time in Spring. It was hard to survive, and some didn't. I was 15 at the time and although headstrong didn't have any evidence, so it was my word against Mr Green’s. He didn't like me one bit. He had a nasty temper and worked me to the bone. He beat me once too. He was a horrible man. His wife was scared of him. When his daughter Molly even dared look in my direction he would shout and ball at me and reduce my dinner ration. I would of left if I could but my Mum was a widow and couldn't really afford to keep me in food. In fact I used to scrump apples and plums for her and a handful of corn for her 3 chickens now and again to help her out. It was the only way. But I did hate him and he knew it. I don't know who did torch his barn, he was not liked by anyone, but it weren't me. But he was determined to punish me for anything he could and apart from being asleep in another barn, I had no alibi. He was an influential man was farmer Green. I stood no chance. I'm sure my Ma believed me but what good was that to her. I couldn't help her out anymore.  I never thought  for me it would come to the gallows, but with all the unrest with farm workers and labourers and the arson attacks the judges were coming down hard to try and frighten folk and stop it happening.’ 

There was a pause while I digested this information as best as my fuddled brain could. He carried on with what sounded like a little sob in his voice.

 I was shocked to hear the judge say ‘The sentence of the court upon you, is that you be taken from this place to a lawful prison and thence to a place of execution, and that you be hanged by the neck until you are dead. And may the Lord have mercy on your soul’

‘Where you are standing now Miss, is where the gallows stood, and where I was hanged. Walking up those steps with townsfolk standing watching was horrible. I dared look up at them standing there. I told my Mother not to come and I was glad not to see her face. But I did see my brother. He was crying so pitifully I had to look away. I never knew who burnt down farmer Green’s barn. It could have been anyone with a grudge or it could have been an accident. But I was blamed and had my life ended cruelly and wrongly. I was barely 16 years of age. I can never settle. I am troubled and restless. Tonight is Halloween when many spirits are abroad. Most living folks do not have the spiritual power to believe in the spirit world so do not hear or see us. You have heard me though and it has helped me that you have listened. Do you believe me?’ 

‘ Yes, I do,’ I heard myself say almost in a whisper. 

Just then I am alerted to Tony’s car lights as he swings into the pub car park.

 He stops the car and leans over to open the passenger car door. Before I get in I look all around me in a slow 360-degree movement. Nothing to see or hear. Tony calls me to get in. Giving me a peck on the cheek as a welcome he says laughing.

‘ Good Lord love. Good night with the girls then? You look like you are three sheets to the wind, or have you just seen a ghost? Well, it is Halloween. Let's get you home, you definitely don’t look quite right.

I am silent as we drive home. Was that real or just my imagination?.

 

Copyright Jane Scoggins

Concrete Haiku

Two Pictographs:  Concrete Haiku

By Robert Kingston

 CONUNDRUM 

Peter Woodgate 

I’m sitting here, beer in hand,

The sun is shining, ain't that grand?

No, for as the clouds go floating by

I’m suddenly aware, that I,

At present, am a lucky “B”

Whilst all around catastrophe.

This world mankind has deeply wounded

Power is paramount and money laundered

Don’t look too far into the future

Wealth is the power, no need to nurture

All that’s precious to this earth

To safeguard mankind’s future girth

Around this planet that we lease

A short time, should we not find peace.

So, what is peace? The end of war?

A unity of rich and poor?

A realisation of us all

That we will face the greatest fall

From grace that we were given

Yet now, just into greed we’re driven.

I could, of course, shout from my box

And chain myself with many locks

To a railway line somewhere,

They’ll say “that is most unfair”

However, should I attempt that way

Or glue myself to a motorway

I will need to ensure I pray

That I won’t be run over.

A conundrum now is what I face,

Do I act, end in disgrace?

Or simply do nothing at all

Just curl up into a great big ball

And let the world roll by?

I’ve made up my mind

It’s not my business

I shall sit in the sun

And drink a few more Guinness.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate Oct 2022

 

Tylywoch ~ 28

Tylywoch ~ 28 Fighting Back… 

By Len Morgan

 Axen, the fourth member of stealth quad, returned with news that Galyx had gone to confront Glamhorten.

"We have to provide him with support," said Soren.

"The other three members of my quad are with him, as well as a captain Vadeem?"

"A good man!   He couldn't be in better company." Lieutenant Veille assured them.

"Galyx said they would be able to look after themselves, we should get to the Throne room in the palace to support the Empress and her guardians," said Axen, "an all-out attack is imminent, and despite rumours to the contrary the Empress still lives!"

A cheer went up from those within earshot, re-echoing as the news was passed on.

The spread of the news and the obvious boost it gave to the morale of all, was evident.

