The Crows Nest

The Crows Nest – Inspired by (The Bell Rock Lighthouse ~ JMW Turner)

 By Robert Kingston

A seascape reflection for the hardy types,

Spirits of the deep they’re calling, predicting a fight.

Jagged headlands, waves crashing,

White froth, forming, foaming, smashing,

Winds howling, lighthouse flashing,

Eyes burning through sea salt lashing,

Bells sounding, a storm at night,

A melee, the seas raging delight,

It’s natures given right.

Storm escalating, sailors fighting,

Hull rising, boughs breaking,

Sails furling, unfurling, ripping, slapping,

Ropes trailing flailing whipping lashing

Pulleys screeching burning breaking smashing

Clouds storming, winds scowling, thunder bashing

Waves transforming, crashing, heaving forming

Skies of greys, twisting curling

Forks of blue, pointing, zigging, zagging, stretching,

Boat rising, creaking, falling,

Sailors slipping, sliding, gripping

Muscles flexing, ripping, bruising,

Some onboard appealing, scorning,

Hear the captains call, they shout,

Hear the captain call.

Pull the rigging, a command a call,

Drop the mainsail, let her stall,

Cast the jib sail, open glory,

A careful captain, he’s no fool.

Ride the wave, tiller the stern,

Pitch the head into the rise,

With the wind, she’ll pull through

With great courage, all! Remain calm. 
                                                                                  

The storm abating, calmer waters,

Grey clouds dispersing, blue sky forming,

Sun now rising. Bright sky birthing,

Relax and sit, reflect what’s been,

For on dry land it will have been

A sailor’s adventure all at sea.

Copyright Robert Kingston        

Would he come?

Would he come?

By Len Morgan

She gazes expectantly from an upstairs window, Would he come?

Costumed children wander up and down the street shaking plastic buckets, yelling, "Trick or Treat."

Would he come?  He said he would come.  Seven-thirty on the dot, he'd said.  It was now eight twenty-five.  

Almost an hour late, "Where are you, Daddy?"  Maybe he wasn't coming, she rubbed her eyes, slowly walking away from the window. Gazing at her witches costume in the mirror, one last time.  Tears started on her cheeks.  She sat at the end of her bed.

Her bones ached, her hands were stiff and gnarled.  A taxi pulled up outside and she dashed for the door.  But, the man who entered was a stranger.

"Hello Mum," he said, taking her into his arms. 

Who is he? she wondered. 

"You do know who I am don't you mum?" he asks.

Then in a moment of clarity, she replies. "Mr Altzheimer?"

Copyright Len Morgan

TRUST ME

TRUST ME

by Rosemary Clarke

Trust me to get it wrong
My song sheet has a different song.
Trust me to do the wrong thing
My life to your life doesn't swing.
Trust me to ruin it all
When all I had to do was call.
Trust me to make a noise
Now I know I have a choice.
Trust me to blame myself
I've seen what that's done to my health.
Trust me to keep you calm
I'll protect you from any harm.
Trust me…

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

THE TADPOLES ON THE PAGE

This story was read at a meeting of Rayleigh Writers in Rayleigh Library on 14 March 2019. The first paragraph was written in response to concerns that some stories previously read in the library were unsuitable for children likely to overhear them.                    

THE TADPOLES ON THE PAGE

by Richard Banks

             

Before I properly begin I wish to make clear that this is a nice story. Unlike other stories you may hear this afternoon it contains nothing that will offend those of tender years or sheltered upbringing. It has been constructed from only the nicest words and I have endeavoured to arrange these in an order that is not only logical but fully accords with grammatical principles. It is also an improving sort of story that, while very dull in the reading, will avoid and indeed discourage the arousal of unseemly emotions. I want you to know that you are in a safe place, a place so far unvisited by a single apostrophe and, although they have yet to arrive, when they do they will in no way distract the text from its determination not to offend.

