TAKING THE PLUNGE

By Jane Scoggins

  When Sally asked Gerry if he would like to go to the swimming pool with her, he didn't know what to say. The fact that she was asking him, was mind-bending enough. He blushed and in a daze said ''That would be great''

He didn't know if this was just a friendly gesture or if it was to be like going on a date. He couldn't work it out. No time to think further on it as she turned and went on her way with a smile, and a little wave of her hand. He smiled back of course, and was grateful that at least he appeared composed enough to do that, but as soon as she was out of sight his smile faded and was replaced with a frown, the type that signifies worry and uncertainty.  What had he let himself in for? Sally was a girl way out of his league and he was amazed she had asked him to go anywhere with him. I mean anywhere, even to cross the road with him, never mind to an actual venue. And to the swimming pool of all places. Date or not. At the moment that bit was the least of Gerry's worries. He had much more important things on his mind to worry about. He couldn't swim! How embarrassing was that! He couldn't change his mind now, he had accepted the invitation with a smile and he would look a fool if he told her now. Perhaps he could tell her he had a verruca and not allowed in the pool. But no, he remembered that his cousin had had several and he had been given a rubber sock thing to put on when he went swimming. He could have a bad cold? No, that would be time limited to a week at most. What to do? Gerry went to the cafe for a drink and a think. He had had swimming lessons at school but a bout of Glandular Fever during the summer term when his class were moving on from a few strokes to a width of the pool, had put a stop to his own progress. Some kids who had been on summer holidays abroad or holiday camps that year where there were swimming pools and flumes and the like, had, on return to school in September, boasted that they could now swim a length, and some could even dive in from the side or swim underwater. Gerry had spent most of that summer holiday recovering from the exhaustion left by the Glandular Fever. No real opportunities had come after that and he had not bothered to catch up. If only his parents had suggested he take extra private lessons he might not be in this unexpected quandary now. But he knew that was a bit harsh on his parents. No, it was not their fault he couldn't swim. Never mind about fault he thought, think of a plan!

After a bit of internet research he found a local swimming teacher who offered intensive two week swimming courses. Every day for an hour. That should do it, and she was willing to teach him first thing in the morning before he went to work or later in the evening before the pool closed and it was quiet.

Gerry took to the classes with enthusiasm and soon gained confidence. He made good progress and before the end of the two weeks, he knew he would be able to hold his own well enough when he met up with Sally. Some nights just before the pool closed members of the Dolphins Swimming Club arrived to have their lessons and practice their racing and diving. Gerry was fascinated and hung about for as long as he was allowed to watch them. They were a friendly bunch and always said hullo, once or twice he was asked if he was looking to join.

''Oh no,'' he would say, ''I am not up to your standard yet.''

Apart from the fact that some wore black trunks and some wore black costumes it was hard to tell the boys from the girls as they were all in the pool within seconds of emerging from the changing rooms and all wore yellow hats and black goggles, so in the water the only thing you noticed was their individual styles and speed when racing one another.

Several of the swimmers caught his eye as being particularly good and probably the stars of the team. One swimmer, he didn't realise was a girl, to begin with, he liked watching in particular. She was fast in the water and had a way of curving her arm when she did the crawl that was a bit quirky and intriguing to watch.

  When Gerry met up with Sally at the swimming pool he was confident and all fired up about swimming.  They swam a bit together but as time went on Sally was more interested in chatting with her girlfriends and showing off her new bathing costume than actual swimming. Gerry was very disappointed after all his efforts but still felt very grateful to be in her presence. After a few meetings at the pool, Sally announced that she was getting a bit bored with swimming and had decided to start horse riding with her best friend Amy. She wasn’t able to fit in both activities so regrettably, she said with a little princess pout she wouldn’t be coming to the pool much in future. Gerry got the message and gallantly said he understood and said he hoped to see her around sometime.

Gerry returned to watch the Dolphins Swimming Club and when asked the next time if he would like to join he said he would love to, if they would have him, and accept him as the novice he was. The team manager said, ''no worries, we all have to start somewhere, We were all novices once, if you are willing to practice hard you will soon be racing with the rest of the team,''

  Gerry was very happy; He set his goal on achieving a good time for a length in the pool and keeping up with the training. He also set his sights on the Dolphin with the quirky fast crawl and when he felt confident enough in the water he intended being confident enough out of the water to ask her out. This time it would be a proper date.

 

Copyright Jane Scoggins

 

 

 

 

LONG RUN SHORT

by Richard Banks

So this was it. What I had been training for, for nearly three months. In as many minutes we would be off, me and twenty-five thousand other underdressed masochists shivering with cold and nervous tension on a shrill April morning. I eased my way into the mass of runners by the three hours, thirty minutes sign and found a small gap on the tarmac between a grizzled veteran in his club colours and a younger, but less fit man, dressed as a clown. Despite the banter, everyone was on edge, anxious to be off, watching the second hand on the big clock creep round towards the final minute.

      The veteran half turned his face towards me. “First time, son?”