Schell looked to Veille, "What is our current position Lieutenant?"  

He squatted on his haunches and cleared a space in the dust at their feet with his poniard.   They gathered around, torches were hoisted above the spot.  

He inscribed a small cross with the point of his blade "We are here - Two floors above is the rear of the Throne room,  we should emerge about thirty yards from the rear entrance which will be heavily guarded on the outside."

"A quad will reconnoitre and report back before we move," said Schell, nodding to a quad leader who motioned to his men.   They moved out swiftly to complete their mission. 

.-…-. 

"There is a unit of two hundred men on call in a nearby suite of rooms, and a guard of ten permanently watching the door.   They are there to prevent escape, they are not positioned to defend themselves from without.   There have been several unsuccessful attempts to break into the Throne room, there is blood in the passage" the quad leader explained.   "The doors are heavy and solid, made of Ironwood which is not predisposed to take fire easily, the hinges are heavy and unmarked by previous attempts to break in.   I would suggest they are holed up in the safest place in the palace, there's no good reason to break them out at this time."

""Can we take out the guard & support units by stealth?" asked Schell.

.-…-. 

Glamhorten held out her arms to Galyx gesturing as if to draw him to her, like a fish on a line.   He walked slowly and purposefully towards her as if in answer to her beckoning.   She felt an inner thrill of excitement, if she could only get into his mind and turn him she would have accomplished something her people had attempted in vain for centuries, to gain access to the secrets of the Tylywoch.   She, would if successful become the 'Premier Bride' at a stroke.   His mind seemed strange, but it had submitted easily enough to her will, they embraced.   Maybe too easily she thought, alarm bells ringing, in her mind.   They kissed and she relaxed her poisoned lip balm was intended to bind him to her, ‘I have him, he's mine now,’ she thought. 

He felt the taint of infection, the beginnings of a non-reversible chemical reaction that would fix his addiction.   His lips tingled and burned, the heat spread rapidly to his mouth, throat, oesophagus, lungs, then into his bloodstream.   He had set in motion the body mechanisms to contain and counter its effects, but it spread so rapidly he was doubtful they would be successful.   He may have acted in time if the antidote were of sufficient potency…   Even as the thought flashed through his mind he remembered his purpose; ‘to protect and defend the empress’. 

She entered his mind, moving easily without let or hindrance, into his higher conscious mind.   'Who are you?' she asked.

'I am Kebu master, thirteenth warrior of the Natural Disasters, welcome to your release!' He replied.   "Death with Honour" he screamed with every sinew of his body fully expecting to die. 

"OOOH!"  She cried out involuntarily and hastened to escape from his mind but found the way barred.   She struggled, writhed and squirmed in her efforts to find a way through, but he held onto her as if they were fused as one.

"AAAAGH!"   She cried in fear and terror, she called out ferociously for Bedelacq to aid her, but nothing escapes his carefully crafted mind trap. 

He slid his blade into her back and inscribed a circle six inches in diameter, six inches deep severing veins arteries sinew and bone, effectively separating her heart from her body.   As he did so he released her from his mind trap.   "You fool!   I have escaped," she yelled in triumph, but it was short lived, in her haste to leave his mind she returned to her own body without checking it was still viable.   Once back inside her dying form, she discovered her error too late! There was insufficient life force remaining, to enable her to transfer to another host.  She was trapped and would suffer the fate of this ageing body.   In an instant, she relived her whole life and acknowledged her release.  

"Thank you" she whispered in his ear with her remaining breath.

Still supporting her now limp form, he thrust his arm into the hole in her back, grasped her heart, and tore it from her body, as Aldor had instructed him during the final sessions of his training as a Generalist.  

"The brides of Bedelacq, can only be released by separating the heart from their body."  He realised as he did so that he'd probably signed a death warrant for all those she had enslaved.   He remembered Vadeem had warned of her cry for help…   He looked down at the corpse, now ageing rapidly as if attempting to recoup stolen centuries.   He removed himself from the heap of putrefaction, in order to retain the contents of his stomach.

The heavy doors burst open and in came an eclectic collection of men and women. 

"She's dead!" he announced, raising her heart high.   "You can do nothing to aid her now.   There must be a way to ease your suffering and fight the addiction, but I can promise you nothing." He said in a neutral voice. 

A young soldier in his early twenties spoke for them, "we were forced into slavery far worse than anything you would believe, we have all done things we would like to forget, not willingly you understand, but we are far from proud of our actions.   Now you have freed us, and given us an opportunity to atone for those acts, you have earned our gratitude, and as best we can we will fight with you to eradicate the Surbatt from this land they have defiled!"   There were general murmurs of agreement from all the others, inside and outside the room.   When he looked he realised there were several hundred from all walks of life.