         However, their importance can not, and should not, be underestimated; they bring order, dispel doubt and are the pretext, if not the inspiration, for the feeble tale that follows. But first of all, a joke. Never date an apostrophe. Yes, I know that’s an absurd notion but there are people who care passionately for them and are dedicated to their well being. There is even an Apostrophe Protection Society. But enough of that, I don’t want you stirred up so let’s return to the joke which, if it is to work, must be spoken by an apostrophe, who says, “I will never date another apostrophe the last one was too possessive.” Yes, I agree it isn’t very funny, but as the undeniable function of many apostrophes is to be possessive this underwhelming attempt at humour, unlike some other jokes, won’t cause offence. If you can’t raise a smile at least avoid a snarl.

         By the way, did you notice that the first apostrophe arrived a few lines ago; it has since been joined by five others. Like the library visitors of my distant youth, they have come silently, without fuss, determined to abide by the rules. But the rules have changed I tell them. The sound of their voices will no longer be censored by the stern shushing of the librarian; they can now talk as loudly as they wish on any subject related or unrelated to the books that line the library shelves.

         The apostrophes listen to me, patiently, without interruption, but will not be distracted from their mission which has been set down in learned books of grammar. There is nothing in these which says that apostrophes should talk and until one is written which says that they must they will remain silent adjuncts of the written word.

         On reflection, this is probably just as well. There is only so much they can say about their literary functions and having said it they would be bound to move onto other subjects on which they are less informed. I mean, what would an apostrophe within a history of the Hundred Years War have to say about our modern day relationship with France?  Or, what would an apostrophe in a cookery book be likely to contribute to a discussion on ethical food policy or Government subsidies to the farming industry. The unintended repercussions might be more numerous than for Brexit, and as we are struggling to cope with that, it is as well that the apostrophes stick to what they know best.

         Indeed, no one understands their role in life better than an apostrophe and if they were allowed to organise themselves the errors and omissions presently besetting them and the reader would henceforth cease to exist.  I therefore, beseech you to support the Apostrophe Liberation Front in their campaign to confer on them self governing status free of human control. The need for this reform is well illustrated by the misadventures of Dr Stephen De’ath, a general practitioner on the Caribbean island of St Lucia.

         By the way, this is where the story I promised you six paragraphs ago begins. It is an eventful narrative but one likely to be short in the telling, so please don’t fall asleep or lose concentration for it will soon be over.

         Even before the events, I am about to relate Dr De’ath was acutely aware that apostrophes had already played a significant part in his life. Had it not been for the one between the e and a of his surname, he would have been Dr Death, an unfortunate name most worrying to patients likely to conclude that the rival practice of Dr Smiles offered more satisfactory outcomes.

         If Dr De’ath considered that apostrophes were only important in the writing of his name the events of August 2015 were to prove that they could literally be the difference between life and death.

         On the fifteenth of August Hurricane Mavis changed course in the Atlantic Ocean and set off towards St Lucia with a malevolence not normally associated with that name. The news was duly reported in the St Lucia Herald which, in the stop press of its evening edition, reported that ‘the storms devastating winds’ were expected to arrive the following morning. Dr De’ath and his wife therefore removed themselves to the depths of their cellar intending to stay there until all possibility of danger had passed.

         At 8am they arose from the camp bed on which they had been sleeping to find that the violent winds of the hurricane could no longer be heard. Returning to the rooms above them they were relieved to find the wind abated and the sky a cloudless blue. Encouraged that all might be well they immediately went out into their long back garden where an inspection of the house revealed only minor damage to its roof and walls. They were in the process of righting a Wendy house in which Dr De’ath kept his gardening tools when the weather took an unexpected turn for the worse and the storm suddenly returned with all its former violence. Realising that the wind was too strong for them to get back to the house they instead sought shelter in the Wendy house which, almost immediately, was lifted high into the sky and blown far away from land. As the winds again slackened it dropped down into the shallow waters surrounding an uninhabited island. Although the Wendy house broke up on impact with sea and sand the De’aths were virtually unscathed and waded ashore onto a wide beach of white sand, which, in normal circumstances, would have been very much to their liking.