      I nodded.

      “Thought so,” he said, “can usually tell. What time are you aiming for?”

      “Three and a half hours, if I’m lucky.” I bit my tongue, what did luck have to do with it? I reflected on the training sessions I had missed. Had I done enough?

      The veteran sensed my uncertainty and lack of preparation. “Well, at least you’re standing in the right place, not like that wally on the other side of you. He set his

stop-watch for the off. “Thirty seconds to go,” he muttered. “Run steady for the first few miles, then pick it up from there, if you can.”

      I took off the old sweater I was wearing and tossed it onto the pavement. The hooter sounded and we were off - a slow shuffle at first, easing into a gentle jog as we passed over the starting line. A hundred yards on, the crush of bodies began to ease and the veteran, with practised precision, started to weave his way through the crowd.

      I let him go. After four miles of steady running, I attempted to take his advice and take it up a gear. A mile later I took it back down, and by the time I reached Cutty Sark, I was ready to stop. Seven stops later I knew it was all over; with twelve miles gone and fourteen to go, I was never going to make it. I walked disconsolately to the next junction and turned left, away from the course. A black cab pulled up.

      “Want a lift mate?” The driver thrust his large shaven head through the open window and looked at me like a vulture anticipating its next meal. I climbed in, thankful that I had some emergency money pinned to the inside of my vest. As we pulled away en route to my hotel in Greenwich I crumbled into the seat, feeling like the utter failure that I was.

      The driver tried to console me. “Never mind mate, there’s always next year. You’re not the only one to drop out.”

      “Maybe not,” I sighed, “but how many of them are sponsored for ten thousand pounds. I explained that I was running on behalf of little Tommy, the critically ill grandson of my next-door neighbour, whose family needed the money to send him to a specialist unit in America. The cab came screeching to an abrupt stop and the driver swivelled round. He looked angry. I thought he was going to punch me. “What, and let little Tommy down! We can’t do that!” he roared.

      “But what can I do? There’s no way I can make it to the finish.”

      The cabby thought otherwise. “Oh yes there is my son! Oh yes, there is!” He turned the cab around and set off towards the City.

      I sensed that my day was not improving. “Where are you taking me?” I asked.  

      “To Birdcage Walk.”

      “That’s on the course, isn’t it?”

      “Indeed it is my son, just ’round the corner from the finish in the Mall. We’re going to do an Archie.”

      “Archie?” I said. “Archie who?”

      “Too much information,” he said. “All you need to know is that he had the same problem as yourself. Different race, but same problem.”

      “And what did he do?”

      “The same as us. Now listen up. When we get there you put on my overcoat. We find a gap in the crowd. You crouch down, make yourself small and I’ll stand over you, giving you a bit of cover. When you see your chance, slip off the coat and rejoin the race.”

      “Isn’t that cheating?”

      The cabby pulled a face. “Just think of little Tommy.”

      Half an hour later we pulled up in St Anne’s Gate and descended the steps that led down to Birdcage Walk. There were no gaps in the crowd but the cabby forced a way through to the front and occupied a space between two metal fences. I followed him in, and several minutes later re-entered the fray.

      I would like to say that I felt guilty as I dashed over the finishing line. Instead, I gave a clenched fist salute to the TV cameras. I even framed the medal they gave me; well it’s not every day you run a marathon in under three hours. A week after the race I embarked on another marathon, collecting my sponsorship money. Tommy got to go to America, and after a stunning marathon debut I retired from the sport and took up darts.

      The pub team I belong to is having a sponsored bulls-eye competition next month. It’s all in a good cause. I’m not very good, so I don’t suppose it will cost you much. Can I put you down for fifty pence a bull? 

 

Copyright Richard Banks

 

 

                                        

 

 

Elders

Elders

by Rosemary Clarke

Elders all over the world are revered
Looked on as sages and teachers and seers
But Western places treat elders as fools
Giving the backchat and government rules.
Elders are US only lived a bit more
Some and vibrant and happy the rich and the poor.
The lessons they've learned we should all want to hear
Don't put them down but give a huge CHEER!
These folks know resilience much better than you
With wars and restrictions and all they've been through
They're ELDERS and we should look up to them ALL
That way the West World
Will learn to walk tall.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

 

 

Flesh & Spirit

By Len Morgan 

"Oh, mighty Karnak, greatest of all the gods.  Why do you allow your high priest and most faithful servants so brief a span upon this earth?"  Shovanni raised his arms wide and gazed into the sky.  "Why can I not live longer beneath the sun and enjoy the bounty of youth throughout my lifespan?"

"Mmm row ruff ruff," the tiny black Chihuahua bitch scratched at his legs demanding his attention.

Karnak smiled, "You have a puppy who is two of your years do you not?"

"I do, lord Karnak," he sat down and ruffled the dog's fur, stroking her gently.  She climbed up his raiment, licked his face and wagged her tail, combing his beard with her claws 

"You are fond of her are you not?"  The god spoke and gained form against the backcloth of an ultramarine blue sky. 