.-…-. 

Veille watched with admiration as the six quads, disguised in 9^th Clan Brown, moved amongst the sleeping enemy troops.   Silently and efficiently slitting the throats of the would-be killers of his cousin, and empress.   He felt no compassion or guilt for their demise.   There is no glory in warfare; he'd learned that in his first engagement, six months after receiving his commission.   The rule is kill or be killed.   If you are greatly outnumbered you reduce the odds in any way possible.  Half an hour later the work was complete.   The last to die were the guards, the bodies, 200+, were used to create a wall to barricade the door to the Labyrinth where others were still lost, they would find no escape this way.  His own men, now with 9^th Clan colours over their own red, took up the positions recently occupied by the hostile force and by so doing released the quads to disperse and carry out other covert operations. 

Veille and Schell stood in plain view of the rear door to the throne room.

"We need to speak with my cousin the empress and the Tylywoch commander" Lt Veille called out.   They waited several moments, then the door was unbarred to admit them.

After quick introductions and handshakes all round they explained what actions had been taken and their future plans. 

"As we speak there are quads engaged in acts of sabotage, damaging stores and equipment, poisoning food and water supplies, killing covertly, anything to demoralise and lower the morale of the foe.   Soon they will be jumping at shadows.  I've seen how Schell's quad's operate, they are impressive. With their help, I know we can win!" Veille enthused.

"What news from outside?" Ferrice asked. 

"There is a large 9^th Army outside the City, which is currently being held there at stale mate by a force commanded by General Aldor" said Schell. 

"He’s alive?”  The Empress smiled “I know who my money would be on." 

"We must get back!" said Schell.

"May chance never be a factor," said Ferrice as they left.  favouring him with a smile. 

.-…-. 

"How did he get away?" asked Weilla.

"It seems he abandoned his post momentarily to talk with a young woman.   When he returned his companions were gone."

"So, he reported back to the guard post?"

Amree nodded.

"Open up inside or we break down the door, then we will take no prisoners!"    The guard sergeant yelled.

"How many?" asked Weilla.

"Between fifty and sixty military, but there are others, the curious, trouble makers and the easily led and many more…"

"Too many to fight.   What Clan are they?"

"It's another mixed unit, about a third are from the 9^th," said Amree.

"Then I think I should try talking with them.   Tell the quad to leave now.  I will do what I can to sow the seeds of doubt in their minds.   You and Galt stay to give the illusion of normality."   She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.   "Open the door," she whispered.

"What do you want with us" Galt yelled into the square.

"You're Tylywoch, enemies of the empire," a faceless voice replied. 

"I am Tylywoch!" Weilla called from the shadows in a clear strong voice, "I am sworn to protect the Empress with my life, against all her enemies and any who plot against her.   This is and always has been the sole purpose of the Tylywoch and the 13^th Clan.   If she is dead, we have failed…" 

"You lie!   Your spawn are even now holed up in the Emerald palace, denying us the right to pay our respects and bury the Empress you have killed!" 

"They are holding the throne room, the oldest part of the palace.   If they are still holding, it can have only one meaning.   The Empress still lives!"   She paused for effect, conscious of discussions going on in the hidden places; she waited for the talking to subside before continuing.   "They are simply doing their duty, in this instance, protecting her from Surbatt assassins, who made this abortive attempt on her life.   I've no doubt the person to who I am speaking is a member of the Surbatt or he would already have acknowledged the truth of what I say.   Outside the palace, and even in this group here today the 9^th comprise a 3^rd  of its complement, in the palace, they are in even greater concentration, two in three.    There are tens of thousands of warriors from 9^th Clan outside the walls effectively, laying siege to the Eternal City.   Is that correct would you say?"   She spoke to the voice without reply.  

Weilla stopped talking and walked out into the sunlight.   A young woman, small in stature, apparently harmless and vulnerable.  

The voice in the crowd seemed to wake up.   "Emperor Taleen will cleanse the world of all you verminous outcasts!" he yelled.

"You see at last?   There it is, Emperor Taleen!" she paused for effect "they have no intention of assembling the Knodd as the law decrees, upon the death of a ruler.   You imply they will select Taleen over the other eleven nominees, do you know something we do not?" she left the question hanging a moment, after cleverly isolating the voice from the crowd.  "Obviously not!    Yet here you are talking of Emperor Taleen…?   If the Divine Light has been extinguished, there is no heir, and the Knodd must be assembled immediately!   Has this been done?"

"Kill her!"   The voice yelled full of anger and venom.   A dozen arrows sped toward her.  Weilla stepped neatly aside as if to avoid something she would rather not step in. 

Then stood, defiantly in full view.   "Will you try again?   Does the truth hurt you so…?" 

The volley was not repeated.

" I believe bloodshed can be avoided and common sense prevail.   There is an army of the 9^th Clan currently encamped outside the Eternal city, this was never meant to be.   Even so, the threat to peace is not from the 9^th, but from the Surbatt."   She became silent as the combined voice of the crowd rose in response.    Incredibly all around the square, Surbatt members and sympathisers were being disarmed.

"The word is spreading, truth cannot be stifled, it grows and spreads like a cleansing wind, banishing the fog of lies and deception, removing the mist of doubt and uncertainty revealing, in all it's clarity, that truth alone remains!"   She hurled the words with feeling and passion with the full force of her lungs, like javelins, throwing her arms wide in triumph as her missiles so obviously hit their intended mark.

(To be continued) 

Copyright Len Morgan

 Living in the Modern age 

By Sis Unsworth 

I haven’t put my heating on, & I’ve switched off all the lights,

As when I read my meter, it just gave me a fright.

I’ve bought a lot of candles, in case the power goes,

They say there could be blackouts, but then who really knows?

I’ve heard that all the onesies, have been purchased that’s for sure

To keep warm in the winter, is bound to be a chore.

So, I’ll buy an Army greatcoat, like they wore throughout the wars,

And scarves and hats and gloves, just to wear indoors.

People really worry how they’ll pay their household bills,

And find we are all cutting back, at the supermarket tills.

I’ve got a strange contraption, that just boils one cup of tea,

As the cost to fill the kettle, is now a luxury.

With all the things we’re living through, & the cutbacks it will bring.

We had our diamond wedding, & I thought I’d like a ring,

But living in this modern age, I’ve had to pay the price,

As things will now be difficult, I’ve made a sacrifice.

To wear a lovely diamond ring, is no longer my desire,

Conforming to the modern age, I’m buying a new ‘Air Fryer’

 

         Copyright Sis Unsworth

BELLA

 BELLA 

Jane Scoggins  

   They all sat beside Bella as she lay lethargically on the sofa. Joanne was trying not to cry but it wasn’t working very well and she could feel tears welling up in her eyes and threatening to spill down her cheeks. Lyn reached over and squeezed her hand. They couldn’t bear the thought of losing her but knew it was only a matter of time.

Bella was loved by all who knew her, not just Joanne and Lynn who had lived next door since they were young children, and used to seeing her almost every day. They were always in and out of each others houses. The girls remembered when Bella used to call in and see them if they were unwell. She brought them presents even when it was not their birthdays or Christmas. Not only was she very loving but also a real character who could make people laugh even on a bad day. And there had been a few of those over the years. When Dad was taken ill suddenly and Mum was in a state about it Bella took it all in her stride and kept the girls company watching TV comforting them as best she could. As they grew older they felt they could confide in her their secrets and worries

 
So with Bella getting on in years and decidedly poorly everyone was feeling upset. Not responding to the last lot of medication was an indication that Bella may not recover, but no one wanted to admit it. Word spread amongst the neighbours and a few called in to say hullo. Bella had lost interest in food which was most unusual, as she had always loved eating. So much so that she had had to go on a diet the previous year so she could get up and down stairs without getting out of breath.  

  As expected Bella passed away peacefully at home surrounded by her family. The neighbours were invited to a little wake at home on the day she was cremated. Her ashes were sprinkled on the flowerbeds she loved so much and under the Rowan tree, she liked to sit under in spring and summer. Mr Grumpy down the road was not invited. He had never really liked Bella and neither she him. He had always said that cats were smelly creatures and he really disliked them not just because they brought on his asthma but pooped in his garden, and tried to catch and eat the birds that came to his precious bird table. But no one gave Mr Grumpy a second thought that day.

Copyright Jane Scoggins

 

 A Themed Sequence

Robert Kingston 

Something of a new form for me, a themed sequence.

Feel free to comment:

 

you paint

the flower the sun

does it better 

 

burrowed light

beneath the bush

 

a spot

on the beetle from

tip to tip

 

no need to count

the devil’s details

 

leaving

the domino puzzle

crumbling

 

Copyright Rob Kingston

 THE GREAT BRIGHT 

by Richard Banks 

There are many sorts of fame, a subject on which many folk have expressed an opinion. To inaccurately paraphrase Shakespeare some people are born famous, some achieve fame and some have fame thrust upon them. Three hundred years later Oscar Wilde, yet to make his mark on the literary world, established the concept of being famous for being famous, a concept much practised in present times by celebrities such as Kim Kardashian. In the 1960s Andy Warhol declared that in future everyone would be famous, but only for fifteen minutes. No doubt, Socrates would have disagreed with the lot of them, for him fame was, ‘the perfume of heroic deeds’. 

         None of these definitions, however, seem to fit Edward Bright of Maldon who became famous for being the stoutest man in England. Two hundred and seventy two years after his death his fame shows no sign of fading, like Edward during his lifetime it grows ever larger; if you don’t believe me look at the many web-sites about him. Better still keep reading, for what follows is the life story of Edward who entered this world on 1st March 1721 in Great Waltham, Essex.

         He was one of five children born to William and Mary Bright of whom little seems to be known beyond that they were prosperous, middling sort of folk who were probably non-conformist in religion. They did, however, have a nearly famous person in their family tree, a Mrs Jane Disbrowe, sister to Oliver Cromwell.

         Having been born, the next sighting we have of Edward is of him working as a post boy delivering mail on horseback, an occupation that ended when at the age of twelve and already twelve stone in weight someone took pity on the horse. Well, there were many lighter boys and the poor horse also had letters and parcels to carry. However, it may be that Edward’s family decided to call time on this employment preferring to secure his future prosperity by buying him an apprenticeship, which they did in 1733 when, age thirteen, he was apprenticed to Joseph Pattison, a grocer living and trading in Maldon. Pattison was a very wealthy man and, like Edward’s family, a non-conformist. Possibly it was this religious connection that persuaded Pattison to take Edward on but it would seem that Edward had already established a reputation for being able and trustworthy. If so, this would account for him, still only thirteen, being called upon to witness the will of one of Maldon’s best know citizens, the Reverend Joseph Billio. 

         Edward lived in Pattison’s house learning his trade until the completion of his apprenticeship in 1740 at which time he weighed around twenty-four stone. In 1743 he became a freeman of Maldon and, in the same year, his father died leaving him £200. This was the second of a number of legacies he received enabling him to set-up in business on his own account and marry one Mary Browne of Enfield, the family home being above a shop he purchased in Maldon High Street. The business prospered and Edward bought or leased a further property in Maldon at which he manufactured candles. Edward’s business interests sometimes took him to London where his great stature attracted much attention, no doubt helping to spread his fame throughout the country. It certainly attracted the attention of artist, David Ogborne who painted Edward’s portrait and two engravers who produced etchings from it. I don’t know if the picture still exists but a painting based on one of the engravings featured in an episode of the Antiques Roadshow televised in 2016.

         Although Edward’s weight increased steadily during his lifetime he was strong and active until a year or so before his death. It is reputed that he was 5’9” tall, measured 5’ 6” around the chest, and 6’ 1” around the stomach. Known affectionately as the ‘Fat Man of Maldon’ or the ‘Great Bright’ he was a popular and well-regarded man in his community. In 1750 he suffered a long illness during which he was sometimes bled of as much as thirty-two ounces of blood. On 10 November 1750, age twenty-nine, he died. The primary cause of death was not his great weight, then forty-four stone, but typhoid. However, a contemporary report states that ‘his corpulence so overpowered his strength, that his life was a burden and his death a deliverance’.

         In order to remove his body from the upstairs bedroom where he died it was necessary to demolish the staircase of his house and part of a wall. His specially constructed coffin was conveyed to All Saints Church, Maldon for burial by carriage and then on rollers to its final resting place. He was interred on 12 November. The parish records contain the following tribute to him – ‘He was a very honest tradesman, a facetious [witty] companion, comely [handsome] in his person, affable in his temper, a tender father and valuable friend.’ His death and burial were widely reported in newspapers about the country.

         His fame, which otherwise might have been short lived, soon became the stuff of legend due to two extraordinary wagers that took place shortly after his death.. In the first an inveterate gambler accepted a bet that seven men could fit into Edward’s waistcoat. No doubt he thought he was onto a sure thing but the sly fellow proposing the bet actually won it when, on 1 December 1750 at the Black Bull Inn in Maldon seven unnamed men of the Dengie Hundred were buttoned into the waistcoat. Two months later a second wager took place at the Kings Head, also in Maldon, when nine men of the town were easily fitted into Edward’s waistcoat. This time we have their names and occupations. Surprisingly they include the vicar, parish clerk, a customs officer and six prominent tradesmen, including a Joseph Pattison, presumably Edward’s old master.

         Like me you may be wondering if these two events actually happened. If they did they seem extraordinarily insensitive, if not insulting, to the recently bereaved. Having not seen the original records I am unable to say one way or the other but why spoil a good story that has done much to boost Maldon as a visitor destination. 

         Go to Maldon. I recommend it. And if you do be sure to see the sights – the bronze reliefs commemorating the wager outside the Continental Cafe in Maldon High Street, a sculpture of the wager and a replica of the famous waistcoat in Maldon Museum, and Edward’s grave in All Saints Church where he is also commemorated in the Maldon Embroidery. Unfortunately, both Edward’s shop and candle-making factory have been replaced by more modern buildings. The sites are presently home to a nail parlour and Maldon Town Hall but a house built and lived in by his son, another Edward, has survived. Known as Church House it is now ‘Mrs Salisbury’s Famous Tea Rooms’. George Junior was also corpulent although at a mere twenty stone less than half the man his father was. He continued the family businesses adding to them the manufacture of Maldon salt. He took an active part in politics, becoming leader of Maldon’s Whigs. Descendants of both men continue to live in Maldon as evidenced by the business premises of Bright & Sons, solicitors.

         One thing that will not be found in Maldon is the main exhibit, Edward’s waistcoat. At the time of his death it was, apparently, at the tailor’s for letting out. In the next one hundred and ninety years it seems to have had various owners before ending up in Maldon Museum where soon after the start of WWII it was put into storage. Alas, it was never seen again. 

         To end with another quote about fame, Samuel Johnson, who was a contemporary of Edward Bright said – among many other things – ‘time quickly puts an end to artificial and accidental fame.’ If he had Edward in mind he could not have been more wrong. 

Compiled by Richard Banks

 

Bibliography:

Youtube video by Lynne Raymond and, the websites of:

Visitmaldondistrict;

Wikipedia;

BBC - Essex - History;

All Saints with St Peter, Maldon; and

Maldon Nub News – Historic Maldon.

 

 

Triveni Spotlight

 

Triveni Spotlight

From Rob Kingston

Copyright Robert Kingson

 THE LARGER PIE 

Peter Woodgate 

I hear that it must grow and grow,

The latest from Mis Trust and Co.

We all must have jobs that pay more

So why the strikes, are we so sure.

There are lots of mundane jobs to do

But poorly paid, is that a clue.

These basic jobs are our foundation,

They are essential in creation.

Tower blocks, they need a base,

They may be hidden, without a face

But we ignore them at our peril,

And our growth may well be sterile.

Each bud that blooms does so through roots

They must be fed or else they die,

And starved of their essential needs

The blossoms fall, alas you sigh.

Growth is structured and should ensure

There’s no huge gap between rich and poor.

This future pie, it must be made

Each ingredient with a proper measure,

The crust atop should share the glory

And when sliced, expose the treasure.

 

Of course, you may think,

That this is just barmy,

I look back to the slave trade,

The Miners, the Hierarchy.

 

 

 

Peter Woodgate  Oct 2022

 

 

 

Tylywoch ~ 27

 Tylywoch ~ 27 Captives III 

By Len Morgan

   When Vadeem entered the cell, it was dark cold silent, and empty.   "Galyx, It's me Vadeem," there was no answer.   He took a lamp from outside into the cell "Bengora's Blood!" he swore angrily, the cell was most definitely empty. He went out into the passage.   "Call for additional men, he's gone, we will have to search the entire area."

"How could that have happened do you suppose?" the Surbatt corporal smirked.

Vadeem hit him full in the face, and he fell to the floor in a semi-conscious state.

"I gave you an order Corporal, jump to it!"

He staggered to his feet yelling "You heard the captain, call for reinforcements, Now!" The two soldiers headed for the stairs at the double, the corporal six strides behind them.   Stealth quad took them out on the second flight but they never knew.   The corporal died seconds later, none the wiser. 

For the second time in forty-eight hours, Vadeem found himself a captive of the Tylywoch.

"This is getting to be a habit," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"The tables are turned," said Galyx appearing from nowhere. Vadeem was manhandled into the cell and the door slammed shut.

"Hey your not leaving me here are you?" Vadeem shouted at Galyx's retreating back. 

"Not afraid of the dark are you" Galyx taunted.

"Glamhorten is looking for you." He answered ignoring the jibe.

"How would you know that?"

"She sent me to get you."

"She owns you?"

He nodded "No!   aaagh  fee-oow!"

"Take me to her."

"Not a good idea aaagh!" said Vadeem in obvious distress "bitch!  "She will turn you if you go to her aaah! ah ah aaah.   She's p-un-nishing me f tell-ing…  ya ah aaah!!!"

"Save your breath and your strength friend, I know what she is capable of.   Just take me to her."

"You wittard!   I'm trying to save you!" he shook his head and left the cell, followed by Galyx. 

.-…-. 

"They're outside," said Galt "He has a dozen guards with him."

"Open up merchant!" an authoritarian voice yelled. banging hard on the door.

"Whoever is out there, go away and return in the morning during normal hours of business, between 7 & 7."

"Open or we will break the door down!   We are Guardians of the Empire, from the palace, on official business."

"Please do not start breaking things or you'll answer to my wife!   That door is ironwood from the Northern Mayam provinces, it would cost a fortune to replace it!   Have a modicum of patience I'm on my way."    The door was unbarred and a sleepy Galt peered out at the late callers, dressed in a long nightgown.   "How can I be of service to the Empress?" he inquired.

 

"You have an assistant…"

 

"Yes, Weilla, excellent worker strong, conscientious, honest, and cheap…"

"We do not require a character reference thank you," said Wilden "where is she?"

""She’s abed and asleep where every honest hardworking soul should be…"

"Take me to her," he demanded.   Four stayed at the door, the remainder followed Wilden inside.   "You four come with me, the rest of you search this place, you know what to look for."

Galt led them down to the cellar,

"There she is," said Wilden "Take her!" 

.-…-. 

She was dozing, when the dream recurred.   As always it was her mother's face, clear and detailed, yet on waking she could not even recall the colour of her eyes. 

The voice gave warning, "Beware the thirteenth warrior 'kebu master' for therein lies your demise." 

She awoke perspiring and distraught, tired, not refreshed by her slumbers.   She was frustrated by her inability to decipher the dream, was it a symbolic message or a warning from beyond the grave… 

Taleen stirred beside her, conscious of the agitating ripples in her mind; so finely was he attuned to her.  She threw back the bed coverers and admired his naked young body.   Fit healthy bronze and hard, he'd been hers since birth, ever since she'd poisoned his mother, shortly after cutting his cord.   She dove into his mind and turned him onto his back.   She smiled on witnessing his stirring; he always did that even as a child, he became hard whenever she entered his mind.   He slept on untroubled by her presence

as she roamed his mind, the busy routes and byways so familiar to her, like a well-thumbed map.   She smiled as she arrived at the twin houses of pain & pleasure.   She entered and he responded predictably - they always slept naked in the Blutt fashion - he rolled towards her his mouth and tongue lapping the perspiration from her neck and breasts as she desired.   She enjoyed physical pleasures with all her slaves, but most of all Taleen, he'd been her intimate since his early years, they were so close that she could experience the pleasures of sex in his mind, from the masculine perspective, and concurrently from her own feminine side.   She liked that, an instance of complete control, she looked down at him lapping between her loins, controlling and guiding his unconscious actions, he did her bidding at the speed of thought, as superior to the common carnal act, as a luxury fruit cocktail confection is, to plain oatmeal.

She lay still, closing her eyes, enjoying… 

She sensed the servant's approach and eased Taleen gently back to his side of the giant-sized circular bed.   There was a gentle knock.

"Wait!   I'm coming out!"    She spoke directly to the servant's mind, but it would seem to him as though she had called to him through the door.   She quickly skimmed his mind and discovered that Vadeem and the guards had returned with Galyx.

 

Jumping from her bed she donned a sheer full-length black silk kimono.   Taleen stirred, so she sent him soothing messages and he settled back to sleep.  She padded barefoot, to answer the door.   The servant delivered his message nervously and left.   She approached the adjoining room, scanning its occupants as a matter of routine.   Something was wrong.   Vadeem was agitated.   She didn't recognise any of the guards, or Galyx, whose mind appeared barren, blank, and unfathomable.   She didn't like that.   She was aware that Vadeem had been talking about her, probably to Galyx, but she didn't know what he’d said.   The guards minds were trained and disciplined, but they couldn't shield against her, so instead they all projected thoughts of happiness and well being, but the discipline told her, they were Tylywoch! 

"Where in Bedelocq's name was Wilden he should be back by now!" casting her mind around the city in ever-increasing circles she was unable to locate him, was he dead?

She cast her mind wide, "All slaves, To me - NOW!"

"She's calling for help, she knows something is amiss, she knows your TylywaaaaaaagH!"  He fell in a heap as if poleaxed.  

Glamhorten used the distraction to make her entrance.   "Galyx" she said in a husky distinctive voice, a welcoming smile on her face, "I have been so looking forward to meeting you.   Am I to fear you?"

 

"That could have been a very costly error of judgment on your part," he said nodding towards the unconscious Vadeem.

She turned to face him, eyes blazing with flecks of orange and yellow playing across the orbs.   "Come here!" she commanded.

Galyx was taken aback by the power of her word and stepped towards her.   One step led to another, each successively harder to resist, but his mind remained impassive and blank.  

.-…-. 