         It had all ended safely but would never have happened in the first place had it not been for the missing apostrophe in the stop press of the St Lucia Herald. Its warning of, the storms devastating winds, contained not a single apostrophe whereas the insertion of one beyond the second ‘s’ in storms would have told Dr De’ath that two storms rather than one were on their way.

         During the becalmed, sun drenched days that followed, Dr De’ath gave much thought to  their rescue and return to St Lucia. Reasoning that helicopters and spotter planes would be out looking for them and other victims of the storms he endeavoured to signal their presence by scrawling in the sand the following message: We’re here. At least that’s what he meant to write but by omitting the apostrophe within We’re the message as written was, Were here. Unsurprisingly the pilots overflying the small island concluded that the person or persons leaving the message had departed and that the search for survivors should continue elsewhere.

         Sadly for the De’aths eighteen months were to pass before a holidaying yachtsman spotted them and alerted the Coastguard who finally returned them to St Lucia. Regrettably, their homecoming was not the happy event that it should have been. Dr De’ath’s practice had been irreparably damaged by the departure of his patients to Dr Smiles, while his house was occupied by unrelated persons who had purchased it from the beneficiary of Dr De’ath’s will. Despairing that neither situation was likely to be resolved for several years or more De’ath moved to America where he dedicated himself to the liberation of apostrophes from the tyranny and misuse of their human oppressors. Indeed it was he who founded the Apostrophe Liberation Front which now has over fifteen million paid-up members.

         Due to its lobbying, August 16^th – the date on which the De’aths were blown out to sea – has been designated International Apostrophe Day. On that day later this year Alf, as the organisation is affectionately known, will be opening its first UK office in Knightsbridge, on the ground floor of Dr De’ath’s London mansion. Your support is essential to its success. Please send your application for membership, plus an initial payment of £25 to: Richard Banks, C/O Rayleigh Library, Rayleigh, Essex. Like Dr De’ath he has come to understand that the value of apostrophes goes far beyond their literary functions. As the proverb goes, ‘It’s an ill wind that blows no one good’. Get writing those cheques!

 Copyright Richard Banks

              

My First Flight.

My First Flight.

By Len Morgan

I have to cast my mind back to 1948~49, when I first found I could leap from tall buildings with impunity.  Just before splattering on the ground I would close my eyes and open them again, and I would find myself lying snugly in my bed.  After the first time, I would regularly wake up from my dreams by jumping off cliffs or tall buildings.  It all began when my friend Tony told me he'd heard that if you die in a dream you will never wake up.  Being a fearless/foolhardy four-year-old I thought I'd like to disprove his assertion. 

My theory was "I'm the hero of this picture if anything happens to me the world will come to an end..."

A short time after that first jump I thought I would spread my arms and try to fly, and I did.  I jumped and instead of falling I rose into the air and flew over lush countryside, following rivers, diving down into towns and cities where I hovered and watched people and animals; they didn't seem to notice me passing.  That was when I realised that in my dreams I was invisible and invincible.  I flew higher and higher until I could see the curvature of the earth, and the sky became darker.   I dived down until I was skimming the surface of the sea at incredible speeds.  I saw ships on the sea and buzzed them, In my euphoria.  Then into the sea viewing boats on the surface from below.  Initially, I held my breath underwater, then I realised I didn't have to breathe.  I saw shoals of fishes and swam amongst them.  I sat on the conning tower of a submarine, played tag with dolphins; they for some reason could see me perfectly well and chattered excitedly in their high pitched voices.  I flew up into the dark sky, towards the sun; the heat didn't increase as I drew near.  So I went, into a sunspot and witnessed a magical firework display I emerged on the opposite side of the orb, and saw Jupiter in the distance.  I crashed into Jupiter's misty smoke and liquid gas, It tingled, but there was no aroma.  I wasn't aware of its constituents then: Hydrogen, Helium, Ammonia & Methane (very pungent).  I flew high above the Solar system and looked down, I felt like a god, master of all I surveyed.  I consciously grew larger, expanding until I could view the Universe without moving my head; hundreds of thousands of stars... 