"Truly I am, my Lord," Shovanni answered as he gazed up fearfully at Karnaks image blooming in the sky.  Saphi was unconcerned, chewing at her master's beard growling with contentment.

"I can see she is dearly beloved and returns your love in equal measure.  You have always shown great affection for the canine species," his visage wore a benevolent smile.

"That is also true my Lord."

"Tell me Shovanni, my faithful companion on earth.  How many dogs have been your companions throughout your life?"

"Five thus far my Lord.  Tansi, Drammi, Poppi, Benji and Saphi," tears came to his eyes, as he called to mind the memories of each companion.

"Why so sad?"

"They were good and faithful companions, but their life spans were so brief, a mere twelve to sixteen years."

"Then they died?" Shovanni said nothing.  "They live a full and happy life and when they became sick, wracked with pain you ended their suffering mercifully did you not? 

"Ay that is true Lord," he looked dejected, eyes downcast.

"That was good.  You acted in the best interest of your companions despite your own sadness and feelings of loss."

"If I loved them, I had to spare them the misery of a failing body and mind.  If I could, I would have extended their lives but, not their pain."

"That is the way of all flesh Shovanni, my good companion.  All living things have a span of years, beyond which they deteriorate and expire, in spite of the desires of gods and men."  Karnak's image now looked sad, as he thought of all the men who had been his earthly companions.  He'd witnessed Shovanni's birth and dedication to his service.  He knew at Shovanni's first cries that this question would arise.  "You have taught your son his duties as your successor?"

"Yes lord Karnak.  He is ready."

"Bring him to me when you feel it is time to relinquish your ties with the flesh.  You will then be welcome to join me here in my world of the spirit.  Here you will join your predecessors and live on forever."

"How can that be lord?  My body will be consigned to the ground, food for worms."

"Think on the humble caterpillar that eats to create a cocoon, its life done.  Then it bursts forth and takes to the sky in a wonderful new guise?"

"I cannot believe humans capable of such a metamorphosis lord."

"Then ask a caterpillar if he is aware of the wonderful new existence that awaits him..."

 

Copyright Len Morgan

 

THE EVICTION

By Peter Woodgate 

Whilst dozing by the telly and well into a dream

tranquillity was shattered by a piercing scream

it seems Jo’s mum, had telephoned, to say she’d seen a mouse

she wasn’t going to sleep a wink, what’s more, she’d sell the house.

When Jo regained composure, she said, “don’t worry Mum,

Pete will come right over, armed with torch and gun.

So, off I go to Tallow Gate to exorcise the beast

being told, it was quite big, two foot six, at least.?

When I get there Mum’s in the chair, her skirt up by the light,

“can you see it?” she remarks, not a pretty sight.

“It went into the hall,” she says, “as big as a bloody cat,

“Where’s it come from? Where’s it gone? Do you think it is a rat?”

And so I search, with torch in hand, each dark and awkward place,

and then inside the bathroom, I see a tiny face.

It’s poking out from behind the bin, I have him now, I think,

but out the little bleeder shoots, he’s quicker than a blink.

Down the hall and round the bend then into Mum’s bedroom,

I’ll never get him now, I’m sure, that’s what I assume.

But just in time, help arrives and Tony’s there on cue,

“Well, what’s the score? How big is it?” and “what is there to do?”

I’d hoped that Tony came prepared and ready for the crunch

but with gloves and tea-towel, I thought it more like lunch.

The tea-towel proved a masterstroke and we cornered him at last

pity that we wrecked the room and smashed a pane of glass.

We wrapped him in the tea-towel that scared and lonely mouse

and Tony let him free outside, evicted from “Big Momma’s” house.

So, in future, if you see, a rat or tiny mouse,

just call out catchers Pete and Tone to free them from your house.   

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate     

 

My Great Epic Chapter 1

By Len Morgan 

I took my reserved seat and started writing my great Epic just as the train pulled out of the station. My writing wavered left, right, up and down. I paused, to rub out the unintelligible scrawl, waiting for the train to hit a smooth stretch.

 I put pencil to paper again. The train went over the points and my pencil wavered left, right, up and down, so I went for coffee. I returned to find somebody had opened a window and an icy chill settled, as I sat down to start writing again. 

 I set my coffee on the table, just as the train jerked violently, the hot coffee poured onto my journal and onto my pants. I went to the restroom to sponge my trousers, and returned to find my journal soaked through; the great Epic would have to wait for another day.

I am sitting in my favourite chair, at home, 'Eine Kleine Nachtmusik' by Mozart playing in the background.  The temperature is 18 degrees.  I have a glass of cool rum & coke in one hand, as I take up my pen with the other to write in my new journal:

 

The Great Epic ~ Chapter 1...

 

 

 

Ink Blot #1
 

By Dawn Van Win

 

A man in a hat

Took a dog

For a walk

Companionable silence

The dog

Couldn’t talk

 

So on they strolled

‘Though they didn’t go far

The dog had bad hips

The man

Had no car