Wilden awoke in complete darkness, the only sound he was conscious of was his own breathing.   At first, he thought he'd been blinded by Glamhorten in a fit of pique for some real or imagined transgression on his part but, he was able to move his eyes without pain, it felt different.   There were ghostly shadows of grey passing before his retina, if he squeezed his eyes tight shut he could see flashes sparks and patterns of light. "Thank Bedelacq," he said and therein realised his hearing was intact, the lesser of his fears.   He tried moving his arms, they were bound at the wrist, as were his ankles, on moving he realised he was cold, he was naked and cold.   He fought manfully to loose his bonds, he struggled until they were badly chafed without success, they wouldn't yield.

He listened again for an age but heard nothing.   He shouted and yelled at the top of his lungs a lot of the sound was absorbed, but what came back was deflected from close by.   He was in a small room or a crate, but the absence of outside influence…   Then suddenly it came to him in a rush of panic, it was a coffin!   He had been buried alive!

There had been a dozen guards accompanying him when he entered the premises.   He recalled following four of them into the cellar to apprehend the girl, then the lights went out.  

"Guards!    To me now!" he'd yelled up the cellar stair well.   He'd heard the rush of approaching feet.   "In here" he yelled.   They had rushed down the stairs in answer to his call, then silence.   There are twelve of them, he'd thought before the world went black and he lost consciousness.    He again tried to loosen his bonds, without success.   He called out again then tried mind contact with Glamhorten or anybody but, if he was more than a few feet below ground it severely restricted the range over which he could communicate.   His mind slipped back to his period of training when she had punished minor infractions by locking him inside a wooden trunk, for hours until she judged from his mind that he'd learned his lesson and displayed sincere contrition.    But, he always knew she would free him eventually, now nothing was guaranteed.   He redoubled his effort to escape, soaking the ropes in his own urine in the hope it would soften, stretch or loosen his bonds.   He didn't want to die like this!   He didn't want to die slowly fighting for every breath…

He slept and woke alternately, not knowing if he slept for minutes or days.   At odd times he lapsed and found himself at the mercy of his own mind, and being unable to escape, was near to panic and likely to go completely mad.   Instead, he became calm and resigned to his fate.   He was going to die, that was inevitable, be it now or in fifty years.   He examined himself critically, physically, mentally, emotionally, and in retrospect.   Surprisingly his mind and his conscience were clear.   He awaited comment from his constant companion the guiding voice that had been with him since that first night in Blutt central, it was absent.   His mind flew back thirty years.   That first night he had slept on his stomach, naked on a thin blanket in a wicker basket, it had seemed a luxury.  He was warm and dry and the bedding was soft and resilient.   For the first time in months, he’d slept without constant fear of attack in the night from one of his own, or from the seekers.   He slept soundly and well.

.-…-. 

He awoke instantly alert and ready, as the older boy approached him in the early hours to begin his training.   He didn't move, instead, he waited for the second timid tap on his shoulder before sitting up.

"It's time."

Wilden rose from the pallet, as the boy scurried behind him, talking all the while as you would to a highly strung horse.   He gently rubbed something onto the dry blood-encrusted welts on Wilden’s back.

"Salt helps wounds to heal without scarring, mistress doesn't like scars." He explained, wiping off the extraneous crystals with a soft cloth.   He then applied a soothing balm, massaging it into the wounds.   "This will make your skin supple, so the wounds do not burst open when you stretch suddenly.   Don't make any sudden moves over the next few days." He warned.   "Your duties are simply to see to her needs.   You will go to the market each morning to obtain fresh produce.   We need vegetables milk herbs and meat; she is particularly partial to fresh bloody meat.   She likes her steaks rare, seared on the outside, and warm on the inside.   Vegetables must be cooked but crisp and herbs are used for tisanes and teas.   We will have to fight to get the best produce; the strongest always take the best, whilst the rest of us get the pick of what is left.   Come on!"

Wilden followed him to the market and was surprised to note that all the boys hurried to queue for meat.   So, he went to get their vegetables and was pleased to see he had a wide choice.    He walked in and took the best that was available, and more than he needed.

"If we have to cook for her, who cooks for us?" he asked.

The boy looked at him as if he was stupid.

"What is your name?" he asked the older boy as he demonstrated the finer points of boning a joint of meat.

"Slave," he said, “I am Slave!”

"My name is Wilden…" he began offering his hand.

"It's better not to get close to people" the boy explained ignoring the proffered hand. 

"Why?" he asked.

"People come and people go." Was the cryptic reply.

Two weeks later, another boy was serving, 'Slave' was gone.   Wilden never saw him again. 

"Slave!   Where is my food." She called.

He ran to pander to her needs, then, and from that day on…

(to be continued)

 

Copyright Len Morgan