Mum shook me gently.  "Time to get up Lenny, breakfast is on the table, boiled eggs with toast soldiers."

Sadly, somewhere between 9 and 10 my best friend Tony was drowned while on holiday, about that time I lost my powers; I've not been able to dream fly since.

My first memorable flight in an aircraft was a boring affair in comparison.  I was in the army; I'd been posted to The Middle Eastern State of Sharjah.  We travelled by VC10 to Bahrain.  We took off from Brize Norton at 0800hrs Spent 15 hours in the air, continually buffeted by winds and air turbulence, which banished any opportunity for sleep.  There were plenty of sick bags employed on that flight.  We were issued with Army packed lunches, and bottled water: tea and coffee were also on offer in flight.  At Bahrain, we were transferred to a small RAF transport aircraft.  There were no seats, just hammocks.  Freight was secured at the rear and we were housed along the outer walls.  The aircraft was an ancient turboprop plane that crabbed through the sky, it found every bump and hit every thermal.  We rolled out at Sharjah and were conveyed to barracks for the night.  We were issued with salt and malaria tablets and given 48 hours to acclimatize.  During those first two days in Sharjah the average wet-bulb temperature, over the 24hr period reached 136 degrees; the highest temperature ever recorded in an inhabited area at that time.

Ah the British Army such a wondrous place!  You can catch sunburn whilst training in the desert and be charged with causing damage to government property, through 'self-inflicted wounds': Yo!  I think the sun had something to do with it too, don't you?

 Just a year earlier I had spent a month in Lillehammer (Norway), undergoing winter warfare training.  The temperatures there dropped as low as -40degrees; it wasn't a record but I doubt many have experienced a temperature variation of 176 degrees within a 12 month period.

Ah!  The memory is a wonderful thing, but fallible.  We drove to Norway in Land Rovers from Lippstadt West Germany.  To get there I had to fly from Gatwick to Hannover.  A completely uneventful trip about which I have no memory.  I don't even recall the return trip.

As to having knowledge of astronomy at the age of four?  I now view that with suspicion.  I can confirm that everything that came later was accurate. 

In the immortal words of Eric Morecombe: "I replayed all the right journeys, but not necessarily in the right order."

 So, on balance I would suggest you take what I’ve said, with a pinch of nutmeg…

Copyright Len Morgan

A Sudden Snowfall

A Sudden Snowfall

By Sis Unsworth

A red crested robin perched high on a tree

surveying the strange world down below.

Old Amy peered out from her lone room to see,

recalling a snow scene from long long ago.

Where poorly dressed children in old worn down shoes

Made their magical world in the snow

Inspired to imagine whatever they chose

Fond memories continued to flow.

A cascade of fresh snow flakes continued to dance

but the vision she held like before,

For deep in her heart, she longed for the chance,

To play in the snow just once more.

Copyright Sis Unsworth

SELFISH

SELFISH

by Rosemary Clarke

As long as I'm alright they can rape, torture and kill.
As long as I'm alright they can do what they will.
My family's safe, what do I care? As long as I'm alright it doesn't matter there.
As long as I'm alright I can simply watch the news.
Knowing I've paid my taxes, paid my dues.
I'm snug in my home, I know where the family are.
As long as I'm alright the world won't stretch that far.
As long as I'm alright I shouldn't make a fuss.
We've always been told it's them and us.
But what if the ones I loved were homeless or dead..
Would I start to realize and care instead?
What if they went missing, shut away in camps, lying far away in the cold and damp.
Their bodies cut and bleeding and wrenched with pain...could I say I'm alright, could I?  Ever again?
We are putty for the governors, let ourselves stand tall.
A world that unites truth and peace, will NEVER NEVER fall.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke